Letters of Abelard and Heloise
you have brought me, and make, in some measure, the latter days of my
life as quiet as the first have been uneasy and disturbed.
LETTER VI.
_ABELARD to HELOISE._
_Abelard_, having at last conquered the remains of
his unhappy passion, had determined to put an end to so dangerous a
correspondence as that between _Heloise_ and himself. The
following Letter therefore, though written with no less concern than
his former, is free from mixtures of a worldly passion, and is full
of the warmest sentiments of piety, and the most moving exhortations.
Write no more to me, _Heloise_; write no more to me; it is a
time to end a commerce which makes our mortifications of no advantage
to us. We retired from the world to sanctify ourselves; and by a
conduit directly contrary to Christian morality, we become odious to
Jesus Christ. Let us no more deceive ourselves; by flattering
ourselves with the remembrance of our past pleasures, we shall make
our lives troublesome, and we shall be incapable of relishing the
sweets of solitude. Let us make a good use of our austerities, and no
longer preserve the ideas of our crimes amongst the severities of
penitence. Let a mortification of body and mind, a strick fasting,
continual solitude, profound and holy meditations, and a sincere love
of God, succeed our former irregularities.
Let us try to carry religious perfection to a very difficult
point. 'Tis beautiful to find, in Christianity minds so disengaged
from the earth, from the creatures and themselves, that they seem to
act independently of those bodies they are joined to, and to use them
as their slaves. We can never raise ourselves to too great heights
when God is the object. Be our endeavours ever so great, they will
always come short of reaching that exalted dignity, which even our
apprehensions cannot reach. Let us act for God's glory, independent
of the creatures or ourselves, without any regard to our own desires,
or the sentiments of others. Were we in this temper of mind, _Heloise_,
I would willingly make my abode at the Paraclete. My earnest care for
a house I have founded would draw a thousand blessings on it. I would
instruct it by my words, and animate it by my example. I would watch
over the lives of my sisters, and would command nothing but what I
myself would perform. I would direct you to pray, meditate, labour
and keep vows of silence; and I would myself pray, meditate, labour
and be silent.
However, when I spoke, it should be to lift you up when you should
fall, to strengthen you in your weaknesses, to enlighten you in that
darkness and obscurity which might at any time surprise you. I would
comfort you under those severities used by persons of great virtue. I
would moderate the vivacity of your zeal and piety, and give your
virtue an even temperament. I would point out those duties which you
ought to know, and satisfy you in those doubts which the weakness of
your reason might occasion. I would be your master and father; and,
by a marvellous talent, I would become lively, flow, soft or severe,
according to the different characters of those I should guide in the
painful path of Christian perfection.
But whither does my vain imagination carry me?
Ah? _Heloise_! how far are we from such a happy temper? Your
heart still burns with that fatal fire which you cannot extinguish,
and mine is full of trouble and uneasiness. Think not, _Heloise_,
that I enjoy here a perfect peace: I will, for the last time open my
heart to you. I am not yet disengaged from you; I fight against my
excessive tenderness for you; yet in spite of all endeavours, the
remaining fraility makes me but too sensible of your sorrows, and
gives me a share in them. Your Letters have indeed moved me; I could
not read with indifference characters wrote by that dear hand. I
sigh, I weep, and all my reason is, scarce sufficient to conceal my
weakness from my pupils. This, unhappy _Heloise_! is the
miserable condition of _Abelard_. The world, which generally
errs in its notion, thinks I am easy, and as if I had loved only in
you the gratification of sense, imagines I have now forgot you; but
what a mistake is this! People, indeed, did not mistake in thinking,
when we separated, that shame and grief for having been so cruelly
used made me abandon the world. It was not, as you know, a sincere
repentance for having offended God which inspired me with a design of
retiring; however, I considered the accident which happened to us as
a secret design of Providence to punish our crimes; and only looked
upon Fulbert as the instrument of Divine vengeance. Grace drew me
into an asylum, where I might yet have remained, if the rage of my
enemies would have permitted. I have endured all their persecutions,
not doubting but God himself raised them up in order to purify me.
When he saw me perfectly obedient to his holy will, he permitted
that I should justify my doctrine. I made its purity public, and
showed in the end that my faith was not only orthodox, but also
perfectly clear from even the suspicion of novelty.
I should be happy if I had none to fear but my enemies, and no
other hinderance to my salvation but their calumny: but, _Heloise_,
you make me tremble. Your Letters declare to me that you are enslaved
to a fatal passion; and yet if you cannot conquer it you cannot be
saved; and what part would you have me take in this case? Would you
have me stifle the inspirations of the Holy Ghost? shall I, to soothe
you dry up those tears which the evil spirit makes you shed? Shall
this be the fruit of my meditations? No; let us be more firm in our
resolutions. We have not retired but in order to lament our sins, and
to gain heaven; let us then resign ourselves to God with all our
heart.
I know every thing in the beginning is difficult, but it is
glorious to undertake the beginning of a great action, and that glory
increases proportionably as the difficulties are more considerable.
We ought upon this account to surmount bravely all obstacles which
might hinder us in the practice of Christian virtue. In a monastery
men are proved as gold in the furnace. No one can continue long there
unless he bear worthily the yoke of our Lord.
Attempt to break those shameful chains which bind you to the
flesh; and, if by the assistance of grace you are so happy as to
accomplish this, I intreat you to think of me in your prayers.
Endeavour with all your strength to be the pattern of a perfect
Christian. It is difficult, I confess, but not impossible; and I
expect this beautiful triumph from your teachable disposition. If
your first endeavours prove weak, give not yourself up to despair;
that would be cowardice: besides, I would have you informed, that you
must necessarily take great pains; because you drive to conquer a
terrible enemy, to extinguish raging fire, and to reduce to
subjection your dearest affections. You must fight against your own
desires; be not therefore pressed down with the weight of your
corrupt nature: you have to do with a cunning adversary, who will use
all means to seduce you; be always upon your guard; While we live we
are exposed to temptations: this made a great saint say, that _the
whole life of man was a temptation._ The devil, who never sleeps,
walks continually around us, in order to surprise us on some
unguarded side, and enters into our soul to destroy it.
However perfect any one may be, yet he may fall into temptations,
and, perhaps, into such as may be useful. Nor is it wonderful that
men should never be exempt from them, because he hath always within
himself their force, concupiscence. Scarce are we delivered from one
temptation, but another attacks us. Such is the lot of the posterity
of Adam, that they should always have something to suffer, because
they have forfeited their primitive happiness. We vainly flatter
ourselves that we shall conquer temptations by flying; if we join not
patience and humility, we shall torment ourselves to no purpose. We
shall more certainly compass our end by imploring God's assistance
than by using any means drawn from ourselves.
Be constant, _Heloise_; trust in God, and you will fall into
few temptations: whenever they shall come, stifle them in their
birth; let them not take root in your heart. Apply remedies to a
disease, said an Ancient, in its beginning; for when it hath gained
strength medicines will be unavailable. Temptations have their
degrees; they are at first mere thoughts, and do not appear
dangerous; the imagination receives them without any fears; a
pleasure is formed out of them; we pause upon it, and at last we
yield to it.
Do you now, _Heloise_, applaud my design of making you walk
in the steps of the saints? do my words give you any relish for
penitence? have you not remorse for your wanderings? and do you not
wish you could like Magdalen, wash our Saviour's feet with your
tears? If you have not these ardent emotions, pray that he would
inspire them. I shall never cease to recommend you in my prayers, and
always beseech him to assist you in your design of dying holily. You
have quitted the world, and what object was worthy to detain you
there? Lift up your eyes always to him so whom you have consecrated
the rest of your days. Life upon this earth is misery. The very
necessities to which our body is subject here are matter of
affliction to a saint. _Lord,_ said the Royal Prophet, _deliver
me from my necessities_! They are wretched who do not know
themselves for such, and yet they are more wretched who know their
misery, and do not hate the corruption of the age. What fools are men
to engage themselves to earthly things! they will be undeceived one
day, and will know but too late how much they have been too blame in
loving such false good. Persons truly pious do not thus mistake, they
are disengaged from all sensual pleasures, and raise their desires to
heaven. Begin _Heloise_; put your design in execution without
delay; you have yet time enough to work out your salvation. Love
Christ, and despise yourself for his sake. He would possess your
heart, and be the sole object of your sighs and tears; seek for no
comfort but in him. If you do not free yourself from me, you will
fall with me; but if you quit me, and give up yourself to him, you
will be stedfast and immoveable. If you force the Lord to forsake
you, you will fall into distress; but if you be ever faithful to him,
you will always be in joy. Magdalen wept, as thinking the Lord had
forsaken her; but Martha said, See, the Lord calls you. Be diligent
in your duty, and obey faithfully the motions of his grace, and Jesus
will remain always with you.
Attend, _Heloise_, to some instructions I have to give you.
You are at the head of a society, and you know there is this
difference between those who lead a private life and such as are
charged with the conduct of others; that the first need only labour
for their own sanctification, and, in acquitting themselves of their
duties, are not obliged to practise all the virtues in such an
apparent manner; whereas they who have the conduct of others intruded
to them, ought by their example to engage them to do all the good
they are capable of in their condition. I beseech you to attend to
this truth, and so to follow it, as that your whole life may be a
perfect model of that of a religious recluse.
God, who heartily desires our salvation, hath made all the means
of it easy to us; In the _Old Testament_ he hath written in the
Tables of the Law what he requires of us, that we might not be
bewildered in seeking after his will. In the _New Testament_ he
hath written that law of grace in our hearts, to the intent that it
might be always present with us; and, knowing the weakness and
incapacity of our nature, he hath given us grace to perform his will;