Proving Woman (43 page)

From Gerson’s perspective, a classic case of needless scrupulosity is an individual’s concern about insufficient attention
during prayers—something that, to Gerson’s mind, is perfectly understandable, and hence excusable, considering human frailty.
Such individuals who “by accident have excessively fluid fantasies [
fluxibiles nimis habent phantasias
] due to infirmity and are distracted willynilly from their purpose by a light breeze of wind to other things” are not in
any way culpable.
¹²¹
Then there are those who think themselves insufficiently contrite, “who tire themselves and their confessors out with their
reiterations of confessions—especially over light sins of little weight.”
¹²²
Gerson is constantly reminding penitents of this sort, burdened with so exquisite a degree of fearfulness, that their very
scrupulosity puts divine clemency and even grace in doubt. Of course, what is also at issue is the priest’s power of absolution.
¹²³

But there are other dangers implicit in scrupulosity that were more costly than either the penitent’s niggling self-torture
or the confessor’s exasperation. The impulse to confess every sinful or potentially blasphemous thought could have the effect
of reinforcing the thought and possibly occasioning a new sin.
¹²⁴
Gerson alludes to this danger by evoking one of his favorite biblical tags: “He that violently bloweth his nose, bringeth
out blood (Prov. 30.33).”
¹²⁵
Even more alarming ramifications ensue if an individual manages to convince him-or herself that a morally neutral act is sinful,
or that a venial sin is a mortal sin—a dilemma discussed under the rubric of erroneous conscience. Such convictions become
self-fulfilling prophecies since the conscience constitutes a tribunal unto itself. This view is in keeping with the oftcited
gloss on Rom. 14.23: whoever acts against conscience strengthens hell (
aedificat ad gehennam
), a phrase that Gerson puts to good use.
¹²⁶
In other words, dictates of the conscience, even an erroneous conscience, were morally binding. Thus if you were convinced
that something was sinful but went ahead and did it anyway, you would have sinned, even if you had been mistaken about its
sinful status in the first place.
¹²⁷

The serious consequences of an erroneous conscience are but one aspect of the legacy of intentionality, which locates sin
in the intention as opposed to the actual act, and Gerson relentlessly hammers home its implications. To intend a mortal sin
is the same as committing one. To expose oneself to the peril of a mortal sin constitutes, in itself, a mortal sin, as does
committing any potentially sinful act when the perpetrator is unsure of its moral status. But in contradistinction to the
principles informing intentionality, Gerson maintains that ignorance of the law is no excuse, at least in the external forum,
although he is prepared to concede that such ignorance may well exculpate one before God.
¹²⁸
Hence Gerson stresses repeatedly the necessity for an individual to know the difference between venial and mortal sins—the
best way to avoid the pitfalls of an erroneous conscience.
¹²⁹
Otherwise, once an erroneous conscience has taken hold, the only solution would be for the afflicted individual to “depose”
his or her conscience—that is to say, put aside or diffuse this fallacious level of conviction so that its power is diminished
and no longer binding.
¹³⁰
(This standard recommendation was, however, extremely difficult to enact since, as MichaudQuantin has noted, no one had ever
come up with a formula for discerning erroneous conscience in the first place—not even Augustine, try as he might.)
¹³¹
Thus while Gerson is by no means oblivious to the potential good inherent in a fearful disposition, and cites Gregory’s “habit
of good minds” to this end, his citation is nevertheless set amid the constraints of erroneous conscience. A person possessing
this “habit of good minds” must take care against “fall[ing] into the Scylla, wishing to avoid Charybdis.”
¹³²

This new, somewhat wary, approach to confession, which will naturally take its toll on female spirituality, is a powerful
indicator of changing times. While the scrupulosity of the Beguine milieu had been an important prop in promoting the sacrament
of confession, by Gerson’s time it had outlived its usefulness. In fact, this same trait was even seen as undermining the
sacrament. Mary of Oignies’s “habit of good minds” as described by James of Vitry was illustrated by precisely the kind of
sorrow over the commission of a venial sin that Gerson would target as suspect. The confessional profile of Mary’s contemporary
Lutgard of Aywie`res was even more vexed, at least when regarded through a late medieval lens. Not only was insufficient attention
over the saying of her hours a constant concern for Lutgard, but this anxiety was not restricted to her own religious practice.
She also (correctly) predicted a plague among the nuns who served in the infirmary of her community for their similar inattention.
133 Lutgard’s fears for herself were eventually assuaged, not through confession and absolution, but through the mysterious
arrival of a shepherd from afar who reassured her, in the presence of her entire community, that she was pleasing to God.
¹³⁴

Already in Gerson we find a predisposition to be especially concerned with scrupulosity in women. This is implicit in his
diagnostic description of the fearful person as cold, wet, and phlegmatic. In a confessional context, moreover, Gerson is
only too aware that female scrupulosity increases the contact between confessor and penitent, enhancing the chances of a gradual
devolution from spiritual into carnal love. Thus he warns against the scruples that might arise in the course of meditation
which inspire a person to seek counsel, especially a woman to seek counsel from a man. Such consultations would become habitual.
The devil would gradually effect “a certain gluing together of souls” (
agglutinatio quae-dam
animarum
) cloaked by a fictive spiritual love until finally “what isbegun in the spirit is consummated in the flesh.”
¹³⁵
This slow seduction is facilitated by the diabolical influence on the passions, an effect that Gerson claimed springs far
worse traps than a mere whetting of the appetite by enticing the senses toward illicit things. “Indeed, I believe that the
evil angel is able to remove [the passions] in a person, while he hopes through this that he can deceive the person more perilously
and lead him to worse evils.” Thus the individual experiences a simulated spiritual tranquillity and sweetness, gaining false
confidence, only to fall miserably as a result. 136 It is no surprise that Gerson pragmatically gives the woman the right
to confess elsewhere in the event that she anticipates sexual overtures from the priest in question—a decision she can effect
unilaterally should he not be prepared to accord consent.
¹³⁷

In short, Gerson created a framework for stigmatizing and even pathologizing scrupulosity. Yet he seems to have shrunk from
explicitly identifying this as a “woman’s problem”—perhaps because he, by his own admission, was prone to this defect. Thus
in a letter justifying his temporary abandonment of the post of chancellor, he describes himself as “full of scruples and
fear, most easily upset, so that Icontinually mull over something more than a thousand times.”
¹³⁸
But others, not sharing Gerson’s scruples, would almost immediately move in and conclusively gender this pathology as female.
This was notably true of John Nider, who was deeply indebted to the work of “the Chancellor,” as he respectfully referred
to Gerson. When reviewing the reasons for excessive scrupulosity in his
Consolation
of a Timorous Conscience
, Nider leads off with a discussion of complexions.Women, particularly old women and individuals with a melancholic complexion,
are highly susceptible owing to excessive coldness. In women especially, a certain constriction of the heart attends their
fearfulness, and they frequently tremble, while the members attached to the heart are the more afflicted. The voice falters
and the lips quaver, as is evident with respect to the woman with flux who fearfully approached Christ for healing (Mark 5.25),
who is thus rendered as something of a type for scrupulosity. This association invites the resurfacing of a suppressed subtext
for the entire issue of scrupulosity. For the original context of Gregory the Great’s “habit of good minds” was the question
of whether a menstruating woman should be permitted to receive communion—a context withheld in James of Vitry’s later appropriation
of this characterization in his panegyric of Mary of Oignies’s confessional habits. Although Nider does not invoke Gregory
explicitly at this point, his analysis nevertheless unerringly rejoins scrupulosity with the flawed, bleeding, female body.
Elsewhere, Nider will cite Albert the Great, who alleges that the combination of woman’s lack of heat and dominant moisture
“into which terrible things are poured” renders her naturally fearful. In addition to this defect of the complexion, other
factors, such as retention of corrupt menstrual blood, inordinate vigils, fasting, care, solitude, or deep thought, can also
intrude to stimulate the disease of mania or melancholia, the main symptom of which is excessive fearfulness. Certain individuals—referred
to as
energuimini
or, more conveniently still, lunatics—are affected by the movement of the moon, which manipulates the moisture in their heads,
causing them to howl with fear. Demonic temptation can also wreak havoc with a healthy constitution, afflicting it with a
black jaundice (
colera nigra
) likewise associated with fear.
¹³⁹
When differentiating scrupulosity from the other passions, Nider makes the telling point that “it is that much more dangerous
by the extent to which it is falsely reckoned a virtue.”
¹⁴⁰
He will accordingly trim Gregory’s “habit of good minds” with Aquinas’s interpretation of “good” in terms of the perfection
of justice.
¹⁴¹

Nider’s
Consolation of a Timorous Conscience
presents scrupulosity as a potentially lethal affliction, which could generate the life-threatening sin of despair.His colorful
Formicarium
, moreover, adduces data in support of this point. A nun from Nuremberg named Kunegond was in constant fear that her confession
was insufficient, a concern that Nider describes as natural in the fragile sex. The inordinate fear that she had committed
a mortal sin, compounded by excessive fasts, not only caused her confessors to be concerned for her sanity but actually delivered
her to death’s door. Fortunately, God effected a timely removal of the fear of damnation a mere three days before her death.
The pious widow and prioress Catherine de Westhusen, afflicted by the identical concern, was likewise liberated under similar
circumstances.
¹⁴³
In the course of a routine confession, Nider’s special sensitivity to the tenderness of the female conscience and the attendant
dangers of scrupulosity facilitated his diagnosis of what ailed a young matron: she was irrationally convinced she was demonically
possessed.
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SCRUPULOSITY AND HERETICAL INQUISITION

Nider’s treatment of scrupulosity is informed by a particular agenda: like Gerson, he hoped to impose some constraints on
a female spirituality that had, to his mind, gotten out of control. Thus Nider’s characterization of scrupulosity as a woman’s
problem should be approached with caution. Even so, there is much in this characterization that resonates with what we have
already seen. In the course of promoting confession as a sacrament, certain members of the clergy foregrounded women as ideal
penitents—a characterization that had brought women visibility and a certain kind of power in the decades following Lateran
IV. If one accepts the premise that women zealously embraced this penitential persona, was it possible that they
were
in danger of sinking too deeply into the sacrament so that their very advocacy for confession became dangerous to both themselves
and others?

Dorothea of Montau’s scrupulosity seems to be a case in point. The collection of her visions entitled the
Septililium
, divided between a detailed account of Dorothea’s own confessional practices and disquisitions on confession by the visionary
Christ, actually concludes with a miniature treatise on confession. In this context, “Christ” emerges as a relentlessly stern
pedagogue, particularly inclined to find fault with his female penitents. Thus he critiques John of Marienwerder’s blamable
indulgence toward a woman who was insufficiently prepared for confession, arguing that she should have been dismissed preemptorily
so as not to waste her confessor’s time.
¹⁴⁵
“A confessor . . . to an older person confessing unreasonably and inexpeditiously ought not to be kind, but serious and rigid.
Nor should he tolerate a person not knowing [what to confess] in confession, but he should harshly upbraid the negligence
so that the person is confused and ashamed.” Penitents who desire interrogation or instruction (which were, after all, primary
purposes underlying the sacrament’s institution) should be tersely told to go and hear a preacher. In short, “the confessor
should conduct himself so that the sons and daughters of confession should not think that he has a good opinion of them and
should be terrified to approach him.”
¹⁴⁶
Christ’s subsequent indictment of a woman who accidentally smothered her child, presumably while sleeping in the same bed,
is more intransigent still. Dorothea is instructed to reproach John for succumbing to the woman’s entreaties and assigning
only private penance for this publicly known crime. Assessing the penitent as insufficiently contrite, John was required to
address her as follows: “ ‘Ah, you poor and wretched person, how can you, situated in such great tribulation, come to me so
cold and barely contrite for sins so grave and horrible? . . . What happened to you is a great evil, to be lamented fully
with heartfelt sadness from the depths of the heart. And I, if I were able, would gladly wish you to pour out tears of blood
weeping.’ When arguing these points with her, you ought to have appeared serious and impatient and to have shown bitterness
in your gestures and words, and thus to have incited her to the heartfelt sorrow of penance.”
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