Ecstasy, Chastity, and Violence: Power and Powerlessness in Holy Women’s Sexual Rhetoric

and Practices

Lauren Croteau

HIST 3930

Professor Huesman

April 19, 2018

 1

Medieval women were largely expected to be silent – even those in religious orders and

convents were barred from preaching. The justification for this silence was the belief that women

were inherently sexual creatures whose mere words “would stimulate lust in their listeners.”1

With patriarchy reducing women to their sexuality in an attempt at subjugation, it is not unusual

that their writings and lives also emphasize this sexuality, whether they are indulging it with

Christ or withholding it from mortal men. Chaste holy women describe rapture and ecstasy in

almost explicitly sexual language. At the same time, these experiences are riddled with violence.

The correlation of sexuality and violence suggests that perhaps women’s open discussion of

sexual experiences with God are allowed because in these visions they are still violently

subjugated by the male figure of Christ. Although this may be part of it, the presence of

eroticized violence is also representative of women’s awareness of the sexual violence around

them and men’s opinions of them. At the same time, holy women were often able to use their

chastity to their advantage in leveraging with men, as it was often a testament to their spiritual

authority. Although sexuality was used to oppress women, many holy women used popular

expectations about their sexuality in order to subvert patriarchal norms and assert their power

and agency.

Women mystics’ accounts of their ecstasies were full of surprisingly sexual language and

imagery. To contextualize this phenomena, “bridal mysticism,” in which “humanity is not

conceived as abstract or genderless. Body and soul, rationality and the senses are described as

gendered as much as the divine is gendered as father and bridegroom,” was a popular tool of

both women writers and their male contemporaries.2 Teresa of Avila’s experience of rapture is

1
Jo Anne McNamara, “The Rhetoric of Orthodoxy,” In Maps of Flesh and Light: The Religious Experience of
Medieval Women Mystics, edited by Ulrike Wiethaus, (New York: Syracuse University Press, 1993), 10.
2
Wiethaus, Ulrike, “Sexuality, Gender, and the Body in Late Medieval Women's Spirituality: Cases from Germany
and the Netherlands,” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion 7.1 (Spring, 1991): 42.
 2

notoriously sensual, while at the same time containing images of violence. Although Teresa

sometimes wants to resist rapture when she is in public and wishes to be discreet, she recounts

that “it came with greater violence than any other spiritual experience, and left me quite

shattered. Resistance requires a great struggle, and is of little use in the end when the Lord wills

otherwise, for there is no power that can resist His power.”3 Note her use of words like

“violence” and “shattered,” which paint the encounter as an aggressive and harmful one.

Considering the sexual elements of rapture that she describes later in her account, her failed

attempts at resistance are upsetting. As it loomed over much of medieval women’s lives, a threat

of sexual violence is implicitly present here. The trend of violence continues as Teresa describes

her feelings after her rapture: “The pain seems to me enough to cause death; only, I do not

deserve it… I forget everything in my longing to see God; and this abandonment and loneliness

seems better than all the company in the world.”4 Not only does rapture manifest itself violently,

but its aftereffects are similarly detrimental to the holy woman. Teresa isolates herself from

others because her longing for God is so great, as if she is a wife sadly awaiting her husband’s

return.

On a similar note, Teresa describes how “very often the soul is absorbed, or– to put it

better– the Lord absorbs it into Himself.”5 This absorption of the soul requires the destruction of

the raptured one’s soul, following the common trend of self-immolation in holy women’s

visions. In line with the bridal language often seen in holy women’s writings, Teresa’s

description resembles the joining of two souls in Holy Matrimony, with the woman becoming a

part of the man instead of the two sharing equal parts of themselves. Mechthild of Magdeburg

3
St. Teresa of Avila, The Life of Saint Teresa of Avila, translated by J. M. Cohen, (New York: Penguin Books,
1957), 1.
4
St. Teresa of Avila, The Life of Saint Teresa of Avila, 2.
5
St. Teresa of Avila, The Life of Saint Teresa of Avila, 4.
 3

shares a similar sentiment, describing how “the soul becomes as nothing and is so beside herself

that she can do nothing.”6 The female-gendered soul disappears in the holy union between soul

and Christ. The language here is not so explicitly violent as in other descriptions of rapture, but it

still asserts a woman’s self-immolation as a necessary and expected part of rapture with God.

Hadewijch challenges this common view of self-immolation of the soul, describing her

feelings in union with Christ and how “they possess and rejoice in each other mouth in mouth,

heart in heart, body in body, soul in soul, and one sweet divine nature flows through them both,

and both are one through themselves, yet remain themselves, and will always remain so.”7 In her

conception of her soul’s interaction with God, each keeps their separate identity and is enriched

rather than absorbed by the other. She maintains the sexual nature of Teresa’s writing, with

kissing and touching a part of the spiritual experience, but it lacks the physical and spiritual

destruction of the bride. Her words are evidence of the variation in holy women’s experiences, as

mysticism was a highly individualistic practice. Although many women saw the destruction of

the soul as a part of their mystical experience, Hadewijch differs and asserts her own viewpoint

that defends the wholeness of women rather than their perceived weakness and reliance on men.

The most striking portrayal of sexuality and violence from these three holy women is

Teresa’s description of her rapture, in which she encounters an angel: “In his hands I saw a great

golden spear, and at the iron tip there appeared to be a point of fire. This he plunged into my

heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails.”8 Teresa’s account begins with a weapon,

the spear, which then “penetrates” her entrails, in an extremely violent and intimate, almost

sexual act. The fact that the rapture begins with a violent parallel to sexual intercourse reflects a

6
Mechthild of Magdeburg, “The German Mystic,” In Medieval Women Writers, edited by Katharina M. Wilson,
(Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1984), 179.
7
Hadewijch, “The Brabant Mystic,” In Medieval Women Writers, edited by Katharina M. Wilson, (Athens:
University of Georgia Press, 1984), 194.
8
St. Teresa of Avila, The Life of Saint Teresa of Avila, 4.
 4

normalized sexual violence in medieval women’s lives. She continues to describe the experience,

in which “the pain was so severe that it made me utter several moans. The sweetness caused by

this intense pain is so extreme that one cannot possibly wish it to cease, nor is one's soul then

content with anything but God.”9 The emphasis on pain echoes the violence perpetuated at the

beginning of her account. However, she seems to experience an almost masochistic sexual

pleasure. She becomes greedy for this pleasure, discontent when she is not experiencing the pain

God inflicts upon her. The sexual overtones at the beginning of her description manifest here as

more definitively sexual because of the emphasis on pleasure. She adds, “This is not a physical,

but a spiritual pain, though the body has some share in it– even a considerable share.”10 Her

assertion that it is both a spiritual and physical experience lends credence to the assumption that

her experience was at least somewhat sexual. At the same time, the spiritual aspect and the

conception of holy women as brides of Christ makes this sexuality seem natural. Keeping in

mind the bridal imagery so common in these writings, the sacrament of marriage often alluded to

also implies sexual intercourse, which makes Teresa’s most visceral description of rapture seem

more appropriate.

Hadewijch’s description of rapture starkly contrasts Teresa’s experience. It is similar to

the former’s aforementioned optimistic perception of the union of one’s soul with God: “when

their feelings for each other have grown intimate, when they taste, eat, and drink and consume

each other wholly… sometimes when I am blinded with love’s sweetness, when I am tasting and

feeling her, I realize she is enough for me; and sometimes when I am feeling so fulfilled in her

presence, I secretly admit to her that she is enough for me.”11 Hadewijch’s experience with

“love,” or the Divine, is far less violent than Teresa’s, even pleasant. It recalls the sacrament of

9
St. Teresa of Avila, The Life of Saint Teresa of Avila, 4.
10
St. Teresa of Avila, The Life of Saint Teresa of Avila, 4.
11
Hadewijch, “The Brabant Mystic,” 194.
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the Eucharist rather than a horrific interpretation of the sacrament of marriage. Her experience is

a testament to the varying experiences of holy women, and how Eucharistic and eating imagery

was often substituted for, or working in tandem with, bridal imagery.

Wiethaus notes in his analysis of women mystics’ rhetoric that “when describing the

physical ‘symptoms’ of their ecstasies, the women mystics used verbs that indicate the

destruction of corporeal boundaries and the body's integrity: their hearts and blood vessels burst,

the joints come loose, mouth, nostrils, and ears begin to bleed.”12 Although the primary sources

listed here are only a small sample, Teresa’s punctured entrails and Mechthild’s destroyed soul

support Wiethaus’s observation. Hadewijch seems to be an outlier in her positive mystical

experiences, but a testament to some positive experience nonetheless. Additionally, it is

paramount when observing holy women’s rhetoric that one must bear in mind “mystics never

ceased to protect themselves with judicious self-censorship.”13 Holy women’s words were

rhetorically self-censored to submit to misogynistic medieval ideology, as well as often censored

by their confessors. Although their words almost seem to accept a world of sexualized violence,

it was often the influence those words granted as well as their own chastity that saved them from

physical sexual violence.

Having considered holy women’s writings on sexuality, one would be remiss to leave out

their practices regarding sexuality. It is important to note, however, that there is an intersection in

writing and practice of sexuality, for one informs the other. Mechthild expertly demonstrates this

intersection in some of her writing, in which she explains her “treasure” to God: “Lord, it is

called my heart’s desire! I have withdrawn it from the world, preserved it in myself, and denied

it to all creatures… You shall lay your heart’s desire nowhere but in My divine heart and on My

12
Wiethaus, Ulrike, “Sexuality, Gender, and the Body in Late Medieval Women's Spirituality: Cases from Germany
and the Netherlands,” 43.
13
Jo Anne McNamara, “The Rhetoric of Orthodoxy,” 13.
 6

human breast. There alone will you be comforted and kissed by My spirit.”14 A treasure of desire

that she has “preserved” and “denied” is more than likely referring to her practice of chastity.

The Lord appreciates this chastity but, at the same time, seeks to end it with kisses and with

touching of His human form. He explicitly deconstructs the often spiritual understanding of such

sensual language with confirmation that He intends to touch her with His human form. However,

this touching is still couched in bridal language which contributes to its acceptability. This

strange intermingling of physical chastity with God’s physical temptation exemplifies the

contradictory and complex nature of holy women’s sexuality as they struggle to separate

themselves from the physical and sexual world but are required by contemporary conventions to

speak in such terms.

Chastity was a necessary trait for holy women, with exceptions being made for married

women and widows. At the same time, some women who subverted their marriage vows in favor

of chastity within marriage gained a reputation for being doubly holy. Chastity within marriage,

however, was more complex as, “according to the teachings of the church, neither spouse was

allowed to deny the other sexual intercourse… But to avoid sex not simply by denying one’s

spouse’s needs, but rather by persuading the spouse to the ideal of chastity, was a higher good.”15

Jacques de Vitry praises Marie d’Oignies for her impressive commitment to chastity as a display

of the latter, in which she agreed with her husband John to be chaste despite their marriage. De

Vitry’s characterization of Marie’s chaste union with her husband is not only a veneration of

Marie, but also a tool to combat heresy: “Here lies an implicit distinction between the Catharist

desire for chastity based on the belief that procreation only contributes to the evil in the material

world and John’s agreement, which is divinely inspired and generated by his natural

14
Mechthild of Magdeburg, “The German Mystic,” 179.
15
Ruth Mazo Kurraz, “The Sexuality of Chastity,” In Sexuality in Medieval Europe: Doing Unto Others, (New
York: Routledge, 2017), 60.
 7

goodness.”16 Because Marie was living at the same time as the Catharist heresy, her

hagiographer used her as an example for others to specifically combat Cathar beliefs on sexuality

by showing the benefits and beauty of voluntary chastity as an act to honor God. Marie’s place as

exemplum in this story allows her power, influence, and credibility which she has garnered

through her conscious decision to assert a sexuality of chastity.

Conversely, chaste women’s sexual writing such as those of Hadewijch and Teresa could

have also been permissible as counters to heresy. Since “Cathars rejected the sacraments as

vehicles of salvation and denied the loss of purity after initiation could ever be retrieved through

penitence,” women's sexual writings that often mirrored the sacrament of the Eucharist or

marriage effectively posed a threat to heretical denial of the sacraments. Marie holds another

point of authority in rejecting heresy that seems counter to church doctrine, as her pursuit of

chastity in marriage was part of a larger pursuit of bodily purity. While Cathar heretics believed

the body was impure, ”orthodox theology was similarly inclined to divorce the pure spirit from

the corrupt flesh, reinforcing the inherent misogyny by identifying women with the flesh.”17

Marie’s example of purity proved to be a tool to combat heresy, but at the same time battled with

the misogyny in orthodox perceptions of the physical. Since the physical body was considered

the realm of women, Marie’s bodily purity could be a testament to her spiritual purity. By

presenting themselves as fighters of heresy, be it through sexual bridal language or zealous

pursuits of chastity, women were able to use contemporary concerns of heresy to earn

themselves greater autonomy.

Chastity and violence Although chastity was sometimes a tool women could use to

escape the control of men, it was still a tool of oppression. Because of the aforementioned Cathar

16
Patricia Deery Kurtz, “Mary of Oignies, Christine the Marvelous, and Medieval Heresy,” Mystics Quarterly 14.4
(1988): 190.
17
Jo Anne McNamara, “The Rhetoric of Orthodoxy,” 13-14.
 8

heresy, in which “several heretical sects argued that all flesh and all sexual experience were

evil,” laypeople who were committed to chastity could be suspected of heresy.18 In one

particularly upsetting instance of these false accusations, “... Gervase of Tilbury accused a young

woman in Reims of heresy. His evidence was that when he had propositioned her, she had

refused to have sex with him ‘because if I lose my virginity and my flesh once becomes corrupt,

without a doubt I should be subject to eternal damnation with no remedy.’”19 The accusations of

a rejected clergyman, someone who should have been chaste as well, led to the woman being

executed. This instance underscores the subjectivity of heresy and how heresy was defined

specifically in relation to the Catholic church and, on an even smaller level, the whims of the

clergymen in one’s diocese. On a more specific level, the woman’s death signifies the precarious

place women occupied as sexual objects in a patriarchal world. Less tragic but still concerning is

the story of a holy woman names Yvette of Huy who, pursued by a lustful priest whose advances

she denied, “was accused of an unseemly interest in his company” because authority and

credibility was always given to the male, even if he was a predator.20 Even if they were not killed

for their rejection of men, sexuality was often used to silence women in one way or another.

Although some women were able to utilize sexuality to their advantage, others died because of it.

Not all holy women fell on the extreme level of fatal rejection for their choice of chastity,

but one common thread is a looming possibility of violence. Christine of Marykate, a laywoman

who desired a life of chastity, faced difficulties when her parents “went so far as to encourage

her fiancé to rape her. She managed to convert him on their wedding night to a chaste

marriage.”21 Christine’s story is not uncommon, as Blanton notes in her discussion of tropes

18
Kurraz, “The Sexuality of Chastity,” 58.
19
Kurraz, “The Sexuality of Chastity,” 58.
20
Jo Anne McNamara, “The Rhetoric of Orthodoxy,” 11.
21
Kurraz, “The Sexuality of Chastity,” 57-8.
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regarding holy women’s chastity: “Some, like the story of Saint Agnes, recount a virgin's ability

to thwart a pagan suitor's sexual desire and, despite a bar rage of bodily tortures and the threat of

violent death, retain her purity and her faith. Others, such as the story of Saint Cecilia, focus on a

forced alliance whereby a devout virgin is compelled to marry but is able to persuade her

husband to live in chastity.”22 Although Christine luckily convinced her husband to make their

marriage chaste and later pursued a life away from him as a holy woman, her ability to live this

life was granted only by her sympathetic husband. After emphasizing the constant threats of

sexual violence women faced, McNamara notes that “Adelgeid de Sigozheim preserved her

virginity through twenty years of marriage to a man who retaliated by beating and humiliating

her,” indicating that not all women were not as lucky as Christine.23 Once chaste, women could

express some agency in controlling their sexuality and sometimes leaving their husbands for a

religious life, but, seeing as many women were required by their parents to marry, the permission

of the husband was necessary for any of these events to transpire.

Some women, however, used their chastity in tandem with their spiritual authority to

defend themselves from such advances and violence. Marie d’Oignies exemplifies the power of

chastity and religious authority in her relationship with her confessor Jacques de Vitry. The

priest once touched her hand and felt a sexual desire well up within himself, but after this

incident, Marie heard the voice of God saying, “do not touch me,” a message she relayed to de

Vitry with the qualifier that she did not know what the words meant. De Vitry thought her

ignorant, but Brown believes otherwise, stating that, “By claiming ignorance of the words while

still stating them, Marie managed simultaneously to remove herself from a sexually charged

situation with her confessor and to preserve his reputation and dignity, saving him from

22
Virginia Blanton, “Chaste Marriage, Sexual Desire, and Christian Martyrdom in La vie seinte Andrée,” Journal of
the History of Sexuality 19.1 (January 2010): 94.
23
Jo Anne McNamara, “The Rhetoric of Orthodoxy,” 14.
 10

shame.”24 This claim supports the idea that holy women were rhetorically savvy, since they had

to be in a patriarchal world. Seeing how other women had been silenced or killed for rejecting

holy men’s advances, Marie’s strategy in feigning ignorance while using her religious authority

to protect her chastity allowed her to simultaneously assert herself while appearing the

patriarchal image of the humble and naive woman.

In his vita of Marie, de Vitry describes her passion and self-punishment she suffered once

she moved away from her parents. Brown notes his description contains “words that out of

context would seem to apply to a woman's lust for her husband (‘she was now set on fire with

such an ecstasy of ardour’) actually showed that Marie's lust was for God… Marie answered the

fire in her soul with the mortification of her flesh.”25 Despite her insistence on chastity, she

necessarily occupied a sexualized place not only in de Vitry’s mind, but also in contemporary

conceptions of women. Her fervor was not necessarily sexual but because she was largely

defined by men who thought of her as sexual, that was how she was perceived. Likewise,

because the language used about women was sexual, the women used by women was also

sexual. Whether or not Marie’s feelings towards God were lustful, she physically hurt herself in

the name of chastity and purity, as many other holy women did. The sexual violence self-

contained in holy women’s rapturous visions is a result of the gendered discourse of the time, but

those visions ultimately recreate the conditions that caused them in a self-perpetuating cycle.

Although holy women’s writings were full of implications of the violence that was ever-

present in their everyday lives, the use of chastity as a tool to avoid this violence and assert their

power in situations where they may otherwise be powerless demonstrates a certain agency in and

awareness of their place in society. Violence and sexuality in rapture were common and

24
Jennifer N. Brown, “The Chaste Erotics of Marie d'Oignies and Jacques de Vitry,” Journal of the History of
Sexuality 19.1 (January 2010): 78-9.
25
Jennifer N. Brown, “The Chaste Erotics of Marie d'Oignies and Jacques de Vitry,” 82.
 11

upsetting themes, but some holy women like Hadewijch subverted those tropes with lighter,

more loving language of her own. Language of eroticized sexuality also represented how men

saw women and how women, in turn, had to strategically present themselves lest they risk being

ostracized. Women’s rhetoric reflected their vulnerable position in society. Often, no matter how

hard they tried, that violence would be recreated in their own lives. Some were persecuted for

their decision of chastity, while others physically punished themselves to prove their chastity.

Holy women used tropes of the spiritual bride and incredible chastity to their advantage in

exercises of influence and subversion, but appropriating misogynistic tools of oppression as a

source of power certainly had its limitations.

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Bibliography

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Andrée,” Journal of the History of Sexuality 19.1 (January 2010): 94-114.

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