Sin is not desire. The glutton who hungers, the celibate who feels sexual appetite, the monk who is tempted to anger — none of these experiences constitutes sin in Abelard's framework. Desire belongs to nature, not to morality. Nor is sin the performance of a prohibited act, because the same act (killing a man, for example) can be murder or execution or just self-defence depending on the circumstances and the agent's knowledge. The list of things that are not yet sin is surprisingly long.
What makes an act sinful, Abelard argues, is that it expresses contempt for God — a knowing disregard for what God has commanded or what conscience has identified as obligatory. This is a strong definition. It implies that sin is not weakness or error but a kind of defiance: the will choosing, in full awareness, to override what it recognises as its obligation. Weak-willed acts performed without genuine consent, acts performed in invincible ignorance, acts compelled by force — none of these qualify as sin in the strict sense.
If sin resides entirely in consent and intention, then punishment must track intention rather than outcome. Abelard is not primarily concerned with criminal justice, but the principle has implications: two people who perform the same act with different intentions deserve different responses. More importantly, mercy must be calibrated to the inner state. A person who sinned without full knowledge deserves correction rather than condemnation. The juridical model of fixed penalties for fixed acts misses the only thing that matters morally.
Abelard's definition of sin as contempt for God (contemptus Dei) was controversial on two grounds: it seemed to excuse many sins of ignorance, and it risked trivialising the objective weight of moral law. Thomas Aquinas would later qualify Abelard's position by reintroducing a role for the objective nature of the act alongside the agent's intention.
