Liber de Triplici Regione Claustralium et Spirituali Exercitio Monachorum

On the Threefold Region of Cloister-dwellers and the Spiritual Exercise of Monks

Contents of this book:

Book on the threefold region of cloistered persons and on what sort of exercise belongs to monks, by Johannes Trithemius. A compendium concerning what sort of exercise belongs to cloistered persons, etc. [unclear]

Conclusions concerning the Seven Sacraments, drawn from Saint Thomas Aquinas and other doctors, in the form of a dialogue.

A final mirror [unclear], of the good and of the evil, by Raynaldus of our order.

A treatise on simony, by Johannes [unclear], divided into three parts.

Johannes Trithemius 199. D.

Book on the threefold region of cloistered persons and the spiritual exercise of monks, no less useful than necessary for all religious.

With Johannes Trithemius, abbot of Sponheim, revising the little work.

[unclear], prior of the Augustinian monastery, offered this book [unclear] under Abbot Hamricus, in the year 1500. It is [unclear], and there are 13 quires.

Letter of Johannes Trithemius, abbot of Sponheim, on the little work On the Threefold Region of Cloistered Persons.

To the reverend fathers in Christ, the lord presidents, definitors, and the other abbots of the annual chapter of the Order of Saint Benedict, of the Bursfeld union and observance: Brother Johannes Trithemius, called abbot at Sponheim, of the same order and congregation, in the diocese of Mainz, offers reverence and charity.

I have obeyed your commands, most venerable fathers, and, as you instructed me, I undertook to correct the little work on the threefold region of cloistered persons together with the spiritual exercise of monks, recently edited by the venerable father Lord Johannes, abbot of Bursfelde. And indeed, if your authority had not compelled me, I would never have dared to set my hand to the distinguished work of so great a father, who, it is agreed, is far more learned and holier than I, and wrote it excellently. For what was I to correct, where everything is found most approved? That good and devout man wrote no otherwise than as he wished and as was fitting.

Nevertheless, in order to satisfy both your command and the prayers of the author himself, I rendered the whole little work in briefer, though not fewer, sentences, and, while remaining faithful to its sense, I brought it as far as I could into my own manner and style of writing. I preserved the order and matter of the earlier volume, but entirely changed its form and manner of expression. In almost every place I added many things that seemed useful to me; I removed a few; in individual passages I altered the words, not the meaning. Your command gave me the courage to do this, and the insistent request of the aforesaid father fully persuaded me. For you wished me to make a new work out of old material, to add whatever seemed suitable to me, to cut away superfluities, and to alter what needed changing. I did what I could; I obeyed your commands; according to the powers of my intellect I completed, by rewriting, the work assigned to me.

Now therefore, most beloved fathers, receive a work that is not mine but yours, not composed by me but rather rewritten. If the labor pleases you, praise the talent of the aforesaid father; but if, because of its worthlessness, it displeases you, correct my imperfection. I had excellent material for spiritual edification from another's resources, but through my inexperience I have built an inept structure. If I have been made a fool, you compelled me. Therefore, whether the work pleases or displeases, it has been easier for me, by writing ineptly, to take up your command obediently than, against obedience, to keep silence. Yet I trust, not in my own merits but in another's, that a work brought forth by charity will displease no one who loves God.

I pray that your fatherhoods may remain forever blessed in Christ. From Sponheim, the eighth day before the Kalends of September, in the year of the Lord's incarnation 1497.

and renew the condition of our mind to the fervor of the holy purpose. Whoever omits the exercise of daily instruction falls into a depth of torpor, as the wise man says in Ecclesiasticus: “If you do not hold yourself steadfastly in the fear of the Lord, your house will soon be overthrown,” by which he means a good conscience. For the provision of this exercise, so useful and so necessary, you see that the Rule of our most holy father Benedict is sufficient for a monk, since it is known to contain all the material of exercises, both spiritual and bodily, necessary for monks in guarding regular discipline. And therefore all the exercises of monks must be humbly submitted to the constitutions of the Rule, because whatever either we or others prescribe for the instruction of monks, the whole of it is directed toward the observance of the monastic norm. For the sum of our religion, which is acquired by the continuation of spiritual exercise, is contained in the Rule of monastic tradition as if in a root and compendium. Therefore every spiritual or bodily exercise of monks by which the mind is led, out of love, to humble obedience and self-denial is conformed to the institutions of the holy Rule; and insofar as it is recognized as presenting the monk first to God as good and humble, so far does it oppose the pursuits of proud contempt. The holy mysteries of this exercise direct the mind of their practitioner, by an invisible teaching, to the love of God and to its proper end along a secure path; they wondrously acquire the grace of inward devotion and make the monk despise all earthly things as nothing and burn sweetly at all times in the fervor of the spirit. The animal man does not grasp this salutary exercise of devotion; the vain and curious monk does not understand this study; the proud do not admit this knowledge, to be preferred to all things. Happy is the one who has learned to penetrate the secrets of this exercise; happy too is the one who has deserved to receive from the Lord this gift of holy compunction, for whoever has once perfectly obtained it will fear no adversities of this world. But that exercise which, deprived of its proper end, does not direct the minds of cloistered persons to the observance of the commandments of the Rule does not infuse the holy spirit of discipline, because where the obedience of subjection is despised, no gift is less accepted by almighty God.

For it is written: “Obedience is better than victims, and to listen is better than to offer fat.” And although there are found many little works on spiritual exercise composed by various people, nevertheless not all things suit everyone. It has therefore seemed good to us also to publish something in keeping with the Rule of our most holy father Benedict, by which we may more nearly and intimately stir ourselves to the purity of regular observance. And so we have divided the present little work, collected from the exercises of the excellent father Theoderic, once abbot of the monastery of Bursfelde, into two principal parts: the first is placed in consideration of monastic institution; the second is occupied with the exercise of the spiritual life. In the first it bids you know yourself; in the second, to lift your mind from earthly things to heavenly things. Therefore, approaching the proposed consideration according to our powers, we have divided the first treatise into three parts, according to the threefold state of cloistered persons, whom we may call first sensual, second rational, and third spiritual. From this threefold state of good persons we take a fitting title for this work, which we name On the Threefold Region of Cloistered Persons. In these three regions the whole crowd of monks is included, as will be said in what follows.

On the first region of the soul, in which carnal monks live with the beasts, disordered by many passions, dwelling sensually in the lowest region

The first region of the soul, then, is called sensual, lowest, and animal; in it the roots of all evils are contained. In this dark region, men placed among the beasts share in their kind, for they observe, as I might say, bestial habits, since they grant either nothing or very little to reason, but concede everything to sensuality like beasts. For in this lowest region three sensual powers of the soul preside: the first, the sensitive power, is diffused about the objects of the five exterior senses; the second, the concupiscible power, delights in carnal things; the third, the irascible power And this lowest region is compared to the airy heaven, because just as hail, snow, lightning, and various storms are generated in the air, so also in the minds of carnal men inhabiting this dark region various storms of vices follow. Woe to carnal monks who inhabit this dark region, in which the movement of crimes is frequent and the storm of pleasures continual.

These are monks given over to animal passions, who subject reason to sensuality, who live according to the flesh in bestial desires. Now the works of the flesh in one dwelling in this lowest region are manifest: fornication, uncleanness, shamelessness, luxury, service of idols, sorceries, enmities, rivalries, wrath, quarrels, dissensions, sects, envies, murders, drunkenness, feasting, and things like these. Concerning them the holy apostle proclaims that those who do such things will not obtain the kingdom of God.

These are the marks of the works of the lowest region; these are the deadly storms of the minds of carnal monks, who live irreligiously in religion, who despise the traditions of the holy fathers, who contemptuously scorn the precepts handed down by elders. These are the unclean inhabitants of the lowest region, given over to vices and carnal desires, who do not care to have God in their knowledge, who serve the pleasures of the flesh, who stubbornly break the vow of holy religion which they have professed, who, scorning the salvation of their souls, despise following when the grace of God calls.

Therefore he gave them over to a reprobate sense and to false judgment, so that they judge evil to be good, and falsely think that the things which in truth are worst are the best. These are those about whom the holy apostle prophesied: carnal monks, whisperers, detractors, hateful to God, insulting, proud, puffed up, inventors of evils, disobedient to superiors, foolish, disorderly, without affection, without covenant, without mercy, filled with all iniquity, malice, wickedness, contention, deceit, and malignity. Although they know the justice of God, they do not wish to understand that those who do such things are worthy of perpetual death; and not only those who do them, but also those who consent to those who do them, and those who, by reason of their office, in no way oppose evil pursuits.

For indeed the ruler of souls who does not correct his erring subjects entangles himself in damnation for the crimes of others; by silence he becomes the accomplice of those whose faults damnation will follow. For whoever, placed as pastor of souls, neglects to correct sinners according to canonical rule, even if he is free from his own fault, will nevertheless be condemned before the strict judge for another’s guilt.

For the supreme shepherd says to the prophet: “Son of man, I have made you a watchman for the house of Israel; and you shall hear the word from my mouth, and shall announce it to them from me. If, when I say to the wicked man, ‘You shall surely die,’ you do not announce it to him, nor speak so that he may turn from his wicked way and live, that wicked man shall indeed die in his iniquity; but I will require his blood from your hand.” And our blessed father says in the Rule: “Let the abbot know that the fault of the shepherd will fall upon him if the father of the household has been able to find any lack of profit in his sheep.”

O sentence to be feared by all spiritual pastors, by which not only the depraved conduct of subjects is ascribed to the ruler, but he is held guilty before the inner judge even for their lesser progress. O what shall we wretched pastors say in that strict examination, we who neglect to correct according to the rule the monks committed to us when they err in many ways; who do not call those lying in the lowest region to higher things, but, carnal with carnal men, grow sluggish in the shadow of death through pernicious idleness?

Woe to all who remain in this dark region; for unless they do penance, they must be assigned with those who inhabit the outer darkness, where no order dwells, but everlasting horror. Therefore, just as monks who walk according to the rule in the spirit are to be happily crowned without end in heaven with the holy angels, so those who persevere until death in this lowest region of the flesh, contrary to the norm of monastic institution, worse than pagans, are to be eternally tormented in hell with demons.

For that blessed man truly says: “Just as I have never seen any better than those who have made progress in the monastery, so I have never found any worse than those who have failed in the monastery.” For the monastic profession requires the perfection of the spiritual life and tends, as to its proper end, toward the summit of the virtues. But the more anyone slackens from this effort of making progress in monastic life, The more, however, anyone placed in a monastery has fallen away from this effort to make progress, the farther he withdraws from the purpose of a monk.

How the carnal monks, citizens of this lowest region, are disordered in many articles

Although the description of this lowest region applies generally to all carnal men who abide in sins and crimes with the moral beasts, nevertheless, so that we may tend to our own affairs, we intend to speak of lukewarm and carnal cloisterers, doing no injury at all to the good and devout. For always and in all things we wish the conduct of good cloisterers to remain untouched and unharmed whenever we discuss the evil pursuits of the wicked. Therefore we rebuke evil cloisterers and corrupt morals, while everywhere honoring and praising the good, as is fitting. And what else but evil can we say about the evil, in whom we find no good things to speak of? They live disorderly in a holy order; they despise the traditions of the elders; they do not admit words of salvation. Indeed, so great is the disorder of the monks of the lowest region that, in my judgment, it would be easier to convert a publican than to recall a disorderly monk to repentance. We comprehend this disorder of carnal monks in eight articles, although we are not unaware that they are disordered in many other matters.

First, the beast-like monks, citizens of this lowest region, are disordered toward God; next, toward their own prelate; third, the prelate toward his subjects; fourth, the members toward one another; again, fifth, they are disordered toward themselves; then toward the goods of the monastery; seventh, toward contempt of the world; and finally toward repentance for sin. These are the principal disorders of the citizens of the lowest region; these are the beast-like affections of carnal monks, who dwell in the lowest things in mind and body, and do not hasten to make progress toward the highest things. Therefore I shall take care to set out briefly, in order, these disordered conditions of the lowest region, and to demonstrate as best I can how far carnal monks are from God. Ps. 118.v. For, as the prophet says, salvation is far from sinners.

How the citizens of this lowest region are disordered toward God. Article 1

Therefore the carnal monks of this lowest region, its mad inhabitants, are in many ways disordered toward God. They do not feel the sweetness of his love; they admit no compunction of divine fear; beast-like and swollen in their affections, they are at all times unclean in their carnal pleasures.

And first, their disorder toward God takes its origin from ignorance: for, being given over to animal passions, they do not care to have God in their knowledge, nor do they consent to think in their mind about those things that lead to fear of him; instead, blinded by evil desires, they become vain in their thoughts. But what does Scripture say? “He who is ignorant shall be ignored.” They do not wish to understand so that they may act well; they do not fear before the face of the strict judge; without repentance they constantly persist in evil. Indeed, after the manner of beasts they do not fear to rot in their pleasures; they pay no heed to the patience of God calling them to repentance; they seek nothing except the comforts of their own flesh. At all times they walk in the greatest sins without any fear; they stubbornly refuse to know the ways of the Lord. Of the future judgment they think either nothing or little; they do not fear the punishments prepared in hell for sinners; the grace of compunction never pierces their hearts, since the love of God does not inflame their minds. They have no concern for God, and no dread of death. They obey the belly more than God; at all times they desire to live according to the flesh; and while they shamefully neglect their own salvation, they descend to hell with the demons. Indeed, those who, forgetful of God, badly keep the vow of the holy monastic way of life do not reach the rewards of heavenly life to be granted to the just.

Second, carnal monks are disordered toward God by a foolish profession: for they promise to live according to the rule, yet they do not truly care to fulfill this. And what is more disordered than to promise a holy life to the one God and then remain in the filth of one’s former life? Whoever persists in a monastery otherwise than the monastic rule teaches is a mockery of almighty God, not a monk.

We see that many today among cloistered persons live in a worldly manner; we see more of them neglecting the purpose of their profession; they violate the observance of regular discipline in various ways; they knowingly disregard the goodness of God; they refuse to do penance.

Third, many cloistered persons of this lowest region are disordered toward God because of negligence in the service due to him. They serve their own affections and carnal desires in various ways, and they always approach the service of God with a distracted mind. Among them, some run lukewarmly to choir without any devotion; others come unwillingly, compelled by necessity; certain others, scattered by outward thoughts, are present bodily at the divine offices, but in mind they wander outside through various workshops. Others are not afraid to seek false occasions by which they may, as if plausibly, absent themselves from choir. Now they feign a grave headache; now they mendaciously allege this or that, and deceitfully withdraw the service owed to almighty God; they incur the reproach of eternal malediction owed to the negligent.

Fourth, very many are disordered toward God because of the working of habit. Although at times they are free from the malediction of the negligent, nevertheless they never approach the fruit of inward devotion. For they approach the service of God from habit alone, and are not moved to any good work by devotion. Others, placed under grave necessity, obey the commands of their superiors unwillingly enough, and fear temporal punishments rather than the judgment of God. These carry the Lord’s cross with Simon under compulsion, and, like a heifer of Ephraim taught to tread out the grain, they devote themselves to good works by habit alone. But those who approach the service of God with an improper intention do not do good well. Indeed, they perform just deeds without the reward of justice, because in good and just works they do not take up a good will.

Fifth, the citizens of the lowest region are disordered toward God through the vice of ingratitude, which is the greatest crime of a disordered will. Often, indeed, a person who is found ungrateful to the Lord for benefits received is, by his own demerit, exposed to chastisement by various and very grave temptations. And therefore he who neglects to show himself grateful to so great a benefactor deserves to lose the benefit he has received.

And what greater ingratitude can there be than to live irreligiously in religion, to break one’s vow, shamefully to violate the purpose solemnly assumed? And a monk who entangles himself in carnal vices, who neglects to live according to the Rule he has professed, willingly incurs the greatest vice of ingratitude.

How the monks of this lowest region are disordered toward their prelate

Article II

Carnal monks are disordered in many ways toward their prelate. They tear his life apart with constant detractions; with a stubborn heart they disparage his pastoral office; they refuse, according to the Rule, to show the affection of filial love to their pastor. For monks of this lowest region, blinded by various pleasures of the flesh, disdain to consider whose place the abbot holds in the monastery; and the man whom they ought humbly to venerate as Christ’s vicar, they regard, because of weakness, as one like themselves and worthy of no honor. Under the snare of this disordered way of life, the ancient enemy deceives carnal monks, whom he leads in various ways into displeasure with their pastor. For the greatest power of raging against the monastic flock is granted to the devil when the one who is set over it is hated by his subjects. For just as a sick man who refuses to come because he detests the physician cannot be healed, so a monk who, on account of aversion, does not wish to reveal his temptations to his pastor cannot be saved. For how will anyone be able to escape the diseased teeth of the ravening wolf, if he cannot bear the presence of the pastor?

First, therefore, disordered monks disparage the life of their pastor; they stubbornly accuse both his deeds and his words, because, when they see their ruler walking according to the traditions of the holy fathers, they fear being corrected in their own depravity. For among reprobate minds the life of the good is always drawn into suspicion; they are always tormented by envy at the virtues of others; and a monk who voluntarily subjects himself to vices by sinning always hates a pastor of purified conduct.

he always hates a pastor of purified conduct.

Second, the citizens of this dark region are disordered toward their prelates when they disparage his office, though they know that he has been ordained by God to preside in the monastery. On slight occasion they murmur against him; they do not observe his commands; and those who had long ago subjected themselves, for the love of God, to the arms of holy obedience now, after the fashion of Sarabaites, despise obedience and usurp for their own wills a dominion ruinous to themselves. They desire to have an abbot suited to their corrupt morals; one holy and useful they reject. If they find a lax and idle pastor, they intoxicate many with the poisons of flattery; they call him the best and most loving father; they subject themselves to him not humbly but gladly, since they fear from him no correction of their depravity.

Third, carnal monks show themselves disordered toward their pastors when they withdraw from them the affection of filial love and despise obedience according to the Rule. Yet since a monk is bound to love his abbot, as Christ’s vicar, with sincere affection, he cannot hate him without the gravest crime. Indeed, whoever does not love his pastor for the love of Christ is no true lover of God. For Christ, who wills even enemies to be loved, how would he permit his vicars to be hated? Therefore look to him who wished your abbot to be in his place for you, and from now on there will be no cause of displeasure against him.

Fourth, the disordered citizens of the shadowy valley detract from the reverence due to their pastor when they not only scorn to render him the honor due by the Rule, but, what is worse, do not even fear to inflict insult on him. For the Rule teaches that the abbot bears Christ’s place in the monastery, and that all monks ought humbly to obey him as Christ himself, because obedience rendered to superiors is shown to Christ. But perverse cloisterers, always ungrateful for the presidency of prelates, do not fear obstinately to oppose the divine ordinance; they scorn to obey the commands of the holy Rule; and by hatred and detraction they dishonor their abbot, to whom they ought to have shown every reverence. Whatever he has done, whatever he has ordained, whatever he has said, is at once badly done, and with contempt for his conduct and office they seek nothing more than the confusion of their pastor, like diseased sheep. Some of these judge and despise their abbot in secret; others contradict him to his face. And while they neglect to show reverence to their pastor, they confound every observance of discipline. Pride is always familiar to such men, and foulness, the friend of the flesh, because those who voluntarily withdraw themselves from affection for their pastor fall into abominable temptations and the worst crimes. For whoever despises Christ’s vicar in the monastery hands over to the devil the power to rage in him, and confounds the unity of the mystical body.

Fifth, carnal monks are disordered toward their pastor and detract from his authority when they think that nothing is permitted to him in the monastery unless they themselves have consented. With necks raised up, they despise the virtue of humility; they spurn regular subjection; they scorn to yield to their betters. They wish to insert themselves into all business and cases, to usurp for themselves the primacy of counsel, so that the abbot dares to do or arrange nothing unless the business first proceeds with their consent. But what does the blessed lawgiver Benedict say in the Rule? “Having heard,” he says, “the counsel of the brothers, let the abbot consider it within himself, and let him do what he has judged more useful.” And again: “Let the brothers give counsel with all humble subjection, so that they do not presume stubbornly to defend what has seemed good to them; rather, let it depend on the abbot’s judgment, so that all may obey what he has judged more salutary.” And again, concerning the ordering of ranks, he says the opposite: “We think it expedient, for the preservation of charity and peace, that the ordering of his monastery depend on the abbot’s judgment.” This useful ordering concerns the appointment and removal of all the officials of the monastery, which requires not the consent of the brothers but the counsel of those who fear God. Finally, the Rule commands that in all things one act according to the will of the abbot, and that nothing at all be presumed which has not been enjoined by him. Carnal monks, rash usurpers of their own will, attack this authority of his in various ways.

Cap. 49. They try in various ways to break his authority, and to disturb the order and charity of the whole monastery, since they think that the ruler should do nothing except what they themselves consider right. But tell me, proud worshipers of the lowest region, who always decide by your own will and usurp another's right for yourselves: is this the virtue of obedience, to refuse to yield to the command of a superior, but stubbornly to cling to one's own judgment? The holy father did not establish this way of living for you in the Rule, for he commanded you to follow the will of the abbot in all things. For obedience is the greatest virtue of a monk, and our holy father wished to commend it so highly that he said a good work lacks merit without the abbot's will. Hence, giving instruction, he concludes thus: “Since therefore all things are to be done with the abbot's will, let no one in the monastery follow the will of his own heart.”

But if the prudence of the ruler seems insufficient for the ordering of the monastery, the blame must be laid on the carnal monks, who voluntarily set over themselves one who was not suitable. Folly always hates prudence, and wicked monks detest a wise abbot. Therefore anyone who knowingly sets a fool over himself must necessarily be subject to his ordering and his will. Indeed, no insufficiency of the pastor ought to extinguish the obedience of subjects, since the Rule commands us to obey even one who is useless. For it says: “Obedience is to be given in all things to the abbot's commands, even if, God forbid, he himself acts otherwise.”

But when we rebuke their disobedience, carnal monks object: “We do these things with a right and good intention, because we see the substance of the monastery perishing through bad governance.” But the Apostle contradicts you, for evil things are not to be done so that good may come; nor, on account of loss of temporal property, is the subjection of humility to be abandoned. For when there arises a necessity of undergoing either the loss of temporal substance or danger to regular obedience, it is better for the substance to perish than for the purity of obedience to be harmed. For God does not require money from our hands, but souls. Truly, one who is a true monk prefers the virtue of obedience to all the things of the world. But the carnal monks, citizens of this lowest region, wound the virtue of obedience in various ways.

They attack the weapons of holy humility, so that it would seem much easier to instruct monks newly come from the world than to be able to correct the ignorance of those men. But from their fruits we know clearly what sort they are: those who violate peace and charity in the monastery, disturb the concord of unity, sow discord between the brothers and the abbot, and stubbornly refuse obedience to the commands of the Rule. These are the works of evil cloisterers; these are the signs of the lowest citizens: because, as most wicked defenders of their own will, they cast away the weapons of holy obedience, live according to the flesh and not the spirit, defer either nothing or very little to the statutes of the fathers, and do not acquiesce in sound counsels. Their condemnation is just. For just as it is impossible for a blazing fire not to rise upward, so it is impossible for a monk without obedience to penetrate the secrets of heaven.

How the Disorderly Pastors of This Lowest Region Behave

Article III

Since, then, we have shown that very many monks of the lowest region are disorderly toward their pastors, why should we, sparing ourselves, not show what the disorders of prelates are toward their subjects? The name of abbot sanctifies no one, nor does the dignity of pastoral care save the undeserving. Therefore, since many among the prelates dwell on the mountain of the lowest region with the beasts of the earth, they must in no way be passed over by us in silence. For many rulers of cloistered persons show themselves disorderly toward their subjects: not only do they neglect to feed according to the Rule the souls committed to them, but they tear them apart and kill them in various ways. And whenever someone from the lowest region is taken up as pastor, the pursuits of the wicked are strengthened for the worse. Therefore, a good man and one diligent for God should be promoted as abbot: one who has already overcome this lowest region, who has learned to subdue the passions of the flesh, who knows how, and is willing and able, to ascend to that highest region of the spirit. For it is fitting that an abbot of monks be of higher merit than the monks, since whoever is appointed ruler of souls he must necessarily be adorned with many virtues. For if the shepherd, still weak, dwells with his sheep in the lowest region, by neglecting the feeble he kills them; he does not comfort them. For if a blind man offers guidance to the blind, he must necessarily fall into the ditch together with him. But the shepherd who does not show himself ordered toward his subjects according to the Rule must be called not a shepherd but a hireling, and he will not remain forever in the house of the Lord. Many indeed are the disorders of carnal prelates, and they harm the sheep all the more because they are more rarely corrected.

Conditions of the hireling, if he is ordained.

Conditions of the good shepherd.

Second, the shepherd of souls becomes disordered toward his subjects if his mind is too boldly occupied with temporal affairs, if he has greater concern for secular business than for the souls committed to him. Saint Father Benedict forbids this excessive care for temporal things in the Rule, and rightly judges souls and rational beings to be preferred to all worldly goods. “Above all,” he says, “let the abbot not neglect or make light of the salvation of the souls committed to him, and let him not have greater concern for transitory, earthly, and perishable things; but let him always consider that he has undertaken to govern souls, for which he will have to render an account.” Consequently, when the pious father gives assurance concerning the necessities of the body, he does so if one worships God with a pure, loving mind. “And lest perhaps he complain of scant resources,” he says, “let him remember what is written: First seek the kingdom of God and his justice, and all these things will be added to you. And again: Nothing is lacking to those who fear God.”

But the disordered monk-shepherd is led astray by the goad of avarice; blinded by the darkness of a mind that does not perceive, he casts away fear of the Lord. With Ahab, sold under sin, he runs to the aid of wickedness; stripped of confidence in the promises made by the holy father about obtaining necessities, he occupies himself with outward affairs more than is fitting for a monk. Then, driven on by the stings of avarice, he despises the commandments of God and of holy mother Church; he does not keep feast days, but is wholly immersed in earthly affairs; he thinks and meditates on almost nothing else. Like a fool, with Saul he transgresses the Lord’s command; foolishly, he thinks he can atone with sacrifices made against obedience. Finally, swollen and broadened by worldly goods or worldly cares, he very often slips into every kind of wantonness and dissolution; he detests the observance of regular discipline; and, because he fears being restrained from evil pursuits by the authority of the chapter, he seeks the dissolution of holy union. Then, having become reprobate with Saul, he invokes the counsel of the pythoness; he calls the obedience of reform in his monastery damnable; he desires to be absolved as quickly as possible from submission to the holy confederation; and to this end he tells many things falsely and deceitfully. But when the authority of the annual chapter is despised with impunity, there remains [unclear].

so that monastic observance may not be broken; for the love of God keeps the good within discipline according to the Rule, and fear of correction restrains the wicked from evil works. But whoever strives to evade the unity of the chapter imitates the devil. Thus the emperor of the Bulgarians forbids the Christians subject to him, under pain of death, to hold an assembly in church, while nevertheless granting them permission to believe whatever they wish. For that cunning man knows that the sincerity of the Christian faith cannot long subsist if the public office of exhortation happens to be lacking. The disordered and carnal abbot strives, as far as he can, to imitate this adversary of the Christian faith, since he resists the very necessary commands of the chapter. For the authority of the chapter alone maintains the observance of regular discipline in the order; if it is despised, no integrity of monastic life will remain. But the inhabitant of the lowest region, the disordered abbot, invents countless pretexts against regular observance; he falsely claims that the conditions of his monastery are contrary to it; he complains that ancient privileges are being suppressed; he thinks it beneath him for his monastery to be subject to anyone. But woe to the disordered men through whom even one monastery should happen to be lost from this most holy congregation. Finally, this plague of avarice makes the abbot not only disordered toward his subjects, but also opposed to his own self and wholly turned away from God. For covetousness is the root of all evils; taking away a servant of Christ, it makes him a minister of the devil. Therefore the abbot who has subjected his mind to this vice shows himself to be not a shepherd but a hireling. He always gapes after earthly profits; he cares nothing for the advancement of souls; a book of sacred reading is rarely, or never, seen in his hands; the registers of the monastery are turned over more frequently. He joins field to field; he keeps gathering gold and silver to be buried in a chest; and while he excessively desires his monastery to abound in temporal possessions, he prepares booty for plunderers. For the papal treasury often devours the monies of monasteries, which excessive greed brings upon the monks' monastery. Woe to you, greedy pastor of cloistered men, who are more solicitous for brute animals than for the souls entrusted to you.

A horse falls sick and at once you prepare remedies; a soul is endangered and you think no danger threatens anyone. Your ox and ass fall sick and you feel compassion; a brother is swallowed up by sadness and you do not come to his aid. You are therefore a hireling, not a shepherd, who with a stubborn heart despise your brother's infirmities; who do not help one set in bitterness; do not think that you can escape the hand of the Lord, whose sheep you permit to perish so wickedly.

Third, a ruler is disordered toward his subjects when he places outside, not without danger, those whom he ought anxiously to have kept within the enclosures of the monastery. Indeed, when a weak cenobite is exposed to the governance of nuns or to secular churches, the integrity of regular observance is violated, because one who, still dwelling in the lowest region, has not learned to subject the flesh to the spirit does not know how to preside over others without danger to himself. But the disordered pastor who, for the sake of some temporal advantage, is not afraid to expose his monks to so great a danger is guilty of all the souls that perish by such an occasion, and before the eternal Judge he is bound to make restoration for them all. It does not belong to the profession of a monk to govern secular churches; it is not expedient for a weak cenobite to preside over nuns. But what then? Ought a monk to oppose the command of his pastor if that pastor wishes him to reside with nuns or in secular churches? For the Rule commands that nothing is to be preferred to obedience. I truly do not know what I should answer to this question, so as not to incur the danger that is seen to threaten on both sides. For if I say the truth, I shall seem to infringe the obedience of subjection; if I prescribe that monks be exposed to danger, I confess that I sin. Nevertheless, I shall say briefly what I think, although I am not unaware that truth is going to give birth to hatred. Just as a monk, by the necessity of his profession, is bound simply to obey his pastor in all things that are according to the monastic Rule, so a prelate cannot compel a monk, without that monk's own will, to things that are above the Rule, especially when danger to salvation intervenes. But to govern churches, to preside over women, to reside outside the monastery: this is not according to the Rule of obedience. Do not be angry with me, fathers, if I have spoken the truth; do not knit your brow...

Do not frown if I have expressed what seems right to me; nevertheless, even while I protest, you will do what seems right to you. Yet I beg you: do not expose your monks to danger to their chastity; do not violently compel anyone to the governance of nuns and parish churches, since you can find many who ambitiously desire these offices. Obedience is indeed good, but it must in no way be preferred to truth and the salvation of the soul. For when the danger concerns salvation, it is better to set obedience aside by humbly excusing oneself than to suffer shipwreck of chastity. Woe to monks and prelates who incorporate secular churches into their monasteries, who loosen the fold of desire with the torches of avarice, and who, while they think they are benefiting posterity, damn many by giving occasion.

Fourth, a rector of monks is made disorderly toward his subjects if he is found turbulent and anxious. In a pastor, pious and prudent discretion of mind is very necessary, lest either zeal for discipline be excessive or the measure of compassion be relaxed by too much laxity. But every disorderly rector shows himself a tyrant to the monks through indiscreet fury, or through slack compassion keeps silent, as if insensible, before the gravest crimes. He does not know the just moderation of rule; he does not experience within himself the fervor of fraternal charity; he always thinks himself lord of the monks and does not know himself as a father and humble companion. What is more savage than this rule, what power more wicked, where neither God, nor reason, nor understanding, but a beast holds sway? Truly, where God and understanding govern authority, the judgments of those who preside do not depart from the rectitude of the law of nature. But the disorderly and anxious rector is infected with various bestial passions; he always suspects evil of the monks, and, while he directs the manner of rule wrongly, he is always anxious and, with Herod, fears losing his kingdom.

Fifth, a pastor of cloistered men is said to be disorderly toward the monks if, in dispensing the goods of the monastery, he is held either excessive or obstinate. He must be called excessive if he is prodigal in distributing, or diffuse in indiscreet largess. He is called obstinate if he does not give at the proper time what ought to be given, or if he grudgingly spends what is necessary for his subjects. He must also be called obstinate who casts aside the fear of the Lord, who trusts too much in his own judgment, and who, in whatever matters are to be done, admits no counsel of the wise. And indeed, among pastors of souls very many are disorderly through this sickness of mind: they either spend the goods of the monastery too improvidently or preserve them with too much tenacity. For their own flatterers at table they prepare the most lavish things, but to others, against whom they are averse, they deny even the smallest things. In the guesthouse or in their own abbey, pastors corrupted by disorderly conduct eat to the point of excess and always drink the best wine; but to the poor monks, who by watching and singing bear the burden and heat of the day, they scarcely grant even meager necessities.

Sixth, a prelate is shown to be very disorderly toward monks if, bold against God, he is lifted up in pride by making light of his judgments. For since a pastor cannot be corrected by his subjects, he is remitted by the holy father Benedict to the judgment of God, as is held in many places of the Rule. “Let the abbot know,” he says, “that he will render an account to God for all his judgments.” And again: “The ordained abbot should always consider what a burden he has undertaken, and to whom he will render an account of his stewardship.” And again he says: “As soon as evils begin to arise, let him cut them off with charity, not with tyranny.” And in another place he warns, saying: “Nevertheless, let the abbot himself do all things with fear of God and observance of the holy Rule, knowing without doubt that he will render an account for all his judgments to God, the most just judge.”

But the disorderly rector of monks, like an asp with stopped ears, scorns to hear this threat of the most holy lawgiver; he despises the patience of God’s long-suffering; he thinks nothing of the future examination, until at last the angry judge says to his face: “You did these things, and I kept silent. Now therefore render an account of your stewardship. Give back to me the sheep of my inheritance, and without delay restore to me the souls once entrusted to you in the body. Return their number whole; for if even one of them has perished through your negligence, your soul shall forever [unclear].”

will not see. What then will you answer to the supreme shepherd, useless rector, when not only the blood of one slain by you cries out against you, but also the account of those who have made too little progress demands an answer? See, now you walk in the worst security, despising God’s examination; you think everything that pleases you in the body is permitted to you, and you do not consider to whom you will one day give account for all things. Soon the Lord of all will come, before whom you do not fear to show yourself an unfaithful servant, and whose honor you do not fear to arrogate to yourself. Unless meanwhile you do penance, unless you amend your life for the better, you will burn without end with the demons in hell.

Seventh, it happens that a pastor is disordered toward his subjects if, neglecting the common usefulness, he seeks his own advantage with a vicious intention; if, presiding in a monastery, he serves not God but his own interests, while he rejoices that he is prelate in order to obtain the pernicious freedoms of the flesh, and fraudulently provides for his own future from the goods of the monastery. This disorder is seen especially in those who, on any pretext, withdraw from office, to whom, as the reward of their stewardship, as though they had been bishops, an annual pension from the goods of the monastery is assigned. This is not the manner of those who seek God; this is not the way of the old monks. When you withdraw from pastoral office for God’s sake, withdraw simply. Do not demand anything for food and clothing, if you do not wish to sin with proprietors. You are a monk; you were a monk before you became abbot; you will remain a monk after the office. Why then do you demand a pension, since you know that you are a monk? Just as someone commits the vice of simony by buying prelacies, so by demanding a pension for resigning an abbacy one sins against the Rule. What then? Do we condemn those who, withdrawing from the office of pastoral care without fault, have received annual provisions from the goods of the monastery? Far from it. We do not forbid necessities; we deny superfluities. Yet one who is a true monk and lover of God is content, even after the abbacy, with the regular provision.

In What Way the Monks, Citizens of the Lowest Region, Are Disordered toward One Another

Article Four The monks and carnal men of the lowest region are disordered toward one another in many and various ways. Since they are stirred up by animal passions like beasts and do not direct themselves toward the right judgment of reason, it is no wonder if they pervert the order of brotherly conversation. For a troubled conscience is always savage and presumptuous, and an evil mind never has the joys of peace, but is continually shaken inwardly by sorrow, tortured within by the everlasting fires of its crimes. And so the monks, citizens of the dark region, blinded by evil and disordered affections, do not consider the end of the monastic profession; they love nothing except the comfort of the present life; they neglect their own salvation; they do not rise up to the love of eternity.

First, then, they are greatly disordered toward one another when they set aside the intellectual regard that should be held for the brothers; when they do not notice the image of God in a human being; when they do not consider the communion of grace and glory infused into human beings and to be granted in the future; nor do they take care to show one another the love of brotherly fellowship. They love one another like horse and mule, harmonious in bodily form, because they love whatever is pleasing to sensuality, and do not admit whatever accords with reason. One is loved by another not because he is a human being, but because he is like the one who loves him in the affection of sensuality. For the man of flesh loves in a person not virtues, not religion, not finally nature itself, but flesh, blood, and the quality of the body. Therefore, since the love of carnal people is carnal, it is easily changeable by occasion. For citizens of this lowest region venerate those whose manners are like their own, and carnal monks always embrace carnal monks with affection. What God has loved from eternity, the disordered cenobite persecutes; and the one whom he despises because of his faults, this man venerates as holy.

Second, cloistered men are disordered toward one another by reason of dissimilarity, when either the seniors, stirred up by harshness and pride, despise their juniors, or the juniors stubbornly oppose their seniors. And this disorder is shown to be very contrary to the holy Rule, which commands the seniors to love the juniors with fatherly affection, and commands the juniors to...

commands juniors humbly to obey their seniors for God’s sake. But when the seniors, citizens of this lowest region, withdraw fatherly affection from the juniors, the younger men burn with bitter hatred; and because the youths consider themselves unjustly despised by them, they accuse some of them of wicked habits. Thus weak young men examine the improper conduct of their seniors; and, as the proverb says, as he who considers greater men barking, so too he causes lesser men to dance.

Third, monks are badly ordered toward one another when they cast aside good zeal and mutual obedience, and assume the evil kind of zeal forbidden by the Rule. By words and deeds they commit various injuries against one another. Each strives, through rivalry, to watch the other for evil; one is provoked by another to inflict insult. They mutually reproach one another with their weaknesses; they always pant after revenge. They despise zeal for regular discipline, and the passion of indignation and bitterness rules them. They meet one another with faces turned away, and reveal by open signs how much hatred lies hidden in the heart. Not so the wicked, not so; for whoever persecutes his brother with hatred is shown to be a murderer and unworthy of the kingdom of God. O always wretched condition of carnal monks, which is the worse hell the more alien it has been from the fear of God. They imitate not angels but demons, whoever, through evil zeal, take delight in being discordant in the school of peace. Indeed, just as a brute animal does not abandon the savagery of its nature, so a beastlike monk does not withdraw from the worst zeal.

In What Way Monks, Citizens of the Lowest Region, Are Disordered Toward Themselves.

Article V

The citizens of the lowest region, carnal monks, are disordered toward nothing more than toward themselves. For they cast aside every consideration of themselves; they do not attend to the end for which they were created; because, while each one pollutes himself with the filth of vices, an evil mind withdraws from the original rectitude of its condition. Nor is it any wonder if the cultivator of the lowest region becomes outwardly disordered toward others, since through the various passions of the flesh he is inwardly confused and dissipated from himself. Scripture says: “He who is evil to himself, to whom will he be good?” The right order of the human condition established that the flesh should be subject to the spirit, and that the spirit itself should be subject to him from whom it received the form of existing. But among carnal minds the order of reason is overturned, when the flesh rules the spirit, and reason, which according to the force of understanding implanted in it ought to have governed all things, is suffocated by the pleasures of the flesh and does not hasten through the rule of the spirit toward the rectitude of judgment.

Carnal monks, then, are disordered toward themselves through the vice of curiosity, because by spying curiously into another’s life they judge their own, stained with every vice, and do not amend it. They do not know how to correct great crimes in themselves, yet they proudly rebuke others who offend in very small matters. They carefully consider the splinter in a brother’s eye, and the beam clinging in their own eyes they excuse as if it were a speck. Those who subject all their affections to the quality of sense, and therefore live carnally like beasts instead of by the judgment of right reason, are often stirred by the passion of anger; the fury of envy inflames them against their neighbor. With an anxious mind they always demand vengeance against a brother; and often, blinded by excessive fury, they do not carry it out without some loss to themselves. But disordered citizens cannot long remain hidden in secret; for the more they remain unknown to themselves through the pride of the mind, the more, by a blind judgment, they are made manifest to others. For every proud and disordered man is said first to be ignorant of himself, because if he truly knew himself, he would in no way be proud.

Since, then, disorder in oneself takes its beginning from pride, we cannot describe this plague better than by undertaking to disclose its roots through the steps that descend to hell. And just as the summit of the spiritual life is contained in the twelve degrees of humility, so the fountainhead of all monastic disorder is contained in twelve degrees of pride. The first degree of pride, then, is called curiosity. By it monks badly ordered toward themselves neglect their own life and conduct, and continually inquire into another’s deeds or words. They charge all their brothers with negligence; they rebuke the life of the pastor; because the more curiously they strive to know outwardly the affairs of others, the farther they withdraw from themselves. For monks, however, the vice of curiosity is most pernicious; for once it has invaded his mind, it strips him of all virtues and makes it a dwelling place for vices. It is a very sure sign of weakness to examine the deeds of others and, except by reason of one’s office, to busy oneself with others’ faults. For the monk who, according to the well-known definition of his name, is instructed to care for himself alone, does not scrutinize the deeds of others without manifest danger to his own salvation. Those who subject themselves to the vice of curiosity descend to the second degree in the manners of pride. For one sin disposes a man to another, and no single sin reigns alone in proud monks.

The second degree of pride, therefore, is levity of mind and the unstable occupation of a wandering heart. Into this degree of disordered conduct carnal monks fall through the various affections that they have sensually contracted from the vice of curiosity. But the true cenobite cannot remain steadfast in his holy purpose, because, when levity of mind is admitted, the constancy of virtue is scattered in the heart. It is the judgment of a disordered mind to run about among various images of things and always to beget new forms of sensual affections.

The third degree of pride is called empty joy, which is born in a disordered man from levity of mind. Carnal monks compose for themselves various images of affections; when these occur agreeably to sensuality they rejoice, but when it turns out otherwise, they fall into various temptations, conceiving grave indignation. But that is not true joy which takes its beginning from anything other than God, nor can any joy be useful that does not have its source in the love of God. And therefore disordered men, through vain joy, fall into unfit boasting, whereby they mendaciously ascribe great things to themselves.

The fourth degree of pride, as we have said, arises from empty joy and is called foolish boasting. Carnal monks fall into this when they exalt themselves, magnifying themselves before others. If they have done anything good, they boldly bring it forward in public, often mendaciously devising even things they have not done. They desire to seem holy, learned, prudent, and noble; and they invent many things through craftiness of wit, so that outwardly they may appear glorious to men, though inwardly they know they are empty of the merit of virtue. If you begin to praise someone in their presence, at once they rise up in opposition; they say many vicious things against him, because, while they wish to show themselves alone worthy of praise, they do not allow anyone else to be praised before them.

The fifth degree of pride is understood as singularity, which is generated from the swelling of boasting. Proud cloistered men fall into this degree when, through boasting, they have presumed that they surpass others either in merit or in knowledge. Hence they do not appear similar to the rest in their manner of life, but from pride alone show themselves singular in all things. But this singularity is reprehensible in the monastery, where all are commanded to live in common according to the Rule. For proud monks, as the divine Bernard testifies, while they prefer themselves to others in virtues and wisdom, fall into such rash arrogance that they flatter themselves more over one fast while the rest are eating than if they had fasted seven days more than the others; one little private prayer seems to them far more profitable than the whole psalmody of one night. During meals they often cast their eyes around the table, and if they see someone eating less, they groan; they begin to grieve within themselves that they have been surpassed, cruelly taking away from themselves what they had provided for necessary sustenance. Proud cloistered men are energetic for their singular practices, but sluggish for common ones. They lie awake in bed; in choir and at the regular reading they nod off.

The sixth degree of pride takes its beginning from the fifth and is called the arrogance of the proud man. And indeed, when disordered cloistered men, through the pursuit of singularity, begin outwardly to appear better than others, they burn into a greater madness of arrogance; and whatever is said in their praise by men, these fools think true. O wretched folly of the proud man: although in all other matters they trust no one else more than themselves, about themselves alone they trust themselves less than another. Whatever they hear said in praise of themselves by the unskilled, they ascribe not to the ignorance or goodwill of the one praising them, but to their own merits. But whoever is delightfully fed on human praises is held before God as empty of every virtue and full of arrogance.

The seventh degree of pride is born from the preceding one and is called presumption in the proud man. Disordered arrogant men...

begins, in those who believe themselves in some special way to be something great. Bernard says of them: “He who thinks that he surpasses others: how could he not presume more about himself and about others?” He sits first in the assembly; he answers first in counsel; he comes forward without being called; he intrudes without being ordered; he rearranges what has been arranged and rejects what others have done. Whatever he himself has not done or arranged, he considers not rightly done and not well ordered. He judges those who judge, and prejudges those who are about to judge. For the one for whom God does not suffice in the heart seeks comfort in outward things in vain.

The eighth degree of pride is called the defense of sins, and it is always generated from presumption. For a presumptuous monk always thinks himself better than everyone. If he commits some sin, he either stubbornly denies it, or, if he is convicted, excuses it in many ways. For how will he be able humbly to confess his fault, when he does not recognize himself as guilty? If you try to chastise such a man for his offenses, you always make him worse. Therefore whoever, when corrected for any matter, turns aside into words of malice, whoever sets excuses for sins against the one reproving him, falls into this descent of death, opposed to the fifth degree of humility. The presumptuous man tries to excuse his sin in clear ways, because he is found to have fallen into this degree of pride. For either he says, “I did not do it,” or “I did it, indeed, but I did well,” or, “If badly, not very badly,” or, “If very badly, not with bad intention.” And if he has been convicted of malice, he at once adopts another person’s counsel in his own excuse. But he who insolently does not fear to deny or defend even things open and manifest will never reveal hidden things to his abbot according to the Rule. When he comes to confession, he will cloak the truth with a feigned mind, because, so that he himself may escape confusion, he tries to bring the negligences of others into the midst. Inwardly disordered, proud and presumptuous, he conceals his own faults in confession and confesses those of others. Always restless within himself, he examines the deeds of others, condemns everyone with a single sentence, complains that no one lives rightly in the monastery, and thinks that there is no charity among the brothers. And if his empty presumption is detected by the confessor’s diligence, he immediately seeks another confessor. If the abbot begins to try to oppose him in this, the monk, lifted up into the ninth degree of pride, falls through the restlessness of his mind.

The ninth degree of pride is described as murmuring or impatience, which for the most part rules over carnal monks. For indeed, when a man’s confession is feigned, once touched by a slight rebuke or penance, he immediately rises up into open pride; the deceit that simulated humility is revealed, nor can the false mind hide itself any longer, but it is compelled to bring into public view whatever lies hidden within. From then on, made masterless within himself, the proud man in the monastery murmurs at everything; he sharply attacks the judgment of the shepherd, however just; he gnashes his teeth, is stirred up, becomes angry, and rages without reason like a madman. But the proud monk, given over to murmuring, after despising the fourth degree of humility, falls into the tenth descent of pride, through which he runs toward hell.

The tenth degree of pride follows murmuring and is called rebellion. Proud and carnal monks fall into this, those who, still dwelling in the lowest region, devote themselves to murmurings. Hence Bernard says: unless divine mercy looks upon the murmurer, so that at last, converted, which is very difficult for such men, he silently acquiesces in the judgments of others, he will soon become brazen and shameless, and will fall all the worse into this degree, the more desperately he does not restrain the motion of his mind. He always advances toward worse things; and what earlier, in his arrogance, he had secretly held in contempt among his brothers, now, what is more serious, he openly shows himself to despise his master as well. But the scrutiny of divine judgment does not allow this degree of pride to pass unpunished for long, since monks who rebel against their shepherds are frequently soon consumed by a miserable death. Some, withdrawing from the order, become apostates; others, because of grave crimes, foul the prisons; some, expelled from monasteries, wander in wretched exile; many, horribly struck by the Lord and in despair, hasten to the lower world. For it is written: “He who resists authority opposes the ordinance of God.”

And again the Lord says concerning the prelates of the faithful: “Whoever despises you despises me.” What will you say to these things, rebellious monks? Will you cite laws to me, which you corrupt from the truth? But I dare to say what I wish you would be ashamed to hear. In the strict examination of God, rebellious monk, presumption about law will not save you, you who now proudly despise the obedience of subjection. The law commands obedience; it requires humble subjection in the order.

The eleventh degree of pride, which is freedom to sin, consequently befalls the rebellious monk, who despises not only fraternal corrections but also the corrections and exhortations of prelates. For when rebellion against the teacher is taken up, boldness in sinning is generated, because the man who despises the authority of correction now commits every crime as if lawfully. The love of God willingly restrains good cenobites from sins, and fear restrains the weak. But where neither love of God nor fear of correction penetrates a monk, then through rebellion and the habit of sinning his mind draws near to hell. For Scripture says: “When the impious man has come into the depth of evils, he despises.” What does he despise? He despises God; he scorns men; in despair he does not know how to seek the salvation of his soul.

Therefore he falls into the twelfth degree of pride, who through boldness in sinning runs into an evil habit. This is the first descent to hell; this is the path of hell; this is the swift road to the region overshadowed by the darkness of death. Whoever has once fallen into this degree of the habit of sinning rises again only by the mighty hand of God’s mercy, because when one does not resist habit, it generates the necessity of sinning. For wickedness always advances toward the worse, and, always falling, it falls more deeply.

Behold, these are the twelve degrees of pride by which one descends to hell. Whoever wishes to escape them should always strive to keep himself in the observance of humility. In these twelve evils every unworthiness of vicious cenobites is clouded over; it makes the disordered monk disordered toward himself; in his morals it changes a man into a most savage beast. The end of these things is destruction, and unless the remedy of repentance intervenes before the death of the flesh, progress through the evil degrees damns the monk to punishments without end.

But whoever, being disordered toward himself, has once fallen into the first degree of pride, unless he strives to rise again as quickly as possible through repentance, soon hurls himself into the second and, consequently, into all of them in order. The whole disorder of carnal monks toward themselves is expressed in these degrees of exaltation, through which they are shown to be disordered citizens of the lowest region. But what we have said about disordered and proud monks we must also understand of the prelates of the lowest region.

In what way the monks, carnal citizens of the lowest region, are disordered toward the property of the monastery.

Article Six.

Whoever, while established in a monastery, neglects to order his inner affections to the purity of holy conduct often also exceeds enormously in outward matters. Monks disordered toward God are consequently proved to be disordered toward their offices. For just as the good cenobite, united through love to the divine will, considers all things according to the right order of reason with a simple eye, so the man turned away from God through disordered affections sins even in the good things that he uses badly. Therefore carnal monks, inhabitants of the lowest region, are not only badly disordered in regard to their souls, but also in regard to the temporal substance of the monastery. For outward disturbance of the body follows the inward confusion of the mind, and one is shown by the other.

And first, the citizens of the lowest region are badly ordered toward the property of the monastery when they demand that it be granted to them in an order that is not right, or when they in any way usurp more than the use of regular institution permits. For the Rule, which commands that all necessary things be given to monks, entirely forbids superfluous things.

Second, those who do not fear to give and receive against the prohibition of the master make bad use of the monastery’s property, as do those who faithlessly commit deceit and fraud in what has been entrusted to them. For a monk who, according to his own whim and without reasonable cause, against the Rule and in any way without permission, squanders the property of the monastery, in under the rule like an unfaithful steward and a falsifier.

Third, monks or abbots show themselves disordered with respect to the goods of the monastery when they spend them on illicit uses. Theft and sacrilege are committed together when the goods of the monastery are converted to illicit uses. For the substance of the monastery, dedicated to God, is commanded to be guarded like the vessels of the holy altar, lest it be dissipated in any way through negligence. But one who forbids the goods of cloistered persons to be spent uselessly would by no means permit them to be bestowed sinfully for shameful uses. What will the monks and rulers of the lowest region answer to the lawgiver in the strict examination, they who do not fear to dissipate the goods of the monastery among parents, relatives, mimes, actors, and shameful people, as an occasion and reward of sin?

Fourth, abbots and carnal monks sin gravely in the goods of the monastery when they heap them up too greedily, to the detriment of divine charity and their own salvation. For, inflamed by the torches of avarice, they think of nothing but profits and money; violating all feast days, they do not observe them; they always desire to increase temporal possessions; they do not notice the losses of charity. They grieve more over a dying beast than over a sinner perishing. Indeed, all disordered cloisterers are so blind that they consider avarice prudence and think riches are reform. They join field to field; they call gain piety; and where they see temporal goods abound, there they say the best discipline is observed. They refuse to spend even a few things for the common good of the order, because they have inwardly lost the order of true charity. They raise useless, curious, and harmful buildings on high; they buy splendid garments and ornaments less necessary for divine services; they clothe sacred things in gold; they leave Christ’s poor naked. This greedy curiosity does not befit monks, since we who are commanded to imitate the holy men of old are ordered to sell these things for the support of the poor. But the covetous monk and the avaricious abbot are as far from the purpose of holy religion as the devil is from heaven.

Fifth, carnal monks sin in the goods of the monastery when they do not repay them with prayers. All gladly receive the alms of the faithful, but few render the aid of prayers to those who give. From this many citizens of the lowest region, when they have come to the order, serve not God but the belly. They desire that more food, drink, and clothing be given to them than necessity requires; and those who in the world could scarcely have bread and vegetables for food, now, having become monks, reject eggs and little fish. They importunately demand that large, varied, diverse, and delicate fish be given to them; murmuring with the children of Israel in the desert to their leader on account of the concupiscence of the flesh, they declare that they cannot eat eggs and peas; they always desire more delicate fare.

How the citizens of the lowest region are badly ordered with respect to contempt of the world

Article VII

Few force their way into the kingdom of God, and the violent seize it. Therefore whoever desires to enter the heavenly kingdom through the weapons of holy obedience, whoever chooses to live for God under regular discipline, must do violence to the pleasures of the flesh and bravely despise the world with all its vanities. But carnal monks, citizens of the lowest region, who are badly ordered both toward God and toward themselves, are also badly ordered with respect to contempt of the world.

And first, those who are always burning with the fire of pleasure are infected by the concupiscence of the flesh. In food and drink they are found superfluous; in beds and baths they are delicate against the rules; they prefer the desires of the flesh to the salvation of the soul; they do not seek the sweetness of inner conversion. They nourish their flesh too delicately, and through this they burn continually with various concupiscences. For no one can truly despise the world who neglects to restrain the appetite of the flesh even in the smallest things. If you eat to satiety, you do not truly despise the world. For the first commandment imposed on those who despise the world is founded on abstinence. But if you have once filled your belly to satiety with food, you immediately fall either into lust or into grave sloth.

Therefore the concupiscence of the flesh draws back the mind of the disordered cenobite, so that he cannot despise the world.

Second, they are disordered with respect to despising the age because of the vain concupiscence of the eyes. For the monk who forgets the true honor of faithful souls takes an utterly curious delight in worldly pomp and ornaments. And indeed, the outward attire reveals what sort of person each one is hiding inwardly within himself. To carry rings around on the fingers, corals on the prayer-strings, scent-bottles in the hands, and folds in the cowls does not show a monk, but a soldier; not a humble cenobite, but a proud secular man. Such adornment among monks can please none but the reprobate, and is often found to have displeased even the proud. Woe to you, disordered cloisterers, who through a double concupiscence of the eyes descend into hell: while you wish to see in others what is not expedient, and you display yourselves to others to be seen otherwise than is fitting. What have you to do with the jewels of the age, what with the curiosities of the world? According to Bernard’s testimony, two beauties quickly make a masculine soul effeminate; these forensic refinements quickly unnerve the manly resolve. They are like children in rags who, because of a single reddish binding fastened to a torn sleeve, think themselves very beautiful and well adorned, and insolently mock others standing before them who are excellently clothed, as if they were naked. These pompous cloisterers see others walking in humble clothing, despising the world in a spirit of poverty, and on that account pleasing both God and men; but they themselves are despised by the wise and by princes, and sometimes are not even admitted to conversation. Seeing this, the proud, even if they grieve heavily as though at an injury, nevertheless utterly refuse to lay aside their arrogance.

Third, the citizens of the lowest region are badly ordered with respect to contempt of the age because of pride of life, for they are not only infected by vain complacencies of the flesh, but are also proud through swelling of mind. For all who follow the desires of the flesh vainly lift themselves above themselves; they despise others, however much better; they do not recognize equals as peers; they do not admit superiors. They rejoice that a great retinue of servants attends them; in councils they strive to sit first; they desire to appear glorious to men; they walk about pompously and publicly. Inflated by a spirit of pride, they boast that their monasteries possess distinction from their foundation: wealthy in temporal goods, curious in jewels, buildings, and privileges. With uplifted heart they despise poor monks or abbots of humble cenobies; they are not ashamed to prefer themselves to their betters. The more they desire to hunt for glory in external things, the more they withdraw from true glory with the foolish virgins.

How the citizens of this lowest region are disordered with respect to penance

Article viii

Since man, born of woman, living for a short time and filled with many miseries, cannot remain long in the same state, it is necessary that, by reforming himself daily with all zeal, he turn himself toward his appointed end; for whoever is sent to live long in this world must present himself as changeable in the direction of virtue. Therefore whoever, placed in this mutability, desires to come to the joys of immutability should humbly recognize his frailty, should always flee after a fall into sin to the remedies of penance, and should refuse to lie in wickedness even for the first moment. For the life of monks must always consist savingly in penance, and must continually await the coming of the Judge with holy fear. For Jerome says: “A monk has the office not of one who teaches, but of one who laments, who either mourns for himself or for the world, and fearfully awaits the Lord’s coming.” But the disordered cloisterers of the lowest region despise this saving remedy; they consume the acceptable time in vanity; and because they do not fear to be badly ordered in all things, they also show themselves very disordered in doing penance.

First, indeed, they are badly ordered for penance by negligence of mind, while they neglect to understand how greatly sin displeases almighty God, whom they do not fear to contradict by the judgment of a depraved will. Just as night is opposed to day, so the sinner, turned away from divine goodness, is its adversary and opponent.

What a putrid corpse is wont to do in the sight of human beings, sin does in its own way, incomparably, in the sight of the angels. But carnal monks despise the honor of God, and therefore they do not notice the shamefulness of sin. Those who commit mortal sins almost as if licitly neglect to amend venial ones. For Scripture says: “He who neglects the smallest things will gradually fall.” Hence Bernard’s saying admonishes us: “Let no one, brothers, say in his heart: ‘These things are slight; I do not care to correct them. It is no great matter if I remain in these venial and very small sins.’ This, brothers, is impenitence; this is the unforgivable blasphemy against the Holy Spirit. For no one can avoid greater sins if he has scorned to amend lesser ones.” Nothing is worse than carelessness of mind.

Second, carnal monks, lovers of the lowest region, are too disordered for penitence, because they do not notice the contagion of sin. For just as a healthy person is very often infected by a contagious disease, so a person is inclined from one sin into another. For one sin is always said to dispose a person to another, unless it is amended as quickly as possible through contrition. For the prophet says: “Jerusalem sinned a sin; therefore she has been made unstable.” And elsewhere: “He who is in filth, let him be filthy still.” We have shown sufficiently the contagion of this disease in the degrees of pride: for just as we have said that one always arises from another, so we perceive that through carelessness a person becomes liable to slip from one sin into another.

Third, carnal monks, disordered for penitence, contract a most wretched sickness through the habit of sin, when they fall into a pernicious blindness of mind. Every vice, when often committed, is held cheap, and through habit is judged lighter. Just as grace illuminates the mind, so the frequency of sin blinds reason. For it is written: “Blind the heart of this people and make their ears heavy, so that seeing they may not see and hearing they may not understand, lest they be converted and I heal them, says the Lord.” For when the impious man has come into the depth of evils, he is contemptuous. No sin is so great that through habit it does not seem slight and small.

Fourth, disordered cloisterers, blinded by the habit of evil, do not come to the grace of true compunction. They approach confession only superficially, from habit; they do not abandon their depraved will; they do not truly take up the purpose of amendment. Woe to those who, buried in the habit of sin, do not fear the censure of a strict examination; who do not withdraw from blindness of mind through the remedy of contrition. For just as now they despise the long-suffering of God’s goodness, so in that terrible hour they will undergo the sentence of eternal death. What benefit can confession of the mouth have where there is no true contrition of the heart? Without contrition there is no saving confession, nor can there be contrition without the purpose of amendment. The sign of contrition is to be unwilling to sin any more.

Fifth, the disordered citizens of the lowest region, made despisers of almighty God through the habit of sinning, always fall into graver dangers of soul, since they always approach badly the most sacred mysteries of the body and blood of the Lord. They make a superficial confession from habit; they allow great beasts of vices to run about in their consciences. Then indeed, as if allied with hell, they do not fear God; they despise the paths of amendment of life; they think themselves well ordered; and they do not care with how many vices they are inwardly filled. Sometimes, sensibly affected by a fantastic devotion, they think the Holy Spirit is now present, and declare themselves beloved by God and holy. They also impudently thrust themselves upon the divine mysteries, and, not discerning the body and blood of the Lord, receive them to their own judgment and condemnation.

Finally, such people, communicating unworthily, are more gravely hardened, because, while they consider themselves very secure and think they are living well, they do not take care duly to cleanse their conscience from vices. Thus Judas the apostate, the evil of betrayal which earlier, as someone says, he feared to carry out against the Savior, after the morsel, when the devil had entered into him, did not fear to fulfill boldly and without shame. O how many citizens of this lowest region are carnal monks, lifted up, proud, envious, murmuring, and entangled in various sins, whose conscience is rarely or never made clean through true contrition, yet who do not fear to approach the most holy altar almost every day.

Behold how evil is the society of all who dwell in this lowest region of those who dwell in it, whose end is inner destruction, and for whom, after the death of the body, a descent to hell is prepared. This is the far-off region of beastliness and unlikeness, into which that prodigal son went away, and where he squandered the portion of his inheritance luxuriously with prostitutes. In this region carnal citizens dwell; concerning them the holy Apostle says: The animal man does not perceive the things that are of God. In this dark region, covered with the gloom of death, no spiritual good dwells. In it there reigns not peace but beastly discord, as the prophet says: There is no peace for the wicked, says my Lord.

Concerning those who, being near to this lowest region, often fall back into it through inconstancy of mind.

Although between the first region, that of the wicked, and the second, that of the good, there is properly no middle place, nevertheless there are some who often move between the two, when from weakness they are at one time lukewarm, and at another time, from contrition of mind, appear to be devout. These are weak people. Although they are not submerged in the lowest region, nevertheless through negligence they are very near to it, and indeed frequently fall into it through bad custom, because they do not withdraw from the affections of the flesh as far as they can.

Concerning these people Bernard says in a certain sermon: Pernicious lukewarmness, because it is dangerous, because it is most troublesome and full of misery and sorrow, and plainly very near to hell, is rightly reckoned the shadow of death. Indeed one finds people who are fainthearted and slack, failing beneath the burden, needing rod and spurs. Their joy is weak, their sadness fainthearted; their compunction is brief and rare. Their thought is with animal things; their way of life is lukewarm; their obedience is without devotion, their speech without circumspection, their prayer without the intention of the heart, their reading without edification. Such people, finally, as we see, are scarcely restrained by fear of Gehenna, held back by shame, bridled by reason, or checked by discipline. But if people of this sort remain so for a long time under the burden, they are either crushed and succumb, or in some manner they are in hell, so that they never fully breathe into the light of the Lord’s mercies, nor into the liberty of the Spirit, which alone makes the yoke sweet and the burden light. From this, then, such perilous lukewarmness flows, because the will has not yet been fully purified, nor do they will the good as they know it, being drawn away and enticed by depraved desire. For they love in their flesh their earthly little consolations, whether in word, or in signs, or in deeds, or in some other thing; and if they interrupt these sometimes, nevertheless they do not break them off completely. Hence it is that they rarely direct their affections toward God, and their compunction is not continual but only for an hour.

But a mind subject to these distractions cannot be filled with divine visitations; and the more it is emptied of those distractions, the more fully it will be filled with these visitations. If much, much; if little, little. Or perhaps, if you approve the statement more, those visitations will never be able to be mingled with these distractions forever. For the Spirit and the flesh, fire and lukewarmness, do not dwell together in one dwelling, especially since lukewarmness itself is accustomed to provoke vomiting in the Lord.

Therefore whoever desires to flee from the midst of Babylon, whoever longs to come to the region of the Spirit, must always take care to drive away sluggishness of mind from himself, and to burn continually in holy purpose through the fire of divine love. Nothing harms those who wish to serve God so much as lukewarmness of mind. It always arises at the beginning from a certain small negligence; but unless it is immediately attended to, it increases wonderfully by degrees.

Moreover, one placed near the lowest region always falls back into it, because the dregs of his former carnal way of life still subtly occupy his will, and with an easy occasion disturb the weak fervor of devotion. But no one can rise again from the depth of hell with a lukewarm will; no one can overcome custom without a contrary custom, because unless a certain force is applied, the habit of sinning will always strengthen vice.

Rightly, then, this lowest region is called hell, since by a certain likeness of disturbance and aversion it is compared to hell. After this life there are three dwellings of souls, which receive their citizens emigrating from the three regions of this world. The first dwelling is called hell, and this is compared to the lowest region. For just as in hell no order dwells, but perpetual horror, so in this lowest region all things are ruled by the fury of a blinded mind, by affection by carnal affections. In hell all are evil, and in the lowest region no good people are found. And whoever fall into hell have been from the lowest region. For the lowest region always sends its citizens to the lower world, unless, led by penitence while still living, they have taken care to renounce dead works.

The second dwelling is called purgatory, and this is compared to the second, rational region. For just as purgatory cleanses and perfects souls, and sends them, once cleansed, to the kingdom of heaven, so this second region, by the continual exercise of perseverance within itself, washes its citizens clean from the filth of sins and disposes them for the ascent to the third region, which is called spirit. In this dwelling all are good, but they must nevertheless be cleansed so that they may become better; and in the second region there are no evil people, but they must nevertheless always be exercised so that they may become better. This region sends its citizens who die within it to purgatory, because even if they are all good, they do not yet seem fit for the kingdom without a temporary purification. For indeed those who inhabit this middle region, although they seem very near to the highest, are nevertheless not yet wholly removed from the dust of the lower one.

The third dwelling of separated souls is called the kingdom of heaven, and this is compared to the highest region, that of spirit. For just as in that heavenly homeland there is highest rest and eternal peace, so in the region of spirit there is continual tranquility of mind.

Here ends the first region.

Preface to the second treatise of the first part, which concerns the middle region, namely the rational region, of cloistered persons

But now let us at last leave behind this dark region of carnal people, in which a whirlwind of wickedness remains and a continual storm of vices. We have given it enough, and have lingered over it more than our purpose had required. Let us therefore leave the dead to bury their dead; let us yield to the darkness; let us seek the light of spiritual life. We must depart from Egypt, from the dark region, and hasten by the middle way of reason to the highest summit of spirit. Therefore let us now at last approach the middle region of the soul, through which one comes successively to the highest. This region of the soul is quite fittingly called rational, since in it there is continual labor in the search for the highest truth.

The citizen of this middle region always strives to raise the fervor of his mind toward higher things, but the weakness of the flesh and the motion of the concupiscent storm draw him back toward the lowest things. Hence continual labor arises; hence sighs and groans arise, because the body that is corrupted weighs down the soul, and the earthly habitation presses down the sense that thinks on many things. This is the narrow way that leads to life, and few walk through it. In this region violence is imposed upon the concupiscence of the flesh until the will is subjected to the spirit at its nod. For the Lord says in the Gospel: “The kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent seize it.” In this region the war of struggle is proclaimed to those who serve God, as the wise man bears witness: “My son,” he says, “when you approach the service of God, stand in fear, and prepare your soul for temptation.”

How great and how many temptations we undergo in this middle region through the difficulty of spiritual exercise we learn daily, while, driven in various ways, we are unable to remain constantly in fervor of spirit. Now the weakness of the flesh calls us back from the zeal for progress; now the temptation of the ancient enemy vexes us; now the deceitfulness of the world hinders us.

Now the deceitfulness of the world seduces us. Therefore those who wish to make progress in this region of labor need the greatest fortitude, since no one can resist his temptations to the end unless he strives daily to do violence to himself. But whoever thinks that he has come to this region should not presume on his own powers, because, although the grace of God requires the decision of our will in order to work the good in us, so too the will necessarily requires grace. For no one is holy by his own powers. Therefore let no one dare to presume on himself; but let him who stands take heed lest he fall.

Hard is the life of man upon earth, because one comes to the kingdom through many tribulations, and heaven is acquired through the arduous labors of the virtues. “Going,” says the prophet, “they went and wept, casting their seeds; but coming they shall come with exultation, carrying their sheaves.” Indeed, those who sow in tears shall reap in joy. But if anyone fails in the seed, he certainly will not rejoice in the harvest. Since, therefore, through the continual labors of spiritual exercise the mind must be cleansed from the dust of the first region, do not seek leisure in this middle region; do not love the repose of negligence, because no one can stand here except one who girds himself bravely for continual labor. Whoever in this middle region does not always make progress toward better things soon falls into the negligences of his former life, and there incurs the danger of failing, where he has lost the appetite for progress. This is the place of continual combat: in it, whoever neglects to fight retreats to be conquered.

The preface ends.

The second region of the soul begins, which is called rational, in which human beings are occupied amid many labors.

The second region of the soul, then, is called rational; in it the mind is exercised with continual labor in the inquiry into supreme truth. The farther it separates itself from the lowest things, the more it draws near to the highest. And this region is proposed as being, in certain ways, likened to the ethereal heaven, in which there is both the position of the stars and continual motion.

For just as that motion itself is always arranged in heaven by the order caused by the first mover, so continual labor is carried on in the middle region, so that each intellectual power may make progress in its own object and may in no way depart from the order naturally implanted in it. Such powers are three: memory, intellect, and will.

From these, memory gathers the likenesses and images of things, and extends itself toward what is arduous. The intellect, discerning those images, considers them, and here investigates the true. The will, however, embraces what has been approved by the intellect and set in order; and it is occupied with the known good. When these three powers of the soul rightly preserve their order, they lead the spirit in faith toward heavenly things.

This second region is compared to the ethereal heaven, in which, just as there is continual motion and the position of the stars, so in this middle region there is continual motion and labor against the contests of the vices. And just as the motion of the stars fulfills the office assigned to it by nature in its ordered arrangement, so too in this region the equity of right order is required, so that each power of the soul, while it is subject to its own object, may make progress toward the end ordained for it, so far as this can happen to wayfarers.

Yet none of those powers can be brought simply to fullness in this region, since in this pilgrimage no one is so perfect that he could not be more perfect in his own order. For memory, in its object, which is the arduous, even if it could behold all the gathered likenesses and images of all creatures, would not be satisfied unless it could apprehend their principle, which is God. But this is wholly impossible for this region, in which we can form no images or likenesses of God. The intellect also, the will’s discerning counselor, so to speak, is extended toward the true; but however much it considers its own object, it is not satisfied until it can apprehend all truth and come, without the opinion of fantastic speculation, to knowledge of the eternal, supreme, and infallible truth. But this perfection is possible for none of the wayfarers so long as he remains in the body of mortality. The will also be unable truly to rejoice until it comes to the unchangeable and highest good.

Nor will it be able truly to rejoice, unless it comes to that unchangeable and highest good, which no instability of change overshadows. The highest truth and unchangeable good is God, who said to Moses: “Man shall not see me and live.” And the disciple of the highest truth says: “No one has ever seen God.” But the prophet too, addressing God, says: “Truly, you are a hidden God.” Although, then, the three aforesaid powers of the soul cannot perfectly comprehend their object in this life, none of them ought to cease from its office, lest it incur the danger of failing precisely where it has abandoned the practice of striving. Therefore the citizens of this middle region mortify evil affections within themselves; they adorn themselves with continual virtues; they direct all their works by a right intention; they depart least of all from the office of reason.

The citizens of this region are scholastic, speculative, and active men, devoted to various and indeed honorable arts: men who subject the sensual or carnal powers to reason; who do not neglect to cleanse these three powers of the soul from all illicit objects; who always raise their intention to the end of honorable usefulness; who reform the will, in act or in habit, toward its proper end. Therefore the cenobite who loves this purification and desires to ascend to the third region of the spirit must, while dwelling in the middle region, observe the following principal articles.

The summary of the truth of this middle region is expressed in seven principal articles.

Whoever in this middle region desires, according to the vow of his profession, to make progress should diligently take care to observe the following articles. If he neglects to keep them, he shows that he is still a citizen not of the middle but of the lowest region. For, as we said above, no one can remain in this middle region without a continual effort to advance; in it, not to have gone forward is to fail, and not to have ascended is to descend. Therefore the monk who, having overcome the dark region, has at last deserved, with the Lord’s help, to come to this middle one, must take care not to abandon his effort to advance even for a little while, but always to stretch himself toward what lies further on. And he should remember the admonition of the wise man, who says: “Unless you constantly hold yourself in the fear of the Lord, your house,” that is, your conscience, “will quickly be overthrown.” For it is impossible for anyone to make progress in holy conduct if, through fear of the Lord, he neglects to renew daily his effort to advance. The effect of this renewal is shown to be rightly ordered when the truth of the articles of the middle region is duly observed. The first article, therefore, is the diligent intention of the cenobitic end; the second is the due restraint of the sensual powers; the third is the faithful cleansing of the powers; the fourth is the careful reform of the works of the lowest region; the fifth is the ordered institution of the true cenobitic progress; the sixth is the adaptation of the powers for entrance into the third region; and the seventh is the exemplary or experiential certainty of all the aforesaid matters.

On the continual and diligent pursuit of the cenobitic end.

Article I

Since the end is first in the intention of the wise person, and since each thing in its own kind is judged more perfect the more closely it approaches its end, the monk who cultivates this middle region should always consider why he entered religious life. If he finds that his intention is rightly ordered, he should strive to continue it; but if he finds that it is corrupt, he should not neglect to reform it according to the rectitude of its due end.

But note that, in spiritual exercises, the end through which the virtue of monastic conduct is increased in merits is described as twofold. The first is charity, which is called the principal and ultimate end, to which all monastic exercises are ordered as to their first cause. Whatever good we do must always and chiefly be ordered to this end, because no work of virtue attains merit unless charity always establishes its proper foundation.

“God,” says John, “is charity; and he who remains in charity remains in God, and God in him.” Moreover, everyone who remains in God does not sin. The second end, the dispositive end, is directed toward the first and principal end as though through some suitable means; and this is called the secondary or less principal end. The monk must always attend to this end, and through it order his exercises toward the ultimate end. For no one can reach the principal end of charity who neglects to observe the means.

This dispositive end toward the ultimate end, as it pertains to cenobites, according to John Cassian in the Conferences of the Fathers, is this: to cast away from oneself entirely all cares of the world; to mortify one’s own wills; to commit every disposition and care of oneself to the superior; and to take no thought for tomorrow. For the cenobite who wishes to make progress in this middle region must entirely take up the renunciation of his own will, and then resign himself totally into the hands of his superior, so that within himself he may be clean from every speck of his own will, and outwardly free from every secular occupation for serving the Lord in every way. Truly, unless our cenobite has arrived at this end, he is by no means a true monk, because he is still sowing corruption in corruptible flesh, and does not at all observe the virtue of his profession.

The renunciation of monastic self-will seems principally to consist in three things, without which no one can truly be said to have denied himself. First, the mortification of self-will requires in a monk the eradication of his own judgment, because whoever relies on his own judgment or counsel disdains humbly to be subject to another. For the root from which the defense of self-will arises is called adherence to one’s own counsel or judgment. Whoever, being placed in a cenobium, desires to cling to his own judgment sins gravely against the Rule as a usurper of self-will. For it is fitting that the cenobite live by another’s command rather than by his own, if he desires to come to eternal life through the merit of obedience. Truly, to love one’s own judgment is the greatest leprosy of the soul; according to Bernard, it is the more dangerous the more hidden it has been; and the more a person abounds in it, the holier he seems to himself to be.

Second, the mortification of the will requires the emptying out of one’s own affections, because no one can remain ordered and truly subject to God amid adversities and comforts if he does not strongly restrain his carnal affections.

Third, for the mortification of self-will, that poverty is required by which the monk’s affections are not captured by visible things: food, clothing, and the rest; because whoever loves these things too much shows himself, against the Rule, to be a lover of his own pleasure. For the true cenobite of this middle region, whose duty it is to devote himself fervently to the teaching of holy humility, must gladly despise all worldly things for the love of God, and love absolutely nothing apart from God. If he has anything for use with the Rule permitting it, let him beware of setting the affection of his heart on it, being ready, at the decision of the shepherd and for the usefulness of the brethren, to resign all things with a peaceful heart. Let him always choose the simple and humbler things, give thanks to God in all things, and, placing his hope and sufficiency in him alone, cheerfully say: “In you, Lord Jesus, possessing all things, for your love I gladly despise all things; I shall take no care at all for transitory things.”

Therefore let our devout cenobite always direct the eyes of his faithful consideration toward this end of monastic institution, and never withdraw from the sight of it, because whoever in action forgets the ultimate end wanders like an inexperienced and blind sailor amid the storms of the sea, soon to perish. Let the faithful monk therefore imitate a sailor skilled through devotion: just as the sailor, always having the harbor before his eyes, strives with intent care to direct his voyage there, so the mind of a good person should always be directed to God as to its shore and ultimate end. Archers set up for themselves some fixed mark, and, lest their sight be scattered from the appointed point, they close one eye. Just as the arrow of the shooter is directed toward the mark, so the intention of the good monk is always ordered toward God; in this intention the eye of lower affection is also closed, lest the sharpness of higher contemplation be scattered through empty things. For it is necessary For one must close off the affection of earthly curiosity and the understanding of carnal wisdom, as though by not knowing them, if we desire always to raise the gaze of the mind toward its appointed end. And just as the eagle is said to look upon the sun with eyes unstruck by its glare, so the monk, the servant of God, contemplates without interruption the end of monastic institution.

As a prudent traveler, going on with delight, considers the lodging toward which he is heading, so the good cenobite, in everything he does, always pants with fervent desire chiefly toward his own end, which is God. But a foolish traveler is one who, set upon the road, forgets the lodging toward which he is heading, and, wandering, knowingly becomes entangled in the various hindrances of others. And the monk who does not carefully consider the end of his own destination is surely wandering blind upon the road.

Therefore the good monk, and a lover of his own salvation, does not neglect the striving for his own good in spiritual exercises, but, always exercising himself in holy works with affection toward higher things, raises it up to God. Good striving is this: to omit nothing of the things God has commanded; for love of God, to obey the pastor humbly in all things; always to lift up an affection drawn away from earthly things to the memory of heavenly things; and, through continual exercise of spiritual conduct, daily to renew his holy purpose. Whatever good the devoted cenobite does, let him always offer it to almighty God with faithful attention; let him despise all earthly things with a strong spirit; let him desire to please God alone.

Let the intention of the cenobitic life always be faithful, so that it wishes to desire nothing other than the praise and honor of God. Let its attention be diligent, so that it knows how to summon all the senses of the body and the affections of the soul to the service of God, in order that it may serve its Lord faithfully and seek his glory, not its own.

On the Due Restriction of the Sensual Powers. Article II

For I think there is no one among monks who is unaware how useful and necessary it is for us to restrain the powers of sensual passions. Indeed, whoever desires to attain the due end of the regular life, which we have described in this region, must subdue his inordinate natural habits and motions with prudent constancy, because no one is truly able to resign himself to another's command if he does not strongly restrain the powers of sensual passions.

For one who desires to make progress must, with constant spirit, abandon the motions and prudence of the flesh, and show himself a son of divine grace, not of flesh and blood. For Scripture says: If you live according to the rule of the flesh, you will die. Indeed, those who sow in the flesh will also reap corruption from the flesh. But flesh and blood will not possess the kingdom of God. But what does the Savior say to us? “A man's enemies,” he says, “are those of his own household.” And who are these household members, unless the sensual powers that oppose the spirit?

For concupiscibility and irascibility, our enemies, stir up every evil within us against the spirit, and continually disturb the house of conscience with various passions. For as long as these sensual powers carry out their natural motions and courses in a person, they do not permit him to ascend to the freedom of the spirit. Concupiscibility delights in the pleasures of the sense of the flesh; and, on the contrary, the irascible power detests the body's sufferings. Therefore, as long as this war of the flesh is waged in a person, the monk is considered restless, carnal, and a dweller in the lowest region. Whoever, then, desires to come to eternal life must strongly restrain these inordinate powers of the senses in all things.

Therefore the faithful cenobite strives to direct the concupiscible power toward sufferings that are acceptable to God, and to reform all his affections according to God's good pleasure. If he has done this, he will pray confidently to the Lord: My soul has longed to desire your justifications at all times. And that other saying:

he will often cry out sweetly, weeping: “As the deer longs for the springs of waters, so my soul longs for you, O God.” Then, cleaving to God, let him learn prudently to set the irascible power against sensual delights, and diligently to reform it toward hatred of vices. Thus the soul, ordered to its own principle, will not fear to undergo any hard things for the love of God, and through the irascible power it will begin to resist all carnal desires strongly. And then the devout cenobite, with his spirit lifting itself up, will cry: “My soul refused to be comforted.” And that saying of the Apostle: “I have counted all things as dung.” For the soul that truly loves God despises everything except him.

From these two powers, moreover, every disordered affection is said to arise, and good affections likewise are generated from these by opposition. For joy and hope take their beginning from the concupiscible power, and the irascible power gives birth to sorrow and fear. Concerning these Saint Bernard says thus: “The whole heart of a human being is drawn by four affections; if we bring them back to God, the whole heart of the human being is converted.”

Article III. Concerning the faithful cleansing of the powers.

But we cannot sufficiently restrain the sensual powers unless we also faithfully cleanse the intellectual powers. For this cleansing great and continual diligence is needed, since the cenobite who is dissolved by the torpor of negligence is never cleansed from vicious affections. For whoever sows with corrupted powers brings back nothing other than corruption from his errors. Therefore the cenobite who inhabits this middle region must correct his interior powers from every disorder, if he wishes to remain constantly in the pursuit of making progress. These intellectual powers must be cleansed in the following way.

First, the intellect must be purged from every imagining of empty likenesses, so that, rescuing itself from material things of every kind, it may rise upward to its own principle without any imagined likeness, and, prudently intent upon its own object, may turn itself wholly to the highest reason of truth.

Then let our faithful cenobite not neglect to strip his memory of every occupation with an illicit matter. Let him admit no thoughts of a shameful or less useful kind; and let him strive to repel the phantasms of irrational passions and empty meditations, and, insofar as it can be done, to think nothing foolish.

The will too must be purged from every disordered affection, so that it wills nothing except what right reason suggests ought to be willed, and rejects nothing except what reason, according to the judgment of truth, forbids it.

This restraint of the powers and cleansing of the faculties, without which, as we say, it is granted to absolutely no one, is obtained only through great, discerning, and continual diligence, strong in the struggle. We know that the kingdom of God suffers violence, and no one can subject the enemy to himself unless he has resolved to fight against him fiercely and perseveringly. From the blessed bishop Augustine as witness, we have learned that a person does not die well unless he has first died to vices and desires. But no one truly dies to these among human beings unless, sowing in tears, he resists his own wills through continual labor. Therefore the mind must be armed with saving doctrines, and the strength of patience must be assumed in all things; for just as one who is unarmed and impatient of labor cannot overthrow an armed enemy, so the monk without spiritual arms and a certain continual force of fighting cannot cleanse his intellectual powers. Although the arms of spiritual warfare are many in one’s progress, three in particular must be taken up by the monk.

First, indeed, resoluteness is necessary for the cenobite in everything he does, so that he may boldly undertake things strongly opposed to the flesh, and may in no way grow lukewarm in his holy purpose. For spiritual exercises are hard and utterly contrary to the flesh, in in which he cannot persevere steadfastly if he disdains to put on the strongest arms of vigor. Therefore, if you desire to subject all your affections to the spirit, if you wish to fight successfully against the vices of the flesh, take care to make for yourself a most prudent violence, and to arm yourself bravely against all things.

Next, a certain holy severity is set before you to assume, through which all contrary and adverse things of this world are borne as virtually nothing. For whoever has once truly assumed this benign severity of spirit for the love of God and the desire of heaven will from then on fear no adversities of the flesh, but will be so inwardly suffused with contemplation of divine reward that he will seem to take more delight in adversities than in prosperous things that befall him.

But severity is by no means pleasing to the weaker unless it has been somewhat tempered by the sweetness of benignity. Therefore, in consequence, that benignity also must be assumed by the soldier, so that when, tempted or even wounded in battle through the weakness of the flesh, he sometimes falters, he may soon rise again through penitence to fight more bravely. For the soldier of Christ, if he has fallen in battle, must rise again through contrition and the other remedies of penitence, as often as he is about to fight again, until at last, by God's mercy, he can overcome the adversary. If the just man falls seven times in a day and rises again, how shall the sinner, now penitent, not hope for pardon? Rise again to fight, O soldiers, as often as you have fallen when the adversary has prevailed. Always renew the campaign more bravely from the beginning, so that by perseverance you may at last overcome the enemy whom you cannot succeed in destroying by strength. Do not despair of victory, O faithful cenobite, because, often conquered by temptation, you have fallen into the snare of vice. Do not lie prostrate for long because you feel yourself weak, but rise again at once as often as you have fallen, and trust that you have a merciful Lord, by whose help you will at last be victorious against the adversary. For no one becomes supreme all at once, nor is victory over the enemy granted immediately to inexperienced soldiers, lest, to their ruin, they be cast heavily into pride.

A possession acquired with difficulty is always dearer, and the good that is acquired laboriously is guarded with greater diligence. For so long does the loving Father, God, permit us, conquered by the adversary's temptations, to fall at intervals into the pit of sin, until, conscious of our weakness, we learn to hope in no powers of our own, but only in his grace. But you, man, who have often broken your resolution by sinning, never delay to rise again; for even if you cannot perfectly subject the enemy to yourself, it will nevertheless be good for you if the last day can find you standing and fighting, even after often repeated ruin. Yet this counsel does not release those to whom God's mercy has granted virtue and grace for defeating the adversary. Nevertheless, let him who stands take care lest he fall.

On The Reform Of The Works Of The First Region

Article 2

Now indeed, as we taught at the end of the first treatise, this middle region borders on the lowest region from its lowest part; if the cenobite is at all negligent and more remiss in it, he at once falls back again, without any middle ground, into the former region. Therefore whoever desires to advance and remain in this region should always, with attentive vigilance, be zealous to reform the works of the lowest region. And, lest we be prolix, whoever desires to exercise this reform in himself should assume, in this region, works contrary to the first eight articles. For, as is taught by the tradition of physicians, opposites are cured by opposites.

Therefore the faithful monks who are citizens of this middle region are first commanded to consider this: that one should strive to order himself toward God before all things. This ordering is said to be done well if God is loved with the whole heart, according to the law, above all things.

Next, the devout cenobite should understand himself as ordered toward his prelate he should show himself humble toward him and pay him reverence; he should strive to love him with sincere charity, and to observe according to the Rule everything he commands.

Likewise, the rector of souls should take care to walk in an ordered way toward the cenobites: he should show himself as a shepherd to the sheep, not as a hireling; he should not neglect the salvation of the soul entrusted to him; he should not set temporal things before spiritual things. He should hate vices, love the brothers, and show himself exemplary in all good things.

Next, the brothers should cleave to one another like members of one head; they should love one another in the true charity of God and not withdraw from good zeal. For all of us who, by faith in Christ, trust to come to eternal life by persevering in good works are members of Christ, the supreme head. But whoever pursues his brother with evil zeal or hatred and other evil affections first separates himself from the head, and then does injury to Christ.

Consequently, each one should show himself ordered toward himself: for the love of Christ he should humbly submit himself to all, prefer others to himself through humility, and believe himself more unworthy than all monks.

In the use of the monastery’s goods, they should always beware of exceeding the institution of the Rule, but should strive everywhere to show themselves ordered and faithful in all things. They should have nothing in private contrary to the abbot’s will, and should admit no pleasure into the use of goods.

Then faithful cenobites should take care to order themselves according to the institution of the Rule toward contempt of the world, so that they love nothing in this world, but truly despise all things for the love of God.

They should not neglect to order themselves most diligently toward penance; for humble confession of their excesses they should often have recourse, since just as no one is believed to live in this world without sin, so penance is judged necessary for all, even monks. Therefore the good cenobite should always learn to have recourse to penance through the practice of compunction, humbly accuse himself of his excesses in chapter, gladly perform the penance enjoined, and faithfully amend himself in all things.

On the ordered instruction of true monastic progress and the degrees of humility.

The fifth article.

The first virtue of a monk is humility, and the gravest crime in a cenobite is pride. For a monk who is proud with a swollen mind becomes an imitator and servant of the devil, and is stripped of all virtues, if he had any, because no virtue can remain in a mind in which pride happens to reside. Therefore the cenobite who desires to advance in this middle region should learn to order himself toward the true progress of monastic instruction through humility, because no one truly attains humility unless he dwells with zeal upon spiritual things. True progress in regular instruction, excluding every adulterous muse, arises from the degrees of humility, which, through their roots, are set down as twelve in the Rule.

The roots of this progress come from the study of sacred reading, which gradually leads a person to the fear of the Lord. From reading arises spiritual meditation, from which holy compunction is generated. The more useful manner of cenobitic meditation consists in the remembrance of the Lord’s Passion and in consideration of the benefits of God. But those who, surpassing this middle region, arrive at the tranquility of spiritual peace make their meditations more sublime through contemplation of the divine majesty and excellence. We shall speak of these in their own place.

These two roots receive their increase from the watering of continual prayer, and with the strengthening of a very firm plant they grow strong. For no meditation advances without prayer, and study without it will not save.

From these three roots of spiritual progress arises the fear of the Lord, which is the first degree of humility; from it the other degrees are brought forth, succeeding in order. But monks who neglect the saving study of the Scriptures and holy meditations together with continual prayers by no means arrive at this first degree of humility. But those who [reach] the first degree of humility cannot ascend, when will he be able to reach the others? For the second is never ascended if the first is neglected. Therefore whoever neglects one ascends none.

The study of sacred reading must not be undertaken for the vanity of the world, nor for the pleasure that seduces, because reading never advances toward compunction when delight in the flesh or in vanity corrupts it. A monk cannot attain devotion through the study of sacred reading unless he strives to change all curiosity into a simple spirit. Therefore whoever desires to advance from the reading of Scripture to compunction, whoever chooses to ascend to humility through the roots of fear, must not choose just any material for reading, but only that which can most greatly stir the mind to the love of God. For this purpose the reading of the conduct of the saints seems to me sufficiently suitable, because the mind of one who lies low is often raised up to the love of God when the life of his servants is recalled to memory. We also gladly admit the miracles and revelations of the torments or joys of separated souls, in conformity with the Catholic faith, by which we have found that sluggish hearts are often stirred to compunction. Finally, the passions of the holy martyrs stir up in no small measure the fervor of devotion; in them, when we bring back to mind the unconquerable love of Christ, we are pierced by the example of such constancy, and, as though touched by a certain fire of love, we sigh over our imperfection.

The material of meditation is taken from reading, and as the former is, so the latter will be. The shameful songs of poets, the curious teachings of philosophers, and the swollen writings of rhetoricians do not stir up in monks the fervor of devout compunction, but rather choke what has been conceived. Therefore, if you wish to persist in good meditations, do not occupy your mind with readings other than holy and devout ones. Indeed, grapes are not gathered from thorns, nor is compunction born from the study of vanity. Let the person who studies for knowledge of this world read those things that suit him for learning; but let the one who seeks compunction gather those things that kindle the soul to the love of God through fear.

Therefore let frequent reading take its beginning from the last things that await us; then let the deeds of the holy fathers be read, so that the memory of future things may shake the mind into the fear of God, and the exemplary conduct of the saints may kindle the desire to imitate them. For the wise man says: “Remember your last things, and you will not sin forever.” The conduct of the holy fathers is set before us as an example, and the destruction of the wicked is recounted to us for our instruction, so that virtue, rewarded, may move our desire, and wickedness, punished, may forbid license to sin. Therefore let the devout cenobite recall to memory the examples and virtues of the saints; let him consider not the brief pleasure of the wicked, but their eternal torment, so that by fearing unhappiness he may deserve to escape it, and by devoting himself to virtues obtain that everlasting joy.

The distinct condition of the good and the wicked is no light matter, since in each case it is described as truly enduring, and is ended by no limit. O eternity, always to be feared by all mortals: after this life has been completed, in it there is no fear for the righteous, and no hope of deliverance for the wicked. Let anyone who can think what eternity is, where there is no end, imagine a limit if he dares; and when he finds nothing in eternity except eternity, let him understand that all the time in which he lives in this world is nothing. Indeed, once the spirit has been cast out from the flesh, it is necessarily compelled to enter this abyss of eternity; and the condition which it has once obtained according to its merits it will bear without end, nor will it be changed into another. For the person who dies good in the charity of God will receive eternal life according to his merits. But the person who is evil and has once departed from this life without the reconciliation of repentance will remain with the demons in hell, to be tormented without end. From these meditations servile fear arises in the mind, and through it one gradually comes to love.

So, in order that we may be able to lead the cenobite successively through these roots to charity, it seems good to us to explain briefly, in order, the degrees of humility described in the Rule.

The first degree of humility, then, is described by Saint Benedict in the Rule as the fear of God, which is called the beginning of wisdom. Fear, however, is handed down with a threefold distinction: servile, namely, initial, and filial, which is also called chaste. From this threefold distinction three roots are said to depend, according to which the beginner in the cenobitic life ought to order his meditations. For each root has its own proper meditations; and when one is rightly disposed, another and better one is always generated.

From servile fear, then, when it is taken up not merely in a servile way but prudently and virtuously, there arise meditations on horrors and punishments. By restraining the soul from sin, these gradually introduce filial fear. For when, by consideration of punishments, the mind is turned to horror, boldness in sinning is checked, because the servant who fears blows keeps his lord’s commands for a long time. This servile fear by itself does not suffice for earning the fatherly inheritance; nevertheless, as an initial effect, it disposes one toward filial fear, which is sufficient.

Initial fear is placed midway between the two, and is easily changed from servile into filial fear. This initial fear receives meditations on the last things, and begins to fear both incurring punishments and losing the sweet homeland. And this is set forth more broadly in the Rule, where its roots also are described.

Filial fear, however, embraces its meditations in love, since it fears nothing except that the beloved father be offended. Concerning this fear the wise man says: “The fear of the Lord is glory and boasting, gladness and a crown of exultation. The fear of the Lord will delight the heart and will give gladness and joy for length of days.” And again: “It will be well at the end for the one who fears God, and on the day of his death he will be blessed.” This fear is also called chaste, because it detests evil not from fear of punishments but from love alone.

From this threefold fear we see three breadths of spiritual exercises arising around the degrees of humility, so that individual exercises correspond to the individual fears. For one kind of fear namely servile fear, performs its exercises in one way; initial fear persists in virtues in another way; and filial fear proceeds in its works in a much different way. For just as affections come to the heart in various ways, so the exercises of one kind of fear are carried out in different ways. The publican, mindful of his own crimes, feared the sentence of the judge in one way; Jerome said that he heard the trumpet summoning the dead to judgment in another way. And the holy Gospel says of the former: “Standing far off, the publican would not lift his eyes to heaven, but striking his breast he said, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner.’” But blessed Jerome said: “Whether I drink or eat, I always think I hear that trumpet sounding in my ears: ‘Arise, you dead; come to judgment.’” The compunction of each arises from fear, but each is not generated from the desire of one and the same affection. For the publican, terrified by the guilt of his sins and by the sentence of the just judge, was afraid; and therefore, pierced with compunction, he said, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Jerome, however, was shaken by fear not from consciousness of guilt, but, grounded in charity and considering himself a useless servant, he reverenced the abyss of divine justice.

The second degree is to leave behind one’s own will for the love of God, and to love one’s own desire in nothing contrary to the Rule. This degree arises from the first ascent of humility and lifts one up to the third. For one who fears God and truly fears being separated from him and undergoing punishments hates nothing more than his own will. The faithful cenobite knows that every sin arises from self-will alone, and therefore he detests it as the gate of hell. For that blessed man spoke truly: “Take away self-will, and there will no longer be hell.” Nothing burns in hell except self-will; nothing loses the grace of God except voluntary fault. Therefore whoever truly fears God and fears losing his grace begins to fear his own will as the ambusher of the soul. Consideration of the danger of self-will makes the cenobite despise his own desire and deny himself. And this denial of self-will and of one’s own desire is accomplished in three ways, as will be said in what follows.

And first, indeed, he denies himself to himself who strives to live according to the teaching of eternal wisdom, and not according to his own impulses, and to obey Christ in all things as he counsels humility. Therefore let the Savior say to the cenobite: If you wish to deny yourself and follow me, turn away your eyes so that they may not see harmful things, and your ears so that they may not hear vain things; and in place of the sweet things of this world, take up bitter things. Learn to despise the delights of your body, to love tranquility and peace of heart, to receive all tribulations for love of me patiently and gladly, and to desire to be regarded by all as vile and contemptible. Accordingly learn to break your own wills in all things, to mortify the desires of the flesh, to despise all earthly things, and, as far as it can be done, to conform your life with all your strength to the way of life of your Savior. For whoever says that he remains in Christ ought himself also to walk just as he walked. Whoever has done these things has denied himself well.

Second, the denial of one’s own will is rightly accomplished when the advantages of others are preferred to one’s own. For the holy Apostle says: Not seeking the things that are their own, but those that belong to others. For according to Bernard’s judgment, the soul is laid down for the brothers as often as their advantages are preferred, for love of God, to one’s own utilities.

Third, the resignation of one’s own will receives the fullness of perfection when the cenobite, compunct and wholly bound over to God, desires out of love to serve him freely, without regard for reward. And this most holy resignation of one’s own will makes a person very near to God, and always rests in his love.

But just as this resignation of oneself receives its foundation from the second degree of humility, so it necessarily requires in all things a complete inward resignation to the will of God. For the Lord says in the Gospel: I have not come to do my own will, but that of the Father who sent me. Therefore perfect resignation is that by which the human will is wholly subjected to the divine will and is strengthened by complete love.

For the Lord himself taught us to pray in this way: Your will be done, as in heaven and on earth. And there is that saying of the psalmist: Into your hands I commend my spirit. Nowhere in this world is one lived more securely than where the human will is perfectly subjected to God.

Indeed, that perfect resignation of oneself, by which the cenobite truly subjects his will to God, shows without intermediary the straight road to the highest good. Here there will be the highest tranquility of mind; the greatest security is present in the heart, because the soul that strives to subject itself perfectly to God will be able to fear no adversities of this world any longer, except sin alone. Whatever adversity rushes in upon it, with the Lord’s help it has learned to overcome; whatever advantage it desires, it understands that it possesses in the Lord alone. It despises all adverse things for love of him; it has placed all good things in his love. For that devout man spoke prudently: Dismiss everything, and you will find everything; abandon desire, and you will find true peace.

Finally, so that this resignation of one’s own will may receive the fullness of consummation, it implores, as I have said, the assistance of a threefold support.

The first is placed in the virtue of perseverance, so that the will, once denied, may never be taken back. For that holy Bernard says to those who despise this support: Why do you again involve yourselves with yourselves, when once, by mature deliberation, you handed over your will to us? For the monk who has once handed his will over to God into the hands of the abbot cannot thereafter take it back without the crime of sacrilege.

The second thing required for the perfect resignation of the will is that it never be slackened. Hence in the Apocalypse the Lord says to the lukewarm soul: I have a few things against you, because you have abandoned your first charity, that is, your fervor.

Third, resignation of the will will be perfected if it is never broken off. For the Savior says: Whoever perseveres to the end will be saved. Therefore, when you see a cenobite restless or moved by anger, know that the whole weight of the temptation proceeds from lack of resignation.

...restless or moved by anger, know that the whole weight of the temptation proceeds from lack of resignation; nor will you ever cure this illness of sickness unless you first persuade him to resignation of his denied will.

The third degree of humility is to submit oneself in all obedience to a superior for the love of God, and to show oneself an imitator of Christ in deeds, not only in words. Concerning him the holy Apostle says: “He became obedient unto death, even death on the cross.” This degree takes its beginning from the second, and raises its ascent to the third. For just as the second mortifies one’s own will by denying it, so this one lays the foundation of holy work through humble subjection. The former wholly subjects itself to the divine will; the latter, for the love of God, also obeys human beings.

The keeping of one degree without observance of the other is not sufficient in a monk; nor is the will of the cenobite subjected to the divine ordering if it refuses to obey the command of a superior. Therefore the true cenobite places all his joy in the virtue of holy obedience. He considers it the greatest gain to fulfill in all things the will of his shepherd; he believes that he incurs grave damage to his soul if he finds that he has committed even a little thing outside obedience. He always considers with faithful devotion what the Lord says in the Gospel: “He who hears you hears me; and he who despises you despises me.” Hence that blessed Bernard says to the monks: “Whatever a man commands in God’s place must be received no otherwise than if God himself were commanding it in person.” Therefore let the true monk prefer this subjection of obedience to every sacrifice, do absolutely nothing against its integrity, and constantly say within himself what is written: “Obedience is better than sacrifices.” Hence the Rule also says: “Therefore all things are to be done with the will of the abbot.”

But this degree, as we have said, arises from the second; for whoever perfectly abandons his own will out of fear of God now seeks nothing else in this world than that will in all things. But because God speaks once and does not repeat the same thing, weak man cannot know the will of the Most High; therefore the devout man commits himself into the hands of his prelate. Let the cenobite therefore obey according to the Rule, and without doubt he fulfills the will of God through the vicar of Christ.

Concerning obedience, one must speak rather strictly according to the Gospel and the monastic Rule. For although mutual obedience among brothers is good, yet it must not be preferred to the command of a superior. Monks are indeed commanded to render obedience to one another discreetly, and, while preserving the commands of superiors, to anticipate one another in mutual services. And to bring forward an example from our own custom: obedience is owed to all according to order. If a brother calls upon you, obey willingly. If another senior commands you, leave aside the command of the first and obey this one. Again, if the prior has interposed his own accustomed command, all mutual obedience among the brothers will cease. But if the precept of the abbot intervenes, no obedience to any other person will have force to the contrary. For he is believed to act first in the monastery in the place of Christ, and therefore he is preferred to all.

There are, moreover, seven gradual circumstances of the virtue of holy obedience, which blessed Bernard described. The first degree of obedience is to obey willingly: that is, to have no will of your own at all, but to believe that your shepherd’s good pleasure is wholly your own. The second is to obey simply: that you do neither more nor otherwise than has been commanded you, nor omit anything by doing less. The third is to obey cheerfully: that you show serenity in your face and sweetness in your voice. The fourth is to obey swiftly: that the hand in the work not be slower than the command in the voice. The fifth is to obey manfully: that one not withdraw his strength from the command, nor pretend to be weak and unequal to the precepts. The sixth is to obey humbly: not proudly, not arrogantly, not contentiously; for unless obedience is humble, it will bring back not reward but punishment. The seventh is to obey perseveringly, because obedience is not true if it is interrupted before completion; and only he who perseveres to the end is rewarded.

The fruit of obedience is everlasting and is bounded by no end. Almighty God obeys our prayers only so far as we obey our superiors. Do not flatter yourself, stiff-necked monk, about persistence in prayer, for Christ does not hear a man praying if that man despises Christ's vicar in the monastery. Humility raises prayer up; obedience commends it. For obedience, as one of the Fathers said, is the salvation of all the faithful, the mother of all virtues, and the finder of the kingdom of heaven. Obedience opens the heavens, closes the gates of hell, becomes the companion of angels, and is held to be the food of all the saints. But the monk who casts off subjection to obedience runs toward death.

The fourth degree of humility is patience in adversities. Our holy father Benedict speaks of it in the Rule: if a monk under obedience, in hard and contrary things, or even in any injuries inflicted on him, embraces patience with a silent conscience. This degree too takes its beginning from the third, because no one is truly to be called obedient if he has been found impatient. For, as that divine Chrysostom says, one who has been subject to the enemy cannot be acceptable to the king; nor is he truly subject to Christ who has been enslaved to passionate, impatient flesh. No one will be able to conquer a fierce enemy unless he has learned to fight bravely against him. Patience is very necessary for us, because no virtue is rightly perfected if patience abandons it. For, as blessed Gregory testifies, it is of greater merit to receive adversities patiently for God's sake than to toil in good works. And Saint Jerome says: Whoever believes that tribulation has come upon him for his sins more fully calls forth God's mercy toward himself for doing good. Therefore let the cenobite learn to set the virtue of patience against all things that happen to him, if he desires to triumph over his enemies. He who endures conquers; he who murmurs is overcome.

In three things the virtue of patience is especially necessary and is rewarded with the highest prizes. In insults of words patience preserves the purpose of humility in a prudent man who loves God; in the removal of possessions and temporal advantages it receives increase; and in bodily injury, with a silent conscience, it preserves the discipline of virtue. Consider now, faithful soul, how your most loving Savior Jesus most patiently endured these three things for your redemption; and if you believe that you love him, do not be reluctant, for love of him, to tolerate similar things with patience.

From the three degrees immediately preceding we establish one summary of the cenobitic end, which, as seems reasonable to us, we call the threefold degree. For by three degrees, namely the second, third, and fourth, the end of cenobitic formation is accomplished, and the renunciation of pleasure is first brought to completion. For when patience is joined to the earlier renunciation of pleasure and to obedience, the preserver of virtues, every pleasure and concern of the body is mortified. Whoever has been worthy to ascend this threefold degree has fulfilled the Lord's command, where he says in the Gospel: Whoever wishes to come after me, let him deny himself, through the second degree of humility; and take up his cross, through the third; and follow me, through the fourth.

The fifth degree of humility is the true confession of sins. The faithful cenobite is said to ascend into it if he confesses to his abbot, with humble trust, all evil thoughts that come into his heart, or any evil things committed in secret. Indeed, if anyone sins in the preceding threefold degree through impatience at the adversary's suggestion, in this degree he is restored through contrition and humble confession. For no one is found so perfect that he does not contract some stain from earthly living, as Scripture says: In many things we all offend. For no one is clean from sin, not even an infant whose life upon the earth is one day. Necessarily, therefore, this degree follows immediately after the fourth, and in it all negligences of the preceding degrees are corrected. True confession lifts up the soldier who falls in battle, heals the man wounded by the enemy, and strengthens the weak and faint-hearted. Whoever, therefore, would stand in battle and conquer desires bravely to conquer the enemy should more often have recourse to the protections of true confession. For it is impossible for one wounded by the enemy to recover health if he neglects to show the wound itself to the physician. Therefore you, faithful cenobite, who desire to save your soul and to be a good soldier of Jesus Christ, do not omit humble confession, because you will never be able to conquer the devil better than if you strive faithfully to disclose to your abbot all the thoughts he suggests to you, and your sins. It is certain to me, and much proved in ruin, that the cenobite who refuses to keep this degree hands himself over to the enemy to be greatly conquered by temptations.

The sixth degree of humility arises from true confession: that the monk should judge himself worthless and unworthy for all things. According to the Rule we believe him to be a true monk whom we see content, with humble patience, with every vileness and extremity in food and clothing. Vileness, however, is referred to ordinary things held in common, while extremity is placed in abject and more grievous inconveniences. For the former gladly embraces, with patience, poorer garments, foods, and whatever bodily necessities; the latter delights in all things: serving the sick, the diseased, lepers, and the abject; being confounded, degraded, and despised. Therefore the monk who is truly dead to the flesh and the world should be content with every vileness and extremity; he should show himself a faithful worker in all things; and, because of the corruption of nature by which he offends in many things, he should believe himself worthless and unworthy.

Indeed, whatever good he does in this world, however holy and religiously he lives in this age, can be sufficient for no one to merit eternal life unless God's great mercy deigns to come to his aid. We receive the greatest things for the least: we await the kingdom of God, not as owed to us from our merit, but as promised from grace. For the holy Apostle says: “The sufferings of this time are not worthy to be compared with the future glory that will be revealed in us.” But if we receive the justice of God without mercy, we are most worthy of hell. We all incur wrath by sinning, but we carry back love from grace. No one is saved except by grace; no one is damned except through justice. Yet meanwhile, in order that we may obtain the grace of God, he requires the efforts of our good will; without that grace nothing in us works toward merit. For although no one is holy by his own powers, nevertheless no one does good well unwillingly. Thus the grace of God and the freedom of the will stand in relation to each other, and one without the other cannot suffice for saving a human being; rather, each must necessarily come together for the operation of virtue. Therefore, since without the grace of God we can do nothing good, we ought to consider ourselves worthless and unworthy for all things, so that, while we submit ourselves to God in humility, we may always obtain greater things. And therefore this sixth degree is of great merit for confession, and the single foundation of all the preceding ones. For as long as the cenobite remains in this degree of humility, he will stand firm in the earlier ones.

The seventh degree of humility is not only to believe oneself, from the inmost affection of the heart, lower than all, but also to desire with a simple mind that others believe and say this about him. This condition of holy humility sets one on high, and in this time is loved by few monks. The first condition of this profound humility seems to consist in this: that the monk ought from the heart to consider himself lower than all. The second is that he should rejoice to be considered vile and abject by all, and should desire this from the inmost affection of the heart without pretense. The third condition is placed in a higher dwelling: namely, that the monk, from the same affection, should delight in being treated most vilely and trampled down by all. Rooted in this humility, the cenobite loves every reproach and insult; he does not grow indignant when he is despised and used most vilely, because, humbly submitting his whole self in the love of God, he places himself low, and hastens to insults as to banquets with the greatest cheerfulness. But so that you may understand the truth of this seventh degree, read the following considerations.

The first consideration directs the mind to the hope of divine love, which arises from a certain pious confidence. Although a man does not know whether he is worthy of love or hatred, nevertheless each person can in some way recognize from the disposition of his own heart...

Second, it must be considered that this disposition of a good heart and of an ordered will toward God is a sign of the love of God and of the approval of good works. Thus, when the Lord was born in the flesh, the angels sang: “Peace on earth to human beings of good will.”

Third, it must be noted that, just as a good disposition of the heart always orders and urges the mind through holy exercises toward the fear of God and the performance of virtues, so negligence in a badly disposed heart inclines it especially toward vices and sloth. Consideration makes a conjecture concerning this difference.

Fourth, it must be considered that a bad disposition of the heart hinders and empties out the grace of God and merits in a person, because it makes the soul vile, ignoble, and degenerate, and always disposes it toward graver and worst things. Indeed, the root of evils of tongue and deed comes from an evil heart, as is clear in Saul and in many similar cases.

The fifth consideration is that evil of deed and tongue is never properly examined unless the evil of the heart is first truly known. But each person can examine his own heart better than another can, and consider what sort of person lies hidden within himself. Therefore it is enough for the cenobite, to whom care of another has not been entrusted, to inspect his own heart diligently and in no way to occupy himself with scrutinizing another’s heart. But the pastor, or the monk to whom care of souls is entrusted, is also required to know the face of his flock.

Sixth, it must be noted from these things that it is very rash to wish to examine another’s heart and to judge the inward parts of the brothers from words and deeds. The Lord knows those who are his; nor is it granted to a human being to become a rash judge of another’s heart without the reason of office.

Seventh, it must be noted that a small evil of one’s own heart, when known in oneself, harms more than a great evil suspected uncertainly of another’s heart. For the former must be condemned because it is certain and known; the latter must be piously excused because it is unknown.

Eighth, it must be considered that, because each person sees many imperfections in his own heart that he cannot recognize in another’s, for these, insofar as they are obstacles to grace, he ought to esteem himself lower than others. Insofar as they disfigure the soul, he should despise himself as more vile than another, even if he knows that other person’s public crimes. Indeed, since the root of another’s heart is wholly unknown to him, he cannot know how divine election from eternity has been ordained concerning that person. Who would have believed that the thief crucified with God had been chosen from eternity, if he judged him according to his works? All things turn out for good for the elect, because where sin is seen to have abounded, often, by the will of divine election, greater grace is found. For divine love regards and embraces its elect from eternity, and sees them as chosen not according to the misery in which they now are, but according to their future glory. Therefore, cenobite, be cautious in disparaging another; be cautious in judging another, if you desire to escape eternal death. For who are you, to judge another’s servant? He stands to be judged by his God alone.

The affection of this seventh degree, because of that clause “from the inward affection of the heart,” possesses a threefold root of its origin: namely, truth, hope, and charity. For when the faithful cenobite sees that he does not have his being from himself, he truly regards himself, insofar as he is from himself, as nothing; and consequently, with the same regard, he considers his works, insofar as they are from himself who is nothing, to be nothing, since he knows that nothing comes from nothing. Therefore the monk who, in this respect, reckons himself and his works as nothing gives assent to the truth, because he fears to incur the vice of falsehood if he were to believe himself to be something great. And therefore, withdrawing from himself, he fails in himself, and places his being, life, and power in God alone. Second, this affection arises from hope of acquiring greater grace, because when a person, through humility, fails in himself, he comes nearer to the grace of God. Third, the affection of this humility takes its beginning from love of God and receives continual increase in that love. For whoever loves God perfectly seeks nothing other than his honor in all things, nor does he know how to exalt himself in anything, but desires, on account of God, to be subject to all. Therefore, the more insults and injuries...

is cast down, so much the more, rejoicing, he is glad in the Lord. He rejoices that he is wretched, so that in himself he may proclaim the Lord glorious. He who truly loves his Lord seeks nothing other than his glory.

It is clear from what we have said that the perfect charity promised to those ascending through the degrees of humility is displayed in this seventh degree. For the other five degrees that follow in the Rule add nothing to the perfection of the inner man who stands in the seventh; rather, they order the exterior man, lest he dissipate the interior. Finally, from the seventh degree we could set up certain new ascents of humility, and in them raise all the other degrees higher. For filial fear resides more fervently in him who can advance more broadly than others.

Now that the ascents of the heart up to the degree of charity have been known, let the cenobite consider with what zeal, with what effort, and with what perseverance he ought to exercise himself in them, so that he may attain this seventh degree of love. But whoever does not always strive to advance in these degrees of humility should know that he sins against the Rule; and unless by repentance he recovers his holy striving, he incurs the sentence of damnation. For the Rule says thus: “But if at any time he should do otherwise, let him know that he will be damned by him whom he mocks.” Therefore, if anyone who advances too little in religious life is believed guilty before divine judgment when he abandons the effort of advancing, what else does he deserve but to receive the sentence of damnation? For where the Rule establishes an account even of lesser progress among those who are striving to advance, monks who despise every effort of advancing are without doubt damned by the sentence of the judge. Therefore, if you do not wish to incur the danger of damnation, take care always to preserve the effort of advancing under the Rule.

Since we have said that the other five degrees of humility also pertain to the custody of the inner man, let us briefly explain them too. For the monk who neglects to order his exterior conduct according to the Rule will not stand properly ordered in interior things. For just as a body stripped of clothing is corrupted, so humility without conduct is emptied out.

The eighth degree of humility, therefore, is set down in the Rule in this way: if the monk does nothing except what the common Rule of the monastery or the examples of the elders encourage. In this degree, singularity in exterior conduct contrary to the Rule is forbidden to monks; but interior singularity of greater charity and humility is forbidden to no one. Therefore let no one prefer his own inventions to the holy Rule; let no one set his own customs before the examples of the elders, because it is not enough to stand in the seventh degree if one does not keep the Rule of common life.

The ninth degree of humility follows from the Rule, by which excessive talkativeness is forbidden. It is fitting for monks to keep silence, especially when they sit in the midst of their elders. And indeed, he who speaks without being questioned is deservedly considered a fool.

The tenth degree of humility forbids ease in laughter and levity; for whoever delights in laughter is shown to be foolish and alien to the fear of the Lord.

The eleventh degree of humility enjoins modesty and seriousness upon the monk, so that when opportunity and permission to speak are granted to him, he may speak with humble gravity, without laughter, and as a monk. Let the monk’s speech be rare, brief, and reasonable, because it is not fitting for him who wishes to please the Most High to say useless things.

The twelfth degree of humility teaches the monk to order the exterior man in appearance and bearing from a humble heart, and to demonstrate by exterior conduct also that he is devout inwardly. And although this degree is last in the order of all, nevertheless in practice it begins progress, and in use it is first. Therefore Bernard, describing these twelve degrees of humility, begins from this one and ascends to the first, descending, so to speak, by order. For no one easily advances inwardly to compunction of heart and the fear of the Lord if he does not order his exterior conduct.

On the Due Adaptation of the Powers for Entry into the Third Region. Article VI

When, through the degrees of humility, the powers of the soul, especially of the inner person, have been fundamentally cleansed and reformed, it is now said to be very necessary in monks that they be more devoutly adapted for entry into the third region. This diligence in striving toward higher things is necessary for cenobites, as has been said, because where the effort to make progress is laid aside, acquired virtue is wholly dissipated.

No one is permitted to stand still in this second region; rather, we are all commanded to ascend to the third through continual effort. Indeed, this continual motion casts every slothful and lukewarm person back into the first region of the flesh, but it gently and without violence always impels the humble, who are fervent with desire, toward the third. Therefore whoever has deserved to obtain from the Lord, through humility, the reformation of his powers is already near the third region of the spirit. In order that he may be able to enter it powerfully, he must arrange the powers of his soul most diligently, adapting them to their several operations. The intellect is then said to be rightly adapted for entry into the third region when it is illuminated, according to its capacity, for knowing the highest truth. The memory is arranged for the same end when it is fully absorbed in holding and cherishing the highest truth. The will, moreover, is well adapted for the entry of the spirit if it is disposed to love the highest good, which is God.

But in order that the cenobite may be able to attain the purification of the intellectual powers, it is necessary that, dying to the world, the mind, pacified from every inner and outer disturbance, should rest, so that it may remain buried within the bosom of divine love and never withdraw from the sweetness of inward union. This rest of mind is reached by four degrees, which are rooted in a good will in four ways.

The first degree of a good will lays the beginning of virtue; it is called an upright will.

For the soul which, consenting to the law of God, is subjected to God through an upright will is ordered toward the passage into virtue, even if it still seems weak. With the flesh resisting, virtue is perfected in this, and the will is proved upright by the force of the spirit. Yet a will is often called upright and good even when it is found to be less strong. It cannot always accomplish the good that it loves; the evil that it hates, it grieves to have committed through weakness. Through the weakness of the flesh it is very near to the lowest region, but by uprightness of intention and by the effort to make progress it is continually kindled toward the liberty of the spirit. For the body that is corrupted weighs down the soul, and the earthly habitation depresses the sense that thinks many things. O who could describe this battle between spirit and flesh, where the spirit itself desires to subject the flesh to itself through an upright will, and the weak flesh always resists the spirit through contrary desires?

The second degree is a will strong in uprightness, so that it both bravely flees the evil it hates against the assault of the flesh, and strongly lays hold of the good it loves by doing it, even with labor.

The third degree is a devout will, by which the mind, with enlarged heart, embraces the way of God’s commandments and delights in them as in every kind of riches. Indeed, the will does not long remain strong if it is not devout in the commandments of God.

The fourth degree is a full will, inasmuch as it does not divide its strength at all, but through the renunciation of all things continually stretches itself wholly toward its God. Three things are necessary for this degree, so that the good will in us may be made full.

The first is complete renunciation of oneself, since the will is shown still to be weak if it is not mortified through total self-renunciation.

The second thing required for a full good will is said to be perfect resignation. If anyone truly desires to attain it, let him fervently ascend the third degree of humility, Therefore it is necessary that each monk diligently examine himself and, according to the ordinance of the Church, cleanse himself at once from the faults he has committed. But the person who, on examining his conscience, finds it clean from mortal sin should offer humble praises to God, and should not neglect to subject himself to the following examination.

The second thing, likewise necessary for a good man, is to intend God principally in all works, and to order all things according to his powers to God’s praise and honor. But if, because the multitude and variety of works impede him, a person cannot always actually keep God before his eyes, then at least by habitual intention he should conform his desire of living according to God’s most pleasing will.

The third is that in all things he obey God, holy mother Church, and his superiors, and not depart from the path of right and enlightened reason, since whoever despises this threefold obedience has denied the faith. It is therefore necessary to show an obedience ordered by right reason equally to these three, according to their established principles, so that the monk’s life may remain blameless in his actions, without fear.

These three things, possessed with humble sincerity, make a good man and show the state of a conscience that hopes well in the Lord. But a person who lacks one of them is not perfectly good, even if he seems to be good. If, however, repenting of his sins, he is afterward able to fulfill these three things, he is then made good and pleasing to God, however bad he may have been before. Moreover, so that from a good man a good religious or spiritual person may be born, three other things are required according to the aforesaid John of Kastl.

The first thing required for making a good religious is that purity of heart be cleansed from every emulation or incitement of the flesh through the practice of discipline. This purity is never better acquired than when the world is despised together with all its affairs.

The second thing through which a good man is made a good religious is called spiritual freedom in God. For the rest, In a third way a good person becomes spiritually good when, through the desire of love, the spirit is united with God by fixed degrees. These last two things make our cenobite spiritual, and often bring him among the citizens of the third region. Therefore whoever desires to have good confidence from the testimony of his own conscience should humbly strive to exercise himself in the things stated above, because no one prudently presumes upon security when danger is not avoided. And what is so dangerous as always to live in negligence and sins, and to refuse to amend committed errors? The confidence of the just, arising from the testimony of a good conscience, is always excellent, and continually subject to God in humble service. But the impious and sinners, disturbed by savage actions, raise themselves against God, and do not trust in the testimony of conscience, but rather presume vainly.

Here follow the seven roots of divine fear, which are laid fundamentally in the first degree of humility.

Since this second region principally instructs the cenobite, in due order, through the preceding degrees of humility and fear of God, it is necessary for him to know clearly the roots of that fear, if he wishes to reach the love of God by ascending. Therefore, so that we may build this spiritual house to completion, we must place those roots in order in the foundation. We did not set them out in the first degree of humility, lest we confuse the order of what was being said by excessive length. There are, then, seven roots of the fear of God, through which the cenobite is brought to compunction and, by advancing in true humility, is more strongly rooted.

The first root of the fear and love of God is the intent meditation on the incomprehensible divine majesty, which is understood the less the more inquisitively it is investigated by a person. For the prophet says: Truly you are a hidden God. This meditation on divine perfection generates admiration; admiration causes reverence; from reverence arises fear of majesty, and from fear worship is produced. Meditation on the highest goodness, however, divides our purpose into seven traditions, which are not unsuitably fitted to the seven days of the week, or even to the seven canonical hours. And although that highest and most perfect goodness sufficiently provides us with abundant matter for meditation, nevertheless, because it belongs to few to be able to ascend to invisible things without visible ones, we wish to raise the minds of the weak through known things to unknown things. For the holy Apostle says: The invisible things of God are seen, understood through those things that have been made from the creation of the world, his eternal power also and divinity, so that they are without excuse.

First, therefore, the marvelous power of God is praiseworthy in the principal work of creation: since he was able to produce all things from nothing, he created things so great, so solid, so varied, and so noble by his will alone. From this consideration admiration of divine power arises, through which a person is moved to the fear of God.

Second, the provident wisdom of God is praiseworthy, by which, knowing all things, he orders the universe and governs by his providence all that he created. He knows all things, understands all things, disposes all things by his counsel, and encloses all things in his empire. As a certain lover of worldly wisdom says of it: God is a sphere whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere. He is within all things and is not enclosed; outside all things and is not excluded; below all things and is not weighed down; above all things and is not borne up. He includes all things, because, wherever he is, he is whole, yet he is enclosed in no place; great and immense, he is bounded by no quantity. He orders all things as he wills; stable in himself, always and unmoved, he changes the vicissitudes of things. Good in eternal things, through mercy he mercifully prepares rewards without passion of mind; angry without disturbance, he condemns the unjust. Great without magnitude, immense without quantity, he has set an end to things; governing the world, he disposes all things.

Third, the merciful clemency of God is praiseworthy in our redemption.

is praiseworthy: for when he lost the man whom he had made in his own image, after so miserable a fall into the pit of damnation he restored him so mercifully. O what shall I, a little worm, indeed nothing in comparison with my maker, repay to the supreme and incomprehensible majesty, who by his power created me when I did not exist, and, when I had perished, being made man for my sake, redeemed me by dying on the cross? What shall I repay you, mediator of God and men, Jesus, savior of the world, who, though you are God, exalted and inestimable, were made man for my most vile sake and willed to undergo things so base and unworthy? Behold, my heart speaks to you; to you all my inward parts are bowed, because no voice can express what you grant your faithful to feel inwardly in the heart concerning your most innocent passion.

Fourth, in the work of our justification, the kindly patience of God is praiseworthy, because he not only mercifully bears with sinners, but also calls those who are to be justified to repentance with promises of eternal joys. Who could sufficiently praise this most indulgent clemency of the Father, who so mercifully justifies sinners returning to himself, grants after a fall the grace of meriting, arranges many occasions for living well, supplies his sacraments to the penitent as certain channels of grace, and finally pours the Holy Spirit himself into his faithful for compunction, instruction, consolation, and thanksgiving, making friends and sons out of enemies? He does not consider what sort of sinner a person was before; he seeks only that henceforth he remain faithful to him. Great is the clemency of divine compassion, which so mercifully receives the penitent into pardon, and promises them great rewards even after guilt.

Fifth, the profound justice of God is praiseworthy in the damnation of the reprobate, because he allows no evil to pass unpunished, depriving the sinner of the good that, by sinning, the fool does not fear to lose. Finally, to speak in our own manner, the supreme purity of God is shown praiseworthy in this, that he abominates every sin and vice like a putrid corpse. We also recognize that his wisdom is praiseworthy in the damnation of the impious, since, drawing good things from evil, he compels those who, by sinning against justice, were unwilling to be subject in guilt, to serve him in punishment.

Sixth, the abundant munificence of God is praiseworthy in the glorification of the blessed, since for very few merits he rewards his elect with so ineffable a recompense, and gives them so immortal a gift with the holy angels.

Seventh, the incomprehensible excellence of God in himself is praiseworthy, for he orders all things according to his providence and in himself, most tranquil, remains immovable by everlasting motion or time. The seventh contemplation of this consideration pertains to the sabbath of eternal happiness, in which there is no longer the laborious activity of earthly life, but the blessedness of a happy, eternal dwelling and rest. For truly, just as God the creator of all things is read to have completed and rested from all his work on the seventh day, so not labor but eternal rest will be imposed upon the just in the heavenly sabbath. Therefore, if we desire happily to come to those heavenly mansions, let us rest in God alone, in whom the rational creature is perfected by resting; and, once perfected through the adhesion of love, it is gladdened with the Lord in ineffable union and joy. Now let pure devotion seek nothing outside God for praising God, since God himself, omnipotent, perfect, and most wise, is sufficient to all as the matter of his own praise, and exceeds every praise by his infinite perfections. For Scripture says: “Praise the Lord as much as you are able; he will still surpass it.” For he is greater than all praise, and therefore he is to be praised by us most humbly rather in himself and for his own sake than from creatures.

From the foregoing considerations there arises concerning God a manifold and varied affection of devotion, through which a more worthy effect of prayer is also produced according to the desire of the affection. For when meditation of the heart is taken up concerning the majesty or power of God, reverent admiration is brought forth. But when we begin to meditate on his ineffable wisdom, we accuse ourselves within ourselves of our foolish imperfection. Thus, in turn, from consideration of the mercy of God there arises hope of pardon.

is awakened: from his patience love of heart is generated; from justice humility is born; from meditation on his munificence, gratitude. For just as a kindled fire grows in size according to the quality of the wood, so, according to varied meditations on God, the ardor of devotion rises up in prayers among those who love God.

On the meditation of the aid of our restoration in the passion of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Today: ir.

The second root of the fear and love of God is placed in meditation on our redemption, which is generated through diligent exercise in the life, conduct, teaching, and passion of our Lord Jesus Christ. Among all meditations we believe this one to be more useful to us, since we know that our salvation and the sum of eternal happiness are contained in it. And note that the Lord’s passion, with respect to its proceeding, was unjust; with respect to its manner, shameful; with respect to its pain, bitter; and with respect to its effect, fruitful. Therefore it must always be held in memory.

Note 1.

First, with respect to its proceeding it was unjust, because, born of a virgin, he neither contracted sin nor committed it, nor was deceit found in his mouth. Death is inflicted on us for sin, but he could not die justly, because without any sin he was always righteous and innocent. Finally, he was killed contrary to human law, if a sentence of death is brought against a person neither confessed nor convicted of a crime. For he was accused before Pilate the governor on three counts: that, calling himself king, he forbade tribute to Caesar; third, that he made himself the Son of God. On the first two the Gospel speaks, and the accusation is shown to be false. For concerning the first, the contrary was plainly established, since Christ said that his kingdom was not earthly. Nor did the falsity of the second escape Pilate, because he knew that Jesus had commanded that the things that were Caesar’s should be given to Caesar. Asked by the governor about the third, he was silent, because Pilate was unworthy to hear of his divine generation or even of his human birth. His passion was also contrary to custom, because it accepted no delay of time. He is not put in prison according to custom; nothing is deliberated in his case. Instead, once captured, he is immediately handed over to the judge to be subjected to death; scourged, spat upon, and afflicted with many injuries, wounds, and mockeries, he is nailed to the cross. Third, it was contrary to the law of nature and brought about from the obstinate hatred of the heart. For nature forbids raging against a dead man and shudders at tearing a hidden body with new wounds. For our Redeemer, dead on the cross, is pierced with a lance, and, contrary to the law of nature, once deceased he is wounded by the impious.

Second, the passion of Christ is said to have been shameful with respect to its manner, for the six causes that follow. First, because of the paltry price, since blood of incomparable worth is sold by a disciple for thirty silver coins, for which no one would deign to sell his donkey. Second, because of the shameful service, because, full of wounds and half-dead, he is compelled to carry his cross, which is found to have been done to no robber. Third, because of the unworthy place, since he is crucified outside the city in the place of Calvary, where robbers and wicked murderers are punished for their deserts. Fourth, because of the shameful punishment, since he is suspended naked on the cross, a penalty owed only to robbers and criminal men. Indeed, as Scripture says, the Redeemer of the world was condemned by a most shameful death. Fifth, because of the shameful mockery, since he is suspended naked on the cross before the whole multitude and is blasphemed by everyone as though foolish and insane. Concerning this the psalmist says: “All day long my shame is before me.” Sixth, because of the shameful company, since, counted among criminals, he is suspended in the midst of robbers. What are you doing now, O Christian soul? Behold, your Savior hangs in the middle between robbers, and you have not feared to sit first in council.

Third, the most holy passion of Christ, with respect to pain, was most bitter was most bitter, for seven reasons. First, because of the delicate liveliness of his flesh, which was excellent in its natural constitution, and therefore was more gravely afflicted under the pressure of pain. For delicate flesh suffers more than flesh that is coarse by its natural condition. Since, then, Christ’s flesh was subtle and delicate, in his sweat in the garden he poured forth blood.

Second, because of the character of those who killed him: Christ was not killed by strangers to his own people, but by his own kinsmen and nearest relations, as he had earlier complained through the prophet: “My people, what have I done to you?” For what one suffers from strangers and enemies is more tolerable than what one suffers from one’s own people, from whom at least friends are expected to suffer with one by reason of nearness of blood.

Third, because of the sharpness of the Passion, since he is afflicted especially in those places in which pain is felt more intensely because of the nerves. Raised upon the cross, he is fastened through hands and feet, and the Lord of all is given gall and vinegar to drink. For the psalmist says of him: “They have pierced my hands and my feet; they have numbered all my bones.” O good Jesus, who could conceive in his mind the pain of your most holy heart, when the most cruel nails began so cruelly to pierce your hands and feet? Would that my soul might always show itself pleasing to you, so that the remembrance of your most holy Passion may never depart from my memory. I shall easily be able to obtain from you the effect of my prayers, if you will make me delight without interruption in the exercise of your Passion. Let each person do what he can: I prefer the memory of your Passion to all exercises, through which I trust that in my prayers I shall receive whatever accords with salvation.

Fourth, because of the long duration, Christ’s Passion was most bitter, since from the hour of his captivity until death he was always in most bitter torment. “All day long,” he says, “I went about sorrowful, and there is no health in my flesh.”

Fifth, because of the universality of the Passion, since in whatever ways Christ could suffer, he suffered in a singular way. For he suffers in reputation, since, falsely accused, he is blasphemed by the impious. He suffers also in his possessions, since he is suspended naked and stripped upon the wood:

his garments are divided by lot among the soldiers. He suffers in his soul, because, with the bitterness of the Passion before him, he was sorrowful even unto death. He suffered in his whole body, because from the sole of the foot to the crown of the head there was no soundness in it. He suffers in his friends, because he is betrayed by a disciple, deserted by all, and even publicly denied by Peter. He is afflicted in the compassion of his mother, whose most holy soul is remembered to have been pierced through by the sword of sorrow. He suffered much from ingratitude, because by the death to which, in suffering with all, he submitted himself, he foresaw that what had been lost would remain lost in many reprobates. Finally, he suffered in all the senses, as we are taught from the Gospel. He suffers in the eyes, which, with many tears poured out, are veiled with a cloth. He suffers in hearing, when, mocked with many insults and reproaches, he is blasphemed. He suffers in smell, because he is defiled by the foul spittle of the Jews. He suffers in touch, because he is tormented in all the members of his body. He suffers in taste, because, thirsting, he is given gall and vinegar to drink.

Sixth, because of the causality of the Passion, which was solely the envy of the Jews, since he suffered wholly without fault. For truly, whoever suffers unjustly is tormented still more in his mind. But the innocent Son of God is bruised for our sins and tormented for our crimes, as is read in Isaiah: “Truly he himself bore our sufferings.”

Seventh, because of the lack of every consolation, since Christ found no one to console him in his Passion. For he says in the psalm: “You have put far from me friend and neighbor, and my acquaintances because of misery.” Indeed, his acquaintances stood afar off.

Fourth, Christ’s Passion, with respect to its effect, was most fruitful, and it is to be considered chiefly in three things. First, there was the remission of sins; second, the bestowal of grace; third, the manifestation of glory. And these three things are indicated by the title fixed to the cross, which, as the evangelist says, contained the cause of Jesus’ Passion: “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.” For Jesus, saving sinners, refers to the first; Nazarene, that is, conferring grace, refers to the second; King of the Jews, granting the heavenly kingdom to those who confess him, refers to the third.

Furthermore, in this second root we have arranged meditations on the Lord’s Passion for the individual hours of the seven days of the week. We have placed them after the end of the third region for this reason: so that, by presenting them in order here, we may not disturb the reader with their excessive length. The treatment that we have now set out seems to us to belong rather to reading than to meditation, and therefore we postpone those meditations.

On Meditation on the Benefits of God

The third root of divine fear and love is fixed in meditation on the benefits of God, through which one comes to the grace of devotion. Indeed, the beginning of devotion is placed in meditation on the benefits of God, from whose remembrance love is generated. The middle stage, as one advances in that meditation, desires nothing other than to please God above all things, since it knows that it has been forestalled by him with many benefits, without any merit of its own. The end, with burning desire, loves God above all things with the pure fervor of the mind, and longs to cling constantly to him alone without any intermediary. And although the most merciful God has bestowed many things specially on each one of us, nevertheless, because we write these our synthemata not for one person but for many, we must briefly proclaim not the particular benefits assigned to individuals, but the general benefits granted to all. Therefore we include the chief ones under the number seven, so that throughout the seven days of the week, or even at the canonical hours themselves, we may have material for daily meditation at hand. But if anyone already dwells in higher things through the elevation of the mind into God, let him not require these matters, which are set forth as for beginners. But he who, because of the weakness of his mind, cannot ascend to that supreme summit of contemplation should strive to exercise himself more fervently in these meditations on the benefits of God, so that, while he diligently continues in humbler things, purified and made stronger he may ascend to higher things. Therefore let the devout cenobite consider what he has received from the Lord God, so that he may be able to show himself grateful. Let him render to God what he has received, if he longs to be good. For God first gave us body and soul with their adornments; and those whom he made intellectual beings according to his image, he has also mercifully called to the heavenly kingdoms. What more could he have given us, he who, when we were not, created us? He gave himself. But what can we render to our Creator, since by merit we are sinners and weak? Let us render what we are; let us render what we owe: faithful service for the body that we have received from the Lord, and sincere love for the soul by which we were created according to the image of God. Thus the prophet admonishes us in the psalm: “Serve the Lord in fear, and rejoice before him with trembling.” Serve faithfully; love reverently. On the part of the body, offer faithful service to your Creator; on the part of the soul, love him with all your strength. Serve him because he is powerful and great as Lord; love him because he is good. His power is shown in your creation; his goodness is declared in your restoration. Since he created you, when you did not exist, by his power, he deserves faithful service; since he restored you, fallen as you were, by his goodness, he deserves the affection of sincere love. Indeed, he is our Father through love; he is Lord through incomprehensible power.

Second, he gave us faith with the sacraments, for just as he made us without our will, so he called us to faith without our merit. For Christ says to his disciples in the holy Gospel: “You did not choose me, but I chose you.” Through faith the beginning of the Christian soul is brought back to him; the sacraments renew it. Therefore, incorporated into Christ through the faith and sacraments that he has given, we are bound to cling to him perpetually and to remain continually in his holy covenant. For in baptism we renounced the devil and all his pomps; we promised that we would cling perpetually to Christ, as our sponsors in the faith lifted us from the sacred font on our behalf and placed us before the Lord in the faith of our parents. Therefore let us always say from the heart with the prophet: “It is good for me to cling to God, to place my hope in the Lord God.”

Third, almighty God gave us the craft of righteousness and the teachings of truth. For these we are bound to our Creator in faithful execution and perpetual service without deceit.

We are commanded, therefore, first of all to do everything to the praise of God, and in everything that we do to raise our intention principally toward him, the Good himself. For only a good intention distinguishes works in God; only love makes them fruitful. Behold, nature has provided us with skill for praising God; furthermore, he has given the teachings of salvation through the law; he requires from us praise and love above all things. Therefore let us exercise, to the honor of God, the skill given to us, and through the teaching of the law let the eye of our intention become pure.

Fourth, the merciful Father has granted us the world with its necessary elements; for these he requires from us the due sincere contemplation of himself. Whatever we see in this world ought to lead us to the remembrance of God, and continually to stir us to love our Creator above all things. Hence Bernard, practiced in sacred matters, says: The upright and true lover of God, wherever he turns, has a familiar reminder of his Creator; he uses things as a mirror, and so, thinking from creatures, is lifted up to the Creator. For concerning individual things he says: If those things seem good, beautiful, and sweet which, being created, are changed with time and pass away, what goodness, beauty, and sweetness does their author himself have, God remaining eternal, who has reserved incomparably better things for his own? By this consideration the devout person looks upon all people with the simple eye of the mind as bearing a likeness of the image of God, and does not curiously attend to the form of the body in them, whether pleasing or displeasing. In a human being he considers not what he sees outwardly, but the image of the Creator, which he knows to be a companion of eternal happiness.

Fifth, the Son of God offered himself in torments for us, and by his blood redeemed us, lost as we were, from the destruction of perpetual death. We are commanded to offer to this charity of our Savior a devoted imitation, if we desire to come to his kingdom. For the prince of the apostles says to the faithful: Christ suffered for us, leaving you an example, that you should follow his footsteps. What shall I render to you, O good Jesus, for your benefits toward me, so great, so vast, so immeasurable?

I shall suffer with you in heart; I shall suffer with you in deed; I shall imitate you with the affections of my mind, according to my ability.

Sixth, the Creator has granted us time for meriting eternal life, and has given the necessary nourishment of the body. Here too we exist as debtors to ourselves, since we owe to ourselves, by right, the acquisition of merit in this time. Why, then, do we spend the days of salvation so negligently and without the fruit of merit, when we possess nothing more precious than time? Behold, in this present brief time we can merit the joys of eternal happiness, and yet we neglect to do all that is good. Woe to us, foolish and mad, who account nothing in this world more precious than time, and yet are accustomed to spend nothing more cheaply. For now the acceptable time is granted to us; now the days of salvation are bestowed, in which we ought to apply ourselves to holy works with the greatest fervor, and always to foresee the hour of death.

Seventh, God has set before us heaven filled with every joy, and has promised himself, with all things contained in him, as a reward. For this munificence of our Savior we ought to apply ourselves to holy works of mercy, and to show ourselves imitators of God according to our strength. The Lord exhorts us to this in the holy Gospels: Be merciful, just as your Father, God, is merciful. At the end of the world also, when the day of judgment has come, by the promise of the Lord himself the merciful will go into eternal life, since whoever has shown mercy will obtain mercy. And lest someone among monks say to me, “I can show mercy to no one, since by my religion I am not permitted to possess anything at all,” let us know that among the necessary works of mercy, the spiritual are more excellent. If you wish to be a merciful monk, pray to God for the wretched; provide saving teaching to the unlearned.

Therefore the sum of meditation rests upon benefaction and three exercises, in which it is principally wholly contained. In the first, indeed, we ought to attribute all things to God, not to ourselves; in the second, by remembering God’s benefits, to exercise ourselves in the pursuit of love; in the third, always to meditate on his precepts and benefits.

to give thanks from a pure heart. If, however, by these exercises concerning God’s benefits we wish to kindle our heart to the love of God, we ought to consider six conditions in the Lord’s gifts themselves. First, consider that God’s gift is wholly noble; second, that it is especially fruitful and useful to you; third, that it is varied, manifold, and very often repeated. These three consider the gift as ordered in itself; the two that follow regard the person of the giver; the last notes the condition of the receiver. Fourth, then, consider the great affection of the giver toward you; fifth, his inestimable dignity; sixth, that you, receiving great things from the greatest, are vile and contemptible, and unworthy of all things. From these considerations of benefits the love of God is accustomed to rise up in the mind of the devout person, and, advancing by certain steps, to lift the spirit to contemplation.

On the Knowledge of Oneself

The fourth root producing divine love is called knowledge of oneself, very useful if it is referred to the preceding roots. Indeed, if by reflection we bring back to mind how many things so great a Lord has done for us, who are so little, we shall recognize that we are unworthy, vile, and altogether undeserving of all things. Four things ought to lead a person to knowledge of himself; and from consideration of these it is especially fitting for us to love God.

First, therefore, let the faithful person consider the beginning of his creation, and he will find that, when he did not exist, he was created from God’s goodness alone. Who could have asked God, when no one existed? That highest and utterly ineffable good created you, O man, in his own image when you did not exist; from goodness alone he made you a participant in his goodness. What did you merit when you did not exist? Or what advantage could your condition bring to almighty God, who, always subsisting unchangeably in himself, admits no accident? Nothing is new to God; nothing can be old to the highest and unchangeable good. He is always whatever he can be, because neither does the best become better, nor the greatest become greater. God created you by his goodness; your condition was not necessary to him, but advantageous to you alone. Whoever considers this goodness of God with attentive meditation rightly praises his creator.

Second, lest you be lifted up into pride, O man, consider the vileness of your condition: you were made from the slime of the earth, and after a little while, consumed by worms, you will return into the dust of the earth. Why, then, are you proud, earth and ashes? Your conception has guilt, your birth misery, your life punishment, your dissolution the distress of death. For man, born of woman, coming by a brief road of time, is filled with many miseries; and then he is most miserable when, in the flesh, he does not recognize himself as miserable.

Third, consider the origin of your conception, and you will find your soul stained with the foulness of original sin. For we are born children of wrath, but through the grace of baptism in the blood of Christ Jesus we are cleansed from the original stain. By this consideration we rightly love our Savior, by whose mercy we have been cleansed from the original stain.

Fourth, faithful soul, consider how excessively foul and vile you are whenever you stain your garments in the act of sin, since you have shown yourself an adulteress to Christ your spouse, who joined you to himself through his blood when you were utterly immaculate. What are you doing, O wretched one? Why do you desert your most loving spouse, or why, foolish one, do you withdraw from your source? Know that you have been placed in the flesh, not so that you may yield to its vicious and concupiscent desires, but rather that, prone as they are, you may resist their rule. For as often as, by dissembling, you have handed over your body, so to speak, to the disordered motions of the flesh, which are contrary to divine rectitude, so often, turned away from the highest good, you show yourself an adulteress to your spouse. Beware, beware, O soul redeemed by the blood of Christ, lest the love of the flesh deceive you; for just as the first man, deceived by love of the woman who was his companion, fell into death, so any soul, following the pleasures of its flesh, shamefully withdraws from its source, which is God. But alas, wretched one, how far you have fallen! You have dwelt in a foreign land; you have been defiled with the dead; you have been counted among those descending into hell. You have forsaken the fountain of wisdom; you have turned backward; adultery But listen to my counsel, and return as quickly as possible to the guide of your youth, Jesus; submit yourself wholly and humbly to him. He is merciful: when you return to him, he will gladly receive you; he will forgive your vices, and, if you ask, will bestow the grace of his love. But you must withdraw from the affections of the flesh if you desire to come into the sight of your Savior. Therefore, if you turn to Jesus, turn in truth, because supreme Truth cannot love anything except what is true.

There is also another proper mode of knowing oneself, which is taken up with respect to God, whenever one thinks on the incomparable comparison between God and man. Concerning this mode Bernard, famous in contemplation, says: “No better does the measure of human imperfection reveal itself than in the light of the countenance of God and in the mirror of divine vision. There, indeed, one who is more fully in the day and sees more clearly what is lacking in himself improves day by day by likeness whatever he had lost by unlikeness, drawing near to him by likeness from whom he had been made distant by unlikeness.” Let us therefore raise the eye of the mind to the most bright mirror of divine perfection; let us submit our affection to that unchangeable good, so that in God’s wisdom we may be able to see our own folly, and in his power to consider our own weakness.

On Keeping the Memory of One’s Sins.

The sixth root.

The fifth root of the fear of God is the memory of sins, and the very foulness of sin often considered. Indeed, whoever truly understands the foulness of mortal sin always foresees the pit of this evil. But so that you may in some way recognize the gravity of sin, you must consider the seven things that follow.

First, then, consider the beauty of God’s justice, to which sin is entirely contrary and therefore to be especially avoided. For through sin the soul is wholly turned away from the highest good, and the love that is naturally in it toward its principle is changed into hatred.

For just as all good things are from the first good, so every love, toward whatever good it is borne, is naturally kindled by its condition. For since our love cannot rest in any goods as in its end, it has as its end, where it is to rest, that same good which it had also as its beginning. Therefore, as often as sin is committed against the beauty of God’s justice, the soul is separated from its principle. For since God is charity, he demands love in the soul; as peace, he requires peace; he loves what is like, and hates what is unlike.

Second, consider the enormity of sin, and carefully weigh how greatly its foulness displeases God. Behold, because of pride the just God expelled the most noble angel Lucifer from heaven, and with his accomplices condemned him to the burning of eternal fire. Because of disobedience he compelled our first parents, Adam and Eve, to leave paradise, and by a just judgment condemned the whole human race, in their crime, to the sentence of a double death. Finally, let us review the whole history of the Old and New Testament, and we shall find that what was clearly committed rashly against the justice of God was often gravely punished by that justice. Therefore the gravity of the crime is easily recognized if the severity of the vengeance that followed is considered.

Third, consider how grave a scandal arises from sin, especially when one sins in the presence of others. For whoever, by his evil example, provokes someone to sin shows himself an adversary of God. For God, by his own will and out of mercy, has determined to save souls redeemed by the blood of his only-begotten Son; but this man, through his turning away from God, desires to destroy them by evil example. A scandalous sin is truly called most grave with respect to guilt for this reason: because, as we have said, it is opposed to God. But if the one who gives occasion for harm is to be thought to have harmed, then the sinner subjects himself to as many sentences of death as he has caused people, by his evil example, to fall into mortal crime. For Christ says in the holy Gospel: “Woe to the man through whom scandal comes.” And again he says: “Whoever scandalizes one of these little ones...”

who believe in me, it is expedient for him that a millstone be hung around his neck and that he be drowned in the depth of the sea.” True penitence is rare in one who scandalizes little ones, because, when he neglects to restore another’s loss, he by no means attains the fruit of saving penitence.

Fourth, consider the negligence of your ungrateful heart, since you, who were created in the image of God and ought to have loved your maker above all things, dishonor him in many ways by your sins. You ought to devote continual service of love to Christ, the Son of God, by whose blood you have been redeemed; but you do not fear to love the flesh more than Jesus your Savior. Finally, with a compassionate mind you ought daily to turn over in your mind his most holy Passion, and you are accustomed to think of nothing less than it. Adopted among the sons of God by mercy alone, you ought to have shown yourself worthy of the heavenly calling by becoming an imitator, and still you are not afraid to lie in the lowest things through sloth. And why do I say more? Behold, you who have been marked with the Holy Spirit, who are counted with the angels, are called to the inheritance of the sons of God, are invited by all the saints to the feasts of paradise, and daily partake of the body and blood of our Savior Jesus Christ, nevertheless do not observe the commandments of God and the rule which you promised to keep so that you might be blessed. Therefore examine your conscience diligently, and you will find that you ought to do many good things which you omit, and to omit many evil things which you commit against God’s good pleasure.

Fifth, consider whom you have offended by sinning: not a man, but God; not a creature, but the Creator. Great is he against whom you have sinned, immeasurable, terrible, and glorious; at his majesty the angels tremble, and at his power all the heavenly spirits marvel. To the highest and unchangeable good, God, the beginning and end of every creature, the rational spirit ought to offer love and the desire of adhesion beyond human understanding, and should truly raise its whole self to that one as to its own center, despising all phantasms, the more easily able to rise to him insofar as it has striven, leaving all other things behind, to unite itself to itself. For by the power of that one there is union where there is unity; nor for any other reason are things more alike more easily united with one another than because they are one in some likeness. Therefore the soul is then most rightly said to be united with that one principle of things, when it, having been made most perfectly one in itself, is separated from all multiplicity and, above all imagination, reason, and understanding, its unity alone escapes, enjoying by loving affection the unity of God, and joining, so to speak, its own center with the center of the universe. But when the human soul itself, through the evil fellow-feeling of the flesh as if with a spouse, is turned toward any animal passions, then that very unity is badly changed into a multiplicity contrary to the one alone, and it is made so much the more distant from its principle as it has been divided from itself. The soul itself contracts a great difficulty in returning to that one ineffable divine thing whenever, confounded in itself, it falls into the sin of apostasy. Now think how great and ineffable is he against whose honor sin is committed; and, since you are wholly unable to understand the greatness of his majesty, learn humbly to fear his power.

Sixth, consider what you have lost by sinning, so that, once the greatness of the loss is known, penitence may hasten and restore through tears what has been lost. What, then, wretched one, have you lost by sinning? Hear what you have lost. Made like God through grace, a companion of the angels, a member of Christ, and an heir of eternal happiness, you had been chosen; you ought to have lived and rejoiced without end in the goods of the Lord with all the saints. But what happened when you sinned? You were compared to senseless beasts and made like them. Since you refused to understand when you were in honor, you abandoned the fountain of life; by sinning you were made a companion and member of the devil, a harlot of Antichrist, an heir of hell. You abandoned life; you chose everlasting death. If you fear the sentence, change your will, and you will find remission.

Seventh, consider what you have deserved by sinning; for if eternal death is inflicted for one sin, what punishment, I will not say for many sins...

innumerable sins, consider what he deserves. For the soul that has sinned shall itself die. Moreover, even for one mortal sin you have deserved to be the devil’s companion without end, to be deprived of all the joys of heaven, and to be burned forever in the fires of hell. These are the rewards that sin has brought you; these are the gifts it has promised.

Therefore, from these seven considerations make a poultice for the wounded soul; take up for yourself the sting of compunction, so that you may come to the root of fear. But for this reason do not put it off from day to day, since he who receives the humble confession of one who repents has not promised tomorrow to the one who delays. For where haste finds pardon, delay often cuts off life. Hope of a longer life has drawn many to destruction, because, while a person trusts that he can live longer in this world, he causes the time for repentance to pass without repentance. But you, human being, if you accept my counsel, do not put off repentance, for you are wholly ignorant of what tomorrow will bring you. For he deserves to lose the time of repentance who so often has not deserved to defer the work of repenting.

On the Vanity of Present Things and the Eternity of Future Things. Chapter 6

The sixth root of fear is raised up in the mind of one who meditates, if the vanity of visible things and the eternity of invisible things are considered with attentive care. For all things that we perceive in this world are altogether subject to vanity and corruption, and indeed will last for a very short time. All mortal affairs hang under uncertain chance, and by their own changeability promise flight. Whatever you have today may perhaps leave you tomorrow; or even now, while you are speaking, it will cease to be yours. For in this world we perceive nothing lasting and stable, but we see that all things change with time.

Now then, faithful monk, ascend to the watchtower of your mind, and consider that all things which time contains are nothing, because whatever is now seen as visible will after a little while be corrupted. Take your consideration of the present from things past, and see that what has passed away does not exist, and that what now seems to exist will after a very little while not exist. Where are the kings of the nations, where the princes, where the commanders, where the rich, where those once powerful in the world? Where are all the lovers of the world; where are the people who despised the steep path of heaven? Finally, where are all those once known to you in the world, whom death meanwhile snatched away while you were in the cloister? Behold, from the origin of the world, those who lived for many times and those who lived for few have all died in their own generation, and, according to the diversity of their merits, have also received different rewards as justice dictated. The lovers of God receive everlasting bright dwellings, filled with inestimable joys, joined to the Creator of all; and the worshipers of the world, despising God’s commandments, once swollen here with honors, puffed up with knowledge, sunk in riches, and given over to pleasures and vices, have gone down to hell to be tormented without end. Tell me, what harm now comes to the saints in heaven from their once laborious contempt of the world, contrary to the flesh, through which they now enjoy the glad vision of God forever? What profit now comes to the impious, buried in hell, from the consolation of the flesh they once had, through which they now receive the torments of eternal damnation? Consider what is profitable; meditate on these things while the opportunity to take care is present.

Again, ascending higher, try with all your strength to fix the gaze of your mind in the abyss of infinite depth, and to consider how long what is eternal is. Eternity is time enclosed by no end, bounded by no span. The saints of God will exult forever in blessed glory; sinners will burn forever in hell in misery. O eternity, name terrible without end: who could think of you or speak of you without fear? Truly, whoever thinks of you never sins forever. Eternity has no end. Hear a comparison, and, when it has not been sufficient for eternity, take up fear. If we were to place a heap of sand the size of Mount Olympus, reaching all the way to heaven, from which after ten thousand years one small grain alone were removed...

a little bird were to consume from it one tiny grain; in no way would that mountain be said to last forever, but it would be subject to an end, and, although after innumerable years, would nevertheless cease at some time. Yet all that time during which something of the mountain remained, however very long it might be, would seem as nothing in comparison with eternity. What is eternal admits no imagining of an end, nor any hope of completion or limit.

O then, how foolish, how senseless, how insane is the person who casts aside this consideration of eternity, and uselessly spends the acceptable time granted to him for meriting eternal goods. The hour will come, and now it is already hastening near, in which the wretched man, when he can no longer do better, will learn what eternity is. But you, my monk, who desire to be faithful, cast away from yourself every anxiety of the world; set all your concern on the love of God. Do nothing, say nothing, think nothing except what you know can lead you to the love of your Creator, or pertains to the edification of others or to the simple necessity of the body. Separate, I beg you, precious things from the lowly, so that you may be able to delight in eternal goods. Let no anxiety of the flesh draw you away from the inner tranquillity of mind; let no pleasure corrupt you. Strive, as far as you can, always to persist in prayers with devotion, and again to lift yourself more frequently through the affection of love.

On Always Having Zeal for God.

The seventh root of the fear of God is called zeal; in this the monk is commanded to exercise himself in no small measure. For no one calmly tolerates injuries against his lord, if he truly loves him. Therefore you, monk, who desire to be a faithful servant of Jesus Christ, do not neglect his zeal within yourself. When you see an injury against God, do not dissemble; for whoever does not at once resist those who disparage his lord is shown to love him less. Let people know you as such a lover of God and enemy of vices that they will not dare to speak evil in your presence, nor presume to do any evil thing while you look on.

Be conspicuous for uprightness of soul, bright with the merit of your life, reverend in zeal. The upright will love you as a servant of God; the wicked will fear your face as that of a judge. Let no one presume to do anything in your sight that is alien to good morals, since all will have known that you cannot tolerate injury against God. Thus Phinehas the priest merited an everlasting covenant when, by zealously defending the law, he powerfully appeased the Lord’s wrath.

If you see order perishing in the monastery, if your brothers have begun in any way to corrupt regular observance, do not, if you are a servant of God, be silent about their vices. Rather, set yourself bravely on behalf of the house of the Lord; exercise the zeal of God as much as you can; destroy the counsels of the malicious; resist the rashness of the proud. If you are a true lover of God, by your very face alone you will scatter depraved gatherings. For no one will lay bare his plan before you if he suspects your zeal to be against it. But if the wicked do not fear your presence when they act badly, then surely they recognize no zeal of God in you.

Therefore, in order to show yourself a true servant of Christ, you ought willingly to forgive your brothers, for the love of God, injuries inflicted on yourself, and to pray to God for those who injure you. But injuries against the Lord, since it is not yours to forgive them without his will, you should rather avenge out of zeal for uprightness. Let love of blood-kinship yield in these matters; let the bond of friendship withdraw far away. Zeal for God must be preferred to all things. For friendship with a person must be observed in such a way that it is never preferred to zeal for God.

Woe to monks and abbots who so boldly cast aside zeal for God, who put human familiarities before the divine command, who dissemble the vices of subjects with foolish compassion, who observe the traditions of the holy Rule neither in themselves nor in others. And what shall I say? We perceive that among cloistered monks obedience to commands is despised, zeal for uprightness is spurned, observance of the Rule is contemned. Two or more make among themselves a compact of carnal friendship under the name of charity; the sick entrust their diseases of soul to other sick persons, and of friendship especially requires purity of mind. Each considers his own companion better than the rest, and one loves the other, deceived not spiritually but carnally, since those who do not lift their affections up to God love nothing other than the consolations of the flesh. But when you see a monk seeking friendship with a weak and infirm brother, you must judge him not a servant of God but a lover of the flesh. For one who truly occupies his whole heart in the love of God cares nothing for human friendship. The love of Jesus is sufficient for him in all things; beyond him he requires nothing more. But one who seeks outward consolations of the mind shows by his action that he does not love God with his whole heart. The love of God loves solitude, hates the tumult of men, and does not require conversations with friends.

O good Jesus, how sweet is your love, since it pierces the heart of the one who loves you. Seeing you, he desires to see you; having you, his soul longs to embrace you. Truly, one who loves you forgets himself; he meditates on nothing but the sweetest pleasingness of you. There is nothing in the world that pleases one who loves you; nothing is found anywhere that the soul desires apart from you. O with how many sighs the mind wounded by love is tormented; with how abundant tears the face is watered in secret, because as often as it thinks of the beloved’s face presiding in heaven, so often it laments itself as desolate on earth.

Meanwhile the mind, languishing with love, often tries to say something about its most beloved Jesus; it also strives to provoke others to his love. But as soon as it begins to utter the sweetest name of Jesus, unwillingly, because of the greatness of love, it falls silent. For the love of Jesus is expressed by no words, but is felt with sweetness in the secret of the mind. I know one who said: “My love is crucified.” Who is your love, O servant of God? Why do you weep? Why do you groan? Ignatius: “My love is crucified, and shall I not mourn? My Lord is dead, and shall I be able to hold back my tears?” Do not weep, O faithful soul, for though your love has died to redeem you from death, he has already risen from the dead to crown you in heaven. Be faithful unto death, and he will give you the crown of life.

On the Mode and Degrees of Divine Love, Containing the Conclusion of This Second Region

Since no one suddenly becomes supreme, nor can anyone by his own powers suddenly ascend to that highest summit of divine love, I now think it useful to note briefly the certain modes or degrees themselves of loving God. For moving the human heart to divine love, in my judgment the passion of our Lord Jesus Christ is more effective than all other things, provided that it has been pondered in a person’s mind purely, sweetly, fervently, perseveringly, and diligently. Truly, one who often recalls to memory the life, passion, and death of our Savior, with compassion and thanksgiving, especially according to its principal articles, prepares a swift ascent of the heart to divine love. But we shall suitably treat this most holy occupation of the mind around the Lord’s passion in the second principal part of this work, where we shall set out more fully the manner of spiritual exercise. As for the account of what is said in this place, I find three modes of loving God, which I shall briefly explain in order.

The first mode commands that you love sweetly the one who loves you, and join your whole self to him gently, so that your heart loves nothing outside God and requires nothing from elsewhere. For since God is wholly all, he alone desires to possess the whole heart of the one who loves him, and he drives it away from displeasing thoughts. Therefore, if you wish to love sweetly, love totally. For the love of God makes complete either the whole person or nothing. Let meditation on the passion of Jesus Christ our Savior possess you wholly, until love grows sweetly strong in you. You must despise everything in yourself that flatters the flesh, if you desire to come to the love of God. For no one can love God sweetly in this life while he is convicted of loving anything in the world. Indeed the love of the world is utterly contrary to divine love, since where one is admitted into the inner chambers of the heart, the other is forbidden to be present. But how great a sweetness, how great a pleasantness, and how great a joy of mind the love of God brings into No one fully understands what sweetness, what delight, and what joy of mind the love of God produces in the heart of the one who loves, unless he has despised all the things and events of the world and has loved God alone for a long time. The heart of one who loves God loves none of those things that are in the world; it despises the riches, honors, and favors of the age; it does not fear to undergo any adversities for the love of its Lord. The love of God is never idle; it always desires to return to its beginning; it refuses to suffer no labors in this world. Therefore let the person who does not wish to become slothful love.

One’s neighbor also is to be loved sweetly for God’s sake, and is not to be offended in any way against God or justice. Let each person always show himself to his brother, in words and deeds, such as he expects others to be toward himself. For he truly loves his neighbor who exposes his possessions, body, and soul for him. Christ taught this; the Son of God did this for us. Indeed, whoever says that he truly believes in Christ ought himself to walk just as he walked. He does not truly love Christ who does not keep his commandments. For he says: “This is my commandment, that you love one another, as I have loved you.” We are members of one head, Jesus Christ; and we then believe in him when we observe his commandment concerning love toward God and toward neighbor. Therefore let us love our neighbor, because he is a member with us in Christ, so that just as one member in the body suffers with another, so a brother may be humbly helped by a brother for the love of Christ.

The second mode commands you to love wisely, and in divine love to seek nothing other than God. Stretch out your affection toward that Word which was in the beginning with God; raise your mind above everything that has been created, because unless you leave behind yourself and all things that are in the world, you will not be able to come to him whom you love. Finally, if you desire to love God wisely, do not think yourself to be anything; for where a person reckons himself to be something, he already loves unwisely.

The third mode commands that you love bravely, and that you never fear to expose body and soul for the love of God.

The lover of God is not brave if he is afraid to undergo death for him. For love is strong as death. One’s neighbor is loved wisely if not the person but the vice is hated. And he is loved bravely if every injury is forgiven from a spirit of doing good to that same person.

Here ends the second region.

Sebastian Hoffmann in Eger, 1548.

C D E F G H I K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Preface to the third treatise of the first part, which describes the supreme region of the spirit of cloistered persons.

At last, with the Lord’s help, as I am about to write of the supreme region of the spirit, I am at once restrained by fear and shame: for, being small, I fear to speak of the greatest matters, and I am deeply ashamed to teach things in which I am not sufficiently experienced. For what ability, however practiced, could recognize the state of a mind resting sweetly in God through love? Or what iron pen, even of the most eloquent orator, could explain the secret sweetness of inward contemplation? Indeed, the exercise of this third region surpasses human understanding for the most part: in it the mind of the purified person, through the fervor of divine love, is carried above itself and, while its natural essence remains, is absorbed in the abyss of divine contemplation, lulled with wondrous sweetness. It is so overwhelmed by the great sweetness of the inward majesty that it seems able neither to understand nor to express its own state. Once the operation of the senses has clearly been left behind, it also passes wholly beyond the intellect; and, as though abandoning itself still more, without image, reasoning, or understanding, it is raised by affection above itself to that supreme summit of the divine darkness. But when it has entirely failed from itself, it does not act but rests; nor, when returned to itself, can it understand what it has undergone, or reveal to anyone the manner of its elevation. For this elevation of the mind into God is so pure and so sublime that not only can the inexperienced not understand it, but even the experienced person cannot fully explain in words what it is like. But what shall I be able to say about the mountain of divine darkness, which I have not yet deserved to enter? For the well of inward contemplation is deep, and I am weak: I have brought neither a jar suited to these waters, nor have I prepared steps of ascent suitable for such heights. Polished words do not befit a fool, nor is it fitting for an unskilled and cold man to speak of the secrets of divine contemplation.

An unskilled and cold man ought not to speak about the secrets of divine contemplation, one who still remains with the weak in the valleys. For only he speaks fruitfully about profound matters who is illumined by the ray of a double spirit. Nevertheless, since I am a man placed under obedience to the annual chapter, I am compelled to take up the command of that synod and to complete, according to my powers, the work set before me. Therefore I enter the third region of cloistered souls under the guidance of the venerable father, Lord Johannes, the devout abbot of Bursfeld, so that, by reducing as far as I can to my own manner of speaking what he described in scholastic and truthful language, I may appear to have obeyed the chapter.

Here begins the third region of the soul, which is called spiritual, in which the highest tranquility of mind is possessed

The third, or highest, region of the soul is called spiritual; in it the highest repose and tranquility of mind is found. This region is compared to the empyrean heaven, in which there is the true repose of all and the true happiness of souls. The spirit standing in this region leaves behind the subrational part and, lifted up by love into God, ascends marvelously. For whatever it does in this most holy region is judged wholly divine. Here the human spirit, rapt above itself, receives the divine inpouring; and, lulled to rest in the darkness of divine contemplation and withdrawn from all creatures, it sweetly rests. In this region almighty God directs the spirit contemplating him; and, when the intellectual powers of the soul have been simplified, recalled from every phantasm into the inner chamber, and gathered together according to their objective tendencies, he strips the mind of all multiplicity, leads it back to himself as the one principle, and also makes it one in himself, not by nature but by gracious participation. The citizens of this highest region are truly spiritual people, who, despising all things and affections of the world, love nothing in this world except God, desire nothing inordinately, but, absorbed by inward affection by the divine Spirit, thirst vehemently for God himself and burn with an insatiable desire for his love. For they are driven in God by such great fervor of love that, lifted above themselves, they leave behind nearly all intellectual operations; and, rapt into the abyss of divine contemplation, they admit absolutely nothing except God. There, existing insensibly through the grace of love, they become one with God, while the distinctness of their natures is preserved, by the gift of participation. For the holy apostle of Jesus Christ says: “He who clings to the Lord is one spirit.” And again he says: “Those who are led by the Spirit of God are the sons of God.” The same apostle also shows himself to be a citizen of this most holy region when he cries out to the Philippians: “Our conversation is in heaven.”

For as long as we are in the body, we are pilgrims away from the Lord; but we are sweetly led, as though through sleep, to our homeland when in mind and spirit we have our conversation in heavenly things. I have said “through sleep” not properly, but by a remote comparison. For in sleep we pass through images of things intelligible to us, with the species preserved in the imagination; in contemplation, beyond all imagination, we are lifted up to God by pure mind and spirit. And therefore this highest region of the soul is called spiritual, from which all religious receive the name of spirituality. Woe to us. We are called spiritual from this most blessed region, and are named religious lovers of God, although we have never climbed the summit of this mountain through the height of contemplation, but, always weak with the weak, lie on the bed of carnal desires. Why do we bear a holy name, we who are not holy?

Let us therefore strive with all our strength, through the continual exercise of the middle region, to ascend to the height of this highest summit, if we truly desire to obtain the name of spiritual life. In this region charity holds dominion, wisdom the consulship; in it nothing is loved except God, nothing is done inordinately. This most holy region, moreover, belongs to the empyrean heaven, because those whom it spiritually receives as citizens it brings to the joys of heaven.

without any intermediary. Thus, just as the lowest region of the flesh sends its citizens, when they die, to hell, and the middle region of reason sends them to purgatory, so this region sends its perfect worshipers, when they depart, to heaven. The dignity of this third and supreme region is set forth in many ways and is especially commended in seven articles, as will be said in order.

That this supreme region of the spirit of cloistered persons is pleasing by comparison.

Article 1

First, then, this third region of the soul is called pleasing by comparison, because it is compared to the highest empyrean heaven. For just as in the empyrean heaven all things are tranquil, so on this summit of the supreme region the mind of the person contemplating God is disturbed by no agitations. Here is the highest rest of the contemplating soul; here no crowd of vices dwells; no bitterness of mind at all draws near.

In the empyrean heaven, indeed, the majesty of God is seen by the holy spirits through an ineffable gift; here, in darkness, through the longing of love, it is seen above understanding. There God is all in all; here nothing among all things is pleasing except God. There it is granted to the saints to rest from their labors without end; here the mind is permitted, while resting, to taste beforehand the unspeakable sweetness of inward delight.

There is no greater blessedness than in heaven, and there is no tranquility in the world so sweet as in this region. Blessed indeed are those who have deserved to ascend this mountain of divine contemplation, who love nothing at all in this world and desire nothing other than always to cling to God. O how secure is the conscience of these citizens, how joyful their way of life, where no evil is committed and nothing else is desired except that highest, unchangeable good.

The mind that has truly and perseveringly ascended this region has been purified through divine love: it desires nothing carnal, nothing disordered; it raises itself wholly in contemplation of the highest majesty through longing; it rests sweetly in God alone. O who could express the inward sweetness of one who truly loves God, when the mind recalls all the things and powers of the soul from the dispersion of multiplicity into one, and, raised upward by fiery affections, lifts them into the inner chamber of the spirit? Then it directs its gaze through love toward that highest, unchangeable good; it wholly casts away from itself every created and creatable multitude; the soul gathers itself into one, so that, united within itself, it may be able to rise without the hindrance of multiplicity to its own principle, which is one. To the one principle of all things, indeed, unity alone can attain, because unity flees multiplicity and seeks what is one. For the more you yield to multiplicity, the more you withdraw from unity.

Therefore the mind of a person dwelling in this supreme region of the spirit, when it seeks to raise itself in love toward the contemplation of its own principle, is accustomed to set aside every multiplicity clinging to it in imagination or understanding, so that, gathered in its own unity, it may be able to turn ardently, with a simple affection of love, toward him whom it knows to be above every position.

That this supreme region of the spirit is sweet and lovable by nearness.

Article 2

Secondly, this supreme region of the spirit is most sweet and pleasant in likeness and by singular nearness. For the citizen of this most holy region is separated from the citizens above by only one earthen wall, so to speak, because as long as the spirit inhabits the flesh, it cries out to heaven as if through a wall. The earthen wall of the flesh, however, is the frailty of the body, from which the spirit, once freed, will go out to migrate to heaven when it is separated from the body by death.

But a spirit wounded by sins, which cannot raise itself to this region through the pure affection of love, is still said to stand farther away from the empyrean heaven. Those, however, who dwell in this most quiet region are very near the empyrean heaven, because, weighed down by no stains of sins, they despise all earthly and carnal things and always desire to live in mind and spirit among heavenly things.

For those who inhabit the empyrean heaven and those who dwell in the third region have one and the same object. But this is the difference: these contemplate God in an enigma, while those do so in clear vision. The sweetness of contemplation is marvelous in both places: here it is great, there greatest; here it is in the desire of fervent love, there in the possession of the most blessed vision.

In this highest region of divine contemplation the rational spirit calls its powers and capacities back into its own chamber. There, free from every phantasm, it is at leisure; it raises itself above itself into the density of the divine darkness, where, lulled by ecstatic love, it rests sweetly. No troublesome confusion of thoughts is active here, no imagining of phantasms, but the naked mind is raised upward and contemplates without any thought or imagination. Indeed, when the mind itself turns back to thoughts, it shows that it has again descended to the middle region, which belongs to reason. But since the human mind cannot always remain unmoved at the summit of divine contemplation, it must often return to the rational exercise of the second region. If, however, it has fallen into sensual passions, then it has again descended to the lowest region.

Yet the soul of the true lover of God, although because of the frailty of the flesh it cannot always remain in the pleasantness of contemplation, nevertheless strives often to raise itself to it through fiery affection, so that it may fulfill the exercise of reason in such a way as not wholly to lose the sweetness of inward delight. O how good it is to cling to the Lord; how sweet it is to attend to God alone, so that the mind may thirst for the Lord Jesus before all things and always long to embrace him with burning desires. Indeed, while the mind stands in this region it is very near the empyrean heaven, and therefore is inflamed toward it with the greatest desires of love. O how many groans and tears the mind, fervent with love, is accustomed to pour out; how ardently it sighs for heavenly things, because the nearer it is to the empyrean heaven while standing through the secret of contemplation in this highest region, the more ardent its affection is known to be for leaving the prison of the body. Therefore, with the holy Apostle, the mind languishing with love says in its burning sighs: “I desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ.”

That this region of the soul is divine by instruction. Article Three.

Third, this highest region of the soul is called divine by instruction, because in it the mind, fervent with divine love, is taught not by man but by the Holy Spirit. For Christ said to his lovers in the sacred Gospel: “When that Spirit of truth comes, he will teach you all truth.” And again there is that saying of the prophet: “And they shall all be taught by God.” For the Holy Spirit inhabits the heart of one who loves Jesus and illuminates it by his invisible teaching.

In this region the spirit reads true wisdom, Mary’s best part, in silent tranquility; mystical theology teaches in the secret of the divine darkness with ineffable sweetness; the mind, disposed by the fervor of most holy love, speaks with its beloved in secret and is continually raised toward him by desire. This wisdom, or mystical theology, can indeed be commended by a man, but it cannot be taught except by divine instruction. For the work of the Holy Spirit is being done when the mind is illuminated in true contemplation.

But we must consider that mystical theology is acquired through the exercise of purified affection and is taught through the fire of love. Speculative theology, however, which we call scholastic, is learned through the exercise of the intellect, while the mind binds itself to continual study. For the acquisition of mystical theology, purification of the affection from every entangling thing is required, so that the will, depraved by aversion, may be reformed toward its principle through the conversion of inward love. Indeed, unless the affection has been purged of all disordered desire, it does not ascend to the sublimity of this most sacred wisdom. But if it has cast off sensual passions, if the human will has been conformed to the divine will, the mind through fiery by love, is raised upward and, by anagogical movements, lifts itself into the immensity of the divine darkness. No one understands the sweetness of this theology unless he receives it; no one receives it unless, out of all things, he seeks it alone through the sighs of love. The psalmist sought this when he prayed to the Lord: “Would that my ways were directed to keep your justifications at all times.” For the holy man was carried upward by such movements of desire toward obedience to the divine will that, in the same Psalm 118, he scarcely spoke any verse in which he did not place a word concerning the divine equity or judgment.

The exercise of this purgation begins in the second region and is consummated in this one. For no small labor is required for the affection to be purged from the desires of the world. But when the exercise of spiritual reformation has been undertaken, the mind gradually makes progress in love; it longs to ascend to this region by fixed steps; it hastens through desire toward the invisible school of this theology; sighing with continual groans, it knocks at the door of divine mercy.

But the mind is not admitted into the secrecy of this mystical wisdom unless, after a complete purgation of affection, it is stripped of every creature, unites itself to itself, and withdraws farther from every reasoning or imagining of thinkable things. For unless it has withdrawn from every creature, it does not approach the Creator, who is above all things. Therefore, in this school of divine instruction, the Holy Spirit is believed to preside over the learners; he teaches a person to love nothing in this world and to conform himself in all things to the will of God. Happy is he who has deserved to be the disciple of this master; happy is he who has entered this school through the desire of love, for in mystical silence he receives wonderful things that God has hidden from those who do not love.

That this supreme region of the spirit is founded on simplicity.

Article 4

Fourth, this most holy region of the spirit is said to be founded on simplicity, in which the mind is united not by essence but by the love of adhesion to its own unchangeable principle. For, as we have already said above, God is that supreme good, the One, to which our mind cannot draw near unless, having stripped off every multiplicity that belongs to attraction, imagination, and understanding, it strives to present itself entirely one within itself.

For the mind itself naturally seeks to reach the supreme good; but the more it is divided in its operation through multiplicity, the less fit it is found to be for coming to him. Multiplicity is opposed to unity, and the more the mind has turned itself toward many things, the more it withdraws from unity. One, two, three, four: they are ten. You withdraw from one when you are multiplied in number. Return to one if you desire to have the principle. For the One is the principle of all things; if you add anything to it in your mind, you at once withdraw from it. When you say “one,” you say “principle.” If you say “two,” you have already left the principle behind.

Therefore, so that you may always be able to contemplate your principle, take care at all times, stripped of all multiplicity, to make yourself one. For since all goods are from the first good, and every love is borne toward some good, being naturally kindled by that same good, our love cannot be touched by any goods and rest in the final end unless it strives finally to return, naked and pure, to its own principle. For union is made solely by the power of the One itself; and for no other reason do we say that things more similar to one another are more easily united than because we see that they are one in quality.

Therefore the mind is believed to be able to be united with the supreme principle of things, the One, only when, stripped of every multiplicity and united also to itself, it is lifted up to God by most fervent love. Just as no union occurs between things diverse in quality, so there can be no adhesion between God and a mind divided within itself. For union of one with one occurs through likeness of quality; and there will be adhesion with God for a mind simplified and stripped of all things through loving affection.

Thus the supreme region of the spirit is founded on simplicity; in it the mind of the purified person is raised up to God by the most fervent desire of love, and by grace is united to its unchangeable principle. Intellect and affection are two.

eyes of the soul. The first of them, namely the intellect, is raised up to know God, but it is not sufficient to come to the mountain of divine darkness, because it proceeds weighed down by phantasms of sensible things. Therefore affection, the simpler eye of the soul, enters the dark mountain without any images, contemplates God through love, and, separated from all creatures, thinks nothing sensible; resting in mystical silence, it is free and bare. This is the simple eye that makes the whole body luminous; it is the one of which the bridegroom boasts in the Canticles: “You have wounded my heart, my sister, my bride; you have wounded my heart with one of your eyes.” For affection, through the fervor of love, enters alone, without the guidance of the intellect, into the secret of divine contemplation; and therefore the bridegroom is wounded in one eye and not in both.

But whoever, through the exercise of devotion and purity, has deserved, by Christ’s bounty, to reach this region of union and simplification, let him learn always to remain prudently in profound humility, lest through pride he lose the gift that he rejoices to have obtained. For Bernard, that profound and most cautious contemplator of divine things, says: “One striving toward higher things must be deepened in humility and think humbly of himself, lest, while he is vainly lifted above himself, he fall from the height to which he seemed to have ascended.” Therefore, while he remains in this region, let him prudently return at times to the steps of humility described in the second region; let him humbly learn to remain in profound resignation of himself, because as soon as the mind ceases from self-denial, it falls from the highest mountain into an immense precipice.

For many, trusting in the jubilation of their sensual devotion, have been deceived, who climbed this highest mountain without the foundation of humility. Others, with their heads injured and their senses destroyed, have become fools, because, before their passions had yet been mortified, they presumed to enter the darkness of mystical silence. Others, lifted up in pride while they were still devoted to sensuality, descended through the vice of their own will into the depth of hell. For Scripture says concerning the ascent of this summit: “The beast that touches the mountain shall be overwhelmed with stones.” A beast is said to touch the mountain when a person, not yet purified through the exercise of the second region, attempts to ascend to the third. For as long as affection has not been purged from the passions of its sensuality, the beast still lives in it. But if the human mind, with its bestiality, presumes to approach the mountain of God, it will be overwhelmed by as many stones as it is wounded by movements of the passions. For the wise man says: “The sluggard is stoned with a muddy stone, and all will speak in contempt of him.” By the muddy stone carnal affection is expressed, because man is compared to mud. For it is written in Job: “Remember, I ask, that you have made me like clay, and you will reduce me to dust.” And again he says: “I have been compared to mud, and made like embers and ashes.” Thus the sluggard is overwhelmed by a muddy stone when the mind, still unclean with carnal and sensual passions, attempts to ascend to the mountain of contemplation; there, as unworthy, it is forced to endure repulse and ruin from the hard stones set against it. For no one will be able to reach this most tranquil region of the spirit who has not first cleansed himself through long exercise in the furnace of the middle region. Whoever, while still devoted to carnal passions, tries to approach this supreme region of the spirit is striving, as it were, to draw water in a sieve. Indeed, this region does not admit carnal minds into itself, for it is prepared for hearts purified from every affection.

That this supreme region of the spirit is magnificent in its reduction.

Article V

and pilgrims, as to our father’s dwelling, he earnestly calls. In this region he mercifully receives us when we return with the prodigal son; in his love he rushes into our embrace; he clothes us with the first robe; he grants to those who love him the garment of charity. Why, then, do we neglect to return as quickly as possible to the most indulgent Father, whom we see ready for our embrace even after contempt? Wretched as we are, we have withdrawn by the perversity of our own will; we have squandered the portion of our inheritance with the harlots of carnal affections; we have been shamefully stripped of every beauty and paternal ornament. Why do we not return to the Father, whom we know to be ineffably merciful? Let us return at least, I beg, after our fault, since we have despised avoiding ruin. Return, return, wretched soul; return, gravely captive in affections; return, mortified by sorrows. Why do you delay? Why do you linger? Return, faithful soul, to the guide of your youth’s covenant; return to your former husband; go back to the most loving Father, who awaits you with the desire of love. For behold, he awaits you patiently, and through the prophet Isaiah he cries to you: “Return to me, for I have redeemed you. I have blotted out your iniquities like a cloud, and your sins like a mist.” What is this, O soul, that you are in the land of enemies? You have grown old in a foreign land; you have been defiled with the dead; you have been counted with those who go down into hell. Remember that almighty God created you from nothing; consider that he formed you in his image and likeness; remember whence you have fallen; see where you have gone, trampled under the feet of unclean affections among swine. Your Creator set you from the beginning in this supreme region of the spirit; he entrusted to you the natural exercise of his love; he also granted you the hope of life that will remain forever. But you have abandoned the fountain of wisdom; you have gone out into the lowest region of unlikeness; you have squandered the promised goods of the inheritance. But return, even late at last, to the exercise of penitence in the middle region, until, purified from all your iniquities, you may merit to be led back to the pleasantness of the supreme region.

There the most indulgent Father will joyfully receive you as you return with reverence; he will clothe you with the recovered first robe of innocence; and he will give you the ring of most holy covenant on your hands, and the shoes of reverent mortification of evil affections on your feet, so that, adorned with these ornaments like a faithful bride, you may cling to him with vigor and by no means withdraw from his love once begun. Finally, for your fattened food he will kill the calf; he himself will be both server and feast; through the greatness of his love he will give his flesh as food and his own blood as drink. There the Spirit of the holy Lord will be present and will fill you with his mystical gifts. Then, exulting in the Lord, you will sing: “The fruit of Jesus is sweet to my throat, for his spirit is sweeter than honey.”

Thus this supreme region of the spirit is magnificent in its leading-back, for it leads back to the pleasantness of the heavenly homeland those citizens whom it receives into its dwelling. And we unfailingly recognize the citizens of this most holy region from the fruits of the Spirit, of which we know the holy Apostle spoke: “The fruit of the Spirit is charity, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, long-suffering, gentleness, faith, modesty, continence, chastity.” These fruits the citizens of this third region bring forth, because, filled with God and united to him, they walk always joyful in the Lord and most fervent in charity. For whatever happens to a just man dwelling on this mountain of love will not sadden him. For a soul always peaceful and tranquil in the love of God is lifted up by no prosperities and disturbed by no adversities.

That this supreme region of the spirit is pleasant and most true in treasuring up.

Article VI

Sixth, this most beautiful region of the spirit is called pleasant and most true in treasuring up, because whatever is acquired through the exercise of good work it possesses in the simplicity of the spirit. The soul’s treasure is the love of God.

is the love of God; when the purified mind is kindled by its fervor, it is lifted in spirit to this region as though to the storeroom of love. For the Lord says in the holy Gospel: “Where your treasure is, there your heart also will be.” This is the treasure hidden in the field of the Scriptures: when a man has found it, he hides it, and goes and sells everything, so that he may buy the field with the treasure. The field is this supreme region of the spirit; the treasure is divine love. When a man finds it, he ought to count all other things as nothing, so that he may joyfully possess the field with the treasure. There is no possession in the world more delightful than divine love; there is no greater beauty in this life, since whoever has this treasure of love seeks nothing further. And just as fire is naturally borne upward, so love is lifted up in this region of the spirit as though to its own proper dwelling. For the mind, set aflame with divine love, is always raised up to God by fiery affections, and, beyond every thought, is moved wondrously in the sweetness of its own beginning.

For when it has been purified in the exercise of the second region, it prepares itself for the ascent of this third region through loving affection. It pants constantly to come to him whom it loves; it thinks of nothing but Jesus, the treasure of its heart; it adores him with burning sighs because of the greatness of its love. But when the most sweet office of contemplation has been completed, suddenly the beloved slips away, and the mind, languishing with love, is called back to the exercise of the second region. In that exercise the true lover of God sees that he dwells bodily among human beings, yet in affection and desire he converses with his most beloved Jesus.

And although this anagogical action of the created spirit takes place by the impulse of the Spirit of God, nevertheless the mind, purified through the exercise of the second region, must move itself forward to the ascent and, disposed by a most fervent affection, must concur with the divine Spirit. For almighty God, who has granted us freedom of choice, will lift no one unwilling to this supreme region of his contemplation. Therefore our will is required for our own salvation; love demands the ascent. If you wish to ascend to this supreme summit of divine darkness, you must love very greatly. The will, when purified, receives love; love, when greatly kindled, produces ecstasy. Therefore, if you desire to fly up to the mountain of contemplation, you must utterly go beyond yourself by loving God most fervently. But if you truly love God, you despise both yourself and all things for his sake alone. For he truly is the treasure of the soul; if anyone has obtained him through love, he will always think on Jesus. This treasure is acquired by loving; no one understands its usefulness unless he has received it through love. Whoever desires to have this inestimable treasure should fix his heart continually in the love of sweetest Jesus. For indeed, the one who loves has; the one who has loves. The mind that has merited to have this treasure of the love of Jesus dwells continually with him in affection in this supreme region.

That this third and supreme region of the soul enjoys the greatest freedom of spirit.

Seventh, this most holy region of the soul overflows with great freedom of spirit. In it the soul, free from the passions of the flesh, reigns through love with God alone. For the holy Apostle says: “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” And again: “Whoever are led by the Spirit of God, they are sons of God.” For the spirit that dwells in this region is made free from every defilement of flesh and blood; stripped of every phantom of thought, naked and alone, it is lifted into the darkness of divine contemplation. This is the true freedom of the soul: to rest in the fervor of divine love and to love none of the consolations of this world. Therefore let a person consider himself, and diligently examine his love; and if he finds himself devoutly affected, frequently raised to divine love by fiery desires even without prior thought, let him trust that he can rightly be enrolled among the citizens of this region. For the Spirit of God bears witness to our spirit, and when he raises the mind into the ray of divine love, he also makes it know the condition of its own state. This freedom of the soul is acquired through the fervor of divine love, because [unclear] of the one who loves God, and grants true freedom to those who love. In this most holy freedom divine wisdom is learned; the sweetness of divine goodness is tasted with inestimable delight; the mind, made most free, is rapt above itself; resting in the silence of divine darkness, it is lulled to sleep.

And this mystical wisdom is said to consist in a mind that has been raised up and purified in God, and is hindered by no obstacle of any kind from its effective progress. Ascending in this region, the mind kindled by love utterly leaves behind thoughts and images; it becomes solitary, naked, and most free. For thoughts, because of the office of memory, are compelled to remain in the middle region, nor can they in any way approach the supreme region of the spirit, which is above every human understanding. For one ascends here by love through affection and desire alone; far from here the phantasms of thoughts are driven away. For as soon as the mind begins to ascend by thoughts, it is driven back and falls into the middle region. Yet the ascent itself is begun through the operation of the intellect; when that soon fails, it is completed through affection. For the intellect excites desire in the love of the highest good and commends its beauty as much as it can; but when the affection, thus aroused, begins to ascend by love to the contemplation of so great a beauty, the intellect fails in amazement and falls silent. But the mind, unable to endure the turning back of the intellect, alone and naked, most free from every image of thought, enters the dark mountain shining above it; it contemplates the beloved, not indeed face to face, but in an enigma; it fails before the greatness of love; rapt away, it rests in silence.

We read that once Moses, leader of the Israelite people, called by God, ascended the dark mountain alone; Scripture records that he forbade the people access to the mountain under threat of death. The Lord appeared in the darkness, and through Moses himself gave the law to the people. For thus it is written in Exodus: “All Mount Sinai was smoking, because the Lord had descended upon it in fire, and its smoke went up as from a furnace. The whole mountain was terrible, and the sound of the trumpet gradually grew louder and was drawn out at greater length. But all the people saw the torches and the mountain smoking, and, terrified and shaken with fear, they stood far away, saying to Moses: ‘You speak to us, and we will listen; let not the Lord speak to us, lest perhaps we die.’”

All these things are full of mysteries; if they are examined with diligent consideration, they will magnificently commend this supreme region of the spirit. Mount Sinai signifies the height of this region; the smoky darkness represents the object of contemplation; Moses expresses the affection burning in love; the people show the crowd of thoughts and phantasms. Moses alone, the leader of the people, is allowed to ascend the mountain and enter the darkness, because the affection inflamed by divine love alone is raised to the summit of highest contemplation. But the people are forbidden, under threat of death, to approach the mountain, because no intellect, no thought, no imagination or reasoning can in any way penetrate the sanctuary of the divine majesty. The people stand far from the mountain, terrified with fear, because when the mind enters alone by the affection of love into the abyss of contemplation, every crowd of thoughts, utterly failing, is disturbed. Here the intellect does not dare to approach its own ascending affection, but, standing far off, shaken with fear in itself, is compelled to remain. Therefore, yielding in amazement before majesty, it says to the Lord with the prophet: “Truly you are a hidden God.” But when Moses is on the summit of the mountain, he is wrapped in darkness; he does not grasp God by the light of the intellect, but passes into contemplation of him by love and desire alone. Moses, and not the Lord, speaks to the frightened people, because the affection, purified, enters the dwelling-place of love, through which the powers of the spirit are illumined.

By what modes or degrees one must ascend to this supreme summit of this region.

We have spoken in several preceding places of this little work about the mode of ascending to this supreme region.

Since in many preceding places of this little work I have briefly set out the way of ascending to this supreme region of the spirit, nevertheless it will not, I think, be useless to repeat blessed things rather often, so that we may be able to hold them more firmly. For it seems to me of little profit to describe the beauty of contemplation unless we also know how to show those who desire it the way of coming to it.

Therefore, one who wishes to ascend by the desire of love to the pleasantness of this supreme region should take care to exercise himself diligently in the labors of the middle region; for unless he has there been purified from sensual passions by the practice of holy compunction, he approaches this region not without danger. For the completion of this exercise, let him often recall to memory the passion of our Lord Jesus Christ; let him weep from delight in divine love; let him learn, with attention, frequently to run through in meditation the text of that passion, and to stir himself to compassion for the Savior.

And because the body that is corrupted weighs down the soul, so that the mind may be able to raise itself powerfully in this meditation on the Lord's passion, let it take care, if need be, to present to its thoughts images that are truly perceptible to the senses. Therefore, withdrawing from crowds into silence, let him begin to turn over in memory the order of the passion. Let him see himself with the eyes of the mind as present at each event with the suffering Lord; let him hear Jesus speaking in imagination; let him go with him as he goes through all the places of the passion.

Then, at each article, let him bring his affections from a desire for compassion. Let him gaze with faithful eyes on Jesus suffering, set before him; weeping through anguish of heart, let him grow accustomed to address him in spirit as though bodily present, and through the desire of love to embrace him wounded at the column and on the cross. For the mind will quickly be able to be kindled in the love of the Lord Jesus if, by meditation, it truly accustoms itself to tears of compassion for him. But I remember that I have written elsewhere at greater length about the most effective exercise of the Lord's passion; therefore I have touched on it briefly here. For it is enough to have given beginners the first principles for meditating on it, since those who know have higher things.

I. Therefore, once affection has been purified from every passion and obstructing desire, the mind, with the help of the intellect, begins to think somewhat on the goodness and beauty of the highest good. Then it desires to grasp the immutable good; but when, as the intellect lifts it up, it raises itself by wonder toward knowledge of that good, by divine working the reasoning of the intellect falls away; nor can reason follow affection any further, since it sees that affection can be raised above all things only alone and utterly naked. But so long as the mind has not been lawfully purified, affection does not reach the true darkness of this mountain.

Contemplation sometimes proceeds by an enlargement of the mind: when the soul, by its own effort, stretches itself more forcefully in holy meditation, meditation is changed into contemplation. And this mode of contemplation is accustomed to rise by three degrees: by art, through which we learn what is to be done by us; by exercise, through which we carry out what has been learned; and by attention, through which we fulfill the duty.

II. Sometimes contemplation, by the lifting up of the mind, raises it into God; for when the mind has been divinely irradiated beyond human effort, it is drawn, as though seized above itself, into the contemplation of divine things. This mode too raises one into the height of contemplation by three degrees. For sometimes understanding, divinely inspired, receives something of the good that wholly exceeds the measure of foreknowledge. The second degree raises the mind above effort, when, divinely illumined, it perceives something to which no human effort reaches. In the third degree the mind is raised on high, when, beyond the limits of human nature and effort, it is divinely illumined in contemplation.

At times also contemplation directs itself, by alienation of the mind, toward the mountain of divine darkness, when the memory of present things has been lulled to sleep and the soul, by illumination from divine operation, passes into a state unknown to human knowledge. And this mode belongs especially to this supreme region of the spirit, in which the mind of a true lover of God is seen to be kindled with so great a fervor of love that it is often proved to be alienated from itself. For sometimes, by the greatness of devotion, it is rapt outside itself; sometimes, through excessive wonder, it is lifted above itself; at times, because of immeasurable exultation, it abandons itself; and by the ray of love it passes into the supreme elevation of contemplation. But no mortal understands the pleasantness of this highest and supreme region unless he has ascended to it purified by the experience of love.

Here ends the third region of cloistered persons.

The beginning of happiness.

[unclear] Preface to the second principal part of the spiritual exercise of cloistered persons. It happily begins.

Since, with the help of our Lord Jesus Christ, we have recently completed the little work on the threefold region of cloistered persons, enjoined upon us by the annual chapter, it remains now that, undertaking according to our strength the second principal part of the work, we describe the mode and form of the daily spiritual exercise.

For there are many among cloistered persons who are weak and feeble; and among them some perhaps would gladly ascend to the contemplation of divine love, if they had a mode suited to beginners. For all who are established in holy religion must take the greatest care that the mind not grow sluggish in idleness, since whoever has fallen away from the continual labor of spiritual exercise gradually falls into the depth of torpor. For just as this visible fire of ours cannot continue in its operation without fuel suited to it, so the love of inward compunction cannot remain in a person’s mind without the continual exercise of devotion. For as soon as the labor of spiritual study has been interrupted through negligence, all compunction of devotion gradually vanishes. No one placed in a holy purpose can remain steadfast and firm if he does not strive each day to renew the fervor of his mind by some exercise. For when the fuel of divine love is withdrawn, devotion is changed into torpor. Scripture says: “Every idle person lives in desires.” Therefore, lest the mind gradually flow away through sloth from the holy fervor of the spirit, it must learn to renew itself daily by some spiritual exercise, so that, while the fuel of love is supplied day by day, the desire for greater progress may be more fully kindled. Thus we read that the most holy fathers once advanced in the order; thus we know that they remained in devotion, because they knew very well the instability of the human mind, and therefore they were accustomed daily to stir themselves to a new fervor of spirit. One, through the study of sacred reading, drove his mind toward the compunction of devotion; another, through meditation on the Lord’s Passion, stirred himself up; another, by continual attention to his holy purpose, set before his inner eyes each day the image of death close at hand; another, by a fixed manner in his prayers, daily offered himself to the Lord with tears. None among them is believed to have been without a daily spiritual exercise of the mind; none is found to have been given to idleness, because the kingdom of God is promised to those who labor in the vineyard of the Lord, but denied to the idle.

Considering this, the devout fathers of the annual chapter unanimously resolved to adopt the present exercise and to offer it for practice to their subjects who have nothing better. And although so great a multitude of monks subject to the aforesaid chapter neither can nor ought to be restricted to the pattern of a single exercise, still it is proposed to all in common, so that anyone who does not have a better exercise may use this one. It is especially fitting that one newly converted to the order should exercise himself in the manner set down below, until, grounded in humility, he grows through compunction to better things. But whoever thinks that for a long time now he has been dwelling, by accustomed devotion, in higher things, let him at least permit these things to the little ones without envy. For I do not doubt that many live in the order devoted to better modes of spiritual exercise, who have learned by long practice to remain in the supreme region of the spirit through the ray of divine love. We in no way force our childish things upon them, for we know that they are higher than the steps of the present exercise. For we, imperfect men, write for beginners who are starting to make progress, not to teach the perfect. Rather, we are humbly ready to listen to them as teachers.

Here begins the second principal part of the little work on the threefold region of cloistered persons, which contains the manner and form of the daily exercise of monks

He who is about to serve as a soldier for our Lord King Jesus Christ according to the monastic rule should first of all strive humbly and perseveringly to take up the strongest arms of holy obedience; then he should accustom himself to be continually exercised in holy works, to attend to prayers without interruption and with devotion, and to love God above all things. Whatever he does, let him set before himself the honor of God alone; whatever he begins, let him always first commend it to the Lord in prayer. For truly, whoever is always occupied in devout prayers is speaking with the Lord God. Therefore, so that a good cenobite may have at hand a manner of continual prayer with elevation of mind, he should not neglect to read the present little work rather often and with attention. For in it we have arranged, for the individual hours and offices, certain brief little prayers, by which the mind is more often raised to love of heavenly things, and the fervor of holy purpose is frequently renewed.

At Matins.

Therefore, when the devout cenobite has been awakened for Matins, he should at once shake off from himself every bodily torpor of drowsiness, and should believe that he has been called to serve his Lord, to whom he has professed himself. Let him therefore strive to meet his king with cheerfulness, and humbly to prepare himself with fervor of spirit for his immortal service. Immediately, then, let him raise himself with the greatest decorum, and, sitting on his bed, let him fortify himself with the sign of the cross and say:

Prayer

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Blessed be the name of the Lord, both now and forever.

Then, getting down from his bed, let him say on bended knees:

I give thanks to you, almighty God, who have deigned to guard me, an unworthy sinner, through this night. I ask you, through your mercy, to direct me this day and at all times in your praise, to keep me clean from sin, and sweetly to kindle me in your most holy love.

Or let him say:

O adorable Trinity, O venerable Unity: through you we are created, true eternity; through you we are redeemed, you supreme charity. Protect, save, free, rescue, and cleanse all your people. We adore you, almighty one; to you we sing; to you be praise and glory through the infinite ages of ages. Amen.

Then, turning to Mary the Virgin, the most blessed Mother of God, let him say:

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you; blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Show yourself to be a mother; through you may he receive prayer, he who, born for us, undertook to be yours. Mary, mother of grace, mother of mercy, protect us from the enemy and receive us at the hour of death. Glory be to you, Lord, who were born of the Virgin, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, forever and ever. Amen.

Third, for one who wishes to stand devoutly before the Lord God in prayers, it is necessary to raise the mind with fervor of spirit to heavenly things. For the Lord says in the holy Gospel: “God is spirit, and those who adore him must adore in spirit and in truth.” The most devout speaker of God, Bernard, also says: “The little recruit of Christ must be taught in his prayer to lift his heart upward, to pray spiritually, to withdraw from bodily images, and to think nothing bodily.”

But since it is not granted to everyone to be able to raise the mind above the intellect to the invisible God, provision must also be made for the weak by an easier mode of elevation. Hence he also says: “For a weak person meditating or praying, the image of the Lord’s nativity, humanity, passion, or resurrection is more safely set before him; in it the mind may be stirred to tears of compunction, so that the weak soul, which knows only bodily things, may have things by which it may be drawn, according to the measure of its capacity, toward divine things. For truly, while through faith it does not separate God from man in the form of the mediator, it reaches God in the man. For our Savior, the mediator of God and men, Jesus Christ, is God and man.”

Therefore let the devout monk say that he often turns over the first root of divine knowledge, so that through love he may be able to raise himself higher. For the more perfectly he knows God, the more ardently he loves him; and the more he loves, the better he praises. For praise is the first offspring of love.

But so that you may always be able freely to raise your heart in prayer to the Lord God, learn to love nothing in this world in any singular way. For one who is attached to no thing at all wanders less often. For nothing so unburdens the heart and makes it free; nothing makes one converse so freely and without constraint before the Lord; and nothing so quickly and lightly gathers a person back to inward things after various external tumults as being attached, in all things and circumstances, by no private affection to anything, but conversing humbly in all things, resigned to God and to one’s superiors. Besides this, whatever has been enjoined upon one so disposed for the glory of God and the preservation of regular discipline, the monk takes up all of it with humble obedience and sincerity, whether it is agreeable or troublesome. And this firmness of soul, despising both prosperity and adversity, wonderfully raises the mind and transforms it into a certain enjoyment of most chaste love.

To the second signal.

At the sounding of the second signal, the monk, now sufficiently recollected inwardly, should leave his cell with gravity, always blessing the Lord in his heart. With the prudent virgins he should hasten to meet the bridegroom, and he should consider that he hears the signal of the great king. Leaving the cell, let him say:

Protect, O Lord, your people by the sign of the holy cross from all snares of every enemy, so that we may render you pleasing service, and our sacrifice may be made acceptable to you. Direct us, O Lord, in the way of peace, to the glory of your eternal name.

Entering the church, let him say:

Blessed are those who dwell in your house, O Lord; they will praise you forever and ever. Cleanse me, O Lord, from every defilement of mind and body, so that I may deserve to praise and bless you in your house forever.

Passing before the crucifix, let him say:

I beseech you, most loving Lord Jesus, by all the bitterness of your most holy passion which you endured for me, and especially when your most noble soul went forth from your body: have mercy on my soul at its departure. Amen.

At the holy water:

Take away from me all my iniquities, so that with a holy and pure mind I may deserve to enter the holy places. You shall sprinkle me, O Lord, with hyssop, etc.

Before the image of the blessed Virgin Mary:

O blooming rose, beautiful mother of the Lord, O gentle virgin, O most fruitful vine, brighter than the dawn, pray for us continually.

Passing before the altar, let him say:

Glory to you, O Lord, who were born of a virgin, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, forever and ever.

Or:

You, the unbegotten Father; you, the only-begotten Son; you, the Holy Spirit; the holy and undivided Trinity, I praise, bless, and adore without end. O highest unity, source of all things principle: have mercy on me for your own sake.

Before the venerable sacrament.

Hail, living host, truth and life, in whom the sacrifices of old are ended. Through you infinite glory is given to the Father. Through you the Church stands continually fortified. Grant me rewards in eternal life. Amen. Or: O saving host.

Praying in his own place in choir.

When he has come to his customary place of standing in choir, if there is time, let him consider what our holy father Benedict said in the Rule about reverence in prayer and psalmody. Then, considering the subject matter of the psalms to be sung, let him strive to submit his intention to them, and carefully foresee to what he wishes to refer each part. If the matins office is being sung for some saint, let the psalmody be said before the Lord in that saint’s memory. But if the subject matter of the psalms agrees with the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, it should be referred to his memory. Yet if the spirit of compunction is present in the singer, it will teach all things through love. For a mind fervent in the love of God knows very well how to direct its intention to the praise of the Creator, and how suddenly to vary it, according to the spirit of the psalmody, in individual verses. For according to the subject matter of what is sung, it exercises itself in whatever it wishes: now it embraces the humanity of Christ, and now, suddenly, with another verse, it is raised into his divinity. Nevertheless, if it pleases him, our faithful monk can, while his fervor lasts under the same sign, call to mind the holy angels praising God without interruption, and conform himself to them in desire, according to his strength.

Before all the hours.

Since the power of the Lord’s incarnation and Passion incomparably surpasses the merits of all the saints, therefore let the lover of God, before each of the hours, say to God the Father, with attentive mind, either in heart or by mouth, this prayer.

Since you, almighty everlasting God, created us out of nothing when we did not exist, and mercifully redeemed us when we had perished, I ask you, by your immutable majesty: receive these praises and prayers which I am now and always about to say to you, in that union of charity and love in which you sent your only-begotten Son into the womb of the most blessed Virgin Mary, and in which you received him as he suffered and died for us on the cross. Amen.

Note on the preceding prayer.

Do not think this manner of praying frivolous, nor invented by human curiosity; for if you believe that God has been accustomed to teach his ancient servants many things by revelation, you will in no way contradict this most holy form. Rather, read the wondrous works of the Lord which he has shown to those who love him, and you will find what he revealed to Mechthild and to others concerning this manner and form of prayer. Know this as thoroughly persuaded: that the prayer is most pleasing to almighty God which a devout mind has resolved to offer to God the Father in union with the Lord’s Passion. And this offering can be sent forth, in mind or by mouth, not only in the canonical hours, but also in other prayers, masses, and any good exercises or works. But if through forgetfulness it has not been sent forth beforehand, it can be inserted during prayer, or even added after its completion.

How a monk should conduct himself in the hours.

From the beginning of divine praise, the devout monk should apply great diligence, so that his mind does not admit images or thoughts about transitory things; for unless vain thoughts are driven back without delay at the beginning, they will disturb the intention of the heart throughout the whole office. Therefore the faithful worshiper should gather himself wholly into himself, and prefer nothing to the divine service against the rule.

While psalming, let him refer the very subject matter of the psalms to the corresponding focus of his intention; let him prudently attend to the sense of the prayer; let him pronounce the words distinctly and in order; let his mind tend upward. But after each psalm or reading, let him always examine himself carefully, testing whether compunction of devotion has increased.

Let him examine himself carefully by considering, and let him test whether the compunction of devotion still burns in his mind. If he finds that it is still present with fervor, let him strive to kindle it further with holy desires, and to summon himself to higher things. But if he senses that he has grown lukewarm in affection or distracted by thoughts, then, at once reproving himself, let him say these or similar words: Woe to me, wretched man, who praise my God so negligently. Behold, my Lord, who suffered most bitterly for me through the whole night, had no rest; and I could not watch one hour with him. Help me, Lord my God, so that I may be able to sing psalms to you wisely.

Finally, under each psalm, let him fittingly stir himself by some burning words toward the compunction of fervor, so that through mental exhortation he may be more fully inflamed in affection, saying: Would that, Lord God, I might love you above all things with my whole heart, and cling continually to you alone. O good Jesus, kindle my heart in your most holy love. My love has been crucified, and what am I doing upon the earth? O Jesus, my sweet love, possess my heart, for you are the treasure of my heart, my king and my God.

After Matins

When the matutinal office has been completed, and confessions have been made or heard, he should not neglect to read at once the Hour of the Holy Cross. When it has been completed, let him add this little prayer.

Prayer

O sweetest chosen Lord Jesus, through the pain of your wounds, through the outpouring of your most holy blood, and through the power of your most innocent death, have mercy on me now and in the hour of my death. Amen.

Then let him say:

To the holy and undivided Trinity, to the crucified humanity of Jesus Christ our Lord, to the most blessed Mary ever virgin, and to Saint Anne, her venerable mother, with all the saints, be everlasting praise and glory for endless ages. Amen.

Let him examine himself by considering carefully, and let him test whether the compunction of devotion is still fervent in his mind. If he finds that fervor is still present, let him strive to kindle it further with holy desires, and to call himself onward to higher things. But if he senses that he has grown lukewarm in affection or distracted by thoughts, then at once, rebuking himself, let him say these or similar words: Woe to me, miserable man, who praise my God so negligently. Behold, my Lord, suffering most bitterly for me throughout the whole night, had no rest, and I could not watch one hour with him. Help me, O loving God, that I may be able to sing psalms to you wisely.

Finally, under any psalm whatever, he ought at a suitable moment to stir himself to the fervor of compunction by some ardent words, so that by mental exhortation he may kindle his affection more fully. For example: O my God, that I might love you with my whole heart above all things, and cling continually to you alone. O good Jesus, kindle my heart in your most holy love. My love has been crucified, and what am I doing upon the earth? O sweet Jesus, my love, possess my heart, for you are the treasure of my heart, my refuge and my God.

After Matins

When the office of Matins has been completed, after confessions have been made or heard, let him not neglect immediately to read the hour of the Holy Cross; and when it has been completed, let him add this little prayer:

Christ, who died for us upon the cross, grant me, through the merits of that same passion, Christ, when dying, for us upon the cross, and grant me, through the merits of that same passion, to love you in truth and to remain faithful continually in your service. Amen.

Morning Recollection

Then enter for a little while into the examination of your conscience, and see whether you still have in yourself the marks of a good cloistered monk described in the seven articles of the second region. If you recognize that anything is lacking, do not neglect to reform it as quickly as possible, lest little by little you waste away through negligence. For it is written: He who neglects the smallest things gradually falls away. And Augustine, the holy lover of God, says: No sin is so small that it does not grow through neglect. Therefore, when your conscience has been examined and reformed in holy fervor, say to the Lord:

I Pray for Perseverance

Grant, we ask, almighty God, through the merits of the passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, and through the intercession of blessed Mary ever virgin, of all the holy heavenly powers, and of the blessed patriarchs, prophets, apostles, martyrs, confessors, virgins, and all your elect, perseverance for us in your will, so that we may continually be able to offer you service pleasing to you. Through the same Christ our Lord. Amen.

As he enters the bed, let him fortify it with the sign of the holy cross, and with attentive spirit say: In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, I intend to lay myself down, so that, strengthened by his divine majesty, I may be able to praise him more fully by day.

Sitting in bed:

May the soul of our Lord Jesus Christ, the integrity of blessed Mary ever virgin, the sign of the holy cross, the virtue of the Lord’s passion, and the intercession of all the saints guard my mind and spirit. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Let him sign himself and lie down.

The Exercise of the Monk at Prime

Consideration II

When our devout monk has been awakened in the usual way for Prime, let him observe the order and manner of gathering himself and praying set down above before Matins.

And, fortifying himself with the sign of the life-giving cross, let him say: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Then, getting down from his bed, fervent in holy desire, let him again fall to his knees and, with hands joined, say:

Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful, and kindle in them the fire of your love; you who, through the diversity of all tongues, gathered the nations together in the unity of faith. Send forth your Spirit, and they shall be created. And you will renew the face of the earth.

O God, to whom every heart lies open, every will speaks, and no secret is hidden: purify, by the infusion of the Holy Spirit, the thoughts of our heart, so that we may deserve to love you perfectly and praise you worthily. Through Christ our Lord. Let him add “O flowering rose,” and, if he wishes anything else out of devotion, let him add it.

At the First Signal

Then, at the first signal for any hour of the day, or also at the striking of the clock, if he has not been occupied with higher meditations, let him say: Blessed be the name of the Lord from this time forth and forevermore. Let him add some brief little prayer, formed from the fervor of the mind, in this or a similar manner.

Little Prayer

Receive me, most sweet Lord Jesus, into perpetual service, so that I may always have you as my one good.

Another

I beseech you, most merciful God: grant me to live so innocently in holy religion that I may be able to come to you, the beginning and end of all good things.

Another

May my ways be directed to keeping your statutes at all times.

Another

Most loving Lord Jesus, I ask you through the merits of your most holy passion: teach me to despise all things, so that I may continually deserve to find you, the highest good of the soul.

Then let the general preparation for prayer be observed.

Then the general preparation for fervor in prayer, set out above before Matins, should be observed; and the conscience should be cleansed if anything has been committed against its purity. Nevertheless, if the mind has been raised up in contemplation of divine love and continual desire, it will have less need of the smaller exercises.

At the second signal.

When the second signal has sounded, both for Prime and for the remaining hours of the day, the manner set out above for Matins should be observed, as much as the time allowed for prayer permits each person. But when our monk enters or leaves the church, he should not neglect to show reverence to God before the altars and the crucifix, but, humbly bowing, should say the customary appropriate prayers. For a modest bowing of the body is understood as the outward sign of an inner person well ordered toward God.

In the chapter room after Prime.

When the devout monk enters the chapter room after Prime, he should remember to give thanks to God for the victory of the saints and martyrs, whom he knows to have fought for the Lord in the greatest fervor of spirit, despising the torments of their bodies, by the testimony of death. Therefore, when you hear the brave deeds of the saints read, pray to the Lord that, through their merits, he may deign to forgive you your sins, and mercifully strengthen you to bear the yoke of monastic discipline by obtaining their fellowship. And this desire is set before you to take up, when, after their passions have been read, divine help is invoked three times by all. At the beginning of the day we also do this: that, strengthened for patience by the examples of the saints, we may fear no adversities throughout the whole day. But when you hear that some martyr bravely stood firm in the contest of battle, you will pray to him with these or similar words.

Prayer

Holy soldier of the eternal King, I ask you, by the love of our Lord Jesus Christ, who made you overcome the torments of the flesh and the snares of this world: pray for me, that I may deserve to come as quickly as possible to your fellowship.

If the name of a confessor, or of a virgin, or of a saint of another condition, has been recited, the devout lover of God will easily vary a prayer to any saint extemporaneously, according to the ardor of his own affection. For affective prayers are effective above all others.

At the reading of the Rule.

When the reader recites, as customary, a single passage from the Rule, the devout monk should say in his heart: Help me, most sweet Lord Jesus Christ, that according to this standard of your religious servant Benedict I may be able to live, and to remain faithfully at all times in your most holy service.

Then let him consider that, just as the Rule is read daily for the progress of the good and devout, so it is recited to the lukewarm, the bad, or the negligent, that they may be without excuse, to the increase of their damnation. Finally, let him know that he is bound to a faithful effort in all the things that the Rule contains, just as the wording of his profession has it. For thus he says in profession: I promise obedience and conversion of my morals, according to the Rule of Saint Benedict.

When the names of the dead are recited.

But when, after the reading of the Rule, the names of the dead have been recited, the monk should pray as follows, no less from charity than from debt, for these and other faithful departed, committed and not committed to him.

I beseech you, most sweet Lord Jesus, by the pain of your wounds, by the pouring out of your most holy blood, and by the power of your most innocent death: have mercy on these souls, and on all those committed to me in prayer, and on all the faithful departed, and grant them eternal rest. Indeed, it is a great work of mercy to intercede before the merciful Judge for the souls placed in the prison of purgatory, and to come to their aid out of charity through the remembrance of the Lord’s Passion. For I firmly believe, and trust with pious presumption, that the prayer which is poured out for the dead from charity alone returns doubled into the bosom of the one who prays. For the devout person who here, through the fervor of divine love, prays especially for all the faithful departed...

For the Lord says in his holy Gospel: Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.

On the Chapter of Faults.

Since nothing in human actions is altogether perfect, let the devout cenobite rejoice that he has found a remedy for his imperfection, because whatever anyone in a well-reformed monastery commits from human frailty, he corrects daily. For the chapter of faults, continued on individual days, washes away public offenses; sacramental confession, repeated daily through the grace of contrition, remits hidden negligences. We discern four chapters in the monastery, about which we shall speak in order.

The first is the passive chapter, when a brother proclaims himself or is proclaimed by another.

The first is called the passive chapter, in which our devout cenobite proclaims himself for his negligences, or is proclaimed by another. In this chapter the lover of God, who has denied his very self to himself, humbly both accuses his own negligences and permits himself to be accused by others, lest after this life he be judged harshly by the Lord. For the holy apostle of God says: If we judged ourselves, we would certainly not be judged. And the prophet Nahum says: Double affliction shall not rise up. Therefore, he who here, out of love for God, now willingly afflicts himself for his sins is worthy, as one well purified by this medicinal foretaste, to be freed from future affliction. If all cloistered persons knew how much the chapter proclamations, when willingly endured by them, would profit toward the merit of eternal life, they would endure all accusations and injuries for the love of God with inestimable joy. For we merit more when we patiently endure injuries and adversities for the love of God and fraternal charity than if we devote ourselves to good works.

Therefore, in judgment the devout monk should not fear any proclamations, but should desire to be accused by others in remembrance of the Lord’s passion, knowing that the glory of loftiness has been set before him, and is to be bestowed in heaven upon humble patience. O brother, why would you not endure the proclamations of brothers, you who expect the fellowship of angels? Let all indignation be far from you; let murmuring be far away; let pride withdraw. For you have no cause for impatience. Either you are proclaimed justly or unjustly. If justly, why would you not endure it? It is better to be cleansed here in small matters than after this life in many. And one who sins publicly must be reproved before all. But if you are proclaimed unjustly, remember that you are a monk, and you will find that you are bound to injuries. When you are proclaimed justly, know that you are to be cleansed by humble patience; when unjustly, you show yourself to be a true monk, and you merit more. Therefore, when you are proclaimed, call to mind the fourth and sixth degrees of humility; and if you are a true monk, pray even for those who accuse you. For the true lover of God loves the one proclaiming him all the more, and always, on the same day, either commends him in prayer or performs some special service for him. If you are good and wise, the proclamation will not be able to displease you; but if you are evil and foolish, you are worthy to be proclaimed at all times. For Scripture says of the wise man: Reprove the wise man, and he will love you. But of the evil and foolish the prophet says: They hated the one who reproves in the gate, and they abominated the one who speaks perfectly.

The second chapter is the active one, in which one proclaims another.

We call the second chapter active, in which we no longer proclaim ourselves, but others. For the action of this proclamation, the highest charity is necessary; compassion also no less, and discretion, must be applied. Therefore, when you wish to proclaim your brother by reason of charity, always apply the fear of God; and, mindful of the fellowship of eternal life, say at the beginning: Our beloved brother has committed this or that; I ask that for the Lord’s sake he may wish to amend himself. Whatever must be said, let him present it in few words and with compassion; let him state the deed simply; let him not increase the fault of the one proclaimed by aggravating it; let him more quickly entrust to the president the judgment whether what he did is good or evil. For the one among many who alone aggravates a brother’s fault by passing judgment shows a bitterness of zeal and lack of discretion.

Therefore whoever attempts to proclaim another must take care that he not be moved against his brother by the zeal of bitterness, because if the charity of the one proclaiming does not intervene, resentment does not amend the one proclaimed. Nor does the admonition of the one proclaiming bear fruit in the delinquent when the love of God and fraternal charity do not commend it. For since almighty God is supremely good, he will not give the fruit of compunction to your proclamation in your brother’s heart when he finds that you have been moved to proclaim not by charity but by displeasure. For where he finds the root of his charity, he will not deny good fruit. But if you perceive yourself to be moved by some indignation against your brother, it is better to defer the proclamation for a time than to heal another’s wound so cruelly.

The third chapter is that of private humiliation.

The third chapter is called that of private humiliation, whenever a brother is rebuked by a senior for his negligences. For our most holy father Benedict commands in chapter 71 of the Rule that a monk, when proclaimed in any place or at any time, as soon as he perceives the spirit of his senior to be even gently moved, ought to prostrate himself at that senior’s feet, and there humbly lie until his command. Here he is in no way permitted to excuse himself or to lay the fault on another; rather the monk is commanded to be silent and humbly acknowledge himself. For he who is a true monk neither murmurs when justly corrected nor excuses himself when unjustly proclaimed. Likewise in the divine offices and in the other conventual places, as soon as a devout cloistered monk offends in anything through negligence, by humbling himself there according to custom he makes satisfaction; and he chooses rather to act with greater penance in doubtful matters than to injure his conscience with less, or to procure scandal for others. But he who still understands this humiliation, to be undergone at every time and place, as burdensome and difficult, does not walk in the spirit but still lives carnally; and unless he has made this sense tributary to himself by subjugating it, he will never be a true and devout cloistered monk.

The fourth chapter is that of deliberations and counsels.

We call the fourth chapter deliberative, when we call the brothers to counsel for some difficult matter. Saint Benedict makes clear in the Rule how this chapter ought to be celebrated, concerning the brothers to be brought into counsel. Therefore the humble and true cloistered monk, when he has been called to counsel, approaches humbly, with reverence and modesty; when asked what he thinks, he speaks few words; he is not at all indignant that his counsel is despised and another’s approved. For he says humbly what he thinks, but always preferring the counsels of others to his own, and in true subjection he commits both himself and his judgment to the presider for examination. For he annihilates himself so deeply in humility that he always believes others more than himself, and trusts that good counsel is divinely inspired in those better than himself; and in his mind he is accustomed to set his prelate before all as the vicar of his Christ. Above all, the monk who in giving counsel submits his own opinion to the abbot at all times with cheerful humility clearly makes progress toward the mortification of his own will. But when the devout cloistered monk perceives that his counsel is despised or rejected, let him give thanks to almighty God out of true humility, and recognize that the occasion for growing proud has been taken from him.

After the daily chapter.

If after the chapter of faults one must return to the church for Terce, let the manner of the ordered prayer above be observed in each particular. But if you go from chapter to your cell, then again, with knees bent as after Matins, and afterward, as the hour permits, you will pray anew to God. Let him recollect himself for a little while, and recall to memory the debt of his profession. Afterward let the cloistered monk pray thus.

Prayer

Grant me, I beseech you, O God, to advance in the observance of your commandments according to the good pleasure of your most holy will, and to fulfill the debt of my profession according to the rule set before me.

At private Masses

Since human nature by its own strength cannot attain entrance into the kingdom of heaven, it pleased God the most merciful Father to come mercifully to our aid through the death of our Lord Jesus Christ, his only-begotten Son, so that we, who because of our weakness cannot approach the invisible majesty, might have a mediator approaching on our behalf, one who is both God and man. For the merit of the most holy passion of our mediator has opened for us the entrance to the kingdom of heaven, has given the nourishment of the spiritual life, and just as the branch draws nourishment from the vine, so our mind truly lives in Christ. Now we receive this spiritual nourishment with special sweetness in the sacrament of the body and blood of this same mediator of ours, whenever we devoutly offer him to God the Father as an odor of sweetness. And this most sacred offering of the body and blood of the Lord not only benefits us for the forgiveness of sins, but also wonderfully assists the souls of the dead who are set in purgatory. Therefore so noble a sacrifice must be offered with great and continual devotion, since all our good works, which of themselves are altogether too worthless, are made most pleasing to God the Father through this most holy offering. Therefore, so that our devout cloistered monk may be able to attend fervently to the offering of this precious sacrifice, let him be willing to note four things in order.

Concerning the one ministering at Mass.

The devout brother who is going to minister at Mass ought to come with the greatest cheerfulness and fervor, and prepare himself most diligently to minister to the priest. For Saint Hugh says: “Gladly minister at Masses, because it is the office of angels; and when you minister at that sacrifice, you make familiar to yourself those whose co-worker you stand as.” If, according to the Savior’s promise, one who receives a just man in the name of a just man receives the reward of a just man, who will deny the reward of the celebrant to one who devoutly ministers at Mass? For whoever with the fervor of divine love has always been accustomed devoutly to assist those celebrating by ministering to them, divine kindness will also reward him in this life with some special grace.

in this life he is accustomed to reward with some special grace; and at the death of those whom the holy angels are believed to come to meet as familiarly known to them, they present the soul of the minister of Jesus before his sight with joy. For thus the Son prays to the Father in the holy Gospel: “Father, I will that where I am, there also my minister may be.” For great in this venerable sacrament is the condescension of divine kindness, since, as the same Hugh says, God seems to do nothing less in it, when he deigns daily to descend from heaven upon the altar for our salvation, than when, descending from heaven, he assumed human nature and was made man. And just as our Lord Jesus Christ established this venerable sacrament for us in memory of his most bitter Passion, as a sign of the greatest love, so he loves more abundantly and especially those who prepare themselves with humble devotion and love either to receive it or to minister it to those receiving it; and through it he aids them in every necessity when they ask faithfully.

For Jesus, seated in heaven, will not be able to be hard toward us when we pray with full faith, who was so gracious and kind to those asking mercy when he walked on earth. Who ever came to his feet and was rejected? What sick person asked to be healed whom he did not heal as he walked among men? Therefore let the Lord Jesus never be thought to deny mercy to us when we ask in faith, since while still mortal he was so merciful to those who prayed to him. For he says: “All things are possible to one who believes.”

Therefore, one who is about to minister at Mass ought before all else to cleanse himself from every evil temptation and disordered affection, and as much as he can to call himself back to himself through desire for the love of Jesus, so that, purified, he may be able to stand before the Lord and to pray effectively both for himself and for the whole Church, the living and the dead. Therefore, standing behind the priest during Mass, at a suitable time let him pray in these or similar words.

Prayer of One Ministering.

Most sweet and most beloved Lord Jesus, I ask you through the moving anguish of your most holy heart, which in the Passion in this life he is accustomed to reward with some special grace. And, when he is soon dying, the holy angels too are believed to run to meet him as one familiarly known, and to present the soul of Jesus' minister with joy before his sight. For thus the Son prays to the Father in the holy Gospel: Father, I will that where I am, there my minister also may be.

How great, indeed, is the condescension of divine tenderness in this venerable sacrament, because, as the same Hugh says, God seems to do nothing less in it, when each day he deigns to descend from heaven upon the altar for our salvation, than when, descending from heaven, he assumed human nature and became man. And just as our Lord Jesus Christ bestowed on us this venerable sacrament, in memory of his most bitter passion, as a sign of the greatest love, so he loves more fully and singularly those who dispose themselves with humble devotion and love to receive it or to minister it to those receiving it; and when they petition him in faith through it, he comes to their aid in every need.

For Jesus, presiding in heaven, will not be hard toward us when we ask with full faith, since he was so gentle and gracious to those who sought mercy while he walked on earth. Who ever came to his feet and was rejected? What sick person sought healing whom he did not cure while walking among human beings? Therefore the Lord Jesus will never be able to deny mercy to us when we ask in faith, for even while still mortal he was so merciful to those who prayed to him. For he says: All things are possible to one who believes.

Therefore, one who is about to minister at Mass should before all else strive to purge himself from every evil temptation and disordered affection. As far as he can, let him draw himself back to himself through the desire of Jesus' love, so that, purified, he may be able to assist the Lord, and to pray effectively both for himself and for the whole Church, the living and the dead. Standing, then, during Mass behind the priest, at the proper time let him pray in these or similar words:

[unclear] which you endured: I beseech you by the shedding of your most holy blood, and by the power of your most innocent death; I beseech you by the holy mystery of your holy body and blood, at whose sacrifice to you I stand as an unprofitable minister: have mercy on me and purify my heart from every illicit affection, so that I may be able to minister worthily to you. Grant me true contrition for every sin and for my own sins, and pardon; the grace of holy compunction; continual remembrance of your passion; pure devotion of heart; a fountain of tears; purity of serene conscience; and perpetual fervor of your most holy love.

Grant me, I beseech you, most merciful lover of humankind, through the pain of your wounds, a firm purpose set in holy fervor; also true contempt for all worldly things; continual desire for the heavenly homeland; and certain progress in holy religion. Grant me, sweetest Jesus, constancy in adversity, patience in tribulation, discipline in conduct, and true humility always and everywhere in mind. Make me, I pray, a participant in this most holy sacrifice of your body and blood, so that my mind may feel the sweetness of your suffering, may burn sweetly in your love, and may not inwardly withdraw from you. Amen.

Let him also pray for his shepherd; let him pray for the whole congregation, that the Lord may mercifully direct him in his will, and, preserving this congregation under regular observance, defend it from every adversity.

Moreover, let him pray for the universal Church; let him pray for the faithful and the unbelieving, that almighty God may keep believers in the faith and convert unbelievers to the catholic faith. Let him also pray for the conversion of useful persons to the order, through whom both his own monastery may advance in both conditions and the whole observance of the order may grow for the better.

Let him not forget the faithful souls in the pains of purgatory, awaiting the mercy of the Creator; but, when praying for them, let him know that after a short while he will pass over to them, where the prayer now poured out will return into the bosom of the one who prays.

But let the devout minister of Christ take care that, through any occasion of negligence, he not neglect anything of those things that belong to his office...

or make the celebrant distracted by his own prayers or disturbances. When he has leisure, he may meditate or pray in silence; when service is required, he should interrupt at least his spoken prayers and, by serving diligently in all things, respond to the priest.

At the elevation of the most holy body of Christ, following the example of St. Thomas Aquinas, he may say attentively to Christ: “You are the King of glory, O Christ; you are the everlasting Son of the Father,” through to the end of that hymn.

After the elevation, let the devout cenobite turn himself to the Lord Jesus, desiring from his inmost heart to have the consolation of so great a mystery; and let him prepare his affection as though he were about to receive communion. For as often as a devout lover of God desires with fervor of heart to receive the body of Christ, he believes that he has received the power of the sacrament. The Lord Jesus said to a certain soul dear to him: “If a man, fervent in my love, desired to receive my body a thousand times in a day, if it were possible, he would truly obtain before me, by the power of that same body of mine, his desire in his soul as often as he desired it.” Therefore, with this desire conceived in the mind of one who loves Jesus, let the cenobite pray to the Lord in this or a similar manner.

Prayer of the one ministering.

Would that, most loving Lord Jesus, I were so well and fervently disposed that it were permitted me now to receive your most holy body in this venerable sacrament. Would that it were permitted me to repeat this sacred communion several times in a day. O my sweetness, O sole delight of my heart, O my hope, Lord Jesus, you know the ardor of my mind toward you, and all my desire is before you. O you, my whole good, grant me, by your goodness, to receive now and at all times in my soul the power and grace of this most holy sacrament, so that I may be able to remain continually in you.

The diligent preparation of the priest who is about to celebrate.

When a priest is about to approach to offer the sacrifice of this most holy sacrament of the body and blood, he should first examine himself diligently and most cautiously determine of which region he is a citizen. If he still finds himself a dweller at the boundary of the region, he should not approach the altar unless he first strives to cleanse himself through contrition and confession and a firm resolution to amend. But if he finds himself a citizen of the second region, if he discovers that his powers have been reformed and ordered toward the cenobitic end, he can readily dispose himself for celebration, since he has learned, by daily kindling his affection beforehand, to raise himself more often on high through desire. For divine goodness quickly enters the affection of a person that is stained by no prior desire.

Therefore, one who wishes to perform this most holy priestly office with devotion and fervor of divine love should first set forth some ardent prayers by which he may be able to stir himself to fuller compunction. For devotion is rarely granted at the altar if the mind has not been prepared for fervor beforehand. Therefore, our fathers, desiring each of us to advance in his own free devotion, did not wish to occupy us before access to the altar with many psalms, as some do; not because anyone should therefore approach without recollection, but so that each person might more freely devote himself in private to exercises or prayers more fitting to his own devotion.

Accordingly, wishing to provide for those celebrating an elevation of the mind to the Lord Jesus before access to the altar, we have set down the following prayer from that which is ascribed to St. Ambrose of Milan; we believe it quite effective in the merit of the Lord’s passion. Therefore, the devout cenobite who is about to approach the altar, if he has leisure and freedom, may use it, or set forth a similar prayer, or prepare himself in whatever ways he wishes.

Prayer before access.

Highest priest and true pontiff, Jesus Christ, who offered yourself to God the Father as a pure, holy, and immaculate victim on the altar of the cross for us miserable sinners; who also gave us your flesh to eat and your blood to drink, and established that mystery by the power of the Holy Spirit, saying, “As often as you do these things, you shall do them in memory of me”: I beg you, by the sorrow of your wounds and by the pouring out of your most precious blood.

by the pouring out of your most precious blood, by the power of your most innocent death, and by that very body and blood of yours, the great price of our salvation: I ask, by that wonderful and ineffable love with which you so loved us, miserable and unworthy as we are, that you washed us from our sins in your blood: have mercy on me and forgive me all my sins. Teach me, your unworthy servant, whom, among your other gifts, you have deigned to call to the priestly office, not by any merits of mine but solely by the graciousness of your mercy, so to handle this mystery, through your Holy Spirit, with the reverence and honor, devotion and fear, that are fitting and proper.

Grant me, I beg, always to believe and understand, to perceive and firmly hold, to say and think concerning so great a mystery what is pleasing to you and what is expedient for the salvation of my soul. Let your good Spirit enter my heart, and there make sound without sound, and without the noise of words speak in me the truth of such great mysteries. For they are exceedingly deep, and covered with a sacred veil.

Because of your great mercy, most sweet Lord Jesus, grant me to celebrate the solemn rites of the Mass with a pure heart and a clean conscience. I pray you, by the sweetness of your most holy heart, most loving Savior: free my heart from all vain, impure, harmful, and illicit thoughts, so that it may be made a worthy dwelling place of your love, now and forever.

I pray you, lover of humankind, most sweet Lord Jesus, by the whole power of your most holy passion: drive away from me the spirit of arrogance and pride, vainglory and envy, lust and blasphemy; and fill my soul with the virtue of charity and innocence. King of virtues, Jesus Christ, lover of holy chastity and integrity, I pray you by the most holy virginity of the most blessed mother of God and undefiled Virgin Mary, and by the purity of your most reverend body: extinguish in me, with the dew of heavenly blessing, the flame of burning lust, so that the brightness of all purity may be and remain in me. Mortify in me, I beg, the stings of the flesh, and all lustful stirrings and disordered affections; and give me true and perpetual chastity, together with the other goods that please you in truth, so that at all times, with undefiled body and clean heart, I may be able to offer to you the sacrifice of your body and blood.

I know, Lord, truly I know, and I confess this very thing to your goodness: that I am not worthy to approach so great a mystery because of my excessive sins and my many negligences. But I also know, and with my whole heart believe and confess to you, that since you are almighty you can make me worthy; for you alone justify the ungodly, and from the unclean you can make the clean. Therefore, by your omnipotence, I pray you: grant to me, your unworthy servant, true contrition for my sins, pure devotion, and a most fervent compunction in your love, so that I may be able to offer this most holy sacrifice to you with fear and reverence, with purity of heart and a fountain of sweet tears, with spiritual gladness and heavenly joy, with humility and the fervor of charity.

Most sweet Lord Jesus, in this hour grant me your mercy, so that my mind may feel the sweetness of your most blessed presence, the devotion of the holy angels around me, and a gentle lifting up into you.

Take away from me, Lord Jesus, all the blindness of my iniquities, and mercifully kindle in me the fire of your love. Do not be angry with me, O Jesus, ineffable good, nor restrain from me the multitude of your mercies. For I do not pour out my prayers before your face, Lord, in my own justifications, but in your many mercies. Take away from me, Lord Jesus, a stony and hard heart, and give me a heart of flesh and contrition, which may fear you, love you, cherish you above all things, delight in you alone, follow you, and enjoy you forever.

O most merciful Lord Jesus, I pray you by the most sacred mystery of your body and blood, by which in your holy Church we are daily fed and given drink, washed and sanctified, and made sharers in your one supreme divinity: give me your holy virtues, adorned with which, and with a good conscience, I may be able to approach your altar, so that this holy

...with your good things, which are pleasing in truth, so that at all times, with an unstained body and a pure heart, I may be able to offer the sacrifice of your body and blood.

I know and truly acknowledge, and I confess this to your goodness, that I am not worthy to approach so great a mystery, because of my many sins and my many negligences. But I also know, and with all my heart believe and confess with my mouth, that since you are almighty, you can make me worthy, you who alone justify the ungodly, and from the unclean can make the clean. Therefore, by your omnipotence I beseech you: grant to me, your unworthy servant, true contrition for my sins, pure devotion, and most fervent compunction in your love, so that I may be able to offer this most holy sacrifice to you with fear and reverence, with purity of heart and a fountain of sweet tears, with spiritual gladness and heavenly joy, with humility and the fervor of charity. O most sweet Lord Jesus, grant me in this hour your mercy, so that my mind may feel the sweetness of your most blessed presence, the devotion of the holy angels around me, and a peaceful lifting-up into you.

Take away from me, Lord Jesus, all my iniquities, and graciously kindle within me the fire of your love. Do not be angry with me, O Jesus, ineffable good, nor restrain yourself from me because of the multitude of my sins. For I pour out my prayers before your face not in my own justifications, but in your many mercies. Take from me, Lord Jesus, a stony and hard heart, and give me a heart of flesh and compunction, which may fear you, love you, cherish you above all things, delight in you alone, follow you, and enjoy you forever.

Most merciful Lord Jesus, I beseech you by the most holy mystery of your body and blood, by which in your holy Church we are daily fed and given drink, washed and sanctified, and made participants in your one supreme divinity: give me your holy virtues, adorned with which I may be able to approach your altar with a good conscience, so that these heavenly sacraments may become for me salvation and life. For you said with your holy and most blessed mouth: “The bread that I shall give is my flesh, for the life of the world. If anyone eats of this bread, he shall live forever.” O most sweet bread, heal the palate of my heart, so that I may taste the sweetness of your love.

Heal, Lord, my whole heart from every sickness, so that it may taste no sweetness besides you, seek no love besides you, and love no consolation besides you. O most holy Jesus, bread of life and understanding, having in you every delight and every sweetness of fragrance, you who always refresh us from yourself and never fail in yourself: let my heart, I beseech you, eat you, and let my soul be filled with the sweetness of your savor. O holy bread, O living bread, beautiful bread, pure bread, who came down from heaven and gives life to the world: come into my heart and cleanse me from every defilement of mind and spirit. Enter into my soul; heal and sanctify me at all times. Be my protection and the continual salvation of my body and soul. Drive away from me the enemies who lie in wait for me, so that, fortified by the sacrament of your body and blood, I may advance through you on the right path under regular discipline, and after this life may come joyfully to your kingdom.

Excuse for the length.

If this prayer seems too long to anyone, let him read whatever part he wishes; for this reason we have divided it into short paragraphs, to remove weariness. But the one who wishes to read neither the whole nor a part complains of its length in vain, since he will be shown willing to pray neither a long prayer nor a short one.

Meditation before approaching the altar.

Then, by meditation on the Lord’s passion, or at least on one article of it, or on several if the opportunity of time is present, the mind of a devout person is pierced with wonderful effect, if he has the habit of lively meditation. I would call meditation on the Lord’s passion savory when a person, purified by true mortification, as soon as he begins to turn over in thought the Lord’s passion, is dissolved into tears without violence, from love alone, and from the excessive fervor of desire is prepared as though for a certain ecstasy of mind. Whoever receives this gift from the Lord will never be able to prepare himself better for celebrating than if, before ascending the altar, he always passes through with tears at least one article of the Lord’s passion in meditation. For since the celebration of Mass was instituted by our Redeemer himself in memory of the Lord’s passion, a person never prepares himself better and more fruitfully for it than if he burns more fervently through meditation on that most bitter passion.

The elevation of the priest’s mind to God during the celebration.

With how great reverence, devotion, and purity of mind we ought to stand before the almighty Lord at the altar, what speech could express, or what understanding could comprehend and penetrate? For there the true body and true blood of our Lord Jesus Christ are consecrated in an ineffable manner; there the Lord of majesty, truly present, is adored; there the army of invisible angels, standing before its king, rejoices together; there the whole heavenly court adores the Lord and man Jesus. Therefore the greatest purity of mind, the greatest reverence, and humility are needed when we must stand before so great a majesty, lest the Lord Jesus, who searches the reins and hearts, be able to find in us anything that offends him. Let all worldly anxieties yield and go far away from here; let all thoughts withdraw; here let nothing be thought except what pertains to the consummation of so great a mystery; let nothing be turned over in the mind except what befits the presence of so great a majesty and glory. For here the work is not one of human power, but the miracle of divine majesty is performed: the Son of God is sacrificed to the Father; the body of our Redeemer is truly received; the mystery of our redemption is celebrated. Therefore the priest standing at the altar should remember that he stands before the invisible majesty, and should take care that he think of nothing else.

let him recollect himself for a little while, and kindle himself more fully toward perseverance in his holy purpose. Then, turned toward the Lord, let him say:

Prayer

I beseech you, most sweet Lord Jesus, by the power of your most holy body and blood which I have received, though unworthy: grant me the sweetness of your love, sincerity of brotherly affection, strength in temptation, purity in heart, and discipline in conduct, so that, by your generosity, I may satisfy my profession and continually advance in your most holy love. Then, until the first signal for choir, let him read something good, meditate or pray, or else write; and let him fervently apply himself to the work assigned to him by obedience.

At the first signal before choir, before high mass.

When the first signal has sounded for the hour that customarily precedes high mass, the cenobite, immediately setting aside everything he has in his hands, should read the preparatory prayers for choir, just as they are arranged above before matins. Afterward let him go to choir with reverence and maturity, bowing and praying according to the rite set out above.

At high mass.

At the ringing for high mass you may read the appointed Hour of the Holy Cross, and afterward, as time permits, recall to mind something from the preface set before the private masses. For the sum of our salvation is placed in the merit of the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ; nor is any good work rightly credited to us unless it is offered in his power. The memory of this Passion is enacted in the celebration of masses, where the innocent Lamb, slain for us, is offered to God the Father in an ineffable mystery. Therefore we truly hope for salvation from our one Savior, our Lord Jesus Christ alone, whom we believe to have suffered for us. And so, whatever the Church asks in the collects, she humbly asks God the Father that it be given to her through him. Therefore let our devout cenobite have this regard for the merit of the Lord’s Passion in his heart; upon it the whole office of the mass is chiefly founded, and to it let him return gently through faith. For every mass, of whatever kind it may be, that is said in God’s holy Church is always referred to the merit of the Lord’s Passion.

On the introit of the mass.

We do not intend to explain the office of the mass point by point, since each of us can find many expositions by others; rather, we desire to give occasion for meditation to devout brothers, whom we know to be inflamed with inward desires. You may relate the first part of the introit and the verse, in meditation, to the Lord’s incarnation; and the repetition with the Gloria to his nativity. Nevertheless, you ought diligently to examine what the introit contains according to its literal sense, so that you may be able to find a fitting spiritual understanding for yourself. For nothing is done in vain in the divine office, but all things are filled with mysteries and sacred actions.

On Kyrieleison.

Kyrieleison is Greek, composed of a noun and a verb; and among them these are two words. The first, Kyrie, is said in the vocative from kyrios, which means “Lord.” The second is from eleeo, which means “I have mercy”; eleeson, “have mercy,” is uttered in the imperative. From this comes kyrieleison, that is, “Lord, have mercy,” by elision from Kyrie eleison, since a vowel before a vowel can be elided for a better sound.

Three times he says Kyrieleison to the Father, so that he who, from exceeding charity, willed his Son to become incarnate of the Virgin and to die for us, may wish to come to our aid in our necessities by his mercy.

To the Son also we say Christeleison three times, in which we pray to him that he may come to our aid.

We also utter Kyrieleison three times to the Holy Spirit, in which we humbly invoke him for our help by his ineffable goodness.

On the Gloria in excelsis.

Then “Glory to God in the highest” is said in the singular number; in it we confess the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit to be one sole true God in the Trinity of persons and the unity of substance.

Accordingly, during that angelic hymn itself the monk ought to be very devout and, as I might put it, intent upon each single word. In it the gift of peace is promised to people of good will, and God is humbly adored by us in various phrases.

At The Collects.

When the collects or prayers are uttered to God by the priest, the monk, standing in choir, should think of nothing else, but, listening to the priest’s words, should present his own desire to God in agreement with them.

At The Epistle.

When the epistle is read, you ought to attend diligently to everything and, with the greatest fervor of spirit, give thanks to God, because, after the Jewish people had been deserted, he mercifully chose to call you and your forebears from Gentile error to his faith.

At The Gradual.

During the gradual, alleluia, sequence, or tract, consider what a long desire the holy fathers had, who before Christ’s incarnation longed for his coming. Then turn over in your mind with how many labors and injuries your Savior was wearied for you in this world for thirty-three years, he who willingly gave himself over to death for your salvation. Then remember the long and perilous exile of your soul in the flesh, so that, by this meditation on your present misery, you may be able the more fully to kindle your affection toward divine love.

During The Gospel.

During the holy Gospel, with mind lifted up to the Lord, rejoice and give thanks, because the merciful Father willed that you be born of Christian parents, and because he made you a sharer in his holy and most sweet teaching.

During The Creed.

When the symbol of the catholic faith is sung, consider all its words and mysteries with humble fervor of spirit. Hasten at once to gather yourself wholly back into yourself, so that you may be able to give thanks to him who called you to the faith without any merit of your own, and to raise yourself up to him through the love of the Spirit. Think, if you can, indeed as much as you can, how great, exalted, and immense is the Son of God, who willed to be incarnate for you, and what hard and bitter things he endured for you.

At The Offertory.

At the offertory, join your mind with the host that is to be consecrated in the offering, and consider what is being done there mystically.

For the host is round and white. In its whiteness are set forth the purity, innocence, and suffering humanity of our Savior, to be offered to God the Father for us against all our impurities; in its roundness, his immense divinity is offered to us as the reward set before us. Therefore say to the Lord:

Prayer

I have no worthy gift to offer you, almighty God; I hand over myself to you as a sacrifice. Therefore receive, holy Father, in union with the most holy offering of the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, your only-begotten Son, me as an eternal gift to you and as a perpetual servant. And give me the continual fire of your holy love, so that I may constantly render to you a service pleasing to you. Through the same Christ.

Prayer

I offer to you, almighty God, the life, passion, and death of the same our Lord Jesus Christ, for my sins, for the holy Roman and universal Church, for the supreme pontiff, for our bishop, for our abbot, for all my brothers, for the union of our observance, for our whole order wherever it may be, for the salvation of all the faithful, for the conversion of unbelievers, and for the redemption of the souls of the faithful existing in the pains of purgatory. Receive, I beseech you, holy Father, this offering of mine in union with that charity with which you received the same our Lord Jesus Christ dying on the cross for us; and may it be pleasing to you.

During The Preface.

During the preface, take care to raise your mind from all earthly things to heavenly things, and to prepare yourself to praise the Lord with the holy angels. Remember that by the merits of the Lord’s passion of the Passion, you have been called to the fellowship of the angels; and take care that you may come to it through the observance of the commandments.

At the Sanctus.

With your mind lifted upward, when the Sanctus is sung, glorify the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, one God and Lord, and humbly adore his majesty at all times with the holy angels.

During the Canon.

After the Sanctus, during the Canon, you may take up meditation on the Lord’s passion, and offer it to God the Father, through its several greater principal articles, for yourself, or for others, or for any necessity. Say, therefore, in this or a similar manner:

O holy Father, I offer you the bloody sweat and tears of our Lord Jesus Christ, your most beloved Son, in that charity and union in which he voluntarily offered himself to you in death for us: for my sins, or for that brother, or for this or that necessity. And I ask you, through the pain of the wounds of that same sweetest Son of yours, and through the shedding of his most holy blood and the power of his most innocent death: have mercy on me, or on him, or grant us this or that, etc. Through the same our Lord.

You may do the same with the other articles of the Lord’s passion, and expand them in offering according to the intention of your affection.

At the Elevation.

If, at the elevation of the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, your mind is not occupied with higher things, you may pray to the Lord, who is truly present, in this way:

O Christ, king of glory. You are the eternal Son of the Father. You, to deliver us, etc., to the end. For it is read that Saint Thomas Aquinas prayed this part of the hymn to the Lord during the elevation.

At the Agnus Dei.

When the Agnus Dei is sung, lift up your mind to the Lord Jesus with singular confidence, and humbly pray that he may receive you into perpetual peace. Direct your affection to him for whose love you have left all things, and ask of him for a holy embrace and a stable possession through reception of holy communion.

At the Ite missa est.

When at the end the Ite missa est is sung, see that your mind is lifted up with the holy angels returning into heaven, so that through desire you may deserve to behold the Lord Jesus presiding in majesty, whom now on earth, in the sacrament of the Mass, you can no longer see going to the Father. Therefore kindle your desire through the image of desolation, in the manner of those who are unwillingly separated from their friends.

Say, therefore, in your heart:

Meditation.

Behold, my Lord has returned to heaven; he has left me desolate on earth. What am I doing here with mortals, when I have an immortal one? Why do I not follow him? Woe to me, for my sojourning has been prolonged; I have dwelt with the inhabitants of darkness; my soul has been long in exile. I desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ; but who will free me, unhappy man that I am, from the body of this death? O most loving Lord Jesus, my hope, O God and savior of my soul, draw me after you; let us run in the fragrance of your ointments. O my sweet love, do not forget me to the end, but deign frequently to lift up my mind to you, so that, since I cannot see you bodily while set in this mortality, at least, lifted up by affection and desire in your most holy love, I may more often deserve to behold you in spirit in glory. O my salvation, O heart of my heart, most loving Jesus, do not abandon me or despise me; be a gracious helper to me, and direct me always in your most holy will, so that I may truly be able to please you.

After High Mass and the following hour.

After the end of the hour that immediately follows High Mass, return to your cell with the customary reverence described above. Pour out to the Lord the prayers, as we taught after Matins, according to the fervor of the spirit; for the rest of the time...

apply yourself to meditations. Consider the foulness of sin, how it separates one from God and condemns the unrepentant, turned-away person to hell. Therefore take care to turn your will wholly to God with the firmest resolve laid down, and to avoid the contagion of sin with all your strength at all times.

On Regular Refection.

When the signal for refection is sounded, have heartfelt compassion for the sick, the needy, and the poor who suffer necessity; and pray for them, since you can do nothing else. Consider that among Christians there are many far better than you, whom harsh poverty oppresses in this life; to them, in their need for the things necessary for sustenance, poor fare is offered, and not even the thinnest garments are supplied to clothe the body. But you, although you are a monk and a despiser of the world, are clothed in excellent garments and sit at table like a prince. Brothers better than you set food before you to satiety; all things necessary, even to the point of disgust, are ministered to you, an unworthy sinner, by the servants of God. Therefore consider what end this abundance of things will have in a monk, since by entering religion you professed poverty, but now in religion you feast more splendidly than the rich of the world. Take care, then, not to be ungrateful for such great benefits of God, and live according to the rule you have professed. Pray for those who contribute temporal substance to your monastery, that almighty God may mercifully grant them eternal life.

On Mental Reading.

When sitting at table, be composed while eating. Do not look this way and that, but take care to eat, with humility and thanksgiving, only the food set before you for the necessity of nature. Carefully consider what is read at table, so that just as the body is refreshed by its own food, so the soul may not be deprived of its own refreshment. Learn, while eating, to raise your mind frequently to heavenly things, and through the word of sacred reading, which is never lacking while we eat, to kindle it sweetly with divine compunction. For the true and inward worshiper of God, whenever he hears something read, even during meals, about the bitterness of the Lord’s passion, the fervor of divine love, or the kingdom of the heavenly fatherland, immediately groans from great desire, kindles his affections in the ardor of love, and, compelled by excessive sweetness, weeps. For truly the mind which genuinely loves Jesus, as soon as it hears his name or sees the image of the Crucified, is dissolved in compunction and by affection is lifted to his feet or his embrace.

At the Thanksgiving.

When the refection is finished, give thanks to the Lord; and while you go to church under the psalm, direct your mind upward and intercede for benefactors living and dead. If after the thanksgivings you add some special prayer for the departed, you do well.

After reading, when you have returned to your cell, you should always put some prayer before your works, and in everything you do ask for God’s help. But when you are in your cell, do not be idle; rather, always do something good, especially what the abbot has assigned by obedience. Now pray, now write; read something good or meditate, because the cell makes an idle monk either a beast or a demon. But we shall speak more fully about these things below in their proper place. Take care to spend your time usefully, because soon you will have to render an account to God for everything.

On dwelling in the cell and the works to be done in it.

There are three places in one of which the devout monk and lover of God ought most often to be found: namely, in the church, in the cell, and, at the proper time, in the refectory. He does not allow wandering through the monastery, because it is written of the wicked, the reprobate, and the gyrovagues: “The wicked walk in a circuit.” But of the just man Jeremiah says: “It is good for a man when he has borne the yoke of God from his youth; he will sit alone and be silent, because he has lifted himself above himself.” What, then, are the chief works of the cell? The first is to attend to commands; the second is to read usefully; the third is to apply oneself to opportune meditation; the fourth is to pray frequently; the fifth is to rest fittingly. We shall speak briefly of these in order.

First, in the cell you must attend to commands.

First, when you are in the dwelling of the cell, learn to attend to commands, and not to prefer your idle devotions to obedience. For Scripture says: “Obedience is better than sacrifices, and to listen is better than to offer fat.” Therefore, if something has been assigned to you to do in the cell, do not transgress the paths of obedience on any occasion, but strive to perform diligently the work imposed on you, for the love of our Lord Jesus Christ and for the merit of holy obedience. Hence Hugh, the lover of quiet, says: “Gladly remain in the cell, and always do in it something that builds you up and is enjoined by a superior; consider that it is not within your right to go out without permission, except by the necessity of nature.” You also have concerning this the prohibition of our most holy father Benedict in the Rule, who forbids you exit and wandering without permission.

Second, in the cell you must read usefully.

It especially befits a monk, when he is in the cell, always to read something good and to occupy himself usefully in all things. For sacred reading overcomes the temptations of the devil, calms the fires of the flesh, makes one despise the world, and raises the mind to heavenly things. For Jerome, lover of divine Scripture, spoke truly: “Love the knowledge of the Scriptures, and you will not love the vices of the flesh.” Not all things are to be read by all monks, because one who is still weak in spirit must be instructed only in simple teachings. And Hugh says to the monk who loves simplicity: “Do not read in order to be considered a teacher, nor read curiosities that do not edify, because vain reading begets vain thoughts and extinguishes the devotion of the mind.” Therefore simpler things are to be read by simpler monks, not lofty things; devout things, not curious ones, so that those who, because of slowness of understanding, are not learned in higher matters may not become dissipated in vain things. But for those who are stronger in spirit, we do not forbid studies suited to them, because all things are clean to the clean, and nothing read harms those who are truly devout. Nevertheless, let no one claim for himself a strength of soul that he does not have, but let him place it in the abbot’s discretion, for him to see whether he is fit for freedom in reading.

Third, in the cell you must apply yourself to opportune meditations.

As the shoot rises from the root, so meditation is generated from reading. If the reading has been vain, the meditation too will be fruitless and useless. For the fruit of reading is meditation, and the offspring of meditation is prayer. Therefore take care to apply yourself opportunely to holy meditations, so that you may also learn sometimes to raise your mind into contemplation through the fervor of divine love. Indeed, meditation itself raises the mind and commends the study of reading to the memory.

Fourth, you must pray frequently in the cell.

The holy apostle teaches us to persist in prayer without interruption, because just as breath is always necessary to us for the life of the flesh, so continuous prayer is altogether necessary for the health of the mind. For just as by readings we are instructed toward good things, so by prayers we are freed from evil. For the Lord says in the holy Gospel: “Pray, that you may not enter into temptation.” Prayer refreshes the sluggish mind, extinguishes the burning of carnal desire, forms conduct, and drives away demons. If you wish always to be with God, always pray. If your prayer is pure, simple, and bare, poured out to God through fervor of love, it will not and cannot be unfruitful.

Fifth, in the cell you must rest fittingly.

He rests badly who commits many evils. He rests well who scorns all the occupations of the world. Remain quiet in the cell, so that you do not wander here and there in any thought, but keep your mind pure and tranquil, so that you may merit to obtain savory knowledge. For the saint says in verse: “Wisdom fills a tranquil mind, free from cares, and will be the guest of a peaceful breast.” And again he says: “Those who are quiet and far from tumult can examine the law, if empty hearts are free. Therefore, so that the mind intent on pious studies may be helped, let divine love conquer carnal quarrels.” Therefore remain quiet in the cell, and by loving the truth you will be able to know it. For the mind will not be able to be tranquil and capable of divine wisdom when the body is restless. Hence Hugh says: “In the dormitory be quiet, lest another be disturbed by you. But when you are awake, or when you wish to sleep, let the memory of God’s goodness always come to you with thanksgiving, because he himself always watches over us, so that he may guard from every evil those who humbly serve him.” When you go to your bed, first something You should first spend some time thinking of God or meditating on God, so that in holy thoughts you may be able to fall asleep sweetly. For whatever the occupations of one waking have been, such also will be the repose of one sleeping, and such too will be his dreams. For a mind burning with divine love will be unable, whether sleeping or waking, to forget its beloved, as the bride says in a certain way in the Canticles: “I sleep, and my heart keeps watch.”

At Vespers. Consideration VII.

When the first signal for Vespers has been given, and when, as customary, “Blessed be the name of the Lord” has been said, give thanks to almighty God, who allowed others to suffer in secular business, as is usually permitted, and who willed you to be free from those things for serving him. Then recollect yourself inwardly, or meditate as much as you can on the Lord’s passion, until the second signal sounds and you go to choir. For in my judgment there is no meditation better for the compunction of beginners and of those making progress, and for the devotion of the mind, than that which takes its beginning from the passion of the Lord Jesus Christ and pierces devout affections.

At the Vigils of the Dead.

When the vigil office after Vespers has been completed, you will be able to say the hours of the Holy Cross, and afterward to think somewhat about the immeasurable charity of God, with which he loves the souls of the faithful. Then, as much as you can, consider in what great desolation those holy souls established in purgatory are placed; how great the pain is for a spirit separated from the body and desiring to return to the center of its own beginning, not to be able to behold the face of its Creator through friendly enjoyment, but to be forced to wait in punishments and torments most grievous to it. For so great is the desolation, sadness, and sorrow of a soul separated, placed in punishments, and desiring to come to God, that no kind of torments known to us in this world could be compared with its sorrow. For in our manner of speaking there is no comparison between bodily sorrow and desolation and the state of a separated spirit, placed in longing for return to its own beginning.

Therefore, as much as you can, have compassion for the desolation of the faithful souls groaning in the prison of purgatory, and pour out diligent prayers to the Lord for them. For although, according to his justice, the almighty and merciful Father defers them from the kingdom, nevertheless he loves them with inestimable charity. Therefore whatever good you now do by praying for them, you offer as a pleasing sacrifice to almighty God. And when you come there, you will receive multiplied whatever you have done here in charity for them. For Scripture says: “It is a holy and wholesome thing to pray for the dead, that they may be loosed from sins.”

Passing through the cemetery or cloister. Pray for the dead.

When you are passing through the cemetery, cloister, or another burial-place of the dead, do not forget your brothers and all the faithful departed; but, moved by charity, have compassion for them, and be eager to assist them before the Lord in this or a similar manner.

Prayer

Depart, faithful souls; rest in holy peace. May he who redeemed you by his precious blood deign to free you from punishments and lead you to eternal joys, where, blessed, you may rejoice and exult forever.

Another.

May God the Father, who created you, bless you. May Jesus Christ, who redeemed you by his most precious blood, bless you. May the Holy Spirit, who by his kindness and gift preserved you from eternal damnation, bless you. Amen.

Read the following prayer often.

I beseech you, sweetest Lord Jesus, Son of the living God, through the pain of your wounds, through the shedding of your most holy blood, and through the power of your most innocent death: have mercy on the souls of all the faithful departed existing in the pains of purgatory, and give them the dwelling-place of eternal light with all your saints. Amen.

After Vespers until Compline. Consideration VII

After Vespers, or the Vigils of the Dead, return to your cell with the customary prayers and bows, and there, on bent knees, give thanks to your most merciful preserver, because he has not only mercifully rescued you from the vanities of the world, but has also guarded you in the order from many evils and dangers. Then recall how many bodily and spiritual goods your kindly Father has shown to you, though you deserved nothing; and, what is greatest, how he has promised himself as a reward to you if you faithfully persevere in his love. Be grateful, and always watchful in prayer, so that you may burn sweetly in the love of God.

When the signal has been given for supper, prepare yourself humbly to go to it, and observe what we noted above concerning dinner. After supper you may return to your cell and devote yourself to prayer or meditation until the signal is rung for collation.

At collation.

After supper, when you have heard the signal for spiritual collation, hasten to it with gravity, and hear the last reading of the day with fervor of spirit. For the word of holy exhortation that has been heard last will cling more tenaciously to the mind throughout the whole night. But if it is a fast day, collation is customarily observed in the refectory while drinking. Therefore be attentive to sacred reading in every place, because when one willingly receives the word of holy exhortation with attention, it cannot happen otherwise than that the mind is often lifted up.

At Compline.

Going to Compline, pray to God that he may always make you despise all worldly and carnal things, and grant you to remain continually in his most holy love, so that, when the course of the present life is completed, you may deserve to enter the temple of God not made by hands, and to rejoice forever with all the saints in God. But at the end of Compline, when you hear the signal for the angelic salutation being rung, you shall humbly greet the most blessed God-bearer and Virgin Mary, that by her merits she may guard you through the night and continually intercede with her Son for your salvation.

After Compline.

When Compline is finished, return at once to your cell, and, after the customary prayers have first been said, take care to prepare yourself most diligently for the following recollection of mind.

On recollection after Compline. Consideration IX.

Since we cannot remain wholly unmoved in one holy state of mind, it is necessary for us often to renew our holy purpose, so that as often as during the day, wandering through the byways of sins, we depart from the one principle of our soul, the supreme God, so often through contrition and compunction we may return to that firmly resolved amendment. Hence our holy fathers established for us that we should devote ourselves to recollection after Compline and examine ourselves concerning the negligences committed during the day, so that, by the continual exercise of recollection, we may renew toward fervor of spirit the purpose of holiness which we know to be sufficiently weak and infirm. Therefore our devout cenobite, wishing to recollect himself fruitfully and with useful continuance, must examine himself chiefly in five things in order.

First, in recollection.

Rendering an account.

The rendering of an account must be observed, by which the cenobite is ordered to bring back before the eyes of his mind, for chastisement, whatever he remembers having committed during the day by failing negligently, badly, or less well. Therefore, turned toward God, with hands clasped, let him lie before his bed and speak in this or a similar manner:

I give you thanks, almighty and merciful God, for all your benefits, which you have deigned to show to me, an unworthy sinner, deserving absolutely nothing, from my youth up to this hour.

For I, who have deserved nothing good, have received many and innumerable gifts of your goodness. Would that I could give thanks worthily to you, the highest and unchangeable good; would that in your holy service I could praise you with a pure heart and clean conscience. But alas, with weakness, concupiscence, and evil habit prevailing, I, who ought to have clung to your most holy love with a pure heart and conscience, have offended you again and again with many negligences and faults; and as often as, according to the inward inspirations of your goodness, I have tried to rise to fervor of spirit, alas, so often I grieve that I have fallen again.

You know, good Jesus, into how many faults, how many negligences, how many guilty acts I have fallen today alone; how many vain, how many useless, how many harmful thoughts I have admitted in so few hours; how many useless and harmful words I have uttered; how many negligences and offenses I have perpetrated in my actions today.

Woe to me, wretched man, who could not persevere even for one very short day in your most holy service without impurity of heart and negligence, who today have committed so many faults and various imperfections. To your goodness, O most gentle God, I confess all my sins into which I have fallen from my earliest age; before your feet, O sweetest Jesus, I place all the negligences that I have committed today. I ask pardon, which I am not worthy to receive; I ask for grace, which I confess I have so often received in vain. O most loving mediator between God and men, Jesus Christ, do not despise me, a wretched sinner, whom you willed to purchase with your own blood. I confess to you all the negligences into which I have fallen in any way today, and the faults that I have committed.

Here the cenobite, prostrate in mind before the Lord, should recall to memory the more serious negligences, and, humbly asking pardon, lament his imperfection. Especially let him consider whether he has offended anyone by word or deed; whether he has said anything against a brother; whether he has committed anything against charity and reverence; or whether he has knowingly saddened anyone unjustly. And in general, in whatever way he has offended against God, against himself, against the prelate, against toward one’s neighbor, or against the rule or the statutes of the fathers, he should strive to bring it back for examination under this chapter; and concerning secret matters in tomorrow’s confession, and concerning public and regular transgressions in the first chapter, he should faithfully and from the heart resolve to cleanse himself by accusing himself. Let him grieve over what he has committed; make satisfaction for what has been repented of; and beware of committing such things again.

Then let him consider the grave danger of offending God, whether the sin has been venial or mortal. For John Gerson, chancellor of Paris, says in the treatise On the Spiritual Life: “So much is even venial sin against God that, by his justice, he could condemn a person to eternity for it. But that he does not impute it to a person unto damnation proceeds not from justice but from his infinite goodness.” And Saint Anselm the bishop warns us that a person ought not knowingly to commit the least sin against the will of God for the whole world. For the most blessed bishop Augustine says: “No sin is so venial that it would not become mortal if it pleased.”

You will say: “This statement cannot be true, since if a sin has been venial, it can never become mortal; but if it becomes mortal, it was not venial.” But listen and understand. I grant that venial sin, considered in itself, cannot become mortal; but one and the same sin, which can stand together with charity, becomes venial for one person from negligence and weakness alone, while for another, from contempt and aversion from God in the same sin, it is without doubt mortal, because what pleases even insofar as it is sin and against God is deservedly imputed. Blessed, therefore, is the one who is always fearful; but the hard-minded will fall into evil. Whoever neglects the smallest sins when he can amend them gradually falls into graver ones.

Indeed, how much sin displeases almighty God is shown by the punishment that follows it. For so often we read in the sacred books and in the deeds of times past that those sinning against God were gravely punished, that we should rightly fear the pit of sin. How much even the briefest thought of a spirit turned away displeases him is declared to us by the fall of the first angel. For as soon as he displayed himself inordinately by growing proud against God, he was cast into hell.

How much idle and useless words are against God is sufficiently and plainly taught to us in the Lives of the Fathers by the story of the infernal pigs among brothers speaking useless things in the presence of their parents.

How much evil and harmful words offend almighty God was made evident in the five-year-old boy who blasphemed, whom the devil, snatching him from his father’s lap, carried off alive to hell, as is believed.

How much evil deeds and negligences concerning one’s office displease him is clear in the sons of Eli, who were negligent and cared too little for the rite of sacrifice.

How much even good works displease God when done by one’s own will, with obedience set aside, holy Arsenius taught us by his own deed; for although he did not go against the command of a superior, he did not carry his usual water unpunished. And we read many similar things about others.

But how much evil deeds offend God, since we can understand it from innumerable histories, so to speak, there is no need to prove by a few examples.

Therefore, when in his recollections our devoted monk has found himself burdened with promises, or any other negligences or sins, however grave they may be, let him assume contrition for what has been done, amendment for what is possible in the present, firm caution for the future, and penance for all. Let him therefore assume for himself the counsel of the above-mentioned chancellor, and say, contrite in spirit: “Lord my God, I confess to you, Truth. I fall down before your most holy goodness, because in this or that way I have sinned against your will. I grieve for this vehemently, and because I have offended you, who are wholly good, I humbly do penance.”

“Lord my God, who know all things, Truth. You know that, by your gift, I have a good purpose, and I intend, with your help, to amend myself according to my strength in the future.” But let him beware of sins by asking God’s help in prayers, by inflicting penance on the body, and by avoiding flight from the occasion of sin. Therefore, for the third truth let him say: “Lord my God, I have a good will to make satisfaction for my sins, to fulfill all your commandment and holy [unclear].”

of mother Church, from the soul wholly and without deceit.

Whoever has uttered these three truths to the Lord from sincerity of heart, without falsehood in mouth or mind, however much he may previously have sinned, is now secure, if he should die in such a state even without confession, in the absence of a priest; yet in such a way that in purgatory he must make satisfaction for what he did not complete by penitence. But whoever cannot truthfully say those same truths from a pure mind, because the pleasure of sinning, in which he is actually delighting, stands in the way, or because of an evil purpose by which he scorns to avoid the occasions of sins, is in a state of damnation, from which not even the pope can absolve him.

The Indication of Future Caution.

The second thing he prescribes as to be observed by the cenobite in his recollection he calls the indication of future caution. Let him consider what have been for him the occasions of past transgression, and he will more easily guard himself from future danger. For he blocks up the pit of sin better if he avoids the occasion of sinning. And Saint Bernard says: “When night is approaching, an account must indeed be made, distributing one’s exercises according to the rule of the common institution.” In these he duly pays every debt, if the spirit subjects the flesh to God and to the spirit, and if whatever has been omitted, neglected, or imperfect does not remain uncompensated at its proper time and place.

The Request for Suffrages.

The third thing in the recollection of a good cenobite is the devout request for suffrages, since one who understands his own weakness very well asks help from the stronger. Therefore, when he has completed his recollection, he turns to the holy and undivided Trinity to seek mercy; then he invokes the most blessed Mother of God; afterward he implores the prayers and help of all the saints. And here he remembers not only himself, but pours out prayers for the whole order and the Church.

The Blessing for Rest.

The fourth thing in the recollection is the cenobite’s blessing for going to rest, by which he fortifies himself with prayers and commits himself to the divine goodness to be guarded through the night. Therefore, at the sound of the signal for sleep, or at the appointed time, going to the place of rest, let him fortify himself with the sign of the holy cross and say with devotion:

Blessing for Rest

May the help of our Lord Jesus Christ, the merit and integrity of blessed Mary ever virgin, the sign of the holy cross, the power of the Lord’s passion, and the blessing, guardianship, and merit of all the holy angels and elect of God be between me and all my enemies, visible and invisible, here and forever. Amen.

Prayer

I commend myself this night and at every time into your wounds, most loving Lord Jesus, and I ask you, through the merit of your most holy passion, to have mercy on me and guard me from all the snares and illusions of the enemy, so that with pure mind and clean body I may be able to rise at the appointed hour and praise you with fervor of spirit.

Discretion for Having Rest.

The fifth and last thing to be remembered in recollection is discretion for having rest: that just as the cenobite should never wholly omit this evening recollection, so too he should not wish to prolong it too indiscreetly, to the destruction of his own head. Therefore, when all things have been completed with discretion, let him, fervent in desire for God, raise his mind with tears if he can; let him not pour it out excessively. But when he goes up to his bed, let him carry with him in memory something concerning the Lord’s passion, or concerning the love of Jesus, or surely concerning the glory of the heavenly kingdom, in which, as he sleeps, he may rest sweetly.

For Bernard says: “When you are going to sleep, carry with you something in memory or in thought, in which you may gently fall asleep, which may sometimes also help you to dream, which may also receive you when you wake and restore you to the state of yesterday’s intention. Thus night will be illuminated for you like day, and your night will be your illumination in your delights, so that you may fall asleep calmly, rest in peace, and easily wake; and, when you rise, you will be ready to return to that from which you had not wholly departed.” Yet in all these things discretion must be applied, lest either excessive meditation, impeding sleep, destroy the brain, or sleep taken immoderately interrupt meditation altogether. For a monk must sleep and meditate in fitting balance, so that at the proper time at the appointed time he may be ready to rise and well ordered for the divine office with cheerfulness. For an affection too greatly inflamed by meditation harms the brain and the senses, and takes sleep from weak eyes. Therefore meditation in bed should be brief where the head does not possess great strength, either by grace or by nature.

On Manual Labor. Consideration E.

Since our most holy father Benedict, in the Rule, commends as true monks those who live by the labor of their hands and declares them blessed, it has seemed fitting for our practice that, after the end of the day, we should say something about this most holy exercise. Indeed, we read that this work is highly commended by the holy fathers; and we know that in it they made no small progress before God and human beings. For the holy Apostle says: “Whoever does not work shall not eat.” What Augustine, more learned than the most learned, thought about this manual exercise he shows most clearly in the book On the Work of Monks. We also read that those ancient and most holy fathers who dwelt in solitude sweated no little over the work of their hands, so that they might not fall into the danger of idleness, and, living from their own labors, might burden no one, according to the example of the most blessed teacher of the nations. Would that we too, brothers, might deign to take up this holy exercise of laboring with the same intention and goodwill as they did, so that after the end of our labor we may deserve to rest with them without end in the heavenly homeland.

Four things are to be observed by a monk in labor.

When called to labor, a monk should strive to conduct himself in all things in such a way that he does not lose the merit of bodily labor through dissolution of mind. For we see many among monks who do not rightly approach labor; we see that they seek nothing but the comforts of the flesh. Some of these take on useless and less necessary labors so that, at times of fasting, they may have an occasion for regular eating.

They labor in order to eat; whether it profits or harms the monastery they do not care. Others, so that they may be able to run about here and there without the restraint of discipline, as though under pretext of an occasion, have chosen to arrange various labors. Others, so that they may freely indulge in empty talk and levities, procure labors useless to the cenobium. Others, so that they may be able, as if by a suitable opportunity and without suspicion, to see and speak with people, not to say secular persons, known and friendly to them according to the flesh and not according to God, love external labors. Others, because of instability of mind and because they cannot rest in the monastery, always seem to be panting after labors. But the intention of all who labor in this way is not sincere, and therefore they do not attain the best reward of labor.

But you, brother, when you are called to labor, take care to submit your intention to the regular institution, so that you love nothing except for the honor of God, the merit of obedience, and the utility of the monastery; intend nothing except the advancement of the soul. While you are at labor, do not imprudently extinguish the fervor of the spirit; do not omit the exercise of spiritual conversation, but take care diligently to observe everywhere the four things that follow. In external conduct be faithful, serviceable, and well-disposed; in the interior life, humble and devout; in speech, sparing and edifying; in manners, composed and mature. If you observe these things in labor, you will always return to your cell better.

Outwardly the monk should be faithful, well-disposed, and serviceable.

The first thing to be diligently observed by a cenobite at labor is that, in laboring, he always show himself faithful to his monastery; that he go before the brothers in serving and ministering, or also in carrying heavier things, out of charity; and that in all words and deeds he show himself well-disposed and tractable. Saint Bernard, lover of God, says: “A serious and prudent spirit prepares itself for every labor, and is not dissolved in it, but is rather gathered into itself through it; for it always has before its eyes not so much what it is doing as what it intends by doing it. For the more it intends the end of consummation, toward which it strives more truly, the more fervently and faithfully it also works with its hands, subjecting to itself the service of its whole body.”

in which the will produces practice, practice produces exercise, and exercise supplies strength. The devout and faithful cenobite who truly loves God does not spare himself in labor, but is accustomed to apply himself to the manual tasks imposed on him with such fervor, cheerfulness, and fidelity, as though he alone were compelled by his labor to feed all those established in the monastery. For the most prudent soul knows that it devotes itself wholly to God in whatever it happens to labor at for his servants in bodily necessity. For just as spiritual things cannot long endure in religion without cooperation in temporal things, so I do not hesitate to call the man who, for God’s sake, supplies the needs of the body to those serving God a servant of God. Therefore whatever a good cenobite can acquire for the monastery by his labors with right intention, let him know that he offers all this to the Lord. Nevertheless, a monk should always understand that he must labor in such a way that he in no way omits the monastic prayers, masses, and the other services of holy mother Church.

But manual work taken up out of curiosity and from a desire for self-pleasing is deservedly deprived of reward before the eternal Judge; and work undertaken as if idly, and without the superior’s permission, is held liable to account. But the good cenobite, who desires to please God alone, in every stealing-in of an idle deed, word, or thought, should say within himself that saying of Bernard: If you were about to die now, would you do this in the way you are now acting, thinking, or speaking? Since, if you were now about to die, you would not do what you are doing now, you are very foolish, you who so boldly allow yourself works of death when you will shortly die. But if, since death is necessary, you desire to die well, never do at any time what you would not do if death were already present. For whatever you do now, whether good or evil, you will find it after death.

Let the monk be humble and devout inwardly.

Secondly, during the time of labor the monk ought inwardly to be devout and humble, because if he abandons the inward progress of fervor, nothing helps him that he acquires outwardly through labor.

Therefore, so that the soul may truly make progress while laboring, let it continually recall to memory the steps of good will written in the first region. Let it arrange meditations on the Lord’s Passion with fervor of devotion, in which, as far as possible, it may conform its labors to the labor of Christ. Let it always be humble in heart through denial of self. Let it be devout in affection through the fervor of holy union, so that the labor of the hand may outwardly advance the perfection and usefulness of the community, while the mind does not withdraw from the eternal sweetness of divine love. If labor wearies the working cenobite, if heat burns him, if untimely thirst oppresses him, first let him call to mind how many labors the Lord Jesus endured for us, and he will bear all things lightly. Praying thus, let him say to the Lord:

A prayer for one laboring.

Most sweet and most loving Lord Jesus, King of heaven and earth, who for my redemption were born of the most pure Virgin Mary, and for thirty-three years lived among men as God and man: how great were the labors you had in walking, teaching, and preaching; how for me you voluntarily and patiently endured hunger, thirst, heat, and cold. For all these things I give you thanks. Receive, I beseech you, these little labors of mine, though useless, which I humbly offer to your most holy majesty in memory and honor of all your labors and of your most holy Passion; and may they please you in that union in which your labors most holy pleased God the Father. Amen.

The cenobite should also turn over in his mind, while at labor, if time permits, the principal articles of the Lord’s Passion: first by commemorating them as though present with Christ in the Passion; then by giving thanks at his knees; third, by asking mercy in them according to their likeness.

Let him also recall to memory the lives of the holy fathers or the passions of the martyrs, and consider how great a reward and glory they now receive in their homeland for their labors.

Let the monk be sparing and edifying in speech.

The third thing that must be observed by a monk in labor is that he speak little, and only what is edifying.

The third thing prescribed for the monk to observe in labor is that he speak little, and what is edifying. For Scripture says: “In much speaking sin will not be lacking.” Let a monk never speak without permission, if he truly desires to be good. But once he has permission to speak, let him say only a few useful things, knowing that idle and scurrilous words are condemned everywhere by the Rule. Let him establish for himself, everywhere and at all times, such a manner of speaking, through circumspection, that by speaking he offends no one. Let him listen more willingly than he desires to speak, and let him not say whatever his mind suggests if he fears the reproach of fools. For thus Hugh says to the monk: “Do not pour out everything you know, like a vessel without a lid, which, as soon as it is tilted, pours out whatever it contains, and lies open to all dust and filth.” Take diligent care never to seem, directly or indirectly, to seek your own glory; nor, from a desire to boast, imprudently reveal to anyone else whatever commendable thing lies hidden in you. If you are silent about yourself and hide yourself, you will be more pleasing; if you put yourself forward and commend yourself, you will become vile before all and will be mocked. Beware of idle words, because when we do not notice such things for long, little by little we slip into harmful things; from them are born either disturbances, dissipation, or the grievous gnawings of conscience. Be such in your inner conversation that, from love of spiritual meditation, silence always delights you more than talkativeness.

Let the cenobite be composed and mature in his conduct.

Fourth, the monk, both in labor and outside it, is commanded to compose his conduct in every place, and in all his deeds and words to show himself mature before others. Let him be pure and humble in heart; let him be kindly and useful in speech; let him be modest and grave in his gait; let him be mature and exemplary in his whole manner of life. The whole person, once he has undertaken to be composed according to the norm of discipline, must be held firm at all times in the intention of making progress. For indeed, while the monk desires to advance daily toward better things, he avoids every kind of dissipation and disorderly conduct. For a firm effort to make progress has this as its own property: it makes the mind of the one striving very circumspect in all things. But he who does not have a firm effort to make progress toward the better cannot truly be called composed, even if he seems mature to others. For feigned maturity quickly dissolves into open dissipation of mind when it does not have the fear of God as the root of discipline. Therefore, so that our cenobite may always be composed within and without, let him strive to be truly rooted in the fear of the Lord. For he who fears God neglects nothing. And the love of God is not idle.

What the monk’s conduct toward other people ought to be.

Consideration XI

Since we have begun to speak about the maturity and composure that a monk must preserve before others, it seems useful to us now to say briefly how he ought to show himself to particular persons. For he is instructed to show himself in one way to his prelate, and is commanded to present himself in another way to his brothers and to secular people. To his rector, as holding the place of Christ, he ought to show reverence; to a brother, charity; to the hostile, gentleness; to secular people, modest piety. Therefore let the monk render to each what is his, and he will be truly composed before God and human beings. What he owes to God, and what to himself, has been sufficiently stated above; now let us pursue the matters set before us.

Let his conduct toward the prelate, in the place of Christ, be reverential.

First, the monk’s conduct ought to be reverential toward the prelate, as the Lord says in the holy Gospel: “He who hears you hears me; and he who despises you despises me.” For the monk who withholds the obedience and reverence owed to his abbot does injury to almighty God. For, as our most holy father says in the Rule, the abbot is proved to hold the place of Christ in the monastery. Who Therefore whoever despises the vicar of any king undoubtedly contemns the king himself. But tell me, good brother: why do you withhold due reverence from your prelate, whom you hear called the vicar of Christ? Perhaps you think him evil and wholly unworthy of such an office, and therefore you suppose that it is permitted you to despise him? Not so, brother, not so. Rather, consider whose place it is in which the vicar of Christ presides, and know that you have not been sent to honor the man. If you wish to be Christ’s disciple, always consider why you came, and you will never deny reverence to the prelate, even if he is unworthy. For why did you come? Surely so that, according to the rule of the Gospel, you may deny yourself for God; so that under another’s command you may serve Christ as a soldier; so that with patience you may await the eternal reward promised to you. Therefore, brother, do not lose the crown of eternal happiness prepared for you in heaven because of one man’s displeasure, a crown you ought not exchange for the whole world.

Remember that you have nothing except from God, to whom you owe all that you are and all that you know, so that you may fulfill his will and live according to his ordinance. But since you do not trust that you can understand the will of God, you must humbly obey your ruler as his vicar, to whom you have submitted yourself; nor must you examine either his life or his command, since it is not permitted you to judge your pastor. Indeed, in your profession you swore that you ought not follow your own will, but that you wished to obey the abbot in all things according to the Rule. Therefore the abbot is lord of your whole will, not by his own assumption, but by the ordinance of God, whose vicar he is. But handling another’s property against the owner’s will is theft, and you know that thieves will have no share in the kingdom of Christ and of God. Thus the monk, having made profession according to the Rule to God and to his abbot, no longer has power over his own will. Whoever afterward usurps his own will for himself commits theft and sacrilege. Nor will an obtained permission save the presumptuous man, if it was obtained through entreaties and insults. Your abbot, brother, is the vicar of God; to him you must render the promised obedience, not as to a good man, but as to God, and show humble reverence to him in the place of God. For whatever is bestowed by subjects upon the ruler is undoubtedly referred to God, whose vicar he is. Since, therefore, you have subjected yourself to your prelate for God alone and for no other reason, take care to present yourself toward him at all times in such a way that he may be able freely to command you to do or leave undone whatever seems expedient to him, and that he should fear no insolence or disturbance of your spirit at all. For if your abbot is compelled to fear you, his monk, the order of equity is violated; and where the disciple strives to be master, he sins against the Gospel.

Beware, then, lest you withhold reverence and honor from prelates; beware lest by saddening them you offend God. Rather, take care to meet them reverently, whatever sort they may be, and to obey their commands in all things according to the Gospel and the Rule. Believe me, brother, that the fault committed by a subject against a prelate is punished most gravely, either in the present life or in the life to come. For it is written: “Do not touch my christs.” Whatever your prelate has commanded you, you must receive with such confidence that you believe God has inspired it in him.

Let the monk’s conduct be charitable toward the brothers.

so that you may be able to stir yourself up to brotherly charity. Above all, beware lest you harbor displeasure against your brother; for one who is often stirred to anger against his neighbor plainly proves that he does not love God. For whoever loves God with his whole heart does not admit displeasure against his faithful brother. A monk ought truly to be established in such elevation of mind that, whatever a brother has committed against him, he cannot be moved when he considers the nature of that brother’s soul.

Let the conduct of a monk toward those who wrong him be meek.

Third, the monk’s conduct toward those who wrong him ought to be meek, since only then is he acting well if he always keeps regard for the common future happiness and fellowship. To attain this meekness of spirit, let the cenobite learn often to bring to mind the conduct of the holy fathers, and faithfully consider with how much joy they received injuries. Above all let him strive, as far as possible, to imitate our Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who not only bore the injuries and insults of the impious with a most meek heart, but also prayed to the Father for his persecutors, that they might not perish. Imitating this example of the Savior, the holy fathers were accustomed to receive injuries patiently and meekly for the love of God, and, what is more, to love even those who wronged them. To this end let the cenobite recall to mind the degrees of meekness, which are briefly contained in these verses:

Strengthen what is fitting; bear contrary things mildly. Preserve, restrain, and rest inwardly with yourself. Correct prudently; be merciful; give wisely. Pray by submitting yourself; desire martyrdom.

For if humility has possessed the mind of the cenobite, it makes him love injuries. The degrees of humility are contained in these verses.

The twelve degrees of humility.

The first of these degrees fears the Almighty. The second places reins upon the enticements of the flesh. The third submits itself reverently to the abbot.

The fourth, when insults are despised, patiently obeys. The fifth reports to the abbot the secrets of the heart. The sixth, by its own judgment, knows itself useless and unworthy. The seventh believes itself lower than all. The eighth does nothing that the rule of the cell does not allow. The ninth does not speak unless another asks. The tenth forbids laughter and condemns guffawing. The eleventh speaks the few words of reason. The twelfth always looks at the ground with head bowed.

On the same matters, otherwise.

Fear God; do not do your own will; let another rule you. Endure hard things; hide nothing in your heart; seek also the lowest things. Be refuse; do not be a wanderer alone; shut your tongue. Let laughter be sparing, speech weighty, gestures humble.

Note: Peripsema must be read and written, not peripsima, as the unlearned read in the Epistle to the Romans; and it means the filing-off and cleansing of all things.

Let the conduct of a monk toward secular persons be modest.

Fourth, the monk’s conduct toward secular persons ought to be modest, so that neither his familiarity with them is excessive nor his withdrawal indiscreet. Hence Hugh says: With respect to people, so far as lies in you, beware of everything that can be a bad example to them, just as it befits the faithful servant of God to promote the honor of his Lord in all things and to guard against dishonor to him. Do not be familiar with any woman, even a holy one. For if they are discreet, you will please them more by this; but if they are troublesome, they are all the more to be avoided. Do not be suspicious. Be attentive to the sick in humble services. Be very truthful in your words; let your words be as though an oath, and edifying to others. Love poverty. Thus be chaste in all things and everywhere God-fearing.

In all virtues and good morals, then, as your foundation, set before yourself that most clear and most perfect example of all brightness: the life and conduct of our Lord Jesus Christ, who was sent from heaven for this purpose, that he might guide us in the way of virtues and direct us by his example, just as by himself. Therefore, the more a monk takes care to conform himself to him by imitation in the way of virtues, the more without doubt he will be like and near to him in the glory of eternal happiness. Whatever you do, always look to him, and see, according to the Gospel and your own estimation, how he conducted himself in all things. For then you will act best; he conducted himself best in all things. Say therefore to yourself: If my Lord Jesus were present, what do you think he would do about this, or what would he say now? Surely he would both act and speak in the best way, and I ought to imitate him in all things with all my strength.

General conclusion of all spiritual exercises.

Wishing at last to put some end to this work, we say that the completion of all spiritual exercises consists in two things. First, in the knowledge and feeling of one’s own imperfection, so that the monk may always be conscious of his weakness and remain rooted in humility. Second, in the desire and effort to come to a higher manner of life, so that he may always desire to advance in spirit toward better things and by no means withdraw from this effort. Every cenobite ought at every moment to stretch out his mind toward this effort to advance; if he ever gives it up, he incurs the transgression of his vow and the gravest danger to his soul. Let the monk beware, however, that consideration of his own weakness not cast down the effort to advance; let him beware that the effort itself not despise the consideration of imperfection. Rather, let these two so mutually adhere to each other that neither ever withdraws from the other. But if too much consideration of one’s own imperfection should try to lead the mind into despair, let him recall to memory what the holy abbot Bernard said: Let us breathe again, brothers, for even if we are nothing in our own hearts, perhaps something of us may lie hidden in the heart of God. These two considerations, of our weakness and of divine esteem, stir up great devotion in us; so the psalmist said: I am poor and sorrowful. Behold the first. Your salvation, O God, has upheld me. Behold the second.

Finally, it is necessary for one who wishes to occupy himself usefully in these spiritual exercises to have a joyful and free heart, alien to every anxiety or care of the world. For the Holy Spirit is a spirit of freedom and joy; he loves a free heart, joyful in God, and, so to speak, applauds what is like himself. For just as a bird tied to the earth cannot lift itself up to heaven by flying, so a mind occupied with perishable things cannot raise itself to heavenly things. Nor should one cast down the spirit by excessive repetition; otherwise even the brain is confused, and one labors in vain through dry routine. Therefore let the cenobite, fervent in spirit, learn always to persist in these things with moderation, and by his intention continually to refer the cause of every exercise to God, who is the beginning and end of all goodness. Let him faithfully direct his effort toward fear and love of him, and fix his mind in profound humility, since one who is rooted in love is not easily abandoned by God.

Here ends the spiritual exercise of cloistered persons, by Peter Friedberg, in the noble city of Hagenau, on the eighth day before the Ides of August, in the year of salvation 1498.

Here begins the Compendium of the Spiritual Exercise. Johannes Trithemius

The formula of the spiritual exercise for the edification of cloistered persons, published by us, could seem very brief to all the devout who are free for leisure; yet we fear that to those occupied with household affairs it may appear sufficiently long, because when thought is stretched by continual solicitude in arranging the necessities of those subject to them, the mind is easily wearied even in very brief spiritual exercises. Therefore, lest our monks, who either are given to external matters or are less devout in spiritual conversation, be able to flee loosely to an argument of excuse on the occasion of its length, we have been ordered to abbreviate the same teaching, so that the more fervent may hold it in their devotion, and the less fervent and tepid may not omit it.

There follows the practice of the spiritual exercise.

At all and each of the hours, generally, let the devout cenobite strive to direct his effort toward this end: that from his heart, at the root of God’s benefits, he may desire with all his strength to magnify God. Let there be in him so great a most fervent ardor of devotion, so great compunction, so great an overflowing flood of tears, that whoever sees him singing psalms may be moved by his example to magnify the Lord. Secondly, let him remember that he can stir others to the charity of the first commandment, since love is directed to God in vain if one’s neighbor is hated. Therefore, when all thorns of displeasure have been driven out, let the most devout cenobite, turned toward God, pray:

O almighty, eternal God, who, instructing us in the exercise of your love by the manifold creation of things, have commanded that we love you above all things with all our strength, and our neighbor as ourselves for your sake: graciously grant me the grace of your most holy love and of love of neighbor, so that, with every movement of displeasure, aversion, and anger repressed, of every movement of displeasure, aversion, and anger, I may love you above all things with a pure heart always, and may in no way withdraw from sincere love of my neighbor; so that, just as a member connected with another member suffers with the injured member, so my mind, sincerely loving my neighbor, may deserve to be a member of our true head, Jesus Christ. Who lives and reigns with you.

Another Prayer

I beseech you, holy Father, almighty and eternal God, through the power of the most holy passion of your only-begotten Son, our Lord Jesus Christ: enlighten the eyes of my heart, so that, pierced in spirit, I may see how often I have offended against your commandments; and, cleansed by your mercy from every stain of sin, may never offend you hereafter.

After Matins

When Matins is finished, while you are still sitting in the church, or even when you are in your cell, take up for yourself the disposition of true resignation, praying thus.

Prayer

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, who at the hour of Matins, placed in the greatest anguish of your most holy heart, after praying three times resigned yourself most fully to the will of God your Father: grant me, in virtue of that charity of yours, perfectly to despise my own will in all things for love of you, and truly at all times to resign myself to the disposition of your will and of those whom you have set over me. Who lives and reigns.

After Prime.

After Prime, when you leave the choir and enter the chapter room, in remembrance of your most innocent Savior accused before Pilate, you will form your disposition toward humble confession, praying thus to the Lord.

Prayer

Most holy and most sweet Lord Jesus, who at the hour of Prime, falsely accused before Pilate, truly confessed yourself to be the Son of God: have mercy on me and grant me, through your innocence, the virtue of true confession, so that I may humbly endure the words of any who accuse me, and may not withdraw from inward tranquility of mind because of any reproaches. Who lives and reigns with God the Father.

After Terce.

After Terce you will call back to mind how many insults, how many mockeries and derisions your most innocent Lord Jesus endured for your redemption. In remembrance of this, take up for yourself the desire for the sixth degree of humility, praying thus.

Most sweet Lord Jesus, who for us were miserably scourged, mocked, derided, crowned with thorns, and spat upon at the hour of Terce: grant me, in virtue of all your sufferings and of the outpouring of your most holy blood, always to be content for love of you with every abasement and extremity; so that, aware of my sins, I may humbly regard myself as an unworthy worker of yours, and yet may in no way grow slack in your holy service.

After Sext.

you were given vinegar to drink, and were mocked in many ways: I ask you, by the pain of your wounds, grant me pardon for all my sins, the grace of holy compunction, a fountain of tears, a deep virtue of humility, and continual remembrance of your most bitter Passion, so that all that I am and have may always serve you, and my mind may burn continually in your love.

After None.

After None, be mindful of sweetest Jesus dying on the cross; and, going forward in spirit to his knees with tears, give thanks with as much devotion as you can and pray.

Prayer

O Lord Jesus Christ, King of heaven and earth, I behold you dying on the cross for me, a wretch, and I humbly give you thanks for your holy Passion and most innocent death. O most loving Savior, what shall I render to you for all that you have rendered to me? Behold, I offer myself to you; I long to dwell continually in your most holy wounds. I ask you, by the power of your most innocent death: have mercy on me, as you know how; pierce my flesh with fear of you, and suppress in me all disordered motions, so that, inflamed with the fervor of your most holy love, I may love you with a pure heart, confess you with a praiseworthy mouth, and follow you, according to my strength, by humble conduct. I beseech you, most merciful Lord Jesus, by that anguish of your most holy heart which you endured on the cross when your most holy soul went out from your body: have mercy on my soul at its departure.

The first hour after dinner.

At the first hour after dinner, unless you are occupied with higher exercises, you shall pray to the Lord in this or a similar way, to obtain knowledge of your own frailty.

Prayer

Lord God, who, out of your great goodness, created me in my first parent from the slime of the earth, so that, mindful of my lowly condition, I might glorify you, my Creator, in true humility: grant me, I beseech you, truly to know my frailty at all times, so that, while I consider how vile I am and how often I am nothing, and what I rightly deserve, I may be worthy to please you by your gift. Through Christ.

The second hour.

At the second hour after midday, let our devout cenobite recall distinctly to memory the gravity of his sins, by which, especially while living in holy religion, he has sinned against the Rule; and, turned toward the Lord, let him pray thus.

Prayer

Almighty, eternal God, who have deigned, by the Incarnation and death of your only-begotten Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, to give life again, from your mercy alone, to us wretches who were dead in sins: grant me, by the power of his most innocent Passion, forgiveness of all my sins, so that henceforth I may be worthy to serve you with a pure conscience. Through the same our Lord.

The third hour.

At the third hour after dinner, let our faithful cenobite remember his vows, which he promised to the Lord, and especially the renunciation of all ownership, namely in possessions, judgments, and will; and, moved to compunction, let him pray thus to the Lord in fervor of spirit.

Prayer

Almighty and merciful God, who sanctify and receive with gracious favor the vows of your servants, offered to you from faithful devotion: grant that I may render to you all that I have promised, through the virtue of humility, chastity, obedience, and poverty, with such purity of mind that I may be worthy to enter, by your mercy, into your kingdom promised to the poor in spirit. Through our Lord.

After Vespers

After Vespers, let our good cenobite consider that all visible things are vain; and, with his mind lifted up to the love of invisible goods, let him cry to the Lord with as much devotion as he can.

Prayer

Almighty, eternal God, who willed to lead us, through the visible things which you created, to the knowledge and love of invisible things: grant me so to know the vanity of present things that I may be worthy to think with a pure mind on the eternity of future things.

Another.

O protector of those who hope in you, God, without whom nothing is strong, nothing holy: multiply your mercy upon us, so that, with you as our ruler and guide, we may pass through temporal goods in such a way that we do not lose eternal ones.

Another prayer

God, who have prepared invisible goods for those who love you: pour into our hearts the affection of your love, so that, loving you in all things and above all things, we may obtain your promises, which surpass every desire. Through our Lord.

After supper and collation.

After supper or collation, let the faithful cenobite put on a desire for good zeal, and especially for souls, with whatever fervor of charity he can; and, praying to the Lord, let him say.

Prayer

Lord God, greatest lover of faithful souls, who for the salvation of human beings willed your Son to die on the gibbet of the cross: grant me, through the example of that same Son of yours, always to make progress in good zeal, and to fear no labors, no adversities, for the salvation of souls; so that, strengthened by the fire of your love, I may dare to resist, at the proper time, those who oppose you.

and set myself manfully as a wall for your house. Through the same our Lord.

After Compline

After Compline, when his strength has been recollected, let the devout cenobite enter alone into the secrecy of his own heart, and leave outside all cares and anxieties of the world, so that, free and released from all things, he may deserve to speak with the Lord Jesus through the compunction of desire, and to be sweetly united to him through the fire of love. Therefore, having recalled the faults of the day summarily to the memory of examination, let him pray thus to the Lord.

Prayer

O most merciful Lord Jesus Christ, who for our redemption willed to undergo a most shameful death, grant me, I beseech you, through the pain of your wounds, and through the shedding of your most holy blood, and by the power of your most innocent death, pardon for all my sins, so that, with my conscience cleansed, I may henceforth cling to you continually through the desire of love, make daily progress in holy religion, and humbly submit myself in all things to your most holy will.

To the Son.

O Lord Jesus Christ, I commend my body and soul to you this night and at every time, in the power and union of that love with which, while hanging on the cross, you commended your beloved mother, the Virgin Mary, to the disciple. In that love, I beseech you, guard me from all snares of the ancient serpent, suppress the illicit movements of the flesh, drive far away foul and evil dreams, and repel nocturnal phantasms, so that I may sleep secure in your peace, and, with my hours duly ordered, rise cheerfully to your praises. Amen.

To the Father.

O holy Father, almighty and eternal God, who gently received us into your grace in the passion of your only-begotten Son, gracefully receive, I beseech you, all the good works that by your gift I have performed this day, in words, deeds, or thoughts, in the power and union of that charity and love with which you received that same Son of yours hanging and dying on the cross for us. To you, holy Father, in the faith and union of that charity, I commend myself this night and at every time, with which your Son, our Lord, when already about to die, commended his spirit to you on the cross.

To Saint Mary.

Holy and immaculate Virgin Mary, Mother of God, I ask you, through the bitter passion and death of your most sweet Son, do not reject me, a miserable sinner, because of my unclean conscience; but remember that you are the mother of mercy, and pray for me to the God whom you bore, that he may mercifully forgive me my sins, make me a fervent lover of himself, guard me this night from all snares and evils, and after the death of the flesh lead my soul to eternal life. To your protection, most blessed Virgin Mary, I commit myself this night and at every time, in the power and union of that committal by which your beloved Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, when already about to die on the cross, commended you to John his disciple.

On the Memory of the Lord’s Passion.

Since the passion of our Lord Jesus Christ is the gate of our salvation, through which the kingdom of heaven is opened to us, we ought to exercise ourselves in it as frequently as we can with devotion, because we shall easily obtain the effect of our prayers if, through the love of compassion, we adore the Lord in the power of his wounds. Therefore, faithful cenobite, with all the diligence I can, I admonish you, exhort you, and ask you, mindful of the benefits of God, that you neglect no day at all on which you do not give thanks to your Savior for the bitterness of his passion and death. And if, for any reason, you cannot do this at greater length, at least do not refuse to show yourself grateful to your Redeemer with a single word. Thus the Lord Jesus himself revealed to those of his lovers to whom he wished: that nothing is more pleasing to him, and nothing more useful to us, than to recall with thanksgiving the memory of his passion and death, and to admonish others to do the same. Receive, therefore, this shortened word, lest a more lengthy prayer make you weary.

With knees bent to the ground and hands joined together, say:

I give thanks to you, most sweet Lord Jesus, for all the wounds, pains, and insults of your most innocent passion and death. I ask you, through that same death of yours, have mercy on me now and in the hour of my death.

With a compassionate heart I give thanks, O Lord Jesus Christ, for your most bitter passion and your most innocent death. I ask you, have mercy on me.

I praise, bless, and adore you, Lord Jesus Christ, King of heaven and earth, and I give thanks to you for your holy passion, by which you freed miserable me from perpetual death. I ask you, through the power of that same passion of yours, make me a sharer forever in your most innocent death.

Conclusion of this compendium by Johannes Trithemius, abbot of Sponheim.

And so that I may not be more lengthy than is fitting, here I set an end to the compendium. For the venerable assembly of abbots of our annual chapter commanded me to avoid prolixity, lest lukewarm and worldly cloisterers claim weariness as an excuse. If the Lord Jesus gives me a life free from cares, as I have always desired, I shall try to satisfy both my own intention and another’s request. For I have resolved, for certain virgins dedicated to Christ who asked for it, to hand down a rule by which any devout cenobite may exercise himself in the Lord’s Passion.

To hand down: by means of it any devout cenobite may be able to exercise himself in the Lord’s Passion against all temptations. If he remains in it for a few months, exercising himself as he ought, he will gradually fly sweetly from Christ’s humanity to his divinity by the ray of love. For continuous meditation on the Lord’s Passion offers an easy approach to those who desire to come to the love of God; for when the mind, through compassion, is pierced by the memory of the benefits of so great a lover, then, growing warm with tears in desire, it is raised up to love. Therefore you cloistered men dedicated to God, who have no leisure to attend to many things, receive these few things. Although in them there may not be a continuous fire of love, nevertheless for those who persevere it will be able to be renewed.

Here ends the compendium of daily spiritual exercise, by Johannes Trithemius, abbot.

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