Liber de Triplici Regione Claustralium et Spirituali Exercitio Monachorum

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

In the noble city of Mainz, August 6, 1498.

4 Inc. c.a. 1560

[unclear]

4° Inc. c.a.
1560.
Trithemius
Royal Library
of Munich.
Hain 15618

[unclear]

[unclear]

Contents of this book:

Book on the threefold [region?] of cloistered persons, and what sort of exercise belongs to a monk, by Johannes [Erich?]. A compendium concerning the exercise of cloistered persons [unclear].

Conclusions on the seven sacred [things/treatises?], apparently treated from [unclear] of St Thomas of Aquino and of other doctors, in the form of a dialogue.

A final mirror of [unclear], of the good and of the evil, or of Raynaldus [unclear] of [one?] order and [unclear]. A treatise [unclear] by Johannes [unclear], divided into [unclear] parts.

Johannes [Erich?]

Begins 1360. And the cause [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear] and [unclear].

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

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

[unclear], prior of the Augustinian monastery, presented this book [unclear] in [unclear], under Abbot Hamricus, in the year 1500; and there are thirteen quires.

Royal Library of Munich.

In this book are contained all the Machamoria that are rather in the tables. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book. And thus, according as it is written in the tables, so let it be written in this book.

Letter of Johannes Trithemius, abbot of Sponheim, on the little work concerning 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 union and observance of Bursfelde: Brother Johannes Trithemius, called abbot in 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 published by the venerable father lord Johannes, abbot of Bursfelde. Indeed, unless your authority had compelled me, I would never have dared to set my hand to the distinguished work of so great a father, who, it is certain, wrote most excellently, being far more learned and holier than I. For what was I to correct, where everything is found most approved? The good and devout man wrote in no other way than he wished and than 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, statements, and, adapting it to accents, I brought it as far as I could into my own manner and style of writing. I kept the order and matter of the former volume, but I entirely changed the form and customary mode of speaking. I added many things that seemed useful to me in almost every place; I removed a few; I altered the words in individual passages, not the sense. That I dared to do this was due both to your command and to the urgent request of the aforementioned father. For you wished me to make a new work out of old material, to add whatever seemed suitable to me, to cut away what was superfluous, and to alter what needed changing. I did what I could; I obeyed your commands; according to the strength of my talent, which is slight, I completed the task enjoined on me by rewriting it.

Receive now, therefore, most beloved fathers, a work not mine but yours, not composed by me but rather rewritten. If it pleases you, praise the talent of the first father; but if, because of its worthlessness, it displeases you, correct my imperfection, since I, who had from another man’s expenditure the best material for a spiritual building, have through my own lack of skill constructed an inept structure. If I have become foolish, you compelled me. Therefore, whether the work pleases or displeases, it has been easier for me, by writing foolishly, to accept your command obediently than, contrary to obedience, to keep silence. Yet I trust not in my own powers but in another’s merits, for a work which charity has produced will displease no one who loves God.

I desire your paternities always to remain happy in Christ. From Sponheim, the eighth day before the Kalends of September, in the year of the Lord’s incarnation 1498.

Here begins the book on the threefold region of cloistered persons and on the spiritual exercise of novices.

When I call to mind the whole condition of monastic life in these days, I feel intense grief for its calamity, because the fervor of spiritual exercise, which once produced most abundant fruits in the order of our holy father Benedict, has now for the most part failed among monks. We see cloistered persons returning in their morals to the world; we see the institution of regular observance despised by many; and religion, which from the beginning had been instituted for contempt of the world, is by wicked monks being called back again to the pomps of the world. The crown has fallen from our head; the integrity of regular discipline has been corrupted; and the former fervor of holy conduct is perishing. We perceive that many monasteries of our order lie buried in the worst deformity, while we see very few reformed to the purity of the Rule.

The cause of this destruction of regular institution is negligence in spiritual exercises; for as soon as the spirit of fervor has lost its savor in the minds of cloistered persons, the flesh, previously dead through self-denial, has risen again, and the world, which before appeared dry and contemptible to devout hearts, has begun to bloom again in carnal minds. For truly the thought of the human heart, prone to evil from youth, unless it is daily stirred to fervor of spirit by the bridle of spiritual exercise, falls back again in its usual way into its former negligences and grows lukewarm from its holy purpose.

For just as a fallow field, deprived of the diligent care of cultivation, with thorns springing up, quickly returns to its former desolation, so the human mind, however pure or holy it may be, is quickly reduced to thickets of vices unless it is renewed to fervor of spirit by the daily exercise of devotion. Led by this consideration, the fathers of our observance of Bursfelde, devout cultivators, entrusted to us and to posterity, by word and example, that since through our own frailty we cannot remain constant in fervor of spirit, we should at least, by evening recollection after Compline, accuse our daily negligences.

[unclear] may we be renewed from the state of our mind to the fervor of our holy purpose? But whoever neglects the exercise of daily discipline falls into the depth of the body, as the wise man says in Ecclesiasticus: “If you do not keep yourself steadfastly in the fear of the Lord, the Lord will quickly overturn your house,” which he understands as a good conscience. For the provision of this exercise, so useful and so necessary, the Rule of our most holy father Benedict for monks seems to suffice, since it is clear that it contains all the material of exercises, both spiritual and bodily, necessary for monks to preserve regular discipline. And therefore all monastic exercises must be humbly submitted to the ordinances of the Rule, since whatever is prescribed either by us or by others for the instruction of monks is wholly directed to observing the monastic norm. For the whole sum of our religious life, which is acquired by the continual practice of spiritual exercise, is contained in the Rule of monastic tradition as in one root, in brief compass.

Therefore every spiritual or bodily exercise of monks, by which the mind is led by love to humble obedience and self-denial, is conformed to the institutions of the holy Rule, which is known to present the monk first to God as good and humble, and so much the more opposes the effort of proud contempt. The holy mysteries of this exercise, by an invisible teaching in the mind of their cultivator, direct him by a safe path to the love of God as to his due end; they wonderfully acquire the grace of inward devotion, and make the monk count all earthly things as nothing and sweetly burn at all times in fervor of spirit. The animal man does not grasp this saving exercise of devotion; the vain and curious monk does not understand this pursuit; the proud man does not admit this knowledge, which is to be preferred to all things. Happy is he who has learned to penetrate the secrets of this exercise; happy is he who has deserved to receive this gift of holy compunction from the Lord, for whoever has once attained it perfectly will fear no adversity of this world. But that exercise which, bereft of its due end, does not direct the minds of cloistered men to the observance of the commandments of the Rule, does not pour in the Holy Spirit of discipline; for where the obedience of subjection is despised, no gift is accepted by almighty God.

For it is written: “Obedience is better than victims, and to listen is better than to offer the fat.” And although many little works of spiritual exercise are found composed by different men, yet not all things suit everyone. Therefore it has seemed good also to us to publish something in accordance with the Rule of our most holy father Benedict, by which we may be able to stir ourselves more closely and more nearly toward 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 the consideration of monastic institution; the second is occupied with the exercise of the spiritual life. In the first it commands you to know yourself; in the second, to raise the mind from earthly things to heavenly things.

Therefore, approaching the proposed consideration according to our strength, we have divided the first treatise into three parts, according to the threefold state of cloistered men, whom we may call first sensual, second rational, and third spiritual. From this threefold state of men we take a fitting title for this work, which we call On the Three Regions of Cloistered Men. 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 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. Men established in this dark region share in their own kind with beasts, since they observe, so to speak, beastly habits, while they give either nothing or little to reason, but grant everything to sensuality like beasts. For in that lowest region three sensual powers of the soul preside. The first, the sensitive power, is spread about the objects of the five exterior senses; the second, the concupiscible power, delights in carnal things; the third is the irascible power.

fleeing things contrary to the pleasures of the flesh, he pursues.

And this lowest region is compared to the airy heaven; for just as hail, snow, lightning, and various storms are generated in the air, so also various storms of vices follow in the minds of carnal men who inhabit this dark region. Woe to carnal monks who inhabit this dark region, in which there is frequent movement of crimes and a continual storm of pleasures. These are monks given over to animal passions, who subject reason to sensuality, who live according to the flesh in beastly desires.

Now the works of the flesh dwelling in this lowest region are manifest: fornication, uncleanness, immodesty, lust, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, rivalries, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, murders, drunkenness, feasting, and things like these. Concerning them the holy apostle proclaims that those who do such things shall not obtain the kingdom of God. These are the signs 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 with polluted presumption scorn the commands of the elders. These are the unclean worshipers 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, despising the salvation of their souls, disdain to follow the grace of God calling them.

Therefore he handed them over to a reprobate sense and to false judgment, so that they think evil good, and falsely suppose that the things which are in truth the worst are themselves the best. These are the carnal monks of whom the holy apostle spoke: 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. Though they know the justice of God, they refuse to understand that those who do such things are worthy of eternal death; and not only those who do them, but also those who consent to those who do them, and those who, by duty of office, in no way oppose the pursuits of evil men.

For indeed, when the ruler of souls does not correct delinquent subjects, he entangles himself in the crimes of others and becomes liable to condemnation; by keeping silence he becomes the companion of those whose faults condemnation will pursue. For any pastor of souls who, though placed in office, neglects to amend sinners according to the canonical rule, even if he is free from the offense itself, will nevertheless be condemned before the strict judge for the fault of another. For the supreme shepherd says to the prophet: “Son of man, I have given you as a watchman to the house of Israel; and you shall hear the word from my mouth, and shall announce it to them from me. If, therefore, 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 indeed shall die in his iniquity, but I shall 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 is 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 also held guilty before the inward judge for their lesser progress. O what shall we wretched pastors say in that strict examination, who neglect to amend according to the Rule the monks entrusted to us when they fall in many ways? We do not call those lying in the lowest region to higher things, but, carnal with the carnal, we grow sluggish in the shadow of death with destructive 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 but everlasting horror dwells. For 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, against the norm of monastic institution, persevere in this lowest region of the flesh all the way to death, worse than pagans, are to be eternally tormented in hell with demons. For that blessed man truly says: “As I have never seen better men than those who have made progress in the cenobium, so I have never experienced worse than those who have failed in the monastery.” For the monastic profession demands the perfection of spiritual life, and tends toward the summit of virtues as toward its proper and due end. How far, then, each one

placed in the monastery has failed, by so much the farther he withdraws from the purpose of a monk.

How the carnal monks of this lowest region are disordered in many respects.

Although the description of this lowest region generally applies to any carnal people at all who live in sins and crimes with the habits of beasts, nevertheless, so that we may attend to our own, we intend to speak of lukewarm and carnal cloistered monks, doing absolutely no injury to the good and devout. For always and in all things we wish the conduct of good cloistered monks to remain untouched and unharmed whenever we discuss the evil pursuits of the wicked. We reproach the bad cloistered monks and their corrupt ways; the good we honor and praise everywhere, as is fitting. And what else but evil can we say of the evil, in whom we find nothing good to say? They live disorderly in a holy order; they despise the traditions of the elders; they do not receive words of salvation.

So great, indeed, is the disorder of the monks of the lowest region that, in my judgment, it would be easier to convert a publican than to call a disorderly monk back to repentance. We include this disorder of carnal monks under eight headings, although we know that they are disorderly in many other ways as well. First, the citizens of this lowest region, beastlike monks, are disordered toward God; then toward their own prelate; third, prelates toward their subjects; fourth, 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 beastlike affections of carnal monks, who dwell in the depths in mind and heart, because they do not hasten to press on to the summit. I shall take care to set out briefly, in order, these disordered conditions of the lowest region, and to show, as far as I can, how far carnal monks are from God. For thus, as the prophet says, salvation is far from sinners.

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

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

First, their disorder toward God takes its origin from ignorance, since, given over to animal passions, they do not care to have God in their knowledge, nor do they consent to think upon those things that lead the soul to fear him; but, 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 do good; they do not tremble before the face of the strict judge; without repentance they continually persevere in evils. For the man swollen in his own manner of life does not fear to rot away in his pleasures; they do not heed the patience of God calling them to repentance; they seek nothing except the comforts of their 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 very little; they do not fear the punishments prepared for sinners in hell; no grace of compunction now pierces their hearts, because the love of God does not kindle their minds. They have no care for God; 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. For those who, having forgotten God, keep badly the vow of holy monastic profession do not attain the rewards of heavenly life that are to be given to the just.

Second, carnal monks are disordered toward God by a foolish profession, because they promise to live according to the Rule, yet do not truly care to fulfill it. And what is more disorderly than to promise to the one God a consecrated life, and yet remain in the foulness of one’s former life? It is a mockery of almighty God, is it not, for anyone in the monastery to live otherwise than the monastic Rule teaches?

We see that today many among cloistered men live in a secular fashion: many seem to neglect the state of their profession, violating the observance of regular discipline in various ways, knowingly ignoring the goodness of God, and shrinking back from doing penance.

Third, many cloistered men of this lowest region are disordered toward God through careless neglect of the service due to him. They serve their own affections and fleshly desires in various ways, and always come to God’s service with a distracted mind. Of these, some run to choir lukewarm, without any devotion; others come unwillingly, compelled by necessity; some, scattered by outward thoughts, are present at the divine offices in body, but in mind wander outside through various workshops. Others are not afraid to seek out false occasions by which they may, as it were, lawfully absent themselves from choir. They pretend a severe headache; now they allege this, now that, deceitfully; and while they fraudulently withdraw the service owed to almighty God, they incur the reproach of eternal malediction due to the negligent.

Fourth, there are very many who are disordered toward God through the working of habit. Even if they sometimes avoid the malediction of the negligent, still they never draw near to the fruit of inward devotion. For they come to 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 bear temporal penalties rather than fear the judgment of God. These carry the cross of the Lord under compulsion with Simon, and, like Ephraim, a heifer trained for threshing, apply themselves to good works by habit alone. But they never do good well who come to the service of God with an improper intention. They also perform a just thing without the reward of justice, because in good and just works they do not assume 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. And indeed a man is often exposed, by his own deserving, to be scourged by various and very grave temptations when he is found ungrateful to the Lord for the benefits he has received. Therefore he deserves to lose the benefit he has received who neglects to show himself grateful to so great a benefactor. And what greater ingratitude can there be than to live irreligiously in religion, to break one’s vow, shamefully to violate the purpose solemnly undertaken? The monk who entangles himself in fleshly vices, who neglects to live according to the rule he has professed, voluntarily incurs the very great 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 apart his life with constant detractions; with a stubborn heart they disparage his pastoral office; they refuse, according to the Rule, to show their shepherd the affection of filial love. For the 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 one 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 conduct the ancient enemy deceives carnal monks, whom he leads in various ways into displeasure with their shepherd. For the greatest power of raging against the monastic flock is granted to the devil when the one who presides is hated by his subjects. For just as a sick man cannot be healed if, by detesting the physician, he does not allow him to come near, so a monk cannot be saved who, because of aversion, is unwilling to disclose his temptations to his shepherd. For how will anyone be able to escape the savage teeth of the ravening wolf if he cannot endure the presence of the shepherd?

First, therefore, disordered monks criticize the life of their shepherd; they stubbornly accuse both his deeds and his words, because, when they consider that their ruler walks 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; envy is always tormented by the virtues of others; and the monk who voluntarily subjects himself to vices by sinning [unclear].

Thus they always hate a pastor of purified conduct.

Secondly, the citizens of this dark region are disorderly toward their prelates, whose office they disparage, though they know that he has been appointed by God to preside in the monastery. On any easy occasion they murmur against him; they do not observe his commands; and those who long ago had submitted themselves with the weapons of holy obedience and for love of God now, in the manner of Sarabaites, despising obedience, usurp for their own will a dominion ruinous to themselves. They desire to have an abbot suited to their own depraved ways; they reject one who is holy and useful. If they find a lax and sluggish pastor, they intoxicate him with many poisons by flattering him; they call him an excellent and most loving father; they submit themselves to him not humbly but willingly, since they fear from him no correction of their depravity.

Thirdly, carnal monks show themselves disorderly 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 sincerely as Christ’s vicar, he cannot hate him without the gravest crime. For truly, whoever does not love his pastor for the love of Christ will not be a 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 willed your abbot to preside over you in his place, and from then on there will be no cause of displeasure against him.

Fourthly, the disorderly citizens of the shadowy valley disparage the reverence due to their pastor; they not only scorn to render him the honor owed by the Rule, but, what is worse, they do not fear even to inflict contempt on him. For the Rule teaches that the abbot holds the place of Christ in the monastery, and all monks owe him humble obedience as to Christ himself, since the obedience rendered to superiors is shown to Christ. But perverse cloisterers, always ungrateful toward the prelate set over them, do not fear contumaciously to resist the divine ordinance; they despise the commands of obedience in the holy Rule; and they dishonor their abbots, to whom they ought to have shown all reverence, tearing them apart with hatred and detraction. Whatever he does, whatever he ordains, whatever he says, the disciple is so ill-disposed that, despising the office in his conduct toward him, he seeks nothing more, like a diseased sheep, than the confusion of his pastor. Of these, some judge and despise their abbot in secret; others contradict him to his face; and when they neglect to show reverence to their pastor, they throw the whole observance of discipline into confusion. Pride is always familiar to them, and foulness, the friend of the flesh; for 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 himself over to the devil’s power to rage against him, and confounds the unity of the mystical body.

Fifthly, carnal monks are disorderly toward their pastor when they disparage his authority, thinking that nothing is lawful for him in the monastery unless they themselves have consented. With necks raised high they despise the virtue of humility; they spurn regular subjection; they scorn to yield to their betters. They wish to thrust themselves into all business and causes, to usurp for themselves the primacy of counsel, so that the abbot may dare to do or arrange nothing unless the matter first proceeds with their consent. But what does the blessed lawgiver Benedict say in the Rule? “After hearing,” he says, “the counsel of the brethren, let the abbot consider the matter within himself, and do what he judges more useful.” And again: “Let the brethren give their counsel with all humble subjection, so that they do not presume insolently 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 appointment of a prior, he says: “We judge it expedient, for the preservation of charity and peace, that the ordering of his monastery depend on the abbot’s judgment.” This useful ordinance concerns the appointing and removing of all officials of the monastery; it requires not the consent of the brethren, but the counsel of those who fear God. Finally, in all things the Rule commands action 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, disparage this authority of his in various [unclear].

they try to break [unclear], to disturb the order and charity of the whole monastery; they think nothing is to be left to the rector in matters to be done, nothing except what they themselves think right.

But tell me, proud inhabitants of the lowest region, you who always make decrees according to your own will, you who usurp another’s right: is this the virtue of obedience, to refuse to yield to the command of a superior, but stubbornly to cling to your own judgment? Did the holy father establish for you in the Rule such a way of living, when he commanded you to follow the abbot’s will in all things? For the greatest virtue of a monk is obedience, which our holy father wished to commend so highly that he says a good work done without the abbot’s will lacks merit. Therefore, giving instruction, he concludes thus: let all things be done with the abbot’s will, and let no one in the monastery follow the will of his own heart.

But if the rector’s prudence seems insufficient for ordering the monastery, this must be imputed to the carnal monks, who willingly set over themselves one who was not fit. Folly always hates prudence, and foolish monks detest a wise abbot. Therefore those who knowingly set a fool over themselves must necessarily be subject to his ordering and will. Indeed, no insufficiency of the pastor ought to extinguish obedience in the subject, since the Rule commands us to obey even an unprofitable one. For it says: obedience is to be given to the abbot’s commands in all things, even if he himself, which God forbid, acts otherwise.

But when we rebuke disobedience, carnal monks object: “We do these things with right and good intention, because we see the substance of the monastery perishing through bad governance.” But the Apostle contradicts you: evils must not be done so that good may come; nor, on account of damage to temporal property, must the subjection of humility be abandoned. For where one must undergo either the loss of temporal substance or danger to regular obedience, it is better for the property to perish than for the purity of obedience to be harmed. For God will not require money from our hands, but souls. Indeed, one who is a true monk prefers the virtue of obedience to all the things of the world.

But the citizens of this lowest region, carnal monks, tear apart the virtue of obedience in various ways; they attack the weapons of holy humility, so that it seems to me nothing is easier than to train monks newly come from the world, [unclear] than to be able to amend that sloth of theirs. But from their fruits we plainly know what sort they are: they violate peace and charity in the monastery; they disturb the concord of unity; they sow discord between the brethren and the abbot; they stubbornly refuse obedience to the commands of the Rule. These are the works of evil cloisterers; these are the marks of the lowest citizens, who, as most wicked defenders of their own wills, cast away the weapons of holy obedience, live according to the flesh and not the spirit, give either no deference or very little to the statutes of the fathers, do not acquiesce in sound counsels, and 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.

In What Way the Pastors of This Lowest Region Are Disordered

Article Three

Since, then, we have shown that many monks of the lowest region are disordered toward their pastors, why should we, as though sparing prelates, not show the disorders of prelates toward their subjects? For 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 by no means be passed over by us in silence. For many rectors of cloistered men show themselves disordered toward their subjects: they not only neglect to feed according to the Rule the souls committed to them, but tear them apart and kill them in various ways.

And whenever anyone from the lowest region is taken up as pastor, the pursuits of the wicked are strengthened for the worse. Therefore a good man and a diligent lover of God must be promoted to the office of abbot: one who has long since overcome this lowest region; one who has known how to tame the passions of the flesh; one who both wills and is able to ascend to that highest region of the spirit. For the abbot of monks ought to be of higher merit than the monks, since whoever is established as ruler of souls must necessarily be adorned with many virtues. For if the pastor, still weak, dwells in the lowest region with the sheep, by neglecting the weak he kills them; he does not strengthen them. For if a blind man offers guidance to the blind, he must necessarily fall into the ditch together with him. But a pastor who does not show himself ordered toward his subjects according to the Rule must be called not a pastor but a hireling, and he will not remain forever in the house of the Lord. Now the disorders of carnal prelates are many, and they harm the sheep all the more because they are more rarely amended.

The Conditions of the Disordered Hireling

The Conditions of the Good Pastor

Secondly, the pastor of souls becomes disordered toward his subjects if his mind is too boldly and excessively occupied with temporal affairs, if he has greater concern for secular business than for the souls committed to him. This excessive care for temporal things the holy father Benedict forbids in the Rule, and he rightly judges rational souls to be preferred to all worldly things. “Above all,” he says, “let the abbot not, by feigning ignorance or making light of it, neglect the salvation of the souls entrusted to him, and take greater care for transient, earthly, and perishable things; but let him always think that he has undertaken to govern souls, for which he will have to render an account.” Accordingly, concerning the necessities of the body, the loving father gives assurance, if one loves God and worships him with a pure mind. “And lest perhaps,” he says, “he complain of too little substance, let him remember what is written: ‘Seek first the kingdom of God and his justice, and all these things shall be added unto you.’ And again: ‘Nothing is lacking to those who fear God.’”

But the disordered monastic pastor is seduced by greed; yet, blinded in mind, he does not perceive it. He casts away the fear of the Lord, and, like Ahab sold under sin, he runs to the aid of wickedness; he is deprived of the confidence promised by the holy father concerning the obtaining of necessities, and he is occupied outwardly more than befits a monk. Driven thereafter by the goads of greed, he despises the commandments of God and of holy mother Church; he does not keep feast days, but plunges himself wholly into earthly affairs; he thinks and meditates on nothing else. Like Saul, the fool transgresses the commandment of the Lord, and stupidly supposes that he can be cleansed by victims offered against obedience. Finally, fattened and swollen with secular affairs or cares, he generally slips into every kind of wantonness and laxity; he detests the observance of regular discipline, and, since he fears being restrained from evil pursuits by the authority of the chapter, he seeks the dissolution of holy union. Then, having become reprobate like Saul, he calls upon the counsel of the witch; he cries out that obedience to reform is damnable for his monastery; he desires to be released as quickly as possible from submission to the holy confederation, and to this end he tells many things falsely and mendaciously.

But when the authority of the annual chapter is despised with impunity, it remains that monastic observance should not be broken, since the love of God keeps the good regularly within discipline, and fear of correction restrains the wicked from evil works. Whoever tries to escape the unity of the chapter imitates the devil. Thus the emperor of the Bulgars forbade the Christians subject to him, under penalty of death, to hold an assembly in church, though he granted them freedom to believe whatever they wished. For the cunning man knew that the sincerity of the Christian faith could not long endure if the office of public exhortation happened to be lacking. The disordered and carnal abbot, an adversary of the Christian faith, strives as much as he can to imitate him, because he resists the commands of so necessary a chapter. For the authority of the chapter alone is what preserves the observance of regular discipline in the order; if it is despised, no integrity of monastic life will remain.

But the disordered abbot, a cultivator of the lowest region, invents innumerable reasons 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 deems it beneath him that his monastery should be subject to anyone. But woe to disordered men, through whom even one monastery may happen to be lost from this most holy congregation. Finally, this plague of greed makes the abbot disordered not only toward his subjects, but also opposed to himself and utterly turned away from God. For covetousness is the root of all evils; taking away the 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 pastor but a hireling. He always gapes after earthly gains; he cares nothing for the progress of souls. The book of sacred reading rarely or never rests in his hands; registers of revenues are turned over more often. He joins field to field, always burying gold and silver in his chest as he gathers it; and while he desires too much for his monastery to abound in temporal goods, he prepares prey for robbers. For often the treasury of secular lordship devours the monies of monasteries, which the excessive greed of monks brings into the monastery. Woe to you, greedy pastor of cloistered men, who have greater concern for brute animals than for the souls committed to you.

...souls. Your horse grows weak and you prepare remedies; you think dangers are near, and yet that no danger threatens anyone. Your ox and your ass fall sick, and you feel for them; your brother is swallowed up by sorrow, and you do not come to his aid. You, therefore, are a hireling and not a shepherd, you who with a stubborn heart despise your brother’s infirmities; you do not help him when he is set in bitterness. Do not think that you can escape the hands of the Lord, whose sheep you allow to perish so wickedly.

Third, a ruler is disordered toward his subjects when those whom he ought to have kept with solicitude within the enclosure of the monastery he places, not without danger, in external affairs. For indeed, when a weak member of the monastery is set over the governance of nuns or assigned to secular churches, the integrity of regular observance is violated; and he who, still remaining in the lower region, has not learned to subject the flesh to the spirit, does not know how to preside over others without danger to himself. A disordered shepherd, who for the advantage of temporal property is not afraid to expose his monks to such great danger, is guilty of all the souls that perish through such an occasion, and before the inward judge he is bound to make restitution 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? Should a monk oppose the command of his shepherd if he wishes him to reside with nuns or in secular churches? The Rule commands that nothing be preferred to obedience. Truly, I 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 speak the truth, I shall seem to break the obedience of subjection; if I encourage monks to expose themselves to danger, I confess that I sin. Yet I shall say briefly what I think, although I know that the truth will bring forth hatred. Just as a monk, by the necessity of his profession, is simply bound to obey his shepherd in all things that are according to the monastic rule, so a prelate cannot compel a monk, without his own consent, to things that are beyond the rule, especially when danger to salvation intervenes. But to govern churches, to preside over women, to reside outside the monastery, 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 brows if I have expressed what seems right to me. Nevertheless, you will do what seems right to you, even if I protest. Yet I beg you: do not expose your monks to danger against chastity; do not violently compel anyone to the governance of nuns and parish churches, since you can find many who ambitiously seek these offices. Obedience is indeed good, but it must in no way be preferred to truth and the salvation of the soul. For when danger to salvation is at issue, it is better humbly to excuse oneself and set obedience aside than to suffer shipwreck of chastity. Woe to the prelates of monks who incorporate secular churches into their monasteries, who loosen the torches of avarice in the lap of desire; because they think they are benefiting posterity, they damn many through the occasion.

Fourth, the ruler of monks becomes disordered toward his subjects if he is found turbulent and anxious. In a shepherd, pious and prudent discretion is very necessary, lest either zeal for discipline be excessive, or the measure of compassion be relaxed by excessive laxity. But the disordered ruler who, through indiscreet zeal, shows himself a tyrant to the monks, or who, through lax compassion, is silent and insensible before the gravest crimes, does not know the moderation of just governance. He does not experience in himself the fervor of fraternal charity; while he always esteems himself above the monks, he does not know how to be a humble father and companion. What is fiercer than this rule? What is more wicked than a power where neither God, nor reason, nor understanding, but a beast holds command? For where God and understanding govern authority, the judgments of those who preside do not depart from the uprightness of the law of nature. But the disordered and anxious ruler is bestial and infected with various passions; he always suspects evil of the monks, and, while he perversely directs the burden of governance, he is always anxious to lose the kingdom to which he clings like Herod.

Fifth, a shepherd of cloistered men is called disordered toward his monks if, in dispensing the goods of the monastery, he is found either excessive or obstinate. He is to be called excessive if he is wasteful in distributing, or poured out in indiscreet generosity. But he is called obstinate if he denies what ought fittingly to be given.

has not given, or who grudgingly spends what is necessary on his subjects.

He too must be called obstinate who casts aside the fear of God, who trusts too much in his own judgment, and who in any business admits no counsels of the wise. And among shepherds of souls there are many who are disordered by this sickness of mind: they either spend the goods of monasteries or money improvidently, or preserve them with excessive stinginess. They prepare the most lavish banquets for their flatterers, but to others from whom they are estranged they deny even the smallest things. In the guesthouse or in their abbey, shepherds corrupted by disorderly conduct eat to excess and drink always the best wine; but to the poor monks, who by keeping watch and singing bear the burden and heat of the day, they scarcely grant even meager necessities.

Sixth, a prelate who is a monk is shown to be very disordered if, bold against God, he is lifted up in pride by making light of God’s judgments. For indeed, when a shepherd cannot be corrected by his subjects, he is sent on by the holy father Benedict to the judgment of God, as is found in many places in the Rule. “Let the abbot know,” he says, “that for all his judgments he must render an account to God.” And again: “Let the abbot who has been ordained always consider what a burden he has undertaken, and to whom he will have to render an account of his stewardship.” And again he says: “As soon as vices begin to arise, let him cut them off with charity, not with tyranny.” And in another place he warns, saying: “Let the abbot himself do all things with the fear of God and observance of the holy Rule, knowing beyond doubt that for all his judgments he will render an account to God, the most just judge.”

But the disordered ruler of monks, like a deaf asp stopping its ears, despises this warning of the most holy lawgiver; he scorns the patience of God’s long-suffering; he thinks nothing of the examination to come, until at last the judge, angered against him, says to his face: “These things you have done, and I was silent. Now therefore render an account of your stewardship. Give back to me the sheep of my inheritance, and restore to me without delay 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 never see my face for eternity.”

What then will you answer the supreme shepherd, invincible ruler, when not only the blood of those who have perished is demanded from you, but also an account of those who have made too little progress? Behold, now you walk in the worst security, despising God’s examination; you think that everything plainly permitted to you in the body is lawful for you, and you do not consider that one day you will give an account of all these things. But soon the Lord of all will come, before whom you do not fear to show yourself an unfaithful servant, whose honor you do not fear to claim for yourself. Unless in the meantime you do penance, unless you amend your life for the better, you will burn without end in hell with the demons.

Seventh, a shepherd happens to be disordered toward his subjects if, neglecting the common advantage, he seeks his own profit with a corrupt 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 destructive liberties of the flesh, and fraudulently provides for himself, from the goods of the monastery, for the future. This disorder is especially seen in those who resign their office on some pretext, to whom, as the reward of their stewardship, as if they had been bishops, an annual pension is assigned from the goods of the monastery. This is not the manner of those who seek God; this is not the way of the old monks. When you resign the pastoral office for God’s sake, resign it 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; after your office you will remain a monk. Why then do you demand a pension, since you know that you are a monk? Just as one commits the vice of simony by buying prelacies, so one sins against the Rule by demanding a pension for the resignation of an abbacy.

What then? Do we condemn those who, resigning the office of pastoral care without fault, have received annual pensions from the goods of the monastery? By no means. We do not forbid necessities; we deny superfluities. But he who is a true monk and lover of God is content, even after an abbacy, with the provision allowed by the Rule.

How monks are citizens of the lowest region, bound to one another by turns.

Article Four.

Carnal monks and carnal men of the lowest region are disordered among themselves in many different ways. Since, stirred up by animal passions in the manner of beasts, they do not direct themselves by the right judgment of reason, it is no wonder if they overturn the order of brotherly life. For a troubled conscience is always presumptuous and fierce, and an evil mind never has the joys of peace, but is continually shaken by the grief of vices and inwardly tormented by the everlasting fires of crimes. Therefore 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 but the advantage of this 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 cast aside the intellectual regard that should be had for brothers; when they do not perceive the image of God in man; when they do not think of the communion of grace and glory infused into human beings and to be bestowed in the future; nor do they take care to show one another the love of brotherly fellowship. They live with one another like horse and mule, concordant in bodily society: whatever is pleasing to sensuality they love, but whatever accords with reason they do not admit. One is loved by another not because he is a man, but because he is like his lover in the affection of sensuality. For the man of flesh loves in a man not virtues, not religion, not even nature itself, but flesh, blood, and bodily quality. Since, therefore, the love of flesh is carnal, it is easily changeable when occasion arises. For the citizens of this lowest region venerate manners like their own, and carnal monks always embrace carnal monks with affection. The man whom God has loved from eternity the disordered cenobite persecutes; the man whom God despises for his demerits, this monk 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 proved to be very contrary to the holy Rule, which commands seniors to love juniors with fatherly affection, and instructs juniors to obey their seniors humbly and for God’s sake. But since the seniors, citizens of this lowest region, withhold fatherly affection from the juniors, the lesser men burn with a heavy hatred; and because the young men consider that they are unjustly despised by them, they daily accuse their corrupt morals. Thus the weak young men learn the crooked morals of the seniors, and in his proverb he says, considering those greater than himself to sing: as the greater sing, so the lesser dance.

Third, monks are badly ordered toward one another when, casting away zeal for the good and mutual obedience, they take up an evil kind of zeal forbidden by the Rule. In words and deeds they commit various injuries against one another; one strives, out of rivalry, to watch another for evil; one is provoked by another to inflict insult. They reproach one another with their weaknesses; they are always panting for vengeance. Zeal for regular discipline is despised; the passion of indignation and bitterness holds sway. They meet one another with faces turned away, and by open signs they reveal how much hatred lies hidden in the breast. Not so, impious men, not so: for whoever persecutes his brother with hatred is proved to be a murderer and unworthy of the kingdom of God. O wretched condition always of carnal monks, which is nearer to hell the more it has been estranged from the fear of God. For they imitate not angels but demons, who by evil zeal delight to be discordant in the school of peace. Indeed, just as a brute animal does not abandon the savagery of its nature, so a beastly monk does not withdraw from the worst zeal.

In what way the monks, citizens of the lowest region, are disordered toward themselves.

Article Five.

The carnal monks, citizens of the lowest region, are disordered toward nothing more than toward themselves. For, having cast aside every consideration of themselves, they do not attend to the purpose for which they were created without end; and while each one pollutes himself with the filth of vice, the wicked mind recedes from the original uprightness of its condition. Nor is it surprising if the inhabitant of the lowest region becomes outwardly disordered toward others, since through various passions [unclear].

The pleasures of the flesh confuse him and inwardly scatter him away from himself. Scripture says: “He who is evil to himself, to whom will he be good?” The right order of the human condition was established by making the flesh subject to the spirit; and the spirit itself is subject to him from whom it received the form of its existence.

But in carnal minds the order of reason is overturned, when the flesh rules over the spirit, and reason, which according to the power of understanding implanted in it ought to govern all things, is choked by the pleasures of the flesh and does not hasten, by its authority, toward upright judgment.

Carnal monks are disordered toward themselves through the vice of curiosity: they pry curiously into another’s life, words, and deeds, while they do not correct their own life, stained with every vice. They do not know how to correct great crimes in themselves, yet they proudly rebuke others who offend in the smallest matters. They carefully consider the speck in a brother’s eye, and excuse the beam lodged in their own eyes as though it were nothing to them.

They subject their affections to sensuality, and, setting aside the judgment of right reason, live carnally like beasts. Passion often stirs them to anger; the fury of envy inflames them against their neighbor. With an anxious heart they are always demanding vengeance on their brothers, and often, blinded by excessive fury, they do not obtain it without [unclear].

But the disordered cannot remain hidden long in secret: the more they remain unknown to themselves through pride of mind, the more manifest they become to others through the blindness of their judgment. For every proud man is disordered and is said first to be ignorant of himself, because if he truly knew himself, he would in no way be proud.

Since, then, disorder of oneself takes its origin from the root of pride, we cannot describe this plague better than by attempting to disclose its roots as they descend by degrees toward hell. Just as the summit of spiritual life is comprised in twelve degrees of humility, so the source of all monastic disorder is contained in twelve degrees of pride.

The first degree of pride is called curiosity. By it monks who are badly ordered toward themselves neglect their own life and conduct, and continually inquire into the deeds or words of others. They accuse every negligence of a brother; they rebuke the life of the pastor; and the more curiously they desire to know outwardly what belongs to others, the farther they withdraw from themselves.

The vice of curiosity is most pernicious for monks: once it has invaded the mind, it strips it of all virtues and makes it a dwelling place of vice. It is a very sure sign of sickness to examine the deeds of others, and, neglecting the office of reason, to occupy oneself with others’ faults. For a monk, who according to the true definition of his name is commanded to attend to himself alone, does not investigate the deeds of others without manifest danger to his salvation. Whoever subjects himself to the vice of curiosity descends to the second degree of pride in conduct. For one thing always disposes a person toward another; no sin rules alone in proud monks.

The second degree of pride, therefore, is levity of mind and the restless preoccupation of a wandering, unstable heart. In this degree of disordered conduct, carnal monks fall into various passions, which they have contracted in a sensual way from the vice of curiosity. But it is fitting for a true cenobite [unclear].

When you have begun, they at once rise up in opposition; they say many vicious things against him, because, while they desire to show themselves alone worthy of praise, they do not allow any other man to be praised in their presence.

The fifth degree of pride is called singularity, which is born from the swelling of boastfulness. Proud cloisterers are gathered into this degree: those who, out of boastfulness, have presumed that they excel others either in merit or in knowledge. Hence they do not appear like the rest in their way of life, but from pride alone show themselves singular in everything. But this singularity is reprehensible in a monastery, where all are ordered by the rule to live in common. Proud monks, as blessed Bernard testifies, while they prefer themselves to others in virtues and wisdom, fall into such arrogant rashness that they flatter themselves more for a single fast while the rest are eating than if others had fasted for seven days; one little private prayer seems to them far more profitable than the whole psalmody of a night. During meals they often carry their eyes around the table, and if they see anyone eating less, they groan; they begin to grieve within themselves that they have been outdone, cruelly withdrawing from themselves what was provided for necessary sustenance. Proud cloisterers are eager for their singular practices, sluggish for common ones. They lie awake in bed; in choir and at the regular reading they doze.

The sixth degree of pride takes its beginning from the fifth; it is called the arrogance of the proud. For when disordered cloisterers, through zeal for singularity, begin to appear outwardly before others, they burn into a greater madness of arrogance, and whatever is said by men in their praise, the fools consider true. O pitiable folly of the proud: although in all other matters they trust no one more than themselves, about themselves alone they trust themselves less than another. Whatever praise of themselves they hear from the ignorant, they ascribe not to the ignorance or good will of the one praising them, but to their own merits. But whoever is delightfully fed on human praises is regarded 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. From this begin those who singularly believe themselves to be something great. Of them Bernard says: He who thinks he surpasses others, how should he not presume more about himself and about others? He sits first at the banquet; in council he answers first; uncalled he approaches; unbidden he intrudes; he rearranges what has been arranged and rejects what has been done by others. Whatever he himself has not done or ordered, he does not think rightly done or properly arranged. He judges those who judge; he prejudges those who are about to judge. For one to whom God is not enough in the heart seeks consolation in outward things in vain.

The eighth degree of pride is called the excuse and defense of sin, and it is always born from presumption. For a presumptuous monk always considers himself better than everyone else; the sin he has committed he either stubbornly denies, or, if he has been convicted, he excuses in many ways. For how will he be able to confess his fault humbly, when he does not acknowledge himself guilty? If you wish to chastise such a man for his offenses, you always make him worse. Therefore whoever, when corrected for any matter, has turned aside into words of malice, because he opposes excuses for sins to the one reproving him, falls into this descent of death, which is opposed to the eighth degree of humility. The presumptuous man who is found to have fallen into this degree of pride tries to excuse his sin in four ways. For he says either, “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 a bad intention.” And if he has been convicted of malice, he immediately pleads another’s advice in excuse of himself. But he who does not fear brazenly to deny or defend even open and manifest things 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, so that he himself may escape shame; otherwise he strives to bring the negligences of others into the open. Inwardly disordered, proud, and presumptuous, he conceals his own faults in confession and confesses others’. Always restless within himself, he examines the deeds of others, condemns all with one sentence, complains that no one lives rightly in the monastery, and thinks there is no charity among the brothers. And if vain presumption

if it has been detected by the diligence of his confessor, he soon seeks another confessor. And if the abbot tries to oppose him, the monk, lifted up into the ninth degree of pride, falls through restlessness of mind.

The ninth degree of pride is described as murmuring or impatience, which for the most part rules carnal monks. But the man whose confession is feigned, when touched by one slight insult or penance, soon rises up into open pride. The deceit that was pretending humility is revealed; the false mind can no longer hide itself for long, but is compelled to bring into public view whatever lies hidden within. From then on, having lost control of himself, the proud cenobite murmurs at everything; he bitterly accuses the judgment of his pastor, however just it may be; he gnashes his teeth, is stirred up and grows angry; without reason, like a madman, he throws everything into confusion. But the proud monk, given over to murmuring, having despised 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, 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, being converted, which is very difficult for such people, he silently acquiesces in the judgments of others, he soon becomes brazen and shameless, and falls all the worse into this degree, the more desperately he fails to restrain the movement of his mind. He always advances toward worse things; and he who before had arrogantly despised his brothers in secret now, what is more serious, openly shows that he despises his master as well. But the chastisement of divine judgment does not allow this degree of pride to pass long unpunished, since monks who rebel against their pastors are often quickly consumed by a miserable death. For some, departing 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, hasten in despair to hell. For it is written: Whoever resists authority opposes God’s ordinance. And again the Lord says to the prelates of the faithful: Whoever despises you despises me.

What will you still say, rebellious monks? Will you cite laws to me, by which you corrupt the truth? But I dare to say what I wish you were ashamed to hear. Rebellious monk, in the strict judgment of God no presumption of law will save you, who now proudly despise the obedience of subjection. Law commands obedience; it requires humble subjection in the order.

Consequently the rebellious monk falls into the eleventh degree of pride, which is freedom to sin, when he despises not only his brothers but even his prelate, and corrections and exhortations. When rebellion against the preceptor is taken up, boldness in sinning is born; and one who despises the authority of correction now commits every crime as if lawfully. The love of God voluntarily restrains good cenobites from sins; fear of correction restrains the weak. But where neither the love of God nor fear of correction pierces the monk, the mind, through rebellion and the habit of sinning, is already drawing near to hell. For Scripture says: When the wicked man has come into the depth of evils, he despises. What does he despise? He despises God, spurns men, and, despairing, 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 evil custom. This is the first descent to hell; this is the path of hell; this is the swift road to the region covered with the darkness of death. Whoever once falls into this degree of the custom of sinning rises again only by the strong hand of God’s mercy, because when custom is not resisted, it produces a necessity of sinning. He always advances in malice toward the worse, and, always falling, he falls more deeply.

Behold, these are the twelve degrees of pride by which one descends to hell. Whoever desires to avoid them must always strive to keep himself in the observance of humility. In these twelve evils every unworthiness of vice darkens the cenobite, makes the monk disordered within himself, and by his conduct changes the man into a most savage beast. The end of this is destruction; and unless the remedy of penitence intervenes before the death of the flesh, through the steps of the evil degrees it drives the monk endlessly to Tartarus.

condemns. But whoever, being disordered in himself, has once fallen into the first degree of pride, unless he strives to rise again as quickly as possible through penance, soon casts himself down into the second and then, in order, into all the rest. In these degrees of elation, then, the sum of the disorder of carnal monks in themselves is expressed; through them the disordered citizens of the lowest region are shown. And what we have said about disordered and proud monks must also be understood of the prelates of the lowest region.

How the citizens of the lowest region, the disordered carnal monks, are disposed toward the monastery’s goods.

Article Six

Whoever, being placed in a monastery, neglects to order his inward affections toward the purity of a holy purpose, often also exceeds grievously in outward things. Monks disordered toward God are, consequently, declared disordered toward their duties. For just as a good cenobite, united by love to the divine will, considers all things with a simple eye according to the right order of reason, so one who is turned away from God through disordered affections sins even in the good things that he uses badly. Therefore the carnal monks who inhabit the lowest region are badly disordered not only with respect to their souls, but also with respect to the monastery’s temporal property. For an outward disturbance of the body follows the inward confusion of the mind, and the one is shown by the other.

First, then, the citizens of the lowest region are badly ordered toward the monastery’s goods when they demand that these be granted to them in an improper order, or in any way usurp more than the usage of regular observance permits. For the Rule, which commands that all necessary things be given to monks, utterly forbids superfluous things.

Second, those use the monastery’s goods badly who, against the prohibition of the master, do not fear to give and receive, or who faithlessly commit deceit and fraud in what has been entrusted to them. For a monk who, at his own pleasure, without reasonable cause, against the Rule and without permission, in any way squanders the monastery’s goods, sins under the Rule like an unfaithful dependent and a falsifier.

Third, monks or abbots show themselves disordered toward the monastery’s goods when they devote them to unlawful uses. Theft and sacrilege are committed together when the monastery’s goods are turned to illicit uses. For the monastery’s property, dedicated to God, is commanded to be guarded like the vessels of the holy altar, lest it be squandered in any way through negligence. But one who forbids cloistered persons to spend goods uselessly must by no means allow them to be granted and paid out for sinful purposes. What will the monks and rulers of the lowest region answer to the lawgiver in the strict examination, when they have not feared to squander the monastery’s goods on parents, relatives, mimes, actors, and shameful people, as an occasion and reward of sin?

Fourth, abbots and carnal monks sin gravely in regard to the monastery’s goods 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; they violate and do not observe all feast days; they always desire to increase temporal goods; they do not notice the losses of charity. They grieve more over a beast dying than over a sinner perishing. Indeed all disordered cloistered persons are so blind that they consider avarice to be prudence and think riches to be reform. They join field to field, call gain piety, and where they see temporal goods abound, there they say the best discipline is observed. They refuse to spend even a little for the common good of the order, because they have lost the inward order of true charity. They raise useless, curious, and damnable buildings on high; they buy costly garments and ornaments less necessary for divine services; they clothe sacred things with gold and leave Christ’s poor naked. This greedy curiosity does not befit monks, since we are commanded to imitate the saints of old and are ordered to sell [unclear] for the support of the poor. But a covetous monk and an avaricious abbot are as far from the purpose of holy religion as the devil is from heaven.

Fifth, carnal monks sin in regard to the monastery’s goods when they do not repay them with prayers. Alms [unclear].

When things are offered, all receive them cheerfully; but few repay the givers with the support of prayer. Among these are many citizens of the lowest region who, when they have come to the order, serve not God but their belly. They desire to have more food, drink, and clothing given to them than necessity requires; and those who in the world could scarcely have had bread and vegetables for food, now, having become monks, refuse eggs and little fish. They importunately demand that large, varied, different, and delicate fish be given them; murmuring through the concupiscence of the flesh with the children of Israel in the desert, they cry out against their leader. They say that they cannot eat eggs and peas; they always desire more delicate things.

How the citizens of the lowest region are ill-ordered toward contempt of the world.

Article Seven.

The kingdom of God suffers violence, 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 strongly contemn the world with all its vanities. But carnal monks, citizens of the lowest region, who are so badly ordered toward God and toward themselves, are also badly ordered toward contempt of the world.

First, they are infected by the concupiscence of the flesh, for they are always burning with the fire of pleasure. In food and drink they are found excessive; 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 inward conversation. They nourish their flesh too delicately, and because of this they are continually inflamed with various desires. For no one can truly contemn 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 contemn the world. The first great commandment imposed on those who contemn the world is founded on abstinence. But if you fill your belly even once to satiety with food, you immediately fall either into lust or into heavy sloth. Therefore the concupiscence of the flesh draws back the mind of the disordered cenobite, so that he cannot contemn the world.

Second, they are disordered with respect to contemning the world because of the vain concupiscence of the eyes. For the monk who forgets the true honors of faithful souls takes delight in worldly displays and utterly curious ornaments. And truly, what each person is inwardly, hidden within himself, his outward apparel makes manifest. To carry rings on the fingers, corals on the rosaries, scent-vessels in the hands, and pleats in the cowls does not show a monk but a soldier; it displays not a humble cenobite but a proud worldling. Such adornment in monks can please none but the reprobate, and it is often found to have displeased even the proud. Woe to you, disordered cloisterers, who descend to hell through the double concupiscence of the eyes: while you desire to see in others what is not fitting, and while you present yourselves to be seen by others otherwise than is proper. What have the trinkets of the world to do with you, or the curiosities of the world? Beauty of clothing, as Bernard testifies, quickly makes a masculine soul effeminate; the honorable fashions of outward attire quickly weaken a manly disposition. These men are like children in little rags who, because of one red thread fastened to a torn sleeve, think themselves very beautiful and handsome, and insolently mock others standing before them in the best garments as if they were naked. These pompous cloisterers see others walking in humble clothing, contemning the world in the spirit of poverty, and for that reason pleasing both God and men; they see themselves despised by the wise and by princes, and sometimes not even admitted to conversation. Seeing these things, the proud are deeply grieved, as if by an injury; yet they utterly refuse to lay aside their arrogance.

Third, the citizen of the lowest region is badly ordered toward contempt of the world because of the pride of life: for they are not only infected with the vain pleasures of the flesh, but are also proud through the swelling of the mind. For all who follow the desires of the flesh vainly raise themselves above themselves; they contemn others, however much better they may be; they do not know how to endure equals; they do not accept superiors. They take delight in having a great retinue of servants stand by them in [unclear].

they strive to sit in the first place of counsel; they desire to seem glorious to men; they go about in pomp and public display. With a more swollen spirit they boast that by foundation they possess distinguished monasteries, rich in temporal goods, costly in treasures, buildings, and privileges. With proud and haughty heart they despise poor monks or abbots of a poor monastery, and they are not ashamed to prefer themselves to better men; for the more they desire to hunt for glory in outward things, the more they withdraw, with the foolish virgins, from true glory.

How the citizens of this inferior region are disordered toward penitence.

Article VII.

Man, born of woman, living for a short time and filled with many miseries, cannot long remain in the same state. It is necessary that, by reforming himself daily with all zeal, he turn himself toward his due end; for as long as anyone is sent to live in this world, he proves changeable in the matter of virtue. Therefore whoever, placed amid this changeability, desires to come to the joys of immutability must humbly acknowledge his own frailty, must always after the fall of sin flee to the remedies of penitence, and must dread lying in wickedness even for a single moment.

For the life of monks must always consist in saving penitence, and must continually await the coming of the Judge with holy fear. For Jerome says: “A monk has the office not of teaching but of weeping,” one who should mourn either himself or the world, and wait in dread for the divine coming. But the disordered cloisterers of the inferior region despise this saving remedy; they waste the acceptable time in vanity; and because they do not fear to order everything badly, they show themselves very disordered even for doing penitence.

First, indeed, they are badly ordered toward penitence through negligence of mind, when they neglect to understand how greatly sin displeases almighty God, whom it is not lawful to contradict by the choice of a perverse will. Just as night is opposed to day, so the sinner is turned away from divine goodness and stands as its adversary. What a putrid corpse is accustomed to do in the sight of men, sin does in its own way, incomparably more, in the sight of the angels. But carnal monks despise the honor of God, and therefore they do not notice the insult of sin. They neglect to amend venial sins, as though they might lawfully commit mortal ones. For Scripture says: “He who neglects the least things falls little by little.” Hence Bernard warns us with his judgment, saying: “Let no one, brothers, say in his heart: These are slight matters; I do not care to correct them; it is no great thing to remain in these smallest venial sins. This, brothers, is impenitence; this is blasphemy against the Holy Spirit, which is unforgivable. No one can avoid falling into greater sins if he despises amending the lesser.” Nothing is worse than this negligence of mind.

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

Third, carnal monks, disordered toward penitence, contract through the sickness of sin and the habit of sin a harmful blindness of mind. Every vice, often committed, is treated lightly, and through habit is judged less serious. Just as grace illumines the mind, so the frequency of sin blinds reason. 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 wicked man has come into the depth of evils, he despises them. No sin is so great that it does not seem light and small through habit.

Fourth, disordered cloisterers, through the habit of evil...

The blinded do not come to the grace of true compunction. They approach confession superficially, from habit alone. They have not abandoned their depraved will. They do not truly take up a resolution of amendment. Such people, buried in the habit of sin, do not fear the censure of strict examination; they do not withdraw from blindness of mind through the remedy of contrition. As they now despise the long-suffering goodness of God, so in that terrible hour they undergo the sentence of eternal death. What can confession of the mouth avail where there is no true contrition of heart? Without contrition, confession is not saving; nor can contrition exist without a resolution of amendment. The sign of contrition is the will to sin no more.

Fifth, the disordered citizens of the lowest region, made despisers of almighty God through the habit of sinning, continually fall into graver dangers of soul, because they always approach the most holy sacred mysteries of the Lord’s body and blood in an evil manner. They make a superficial confession from habit; they allow the great beasts of vices to run through their senses. And thereafter, being in league with hell, they do not fear God; they despise the paths of amendment of life; they think themselves well ordered; they do not care with how many vices they are inwardly filled. Sometimes, sensibly moved by a fanciful devotion, they suppose that the Holy Spirit is now present; they affirm that they are beloved by God and holy. They impudently thrust themselves into the divine mysteries; not discerning the Lord’s body and blood, they receive them to judgment and condemnation.

Such people, communicating unworthily, are gravely hardened; they think themselves very secure and living well, and they do not duly care to cleanse their conscience from vices. Thus Judas the apostate did not fear boldly and shamelessly to complete the evil of betrayal which at first, as someone says, he feared to carry out against the Savior, after the morsel entered and the devil entered into him. O how many citizens of this lowest region there are: carnal monks, puffed up, proud, envious, murmurers, and entangled in various sins, whose conscience is rarely or never made clean by true contrition, and who nevertheless do not fear to approach the most holy altars almost every day.

Behold the evil company of all who dwell in this lowest region, whose end is destruction, for whom, after bodily death, a descent into hell is prepared. This is the far country of beastliness and unlikeness, into which that prodigal son went away, and squandered the portion of his inheritance luxuriously with harlots. In this region carnal citizens dwell, of whom 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 the dead, no spiritual good dwells; in it there is not peace, but beastly discord reigns, the prophet saying: “There is no peace for the wicked, says the Lord.”

Concerning Those Who, Being Near This Lowest Region, Often Fall Back [unclear] Through Inconstancy of Mind

Although between the first region, which is evil, and the second, which is good, there is properly no middle, nevertheless there are some who often move between the two: at one time, from weakness, they are lukewarm; at another, from contrition of mind, they seem to be devout. These are weak people. Though they are not submerged in the lowest region, nevertheless through negligence they are very near it, and frequently indeed they fall into that evil habit, because they do not withdraw, as far as they can, from the affections of the flesh. Of these Bernard says in a certain sermon: “Pernicious lukewarmness, how dangerous it is, how troublesome and full of misery and grief, and plainly nearest to hell! It is rightly judged the shadow of death. Indeed, one finds people faint-hearted and slack, failing beneath the burden, needing rod and spurs; their joy is slack, their sadness faint-hearted, their compunction brief and rare; their thought is animal, their conduct lukewarm, their obedience without devotion, their speech without circumspection, their prayer without intention of heart, their reading without edification. Finally, as we see, fear of Gehenna scarcely restrains them, shame scarcely holds them back, reason scarcely bridles them, discipline scarcely keeps them in check. But if such people remain long under the burden, either they are crushed and succumb, or in a certain way they are in hell, so that they never fully breathe again into the light of the Lord’s mercies, nor into the freedom of the Spirit, which alone makes the yoke sweet and the burden light.” From there, however, [text breaks off]

Vicious lukewarmness flows from the fact that the will has not yet been purified; they do not will the good as they know it, being drawn away and enticed by evil desire. For they love earthly little consolations in their flesh, whether in word, or in signs, or in deeds, or in something else; and even if this sometimes interrupts these things, it does not entirely break them off. Hence it is that they rarely direct their affections toward God, and their compunction is not continuous, but only for an hour.

But a soul that lies under these distractions cannot be filled with divine visitations; and the more it is emptied of the former, the more fully it will be filled with the latter. If much, much; if little, little. Or perhaps, if you prefer it put more strongly: these things will never be able to be mixed with those for eternity. For spirit and flesh do not dwell together, nor fire and lukewarmness 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, should always take care to repel from himself the sluggishness of mind, and in holy purpose to burn continually with the fire of divine love. Nothing harms those who wish to serve God so much as lukewarmness of mind. It always arises at first from some small negligence, but unless it is cured at once, it grows wonderfully by degrees.

One who is placed near the lowest region always slips down into it, because the dregs of his former carnal way of life still subtly occupy his will, and on an easy occasion disturb his weak fervor of devotion. But no one can rise from the depth of hell with a lukewarm will; no one can overcome habit without a contrary habit, because unless some violence intervenes, 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. Now after this life there are three dwelling places of souls, which receive their citizens departing from the three regions and from this world.

The first dwelling place is called hell, and this is compared to the lowest region. For just as in hell no order, but perpetual horror, dwells, so in this lowest region all things are disturbed by the fury of a mind blinded by carnal affections. In hell all are evil, and in the lowest region nowhere are the good found. All who fall into hell have belonged to the lowest region. 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 place is called purgatory, and this is compared to the second, rational region. For just as purgatory cleanses and perfects souls, and sends them, once purified, to the kingdom of heaven, so this second region washes its citizens, persevering within it through continual exercise, from the stains of sins, and disposes them for ascent to the third region, which is called spirit. In this dwelling place all are good, but still they must be purified so that they may become better; and in the second region nowhere are there evil people, but still they must always be exercised so that they may become better. This region sends its citizens who die within it to purgatory, because, even though all are good, they do not yet seem fit for the kingdom without temporal purification. For those who inhabit this middle region, however near they may seem to be to the highest, are still not yet entirely removed from the dust of the lower one.

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

Here ends the first region.

Preface to the second tract of the first part, concerning the middle region, namely the rational region of cloistered persons.

But now let us at last leave the dark region of the carnal, in which the whirlwind of wickedness abides and the continual storm of vices. We have granted enough to it, and have lingered over it longer than our purpose had set. Let us therefore leave the dead to bury their dead; let us yield to the darkness; let us seek the light of the spiritual life. We must go out from the Egypt of the dark region; we must hasten diligently, through the middle way of reason, to the highest summit of the spirit. Let us therefore now at last approach the middle region of the soul, through which one comes gradually to the highest. This region of the soul is quite fittingly called rational, for in it there is continual labor in seeking the highest truth. The fervor of the mind in this middle region always strives to raise itself to higher things; but the weakness of the flesh, through the motion of the storm that follows, runs together with it to draw it back to lower things. From this comes continual labor; from this arise sighs and groans, because the body that is corrupted weighs down the soul, and the earthly dwelling depresses the mind that thinks on many things. This is the narrow way that leads to life, and few walk by it. In this region force is applied against the desires 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 contest is declared for those who are to serve God; so the wise man bears witness: “Son,” he says, “when you come to the service of God, stand in fear and prepare your soul for temptation.” How great the temptations are in this middle region we learn daily through the difficulty of spiritual exercise, while, driven in various ways, we cannot remain long in fervor of spirit. Now the weakness of the flesh calls us back from the pursuit of progress; now the temptation of the ancient enemy troubles us; now the company of our neighbor 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, because no one can withstand his temptations to the end unless he studies daily to do violence to himself. But whoever thinks that he has come to this region must not presume on his own strength; for although the grace of God, in order to work good in us, requires the free choice of our will, so too the will necessarily requires grace. For no one is holy by his own strength. Therefore let no one dare to presume on himself, but let him who stands see that he does not fall. The life of the good upon the earth is warfare, for through many tribulations they come to the kingdom, and by the arduous labors of the virtues heaven is acquired. “Going,” says the prophet, “they went and wept, casting their seeds; but coming, they shall come with rejoicing, carrying their sheaves.” For whoever sows in tears shall reap in joy. But if anyone has failed in sowing, certainly he will not rejoice in the harvest. Since, therefore, through the continual labors of spiritual exercises the mind must be cleansed from the dust of the first region, let us not seek leisure in this middle region; let us not love the rest of negligence, because no one here is able to stand unless he girds himself strongly for continual labor. Whoever in this middle region does not always press on to better things soon falls back through negligence into the former habits of life; there he incurs the danger of failing where he has lost the appetite for making progress. This is the place of continual conflict; whoever neglects to fight in it retreats in order 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 search for the highest truth, and the farther it separates itself from the lowest region, the nearer it approaches the highest. And this region is set forth as resembling in certain ways the ethereal heaven, in which there is the position of the stars and continual motion.

For just as motion itself is always disposed in heaven by the order of the first mover as cause, so continual labor is exercised in the middle region, so that each intellectual power may be perfected in its own object and in no way depart from the order naturally implanted in it. There are three powers of this sort: memory, intellect, and will.

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

The second region of life is compared to the ethereal heaven: for as in that heaven there is continual motion and the fixed position of the stars, so in this middle region there is motion and continual labor against the contests of vices. And as the motion of the stars fulfills the office appointed to it by nature in due order, so also in this region the equity of uprightness is required, so that each power of the soul, while subjected to its own object, may be perfected toward the end appointed for it, so far as this can happen to wayfarers.

But no power itself can be brought simply to fullness in this region, since no one in this pilgrimage is so perfect that he cannot become more perfect in his own order. For even if memory, in its own object, which is the arduous, could behold the gathered likenesses and images of all creatures, it would not be satisfied unless it could apprehend their principle, which is God. But this is altogether impossible in this region, in which we can form no images or likenesses of God. The intellect also, the counselor, so to speak, of the blind will, is extended toward the true; but however much it considers its own object, it is not satisfied until it can apprehend all truth and arrive, without the opinion of imaginative speculation, at knowledge of the eternal, highest, and unfailing truth. But that perfection is possible to none of the wayfarers so long as he remains in the body of mortality. The will too, although it is directed to its own object, which is the good, will not be able to be satisfied and truly gladdened unless it comes to that unchangeable and highest good, which no instability of change overshadows.

The highest truth and unchangeable good is God, who says to Moses: “Man shall not see me and live.” And the disciple of the highest truth says: “No one has ever seen God.” And the prophet, addressing the Lord, says: “Truly you are a hidden God.” But although the aforesaid three powers of the soul cannot perfectly comprehend their objects in this life, none of them ought to cease from its office, lest it incur the danger of failing in the very place where the task of striving has been appointed.

Therefore the citizens of this middle region mortify evil affections in themselves, adorn themselves with continual virtues, direct all their works by right intention, and in no way withdraw from the office of reason.

The citizens of this region are scholastic, contemplative, and active men, [unclear], devoted to honorable arts: they subject the sensual or carnal powers to reason; they keep these three powers of the soul clean from all unlawful objects; they always raise their intention toward the end of honorable goodness; and they reform the will, in act or in habit, toward its due end. Therefore the cenobite who loves this cleansing and desires to ascend to the third region of the spirit ought to consider and keep the following principal articles in the middle region.

The summary of the truth of this middle region is expressed in seven principal articles. Whoever desires to make progress in this middle region according to the vow of his profession should diligently take care to observe the following articles. If he neglects to keep them, he shows that he has not yet become a citizen of the middle region. For, as we said above, no one can remain in this middle region without a continual effort to advance; here not to make progress is to fall away, and not to have ascended is to descend. Therefore the monk who, having overcome the dark region, has at last, with God’s help, been able to reach this middle one...

he should beware lest he abandon the effort of advancing even a little, but always stretch toward further things; and he should remember the warning of the wise man, who says: “If you do not hold yourself steadfastly in the fear of the Lord, your house will quickly be overthrown,” that is, your conscience. For it is impossible for anyone to advance in holy conduct if he daily neglects to renew the effort of advancing through fear of the Lord. The ordered effect of this renewal is shown when the truth of the articles of the middle region is duly observed.

The first article, then, 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 attentive reformation of the work of the lower region; the fifth is the ordered instruction in the progress of the true cenobite; the sixth is the adaptation of the powers for entry into the third region; and the seventh is the exemplary or experimental certainty of the aforesaid and of all things.

On the continual and diligent pursuit of the cenobitic end.

The first article.

Since the end is first in the intention of the wise man, and everything in its own kind is judged the more perfect the more closely it approaches its end, the monk who cultivates this middle region should always consider why he entered religion. If he finds his intention ordered, he should strive to continue it; but if he finds it corrupt, he should not fail to reform it according to the rectitude of the due end.

But note that in spiritual exercises the end is described as twofold, by which the virtue of monastic life is increased in merits. 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 principally be ordered to this end, because no work of virtue perfects merit unless charity always establishes the due foundation.

“God,” says John, “is charity; and he who abides in charity abides in God, and God in him.” And everyone who abides in God does not sin. The second end is dispositive toward the first and principal end, and is directed to it as a kind of intermediate fittingness; this is called secondary, or less principal. The monk must always attend to this too, and order his exercises through it to the ultimate end. For no one can lightly reach the end of principal charity if he neglects to observe the intermediate end.

This dispositive end toward the ultimate, so far as it pertains to cenobites, according to John Cassian in the Conferences of the Fathers, is to cast away from oneself entirely all the cares of the world, to mortify one’s own wills, to entrust every disposition of oneself to a prudent superior, and to take no thought for tomorrow. For in this middle region the cenobite must utterly reject his own will by taking up the denial of himself, and then resign himself totally into the hands of his prudent superior, so that within himself he may be clean from every impulse of his own will, and outwardly free from every secular occupation for serving the Lord. Indeed, unless the cenobite has come to this end, he is by no means a true monk, because he still sows corruption in corruptible flesh and in no way observes the virtue of his profession.

Next, the monastic denial of one’s own will seems principally to consist in three things, without which no one can truly be said to have denied himself. First, the mortification of the will requires in the monk the prior uprooting of his own judgment, because whoever relies on his own judgment or counsel disdains being humbly subject to another. For the root from which the defense of one’s own will first arises is called adherence to one’s own counsel or judgment. But whoever, while established in a monastery, desires to cling to his own judgment sins gravely in the Rule by usurping his own will. For it is fitting that the cenobite live by the command of others rather than by his own, if he desires to attain eternal life by the merit of obedience. Indeed, love of one’s own judgment is the greatest leprosy of the soul; according to Bernard, it is the more dangerous the more hidden it is, and the more [unclear].

the more someone has in abundance, the holier he seems to himself.

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

Third, for the mortification of one’s own will that poverty is required as hope, lest the monk’s affection be held captive by visible things, by food, clothing, and the rest; for whoever loves these things too much shows himself first to be a lover of pleasure against the rule. For the true cenobite of this [unclear], whose task 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 except for God. If he has anything for use, with the rule allowing it, let him beware of setting the affection of his heart upon it; let him be ready, at the judgment of his shepherd and for the usefulness of the brothers, to surrender everything with a peaceful heart. Let him always choose the things that are simple and lowly, give thanks to God in all things, and, placing his hope and sufficiency in him alone, say cheerfully: “In you, Lord Jesus, I have all things; for love of you I gladly despise all things; I shall care nothing at all for passing things.”

Therefore let our devout cenobite always direct the faithful eye of his consideration toward this end of his monastic institution and intention; let him never withdraw from the sight of it, because whoever forgets the final end in his action wanders like an unskilled and blind sailor amid the storms of the sea, soon to perish. Let the faithful monk, then, imitate the sailor experienced in devotion, so that just as the sailor, always having the harbor before his eyes, strives with intent solicitude to steer his ship there, so the mind of a good man may always be directed to God, as to its shore and final end.

Archers set up for themselves some fixed mark, and lest their sight be scattered away from the target, they close one eye. And just as the arrow of the shooter is aimed at the mark, so the intention of the good monk is always ordered toward God; in that intention the eye of lower affection must also be closed, lest the sharpness of higher contemplation be scattered through empty things. For we must close ourselves, as though in unknowing, to the affection for earthly curiosities and to the understanding of carnal wisdom, if we desire always to be lifted up by the gaze of the mind toward our proper end.

And just as the eagle is said to gaze upon the sun with eyes that are not dazzled, so the monk, the servant of God, contemplates without interruption the end of the monastic institution. As the prudent wayfarer, while proceeding with delight, considers the dwelling toward which he is going, so the good cenobite, in everything he does, always pants with fervent desire chiefly toward his own end, which is God. But foolish is the traveler who, though placed on the road, forgets the dwelling toward which he is going and, wandering, knowingly entangles himself in the various hindrances of others. And the monk who does not diligently consider the end of his destination is certainly blind and wanders off on the road.

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

Let the faithful intention of the cenobitic life always be that he desire and long for nothing other than the praise and honor of God; let his attention be so diligent that he knows how to summon all the senses of the body and the affections of the soul to the service of God, so that he may faithfully serve his God and seek his glory, not his own.

On the due restraint of the sensual powers. Article 2.

For it is useful and also necessary for us to restrain the powers of sensual passions; among monks I think almost no one is ignorant of this. Indeed, whoever desires to reach the due end of regular life which we have described in this region must subdue, with prudent constancy, his disordered natural habits and movements, because no one can truly resign himself to another’s command if he does not firmly restrain the powers of sensual passions. One who desires to make progress must leave behind, with steadfast mind, both the movements and the 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 command of the flesh, you will die. Indeed, those who sow in the flesh will 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 members of his household except the sensual powers that oppose the spirit? For concupiscibility and irascibility, our enemies, stir up within us all evils against the spirit and continually disturb the house of conscience with various passions. For as long as these sensual powers carry out their natural movements and courses in a man, they do not allow him to ascend to the freedom of the spirit. Concupiscibility enjoys the delights in the sense of the flesh, and, on the contrary, the irascible power detests the bodily hardships. Meanwhile, as long as this war of the flesh is waged in a man, he is regarded as a restless, carnal monk and a dweller in the lowest region. Therefore whoever desires to come to eternal life must firmly restrain these disordered powers of sense in all things.

Therefore the faithful cenobite strives to direct the concupiscible power toward hardships that are acceptable to God, and to reform all his affections according to God’s good pleasure. If he does this, he will pray confidently to the Lord: “My soul has longed to desire your justifications at all times.” And, sweetly weeping, he will cry out that other saying: “As the deer longs for the fountains of waters, so my soul longs for you, O God.” Then let him learn prudently to attach the irascible power to God, to set it against sensual delights, and to reform it diligently toward hatred of vices. Thus the soul, ordered toward its principle, will not fear to endure any hardships for the love of God, and by means of the irascible power it will begin to resist firmly all carnal desires. 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 every disordered affection arises; and good affections likewise are generated from them in the contrary way. For joy and hope take their beginning from the concupiscible power, and the irascible power brings forth sorrow and fear. Saint Bernard speaks of these thus: “The whole heart of man is governed by four affections; if we bring these back to God, the whole heart of man is converted.”

On the Faithful Cleansing of the Powers

Article Three

Since we are by no means able to restrain the sensual powers unless we also faithfully cleanse the intellectual powers, great and continual diligence is needed for this cleansing, because the cenobite who is weakened by the torpor of negligence is never cleansed from vicious affections. For one who sows with corrupted powers brings back nothing else from his errors but corruption. Therefore the cenobite, the inhabitant of this middle region, must correct his higher powers from every disorder, if he wishes to remain constantly in the pursuit of progress. These intellectual powers must be cleansed in this way.

First, the intellect must be purged of every imagining of empty likenesses, so that it may [unclear] from union.

freeing it from material things, raise it upward, without any image of likeness, to its own principle; and, prudently intent upon its object, turn its whole self toward the highest rule of truth.

Then let our faithful cenobite not neglect to strip his memory of every occupation with an unlawful thing. Let him admit no forms of thought that are shameful or less useful; let him strive to repel the phantasms of irrational passions and [unclear] meditations, and, so far as can be done, to think nothing foolish.

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

But this restraint of virtue and cleansing of the powers, without which we say that no one can advance at all, is granted only through diligence great, discerning, and constant in a strong battle. 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. For we have learned from the testimony of the blessed pontiff Augustine that a man does not die well unless he has first died to vices and desires. But no one truly dies to these among men unless he resists his own wills through continual labor, sowing in tears. Therefore the soul must be fortified with saving doctrines; the strength of patience must be taken up in all things. For just as a naked man, unarmed and impatient of labor, cannot overthrow an armed enemy, so a monk without spiritual arms and without a certain continual force of fighting cannot cleanse his intellectual powers in any childish way. Now although the arms of spiritual warfare are many in its progress, three especially must be taken up by the monk.

First, indeed, vigor is necessary for the cenobite in all that he does, so that he may bravely dare things contrary to the flesh, and in no way grow lukewarm in his holy purpose. For spiritual exercises are hard and altogether contrary to the flesh, and he who scorns to put on most strongly the arms of vigor is not enough to persevere constantly in them. 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 do prudent violence to yourself and to arm yourself bravely against all things.

Next, a certain holy severity must be taken up by you, through which all contrary and adverse things of this world are borne as though they were nothing. For truly, whoever for love of God and desire for heavenly things has once genuinely taken up this kind disposition of the soul, no longer fears any adversities of the flesh; rather, he is so deeply filled within by contemplation of the divine reward that he seems to delight more in adversities that occur than in prosperity.

But severity is by no means pleasing to the weak unless it has been somewhat tempered by the sweetness of kindness. Therefore kindness itself must next be taken up by the soldier, so that when, tempted in battle by the weakness of the flesh, or even wounded, he sometimes wavers, he may soon rise again through repentance to fight once more with greater strength. For the soldier of Christ, if he falls in battle, must rise again through contrition and the other remedies of penance as often as necessary, to fight again, until at last, at some time, by God’s mercy, he is able to overcome the adversary. If the just man falls seven times in a day and rises again, how should the sinner, now penitent, not hope for pardon? Rise, soldiers, to fight again as often as you have fallen when the adversary has conquered. Always renew the warfare more strongly from the beginning, so that the enemy whom you cannot yet destroy by strength, you may at last overcome by perseverance. Do not despair of victory, faithful cenobite, because you have often been conquered by temptation and vice and have fallen into the snare. Do not lie prostrate any longer because you feel yourself weak, but rise again 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 suddenly becomes perfect, nor does God grant immediate victory over the enemy to incautious soldiers, lest those who are about to perish fall into grave pride.

A possession acquired with difficulty is always held dearer, and a good that is acquired laboriously is guarded with greater diligence. Thus the loving Father, God, permits us, when conquered by the temptations of the adversary, to fall for a time into the pit of sin through alternating reversals, until, conscious of our weakness, we learn to hope in nothing in our own strength, but only in his grace. But you, man, who often interrupt your progress 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 a frequently repeated fall. But this counsel does not release those to whom the mercy of God has granted strength and grace for defeating the adversary. Nevertheless, let him who stands take heed lest he fall.

On the attentive reform of the works of the first region.

Article Two.

Since, as we taught at the end of the first treatise, this middle region is nearest to the lowest part of the first region, in which, if the cenobite has been even a little negligent and remiss, he immediately falls back again without interval into the former region. And therefore whoever desires to persevere in this region by making progress should always strive, with attentive vigilance, to reform the works of the lower region. And, lest we be lengthy, whoever desires to exercise this reform in himself should take up, in this region, works contrary to the eight articles of the first region. For, as is taught by the tradition of physicians, contraries are cured by contraries.

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

Next, the devout cenobite should keep himself ordered toward his prelate, offer him humility and reverence, strive to love him with sincere charity, and observe according to the Rule all that he commands.

The rector also, [unclear] of souls, should take care to walk in ordered fashion toward the cenobites, to show himself a shepherd to the sheep and not a hireling, not to neglect the salvation of the souls entrusted to him, and not to set temporal things before spiritual things. Let him hate vices, love the brothers, and show himself an example to all in every good thing.

Next, let brothers cling to one another as members of one head; let them love one another mutually in the true charity of God, and not withdraw from good zeal. For all of us who trust, through the faith of Christ, 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, let each one show himself ordered toward himself: let him humbly subject himself to all for the love of Christ, prefer others to himself through humility, and believe himself more unworthy than all monks.

In the use of the things of the monastery, let them always take care not to exceed the institution of the Rule, but strive everywhere to show themselves ordered and faithful in all things. Let no one have or seek anything contrary to the will of the abbot; let him admit no pleasure into his soul in the use of things.

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

Let them never neglect to order themselves most diligently to penance; let them often have recourse to humble confession of their faults. For 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, through the practice of compunction, will always have recourse to penance, humbly accuse himself of his faults in chapter, willingly perform the penance imposed, and faithfully amend himself in all things.

On the rightly ordered formation of the true monastic spirit and the degrees of humility. Article V.

The monk’s first virtue is humility, and pride is the gravest crime in a cenobite. 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 dwell. Therefore the cenobite who desires to make progress in this middle region should learn to order himself through humility toward the true progress of monastic formation, because no one truly attains humility except one who devotes himself to spiritual exercises.

True progress in regular formation, excluding all adulterous Muses, arises from the degrees of humility, which are set down through their roots as twelve in the Rule. The roots of this progress come from the practice of sacred reading, which gradually leads a man to the fear of the Lord. From reading arises spiritual meditation; from it holy compunction is generated. The more useful mode of cenobitic meditation consists in the memory of the Lord’s passion and in the consideration of the benefits of God. But those who pass beyond this middle region and come to tranquility of spirit make their meditations more sublime through contemplation of the divine majesty and excellence. We shall speak of these in their proper place.

These two roots receive increase from the watering of continual prayer and grow strong into the firmness of a most sturdy plant. For no meditation makes progress without prayer, and study without it will never 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 begotten, succeeding in order. But monks who neglect the saving study of the Scriptures and holy meditations with continual prayers by no means arrive at this first degree of humility. And he who cannot climb the first degree of humility, how will he be able to come to the others? For the second is never climbed if the first is neglected. Therefore he who neglects one climbs none.

The study of sacred reading must not be undertaken for the vanity of the world, nor for the pleasure of a seduced mind, because reading never advances toward compunction when the delight of the flesh or of vanity has corrupted it. A monk, through the study of sacred reading, cannot reach devotion unless he strives to change all curiosity into a simple spirit. Therefore whoever desires to advance from the reading of Scripture to compunction, whoever wishes to ascend to humility through the roots of fear, must not choose just any material for reading, but only that which can more greatly stir the mind to the love of God.

For this purpose the reading of the lives of the saints seems to me sufficiently suitable, because the mind of one lying low is often raised to the love of God when the life of his servants is recalled to memory. We gladly admit their miracles and revelations concerning the torments or joys of separated souls, when they conform to the Catholic faith, because we have learned by experience that sluggish hearts are often stirred by them to compunction. Finally, the passions of the holy martyrs arouse the fervor of devotion in no small measure; in them, when we bring to mind the unconquerable charity of Christ, pierced by the example of such constancy and touched as if by a certain fire of love, we sigh over our imperfection.

From reading the material of meditation is taken; and as the former has been, so the latter will be. The shameful songs of poets, the curious doctrines of philosophers, and the swollen writings of rhetoricians do not arouse the fervor of devout compunction in monks, but rather suffocate what has been conceived. Therefore, if you wish to devote yourself to good meditation, do not occupy your mind with readings other than holy and devout ones. Indeed, grapes are not gathered from thorns, nor is compunction generated from the pursuit of vanity. Let him who studies for the knowledge of this world read the things that suit his learning; but let him who seeks compunction [unclear].

Let him read the things that kindle the soul to the love of God through fear. Therefore let frequent reading on the last things that await us take its beginning from fear; then let the deeds of the holy fathers be read, so that the memory of the future may strike the mind with fear of God, and the conduct of holy examples may kindle the desire to imitate them. For the wise man says: “Remember your last things, and you will not sin.” The conduct of the holy fathers is set before us as an example, and the destruction of the wicked is recounted for our instruction, so that rewarded virtue may stir desire, and punished iniquity may forbid license to sin.

Therefore let the devout cenobite call to mind the examples and virtues of the saints; let him consider the brief pleasure of the wicked, but their eternal torment, so that by fearing unhappiness he may deserve to escape it, and by persisting in virtues obtain that everlasting joy. The distinct condition of the good and the wicked is no slight matter, since it is described as truly enduring forever and is ended by no limit. O eternity, always to be feared by mortals: in it, after this life has been completed, there is no fear for the just, and no hope of deliverance for the wicked. Let him who can consider what eternity is, where there is no end; let him who dares imagine a limit; and when in eternity he finds nothing other than eternal, let him understand that all the time in which he lives in this world is nothing. For indeed, once the spirit has been driven from the flesh, it is necessarily compelled to enter this abyss of eternity; and the condition which it has once received according to its merits it will bear without end and will not be changed into another. For he who dies good in the charity of God will obtain eternal life according to his merits. But he who, evil and without the reconciliation of repentance, has once departed from this life, will remain with the demons in hell, to be tormented without end.

From these meditations servile fear arises in the mind, through which one gradually comes to love. But so that we may successively lead cenobites through these roots to charity, it pleases us to explain briefly, in order, the degrees of humility described in the Rule.

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

From servile fear, if it is taken up not merely servilely but prudently and virtuously, come meditations on terrors and punishments, which, by restraining the soul from sin, gradually introduce it to love. For when the mind is turned to horror by the consideration of punishments, boldness in sinning is restrained, because the servant who fears blows keeps the commands of his lord. This servile fear, however, is not sufficient for meriting the paternal inheritance; yet as an initial effect it is disposed toward filial fear, which is sufficient.

Initial fear is placed midway between the two, and from the third it is easily changed into filial fear. This initial fear receives meditations on the last things, and both fears to incur punishments and trembles to lose the sweet fatherland. And this place is set down in the Rule, where its roots are also described.

Filial fear, however, gathers its meditations into love, since it fears nothing except that the beloved father be offended. Of 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 and length of days.” And again: “It will be well with him who fears God at the last, and on the day of his death he will be blessed.” This fear is called chaste because it detests evil not from fear of punishments, but from love alone.

From this threefold fear we see three exercises and spiritual breadths arise concerning the degrees of humility, and individual exercises correspond to the individual fears. For one

Servile fear performs its exercises; initial fear applies itself to virtues; and filial fear proceeds much differently in its works. For just as affections come to the heart in various ways, so the exercises of one fear take place in different ways. For the publican feared the judge’s sentence in one way, through the memory of himself and of his sins; Jerome said that in another way he seemed to hear the sound of the trumpet calling the dead to judgment. And concerning the former the holy Gospel says: Standing far off, the publican would not lift up his eyes to heaven, but, striking his breast, said, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” But that blessed Jerome said: “Whether I drink or eat, I always think that I hear that trumpet sounding in my ears: ‘Rise, you dead; come to judgment.’” The compunction of both arises from fear, but both are not begotten from the desire of one and the same affection. For the publican, terrified by the guilt of sins and by the sentence of the just judge, feared, and therefore, pierced with compunction, said, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Jerome, however, is not shaken by fear from consciousness of guilt, but, founded in charity and reckoning himself an unprofitable servant, reveres the abyss of divine justice.

The second degree is to abandon one’s own will for love of God, and not to love one’s own willing in anything against the rule. This degree arises from the first ascent of humility and lifts one up to the third. For truly, he who fears God, and truly dreads being separated from him and undergoing punishments, hates nothing more than his own will. For 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 truly said: Take away self-will, and there will be no hell. For nothing burns in hell except self-will; nothing loses the grace of God except voluntary fault. Therefore whoever truly fears God and dreads losing his grace begins to fear his own will as the ambusher of the soul. The consideration of the danger of self-will makes the cenobite despise his own willing and deny himself. And this denial of self-will and of oneself is perfected in three ways, as will be said in what follows.

First, 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, who persuades him to humility in all things. Therefore let the Savior say to the cenobite: If you wish truly to deny yourself to yourself and follow me, take away your eyes, lest they see harmful things; your ears, lest they hear vain things; and in place of the sweet things of this world, take bitter things. Learn to despise the pleasures of your body; to love tranquility and peace of heart; to receive all tribulations patiently and joyfully for love of me; and to desire to be seen by all as vile and contemptible. Learn accordingly to break your wills in all things, to mortify the desires of the flesh, to despise all earthly things, and, as far as can be done, to conform your life with all your strength to the way of life of your Savior. For he who says that he abides in Christ ought himself also to walk just as he walked. Whoever has done these things has well denied himself.

Second, the denial of self-will is then rightly perfected when the advantages of others are set before one’s own. For the holy apostle says: “Not seeking the things that are your own, but the things that are others’.” For according to the saying of Bernard, the soul is laid down for the brethren as often as their advantages are preferred to one’s own benefits for love of God.

Third, the resignation of self-will receives the fullness of perfection when the cenobite, pierced with compunction and wholly handed over to God, desires out of love to serve him most gratefully without regard for reward. And this most holy resignation of self-will makes a man near to God and always rests in his love.

But just as this resignation of oneself receives its substance from the second degree of humility, so also it necessarily requires inward and complete resignation to the will of God in all things. For the Lord says in the Gospel: “I have not come to do my own will, but the will of the Father who sent me.” Perfect resignation, therefore, is that by which the human will is totally subjected to the divine will and, out of whole love, [unclear].

Thus indeed the Lord himself taught us to pray: “Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” And that saying of the psalmist: “Into thy hands I commend my spirit.” Never is one safer in this world than when the human will is perfectly subjected to God.

Indeed, perfect surrender of oneself, by which the cenobite truly subjects his will to God, shows without intermediary the right way to the highest good. Here there is the greatest tranquillity of mind; the greatest security is present in the heart, because the soul that strives to subject itself perfectly to God will no longer be able to fear any opposition of this world, except sin alone. Whatever adversity comes upon him, with the Lord’s help he has learned to overcome; whatever comfort he desires, he understands that he possesses it in the Lord alone. He despises all adversities for love of him; he has placed all good things in love of him. For that devout man wisely said: “Leave all things, and you will find all things; abandon desire, and you will find true peace.”

Finally, so that this surrender of one’s own will may receive the fullness of consummation, it seeks, to pass over the rest, the aid of a threefold support.

The first is placed in the virtue of perseverance: that the will, once renounced, never be resumed. For that holy Bernard says to those who despise this support: “Why do you again take charge of yourselves, who once, after mature deliberation, handed over your will to us?” For the monk who has once handed his will over to God in the hands of the abbot does not resume it without the crime of sacrilege.

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

Third, surrender of the will will be perfected if it is never revoked. For the Savior says: “He who perseveres to the end will be saved.” Therefore, when you see a cenobite restless or stirred by anger, know that the whole mass of temptation proceeds from lack of resignation; nor will you ever cure this sickness unless you first persuade him to the surrender of his renounced will.

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

The keeping of one degree without observance of the other is not enough in a monk; nor is the will of a cenobite subjected to the divine ordinance if it disdains to obey the command of a superior. Therefore the true cenobite, placing all his joy in the virtue of holy obedience, thinks it the greatest gain to fulfill in all things the will of his pastor; he believes that he incurs grave damage to his soul if he finds that he has committed himself even a little outside obedience. With faithful devotion he always considers 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 monks: “Whatever a man commands in God’s place must be received no differently than if God himself commanded it in person.” Therefore let the true monk prefer this subjection of obedience to every sacrifice, let him do absolutely nothing against its integrity, and let him continually 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 abbot’s will.”

But this degree, as we have said, arises from the second, because he who has first perfectly renounced his own will out of fear of God now seeks nothing else in this world than to follow that will in all things. But because God speaks once and does not repeat the same thing, and weak man cannot know the will of the Most High, therefore he entrusts himself [unclear].

[unclear] into the hands of his prelate. Let the cenobite therefore obey according to the rule, and, obeying the vicar of Christ, he undoubtedly fulfills the will of God.

Obedience to prelates must be kept strictly according to the Gospel and the monastic rule; for although the mutual obedience of the brethren is good, surely it is not to be preferred to the command of a superior. Monks are ordered to render discreet obedience to one another, and, while preserving the commands of superiors, to anticipate one another in mutual service. To take an example from our own custom: obedience is owed to all according to order. If a brother calls on you, obey gladly; if another, a senior, commands you, leave aside the command of the first and obey him. Again, if the prior of the community intervenes with his command, all mutual obedience of the brethren will cease. But if the abbot’s command intervenes, no obedience to anyone else will have force against it. For he is believed to act first in Christ’s place in the monastery, and therefore he is preferred to all.

There are seven graded circumstances of the holy virtue of obedience, which blessed Bernard described. The first degree of obedience is to obey willingly, so that you have no will of your own at all, but believe your shepherd’s good pleasure to be wholly your own. The second is to obey simply, so that you do neither more nor otherwise than what has been commanded you, nor omit anything by doing less. The third is to obey cheerfully, so that you show serenity in your face and sweetness in your voice. The fourth is to obey swiftly, so that the hand is not slower in the work than the command is in the voice. The fifth is to obey manfully, lest one withdraw his strength from the command and 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 receive not reward but punishment. The seventh is to obey perseveringly, because that obedience is not true which is interrupted before completion; and only he who perseveres to the end is rewarded.

The fruit of obedience is everlasting and is never bounded by any end. Almighty God obeys our prayers only insofar as we obey our superiors. Do not flatter yourself, stiff-necked monk, because of persistence in prayer, for Christ does not hear the prayer of one who despises Christ’s vicar in the monastery. Humility raises prayer; obedience commends it. For obedience, as one of the fathers said, is the salvation of all the faithful, the mother of all virtues, the finder of the kingdom of heaven. Obedience opens the heavens, closes the gates of hell, becomes a fellow-dweller with the angels, and possesses 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 this in the Rule: if a monk, under obedience, embraces patience with silent conscience in hard and contrary things, or even in any injuries inflicted on him. This degree also takes its beginning from the third, since no one is truly to be called obedient if he is found impatient. For as lord Chrysostom says, he cannot be acceptable to the king who has been subject to the enemy; nor is he truly subject to Christ who has been marked by the passion of impatience. For 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, since no virtue perfects the one who reads if patience deserts him. It is also, as blessed Gregory teaches, a mark of greater merit to endure adversities patiently for God and to toil in good works. And Saint Jerome says: He who thinks that tribulation has come upon him for his sins calls forth God’s mercy more fully toward doing good. Therefore let the cenobite learn to oppose the virtue of patience to all accidents, if he desires to triumph over his enemies. He who suffers conquers; he who murmurs is overcome.

In three things, however, the virtue of patience is especially necessary, and the rewards are very high: in insults [unclear].

The patience of a prudent man who loves God preserves the purpose of humility: in the removal of goods and temporal advantages it receives increase, and in bodily injury the silent consciousness of virtue preserves its undertaking. Consider now, faithful soul, how your most loving Savior Jesus endured these three things most patiently for your redemption; and if you believe that you love him, do not think it burdensome, for love of him, to endure similar things with patience.

From the three grades immediately preceding we establish one sum of the cenobitic end, which, that it may seem reasonable to us, we call the threefold grade. For by three grades, namely the second, third, and fourth, the end of the cenobitic institution is fulfilled, and the earlier renunciation of pleasure is brought to completion. For where patience, the guardian of the virtues, is joined to the earlier renunciation of pleasure and to obedience, every pleasure and care of the body is mortified. Whoever has deserved to ascend this threefold grade has fulfilled the Lord’s command, by which he says in the Gospel: “If anyone wishes to come after me, let him deny himself,” through the second grade of humility; “and take up his cross,” through the third; “and follow me,” through the fourth.

The fifth grade of humility is true confession of sin. A faithful cenobite is said to ascend to this if he confesses to his abbot, with humble trust, all evil thoughts that come into his heart, or any evil deeds committed in secret. For if anyone, through impatience and at the adversary’s prompting, sins in the preceding threefold grade, in this one he is restored through contrition and humble confession. For no one is found so perfect that he never contracts the stain of earthly conduct, as Scripture says: “In many things we all offend.” For no one is clean from sin, not even an infant whose life upon earth is one day. Therefore this grade necessarily follows immediately after the fourth, and in it all the negligences of the preceding grades are amended. True confession lifts up the soldier who falls in battle, heals the one wounded by the enemy, and strengthens the weak and faint-hearted. Therefore whoever desires to stand in battle and bravely conquer the enemy should more often have recourse to the defenses of true confession. For it is impossible for one wounded by the enemy to recover health if he neglects to reveal 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 are zealous to disclose faithfully to your abbot all the thoughts he suggests to you and your sins. It is certain to me, and proved by much experience, that a cenobite hands himself over to be greatly conquered by temptations when he refuses to keep this grade.

The sixth grade of humility arises from true confession: namely, that the monk judge himself vile and unworthy for all things. For according to the Rule we believe him to be a true monk whom we see content with every vileness and extremity in food, clothing, and humble patience. Vileness is referred to common useful things, but extremity is placed in abject and heavier hardships. For he gladly embraces with patience those things that are viler in clothing, food, and all necessities of the body; he delights in all things: to serve the sick, the foul, lepers, and the rejected; to be 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, should show himself a faithful worker in all things, and should also believe himself vile and unworthy because of the corruption of nature, by which he offends in many things. For indeed, whatever good we do in this world, however holy and religiously we live in this age, it cannot suffice to merit eternal life unless the great mercy of God deigns to come to our aid. We receive the greatest things for the least: we expect 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 present time are not worthy to be compared with the future glory that shall be revealed in us.” But if we are judged without mercy by the justice of God, we are worthy of hell. We all incur wrath by sin, but we bring back love from grace. No one is saved except by grace; no one [unclear].

[Unclear] except through justice. Meanwhile, however, if we are to 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 freedom of choice stand in relation to one another, and one without the other cannot suffice for saving a human being; both must necessarily come together for the working of virtue. Therefore, since without the grace of God we can do nothing good, we ought to consider ourselves worthless and unworthy of all things, so that, when we submit ourselves to God in humility, we may always obtain greater gifts. And therefore this sixth degree of confession is one of merit 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, from the inmost affection of the heart, that one is 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 it is loved by few monks. The first condition of this deep humility seems to consist in this: that the monk ought from his heart to reckon himself lower than all. The second is that he should rejoice to be reckoned worthless and abject by all, and should desire this without pretense from the inmost affection of his heart. The third condition is placed in a higher dwelling: namely, that with the same affection the monk should delight to be treated most contemptibly and to be trampled on by all. Rooted in this humility, the cenobite loves reproach and insult; he does not fear being despised and most contemptibly abused, because, submitting himself wholly in the love of God, he humbly takes his place, and hastens to insults as though 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 toward hope in divine love, which arises from a certain pious confidence. Although a person may never know whether he is worthy of love or hatred, nevertheless each person can in some way recognize, from the disposition of his own heart, what he ought to think about his own state, whether good or bad.

Second, one must consider that through a good disposition of heart and an orderly will toward God, love of God and approval by the good are signs.

Thus, when he was born in the flesh, the angels sang: Peace on earth to people of good will.

Third, it must be noted that just as a good disposition of heart always orders and summons the mind through holy exercises toward the fear of God and the practice of virtues, so the carelessness of an evil disposition inclines it especially toward vices and sloth. Reflection on this difference provides a conjecture.

Fourth, one must consider that an evil disposition of heart hinders and empties out the grace of God and merits in a person, because it makes the soul base, 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 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. Each person can examine his own heart better than another’s, and consider what kind 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 scrutiny of another’s heart. But the shepherd, or the monk to whom the care of souls is entrusted, must also know the face of his flock.

Sixth, from these things it must be noted that it is very rash to wish to examine another’s heart, and from words and deeds to judge the inner thoughts of the brothers. The Lord knows those who are his, and it is not granted to a human being, apart from the reason of his office, to become a rash judge of another’s heart.

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

Eighth, one must consider that, since each person sees many imperfections in his own heart which he cannot see in others,

recognize this: on account of these things, insofar as they are obstacles to grace, he ought to reckon himself lower than others. But insofar as they defile the soul, let him despise himself as more worthless, even if he knows their public crimes. For since the roots of the heart are utterly unknown to him, he cannot know how the divine election concerning that person was ordained from eternity. Who would have believed that the thief crucified with God was elect from eternity, if he judged him according to his works? All things turn out for the good of the elect, since where he sees sin 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 looks upon them as elect not according to the misery in which they now are, but according to their future glory. Therefore, cenobite, beware of slandering others; beware of judging others, if you desire to escape eternal death. For who are you, that you judge another’s servant? He stands to be judged by his God alone.

Now the disposition of this seventh degree, because of that clause “from the innermost affection of the heart,” has 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 thinks himself, insofar as he is from himself, to be nothing; and consequently, in the same respect, 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, regards himself and his works as nothing does not dare to depart from the truth, because he fears falling into the vice of falsehood if he believed himself to be something great. And therefore, withdrawing from himself, he fails in himself, and places his being, his life, and his power in God alone. Secondly, this disposition arises from hope of acquiring greater grace, because when a man through humility fails in himself, he comes nearer to the grace of God. Thirdly, the disposition of this humility takes its beginning from the love of God, and by continuing in it receives increase. For whoever perfectly loves God seeks nothing in all things except his honor, nor does he know how to exalt himself in anything, but for God’s sake desires to be subject to all. Therefore the more he is cast down by reproaches and injuries, the more joyfully he rejoices in the Lord. He rejoices that he is wretched, so that in himself he may proclaim the Lord glorious. Whoever truly loves his Lord seeks nothing else but his glory.

From what we have said it is clear that the perfect charity promised to those who ascend 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 exists in the seventh degree, but rather compose outward things so that they may not dissipate the inner man. Finally, from the seventh degree we could set up a certain new ascent of humility, and in them lift all the other degrees higher. For filial fear resides more fervently in him who can make wider progress 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, what effort, and what perseverance he ought to exercise himself in these things, so that he may reach 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 thus the Rule says: “But if at any time he has done otherwise, let him know that he is to be condemned by him whom he mocks.” If, then, anyone who makes less progress in religion is believed guilty before the divine judgment, when he abandons the effort to advance, what else does he deserve to receive but the sentence of damnation? For where the Rule gives an account even of lesser progress among those striving to advance, monks who despise every effort to advance are without doubt condemned by the sentence of the judge. Therefore, if you do not wish to incur the danger of damnation, take care always to keep the effort of advancing under the Rule.

Since we have said that the other five degrees of humility pertain to the guarding of the inner man, let us also explain them briefly. For the monk who neglects to compose his outward conduct according to the Rule will not stand well composed in inward things. For just as a body stripped of clothing is corrupted, so humility without conduct is emptied.

Therefore the eighth degree of humility is set forth in the Rule thus: if a monk does nothing except what the common rule of the monastery or the examples of the elders encourage. In this degree, singularity in outward conduct contrary to the Rule is forbidden to monks; but inward 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, since standing in the seventh degree is not enough for one who does not keep the common rule.

The ninth degree of humility follows from the Rule, by which excessive talkativeness is forbidden. It is fitting for monks to keep silence, especially while one sits among the elders. And indeed, one who speaks without being asked is deservedly regarded as a fool.

The tenth degree of humility forbids readiness to laugh and levity; whoever delights in laughter is shown to be foolish and a stranger to the fear of the Lord.

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

The twelfth degree of humility teaches a monk to compose the outward man, in appearance and bearing, from a humble heart, and to show by outward conduct also that he is devout within. And although this degree is last in the order of all of them, nevertheless in practice it begins to make progress and is first. Therefore Bernard, describing these twelve degrees of humility, begins from this one and, ascending to the first, descends, so to speak, in order. For no one easily makes inward progress toward compunction of heart and fear of the Lord who does not compose his outward behavior.

On the fitting of the powers of the soul for entry into the third region. Article six.

When, through the degrees of humility, the powers of the soul, especially of the inner man, have been purified, firmly founded, and reformed, he now says that it is very necessary for monks to be more devoutly fitted for entry into the third region. This diligence in striving toward higher things is necessary for cenobites, as is 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, but we are all commanded to ascend to the third by continual effort. For indeed this continual movement casts all the slothful and lukewarm back into the first region, that of the flesh; but it gently impels the humble, fervent with desire, always toward the third, without violence. Therefore whoever has deserved, through humility, to obtain from the Lord the power and reformation of his soul is now very near the third region, that of the spirit. In order that he may be able to enter it with strength, it is necessary that he most diligently fit the powers of his soul and compose them for their individual operations. The intellect is said to be rightly fitted for entry into the third region when it is enlightened to know the highest truth according to its capacity. The memory is composed for the same thing when it is fully absorbed in holding and cherishing the highest truth. And if the will is disposed to love the highest good, which is God, it is well fitted for entry into the spirit.

But in order that a cenobite may be able to attain the purification of the intellectual powers, it is necessary that, withdrawn from the world, the mind, pacified from every inward and outward disturbance, should rest, so that it may remain buried in 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 good will in four ways.

The first degree of good will sets [unclear] before virtue.

which is called right will. For the soul which, consenting to the law of God, is subjected to God through a right will, even if it still seems weak, is being set in order for the passage to virtue. With the flesh resisting, virtue is perfected; and that the will is right is proved by the vehemence of the spirit. Often, however, a will is called right and good even when it is found to be less strong. The good which it loves it cannot always accomplish; the evil which it hates it grieves that through weakness it has committed. By the weakness of the flesh it is very near the region of infirmity, yet by the uprightness of its intention and by the effort to advance it is continually kindled toward the liberty of the spirit. For the body which is corrupted weighs down the soul, and the earthly dwelling depresses the sense that thinks on many things. O who could describe this battle between spirit and flesh, where the spirit itself desires to subdue the flesh to itself through a right 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 firmly flees the evil which it hates, against the assault of the flesh, and strongly lays hold of the good which 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 all riches. For a will does not long remain strong if it has not been devout in the commandments of God.

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

The first is full denial of oneself, since a will is proved still to be weak if it is not mortified through complete denial of itself.

The second thing required for a full good will is said to be perfect resignation; if anyone truly desires to apprehend it, let him fervently ascend the third degree of humility.

The third member necessary for the fourth degree of good will is called the total extension of the will into God. Through it the soul, moved toward divine love and sweetly burning, is in a certain way transformed into that same love, and is frequently admitted into the third region.

Finally, this transformation into divine love, according to Bernard’s judgment, is love, affection, adhesion, union, charity, and enjoyment. No one can attain it unless he has learned to mortify all his affections in the fervor of the spirit. For the spirit of a good will, having the heart lifted upward into God, is called a perfect will, and by it the soul is joined to most sweet God in covenant. Therefore in these degrees of good will the faithful monk must direct his effort upward without interruption, and with prudent zeal always examine how much he advances or falls short. For Saint Bernard says: Just as he who remains in a vicious will is condemned, so he who does not strive to advance in higher things is blameworthy. For where the effort to advance is laid aside, one enters upon the dangers of descending.

On the Example of All the Things Said Above, from Experimental Certainty

Article VII

Although a man does not know whether he is worthy of love or hatred, nevertheless each person can, by diligently examining his conscience, recognize what he ought to think about the condition of his state. What sort of person each one lies hidden within, before himself, the testimony of his own knowledge makes manifest. Therefore, so that a monk may be able clearly to discern the condition of his state, he must, according to John of Kastl, observe three things in his conscience as a rule; without these no one becomes a good Christian, and no one is judged a good man or monk.

The first, then, which is required for a good man and for the testimony of a good conscience, is that no mortal sin lie hidden in the conscience. For the mind which is polluted by the guilt of mortal sin has the testimony of an evil state of conscience.

Therefore a monk must diligently examine himself and purge himself of his committed faults according to the ordinance of the Church. But he who, on examining himself, by his own knowledge finds his conscience clean from mortal sin, should offer humble praises to God; yet he should not neglect to subject himself to the following examination.

The second thing, likewise necessary for a good man, is to direct his intention chiefly to God in all works, and to order all things, according to his powers, to his praise and honor. But if, because the multitude and variety of works hinders him, a man cannot always actually keep God before his eyes, let him at least conform his habitual intention of living according to God’s most gracious will to this desire.

The third is that in all things he should 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 obedience in due order to these three according to the reasons of their institution, so that the life of monks may remain blameless in their 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 man who lacks one of these is not perfectly good, even if he seems to be good. Yet if, repenting of his sins, he is able from then on to fulfill these three things, he is now made good and pleasing to God, however evil he may previously have been. Furthermore, for a good religious or spiritual man to be born from a good man, three other things are required, according to the lord of Castellum.

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

The second thing by which a good man is made a good religious is called spiritual freedom in God. Once the phantasms of all things have been shut out, the soul can raise itself, unencumbered, upward to God in all its exercises, and continually lift itself without hindrance in thanksgiving with devout prayers.

In the third way a good man is made spiritually good when, through the desires of love, the spirit is joined to God by certain great bonds. The last two things make our cenobite spiritual and introduce him to the citizens of the third region of the enclosures. Therefore whoever wishes to have good confidence from the testimony of his conscience should humbly strive to exercise himself in the things set forth, 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, corrupted by their evil actions, raise themselves up against God and do not trust in the testimony of conscience, but rather presume vainly.

There follow the seven roots of divine fear, which are laid as a foundation in the first degree of humility.

Since this second region principally instructs the cenobite, in order, through the degrees of humility proceeding from the fear of God, it is necessary for him to know clearly the roots of that fear, if he wishes to arrive, by ascending, at the love of God. Therefore, so that we may be able to construct this spiritual house to perfection, we must set those roots in order in the foundation. We did not arrange them in the first degree of humility for this reason: lest, in speaking in order, we should confuse the reader by excessive length. There are therefore seven roots of the fear of God, through which the cenobite is led to compunction and, by advancing in true humility, is more strongly rooted.

The first root of fear, of the love of God, is intense meditation.

The less the incomprehensible divine majesty can be grasped, the more curiously it is investigated by man. For the prophet says: “Truly you are a hidden God.” Meditation on divine perfection begets wonder; wonder causes reverence; from reverence arises fear of majesty, and from fear worship grows.

But the meditation of the highest goodness is divided, according to our purpose, into seven parts, which are not unfittingly adapted to the seven days of the week, or also to the seven canonical hours. And although that highest and most perfect goodness abundantly suffices for us as material for meditation, yet, 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 things known to things unknown. For the holy apostle says: “The invisible things of God, from the creation of the world, are clearly seen, being understood through the things that are made; his everlasting power also and divinity, so that they are without excuse.”

First, therefore, the wondrous power of God is praiseworthy in the principal work of creation, since he, who was able to bring all things forth from nothing, created things so great, so solid, so varied, and so noble by his will alone. From this consideration arises wonder at the divine power, through which man is moved to the fear of God.

Second, the provident wisdom of God is praiseworthy, because, knowing all things, he orders the universe, and governs by his providence all things that he has created. He knows all things, understands all things; by his counsel he disposes all things; by his command he encloses all things. As a certain lover of the wisdom of the world says: 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 not excluded; beneath all things and not oppressed; above all things and not borne up. He includes all things, and because he is wholly everywhere, he is confined in no place; great and immeasurable, he is bounded by no quantity. He orders all things as he wills; stable in himself, always unmoved, he changes the vicissitudes of things; good, without passion of mind, he mercifully prepares eternal things for merits; angered without disturbance, he condemns the unjust. Great without magnitude, immeasurable without quantity, he has set bounds to things; governing the world, he disposes all things.

Third, the merciful clemency of God is praiseworthy in our redemption, because he so mercifully restored man, whom he had made in his own image and who had fallen so miserably into the pit of damnation. O what shall I render to the highest and incomprehensible majesty, I, a little worm, indeed nothing compared with my maker, who, when I did not exist, created me by his power, and, when I had perished, being made man for my sake and dying on the cross, redeemed me? What shall I repay you, mediator of God and men, Jesus, savior of the world, who, though you are the high and inestimable God, became man for my sake, most vile as I am, and willed to undergo things so vile and unworthy? Behold, my heart speaks to you; all my inward parts are bowed toward you, since no voice can express what you inwardly give your faithful to feel in their hearts concerning your most innocent Passion.

Fourth, in the work of our justification the kind patience of God is praiseworthy, because he not only mercifully bears with sinners, but even calls those who are to be justified to penance by promised eternal joys. Who could sufficiently praise this most indulgent clemency of the Father, who so mercifully justifies sinners returning to him, grants after a fall the grace of meriting, arranges many occasions for living well, supplies his sacraments to the penitent as certain vessels of grace? Finally, for compunction, instruction, consolation, and the working of grace, he pours the Holy Spirit into his faithful, making friends and sons out of enemies. He does not consider what sort of sinner a man 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 to pardon, and even promises them great rewards after guilt.

Fifth, the deep justice of God is praiseworthy in the damnation of the reprobate, because he permits no evil to pass unpunished, depriving the sinner of the good which, in sinning, the fool does not fear to lose. Finally, to speak in our manner, the highest cleanness of God is shown praiseworthy in this: that it abominates all sin and vice like a putrid corpse. We also recognize that his wisdom is praiseworthy in the damnation of the wicked, drawing good things even from evils for himself [unclear].

he compels them to serve in punishment, who, in guilt, are unwilling to be subject to justice when they sin against it.

Sixth, the generous munificence of God is praiseworthy in the glorification of the blessed, since he rewards his few elect, according to their merit, with so ineffable a recompense, and grants them so immortal a gift with the holy angels.

Seventh, the incomprehensible excellence of God is praiseworthy in himself: he orders all things according to his providence, and in himself remains most tranquil, immovable by everlasting motion or by time. The seventh contemplation of this consideration belongs to the Sabbath of eternal happiness, in which there is no longer the laborious activity of this life, but the blessedness of a happy, eternal dwelling and rest. For just as God, the creator of all things, is read to have completed all his work and rested on the seventh day, so not work, but eternal rest, will be laid 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 attachment of love, it rejoices with the Lord in ineffable union and joy. Henceforth let pure devotion seek nothing outside God for praising God, since God himself, almighty, perfect, and most wise, is sufficient to all as the matter of his praise, and exceeds every praise by his infinite perfections. For Scripture says: “Praise the Lord as much as you can; 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 a manifold and varied affection of devotion toward God, through which a worthier effect of prayer is also generated according to the desire of the affection. For when the meditation of the heart is taken up concerning the majesty or power of God, reverent wonder is produced. But when we begin to meditate on his unspeakable wisdom, we accuse ourselves within ourselves of our foolish imperfection. So, in consequence, from the consideration of God’s mercy hope of pardon is taken up; from his patience love of heart is generated; from justice humility is born; from meditation on his munificence, gratitude. For just as a fire that has been kindled 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 our reparation in the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ.

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 none to be more useful to us than this, in which we know that our salvation and the sum of eternal happiness are contained. And note that the Passion of the Lord, as to its legal proceeding, was unjust; as to its manner, shameful; as to its pain, bitter; and as to its effect, fruitful; and therefore it must always be kept in memory.

First, as to its legal proceeding, it was unjust, because he who was born of a virgin neither contracted sin nor committed it, nor was deceit found in his mouth. For death is inflicted on us for sin; but he could not justly die, because he was always just and innocent, without any sin. Finally, he was killed contrary to human law, if a sentence of death is passed upon a man neither confessed nor convicted of a crime. For he was accused before Pilate the governor on three counts: that, calling himself a king, he forbade tribute to be paid to Caesar; third, that he made himself the Son of God. The Gospel speaks of the first two, 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. The falsity of the second also did not escape Pilate, because he knew that Jesus had commanded that the things that were Caesar’s should be given to Caesar. When questioned by the governor about the third, he was silent, because Pilate [unclear] to hear the divine generation.

He was unworthy even of Jesus’ human birth [unclear].

His Passion was also contrary to custom, because it received no delay of time. According to custom he is not put in prison; nothing is deliberated in his case. Instead, once captured, he is immediately handed over to the judge to be condemned to death; scourged, spat upon, afflicted with many injuries, blows, and mockeries, he is nailed to the cross.

Third, it was contrary to the law of nature, and procured by the obstinate hatred of the heart. For nature forbids cruelty against the dead, and shudders to tear a slain body with new wounds. For our Redeemer, dead upon the cross, is pierced with a lance; and, contrary to the law of nature, the departed one is wounded by the impious.

Second, the Passion of Christ is said to have been ignominious in its manner, for the six causes that follow. First, because of the paltry price: the blood of incomparable worth is sold by a disciple for thirty pieces of silver, for which no one would deign to sell his little donkey. Second, because of the ignominious office: filled with wounds and half dead, he is compelled to carry his own cross, something found to have been done to no robber. Third, because of the unworthy place: 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 ignominious punishment: he is hung naked upon the cross, a penalty owed only to robbers and wicked men. Indeed, as Scripture says, the Redeemer of the world was condemned to a most shameful death. Fifth, because of the ignominious mockery: naked before the whole multitude he is hung upon the cross, and is blasphemed by all as though he were a fool and a madman. Of this the psalmist says: “All the day my shame is before me.” Sixth, because of the ignominious company: numbered with the wicked, he is hung in the midst of robbers.

What are you doing now, O Christian soul? Behold, your Savior hangs in the middle between robbers, and you are not afraid to sit in the first places in council?

Third, the most holy Passion was most bitter with regard to pain, for seven reasons. First, because of the delicate and lively nature of his flesh, which in its natural constitution was the best; therefore it was grievously afflicted in the oppression of pain. For delicate flesh suffers more than flesh coarse by natural condition. Since, then, the flesh of Christ was fine and delicate, in the garden it gave forth a bloody sweat. Second, because of the character of those who killed him: for Christ was not killed by strangers, but by his own kinsmen and closest people, as he had earlier complained through the prophet: “My people, what have I done to you?” For one suffers more tolerably from strangers and enemies than from one’s own people, from whom at least friends by nearness of blood feel compassion. Third, because of the bitterness of the Passion: he is afflicted most in those places where pain is felt more strongly because of the nerves. For raised upon the cross, he is fastened by hands and feet; the Lord of the universe is given gall and vinegar to drink. For the psalmist says of him: “They have dug my hands and my feet; they have numbered all my bones.”

Who could conceive in his mind the pain of your most holy heart, O good Jesus, when they began so cruelly to pierce your most pure hands and feet? Would that my soul may always show itself grateful to you; would 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 I have taken care to delight without interruption in the exercise of your Passion. Let each one think 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, the Passion of Christ was most bitter: from the hour of his captivity up to his death he was always in most bitter torment. “All the day,” he says, “I went about sorrowful, and there is no soundness in my flesh.” Fifth, because of the universality of the Passion: for in whatever ways Christ could suffer, he suffered singularly. For he suffers in his reputation, because, falsely accused, he is blasphemed by the impious. He also suffers in his possessions, because, naked and stripped, he is hung upon the wood.

whose garments are divided by lot among the soldiers. He suffers in his soul, because, feeling beforehand the bitterness of the Passion, he was sorrowful even unto death. He suffered in his whole body, because from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head there was no soundness in him. He suffers in his friends, because he is betrayed by a disciple and, deserted by all, is even publicly denied by Peter. He is afflicted also in compassion for his mother, whose most holy soul is remembered as having been pierced by the sword of grief. He suffered much from ingratitude, because he foresaw that the death which he underwent in compassion for all would be lost in the case of many reprobates. Finally, he suffered in all his senses, as we are taught from the Gospel. He suffers in his eyes, because, with many tears poured out, they are covered with a cloth. He suffers in his hearing, when he is mocked, reviled, and blasphemed with many insults and abuses. He suffers in his smell, because he is defiled with the most foul spittle of the Jews. He suffers in his touch, because he is tortured in every member of his body. He suffers in his taste, because, thirsting, he is given gall and vinegar to drink.

Sixth, because of the cause of the Passion, which was solely the envy of the Jews, since he suffered wholly without guilt. For indeed, whoever suffers unjustly is tormented all the more in his soul. But the innocent Son of God dies for our sins; he is tormented for our crimes, as is read in Isaiah: “Truly he himself bore our infirmities.”

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 far off.

Fourth, the Passion of Christ was most fruitful in its effect, which is to be considered principally in three things: first, the remission of sins; second, the bestowal of grace; third, the showing forth of glory. And these three things are indicated by the title fastened 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; “of Nazareth,” that is, conferring grace, refers to the second; “King of the Jews,” showing the heavenly kingdom to those who confess him, refers to the third.

Moreover, in this second root we have arranged meditations on the Passion of the Lord for the several hours of the seven days of the week; we have placed them after the end of the third section for this reason, lest, by setting them down in order here, we should disturb this place with their excessive abundance. For the things we have now set out seem to pertain rather to readings than to meditation; therefore we postpone them.

On Meditation on the Benefits of God

The third root of divine fear and love lies 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 which love is generated by memory. Its middle is progress in that meditation itself, when one desires nothing above all things except to please God, from whom he knows that he has been anticipated by many benefits without any merit of his own. Its end, however, is to love God above all things with burning desire and the pure fervor of the mind, and to long to cling continually to him alone without any intermediary.

And since the merciful God has bestowed many things specially on each one of us, yet because we are writing these our symbols not for one person but for many, we must briefly place before them not the particular benefits given to individuals, but the general benefits common to all. Therefore we comprehend the chief ones under the number seven, so that through the seven days of the week, or even in the canonical hours themselves, we may have material ready each day for meditation. But if anyone, through the elevation of his mind, has experience in higher things concerning God, let him not seek the spoils of one still a novice. But whoever, 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 lower things, purified and stronger, he may ascend to higher things.

Therefore let the devout monk remember what he has received from the Lord God, so that he may be able to show himself grateful. Let him give back to God what he has received, if he longs to be good. For first God gave us body and soul with [unclear].

with his adornments, and those whom he made intellectual beings in his own image he also mercifully called to the heavenly kingdoms. What more could he have given us, he who, when we had been created and were not, gave himself? But what can we render to our Creator, since by our deserts we are sinners and weak? Let us render what we are; let us render what we owe: faithful service, for the body which we have received from the Lord, and sincere love for the soul, by which we were created in 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 among lords; love him, because he is good. His power is shown in your creation; his goodness is made manifest in your restoration. For since he created you, when you were not, by his power, he deserves faithful service; since he restored the fallen by his goodness, he deserves the affection of sincere love. Truly he is our father through love; he is Lord through incomprehensible power.

Secondly, he gave us faith with the sacraments; for just as he created 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 Christian soul is led back to its beginning; the sacraments renew it. Therefore, incorporated into Christ through faith and the sacraments which he gave, we are bound to cleave to him forever, and to remain continually in his holy covenant. For in baptism we renounced the devil and all his pomps; we promised that we would forever adhere to Christ, when, lifting us from the sacred font, our sponsors set us before the Lord in the faith of our parents. Let us therefore always say from the heart with the prophet: “It is good for me to cling to God, to put my hope in the Lord God.”

Thirdly, almighty God gave us the art of uprightness and the teachings of truth. For these we are bound to our Creator in faithful performance and in perpetual service without deceit.

Therefore we are commanded first of all to do everything for the praise of God, and in all that we do to raise our intention principally toward that good. For only a good intention in God distinguishes works; only love makes them fruitful. Behold, nature has bestowed on us the art of praising God; moreover, he has given us the teachings of salvation through the law; he requires from us praise and love above all things. Let us therefore exercise, for the honor of God, the skills entrusted to us, and let the pure eye of intention be formed through the teaching of the law.

Fourthly, the merciful Father bestowed on us the world with its necessary elements; for these he requires from us due contemplation of himself in sincerity. Whatever we behold in this world ought to lead us to the remembrance of God, and continually summon us to love its Creator above all things. Hence Bernard, trained in sacred things, says: The whole and true lover of God, wherever he turns, has a reminder of his familiar Creator; he uses things as a mirror, and from creatures is lifted up to the Creator by thinking thus about each one: If these things that are created in time, changed, and passing away seem good, beautiful, and sweet, what goodness, beauty, and sweetness does their author, God himself, possess, who remains eternal and 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 though in the likeness of God’s image, and does not curiously attend to whether the form of the body is pleasing or displeasing. In this he considers not what he sees outwardly, but the creature made in God’s image, whom he knows to be a sharer in eternal happiness.

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

I shall sympathize in heart and cooperate in deed; I shall imitate you in the affections of the mind as far as I can.

Sixth, the Creator has bestowed on us time for meriting eternal life, and has given the necessary nourishment of the body. Here too we are debtors to ourselves, since in this time we owe ourselves the acquisition of merit. Why then do we spend the days of salvation so negligently and without the fruit of merit, when we have nothing more precious than time? Behold, in this brief time we can merit the joys of eternal happiness, and yet we neglect to do every good thing. Woe to us, foolish and mad, who esteem nothing in this world more precious than time, and yet are accustomed to spend nothing more cheaply. For now this acceptable time is granted to us; now the days of salvation are bestowed, in which we ought to devote ourselves to holy works with the greatest fervor, and always keep the hour of death before our eyes.

Seventh, God has set heaven before us all, filled with joys, and has promised himself, with all things contained in it, as our reward. For this munificence of our Savior we ought to devote ourselves to holy works of mercy, and show ourselves imitators of God as far as our strength allows. The Lord exhorts us to this in the holy Gospels: “Be merciful, just as your Father God is merciful.” Likewise at the end of the world, when the day of judgment comes, the merciful, as the Lord himself promises, will go into eternal life, because whoever has shown mercy will obtain mercy. And lest anyone say to me, “As a monk I can bestow mercy on no one, since my religious state permits me to possess absolutely nothing,” we should know that among the necessary works of mercy, spiritual works are more important. If, as a monk, you wish to be merciful, pray to God for the wretched; impart saving doctrine to the ignorant.

The sum, then, of meditation on benefits rests on three exercises, in which it is principally contained. In the first, we ought to attribute all things to God, not to ourselves; in the second, by remembering God’s benefits, we ought to exercise ourselves in the pursuit of love; in the third, we ought always to give thanks from a pure heart for benefits received. But if by these exercises concerning benefits we wish to kindle our heart to the love of God, we ought to consider six conditions in the Lord’s gifts. First, consider that the gift of God is utterly noble; second, that it is especially fruitful and useful to you; third, that it is varied, manifold, and very frequently repeated. These three consider the gift as ordered in itself; the two that follow regard the person of the giver; the last marks the condition of the receiver. Fourth, therefore, consider the great affection of the giver toward you; fifth, his inestimable dignity; sixth, that you, the receiver, are lowly and contemptible, receiving great things from the greatest, and unworthy of all things. From these considerations of benefits, the love of God is accustomed to arise in the mind of the devout person, and, advancing by fixed degrees, to lift the spirit to contemplation.

On knowledge of oneself.

The fourth root producing divine love is called knowledge of oneself, very useful if it is referred to the preceding things. For if it is brought back to the mind in consideration how great a Lord has done such great things for us who are so little, we shall recognize that we are unworthy, vile, and wholly undeserving of all things. Four things ought to lead a person to knowledge of himself; from consideration of them we are especially fittingly moved to love God.

First, then, let the faithful person consider the beginning of his creation, and he will find that, when he did not exist, he was created from the goodness of God alone. Who could ask God, when no one existed? That highest, utterly ineffable good, O man, made you to his image when you did not exist; from goodness alone he made you a sharer in his goodness. What did you deserve 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 [unclear].

God created you by his goodness, not because your creation was necessary to him, but because it was useful to you alone. Whoever considers this goodness of God with intent 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 mud of the earth, and after a little while, consumed by worms, you will return to 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 anguish of death. For man, born of woman, living for a short time, is filled with many miseries; and he is then most miserable when he does not recognize himself as miserable in the flesh.

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 God’s wrath; but by the grace of baptism, in the blood of Christ Jesus, we are cleansed from the original stain. Through this consideration we rightly love our Savior, by whose mercy we have been cleansed from the original stain.

Fourth, faithful soul, consider how very foolish and [unclear] you are when you repeat your ways in the act of sin: you, who have presented yourself as an adulteress to Christ your bridegroom, though he joined you to himself by his own blood, wholly unstained. What are you doing, O wretched one? Why do you desert your most loving bridegroom? Or why, foolish one, do you withdraw from your beginning? Know that you have been placed in the flesh, not so that you should yield to vicious and concupiscent impulses, but rather so that you should resist their prompt command. For as often as you hand yourself over to the disordered motions of the flesh, contrary to divine rectitude, by dissembling your [unclear], so often, turned away from the good, you show yourself an adulteress to your bridegroom. Beware, beware, O soul redeemed by the blood of Christ, lest love of the flesh deceive you; for just as the first man, deceived by love of his companion, the woman, fell into death, so every soul that consents to the pleasures of its flesh shamefully withdraws from its beginning, which is God. But alas, wretched soul, where have you fallen? You have dwelt in a foreign land; you have been defiled with the dead; you have been counted with those who go down into hell. You have forsaken the fountain of wisdom; you have sought a backward path, adultery.

But hear my counsel, and return as quickly as possible to the guide of your youth, Jesus. Submit yourself wholly to him in humility. He is merciful; he will gladly receive you when you return to him, forgive your sins, and, if you ask, 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 can love only what is true.

There is also another mode of self-knowledge, which is taken up with respect to God whenever one thinks upon the incomparable comparison between God and man. Concerning this mode Bernard, renowned in contemplation, says: “The mode of human imperfection is never better perceived than in the light of God’s countenance and the mirror of divine vision. For there one who is more in the day, and sees more clearly what is lacking in himself, amends day by day through likeness whatever he has lost through unlikeness, drawing near to him by likeness from whom he has been made far off by unlikeness.” Let us therefore raise the gaze 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 perceive our foolishness, and in his power consider our weakness.

On Keeping the Memory of One’s Sins

Root Six

The fifth root of the fear of God is the memory of sins, and the foulness of sin itself often pondered. For anyone who truly understands the ugliness of mortal sin always dreads the pit of this evil. But so that you may in some measure 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 wholly contrary, and for that reason must be fled above all. For through sin the soul turns utterly away from the highest good, and the love that is naturally in it toward its beginning is changed into hatred.

For as all good things are from the first Good, so every love, toward whatever good it is borne, is naturally kindled by that same Good. For since our love cannot rest in any goods as in its end, it has as its end, where it is to rest, the same Good that 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 own beginning. For since God is charity, he requires love in the soul; being peace, he requires peace; he loves what is like himself 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 cast the most noble angel Lucifer out of heaven, and condemned him with his accomplices to the burning of eternal fire. He compelled our first parents, Adam and Eve, to leave paradise because of disobedience, and by a just judgment condemned the whole human race, in their crime, to the sentence of a twofold death. Finally, let us review the whole history of the Old and New Testament, and we shall find that what was rashly committed against God’s justice was often severely punished by that justice. Therefore the gravity of the crime is easily known if the severity of the vengeance that followed is considered.

Third, consider that grave scandal arises from sin, especially when one sins before others. For whoever by his own evil example provokes someone to sin shows himself to be an adversary of God. For God, in his mercy, has willed to save the souls redeemed by the blood of his only-begotten Son; but this man, through evil example, desires to destroy them out of aversion from God. Sin that gives scandal is truly said, with respect to guilt, to be most grave 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 done harm, the sinner subjects himself to as many sentences of death as there are people whom he has caused 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 about his neck and that he be drowned in the depth of the sea.” True repentance is rare in one who scandalizes the little ones, because he neglects to restore another’s loss and by no means reaches the fruits of saving repentance.

Fourth, consider the negligence of your ungrateful heart, because, created in the image of God, you ought to have loved your maker above all things, yet you dishonor him in many ways by your sins. To Christ, the Son of God, by whose blood you were redeemed, you ought to offer continual service of love; but you do not fear to love your flesh more than Jesus your Savior. You ought daily, with a compassionate soul, to revolve his most holy passion in your mind; and you are accustomed to think of nothing less than that. Adopted among the children of God by his merciful calling, you ought to have shown yourself an imitator worthy of the heavenly vocation; and still you do not fear to lie in the lowest things. And why do I say much? Behold: you, marked with the Holy Spirit, counted among the angels, are called to the inheritance of the children 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; and yet you do not keep the commandments of God and the rule that you promised, so that you might be blessed. Examine your conscience diligently, therefore, and you will find that there are many good things you ought to do and omit, and many evil things you ought to omit and instead commit against God’s good pleasure.

Fifth, consider whom you offend by sinning: not a man, but God; not a creature, but the Creator. Great is he against whom you have sinned, and immeasurable, terrible, and glorious; at his majesty the angels tremble, and at his power all the hosts of heaven marvel. To the supreme and unchangeable Good, God, the beginning and end of every creature, the rational spirit ought to offer love and the desire of cleaving beyond human understanding; it ought truly to raise itself with its whole being to touch that one Good as its own center, all phantasms despised, more highly; and it can lift itself up to him so much the more easily [unclear].

leaving all other things, he has striven to unite himself to himself. For by the power of that one itself union is made; nor are things more alike more easily united to one another for any other reason than because in quality they are one. Therefore the soul is then most rightly said to be united with the one principle of things itself, when, having itself become most fully one within itself, it is separated from all multiplicity and, above all imagination, reason, and understanding, its own unity alone comes forth, enjoying through loving affection the unity of God, joining its center, so to speak, with the center of the universe. But when the human soul itself, suffering badly through the contagion, as it were, of the flesh, is turned toward any animal passions, then that very unity is badly changed into a multiplicity contrary to the one alone; it becomes as far removed from its principle as it has been divided from itself. The soul itself contracts great difficulty in returning to that one ineffable divine thing whenever, confused in itself, it falls through sin into apostasy. Think now how great and ineffable he is against whose honor sin is committed; and since you are utterly unable to understand the greatness of his majesty, learn humbly to fear his power.

Sixth, consider what you have lost by sinning, so that the recognized greatness of the loss may hasten penitence and restore through tears what was lost. What then, wretched man, have you lost by sinning? Hear what you have lost. Made like to God by grace, higher than 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 good things 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 were in honor and did not wish to understand, you abandoned the fountain of life; by sinning you became a companion and member of the devil, a whore 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 forgiveness.

Seventh, consider what you have deserved by sinning; for if eternal death is inflicted for one sin, think what a man deserves who has committed many, not to say innumerable, sins. For the soul that has sinned shall itself die. By one mortal sin you have deserved to be a companion of the devil 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 plaster for the wounded soul; take up for yourself the spur of compunction, so that you may come to the root of fear. But on that account do not put it off from day to day, since he who receives the humble confession of the penitent has not promised tomorrow to the one who delays. For where speed finds pardon, delay often intercepts life. The sweet hope of a longer life draws one to destruction, because while a man trusts that he can live longer in this world, he makes the time of penitence pass without penitence. But you, man, if you accept my counsel, will not defer penitence, because you are utterly ignorant what tomorrow will bring you. For he deserves to lose the time of penitence who has so often deserved to defer the zeal for repenting.

On the vanity of the present and on the eternal future.

The root of fear is raised in the mind of one who meditates, if the vanity of visible things and the invisible eternity are considered with studious attention. For all things that we discern in this world are wholly subject to vanity and corruption, and are to endure for only a very little time. All mortal things hang under uncertain chance and, by their own changeableness, promise flight. Whatever you have today will perhaps leave you tomorrow, or even now, while you are speaking, will cease to be yours. For we perceive nothing lasting and stable in this world, but see that all things change with time.

Now therefore ascend the watchtower of your mind, faithful monk, and consider how nothing are all the things that time contains, because

Whatever visible thing is now seen will shortly decay. Take full consideration of things past, and see that what has passed away does not exist, and that what now seems to exist will, after a little while, no longer be.

Where are the kings of the nations, where the princes, where the leaders, where the rich, where those once powerful in the world? Where are all the lovers of the world, where the men who despised the steep path of heaven? Finally, where are all those once known to you in the world, whom death has meanwhile carried off while you have been in the cloister? Behold, from the beginning of the world, both those who lived for many years and those who lived for few have all died in their own generation; and according to the diversity of their merits, at the dictation of justice, they have also received different rewards.

The lovers of God, joined to the Creator of all, receive everlasting bright dwellings filled with inestimable joys; and the worshipers of the world, despising the commandments of God, once swollen here with honors, puffed up with knowledge, immersed in riches, given over to pleasures and vices, have gone down to hell to be tormented without end. What harm, I ask, does the once laborious contempt of the world, contrary to the flesh, now do to the saints in heaven, for which they now enjoy the glad vision of God forever? What profit now to the impious, buried in hell, is the consolation of the flesh once possessed, for which they now receive the torments of eternal damnation? Think on these things while it is profitable; meditate on these things while the opportunity for taking care is present.

Again, climbing higher, try with all your strength to fix the gaze of your mind in the abyss of infinite depth, and to consider how long that is which is eternal. Eternal is time that is enclosed by no end, bounded by no space. 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 will be able to think of you or speak of you without fear? Truly, he who thinks of you never sins eternally. Eternity has no end.

Hear a comparison, and though it will not be sufficient for eternity, receive fear from it. If a heap of sand were set up in the size of Mount Olympus, stretching to the sky, and from it after ten thousand years one little bird carried away only one grain, that mountain would by no means be said to last forever, but would be subject to an end; and although after innumerable years, nevertheless it would sometime cease to be. Yet all that time in which anything of the mountain remained, however very long it might be, would still seem as nothing in relation to eternity. For what is eternal receives no end even in imagination, nor does it admit hope of completion or limit.

Therefore the man is foolish, senseless, and mad who casts away this consideration of eternity, and uselessly spends the acceptable time granted him for deserving eternal goods. The hour will come, and is already hastening near, in which, no longer able to do better, he will learn what eternity is. But you, my monk, who desire to be faithful, cast from yourself every anxiety of the world; set all your care upon the love of God. Do nothing, say nothing, think nothing except what you know can lead you to the love of the Creator, or what pertains to the edification of others or to the pure necessity of the body.

Separate yourself, I pray, from low things, so that you may be able to delight in eternal goods. Let no anxiety of the flesh move you away from the inner tranquility of the mind; let no pleasure corrupt you. Strive to be always intent on prayers, as much as you can, with devotion, and again to lift yourself up more often through the affection of love.

On always having zeal for God.

The seventh root of the fear of God is called zeal, in which the monk is commanded to exercise himself no little. For no one who truly loves his lord tolerates calmly the injuries done to him. Therefore you, monk, who desire to be a faithful servant of Jesus Christ, do not neglect his zeal within yourself. Do not pretend not to see an injury to God when you see one, because whoever does not at once resist those who disparage his Lord is proved to love him too little. Let men know you as such a lover of God and enemy of vices that they do not dare to speak evil in your presence, nor to do any evil when they suspect you are watching.

Let them not presume against you. Be conspicuous for uprightness of soul, renowned for the merit of your life, worthy of reverence for your zeal. Let the upright love you as a servant of God; let the wicked dread your face as that of a judge. Let no one in your sight presume to do anything alien to good morals, since all should know that you cannot tolerate injury done to God.

Thus Phinehas the priest merited an everlasting covenant, when, by zealously defending the Lord’s law, he bravely appeased his anger. 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 God’s servant, keep silence about their vices. Now set yourself bravely on behalf of the house of the Lord; exercise zeal for God as much as you can; destroy the counsels of the malicious; withstand the rashness of the proud. If you are a true lover of God, by your face alone you will scatter wicked gatherings. For no one will lay bare his plan before you if he suspects your zeal to be opposed to it. But if the wicked do not fear your presence when they are doing evil, they certainly recognize no zeal for God in you.

Therefore, to show yourself a true servant of Christ, you ought, for love of God, gladly to forgive injuries inflicted on yourself, and to pray to God for those who injure you. But injuries against the Lord, which it is not yours to forgive without his will, you should rather avenge out of zeal for righteousness. Let love of blood-kin cease in these matters; let the bond of friendship withdraw far away; zeal for God must rightly be preferred to all things. For friendship with a man must be maintained in such a way that it is never preferred to zeal for God.

Woe to monks and abbots who so boldly cast away the zeal of God, who place human familiarities before the divine command, who through foolish compassion conceal the vices of their subjects, who observe the traditions of the holy Rule neither in themselves nor in others. And what shall I say? We discern among cloistered monks that obedience to commands is despised, zeal for righteousness is scorned, observance of the Rule is contemned. Two or more contract among themselves a covenant of carnal friendship under the name of charity; the weak entrust the sicknesses of their souls to those weaker than themselves, though the friendship of God especially requires purity of mind.

Each one thinks his own companion better than the rest; one loves another, deceived not spiritually but carnally, because, since they do not raise their affections to God, they love nothing but the consolations of the flesh. But when you see a monk seeking friendship with a weak brother, you ought to judge him not a servant of God but a lover of the flesh. For he who truly occupies his heart in the love of God cares nothing for human friendship. The love of Jesus is enough for him in all things; outside it he seeks nothing further. But he who seeks the consolations of his mind in outward things shows by his deeds 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 the conversations of friends. O good Jesus, sweet is your love, because it pierces the heart of the one who loves you; seeing you, it desires to see you; having you, the soul longs to embrace you. Truly, he who loves you forgets himself; he meditates on nothing but the sweetest pleasure of you. There is nothing in the world that pleases one who loves you; nothing is found anywhere that the soul desires except for your sake.

O with how many sighs the mind wounded by love is distressed; with what abundant tears the face is drenched in secret, because as often as it thinks of the beloved’s face enthroned in heaven, so often it weeps that it is desolate on earth. Meanwhile the mind, languishing with love, often attempts to say something about its most beloved Jesus; it tries also to rouse others to his love. But as soon as it begins to utter the sweetest name of Jesus, unwillingly, from 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 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 although your love died to redeem you from death, yet now he has 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: a collected conclusion of this second region.

Since no one suddenly becomes perfect, nor can anyone by his own strength suddenly ascend to that supreme summit of divine love, I now think it useful briefly to note certain modes or degrees of loving God. Therefore, for moving the human heart to divine love, the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ is, in my judgment, more effective than all other things, if it is considered in a person’s mind purely, sweetly, fervently, perseveringly, and diligently. For truly, whoever often recalls to memory the life, Passion, and death of our Savior, with compassion and thanksgiving, according to their chief and principal articles, prepares a swift ascent of the heart to divine love. But we shall deal fittingly with this most holy occupation of the mind concerning 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 far as the meaning of what has been said in this place is concerned, I find three modes of loving God, which I shall briefly explain in order.

The first mode commands that you love sweetly him who loves you, and that you join your whole self to him sweetly, so that your heart loves nothing outside God and seeks nothing from elsewhere. For since God is the whole good, he alone desires to possess the whole heart of the one who loves him; he drives it far from displeasing thoughts. Therefore, if you wish to love sweetly, love totally. For either the whole of divine love perfects, or nothing does. Let meditation on the Passion of Jesus Christ our Savior possess you wholly, until love grows sweetly strong in you. You must despise everything that flatters in the flesh, if you desire to come to the love of God. For no one can sweetly love God in this life so long as he is convicted of loving anything in the world. Indeed, love of the world is utterly contrary to divine love, because where one is admitted to the inner chambers of the heart, the other is forbidden to be present.

But how much sweetness, how much delight, how much joy of mind the love of God produces in the heart of the lover, no one fully understands except one who, having despised all the things and events of the world, has loved God alone for a long time. The heart of one who loves God loves nothing that is in the world; it despises riches, honors, and the favor 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 come to its own source; it refuses no labors to be endured in this world. Therefore let him who does not wish to become slothful love.

One’s neighbor also must be loved sweetly for God’s sake, and must in no way be offended against God or justice. Each person should 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 goods, his body, and his soul for him. This Christ taught; this the Son of God did for us. Indeed, whoever says that he truly believes in Christ ought himself to walk just as Christ 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 then we 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 in Christ together with us, so that just as one member in the body suffers with another, so a brother may humbly be helped by a brother for the love of Christ.

The second mode commands you to love wisely, and to seek nothing in divine love except God. Stretch out your affection toward that Word which was in the beginning with God; lift up your mind above everything that is 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 else; for where a person thinks himself to be something, he already loves foolishly.

The third mode commands that you love strongly, and that you never fear to expose body and soul for the love of God. He is not a strong lover of God who is afraid to undergo death for him. For love is strong as death. One’s neighbor is loved wisely if it is not the person but the vice that is hated. But he is loved strongly if every injury is forgiven from the heart, by doing good, on the same day.

The second region ends.

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 that supreme region of the spirit, I am shaken by fear and shame together: for, small as I am, I fear to speak of the greatest things, and I greatly blush to teach what I have not sufficiently experienced. For what mind of any man, however much exercised, could recognize the state of a mind resting sweetly in God? Or what [unclear], even of the most eloquent orator, could explain the sweetness of inward contemplation? Indeed, the exercise of this third region surpasses human understanding for the greater part. In it the mind of a purified man, through the fervor of divine love, is carried above itself and, while its natural essence remains, is lulled and absorbed with wonderful sweetness in the abyss of divine contemplation. It is oppressed by so great a sweetness of inward majesty that it seems able neither to understand nor to express its own state. Once the operation of sense has plainly been left behind, it wholly surpasses even the intellect; and, as though leaving itself still further, without imagination, reasoning, or understanding, it is raised by affection above itself to that supreme summit of divine darkness.

But when it has utterly failed away 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 one who has not experienced it not understand it, but even one who has experienced it 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 penetrate? For the well of inward contemplation is deep, and I am weak: I have brought neither a bucket fit for these waters, nor have I prepared steps suitable for climbing to the heights. Polished words do not befit a fool; nor ought an inexperienced and cold man to speak of the secrets of divine contemplation, when he still stands with the weak in the valleys. For only he speaks fruitfully of profound matters who is illumined by the ray of the twofold spirit.

Yet since I am a man placed under obedience to the annual chapter, I am compelled to accept the command of that synod and, according to my strength, to complete the work set before me. Therefore I enter the third region of cloistered persons under the guidance of the venerable father, lord Johannes of Bursfelde, a devout abbot, so that what he described in learned and truthful speech, I may seem to reduce, as far as I can, to my own manner of speaking, in obedience to the chapter.

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

The third, or supreme, region of the soul is called spiritual; in it the highest rest and tranquility of the mind abide. And this region is compared to the empyrean heaven, in which there is the true rest of all and the true happiness of souls. The spirit dwelling in this region leaves behind what is beneath reason and, raised by love into God, ascends wondrously. 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 in the darkness of divine contemplation, withdrawn from all creatures, sweetly rests. In this region almighty God directs the spirit of the one contemplating him; he perfects the simplified intellectual powers of the soul, recalled from every phantasm into the inner chamber, according to the objects of their own tendencies; and he leads the mind, stripped of every multiplicity, to himself, the one principle, making it one with himself, not by nature, but by gracious participation. The inhabitants of this supreme region are truly spiritual men, who, having despised all the things and affections of the world, love nothing in this world except God, desire nothing inordinately, but through inward affection absorbed by [unclear].

by the divine Spirit, thirsts intensely for God himself; he burns with an unceasing desire for love of him. For they are driven in God by so great a fervor of love that he raises them above themselves; they generally leave behind all intellectual operations, and, carried into the abyss of divine contemplation, admit nothing at all except God. There, existing insensibly through the grace of love, they become one with God, while the property of their natures remains intact, by the gift of participation. For the holy apostle of Jesus Christ says: “He who cleaves 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 exiled from the Lord; but as though through sleep we are sweetly led to our homeland when in mind and spirit we have our conversation in heavenly things. I say “through sleep” not properly, but by a remote comparison. For in sleep we go forth among images of things intelligible to us, the forms being preserved in the imagination; but in contemplation, beyond every imagination, we are raised by pure mind and spirit to God. And therefore this supreme 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; we are named religious, lovers of God; and yet we never climb the summit of this mountain by the height of contemplation, but, weak with the weak, always lie sick upon the bed of carnal desires. Why do we bear a holy name, who are not holy? Let us strive, then, with all our strength, through the continual exercise of the middle region, to ascend to the height of this supreme summit, if we truly desire to obtain the name of a spiritual way of life. In this region charity holds command, wisdom the consulship; in it nothing is loved except God, nothing disorderly is committed.

This most holy region belongs to the empyrean heaven, because those whom it spiritually receives as citizens it sends straight to the joys of heaven. For just as the lowest region of the flesh sends its dying clients to hell, and the middle region of reason sends its own to purgatory, so this region sends its perfect worshipers, when they depart, to heaven. The dignity of this third and supreme region is expressed by many prerogatives and is especially commended in seven articles, as will be said in order.

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

First, then, this third region of the soul is described by a pleasing comparison, because it is compared to the highest, empyrean heaven. For just as all things are tranquil in the empyrean heaven, 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 approaches at all. In the empyrean heaven, indeed, the majesty of God is seen by the holy spirits with an ineffable gift; here, in darkness, through the desire of love, he is seen above understanding. There God is all things in all; here nothing among all things is pleasing except God. There it is granted to the saints to rest endlessly from their labors; here the mind is permitted, in resting, to taste beforehand the unspeakable sweetness of inward delight.

There is no greater happiness in heaven, and there is not in the world so sweet a tranquility as in this region. Blessed indeed are those who have merited to ascend this mountain of divine contemplation, who love nothing at all in this world and always desire nothing other than to cleave to God. How secure is the conscience of these citizens, how joyful their conversation, where no evil is committed and nothing is desired except that supreme, unchangeable good. For the mind purified by divine love, which has truly and perseveringly ascended this region, desires nothing carnal, nothing disorderly, but, wholly raised by desire into contemplation of the highest majesty, rests sweetly in God alone. O who can [unclear] the inward sweetness

could truly express the lover of God: where the mind recalls the powers and capacities of the soul from the dispersion of multiplicity into one, and, fired by burning affections, lifts them into the chamber of the spirit; and directs its gaze by love toward that supreme, unchangeable Good, utterly rejecting from itself every created and creatable multitude; the spirit gathers itself into one, so that, united within itself, it may seek to rise without the impediment of multiplicity to its own principle, by which it is one. To the one principle of all things, clearly, unity alone can attain, because unity flees multiplicity and seeks the one. For the more you yield to multiplicity, the more you withdraw from unity. Therefore the mind, in this supreme region of the spirit in which man dwells, when it seeks to ascend by contemplation to its principle through love, is accustomed to cast away from itself every multiplicity clinging to imagination or understanding, so that, gathered in its own unity, it may be able to direct itself ardently toward that one with the simple affection of love, whom it knows to be above every position.

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

Article two.

Secondly, this supreme region of the spirit is sweet and most pleasant by likeness and singular nearness. For the citizen of this most holy region is separated from the citizens above by only one clay wall, so to speak, since as long as the spirit inhabits the flesh, it cries out to heaven as though through a wall. But the clay wall of flesh is the prison from which the spirit, when set free and about to migrate to heaven, goes forth when it is separated from the body by death. But the spirit wounded by sins, which cannot lift 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 nearest to the empyrean heaven, because, weighed down by no stains of sins, they despise all earthly and carnal things, and always long to live in mind and spirit among heavenly things.

Indeed, those who inhabit the empyrean heaven and those who dwell in the third region have one and the same delight. But this is the difference: these contemplate God in a mirror and enigma, while those contemplate him in clear vision. The sweetness of those contemplating is on both sides; here it is great, there it is greatest; here it is in the fierce desire of love, there in possession of the most blessed vision.

In this supreme region of divine contemplation the rational spirit recalls its powers and capacities into its own chamber; and there, free from every phantasm, it is empty of them, raises itself above itself into the dense darkness of the divine, and, lulled to sleep by ecstatic love, rests sweetly. Here no troublesome confusion of thoughts moves about, no imagining of phantasms, but the bare mind is lifted upward and contemplates without any thought or any imagination. For whenever the mind itself opens access to thoughts, it shows that it is descending again to the middle region, which belongs to reason. But since the mind of man cannot always remain unmoved on the summit of divine contemplation, it must often return to the rational exercise of the second region. If, however, it has slipped down into sensual passions, then it has again descended to the lowest region. But the spirit 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 more often, through the affections of fire, to lift itself to that region, so that it may fulfill the exercise of reason in such a way that it does not entirely 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 him above all things and always long to embrace him with burning desires. Indeed, the one who stands in this region is nearest to 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 send forth; how ardently it sighs for heavenly things, since the nearer it is to the empyrean heaven through the secret of contemplation while standing in this supreme region, the more ardent its desire to go forth from the prison of the body is known to be. Thus

The third article: this supreme region of the soul is called divine instruction.

This supreme region of the soul is called divine instruction, in which the mind, burning with divine love, is taught not by man but by the Holy Spirit. For Christ said to his lovers in the holy Gospel: “When that Spirit of truth comes, he will teach you all truth.” And again, that word of the prophet: “And they shall all be taught by God.” The Holy Spirit of eternity dwells in the heart of the one who loves [unclear], and illumines it by his invisible teaching.

In this region the spirit chooses true wisdom, the best part of Mary, in silent tranquillity; mystical theology is taught in secret, in the ineffable sweetness of the divine darkness; the mind, disposed toward its beloved by the fervor of most holy love, speaks in secret with him and continually raises itself to him through desire. This wisdom, or mystical theology, can indeed be commended by man, but it cannot be taught except in divine instruction. For it is the work of the Holy Spirit when the mind is illumined in true contemplation.

But we must consider that mystical theology is acquired through the exercise of a purified affection and is taught through the fire of love. Speculative theology, which we call scholastic, is learned through the exercise of the intellect, while the mind devotes itself continually to study. For the acquisition of mystical theology, the purification of the affection from every entanglement is required, so that the will, depraved through aversion, may be reformed toward its beginning through the quest of inward love. For unless the affection has been purified from every disordered concupiscence, it does not ascend to the height 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 is raised upward through fiery love and is lifted by anagogical movements into the immensity of the divine darkness.

No one understands the certainty of this theology unless he receives it; no one receives it unless he seeks it alone above all things through the sighs of love. The psalmist sought this when he prayed to the Lord: “O that my ways may be directed to keep your statutes at all times.” For by such movements of desire the holy man was borne upward to obedience to the divine will, so that in that same Psalm 118 he said almost no verse in which he did not place some word equivalent to the divine judgments. The exercise of this purification is begun in the second region and is completed in this one. For no small labor is undertaken, that the affection may be purified from the concupiscences of the world. But once the exercise of spiritual reformation has been taken up, the mind gradually advances in love, desires to ascend to this region by sure steps, hastens through desire to the invisible school of this theology, and, sighing with continual groans, knocks at the door of divine compassion.

But the mind is not admitted into the secret of this mystical wisdom unless, after complete purification of the affection, it is freed from every creature and unites itself to itself, and withdraws far from every reason or imagination of thinkable things. For unless it withdraws 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 those who learn: 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 him.

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

Fourth, this most holy region of the spirit is called founded in simplicity, in which the mind, not through essence [unclear].

but through the love of adhesion it is united to its immutable one principle. For, as we have said above, that highest good, God, is one; and our soul cannot draw near to it unless, stripped of all multiplicity, which it receives by attraction, imagination, and understanding, it strives to present itself wholly one to itself. For the soul naturally desires to reach the highest good; but the more it is divided in its operation through multiplicity, the less fit it is found to come to it. For multiplicity is opposed to unity, and the more the mind turns itself toward many things, the more it withdraws from unity. One, two, three, four are ten. You withdraw from the one when you are multiplied in number. Return to the one if you desire to have the beginning. For the one is the beginning of all things; if you add anything to it in your mind, you at once withdraw from it. When you say “one,” you say “beginning.” If you say “two,” you have already abandoned the beginning. Therefore, so that you may always be able to contemplate your beginning, take care at every time, stripped of all multiplicity, to make yourself one.

For since all good things are from the first good, and every love, toward whatever good it is borne, is naturally kindled by that same good, our love cannot be touched by any goods or rest in any final end unless, naked and pure, it strives at last to return to its own beginning. For union comes about only by the power of the one itself; and for no other reason do we more readily say that things more alike are united with one another than because we see that they are one in quality. Therefore the soul is believed to be able to be united with the one highest principle of things only when, stripped of all multiplicity and united even to itself, it is lifted up to God by most fervent love. Just as there is no union between things different in quality, so between God and a soul divided in itself there can be no adhesion. For the union of one thing with one thing comes about by likeness of quality; and the adhesion of a mind simplified and stripped of all things through the affection of love will be with God.

Therefore the supreme region of the spirit is founded on simplicity; in it the mind of the purified person is raised up to God by a most fervent desire of love and is united by grace to its immutable beginning. Intellect and affection are the two eyes of the soul. The first of these, the intellect, is indeed raised up to know God, but it is not sufficient to come to the mountain of divine darkness, because it proceeds burdened with images of sensible things. Therefore affection, the simpler eye of the soul, enters the dark mountain without any images whatever; separated from all creatures, it contemplates God in love, thinks nothing sensible, and, resting naked in mystical silence, is free. This is the simple eye that makes the whole body full of light, the eye of which the bridegroom boasts in the Canticle: “You have wounded my heart, my sister, my bride; you have wounded my heart in one of your eyes.” For the fervor of loving affection enters alone, without the guidance of the intellect, into the secret of divine contemplation; and therefore the bridegroom is wounded in one eye.

But whoever, by the exercise of devotion and purity, has deserved through Christ’s gift to arrive at this region of union and simplification should learn at every time to stand prudently in deep humility, and not through pride lose the gift he rejoices to possess. For Bernard, that profound and most cautious contemplator of divine things, says: “One who strives for higher things must be deepened in humility and think humbly of himself, lest, while he is vainly lifted up above himself, he fall from the height to which he seemed to have ascended.” Therefore, standing in this region, let him prudently return sometimes to the degrees of humility described in the second part; let him humbly learn to remain in profound resignation of himself, lest, if the soul [unclear] by denial of self, it fall from the highest mountain into a dreadful 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, their heads injured and their senses destroyed, have become foolish, because, without having mortified their passions, they presumed to enter the darkness of mystical silence. Others, lifted up in pride while they were still devoted to sensuality, and through the vice of their own will, descended into the depth of hell. For he says concerning the ascent of this…

The Scripture says concerning the summit: “The beast that touches the mountain shall be overwhelmed with stones.” A beast is said to touch the mountain when a man, not yet purified by the exercise of the second region, tries to ascend to the third. For as long as his affection has not been cleansed from the passions of his sensuality, the beast still lives in him. But if the mind of man permits itself, with its beastliness, to approach the mountain of God, it will be overwhelmed by as many stones as there are movements of the passions by which it is wounded.

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 meant, because man is compared to mud. For it is written in Job: “Remember, I pray, that you made me like clay, and you will bring me back to dust.” And again he says: “I am compared to mud, and I am likened to ashes and dust.” Thus the sluggard is overwhelmed with 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 suffer repulse and ruin by 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 by long exercise in the furnace of the middle region. Whoever, still given over to carnal passions, tries to approach this highest region of the spirit is striving, as it were, to draw water in a sieve. For this region does not admit carnal minds into itself, since it is prepared for hearts purified from every affection.

That this supreme region of the spirit is magnificent in restoration.

Article V.

It diligently calls strangers and pilgrims as if to their father’s dwelling. In this region, returning like the prodigal son, he receives us mercifully; he rushes with love into our embrace; he clothes us with the first robe; he grants the garment of charity to those who love. 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 our contempt? We wretched ones have withdrawn by our own will and by our deserts; we squander the portion of our inheritance with the prostitutes of carnal affection; we have been shamefully stripped of all beauty and paternal adornment. 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 scorned to avoid ruin.

Return, return, wretched soul; return, you who are grievously captive in your affections; return, you who are mortified in sorrows. Why do you delay? Why do you tarry? Return, faithful soul, to the leader of your youth; return to your former husband; go back to your most loving Father, who awaits you with love and desire. For behold, with patience he awaits you, and through Isaiah the prophet 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.”

Why, soul, are you in the land of the enemy? You have grown old in a foreign land; you are defiled with the dead; you are counted among those who descend into hell. Remember that almighty God created you from nothing; consider that he formed you to his image and likeness; remember from where you have fallen; see where you have gone, among swine, and are trampled under the feet of filthy affections. Your Creator placed you from the beginning in this supreme region of the spirit; he entrusted to you the natural exercise of love for him; he bestowed on you the hope of life that will endure 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 your inheritance. But return, even late at last, to the exercise and repentance of the middle region, until, purified from all your iniquities, you deserve to be brought back to the pleasantness of the region [unclear].

There the most indulgent Father will receive you as you return with joy; he will clothe you with the first robe of innocence recovered; he will give you the ring of most holy covenant on your hands, and shoes of true mortification of evil affections on your feet, so that, adorned with these ornaments, like a faithful bride you may cling to him continually and never thereafter withdraw from his love. Finally, for your food he will kill the fatted calf for you; he himself will be at once the server and the feast: because of 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.

Therefore this supreme region is magnificent in the spirit’s return, because it leads back to the pleasantness of the heavenly fatherland those citizens whom it receives into its dwelling. And we unfailingly recognize the citizens of this most holy region by the fruits of the Spirit, of whom we know the holy apostle spoke. Now 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, always joyful in the Lord and most fervent in charity, they walk onward. For whatever happens to a just man dwelling on this mountain of love will not sadden him. For the soul always peaceful and tranquil in the love of God is not lifted up by any prosperity and is not disturbed by any adversity.

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

Article Six.

Behold, this most beautiful region of the spirit is called joyful and most true in its treasuring up, because whatever is acquired through the exercise of good work it possesses in simplicity of spirit. The soul’s treasure is the love of God; when the purified mind is kindled by its fervor, it is raised to this region as to the very storehouse of love. For the Lord says in the holy Gospel: Where your treasure is, there also your heart will be. This is the rare treasure hidden in the field of Scripture; when a man has found it, he hides it, and going away sells everything, so that he may be able to 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 worthless, 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, for whoever has this treasure of love seeks nothing more. And as fire is naturally borne upward, so love is raised into this region of the spirit as to its own proper dwelling.

For the soul, kindled by divine love, is always lifted up to God with fiery affections, and beyond every thought is moved with wondrous sweetness toward its own beginning. For, purified in the exercise of the second region, it prepares itself for the ascent of this third affection of lovers; it pants with all its strength to come to him whom it loves; it thinks of nothing but Jesus, the treasure of its heart; in the greatness of its love it adores him with burning sighs. But when the most sweet office of contemplation has been completed, suddenly the beloved slips away; the mind, languishing with love, is called back to the exercise of the second region. In this exercise the true lover of God sees that his body indeed dwells among men, but in affection and desire he lives with his most beloved Jesus.

And although this anagogic action of the created spirit comes about by the impulse of the Spirit of God, still the mind, cleansed through the exercise of the second region, must advance itself toward the ascent, and, disposed by a most fervent affection, concur with the divine Spirit. For almighty God, who has bestowed on us freedom of choice, will raise 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,

[unclear], you will have to love exceedingly. The will, purified by love, receives; love, when very fiery, produces ecstasy. Therefore, if you desire to fly to the mountain of contemplation, you must, by loving God most fervently, wholly exceed yourself. But if you truly love God, you will despise both yourself and all things for the sake of him alone. For he is truly the treasure of the soul; if anyone has obtained him through love, he will always think upon that treasure. This treasure is acquired by loving; no one understands its usefulness who has not received it through love. Whoever desires to have this inestimable treasure should continually fix his heart in the love of most sweet Jesus. For truly, he who loves has; he who has, loves. The mind that has deserved to possess this treasure of the love of Jesus remains continually with him in affection, in this highest region.

That this third and highest region of the soul rejoices in the greatest freedom of spirit.

Seventh, this most holy region of the soul overflows with great freedom of spirit; in it the mind, free from the passions of the flesh, reigns with God alone through love. For the holy Apostle says: “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” And again: “Whoever is led by the Spirit of God, they are the children of God.” For truly, the spirit abiding 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 up 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, often raised up to divine love by fiery desires even without prior thought, let him trust that he can rightly be counted 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 soul is acquired through the fervor of divine love, because the supreme Holy Spirit inhabits the heart of 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 carried 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 raised up and purified in God, which is hindered by no obstacle whatever from its effective advance. Ascending in this region, the mind kindled by love wholly abandons thoughts and images; it escapes alone, naked, and most free, because thoughts, on account of the office of memory, are compelled to remain in the middle region, and can in no way appropriate to themselves the highest region of the spirit, which is above all 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 thrust back and falls into the middle region.

Nevertheless, the ascent itself is begun through the operation of the intellect; when that soon fails, it is completed through affection. For the intellect stirs up desire into love of the highest good and, as far as it can, commends its beauty. But when affection, stirred by love, has begun to ascend to the contemplation of so great a beauty, the intellect, failing in amazement, falls silent. But the mind, not enduring the commotion of the intellect, alone and naked, most free from every image of thought, enters the dark mountain that shines above; contemplating the beloved, not face to face indeed but in a riddle, it fails because of the greatness of love, and, carried away, rests in silence.

We read that Moses, once the leader of the children of Israel, called by God, ascended alone into the dark mountain; and it is recorded that he kept the people back from approaching the mountain under threat of death. The Lord appeared in the darkness and gave the law to the people through Moses himself. For so it is written in Exodus: “The whole of Mount Sinai was smoking, because the Lord had descended upon it in fire; and its smoke went up as from a furnace. And the mountain was very terrible, and the sound of the trumpet gradually grew louder.”

and was drawn out at length. Then all the people saw the torches and the smoking mountain; terrified and shaken with fear, they stood far off, saying to Moses: “Speak to us yourself 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 careful consideration, they will splendidly commend this supreme region of the spirit. For Mount Sinai signifies the height of this region; the smoking cloud 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 permitted to ascend the mountain and enter the cloud, because the affection inflamed with divine love alone is raised to the summit of the light of 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 secret of the divine majesty. The common crowd stands far from the mountain, stricken with fear, because when the mind alone enters the abyss of contemplation through the affection of love, the whole crowd of thoughts, failing utterly, is thrown into confusion. The intellect does not dare to approach its own affection as it ascends, but, standing far off and shaken with fear within itself, is forced to remain behind. Therefore, yielding in wonder before majesty, it says with the prophet to the Lord: “Truly you are a hidden God.” But Moses, standing on the summit of the mountain, is wrapped in the cloud: he does not grasp God by the light of the intellect, but passes into contemplation of him only through love and desire. Moses, and not the Lord, speaks to the fearful people, because the purified affection enters the dwelling-place of love, through which the powers of the spirit are enlightened.

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

Although in several preceding places of this little work I have briefly handed down the manner of ascending to this supreme region of the spirit, nevertheless, as I think, it will not be useless to repeat blessed things more often, so that we may be able to retain 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, whoever wishes to ascend through the desire of love to the pleasantness of this upper region should strive to exercise himself diligently in the labors of the middle region, because unless in that region he has been purged from sensual passions through the practice of holy compunction, he approaches this one not without danger. For undertaking this exercise, let him often recall to memory the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ; let him weep from delight in divine love; and let him learn to run through the text of that Passion frequently in attentive meditation, and to stir himself to compassion for the Savior.

And because the body, which is corrupt, weighs down the soul, so that the mind cannot vigorously direct itself in this meditation on the Lord’s Passion, let him strive, if need be, to present to his 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 his imagination; let him go with him through all the places of the Passion. Then at each article let him bring his affections out of a desire for compassion; let him gaze with faithful eyes upon Jesus suffering, set before him; flowing with anguish of heart, let him grow accustomed in spirit to address him as though bodily present, and to embrace him, wounded at the pillar and on the cross, through the desire of love. For the mind can easily be kindled in love of the Lord Jesus if it truly grows accustomed to suffer with him through the tears of meditation. But I remember having written elsewhere more fully on 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 of meditation, since those who are experienced have higher things.

Therefore, when the affection has been purged from every passion and hindering concupiscence, the mind, with the help of the intellect, begins to think somewhat upon the goodness and beauty of the highest good; then it desires to behold the immutable good. But when, with the intellect lifting it up, it raises itself through admiration toward knowledge of that good, at once the operation of the intellect grows faint; nor can reason follow the affection any farther, since it sees that it can be raised only in another way, and only when wholly and completely stripped bare of all things. But so long as the mind has not been lawfully purified, the affection does not reach the true cloud of this mountain.

Contemplation, however, sometimes comes through the enlargement of the mind: when the soul stretches itself more vigorously by its own effort in holy meditation, meditation is changed into contemplation. And this mode of contemplation is accustomed to rise up through three degrees: teaching, by which we learn what we must do; exercise, by which we carry out what we have learned; and attention, by which we fulfill the task.

Sometimes contemplation raises the elevation of the mind toward God: when the mind has been divinely irradiated above human effort, it draws it, as though carried beyond itself, into the contemplation of divine things. This mode also lifts it up into the height of contemplation by three degrees. For sometimes understanding, divinely inspired for the good, receives something that wholly surpasses the mode of foreknowledge. The second degree raises the mind above effort, when, divinely enlightened, it receives something to which no human effort attains. In the third degree the mind is raised on high, when it is divinely illumined in contemplation above the limits of human nature and effort.

Sometimes, too, contemplation directs itself by alienation of mind toward the mountain of divine darkness, when, the memory of present things being lulled to sleep, the soul is drawn into an unknown state beyond human knowledge by the illumination of divine operation. And this mode belongs especially to this highest region of the spirit, in which the mind of the true lover of God, kindled with so great a fervor of love, perceives that it is often proved to be estranged from itself. For sometimes, by the greatness of devotion, it is rapt outside itself; sometimes, by exceeding wonder, it is lifted above itself. Sometimes, because of immense exultation, it leaves itself behind, and through the ray of love passes into the highest elevation of contemplation. But mortal man does not understand the loveliness of this most high and supreme region if he has not ascended to it, purified through experience of love.

Here ends the third region of cloistered persons.

The beginning of happiness.

[unclear]

Preface to the second part of the principal 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, set forth for us by chapters, it remains now that, undertaking according to our strength the second principal part of the work, we describe the mode and form of daily spiritual exercise.

For there are many among cloistered persons who are weak and feeble; and of these, 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 failed in the continual labor of spiritual exercise gradually falls into the depth of the body. 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 when the labor of spiritual study has died through inward negligence, all compunction of devotion gradually vanishes. No one placed in a holy state can remain steadfast and firm if his mind does not strive each day to be renewed by some exercise. For when the fuel of divine love is withdrawn, devotion is changed into torpor. Scripture says: “In desires is every idle man.” 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 singular 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 [unclear] to stir themselves to new [unclear].

Another, through the practice of bending in prayer, used to stir his mind to the compunction of devotion; another, through meditation on the Lord’s Passion, kindled himself; 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 those who do 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 there are many living in the order who are devoted to better modes of spiritual exercise, and who have learned by long practice to remain in the highest 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.

Therefore, one who is to serve as a soldier for the king, our Lord Jesus Christ, according to the monastic rule, should first of all strive humbly and perseveringly to take up the strongest weapons of holy obedience; then he should accustom himself to be continually exercised in holy works, to persist in prayers without ceasing 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 send prayer before him to the Lord. For he truly speaks with the Lord God who is always occupied in devout prayers.

So that a good cenobite may always have ready at hand a manner of praying with elevation of mind, let him not neglect to read the present little work frequently and attentively. For in it we have arranged, for the individual hours of the seven offices, certain brief little prayers, by which the mind is more often raised to the love of heavenly things and the fervor of holy purpose is frequently renewed.

At Matins.

Awakened, the devout cenobite rises at once for Matins and shakes off from himself all sluggishness of sleepiness. He should believe that he has been called to fight for his Lord, to whom he has been professed. Therefore let him strive to meet his king with cheerfulness, and to prepare himself humbly, with fervor of spirit, for his immortal service. And so at once let him rise with the greatest dignity, and, sitting on his bed and fortifying himself with the sign of the cross, let him say:

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

Blessed be the name of the Lord, from this time forth and forever.

Then, getting down from his bed, with knees bent let him say:

I give thanks to you, almighty God, who have deigned to guard me, an unworthy sinner, this night. I ask you, by your mercy, to direct me through 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 have been created, true eternity; through you we have been redeemed, you highest 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 for endless ages of ages. Amen.

Then, turning to the most blessed Virgin Mary, 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; may he who, born for us, consented to be yours receive prayer through you. 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, for endless ages. Amen.

At the first signal, the monk should go to the secret place of his inner cell; cleansing his conscience, he should examine it diligently, and in the three things that follow he should compose himself in preparation for prayer.

First, he should strive to draw his mind back from outward things, vain and perishable and contrary to the spirit, to inward things, and to think absolutely nothing about worldly or temporal affairs. Just as Abraham is read to have stood firm and driven the birds away from the sacrifice, so it seems necessary for us to act against worldly thoughts that fly importunately around us during divine things. The monk can more easily bring his mind to this forgetfulness of passing things if he often wishes to recall to memory the sixth root, set above in the second region, concerning the vanity of present things.

Second, with humility he should direct the eyes of his mind to knowledge of himself, knowing that by his own strength he cannot persist in holy fervor of spirit unless divine mercy deigns to help him. Finally, let the humble monk understand that he is not worthy to praise his Creator, and therefore let him ask help from the Lord and worthy merit for praise. But if he desires to know more about knowledge of himself, let the devout monk read the fourth root.

Third, for one who wishes devoutly to stand before the Lord God in prayers, it is necessary to lift 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 truth. The most devout suppliant of God, Bernard, also says: The little novice must be taught in his prayer to lift his heart upward, to pray spiritually, to withdraw from images of bodily things, and to think nothing bodily.

But because it is not given to all to be able to raise the mind to God, invisible and beyond understanding, provision must also be made for the weak in an easier manner of raising themselves to God. Hence he also says: For a weak person meditating or praying, an 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, because it has known only bodily things, may have means by which, according to the measure of its capacity, it may be moved toward divine things. For while through faith in the form of the mediator it does not divide God from man, it attains to God himself in man. For our Savior, the mediator of God and men, Jesus Christ, is God and man.

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

But so that you may always be able to raise your heart freely to the Lord God in prayer, learn to love nothing in this world in a private way; for one who is affected by no thing at all wanders less often. For nothing so unloads the heart and makes it free, nothing makes it converse before the Lord so generously and without constraint, and nothing so quickly and lightly gathers a person back to inward things after various outward disturbances, as to be attached to nothing in all things and circumstances by any private affection, but to live humbly in all things resigned to God and to one’s superiors. In addition, whatever has been enjoined on one so disposed for the glory of God and the preservation of regular discipline, the monk undertakes all this with humble obedience, whether it is advantageous to him or troublesome. And this firmness of soul, despising prosperity as much as adversity, wonderfully [unclear].

[unclear] in a certain enjoyment of most chaste love transformed.

At the second signal.

When the second signal sounds, the monk, now sufficiently recollected within, should leave his cell with composure, always blessing the Lord in his heart. With the prudent virgins let him hasten to meet the bridegroom; let him consider that he hears the signal of the great king. On leaving his cell, let him say:

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

On entering the church, let him say:

Blessed are they who dwell in your house, Lord; they shall praise you forever and ever. Cleanse me, Lord, from every defilement of mind and body, that I may be worthy 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, Lord, all my iniquities, that with a pure mind I may be worthy to enter into the holy of holies. You shall sprinkle me, Lord, with hyssop, and so forth.

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, Lord, who were born of the Virgin, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, unto everlasting ages.

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, beginning of all things, have mercy on me for your own sake.

Before the venerable sacrament:

Hail, living host, truth and life, in whom the ancient sacrifices are ended. Through you the glory of the homeland is given without end. Through you the Church stands ever fortified. Grant me rewards in eternal life. Amen. Hail, saving host.

Praying in his 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. Looking carefully at the matter of the psalms to be sung, let him strive to subject his intention to them, and diligently foresee to what he wishes to refer each thing. If the morning office is being sung for some saint, let the psalmody be said before the Lord in memory of that saint. But if the subject matter of the psalms fits the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, it should be referred to his memory. Yet if the spirit of compunction is present to 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, according to the nature of the psalmody, to vary it suddenly in individual verses. For according to the subject of what is being sung, it exercises itself on whatever it wishes: now it embraces the humanity of Christ, now suddenly in another verse it is raised up to his divinity. Nevertheless, if it pleases him, our faithful monk may, while the same signal lasts, bring back to mind the fervor of the saints and angels praising God without ceasing, and conform himself to them by desire, according to his powers.

Before all the hours.

Since the power of the Incarnation and Passion surpasses beyond compare the merits of all the saints, therefore before each of the hours the lover of God should say to God the Father, with due attention of mind and heart, this prayer [unclear].

Since, almighty eternal God, you created us from nothing when we did not exist, and mercifully redeemed us when we had perished, I beseech you by your unchangeable majesty: receive these praises and prayers which I am about to say to you now and at all times, 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 devised by human curiosity. For if you believe that God was accustomed to teach his people of old 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 that he revealed this manner and form of praying to Mechtild and to others. Know this also as something fully assured: that a prayer is most pleasing to almighty God when a devout mind has resolved to offer it to God the Father in union with the Lord’s passion. And this offering can be made, in mind or by mouth, not only before the canonical hours, but also before other prayers, Masses, and any good exercises or works. But if through forgetfulness it has not been made beforehand, it can be inserted during the prayer, or even added after its completion.

How a monk ought to conduct himself in the hours.

From the beginning of the divine praise the devout cenobite should use great diligence, lest his mind admit images or thoughts about transitory things; for unless vain thoughts are driven away at once in the beginning, they will disturb the heart’s attention throughout the whole office.

Therefore the faithful worshiper should gather himself wholly within himself, and set nothing before the divine service and the true rule.

While chanting the psalms, he should refer the very matter of the psalm to the fitting focus of his intention; he should prudently consider the meaning of the prayer, pronounce the words distinctly and in order, and lift his mind upward.

After each psalm or reading, let him diligently examine himself by reflecting, and test whether the compunction of devotion is still fervent in his mind. If he finds that the fervor is still present, let him strive to kindle it further with holy desires, and to summon himself to higher things. But if he feels that he has grown lukewarm in affection or distracted by thoughts, then, reproving himself, let him say these or similar words: Woe to me, wretch that I am, who praise my God so negligently. Behold, my Lord, suffering most bitterly for me through the whole night, had no rest; and I could not watch with him for one hour. Help me, Lord my God, that I may be able to chant psalms to you wisely.

Finally, under each psalm he should suitably stir himself to compunction of fervor by some burning words, so that through inward exhortation he may inflame his affection still more. Let him say: Would that, Lord God, I could love you above all things with my whole heart, and cling to you alone without ceasing. 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 office of Matins has been completed, and confessions have been made or heard, let him not neglect immediately to read the hour of the Holy Cross. When it is completed, let him add this little prayer.

Prayer.

O sweetest 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 me now and at 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 infinite ages. Amen.

After confession.

It is our custom that those who are to celebrate on a given day should prepare themselves by confession. Therefore the devout monk, after making his confession, at whatever time has been appointed, should at once devoutly carry out the penance enjoined upon him; and he should not approach the altar unless sacramental confession has always first been made, so far as this can be done.

On leaving the church.

When each Hour has been completed in the divine office, or also whenever he begins, he may repeat the order and manner of praying at entering the church described above, and observe the same rite in each of his places. But if, for greater devotion, he wishes to vary this manner, he shall pray the following little prayers, or pray silently.

Before the high altar, bowing:

Blessed be the holy Trinity and the undivided Unity. We shall confess him, because he has shown his mercy to us. O highest majesty, beginning of all things, have mercy on me. Amen.

Then, after returning to the cell.

At each Hour of the day, when the devout lover of Christ has returned to his cell, let him fall on his knees before his bed and humbly give thanks to almighty God, because he has deigned to admit him, an insufficient servant, to his service, and there to number him among his sons. Therefore let him say this or a similar prayer.

Prayer.

I give thanks to you, almighty and eternal God, because you have deigned to call me, an unworthy sinner, to your service, not by any merits of mine, but by the sole condescension of your mercy. I beseech you, by the pain of the wounds of our Lord Jesus Christ, your only-begotten Son, and by the shedding of his most holy blood, and by the power of his most innocent death: receive this sacrifice of my service for the glory of your majesty, for my sins, for your holy Church, and for the souls of all the faithful departed who are placed in the pains of purgatory, in that union of charity in which you received our same Lord Jesus Christ dying for us upon the cross; and grant me, through the merit of his passion, to love you in truth and to remain continually faithful 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 know that anything is lacking, do not neglect to reform it as quickly as possible, lest little by little you vanish away through negligence. For it is written: “He who neglects the least things gradually falls.” And Augustine, the holy lover of God, says: “No sin is so small that it does not grow when neglected.” Therefore, when your conscience has been examined and reformed in holy fervor, turn to the Lord.

Prayer for perseverance.

Grant, we beseech you, almighty God, through the merit 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 be able continually to offer you service pleasing to you. Through the same Christ our Lord. Amen.

Approaching the bed, let him fortify himself with the sign of the holy cross; and while going up to his bed, with attentive spirit, let him say:

In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ I intend to lay myself down, so that, restored by his divine majesty, I may be able to praise him more fully through the day.

Sitting on the bed:

May the soul of our Lord Jesus Christ, the integrity of blessed Mary ever virgin, the sign of the holy cross, and 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.

Signing himself, let him lie down.

The exercise of the monk at Prime.

Consideration I.

When our devout monk has been awakened for Prime, as usual, let him observe the order and manner of recollecting himself and of the prayers set out 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, rising from his bed, fervent in holy purpose, 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 shall renew the face of the earth.

O God, to whom every heart lies open, every will speaks, and from whom no secret is hidden, purify the thoughts of our heart by the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, 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.

At the first signal.

Then, at the first signal of any hour of the day, or even 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 forever. Let him add some brief little prayer, formed from the fervor of his mind, in this or a similar way.

A little prayer.

Receive me, sweetest Lord Jesus, as your perpetual servant, that I may always have you as my only 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.

O that my ways may be directed to keeping your statutes at all times.

Another.

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

Then let the general preparation for fervor in prayer, set down above before Matins, be observed, and let the conscience be cleansed if anything has been committed against its purity. Yet if the mind has been lifted up in contemplation of divine love and continual desire, it will have less need of this little exercise.

At the second signal.

At the second signal, both for Prime and for the other hours of the day, when it sounds, let the method set down above for Matins be observed, as much as the time allowed for prayer permits each one. But when a monk enters or leaves our church, let him not neglect to show reverence to God before the altars and the crucifix; rather, bowing humbly, let him say the customary fitting prayers. For the modest bowing of the body is regarded as a sign of the inner good disposition of a soul well ordered toward God.

In the chapter house after Prime.

When the devout monk enters the chapter house after Prime, let him 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 torture of their bodies through the witness of death. Therefore, when you have heard the holy and mighty deeds of the saints read aloud, pray 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, so that you may attain fellowship with them. And this desire is to be taken up by you when, after the reading of their passions, divine help is invoked three times by all. At the beginning also of the day we pray that, strengthened to patience by the examples of the saints, we may fear no adversities throughout the whole day. But when you hear that some martyr stood bravely in the contest of battle, you may pray to him in 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 to your fellowship.

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

At the reading of the Rule.

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

Then let him consider that, just as the Rule is read daily to the good and devout for their progress, so it is recited to the lukewarm, the evil, or the negligent, that they may be inexcusable, to the heaping up of damnation. Finally, let him know that he is bound to a faithful effort at all the things which the Rule contains, just as the tenor of his profession holds. For thus he says in profession: I promise obedience and the conversion of my conduct 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, then for these and for all other faithful, commended to him and not commended, no less out of charity than out of duty, let the monk pray thus:

Prayer.

I beseech you, most sweet Lord Jesus, by the pain of your wounds, and by the shedding of your most holy blood, and by the power of your most innocent death: have mercy on these souls, and on all those commended to me in prayer, and on all the faithful departed, and grant them everlasting rest.

It is indeed a great work of mercy to intercede before the merciful Judge for the souls confined in the prison of purgatory, and to come to their aid out of charity by the remembrance of the Lord's passion. For I firmly believe, and with pious presumption I trust, that the prayer which is poured out for the dead from charity alone will return doubled into the bosom of the one who prays. For the devout man who here, by the fervor of divine love, praying singularly for all the faithful departed, suffers with them in charity, will at his death be honored with an inestimable reward. For the Lord says in the holy Gospel: Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.

On the chapter of faults.

Since nothing in human actions is perfect in every part, let the devout monk rejoice that he has found a remedy for his imperfection: for whatever is done amiss through human frailty in well-reformed monasteries is amended daily. For the chapter of faults, continued every single day, washes away public offenses; sacramental confession, daily repeated, remits hidden negligences through the grace of contrition. We discern four chapters in the monastery, of which we shall speak in order.

The first chapter is the passive one, when a brother accuses himself or is accused by another.

The first chapter is called the passive one: that in which our devout monk accuses himself of his negligences, or is accused by another. In this chapter the lover of God, who has denied himself to himself, both humbly accuses his own negligences and suffers himself to be accused by others, lest he be judged more harshly by the Lord after this life. For the holy apostle of God says: If we judged ourselves, we should certainly not be judged. And the prophet Nahum says: A double tribulation shall not rise up. Truly indeed, he who here and now is willingly afflicted for his sins for the love of God deserves, as one thus well purged, to be freed from future tribulation through the mercy of the Creator. If only all cloistered persons knew how much it would profit them toward the merit of everlasting life when they willingly endure chapter accusations, they would endure all accusations and injuries for the love of God with inestimable joy. For we merit more when we patiently suffer injuries and adversities for the love of God and fraternal charity than if we apply ourselves to good works.

Standing therefore in judgment, let the devout monk not fear any accusations whatever, but long to be accused by others in memory of the Lord's passion, knowing that the glory of highness is set before him, and is to be conferred in heaven upon humble patience. O brother, why would you not endure the accusations of the brothers — you who ... the fellowship [the sentence breaks off at the page's end and continues in the next chunk].

[Signature mark: K ij]

[Translator's note — not part of the Latin text.] Checked against the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek scan (bsb00036941, Mainz 1498), pages 145–146 of the image sequence. The rendering previously graded for this chunk added "sweat" to the prayer for the dead; the print reads only "sanctissimi sanguinis tui effusionem" — wounds, blood, and death — and this version contains only what the print supports. The print reads "conditionis" (not "codicis"), "Obsecro" opening the prayer under the rubric "Oratio," "capitulum passiuum" (the passive chapter), and "per conditoris misericordiam" (the ɔ-abbreviation expanded as "conditoris"; conjectural but well supported). "Coram se" and "tanq̄ bene purgatus" are expanded abbreviations. The final sentence breaks off at "qui consortium" before the signature K ij.

Do you expect angels? And let all indignation be far from you; let murmuring be absent; let pride withdraw far away. For you have no cause for impatience. Either you are accused 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 great ones. And whoever sins publicly is to be corrected before all. But if you are accused unjustly, remember that you are a monk, and you will find that you are bound to endure injuries. For when you are accused justly, know that you are to be cleansed by humble patience; when unjustly, you show yourself a true monk and merit more. Therefore, when you are accused, recall to mind the fourth and sixth degrees of humility, and if you are a true monk, pray even for those who accuse you. For a true lover of God loves all the more the one who accuses him, and on that same day always offers him either some prayer or some special service. If you are good and wise, accusation will not be able to displease you; but if you are evil and foolish, you are worthy to be accused at all times. For Scripture says of the wise man: “Rebuke a wise man, and he will love you.” But of the evil and foolish the prophet says: “They hated the one who rebuked in the gate, and they abhorred the one who spoke perfectly.”

The second chapter on action is that in which one accuses another.

We call the second chapter on action that in which we no longer accuse ourselves, but others. For the action of this accusation charity is supremely necessary; compassion too must be applied no less, and discretion. Therefore, when, by reason of charity, you wish to accuse your brother, you should always apply the fear of God; and, mindful of your fellowship in eternal life, at the beginning you should say: “Our beloved brother has committed this or that; I ask that, for the Lord’s sake, he may be willing to amend himself.” Whatever has to be said, let him put it forward in few words and with compassion. Let him state the deed simply; let him not increase the fault of the one accused by making it heavier; let him silently entrust to the president the judgment whether what he did was good or evil. For the man who, alone among many, makes his brother’s fault heavier by passing sentence on it very often brings back the suspicion of bitter zeal and displeasure. Therefore, whoever attempts to accuse another should beware lest he be moved against his brother by the zeal of bitterness; for when the charity of the accuser does not intervene, resentment does not amend the accused. The accusation of one who accuses never bears fruit in the hearing of the offender when love of God and brotherly charity do not commend it. Indeed, since almighty God is supremely good, he will not give the effect of compunction to your accusation in your brother’s heart when he finds that you have been moved to accuse not by charity but by duplicity. For where he has found the root of his charity, he will not deny good fruit. But if you perceive that you have been moved against your brother by some indignation, it is better to put off the accusation for a time than to wound yourself so cruelly with another’s wound.

The third chapter is that of private humiliation.

They call it the third chapter of private humiliation whenever a brother is rebuked by a senior for his own negligences. For our most holy father Benedict commands in the seventy-first chapter of the Rule that a monk, in whatever place or time he has been accused, as soon as he has sensed that the mind of his senior is even slightly moved against him, should prostrate himself at that senior’s feet and lie there humbly until his command. Here he is in no way permitted to excuse himself or to lay the fault on another; rather, the monk is ordered to be silent and humbly acknowledge himself. For whoever is a true monk neither murmurs when justly corrected nor excuses himself when unjustly accused. Likewise in the divine offices and in the other conventual places, as soon as a devout cenobite has offended in anything through negligence, he humbles himself and does according to the custom there, choosing rather to undergo a greater penance in doubtful matters than to harm his conscience with a lesser one, or to cause scandal to others. But whoever 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 subdues this Jebusite and makes him tributary to himself, he will never be a true and devout cenobite.

The fourth chapter is that of discussions and counsels.

We call the fourth chapter deliberative: when we summon the brothers to counsel about some difficult matter. How this chapter ought to be held, Saint Benedict makes clear in the Rule, in the passage about admitting brothers to counsel. Therefore the humble and true cenobite, when he has been called to counsel, approaches humbly, with reverence and modesty; when asked what he thinks, he says little; he is in no way offended if his own counsel is disregarded and another’s is approved. What he thinks he states humbly, but always preferring the counsels of others to his own, and with true submission he entrusts both himself and his judgment to be examined by the one presiding. For in deep humility he so annihilates himself that he always believes others more than himself, and trusts that good counsel is divinely inspired in those better than he; and in his mind he is accustomed to set his prelate before all, as Christ’s vicar. Indeed, the monk makes very great progress toward the mortification of his own will when, in giving counsel, he submits his own opinion to the abbot at all times with cheerful humility. But when the devout cenobite perceives that his counsel has been disregarded or rejected, let him give thanks to almighty God out of true humility, and recognize that an occasion for pride has been taken away from him.

After the daily chapter.

If, after the chapter of faults, one must return to the church for Terce, let the manner of orderly prayer set out above be observed in each particular. But if you have gone from chapter to your cell, then again, with knees bent, as after Matins [unclear], if the hour permits, you will pray again to God. Let him recollect himself a little, and call back to mind the debt of his profession. Afterward let the cenobite pray thus.

Prayer.

Grant me, I ask, good God, in the observance of your commandments, to know the good pleasure of your most holy will, and to fulfill the debt of my profession according to the rule set before me [unclear].

At private Masses.

Since human nature, by its own strength, cannot gain entrance into the kingdom of heaven, it pleased God, the most merciful Father, mercifully to help us 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, who is both God and man. Truly, the merit of the most holy passion of our mediator has opened to us the entrance of the kingdom of heaven, has given us the food of spiritual life, and, as the branch draws nourishment from the vine, so our mind truly lives in Christ. 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 it to God the Father as an odor of sweetness. And this most sacred oblation of the body and blood of the Lord avails not only for the forgiveness of our sins, but also wonderfully assists the souls of the departed who are placed in purgatory. Therefore so noble a sacrifice must be offered with great and continual devotion, since all our good works, which of themselves are too worthless, become most pleasing to God the Father through this most holy oblation. Therefore, so that the devout cenobite may be able fervently to apply himself to the offering of this precious sacrifice, let him be willing to note four things in order.

Concerning the one serving at Mass.

The devout brother who is to serve at Mass ought to come with the greatest cheerfulness and fervor, and prepare himself most diligently to serve the priest. For Saint Hugh says: Serve willingly at Masses, for that office belongs to angels; and when you serve at that sacrifice, you make familiar to yourself those whose fellow-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 serves at Mass? For whoever, with the fervor of divine love, has always been accustomed devoutly to assist those celebrating by serving them, divine kindness will also [unclear].

In this life he is accustomed to reward with some special grace those at whose death the holy angels, as though meeting one familiarly known to them, are believed to come, and to present the soul of Jesus’ servant 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 servant may be.”

Great indeed in this venerable sacrament is the condescension of divine goodness. For, as the same Hugh says, God seems to do nothing less in it, when daily for our salvation he deigns to descend from heaven upon the altar, than when he descended from heaven and, having taken human nature, 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 fully and especially those who dispose themselves with humble devotion and love to receive it, or to minister it to those receiving it; and through it he helps them in every necessity when they ask faithfully.

For Jesus, reigning in heaven, will not be able to be harsh to us when we pray with full faith, since he was so gentle and kind to those who asked mercy while he walked on earth. Who ever came to his feet and was rejected? What sick person asked to be healed whom he, walking among men, did not cure? Will the Lord Jesus therefore be thought to deny mercy to us when we ask in faith, he who, while still mortal, 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 serve at Mass should before all things take care to purify himself from every evil temptation and disordered affection, and should bring himself, as much as he can, to the desire of Jesus’ love, so that, purified, he may be able to stand before the Lord and pray effectively both for himself and for the whole Church, the living and the dead. Standing, then, during Mass behind the priest, at a suitable time let him pray in these or similar words.

Prayer of the server.

Most sweet and most beloved Lord Jesus, I beseech you by every anguish of your most holy heart which you endured in your passion; 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 sacred mystery of your holy body and blood, at whose offering to you I, a useless servant, assist: have mercy on me and purify my heart from every unlawful affection, so that I may be able to minister worthily to you. Give me true contrition for every sin and forgiveness of my sins, the grace of holy compunction, continual remembrance of your passion, pure devotion of heart, a fountain of tears, purity of serene conscience, and the perpetual fervor of your most holy love. Give me, I beg you, most merciful lover of mankind, by the pain of your wounds, steadfastness in holy fervor [unclear], true contempt for all worldly things, continual desire for the heavenly homeland, and sure progress in holy religion. Grant me, most sweet Jesus, constancy in adversities, patience in tribulation, discipline in conduct, and always and everywhere true humility in mind. Make me, I pray, a partaker of 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 depart from you. Amen.

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

Furthermore 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 monastery may make progress in each state and the whole observance of the order may grow for the better. Let him not forget the souls of the faithful who, in the pains of purgatory, await the mercy of the Creator; but as he prays for them, let him know that after a little while he will pass to them, where the prayer now poured out will return to the benefit of the one who prays.

But let the devout servant of Christ take care not to neglect, under any pretext, any of the things that belong to his office.

or disturb those celebrating in their prayers, or render them distracted by restlessness. When he has leisure, he will be able to meditate or pray in silence; while he is serving, he ought at least to omit verbal prayers and answer the priest diligently in all things as he ministers.

At the elevation of the most holy body of Christ, following the example of blessed Thomas Aquinas, he may say attentively to Christ: “You are the King of glory, O Christ; you are the everlasting Son of the Father,” and so on 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 converse with so great a mystery; and let him prepare his affection as if he were about to communicate. For as often as a devout lover of God, from fervent remembrance, desires to receive the body of Christ, he is believed to have received the power of the sacrament. The Lord Jesus said to a soul dear to him: If a man fervent in my love desired, if it were possible, to receive my body a thousand times in one day, so often, before me, through the power of the same my body, he would truly obtain his desire in his soul. 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 might be permitted me now to receive your most holy body in this venerable sacrament; would that it might be permitted me to repeat this sacred communion many times in the day. O my sweetness, O only delight of my heart, O my hope, Lord Jesus, you know the ardor of my mind toward you, and before you is all my desire. Therefore I beseech you: by all your goodness, grant me to receive the virtue and grace of this most holy sacrament now and at every time in my soul, so that I may be able to remain continually in you.

The Careful Preparation of the Priest About to Celebrate

When the priest is about to approach to offer this most sacred sacrament of the body and blood of the Lord, let him first examine himself diligently and most carefully consider of which region he is a citizen. If he still finds himself to be a cultivator of the first region, he ought not to approach the altar unless, by contrition and confession, with a firm resolve set upon amending himself, he first strives to cleanse himself. But if he finds himself a citizen of the second region, if he perceives that his powers have been reformed and ordered toward the cenobitic end, he can readily dispose himself to celebrate, since by daily increasing his former affection he has learned more frequently to lift himself upward through desire. For divine goodness quickly enters the affection of a person that is stained by no private desire.

Therefore, wishing to perform this most holy priestly office with devotion and fervor of divine love, let him first set forth some ardent prayers by which he may be able to stir himself to greater compunction. For devotion is rarely granted at the altar if the mind has not first been prepared for fervor. For this reason our fathers, desiring each one of us to advance in his own free devotion, did not wish to burden us, in the manner of certain others, with many psalms before approaching the altar: not because anyone ought therefore to approach without recollection, but so that each one might more freely devote himself in secret to exercises or prayers more suited to his own devotion.

Therefore, wishing to commend elevation of mind to the Lord Jesus for those about to celebrate before approaching the altar, we have placed below a prayer from that which is said to be of Saint Ambrose of Milan, which we believe to be sufficiently effective in view of the merit of the Lord’s Passion. Accordingly, the devout cenobite who is about to approach the altar, if he has leisure and freedom, will be able to use the following, or to set before himself a similar prayer, or to prepare himself in whatever ways he wishes.

Prayer Before Approaching

Highest priest and true pontiff, Jesus Christ, who offered yourself to God the Father as a pure, holy, and spotless victim on the altar of the cross for us miserable sinners; who gave us your flesh to eat and your blood to drink; and who 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 beseech you, through the pain of your wounds and through your most precious [unclear].

by the shedding of your blood and by the power of your most innocent death, and by your very body and blood, the great price of our salvation, I beg you, by that wondrous and unspeakable charity with which you so loved us, wretched and unworthy though we are, as to wash 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, through no merits of mine but solely by the gracious condescension of your mercy, through your Holy Spirit, to handle this mystery with that reverence and honor, devotion and fear, with which it ought and fittingly should be handled.

Grant me, I beseech you, always to believe, understand, feel, firmly hold, say, and think concerning so great a mystery that which pleases you and is profitable for the salvation of my soul. Let your good Spirit enter into my heart; let him sound there without sound, and without the noise of words speak within me the truth of such great mysteries. For they are exceedingly deep, and covered with a sacred veil.

For the sake of your great mercy, sweetest Lord Jesus, grant me to celebrate the solemn rites of Mass with a pure heart and a clean conscience. I beg you, by the sweetness of your most holy heart, most loving Savior, free my heart from all vain, unclean, harmful, and unlawful thoughts, that it may become a worthy dwelling place of your love, now and without end forever.

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

I know, Lord, and truly 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 you, since you are almighty, can make me worthy; you alone justify the ungodly, and from one unclean you can make one 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.

O sweetest Lord Jesus, grant me in this hour, by your mercy, that my mind may feel the sweetness of your most blessed fullness, and 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 mercifully kindle in me the fire of your love. Be not angry with me, O Jesus, ineffable good, nor restrain over 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 from me, Lord Jesus, a heart of stone, hard and unyielding, and give me a heart of flesh, contrite, which may fear you, love you, love you above all things, delight in you alone, follow you, and enjoy you forever.

O most merciful Lord Jesus, I beg 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, in a good conscience, I may be able to approach your altar, so that these heavenly sacraments may become for me salvation and life. For you said with your holy and most blessed mouth: The bread which I shall give is my flesh, for the life of the world. If anyone eats of this bread, he shall live forever. O sweetest bread, heal the palate of my heart, that I may taste the sweetness of your love.

Heal my heart, Lord, of every weakness, so that it may feel no sweetness apart from you, seek no love apart from you, and love no consolation apart from you. O most holy Jesus, bread of life and understanding, having in yourself every delight and every sweetness of fragrance, you who always refresh us with yourself and are never lacking in yourself: let my heart, I beseech you, eat you, and let my soul be filled with the sweetness of your delight. O holy bread, O living bread, beautiful bread, pure bread, you who came down from heaven and give 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 every time. Be the protection and continual health 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.

An excuse for the length.

If this prayer seems too long to anyone, let him read whatever part he wishes, since for this reason we have divided it into short paragraphs, so that we might 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 to be unwilling to pray either a long prayer or a short one.

Meditation before approaching the altar.

By a devout meditation on the Lord’s passion, or at least on one of its sacred articles, or on several if the devotion and opportunity of the time allow, the mind of a devout person is wondrously pierced with compunction, if the practice is held as [unclear]. I would call meditation on the Lord’s passion truly savory when a person, purified through true mortification, begins to revolve in thought the death and passion of the Lord, and is dissolved into tears without violence, from love alone, and through the excessive fervor of desire is prepared as it were for a certain rapture of mind. Whoever has received this gift from the Lord will never be able to prepare himself better for celebrating than if, before approaching the altar, he always passes through at least one article of the Lord’s passion in meditation, with tears. For since the celebration of Mass was instituted by our Redeemer himself in memory of the Lord’s passion, a person never prepares himself for it better or more fruitfully than when he is more fervently kindled by meditation on that same 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 grasp 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 is truly present and is adored; there the army of invisible angels, standing by its king, rejoices together; there the whole heavenly court adores the Lord and man. 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 kidneys and hearts, be able to find in us anything that offends him. Let all worldly anxieties depart far from here; let all thoughts withdraw. Let nothing be thought here except what belongs 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 no office of human strength is performed, but the miracle of divine majesty is enacted: the Son of God is offered to the Father; the body of our Redeemer is truly received; the mystery of our reconciliation is celebrated. Therefore, standing at the altar, let the priest remember that he stands before invisible majesty, and let him beware of thinking of anything else.

After celebration, careful custody of the mind is to be kept.

After the celebration, or after communion of the Lord’s body and blood, let the devout monk offer thanksgiving to almighty God, and throughout the whole day let him keep himself, by spiritual exercise, in the purity and devotion of mind he has conceived. Let him direct his affections to God with fiery rays, and not grow lukewarm from his holy purpose. Above all, let him strive to love nothing in this world, but to raise his heart continually, stripped completely of all earthly affections, toward the fire of divine love. Let him always consider how from now on he may order his life as though anew, in the holy fervor of his way of life, and let him humbly dispose himself for the more frequently repeated reception of so great a Guest. Then, during the day, in the labors enjoined on him, let him quite often offer some prayer to God the Father in the power and union of that sacrament, so that through the exercise of holy communion and regular obedience he may kindle himself more fully in divine love. And we attain this divine love especially through the power of this venerable sacrament, if, in memory of the Lord’s passion, we are renewed by the grace of union through communicating in it more often. For truly the devout mind of a person is kindled, through communion of this most sacred sacrament, into the fervor of divine love by its effective working; and, having utterly denied itself, it is transformed, united by grace into Christ. Therefore the more each person, denied to himself through true resignation, has offered himself to the Lord as a living sacrifice in memory of the Lord’s passion, the more disposed he will be to celebrate worthily.

After private Masses. Returning to the cell.

When the celebration of Masses has been finished, and the thanksgivings have been completed according to custom, let the monk return to his cell; and, after first saying the customary prayer as above at Matins, let him recollect himself for a little while, and kindle himself more fully from his holy purpose toward perseverance. Then, turned toward the Lord, let him say:

Prayer.

I beseech you, sweetest Lord Jesus, through 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 bounty, I may satisfy my profession, and make vigorous progress in your most holy love. Then, until the first signal for choir, let him read something good, meditate, or pray, or certainly write, and let him fervently apply himself to the work enjoined on him by obedience.

At the first signal before choir, before High Mass.

When the first signal has sounded for the hour which, according to custom, precedes High Mass, let the monk at once put aside everything he has in his hands and read the preparatory prayers for choir, just as they are set out above before Matins. Afterward let him go to choir with reverence and maturity, bowing and praying according to the rite set down above.

At High Mass.

At the ringing for High Mass you may read the proper 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 of ours believed meritorious unless it is offered in his power. The memory of this passion is carried out in the celebration of Masses, where the innocent Lamb, slain for us, is offered to God the Father in an ineffable mystery. Therefore from our Savior alone, the Lord Christ, whom we believe to have suffered for us, do we truly hope for salvation. And so whatever the Church asks in the collects, she humbly asks God the Father that it be given to her through him. This regard

Let our devout cenobite keep in his heart the merit of the Lord’s passion, upon which the whole office of the Mass may sweetly return, as upon a foundation stone. For every Mass, of whatever kind it may be, which is said in the holy Church of God, is at all times 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 wish to give the devout brothers an occasion for meditation, whom we know to be inflamed with inward desires. You may, however, in meditation refer the first part of the introit and the verse to the incarnation of the Lord, and refer the repetition with the Gloria to his nativity. Nevertheless, you must diligently consider what the introit contains according to the literal sense, so that you may be able to find a spiritual understanding suitable for yourself. For nothing is done in vain in the divine office; rather, all things are filled with mysteries and sacred actions.

On the Kyrie eleison.

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

Three times, therefore, he says Kyrie eleison to the Father, so that he who, out of exceeding charity, willed his Son to be incarnate of the Virgin and to die for us, may also be willing to come to our aid by his mercy in our necessities.

To the Son also we say Christe eleison three times, in which we pray him to come to our aid.

Three times also we utter Kyrie eleison to the Holy Spirit, in which we humbly call upon him for our help, according to his ineffable goodness.

On the Gloria in excelsis.

Then Gloria in excelsis Deo is said in the singular number, in which we confess the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit to be one sole true God in a Trinity of persons and a unity of substance.

Accordingly, during that angelic hymn the cenobite ought to be very devout, and, so to speak, especially attentive to each word; in it the gift of peace is promised to men of good will, and God is humbly adored by us in various expressions.

At the Collects.

When the collects or prayers are offered by the priest to God, the devout cenobite 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 must attend diligently to everything, and give spiritual thanks to God with the greatest fervor, because, leaving behind the Jewish people, he so mercifully willed to call you and your forebears from Gentile error to his faith.

At the Gradual.

At the gradual, alleluia, sequence, and tract, think how long a desire the holy fathers had, who before the incarnation of Christ longed for his coming. Then consider with how many labors and injuries your Savior was wearied for you in this world for thirty-three years, who voluntarily gave himself up to death for your salvation. Then call to mind the long exile of your soul in the flesh and amid dangers, so that by this abundant meditation, full of misery, you may inflame your affection toward divine love.

During the Gospel.

At the holy Gospel, with your mind lifted up to the Lord, give thanks with rejoicing, because the merciful Father willed you to 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, [unclear].

hasten at once to recollect yourself within yourself, so that you may be able to give thanks worthily to him who called you to the faith without any merit of your own, and to raise yourself up in the inward love of the spirit. Consider, if you can, or rather as much as you can, how great, exalted, and immeasurable is the Son of God, who for your sake willed to become incarnate; how hard and bitter were the things he endured for you.

At the Offertory.

When the offertory is taking place, apply your mind, together with the host to be consecrated, to the offering, and ponder 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 immeasurable divinity is offered to us as the appointed reward. Say therefore to the Lord:

Prayer.

I have no worthy gift to offer you, almighty God; I hand myself over to you as a sacrifice. Receive, therefore, 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, that I may always be able to render you pleasing service. Through the same.

Prayer.

I offer 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 for us on the cross, and may it be pleasing to you.

During the Preface.

When the preface is being said, take care to raise your mind from all earthly things to heavenly things, and to prepare it to praise the Lord with the holy angels. Remember that through the merit of his holy passion you have been called to the fellowship of the angels, and take care that through observance of the commandments you may come to it.

At the Sanctus.

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

During the Canon.

After the Sanctus, during the canon, you may take up meditation on the Lord’s passion, and offer it, article by article, especially the greater and principal ones, to God the Father 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 that servant-girl, or for that necessity. And I ask you, through the pain of the wounds of that same sweetest Son of yours, and through the pouring out of his most holy blood and the power of his most innocent death: have mercy on me, or on that person, or grant us this or that, and so forth. Through the same our Lord.

With the other articles of the Lord’s passion you will be able to proceed in the same way, and to enlarge upon 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:

You are the King of glory, O Christ. You are the everlasting Son of the Father. You, to deliver man, did not shrink from the Virgin’s womb, and so on to the end. For this part of the hymn, Saint Thomas Aquinas is read to have prayed 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 trust, and humbly pray that he may receive you into perpetual peace. To him, for whose love all things...

whom you have left. Direct your affection toward him; after receiving holy communion, ask that it may be made steadfast by him, by the grace of the Holy Spirit.

At the “Ite, missa est.”

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

Say, then, in your heart:

Meditation.

Behold, my Lord has returned to heaven; he has left me desolate on earth. What am I doing here among mortals, when I have one who is immortal? 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 long been a sojourner. I desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ; but who will deliver 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; I will 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 in affection and desire in your most holy love, I may deserve more often 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 prayers to the Lord with fervor of spirit, as we taught after Matins. Spend the remaining time in meditations. Consider the foulness of sin, how it separates from God and eternally condemns the one who is turned away and does not repent. Take care, therefore, to turn your will wholly to God with the firmest resolution, and to avoid the contagion of sin at all times with all your strength.

On the regular meal.

When the signal is rung for the meal, have compassion from the heart for the sick, the needy, and the poor who suffer want; and when you can do nothing else, pray for them to the Lord. Consider that among Christians there are many far better than you whom harsh poverty oppresses in this life, to whom not even coarse bread necessary for food is offered, nor even the thinnest clothing supplied for covering the body. But you, though you are a monk and a despiser of the world, are clothed in the best garments and sit at table like a prince; brothers better than you set food before you to satiety; in short, all necessities are supplied to you, an unworthy sinner, to the point of nausea by the servants of God. Consider, then, what end this abundance of things will have in a monk: for on entering religion you professed poverty, yet now in religion you feast more splendidly than the rich of the world. Take care, therefore, that you not live ungrateful for such great benefits of God, but 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 reading at table.

When you are sitting at table, be composed while eating. Do not look this way and that, but endeavor to eat humbly and with thanksgiving the food set before you, as much as is fitting for the necessity of nature. Carefully consider what is read at table, so that, just as the body is refreshed with its food, so the soul may not be deprived of its own refreshment. Accustom your mind while eating to rise frequently to heavenly things, and through the word

The nourishment of holy reading is never lacking to us as we eat, and it sweetly inflames us with divine compunction. For the true and inward worshiper of God, whenever even amid meals he hears something read about the bitterness of the Lord’s passion, the fervor of divine love, or the kingdom of the heavenly homeland, at once groans with an immense desire, is kindled in the ardor of love, and, compelled by exceeding sweetness, weeps. For indeed the mind that truly loves the Lord Jesus, as soon as it hears his name or beholds the image of the crucified, is dissolved in compunction and is lifted up in affection to his feet or to his embrace.

For thanksgiving.

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

On the regular reading.

Leaving the refectory for the cell, if it is not a fast day, complete the customary prayer; then read something good for edification, meditate, or do or write the work that has been assigned to you. But if it is a fast day, take up the volume of your study and enter the place of regular reading; sitting with the others, read in silence what you wish. But if you are asked by the president to say something good, answer humbly with a few useful words, without curious citations. Do not use a very long speech, nor bring forward the vain curiosities of secular people among them; do not entangle your brothers sitting around you in crooked or distorted words, but express the thought of your mind simply in few words, unless perhaps the president, for a definite reason, orders you to make a longer speech.

The monk’s exercises after dinner until vespers.

Consideration VI.

After the reading, return to your cell. You should always [unclear] some prayer before your works, and in everything you do ask for the help of God. When you are in your cell, do not be idle, but do something good, especially what the abbot has enjoined by obedience. Now pray, now write, read something good or meditate; for the cell makes an idle monk either a beast or a demon. But we shall speak of these things in their proper place below. Take care to spend your time usefully, for in a short while you will have to render account of all of it to God.

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

There are three places in which a devout monk who loves God ought often to be found: namely, church, cell, and, at its proper time, refectory. But he should not permit himself to wander about the monastery, for it is written of the wicked, the reprobate, and the wandering monks: “The wicked walk in a circle.” 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.” The works proper to the cell are these: first, to attend to commands; second, to read what is useful; third, to apply oneself to suitable meditation; fourth, to pray frequently; fifth, to rest fittingly. We shall speak of these briefly in order.

In the cell, first you must attend to commands.

First, when you are in the dwelling of your cell, learn to attend to commands, and do not prefer your idle devotions to obedience. For Scripture says: “Obedience is better than foolish offerings and victims, and to listen is better than to offer sacrifice.” Therefore, if something has been assigned to you to work at in the cell, do not transgress the paths of obedience on any pretext, but strive diligently to perform the work imposed on you for love of our Lord Jesus Christ and for the merit of holy obedience. Hence Hugh, lover of quiet, says: Gladly remain in the cell, and always do something in it that may edify you; and when something is enjoined by a superior, reckon that it is not your right [unclear].

You also have on this point the prohibition of our most holy father Benedict in the Rule, which forbids you to go out and range about without permission.

Secondly, in the cell you must read profitably.

It especially befits a monk, while he is in the cell, always to read something good and to occupy himself profitably 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, truly said: “Love knowledge of the Scriptures, and you will not love the vices of the flesh.” Not all things are to be read by all monks; 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, for vain reading generates vain thoughts and extinguishes devotion of mind. Therefore simple things, not lofty things, devout things, not curious things, are to be read by the simpler monks, so that those who, because of slowness of understanding, are not learned in higher matters may not become dissipated in vain ones. But we do not forbid suitable studies to those who are stronger in judgment, for all things are clean to the clean, and nothing that is read harms the truly devout. Nevertheless let no one claim for himself a strength of spirit that he does not have, but let him place the matter in the discretion of the abbot, who may judge whether he is fit for freedom in reading.

Thirdly, in the cell you must attend at proper times to meditations.

As a flower springs 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 you must attend at proper times to holy meditations, so that you may also learn sometimes to raise your mind in contemplation through the fervor of divine love. For meditation itself lifts up the mind and commits the study of reading to memory.

Fourthly, in the cell you must attend to frequent prayer.

The holy Apostle teaches us to devote ourselves to prayer without ceasing, for 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 as we are instructed for good by readings, so by prayers we are freed from evil. For the Lord says in the holy Gospel: Pray, that you may not enter into temptation. For prayer refreshes the wearied mind, extinguishes the fire of carnal desire, forms one’s character, and drives away demons. If you wish always to be with God, always pray. But if your prayer is pure, simple, and bare, poured out to God through fervor of love, it cannot fail to be fruitful.

Fifthly, in the cell you must rest fittingly.

He rests badly who commits many evils. He rests well who despises all the occupations of the world. Be quiet in the cell, so that you may not wander here and there with any thought, but remain pure and tranquil with your whole mind, so that you may deserve to obtain savory knowledge. For the saint says in his poem: Wisdom instructs a tranquil mind, free from cares, and will be the guest of a peaceful breast. And again he says: Those who are at rest can search the law, if hearts free from noise are empty and unencumbered. Therefore, so that the mind intent on holy studies may be helped, let divine love conquer carnal quarrels. Remain quiet, then, in the cell, and you will be able to know the truth by loving 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 because of you. But when you wake, or when you desire 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 us who humbly serve him. When you go to your bed, first [unclear].

On thinking or meditating about God you should allow yourself to fall asleep, so that you may sweetly be lulled to rest amid holy thoughts. For as your occupations have been while awake, so also will be your repose while asleep, and such also will your dreams be. For a mind burning with the single love of God, neither sleeping nor waking, will be able to forget its beloved, as the bride says in the Canticle: “I sleep, and my heart watches.”

At Vespers. Seventh consideration.

When the first bell for Vespers has been heard, and after the customary prayer, “Blessed be the name of the Lord,” has been said, while the others are permitted to busy themselves with secular affairs, give thanks to the almighty Lord, who has willed you to be free from them in order to serve him. Then gather yourself back within, or you may meditate on something concerning the Lord’s Passion, until the second bell sounds and you go to choir. For in my judgment there is no better meditation for beginners and for those making progress, toward compunction and devotion of mind, than that which takes its beginning from devout affections concerning the Passion of the Lord Jesus Christ.

At the Vigils of the Dead.

When the vigil has been reckoned after Vespers, you may recite the hour of the Holy Cross, and afterward think somewhat on the immense charity of God with which he loves faithful souls. Then, as much as you can, consider in how great desolation those holy souls are placed in purgatory, since it is a great pain for a spirit separated from the body and longing to return to the center of its own beginning: not to be able yet to behold the face of its Creator with full enjoyment, but to be forced to wait in pains and torments most grievous to itself. For so great is the desolation, sadness, and grief of a soul separated, placed in pains, and longing to come to God, that no kind of torments known to us in this world could be compared with its sorrow. For there is no comparison of bodily sadness and desolation with the state of a separated spirit, established in the delay of its return to its own beginning.

Therefore, as much as you can, have compassion on the desolation of the faithful souls groaning in the prison of purgatory, and pour out diligent prayers for them to the Lord. For although the almighty and merciful Father, according to his justice, delays them from the kingdom, nevertheless he loves them with inestimable charity. Therefore whatever good you now do for them by praying, 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 freed from sins.”

When passing through a cemetery or cloister, pray for the dead.

When passing through a cemetery, cloister, or any other place of burial of the dead, do not forget your brothers and all the faithful departed; but, moved by charity, have compassion on them, and strive to help them before the Lord in this or a similar way.

Prayer.

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

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 goodness and gift preserved you from eternal damnation, bless you. Amen.

Read the following prayer often.

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

After vespers or the vigils of the dead, return to your cell with the customary prayers and bows. There, on bended knees, give thanks to your most merciful preserver, because he has not only graciously snatched you from the vanities of the world, but has also guarded you in the order from many evils and dangers. Then call to mind how many bodily and spiritual goods the kindly Father has bestowed on you, though you deserve nothing, and how, as the greatest reward, he has promised you himself 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.

At the meal.

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

At the conference.

After supper, when you have heard the signal for the spiritual conference, take care to go without delay and with gravity, and to 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, the conference is customarily observed in the refectory while drinking. Therefore be attentive to sacred reading in every place, because where the word of holy exhortation is gladly received with attention, it cannot happen that the mind is not often lifted up.

At compline.

When you come to compline, pray to the Lord 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 this present life has been completed, you may deserve to enter the temple of God not made by hands, and rejoice forever in the Lord with all the saints. At the end of compline, when you hear the signal of the angelic salutation being rung, humbly greet the most blessed Mother of God 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 a few prayers take care to prepare yourself most diligently for the following recollection of mind.

On recollection after compline. Consideration nine.

Since we cannot remain altogether 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, by wandering through the byways of sins, we withdraw from the one principle of our soul, the most high God, so often we may return to him through contrition and compunction, with amendment firmly purposed. For this reason 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 the purpose of holiness, which we know to be quite weak and infirm, we may renew toward fervor of spirit by the continual exercise of recollection. Therefore our devout monk, wishing to recollect himself fruitfully and with useful continuance, ought principally to examine himself in order on five points.

First in recollection.

The demanding of an account.

The second is the demanding of an account, by which the monk is ordered to bring back before the eyes of the mind, for correction, whatever he remembers himself to have committed during the day by failing negligently or badly or less well. Let him turn himself to the Lord, lie before his bed with hands joined, and say in this or a similar manner:

I give thanks to you, almighty and merciful God, for all your benefits, which to me, an unworthy sinner deserving absolutely nothing, from my youth [unclear] of good things.

you deigned to grant; 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 a clean conscience. But alas, through weakness, concupiscence, and evil habit prevailing over me, I, who ought to have clung to your most holy love with a pure heart and conscience, have offended you again and again by 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.

Good Jesus, into how many faults, how many negligences, how many guiltinesses have I fallen today alone; how many vain, how many useless, how many harmful thoughts have I admitted in so few hours; how many useless and harmful words have I spoken; how many negligences and offenses have I committed in my actions this day.

Woe to me, miserable man, who could not persevere even 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. I confess to your goodness, O most gentle God, all my sins into which I have fallen from my earliest age. Before your feet, O sweetest Jesus, I lay all the negligences that I have committed today. I ask pardon, which I am not worthy to receive; I beg for grace, which I confess that I have so often received in vain. O most loving mediator between God and men, Jesus Christ, do not despise me, a miserable sinner, whom you willed to purchase with your own blood. I confess to you all the negligences into which I have in any way fallen today, and the faults that I have committed.

Here let the monk, prostrate in mind before the Lord, recall to memory the more important negligences, and, humbly asking pardon, lament his imperfection. But let him especially 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 wrongly. And generally, in whatever he knows that he has sinned against God, against himself, against his prelate, against his neighbor, or against the rule or the statutes of the fathers, let him be eager to recall it for the examination of this chapter; and concerning secret matters in tomorrow’s confession, and concerning public and regular transgressions in the first chapter, let him faithfully and from his heart resolve to clear himself by accusing himself. Let him grieve over what has been committed; let him make satisfaction for what he has repented of; let him beware of what may be committed.

Then let him consider the grave danger of offending God, whether the sin be venial or mortal. For John Gerson, chancellor of Paris, says in his treatise On the Spiritual Life: Sin, even venial sin, is so much against God that, by his justice, he could condemn a man for it to eternal punishment. But that he does not impute it to man unto damnation proceeds not from justice but from his infinite goodness. And Saint Anselm warns us that a man 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 will not become mortal while it is pleasing. You will say: This opinion cannot be true, because if a sin is venial, it can never become mortal; but if it becomes mortal, it was not venial. But listen and understand. I grant that venial sin, in its own consideration, cannot become mortal; but one and the same sin, which can stand together with charity, becomes only venial in one person from mere negligence and weakness, while in another, from contempt and aversion from God in the same sin, it is without doubt mortal, if it is pleasing even insofar as it is sin and against God. Therefore blessed is he who is always fearful; but he who is hard of mind will fall into evil. Whoever neglects the smallest sins that he could amend falls little by little into graver ones.

But how much sin displeases almighty God, the punishment that follows makes plain. For in sacred books and in the deeds of times past we read that sinners have so often been severely punished against the Lord that we rightly fear the tinder 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 showed himself disordered by rising up against the Lord, he was cast out.

He was in hell.

How greatly idle and useless words are against God, a sufficiently clear story in the Lives of the Holy Fathers warns us, concerning the infernal swine that appeared among brothers who were speaking useless things.

How greatly evil and pernicious words offend almighty God became plain in the five-year-old boy and blasphemer, whom the devil, snatching him from his father’s lap, carried alive to hell, as is believed.

How much [unclear] deeds and negligences concerning duty displease [God] is plain in the sons of Eli, who were negligent and took too little care over the rite of sacrifice.

How much even good works, customary ones, done [with obedience set aside?], displease God, Saint [Astion?] taught us by his own deed: although not against a [superior’s?] command, he did not carry the customary waters with impunity. And we read of many other similar cases.

But when our devout cenobite, in his recollections, finds himself burdened with things committed, or with any other negligences or sins, however grave, let him assume such contrition as is possible for him over what he has committed, a firm purpose of amendment to beware in the future, and penance for what has been committed. Therefore let him take to himself [unclear], and let him say with compunction:

Truth I. Lord my God, I confess [unclear] to your most holy goodness that in this or that way I have sinned against your will. For this I grieve deeply; and because I have offended you, who are wholly good, I humbly do penance.

Truth II. Lord my God, who know all things, you know that, by your generosity, I have a good intention, and I intend, with your help, to amend myself in the future as far as I can. He should beware of sins by prayers, calling upon God for help; by inflicting penitential pains on the body; by flight, avoiding the occasion of sin. Therefore, for the third truth, let him say:

Truth III. Lord my God, I have a good will to make satisfaction for my sins according to your command and that of holy mother Church, [unclear], wholly and without pretense.

Whoever has uttered these three truths to the Lord from sincerity of heart, without falsity in mouth or mind, however much he has sinned before, is now secure, if he dies in such a state even without confession in the absence of a priest; yet in such a way that in purgatory he makes satisfaction for what he has not completed by doing penance. But whoever, because of the pleasure of sinning in which he actually delights, or because of a wicked intention by which he scorns to avoid sins and their occasions, cannot truly say these same truths from a pure mind, is in a state of damnation; not even the pope can absolve him.

II. The Declaration of Future Caution

The second thing which he prescribes as to be observed by the cenobite in his recollection is called the declaration of future caution. Let him weigh what have been the occasions of his past transgression, and he will more easily guard himself from future danger. For the pit of sin is never better stopped up than if the occasion of sinning is avoided. And Saint Bernard says: To the approaching night, indeed, an announcement must be made, by distributing one’s exercises according to the rule of the common institution. In these things he duly pays every debt, if the spirit is subjected to God and the flesh to the spirit, and if anything has been omitted through negligence or imperfection, it does not remain unrecompensed in manner, time, and place.

III. Request for Suffrages

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

IV. Blessing for Going to 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 sleeping, 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:

The peace of our Lord Jesus Christ; the merit and integrity of blessed Mary ever virgin; the sign of the holy cross; the power of the whole Passion; the blessing, protection, and merits of all the holy angels and elect of God be between me and all my enemies, visible and invisible, here and forever. Amen.

Blessing of rest

I commend myself this night and at every time.

Prayer

In your wounds, most loving Lord Jesus; and I pray you, by the merit of your most holy Passion, have mercy on me and guard me from all the snares and illusions of the enemy, so that, with a pure mind and a clean body, I may be able to perform, with the dispositions granted me, this hour that is about to be kept, and to praise you with fervor of spirit.

Discretion for obtaining rest

The fifth and last thing to be remembered in recollection is discretion in obtaining rest: 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 the fervent desire for God, with tears if he can, raise up the mind; let it not pour it out too deeply. But when he goes up to his bed, let him carry with him in memory something of the Lord’s Passion, or of the love of Jesus, or certainly of the glory of the heavenly kingdom, in which, as he sleeps, he may rest sweetly.

For Bernard says: When you are about to go to sleep, carry something with you in memory or in thought, in which you may quietly fall asleep; which may sometimes even help you to dream; which may also receive you when you wake, and restore you to the state of yesterday’s intention. Thus the night will shine for you like the day, and your night will be light in your delights, so that you may quietly fall asleep, rest in peace, and wake easily; and when you rise you will be ready to return to that from which you had not wholly departed. Nevertheless, discretion must be applied in all these things, lest either excessive meditation, hindering sleep, destroy the brain, or sleep, taken immoderately, wholly interrupt meditation. Rather, a monk must sleep and meditate moderately, so that at the appointed time he may be disposed to rise for the divine office, with a cheerful and well-ordered mind. Affection inflamed too much by meditation destroys the brain and the senses, and takes sleep from weak eyes. Thus, then, let meditation in bed be brief, where great strength is not present in the head either by grace or by nature.

On the labor of the hands. Colide. E.

Since our most holy father Benedict, in the Rule, commending monks who live by the labor of their hands, declares them true and blessed, it has seemed fitting to us to say something after the end of the day about this most holy exercise. Indeed, we read that this work is commended by the holy fathers in many ways; and we know that in it they advanced before God and men in no small measure. For the holy Apostle says: He who does not work, let him not eat. What Augustine, more learned among 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 labored fervently at the work of their hands, so that they might not incur the danger of idleness, and, living by their own labors, after the example of the most blessed teacher of the Gentiles, might burden no one. Would that we too, brothers, might deign to take up this holy exercise of laboring with the same intention and good will 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

A monk called to labor should strive to show himself such in all things that he does not lose the merit of bodily labor through dissolution of mind. For we see many among monks go out to labor wrongly, whom we see seeking nothing other than the comforts of the flesh. Of these, some, so that during the time of fasting they may have an occasion for eating regularly, undertake useless and less necessary labors. Labo—

[unclear] so that he may eat; whether he benefits or harms the monastery he does not care. Others, so that they may be able to run about here and there, as though by occasion, without the bridle of discipline, have taken pains to arrange various labors. Others, so that they may freely indulge in vain conversations and frivolities, procure labors useless to the monastery. Others, so that they may be able, as if by opportunity and without suspicion, to see and speak with people, secular men known to them and friends after the flesh, not after God, love external labors. Others, because through instability of mind they are unable to be at rest in the monastery, always seem to pant 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 rule’s discipline, so that you love nothing except the honor of God, the merit of obedience, and the usefulness of the monastery; intend nothing except the advancement of the soul. And when you are at work, 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 outward conduct be faithful, serviceable, and kindly; inwardly, humble and devout; in speech, sparing and edifying; in manners, composed and mature. If you observe these things in labor, you will always return better to your cell.

Outwardly the monk should be faithful, kindly, and serviceable.

The first thing to be diligently observed in the labor of a cenobite is that in laboring he should always show himself faithful to his monastery; in serving and ministering, and even in carrying heavier burdens, he should anticipate the brothers out of charity; and to all, in words and deeds, he should show himself kindly and tractable. Saint Bernard, the lover of God, says: A serious and prudent soul prepares itself for every labor; nor is it dissolved in it, but through it rather gathers itself into itself, since it always has before its eyes not so much what it is doing as what it intends by doing it. For the more it aims at the end of consummation, the more truly it strives toward it, so much the more fervently and faithfully it also works with its hands, subjecting to itself the service of its whole body; in this the will creates use, use creates exercise, and exercise supplies strength.

A devout and faithful cenobite, who loves God in truth, does not spare himself in labor, but with great fervor, cheerfulness, and fidelity is accustomed to apply himself to the works of the hands imposed on him, just as if by his labor alone he were compelled to feed all those established in the monastery. For the most prudent soul has learned to expend itself wholly for God, whatever bodily necessity may have made it labor in his service. For just as spiritual things cannot long subsist in religion without the cooperation of temporal things, so I do not hesitate to call him a servant of God who for God’s sake ministers the bodily necessities to those serving God. And therefore whatever a good cenobite, by his labors and with right intention, can acquire for the monastery, let him know that he offers all of it to the Lord. Nevertheless, the monk should always understand that he must labor in such a way that he by no means omits the monastic prayers, masses, and the other services of holy mother Church.

Manual work, however, undertaken out of curiosity and personal complacency, is deprived of the merit of obedience before the eternal Judge; and, as idle and undertaken without the superior’s permission, it is held subject to the strictest accounting. But the good cenobite, who desires to please God alone, in every stealthy intrusion of an idle word, deed, or thought, should say this saying of Bernard within himself: If you were now about to die, would you do this thing which you now do, think, or say? Since you would not do now, if you were about to die, what you are now doing, you are most foolish, for, being about to die in a short time, you so boldly permit yourself acts worthy of death. But if, since it 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, after death you will find it, whether good or bad.

Inwardly the monk should be humble and devout.

Second, the monk, beneath the covering of labor, ought inwardly to be devout and humble, since if he has lost the inner progress of fervor, it does not help that through labor

he acquires outwardly. Therefore, so that in laboring the spirit may truly advance, let him often bring back to memory the degrees of good will written in the first [region?]. Let him order meditations on the Lord’s passion with the fervor of devotion, in which, according to the possibility of his labor, he may conform his labors to Christ’s labor. Let there always be in his heart humble self-denial. Let him be devout in affection with the fervor of holy union, so that the labor of the hand outwardly may advance toward the perfection and usefulness of the community, and the mind may not withdraw from the eternal sweetness of divine love. If labor wearies the monk at work, if heat burns him, if untimely thirst or hunger afflicts him, let him call to mind how many labors the Lord Jesus sustained for us, and he will bear all things lightly. Therefore, praying, let him say to the Lord:

Most sweet and most loving Prayer of one who labors.

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; who had great labors in walking, teaching, and preaching; who for me willingly and patiently endured weariness, hunger, heat, and cold: for all these things I give you thanks. Receive, I beseech you, my very small labors, however 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 be pleasing to you in that union in which your labors were most pleasing to God the Father. Amen.

But under labor, if time permits, let our monk turn over the principal articles of the Lord’s passion: first those which were present to Christ in the passion by commemoration; then at his knees by giving thanks; third, by asking mercy in them according to [their?] common likeness.

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

In speech let the monk be sparing and edifying

[Unclear] what must be observed by the monk in labor, [unclear].

...is laid down: namely, that he should say few things, and things that edify. For Scripture says, "In much speaking sin will not be lacking." A monk should not speak without permission, if he truly desires to be good. But when permission to speak has been granted, let him say only few and useful things; and let him know that idle and jesting words are condemned by the Rule in every place. Let him establish for himself such a manner of speaking, with circumspection in every place and time, that by speaking he offend no one. Let him be more willing to listen than pleased to speak; nor let him say those things that [unclear] suggests, if he fears the reproach of fools. For thus Hugh says to the monk: Do not pour out everything that I know, like a vessel without a lid, which, as soon as it is tilted, pours out whatever it contains, and lies open to every dust and filth. Carefully beware lest you seem, directly or indirectly, to seek your own glory, or imprudently reveal to anyone, from a desire for boasting, something praiseworthy that lies hidden in you, or [unclear]. If you keep silent about yourself and conceal it, you will be more pleasing; if you bring yourself forward and commend yourself, you will become worthless before all and will be mocked. Beware of idle words, because while we do not attend to such things, we slip little by little into harmful ones, from which are generated either [unclear] or dissolutions or grievous corrodings of patience. Be such in your inner way of life that, through love of spiritual meditation, silence delights you much more than talkativeness.

In his conduct let the cenobite be composed and mature.

Fourth, a monk ought, whether at work or outside it, in every place, to compose his [unclear] manners [unclear], and in all things, both in deeds and in words, to show himself mature before men. Thus in [unclear].

...has this as its own proper feature of progress: that 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 certainly cannot truly be called composed, although to men he may seem to be mature. For feigned maturity quickly dissolves into open dissolution of mind, where 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 conduct of a monk toward other people ought to be.

Since, indeed, we have begun to speak of the maturity and composure that a monk must preserve before men, it seems useful to us now to say briefly how he ought to present himself to each person. For he is instructed to present himself in one way to his superior, and in another way he is commanded to show himself to his confreres and to secular persons. To the rector, as standing in the place of Christ, he ought to show reverence; to his confrere, charity; to those who trouble him, gentleness; to secular persons, modest piety. And so let the monk render to each one what is his, and he will be truly composed before God and men. What he owes to God, and what to himself, has been sufficiently said above; now let us pursue what has been set before us.

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

First, the conduct of a monk ought to be reverential toward the prelate, as the Lord says in the holy Gospel: “He who hears you hears me, and he who spurns you spurns me.” For the monk who withholds due obedience and reverence from 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. Whoever, therefore, despises the vicar of any king has beyond doubt despised the king himself. But tell me, good brother, why do you withhold such reverence from your prelate, whom you hear called the vicar of Christ? Perhaps you judge him wicked and utterly unworthy of such an office, and for that reason you think it lawful for you to despise him. Not so, brother, not so; but consider whose place this is, in which the vicar of Christ sits, and know that you must honor the one who sends, not the one sent. If you wish to be a disciple of Christ, always consider why you came, and you will never deny reverence even to an unworthy prelate. For why did you come? Certainly so that, according to the rule of the Gospel, you might deny yourself for God’s sake; that under another’s command you might serve as a soldier for Christ; that with patience you might await the eternal reward promised to you. Therefore, brother, do not, do not lose the crown of eternal happiness prepared for you in heaven because of the displeasure caused by one man, a crown which 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 cannot trust yourself to be able to understand the will of God, you ought humbly to obey your rector, as his sacred vicar to whom you have subjected yourself; nor ought you to scrutinize either his life or his command, since it is not lawful for you to judge your shepherd. Indeed, in your profession you swore that you must not carry out your own will, but that you wished to obey the abbot in all things according to the Rule. The abbot, therefore, is the lord of your will, not by his own presumption, but by the ordinance of God, whose servant and vicar he is. But the handling of 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. And so a monk, professed according to the Rule to God and to his abbot, henceforth does not have his own [unclear] of his will; if afterward he has usurped his own will for himself, he commits theft and sacrilege. Nor will permission obtained save the presumptuous man, if it has been obtained by prayers and insults. Your abbot, O brother, is the vicar of God, to whom you ought to render the obedience you promised, not as to a good man, but as to holy God.

[unclear]: to show him humble reverence in the place of God. Whatever is bestowed by subjects upon a rector will without doubt be referred to God, whose vicar he is. Since, therefore, you have subjected yourself to your prelate for God alone and for no other cause, you should strive at all times to show yourself such toward him that he may freely be able to command you to do or leave undone whatever seems expedient to him, and need not fear any insolence or disturbances of your mind 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 above the master, sin is committed against the Gospel. Therefore beware lest you withhold reverence and honor from prelates; beware lest you offend them by saddening them, but take care to meet them, whatever sort of men they may be, with reverence, and in all things to obey their commands according to the Gospel and the Rule. Believe me, brother, because the fault committed by a subject against a prelate is punished very severely, either in the present life or in the life to come. For it is written: Do not touch my anointed ones. Whatever your prelate has commanded you, you ought to receive with such confidence that you believe God inspired it in him.

Let the monk’s manner of life toward the brethren be charitable.

Second, the monk’s manner of life toward his confrères is commanded to have charity; through this alone peace and concord are maintained in the monastery. Let our faithful cenobite always think upon and turn over in his heart the common joy of souls in eternal happiness, and let him continually direct the eye of his mind toward the equal condition of souls, so that his thought may not withdraw from love of their future fellowship. If a brother has offended you in any way by word or deed, if he has been troublesome or contrary to you in anything, do not weigh the disordered movement of sensuality from this; do not consider his present weakness, but lift the eyes of your mind to the nobility of his soul, and consider what fellowship of eternal happiness it will have with you. To this end you ought to bring back to memory the chapter of the Rule on the good zeal of monks, so that you may more easily rouse yourself to brotherly charity. Before all things, beware lest you admit displeasure against your brother, for he who is often accustomed to be angry with his neighbor clearly proves that he does not love God. For whoever loves God with his whole heart does not admit displeasure against his faithful brother. Indeed, a monk ought to be established in such great elevation of mind that, whatever a brother has committed against him, by considering the nature of that soul he cannot be moved.

Let the monk’s manner of life toward those who do injury be meek.

Third, the monk’s manner of life toward those who do injury ought to be meek, for then at last it is done well if regard is always had for the common future happiness and fellowship. To attain this meekness of spirit, let the cenobite learn to bring more frequently to mind the lives of the holy fathers, and faithfully to consider with how much joy they received injuries. Let him strive first of all, as far as possible, to imitate our Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who not only endured the injuries and insults of the impious with a most meek heart, but also prayed to the Father for his persecutors, that they should not perish. Imitating this example of the Savior, the holy fathers were accustomed patiently and meekly to receive injuries for the love of God, and, what is more, to love those very injurers. To this end let the cenobite recall to mind the degrees of meekness, which are contained briefly in these verses: Be apt, strengthen, as a meek man bear contrary things. Preserve, restrain, rest wholly with yourself. Correct prudently, be merciful, give wisely. Pray by setting yourself down, by desiring 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 sets reins upon the enticements of the flesh. The third submits itself reverently to the abbot.

Pressed by insults, the fourth patiently obeys. The fifth reports the depths of his heart to the abbot. The sixth, by his own judgment, is sure that he is [useless?] and unworthy. Then the seventh believes himself to be lower than all. The eighth does nothing that the rule of the cell does not permit. The ninth does not speak until another asks him. The tenth proscribes laughter and condemns guffawing. The eleventh speaks a few words of reason. The twelfth always looks at the ground with head bent.

On the same, otherwise.

[Fear] God, and do not do your own will; let another govern you. Bear [hard things?]; conceal nothing in your heart, but also seek the lowest things. Be refuse; do not wander alone; shut your tongue. Let laughter be sparing, speech grave, gestures humble.

Note: peripsema ought to be read and written, not peripsima, as the ignorant read in the Epistle to the [Corinthians?]; and it means filings and the cleansing of all things.

Thus the monk’s conduct toward secular persons is modest.

Fourth, the monk’s conduct toward secular persons ought to be modest, so that neither his familiarity with them be excessive nor his withdrawal indiscreet. Hence Hugh says: “Toward all persons, as far as lies in you, beware of everything that can fail to be a good example for them,” just as it befits the faithful servant of God to promote in all things the honor of his Lord, and to guard against his dishonor. 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 importunate, they are to be avoided all the more. Be [unclear]. Be obliging to the weak, humble in [services?]; be very truthful in words; let your words be as an oath, and edifying to others. Love poverty. Be chaste in all things, and everywhere reverent.

But in founding all virtues and good morals, set before yourself that most glorious and most perfect example of all brightness: the life and conduct of our Lord Jesus Christ, who was sent from heaven for this, that he might go before us in the way of virtues and teach us by his example to follow himself. Therefore, the more the monk takes care to conform himself to him by imitation in the way of virtues, so much the more like and nearer to him he will without doubt be in the glory of eternal felicity. Whatever you do, always look to him, and consider how he bore himself in all things according to the Gospel and according to your own estimation. For you know this very well: he bore himself most excellently in all things. Say therefore to yourself: If my Lord Jesus were present, what do you think he would do in this matter? Or what would he now say? Certainly he would both act and speak most excellently; I ought, according to my powers, to imitate him in all things.

General conclusion of all spiritual exercises.

Wishing at length to put some end to this work, we say that the completion of all spiritual exercises consists in two things. First, in knowledge and perception 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 to better things and may in no way withdraw from this effort. Every cenobite ought to stretch out his mind at every moment toward this effort of advancement; if he ever neglects it, he incurs transgression of his vow and very grave danger to his soul. But let the monk beware lest consideration of his own weakness lead him away from the effort of advancing; let him beware lest that effort itself despise consideration of imperfection. Rather, let these two cohere with each other mutually in such a way that neither ever withdraws from the other. But if excessive consideration of his own imperfection attempts to lead the mind into despair, let him recall to memory what the holy abbot Bernard said: “Let us breathe again, brothers, because although we are nothing in our own hearts, perhaps something can lie hidden in us in the heart of God.” These two considerations, of our weakness and of divine estimation, excite great devotion in us, as the psalmist said: “I am poor and sorrowful”; behold the first. “Your salvation, O God, has upheld me”; behold the second.

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

Here is the end of the Spiritual Exercise of Cloistered Persons, by Peter of 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 spiritual exercise. Johannes Trithemius.

This form of spiritual exercise, issued by us for the edification of cloistered persons, might appear very brief to all devout persons who have leisure; yet we fear that to those sufficiently occupied in household affairs it may seem rather lengthy. For when thought is stretched by continual solicitude in arranging necessary matters [unclear], the mind is easily wearied in spiritual exercises, even the very briefest. Therefore, lest our monks who are either devoted to external things or less devout in spiritual conversation should be able, on the occasion of prolixity, to flee loosely to an argument of excuse, we have been ordered to abbreviate the same instruction, so that both the more fervent in their devotion may retain the greater one, and the lukewarm may not omit the lesser.

There follows the practice of spiritual exercise.

At all and each of the hours generally, let the devout cenobite strive to direct his effort to this end: that with all his strength he may desire to magnify God in his heart as the root of His benefits. Let there be in him so very fervent an ardor of devotion, so much compunction, so great an inundation of tears coming on, that whoever sees him chanting the psalms may be moved by his example to magnify the Lord. Secondly, let him remember that he can be stirred up to the charity of the first [unclear]; for love is directed toward God in vain if the neighbor is hated. Therefore, when all the thorns of displeasure have been expelled, let the most devout cenobite, turned toward God, pray.

O almighty, everlasting God, who, instructing us for the exercise of Your love by the manifold creation of things, have commanded us to 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, all motions of displeasure, aversion, and anger being restrained, I may love You always with a pure heart above all things, and may in no way withdraw from sincere love of neighbor; so that, just as a member joined to a member suffers with one that is injured, so may my mind, sincerely loving its neighbor, 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 eternal God, by the virtue of the most holy passion of Your only-begotten Son, our Lord Jesus Christ: enlighten the eyes of my heart, that, pierced by the spirit, I may see how often I have offended in Your commandments; and, cleansed by Your mercy from every filth of sin, may I never offend You hereafter.

After Matins.

When Matins has ended, while still remaining in the church, or also when placed 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 morning hour, set in the greatest anguish of Your most holy heart, after a threefold prayer fully resigned Yourself into the will of God the Father: grant me, by the virtue of that charity of Yours, perfectly to despise my own will in all things for love of You, and truly to resign myself at all times into the disposition of Your will and of those whom You have placed over me. Who live and reign.

After Prime.

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

Prayer.

[unclear]

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, the deep virtue of humility, and continual remembrance of Your most bitter passion, so that all that I am and am able to do may always serve You, and my mind may continually burn in Your love.

After None.

After None, be mindful of sweetest Jesus dying on the cross, and, hastening in spirit to His knees, to whom with tears you can give thanks with devout [unclear], you will pray thus.

I pray You, sweetest [unclear]:

Lord Jesus Christ, king of heaven and earth, have mercy on me, for whom you died on the cross; and I humbly give thanks to you for your holy passion and most innocent death. O most loving Savior, what shall I render to you for all the things that you have rendered to me? Behold, I offer myself to you; I continually desire to dwell in your most holy wounds. I ask you, by the virtue of your most innocent death, have mercy on me as you know how; fasten my flesh with your fear, and restrain in me all disordered motions, so that, inflamed by the fervor of your most holy love, I may love you with a pure heart, confess you praiseworthy with my mouth, and follow you in deed, according to my strength, in 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 departed from your body: have mercy on my soul at its departure.

The first hour after dinner.

The first hour after dinner. Unless you are occupied with higher exercises, for first obtaining knowledge of frailty, pray for the day in this or a similar manner.

Prayer

Almighty God, who out of your great goodness created me in the first parent from the mud of the earth, so that, mindful of my humble condition, I might glorify you, my creator, in true humility: grant me, I beseech you, truly to know my frailty in all things, so that, while I consider that I am both vile and almost nothing by my own merit, I may first deserve to please you by your gift. Through Christ.

The Second Hour.

At the second hour after midday let our cenobite bring back to memory the gravity of sins, both his own and those 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 everlasting God, who deigned, from your mercy alone, to make us wretched ones, dead in sins, alive by the incarnation and death of your only-begotten Son, our Jesus Christ: grant me, by the virtue of his most innocent passion, indulgence for all my sins and my own, so that henceforth I may deserve 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 and what he promised the Lord, and especially the renunciation of all property, namely in things, [unclear], and will; and, compunct in fervor of spirit, he shall pray thus to the Lord.

Prayer

Almighty and merciful God, who by kindly favor sanctify and receive the vows of your servants, offered to you from faithful devotion: grant me to render all that has been promised to you, and the virtue of humility, chastity, obedience, and poverty, with such purity of mind that I may deserve, with your mercy, to obtain your kingdom promised to the poor in spirit. Through our Lord.

After vespers:

After vespers let our good cenobite think that all visible things are vain; and, raised in mind to the love of invisible goods and to the Lord, let him cry out with as much devotion as he can.

Prayer.

Almighty everlasting God, who wished to lead us through the visible things which you created to knowledge and love of invisible things: grant me so to know the vanity of present things that I may deserve to think on the eternity of future things with a pure and [unclear] mind.

Another.

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

Another prayer.

God, who have prepared invisible good things 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 the Lord.

After supper and collation:

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

Prayer.

Lord God, greatest lover of faithful souls, who wished your Son to die on the gibbet of the cross for the salvation of men: grant me, by the example of the same your Son, 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 in due season those who contradict you;

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

After Compline

After Compline, having gathered his powers, the devout cenobite should enter alone into the secret place of his heart; let him leave all cares and anxieties outside, bare of them, so that, free and released from all things, he may deserve to speak with the Lord Jesus through the desire of compunction, and sweetly to be united through the burning of love. Thus, having recalled the faults of the day in summary to the memory for examination, let him pray to the Lord as follows.

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 through the power of your most innocent death, pardon for all my sins, so that with conscience cleansed I may hereafter cling to you continually through the desire of love; may make daily progress in holy religion; and may humbly submit myself in all things to your most holy will.

To the Son.

My body and my soul I commend to you, Lord Jesus Christ, this night and at every time, in the power and union of that love by which, 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 the snares of the ancient serpent; suppress the unlawful motions of the flesh; drive far away foul and evil dreams; and repel the phantasms of the nights, so that I may sleep secure in your peace, and at the hours appointed for me may rise gladly to your praises. Amen.

To the Father.

Lord, holy Father, almighty, eternal God, who kindly received us into your grace in the passion of your only-begotten Son: receive, I beseech you, mercifully, all the good things, bestowed by you, that I have done on this day, in words, deeds, and thoughts, in the power and union of that charity and love by which you received the same your Son hanging and dying on the cross for us. And to you, holy Father, in the faith and union of that charity I commend myself this night and at every time, by which your Son, our Lord, when now about to die, commended his spirit to you on the cross.

To Saint Mary.

Holy and immaculate mother of God, Virgin Mary: I beg you, by the bitter passion and death of your sweetest Son, do not reject me, a wretched sinner, because of my unclean conscience, but remember that you are the mother of mercy; and pray for me to God, whom you bore, that he may mercifully forgive me my sins; make me his fervent lover; guard me this night from all snares and evils; and after the death of the flesh bring 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 commending by which your beloved Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, when now about to die on the cross, commended you to the beloved 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 lies open to us, we ought, with whatever devotion we can, to exercise ourselves in it rather frequently, 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 what diligence I can, I warn, exhort, and ask you that, mindful of the benefits of God, you let no day at all pass in which you do not give thanks to your Savior for the bitterness of his

of your passion and death. And if, on any occasion, you cannot do so 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 lovers of his to whom he wished: that nothing is more pleasing to him, and nothing more useful to us, than to recall the memory of his passion and death with thanksgiving, and to admonish others to do the same. Receive, therefore, the abbreviated word, lest a longer prayer make you weary.

With knees bent on the ground and hands clasped together, say:

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

To your most bitter passion and your most innocent death, Lord Jesus Christ, compassionating in spirit, I give thanks; I pray 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 delivered me, a wretch, from perpetual death. I pray you, through the power of that same passion of yours: make me a participant for ever in your most innocent death.

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

And, lest I be more prolix than is fitting, here I set an end to the compendium. For the venerable whole assembly of the abbots of our annual chapter commanded me in this place to avoid prolixity, lest lukewarm and worldly cloistered men make weariness their excuse. If the Lord Jesus, as I have always wished, gives us a life free from cares, I shall try to satisfy both my own intention and another’s request. For I have resolved, at the request of certain virgins dedicated to Christ, to hand down a rule by which any devout cenobite may exercise himself in the Lord’s passion against all temptations; and if he continues in it for a few months, exercising himself as he should, little by little he will fly sweetly from the humanity of Christ to his divinity by the ray of love. For to those who desire to arrive at the love of God, continual meditation on the Lord’s passion affords an easy approach, because while the mind, through compassion arising from the memory of the benefit of so great a lover, is pierced with compunction, it is lifted up, burning with tears and desire, to love. You, therefore, cloistered men dedicated to God, who have no leisure to attend to many things, receive these few things; in them, although there may not be a continuous blaze of love, it can nevertheless be renewed for those who weep.

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