Liber de Triplici Regione Claustralium et Spirituali Exercitio Monachorum

Book on the Threefold Region of Cloistered Persons and on the Spiritual Exercise of Monks: no less useful than necessary for all religious.

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

Hermann Tulichus to the pious and religious brother, professor Christian [unclear].

Ethereal Olympus yields to no one after death who passes the swift days without toil. Whatever in this life you say and do freely, an account must be rendered before God as witness. Not he who gives himself to Venus, to downy beds, and to devouring Ceres enjoys the starry heaven after his death. The man devoted to enticements is barred from the realm of the gods; the stars indeed must be sought by a narrow way. While, unharmed, we feed upon the living air of heaven, the kingdoms of the paradisal soil must be earned. After death we cast belated cries into the ether, lamenting that we have gone down into the Stygian pools. But because the strict Judge after our final fate pays no heed to complaints, now, lover of piety, the sentence after death must be considered with watchful mind: that rewards await each person according to his own merit. As soon as you ponder this with yourself in a thoughtful heart, if you yourself are wise, you will set a limit to sin.

Do not sin; God sees.

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 Bursfelde Union and Observance: Brother Johannes Trithemius, called abbot in Sponheim, of the same order and congregation, of the diocese of Mainz, sends reverence and charity.

Most honored fathers, I have complied with your commands, 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 issued by the venerable father, lord Johannes, abbot of Bursfelde. And indeed, unless your authority had compelled me, I would never have dared to lay my hand upon the distinguished work of so great a father, who, it is agreed, being far more learned and holier than I, wrote most excellently. For what would I correct, where everything is found most approved? A good and devout man wrote no otherwise than he lived 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, sentences; and, attending to [unclear], I brought it, as far as I could, into my own manner and style of writing. But I kept the order and matter of the earlier volume; I completely changed the form and habit of expression. I added many things that seemed useful to me in almost every place; I removed a few; in individual passages I altered the words, not the sense. For both your command gave me warrant to dare this, and the insistent request of the aforesaid father persuaded me.

For you wished that I should make a new work out of old material, should add whatever seemed suitable to me, should cut away superfluities, should alter [everything?] according to the powers of my talent, which are slight; this I completed by rewriting. Receive now, therefore, most beloved fathers, a work not mine but yours, not composed by me, but rather rewritten. If the labor of the aforesaid father pleases you, praise his talent; but if it displeases because of its meanness, correct my imperfection, since I, who had excellent material for spiritual building from another’s expenditure, have through my inexperience fashioned an unsuitable structure. If I have become a fool, you compelled me. Therefore, whether the work pleases or displeases, it is better for me, by writing ineptly, to have undertaken your command obediently than, contrary to obedience, to have held

[unclear] silence. Yet I trust not in my own powers but in the merits of others, because a work which charity has brought forth will displease no lover of God.

I pray that your Paternities may always remain blessed in Christ. From Spanheim, on the fourteenth day before the Kalends of September, in the year of the Lord’s incarnation 1497.

Hermannus Tulichus to the religious brothers of the order of Saint Benedict: greeting in the Lord.

Everyone knows with how great care the ancient Romans, and other peoples alien to Christian piety, acted not only to preserve but also to enlarge their superstition, if he has merely handled the ancient monuments of that nation. Indeed, the slightest fault in religion, either insufficiently diligently observed or neglected through carelessness, they punished with great severity. Since this is so, with how great effort must you, professors of the Christian faith and religion, strive, not only to observe the worship of the true God, but also, according to your strength, equally to confirm and increase it?

This is what the noble and most zealous defender of the Christian name and religion, Heinrich von Schleinitz, abbot in Chemnitz, and the most watchful propagator and champion of divine worship, Johannes Schreiger, abbot in Marienzell, carefully considering, procure all things which awaken and enlarge love for Jesus Christ, the vindicator of the human race from diabolical servitude. Of this matter, among many other things, this above all is evidence: that they are the chief authors in ensuring that, with the present little book copied in a thousand examples, the opportunity of reading it should be available to all those who, according to their profession, wish to exercise themselves in Christian piety.

Therefore all who wish both to be called Christians and to be regarded as such, and especially the brothers who have entered the religion of Saint Benedict, must strive that you not merely read through this little book often, but constantly exercise yourselves in those things which are most holily prescribed in it. This is certainly worth the labor, provided that after death you are to go happily into the kingdom of heaven, which, as it is in the sacred writings, suffers violence and the violent seize it. Let us strive earnestly and with all, as they say, our strength, that through the grace of God, best and greatest, we may all be led after death from this valley of tears to that place. Farewell. Given at Leipzig, in the house of Melchior Lotter, in the year from the reconciled divinity 1516.

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

When I recall to mind the state of monastic life in this time, I grieve deeply over its calamity, because the fervor of spiritual exercise which once produced very abundant fruits in the order of our holy father Benedict has now, for the most part, departed from monks. For we see cloistered persons returning in their morals to the world; we see the institution of regular observance despised by many; and religion, which at the beginning had been instituted for contempt of the world, is again recalled to the pomp of the world through wicked monks.

The crown of our head has fallen; the integrity of regular discipline has been corrupted, and the former fervor of conduct has perished. We see very many monasteries of our order lying buried in the worst deformity; very few do we see reformed to the purity of the Rule. But the cause of this fall of regular institution is negligence of spiritual exercises, because as soon as the spirit of fervor in the minds of cloistered persons lost its savor, the flesh, previously dead through denial of itself, revived, and the world, which before had appeared dry and hopeless to devout hearts, began again to flourish in carnal minds.

For truly the thought of the human heart, inclined to evil from youth, unless it has been daily stirred to fervor of spirit by the bridle of spiritual exercise, soon falling back into its former negligences, grows lukewarm from its holy purpose. For just as newly broken land, deprived of the diligent care of the cultivator, with thorns growing up, quickly returns into the solitude of its former state, so the human mind, however pure or holy it may be, is quickly reduced to the brambles of vices unless it is renewed to fervor of spirit by the daily exercise of devotion.

Led by this consideration, the fathers of our Bursfeld observance, devout cultivators, entrusted to us and to posterity by word and example that we, who for our frailty cannot remain constant in fervor of spirit, should at least by evening recollection after compline, accusing our daily negligences, renew the state of our mind to the fervor of our holy purpose. But whoever has neglected the daily exercise of this institution falls into the depth of torpor, just as the wise man says in Ecclesiasticus: “If you do not hold yourself steadfastly in the fear of the Lord, your house will quickly be overthrown”; by this is understood good confidence. For this exercise, so useful and so necessary

[unclear] provision, the Rule of our most holy father Benedict seems to suffice for the monk, since it is agreed that it contains all the material of the exercises, both spiritual and bodily, necessary for monks for the preservation of regular discipline. And therefore all the exercises of monks are to be humbly submitted to the constitutions of the Rule, since whatever is prescribed either by us or by others for the instruction of monks is wholly directed to the observance of the monastic norm. For the sum of our whole religious life, which is acquired by the continuance of spiritual exercise, is contained in compendium in the Rule of monastic tradition, as in a root. Therefore every exercise of monks, whether spiritual or bodily, by which the mind is brought through love to humble obedience and self-denial, is conformed to the institutions of the holy Rule; the more it is recognized as presenting a good and humble monk as near to God, by so much the more it opposes the pursuits of the proud contemner. The holy mysteries of this exercise direct the mind of its cultivator, by an invisible teaching, toward the love of God, as toward its due end, along a secure path; they wonderfully acquire the grace of inward devotion, and make the monk despise all earthly things as nothing, and sweetly burn at all times in fervor of spirit. The animal man does not perceive this salutary 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 from the Lord this gift of holy compunction, which, once anyone has perfectly obtained it, he will fear no adversities of this world. But that exercise which, lacking its due end, does not direct the minds of cloistered men to the observance of the commandments of the Rule, the holy Spirit of discipline does not infuse, since 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 hearken rather than to offer fat. And although many little works of spiritual exercise composed by various authors are found, yet, because not all things suit all people, it has seemed good also to you to publish something in accordance with the Rule of our most holy father Benedict, by which we may more greatly and more nearly stir ourselves to the purity of regular observance. Accordingly, we divide the present little work, collected from the exercises of the excellent father Theodoric the abbot, into two principal parts: the first of which is set forth in consideration of monastic instruction; the second is occupied with the exercise of the spiritual life. In the first te

you are bidden to know him; in the second, to raise the mind from earthly things to heavenly. Therefore, approaching as best we can the subject proposed for our consideration, we divide the first treatise into three parts, according to the threefold state of cloistered men, of whom we may call the first sensual, the second rational, the third spiritual. From this threefold state of men we take a fitting title for this work, which we call On the Threefold Region of Cloistered Men. In these three regions the whole multitude of monks is comprised, 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, living sensually in the lowest region

The first region of the soul, then, is called sensual, lowest, and also animal; in it the roots of all evils are contained. Men placed in this dark region share, in their kind, with beasts, since they observe, so to speak, bestial habits, while they give either nothing or little to reason, but, like beasts, yield everything to sensuality. 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 senses; the second, the concupiscible power, delights in carnal things; the third, the irascible power, flees things contrary to the pleasures of the flesh.

And this lowest region is compared to the airy heaven, because, just as hailstorms, snows, lightning, and various tempests are generated in the air, so too in the minds of carnal men inhabiting this dark region various tempests of vices rage. Woe to carnal monks who inhabit this dark region, in which the motion of crimes is frequent and the storm of pleasures continual. These are monks given over to animal passions, who subject reason to sensuality, who live according to the flesh in bestial desires. Manifest, moreover, are the works of the flesh among those dwelling in this lowest region: fornication, uncleanness, shamelessness, luxury, service of idols, sorceries, enmities, rivalries, angers, quarrels, dissensions, sects, envies, murders, drunkenness, feasting, and things similar to these. Concerning them the apostle cries out directly that those who do such things will not obtain the kingdom of God. These are those living in the lowest work of religion, who despise the traditions of the holy fathers, who presumptuously contemn the precepts handed down by their elders. These are the unclean worshippers 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 [unclear] the vow of holy religion which they have professed, who, despising the salvation of their souls, scorn to follow the grace of God calling them.

Therefore he handed them over to a reprobate sense and to false judgment, so that they judge evil to be good, and falsely suppose that the things which in truth are worst are themselves best. These are those of whom the holy apostle prophesied: carnal monks, whisperers, detractors, hateful to God, insulting, proud, puffed up, inventors of evils, disobedient to superiors, foolish, disorderly, without affection, without covenant, without mercy, filled with every iniquity, malice, wickedness, contention, deceit, and malignity; although they know the justice of God, they do not wish to understand that those who do such things are worthy of 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 by no means oppose the pursuits of the wicked. For indeed the ruler of souls who does not correct his offending subjects involves himself in damnation for the crimes of others, and by keeping silent becomes their associate, whose faults condemnation will follow. For whoever is appointed shepherd of souls and neglects to correct sinners according to the canonical rule, even if he is free of his own offense, nevertheless will be condemned before the strict judge for another’s merit.

For the supreme shepherd says to the prophet: Son of man, I have made you a watchman for the house of Israel, and you shall hear the word from my mouth, and you shall announce it to them from me. If, therefore, when I say to the wicked man, You shall surely die, you have not announced it to him, nor have spoken so that he may turn away from his wicked way and live, then that wicked man indeed shall die in his iniquity, but I will require his blood from your hand. And Benedict our father says in the Rule: Let the abbot know that the fault lies upon the shepherd if he shall have been able to find anything of less profit for the father of the household in his sheep. O sentence always to be feared by all shepherds: because not only is the depraved conduct of subjects ascribed to the ruler, but he is also held guilty before the inward judge for their lesser progress. O what shall we wretched shepherds say in that strict examination, we who neglect to correct according to the Rule the monks entrusted to us when they offend in many ways; who do not call those lying in the lowest region to higher things, but, carnal with the carnal, grow numb in the shadow of death with harmful idleness. Woe to all who remain in this dark region, because unless they do penance, they must be assigned with those who [unclear] darkness

they dwell in the outer [places], where no order dwells, but perpetual horror. For just as monks who, according to the Rule, walk in the spirit are to be happily crowned without end in heaven with the holy angels, so, conversely, those who, contrary to the norm of monastic institution, persevere in the flesh in this lowest region even unto death, being worse than pagans, are to be tortured eternally in hell with the demons. For that blessed man truly said: “As I have never seen better men than those who have made progress in the cenobium, so I have not found worse men than those who have failed in the monastery.”

For the monastic profession requires the perfection of the spiritual life, and tends toward the summit of the virtues as toward its proper due end. But by however much anyone, placed in the monastery, has fallen away from this effort of making progress, by so much the farther does he withdraw from the purpose of a monk.

In what manner the carnal monks, citizens of this lowest region, are disordered in many articles.

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

And first, indeed, the citizens of this lowest region, beastly monks, are disordered toward God; then toward their own prelate; third, the prelate toward his subjects; fourth, the members toward one another; again, fifth, they are disordered toward themselves; then toward the property of the monastery; seventh, toward contempt of the world; consequently, toward repentance for sin. These are the principal disorders of the citizens of the lowest region; these are the beastly dispositions of carnal monks, who dwell in the lowest things in mind and body, who do not hasten to make progress toward the summit. Therefore, to set out briefly, in order, these disordered conditions of the lowest region, and to show, as far as we can, how far carnal monks are from God. For, as the Prophet says, salvation is far from sinners.

In what manner the carnal monks, citizens of this lowest region, are disordered in many articles.

In what way the citizens of this lowest region are disordered toward God. Article I.

Therefore the carnal monks of this lowest region, mad worshippers, are in many ways disordered toward God; they never feel the sweetness of his love; they admit no compunction of divine fear; in their affections they are beastly and swollen with pride; in their carnal pleasures they are at all times unclean. And first, indeed, their disorder toward God takes its origin from ignorance: for, being given over to animal passions, they do not care to have God in their knowledge, nor do they consent to ponder in their mind those things that lead to fear of 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, that they may do well; they do not tremble before the face of the strict judge; without repentance they continually persevere in evils.

Indeed, like beasts of burden, they do not fear to rot away in their pleasures; they pay no heed to the patience of God calling them to repentance; they seek nothing other than 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 little; they do not fear the punishments prepared in hell for sinners; the grace of compunction never pierces their hearts, whose mind the love of God does not inflame. They have no care for God; no dread of death. They obey the belly rather than God; they desire at all times to live according to the flesh; and while they shamefully neglect their own salvation, they descend to hell with the demons. Indeed, those who, forgetful of God, keep badly the vow of holy monastic conduct do not attain to the heavenly rewards of life to be bestowed upon the just.

Secondly, carnal monks are disordered toward God through foolish profession, because they promise to live according to the Rule, yet they do not truly care to fulfill this. And what is more disordered than to promise to the Lord God strictness of life, and to remain in the foulness of one’s former life? He is a mocker of almighty God, not a monk, whoever lives in a monastery otherwise than the monastic Rule teaches. O how many today do we see living secularly within the cloister; how many do we see neglecting the purpose of their profession; who violate the observance of regular discipline in various ways; who knowingly ignore the goodness of God; who refuse to do penance.

Thirdly, many cloistered men of this lowest region are disordered toward God through neglect of the service owed to him: they serve their own affections and carnal desires in various ways, and with a distracted mind approach the service of God. Of these, some hasten to choir without any devotion

are lukewarm. Others, compelled by necessity, come unwillingly; certain ones, scattered by outward thoughts, are present at divine services in body, but outside they wander in mind through various workshops. Others do not fear to seek false occasions by which they may, as if licitly, be able to absent themselves from choir. Now they feign a severe headache; now they mendaciously allege this, now that; and while they deceitfully withdraw the service owed to almighty God, they incur the reproach of eternal malediction owed to the negligent.

Fourth, there are many who are disordered toward God by the working of habit: although they may at times be free from the malediction of the negligent, they nevertheless never approach the fruit of inward devotion. For they come to the service of God from habit alone, nor are they moved to any good work by devotion. Others, placed under grave necessity, obey the commands of superiors quite unwillingly, and fear temporal punishments more than the judgment of God. These bear the cross of the Lord with Simon under compulsion; like the heifer of Ephraim led to the threshing-floor, they apply themselves to good works by habit alone. But those who come to the service of God with an intention that is not due do a good thing not well. They also perform the deed of a just man without the reward of a just man, who in good works do not also take on the good will of a just man.

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, one who is found ungrateful to the Lord for benefits received is often exposed, by his own demerit, to be scourged by various and most grievous temptations. And therefore he deserves to lose the benefit that he has received, because he 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 a vow, and shamefully to violate a resolution solemnly undertaken? For a monk who entangles himself in carnal vices, who neglects to live according to the rule that he has professed, voluntarily incurs the greatest vice of ingratitude.

In what manner the monks of this lowest region are disordered toward their prelate. Article II.

Toward their prelate, carnal monks are disordered in many ways: they tear him apart with continual detractions; with a contumacious heart they disparage the pastoral office; they refuse to show their pastor the affection of filial love according to the rule. For, blinded by various pleasures of the flesh, the monks of this lowest region disdain to consider whose place the abbot holds in the monastery; and the one whom they should humbly venerate as Christ’s vicar, they think, as being like themselves by reason of infirmity, worthy of no honor. Beneath the snare of this disordered way of life, the ancient enemy deceives carnal monks, whom he leads in various ways into displeasure with their pastor.

For the greatest power of raging against the monastic flock is granted to the devil when the one who presides is hated by his subjects. For just as a sick man who hates the physician and does not allow him to come near cannot be healed, so a monk who, because of aversion, does not wish to disclose his temptations to his pastor cannot be saved. For how will a sick sheep be able to escape the teeth of the ravening wolf, if it cannot endure the presence of the shepherd? First, therefore, disordered monks disparage the life of their pastor, and contumaciously accuse both his deeds and his words, because, when they see their ruler proceeding 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 and sins always hates a pastor of purified conduct.

Secondly, the citizens of this shadowy region are disordered toward their prelate when his office is disparaged, though they do not fail to know that he was ordained by God to preside in the monastery. They murmur against him on slight occasion; his commands are not observed; and those who long ago had subjected themselves, for the love of God, with the arms of holy obedience, now, after obedience has been despised, in the manner of Sarabaites usurp for themselves the pernicious rule of their own wills. They desire to have an abbot suited to their own depraved morals. They reject one who is holy and useful. If they find a lax and sluggish pastor, they intoxicate him by flattery with many poisons; they call him the best and most pious father, and subject themselves to him not humbly but gladly, because from him they fear no correction of their depravity.

Thirdly, carnal monks show themselves disorderly toward their pastors, when they withdraw themselves from them in the affection of filial love and scorn to obey according to the Rule. Yet since a monk is bound to love his abbot with sincere affection as the vicar of Christ, he will not be able to hate him without a most grievous crime. For indeed, he who does not love his pastor for the love of Christ is not a true lover of God. For how would Christ, who wishes even enemies to be loved, permit his own vicars to be hated? Therefore look to him who wished the abbot to be set over you in his place, and henceforth there will be no cause of displeasure against him.

Fourthly, the disorderly citizens of the shady valley detract from the reverence due to their pastor, when they not only scorn to pay him the honor owed by the Rule, but, what is worse, do not fear even to inflict insult upon him. For the Rule states that the abbot bears the place of Christ in the monastery, to whom all monks ought humbly to obey as to Christ himself, since the obedience that is paid to superiors is shown to Christ. But perverse cloisterers, always ungrateful for the presidency of prelates, do not fear stubbornly to oppose the divine ordinance; they scorn to obey the commands of the holy Rule; and they dishonor their abbot, to whom they ought to have shown every reverence, tearing him with hatred and detractions. Whatever he has done, whatever he has said, displeases them as though badly done, since they detract at all times from his conduct and, despising his office, these diseased sheep seek nothing more than the confusion of their pastor. Some of them, judging their abbot in secret, despise him; others contradict him to his face. And while they neglect to show reverence to their pastor, they confound every observance of discipline. Pride is always familiar to these men, and the foulness of the flesh, because those who voluntarily withdraw themselves from the affection of their pastor fall into abominable temptations and the worst crimes. For whoever despises Christ’s vicar in the monastery hands over to the devil the power of raging against him, and confounds the union of the mystical body.

Fifthly, carnal and disorderly monks detract from the authority of their pastor, when they think that nothing is permitted to him in the monastery unless they themselves have consented to it. With uplifted neck they despise the virtue of humility; they spurn regular subjection; they scorn to yield to their betters. They wish to thrust themselves into divine affairs and causes, and to usurp for themselves the primacy of counsel, so that the abbot dares to do or arrange nothing unless the business first proceeds with their consent. But what does the blessed lawgiver say in the Rule? “The abbot,” he says, “hearing the counsels of the brothers, should consider the matter within himself, and do what he judges more useful.” And again: “Let the brothers give counsel with all humble subjection, so that they do not presume stubbornly to defend what has seemed good to them; rather, let it depend on the abbot’s judgment, so that all may obey what he has judged to be 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 ordering certainly concerns the appointment and removal of all officials of the monastery; it requires not the consent of the brothers, but the counsel of those who fear God. Finally, the Rule commands all things to be done according to the will of the abbot, and that absolutely nothing be presumed which has not been enjoined by him. Carnal monks, rash usurpers of their own will, try in various ways to weaken this authority of his and to disturb the order and charity of the whole monastery, when they think that the rector should do nothing except what they themselves think right. But tell me, proud cultivators of [unclear], who always establish your own will, who vo

You usurp another's right for yourselves. Is this the virtue of obedience: to be unwilling to yield to the command of a superior, but stubbornly to cling to one’s own judgment? The holy father did not lay down in the Rule that you should live in this way, since he ordered you in all things to follow the will of the abbot. For obedience is the greatest virtue of a monk, which our divine father wished to commend so highly that he said that a good work done without the abbot’s will lacks merit. Hence, giving instruction, he concludes thus: “Therefore let all things be done with the abbot’s will, and let no one in the monastery follow his own will.” But if a discretion sufficient for the ordering of the monastery does not appear to be present in the ruler, that must be imputed to carnal monks, who voluntarily set over themselves one who was not suitable. Folly always hates prudence, and wicked monks detest a wise abbot. Therefore those who knowingly set a fool over themselves will necessarily be subject to his ordering and will. Indeed, no incapacity of the pastor ought to extinguish the obedience of subjects, since the Rule commands us to obey even an unprofitable one. For it says: “The precepts of the abbot are to be obeyed in all things, even if he himself, which God forbid, acts otherwise.” But carnal monks, reproving us for disobedience, object: “We do these things rightly and with a good intention, because we see the substance of the monastery perishing through bad government.” But the apostle contradicts you, since evils are not to be done so that good things may come, nor on account of the loss of a temporal thing is the subjection of humility to be abandoned. For where, between loss of temporal substance and danger to regular obedience, something must be undergone, it is better that the substance perish than that the purity of obedience be harmed. For God will not require money from our hands, but souls. Truly, he 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 easier to me to establish a new monk from the world than to be able to amend the sloth of those men. But from their fruits we clearly know what sort they are, namely those who violate peace and charity in the monastery, disturb the concord of unity, sow discord between the brothers and the abbot, and stubbornly refuse to obey the commands of the Rule. These are the works of evil cloisterers; these are the marks of the citizens of the lowest region, since, as most wicked defenders of their own will, they cast aside the weapons of holy obedience; they live according to the flesh, not the spirit; they show either no deference or little to the statutes of the fathers; they do not acquiesce in sound counsels. Their damnation is just. For just as it is impossible for a blazing fire not to ascend upward, so it is not possible for a monk without obedience to penetrate the secrets of heaven.

In what way the pastors of this lowest region are disordered toward their subjects. Article III.

Since, however, we have shown that very many monks of the lowest region are disordered, and likewise their pastors, shall we not also show the disorders of prelates toward their subjects, as though sparing ourselves? Neither does the name of abbot sanctify anyone, nor does the preeminence of pastoral care save the undeserving. Therefore, since many among the prelates inhabit 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 very many rulers of cloistered persons show themselves disordered toward their subjects: they not only neglect to feed according to the rule the souls committed to them, but tear and kill them in various ways. But whenever someone from the lowest region is taken up as a pastor, the pursuits of the wicked are strengthened for the worse. Therefore a good man, one who loves God, is to be promoted as abbot: one who has long since overcome this lowest region; one who has learned to subdue the passions of the flesh; one who both wishes and is able to ascend to that highest region of the spirit. For the abbot of monks must be of higher merit than the monks, since whoever is appointed ruler of souls must necessarily be adorned with many virtues. For if a weak pastor still dwells in the lowest region with the sheep, he kills the feeble by neglecting them; he does not strengthen them. For if a blind man offers guidance to a blind man, he must necessarily fall with him into the pit. But the pastor who does not show himself well ordered toward his subjects according to the rule is to be called not a pastor but a hireling, and he will not remain in the house of the Lord forever.

Many, moreover, are the disorders of carnal prelates, which do harm so much the more widely as they are corrected the more rarely.

And first, indeed, a ruler is disordered toward his subjects if he has been a hireling: if, with the sheep neglected, he seeks his own advantage of flesh or soul; if, so that he may be able to obtain his own will, he denies nothing contrary to the rule to those who ask. For truly the one who is a hireling does not truly love the sheep: he seeks his own glory, desires to be over others, does not care to be of service according to the rule, rejoices to be called abbot, does not know how to show himself a pastor. Therefore he receives the empty reward of his vanity: he who seeks not God's glory but his own; who would more readily permit the souls of his subjects to perish than resign the abbacy to another, better man. He is a hireling, and the sheep do not belong to him. He is not a true monk; he is not a good pastor; he is not a sincere lover of God, who, presiding over monks, is unwilling to step down if, by the counsel of those who fear God, it should seem expedient to do so. The care of governing souls despises the proud man; it requires one humble and resigned to God in all things. Therefore, if you wish to be found a good pastor and a true monk, remember that your intention must be formed in this way at all times: that you be ready, out of love for God, humbly to feed, according to your strength, the souls committed to you; that you also be ready to resign the pastoral office, at the judgment of God and of good men, from integrity of heart. If you have kept this intention always abiding in your mind, you will be a good pastor both to yourself and to others

you will be. But if in pastoral care you love your own honor; if you prefer your own advantage to the benefit of your subjects, you still dwell with the beasts in the lowest region, and you show how disordered of heart you are.

Secondly, the pastor of souls is rendered disordered toward his subjects if his mind is occupied too greedily with temporal affairs, if he bears greater anxiety for secular business than for the souls committed to him. This excessive care for temporal things holy father Benedict forbids in the Rule, and rightly judges rational souls to be preferred to all things of the world.

“Before all things,” he says, “let the abbot not, by dissembling or making little of the salvation of the souls committed to him, bear more anxiety for transitory, earthly, and perishable things; but let him always consider that he has undertaken to govern souls, for which he will also render account.” Consequently the pious father assures him concerning the necessities of the body, if, loving God, he worships him with a pure mind. “And lest perhaps,” he says, “he complain of scantier substance, let him remember what is written: ‘Seek first the kingdom of God and his justice, and all these things shall be added to you.’ And again: ‘Nothing is lacking to those who fear God.’”

But the disordered pastor of monks is led astray by the spirit of avarice; blinded in mind as though without feeling, he casts away from himself the fear of the Lord; sold under sin with Ahab, he runs to the aid of wickedness; he lacks confidence in the promises made through the holy father concerning the attainment of necessities; he is occupied with external matters more than befits a monk. Driven now thereafter by the goads of avarice, he despises the commands of God and of holy mother Church; he does not keep feast days; he plunges wholly into earthly affairs; he thinks on nothing but temporal things; he detests the observance of regular discipline; and when he fears being restrained from evil pursuits by the authority of the Chapter, he seeks the dissolution of the holy union.

Then, having become reprobate with Saul, he calls upon the counsel of the pythoness; he declares the obedience of reform damnable for his monastery; he desires to be released [as quickly as possible?] from submission to the confederation; to this end he relates many things falsely and mendaciously. But when the authority of the annual Chapter is despised with impunity, it remains that monastic observance suffer shipwreck; for love of God keeps the good regularly in discipline, and fear of correction restrains the depraved from evil works. Whoever strives to evade the unity of the Chapter imitates the devil.

Thus the emperor of the Bulgars forbids the Christians subject to him to hold an assembly in church, under penalty of death, yet grants them license to believe whatever they wish. For the cunning man knew that the sincerity of the Christian faith could not long endure, if it should happen

the public office of exhortation to be lacking. This enemy of the Christian faith the disordered and carnal abbot strives, as far as he can, to imitate: he resists the commands of so necessary a chapter. For the authority of the chapter alone is what maintains the observance of regular discipline in the order; if it is despised, no integrity of monastic life will remain. But the disordered abbot, a dweller in the lowest region, invents innumerable reasons against regular observance; he falsely alleges that the conditions of his monastery are contrary; he complains that ancient privileges are being suppressed. He disdains that his monastery be subjected to anyone. But woe to disordered men, through whom even one monastery should happen to be lost from this most holy congregation.

Finally, this plague of avarice makes an abbot not only disordered toward his subjects, but also contrary to himself and utterly turned away from God. For covetousness is the root of all evils; when it seizes a servant of Christ, it makes him a minister of the devil. Therefore the abbot who has subjected his mind to this vice shows himself to be not a shepherd but a hireling. He is always gaping after earthly profits; he cares nothing for the advancement of souls; a book of sacred reading is rarely or never seen in his hands; registers of rents are turned over more often. He joins field to field; he is always carrying together gold and silver to be buried in a chest; and while he desires too much that his monastery abound in temporal goods, he prepares prey for plunderers. For frequently the treasury of temporal lordship devours the monies of monasteries, which the excessive greed of monks brings into monasteries. Woe to you, avaricious shepherd of cloistered men, who bear greater anxiety for brute animals than for the souls committed to you. The horse grows sick and at once you prepare a remedy; a soul perishes and you think no danger threatens. The ox and the ass fall ill and you suffer with them; a brother is swallowed up by sadness and you do not come to his aid. You, therefore, hireling and not shepherd, who with a stubborn heart despise the infirmities of your brothers, who do not aid those set in bitterness, do not presume that you can escape the hand of the Lord, whose sheep you permit so wickedly to perish.

The third way a ruler is disordered toward his subjects is when those whom he ought carefully to have kept within the enclosures of the monastery he places outside, not without danger. For indeed, when a weak cenobite is exposed to the rule of nuns or to secular churches, the integrity of regular observance is violated; because he who, still remaining in the lowest region, has not learned to subject the flesh to the spirit, does not know how to preside over others without danger to himself. But the disordered shepherd who, on account of the advantage of temporal property, does not fear to expose his monks to so great a danger, is guilty of all the souls perishing by such an occasion, and before the inward judge is bound to make restitution for all. It is not part of the profession of a monk to rule secular churches; it is not expedient for a weak man to preside over convents of nuns. But what? Therefore should a monk [unclear] oppose himself to the command of the shepherd, if

...has wished to reside with nuns or in churches of secular clergy? For the Rule commands that nothing is to be preferred to obedience. I truly do not know what I should answer to this question, so that I may not incur the danger which is seen to threaten on both sides. For if I tell the truth, I shall seem to violate the obedience of subjection; if I consent that monks are to be exposed to danger, I confess that I sin. Yet I shall say briefly what I think, although I am not unaware that the truth will give birth to hatred. Just as a monk, by the necessity of his profession, is bound simply to obey his pastor in all things that are according to the monastic Rule, so a prelate cannot compel a monk, without that monk’s own will, to things that are 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 [unclear]. Do not be angry with me, fathers, if I have spoken the truth; do not knit your brows if I have expressed what seems so to me. Nevertheless, you will do what seems good to you, even if I protest. But I beg you, do not expose your monks to danger to chastity; do not violently compel anyone to the governance of nuns and of parish churches, since you can find many who ambitiously seek these offices. Obedience is indeed good, but it must by no means be preferred to truth and the salvation of the soul. For when danger to salvation is at issue, it is better humbly to set obedience aside by making excuse than to suffer shipwreck of chastity. Woe to the prelates of monks who incorporate churches of secular clergy into their monasteries, who loosen their bosom to covetous desires by the torches of avarice, because, while they think they are doing good for posterity, they damn many through the occasion.

Fourth, the governance of monks becomes disordered toward its subjects if it is found turbulent and anxious. In a pastor of souls a pious and prudent discretion is very necessary, lest either zeal, with discretion lacking, be excessive, or the measure of compassion be slackened by excessive laxity. But a disordered rector sometimes, through indiscreet fury, presents himself as a tyrant to the monks; sometimes, through a fixed compassion, he grows, as it were, insensible to the gravest crimes. He does not know the just moderation of governance; he does not experience in himself the warmth of brotherly charity; he always thinks himself lord of the monks; he does not know how to be the father and companion of the humble. What is more savage than this governance? What more wicked than this power, where God, reason, and understanding do not govern the impious man? The judgments of those presiding do not depart from the rectitude of the law of nature. A disordered and anxious rector is infected by beastly passions of various kinds; he always suspects evil of the monks; and while he directs the manner of governance [unclear], anxious, he always fears with Herod that he will lose his kingdom.

Fifth, the pastor of cloistered men is said to be disordered toward the monks if, in distributing the goods of the monastery, he is held to be either excessive or obstinate. Excessive or...

is to be called [such] if, in distributing, he has been wasteful, or extravagant with indiscriminate largess. But he is called obstinate if he has not given opportunely what ought to be given, or stubbornly withholds necessities from his subjects. He is also to be called obstinate who casts aside the fear of the Lord, who trusts too much in his own judgment, who in any matters to be done admits no counsels of the wise. And indeed among pastors of souls there are very many disordered by this sickness of mind, who either spend the property of the monastery too improvidently or preserve it with excessive tenacity. They prepare very sumptuous banquets for their flatterers, but to others, from whom they are averse, they deny even the smallest things.

In the guest-house, or in their own abbey, pastors depraved by disordered conduct sometimes eat to the point of drunken excess; they always drink the best wine. But to poor monks, who by watching and singing bear the burden of the day and the heat, they grant necessary things scarcely and meagerly.

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

But the disordered ruler of monks, like an asp with stopped ears, despises hearing this threat of the most holy lawgiver; he scorns the patient long-suffering of God; he thinks nothing of the examination to come, until at last the most holy lawgiver, angered, says to him: “Restore to me without delay the souls once committed to you in the body. Return their number whole; for if even one of them has perished through your negligence, your soul shall not see my face forever.” What then will you answer to the highest pastor, useless ruler, when not only the blood of those perishing is required from you, but also an account of those making too little progress is demanded? Behold, now you walk in the worst security, despising the examination of God; you think that all things that please you in the body are lawful for you, and you do not think to whom you are one day to render account for all things. Soon the Lord of all will come, before whom you do not fear to show yourself an unfaithful servant, and whose honor you do not fear to arrogate to yourself. Unless meanwhile you do penance, unless you amend your life for the better, you will burn without end with the demons in hell.

Seventh, it happens that a pastor is disordered toward his subjects if

having neglected the common good, he has sought his own advantage with a vicious intention: if, presiding in a monastery, he serves not God but his own interests, while he rejoices that he is a prelate in order to obtain the pernicious liberties of the flesh, and fraudulently provides for his own future from the goods of the monastery. This disorder, moreover, is seen especially in those who, on any pretext, resign their office, 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 the Lord; this is not the way of the monks of old. When you resign the pastoral office for God’s sake, resign it simply; do not demand anything besides food and clothing, if you do not wish to sin with those who have private property. You are a monk; you were a monk before you became abbot; you will remain a monk after the office. Why, then, should you demand a pension, since you know that you are a monk? Just as the fault of simony is committed by buying prelacies, so by demanding a pension for the resignation of an abbacy one sins against the Rule. What then? Do we condemn those who, resigning the office of pastoral care without fault, have received annual provisions from the goods of the monastery? Far be it. We do not forbid necessities, since we deny superfluities. Yet the man who is a true monk and a lover of God is content with the provision of the Rule even after an abbacy.

How monks, citizens of the lowest region, are disordered toward one another. Article 4.

Carnal [unclear] are disordered toward one another in many and various ways, because those who, stirred up by animal passions after the manner of beasts, do not direct themselves according to the right judgment of reason. It is no wonder if they overturn the order of fraternal conversation. For an unruly and disturbed conscience always presumes, and an evil mind never has the joys of peace, but is continually shaken by the sorrow of vices and is inwardly tormented by the everlasting fires of crimes. Thus 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 the present life; they neglect their own salvation; they do not rise up to the love of eternity.

First, therefore, they are very disordered toward one another when they cast aside the intellectual regard that ought to be had for their brothers; when they do not notice the image of God in man; when they do not think of the common share of grace and glory infused in human beings and to be granted in the future; nor do they take care to show one another the love of fraternal fellowship. They live with one another like horse and mule, concordant in bodily appearance, because whatever is pleasing to sensuality they love; whatever accords with reason they do not admit. One loves another not because he is a man, but because

is similar to an affection of sensuality. For the carnal man loves in a man not virtues, not religion, not, finally, nature itself, but flesh or blood, but the quality of the body. Therefore, since the love of carnal persons is carnal, it is easily changeable on occasion. For the citizens of this lowest region venerate similar ways, and monks always embrace monks like themselves with affection. Him whom God has loved from eternity the disordered cenobite persecutes; him whom God spurns because of his demerits, this man venerates as a saint.

Secondly, cloistered men are disordered toward one another by reason of dissimilarity, when either the seniors, stirred up by austerity and pride, despise their juniors, or the juniors obstinately set themselves against their seniors. And this disorder is proved to be very contrary to the holy Rule, which commands seniors to love juniors with paternal affection, and enjoins juniors humbly to obey their seniors for God's sake. But when the seniors, citizens of this lowest region, withdraw paternal affection from the juniors, the lesser men blaze up into grave hatred; and when the young consider themselves unjustly despised by them, they daily accuse their depraved ways. Therefore weak young men learn the wrong ways of their seniors, and, as the proverb says, just as they see the greater men sing, so too the lesser men dance.

Thirdly, monks who cast away good zeal and mutual obedience, and take up the kind of zeal that is evil and forbidden by the Rule, are badly ordered toward one another. By words and deeds they commit various injuries against one another. One strives, out of eagerness to rival, to watch another for evil; one is provoked by another to inflict insult. They mutually hold their weaknesses ready against each other; they are always panting for vengeance. Zeal for regular discipline is despised; the passion of indignation and bitterness rules. They meet one another with faces turned away; by fitting signs they make manifest how much hatred lies hidden in the breast. Not so the impious, not so: for whoever pursues his brother with hatred is proved a murderer and unworthy of the kingdom of God. O wretched condition, always, of carnal monks, which is the nearer to hell the more alien it has been from the fear of God. For whoever, through evil zeal, delights to be discordant in the school of peace imitates not angels but demons. For indeed, just as a brute animal does not abandon the savagery of its nature, so a bestial monk does not withdraw from the worst zeal.

How monks, citizens of the lowest region, are disordered toward themselves

Carnal monks, citizens of the lowest region, are disordered in nothing more than toward their own selves. For they cast away every consideration of themselves; to what end they were created they do not attend. Article V.

[unclear]: because, while each one pollutes himself with the filth of vices, the wicked mind withdraws from the original rectitude of its condition. Nor is it any wonder if, toward others, he becomes outwardly a disordered cultivator of the lowest region, who, confused within himself by the various passions of the flesh, is inwardly scattered. For Scripture says: He who is evil to himself, to whom will he be good? The right order of the human condition established that the flesh is to be subjected to the spirit; the spirit is commanded to be subject to him from whom it received the form of being. But among carnal minds the order of reason is perverted, when the flesh rules over the spirit, and reason, which according to the force of understanding implanted in it ought to have governed all things, is suffocated by the pleasures of the flesh and does not hasten by command toward the rectitude of judgment.

Carnal monks, therefore, are disordered toward themselves through the vice of curiosity, because by curiously inquiring into another’s life they pass judgment, and do not amend their own life, defiled by all vices. They do not know how to correct great crimes in themselves, yet they proudly reprove others when they offend in the smallest matters. They diligently consider the speck in a brother’s eye, and excuse the beam clinging in their own eyes as if it were nothing. They subject their affections to sensuality, and, the judgment of right reason being spurned, they live carnally like beasts; passion frequently stirs them to anger, and the fury of envy inflames them against their neighbor. With anxious mind they demand vengeance upon their brothers, which, often blinded by excessive fury, they bring back not without harm to themselves. But disordered citizens cannot long lie hidden in secret, for the more they remain unknown to themselves through elation of mind, the more through blind judgment they become manifest to others. For a proud and disordered man is said first to be ignorant of himself, because if he truly knew himself, he would in no way be proud. Since, then, disorder of oneself takes its origin from pride, we cannot describe this plague better than if we undertake to uncover its roots, descending by degrees toward hell. For just as the perfection of the spiritual life is comprised in the twelve degrees of humility, so the whole disorder of the monastery is contained in the twice-six degrees of pride.

The first degree of pride, then, is called curiosity, by which monks badly ordered toward themselves neglect their own life and morals, and continually inquire into the deeds or words of others. At every time they accuse the negligence of the brothers; they reprove the life of the pastor; and the more curiously they desire to know outwardly the affairs of others, the farther they withdraw from themselves. But the vice of curiosity is most destructive to monks, because, when it has once invaded the mind, stripping it of all virtues, it makes it a dwelling-place of vices. It is a very true sign of infirmity to examine the deeds of others and, beyond the reason of one’s office, to occupy oneself with the faults of others. For the monk who, according to the definition of his name, is instructed to care for himself alone, scrutinizes the deeds of others not without manifest danger to his salvation. But whoever [unclear] himself by the vice of curiosity

[unclear] subject themselves; they soon descend into the second degree of pride. For one always disposes toward another, and no sin rules alone over proud monks.

The second degree of pride, therefore, is lightness of mind and the unstable occupation of a wandering heart. Into this degree of disordered conduct carnal monks fall through various affections, which they have contracted sensually from the vice of curiosity. But the true coenobite must remain steadfast in his holy purpose, because when lightness of mind is admitted, the constancy of virtues is scattered in the heart. It is a sign of a disordered mind to run through various images of things and always to generate new forms of sensual affections.

The third degree of pride is called vain gladness, which is produced from the lightness of mind of a disordered man. Carnal monks fashion for themselves images of affections; when these present themselves as pleasing to sensuality, they rejoice, but when the opposite occurs, contracting heavy indignation, they slip into various temptations. But that is not true joy which takes its beginning from anywhere other than God; nor will gladness long endure which has not taken its course from the love of God. And therefore disordered men, through vain gladness, fall into open boasting, while [unclear], as we have said, arises from vain gladness, which is called foolish boasting. Into this carnal monks fall when, magnifying themselves before others, they exalt themselves. If they have done anything good, they boldly bring it forward in public, often falsely inventing even what they have not done. They desire to seem holy, learned, prudent, and noble, and they invent many things by cleverness of wit, so that they may appear glorious outwardly to men, while they are not unaware that inwardly they are empty of the merit of virtue. If you begin to praise anyone before them, at once they rise up in opposition; they say many vicious things against him, because, while they desire to show themselves alone praiseworthy, they do not allow anyone else to be praised before them.

The fifth degree is singularity. Into this degree of pride cloistered men fall who have presumed through boasting that they excel others either in merit or in knowledge. Hence, lest they appear like the rest in their manner of life, out of pride alone they show themselves singular in all things. This singularity of the proud is reprehended in a monastery, where the rule commands all to live in common. The proud, as Saint Bernard bears witness, when they prefer themselves to others for their virtues and wisdom, fall into such rash arrogance that they flatter themselves more over one fast while the rest are eating than if they had fasted seven days with the others. Finally, one little prayer of their own singular kind seems more advantageous to them than the whole psalmody of one night. During the meal they carry their eyes around the tables, and if they see anyone eating less, they groan and begin to grieve that they have been defeated, cruelly withholding from themselves what they had provided for necessary sustenance. These proud cloistered men are strenuous in their singular practices; in

the opposites of the lazy. They keep watch 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 indeed, when disorderly cloistered men, through a zeal for singularity, begin outwardly to appear different from others, they are inflamed into a greater madness of arrogance; and whatever is said by people in their praise, the fools judge to be true. O lamentable folly of the proud: since in all matters they believe no one else more than themselves, yet concerning themselves alone they believe themselves less than another. Whatever praise of themselves they hear from the unskilled, they ascribe not to the ignorance or goodwill of the praiser, but to their own merits. But whoever is pleasantly fed on human praises is held before the Lord to be empty of every virtue and full of arrogance.

The seventh degree of pride is born from the preceding one; it is called the presumption of the proud. Into this fall all the arrogant, who believe themselves individually to be something great. Concerning them Bernard says: He who thinks that he surpasses others, how shall he not presume more of himself than of others? He sits first in the community; in counsels he answers first; uncalled, he approaches; not ordered, he thrusts himself in; he reorders what has been ordered; he rejects what has been done by others. Whatever he himself has not done or ordered, he thinks was not rightly done nor handsomely ordered. He judges those who judge; he prejudges those who are about to judge. For one to whom God does not suffice in the heart seeks consolation in external things in vain.

The eighth degree of pride is called the defense of sins, because it is begotten from presumption. For a presumptuous monk always thinks himself better than all; if he has committed any sin, he either stubbornly denies it, or, if he has been convicted, excuses it in many ways. For how will he be able humbly to confess his fault, who 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, whoever opposes to argument excuses for sins, falls into this descent of death, opposed to the fifth degree of humility. Now the presumptuous man who is found to have fallen into this degree of pride tries to excuse his sin in various ways. For either he says, “I did not do it,” or “I did it indeed, but I did well,” or, if badly, “not very badly,” or, if very badly, “not with evil intention.” And if he has been convicted of malice, at once in his own excuse he takes up another’s counsel. But he who does not fear insolently to deny or defend even things that are fitting and manifest will never reveal hidden things according to the rule to his abbot. But when he comes to confession, he will cloak the truth with a feigned mind; so that he himself may be able to escape confusion, he strives to bring forward into the midst the negligences of others. Inwardly ill-ordered, beneath and presumptuous, in confession he cloaks his own faults; he confesses those of others. Always restless within himself, he examines the deeds of others; [unclear] all by one sentence

[Unclear] he seeks to live; he thinks that there is no charity among the brethren. But if his vain presumption has been detected through the diligence of the confessor, he at once seeks another confessor. If the abbot begins to oppose him, even gently, the monk, lifted up, falls through disquiet of mind into a new degree of pride.

The ninth degree of pride is described as murmuring or impatience, which very often dominates carnal monks. For the man whose confession is feigned, touched by one slight insult or penance, at once rises up into open pride; the deceit of simulated humility is disclosed. Nor can a feigned mind hide itself any longer, but it is compelled to bring out in public whatever lies hidden within. From then on, the proud cenobite, having lost control of himself, murmurs at everything; he obstinately accuses the judgment of his pastor, however just it may be; he gnashes his teeth. Moved, he grows angry; without reason, like a madman, he is thrown into confusion. But the proud monk given 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, those who, still dwelling in the lowest region, devote themselves to murmurings. Hence Bernard: “Unless [unclear] looks upon the murmurer, so that at last, being converted, which is very difficult for such men, he silently acquiesces in the judgments of others, he soon, becoming brazen and shameless, will fall the more ruinously into this degree, the more desperately he fails to restrain the movements of his mind.” He always advances toward worse things; and he who before had arrogantly despised his brothers in secret now also openly shows, what is more serious, that he despises his master. But the chastisement of divine judgment does not allow this degree of pride to pass long unpunished, since monks rebellious against their pastors are frequently consumed quickly and by a miserable death. For some, withdrawing from the order, become apostates; others, because of grave crimes, foul prisons; some, expelled from monasteries, wander as vagrants and wretched men in exile. Many, struck horribly by the Lord, in despair [unclear] to the lower regions. For it is written: “He who resists authority contradicts the ordinance of God.” And again the Lord says concerning the prelates of the faithful: “He who despises you despises me.” What will you say to these things, rebellious monks? Will you cite laws to me, whose truth you corrupt? But I dare to say what I wish you were ashamed to hear. The presumption of law will not save you, rebellious monk, in the strict examination of God, you who now proudly despise the obedience of subjection. Law commands obedience; it requires humble subjection in the order.

Rebellious monks next fall into the eleventh degree of pride, which is the freedom to sin, those who despise not only the corrections and exhortations of the brethren, but also those of the prelates. For indeed, while rebellion against the command

takes [unclear] upon himself; boldness in sinning is born, because he who despises the authority of correction already commits all crimes as though lawfully. The love of God voluntarily restrains good cenobites from sins, and fear restrains the weak. But where neither the love of God nor fear of correction penetrates the monk, then the mind, through rebellion and the habit of sinning, draws near to hell. For Scripture says: When the impious man has come into the depth of evils, he shows contempt. What does he contemn? He contemns God, despises men, and does not know how to seek the salvation of his own soul.

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

Behold, these are the twelve degrees of pride, through which one descends to hell; whoever desires to escape them should always take care to guard himself in the observance of humility. In these twelve evils every unworthiness of vices darkens the cenobite, causes the disordered monk to turn toward himself, and in his morals changes a man into a most savage beast. The end of these things is destruction, and unless before the death of the flesh the remedy of penitence intervenes, the progression of evil degrees condemns the monk to burn without end. But whoever, disordered toward himself, has once fallen into the first degree of pride, unless he strives to rise through penitence from all of it, soon casts himself headlong into the second and consequently into all the rest in order. The sum of the disorder of carnal monks toward themselves is expressed in these degrees of exaltation, through which they show themselves to be disordered citizens of the lowest region. But what we have said about the disordered and proud monk, we must also understand concerning the prelates of the lowest region.

In what manner the citizens of the lowest region [are disordered]. Article VI.

Whoever, established in a monastery, neglects to order his inner affections to the purity of his holy purpose frequently also exceeds measure enormously in outward things. For monks disordered toward God are consequently deemed disordered toward all things. For just as a good cenobite, united to the divine will through love, considers all things according to the right rule of the order with a simple eye, so one turned away from God through disordered affections sins even in the good things which he uses badly. Therefore carnal monks, cultivators of the lowest region, are not only badly disordered toward the soul, but also toward the substance of the monastery

[unclear]. For upon inward confusion in the mind there follows outward disturbance of the body, and the one is shown by the other.

And first, indeed, with regard to the property of the monastery, the citizens of the lowest region are badly ordered when they demand that these things be granted to them in improper order, or by any means usurp more than the usage of regular institution permits. For our Rule commands that all necessary things be given to monks; it utterly forbids superfluous things.

Second, those make bad use of the property of the monastery who do not fear to give and receive contrary to the master’s prohibition, or who, in things entrusted to them, faithlessly commit deceit and fraud. For a monk who, at his own pleasure, without reasonable cause, contrary to the Rule, in any way dissipates the property of the monastery without permission, sins against the Rule like an unfaithful proprietor and a falsifier.

Third, monks or abbots show themselves disordered with regard to the property of the monastery when they indulge in unlawful uses and commit theft and sacrilege, since they turn the property of the monastery to illicit uses. For the substance of the monastery, dedicated to God, is commanded to be guarded like the vessels of the holy altar, lest it be dissipated in any way through negligence. But he who forbids the goods of cloistered persons to be spent uselessly would by no means grant that they be disbursed for sin into shameful uses. What account, then, will monks and rectors of the lowest region owe to our lawgiver in the strict examination, who do not fear to dissipate the property of the monastery upon parents, kinsmen, mimes, actors, and shameful men as an occasion and reward of sin?

Fourth, carnal abbots and monks sin gravely with regard to the property of the monastery, who, to the detriment of divine charity and their own salvation, gather these things together too greedily. For, inflamed by the torches of avarice, they think of nothing but profits and money. Violating feast days, they do not observe them. They always desire to increase temporal goods. They do not notice the losses of charity. They grieve more for a dying beast than for a perishing sinner. Indeed, all these disordered cloistered persons are so blind that they consider avarice to be prudence and think riches to be reform. They join field to field; they call gain piety; and where they see temporal goods abounding, there they say that the best discipline is being observed. They refuse to expend even a few things for the common good of the order, because inwardly they have lost the order of true charity. They raise useless, ostentatious, and damnable structures on high. They buy precious vestments and ornaments less necessary for divine services. They clothe sacred things in gold and leave the poor of Christ naked. This avaricious ostentation does not befit monks, since we who are commanded to imitate the holy men of old are ordered to sell these things for the support of the poor. But 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 with regard to the property of the monastery when they do not repay it with prayers. The alms of the faithful

[They] cheerfully receive [unclear], but few render to the givers the suffrages of prayers. Of these, many citizens of the lowest region, when they have come to the order, serve not God but the belly: they desire that more food, drink, and clothing be given them than necessity requires, and those who in the world could scarcely have bread and vegetables for food, now, having become monks, refuse eggs and little fish.

They importunately demand that large, varied, diverse, and delicate fish be given them; murmuring because of desire for flesh with the children of Israel in the desert, they cry out to their leader; they assert 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 VII.

The kingdom of God suffers violence, and the violent seize it. Therefore whoever desires to enter the heavenly kingdom by the weapons of holy obedience, whoever wishes to live to God under regular conduct, must do violence to the pleasures of the flesh and strongly despise the world with all its vanities. But carnal monks, citizens of the lowest region, who are ill ordered both toward God and toward the goads, are also ill ordered toward contempt of the world.

And first, indeed, they are infected by the concupiscence of the flesh, because they are always burning with the fire of pleasure. In food and drink they are found excessive; in little beds and baths, delicate contrary to the rule. They prefer the desires of the flesh to the salvation of the soul; they do not seek the sweetness of inward conversion. They nourish their flesh too delicately, through which they continually blaze up in various desires. For no one can truly despise the world who neglects to restrain the appetite of the flesh even in the smallest things. If you eat to satiety, you do not truly despise the world. For the first commandment that is imposed on those who despise the world is established in abstinence. But if you fill your belly with food all the way to satiety, at once you 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 despise the world.

Second, they are ill ordered toward despising the age because of the vain concupiscence of the eyes. For the monk who forgets the true honor of faithful souls takes delight in worldly pomp and altogether curious ornaments. Indeed, each person’s outward apparel reveals what sort of thing lies hidden within him before himself. To carry rings about on the fingers, corals on scarves, little scent-bottles in the hands, and pleats on cowls does not show a monk, but a soldier; it presents not a humble cenobite but a proud secular man. This adornment in monks cannot please others

which to the reprobate; which also is often found to have displeased the proud. Woe to you, disordered cloistered men, who through a double concupiscence of the eyes descend to hell: while you desire to see in others what is not expedient, and present yourselves to be seen by the rest otherwise than you ought. What are the jewels of the age to you? What the curiosities of the world? These beauties, as the blessed Bernard bears witness, quickly effeminate the masculine soul; these worldly dignities quickly enervate a manly purpose. You are like those ragged boys who, because of a single narrow red band fastened to a torn sleeve, consider themselves very handsome and comely, and insolently mock others set before them, though excellently clothed, as if they were naked. These pompous cloistered men see others going about in humble dress, scorning the world in the spirit of poverty, and for that reason pleasing both God and men; but they see themselves despised by the wise and by princes, and sometimes not even admitted to conversation. Seeing these things, the proud, although they grieve heavily as if at an injury, nevertheless utterly refuse to lay aside their haughtiness.

Third, the citizens of the lowest region are badly ordered toward contempt of the world because of pride of life, since they are not only infected with vain complacencies of the flesh, but are also proud through swelling of mind. For those who follow the desires of the flesh vainly lift themselves above themselves; they despise others, however much better than themselves; they do not know how to endure equals; they do not acknowledge superiors. These men rejoice that a great retinue of servants attends them; in councils they strive to sit first; they desire to be seen by all as glorious; they go through public places pompously. Swollen with the spirit of pride, they boast that their monasteries possess, by foundation, insignia opulent in temporal goods, jewels, buildings, and curious privileges. With uplifted heart they despise poor monks or abbots of small monasteries; they do not blush to prefer themselves to better men; and the more they desire to hunt for glory in external things, the more they withdraw with the foolish virgins from true glory.

How the citizens of this lowest region are disordered toward penance.

Article VIII.

Since no one living in time and filled with many miseries can remain long in the same state, it is necessary that, by reforming himself daily with all zeal, he turn himself toward the end that is due, since for as long as anyone is permitted to live in this world, he is considered changeable in either direction. Therefore whoever, established in this changeableness, desires to come to the joys of immutability, let him humbly acknowledge his own frailty, and especially after the fall of sin let him flee to the remedies of penance, and let him fear to lie in crime even for a moment. For the life of a monk ought always to consist in saving penance, and in holy fear [unclear] the coming of the judge C. iii.

to await continually. For blessed Jerome says: “The monk has the office not of one who teaches, but of one who laments: one who should mourn either himself or the world, and, fearful, wait for the coming of the Lord.” But the disorderly cloistered men of the lowest region despise this saving remedy; they consume the acceptable time in vanity; and those who do not fear to be ill-ordered in all things show themselves also very disorderly in doing penance.

First, indeed, they are ill-ordered for penance through carelessness of mind, when they neglect to understand how much sin displeases almighty God, against whom they do not fear to act in contradiction by the choice of a depraved will. As black night is set against day, so the sinner, turned away from the divine goodness, is regarded as hostile and adversarial. What a putrid corpse is wont to do in the sight of human beings, this, in its own way, sin does incomparably in the sight of the angels. But carnal monks despise the honor of God, and therefore do not notice the insult of sin. They neglect to amend venial sins, who as if lawfully commit mortal sins. For Scripture says: “He who neglects little things will fall little by little.” Hence the saying of Bernard admonishes us, saying: “Let no one, brothers, say in his heart: ‘These are light things; I do not care to correct them. It is no great thing if I remain in these venial and very small sins.’ This, brothers, is impenitence; this is the unforgivable blasphemy against the Holy Spirit. For no one can escape greater sins if he has scorned to amend lesser ones.” Nothing is worse for the mind than carelessness.

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

Third, carnal monks are disorderly for penance because they contract a very bad sickness through the habit of sin, when they incur a destructive blindness of mind. For a vice often committed is slighted, and through habit is judged more lightly. Just as grace enlightens the mind, so frequent transgression blinds reason. For it is written: “Blind the heart of this people and make its ears heavy, so that seeing they may not see, and hearing they may not understand, lest they be converted and I heal them,” says the Lord. For when the impious man has come into the depth of evils, he despises. No sin is so great that it does not seem light and small through habit.

Fourth, disorderly cloistered men, through the habit of evil,

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

Fifth, the disordered citizens of the lowest region, having through the habit of sinning become despisers of almighty God, always fall into graver dangers for the soul, while they always approach wickedly the most holy sacred mysteries of the body and blood of the Lord. They make a superficial confession from habit; they allow herds of great vices to run about in their consciences. And now thereafter, as if confederated with hell, they do not fear God; they despise the paths of amendment of life; they think themselves well ordered; though inwardly they are full of vices, they do not care. Sometimes, sensibly affected by a fanciful devotion, they think the Holy Spirit is now present; they affirm that they are beloved of God and holy. They also shamelessly thrust themselves upon the divine mysteries; not discerning the body and blood of the Lord, they take them to themselves unto judgment and condemnation. Finally, such people, communicating unworthily, are more gravely hardened, because, while they think themselves very secure and to be living well, they do not take due care to cleanse their conscience of vices. Thus Judas the apostate, the evil of betrayal which previously, as someone says, he was afraid to carry out against the Savior, after the morsel, when the devil had entered into him, did not fear boldly and without shame to accomplish. O father, many are the citizens of this lowest region: carnal monks, puffed up, proud, envious, murmurers, and afterwards it is effected by various [unclear]; who nevertheless are not afraid to approach the most holy altar almost every day.

Behold, father, the evil company of all who dwell in this lowest region, whose end is destruction, for whom by the death of the body a descent to hell is prepared. This is the far-off region of bestiality and unlikeness, into which that prodigal son went, who squandered the portion of his inheritance luxuriously with harlots. In this region dwell carnal citizens, concerning whom the holy apostle testifies: The animal man does not perceive the things that are of God. In this dark region, deadly and wrapped in the densest darkness, no spiritual good dwells; in it not peace but bestial discord reigns, as the prophet says: There is no peace for the wicked, says my Lord.

Concerning those who are neighbors to this lowest region and very often fall back into it through inconstancy of mind.

Although between the first region of evils and the second of goods there is, properly speaking, no middle place, nevertheless there are some who often move between the two: at one time, through weakness, they are lukewarm; at another, from contrition of mind, they seem to be devout.

These are weak human beings: although they are not submerged in the lowest region, yet through negligence they are very near it, and indeed frequently fall into it through bad habit, since they do not withdraw, as far as they can, from the affections of the flesh. Concerning these Bernard says in a certain sermon: “Lukewarmness is ruinous, because it is dangerous, because it is most troublesome and full of misery and grief; and, being plainly very near to hell, it is rightly reckoned the shadow of death.”

Indeed one may find faint-hearted and slack persons failing under the burden, needing rod and spurs: their joy is slack, their sadness faint-hearted; their compunction is brief and rare. Their thought is animal, their way of life lukewarm; their obedience is without devotion, their speech without circumspection, their prayer without attention of heart, their reading without edification. These, finally, as we see, are scarcely restrained by fear of Gehenna; shame holds them back; reason scarcely bridles them, discipline scarcely checks them. If persons of this sort remain long in this way under the burden, they are either crushed and sink down, or are in some manner in hell, so that they never breathe fully into the light of the Lord’s mercies, nor into the liberty of the spirit, which alone makes the yoke sweet and the burden light.

From this, moreover, such ruinous lukewarmness flows: because their will has not yet been purified, nor do they will the good in the way they know it, being drawn away and enticed by their own concupiscence. For they love in the flesh their earthly little consolations, whether in word, or in sign, or in deed, or in some other thing; and although they sometimes interrupt these things, nevertheless they do not break them off completely. Hence it is that they rarely direct their affections toward God, and their compunction is not continual, but only for an hour. A soul that is subject to these distractions cannot be filled with the visitations of the Lord; and the more it is emptied by the former, the more fully it will be filled by the latter. If much, much; if little, little. Or perhaps, if you approve it more, those former things will never be able to be mingled with these latter for all eternity. For spirit and flesh, fire and lukewarmness, do not dwell in one abode, especially since lukewarmness itself is wont to provoke the Lord to vomit.

Therefore whoever desires to flee from the midst of Babylon, whoever longs to come to the region of the spirit, should take care always to drive torpor of mind away from himself, and, once placed in holiness, to burn continually through the fire of divine love. Nothing is so [unclear] to those who wish to serve as lukewarmness of mind, which always arises at the beginning from a certain small negligence, but, unless it is immediately treated, increases successively in a wonderful way. One established in the neighborhood of the lowest region often slips back into the same, because the dregs of his former fleshly way of life still subtly occupy his will and disturb the weak fervor of devotion on an easy occasion.

[unclear]. But no one can rise again from the depth of hell with a lukewarm will; no one can overcome a habit without a contrary habit, since, unless a certain violence intervenes, the habit of sinning will always strengthen vice. Rightly, moreover, this lowest region is called hell, for by a certain likeness of disturbance and aversion it is compared to hell. Now after this life there are three dwellings of souls, which receive their citizens, emigrating from this world, from the three regions. For the first dwelling is called hell, and this is compared to the lowest region. For as in hell no order dwells, but perpetual horror, so in this lowest region the fury of the mind, blinded by carnal affections, disturbs all things. In hell all are evil, and in the lowest region nowhere are good men found. Whoever fall down to hell have been from the lowest region. For the lowest region always sends its citizens to the lower world, unless, led by repentance, while living they have taken care to renounce dead works.

The second dwelling is called purgatory, and this is compared to the second region, the rational. For just as purgatory purges and perfects souls, and sends them, once purged, to the kingdom of heaven, so this second region washes its citizens, persevering in it through continual exercise, from the filth of sins, and disposes them for ascent to the third region, which is called spirit. In this dwelling all are good, but still to be purged so that they may become better; and in the second region none are evil, but nevertheless they are always exercised so that they may be made better. This region sends its citizens, dying in it, to purgatory, since, even if all are good, nevertheless they do not yet seem fit for the kingdom without temporal purgation. For indeed those who inhabit this middle region, although they appear to be very near the highest, nevertheless are not yet wholly removed from the dust of the lower one. But the third dwelling of separated souls is called the kingdom of heaven, and this is compared to the highest region of the spirit. For as in that heavenly fatherland there is the highest 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 treatise of the first part, because it deals with the middle region, namely the rational region of cloistered persons.

But now let us for a time leave this dark region of carnal men, in which the whirlwind of crimes remains, and the continual tempest of vices. We have conceded enough to it, and have lingered over it longer than our purpose had been. Let us therefore leave the dead to bury their dead; let us yield to the darkness, [unclear] the light of life

[unclear] let us hasten. We must go out from the Egypt of the darksome region; we must hasten diligently, through the middle region of reason, to the highest summit of the spirit. Let us therefore now at last enter upon the middle region of the soul, through which one comes by stages to the highest. This region of the soul is quite fittingly called rational, in which continual labor is undertaken for the investigation of the highest truth. The fervor of mind of the citizens of this middle region always strives to raise them to higher things, but the weakness of the flesh, through the motions of a raging storm, tries to drag them back to the lowest things. Hence continual labor; hence sighs and groans arise, because the body that is corrupted weighs down the soul, and earthly habitation depresses the thinking mind. This is the narrow way that leads to life, and few walk by it. In this region force is imposed upon the concupiscences 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 that region the war of contest is proclaimed to those who are to serve God. Thus the wise man testifies: 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 recalls us from zeal for advancement; now the temptation of the ancient enemy vexes us; now the company of neighbors hinders us. There is need of the greatest fortitude, because no one can resist his temptations unto the end unless he studies daily to do violence to himself. But whoever thinks that he has come to this region should not presume upon his own powers, because just as the grace of God, in order to work good in us, requires the choice of our will, so the will necessarily requires grace. For no one is holy by his own powers. Therefore let no one dare presume upon himself, but let him who stands take care lest he fall. The life of man upon earth is warfare, because one comes to the kingdom through many tribulations, and heaven is acquired by the arduous labors of virtues. The prophet says: Going, they went and wept, casting their seeds; but coming, they shall come with exultation, carrying their sheaves. Indeed, those who sow in tears shall reap in joy. But if anyone fails in sowing, certainly he will not rejoice in the harvest. Therefore, since through the continual labors of spiritual exercise the mind must be cleansed from the dust of the first region, do not seek leisure in this middle region; do not love the quiet of negligence, because no one is able to stand here except the one who strongly girds himself for continual labor. Whoever in this middle region does not always advance toward better things soon falls back into the negligences of his former life, and there falls into the danger of failing where he has lost the desire of advancing. This is the place of continual contest, in which he who neglects to fight retreats, to be conquered. The preface ends.

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

The second region of the soul, therefore, is called rational; in it the mind is exercised in continual labor for the inquiry into supreme truth, and the farther it separates itself from the lowest region, the more it approaches the highest. And this region is set forth as resembling, in certain ways, the ethereal heaven, in which the position of the stars and their continual motion are found. For just as motion itself is disposed in heaven by the order of the first mover, with [unclear] as cause, so continual labor is employed in the middle region, so that each intellectual power may perfect its own object and in no way withdraw from the order naturally assigned to it. The powers of the soul of this kind are three: memory, intellect, and will.

Of these, memory gathers the likenesses of things and phantasms, and extends itself toward the difficult. The intellect, by discerning those phantasms themselves, considers them, and here investigates the true. The will embraces what has been approved by the intellect in due order, and this is occupied with the known good. When these three powers of the soul rightly preserve their order, they lead the spirit in faith to heavenly things.

This second region, moreover, is compared to the ethereal heaven, in which, just as there is continual motion and the position of the stars, so in this middle region there is continual motion and labor against the contests of vices. And just as the motion of the stars, by the order of its office implanted in it by nature, accomplishes its task, so also in this region the equity of rectitude is required to come about, so that each power of the soul, while it is subjected to its own object, may be perfected to the ordained end assigned to it, so far as can befall wayfarers. For not simply can any of these powers be perfected to fullness in this region, since no one in this pilgrimage is so perfect that he cannot be more perfect in his own order. For even if memory, in its own object, which is the difficult, could behold the gathered likenesses and phantasms of all creatures, nevertheless it would not be satisfied unless it could apprehend their beginning, which is God. But this is altogether impossible for this region, in which we can form no phantasms or likenesses concerning God. The intellect also, the counsellor, so to speak, of the blind will, extends itself toward the true; but however much it considers its own object, it is not satisfied until it can apprehend all truth and come to knowledge of the eternal, supreme, and ineffable truth without the opinion of fantastic speculation. But that perfection is possible for no wayfarer so long as mortality is present in the mortal body. The will also, in its own object, which is the good, [unclear] to be satisfied and

[unclear] will not be able to rejoice unless it reaches that unchangeable and highest good, which no instability of change overshadows. The highest truth and unchangeable good is God, who said to Moses: “No man shall see me and live.” And the disciple of the highest truth says: “No one has ever seen God.” But the prophet too, addressing the Lord, says: “Truly you are a hidden God.” Although the aforesaid three powers of the soul cannot perfectly comprehend their object in this life, nevertheless none of them ought to cease from its office, lest it incur the danger of failing precisely where it has laid aside the practice of striving. Therefore the citizens of this middle region mortify evil affections in themselves; they adorn themselves with constant virtues; they direct all their works with right intention; they depart not at all from the office of reason.

But the citizens of this region are scholastic men, speculative and active, devoted to various and indeed honorable arts, who subject the sensual or carnal powers to reason; who do not cease to cleanse these three powers of the soul from all unlawful objects; who always lift their intention toward the end of honorable usefulness; who reform the will, in act or in habit, toward its due end. Therefore the monk who loves purification and desires to ascend in spirit to the third region ought to observe the following principal articles, which stand in the middle region.

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

Whoever in this middle region desires to advance according to the vow of his profession should take diligent care to observe the following articles. If he neglects to keep them, he shows that he is still not a citizen of the middle region, but of the lowest. For, as we said above, no one can remain in this middle region without a continual effort to make progress; in it, not to have advanced is to fail, and not to have ascended is to descend. Therefore the monk who, having overcome the dark region, has at last, with the Lord’s help, deserved to reach this middle one, should know that he must take care not to abandon, even for a little, the effort to make progress, but always stretch himself toward further things; and let him remember the admonition of the wise man, who says: “Unless you hold yourself constantly in the fear of the Lord, your house,” that is, your conscience, “will quickly be overthrown.” For it is impossible for anyone to advance in holy conduct if he neglects daily to renew the effort of progress through the fear of the Lord. The effect of this renewal is then shown to be ordered when the truth of the articles of the middle region is duly observed. The first article, therefore, is diligent attention to the cenobitic end. The second is the due restraint of the sensual powers

[unclear]tion. The third is the faithful cleansing of the powers. The fourth is the attentive reformation of works at the end of the region. The fifth is the ordered institution of true cenobitic progress. The sixth is the adaptation of the powers for entry into the third region; and the seventh is the exemplary or experimental certainty of all the things aforesaid.

On the continual and diligent intention of the end of cenobitic life.

Article I.

Since the end is first in the intention of the wise person, and each thing in its own kind is judged the more perfect the more it approaches its end, the monk who cultivates this middle region should always consider why he has entered religion; and if he finds his intention well ordered, he should strive to continue it. But if he finds it corrupted, he should not neglect to reform it to the rectitude of the end that is due.

But note that in spiritual exercises the end is described as twofold, through which the virtue of monastic life is increased in merits. The first is charity, which is called principal and ultimate; to it all monastic exercises are ordered as to a first cause. Whatever good we do must always and principally be ordered to this end, because no work of virtue receives merit unless charity always lays the due foundation. “God,” says John, “is charity; and he who abides in charity abides in God, and God in him.” But he who abides in God does not sin. The second end, disposing toward the first principal end, is directed as it were through some fitting means; and this is called secondary, or less principal. The monk must always attend to this end, and through it order his exercises to the ultimate end. For no one can reach the principal end of charity who neglects to observe the means.

This disposing end, however, in relation to the ultimate end, 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 cares of the world, to mortify one’s own wills, to entrust every disposition and care of oneself to the superior, and to think nothing of tomorrow. For a cenobite who wishes to make progress in this middle region must assume the complete denial of himself, and then resign himself totally into the hands of his superior, so that within himself he may be inwardly free from every secular occupation. Indeed, unless our cenobite has arrived at 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.

This denial of monastic self-will, however, seems principally to consist in three things, without which no one can truthfully say himself

[unclear] is to have renounced. And first indeed, the mortification of one’s own will requires in a monk the eradication of his own judgment; for whoever relies on his own judgment or counsel disdains humbly to be subject to another. For the root from which the defense of one’s own will arises is called attachment to one’s own counsel or judgment. But whoever, placed in a monastery, desires to cling to his own judgment, sins gravely against the Rule as a usurper of his own will. For it befits a cenobite rather to live under another’s command, if he desires to arrive at eternal life through the merit of obedience. Indeed, to love one’s own judgment is the greatest leprosy of the soul, which, according to Bernard, is the more pernicious the more hidden it is; because the more someone abounds in it, the healthier he seems to himself to be. Secondly, the mortification of the will requires the emptying out of one’s own affections, since no one is able to stand ordered among adverse and favorable things and truly subject to God who does not firmly restrain his carnal affections. Thirdly, for the mortification of one’s own will that poverty of spirit is required, lest in usable things, food, clothing, and the rest, the monk’s affection be held captive; for whoever loves these things too much shows himself, contrary to the Rule, to be a lover of his own will. For it is fitting that the true cenobite, inhabitant of this middle region, earnestly devote himself to the teaching of holy humility, willingly despise all worldly things for love of God, and love absolutely nothing except God. If he has anything for his use with the Rule permitting it, let him beware of attaching the affection of his heart to it; and let him be ready, at the pastor’s decision and for the usefulness of the brethren, to resign all things with a peaceful heart. Let him always choose the simpler and meaner things; let him give thanks to God in all things, placing his hope and his sufficiency in him alone, and let him say cheerfully: In you, Lord Jesus, possessing all things, for your love I willingly despise all things; concerning transitory things, nothing at all

Therefore let our devout cenobite always direct the eye of his intention, with faithful consideration, to this end of the institution of the monastic [unclear]. Let him never depart from its [unclear]. For whoever in action forgets the ultimate end wanders like an unskilled and blind sailor amid the storms of the sea, soon to perish. Therefore let the faithful monk imitate a sailor skilled through devotion, so that, just as he, always having the harbor before his eyes, strives with intent solicitude to steer the ship thither, so the mind of a good man may always be directed to God as to the shore and the ultimate end. Archers set up for themselves some fixed mark, and, lest their sight be scattered from the appointed limit, they close one eye. And just as the arrow of the shooter is directed to the mark, so the intention of the good monk is always ordered toward God; in it also the eye of lower action is closed, lest the sharpness of higher contemplation be scattered through vain things. For it is necessary [unclear] the affection of earthly curiosity and the understanding of carnal wisdom as though

[unclear]: if with the gaze of the mind we always desire to raise [ourselves] to the proper end. And just as the eagle is said to look upon the sun with undazzled eyes, so the monk, the servant of God, contemplates without interruption the end of the monastic institution. Just as a prudent traveler, as he proceeds pleasantly, keeps in view the lodging toward which he is making his way, so the good cenobite, in everything that he does, always with fervent desire chiefly longs for his end, which is God. But foolish is the traveler who, set upon the road, forgets the lodging toward which he is tending, and, wandering off elsewhere, knowingly entangles himself in various hindrances. And the monk who does not earnestly keep in view the end of his destination is indeed wandering blind upon the road.

Therefore the good monk, and lover of his own salvation, does not neglect his good striving in spiritual exercises, but always lifts up his affection toward higher things by exercising himself in holy works. Good striving, moreover, is to omit nothing of the things that God has commanded; for love of God to obey the pastor humbly in all things; always to lift up one's affection, withdrawn from earthly things, to the memory of heavenly things; and through the continual exercise of spiritual conduct to renew the holy purpose every day. Whatever good the devout cenobite does, let him always offer it to almighty God with faithful attention; let him despise all earthly things with a strong spirit; let him desire to please God alone.

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

On the Due Restraint of the Sensual Powers. Article II.

How useful and also how necessary it is for us to restrain [them], especially among monks, I think no one is ignorant. Truly, whoever desires to reach, in this region, the proper end of regular conduct that we have described must tame, with prudent constancy, both his disordered natural habits and impulses, because no one can truly suffice to resign himself to another's authority who does not strongly restrain the powers of the sensual passions. For it is necessary for the one who desires to make progress to leave behind both the impulses and the prudence of the flesh with steadfast spirit, and to show himself a son of divine grace, not of flesh and blood. For Scripture says: “If you live according to the flesh, you will die.” Truly, those who sow in the flesh will also reap corruption from the flesh.

Flesh and blood, however, shall not possess the kingdom of God. But what [does] the Savior [say] to us? A man’s enemies are those of his own household. And who are these household members, if not the sensual powers that are opposed to the spirit? For concupiscibility and irascibility, enemies of our [unclear], stir up in us all evils against the spirit, and continually disturb the house of conscience with various passions. As long as the [unclear] sensual powers carry out their natural movements and courses in a man, they do not permit him to ascend to the liberty of the spirit. Concupiscibility sensually enjoys the delights of the flesh; and, on the contrary, the irascible power detests bodily pains. Meanwhile, when this war of the flesh is long waged in a man, he is regarded as a restless monk, a cultivator of the flesh and of the lowest region. Therefore whoever desires to come to eternal life must strongly restrain in all things these disordered powers of the senses.

Therefore let the faithful cenobite strive to direct the concupiscible power toward the painful things which are [unclear] 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 often, weeping sweetly, he will cry out that other verse: “As the hart longs for the springs of waters, so my soul longs for you, O God.” Then, cleaving to God, let him prudently set the irascible power against sensual delights, and diligently reform whatever in it is ordered toward vice. Thus he will not fear the soul’s hard return to its first ordering for the love of God, and by means of the irascible power he will begin strongly to resist all carnal things that stir up desire. And then the devout cenobite, raising himself in spirit, will cry out: “My soul refused to be comforted.” And that saying of the Apostle: “I have judged [unclear] as dung.” The amended soul that truly loves God despises all things except him.

From these two powers, however, every disordered affection arises, and from this the [unclear] oppositions of [unclear] are generated. For from the concupiscible power joy and hope take their highest beginning, and the irascible power gives birth to sorrow and fear. Of these the shield [unclear] Bernard says thus: “The whole heart of man is perverted by four affections; if we bring these back to God, the whole heart of man is converted.”

On faithful cleansing. Article 3. But it is by no means enough to restrain the sensual powers unless one also faithfully cleanses the intellectual powers. For this cleansing great and continual diligence is needed. For because by negligence [unclear] is dissolved, it is never cleansed from vicious corruptions. For he who sows in corrupted powers reports back nothing other than corruption from his errors.

Therefore it is necessary for the cenobite, the cultivator of this middle region, to correct his inner powers from every disorder, if he wishes to remain continually in the pursuit of making progress. These intellectual powers, moreover, are to be amended in this way.

First, the intellect must be purged of every imagination of vain likenesses, so that, tearing itself away from all material things, it may raise itself upward, without any imagination of likeness, to its principle; and, prudently intent upon its object, may turn itself wholly toward the ray of supreme truth.

Then let our faithful cenobite not neglect to cleanse his memory from every occupation with illicit things; let him admit no forms of shameful or less useful thoughts; and let him strive to repel the phantasms of irrational passions through holy meditations, and, as far as can be done, to think nothing foolish.

The will also must be purged of every disordered affection, so that it may wish nothing except what right reason suggests is to be wished, and reject nothing except what that reason, according to the judgment of truth, forbids it.

But this restraint of the powers and cleansing of the faculties, as we have said, is granted to no one at all except through great, discreet, and continual diligence in strong combat, knowing that the kingdom of God suffers violence, and that no one can subject the enemy to himself unless he has wished to fight against him fiercely and perseveringly. For, blessed Bishop Augustine bearing witness, we have learned 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. The mind, therefore, must be fortified with salutary teachings; strength of patience must be assumed in all things, because [unclear] the enemy with spiritual arms and with a certain continual violence of fighting, he cannot cleanse his intellectual powers. But although the weapons of spiritual warfare are many in its progress, nevertheless three are chiefly to be assumed by the monk.

And first, indeed, vigor is necessary for the cenobite in all that he does, so that he may dare courageously to undertake things contrary to the flesh, and may never at any time grow lukewarm in his holy purpose. For the exercises of the spirit are hard and wholly contrary to the flesh; in them he is not able to persevere constantly who disdains to put on the weapons of the strongest vigor. Therefore, if you desire to subject all your affections to the spirit, if you wish to fight successfully against the vices of the flesh, take care to do yourself a most prudent violence, and to arm yourself strongly against all things.

Then a certain holy severity is proposed to be assumed by you, through which all contrary and adverse things of this world are borne as though they were nothing. Indeed, whoever [unclear] this kindly severity of mind for the love of God

...and with heavenly desire has once truly taken it up: from then on he will now fear no adversities of the flesh, while he is so suffused within by the contemplation of divine reward that he seems to take more delight in adversities than in prosperities that befall him.

But severity is by no means pleasing to the weaker, unless kindness has been tempered somewhat with sweetness. Therefore, accordingly, kindness itself must be taken up by our soldier, so that when, through the weakness of the flesh, tempted in battle or even sometimes wounded, he falters, he may at once rise again through penitence, to fight more strongly anew. For the soldier of Christ, if he has fallen in battle, must rise again as often as necessary, through contrition and the other remedies of penitence, to fight once more, until at last, 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 shall the sinner, but now penitent, not hope for pardon? Rise again to fight as often, O soldiers, as you have fallen when the adversary conquered; always renew the warfare afresh more bravely, so that the enemy whom you cannot destroy by strength you may at last overcome by perseverance. Do not despair of victory, O faithful cenobite, because, often conquered by the temptation of vices, you have fallen into the snare. Do not lie prostrate any longer because you feel yourself weak, but rise again at once as often as you have slipped, and trust how merciful a Lord you have; by his help you will at last be victor against the adversary. For no one becomes supreme all at once, nor is victory over the enemy granted immediately to incautious soldiers, lest, to their greater ruin, they be lifted up into pride. The possession of a thing acquired with difficulty is always dearer, and a good that is acquired laboriously is guarded with greater diligence. For so long does God, the kindly Father, permit us, conquered by the temptations of the adversary, to fall by turns into the pit of sin, until, conscious of our weakness, we learn to hope in nothing in our own powers, but only in his grace. But you, man, who have often broken your resolve by sinning, never delay to rise again; for even if you cannot perfectly subject the enemy to yourself, nevertheless it will be good for you if the last day can find you standing and fighting, even after an often repeated fall. But for those to whom the mercy of God has granted strength and grace to conquer the adversary, this counsel does not loosen discipline. Nevertheless, let him who stands take heed lest he fall.

On the careful reformation of the works of the first region.

Since indeed, as we taught at the end of the first treatise, this middle region is nearest to the first from its lowest part, in which, if the cenobite has been even somewhat negligent and slack, he immediately falls back without interval into the former one. And therefore he who is making progress in this region...

Article IV.

wishes to persist: with ever attentive vigilance he should strive to reform the works of the lowest region. And, lest we be too lengthy: whoever desires to exercise this reformation in himself should take up, in this region, works contrary to the eight articles of the first. For, as the tradition of physicians teaches and prescribes: opposites are cured by opposites.

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

Next, the devout cenobite should show himself ordered toward his prelate in all things: he should show humility and render reverence; he should strive to love him with sincere charity, and to keep all the things that he commands according to the Rule.

The rector also of souls should take care to walk in ordered fashion toward the cenobites, and to show himself a shepherd to the sheep, not a hireling: he should not neglect the salvation of the souls committed to him; he should not put temporal things before spiritual things. Let him hate vices, love the brothers, and show himself exemplary in all good things.

Then the brothers should cleave to one another like members of one head; in the true charity of God they should love one another mutually and not depart from good zeal. For since we trust that, by the faith of Christ and by applying ourselves to good works, we shall come to eternal life, we are members of Christ, the supreme head. But whoever persecutes his brother with evil zeal or hatred and the other evil affections first divides himself from the head, and then does injury to Christ.

Consequently each person shows himself ordered toward himself: for the love of Christ he should humbly subject himself to all; by humility he should prefer others to himself, and believe himself more unworthy than all the monks.

In the use of the things of the monastery they should always beware of exceeding the institution of the Rule, but should strive to show themselves ordered in all things and faithful everywhere. They should desire to have nothing against the will of the Abbot; they should admit no pleasure of the mind in the use of things.

Next, faithful cenobites will take care to order themselves, according to the regular institution, to contempt of the world, so that they love nothing in this world, but despise all things sincerely for the love of God.

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

On the Ordered Institution of True Monastic Perfection and the Degrees of Humility. Article V.

The greatest virtue of a monk is humility, and the gravest crime in a cenobite is pride. For a monk who is proud with a swollen mind becomes an imitator and servant of the devil; and he is stripped of all virtues, if he had any, because no virtue can subsist in a mind in which pride has happened to dwell. Therefore the cenobite who desires to make progress in this middle region should learn to order himself toward the true advancement of monastic discipline through humility, because no one truly attains humility except one who dwells upon spiritual studies. But true advancement in the regular discipline, excluding all adulterous Muses, arises from the degrees of humility, which are set down as twelve in the Rule through their roots. I say that the roots of this advancement come from the study of sacred reading, which lead a man little by little to the fear of the Lord. From reading arises spiritual meditation; from this holy compunction is born. But the more useful manner of cenobitic meditation consists in the remembrance of the Lord’s Passion and in the consideration of God’s benefits. Further, those who, passing beyond this middle region, come to tranquility of spirit, make their meditations more sublime through contemplation of the divine majesty and excellence. And concerning these we shall speak in their own place. These two roots, moreover, receive their increase from the watering of constant prayer, and grow strong into the strength of a very firm plant. For no meditation profits without prayer, and study without it will not save.

From these three arises spiritual advancement, the fear of the Lord, which is the first degree of humility; from it the other degrees, succeeding in order, are brought forth. But monks who neglect the salutary study of the Scriptures and holy meditations together with constant prayers cannot ascend to this first degree of humility; when will they be able to come to the others? For the second is never ascended if the first is neglected. Therefore he who neglects one ascends none.

The study of sacred reading, however, must not be undertaken by them for the vanity of the world, nor for the pleasure of a seduced mind, because reading never profits toward compunction when the delight of the flesh or of vanity has corrupted it. But a monk cannot attain devotion through the study of sacred reading unless he strives to change all curiosity into a simple spirit. Therefore whoever desires to advance from the reading of the Scriptures to compunction, whoever longs to ascend to humility through the roots of fear, ought not to choose just any subject matter for reading, but only that which can more fully stir the mind to the love of God. For this purpose the reading of the conduct of the saints seems to me sufficiently suitable, because often the mind, as it lies low, is raised up to the love of God when the life of his servants is recalled to memory. Miracles also and

[Re]velations of the torments or joys of separated souls, when they are in conformity with the catholic faith, we freely admit; by them we have found that sluggish hearts are very often stirred to compunction. Finally, the passions of the holy martyrs excite in no small measure the fervor of devotion; in them, when we recall 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 for meditation is taken; and such as the former has been, such will the latter be. It is not the shameful songs of poets, not the curious doctrines of philosophers, not the swollen writings of rhetoricians, that excite the fervor of devout compunction in monks; rather, they choke off what has been conceived. If, therefore, you wish to devote yourself to good meditations, do not occupy your soul with other readings than holy and devout ones. For indeed the grape is not gathered from thorns, nor is compunction born from the study of vanities. Let him who studies for the knowledge of this world read those things that are suited to his learning; but let him who seeks compunction think on those things that kindle the soul to the love of God through fear. Therefore let frequent reading take its beginning from the last things that await us; then let the deeds of the holy fathers be read, so that the memory of future things may strike the mind with fear of God, and the exemplary conduct of the saints may kindle the desire to imitate them. For the wise man says: Remember your last things, and you will not sin forever. The conduct of the holy fathers is set before us as an example, and the destruction of the wicked is recounted to us for our discipline, so that rewarded virtue may move desire, and punished iniquity may forbid the license of sinning. Therefore let the devout cenobite always recall to memory the examples and virtues of the saints; let him consider the brief pleasure of the depraved but their eternal torment, so that by fearing unhappiness he may deserve to escape it, and by cleaving to virtues to obtain their perpetual joy. The distinct condition of the good and the wicked is no light matter, since each is described as going to remain forever, and is bounded by no end. O eternity, ever to be feared by all mortals, in which, after this life, there is no fear of condemnation for the just, and no hope of liberation for the perverse. Let him who can think what eternity is; where there is no end, let him who dares imagine a boundary; and when he has found nothing in eternity except eternity, let him understand that all the time in which he lives in this world is nothing. For indeed the spirit, once stripped of the flesh, is necessarily compelled to enter this abyss of eternity, and the condition that it has once obtained according to its merits it will endure without end, and will not exchange for another. For he who dies good in the charity of God will obtain eternal life according to his merit. But he who is evil and, without the reconciliation of penitence, has once departed from this life, will remain to be tormented without end with the demons in hell. From these meditations servile fear arises in the mind, through which one gradually comes to love. But so that the cenobite through these roots

...so that we may be able to lead [them] by stages to charity: it is our pleasure briefly to explain in order the degrees of humility described in the Rule.

First, the fear of God is described, which is called the beginning of wisdom. The fear of the Lord is handed down under a threefold distinction, namely servile, initial, and filial, which is also called chaste. From this threefold distinction three roots are said to proceed, according to which the beginner in the cenobitic life ought to order his meditations. For each root has its own proper meditations; and when one is rightly disposed, another, better one is always generated.

For from servile fear, assumed nevertheless not servilely but prudently and virtuously, there arise meditations of horror and of punishments; these, restraining the soul from sin, gradually introduce filial fear. For indeed, when by consideration of punishments the mind is turned to horror, boldness in sinning is restrained, because the servant who fears blows keeps the Lord's commandments. But this servile fear by itself does not suffice for meriting the paternal inheritance; nevertheless its initial effect disposes one toward filial fear, which is sufficient.

For initial fear is placed between the two, and is easily changed from servile into filial. This initial fear receives meditations concerning the last things, and it dreads both to incur punishments and to lose the sweet homeland. And this is set forth more fully in the Rule, where its roots are also described.

Filial fear, however, embraces its meditations in love, since it fears nothing else 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 for length of days. And again: For him who fears God it will be well at the end, and on the day of his death he will be blessed. This fear is also called chaste, because not from fear of punishments but solely from love [unclear] it detests evils.

From this threefold fear we see three breadths of spiritual exercises arise concerning the degrees of humility, and to each fear its own exercises correspond. For servile fear performs its exercises in one way; initial fear applies itself to virtues in another; and filial fear proceeds in its works in a much different way. For just as the affections of hearts arise in varied fashion, so the exercises of a single fear take place in diverse ways. For in one way the publican, mindful of his crimes, feared the sentence of the judge; in another way Jerome said that he heard the voice of the trumpet calling the dead to judgment. For concerning that man the holy Gospel says: Standing far off, the publican would not lift up his eyes to heaven, but striking his breast he said: God, be merciful to me, a sinner. But that blessed Jerome says: Whether I drink or eat, I always think I hear that trumpet sounding in my ears. Sur

“Arise, you dead: come to judgment.” The compunction of both arises from fear, but both are not generated from the desire of one and the same affection. For the publican, terrified by the guilt of his sins, feared the sentence of the just judge, and therefore, being pierced with compunction, said: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” But Jerome is shaken by fear not from the guilt of conscience, but, grounded in charity and reckoning himself an unprofitable servant, reveres the abyss of divine justice.

The second degree is to relinquish one’s own will for the love of God, and in no respect to love one’s own willing contrary to the rule. This degree arises from the first ascent of humility and is raised into the third. For truly, he who fears God and fears to be separated from him, and truly dreads undergoing punishments, hates nothing more than his own will. For the faithful cenobite knows that every sin arises from one’s own will alone, and therefore detests it as the gate of hell. For that blessed man truly said: “Take away one’s own will, and there will no longer be hell.” For nothing burns in hell except one’s own will; nothing loses the grace of God except voluntary fault. Therefore whoever truly fears God and fears losing his grace is afraid of his own will as of an ambusher of his soul. Consideration of the danger of one’s own will makes the cenobite despise his own willing and deny himself to himself. And this denial of one’s own will and of oneself is accomplished in the manner that will be stated in what follows.

First, then, he who denies himself to himself studies to live according to the teaching of eternal wisdom and not according to his own impulses, and to obey Christ in all things as he persuades him by humility. Therefore let the Savior say to the cenobite: “If you wish to deny yourself and follow me, turn your eyes away 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 tranquillity and peace of heart, to receive all tribulations for love of me patiently and gladly, and desire to be seen by all as worthless and contemptible. Consequently, learn to break your wills in all things, to mortify your desires, to despise all earthly things, and to conform your life, as far as possible, to the conduct of your Savior according to your strength. For he who says that he remains in Christ ought himself also to walk just as he walked.” Whoever has done these things has well denied himself.

Second, the denial of one’s own will is then rightly accomplished when the advantages of others are set before one’s own. For the holy apostle says: “Not seeking the things that are their 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 the love of God.

Third, the resignation of one’s own will receives the fullness of perfection when the cenobite, pierced with compunction and wholly made over to God--

[unclear] desires out of love to serve him freely, without regard for reward. And that most holy resignation of one’s own will makes a man very near to God, and he always rests in his love.

For just as this resignation of oneself receives its foundation from the second degree of humility, so too an inward and complete resignation to the will of God in all things is necessarily required. For the Lord says in the Gospel: “I have not come to do my own will, but that of the Father who sent me.” Perfect resignation, therefore, is that by which the human will is wholly subjected to the divine will and conformed to it out of entire love. For thus the Lord himself taught us to pray: “Thy will be done, as in heaven and on earth.” And that saying of the psalm-writer: “Into thy hands I commend my spirit.” No one ever lives securely in this world unless the human will is perfectly subjected to God.

Indeed, the perfect resignation of oneself, by which the cenobite truly subjects his will to God, shows the straight way to the highest without any intermediary. Here there is the greatest tranquility of mind, the greatest security in the heart, since the soul that strives to subject itself perfectly to God will be able to fear no opposition of this world any longer, except sin alone. Whatever adversity comes upon it, with the Lord’s help it has learned to overcome; whatever convenience it desires, it understands that it possesses in the Lord alone. It despises all adverse things for love of him; it has placed all good things in love of him. For that devout man spoke prudently: “Give [unclear] all good things [unclear] has placed in love of him. Forsake cupidity, and you will find true peace.”

Finally, in order that this resignation of one’s own will may receive the fullness of consummation, it implores, so to speak, the support of a threefold assistance.

The first is placed in the virtue of perseverance, so that the will once denied may never be taken back. For against those who despise this assistance that holy Bernard says: “Why do you again take charge of yourselves, you who once, by mature deliberation, handed over your will to us?” For a good monk who has once handed over his will to God into the hands of the abbot does not take it back without the guilt of sacrilege.

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

Third, resignation of the will is perfected if it is never cut off. For the Savior says: “He who perseveres to the end will be saved.” Therefore, when you see a cenobite restless or moved to anger, know that the whole mass of the temptation proceeds from lack of resignation; nor will you ever take care of this disease of sickness unless you first persuade him to the resignation of the denied will.

The third degree of humility is to submit oneself in all obedience to a superior for love of God, and to show oneself an imitator of Christ by deeds, not words; concerning this the holy Apostle says: “He became obedient unto death, even death on a cross.” This degree takes its beginning from the second and raises its ascent as far as its own third degree. For just as the second mortifies one’s own will by denying it, so this one lays the foundation of holy work through humble subjection. The former subjects itself wholly to the divine will; this one, for love of God, also obeys men. The keeping of one degree without the observance of the other is not sufficient in a monk, nor is the will of a cenobite subjected to divine ordering if he disdains to obey the command of a superior.

Therefore the true cenobite places all his joy in the virtue of holy obedience. He thinks it the greatest gain to fulfill in all things the will of his shepherd; he believes that he incurs grave loss to his soul if he finds that he has committed even a little outside obedience. For he always considers with faithful devotion what the Lord says in the Gospel: “He who hears you hears me; and he who despises you despises me.” Hence that blessed Bernard says to the monks: Whatever a man commands in God’s place must be received no otherwise than if God himself 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 to himself within himself what is written: “Obedience is better than victims.” Hence the Rule too says: “Therefore all things are to be done with the will of the abbot.”

Now this degree, as we have said, arises from the second. He who, for fear of God, perfectly abandons his own will 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, a weak man cannot know the will of the Most High; for this reason he has committed himself into the hands of his prelate. Therefore let the cenobite obey, according to the Rule, the vicar of Christ, and without doubt he will fulfill the will of God.

This obedience, however, is owed strictly to prelates according to the Gospel and the monastic Rule; for although mutual obedience among the brothers is good, it must never be preferred to the command of a superior. Monks are commanded to show one another obedience with discretion, and, while preserving the commands of their superiors, to anticipate one another in mutual services. And, to insert an example from our own custom: all are to be obeyed according to rank. If a brother calls on you, obey gladly; if a senior commands something, then, setting aside the command of the former, obey this one. Again, if the prior of the convent interposes his command, all mutual obedience of the brothers will cease. But if the command of the abbot intervenes, no obedience to anyone else will have force to the contrary. For he is believed to act first in the place of Christ in the monastery, and therefore he is preferred to all.

There are, moreover, seven [unclear] circumstances of the virtue of holy obedience

[unclear]: which blessed Bernard described thus. The first degree of obedience is to obey willingly: that is, to have no will of your own at all, but to believe that the good pleasure of your shepherd is wholly your own. The second is to obey simply, so that you do neither more nor otherwise than has been commanded you, nor, by doing less, omit anything. 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 that he is weak and unequal to the precepts. The sixth is to obey humbly: not proudly, not haughtily, not contentiously; for unless obedience is humble, it will bring back not reward but punishment. The seventh is to obey perseveringly, because obedience that is broken off before completion is not true obedience; and he who perseveres to the end [unclear].

But the fruit of obedience is everlasting and is never bounded by any [unclear] end. To the same degree that we obey our superiors, Christ, almighty God, obeys our prayers. Do not flatter yourself, stiff-necked monk, about persistence in prayer, for Christ does not hear in prayer the man who despises Christ's vicar in the monastery. Humility raises prayer up; obedience commends it. For obedience, as one of the fathers said, is the salvation of all the faithful, the mother of all virtues, the discoverer of the kingdom of heaven. Obedience opens the heavens, shuts the gates of hell, makes one a fellow-dweller with the angels, and has the food of all the saints. But the monk who casts off subjection to obedience, to [death?]

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

But in three things the virtue of patience is especially necessary, and is rewarded with the highest recompenses. In insults of words, the patience of a prudent man and lover of God preserves the purpose of humility; in the taking away of temporal goods and advantages it receives increase; and in bodily injury the silent conscience of virtue [unclear] the discipline. Consider now, O faithful soul, how your most beloved Savior Jesus sustained 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 steps immediately preceding we establish one consummate end of the cenobite, which, as seems reasonable to us, we call the threefold step. For by three steps, namely the second, third, and fourth, the end of the cenobitic institution is perfected, and the renunciation of one’s own will is completed. For where patience, the preserver of virtues, is joined to the renunciation of one’s own will and to obedience, every pleasure and care of the body is mortified. Whoever has deserved to ascend this threefold step has fulfilled the Lord’s commandment, which is stated in the Gospel: “If anyone wishes to come after me, let him deny himself” through the second step of humility, “and take up his cross” through the third, “and follow me” through the fourth.

The fifth step of humility is true confession of sins. The faithful cenobite is said to ascend into this if he confesses to his abbot, with humble trust, all evil thoughts that come into his heart, or any evils committed in secret. For if anything is committed through impatience, at the adversary’s prompting, in the preceding threefold step, it is restored in this one through contrition and humble confession. For no one is found so perfect that he does not contract the stain of earthly life, as Scripture says: “In many things we all offend.” For no one is clean from sin, not even an infant whose life upon the earth is one day. Therefore this step necessarily follows the fourth immediately; in it all the negligences of the preceding steps are corrected. True confession raises up the soldier falling in battle, heals the one wounded by the enemy, and comforts the weak and faint-hearted. Whoever, therefore, desires to stand in battle and bravely conquer the enemy should often run back to the safeguards 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 take care faithfully to reveal to your abbot all the thoughts and sins that he suggests to you. It is certain to me, and proved by the destruction of many, that a cenobite commits himself to being overcome by many temptations of the enemy if he refuses to keep this step.

The sixth degree of humility arises from true confession: that the monk should consider himself vile and unworthy in all things. For according to the Rule we believe him to be a true monk whom we perceive, from humble patience, to be content with every vileness and extremity in food and clothing. This vileness, however, is generally referred to ordinary things; but extremity is located in abject and more grievous hardships. For the former gladly embraces patience in meaner garments, foods, and whatever necessities of the body; the latter delights in serving the sick, the horrible, the leprous, and the abject, and in being put to shame, lowered, and despised in all things. Therefore the monk who is truly dead to the flesh and to the world should be content with every vileness and extremity; he should show himself a faithful worker in all things, and yet, because of the corruption of nature by which he offends in many things, he should believe himself vile and unworthy. Indeed, whatever good is done in this world, however holy and religiously one may live in this age, can suffice for no one to merit eternal life, unless the great mercy of God deigns to come to his aid. We receive the greatest things for the least; we await the kingdom of God not as owed to us from our merit, but as promised by grace. For the holy Apostle says: The sufferings of this time are not worthy to be compared with the future glory that will be revealed in us. For if we receive the justice of God without mercy, we are worthy of hell. All of us incur wrath by sinning, but we gain love by grace. No one is saved except through grace; no one is damned except through justice. Nevertheless, meanwhile, in order that we may obtain the grace of God, the zeal of our good will is required; without it grace works nothing in us toward merit. For although no one is holy by his own powers, nevertheless no one has done good well against his will. For the grace of God and the freedom of the will stand in such relation to each other that one without the other cannot suffice to save a human being, but both must necessarily come together for the performance of virtue. Since, therefore, without the grace of God we can do nothing good, we ought to judge ourselves vile and unworthy in all things, so that, while we submit ourselves to God in humility, we may always obtain greater things. And therefore this sixth degree is the merit of confession and the single foundation of all the preceding ones. For as long as the cenobite remains in this degree of humility, he will stand firm in the former ones.

The seventh degree of humility is not only to believe oneself lower than all others from the innermost affection of the heart, but also to desire with a simple mind that others believe and say this about him. This condition of holy humility is set on high, and in this time is loved by few monks. For the first condition of this deep humility seems to consist in this: that he ought to judge that he should be considered vile and abject by all. The second is that he should desire himself to be vile and abject [without?] pretense. The third condition is placed in a higher dwelling: namely, that the monk from the church

...that he may delight, with affection, to be treated most vilely and trampled upon by all. Rooted in this humility, the cenobite loves reproach and insult; he does not fear to be despised and cast aside most vilely, because, submitting himself wholly in the love of God, he places himself humbly, and hastens to insults as though to feasts, with the greatest cheerfulness. But so that you may understand the truth of this seventh degree, read the following considerations.

The first consideration directs the mind to hope in divine love, which arises from a certain pious confidence. For although a person does not know whether he is worthy of love or hatred, nevertheless each person can in some measure recognize, from the disposition of his own heart, what he ought to think about his own state, good or bad.

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

Third, it should be noted that just as a good disposition of heart orders and summons the perfected mind to exercises directed toward the fear of God and the practice of virtues, so the negligence of an evil disposition inclines it especially to vices and sloth. But the consideration of this difference [unclear].

Fourth, it must be considered that an evil disposition of the heart impedes and nullifies the grace of God and merits in a person, because it makes the soul vile, base, and degenerate, and always disposes it toward graver and worst things. For indeed the root of evils of tongue and deed comes from an evil heart, as is clear in tales and many similar things.

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

Sixth, it should be noted from these things that it is very rash to examine another's heart, or to judge the inmost parts of brothers from words and deeds. The Lord knows those who are his, nor is it granted to a person to become a rash judge of another's heart without the rationale of office.

Seventh, it should be noted that a small evil of one's own heart, once known, would harm a person more in himself than a great evil, doubted from suspicion, concerning another's heart. For the former must be amended because it is certain and known; the latter must be piously excused because it is unknown.

Eighth, it must be considered that, since each person sees many imperfections in his own heart which he cannot recognize in others, on account of these obstacles to grace he ought to judge himself lower. Let it be granted to the [unclear] that he despise his soul as more worthless than others, even if he knows their public crimes.

[unclear] For indeed, since the root of their heart is wholly unknown to him, he cannot know how divine election was ordained concerning him from eternity. Who would believe that the thief crucified with the Lord was chosen from eternity, if he judged him according to his works? Divine election anticipates what is good; for where sin is seen to have abounded, often, by the will of divine election, greater grace is found. For divine love regards and embraces its chosen ones from eternity, and beholds them as chosen not according to the misery in which they now are, but according to their future glory. Therefore let the cenobite beware of disparaging others; let him beware of judging others, if he desires to escape eternal death. For who are you, to judge another’s servant? He stands to be judged by his own master alone.

But the disposition of this seventh degree, because of that clause “from the inmost affection of the heart,” possesses a threefold root of its origin: namely truth, hope, and charity. For indeed, when the faithful cenobite sees that he does not have his being from himself, he truly considers himself as nothing from himself; and consequently, in the same respect, he regards his works as nothing from himself, since he himself is nothing, for he knows that nothing comes to be from nothing. Therefore the monk rejoices with the truth, because in this respect he and his works are accounted as nothing, since he fears to incur the vice of falsehood if he believed himself to be something great. And therefore, withdrawing from himself, he fails, and places his being, life, and power in God alone. Secondly, this disposition arises from hope of receiving and seeking greater grace, because when a man through humility fails from himself, he approaches nearer to the grace of God. Thirdly, this disposition of humility takes its beginning from the love of God and receives continual increase in it. For whoever perfectly loves God seeks nothing in all things except his honor, nor knows how to exalt himself in anything, but desires for God’s sake to be subject to all. The more he is cast down through reproaches and injuries, the more, rejoicing, he is glad in the Lord. He rejoices that he is miserable, in order that he may proclaim the Lord glorious in himself. He who truly loves his Lord seeks nothing other than his glory.

It is clear from what we have said that the perfect charity promised to those ascending through the degrees of humility is displayed in this seventh degree. For the other five degrees that follow in the Rule add nothing to the inward perfection of the man who is in the seventh degree, but rather order the outward man, lest he dissipate the inward. Finally, from the seventh degree we could erect certain new ascents of humility, and in them raise all the other degrees higher. For a more fervent filial fear resides in him who can more fully perfect the breadth of the 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, what perseverance he ought to exercise himself in these things, so that he may reach this seventh degree of love. But he who does not always strive to make progress in these degrees of humility should know that he [unclear] in the rule of sin [unclear] [unclear] [unclear] of titles Q [unclear] monastery In this litany nativity seventy-sixth drinking diocese Folly nor [unclear] monastery [unclear] of the said [unclear] to be diminished [unclear] abbot Egidius abbess of the Scots Dainis

to sin; and unless by repentance he recovers the holy effort, he incurs a sentence of damnation. For thus the Rule says: “But if at any time he has acted otherwise, let him know that he is to be condemned by the one whom he mocks.” For if anyone making less progress in religion is believed to be guilty before the divine judgment, what else does one who abandons the effort of making progress deserve than to receive a sentence of damnation? For where, even among those striving to make progress, an account is laid down according to the Rule concerning lesser progress, monks who despise every effort to make progress are without doubt condemned by the sentence of the judge. If therefore you do not wish to incur the danger of damnation, strive continually under the Rule to preserve the effort of one making progress.

Since we have said that the other five degrees of humility pertain to guarding the inner man, we shall also briefly set them forth.

For the monk who neglects to order his outward conduct according to the Rule will not long remain ordered in inward things. For just as a body stripped of clothing is corrupted, so humility without good conduct is emptied of force.

The eighth degree of humility, then, is set down thus in the Rule: if a monk does nothing except what the common rule of the monastery, or the examples of the elders, encourage. In this degree singularity of 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 place his own customs before the examples of the elders, because it is not enough to stand in the seventh degree if one does not keep the rule of the community.

The ninth degree of humility follows from the Rule, by which excessive talkativeness is forbidden. For it befits a monk to preserve silence, especially when he is sitting in the midst of his seniors. Indeed, one who speaks without being asked is rightly considered a fool.

The tenth degree of humility forbids readiness to laugh and levity, because whoever takes pleasure in laughter is shown to be foolish and alien to the fear of God.

The eleventh degree of humility enjoins modesty and maturity upon the monk, so that when an opportunity and permission to speak is granted, he should speak with humble gravity, without laughter and without irritation. Let the monk’s speech be rare, brief, and reasonable, because it does not befit him to say useless things who wishes to please the Most High.

The twelfth degree of humility teaches the monk to order the outward man in appearance and bearing from a humble heart, and to show by his outward conduct that he is inwardly devout. And although this degree is last in the order of all of them, nevertheless in the practice of beginners who are making progress it is first. And therefore Bernard, when 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 the fear of God who does not order his conduct outwardly.

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

When, by the degrees of humility, the powers of the soul, especially of the interior man, have been fundamentally purified and reformed, it is now said to be very necessary in monks that they be adapted more devoutly for progress into the third region. But this diligence in striving toward higher things is necessary for the cenobite, as we have said, because where the effort to make progress is laid aside, the virtue already acquired is wholly dissipated. No one is permitted to stand still in this second region, but all are commanded to ascend to the third through continual effort. Indeed, this continual motion casts down into the first region of the flesh all the slothful and lukewarm, but sweetly, without violence, impels the humble and fervent in desire always toward the third.

Whoever, therefore, has merited from the Lord through humility to obtain the reformation of his powers is now very near to the third region of the spirit. In order that he may be able to enter it powerfully, it is necessary that, by most diligently fitting the powers of his soul, he compose them for their several operations. The intellect, however, is then said to be rightly fitted for entry into the third region when it is illumined to know the highest truth according to its capacity. The memory is composed for the same when it is fully absorbed in holding and cherishing the highest truth. But if the will is disposed to love the highest thing, which is God, for the entry [unclear]

But in order that the cenobite may be able to attain the purification of the intellectual powers, it is necessary that, dying to the world, with the mind pacified from every interior and exterior tumult, he rest, so that he may remain buried within the bosom of divine love and never withdraw from the sweetness of inward union. The mind comes to this rest by four degrees, which are rooted in a good will in four ways.

The first degree of good will lays the beginnings of the virtues; it is called an upright will. For the soul which, consenting to the law of God, subjects itself to God through an upright will, even if it still seems weak, is ordered to the path of virtue. For virtue is perfected when the flesh resists, and that the will is upright is proved by the violence done to the spirit. Yet often a will is called upright and good even when it is found to be less strong. The good that it loves it cannot always accomplish; the evil that it hates, it grieves that through weakness it has committed. Through the weakness of the flesh it is very close to the lowest region, but from the uprightness of its intention and its effort to make progress it is continually kindled toward the freedom of the spirit. For the body that is corrupted weighs down the soul, and the earthly habitation depresses the sense that thinks on many things. O who could describe this battle between spirit and flesh, where the spirit itself desires to subjugate the flesh to itself through an upright will

and the weak flesh always fights against the spirit through contrary desires.

The second degree is a will strong in uprightness: so that it may both flee bravely, against the assault of the flesh, the evil that it hates, and may attain, by doing it even with toil, the good that it loves.

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 indeed the will does not remain strong if it has not been devout in God’s commandments.

The fourth degree is a full will, inasmuch as it in no way divides its powers, but continually extends its whole self, through the denial of all things, toward its God. For this degree three things are necessary, so that good will may be made full in us. The first is complete denial of one’s own self, because the will is proved still to be weak if it is not mortified through every kind of self-denial. The second thing required for full good will is called perfect resignation; if anyone desires to grasp 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 this the soul, admitted into divine love and sweetly burning, is in a certain way transformed into the same, and is frequently admitted into the third region.

Finally, according to Bernard’s judgment, that transformation into divine love is love, affection, adherence, union, charity, or fruition; no one can reach it unless he has learned to mortify all his affections in the fervor of the spirit. For the spirit of a man who has his heart raised upward into God is called perfect will, and is united with God by a most sweet bond. In these degrees of good will, therefore, the faithful cenobite ought without interruption to direct his effort upward, and always to examine with prudent care how much he is advancing or falling back. For Saint Bernard says: Just as he who remains in a vicious will is contemptible, so he who does not strive to advance in the others is blameworthy. For where the effort to advance is laid aside, the danger of falling back is incurred.

On the exemplary and experiential certainty of all the foregoing.

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. The testimony of his own conscience reveals what sort each person is inwardly, hidden within himself. Therefore, so that the cenobite may clearly discern the condition of his state, he ought, according to John Castellensis on the Rule, to observe three things in his conscience, without which a good Chris-

is made a Christian: no one is judged a good man or monk.

First, therefore, what is required for a good man is the testimony of a good conscience: namely, that no mortal sin lies hidden in the conscience. For a mind that is polluted by the guilt of mortal sin testifies that the state of the conscience is evil. Therefore each monk must examine himself diligently and carefully cleanse himself of the faults he has committed, according to the ordinance of the Church. But whoever, on examining his conscience, finds it clean from mortal sin should offer humble praises to God and should not omit to add the examination of the following matters.

The second thing necessary for a good man is to aim chiefly at God in all works and, as far as he can, to order all things to his praise and honor. But if, because the multitude and variety of works impede him, a man cannot always actually keep God before his eyes, at least habitually let him conform his intention of living according to the most pleasing will of God to this desire.

The third is that in all things he obey God and holy mother Church and the prelates set over him, and not withdraw from the path of right and enlightened reason; for whoever despises this threefold obedience has denied the faith. It is therefore necessary that obedience be shown equally to these three in right order, according to the ordinance of reason, so that the life of the monk may remain blameless in its actions, without fear.

These three things, possessed with humble sincerity, make a good man and show the state of a conscience hoping well in the Lord. But the man to whom one of these is lacking is not perfectly good, even if he seems to be good. But if, repentant of his sins, he has resolved henceforth to fulfill these three things, he is now made good and pleasing to God, however evil he may have been considered before. Furthermore, in order that from a good man a good religious, or spiritual man, may be born, according to the aforesaid [unclear], three other things are required.

The first thing required for making a good religious is that purity of heart be cleansed, through zeal for discipline, from every defilement or incitement of the flesh. This purity is never better acquired than if 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. This, once the images of all things have been excluded, can raise itself upward to God, unencumbered in all exercises, and continually lift itself up without impediment in thanksgiving with devout prayers.

In the third way a good man is made spiritually good when, through love, the desire of the spirit is united with God by fixed degrees. These last two things make our cenobite spiritual and often introduce him to the citizens of the third region. Therefore whoever desires to trust rightly in the testimony of his conscience should humbly strive to exercise himself in the aforesaid things, because security is never prudently presumed when danger is not avoided. And what is so dangerous as always

to live in negligences and sins, and to be unwilling to amend the errors committed? The confidence of the righteous, arising from the testimony of a good conscience, is the best hope, and is continually subject to God in humble service. But the impious and sinners, disturbed by their own actions, raise themselves up against God; they do not trust in the testimony of conscience, but rather presume vainly.

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

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

The first root of the fear and love of God is intent meditation on the incomprehensible divine majesty: God is comprehended the less, the more curiously he is investigated by man. For the prophet says: Truly you are a hidden God. This meditation begets wonder at divine perfection; wonder causes reverence; from reverence arises fear of majesty; and from fear worship is produced. Meditation upon the supreme goodness is divided, according to our capacity, into seven considerations, which are not unsuitably adapted to the seven days of the week, or even to the seven canonical hours. And although that highest and most perfect goodness is abundantly sufficient for us as material for meditation, yet because it belongs to few to be able to ascend to invisible things without visible things, we wish through known things to raise the minds of the weak to things unknown. For the holy apostle says: The invisible things of God, from the creation of the world, are perceived, being understood through the things that have been made; his everlasting power also and divinity, so that they are without excuse.

First, therefore, the wondrous power of God's might is worthy of praise in the principal work of creation, since he was able to bring forth all things from nothing, and by his will alone created things so great, so solid, so varied, and noble. From this consideration wonder at divine might arises, through which a person is summoned to the fear of God.

Secondly, the provident wisdom of God is worthy of praise, because, knowing all things,

[unclear]; and all things that he has created he governs by his providence. He knows all things, understands all things, disposes all things by his counsel, encloses all things by his command. For, as a certain lover of the wisdom of the world said: God is a sphere whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere. He is within all things and is not enclosed; he is outside all things and is not excluded; he is beneath all things and is not oppressed; he is above all things and is not borne up. He himself contains all things, who, though wholly everywhere, is enclosed in no place; great and immeasurable, he is bounded by no quantity. He orders all things as he wills; stable in himself always and immovable, he changes the vicissitudes of things; for the good he mercifully prepares eternal rewards without passion of mind; angry without disturbance, he condemns the unjust. Great without magnitude, immeasurable without quantity, he has set a limit to things; governing the world, he disposes all things.

Third, the merciful kindness of God is praiseworthy in our redemption, because the man whom he created in his own image, fallen so miserably into the pit of damnation, he restored so mercifully. O what shall I, a little worm, indeed nothing in comparison with my maker, render to the supreme and incomprehensible majesty, who, when I did not exist, created me by his own power; when I had perished, became 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 God most high and inestimable, became man for me, most vile, and willed to undergo things so vile and unworthy? Behold, my heart speaks to you; all my inward parts incline toward you, since no voice can express what you give your faithful to feel within, in the heart, concerning your most innocent passion.

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

Fifth, the profound justice of God is praiseworthy in the damnation of the reprobate, because he allows no evil to pass unpunished, depriving the sinner of the good which the fool is not afraid to lose by sinning. Finally, to speak in our manner, the supreme purity of God is shown praiseworthy in this: that every sin and

[unclear], he abominates as though a putrid corpse. We have also recognized that his wisdom is praiseworthy in the damnation of the impious, because, drawing God’s goods out of evils, he compels them to serve him in punishment, who, sinning against justice, were unwilling to be subject in guilt.

Sixth, the generous munificence of God is praiseworthy in the glorification of the blessed, because for a small merit he rewards his elect with so ineffable a recompense, as though he gives immortal gifts together with the holy angels.

Seventh, the incomprehensible excellence of God is praiseworthy in itself, because he orders [unclear] according to his providence and, most tranquil in himself, always remains immovable, without motion or time. The contemplation of this seventh consideration belongs to the sabbath of eternal happiness, in which there is now no work of laborious activity, 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 righteous in the heavenly sabbath. Therefore, if we desire happily to arrive at those heavenly mansions, let us rest in God alone, in whom the rational creature is perfected by resting; having been perfected through the adherence of love, it rejoices with the Lord in ineffable union and joy. Henceforth, for praising God, let pure devotion seek nothing outside God, because God himself, almighty, perfect, and most wise, suffices for all as the material of his own praise, and exceeds all 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 in himself and for himself rather than from creatures.

From the aforesaid considerations concerning God, a manifold and varied affection of devotion arises; through it also a worthier effect of prayer is generated according to the desire of the affection. For when meditation of the heart is taken up concerning the majesty or power of God, reverent admiration is produced. But when we begin to meditate on his inexpressible wisdom, confounded by our foolish imperfection, we accuse ourselves. Thus consequently, from consideration of the mercy of God, hope of pardon is received; from his patience, love of the heart is generated; from justice, humiliation is born; from meditation on munificence, gratitude. For just as fire, once kindled, increases in magnitude according to the quality of the wood, so according to various meditations on God the ardor of devotion rises up in prayers among those who love God.

On meditation on the work of our redemption. Root II.

The second root of the fear and love of God is placed in meditation on our redemption, which, in the life, conduct, doctrine, and passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, through exercises

[unclear] is generated. Among all meditations we believe this one to be more useful for us, in which we know our salvation and the sum of eternal happiness to be contained. And note that the Passion of the Lord, with respect to its procedure, was unjust; with respect to its manner, shameful; with respect to its pain, bitter; and with respect to its effect, fruitful; and therefore it is always to be held in memory.

First, with respect to its procedure, it was unjust, because, born of a virgin, he 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 who was always righteous and innocent, without any sin. Finally, he was killed contrary to human law, if sentence of death is passed upon a man neither confessed nor convicted of a crime. The Savior was accused before Pilate on three charges: that, calling himself a king, he forbade tribute 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 likewise did not escape Pilate, who knew that Jesus had commanded that the things which were Caesar's should be given to Caesar. When questioned by the governor about the third, he was silent, because Pilate was unworthy to hear of Jesus' divine generation or even his human birth. His Passion also took place contrary to custom, because it received no delay of time. He is not put in prison according to custom; nothing is deliberated in his case; but, once seized, he is immediately dragged to the judge to be subjected to death; scourged, spat upon, and afflicted with many wrongs, blows, and mockeries, he is nailed to the cross. Third, it was contrary to the law of nature, and procured from obstinate hatred of heart. For nature forbids raging against the dead, and shudders at tearing with new wounds a body that has been killed. For our Redeemer, dead on the cross, is pierced with a lance, and, contrary to the law of nature, the deceased is wounded by the impious.

Second, the Passion of Christ, with respect to its manner, is said to have been shameful for the six causes that follow. First, because of the paltry price, since blood of incomparable value is sold by a disciple for thirty pieces of silver, for which no one would deign to sell his little ass. Second, because of the shameful office, for, full of wounds and half-dead, he is compelled to carry his own cross, which is found to have been done to no robber. Third, because of the indignity of the place, since he is crucified outside the city in the place of Calvary, where robbers and wicked murderers are punished for their deserts. Fourth, because of the shameful punishment, since he is hung naked on the cross, which penalty is 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 shameful mockery, since he is hung naked on the cross before the whole multitude, and is blasphemed by all as if foolish and senseless. Of this the psalmist says: All day long my shame is before me. Sixth, because of the shameful company, for, counted with the wicked, he is hung in the midst of robbers. What are you doing now, O Christian soul? Behold, your Savior is hung in the middle between robbers, and you do not fear to sit in the first place in the council?

Third, the most holy Passion of Christ was most bitter with respect to its pain, for seven reasons. First, because of the delicate liveliness of his flesh, which in natural complexion was the best, and therefore was more grievously afflicted in the suffering of pain. For delicate flesh hurts more than flesh coarse by natural condition. Therefore, since the flesh of Christ was subtle and delicate, it emitted a bloody sweat in the garden. Second, because of the quality of those killing him, for Christ was not killed by foreigners, but by his own proper kinsmen and neighbors, just as he had earlier complained through the prophet: My people, what have I done to you? For one suffers more tolerably from foreigners and enemies than from one's own, for whom at least friends, from nearness of blood, have compassion. Third, because of the bitterness of the Passion, since he is afflicted more in those places in which pain is felt more because of the nerves. For, raised up on the cross, he is fastened through hands and feet; thirsting, the Lord of all is given gall and hyssop to drink. For the psalmist says of him: They dug through my hands and my feet; they numbered all my bones. Who could conceive in his mind the pain of your most holy heart, O good Jesus, when the very hard nails began so cruelly to pierce your hands and feet? Would that my soul may always show itself grateful to you; would that the recollection of your most holy Passion may not depart from my memory. Easily shall I be able to obtain from you the effect of my prayers, if it happens that I delight without interruption in the exercise of your Passion. Let each person think what he can; I prefer the memory of your Passion to all exercises, through which I trust that I shall receive in prayers whatever accords with salvation. Fourth

[Fifth?], because of its long duration, the passion of Christ was singular. For he suffers in reputation, because, falsely accused by the impious, he is blasphemed.

He suffered also in his possessions, because, naked and stripped, he was hung upon the wood, and his garments are divided by lot among the soldiers. He suffers in his soul, because, forefeeling the bitterness of the passion, he was sorrowful even unto death. He suffered in his whole body, since from the sole of the foot to the crown of the head there was no soundness in him.

He suffers in his friends, since he is betrayed by a disciple, deserted by all, and even publicly denied by Peter. He is afflicted also in the compassion of his mother, whose most holy soul the sword of sorrow is recorded to have pierced. He suffered from the ingratitude of many, because he foreknew that the death which he bore in suffering for all would be lost in so many of the reprobate. Finally, he suffered in all his senses, as we are taught from the Gospel. He suffers in his eyes, because after many tears had been shed they are covered with a cloth. He suffers in his hearing, when amid many insults and outrages he is mocked and blasphemed. He suffers in his smell, since he is defiled by the foul spittle of the Jews. He suffers in touch, 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, although he was plainly without any fault. For truly, whoever suffers unjustly is tormented all the more in his spirit. 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 all consolation, since Christ found no one consoling him in his passion. For he says in the Psalm: You have put friend and neighbor far from me. Indeed, his acquaintances stood far off.

Fourth, how fruitful the passion of Christ was; this is chiefly to be considered in three things. First, the remission of sins was accomplished; second, the bestowal of grace; third, the display of glory. And these three things are indicated by the title fixed to the cross, which, as the evangelist says, contained the cause of Jesus’ passion: Jesus of Nazareth, king of the Jews. Jesus, saving sinners, with respect to the first; Nazarene, bestowing the flower of grace, with respect to the second; king of the Jews, showing the heavenly kingdom to those who confess him, with respect 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 therefore placed them after the end of the third region, lest at this point, by their excessive length, we disturb the order of the things to be said. For what we have now set forth we see to pertain rather to reading than to meditation, and therefore we postpone them.

On the Meditation of the Benefits of God. Root II.

The third root of divine fear and love is fixed in meditations on the benefits of God, through which one comes to the grace of devotion. For truly, the beginning of devotion is placed in meditation on the benefits of God, from the memory of which love is generated. But the middle, insofar as progress in that very meditation desires nothing other than to please God above all things,

by which he knows that without any merit of his own he has been forestalled with many benefits. Hence he loves God above all things with burning desire and with the pure fervor of the mind, and longs to cleave continually to him alone, without intermediary. And although the merciful God has bestowed many things specially upon each one of us, nevertheless, because we write these our tokens not for one but for many, we must briefly bring forward not particular benefits assigned to individuals, but general benefits set before all. Therefore we include the more important ones under the number seven, so that through the seven days of the week, or even in the canonical hours themselves, we may have ready at hand material for daily meditation. But if anyone already dwells in higher things through the elevation of the mind toward God, let him not require these things, proposed as they are for novices. But he who, because of the weakness of his mind, cannot ascend to that supreme summit of contemplation, should strive to exercise himself more fervently in these meditations on the benefits of God, so that, while he diligently continues in the lower things, he may, purified and stronger, ascend to the higher. Let the devout monk therefore remember what he has received from the Lord God, so that he may be able to show himself grateful. Let him render to God what he has received, if he is good [unclear] he desires [unclear]. with his ornaments, and those whom he created intellectual beings in his own image he also mercifully called to the heavenly kingdoms. What more could he have given us, who, when we did not exist, created us and gave us himself? But what can we render to our Creator, we who by our own merit are sinners and weak? Let us render what we are; let us render what we owe: namely, 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. For 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, and on the part of the soul love him with all your strength. Serve him because he is powerful and a great Lord; love him because he is good. His power is shown in your creation; his goodness is declared in your restoration. Since he created you by his power when you did not exist, he deserves faithful service; since he restored you when you had fallen by his goodness, he deserves the affection of sincere love. For truly he is our Father through love; he is Lord through incomprehensible power.

Secondly, he gave us faith with the sacraments, since, just as he created us without our will, so without our merit he called us to the faith. For Christ says to his disciples in the holy Gospel: You did not choose me; rather, I chose you. Through faith the Christian soul is led back to its principle; through the sacraments it is renewed. Therefore, incorporated into Christ through the faith and the sacraments which he gave, we are bound to offer perpetual adherence, and to remain continually in his holy covenant. For in baptism, to the devil and all his pom-

we have renounced his pomps; we have promised that we shall cleave perpetually to Christ, those who lifted us from the sacred font standing as sureties for 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 cleave to God, to place my hope in the Lord God.”

Third, almighty God gave us the craft of uprightness and the teachings of truth. For these we are bound to our creator in faithful execution and perpetual service without deceit. We are therefore commanded above all to do all things to the praise of God, and in everything that we do chiefly to raise our intention toward his honor. For only a good intention directed toward God distinguishes works; love alone makes them fruitful. Behold, the Lord bestowed upon us the craft of nature for praising him; he gave, besides, the teachings of salvation through the law; he requires from us praise and love above all things. Let us therefore exercise, to the honor of God, the craft bestowed upon us, and let the pure eye of intention be formed through the teaching of the law.

Fourth, the merciful Father bestowed upon us the world with its necessary elements; for these he requires from us due and sincere contemplation of himself. Whatever we discern in this world ought to lead us to the memory of God and continually stir us to love its creator above all things. Hence Bernard, [unclear] in sacred matters, says: “The whole and true lover of God, wherever he turns, has before him a familiar reminder of his creator, and uses things as a mirror, and in such thinking is raised up from the creature to the creator. For concerning each thing he says: If those things seem good, beautiful, and sweet which, having been created, change and pass away with time, what goodness, beauty, and sweetness has God, their author, who remains forever, who has reserved for himself things incomparably better than these?” By this consideration of things the devout man looks upon all human beings with the simple eye of the mind, as if upon the likeness of the image of God, and does not curiously attend in them to the body’s appearance, pleasing or displeasing. For in a human being he considers not what he sees outwardly, but the image of the creator, which he knows to be a sharer in eternal happiness.

Fifth, the Son of God offered himself in torments for us, and redeemed us, lost as we were, from the ruin of everlasting death by his blood. We are commanded to render to this love of our savior a willing imitation, if we desire to arrive at 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 toward me, so great and so immeasurable? I shall suffer with you in heart, I shall suffer with you in deed; I shall imitate you in the affections of the mind according to my ability.

Sixth, the creator bestowed upon us time for earning eternal life, and gave the necessary nourishment of the body. Here also we are debtors to ourselves, since we owe ourselves the acquisition of merits in this time. Why then di

[unclear] of salvation so negligently and without fruit of merits, when we have nothing more precious than time? Behold, now, in a brief span of time, we can earn the joys of eternal happiness; and we all neglect to do what is good. Woe to us, foolish and mad, who have received nothing in this world more precious than time, and yet are accustomed to expend nothing more cheaply. For now an acceptable time is granted to us; now the days of salvation are bestowed, in which we ought to apply ourselves to holy works with the greatest fervor, and always foresee the hour of death.

Seventh, God has set before us heaven filled with all joys, and has promised himself, with all things contained in it, as a reward. For this munificence of our Savior we ought to apply ourselves to holy works of mercy, and to show ourselves, as far as we can, imitators of God. To this the Lord exhorts us in the holy Gospels: Be merciful, as your Father God also is merciful. Likewise at the end of the world, when the day of judgment has come, the merciful, as the Lord himself promises, will go into eternal life, since he who has shown mercy will obtain mercy. And lest any of the monks say to me, “I can expend mercy on no one, since religion permits me to possess nothing at all,” let us know that among the necessary works of mercy, spiritual works are the more excellent. If you, a monk, wish to be merciful, pray to God for the wretched; bestow saving doctrine on the unlearned.

Therefore the sum of meditation on God’s benefits rests upon three exercises, in which it is principally wholly contained. In the first, indeed, we ought to attribute all things to God, not to ourselves; in the second, by remembering God’s benefits, to exercise ourselves in zeal for love; in the third, always to give thanks from a pure heart for the benefits received. But if by these exercises concerning benefits we wish our heart to grow toward the love of God, we ought to consider six conditions in the gifts of the Lord themselves. First, consider that the gift of God is thoroughly noble; second, how especially fruitful and useful it is to you; third, because it is varied, manifold, and very frequently repeated. And these three consider the gift as ordered in itself; the two that follow regard the person of the giver; the last notes the condition of the recipient. Fourth, therefore, consider the great affection of the giver toward you; fifth, his inestimable dignity; sixth, that you, receiving great things from the Greatest, are vile and contemptible, and unworthy of all things. From these considerations of benefits the love of God is accustomed to arise in the mind of a devout person, and, advancing by certain steps, to lift the spirit to contemplation.

On the Knowledge of Oneself. The Fourth Root.

The fourth root producing divine love is called knowledge of oneself; very useful if it is referred to the preceding things. For indeed, if how great things the Lord [unclear] for us so very little

[unclear] has done, we bring back to mind by considering; and we shall know how unworthy, vile, and altogether undeserving we are in all things. But four things ought to lead a man to knowledge of himself; from the consideration of these it is most fitting that we should love God.

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

Secondly, lest you be lifted up into pride, O man, consider the vileness of your creation: how you were made from the mud of the earth, and after a little while, consumed by worms, you will return into the earth as dust. Why then are you proud, earth and ashes? Your conception contains guilt, your birth misery, your life punishment, the dissolution of death anguish. For a man born of woman lives a short time, is filled with many miseries, and then is most miserable when, miserable as he is in the flesh, he does not recognize himself.

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

Fourthly, faithful soul, consider how exceedingly vile you have made yourself by repeating your ways in the act of sin: how you have shown yourself an adulteress to Christ your spouse, when he had joined you to himself through his blood, wholly unstained. What are you doing, O wretched one? Why do you desert your most loving spouse, or why, foolish one, do you withdraw from your beginning? Know yourself to be placed in the flesh, not so that you may consent to its vices and concupiscences, but rather so that you may resist by the command of reason. For as often as you have, by dissembling, so to speak, surrendered your consent to the disordered motions of the flesh and those contrary to divine rectitude, so often, turned away from the highest Good and from your spouse, you show yourself an adulteress. Beware, beware, O soul redeemed by the blood of Christ, lest the love of the flesh deceive you; for just as the first man, deceived by love of his woman companion, 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 one, where have you fallen? You have dwelt in

[unclear] strange: you have been defiled with the dead; you have been counted with those going down into hell. You have forsaken the fountain of wisdom; you have been turned backward; you have committed adultery. But hear my counsel, and return [as quickly as possible?] to Jesus, the guide of your youth; submit yourself wholly to him in humility. He is merciful. When you return to him, he will gladly receive you; he will forgive your faults, and, if you ask, he will bestow the grace of his love. But you must withdraw from the affections of your flesh if you desire to come into the sight of your Savior. Therefore, if you turn to Jesus, turn in truth, because you cannot love anything except the true highest truth.

There is also another mode of self-knowledge, which is taken up with respect to God, whenever the incomparable comparison between God and man is considered. On this mode Bernard, illustrious in contemplation, says: Never does the measure of human imperfection perceive itself better than in the light of the face of God and in the mirror of divine vision. For there, the more one is in the day and the more one sees what is lacking in oneself, the more one amends day by day whatever has strayed into unlikeness, and approaches, by likeness, him from whom one has been far removed by unlikeness. Let us therefore raise a suppliant mind to the mirror of divine perfection; let us submit our affection to that immutable good, so that in the wisdom of God we may be able to perceive our foolishness, and in his power to consider our weakness.

On Keeping the Memory of One’s Sins.

The root of living fear of God is the memory of sins and the very foulness of sin when pondered. For indeed, the person who truly understands the shamefulness of mortal sin is always terrified of the pit of this evil. In order that we may in some way recognize the gravity of sin, you must consider the seven things that follow.

First, then, consider the beauty of God’s justice, to which sin is wholly contrary and therefore most of all to be fled. For through sin the soul is utterly turned away from the highest good, and the love that is naturally in it toward its principle is changed into hatred. For just as all good things come from the first good, so every love, toward whatever good it is borne, is naturally kindled by that same source. For since our love cannot rest in any goods as in its end, it has, as the end where it is to be stilled, the same good that it had also as its beginning. Therefore, whenever sin is committed against the beauty of God’s justice, the soul is separated from its own principle. For since God is charity, he requires love in the soul; since he is peace, he requires peace; since he loves likeness, he hates unlikeness.

Second, consider the enormity of sin, and ponder diligently how much its foulness displeases God. Behold, because of pride, the just God cast the most noble angel Lucifer out of heaven, and with his accomplices condemned him to the burning of eternal fire. Likewise our first parents

[unclear] compelled Adam and Eve to leave paradise because of disobedience, and by a just judgment condemned the whole human race, in their crime, under a twofold sentence of death. Finally, let us review the whole history of the Old and New Testament, and we shall find that what was known to have been rashly committed against the justice of God was often severely punished. The gravity of the crime is therefore easily recognized if the strictness of the vengeance that followed is considered.

Third, consider how grave a scandal arises from sin, especially when one sins before others. For he who by his own evil example provokes someone to sin shows himself to be an adversary of God. For God, of his mercy, resolved by his own will to save souls redeemed by the blood of his only-begotten Son; this man, through evil example, desires to destroy them through aversion from God. The sin of scandal, with respect to guilt, is for this reason called very grave, because, as we have said, it is opposed to God. But if one who gives occasion for harm is to be thought to have done the harm, the sinner subjects himself to condemnation by as many sentences of death as the people whom by his own evil example he made 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 believing in me, it is expedient for him that a millstone turned by a donkey be hung around his neck and that he be sunk in the depth of the sea. True repentance is rare in one who scandalizes little ones, because, when he neglects to restore another’s loss, he by no means attains the fruit of saving penitence.

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

Fifth, consider whom you offend by sinning: for it is not a man but God, not a creature but the creator. Great is he against whom you have sinned, and immeasurable; terrible and glorious; whose majes-

[At whose majesty?] the angels tremble; at whose might all the powers of heaven marvel. To the highest and immutable good, God, the beginning and end of every creature, the rational spirit ought to devote love and the desire for a cleaving that is beyond human understanding; and, despising all phantasms, it ought to raise itself higher, wholly, to that which is truly one, as to its own center. It can lift itself toward this the more easily, the more, leaving all other things, it has striven to unite itself to itself. For by the power of that One itself union comes about everywhere; nor are like things more easily united with one another for any other reason than that in quality they are one. Therefore the mind is then most rightly said to be united with the One itself, the principle of things, when it itself, having especially been made one in itself, separated from every multitude, and above all imagination, reason, and understanding, escapes as its own unity alone, enjoying through loving affection the unity of God, joining, so to speak, its own center with the center of the universe. But when the human mind itself, ill at ease in its quasi-marriage with the flesh, is turned toward any animal passions whatever, then that unity itself is badly changed into a multitude contrary to the sole One, and it becomes the more removed from its principle, the more it has been divided from itself. Finally the mind itself contracts great difficulty in returning to that ineffable divine One whenever, confused in itself, it falls into the sin of apostasy. Think now how great and ineffable is he against whose honor sin is committed; and since you cannot understand the greatness of his majesty, learn humbly to fear his power.

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

Seventh, consider what you have deserved by sinning; for if eternal death is inflicted for one sin, think what one who has committed many, not to say innumerable, deserves. For the soul that has sinned shall itself die. Moreover, even through one mortal sin you have deserved to become a companion of the devil, to be deprived of all the joys of heaven, to be burned forever in the fires of hell. These are the rewards that sin has brought you; these are the gifts it promised.

Now therefore, from these seven considerations, make a plaster for the [soul?].

wound me: take up for yourself the goad of compunction, so that you may reach the root of fear. But hurry, and do not put it off from day to day, since he who receives penitents with humble confession has not promised tomorrow to the one who delays. For where haste finds pardon, delay often cuts off life. The hope of a longer life drags many to destruction, because, while they trust that they can live longer in this world, they make the time for penitence pass by without penitence. But you, man, if you accept my counsel, do not put off penitence, since you are utterly ignorant of what tomorrow will bring you. For he deserves to lose the time for penitence who so often is not afraid to postpone the zeal for repenting.

On the Vanity of Present Things and the Eternity of Future Things

[unclear]: if the vanity of visible things and the eternity of invisible things are pondered with diligent attention. For the things that we perceive in this world are wholly subject to vanity and corruption, and indeed will endure for a very brief time. All mortal things hang under an uncertain chance, and by their own mutability promise flight. Whatever you have today will perhaps leave you tomorrow; or while you are speaking it will cease to be yours. For we perceive nothing in this world as lasting and stable, but see all things changing with time.

Therefore ascend the [unclear] watchtower of your mind, O faithful cenobite, and consider that all things which time contains are nothing, since whatever is now seen as visible will shortly be corrupted. Take from past things a consideration of present things, and see that what has passed away does not exist, and what now seems to exist will shortly not exist. Where are the kings of the nations, where the princes, where the leaders, where the men once powerful in the world? Where are all the lovers of the world, where the men who despised the arduous way of heaven? Finally, where are all those once known to you in the world, whom death has meanwhile snatched away while you were in the cloister? Behold, from the beginning of the world, both those who lived for many times and those who lived for few have all died in their own generation, and according to the diversity of their merits they have also received different rewards, with justice dictating. The lovers of God receive bright everlasting dwellings, filled with inestimable joys, associated with the Creator of all things; and the worshippers of the world, scorning God’s commandments, once swollen here with honors, puffed up with knowledge, immersed in riches, given over to pleasures and vices, have descended to hell to be tormented without end. What, I ask, does the once laborious contempt of the world, contrary to the flesh, now harm the saints in heaven, for which they have eternal [unclear], compared with the consolation of the flesh once enjoyed, for which they now receive the torments of eternal damnation? Think on these things while it profits; meditate on these things while

Again, descending more deeply, with the gaze of the mind [if opportunity is present], try, as far as you can, to fix yourself in the abyss of infinite depth, and to consider how long that which is eternal is. Eternal is the time which is closed by no end, bounded by no space. The saints of God will exult forever in blessed glory. Sinners in hell will burn in misery. O eternal 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 forever. The eternal has no end. Hear a comparison; and since it will not be sufficient for eternity, receive fear. If a heap of sand were set up in the size of Mount Olympus, stretched up to heaven, from which, after ten thousand years ten times over, a little bird were to consume only one grain, that mountain would by no means be said to be destined to last forever, but would be subject to an end; and although after innumerable years, nevertheless sometime it would cease. Yet all that time during which something of the mountain remained, however very long it might be, would nevertheless, in comparison, seem nothing beside eternity. That which is eternal admits neither an imagining of an end, nor hope of completion, nor any boundary.

O therefore how foolish, how mad is the man who casts away this consideration of eternity, and uselessly spends the acceptable time granted to him for earning eternal goods. The hour will come, and now hastens near, in which the wretch, when he is no longer able to do better, will learn what the eternal is. But you, my monk, who desire to be faithful, cast away from yourself all concern for the world; set all your care upon the love of God. Do nothing, think nothing, except what can lead you to the love of your Creator, or what you know pertains to the edification of others or to pure bodily necessity. Separate, I pray, from the lowest things, so that you may be able to delight in eternal goods. Let no solicitude of the flesh remove you from the inward tranquility of the mind; let no pleasure corrupt you. Strive always to persist in prayers with devotion as much as you are able, and more often to raise yourself upward through the affection of love.

On Always Having Zeal for God.

The seventh root of the fear of God is zeal for God, in which the monk is commanded to exercise himself not a little. For no one tolerates calmly the injuries of his lord if he truly loves him. Therefore you, monk, who desire to be a faithful servant of Jesus Christ, do not neglect his zeal in yourself; when you see an injury to God, do not pretend not to notice it, because whoever does not at once resist those who disparage him is proved to love his Lord less. Let men know you as such a lover of God and enemy of vices that in your presence they do not dare to speak evil, nor to do anything evil while you look on [unclear].

...and let them not presume [unclear]. Be conspicuous for uprightness of mind, renowned for the merit of your life, revered for zeal. Let the righteous 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 know that you cannot tolerate injury done to God. Thus Phinehas earned the everlasting priesthood, when by zealously defending the law he powerfully appeased the wrath of the Lord.

If you see order perishing in the monastery, if your brothers have begun in any way to corrupt regular observance, do not, if you are a servant of God, keep silence about their vices. Set yourself like a wall, bravely, before the house of the Lord; exercise zeal for God as far as you are able; destroy the counsels of the malicious; resist the rashness of the proud. If you are a true lover of God, by your face alone you will scatter the assemblies of the depraved. For no one will disclose his plan before you if he suspects your zeal to be against it. But if the wicked and reprobate do not fear your presence, they plainly recognize no zeal for God in you.

Therefore, to show yourself a true servant of Christ, you must willingly forgive your brothers, for the love of God, the wrongs done to you, and pray to God for those very persons who wrong you. But wrongs done to the Lord are not yours to forgive without his will; rather, out of zeal for uprightness, you must avenge them. In these matters let love of blood-kin cease; let the bond of friendship withdraw far away: zeal for God is rightly to be preferred to all things. For human friendship must be observed in such a way that it is never preferred to zeal for God.

Woe to the monks and abbots who so boldly cast aside zeal for God; who put human familiarities before the divine command; who conceal the vices of their subjects through foolish compassion; who do not observe the traditions of the holy Rule even in others. And what shall I say? We see among cloistered monks obedience to commands despised, zeal for uprightness scorned, observance of the Rule contemned. Two or more contract among themselves a bond of fleshly friendship under the name of charity. The infirm entrust the diseases of their soul to those more infirm, and they hardly seek friendship with God through purity of mind. Each thinks his own companion better than the rest, and each, deceived, loves the other not spiritually but carnally, since they do not lift their affections to God; he loves nothing but the consolations of the flesh.

But the monk whom you see seeking the friendship of infirm brothers you must judge not a servant of God but a lover of the flesh. For the man who truly occupies his whole heart in the love of God cares nothing for human friendship. The love of Jesus suffices him for all things; beyond him he seeks nothing more. But whoever has sought the consolation of his mind in outward things shows by his deed that he does not love God with his whole heart.

The love of God loves solitude, hates the tumult of men, and does not seek conversations with friends. O good Jesus, how sweet is your love, how it pierces the heart that loves you; seeing you, it desires to see you; having you, the soul longs to embrace you.

For indeed, he who loves you forgets himself. He meditates on nothing other than your most sweet presence. There is nothing in the world that pleases one who loves you; nowhere is anything found that the soul desires besides you. O, with how many sighs the mind wounded by love is distressed; with what abundant tears the face is watered in secret, because as often as it thinks of the face of the beloved presiding in heaven, so often it bewails itself as desolate on earth. Meanwhile the mind, languishing with love, attempts to say something of its most beloved Jesus; it strives also to stir others to love of him. But as soon as it has begun to utter the most sweet name of Jesus, because of the greatness of love it falls silent against its will. 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 has been crucified.” “Who is your love, O servant of God? Why do you weep? Why do you groan?” “Ignatius. My love has been crucified, and shall I not mourn? My Lord is dead, and shall I be able to restrain my tears?” Do not weep, O faithful soul; for although your love died in order to redeem you from death, nevertheless he has now risen from the dead in order to crown you in heaven. Be faithful unto death, and he will give you the crown of life.

On the manner and seven degrees of divine love, comprising the conclusion of this second region.

Since no one is suddenly made highest, nor can anyone by his own powers suddenly ascend to that very summit of divine love, it is useful now briefly to note the fixed modes or degrees themselves 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 has been purely, sweetly, fervently, perseveringly, and diligently pondered in the mind of a human being. For indeed, whoever recalls to memory, with compassion and thanksgiving, the life, Passion, and death of the Savior according to the principal and especially important articles, prepares a swift ascent of the heart to divine love. But we shall treat this most holy occupation of the mind concerning the Lord’s Passion appropriately in the second principal part of this work, where we shall set forth more fully the manner of spiritual exercise. But insofar as the account of what has been said pertains to this place, I find three modes of loving God, which I shall briefly explain in order.

The first mode commands that you love him who loves you sweetly; join yourself wholly to him delightfully, so that your heart loves nothing apart from God and seeks nothing elsewhere. For since God is the whole, he alone desires to possess the whole heart of the lover; he withdraws himself from scattered thoughts. Therefore, if you wish to love sweetly, love totally. For the love of God brings about either everything or nothing. Let meditation on the Passion of Jesus Christ our Savior possess you wholly, until love in you

may sweetly recover strength. It is fitting that you 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 proved to love anything in the world. For the love of the world is wholly contrary to the divine love, because where the one is admitted into the inner chambers of the heart, the other is forbidden to be present. But how great a sweetness, how great a delight, and how great a gladness of mind the love of God begets in the heart of the lover, no one at all understands except him who, having despised all the things and events of the world, has loved God alone for a long time. To a heart loving God, none of the things that are in the world is to be loved: it despises riches, honors, and the favors of the age; it does not fear to undergo any adversities for the love of its Lord. The love of God is never idle; it always desires to come to its beginning; it refuses to endure no labors in this world. Therefore let him who does not wish to become slothful love.

The neighbor also is to be sweetly loved on account of God, and is in no way to be offended against God or justice. Let each person always show himself to his brother, in words and deeds, such as he expects others to be toward himself. For he truly loves his neighbor who for him exposes property, body, and soul. This Christ taught; this the Son of God did for us. Indeed, whoever says that he truly believes in Christ ought himself also to walk just as he walked. He does not truly love Christ who does not keep his commandments. For he says: This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. We are members of one head, Jesus Christ, in whom we then believe rightly when we observe his commandment concerning love toward God and toward neighbor. Let us therefore love our neighbor, because he is a member in Christ with us, so that, just as one member in the body suffers together with another, so the brother may humbly be helped for the love of Christ.

The second manner commands you to love wisely, and to seek nothing else in divine love than God. Stretch forth your affection toward that Word which was in the beginning with God; lift your mind above everything that is created, because unless you abandon yourself and all things that are in the world, you will not be able to come to the God whom you love. Finally, if you desire to love God wisely, do not esteem yourself to be anything, because where a man judges himself to be something, he already loves foolishly.

The third manner enjoins 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 fears to undergo death for him. For love is strong as death. The neighbor is loved wisely if the man is not hated, but the vice. But he is loved strongly if every injury is remitted to him from a soul disposed to do good.

The second region ends.

Preface to the third treatise of the first part, which describes the highest region of the spirit of cloistered persons.

Writing at last, with the Lord’s help, of that highest region of the spirit, I am struck at once by fear and shame, because, being small, I fear to speak of the greatest matters, and I am greatly ashamed to teach what I have not sufficiently experienced. For whose intellect, however exercised a man may be, would recognize the state of a mind sweetly resting through love in God? Or whose discourse, even that of the most eloquent orator, would explain the secret sweetness of inward contemplation? Indeed, the exercise of this third region for the greater part surpasses human understanding; 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, as it were, lulled and absorbed in the abyss of divine contemplation with a wondrous sweetness. For it is oppressed by so great a delight of inward majesty that it seems able neither to understand nor to express its state. For, forsaking the operation of the senses, it wholly goes beyond even the intellective operation, and, what is more, it is lifted above itself by affection to that deserted summit of divine darkness. When, therefore, it has almost wholly failed from itself, it does not act but rests; nor, when returned to itself, can it understand what it has undergone, nor reveal to anyone the manner of its elevation. For this elevation of the mind into God is so profound and so sublime that not only can the inexperienced not understand it, but even the experienced cannot fully explain it in words as it is in itself.

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, but I am weak, since I have neither brought a jar fit for these waters nor prepared steps of ascent suitable for lofty things. Composed words do not befit a fool; nor ought an untried and rigid man to speak of the secrets of divine contemplation, one who still stands with the weak in the valleys. For only he speaks fruitfully about profound matters who is illumined by the ray of a twofold spirit. Nevertheless, since I am a man under obedience, I am compelled by the statutes of the annual chapter and of that synod itself to undertake it and to bring to an end, according to my powers, the work proposed to me. And so I enter upon the third region of cloistered persons under the guidance of the venerable father, the lord of Bursfeld, so that, by reducing, as far as I can, to my own manner of speaking what he described in scholastic and truthful discourse, I may seem to have obeyed the chapter.

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

The third, or highest, region is called spiritual, in which the highest [repose] of the mind and tranquillity is engaged. And this region is compared to the empyrean heaven, in which is the true rest of all and the true felicity of souls. Dwelling in this region, the spirit deserts the rational [faculty] beneath it, and, raised up by love, marvelously ascends into God. Whatever it does in this most knowing region is judged wholly divine. Here the human spirit, caught up above itself, receives the divine inflowing, and, drowsing even unto the darkness of divine contemplation, abstracted from all creatures, sweetly comes to rest. In this region the omnipotent God directs the contemplating spirit to himself; he simplifies the intellectual powers of the soul, recalled from every phantasm into the inner chamber; he perfects them according to their objected tendencies; and the mind, stripped of all multiplicity, leading it to himself as the one [object] of perception, he makes also one in himself—not by nature, but by gracious participation. The men of this highest region are truly spiritual, for in contemplation, [set apart] from all things and affections of the age, they love nothing in this world except God; they desire nothing inordinately; but, absorbed by inner affection into the divine spirit, they vehemently thirst for God himself, and are kindled with ineffable longing into his love. With so great a fervor of love do they act toward God that, raised above their very selves, they desert all the intellectual operations [of the soul], and [the mind] is caught up into the abyss of divine contemplation, [souls] becoming one [with God] while the property of their natures is preserved, by the gift of participation. The apostle of Jesus Christ says it more knowingly: "He who cleaves to the Lord is one spirit [with him]." And again he says: "Those who are led by the Spirit of God, these are the sons of God." The same apostle also shows himself a citizen of this most knowing region, where he cries out to the Philippians: "But our conversation is in heaven." For as long as we are in the body we are pilgrims away from the Lord; but [it is] as though through a dream that we are sweetly led to our homeland—which we understand by a remote comparison. For in dreams we go forth by the images of things [reserved] to the spirits in the imagination; in contemplation, beyond all imagination, pure, we raise ourselves to God with mind and spirit. And therefore this highest region of the soul is called spiritual, from which all the religious [take] the name of spirituality. Woe to us! We are called spiritual from this most happy region; we religious are named its due lovers—who yet, save by small [measures], do not ascend the height of this summit of contemplation, but with the weak [we hope]…

[Marginal note (right margin): largely illegible at the binding — fragments only: "…the most […] region of the mind…", "…it is called of the spirit…", remaining lines damaged.]

we lie sick in the bed of carnal desires. To what end do we bear a holy name, who are not holy? Let us therefore take care with all our strength, through the continual exercise of the middle region, to ascend to this height of the supreme summit, if we truly desire to obtain the name of spiritual conduct. In this region charity holds sovereignty, wisdom the consulship; in it nothing is loved except God, nothing disorderly is perpetrated. This most holy region, moreover, belongs to the empyrean heaven, because those whom it spiritually receives as citizens it sends on, without intermediary, to the joys of heaven. For just as the lowest region of the flesh sends its dying citizens to hell, and the middle region of reason to purgatory, so this one sends its perfect worshippers, at their departure, 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 cloistered persons is pleasing by comparison. Article I.

And first, indeed, this third region of the soul is said to be pleasing by comparison, because it is compared to the highest empyrean heaven. For just as in the empyrean heaven all things are tranquil, so on this summit of the supreme region the mind of a man contemplating God is disturbed by no agitations. Here is the highest rest of the soul that contemplates; here no crowd of vices dwells, no bitterness of mind at all approaches. In the empyrean heaven, indeed, the majesty of God is beheld by the holy spirits through an ineffable gift; here, in darkness, through the desire of love, it is seen above understanding. There God is all in all; here nothing from among all things is pleasing except God. There it is granted to the saints to rest from their labors without end; here the mind is allowed, by resting, to taste beforehand the unspeakable sweetness of inward delight. There is no happiness greater than that in heaven, and there is in the world no tranquillity so sweet as that in this region. Blessed indeed are those who have deserved to ascend this mountain of divine contemplation, who love absolutely nothing in this world, who desire nothing other than to cleave ever to God. O how secure is the conscience of these citizens, how joyful their manner of life, where nothing evil is committed, nothing other than that highest, unchangeable good is desired. For the mind purified by divine love, which has truly and perseveringly ascended this region, desires nothing carnal, nothing disorderly; it raises itself wholly into contemplation of the highest majesty through desire; it sweetly rests in God alone. O who could express the inward sweetness of one who truly loves God, where the mind [unclear] the powers and capacities of the soul from the dispersion of multitude

[unclear] calls back into one, and upward, with kindled affections, lifts [it] into the chamber of the spirit?

Here the soul directs its gaze through love toward that highest, unchangeable good; it utterly rejects from itself every created and creatable multiplicity; the soul gathers itself into one, so that, united to itself, it may be able to rise without the impediment of multiplicity to its own principle, which is one. For only unity can attain to the one principle of all things, because unity flees multiplicity; unity seeks the one. For insofar as you yield to multiplicity, so far will you withdraw from unity. Therefore the mind of a person dwelling in this highest region of the spirit, so that it may be able through love to raise itself to the contemplation of its principle, is accustomed to cast off from itself every multiplicity clinging in imagination or understanding, so that, gathered in its unity, it may be able ardently to direct itself, with the simple affection of love, toward him whom it knows to be above every affirmation.

That this highest region of the spirit is pleasant and lovable by reason of its nearness.

Secondly, this highest region of the spirit. Article II.

It is sweet and most pleasant in solitude and in singular nearness. For the citizens of this most holy region are separated from the citizens above by only one earthen wall, so to speak, because as long as the spirit inhabits flesh, it cries to heaven as though through a wall. But the earthen wall is the prison-house of the flesh, from which the free spirit, about to migrate to heaven, goes forth when it is separated from the body by death. But the spirit wounded by sins, which cannot raise itself to this region through the pure affection of love, is said still to stand farther from the empyrean heaven. Those, however, who dwell in that 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 dwell in heavenly things in mind and spirit. For those who inhabit the empyrean heaven and those who dwell in the third region have one and the same object. But this is the difference: these contemplate God in an enigma, while those do so in clear vision. Wondrous on both sides is the sweetness of those who contemplate: here it is great, there greatest; here in the desire of fervent love, there in the possession of the most blessed vision.

In this highest region of divine contemplation the rational spirit calls back its powers and capacities into its own chamber; there it too, free from every phantasm, is at leisure; it raises itself above itself into the dense cloud of divine darkness, where, lulled by ecstatic love, it sweetly rests. Here there is no troublesome confusion of thoughts, no imagination of phantasms; rather, the naked mind is raised upward, contemplating without any thought or imagination at all. Indeed, when the mind itself opens an entrance to thoughts, it again [unclear] to descend to the middle region, which is that of reason.

[unclear]. But since the mind of man cannot always remain unmoved at the summit of divine contemplation, it is necessary for it more often to return to the rational exercise of the second region. But if it has fallen into sensual passions, then it descends again to the lowest region. Yet the soul of the true lover of God, although because of the frailty of the flesh it cannot always abide in the pleasantness of contemplation, nevertheless strives more often, through a fiery affection, to lift itself up to it, so that it may so fulfill the exercise of reason as not wholly to omit the sweetness of inward delight. O how good it is to cleave to the Lord; how sweet it is to attend to God alone, so that the mind thirsts for the Lord Jesus above all things and longs to embrace him with exceedingly fiery desires. For while it abides in this region it is very near to the empyrean heaven, and therefore is inflamed toward it with the greatest desires of love. O how many groans and tears the mind burning with love is accustomed to pour forth; how ardently it sighs for heavenly things; for the nearer it is to the empyrean heaven while abiding, through the secret of contemplation, in this supreme region, the more ardent is known to be its affection for leaving the prison of the body. Hence also, with the holy Apostle, the mind, sick with love, says in its fiery sighs: “I desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ.”

That This Region of the Soul Is by Divine Instruction

Article III

It is learned by divine instruction, in which the mind, fervent 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 saying of the prophet: “And they shall all be taught by God.” For the Holy Spirit inhabits the heart of one who loves Jesus, and illumines it by his invisible teaching.

In this region the true wisdom of the spirit, Mary’s best part, is chosen in the tranquillity of silence; mystical theology is taught in the secret of the divine darkness with ineffable sweetness; the mind, disposed by the fervor of most holy love, speaks to its beloved in secret, and by desire is continually lifted up into him. This wisdom, or mystical theology, can indeed be commended by a human being, but it cannot be taught except in divine instruction. For the work of the Holy Spirit is being done when the mind is illumined in truth through contemplation.

But we must consider that mystical theology is acquired through the exercise of purified affection; it is taught through the burning of love. Speculative theology, however, which we call scholastic, is learned through the exercise of the intellect, while the mind is bound over to continual study. For the acquisition of mystical theology, purification of the affection from everything that entangles is required, so that the will

... corrupted through aversion; it is reformed through the conversion of inward love to its own principle. But unless the affection has been cleansed of every disordered concupiscence, it does not ascend to the sublimity of this most sacred wisdom.

But if it has cast off sensual passions, if the will of man has been conformed to the divine will, the mind is raised upward through fiery love and is lifted, by anagogical motions, into the immensity of the divine darkness. No one understands the sweetness of this theology unless he receives it; no one receives it unless, from among all things, he seeks it alone through the sighs of love. The psalmist was seeking this when he prayed to the Lord: May my ways be directed to keeping 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 set down the divine word, or [law?], judgment. The exercise of this purgation begins in the second region and is completed in this one. For no small labor is required for the affection to be cleansed from the concupiscences of the world. Once the exercise of spiritual reformation has been undertaken, the mind gradually advances in love; it desires to ascend to this region by certain steps; by desire it hastens toward the invisible school of this theology; sighing with continual groans, it knocks at the door of divine mercy. But the mind is not admitted into the secret of this mystical wisdom unless, after every kind of purgation, the affection is stripped of every creature and unites itself to itself, and withdraws far from every reasoning or imagining of thinkable things. For unless it has withdrawn from every creature, it does not approach the creator, who is above all things. In this divine school of learning the Holy Spirit is believed to preside over the students; he teaches man 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 a disciple of this master; happy is he who has entered this school through the desire of love, since in mystical silence he perceives wondrous things which God hides from those who do not love.

That this supreme region of the spirit is founded on simplicity. Article 4.

Fourth, this most holy region of the spirit is said to be founded on simplicity, in which the mind is united to the incommutable principle, not through essence but through the love of adhesion. For, as we have already said above, that highest good, God, is one; our soul cannot approach it unless, stripped of every multiplicity that pertains to reason, imagination, and understanding, it strives to present itself wholly united. For the soul itself naturally desires to reach the highest good; but the more it is divided by multiplicity in its operation, the more, in order to come to

he is found less fit for God. For multitude is opposed to unity, and the more the mind has betaken itself to many things, the more it withdraws from unity. One, two, three, four: they are ten. You withdraw from the one because you are multiplied in number. Return to the one if you desire to have a principle. For the one is the principle of all things; if you add anything to it in your mind, at once you withdraw from it. When you say “one,” you say “principle.” If you say “two,” you have already abandoned the principle. Therefore, so that you may always be able to contemplate your principle, take care at all times, having put off multitude, to make yourself one. For since all good things are from the first good, and every love is borne toward whatever is good, and is naturally kindled by the same, our love cannot rest in any goods as in its ultimate end unless, naked and pure, it strives finally to return to its own principle. For union comes about only by the power of the one itself, because for no other reason do we say that things more alike are more easily united to one another than because we see them to be one in quality. The mind, therefore, is believed to be able to be united with the one highest principle of things only when, having put off all multitude and been united to its own self, 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 adherence. For the union of one with one comes about through likeness of quality, and there will be adherence with God for the mind made simple and stripped of all things through loving affection. Thus the highest region of the spirit is founded in simplicity; in it the mind of the purified man is lifted up to God by the most fervent desire of love and is united by grace with its own immutable principle. Intellect and affection are the two eyes of the soul; the first of these is raised up to know God, but is not sufficient to come to the mountain of divine darkness, because it goes burdened with phantasms of sensible things. Affection, therefore, the simpler eye of the soul, enters the dark mountain without any images whatsoever; it contemplates God through love, separates itself from all creatures, thinks of nothing sensible, rests in mystical silence, naked and unoccupied. This is the single eye by which it makes the whole body full of light; this is the eye concerning which the bridegroom exults in the Canticles: “You have wounded my heart, my sister, bride; you have wounded my heart with one of your eyes.” For affection alone, through the fervor of love, enters into the secret place of divine contemplation without the guidance of the intellect, and therefore the bridegroom is wounded in one eye and not in both.

But whoever, through the exercise of devotion and purity, has deserved, by Christ’s granting, to come to this region of union and simplification, let him learn at all times to stand prudently in profound humility, lest through pride he lose the gift which he rejoices to have obtained. For Bernard, that profound and most cautious contemplator of divine things, says: It is necessary to deepen humility and to think humbly of oneself when striving toward higher things.

lest, while he is vainly exalted above himself, he fall from the height to which he seemed to have ascended. Therefore, one who stands in this region should prudently return at times to the degrees of humility described in the second; he should humbly learn to remain in the deep resignation of his own self, because as soon as the mind has despised self-denial, it rushes from the highest mountain into a dreadful abyss.

For many, trusting in the jubilation of their sensual devotion, have been deceived, who climbed this very high mountain without the foundation of humility. Others, their heads injured and their senses destroyed, became foolish, because, when their passions had not yet been mortified, they presumed to enter the darkness of mystical silence. Others, lifted up into pride while they were still given over to sensuality, descended through the fault of their own will into the depth of hell. For Scripture says concerning the ascent of this summit: “The beast that touches the mountain shall be overwhelmed with stones.” But a beast is then said to touch the mountain when a man, not yet purified through the exercise of the second region, attempts to ascend the third. For as long as the affection has not been purified from the passions of its sensuality, the beast still lives in him. But if the mind of a man with its beastliness presumes to approach the mountain of God, it is overwhelmed by as many stones as it is wounded by passions. For the wise man says: “He will not be stoned with a muddy stone, and all will speak in contempt of him.” By the muddy stone carnal affection is expressed, because man is compared to mud. For in Job it is written: “Remember, I ask, that you have made me like mud, and you will bring me back into dust.” And again he says: “I have been compared to mud, and I have been likened to embers and ashes.” Thus the slothful man is overwhelmed by the muddy stone when the mind, still unclean with carnal and sensual passions, tries to ascend to the mountain of contemplation; on it, as unworthy, it is compelled to suffer rejection and ruin through two stones set against it. For no one will be able to reach this most quiet region of the spirit who has not first cleansed himself by long exercise in the furnace of the middle region. Whoever, still devoted to carnal passions, attempts to approach this supreme region of the spirit is striving, as it were, to draw water in a sieve. For in truth 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 leading back.

Article V.

Fifth, this supreme region of the spirit is said to be magnificent in its leading back, and for this reason it is to be sought by all with the highest desires. For as if it were his own house, that heavenly Father of ours dwells in it; to it he [unclear] us, exiles and pilgrims, as if to a paternal dwelling—

diligently calls [us] to [unclear]. In this, when we return with the prodigal son, he mercifully receives us; through love he rushes into our embraces; he clothes us with the first robe; he grants the garment of charity to those who love him. Why, then, do we neglect to return as quickly as possible to the most indulgent father, whom we see to be ready for our embraces even after our contempt? We wretches have departed through the rashness of our own will; we have squandered the portion of our inheritance with the harlots of carnal affections; 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 at least return, I beg, after our fault, since we scorned to avoid ruin. Return, return, wretched Shulamite; return, grievously captive in your affections; return, mortified in sorrows. Why delay? Why do you tarry? Return, O faithful soul, to Jesus, the guide of your youth; return to your former husband; return to the most loving father who awaits you with the longing of love. For behold, he awaits you with patience, and through the prophet Isaiah cries out to you: Return to me, for I have redeemed you. I have blotted out your iniquities like a cloud, and your sins as though a mist. What is this, O soul, that you are in the land of enemies? You have grown old in a foreign land; you have been defiled with the dead; you have been numbered with those who go down into hell. Remember that almighty God created you from nothing; consider that he formed you in his own image and likeness; be mindful whence you have fallen; see where, cast among the swine, you are trampled under the feet of unclean affections. Your creator, your bridegroom, placed you from the beginning in this highest region; he entrusted to you the natural exercise of his love; he also bestowed on you the hope of life ever-abiding. But you have forsaken the fountain of wisdom; you have gone out into the lowest region of unlikeness; you have squandered the goods of the promised inheritance. But return, even late at last, to the exercise of penitence in the highest region. There the most indulgent father will gladly receive you as you return; he will clothe you with the first robe of innocence, recovered for you; he will give you the ring of most holy contemplation on your hands, and the 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 henceforth in no way withdraw from his love. Finally, for food he will kill for you the fatted calf; he himself will be both steward and banquet; by reason of the greatness of his love he will give his flesh for food and his own blood for drink. There the Holy Spirit of the Lord will be present; he 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 highest region is magnificent in the restoration of the spirit, because the citizens whom it receives into its dwelling it [leads?] to the pleasantness of

[unclear] leads back to the heavenly homeland. But we know the citizens of this most holy region infallibly by the fruits of the Spirit, concerning which we know that the holy Apostle spoke. “The fruit of the Spirit,” moreover, “is charity, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, long-suffering, meekness, faith, modesty, continence, chastity.” These fruits the citizens of this third region bring forth, since, filled with God and united to him, they walk always joyful in the Lord and most fervent in charity. For whatever befalls the 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 lifted up by no prosperities and disturbed by no adversities.

That this highest region of the Spirit is called a pleasant and most true treasuring-up. Article VI.

Sixth, this most beautiful region of the Spirit is called a pleasant and most true treasuring-up, since whatever is acquired through the exercise of good work is possessed in simplicity of spirit. The treasure of the soul is the love of God; when the mind, purified, is kindled by its fervor, it is raised to this region as though to love’s own storehouse. For the Lord says in the holy Gospel: “Where your treasure is, there also will your heart be.” This is the treasure hidden in the field of the Scriptures; when a man has found it, he hides it, and going away sells all things, so that he may buy the field with the treasure. The field is this highest region of the Spirit; the treasure is divine love. When a man finds it, he ought to despise all other things, so that he may be able joyfully to possess the field with the treasure. There is no possession in the world more joyful than divine love; there is no greater beauty in this life, since whoever has had this treasure of love seeks nothing more. And just as fire is naturally driven upward, so love is raised into this region of the Spirit as though to its own proper dwelling. For the mind, set aflame by divine love with burning affections, is always lifted up toward God, and beyond every thought it is moved wonderfully, sweetly, day by day, toward its own beginning. For, purified in the exercise of the second region, it prepares itself for the ascent of this third region through a loving affection; it pants to come as quickly as possible to him whom it loves; it thinks of nothing other than Jesus, the treasure of its heart; it adores him with burning sighs because of the greatness of its love. But when the most sweet office of contemplation has been completed, suddenly the beloved slips away; the mind, languishing with love, is called back to the exercise of the second region, in which the true lover of God is indeed seen to dwell bodily among men, but in affection and desire with his most beloved Jesus [unclear]

¶ [unclear].

by the impulse of the Spirit of God. Yet it is necessary that the mind, purified through the exercise of the second region, advance itself toward the ascent, and by fervent affection [unclear] to the divine Spirit

...most fittingly disposed may come together. For indeed Almighty God, who bestowed upon 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 is demanded for the ascent. If you wish to ascend to this highest summit of the divine darkness, you will have to love very greatly. The will, purified by love, receives; love, greatly kindled, makes ecstasy. Therefore, if you desire to fly up to the mountain of contemplation, you must, by loving God most fervently, pass entirely beyond yourself. But if you truly love God, you despise both yourself and all things except him alone. For he is truly the treasure of the soul; if anyone has attained him through love, he will think always of Jesus. 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 fix his heart continually in the love of sweetest Jesus. For indeed he who loves, has; he who has, loves. The mind that has deserved to have this treasure of the love of Jesus abides continually with him in affection in this supreme region.

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

Article VII.

Seventh, this most holy region of the soul overflows with great freedom of spirit; in it the soul, free from the passions of the flesh and united to God through love, reigns. For the holy apostle says: Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And again: Whoever are led by the Spirit of God, these are the sons of God. For indeed, one abiding in this region of the spirit is made free from every defilement of flesh and blood; and, outwardly stripped and alone, without every phantasm of thought, he is raised 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 man consider himself and diligently examine his love; and if he finds himself piously disposed, frequently raised to divine love by burning desires even without prior thought, let him trust that he can laudably be enrolled among the citizens of this region. For the Spirit of God bears witness to our spirit; and the mind which he raises into the ray of divine love he also causes to know the condition of its own state. This freedom of soul is acquired through the fervor of divine love, because the supremely holy Spirit inhabits the heart that loves God and gives true freedom to those who love. In this most holy freedom divine wisdom is learned; the sweetness of the divine goodness is tasted beforehand with inestimable sweetness; the mind, made most free, is carried above itself; it rests in the silence of the divine darkness.

And this mystical wisdom is said to abide in a mind raised up and purified into God, because by no obstacle of any thing whatsoever from its own effect

[unclear] and is hindered in its progress. Ascending into this region, the mind, kindled by love, utterly abandons thoughts and images; it escapes alone, naked, and wholly free, because thoughts, by reason of the office of memory, are compelled to remain in the middle region, and they can in no way approach the supreme region of the spirit, which is above all human understanding. For one ascends hither by love through affection and desire alone; far from here the phantasms of thoughts are driven back. For as soon as the mind begins to ascend by means of thoughts, it is repelled and falls into the middle region. Yet the ascent itself is begun through the operation of the intellect; when that soon fails, it is completed through affection. For the intellect stirs up desire toward the love of the highest good; as much as it can, it commends its beauty. But when affection has begun to ascend by love to the contemplation of such great beauty, the intellect, failing through amazement, falls silent. But the mind, unable to bear the company of the intellect, alone and naked, wholly free from every image of thought, enters the dark mountain, shining beyond measure; it contemplates the beloved, not indeed face to face, but in an enigma; it fails before the greatness of love; caught up, it rests in silence.

Once Moses, leader of the people of Israel, called by God, is read to have ascended the dark mountain alone; he is recorded to have forbidden the people access to the mountain under threat of death; in the darkness the Lord appeared; through Moses himself he gave the law to the people. For thus it is written in Exodus: But the whole of Mount Sinai was smoking, because the Lord had descended upon it in fire, and smoke went up from it as from a furnace. And the whole mountain was terrible, and the sound of the trumpet gradually grew louder and extended longer. But all the people saw the lamps and the smoking mountain, and, terrified and shaken with fear, they stood far off, saying to Moses: Speak to us yourself and we will hear; let not the Lord speak to us, lest perhaps we die.

These divine things, full of mysteries, if they are examined with careful consideration, will magnificently commend this supreme region of the spirit. For Mount Sinai signifies the height of this region; the smoking darkness represents the object of contemplation; Moses expresses affection burning in love; the people shows the crowd of thoughts and phantasms. But Moses alone, the leader of the people, is permitted to ascend the mountain and enter the darkness, because affection alone, inflamed by divine love, is raised to the summit of highest contemplation. But the people are forbidden, under threat of death, to approach the mountain, because no intellect, no thought, no imagination, or reasoning will ever be able in any way to penetrate the secret of the living majesty. The people stand far from the mountain, terrified with fear, because while the mind alone enters, through the affection of love, into the abyss of contemplation, the whole crowd of thoughts, utterly failing, is thrown into confusion. The intellect does not dare, when affection ascends, to approach nearer, but standing far off, shaken within itself by fear, is compelled to remain. [unclear] majesty

[unclear], amazed, 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 darkness: he does not grasp God by the light of the intellect, but in contemplation of him passes over solely through love and desire. Moses, and not the Lord, speaks to the fearful one, because the purified affection enters the dwelling-place of love, through which the powers of the spirit are illuminated.

By what modes or degrees one must ascend to this supreme summit of this region. Article 8.

Although in the preceding parts of this little work I have briefly set forth the manner of ascending to this supreme region of the spirit, nevertheless, as I think, it will not be useless often to repeat things well said, 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, let the one who wishes to ascend by desire of love to the pleasantness of this supreme region take care to exercise himself diligently in the labors of the middle region; for unless in that region he has been purged from sensual passions by the practice of holy compunction, he does not approach this one without danger. For the consummation of 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 frequently to run through the text of that same passion with attention as mediator, and to stir himself to compassion for the Savior. And because the body that is corrupted weighs down the soul, so that the mind may be able to raise itself vigorously in this meditation on the Lord’s passion, let him take care, if need be, to present to his thoughts images that are truly sensible. 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 with the suffering Lord at each event; let him hear Jesus speaking in imagination; let him go with him as he goes through all the places of the passion.

Then at each article let him bring his affections out of the desire of compassion; let him look with faithful eyes upon Jesus suffering, set before him; weeping because of the anguish of his heart, let him grow accustomed in spirit to address him as though bodily present, and through the desire of love to embrace him wounded at the pillar and on the cross. For the mind will quickly be able to be kindled into the love of the Lord Jesus if it truly grows accustomed, through the tears of meditation, to suffer with him. But I remember that elsewhere I have written more fully on the most effective exercise of the Lord’s passion; therefore I have passed over it briefly here. For it is enough to have given the beginnings of meditating on it to those who do not know, since those who know have higher things.

Therefore, when the affection has been purged from every passion and concupiscence that impedes it, the mind, with the intellect assisting, [begins] to consider the goodness and beauty of the highest

of [the supreme?] good a little begins; then it desires to comprehend the unchangeable good. But when, with the understanding lifting it up, it raises itself through wonder to the knowledge of it, immediately the operation of the understanding vanishes; nor can it follow further with pure affection, which it sees can be raised above all things in no other way than alone and wholly naked. So long as the mind has not been duly purified for the Lord, it does not attain to the true darkness of this affection.

Contemplation, moreover, is sometimes achieved by an enlargement of the mind, because when the soul, by its own effort, stretches itself more vehemently in holy meditation, meditation is changed into contemplation. And this mode of contemplation is accustomed to rise by three stages: by art, through which we learn what must be done by us; by exercise, through which we carry out what has been learned; by attention, through which we fulfill our office.

Sometimes contemplation is taken up into God by an uplifting of the mind, when the mind, divinely irradiated beyond human effort, as if carried above itself by accustomed things, passes into the contemplation of divine things. This mode too is raised on high by three gradual steps of contemplation: for sometimes the understanding of a person, divinely inspired, receives something that wholly exceeds the measure of its own knowledge. The second step raises the mind above effort, when, divinely enlightened, it perceives something to which no human effort attains. In the third step the mind is raised on high, when beyond the limits of human nature and effort it is divinely illuminated in contemplation.

At times also contemplation directs itself, by the alienation of the mind, to the mountain of divine darkness, when, the memory of present things lulled to rest, the soul passes into an unknown state of human knowledge by the illumination of divine prayer. And this mode belongs especially to this highest region of the spirit, in which the mind of the true lover of God is seen to be kindled with so great a fervor of love that it is often proved to be estranged from itself. For sometimes, by the greatness of devotion, it is carried outside itself; sometimes, by exceeding wonder, it is lifted above itself; at times, on account of inexpressible exultation, it abandons itself and passes by the ray of love into the highest elevation of contemplation. But the pleasantness of this most lofty and highest region the mortal man does not understand who has not ascended to it, purified by experience.

Here ends the third region of cloistered persons.

The Preface to the second principal part of the spiritual exercise of cloistered persons happily begins.

At Cologne we have completed, with the aid of our Lord Jesus Christ, the little work on the threefold region of cloistered persons lately enjoined upon us by the annual Chapter. It remains now that, taking up according to our powers the second principal part of the work, [unclear] of the daily spiritual exercise

let us describe the manner and form. For there are also among cloistered persons many who are weak and feeble; and some of them perhaps would gladly ascend to the contemplation of divine love, if they had a manner suited to beginners.

For if spiritual exercise has failed in all who are established in holy religion, little by little one falls into a deep torpor. For just as this visible fire of ours cannot continue in its operation without fuel suited to it, so the love of inward compunction cannot remain in a person’s mind without the continual exercise of devotion. For as soon as the labor of spiritual study has been interrupted through negligence, every compunction of devotion gradually vanishes. Indeed, no one can remain stable and firm in a holy purpose unless he strives daily to renew the fervor of his mind by some exercise. For as soon as the fuel of divine love is withdrawn, devotion is changed into torpor. For Scripture says: Every idle person is in desires. Therefore, lest the mind gradually slip away from the holy fervor of the spirit through sloth, it must learn to renew itself daily by some spiritual exercise, so that, while fuel is supplied to love on each single day, the desire of making progress may be kindled further. Thus we read that the most holy fathers once made progress in the order; thus we know that they remained in devotion, because they knew very well the instability of the human mind, and therefore they were accustomed daily to rouse themselves to a new fervor of spirit. One, through the study of sacred reading, drove his mind toward compunction of devotion; another stirred himself by meditation on the Lord’s Passion; another, for the continuation of his holy purpose, placed before his inward eyes each day the image of death close at hand; another, by a certain method in prayers, daily offered himself to the Lord with tears. No one among them is believed to have kept his mind without daily spiritual exercise; no one is found to have been given over to idleness, because the kingdom of God is promised to those laboring in the Lord’s vineyard, but is 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 formula of a single exercise, nevertheless it is proposed to all in common that anyone who does not have a better exercise should use this one.

But it is especially fitting that those newly converted to the order should exercise themselves in the manner set forth below, until, founded in humility, they grow through compunction toward better things. But whoever already thinks that for a long time he has been dwelling in the higher things of devotion [unclear], let him at least permit these things to the little ones without envy. For I do not doubt that very many [unclear] of a better spiritual exercise

[unclear] those devoted to God to live in the order, who has learned by long practice to remain in the highest region of the spirit through the ray of divine love. We by no means thrust our childish efforts upon these men, whom we know to be higher than the stages of the present exercise. For we, imperfect as we are, write for beginners who are making progress; we are not teaching the perfect, but rather are humbly prepared to listen to them as teachers.

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

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

At Matins.

Therefore, when the devout cenobite has been awakened for Matins, let him at once shake off from himself all the sluggishness of sleepiness; let him believe that he has been called to serve as a soldier for his Lord, to whom he has made profession. Let him therefore hasten to meet his king with cheerfulness, and humbly prepare himself for his immortal service with fervor of spirit. Accordingly, let him immediately rise with the greatest propriety; and sitting on his bed, and fortifying himself with the sign of the cross, let him say:

Prayer.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Blessed be the name of the Lord, from this time forth and forevermore.

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

I give thanks to you, almighty God, who have deigned to guard me, an unworthy sinner, this night. I ask you through your mercy that you direct me this day and at all times in your praise, guard me pure from sin, and sweetly kindle me in your most holy love. Or let him say: O adorable Trinity, O venerable Unity, through you we have been created

[unclear] true eternity: through you we have been redeemed; you are the highest charity. Protect all your people, save, free, rescue, and cleanse them. We adore you, almighty one; to you we sing; to you be praise and glory through infinite ages. Amen.

Then, turning to the most blessed Mary, virgin 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, deigned to be yours, receive our prayer through you. Mary, mother of grace, mother of mercy, protect us from the enemy; receive us in the hour of death. Glory to you, Lord, who were born of a virgin, with the Father and the Holy Spirit for everlasting ages.

At the first signal.

When the first signal sounds, the cenobite should immediately go to the privacy of an inner chamber; he should diligently examine his conscience, cleansing it, and compose himself by preparing himself for prayer in the three following ways.

First, he should strive to draw his mind back from outward things, vain and perishable, and from contrary spirits, to inward things, and to think absolutely nothing about secular or temporal business. 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 flying importunately around us during divine services. The cenobite can more easily bring his mind to this forgetting of passing things if he is willing often to recall to memory the sixth root, placed above in the second region, concerning the vanity of present things.

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

Third, for one wishing to stand devoutly before the Lord God in prayers, it is necessary to raise the mind with fervor of spirit to heavenly things. For the Lord says in the holy Gospel: God is spirit, and those who adore him must adore in spirit and truth. The most devout man of prayer of God, Bernard, also says: The young recruit of Christ must be taught in

to lift up his heart in his prayer; to pray spiritually; to withdraw from bodily images; and to think nothing bodily. But since it is not granted to everyone to be able to raise the mind to the invisible God above the understanding, provision must also be made for the weak concerning an easier mode of elevation. Hence he also says: For the weak person meditating or praying, the image of the Lord’s nativity, humanity, and passion or resurrection is more safely set before him, so that in it the mind may be stirred to tears of compunction, in order that the weak soul, which knows nothing except bodily things, may have things by which, according to the measure of its capacity, it may be moved toward divine things. But when through faith, in the form of the mediator, he does not divide God from man, he sometimes reaches God in man. For our Savior, the mediator of God and men, Jesus Christ, is God and man. Therefore let the devout cenobite learn often to ponder the first root of divine knowledge, so that he may be able to raise himself higher through love. For the more perfectly God is known, the more ardently he is loved; and the more he is loved, the better he is praised.

But so that you may always be able freely to raise your heart in prayer [unclear] to the Lord God, learn to love nothing in this world in a singular way. For the heart that is attached to no thing wanders more rarely. For nothing so unburdens the heart and makes it free; nothing so liberally makes it converse before the Lord without constraint; and nothing so quickly and lightly gathers a man back to inward things after various external disturbances, as not to be moved toward anything in all matters and circumstances by any private affection, but to live humbly in all things, resigned to God and to his superiors. Moreover, whatever has been enjoined upon one so disposed for the glory of God and the observance of regular discipline, all this the cenobite sincerely takes up with humble obedience, whether it is agreeable or troublesome. And this firmness of soul, despising both prosperous and adverse things, wonderfully lifts the mind and transforms it into a certain enjoyment of most chaste love.

At the second signal.

But when the second signal sounds, the cenobite, now sufficiently gathered back to inward things, should leave his cell with maturity; he should always bless the Lord in his heart; with the wise virgins he should hasten to meet the bridegroom; he should think that he is hearing the signal of the great king.

On leaving the cell, let him say:

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

On entering the church, let him say:

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

may I deserve to praise and bless you in your house forever.

Passing before the crucifix, let him say:

I beseech you, most loving Lord Jesus, by all the bitterness of your most holy passion which you endured for me, and especially when your most noble soul departed 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 deserve to enter into the holy of holies. You shall sprinkle me, Lord, with hyssop, etc.

Before the image of the blessed Virgin Mary.

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

Passing before the altar, let him say:

Glory to you, Lord, who were born of the Virgin, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, forever and ever. Or: You, the unbegotten Father; you, the only-begotten Son; you, the Holy Spirit; the holy and undivided Trinity, I praise, bless, and adore without end. O highest unity, 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. Grant me rewards in eternal life. Amen. Or: O saving host [unclear]

When he has come to the place of his station, or to his accustomed place in choir, if he has leisure, let him think what our holy father Benedict said in the Rule about reverence in prayer and psalmody. Then, considering the matter of the psalms to be sung, let him strive to subject his intention to it, and carefully 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 agrees with the passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, it is to be referred in memory of him. But if the spirit of compunction is present to the one singing, 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 to vary it suddenly in each verse according to the character of the psalmody. For according to the matter of what is being sung, whenever it wishes, it exercises itself, and now embraces the humanity of Christ, now suddenly, in another verse, is raised into his divinity. Our faithful monk may nevertheless, if he pleases, while his fervor lasts, call to mind under the same sign the holy angels praising God without interruption, and according to his strength conform himself to them through desire.

Before all the hours.

Since the power of the Lord's incarnation and passion incomparably surpasses the merits of all the saints, therefore let the lover of God, before each hour, say this prayer to God the Father with attention of mind, in heart or by mouth.

Prayer.

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

Note concerning the aforesaid prayer.

Do not think this manner of praying frivolous, nor invented by human curiosity; for if you believe that God has been accustomed to teach his friends many things by revelation, you will in no way contradict this most holy form. Rather, read the wondrous works of the Lord which he has shown to those who love him, and you will find what he revealed to Mechthild and others concerning this manner and form of prayer. Know, moreover, that I am thoroughly persuaded 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 put first, in mind or by mouth, not only in the canonical hours, but also before other prayers, masses, and any good exercises or works. But if through forgetfulness it has not been put first, it can be inserted during prayer, or even added after the completion.

How a monk should conduct himself in the hours.

At the beginning of divine praise the devout monk should apply great diligence, lest his mind admit images or thoughts concerning transitory things; for unless vain thoughts are at once repelled in the beginning, they will disturb the attention of the heart throughout the whole office. Therefore the faithful one who prays should gather himself wholly into himself, and, according to the Rule, prefer nothing to the service of God.

During the singing of psalms, let him refer the very subject matter of the psalms to the fitting focus of his intention; let him prudently attend to the meaning of the prayer; let him pronounce the words distinctly and in order; let him direct his mind upward.

After each psalm or lesson, let him examine himself by carefully considering himself, and let him test whether the compunction of devotion still burns in his mind. If he finds that fervor is still present, let him strive to approach it further with holy desires and to summon himself to higher things. But if he perceives that his affection has grown lukewarm or has been distracted by thoughts, then, immediately reproving himself, let him say these or similar words: Woe to me, wretched one, who

I praise my [unclear] so negligently. Behold, my Lord, who suffered most bitterly for me through the whole night, had no rest; and could I not watch with him for one hour? Help me, O Lord my God, that I may be able to sing psalms to you prudently.

Finally, under each psalm, at a suitable time, let him stir himself to compunction by some ardent words of fervor, so that by mental exhortation he may inflame his affection still more. Would that, you will say, O Lord God, I could love you with all my heart above all things, and cleave continually to you alone. O good God, kindle my heart in your most holy love. My love is crucified; and what am I doing upon the earth? O sweet Jesus, my love, possess my heart, for you are the treasure of my heart, my 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 concerning the Holy Cross; when it has been completed, let him add this little prayer.

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 me now and in the hour of my death. Amen.

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 through infinite ages. Amen.

Then let him say.

Our custom is as follows. The custom at matins. After confession.

Indeed, when each of the hours has been finished, after the divine office has been completed, or also at any time whatever, he can repeat the order and manner of praying at the entrance of the church described above, and observe the same rite in its several places. But if he wishes to vary this manner with greater devotion, he will pray the following little prayers, or similar ones.

On leaving the church.

Bowing before the high altar, let him say:

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

Then, after matins and the several hours of the day, having returned to his cell, the devout lover of Christ should fall on his knees before his bed and humbly give thanks to almighty God, because he has deigned to admit him, an inadequate 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, who have deigned to call me to your service, not by any merits of mine, but by the sole condescension of your mercy. I beseech you, through the pain of the wounds of our Lord Jesus Christ, your only-begotten Son, and through 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 [unclear] the same our Lord Jesus Christ dying for us, having been received on the cross; and grant me, through the merit of that same Passion, to love you in truth and to remain continually faithful in your service. Amen.

Then enter briefly into an examination of your conscience, and see whether you still have in yourself the conditions of a good cloistered religious, described in the seventh article of the second [rule?]. If you know that anything is lacking, do not neglect to reform it as soon as possible, lest little by little through sloth you vanish away. For it is written: “He who neglects small things gradually falls away.” And the holy lover of God Augustine says: “No sin is so small that it does not grow when neglected.” Therefore, when the conscience has been examined and reformed in holy fervor, let him say to the Lord:

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

Ascending the Bed

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

Sitting upon [unclear]. May the sign of the holy cross, the power of the Lord’s Passion, and the intercession of all the saints guard me now and always. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Exercise of the Cenobite at Prime

Consideration II

When our devout cenobite has been awakened for prime in the customary way, let him observe the order and manner of recollecting himself and praying set down above before matins; and, arming 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 Spirit. Amen. Then, descending from his bed and fervent in his holy purpose, let him again fall upon his knees and, with hands clasped, say:

Prayer

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

God, to whom every heart is open, and every will speaks, and from whom no secret is hidden: purify the thoughts of our heart by the infusion of the Holy Spirit, so that we may deserve to love you perfectly and praise you worthily. Through Christ.

Let him add “O rose of flowers,” and if he wishes to add anything else out of devotion, let him do so.

At the first signal of the hour of the day, or also at the striking of the clock, if he has not been occupied with loftier meditations, let him say: Blessed be the name of the Lord from this time forth and for evermore. And let him add some brief little prayer formed from the ardor of his mind, in this or a similar manner:

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

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 every good.

Would that my ways were directed to keeping your justifications at all times.

Most loving Lord Jesus, I beseech you through the merit of your most holy Passion: teach me to contemn all things, so that I may continually deserve to find you, the highest good of the soul.

Then let the general preparation for the fervor of prayer, set down above before matins, be observed; and let the conscience be cleansed if anything has been committed against its purity. Nevertheless, if the mind has been raised in contemplation of divine love by continual desire, it will have less need of the exercises of little ones.

When the second signal sounds, both for prime and for the remaining hours of the day, let the manner set down above for matins be observed, insofar as the time allowed to each person permits him to pray. And when our cenobite enters or leaves the church, let him not neglect to show reverence to God before the altars and the crucifix, but, humbly bowing, let him say the appropriate prayers according to custom. For the modest inclination of the body is held to be a sign of the inner man well ordered toward God.

In the chapter room after Prime.

On entering the chapter room after Prime, the devout monk should remember to give thanks to God for the victory of the holy martyrs, whom he knows to have fought for the Lord, in the greatest fervor of spirit, despising their own torments, through the testimony of death. Therefore, when you have heard the brave deeds of the saints read, pray the Lord that by their merits he may deign to remit your sins, and mercifully strengthen you to bear the yoke of monastic discipline, so that you may obtain fellowship with them. And for this desire he invokes aid [unclear] from all, so that, when their passions have been read, strengthened to patience by divine examples, we may fear no adversities throughout the whole day. But when you hear that some martyr stood firm bravely in the struggle of combat, you will pray to him with these or similar words: O holy soldier of the eternal King, I ask you, by the love of our Lord Jesus Christ, which made you overcome the torments of the flesh and the snares of this world: pray for me, that I may deserve to come as quickly as possible to fellowship with you. If the name of a confessor or virgin, or of a saint of another condition, has been recited, a devout lover of God will easily vary, according to the ardor of his own affection, an extempore prayer to any saint. For affective prayers are effective above all.

At the reading of the Rule.

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

Then let him consider that, just as the Rule is read daily for the good and devout unto perfection, so it is recited for the lukewarm, the bad, or the negligent so that they may be inexcusable, to the increase of condemnation. Finally, let him know that he is bound to faithful effort in all things that the Rule contains, just as the tenor of his profession has it. For thus he said in profession: I promise obedience and conversion of my ways according to the Rule of Saint Benedict.

When the names of the dead are recited.

When the names of the dead have been recited to you after the reading of the Rule, for these and for all other faithful people, entrusted and not entrusted, no less from charity than from obligation, the monk will pray thus.

Prayer.

I beseech you, sweetest Lord Jesus, through the pain of your wounds and through the shedding of your most holy blood, and through the power of your most innocent death: have mercy on these souls, and on all those entrusted to me in prayer, and on all the faithful departed, and grant them eternal rest. For indeed, [Lord?], a great work of mercy...

it is to intercede before the merciful judge for the souls placed in the prison of purgatory, and to aid them in charity through the remembrance of the Lord’s passion. For I firmly believe, and with pious presumption trust, that the prayer which is poured out for the dead from charity alone returns doubled into the bosom of the one who prays. For the devout man who here, through the fervor of divine love, by praying individually for all the faithful departed suffers with them in charity, is honored at his death 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 acts is perfect in every respect, let the devout cenobite rejoice that he has found a remedy for his imperfection, because whatever is done amiss in well-reformed monasteries through human frailty is corrected daily. For the chapter of faults, continued on each day, washes away public offenses. Sacramental confession, repeated daily, through the grace of contrition remits hidden negligences. We discern four chapters in the monastery, of which we shall speak in order.

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

The first chapter is called passive, in which our devout cenobite proclaims himself for his negligences, or is proclaimed by another. In this chapter the lover of God, who has denied himself to himself, both humbly accuses his negligences and allows himself to be accused of them 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: Affliction shall not rise up a second time. For indeed he who here, for love of God, is now voluntarily afflicted for his sins, is worthy, as one so well purified, to be freed from future affliction through the mercy of the Creator. Would that all cloistered persons knew how greatly, by voluntarily enduring capitular proclamations for their sins, they would advance toward the merit of everlasting life; 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 love of God and fraternal charity: [unclear].

Therefore the devout monk standing in judgment should not fear any proclamations whatever, but should desire to be accused by others in remembrance of the Lord’s passion, knowing that before him is set the loftiness of glory, to be bestowed in heaven upon humble patience. O brother, why would you not endure the proclamations of the brothers, you who await the fellowship of angels? Let all indignation be far from you; let murmuring be far away; let pride depart far off. For you have no cause for impatience. For either you are proclaimed justly or unjustly. If justly, why

would you not endure? It is better to be cleansed here in small things than after this life in many. And he who sins publicly is to be rebuked before all. But if you are accused unjustly, remember that you are a monk, and you will find that you are bound to suffer wrongs. For when you are justly accused, know that you are to be cleansed through humble patience; but when unjustly, you show yourself to be a monk and earn still more. Therefore, when you are accused, call to mind the fourth and sixth degrees of humility; and if you are a true monk, pray even for those who accuse you. For the true lover of God loves still more the one who accuses him, and on that same day [offers?] him either some prayer or some special service. If you are good and wise, accusation cannot displease you; but if you are bad and foolish, you are wholly worthy of being accused. For Scripture says concerning the wise man: Rebuke a wise man, and he will love you. But concerning the bad and foolish man the prophet says: They hated him who rebuked in the gate, and abhorred the one who spoke perfectly.

The Second Active Chapter, in which one person accuses another.

We call the second chapter active, in which we no longer accuse ourselves, but another. For the act of this accusation, charity is supremely necessary; compassion too must be applied no less than discretion. Therefore, when you wish to accuse your brother by reason of charity, you should apply the fear of God, and, mindful of the fellowship of eternal life, say at the beginning: Our beloved brother has committed this or that; I ask that he be willing to amend himself for the Lord’s sake. Whatever must be said, let him set it forth in few words, with compassion; let him state the fact simply; let him not increase the fault of the accused by making it heavier; but let him silently leave to the president the judgment whether what was done is good or bad. For one who alone among many aggravates a brother’s fault by his own judgment very often carries away the suspicion of a zeal of bitterness and displeasure. Therefore, he who strives to accuse another should take care that he is not moved against his brother by bitter zeal, because if charity does not intervene in those who accuse, resentment does not correct the accused. Never does the accusation of the accuser bear fruit in the offender unless the love of God and brotherly charity commend it. For indeed, since almighty God is supremely good, he will not grant the purpose of compunction in your brother’s heart to your accusation when he finds that you have been moved to accuse not from charity but from displeasure. For where he finds the root of his charity, he will not deny good fruit. Therefore, if you feel yourself moved by any indignation against your brother, it is better to omit the accusation for a time than to wound yourself so cruelly by another’s wound.

The Third Chapter Is That of Private Humiliation

The third chapter is called that of private humiliation, whenever a brother is rebuked by a senior for his negligences. For our most holy father Benedict commands in the seventy-second chapter of the Rule that a monk, accused in any place or at any time, as soon as he has perceived that the mind of his senior is moved, even slightly, against him, ought to prostrate himself at his feet and lie there humbly until his command. Here he is in no way permitted to excuse himself or to lay the blame on another; rather, the monk is commanded to be silent and humbly acknowledge himself. For he who is a true monk neither murmurs when justly corrected, nor excuses himself when unjustly accused. Likewise in the divine offices and the other conventual places, as soon as a devout cenobite has given offense in anything through negligence, humbling himself according to custom, he makes satisfaction there; and in doubtful matters he chooses rather to undergo the greater penance than, with the lesser, to wound his conscience or cause scandal to others. But whoever understands that it is still burdensome for him to submit to this humiliation at every time and place does not walk in the spirit, but still lives carnally; and unless he has made this yoke-bearing tributary to himself, he will never be a true and devout cenobite.

The fourth chapter is the treatment of counsels

We call the fourth chapter deliberative, when we summon the brothers to counsel for some difficult matter. How this chapter ought to be held, Saint Benedict makes plain in the Rule concerning the summoning of 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 speaks few words; he does not at all disdain that his own counsel be rejected and others’ counsel approved. For what he thinks he says humbly, but always preferring the counsels of others to his own, and he commits both himself and his opinion to be examined by the one presiding, in true subjection. For he annihilates himself so deeply in humility that he always believes others more than himself, and trusts that good counsel is divinely inspired in those better than he; and he is accustomed to set his prelate before all in his mind as the vicar of Christ. Indeed, the monk makes the greatest progress toward the mortification of his own will who, in giving counsels, at all times submits his own opinion to the abbot with cheerful humility. But when the devout cenobite perceives that his own counsel is rejected or not approved, let him give thanks to almighty God for the said humility, and recognize that an occasion of 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 the appointed prayer above be observed in each point. But if you pass from the said chapter to the refectory, again, with knees bent, as after matins, you shall pray to the Lord.

Then, if the hour permits, let him collect himself again a little, and recall to memory the obligation of his profession. Afterwards let the cenobite pray thus:

Grant me, I beseech you, Lord God, to make progress in the observance of your commandments according to the good pleasure of your most holy will, and continually to fulfill the obligation of my profession, according to the rule set before me, with fervor of spirit. Through Christ the Lord.

At private Masses. Consideration II.

Since human nature cannot of itself receive strength for entry into the kingdom of heaven, it pleased God the most merciful Father, through the death of our Lord Jesus Christ, his only-begotten Son, mercifully to come to our aid, so that we, who because of our weakness cannot approach the invisible majesty, might have a mediator, who is God and man, approaching on our behalf. For the merit of the most holy passion of our mediator opened for us the entrance to the heavenly kingdom; it gave the nourishment of spiritual life. And as the branch draws nourishment from the vine, so our mind truly lives in Christ. But this sacrament we perceive with singular sweetness in the sacrament of the body and blood of this same mediator of ours, whenever that [unclear] of the body and blood of the Lord not only profits us for the pardon of sins, but also wonderfully aids the souls of the dead who are placed in purgatory. Therefore so noble a sacrifice must be offered with great and continual devotion, since our good works, which in themselves are very base, through this most holy oblation become most pleasing to God the Father. Therefore, so that our cenobite may be able to attend with fervor to the devotion of offering this precious sacrifice, let him note four things in order.

Concerning the one serving at Mass.

A devout brother who is going to serve at Mass ought to come with the greatest cheerfulness and fervor, and prepare himself most diligently to minister to the priest. For Saint Hugh says: Serve willingly at Masses, because it is the office of angels; and when you serve at that sacrifice, you make them familiar to yourself, as whose fellow-worker you stand by. If, according to the promise of the Savior, he who receives a righteous man in the name of a righteous man receives the reward of a righteous man, who will deny a reward to one who devoutly ministers to the celebrant at Mass? For whoever has been accustomed, with the fervor of divine love, devoutly to stand by in order to minister to those celebrating, divine mercy is wont to reward him, even in this life, with some special grace; and when he is dying, the holy angels are believed to come to meet him as one familiarly known, and the soul of the servant of Jesus to his sight with [joy?]

to present to God. For thus the Son prays to the Father in the holy Gospel: “Father, I will that where I am, there also may my minister be.” For in this venerable sacrament the condescension of divine loving-kindness is great, because, as the same Hugh says, God seems to do nothing less in this, that daily he deigns to descend from heaven upon the altar for our salvation, than when, descending from heaven, he became man and assumed human nature. And just as our Lord Jesus Christ bestowed this venerable sacrament upon us in memory of his most bitter Passion, as a sign of the greatest love, so he loves more fully and singularly those who prepare themselves with humble devotion and love to receive it or to minister to those receiving it; and, when they ask through it in faith, he comes to their aid in every necessity.

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

Therefore he who is about to minister at Mass should before all things strive to cleanse himself from every evil temptation and disordered affection, and, so far as he can, should bring himself back to himself through desire for the love of Jesus, so that, purified, he may be able to attend upon the Lord and pray effectively both for himself and for the whole Church, the living and the dead. Standing therefore during Mass behind the priest, at a suitable time, let him pray in these or similar words.

Prayer of the Minister

O sweetest and most beloved Lord Jesus, I beseech thee by all the anguish of thy most holy heart which thou didst endure in thy Passion; I beseech thee by the outpouring of thy most holy blood and by the power of thy most innocent death; I beseech thee by the most holy mystery of thy body and blood, at whose immolation to thee I, an unprofitable minister, am present: have mercy on me and purify my heart from every unlawful affection, so that I may be able to minister worthily to thee. Give me true contrition and forgiveness of all my sins, the grace of holy compunction, continual memory of thy Passion, pure devotion of heart, a fountain of tears, purity of serene conscience, and perpetual fervor of thy most holy love. Give me, I beseech thee, most merciful lover of men, through the pain of thy wounds, a firm purpose in holy fervor, and also true contempt of all worldly things, continual desire for the heavenly homeland, and sure progress in holy religion. Grant me, sweetest Jesus, constancy in adversities, patience in tribulation, discipline in conduct, and true [unclear] always and everywhere in a humble mind—

[unclear]. Make me, I pray, a partaker of the body and your blood in this most holy sacrifice, so that my mind may feel the sweetness of your presence, may burn sweetly in your love, and may never depart from you for eternity. Amen.

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

Furthermore, let him pray for the universal Church; let him pray for the faithful and the unbelievers, that almighty God may keep believers in the faith and convert non-believers to the Catholic faith. Let him also pray for the conversion of useful persons to the order, through whom both his own monastery may advance in each state and the whole observance of the order may grow for the better. Let him not forget the souls of the faithful in the pains of purgatory, awaiting the mercy of the Creator; but, praying for them, let him know that after a little while he himself will pass to them, where the prayer now poured forth will return into the bosom of the one who prays.

But let the devout minister of Christ beware lest he neglect, on any occasion whatever, anything that belongs to his office, or lest through his prayers or disturbances he make the celebrant distracted. When there is leisure, he may meditate or pray in silence; when service is to be rendered, he ought to interrupt prayers, at least verbal ones, and answer the priest by serving him diligently in all things.

At the elevation of the most sacred body of Christ, following the example of Saint Thomas Aquinas, he may say with attention directed to Christ: “You are the King of glory, O Christ; you are the everlasting Son of the Father,” up to the end of that hymn.

After the elevation, let the devout monk turn himself to the Lord Jesus, desiring from the depths of his heart to have a share in so great a mystery, and let him prepare his affection as though he were about to communicate; for as often as a devout lover of God, from fervor of heart, should desire to receive the body of Christ, he believes that he has received the power of the sacrament. For the Lord Jesus said to a certain soul dear to him: If a man fervent in my love, out of desire, has prayed to receive my body a thousand times in a day, if it were possible, so many times before me, through the power of my body itself, he truly obtains his desire in his soul. And therefore, when this desire has been conceived in the mind of one who loves Jesus, thus, or in this manner, let the monk pray to the Lord:

Prayer of the minister

Would that, most beloved Lord Jesus, I were so well and fervently disposed that it were permitted me now to receive your most holy body in this venerable sacrament; would that it were permitted me to repeat this holy communion often in a day. I pray, 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. I pray you, by your divine goodness, grant me the power and grace to receive this most holy sacrament now and at every time into my soul, so that I may be able to remain continually in you.

The diligent preparation of a priest about to celebrate.

The priest who is about to approach to offer this most holy sacrament of the Lord’s body and blood should first examine himself diligently, and should most carefully investigate of which region he is a citizen. If he still finds himself a dweller at the boundary of the region, he must not approach the altar unless he first strives to cleanse himself through contrition and confession, and a firm purpose of amending his life. But if he finds himself a citizen of the second region, if he has found his powers reformed and ordered toward the cenobitic end, he can readily dispose himself to celebrate, since by emptying himself daily of his own affection he has learned more often to lift himself upward through desire. For divine goodness quickly enters the affection of a man who is stained by no desire of his own.

Therefore, wishing to perform this most holy priestly office with devotion and the fervor of divine love, let him first say some ardent prayers, by which he may be able to stir himself to fuller compunction. For devotion is rarely granted at the altar if the mind has not beforehand prepared itself for fervor. For this reason our fathers, desiring each one of us to advance in his own free devotion, did not wish to occupy us, before the approach to the altar, with many psalms after the custom of certain persons; not because anyone ought on that account to approach without some recollection, but so that each might more freely devote himself, in secret, to exercises suited to his devotion, or to prayers.

Therefore, wishing to recommend the elevation of the mind in the Lord Jesus to those celebrating before the approach to the altar, we have arranged the following prayer from that which is attributed to Saint Ambrose of Milan, which we believe to be sufficiently effective by the merit of the Lord’s passion. Accordingly, the devout cenobite who is about to approach the altar, if he has leisure and is freely able, may first say this or a similar prayer, or may prepare himself in whatever ways he wishes.

Prayer Before the Approach to the Altar

Highest priest and true pontiff, Jesus Christ, who offered yourself to God the Father as a pure, holy, and immaculate victim on the altar of the cross for us miserable sinners; and who gave us your flesh to eat and your blood to drink, and established that mystery in 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 the shedding of your most precious blood, and the power of your most innocent death, and through your very body and blood, the great price of our salvation; I beseech you through this wondrous and inexpressible charity with which you so loved us, miserable and unworthy, that you washed us from our sins in your blood: have mercy on me and forgive me all my sins, and teach me, your unworthy servant, whom among your other gifts you have deigned to call to the priestly office, not by any merits of mine but by the sole graciousness of your mercy, to handle this mystery through your Holy Spirit with that reverence and honor, devotion and fear, with which it ought and is fitting to be handled. Make me, I beseech you, always to believe and understand, to feel and firmly hold concerning so great a mystery that

to [unclear] and to think what pleases you and what is expedient for the salvation of my soul. May your good Spirit enter into my heart, sounding there without sound, and without the noise of words speaking within me the truth of such great mysteries. For they are exceedingly deep, and covered with a sacred veil. Because of your great mercy, sweetest Lord Jesus, grant me to celebrate the solemn rites of the Masses with a pure heart and a clean conscience. I pray you, by the sweetness of your most holy heart, most loving Savior, cleanse my heart from all vain, impure, harmful, and unlawful thoughts, so that it may become a worthy dwelling-place of your love, now and without end forever.

I beg you, O lover of humankind, sweetest Lord Jesus, through all the power of your most holy passion, drive away from me the spirit of self-exaltation and pride, vainglory and envy, lust and blasphemy; and fill my soul with the virtue of charity and innocence. King of the virtues, Jesus Christ, lover of [sacred?] 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 purity of your most reverend body, extinguish in me, with the heavenly dew of blessing, the tinder of burning lust, so that the brightness of all purity may be and remain in me. Mortify 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 gifts of yours that 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 very many sins and my many negligences. But I also know, and with my whole heart believe and with my mouth confess, that since you are almighty, you can make me worthy: you who alone justify the ungodly, and can make the clean from the unclean. Therefore I pray you by your omnipotence: grant to me, your unworthy servant, true contrition for my sins, and pure devotion, and most fervent compunction in your love, so that I may be able to offer to you this most holy sacrifice with fear and reverence, with purity of heart and a fountain of sweet tears, with spiritual gladness and heavenly joy, with humility and fervor of charity. O sweetest Lord Jesus, grant me your mercy in this hour, so that my mind may feel the sweetness of your most blessed presence, and the devotion of the holy angels around me, and its own peaceful elevation in you.

Take away from me, Lord Jesus, all my iniquities, and graciously kindle in me the fire of your love. Do not be angry with me, O Jesus, ineffable good, nor withhold from me the abundance of your compassion. For it is not in my own justifications that I pour out prayers before your face, Lord, but in your many mercies. Take away from me, Lord Jesus, a stony and hard heart, and give me

[unclear] a heart of flesh and contrition, that it may fear you, love you, cherish you above all things, delight in you alone, follow you, and enjoy you forever.

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

Heal, Lord, my heart from every sickness, so that it may feel no sweetness besides you, seek no love besides you, love no consolation besides you. O most holy Jesus, bread of life and understanding, having in you every delight and every sweetness of fragrance, who always refresh us from yourself and in yourself never fail: let my heart eat you, I beseech you, and let my soul be filled with the sweetness of your savor. O holy bread, O living bread, beautiful bread, pure bread, who came down from heaven and 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 yourself my continual health and salvation of body and soul. Drive away from me the enemies plotting against me, so that, fortified by the sacrament of your body and blood, through you I may advance on the straight path under regular discipline, and after this life may come joyfully to your kingdom.

Excuse for the lengthiness

If this prayer shall have seemed too long to anyone, let him read whatever part he wishes, for we have divided the material set before him into short paragraphs, so that we might remove weariness. But he who wishes to read neither the whole nor a part complains in vain about lengthiness, since he is shown to be unwilling to pray either a long or a short prayer.

Meditation before approaching the altar

Finally, through meditation on the Lord's Passion, or at least on one of its more sacred articles, or several if the opportunity of time is present, let the mind be kept devout. I would call meditation on the Lord's Passion savory when a man, purified through true mortification, as soon as he has begun to turn over the Lord's Passion in thought, dissolves without violence into tears from mere [unclear], and from the excessive desire of fervor, as if into a certain transport of mind [unclear].

prepares himself. In this way he will never be able to prepare himself better for celebrating than if, before approaching the altar, he always runs through at least one point of the Lord's Passion in meditation and with tears. For indeed, since the celebration of Mass was instituted by our Redeemer himself in memory of the Lord's Passion, a man never prepares himself for it better or more fruitfully than if he is more fervently set aflame through meditation on that most bitter Passion.

The Elevation of the Priest's Mind to God During the Celebration

With how great reverence, devotion, and purity of mind we ought to stand before almighty God at the altar, what speech could express, or what understanding could penetrate by grasping it? For there the true body and true blood of our Lord Jesus Christ are confected in an ineffable manner. There the Lord of majesty, truly present, is adored. There the invisible host of angels, attending upon its king, rejoices together. There the whole heavenly court adores Jesus, God 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, searching the reins and the heart, be able to find anything in us that offends him. Let all worldly anxieties withdraw far from here; let all thoughts depart. Let nothing be thought here except what pertains to the completion of so great a ministry. Let nothing move in the mind except what belongs to the office in the presence of Majesty: the miracle of divine majesty is being performed; the Son of God is sacrificed to the Father; the body of our Redeemer is truly received; the mystery of our restoration is celebrated. Therefore, standing at the altar, the priest should remember that he is attending upon invisible majesty, and should take care not to think of anything from elsewhere.

After the Celebration, Diligent [unclear] of the Mind

After the communion of the body and blood, the devout cenobite should give thanks to almighty God, and should guard himself throughout the whole day, by spiritual exercise, in the purity and devotion of mind he has conceived. He should direct his affections toward God with fiery rays, and not grow lukewarm in his holy purpose. Above all he should strive to love nothing in this world, but to raise his heart continually toward the fire of divine love, wholly stripped of all earthly affections. He should always consider how, from now on, he may order his life as if anew in the holy fervor of his way of life, and humbly dispose himself for the often repeated reception of so great a guest. Finally, during the day, amid the labors enjoined upon him, he should often offer some prayer to God the Father in the power and union of that sacrament, so that through the exercises of holy communion and regular obedience he may kindle himself more fully in divine love. And this divine love we attain especially through the power of this venerable sacrament, if

may we be renewed through the grace of compunction, by communicating more often in the remembrance of the Lord’s passion. For truly the devout mind of a man, through communion of this most sacred sacrament, is kindled by its effective operation into the fervor of divine love; and, having utterly denied itself, it is transformed into Christ, united to him by grace. Therefore, the more each person, having denied himself through true resignation, offers himself to the Lord as a living victim in remembrance of the Lord’s passion, the more disposed he will be to celebrate worthily.

Returning to the cell after private masses

When the celebration of masses is 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 grow more fully in the holy purpose of perseverance. Then, turning to the Lord, let him say:

¶ Prayer.

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

At the first signal for choir before [unclear]

When the first signal has sounded for the hour that is customarily put before high mass, the monk of the community, immediately putting aside everything he has in his hands, should read the preparatory prayers for choir, just as they were set out in order above before matins. Afterward let him go to choir with reverence and maturity, bowing and praying according to the rite set forth above.

At high mass. Consideration 4.

At the ringing for high mass you will be able to read the due hour concerning the Holy Cross, and afterward, as much as time allows, to recall to memory something from the prologue placed 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 believed meritorious for us unless it is offered in its power. Now the remembrance of this passion is performed 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 only Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, whom we believe to have suffered for us, we truly hope for salvation. And therefore whatever the Church asks in the collects, she humbly begs God the Father that it be given to her through him. This, therefore,

with regard to the merit of the Lord’s Passion, our devout monk should have it in his heart; upon this the whole office of the Mass should run back sweetly, as upon the lower millstone. 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 expound the office of the Mass point by point, since each one of us can find many expositions by others; but we desire to give occasion for meditation to devout brothers, whom we know to be inflamed with inward desires. Therefore you can, 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 carefully consider what the Introit contains according to the literal sense, so that you may be able to find a spiritual understanding suited to you. For nothing is done in vain in the divine office; rather, all things are filled with mysteries and sacred actions.

On Kyrie eleison.

Kyrie eleison is Greek, and is composed of a noun and a verb; among them these are two words. For the first is kyrios, which means “lord”; kyrie is said in the vocative. The second is from eleeo, which means “I have mercy.” Eleeson, “have mercy,” is expressed in the imperative. Hence kyrie eleison is formed, that is, “Lord, have mercy,” by elision for kyrie eleison, since a vowel before a vowel can be elided for a better sound.

Thus Kyrie eleison is said three times to the Father, that he who out of exceeding charity wished his Son to be incarnate of the Virgin and to die for us may also be willing, by his mercy, to help us in our necessities.

To the Son likewise we say Christe eleison three times, in which we ask him himself to help us.

We also utter Kyrie eleison three times to the Holy Spirit, in which we humbly invoke him himself, through his ineffable goodness, to come to our aid.

On 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 the Trinity of persons and unity of substance. Consequently, during that angelic hymn the monk ought to be very devout and, so to speak, singly attentive to each word, in which the gift of peace is promised to men of good will, and God is humbly adored by us in various utterances.

At the Collects.

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

At the Epistle.

When the Epistle is read, you must attend carefully to everything, and give thanks to God with the greatest fervor of spirit, because, leaving aside the Jewish people, he mercifully willed to call you and your forebears from Gentile error to his faith.

At the Gradual.

During the Gradual, Alleluia, Sequence, or Tract, think how long a desire the holy fathers had, who before Christ’s incarnation longed for his coming. Afterwards consider with how many labors and injuries your Savior was wearied for you in this world for thirty-three years, he who voluntarily gave himself to death for your salvation. Then remember the long and dangerous exile of your soul in the flesh, so that through this meditation on present misery you may be able the more to inflame your affection toward divine love.

During the Gospel.

During the holy Gospel, with your mind raised to the Lord, give thanks exultantly, because the merciful Father willed you to be born of Christian parents, and because he made you a participant in his holy and most sweet teaching.

During the Creed.

When the symbol of the Catholic faith is sung, consider all the words and mysteries with humble fervor of spirit. Hasten at once to recollect yourself wholly within yourself, so that you may be able to give thanks for having been called to the faith without any merit of yours, and to raise yourself up to him through spiritual love. Think, if you can, or rather as much as you can, how great, exalted, and immense is the Son of God, who willed to be incarnate for you; how hard and bitter were the things he endured for you.

At the Offertory.

During the Offertory, apply your mind with the host to be consecrated in offering; weigh what is done there mystically. For the host is round and white. In its whiteness is set forth the purity, innocence, and suffering humanity of our Savior, to be offered to God the Father on our behalf against all our impurities; in its roundness his immeasurable divinity, set before us as a reward, is offered. Therefore say to the Lord:

Prayer.

Almighty God, I have no worthy gift to offer you; in the most sacred offering of the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, your only-begotten Son, I offer myself to you as an eternal gift, and as a perpetual servant; and give me

the continual fire of your holy love, so that I may continually be able to render to you pleasing service. Through the same.

Prayer. I offer to you, almighty God, the life, Passion, and death of the same our Lord Jesus Christ for my sins; for the holy Roman and universal Church; for the supreme pontiff; for our bishop; for our abbot; for all my confreres; for the unity of our observance; also for our whole order; for the salvation of all the faithful; for the conversion of unbelievers; and for the redemption of the souls of the faithful who are in the pains of purgatory. Receive, I beseech you, holy Father, this my offering in union with that charity by 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. [Strive?] to raise yourself from all earthly things to heavenly things, and to prepare yourself to praise the Lord with the holy angels. Remember that by the merit of the Lord's Passion you have been called to the fellowship of the angels, and take care to arrive at it through observance of the commandments.

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

During the Canon. After the holy praise, during the Canon, you may take up meditation on the Lord's Passion, and offer it through each of the greater principal articles to God the Father for yourself, or for others, or for any need. Say, therefore, in this way:

Holy Father, I offer to you the bloody sweat, or in similar fashion, and the tears of our Lord Jesus Christ, your most beloved Son, in that charity and union in which he voluntarily offered himself to you unto death for us: for my sins, or for that brother, or for this or that need. And I ask you, by the pain of the wounds of the same your most sweet Son, and by the shedding of his most holy blood, and by the virtue of his most innocent death: have mercy on me, or on that person; or grant us this or that, etc. Through the same our Lord.

You may also act similarly concerning the other articles of the Lord's Passion, and enlarge them by offering them according to the intention of your devotion.

If your mind has not been occupied in the higher things of our Lord Jesus Christ, 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, etc., to the end. For it is read that Saint Thomas Aquinas prayed this part of the hymn to the Lord at the elevation.

At the Agnus Dei. While the Agnus Dei is sung, [unclear] your mind to the Lord Jesus with singular confidence

raise [it]; and pray suppliantly that he may receive you into everlasting peace. Direct your affection toward him for love of whom you have left all things; ask from him, through the reception of holy communion, steadfast progress in your holy resolve.

At “Ite, missa est.”

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

Meditation

Behold, my Lord has returned to the heavens; he has left me desolate on earth. What am I doing here with mortals, I who have an immortal Lord? Why do I not follow him? Alas for me, because my sojourning has been prolonged; I have dwelt with the dwellers in darkness; my soul has long been a sojourner. I desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ; but who will free me, unhappy man, from the body of this death? Most beloved Lord Jesus, O my hope, O God and savior of my soul, draw me after you; I shall run in the fragrance of your ointments.

O my sweet love, do not forget me unto the end, but deign often to lift up my mind to you, so that, since while set in this mortality I cannot see you bodily, 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 beloved Jesus, do not abandon me or despise me; be my gracious helper and direct me always in your most holy will, so that I may be able to please you [unclear].

After high mass and the following hour

After the end of the hour which 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; devote what remains of the time to meditations. Consider the foulness of sin: how it separates from God and condemns forever the one who is turned away and does not repent. Therefore take care to turn your will wholly to God with the firmest resolve, and to avoid the contagion of sin at all times with all your strength.

On the regular refectory meal. Consideration V.

When the signal for the meal is rung, feel heartfelt compassion for the sick, the needy, and the poor who suffer want, and, when you can do nothing else, pray to the Lord for them. Consider that among Christians there are many far better than you whom harsh poverty oppresses in this life; at this hour neither the food necessary for sustenance is offered to them, nor are even the thinnest garments supplied for bodily clothing. But you, a monk, although you are a despiser of the world, are clothed in the finest...

with garments; you sit at table like a prince; food is set before you to satiety by brothers better than you; all necessities, even to the point of nausea, are ministered to you, an unworthy sinner, by the servants of God. Consider, therefore, what outcome this abundance of things will have in a monk, since you, who by entering religion professed poverty, now in religion feast more splendidly than the rich of the world. Take care, therefore, that you not be ungrateful for such great benefits of God. Live according to the rule which you 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 seated at table during the meal, be composed; do not look this way and that, but take care to eat the food set before you, only for the necessity of nature, with humility and thanksgiving. Consider carefully what is read at table, so that, just as the body is refreshed with its food, so the soul may by no means be defrauded of its own refreshment. Learn frequently, while eating, to lift your mind to heavenly things, and through the word of sacred reading, which is never lacking to us while we eat, sweetly to inflame yourself with divine compunction. For the true and inward worshiper of God, whenever he hears anything read, even amid feasting, about the bitterness of the Lord’s Passion, about the fervor of divine love, or about the kingdom of the heavenly homeland, at once groans from exceeding desire; his feeling is kindled in the ardor of love; compelled by exceeding sweetness, the man weeps. For indeed the mind that truly loves the Lord Jesus, as soon as it hears his name or looks upon the image of the Crucified, is dissolved in compunction and by affection is lifted to his feet or embraces.

For Giving Thanks.

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

On the Regular Reading.

Returning from the refectory to your cell, if it is not a fast day, complete the customary prayer; then read something good for edification, meditate, or do the work that has been assigned to you, or write. But if it is a fast day, take up the volume of your study and enter the place of the regular reading; sitting with the others, read in silence whatever you wish. But when you have been asked by the presiding officer to say something good, say a few things and use-

[unclear]; without curious citations you shall answer humbly. Do not use lengthy speech, nor bring forward the vain curiosities of secular persons into the midst, besetting your brothers, or entangle your superiors in your speeches; but express the conception of your mind simply in a few words, unless perhaps the presiding officer, for a definite reason, has ordered you to make a longer speech.

The exercise of the monk after dinner until vespers. Consideration VI.

After the reading, when you have returned to your cell, you ought always to put some prayer before your works, and in all the things that you do to ask for God's help. And when you are in your cell, do not be idle, but always do some good thing, especially what the obedience of the abbot has enjoined. Now pray, now write, read something good or meditate; for the cell makes an idle monk either a beast or a demon. But of these matters we shall speak more fully below in their proper place. Take care to spend your time usefully, since very soon you are going to render an account of all things to God.

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

There are three places in one of which the devout monk who loves God ought more frequently to be found: namely, in the church, in the cell, and, at its proper time, in the refectory. But wandering through the monastery is not permitted, because it is written of the evil, the reprobate, and the gyrovagues: “The wicked walk in a circuit.” But of the just man Jeremiah says: “It is good for a man when he has borne the yoke of the Lord from his youth; he shall sit alone and keep silence, because he has lifted himself above himself.” Now there are five principal works of the cell: the first is to attend to commands; the second is to read usefully; the third is to persist in suitable meditation; the fourth is to pray frequently; the fifth is to rest fittingly. Let us speak of these briefly in order.

In the cell you must first attend to commands.

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

Secondly, in the cell you ought to read profitably.

It is especially fitting for a monk staying in his cell always to read something good, and to occupy himself usefully in all things. For sacred reading overcomes the temptations of the devil, calms the fires of the flesh, makes one despise the world, and raises the mind to heavenly things. For Jerome, lover of divine Scripture, truly said: “Love the knowledge of the Scriptures, and you will not love the vices of the flesh.” Not all things are to be read by all monks, since one who is still weak in spirit must be imbued only with simple teachings. And Hugh says to the monk who loves simplicity: “Do not read in order that you may be considered more learned, nor read curiosities that do not edify, since vain reading begets vain thoughts and extinguishes the mind’s devotion.” Therefore simple things, not lofty ones, are to be read by simpler monks; devout things, not curious ones, so that those who, because of slowness of understanding, are not learned in higher matters may not become dissolute in vain things. But for those who are stronger in spirit, we do not forbid suitable studies, since 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; rather it is placed in the abbot’s discretion who may seem fit for freedom in reading.

Thirdly, in the cell you ought to devote yourself opportunely to meditations.

Just as a flower arises from a root, so meditation is generated from reading. If the reading has been vain, the meditation too will be fruitless and useless. For meditation is the fruit of reading, and prayer the offspring of meditation. Therefore take care to devote yourself opportunely to holy meditations, so that you may also learn sometimes to raise the mind through the fervor of divine love into contemplation. Finally, meditation itself raises the mind and commits the study of reading to memory.

Fourthly, in the cell you ought frequently to pray.

The holy apostle admonishes us to devote ourselves to prayer without ceasing, because just as breath is always necessary for us for the life of the flesh, so continual prayer is altogether necessary for the health of the mind. For just as we are instructed toward 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 hungry mind, extinguishes the fire of carnal concupiscence, instructs conduct, and drives away demons. If you wish always to be with God, pray. Let your prayer be pure, simple, and clean; let it be poured out to God through the fervor of love, and it will not be able to be fruitless.

Fifthly, in the cell you ought to rest properly.

He rests best who commits no evil. He rests well who despises all occupations of the world. Be quiet in the cell, so that you do not wander this way and that in any thought; be pure and tranquil in mind, so that

[unclear]. For Saint Prosper says in his poem: "Wisdom fills a tranquil mind, free from cares, and will be the guest of a peaceful heart." And again he says: "Those who are at peace can search the law, provided that their hearts, free from the tumult of the world, are at leisure." Therefore, so that the mind, intent on holy studies, may be aided, let divine love overcome fleshly quarrels. Remain, then, quiet in your cell, and by loving you will be able to know the truth. For the mind cannot be tranquil and capable of divine wisdom when the body is restless. Hence Hugh says: "Be quiet in the dormitory, lest another be disturbed through you." But when you wake, or when you wish to sleep, let the memory of God's goodness always come before you with thanksgiving: how he himself always watches over us, so that he may guard us, humbly serving him, from every evil. When you go to your bed, you should first set before yourself something by thinking or meditating about God, so that amid holy thoughts you may sweetly be able to fall asleep. For as the occupations of one who is awake have been, so also will be the rest of one who sleeps, and such too will be his dreams. For the mind burning with divine love, whether sleeping or waking, will not be able to forget its beloved, just as the bride says in the Canticles: "I sleep, and my heart watches."

At Vespers. Consideration VII.

[unclear] After the signal, with the other things that are customarily put first, you can sympathize with those occupied in worldly business; and give thanks that almighty God wished you to be free from them for serving him. Then you can gather yourself back to inward things, or meditate somewhat on the Lord's Passion, until, when the second signal sounds, you go to choir. For in my judgment no meditation is better for beginners and those making progress toward compunction and devotion of mind than that which takes its beginning from the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ through unknown affections.

At the Office for the Dead.

[unclear] After the compulsion of vigils following vespers, you can say the hour of the Holy Cross, and afterward think somewhat about the immeasurable charity of God by which he loves faithful souls. Then, so far as you can, think in what great desolation those holy souls placed in purgatory are; how great the pain is for a spirit separated from the body and desiring to return to the center of its origin, not to be able to behold the face of its Creator by friendly enjoyment, but to be compelled to wait in pains and torments most grievous to it. For so great is the desolation, sorrow, and grief of a separated soul placed in pains and desiring to come to God, that no kind of torments known to us in this world could be compared with its sadness. There is no comparison, in our way, of bodily sadness [unclear] [unclear].

[unclear] and of desolation, to the state of a separated spirit, and placed in the delay of its return to its own beginning. Therefore, as much as you can, have compassion on the desolation of the souls of the faithful groaning in the prison of purgatory, and pour out diligent prayers for them to the Lord. For although the almighty and merciful Father, by his justice, defers them from the kingdom, nevertheless he loves them with inestimable charity. Whatever good, therefore, you now do by praying for them, you offer as a pleasing sacrifice to almighty God. And when you come there, you will receive multiplied whatever you have done here for them in charity. For Scripture says: It is holy and wholesome to pray for the dead, that they may be released from sins.

Passing Through a Cemetery or Cloister.

But when passing through a cemetery, cloister, or another 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 aid them before the Lord in this or a similar way. Prayer.

Hail, faithful souls; rest in holy peace. May he who redeemed you with his precious blood deign to free you from punishments and bring 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 with his most precious blood, bless you. May the Holy Spirit, who by his mercy and gift preserved you from eternal damnation, bless you. Amen.

Read the Following Prayer Often.

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

After Vespers Until Compline. Consideration Eight.

with prayers and customary inclinations, return, and there, on bended knees, give thanks to your most merciful preserver, because he not only mercifully snatched you away from the vanities of the world, but also guarded you in the order from many evils and dangers. Then consider how many bodily and spiritual goods the gracious [unclear], though you deserved nothing, has shown you

[unclear]: and, what is greatest, he promised himself as a reward to you if you faithfully persevere in love of him. Be grateful and always watchful in prayer, so that you may burn sweetly in the love of God.

At supper.

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

At the collation.

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

At Compline.

When going to Compline, beseech 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 hand, and rejoice eternally in the Lord with all the saints. At the end of Compline, when you hear the signal of the Angelic Salutation being rung, you shall 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 the customary prayers have been said, take care to prepare yourself most diligently for the following recollection of the soul.

On recollection after Compline. Consideration IX.

Since we cannot persist altogether immovable in one state of mind, it is necessary for us to renew our holy purpose more often, 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 by contrition and compunction we may return to him, with correction firmly purposed. Hence our holy fathers established for us that we should devote ourselves to recollection after Compline, and concerning our negligence

to examine the negligences committed during the day, so that the purpose of holiness, which we know to be quite weak and infirm, we may renew to fervor of spirit through the continual exercise of recollection. Therefore our devout cenobite, wishing fruitfully and by useful continuance to recollect himself, ought chiefly to examine himself in five things in order.

The first thing to be observed in recollection: examination.

The rendering of account

The first is the rendering of account, by which the cenobite is ordered to bring back before the eyes of his mind, for correction, whatever he remembers himself to have committed during the day by sinning negligently or badly or less well. Therefore, turned toward the Lord, with hands clasped, let him lie before his bed and speak in this or a similar manner.

I give thanks to you, almighty and merciful God, for all your benefits, which you have deigned to show to me, an unworthy sinner and one deserving nothing at all, from my youth up to this hour; for although I have deserved no good thing, I have received many and innumerable gifts of your goodness. Would that I could worthily give thanks to you, the highest and unchangeable good; would that in your holy service I could praise you with a pure heart and clean conscience. But, alas, with weakness, concupiscence, and evil habit prevailing, I, who ought to have clung to your most holy love with 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, I grieve that, raising myself up, I have fallen again.

Behold, good Jesus, into how many faults, how many guilty states I have fallen today alone; how many vain, how many useless, how many destructive thoughts I have admitted in so few hours; how many useless and harmful words I have uttered; how many negligences and sins I have perpetrated in my actions this day.

Woe to me, miserable man, who could not persevere even for one very short day in your most holy service without impurity of heart and negligence; who today have committed so many faults and various imperfections. I confess to your goodness, O most gentle God, all my sins into which I have fallen from my earliest age. At your feet, O most sweet Jesus, I place all the negligences that I have committed today; I ask pardon, which I am not worthy to receive; I seek grace, which I confess that I have so often received in vain. O most beloved mediator of God and men, Jesus Christ, do not despise the 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.

Thus let the cenobite, prostrate in mind before the Lord, call the more serious negligences back to memory, and, humbly seeking pardon, bewail his imperfection. But especially let him consider if he has offended anyone by word or deed; if he has said anything against a brother; if he has committed anything against charity and reverence; or

if he has knowingly grieved someone wrongfully. And generally, in whatever matter 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 strive to bring it back to the examination of this chapter; and concerning secret matters, in tomorrow’s confession; concerning public transgressions and breaches of the Rule, in the next chapter, let him faithfully and from the heart resolve to clear himself by accusing himself. Let him grieve for what he has committed; let him make satisfaction for what is [unclear]; let him beware of what is to be committed.

Then let him consider the grave danger of offending God, whether the sin be venial or mortal. For Johannes Gerson, chancellor of Paris, says in the treatise On the Spiritual Life: Sin, even venial sin, is so much against God that, by his justice, he could damn a man eternally for it. But that he does not impute it to a man unto damnation proceeds not from justice but from his infinite goodness. And the holy bishop Anselm warns us that a man ought not knowingly to commit the least sin against God’s will for the sake of the whole world. For the most blessed pontiff Augustine says: No sin is so venial that it does not become mortal when it is pleasing. You might say: This opinion cannot be true, since if a sin has been venial it can never become mortal; but if it becomes mortal, it was not venial. But listen and understand. I concede that venial sin, considered in itself, cannot become mortal; but one and the same sin, which can stand together with charity, is imputed to another, in the same desert, from contempt and aversion from God. Blessed, therefore, is he who is always fearful; but he who is hard of mind shall fall into evil. He who neglects the smallest sins when he can amend them gradually falls into graver ones.

Indeed, how greatly sin displeases almighty God is shown by the vengeance that follows. For so often do we read, in the sacred volumes and in the deeds of time past, of sinners against the Lord being gravely punished, that we may deservedly fear the pit of sin.

How greatly 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 against the Lord by growing proud, he was cast into hell.

How greatly idle and useless words are against the Lord, a sufficiently clear story in the Lives of the Holy Fathers warns us, concerning the infernal [unclear] appearing among brothers speaking useless things.

How greatly evil and pernicious words offend almighty God was shown in the case of a five-year-old boy who was blaspheming, whom the devil, snatching him living from his father’s lap, carried off to hell, as is believed.

How greatly deeds and negligences concerning one’s office displease him is shown in the sons of Eli, who neglected and cared too little for the rite of sacrifice.

How greatly even good works done contrary to customary and promised obedience displease God, Saint [Astion?] taught us by his deed: although [unclear], nevertheless [unclear], he did not carry the customary waters without punishment. And we read similar things concerning many others.

How greatly evil deeds offend God, since we can understand it from infinite histories, as I might say, there is no need to prove by a few examples.

When, however, our monk, after having gone through his recollections, finds himself burdened by the aforesaid or by any other negligences or sins, however grave, let him take up the contrition possible to him for the past, a purpose of amendment and of firmly guarding against future things, and penitence for what has been committed. Let him therefore take the counsel of the above-mentioned chancellor, and, being compunct, say to the Lord:

Truth I.

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

Truth II.

O Lord my God, who know all things, you know that, by your bounty, I have a good purpose, and I intend, with your help, to amend myself in the future according to my strength. Therefore sin is guarded against by prayers, by invoking God for help; by punishments, by inflicting penitence on the body; by flight, by 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 confession of my sins, according to your commandment and that of holy mother Church, according to place and time, from the heart, fully, without deceit.

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

Indication of Future Precaution.

The second thing prescribed to be observed by a monk in his recollection is called the indication of the future. Let him consider what were the occasions for him of past transgression, and he will more easily guard himself from the danger of future transgression. For the pit of sin is never better blocked up than if the occasion of sin is avoided. And Saint Bernard says: Indeed, an indication must be made for the night that is coming on, by distributing one’s exercises according to the rule of the common institution. In these every debt is duly paid if the spirit is subjected to God and the flesh to the spirit; and if anything has been omitted through neglect or left imperfect, let it not remain uncompensated in manner, time, and place.

Request for Suffrages.

Third in the recollection of a good cenobite is the devout asking of suffrages, since he understands his own weakness very well and seeks help from those stronger. Therefore, as soon as he has completed his recollection, he turns to the holy and undivided Trinity to seek mercy; then he invokes the most blessed Mother of God; afterward he implores the prayers and assistance of all the saints. And here he is mindful not only of his own, but pours out prayers for the whole order and the Church.

Blessing for Resting

Fourth in the recollection is the cenobite's blessing for resting, by which he arms himself with prayers and entrusts himself to the divine goodness to be guarded through the night. Therefore, at the sound of the dormitory signal, or at the appointed time, as he goes 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 the blessed Virgin, the sign of the cross over each one, the power of the Lord's Passion, the blessing, guardianship, and merit of all the holy angels and of God's elect, be between me and all enemies, visible and invisible, here and forever. Amen.

Prayer

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

Discretion for Obtaining Rest

The fifth and final thing to be commemorated in recollection is [unclear] for rest: just as penance should never be omitted [unclear], so also one should not wish to prolong it too indiscreetly to the destruction of one's own head. Therefore, when all things have been completed with discretion, let desire and fervor toward God raise the mind with tears, if it can; let it not confound the mind. But as you ascend your bed, carry something in memory concerning the Lord's Passion, or concerning the love of Jesus, or certainly concerning the glory of the heavenly kingdom, according as [unclear], and let something help you as you are carried into sleep, which may also receive you when you wake and restore you to the state of yesterday's [interruption?]. Thus the night will be illuminated for you like the day, and the night will be your illumination in its delights, so that you may fall asleep peacefully, rest in peace, and wake easily; and rising, you will be ready to return to that from which you had not wholly departed. Yet in all these things discretion must always be applied, lest either excessive meditation, hindering sleep, destroy the brain, or immoderate sleep, [unclear].

...let him entirely leave off meditation. For at this hour the monk should rather sleep than meditate, so that at the appointed time he may be ready to rise and well disposed for the divine office with cheerfulness of spirit. For an affection too much inflamed by meditation destroys the brain and the senses, and takes sleep from the eyes of the weak. Therefore let meditation in bed be brief, where great strength is not present in the head either by grace or by nature.

On Manual Labor. Consideration X.

Since our most holy father Benedict, in the Rule, commending monks who live from the labors of their own hands, declares them blessed, it seemed fitting to us that after the end of the day we should say something about this most holy exercise. For we read that this work is commended in many ways by the holy fathers, and we know that in it they made no small progress before God and men. For the holy Apostle says: He who does not work shall not eat. But 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 dwelling in solitude labored diligently in the work of their hands, so that they would not incur the danger of idleness, and, living from their own labors after the example of the most blessed teacher of the Gentiles, would burden no one. Would that we too, brothers, might deign to undertake this holy exercise of laboring with the same intention and goodwill as they did, so that after the end of our labor we may deserve to rest with them without end in the heavenly homeland.

Four Things Are [to Be Observed?] by a Monk in Labor

When called to labor, the monk should strive to show himself such in the things to be observed 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 comforts of the flesh. Among these, some, so that at the time of the regular fast they may have an occasion for eating, take up useless and less necessary labors. For they labor in order to eat; whether it benefits or harms the monastery they do not care. Others, so that they may run about here and there without the restraint of discipline, as though by occasion, have been accustomed to arrange various labors. Others, so that they may freely indulge in vain talk and frivolities, procure labors useless to the monastery. Others love external labors so that they may be able, as though by opportunity and without suspicion, to see and speak with people, I will not say secular persons, known to them and friends according to the flesh, not according to God. Others, because of instability of mind, unable to rest in the monastery, always [unclear]

[Marginal note:] [unclear] things to be observed ... he strives, so that the merit of labor ... comforts of the flesh, see. Many among monks rightly [unclear]. Are both useful to monasteries? By someone’s speech, and also it seems toward God. But opportunely to come into the monastery, and also to see friends according to the flesh, also is. Nevertheless, whatever must be done in the monastery will now be had here.

seem to pant after labors. The intention of all those who labor thus is not sincere, and therefore they do not attain the best reward of labor. But you, brother, when you are called to labor, take care to submit your intention to the regular institution, so that you love nothing other than the honor of God, the merit of obedience, and the usefulness of the monastery; intend nothing except the progress of the soul. And when you are engaged in labor, do not imprudently extinguish the fervor of the spirit; do not omit the exercise of spiritual conduct, but take care diligently to observe everywhere the four following things. In outward conduct be faithful, serviceable, and benevolent; inwardly, humble and devout; in speech, sparing and edifying; in manners, composed and mature. If you observe these four things in labor, you will always return to your cell a better man.

Outwardly let the monk be faithful, benevolent, and serviceable.

The first thing that must be diligently observed in the labor of a cenobite is that in laboring he should always show himself faithful to his monastery; that he should forestall the brothers, out of charity, in serving and ministering, or even in carrying heavier burdens; and that in all words and deeds he should show himself benevolent and tractable. And Saint Bernard, lover of God, says: A serious and prudent soul applies itself to labor, yet is not dissipated in it, but through it rather gathers itself into itself, since it always has before its eyes not so much what it does as what it intends in doing. For in every completion it intends the end; and the more truly it strives for it, the more inwardly, fervently, and faithfully it works with its hands, subjecting to itself the service of its whole body, in which the will creates use, and use, by exercise, supplies strength. The devout and faithful cenobite, who loves God in truth, does not spare himself in labor, but is accustomed to apply himself to the manual tasks imposed on him with such fervor, cheerfulness, and fidelity, as if he alone were compelled by his labor to feed all those established in the monastery. For the most prudent soul knows that it is spending itself wholly for God whenever it happens to labor for the bodily need of his servants. For just as spiritual things cannot long subsist in religious life without the cooperation of temporal things, so I do not doubt that one who ministers the bodily necessities to those serving God on account of God is to be called the servant of God. Therefore whatever a good cenobite can acquire for his monastery by his labors with right intention, let him know that he is presenting all that to the Lord. Yet let a monk 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.

But manual work undertaken out of curiosity and one’s own complacency is deprived of the merit of obedience before the eternal judge; and, as idle and presumed without the permission of a superior, is held liable to account. But the good cenobite desires to please [unclear] in every stealthy intrusion of idle

of deed or thought: let him say to himself that saying of Bernard: If you were now about to die, would you do thus what you are now doing, thinking, or saying? But if, being now about to die, you would not do what you now do, you are most foolish, who, being about to die shortly, so boldly permit yourself works of death unto death. But if, since it is necessary, you desire to die well, do at no time what you would not do if death were already at hand. For whatever you now do, whether it is good or evil, you will find after death.

Inwardly the monk becomes humble and

Secondly, at the time of labor the monk ought inwardly to be devout, devout and humble; for if the fervor of inward progress leaves him, what he acquires outwardly through labor is of no help. Therefore, so that the soul may truly make progress in laboring, let it often recall to memory the degrees of good will written in the first region. Let it order its meditations on the Lord’s passion according to the fervor of devotion; in these, as far as possible, let it conform its own labors to the labors of Christ. Let him always be humble in heart through self-denial; let him be devout in affection through the fervor of holy compunction, so that the outward labor of the hands may contribute to the advancement and usefulness of the community, and the mind may not withdraw from the inward sweetness of divine love. If labor wearies the working cenobite, if heat burns, if untimely thirst presses him hard, let him call to mind how many labors the Lord Jesus endured for us, and he will bear all things more lightly. Drawing breath, therefore, let him say to the Lord:

Most sweet and most beloved Lord Jesus. Prayer of one laboring.

O King of heaven and earth, who for my redemption, born of the most pure Virgin Mary, lived among men for thirty-three years as God and man; who had great labors in walking, teaching, and preaching; who for my sake willingly and patiently endured thirst, hunger, heat, and cold: for all these things I give thanks to you. Receive, I beseech you, these very small labors of mine, 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 most holy labors were pleasing to God the Father. Amen.

Let our cenobite, moreover, under labor, if time permits, turn over in his mind the principal articles of the Lord’s passion: first by commemorating them as though Christ were present in the passion; then by giving thanks on his knees; third, by asking mercy in them according to their likeness.

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

In speech the monk becomes sparing and edifying.

The third thing prescribed as to be observed by a monk at work is that he should speak few words, and edifying ones. For Scripture says: “In much speaking sin will not be lacking.” Let a monk never speak without permission, if he truly desires to be good. But once he has permission to speak, let him speak only a few useful words, knowing that idle and scurrilous words are condemned by the Rule in every place. Let him establish for himself, by circumspection, such a manner of speaking in every place and time that by speaking he offends no one. Let him listen more gladly than he is pleased to speak, and let him not say everything that his mind suggests, if he fears the reproach of fools. For thus Hugh also says to the monk: “Do not pour out everything you know, like a vessel without a lid, which, as soon as it is tilted, pours out whatever it contains and lies open to every dust and uncleanness.” Carefully beware lest you ever seem, directly or indirectly, to seek your own glory, or to reveal to anyone, with a desire for boasting, or otherwise imprudently, whatever praiseworthy thing lies hidden in you. If you are silent about yourself and conceal yourself, you will be more pleasing; if you disclose and commend yourself, you will become contemptible before all and will be laughed at. Beware of idle words, because while we do not take notice of such things, we slip little by little into harmful things, from which arise either disturbances, or looseness of conduct, or grave gnawings of conscience. Be such in your inner way of life that, through love of spiritual meditation, silence always delights you more than talkativeness.

In His Conduct the Cenobite Is Composed and Mature

The fourth thing is that a monk, both at work and outside it, in every place, is commanded to compose his conduct and to show himself mature before men in all deeds and words. Let him be clean and humble in heart; let him be kindly and useful in speech; let him be modest and grave in his gait; let him be mature and exemplary in his whole manner of life. Moreover, the whole man is easily brought into conformity with the standard of discipline if the effort to make progress is kept firm in his mind at all times. For indeed, while a monk desires to make progress daily toward better things, he avoids every looseness and disorderly manner of life. For a firm effort to make progress has this as its property: it makes the soul that strives very circumspect in all things. But one who does not have a firm effort to make progress toward the better cannot truly be called composed, although he may seem mature to men. For feigned maturity is quickly dissolved into a fitting looseness of mind where the root of discipline, the fear of God, is not present. 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 Mo[unclear] Ought to Be

of a monk toward other men.

Consideration XI.

Since, then, we have begun to speak of the maturity and composure that a monk must preserve before all people, it seems useful to us now to say briefly how he ought to present himself to each. For he is instructed to present himself in one way to his prelate, and is commanded to show himself in another way before his brothers and secular persons. For to his ruler, in the place of Christ, he ought to show reverence; to his fellow brother, charity; to those who wrong him, gentleness; to secular persons, modest piety. Therefore let the monk render to each what is his own, and he will be truly composed before God and men. What he owes to God, or 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 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 despises you despises me.” For the monk who withholds the obedience and reverence owed to his abbot does injury to almighty God. For, as our most holy father says in the Rule, the abbot is shown to hold the place of Christ in the monastery. Therefore whoever despises the vicar of some king undoubtedly contemns the king himself.

But tell me, good brother, why do you withhold due reverence from your prelate, whom you hear to be the vicar of Christ? Perhaps you think him evil and wholly unworthy of such an office, and therefore suppose that it is permitted you to contemn him? Not so, brother, not so; rather consider whose place it is in which Christ’s vicar presides, and you will know that you must honor the one sending you, not the one sent. If you wish to be Christ’s disciple, consider always for what you came, and you will never deny reverence even to an unworthy prelate.

For what did you come? Surely so that, according to the Gospel and the Rule, you might deny yourself for God’s sake; so that under another’s command you might serve as a soldier for Christ; so that with patience you might await the eternal reward for these things. Therefore, brother, do not, do not lose the crown of eternal happiness prepared for you in heaven because of displeasure at one man, which you ought not to 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 are not confident that you can understand the will of God, you ought humbly to obey your ruler, as his vicar to whom you have subjected yourself; nor ought you to examine either his life or his command, since it is permitted [unclear] to judge the shepherd. Indeed, in your profession you swore that you ought not to carry out your own will, but that you wished to obey the abbot in all things according to the Rule. Therefore the abbot is the lord of your will, not by his own assumption, but by or-

by the ordination of God, whose vicar he also is. 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. Therefore a monk, regularly professed to God and to his abbot, thereafter no longer has lordship over his own will; if afterwards he usurps that same will for himself, he commits theft and sacrilege. Nor will permission [obtained?] save the presumptuous man, if it was obtained by threats and insults. Your abbot, brother, is God’s vicar; to him you must render the obedience you promised, not as to a man but as to God, and show humble reverence in God’s place. For whatever is rendered by subjects to their ruler is without doubt referred to God, whose vicar he is. Therefore, since 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 command you to do or omit whatever seems expedient to him, and may in no way fear any insolences or disturbances of your mind. 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, the Gospel is sinned against. Beware, therefore, lest you withhold reverence and honor from prelates. Beware lest by grieving them you offend the Lord; but take care to meet them, whatever sort they may be, with reverence, and to obey their commands in all things according to the Gospel and the rule. Believe me, brother, that the fault which is committed by a subject against a prelate is punished most severely either in the present life or in the future one. 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 has inspired it in him.

Let the monk’s manner of life be in charity toward the brothers.

Second, the monk’s manner of life toward his brethren commands him to have charity, through which 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 to 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 hostile to you in anything, do not take up from this a disordered movement of sensuality; do not consider his present infirmity, but raise the eyes of your mind to the nobility of his soul, and weigh what fellowship in eternal happiness it is to have with you. For this purpose you ought often to bring back to memory the chapter of the rule on the good zeal of monks, so that more readily toward brotherly charity

that you may be able to rouse yourself. Before all things, take care that you admit no displeasure against your brother; for he who is frequently angry with his neighbor is plainly proved not to love God. For whoever loves God with all his heart does not admit displeasure against his faithful brother. A monk ought to be established in such great elevation of mind that, whatever his brother has committed against him, by weighing the nature of his soul he cannot be moved.

Let the monk’s conduct toward those who do injury [be meek]

Third, the monk’s conduct toward those who do injury ought to be meek; and he then at last acts well if regard for the common future blessedness and companionship is always kept before him. To attain this meekness of spirit, our cenobite should learn to recall to mind more often the ways of life of the holy fathers, and faithfully consider with how great joy they received injuries. First of all, as far as possible, let him strive 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 to receive injuries patiently and meekly for the love of God, and, what is more, to love the very men who injured them. To these things let the cenobite recall to mind the degrees of meekness, which are contained, briefly enclosed, in these verses: Fit yourself. Strengthen yourself. Being gentle, bear contrary things. Preserve. Restrain. Rest inwardly with yourself. Correct prudently. Be merciful. Give wisely. By placing yourself below, by taking up martyrdom. For humility, if it has possessed the mind of the cenobite, makes him love injuries. The degrees of humility are contained in these verses.

The twelve degrees of humility.

The first of the righteous degrees fears the Almighty. The second puts reins upon the enticements of the flesh. The third subjects himself reverently to the abbot. The fourth, despising insults, patiently obeys. The fifth reveals the inner chambers of his heart to the abbot. The sixth holds himself vile and unworthy by his own judgment. The seventh believes himself to be lower than all. The eighth does nothing that the rule of the cell does not allow. The eleventh speaks the few words of reason. The twelfth always looks at the ground with bent head.

On the same things, otherwise.

Third, the monk’s conduct toward those who do injury ought to be meek; and he then at last acts well if regard for the common future blessedness and companionship is always kept before him. To attain this meekness of spirit, our cenobite should learn to recall to mind more often the ways of life of the holy fathers, and faithfully consider with how great joy they received injuries. First of all, as far as possible, let him strive 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 to receive injuries patiently and meekly for the love of God, and, what is more, to love the very men who injured them. To these things let the cenobite recall to mind the degrees of meekness, which are contained, briefly enclosed, in these verses: Fit yourself. Strengthen yourself. Being gentle, bear contrary things. Preserve. Restrain. Rest inwardly with yourself. Correct prudently. Be merciful. Give wisely. By placing yourself below: martyrdom

See God; do not do your own will; let another rule you. Bear hard things; hide nothing in your heart; but seek even the lowest things. Be a peripsema; do not wander alone; restrain your tongue. Let laughter be sparing, speech grave, gestures humble.

Note: Peripsema must be read and written so, not peripsime, as the ignorant read in the Epistle to the Romans; and it is called the filings and cleansing of all things.

Let the monk’s conduct toward secular persons be modest.

The fourth conduct of the monk toward secular persons must be modest.

It must be modest, so that neither his familiarity with them is excessive, nor his separation indiscreet. Hence Hugh says: With regard to people, so far as it lies in you, beware of everything that can be for them a bad example, as it befits a faithful servant of God to advance in all things the honor of his Lord and to avoid 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 troublesome, they are all the more to be avoided. Do not be suspicious. Be attentive to the sick in humble services. Be very truthful in words. Let your words be as an oath, and you will edify others. Love poverty. Be chaste in all things, and everywhere God-fearing.

But in establishing all virtues and good morals, set before yourself that most brilliant and most perfect example of all brightness, the life and conduct of our Lord Jesus Christ, who was sent from heaven for this purpose, that he might go before us in the way of virtues and instruct us by his example, as by himself. Therefore the more the monk has taken care to conform himself to him in the way of virtues by imitation, the more, without doubt, he will be like and near to him in the glory of eternal happiness. Whatever you do, always look to him, and consider how he conducted himself in all things according to the Gospel and according to your judgment. For since he is best, he conducted himself best in all things. Say therefore to yourself: If my Lord Jesus were present, what do you think he would do about this, or what would he now say? Certainly he would act and speak in the best way; him I must imitate in all things to the best of my strength.

General conclusion of all spiritual exercises.

Consideration twelve.

Wishing at last to say something, we say that the completion of all spiritual exercises consists in two things. First, in the knowledge and feeling of one’s own imperfection, so that the monk may always be conscious of his weakness and remain rooted in humility. Second, in the desire and effort to come to a higher conduct, so that he may always desire to advance in spirit toward better things, and may by no means withdraw from this effort. Every cenobite must at every moment direct his mind toward this effort of advancing; if he ever leaves it off, he incurs transgression of his vow and a very grave danger to his soul. But let the monk take care that consideration of his own weakness does not cast aside the effort of advancing; let him take care that the effort itself does not despise consideration of imperfection; but let these two so cling mutually to one another that they never withdraw from one another. But if excessive consideration of his own imperfection should try to cast down the mind, let him recall to memory what the holy Abbot Bernard said: “Let us breathe again, brothers,” he says, “because even if we are nothing in our own hearts, perhaps something concerning us may lie hidden in the heart of God.” These two considerations, of our weakness and of divine estimation, stir up great devotion in us, as the psalmist said: “I am poor and sorrowful”: behold the first; “your salvation, O God, has taken me up”: behold the second.

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

Here is the end of the spiritual exercises concerning the threefold region of cloistered persons.

Here begins the Compendium of Spiritual Exercise. Johannes Trithemius.

Although the form of spiritual exercise published by us for the edification of cloistered persons could seem very brief to any devout persons who have leisure, we fear nevertheless that to those occupied in household affairs it may seem rather lengthy; while their thought is stretched out in continual solicitude in arranging the necessities of their subjects, the mind is easily wearied even in the briefest spiritual exercises. Therefore, lest our monks who are either given over to external matters, or less devout in spiritual conduct, should be able, on the pretext of lengthiness, to take refuge in their usual argument of excuse, we have been ordered to abridge the same instruction, so that the fervent may keep the greater one in their devotion, and the lukewarm may not omit the lesser.

There follows the practice of spiritual exercise.

Before all and each of the hours, in general, the devout cenobite should strive to direct his effort to this end: that he may desire with all his strength to magnify God in his heart through the root of his benefits. Let there be in him so fervent an ardor of devotion, so great a compunction, and finally so great an outpouring of tears, that whoever sees him singing psalms may be moved by his example to magnify the Lord. Secondly, let him remember to stir himself, so far as he can, to charity toward his neighbor, because love is directed toward God in vain if one’s neighbor is hated. Therefore, after all spirits of displeasure have been driven out, turned toward the Lord, let the most devout cenobite pray:

Almighty, everlasting God, who, instructing us for the exercise of your [unclear] 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 secret love and of love for my neighbor, so that, after all movements of displeasure, aversion, and anger have been repressed, I may always love you above all things with a pure heart, and in no way withdraw from sincere love of my neighbor; so that, just as one member, joined to another member, suffers with the wounded member, so may my mind, sincerely loving my 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, through the power of the most holy Passion of your only-begotten Son, our Lord Jesus Christ: enlighten the eyes of my heart, so that, pierced in spirit, I may see how often I have offended against your commandments; and, cleansed by your mercy from every filth of sin, may I never offend you hereafter.

After Matins.

When Matins have been completed, while you are still remaining in the church, or even 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, placed in the greatest anguish of your most holy heart, after threefold prayer most fully resigned yourself to the will of your Father: grant me, by the power of that charity of yours, perfectly to despise my own will for love of you in all things, and truly at all times to resign myself to the ordering of your will and of those whom you have set over me. Who lives and reigns.

After Prime.

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

Prayer. Most loving and sweetest Lord Jesus, who at the [unclear] hour truly confessed yourself the Son of God: have mercy on me, and grant me, through your innocence, the virtue of true confession, so that I may humbly bear any words of those who accuse me, and by no reproaches withdraw from the inward tranquility of mind. Who lives and reigns with God the Father.

After Terce.

After Terce you will recall to mind how many reproaches, how many mockeries and derisions the most innocent Lord Jesus endured for your redemption; in memory of him take up for yourself the desire of the sixth degree of humility, praying thus:

Prayer. O sweetest Lord Jesus, who for us at the third hour were miserably scourged, mocked, derided, crowned with thorns, and spat upon. Grant me, by the power of all your sufferings, through the shedding of your most holy blood, always to be content for love of you with usefulness and the utmost [unclear], so that, in view of my sins, I may regard myself as an unworthy worker of humility, and nevertheless in no way grow lukewarm in your holy service.

After Sext.

After Sext, consider the Lord Jesus carrying his cross before all and then hanging miserably upon it, together with the other articles of his punishments; and, inflamed with desire for the seventh degree of humility, pray to him with fervor of spirit.

Prayer. Sweetest Lord Jesus, who for our sake, miserable sinners, after the countless pains of your Passion, carried your cross to the place of your death while your most sorrowful mother looked on; upon which, cruelly fastened, given gall and vinegar to drink, and mocked in many ways, you were: I ask you, through the pain of your wounds, grant me pardon mindful of all my sins, the grace of holy compunction, a fountain of tears, the virtue of deep humility, and continual remembrance of your most bitter Passion, so that all that I am and can do may always serve you, and my mind may burn continually in your love.

After None.

After None be mindful of sweetest Jesus dying on the cross; and, falling in spirit at his knees, giving thanks with tears with as much devotion as you can, you shall pray thus:

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

The first hour after the meal.

At the first hour after the meal, unless you have been occupied with higher exercises, in order to obtain knowledge of your own frailty, you shall pray to the Lord in this or a similar manner:

Prayer. Lord God, who out of your great compassion created [me?] in the first parent from the clay of the earth, so that me- R

mindful of my lowly condition, I would glorify you, my creator, in true humility: grant me, I beseech you, truly to know my frailty at all times, so that, while I consider that by my own merit I am vile and almost nothing, I may deserve to please you by your gift. Through Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you.

The Second Hour.

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

Prayer.

Almighty, everlasting God, who by the incarnation and death of your only-begotten Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, have deigned, out of your mercy alone, to bring us wretched persons, dead in sins, to life: grant me, through the power of his most innocent passion, pardon for all my sins, 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 the meal, let our faithful cenobite remember his vows which he promised to the Lord, and especially the renunciation of all property, namely in possessions, judgments, and will; and, moved to compunction, let him pray thus to the Lord in fervor of spirit.

Prayer.

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

After Vespers.

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

Prayer.

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

Another.

O 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, you as guide, we may pass through temporal goods in such a way that we do not lose the eternal.

Another Prayer.

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

After Supper and Collation.

After supper or collation let the faithful cenobite clothe himself with desire for good zeal, and especially for souls, with whatever fervor of charity he can, and, praying to the Lord, let him say:

O Lord God, greatest lover of faithful souls, who for the salvation of men wished your Son to die on the gibbet of the cross: grant me, through 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 opportunely those who contradict you, and manfully set myself as a wall for your house. Through the same our Lord.

Prayer.

After Compline, his powers gathered together, let the devout cenobite enter alone into the secret place of his heart, and leave outside all cares and anxieties of the world, so that, free and released from all things, he may deserve to converse with the Lord Jesus through desire of compunction, and to be sweetly united to him through the fire of love. Therefore, having in summary recalled to the examination of memory the faults of the day, let him pray thus to the Lord.

Prayer.

O most merciful Lord Jesus Christ, who for our redemption wished to undergo a most shameful death: grant me, I beseech you, through the pain of your wounds and through your most holy blood

the outpouring and the power of your most innocent death, the forgiveness of all my sins: that, with conscience cleansed, I may henceforth through the desire of love continually cling to you, advance daily in holy religion, and 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 all times, 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 snares of the ancient serpent, suppress the illicit motions of the flesh, drive far away foul and evil dreams, and repel the phantasms of the nights, so that in your peace I may sleep securely and, at the hours appointed for me, rise gladly to your praises. Amen.

To the Father.

Lord, holy Father, almighty eternal God, who graciously received us into your grace in the passion of your only-begotten Son: receive mercifully, I beseech you, all the good works that, by your gift, I have done on this day, in words, deeds, or 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. To you, holy Father, in the faith and union of that charity, I commend myself this night and at all times, by which your Son, our Lord, 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 despise me, a wretched sinner, because of my unclean conscience, but remember that you are the mother of mercy, and pray for me to the God whom you bore, that he may mercifully forgive me my sins, make me his fervent lover, guard me this night from all snares and evils, and after the death of the flesh lead my soul to eternal life. To your protection, most blessed Virgin Mary, I commit myself this night and at all times, in the power and union of that committal by which your beloved Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, now about to die on the cross, commended you to John his disciple.

On the Memory of the Lord’s Passion.

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

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

I give thanks to you, sweetest Lord Jesus, for all the wounds, pains, and injuries of your most innocent passion and death. I beg you, by that same death of yours, have mercy on me now and in the hour of my death. Or thus:

For your most bitter passion and most innocent death, Lord Jesus Christ, I give thanks with a compassionate soul. I beg you, have mercy on me. Or thus:

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 wretched me from perpetual death. I beg you, by the power of that same passion of yours: make me eternally a participant in your most innocent death.

Conclusion of this Compendium by Johannes Trithemius, Abbot of Sponheim.

So that I may not be more prolix than is fitting, I here set an end to the Compendium. For that venerable company of abbots of our annual Chapter instructed me to avoid prolixity in this place, lest lukewarm and worldly cloisterers make weariness their excuse. If the Lord Jesus gives me a life free from cares, which I have always desired, I shall try to satisfy both my own intention and another’s request. For, at the request of certain virgins dedicated to Christ, I have resolved to hand down a rule by which every devout cenobite may exercise himself, in the Lord’s passion, against all temptations. If, in this, they remain for a few months exercising themselves as they ought, he will by degrees sweetly fly from the humanity of Christ to his divinity through the ray of love. For to those who desire to come to the love of God, continual meditation on the Lord’s passion opens an easy entrance, because, while the mind through compassion is pierced by the memory of the benefits of so great a lover, burning with tears and desire it is lifted up to love. You, therefore, cloisterers dedicated to God, who have no leisure to attend to many things, receive these few things: in them, although there may not be a continual fire of love, yet for those who persevere it will be able to be renewed.

Praise to God and to his mother for ever and ever. Amen.

Here ends this Compendium, in which the business of the whole spiritual exercise is contained briefly and selectively. By Johannes Trithemius, Abbot. In the year from the reconciled divinity 1516. From the workshop of Melchior Lotter.