Liber de Triplici Regione Claustralium et Spirituali Exercitio Monachorum

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

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

[unclear] Baptista Mantuanus, On Patience.

I HAVE RESOLVED.

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

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

I have regarded your commands, most honored fathers, as small, and I undertook to correct the little work On the Threefold Region of Cloistered Persons, together with the spiritual exercise of monks, lately published by the venerable father lord Johannes, abbot of Bursfelde, as you instructed me. And indeed, unless your authority had compelled me, I would never have dared to set my hand to the distinguished work of so great a father, who is known to have written excellently and to be far more learned and holier than I. For what should I correct, where everything is found most approved? A good and devout man wrote no otherwise than as he lived and as was fitting.

Nevertheless, to satisfy both your command and the prayers of the author himself, I rendered the whole little work in briefer, though not fewer, sentences, and, while serving its emphases, reduced it as far as I could into my own manner and style of writing. I kept the order and matter of the earlier volume, but completely changed its form and customary mode 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. Your command gave me the courage to do this, and the insistent request of the aforesaid father persuaded me. For you wished me to make a new work from old material: to add whatever seemed suitable to me, to cut away superfluities, and to alter what needed changing. I did what I could; I obeyed your mandates; by rewriting, I completed the work enjoined upon me according to the powers of my intellect, which are slight.

Now therefore receive, 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—

A ij If it pleases you, praise the author’s talent; but if it displeases you because of its worthlessness, correct my imperfect work. For I had excellent material for a spiritual building, supplied at another’s expense, but through my own inexperience I have constructed an unskilled structure. If I have become a fool, you compelled me. Therefore, whether the work pleases or displeases, it was easier for me, by writing ineptly, obediently to undertake your command than, against obedience, to keep silence. Yet I trust not in my own powers but in the merits of others, for a work that charity has produced will displease no one who loves God. I pray that your paternities may always remain happy in Christ. From Sponheim, the fourteenth day before the Kalends of September, in the year of the Lord’s incarnation 1497.

Here begins the book on the threefold region of cloistered persons, and on spiritual exercises

When I recall to mind the state of the monastic life in this time, I grieve deeply over its calamity, because the fervor of spiritual exercise, which once produced the richest fruits in the order of our holy father Benedict, has now largely failed among monks. For we see cloistered persons returning in their ways to the world; we see the institution of regular observance being despised by many; and religion, which from the beginning had been instituted for contempt of the world, is now being recalled again by wicked monks to the pomps of the world. The crown has fallen from our head; the integrity of regular discipline has been corrupted; and the former fervor of holy life has perished. We see many monasteries of our order lying buried in the worst deformity, and very few restored to the purity of the rule.

The cause of this destruction of regular institution is negligence of spiritual exercises. For as soon as the spirit of fervor has grown faint in the minds of cloistered persons, the flesh, formerly dead through denial of itself, has revived; and the world, which before seemed dry and contemptible to devout hearts, has begun again to flourish in carnal minds. Indeed, the thought of the human heart, prone to evil from youth, unless it is daily spurred on to fervor of spirit by the bridle of spiritual exercise, soon falls back into its former negligences and grows lukewarm from its holy purpose. For just as fallow land, deprived of the careful attention of the cultivator, quickly returns to its former wasteland as thorns spring up, so the human mind, however pure or holy it may be, is quickly reduced to thickets of vices unless it is daily renewed to fervor of spirit by the exercise of devotion.

Led by this consideration, the fathers of our Bursfeld observance, devoted cultivators, commanded us and posterity by word and example that, since because of our frailty we cannot remain constant in fervor of spirit, at least by an evening recollection after Compline, accusing our daily negligences, we should renew the state of our mind to the fervor of our purpose.

Whoever neglects the exercise of daily institution falls into a deep torpor, as the wise man says in Ecclesiasticus: “If you do not hold yourself constantly in the fear of the Lord, your house will soon be overthrown,” which is understood as a good conscience. The rule of our father Benedict seems sufficient for a monk, since it is agreed to contain all material for exercises, both spiritual and bodily, necessary for guarding regular discipline among monks. And therefore all exercises of monks must be humbly submitted to the constitutions of the rule, because whatever is commanded either by us or by others for the instruction of monks is wholly assigned to the observance of the monastic norm.

For the sum of our entire religious life, which is acquired by the continuation of spiritual exercise, is contained in compendious form, as in a root, in the rule of monastic tradition. Therefore every exercise of monks, whether spiritual or bodily, by which the mind is led from love to a humble abasement of itself, is conformed to the institutions of the holy rule. The more it is known to present the monk to God as good, humble, and very near, the more it opposes the zeal of proud contempt.

The holy mysteries of this exercise direct the mind of their cultivators by an invisible teaching toward the love of God, as toward their proper end, along a secure path; they wonderfully obtain the grace of inward devotion; and they make the monk despise all earthly things as nothing, and burn sweetly with every time of the lower spirit [unclear]. The animal man does not grasp this wholesome exercise of devotion; the vain and curious monk does not understand this pursuit; the proud man does not admit this knowledge, 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. Whoever has once perfectly obtained it will fear no adversities of this world.

But that exercise which, lacking its proper end, does not direct the minds of cloistered persons to observance of the commandments of the rule does not pour in the holy spirit of discipline, because where the obedience of subjection is despised, no gift is accepted by almighty God.

On the first region of the soul, in which carnal monks dwell with beasts: disordered by many passions, living sensually in the lowest region

The first region of the soul, then, is called sensual, lowest, and animal; in it the roots of all evils are contained. Persons placed in this dark region share with beasts in their own kind, since they observe, so to speak, beastly habits, while they defer either not at all or only a little to reason, but yield everything to sensuality like beasts. For in this lowest region three sensual powers of the soul preside. The first, the sensitive power, is poured out upon the objects of each of the exterior senses; the second, the concupiscible power, takes delight in carnal things; the third, the irascible power, pursues by fleeing the pleasures contrary to 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 also in the minds of carnal persons inhabiting this dark region, various storms of vices rage. Woe to carnal monks who inhabit this dark region, in which there is frequent movement of crimes and a continual tempest of pleasures. These are monks given over to animal passions, who subject reason to sensuality, who live according to the flesh in beastly desires. The works of the flesh dwelling in this lowest region are manifest: fornication, uncleanness, immodesty, luxury, service of idols, sorceries, enmities, rivalries, angers, quarrels, dissensions, sects, envies, murders, drunkenness, revelries, and things like these; concerning them the holy Apostle proclaims that those who do such things will not obtain the kingdom of God. These are the marks of the works of the lowest region; these are the deadly tempests of the minds of carnal monks, who live irreligiously in religion, who despise the traditions of the holy fathers, who with ruinous presumption scorn the precepts of their elders.

These are the unclean cultivators 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 contumaciously break the vow of holy religion that they have professed, who, despising the salvation of their souls, refuse to follow the grace of God when it calls. Therefore he delivered them over to a reprobate sense and to false judgment, so that they judge evil to be good, and falsely suppose that things which are in truth the worst are the best. These are the carnal monks about whom the holy Apostle prophesied: whisperers, detractors, hateful to God, abusive, proud, haughty, inventors of evils, disobedient to superiors, foolish, disorderly, without affection, without covenant, without mercy, filled with every iniquity, malice, wickedness, contention, deceit, and malignity. For 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, do not in the least oppose the pursuits of the wicked. Indeed, A ruler of souls who does not correct his offending subjects entangles himself, to his own damnation, in the crimes of others; by keeping silent he becomes the companion of those whose faults damnation will follow. For whoever, having been appointed a shepherd of souls, neglects to reform sinners according to the canonical rule, even if he is free from any fault of his own, will nevertheless be condemned before the strict Judge for another’s offense. For the supreme Shepherd says to the prophet: “Son of man, I have given you as a watchman to the house of Israel; you shall hear the word from my mouth and announce it to them from me. If, when I say to the wicked man, ‘You shall surely die,’ you do not announce it to him, nor speak so that he may turn from his wicked way and live, that wicked man shall indeed die in his iniquity, but I shall require his blood from your hand.”

And our blessed father says in the Rule: “Let the abbot know that the fault of the shepherd will fall upon him if the master of the household has been able to find any lack of profit in his sheep.” O judgment ever to be feared by all shepherds: by it not only is the wicked conduct of subjects charged to the rector, 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 reform 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 among the carnal, grow numb in the shadow of death through destructive idleness?

Woe to all who remain in this dark region, for unless they do penance they must be assigned with those who inhabit the outer darkness, where no order dwells but everlasting horror. For just as monks who walk according to the Rule in spirit are to be happily crowned without end in heaven with the holy angels, so those who persevere until death, against the norm of monastic institution, in this lowest region of the flesh are worse than pagans and are to be tormented eternally in hell with demons. For that blessed man spoke truly: “Just as I have never seen better men than those who have made progress in the monastery, so I have not found any worse than those who have failed in the monastery.” For monastic profession demands the perfection of the spiritual life, and tends toward the height of the virtues as toward its proper end. But the more anyone established in a monastery falls away from this effort to make progress, the farther he withdraws from the purpose of a monk.

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

Although the description of this lowest region applies generally to any carnal human beings who dwell with beasts in sins and crimes, nevertheless, to attend to our own concerns, 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 character of good cloistered men to remain untouched and unharmed whenever we discuss the evil pursuits of the wicked. Thus we rebuke wicked cloistered men and corrupt habits, while everywhere honoring the good and praising them as is fitting. And what else can we say of the wicked except evil, since in them we find no good things to speak of? They live disorderly lives in a holy order; they despise the traditions of the elders; they do not admit the words of salvation.

So great, indeed, is the disorder of the monks of the lowest region that, in my judgment, it would be easier to convert a publican than to recall a disorderly monk to penance. We include this disorder of carnal monks under eight articles, although we are not unaware that they are disordered in many matters.

First, then, the citizens of this lowest region, beastly monks, are disordered toward God; then toward their 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; and finally, toward penance for sin. These are the principal disorders of the citizens of the lowest region; these are the beastly affections of carnal monks, who dwell in the depths in mind and body and do not hasten to advance toward the heights. I shall therefore take care to set forth briefly, in order, these disordered conditions of the lowest region, and to demonstrate, so far as I can, how far carnal monks are from God. For as the prophet says: salvation is far from sinners. [unclear] How the citizens of this lowest region are disordered with respect to God.

Article 1

Therefore carnal monks, the mad cultivators of this lowest region, are in many ways disordered with respect to God. They never taste the sweetness of his love; they admit no compunction from divine fear. In their affections they are bestial and proud; in their carnal pleasures they are always unclean.

And first, their disorder toward God takes its origin from ignorance: while, given over to animal passions, they do not care to hold God in their knowledge, nor do they allow the mind to think on those things that lead to fear of him; but, blinded by evil desires, they vanish away in their own thoughts. But what does Scripture say? “He who is ignorant shall be ignored.” They are unwilling to understand so that they may act well; they do not tremble before the face of the strict Judge; without penitence they continually persevere in evils. Indeed, after the manner of beasts, they do not fear to rot in their pleasures; they do not heed the patience of God calling them to penitence; they seek nothing except the conveniences of their own flesh. At all times they walk in the greatest sins without any fear; they stubbornly refuse to know the ways of the Lord. Concerning the future judgment they think either little or nothing; they do not fear the punishments prepared in hell for sinners; the grace of compunction never pierces their hearts, whose minds the love of God does not inflame. They have no care for God; no dread of death. They obey the belly rather than God; at all times they desire to live according to the flesh; they shamefully neglect their own salvation in the Lord; they descend to hell with the demons. For indeed, those who, forgetful of God, badly keep the vow of holy monastic conduct do not attain the rewards of heavenly life to be given to the just.

Second, carnal monks are disordered with respect to God through foolish profession, because they promise to live according to the Rule, yet do not truly care to fulfill what they promise. And what is more disordered than to promise holiness of life to the Lord God 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.

And we discern that many among cloistered men today live in a worldly manner; we see that many neglect the purpose of their profession; many violate the observance of regular discipline in various ways; many knowingly ignore the goodness of God; many refuse to do penitence.

Third, many cloistered men of this lowest region are disordered with respect to God through neglect of the service they owe: they serve their own affections and carnal desires in various ways, and always approach the service of God with a distracted mind. Some of them hurry lukewarmly to choir without any devotion; others come unwillingly, compelled by necessity; certain men, scattered among outward thoughts, are present at the divine offices in body, but in mind wander outside through various workshops. Others do not fear to seek false excuses by which they may be able, as if lawfully, to absent themselves from choir. Now they pretend to have a severe headache; now they mendaciously allege this, now that; and while they deceitfully withdraw from the service owed to almighty God, they incur the reproach of eternal malediction owed to the negligent.

Fourth, there are very many disordered with respect to God through the operation of habit: even if they sometimes escape the malediction of the negligent, still they never draw near to the fruit of eternal devotion. For they approach the service of God from habit alone, and are not moved to any good work by devotion. Others, placed under grave necessity, obey the commands of their superiors quite unwillingly, and they fear temporal punishments rather than the judgment of God. These carry the cross of the Lord with Simon under compulsion; like Ephraim, a heifer trained for the threshing floor, they apply themselves to good works by habit alone. But they do not do the good well who approach the service of God with an intention that is not right. They also perform the deed of the just without the reward of the just, because in good and just works they do not assume a good will.

Fifth, the citizens of the lowest region are disordered with respect to God through the vice of ingratitude, which is a very great crime of disordered will. And often, indeed, he who is found ungrateful to the Lord for the benefits he has received is exposed, by his own desert, to be scourged by various and most grievous temptations. And therefore he deserves to lose the benefit he has received, who does not show himself grateful for so great a to show himself grateful to his benefactor. And what greater ingratitude can there be than to live irreligiously in religion: to break one’s vow, and shamefully violate the purpose solemnly undertaken? For the monk who entangles himself in carnal vices, who neglects to live according to the Rule he has professed, voluntarily incurs the greatest vice of ingratitude.

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

Carnal monks are disordered in many ways toward their prelate: they tear apart his life with continual slanders; with a stubborn heart they disparage the pastoral office; they refuse, according to the Rule, to show the affection of filial love to their shepherd. For, blinded by various pleasures of the flesh, the monks of this lowest region disdain to look upon the abbot as one who holds Christ’s place in the monastery; and the one whom they ought humbly to have venerated as Christ’s vicar, they regard as like themselves in weakness and worthy of no honor. Under the snare of this disordered conduct the ancient enemy deceives carnal monks, whom he leads in various ways into displeasure with their shepherd. For very great power to rage against the monastic flock is granted to the devil when the one who presides is hated by his subjects. For just as a sick man cannot be healed if, by detesting the physician, he does not allow him to approach, so a monk cannot be saved if, because of aversion, he is unwilling to disclose his temptations to his shepherd. For how will a weak sheep be able to escape the teeth of a ravening wolf, if it cannot endure the presence of the shepherd?

First, therefore, disordered monks disparage the life of their shepherd; they obstinately accuse both his deeds and his words, because, when they see the rector 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 shepherd of purified conduct.

Second, the citizens of this shadowy region are disordered toward their prelate when they disparage his office, though they know that he was ordained by God to preside in the monastery. They murmur against him on any easy occasion; they do not observe his commands; and those who long ago, for the love of God, had submitted themselves with the weapons of holy obedience now, after despising obedience in the manner of Sarabaites, usurp for themselves the pernicious mastery of their own wills. They desire to have an abbot suited to their depraved habits; they reject one who is holy and useful. If they find a lax and idle shepherd, they poison him with many venoms by flattering him, calling him a most excellent and most loving father; and they subject themselves to him not humbly but gladly, since they fear no correction of their depravity from him.

Third, carnal monks show themselves disordered toward their shepherds when they withdraw from them 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 Christ’s vicar, he will not be able to hate him without a very grave crime. Indeed, whoever does not love his shepherd for the love of Christ is not a true lover of God. For Christ, who wills that even enemies be loved, how would he permit his vicars to be hated? Therefore attend to him who wished the abbot to be over you in his stead, and from now on there will be no cause for displeasure against him.

Fourth, the disordered citizens of the shadowy valley disparage the reverence owed to their shepherd when they scorn to show him the honor due from the Rule; and, what is worse, they do not fear even to inflict insult upon him. For the Rule declares that the abbot holds the place of Christ in the monastery, and all monks ought humbly to obey him as Christ himself, because the obedience shown to superiors is shown to Christ. But perverse cloistered men, always ungrateful for the presidency of their prelates, do not fear obstinately to resist the divine ordinance; they scorn to obey the commands of the holy Rule; and they dishonor their abbot, to whom they ought to show every reverence, tearing him apart with hatred and slanders. Whatever he does, whatever he ordains, [unclear] whatever he has ordained, whatever he has said, displeases them as though badly done, since they detract from his way of life at every time and, despising his office, seek nothing more, like sickly sheep, than the confusion of their shepherd. From these, some judge and despise their abbot in secret; others contradict him to his face. And while they neglect to show reverence to their shepherd, they throw the whole observance of discipline into confusion. Pride is always familiar to them, and shamefulness, the friend of the flesh; for those who voluntarily withdraw themselves from affection for their shepherd fall into abominable temptations and the worst crimes. For whoever despises the vicar of Christ in the monastery hands over to the devil the power to rage against him, and disrupts the union of the mystical body.

Fifth, carnal monks, disordered toward their shepherd, derogate from his authority, when they think that nothing is permitted to him in the monastery unless they themselves have consented. With neck held high they despise the virtue of humility; they spurn regular subjection; they disdain to yield to their betters. They wish to thrust themselves into all business and causes, and to usurp for themselves the chief place in counsel, so that the abbot dares to do or arrange nothing unless the matter first proceeds from their consent. But what does the lawgiver Benedict say in the Rule? “Let the abbot,” he says, “after hearing the counsel of the brothers, consider it within himself, and do what he has judged more useful.” And again: “Let the brothers give counsel with all humble submission, so that they do not presume insolently to defend what has seemed good to them; rather, let it depend on the abbot’s judgment, so that all may obey what he has judged to be more salutary.” And again, concerning the appointment of the prior, he says: “We have thought it expedient, for the preservation of charity and peace, that the ordering of his monastery depend upon the abbot’s decision.”

This ordering indeed 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 that all things 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 break this authority of his and to disturb the order and charity of the whole monastery, since they think the rector should do nothing except what they themselves consider right. But tell me, proud cultivators of the lowest region, you who always establish your own will, you who usurp for yourselves another’s right: is this the virtue of obedience, to refuse to yield to the command of a superior, but to cling obstinately to your own judgment? The holy father did not establish in the Rule that you should live in this way, for he commanded you in all things to follow the will of the abbot. For obedience is the monk’s greatest virtue, which our divine father wished to commend to such an extent that he said a good work lacks merit without the abbot’s will. Hence, giving command, he concludes thus: “Therefore let all things be done with the abbot’s will, and let no one in the monastery follow the will of his own heart.”

But if the prudence of the rector does not seem sufficient for the ordering of the monastery, this must be imputed to the carnal monks, who voluntarily set over themselves someone unfit. 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. Finally, no incompetence of a shepherd ought to extinguish the obedience of subjects, since the Rule orders us to obey even an unprofitable one. For it says: “The commands of the abbot are to be obeyed in all things, even if he himself, which God forbid, acts otherwise.”

But when we rebuke disobedience, carnal monks object: “We do these things with a right and good intention, since we see the substance of the monastery perishing through bad governance.” But the Apostle contradicts you, since evils are not to be done so that good may come, nor is the subjection of humility to be abandoned because of damage to a temporal thing. For where one must undergo either the loss of temporal substance or danger to regular obedience, it is better for the substance to perish than for the purity of obedience to be harmed. For God will not require money from our hands, but souls. Indeed, one who prefers [unclear]. But the citizens of this lowest region, carnal monks, tear apart the virtue of obedience in various ways and They attack the weapons of holy humility, so that it seems easier to me to make a new monk from the world than to be able to correct the sloth of these men. But from their fruits we know plainly what sort they are: namely, they violate peace and charity in the monastery; they disturb concord and unity; they sow discord between the brothers and the abbot; they stubbornly refuse to obey the commands of the rule. These are the works of evil cloisterers; these are the signs of the citizens of the lowest region: as most wicked defenders of their own will, they cast away the weapons of holy obedience; they live by the flesh, not by the spirit; they show either no deference, or little, to the statutes of the fathers; they do not acquiesce in sound counsels. Their condemnation is just. For just as it is impossible that a flaming fire should not rise upward, so it is impossible for a monk without obedience to penetrate the secrets of heaven.

How the shepherds of this lowest region are disordered toward their subjects

Article III

Since, then, we have shown that very many monks of the lowest region are disordered toward their shepherds, 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 eminence of pastoral care save the undeserving. Therefore, since many among the prelates dwell with the beasts of the earth on the mountain of the lowest region, they must by no means be passed over by us in silence. For very many rulers of cloistered communities 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. Whenever someone from the lowest region is taken up as shepherd, the pursuits of the wicked are strengthened for the worse. Therefore the man to be promoted as abbot should be good and devoted to God, one who has long since overcome this lowest region, who has learned to tame the passions of the flesh, who both wills and is able to ascend to that highest region of the spirit. For the abbot of monks ought to be of higher merit than the monks, since whoever is appointed ruler of souls must necessarily be adorned with many virtues. For if the shepherd, still weak, 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 shepherd who does not show himself ordered toward his subjects according to the rule should be called not a shepherd but a hireling, and he will not remain in the house of the Lord forever. There are, moreover, many disorders of carnal prelates, which do harm all the more because they are more rarely corrected.

First, then, a ruler is disordered toward his subjects if he is a hireling: if, neglecting the sheep, 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 he who is a hireling does not truly love the sheep; he seeks his own glory; he desires to be over others; he does not care to profit them according to the rule; he rejoices to be called abbot, but does not know how to show himself a shepherd. Therefore he receives the empty reward of his vanity, who seeks not God’s glory but his own; who would sooner allow the souls of his subjects to perish than resign his abbacy to a better man. He is a hireling, and it does not belong to him to care for the sheep. He is not a true monk, not a good shepherd, not a sincere lover of God, who, when presiding over monks, is unwilling to yield if, by the counsel of those who fear God, it should seem expedient to do so. The care of ruling souls rejects a proud man; it requires one humble and resigned to God in all things. Therefore, if you wish to be found a good shepherd and a true monk, remember that your intention must at all times be formed in such a way that you are ready, from love of God, humbly to feed the souls committed to you according to your strength, and ready also, at the judgment of God and of good men, to resign the pastoral office from the integrity of your heart. If you always keep this intention abiding in your mind, you will be a good shepherd both to yourself and to others. But if in pastoral care you love your own honor, if you prefer your own advantage to the usefulness of your subjects, you still dwell with the beasts in the lowest region, and you make manifest how disordered your heart is.

Second, a pastor of souls becomes disordered toward his subjects if his mind is too greedily occupied with temporal affairs, if he has greater concern for secular business than for the souls committed to him. This excessive care for temporal things holy father Benedict forbids in the Rule, and he rightly judges rational souls to be preferred to all the things of the world. “Above all,” he says, “let the abbot not, by neglecting or making little of the salvation of the souls entrusted to him, have greater concern for transient, earthly, and perishable things; but let him always consider that he has undertaken to govern souls, for which he must render an account.” Then, when the pious father gives assurance about bodily necessities, provided that he loves God with a pure mind, he says: “And lest perhaps he complain of lesser means, let him remember what is written: First seek the kingdom of God and his justice, and all these things will be added to you. And again: Nothing is lacking to those who fear God.”

But a disorderly pastor of monks is seduced by the desire of greed; blinded in mind, as though without perception, he casts the fear of the Lord away from himself; with Ahab, sold under sin, he runs to the aid of wickedness. He is deprived of confidence in the necessities promised by the holy father as consequences; he is occupied in external things more than befits a monk. Driven henceforth by the goads of greed, he despises the commandments of God and of holy mother Church; he does not observe feast days; he is wholly immersed in earthly affairs; he meditates on nothing except temporal things. Foolishly, with Saul, he transgresses the commandment of God; foolishly, contrary to obedience, he thinks himself expiated by sacrifices. Finally, grown gross and enlarged either by secular possessions or by secular cares, he commonly slips into every kind of wantonness and dissolution; he detests the observance of regular discipline; and, while he fears being restrained from evil pursuits by the authority of the chapter, he seeks the dissolution of holy union. Then, made 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 absolved as quickly as possible from submission to the holy confederation; to this end he tells many things falsely and mendaciously. But when the authority of the annual chapter is despised with impunity, it remains B ij that monastic observance suffer shipwreck, since the love of God regularly keeps the good within discipline, and fear of correction restrains the wicked 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, on pain of death, to hold an assembly in church, although he grants them license to believe whatever they wish. For that crafty man knows that the sincerity of Christian faith cannot long endure if the office of public exhortation happens to be absent. The disorderly and carnal abbot strives, as far as he can, to imitate this adversary of the Christian faith, for he resists the authority of so necessary a synodal chapter. For the authority of the chapter alone is what maintains in the order the observance of regular discipline; if it is despised, no integrity of monastic life will remain.

But the inhabitant of the lowest region, the disorderly abbot, devises innumerable excuses against regular observance: he falsely claims that the conditions of his monastery are contrary to it; he complains of ancient privileges of his own; he is indignant that his monastery should be subject to anyone. But woe to disorderly men through whom even one monastery should happen to be lost from this most holy congregation. Finally, this plague of greed makes an abbot not only disorderly toward his subjects, but also opposed to himself and wholly turned away from God. For cupidity is the root of all evils; taking away the servant of Christ, it makes him a minister of the devil. Therefore the abbot who has submitted his mind to this vice shows himself to be not a pastor but a hireling.

He always pants after earthly profits; he cares nothing for the progress of souls. A book of sacred reading is rarely, or never, seen in his hands; registers of revenues are turned over more often. He joins field to field; always burying gold and silver in a chest as he gathers it, and while he desires too greatly that his monastery abound in temporal goods, he prepares plunder for robbers. Often [unclear] devours the monies of monasteries, which the excessive greed of the monks brings into the cenobium. Woe to you, greedy pastor of cloisterers, who have greater concern for brute animals than for those entrusted to you souls. A horse falls ill, and at once you prepare a remedy; a soul perishes, and you think no danger is imminent. An ox and an ass fall sick, and you show them compassion; a brother is swallowed up by sadness, and you do not come to his aid. You, then, are a hireling, not a shepherd: you despise the infirmities of your brothers with a stubborn heart; you do not help those set in bitterness. Do not suppose that you can escape the hand of the Lord, whose sheep you permit to perish so wickedly.

Third, a ruler is disordered toward his subjects when he places outside, not without danger, those whom he ought carefully to have kept within the enclosures of the monastery. For truly, when a weak cenobite is exposed to the governance of nuns or to secular churches, the integrity of regular observance is violated, because one who, still dwelling in the lowest region, has not learned to subject the flesh to the spirit does not know how to preside over others without danger to himself.

But the disordered shepherd who, for the sake of some advantage in temporal affairs, is not afraid to expose his monks to so great a danger is guilty of all the souls struck down on such an occasion, and before the inward judge he is bound to make restitution for all of them. It does not belong to a monk’s profession to govern secular churches; it is not expedient for a weak cenobite to preside over nuns. But what then? Ought a monk to oppose the command of his shepherd if he wishes him to reside with nuns or in secular churches? For the Rule commands that nothing is to be preferred to obedience. I truly do not know what I should answer to this question, so that I may not incur the danger that is seen to threaten on both sides. For if I speak the truth, I shall seem to weaken the subjection of obedience; if I consent to exposing monks to danger, I confess that I sin. Yet I shall say briefly what I think, although I know that the truth will give birth to hatred. Just as a monk, by the necessity of his profession, is simply bound to obey his shepherd in all things that are according to the monastic Rule, so a prelate cannot compel a monk, without 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: this is not to have obeyed according to the Rule. Do not be angry with me, fathers, if I have spoken the truth; do not contract your brows if I have expressed what seems right to me. You, nevertheless, will do what seems right to you, even if I protest. Yet I beg you: do not expose your monks to dangers to chastity; do not violently compel anyone to the governance of nuns and parish churches, since you can find many who ambitiously seek these offices. Obedience is indeed good, but it must in no way be preferred to truth and to the salvation of the soul. For when danger to salvation is at issue, it is better to set obedience aside by humbly excusing oneself than to suffer shipwreck of chastity. Woe to the prelates of monks who incorporate secular churches into their monasteries, who widen the bosom of desire with the torches of avarice, because while they think they are benefiting posterity, they damn many through the occasion.

Fourth, a ruler of monks becomes disordered toward his subjects if he is found turbulent and anxious. In a shepherd of souls, pious and prudent discretion is very necessary, lest either zeal for discipline be excessive or the measure of compassion be relaxed by too much laxity. But a disordered ruler sometimes, through indiscreet fury, considers himself a tyrant of monks and does not know himself as the father and companion of the humble. What can be more savage than this kind of rule, what more criminal than this kind of power, where not God, not reason, not understanding, but a beast holds sway? For truly, where God and understanding govern authority, the judgments of those who preside do not depart from the rectitude of the law of nature. But a disordered and anxious ruler is infected by the various passions of beasts; he always suspects evil of the monks, and while he directs the manner of his rule wrongly, he is always anxious and, with Herod, greatly fears losing his kingdom.

Fifth, a shepherd of cloistered men is said to be disordered toward the monks if, in dispensing the goods of the monastery, he is considered either excessive or obstinate. He must be called excessive if, in distributing, he has been prodigal, or too lavish through indiscreet generosity. But he is called obstinate if he does not give at the proper time the things that ought to be given does not give what ought to be given, or grudgingly dispenses necessities to 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, very many are disordered by this sickness of mind: they either spend the resources of the monastery too improvidently, or preserve them with too much tenacity. For their flatterers they prepare the most sumptuous feasts; but to others, to whom they are averse, they deny even the smallest things. In the guesthouse or in their abbacy, pastors depraved by disordered conduct sometimes eat to the point of gluttony and always drink the best wine; but to the poor monks, who by watching and singing bear the burden of the day and the heat, they scarcely and meagerly grant necessities.

Sixth, a prelate of monks is shown to be very disordered if, bold against God, he is lifted up in pride by making light of his judgments. For indeed, since the 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 he must render an account to God for all his judgments.” And again: “The ordained abbot should always consider what burden he has undertaken, and to whom he is going to render an account of his stewardship.” And again he says: “As soon as vices begin to arise, let him cut them off with charity, not with tyranny.” And in another place he admonishes, saying: “Yet the abbot himself should do all things with the fear of God and the observance of the holy Rule, knowing without doubt that he will render an account of all his judgments to God, the most just judge.” But the disordered ruler of monks, like an asp with stopped-up ears, despises hearing this threat of the most holy lawgiver; he scorns the patience of God’s long-suffering; he thinks nothing of the examination to come, until at last the judge, angry with him, says to his face: “These things you have done, and I was silent. Now, therefore, render an account of your stewardship. Give back to me the sheep of my inheritance, and restore to me without delay the souls once entrusted to you in the body. Return their number entire. If even one of them has perished through your negligence, your soul will never behold my face forever.

What then will you answer to the supreme pastor, useless ruler, when not only is the blood of those who perish required from you, but an account is also demanded for those who made too little progress? Behold, now you walk in the worst security, despising God’s examination; you think that in the body all things that please you are lawful for you, and you never consider to whom you must someday render an account for all things. Soon the Lord of all will come, to whom you do not fear to show yourself an unfaithful minister, and whose honor you do not fear to usurp for yourself. Unless meanwhile you do penance, unless you amend your life for the better, you will burn without end with the demons in hell.”

Seventh, it happens that a pastor is disordered toward his subjects if, neglecting the common utility, he seeks his own advantage with a vicious intention; if, presiding in the monastery, he serves not God but his own interests, while he rejoices that he is prelate in order to obtain ruinous liberties of the flesh, and fraudulently provides for himself in the future from the resources of the monastery. This disorder is especially visible in those who resign their office on some pretext, to whom, as payment for their stewardship, just as if they had been bishops, an annual pension from the resources of the monastery is assigned. This is not the way of those who seek the Lord; this is not the path of the ancient monks. When you resign the pastoral office for God’s sake, resign it simply. Do not demand anything beyond food and clothing, if you do not wish to sin with proprietors. You are a monk; you were a monk before you became abbot; you will remain a monk after the office. Why, then, do you demand a pension, when you know that you are a monk? For just as the vice 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 resources of the monastery? Far from it. We do not forbid necessities, since we deny superfluities. Nevertheless, one who is a true monk and lover of God is content with the regular provision even after an abbacy.

How Monks of the Lowest Region Are Disordered Toward One Another.

Article 4

The inhabitants of the lowest region, monks and carnal men, are disordered toward one another in many and various ways. For since, stirred by animal passions like beasts, they do not direct themselves according to the right judgment of reason, it is no wonder if they pervert the order of brotherly life. For a savage, troubled conscience is always presumptuous, and an evil mind never has the joys of peace, but is continually shaken by vice and sorrow; inwardly it is tormented by the everlasting fires of crimes. And so monks who are inhabitants of the dark region, blinded by evil and disordered affections, do not consider the end of the monastic profession. They love nothing except 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 greatly disordered toward one another when they cast aside the intellectual regard that should be had for brothers; when they do not take note of the image of God in man; when they do not think of the communion of grace and glory infused into human beings and to be granted in the future; nor do they take care to show one another the love of brotherly fellowship. They live together like horse and mule, in agreement according to the bodily frame, because they love whatever is pleasing to sensuality, and do not admit whatever accords with reason. One is loved by another not because he is a human being, but because he is like his lover in the affection of sensuality. For the carnal man loves in a human being not virtues, not religion, not, finally, nature itself, but flesh, blood, and bodily quality. Since therefore the love of carnal men is carnal, it is easily changeable at any occasion. For the inhabitants of this lowest region revere those whose habits they find like their own, and monks always embrace monks equal to themselves in affection. The disorderly cenobite persecutes the one whom God has loved from eternity; the one whom God himself spurns because of his demerits, this man venerates as a saint.

Second, cloistered men are disordered toward one another by reason of dissimilarity, when either the elders, stirred by austerity and pride, despise their juniors, or the juniors stubbornly set themselves against their seniors. And this disorder is proved to be very contrary to the holy Rule, which commands the seniors to love the juniors with fatherly affection, and instructs the juniors to obey their seniors humbly for God's sake.

But since the elders, inhabitants of this lowest region, withhold fatherly affection from the juniors, the younger men blaze up into grave hatred; and when they consider that as young men they are unjustly despised by them, they accuse their depraved habits every day. Therefore weak young men learn the crooked habits of the elders; and, as the proverb says, just as they see the greater ones sing, so too the lesser ones dance.

Third, monks are badly ordered toward one another when they cast aside good zeal and mutual obedience, and take up the evil kind of zeal forbidden by the Rule. In words and deeds they commit various injuries against one another. One, in his effort to rival the other, strives to watch him for evil; one is provoked by another to inflict insult. They mutually reproach one another with their infirmities; 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 clear signs they make manifest how much hatred lies hidden in the breast. Not so the wicked, not so: for whoever persecutes his brother with hatred is proved a murderer and unworthy of the kingdom of God. O always wretched condition of carnal monks, which is so much the nearer to hell as it has been alienated from the fear of God. For those who through evil zeal delight in being discordant in the school of peace imitate not angels but demons. For truly, just as a brute animal does not abandon the savagery of its nature, so a beastly monk does not withdraw from the worst zeal.

How monks who are inhabitants of the lowest region are disordered toward themselves. Article V.

The inhabitants of the lowest region, carnal monks, are disordered toward nothing more than toward themselves. For they cast aside every consideration of themselves; they do not attend to the end for which they were created, because while each one pollutes himself with the filth of vices, the depraved mind withdraws from the original rectitude of its condition. Nor is it any wonder if outside himself the cultivator of the lowest region becomes disordered toward others, since through various passions [unclear].

through the passions of the flesh, inwardly confused, is scattered away from himself. 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 should 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, since the flesh dominates the spirit; and reason, which according to the power of understanding implanted in it ought to have governed everything, is suffocated by the pleasures of the flesh and does not hasten toward uprightness of judgment through command.

Carnal monks, therefore, are disorderly toward themselves through the vice of curiosity, because by prying they curiously judge another’s life, and do not amend their own, stained with every vice. They do not know how to correct great crimes in themselves, although they proudly rebuke others who sin in the smallest things. They carefully consider the speck in a brother’s eye, and excuse the beam clinging in their own eyes as though it were nothing. They subject all their affections to sensuality, and, despising the judgment of right reason, live carnally like beasts; passion often stirs them to anger, and the fury of envy inflames them against their neighbor. With an anxious mind they always demand vengeance against the brothers; blinded by excessive rage, they often bring it back not without harm to themselves. But disorderly citizens cannot remain long hidden in secret, because the more they remain unknown to themselves through elation of mind, the more they are made manifest to others through blind judgment. For every proud and disorderly man is said first to be ignorant of himself, since if he truly knew himself, he would in no way be proud. Since, however, disorder of oneself takes its origin from pride, we cannot describe this plague better than if we take care to disclose its roots, descending by degrees to hell. For just as the perfection of the spiritual life is contained in twelve degrees of humility, so the source of all monastic disorder is contained in twice-six degrees of pride.

The first degree of pride, then, is called curiosity. By it 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 negligences of the brothers and rebuke the life of the pastor, because the more curiously they desire to know external matters belonging to others, the farther they withdraw from themselves. But the vice of curiosity is most pernicious to monks, because once it has invaded their mind, stripping it of all virtues, it makes it a dwelling place of vices. It is the surest sign of infirmity to examine the deeds of others and, apart from the reason of one’s office, to be occupied with others’ affairs. For the monk who, according to the definition of his name, is commanded to care for himself alone, searches out the deeds of others not without manifest danger to his salvation. Whoever subjects himself to the vice of curiosity soon descends into the second degree of pride. For one always disposes a person toward another, and no single sin rules alone over proud monks.

The second degree of pride, therefore, is lightness of mind and the unstable occupation of a wandering heart. Carnal monks fall into this degree of disorderly conduct through various affections, which they have sensually contracted from the vice of curiosity. But the true cenobite must remain steadfast in his holy purpose, because when lightness of mind is admitted, the constancy of virtue is scattered in the heart. It is the mark of a disorderly mind’s judgment to run about among various images of things, and always to beget new forms of sensual affections.

The third degree of pride is called empty joy, which is begotten from the lightness of a disorderly man’s mind. Carnal monks compose for themselves various images of affections; when these occur pleasantly to sensuality, they rejoice, but when it turns out otherwise, they contract grave indignation and slip into various temptations. But that joy is not true which does not take its beginning from decorum, nor does a joy long persevere which does not have its source in the love of God. And therefore disorderly men, tossed about by vain joy, fall into foolish boasting, when they falsely ascribe great things to themselves.

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

The fifth degree of pride is taken to be singularity, which is generated from the swelling of boasting. Proud cloistered men fall into this degree, who, through boasting, have presumed that they surpass others either in merit or in knowledge. Hence, lest they should appear like the others in their manner of life, out of mere pride they make themselves singular in everything. But this singularity is reprehended in a monastery, where all are commanded by the rule to live in common. Proud monks, as Saint Bernard testifies, when they prefer themselves to others in virtues and wisdom, fall into such arrogance of rashness that they flatter themselves more over one fast while the others are eating than if they had fasted seven days with the others. Finally, one little singular prayer seems more suitable to them than the whole psalmody of one night. During the meal they often carry their eyes around the table; and if they see anyone eating less, they groan, and begin to grieve that they have been outdone, cruelly withholding from themselves what they had provided for necessary sustenance. These proud cloistered men are vigorous in their own singular practices, but sluggish in common ones. 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, and is called the arrogance of the proud. For indeed, when disordered cloistered men, through the pursuit of singularity, begin outwardly to appear different from others, they burn with a greater madness of arrogance; and whatever is said by men in their praise, the fools think true. O pitiable folly of the proud: since in all other matters they believe no one more than themselves, about themselves alone they believe themselves less than another. Whatever praise they hear about themselves from the inexperienced, they attribute not to the ignorance or goodwill of the praiser, but to their own merits. But whoever is agreeably 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, and is called the presumption of the proud. All the arrogant fall into this, who individually believe themselves to be something great.

Concerning these Bernard says: He who thinks that he surpasses others, how should he not presume more about himself than about others? He sits first in the assembly; in councils he answers first; he comes forward uncalled; he thrusts himself in unbidden; he rearranges what has been arranged; he rejects what has been done by others. Whatever he himself has not done or arranged, he does not think rightly done or beautifully ordered. He judges those who judge; he prejudges those who are going to judge. For the one for whom God is not enough in the heart seeks comfort in outward things in vain.

The eighth degree of pride is called the defense of sins, which is always generated from presumption. For a presumptuous monk, always thinking himself better than everyone, if he commits something either obstinately 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, falls into malicious words; whoever opposes excuses for sins to the one reproving him: he falls into this descent of death, which is set opposite the fifth degree of humility. The presumptuous man who is found to have fallen into this degree of pride tries in various ways to excuse his sin. For he says either: I did not do it; or: I did it indeed, but I did well; or, if badly: not very badly; or, if very badly: not with evil intention. And if he has been convicted of malice, immediately in excuse of himself he does not fear to bring forward the counsel of another or of his abbot; and sometimes, contrary to the rule, he will reveal the secrets of his abbey. But when he comes to confession, he will cloak the truth with a feigned mind, because, so that he himself may escape confusion, he strives to bring the negligences of others into the open. Inwardly disordered, proud, and presumptuous, in confession he cloaks his own faults and confesses those of others. Always restless within himself, with one sentence he condemns the examinations and deeds of others; he complains that no one lives rightly in the monastery; he thinks that there is no charity among the brothers. But if vain presumption if it has been detected by the diligence of the confessor, he at once seeks another confessor; and if the abbot should begin to contradict him, or even gently to do so, the elated monk falls through restlessness of mind into the ninth degree of pride.

The ninth degree of pride is described as murmuring or impatience, which for the most part rules carnal monks. For truly, when a man whose confession is feigned is touched by one slight reproach or penance, he at once rises up into open pride; the deceit of feigned humility is uncovered, and the false mind can no longer hide itself, but is compelled to bring out into public whatever lies hidden within. From then on, having lost command of himself, the proud monk in the monastery murmurs at everything; he contumaciously accuses the judgment of the pastor, however just it may be; he gnashes with his teeth; when stirred, he grows angry; without reason, like a madman, he is thrown into disorder. But the proud monk, given over to murmuring, having despised the fourth degree of humility, falls into the tenth descent of pride, through which he runs toward hell.

The tenth degree of pride follows murmuring, and is called rebellion. Proud and carnal monks fall into this, who, still dwelling in the lowest region, devote themselves to murmurings. Hence Bernard says: Unless divine compassion looks upon the murmurer, so that at last, converted, which is very difficult for such men, he quietly acquiesces in the judgments of others, he soon becomes brazen and shameless, and falls the more disastrously into this degree, in proportion as, in despair, he does not restrain the movement of his soul. He always advances toward worse things; and he who before had arrogantly despised his brothers in secret now openly shows what is still more serious: that he despises his master.

But the censure of divine judgment does not allow this degree of pride to pass long unpunished. For monks rebellious against their pastors often apostatize from the order; others, because of grave crimes, occupy prisons; some, expelled from monasteries, wander and live as miserable exiles; many, horribly struck by the Lord, hasten in despair to the lower world. For it is written: He who resists authority opposes the ordinance of God.

And again the Lord says concerning the prelates of the faithful: He who despises you despises me. What will you say to these things, rebellious monks? Will you cite laws to me, by which you corrupt the truth? But I dare to say what perhaps you are not ashamed to hear. In the strict judgment of God, presumption of law will not save you, rebellious monk, who now proudly despise the obedience of subjection. Law commands obedience; it requires humble subjection in the order.

Rebellious monks consequently fall into the eleventh degree of pride, which is the freedom to sin: those who despise not only the corrections and exhortations of the brothers, but also those of the prelates. For truly, when rebellion is taken up against the teacher, boldness in sinning is generated, because one who despises the authority of correction now commits every crime as if by license. The love of God voluntarily restrains good monks in the monastery from sins, and fear holds back the weak. But where neither the love of God nor fear of correction penetrates a monk, the mind, through rebellion and the habit of sinning, is already approaching hell. For Scripture says: When the impious man has come into the depths of evils, he contemns. What does he contemn? He contemns God; he despises men; in despair he does not know how to seek the salvation of his soul.

Therefore they fall into the twelfth degree of pride who, through boldness in sinning, run 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 God’s mercy, because when habit is not resisted, necessity of sinning is generated. For he always advances in worse malice, and always, falling, drops more deeply.

Behold, these are the twelve degrees of pride through which one descends to hell. Whoever desires to escape them should always strive to keep himself in the observance of humility. In these twelve evils every indignity of vices overshadows the monk in the monastery; it causes him to be disordered in himself; in his conduct it 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 repentance intervenes, the progress of the evil degrees will leave the monk to burn without end.

condemns him. Whoever, already disordered in himself, has once fallen into the first degree of pride, unless he strives to rise again as quickly as possible through penitence, soon casts himself down into the second, and consequently into all the others in order. The full measure of the disorder of carnal monks in themselves is expressed in these degrees of self-exaltation, through which the disordered citizens of the lowest region are shown forth. What we have said about disordered and proud monks must also be understood of the prelates of the lowest region.

In What Way the Citizens of the Lowest Region, Carnal Monks, Are Disordered with Regard to the Goods of the Monastery. Article VI

Whoever, while established in the monastery, neglects to order his inner affections toward the purity of his holy profession, also frequently exceeds measure grievously in outward matters. For monks disordered toward God are consequently shown to be disordered toward everything. For just as the good cenobite, united by love to the divine will, considers everything with a simple eye according to the right order of reason, so one turned away from God through disordered affections sins even in good things when he uses them badly. Therefore carnal monks, inhabitants of the lowest region, are badly disordered not only with regard to the soul, but also with regard to the temporal substance of the monastery. For outward disturbance of the body follows the inner confusion of the mind, and the one is shown by the other.

First, then, the citizen of the lowest region is badly ordered with regard to the goods of the monastery when he demands that they be granted to him in an improper order, or in any way usurps more than the use of regular observance permits. For our rule, which commands that all necessary things be given to monks, utterly forbids superfluities.

Second, those who do not fear to give and receive against the prohibition of the master use the goods of the monastery badly; so do those who act unfaithfully, with deceit and fraud, in the things entrusted to them. For the monk who, at his own pleasure, without reasonable cause, against the rule, and without permission, dissipates the goods of the monastery in any way, sins against the rule like an unfaithful and false proprietor.

Third, monks or abbots show themselves disordered toward the goods of the monastery when they devote them to unlawful uses. Theft and sacrilege are committed together when the goods of the monastery are converted to illicit uses. For the substance of the monastery, dedicated to God, should be kept like the vessels of the holy altar, lest it be dissipated in any way through negligence. But whoever forbids the goods of the cloister to be spent uselessly would by no means grant that they be squandered sinfully on base uses. What answer will monks and rulers of the lowest region give to the lawgiver in the strict examination, when they do not fear to dissipate the goods of the monastery on parents, relatives, minstrels, and shameful people, as occasion and reward for sin?

Fourth, carnal abbots and monks sin more gravely in the goods of the monastery when they gather them with excessive greed, to the detriment of divine charity and of their own salvation. For those made subject to the tribute of avarice 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 over a dying beast than over a sinner perishing. Indeed, all disordered cloistered men are so blind that they consider avarice prudence and think wealth is reform. They join field to field; they call gain piety; and where they see temporal things abound, there they say the best discipline is observed. They refuse to spend even small sums for the common good of the order, because they have truly lost the order of charity. They raise useless, curious, and damnable structures on high; they keep costly vestments and ornaments less necessary for divine service; they clothe sacred things in gold and leave the poor of Christ naked. This avaricious curiosity does not befit monks, since we are commanded to imitate the ancient saints and 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 in the goods of the monastery when they do not recompense them with prayers. Alms All receive the alms of the faithful cheerfully, but few bestow the support of prayers upon those who give them. From these things many citizens of the lowest region, when they have come to the order, serve not God but the belly. They desire more food, drink, and clothing to 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, different, and delicate fish be given them. Murmuring from the concupiscence of the flesh with the children of Israel in the desert, they cry out to their leader, saying that they cannot eat eggs and peas; they always desire more delicate things.

How the citizens of the lowest region are badly 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 arms of holy obedience, whoever chooses to live for God under regular conduct, must do violence to the pleasures of the flesh and firmly contemn the world with all its vanities. But the carnal monks, citizens of the lowest region, who are badly ordered both toward God and toward their neighbors, are also badly ordered toward contempt of the world.

And first, they are infected by concupiscence of the flesh, for they always burn with the fire of pleasure. In food and drink they are found excessive; in beds and baths, against the rules, self-indulgent; they prefer the desires of the flesh to the salvation of the soul; they do not seek the sweetness of inner conduct. They nourish their flesh too delicately, through which they continually burn in various concupiscences. For no one can truly contemn the world who neglects to restrain the appetite of the flesh even in the smallest things. If you eat to satiety, you do not truly contemn the world. For the first commandment imposed upon contemners of the world is grounded in abstinence alone. But if you fill your belly with food to the point of satiety, you at once incur either lust or grave acedia.

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

Second, they are disordered toward contemning the world because of the vain concupiscence of the eyes. For the monk who forgets the true honor of faithful souls delights entirely in worldly pomps and curious ornaments. Indeed, what each person is inwardly, hidden within himself, his outward attire makes manifest. To carry rings on the fingers, corals on scarves, scent-vessels in the hands, and pleats in cowls does not show a monk but a soldier; it presents not a humble cenobite but a proud secular man. This ornamentation in monks cannot please anyone except the reprobate, and it is often found to have displeased even the proud. Woe to you, disordered cloisterers, who descend to hell through the double concupiscence of the eyes, while you desire to see in others what is not fitting, and present yourselves to be seen by others otherwise than you ought.

What have you to do with the trinkets of the world? What with worldly curiosities? All these beauties, as the divine Bernard bears witness, make a masculine soul effeminate; these outward honors quickly weaken a manly purpose. Such men are like ragged boys who, because of one thin red strip fastened to a torn sleeve, think themselves very handsome and elegant, and insolently mock others standing before them, though they are very well dressed, as if they were naked. These pompous cloisterers see others, walking in humble habit, contemn the world in the spirit of poverty, and for that reason please both God and human beings; but they see themselves despised by the wise and by princes, and sometimes not even admitted to conversation. Seeing these things, the proud, even if they grieve heavily as if over an injury, nevertheless utterly refuse to lay aside their arrogance.

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 by vain pleasures of the flesh, but also proud through swelling of mind. For all who follow the desires of the flesh are puffed up in spirit; they do not know how to endure equals; they do not admit superiors. These men rejoice that a great retinue of servants attends them.

they strive to sit first in councils; they desire to seem glorious to men; they walk pompously in public. Inflated by the spirit of pride, they boast that by foundation they possess distinguished monasteries, rich in temporal goods, remarkable for treasures, buildings, and privileges. With an exalted heart they despise poor monks or abbots of small monasteries; they are not ashamed to prefer themselves to their betters. The more they desire to hunt for glory in outward things, the more they withdraw from true glory with the foolish virgins.

In what way the citizens of this lowest region are disordered toward penitence.

Article VIII

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

First, indeed, they are badly ordered toward penitence through negligence of mind, when they neglect to understand how greatly sin displeases almighty God, against whom, by the decision of a depraved will, they do not fear to rebel. Just as black night is opposed to day, so the sinner, turned away from divine goodness, is opposed and hostile to it.

What a putrid corpse is accustomed to do in the sight of men, sin in its own way does incomparably in the sight of angels. But carnal monks despise the honor of God and therefore do not notice the disgrace of sin. They neglect to amend venial sins, as if they might lawfully commit mortal ones. For Scripture says: “He who neglects the smallest things gradually falls.” Hence Bernard’s sentence warns us, saying: “Let no one, brothers, say in his heart: These are light matters; 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 blasphemy against the Holy Spirit, which is unforgivable.” For no one can escape greater sins if he has disdained to amend the lesser ones. Nothing is worse than negligence of mind.

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

Third, carnal monks, disordered toward penitence, contract a very bad sickness through the habit of sin, when they incur a pernicious blindness of mind. Every vice, often committed, is held cheap and is judged lighter through habit. Just as grace enlightens the mind, so the frequency of sin 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 wicked 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, disordered cloisterers, through the habit of evil, ob Blinded by sin, they do not come to the grace of true compunction; they approach confession superficially, from habit alone; they do not abandon their depraved will; they do not truly take up a purpose of amendment. Woe to those who, buried in the habit of sin, do not fear the judgment of a strict examination; who do not withdraw from blindness of mind by the remedy of contrition. For just as they now despise the long-suffering of God’s goodness, so in that terrible hour they will undergo the sentence of eternal death. What can confession of the mouth profit where there is no true contrition of heart? Without contrition there is no saving confession, nor can there be contrition without a purpose of amendment. The test of contrition is to be unwilling to sin any more.

Fifth, the disorderly citizens of the lowest region, made contemners of almighty God through the habit of sinning, always fall into graver dangers of soul, since they always approach badly the most holy sacred mysteries of the body and blood of the Lord. They make a superficial confession from habit; they allow things that they think well ordered to run on in their consciences. And thereafter, as if confederates of hell, they do not fear God; they despise the paths of a more amended life; they think themselves well ordered; they do not care how many vices they are inwardly full of. Sometimes, sensibly affected by a fantastic devotion, they think that the Holy Spirit is now present; they affirm that they are beloved by God and holy. They also thrust themselves shamelessly upon the divine mysteries; not discerning the body and blood of the Lord, they take it to themselves for judgment and condemnation.

Finally, such people, communicating unworthily, are hardened more gravely, because, while they think themselves very secure and well conducted, they do not take proper care to cleanse their conscience of vices. Thus Judas the apostate, the evil of betrayal which at first, as someone says, he was afraid to commit against the Savior, after the morsel had entered and the devil had entered into him, did not fear to carry out boldly and without shame. O how many carnal monks are citizens of this lowest region: exalted, proud, envious, murmuring, and entangled in various sins, whose conscience is rarely or never made clean by true contrition, and who nevertheless are not afraid to approach the most holy altar almost every day.

Behold how evil is the society of all who dwell in this lowest region, whose end is destruction, for whom descent into hell is prepared through bodily death. This is the far-off region of beastliness and unlikeness, into which that prodigal son went away, who squandered the portion of his inheritance luxuriously with prostitutes. In this region the carnal citizens dwell, concerning whom the holy Apostle declares: The animal man does not know the things that are of God.

In this dark region, covered with the gloom of death, no spiritual good dwells. In it not peace but beastly 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 relapse into it rather often through inconstancy of mind.

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

Concerning them Bernard says in a certain sermon: Harmful tepidity, because it is dangerous, because it is most troublesome and full of misery and sorrow, and plainly nearest to hell, is rightly judged the shadow of death. Indeed, one may find fainthearted and remiss people, failing under the burden, needing the rod and spurs, whose joy is brief, whose sadness is fainthearted, whose compunction is brief and rare. Their thought is animal; their way of life tepid; their obedience without devotion; their speech without circumspection; their prayer without the heart’s attention; their reading without edification. Finally, as we see, fear of Gehenna scarcely restrains them; shame scarcely holds them back; reason scarcely bridles them; discipline scarcely confines them. But if people of this kind remain long under the burden, either they are crushed and fall, or in some way they are in hell, so that they never breathe fully under the sweet yoke and light burden. From this, however, so Now such pernicious lukewarmness flows from the fact that their will has not yet been purified, and they do not will the good as they know it, being drawn away and enticed by their own concupiscence. For in their flesh they love little earthly consolations, whether in word, or in sign, or in deed, or in something else; and even if at times they interrupt these things, still they do not break them off completely. Hence it is that they rarely direct their affections toward God, and their compunction is not continuous, but occasional. But a soul that is subject to these distractions cannot be filled with the visitations of the Lord; and the more it is emptied of the former, the more fully it will be filled with the latter. If much, much; if little, little. Or perhaps, if you prefer, these things will never be able to be mixed with those forever. For spirit and flesh do not dwell in one home, nor fire and lukewarmness, especially since lukewarmness itself is accustomed to provoke the Lord to vomiting.

Therefore whoever desires to flee from the midst of Babylon, whoever longs to come to the region of the spirit, should always take care to drive torpor of mind away from himself, and in his holy purpose to burn continually through the fire of divine love. Nothing harms those wishing to serve God so much as lukewarmness of mind. It always arises at first from some small negligence, but unless it is immediately treated, it grows wonderfully by degrees. Moreover, one placed near the lowest region of religion often falls back into that same region, because the dregs of his former carnal way of life still subtly occupy his will, and by an easy occasion disturb the weak fervor of his devotion.

But no one can rise from the depth of hell with a lukewarm will; no one can overcome a habit without a contrary habit, because unless some violence intervenes, the habitual practice of sin will always strengthen vice. This lowest region is rightly called hell, for by a certain likeness of disturbance and aversion it is compared to hell. After this life there are three dwelling places of souls, which receive their citizens emigrating from this world from the three regions. The first dwelling place is called hell, and it is compared to the lowest region. For just as in hell no order, but everlasting horror, dwells, so in this lowest region all things are disturbed by the frenzy of a mind blinded by carnal affections.

In hell all are evil, and in the lowest region good people are nowhere found. Whoever falls into hell has come from the lowest region. For the lowest region always sends its citizens to hell, unless, led by repentance while alive, they have taken care to renounce dead works.

The second dwelling place is called purgatory, and it is compared to the second, rational region. For just as purgatory purges and perfects souls, and sends those purged on to the kingdom of heaven, so this second region, through continuous exercise, washes the citizens persevering in it from the stains of sins, and disposes them for the ascent of the third region, which is called spirit. In this dwelling place all are good, but still to be purged so that they may become better; and in the second region no evil people are found, but they must always be exercised so that they may be made better. This region sends its citizens who die in it to purgatory, because, even if all are good, they do not yet seem fit for the kingdom without temporal purification. For indeed, those who inhabit this middle region, although they seem to be very near the highest, have still not yet been entirely removed from the dust of the lower region.

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

Here ends the first region.

Preface to the second treatise of the first part, which deals with the middle region, namely the rational region, of cloisterers

And now at last let us leave behind this dark region of the carnal, in which the whirlwind of crimes remains and the continual storm of vices. We have granted enough to it, and have lingered over it more than our purpose required. Let us therefore leave the dead to bury their dead; let us yield to the darkness; let us hasten toward the light of the spiritual life. We must go out from the Egypt of the dark region and hasten diligently to the highest summit of the spirit through the middle way of reason. Let us therefore now at last approach the middle region of the soul, through which one comes successively to the highest. This region of the soul is quite suitably called rational, since in it there is continual labor 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, by the motion of a raging whirlwind, attempts to draw them back to the lowest things. From this comes continual labor; from this arise sighs and groans, because the body that is corrupted weighs down the soul, and this earthly habitation depresses the mind that thinks on many things.

This is the narrow way that leads to life, and few walk along it. In this region violence is laid upon the concupiscences of the flesh until the will is subjected to the spirit at its command. For the Lord says in the Gospel: The kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent seize it. In this region the war of contest is declared against those who serve God, as the wise man bears witness, saying: Son, when you approach 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, when, driven in various ways, we cannot remain long in the fervor of the spirit. Now the weakness of the flesh recalls us from zeal for advancement; now the temptation of the ancient enemy troubles us; now the company of neighbors hinders us;

now the deceitfulness of the world leads us astray. Therefore those who wish to make progress in this region of labor need the greatest fortitude, because no one can resist his temptations to the end unless he strives daily to do violence to himself. 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 to presume upon himself, but let him who stands take care lest he fall. The life of man upon earth is warfare, because through many tribulations one comes to the kingdom, and by the arduous labors of the virtues heaven is acquired. The prophet says: Going, they went and wept, casting their seeds; but coming, they shall come with exultation, carrying their sheaves. For indeed those who sow in tears shall reap in joy. But if someone fails in the sowing, he certainly will not rejoice in the harvest.

Since, therefore, through the continual labors of spiritual exercise the mind must be cleansed from the dust of the first region, do not seek leisure in this middle region; do not love the repose of negligence, because no one is able to stand here except the one who firmly girds himself for continual labor. Whoever in this middle region does not always advance toward better things soon falls 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; whoever neglects to fight in it retreats backward to be conquered.

Here ends the preface.

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

The second region of the soul, therefore, is called rational, in which the mind is exercised with continual labor for the investigation of the highest truth; and the farther it separates itself from the lowest region, the more it approaches the highest. And this region is proposed to be likened in certain ways to the ethereal heaven, in which there is the position of the stars and their continual motion.

For just as motion itself is always ordered in heaven by the order of the first mover as its cause, so continuous labor is carried on in the middle region, so that each intellectual power may perfect its own object and in no way depart from the order naturally implanted in it. There are three powers of the soul of this kind: memory, intellect, and will.

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

This second region is compared to the ethereal heaven, in which, just as there is the continuous motion and position of the stars, so in this middle region there is continuous motion and labor against the struggles of vices. And just as the motion of the stars accomplishes the order of its office implanted in it by nature, so too in this region the equity of rightness requires that it be done: namely, that each power of the soul, when it is subjected to its own object, may be perfected toward the end appointed for it, so far as can befall wayfarers. Yet none of these powers can simply be perfected to fullness in this region, since no one in this pilgrim condition 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, it would not be satisfied unless it could apprehend their principle, which is God. But this is altogether impossible for this region, in which we can form no phantasms or likenesses of God. The intellect too, the counselor, as I might say, of the blind will, extends itself toward the true; but however much it considers its object, it is not satisfied until it can apprehend all truth and come, without the opinion of fantastic speculation, to knowledge of eternal, highest, and infallible truth. But this perfection is possible for no wayfarer so long as he dwells in the body of mortality. The will also cannot be satisfied and truly delighted in its own object, which is the good, unless it reaches that immutable and highest good which no instability of change overshadows. The highest truth and immutable 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, then, the three aforesaid powers of the soul cannot perfectly comprehend their object in this life, nevertheless none should cease from its office, lest it run into the danger of failing precisely where it has laid aside the undertaking of striving.

Therefore the citizens of this middle region mortify evil affections in themselves, adorn themselves with continual virtues, direct all their works with a right intention, and do not depart in anything from the office of reason.

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

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

Whoever desires to make progress in this middle region according to the vow of his profession should diligently take care to observe the following articles. If he has neglected to keep them, he shows that he is still a citizen not 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; here, not to have advanced is to fail, and not to have ascended is to descend. Therefore the monk who, having overcome the region of darkness, has at last, with the Lord’s help, deserved to come to this middle region:

he should know that he must take care not to abandon, even for a little while, his effort to make progress, but should always stretch himself toward what lies beyond. He should remember the admonition of the wise man who says: Unless you hold yourself steadfastly in the fear of the Lord, your house will quickly be overthrown, that is, your conscience. For it is impossible for anyone to make progress in holy conduct if he neglects daily to renew, through fear of the Lord, the effort of making progress. The effect of this renewal is shown to be well ordered when the truth of the articles of the middle region is duly observed. The first article, then, is the diligent intention of the cenobite’s end; the second is the proper restraint of the sensual powers; the third, the faithful cleansing of the faculties; the fourth, the attentive reformation of the works of the lowest region; the fifth, the ordered establishment of the progress of a true cenobite; the sixth, the adaptation of the faculties for entry into the third region; and the seventh, exemplary or experiential certainty concerning all the aforesaid matters.

On the continual and diligent intention toward the end of cenobitic life. First Article.

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 own end, the monk who cultivates this middle region should always consider why he entered religious life. If he finds his intention well ordered, he should strive to continue it; but if he finds it corrupted, he should not fail to reform it according to the rectitude of the proper end.

But note that in spiritual exercises the end is described as twofold, and through it the virtue of monastic conduct is increased in merits. The first is charity, which is called the principal and ultimate end; toward it all monastic exercises are ordered as toward their first cause. Whatever good we do must always and principally be ordered toward this end, since no work of virtue receives merit unless charity always supplies the proper foundation.

God, says John, is charity; and he who abides in charity abides in God, and God in him. Everyone, moreover, who abides in God does not sin. The second end, as a dispositive end, is directed toward the first and principal end as though through some fitting means, and it is called secondary or less principal. The monk must always attend to this end and through it order his exercises toward the ultimate end. For no one can arrive at the principal end of charity if he neglects to observe the means.

This dispositive end directed toward the ultimate end, so far as it concerns cenobites, according to John Cassian in the Conferences of the Fathers, is to cast away from oneself all cares of the world completely, to mortify one’s own wills, to entrust every disposition and care of oneself to the superior, and to think nothing about tomorrow. For the cenobite who wishes to make progress in this middle region must wholly take up self-denial, and then resign himself totally into the hands of his superior, so that inwardly, within himself, he may be clean from every dust of self-will, and outwardly free from every secular occupation for serving the Lord. Indeed, unless our cenobite reaches this end, he is in no way a true monk, since he still sows corruption in corruptible flesh and by no means observes the virtue of his profession.

This monastic denial of self-will appears to consist principally in three things, without which no one can truly be said to have denied himself. First, the mortification of self-will requires in the monk the eradication of private judgment, since whoever relies on his own judgment or counsel disdains humbly to be subject to another. For the root from which the defense of self-will arises is called attachment to one’s own counsel or judgment. Whoever, being placed in a monastery, desires to cling to his own judgment, sins gravely against the rule as a usurper of self-will. For it is fitting for the cenobite to live by another’s command rather than by his own, if he [unclear]. According to Bernard, self-will is the greatest leprosy of the soul; it is the more pernicious the more hidden it has been, and the more [unclear] the more someone abounds in it, the sounder he seems to himself to be. Second, the mortification of the will requires the emptying out of one’s own affections, because no one can stand rightly ordered amid adversities and comforts, and truly subject to God, if he does not firmly restrain his carnal affections. Third, for the mortification of one’s own will that poverty of spirit is required, lest the monk’s affection be held captive by customary things, food, clothing, and the rest; for whoever loves these too much shows himself, against the Rule, to be a lover of his own will.

Therefore the true cenobite, as a cultivator of this middle region, must cling fervently to the teaching of holy humility, freely despise all worldly things for the love of God, and love absolutely nothing except God. If he has anything for use with the Rule’s permission, let him beware of setting the affection of his heart upon it, and let him be ready, at the judgment of his shepherd and for the benefit of the brothers, to surrender everything with a peaceful heart. Let him always choose what is simple and more lowly; let him give thanks to God in all things; and, placing his hope and sufficiency in him alone, let him say cheerfully: In you, Lord Jesus, possessing all things, I freely despise all things for your love; I shall care absolutely nothing for transitory things.

Therefore let our devout cenobite always direct the faithful eye of his intention, with consideration, toward this end of monastic instruction. Let him never withdraw from looking upon it, because whoever forgets the final end in his action wanders like an unskilled and blind sailor amid the storms of the sea, soon to perish. Therefore let the faithful monk imitate a sailor skilled in devotion: just as he, always keeping the harbor before his eyes, strives with intent solicitude to direct the ship there, so the mind of a good man should always be directed toward God as toward the shore and the final end. Archers set up for themselves some fixed mark, and, lest their sight be scattered from the appointed target, they close one eye. But just as the arrow of the shooter is directed toward the mark, so the intention of the good monk is always ordered toward God; in this too the eye of lower affection is closed, lest the sharpness of higher consideration be scattered by things that are empty. Therefore one must close the affection of earthly curiosity and the understanding of carnal wisdom as though not knowing them, if we desire always to lift the mind’s gaze toward its proper end. And just as the eagle is said to look at the sun with eyes undazzled, so the monk, serving God, contemplates without interruption the end of monastic instruction. Just as a prudent traveler, proceeding with delight, considers the lodging to which he is heading, so the good cenobite, in all that he does, always pants with fervent desire chiefly toward his own end, which is God. But foolish is the traveler who, set on the road, forgets the lodging toward which he is heading, and, wandering after other things, knowingly becomes entangled in various obstacles. And the monk who does not diligently consider the end of his destination is certainly blind and goes astray on the road.

Therefore the good monk and lover of his own salvation does not neglect his good striving in spiritual exercises, but, always reaching in affection toward higher things, lifts himself up by exercising himself in holy works. Now good striving is to omit none of the things that God has commanded; to obey the shepherd humbly in all things for the love of God; always to raise affection, removed from earthly things, to the memory of heavenly things; and through continual exercise in spiritual conduct to renew the holy purpose daily. Whatever good the devout cenobite does, let him always offer it with faithful attention to almighty God; let him despise all earthly things with a strong spirit; let him desire to please God alone.

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

On the due restraint of the sensory powers. Article II

For I think that no one is unaware, especially among monks, how useful and necessary it is for us to restrain the forces of sensual passions. Indeed, whoever desires to reach, in this region, the due end of regular conduct that we have described must subdue his disordered natural habits and movements with prudent constancy, because no one is truly able to resign himself to another’s command who does not firmly restrain the forces of sensual passions. For one who desires to make progress must, with steadfast mind, abandon both the movements and the prudence of the flesh, and show himself to be a son of divine grace, not of flesh and blood. For Scripture says: “If you live according to the rule of the flesh, you will die.” Indeed, those who sow in the flesh will also reap corruption from the flesh. But flesh and blood will not possess the kingdom of God. Yet what does the Savior say to us? “A man’s enemies,” he says, “are those of his own household.” And who are these household members, except the sensual powers that oppose the spirit? For concupiscibility and irascibility, our enemies, stir up every evil in us against the spirit, and continually disturb the house of conscience with various passions. For as long as these sensual powers pursue their natural movements and courses in a person, they do not allow him to ascend to the liberty of the spirit. Concupiscibility takes pleasure in delights through the sense of the flesh, while the contrary irascible power detests bodily hardships. Meanwhile, as long as this war of the flesh is being waged in a person, the monk is considered restless, carnal, and a cultivator of the lowest region. Therefore whoever desires to come to eternal life must firmly restrain these disordered powers of the senses in all things.

Therefore let the faithful coenobite take care to direct the force of concupiscibility toward hardships that are acceptable to God, and to reform all his affections according to God’s good pleasure. If he does this, he will confidently pray to the Lord: “My soul has longed to desire your justifications at all times.” And that other verse, he will often cry out sweetly with tears: “As the deer longs for the springs of waters, so my soul longs for you, O God.” Then, cleaving to God, he must prudently set the irascible power against sensual pleasures, and diligently reform it toward hatred of vices. Thus the soul, ordered toward its own principle, will not fear to endure any hard things for the love of God, and through the irascible power it will begin to struggle firmly against all carnal desires. And then the devout coenobite, as the spirit lifts him up, will cry: “My soul refused to be comforted.” And that saying of the Apostle: “I have counted all things as dung.” For the soul that truly loves God despises everything except him.

Now from these two powers every disordered affection arises; and, similarly, good affections are generated from these by way of opposition. For from the concupiscible power joy and hope take their beginning, and the irascible power gives birth to sorrow and fear. Saint Bernard speaks of these in this way: “The whole heart of man is turned about by four affections; if we bring these back to God, the whole heart of man is converted.”

On the faithful cleansing of the powers.

But we are by no means able to restrain the sensual powers unless we also faithfully cleanse the intellectual powers. For this cleansing great and continual diligence is needed, since the coenobite who is loosened by the sluggishness of negligence is never cleansed from vicious affections. For he carries corruption back from his own errors. Therefore the coenobite, a cultivator of this middle region, must correct his inner powers from every disorder, if he wishes to remain constantly in the pursuit of progress. These intellectual powers must be cleansed in this way.

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

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

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

But this manly restraint and cleansing of the powers, as we have said, is granted to absolutely no one except through great, discreet, and continual diligence in a strong struggle, knowing that the kingdom of God suffers violence, and that no one can subject the enemy to himself unless he has chosen to fight against him fiercely and perseveringly. For, as blessed Bishop Augustine testifies, we know that a person does not die well unless he has first died to vices and concupiscences. But no one truly dies to these among human beings unless, resisting his own wills through continual labor, he sows in tears. Therefore the mind must be fortified with salutary teachings; the strength of patience must be taken up in all things. For just as someone unarmed and impatient of labor cannot overthrow an armed enemy, so a monk cannot cleanse his intellectual powers without spiritual weapons and a certain continual force in fighting. Although the weapons of spiritual warfare are very numerous in one’s progress, nevertheless three must chiefly be taken up by the monk.

First, indeed, vigor is necessary for the cenobite in everything he does, so that he may dare to attack courageously the things contrary to the flesh, and may never grow lukewarm in his holy purpose. For the exercises of the spirit are hard and wholly contrary to the flesh;

and no one is able to persevere in them constantly who refuses to put on the strongest armor of vigor. Therefore, if you desire to subject all your affections to the spirit, if you wish to fight successfully against the vices of the flesh, take care to do prudent violence to yourself and to arm yourself bravely against all things.

Next, a certain holy severity is set forth as something to be assumed by you; through it all contrary and adverse things of this world are borne as though they were nothing. For whoever, with a kindly lightness of mind, has once truly taken up anything for the love of God and for desire of heaven will thereafter fear no adversities of the flesh, but will be filled inwardly with so great a consideration of divine reward that he seems to delight more in adversities that occur than in prosperity.

But severity is by no means pleasing to the weaker unless it has been tempered somewhat with the sweetness of kindness. Therefore, consequently, kindness itself must be taken up with it, so that when, because of the weakness of the flesh, a person tempted in battle, or even wounded, sometimes falters, he may soon rise again through penitence, to fight once more with greater strength. For it is necessary that the soldier of Christ, if he has fallen in war, rise again as often as needed through contrition and the other remedies of penitence, to fight again, until at last, at some other time, by the mercy of God, he is able to overcome the adversary. If the just person falls seven times in a day and rises again, how shall the sinner, now penitent, not hope for pardon? Rise, therefore, to fight again, O soldiers, as often as you have fallen when the adversary has prevailed. Always renew the warfare afresh with greater strength, so that you may finally overcome by perseverance the enemy whom for the time being you are not strong enough to destroy by force. Do not despair of victory, O faithful cenobite, because you have often been conquered by temptation or have fallen into the snare of vice. Do not lie long prostrate because you feel yourself weak, but rise again at once as often as you have fallen, and trust that you have a merciful Lord, by whose help you will at last be victorious against the adversary. For no one suddenly becomes supreme, nor is victory over the enemy granted at once to inexperienced soldiers, lest, doomed to perish, they fall more gravely into pride.

be lifted up. The possession of a thing acquired with difficulty is always dearer, and a good that is obtained laboriously is guarded with greater diligence. For so long does God the loving Father permit us, defeated by the adversary’s temptations, to fall at intervals of change into the pit of sin, until, conscious of our weakness, we learn to hope in nothing in our own strength, but only in the grace of the one God. But you, man, who often break your purpose by sinning, never be slow to rise again, since even if you cannot perfectly subject the enemy to yourself, nevertheless it will be good for you if the last day, even after a fall often repeated, can find you standing and fighting. But those to whom the mercy of God has granted the power and grace to defeat the adversary, this counsel does not make lax. Nevertheless, let him who stands see that he does not fall.

On the Attentive Reformation of the Works of the First Region.

Article 4

Since, as we taught at the end of the first treatise, this middle region is next to the first from its lowest part, and in it, if the coenobite has been at all negligent and remiss, he immediately falls back again, without any interval, into the former region. And therefore whoever desires to persevere in this region while making progress should always, with attentive vigilance, 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 first region in eight articles. For, as is prescribed by the teaching of physicians, contraries are cured by contraries.

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

Then the devoted coenobite should order himself toward his prelate.

Let him show humble reverence to him, strive to love him with sincere charity, and observe all the things he commands according to the Rule.

Let the ruler also of souls take care to proceed in an ordered way toward the coenobites, and to show himself a true shepherd to the sheep, not a hireling. Let him not neglect the salvation of the souls committed to him; let him not set temporal things before spiritual things. Let him hate vices, love the brothers, and show himself exemplary in all good things.

Then let the brothers cleave to one another as members of one head; let them love one another mutually in the true charity of God, and not depart from good zeal. For all of us who, through faith in Christ, trust to come to eternal life by applying ourselves to good works are members of Christ, the supreme head. But whoever persecutes his brother with evil zeal or hatred or other evil affections first separates himself from the head, and then does injury to Christ.

Next, let each one show himself ordered toward himself: let him humbly subject himself to all for the love of Christ; let him prefer others to himself through humility; and let him believe himself more unworthy than all the monks.

In the use of the monastery’s goods, let them always beware of exceeding the institution of the Rule, but strive to show themselves ordered in all things and faithful everywhere. Let them seek to have nothing against the will of the abbot; let them admit no pleasure of the spirit in the use of things.

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

Let them not neglect to order themselves most diligently to penitence. Let them often have recourse to humble confession of their transgressions, since just as no one is believed to live in this world without sin, so penitence is judged necessary for all, even monks. Therefore the good coenobite, through the practice of compunction, should always learn to have recourse to penitence, to accuse himself humbly of his transgressions in chapter, willingly to perform the imposed penance, and faithfully to amend himself in all things.

On the Ordered Institution of True Monastic Progress 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 is stripped of all virtues, if he had any, since no virtue can subsist in a mind in which pride has come to dwell. Therefore the cenobite who desires to make progress in this middle region should learn to order himself toward the true progress of monastic institution through humility, because no one truly attains humility unless he spends time in spiritual pursuits.

True progress in regular institution, excluding all adulterous muses, arises from the degrees of humility, which are set down as twelve, by their roots, in the Rule. The roots of this progress come from the study of sacred reading, which gradually leads a person to the fear of the Lord. From reading spiritual meditation arises, from which holy compunction is generated. The more useful mode of cenobitic meditation consists in the memory of the Lord's passion and in the consideration of God's benefits. But those who, going beyond this middle region, come to tranquility of spirit render their meditations more sublime through contemplation of the divine majesty and excellence. We shall speak of these in their own place.

These two roots receive their increase from the watering of constant prayer, and grow strong into the robustness of a very firm plant. For no meditation makes progress without prayer, and study without it will not save.

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

The study of sacred reading must not be taken up for the vanity of the world, nor for the pleasure of a seduced mind, because reading never advances toward compunction when delight of the flesh or of vanity corrupts it. A monk cannot reach devotion through the study of sacred reading unless he strives to change every curiosity into a simple spirit. Therefore whoever desires to advance from the reading of the Scriptures to compunction, whoever ought to ascend to humility, must choose reading, but only that which can more fully stir the mind to the love of God.

For this purpose the reading of the body of the Lord seems to me sufficiently suitable, because through it the memory is often recalled to love of him. We also gladly admit miracles and accounts of the torments or joys of separated souls, provided they conform to the catholic faith; by these we have found that sluggish hearts are rather often stirred to compunction. Finally, the passions of the holy martyrs awaken the fervor of devotion in no small measure; in them, while we bring to mind the unconquerable charity of Christ, we are moved by the example of such great constancy and, as if touched by a certain fire of love, sigh over our own imperfection.

From reading the matter of meditation is taken, and whatever the former is like, the latter will be like as well. Not the shameful songs of poets, not the curious doctrines of philosophers, not the swollen writings of rhetoricians: rather, they suffocate fervor. Therefore if you wish to persist in good meditations, do not occupy your mind with any readings except holy and devout ones. For indeed not one good meditation is generated from such study. Let the one who studies for the knowledge of this world read those things that are suited to his learning; but let the one who seeks compunction read those things let him gather those things which kindle the soul to the love of God through fear. Therefore let frequent reading about the last things that await us take its beginning; then let the deeds of the holy fathers be read, so that the memory of future things may shake the mind with fear of God, and the exemplary way of life 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 way of life of the holy fathers is set before us as an example, and the destruction of the wicked is recounted to us for our instruction, so that virtue when rewarded may stir desire, and iniquity when punished may forbid license to sin.

Therefore the devout cenobite should always recall to memory the examples and virtues of the saints; he should 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 obtain their perpetual joy. The distinct condition of the good and the evil is no slight matter, since each is described as destined to remain forever, and is ended by no limit. O eternity, always to be feared by all mortals: in it, after this life, there is no fear of consummation for the just, and no hope of liberation for the perverse. Let him who can think what eternity is think it; where there is no end, who dares imagine a boundary? And when he has found nothing in eternity except eternity, let him understand how nothing is all the time in which he lives in this world.

Indeed, once the spirit has been stripped of the flesh, it is necessarily compelled to enter the abyss of eternity; and the condition which it has once obtained according to its merits it will bear without end and will not exchange for another. For he who dies good in the love of God will obtain eternal life according to his merits. But he who is evil and, without the penance of reconciliation, once departs 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 arrives at love. But so that we may be able to lead the cenobite successively through these roots to charity, it is our pleasure to explain briefly, in order, the degrees of humility described in the Rule.

The first degree of humility, therefore, is described by Saint Benedict in the Rule as the fear of God, 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 beginning cenobite ought to order his meditations. For each root has its own proper meditations; and when one is rightly disposed, another, better one is always generated.

From servile fear, then, when it is assumed not only servilely but prudently and virtuously, come meditations on horror and punishments, which, restraining the soul from sin, gradually introduce filial fear. 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 commands. This servile fear by itself is not sufficient for meriting the paternal inheritance; nevertheless, as an initial effect, it disposes one toward filial fear, which is sufficient.

Initial fear is placed midway between the two, and is easily changed from servile into filial. This initial fear receives meditations on the last things, and dreads both incurring punishments and losing the sweet homeland. And this step is placed in the Rule, where its roots too are described.

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

From this threefold fear we see three breadths of spiritual exercises rising around the degrees of humility, and individual exercises corresponding to the individual fears. For in one way...

Servile fear carries out its exercises in one way; initial fear applies itself to the virtues in another; and filial fear proceeds in its works in yet a very different way. For just as the affections of hearts arise in various ways, so the exercises of one fear take place in different ways. The publican, mindful of his own crimes, feared the sentence of the judge in one way; Jerome said that he heard in another way the sound of the trumpet calling the dead to judgment. For the holy Gospel says of the former: “Standing far off, the publican would not lift his eyes to heaven, but struck his breast, saying, ‘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: ‘Rise, dead, come to judgment.’” The compunction of both arises from fear, but each is not produced 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, pierced with compunction, said, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Jerome, however, is not shaken by fear from the guilt of conscience, but, founded in charity and regarding himself as a useless servant, he reveres the abyss of divine justice.

The second degree is to relinquish one’s own will for the love of God, and to love one’s own desire in nothing contrary to the rule.

This degree arises from the first ascent of humility and raises one to the third. For truly, one who fears God and truly fears being separated from him and 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 he detests it as the gate of hell. For that blessed man spoke truly: “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 greatly dreads his own will as the ambusher of his soul. Consideration of the danger of one’s own will makes the cenobite despise his own desire and deny himself to himself. And this denial of one’s own will and of oneself is accomplished in three ways, as will be said in what follows.

First, then, he denies himself to himself who strives to live according to the teaching of eternal wisdom and not according to his own habits, and to obey Christ in all things as he counsels him to humility. Therefore let the Savior say to the cenobite: If you wish to deny yourself to yourself and follow me, turn away your eyes, lest they see harmful things; turn away your ears, lest they hear vain things; and in place of the sweet things of this world, take up bitter things. Learn to despise the delights of your body, to love tranquillity and peace of heart, to receive all tribulations patiently and joyfully for love of me, and desire to appear vile and contemptible to all. Consequently, learn to break your own wills in all things, to mortify the desires of the flesh, to despise all earthly things, and, as far as possible, to conform your life according to your strength to the manner of life of your Savior. For whoever says that he remains in Christ ought himself also to walk just as he walked. Whoever has done these things has well denied himself.

Second, the denial of one’s own will is rightly accomplished when the advantages of others are placed before one’s own. For the holy Apostle says: “Not seeking the things that are their own, but the things of others.” For according to Bernard’s judgment, the soul is laid down for the brothers 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 given over to God, desires out of love to serve him freely, without regard for reward. And this most holy resignation of one’s own will makes a person very near to God and always rests in his love.

But just as this resignation of oneself receives its substance from the second degree of humility, so too it necessarily requires an inward and complete resignation to the will of God in all things. For the Lord says in the Gospel: “I have not come to do my own will, but that of the Father who sent me.” Perfect resignation, therefore, is that by which the human will is totally subjected to the divine will and, from whole love, is conformed he is conformed. For thus the Lord himself taught us to pray: “Your will be done, as in heaven and on earth.” And that saying of the psalmist: “Into your hands I commend my spirit.” One never lives more securely in this world than when the human will is perfectly subjected to God.

Indeed, this most perfect resignation of oneself, by which the cenobite truly subjects his own will to God, shows without intermediary the straight road to the highest good. Here there is the greatest tranquility of mind; the greatest security is present in the heart, because a soul that strives to subject itself perfectly to God will no longer be able to fear any opposition in this world except sin alone. Whatever adversity comes upon him, with the Lord’s help he has learned to overcome it; whatever advantage he desires, he understands that he possesses it in the Lord alone. He despises all adversities for love of him; he has placed all goods in love of him. For that devout man wisely said: “Let go of everything, and you will find everything. Abandon desire, 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 aid.

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

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

Third, resignation of the will is perfected if it is never cut off. For the Savior says: “He who has persevered to the end will be saved.” Therefore, when you see a cenobite inquiring anxiously

E ij or moved by anger, know that the whole burden of the temptation proceeds from lack of resignation; nor will you ever cure this disease of sickness unless you first persuade him to the resignation of the will that has been denied.

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

The keeping of one step without the observance of the other is not sufficient in a monk; nor is the will of a cenobite subjected to the divine ordinance if it deems it beneath itself to obey the command of a superior.

Therefore the true cenobite places all his joy in the virtue of holy obedience. He considers it the greatest gain to fulfill in all things the will of his shepherd. He believes it a grave loss to the soul if he has found himself to have committed even a little thing 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 blessed Bernard says to the monks: “Whatever a man commands in God’s stead must be received no differently than if God himself commanded it in person.” Therefore let the true monk prefer this subjection of obedience to every sacrifice; let him do absolutely nothing against its integrity; and let him continually say within himself what is written: “Obedience is better than sacrifice.” The Rule says: “Therefore all things are to be done according to the will of the abbot.”

But this step, as we have said, arises from the second, because he who perfectly forsakes his own will for fear of God now seeks nothing else in this world than to follow that will in all things. But because God speaks once and does not repeat the same thing, weak man cannot know the will of the Most High; therefore he has committed himself into the hands of his prelate.

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 brothers is good, it must never be preferred to the command of a superior. Monks are indeed commanded to render discreet obedience to one another, and, while preserving the precepts of their superiors, to anticipate one another in mutual services. And, to bring in an example from our own custom: obedience is to be given to all according to order. If a brother summons you, obey gladly; if a senior commands something else, leave aside the command of the former and obey this one. Again, if the prior of the community interposes his own command, all mutual obedience among the brothers will cease. But if the precept of the abbot intervenes, no obedience to anyone else will prevail against it. For he is believed to hold the first place in the monastery in Christ's stead, and therefore he is preferred to all.

There are, moreover, seven graded circumstances of the virtue of holy obedience, which blessed Bernard described thus. The first degree of obedience is to obey gladly, so that, evidently, you have no will of your own at all, but believe the good pleasure of your pastor to be entirely your own. The second is to obey simply, so that you do neither more nor otherwise than what has been commanded you, nor, by doing less, omit anything. The third is to obey cheerfully, so that you display serenity in your face and show 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 withhold 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 receive not reward but punishment. The seventh is to obey perseveringly, because obedience that is interrupted before completion is not true obedience, and he alone who perseveres to the end is rewarded.

E iij The fruit of obedience is everlasting, and is limited by no end at all. God almighty obeys our prayers only as much as we obey our superiors. Do not flatter yourself, stiff-necked monk, about your persistence in prayer, for Christ does not hear a man praying when that man despises Christ's vicar in the monastery. Humility raises prayer up; obedience commends it. For obedience, as one of the fathers said, is the salvation of all the faithful, the mother of all virtues, the finder of the kingdom of heaven. Obedience opens the heavens, closes the gates of hell, becomes a co-dweller with the angels, and is considered the food of all the saints. But the monk who rejects subjection to obedience runs toward death.

The fourth degree of humility is patience in adversities. Of this our holy father Benedict speaks in the Rule: if a monk under obedience embraces patience with silent conscience amid hard and contrary things, or even amid any injuries inflicted on him. This degree too takes its beginning from the third, for no one should truly be called obedient if he is found impatient. For, as that divine Chrysostom says, he cannot be pleasing 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. No one will be able to conquer a fierce enemy unless he has first learned to fight bravely against him. Patience is very necessary for us, because no virtue is brought to perfection lawfully if patience is lacking.

Indeed, as blessed Gregory bears witness, it is of greater merit to endure adversities patiently for God's sake than to toil in good works. And Saint Jerome says: He who believes that tribulation has come upon him for his sins summons God's mercy to himself so that he may do more good. 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 who suffers conquers; he who murmurs is overcome.

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

From the three degrees immediately preceding we have established one sum of the cenobitic goal, which, as it seems to us, we reasonably call the three-degree ascent. For by three degrees, namely the second, third, and fourth, the goal of the cenobitic institution is perfected, and the denial of one’s own will is brought to completion. For where patience, the preserver of virtues, is joined to the denial of one’s own will and to obedience, every pleasure and concern of the body is mortified. Whoever has deserved to ascend this three-degree ascent has fulfilled the Lord’s command, where he says in the Gospel: “Whoever wishes to come after me, let him deny himself,” through the second degree of humility; “and take up his cross,” through the third; “and follow me,” through the fourth.

The fifth degree of humility is true confession of sins. The faithful cenobite is said to ascend into it if he confesses to his abbot, with humble confidence, all evil thoughts that come into his heart, or any evils committed in secret. Indeed, if anything is committed through impatience, at the suggestion of the adversary, in the preceding three-degree ascent, it is restored in this one through contrition and humble confession. For no one is found so perfect that he does not contract some stain from earthly conduct, as Scripture says: “In many things we all offend.” For no one is clean from sin, not even an infant whose life upon earth is one day. Therefore this degree necessarily follows the fourth without an intervening stage; in it all the negligences of the preceding degrees are corrected. True confession raises up the soldier falling in combat, heals him when wounded by the enemy, and strengthens the weak and fainthearted. Therefore whoever desires to stand in battle and bravely conquer the enemy should often have recourse to the defenses of true confession.

For it is impossible for one wounded by the enemy to recover health if he neglects to disclose the wound itself to the physician. You, therefore, 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 disclose to your abbot all the thoughts that he suggests to you, and all your sins. It is certain to me, and proved by the destruction of many, that the cenobite who refuses to keep this degree commits himself to being conquered by many temptations of the enemy.

The sixth degree of humility arises from true confession: that the monk should consider himself base and unworthy for all things. According to the Rule, we believe him to be a true monk whom we see, from humble patience, to be content with every baseness and extremity in food and clothing. This baseness is placed in the inconveniences of ordinary use. The former gladly embraces patience in cheaper garments, foods, and any necessities of the body; the latter delights in serving the sick, lepers, and the outcast, in being put to shame, degraded, and despised in all things. Therefore the monk who is truly dead to the flesh and the world should be content with every baseness and extremity, should show himself a faithful worker in all things, and yet, because of the corruption of nature by which he offends in many things, should believe himself base and unworthy.

Indeed, whatever good is done in this world, however holy and religiously one lives in this age, it cannot suffice for anyone to merit eternal life unless God’s great mercy deigns to assist. We receive the greatest things for the smallest; we await the kingdom of God not as owed to us from our own merit, but as promised from grace. For the holy apostle says: “The sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the future glory that will be revealed in us.” For if we receive God’s justice without mercy, we are worthy of hell. We have all incurred wrath by sinning, but we receive love back from grace. No one is saved except through grace; no one is damned except through justice. Meanwhile, however, in order that we may obtain the grace of God, the zeal of our good will is required; without that grace nothing in us works toward merit. For although no one does good by his own holy powers, still no one does good unwillingly. Thus the grace of God and freedom of the will are related to one another in such a way that one without the other cannot suffice for the salvation of a human being; rather, both must necessarily come together for the working of virtue. Since, then, without the grace of God we can do nothing good, we ought to esteem ourselves vile and unworthy for all things, so that, while we submit ourselves to God in humility, we may always obtain greater things. And therefore this sixth degree of confession is meritorious, and the sole foundation of all the preceding degrees. For as long as the cenobite remains in this degree of humility, he will stand firm in the earlier ones.

The seventh degree of humility is not only to believe oneself, from the inmost affection of the heart, lower than all, but also to desire with a simple spirit that others believe and say this about him. This condition of holy humility is set on high, and in this age is loved by few monks. For the first condition of this profound humility seems to consist in this: that the monk ought from the heart to esteem himself lower than all. The second is that he rejoice to be esteemed vile and abject by all, and desire this from the inmost affection of the heart without pretense. The third condition is placed in a higher dwelling: namely, that the monk, from the same affection, delight to be treated most vilely and trampled on by all. Rooted in this humility, the cenobite loves every reproach and insult; he does not fear to be despised and cast away most vilely, because, humbly submitting himself, he places his whole self in the love of God, 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 toward 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 anyone can in some measure recognize, from the disposition of his own heart, what he ought to think about his state, whether good or bad.

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

Third, it must be noted that just as a good disposition of the heart always orders and rouses the mind through holy exercises toward the fear of God and the working of virtues, so the negligence of an evil disposition inclines it especially toward vices and acedia. The consideration of this difference, moreover, gives rise to conjecture.

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

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

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

Seventh, it must be noted that a small evil of one’s own heart, known to the person himself, harms him more in his own heart than a great evil suspected doubtfully about another’s heart. For the former is to be wept over because it is certain and known; the latter is to be piously excused because it is unknown.

Eighth, it must be considered that, since each person sees many imperfections in his own heart that he cannot see in others...

recognize in others, on account of these, insofar as they are obstacles to grace, he ought to esteem himself lower. And insofar as they disfigure the soul, let him despise himself as more vile than others, even if he knows their public crimes. For since the root of their heart is utterly unknown to him, he cannot know how the divine election concerning them was ordained from eternity. Who would have believed that the thief crucified with the Lord was elected from eternity, if he judged him according to his works? All things turn out for good for the elect, since where sin is seen to have abounded, often, by the will of divine election, greater grace is found. For divine love regards and embraces its elect from eternity, and considers them elect not according to the misery in which they now are, but according to their future glory. Let the cenobite therefore beware of disparaging others; let him beware of judging others, if he desires to escape eternal death. For who are you, that you judge another’s servant? He stands to be judged by his own Lord alone.

The disposition of this seventh degree, moreover, because of that clause “from the innermost disposition of the heart,” possesses a threefold root of its origin: namely truth, hope, and charity. For when the faithful cenobite sees that he does not have his being from himself, he truly considers himself, insofar as he is from himself, to be nothing; and consequently, in the same respect, he considers his works, insofar as they come from himself who is nothing, to be nothing, since he is not ignorant that nothing is made from nothing. Therefore the monk greatly rejoices in the truth when, in this respect, he esteems himself and his works as nothing, because he fears falling into the vice of falsehood if he believed himself to be something great. And so, withdrawing from himself, he fails in himself, and places his being, living, and power in God alone. Secondly, this disposition is said to arise from hope of acquiring greater grace, because when a person fails in himself through humility, he comes nearer to God’s grace. Thirdly, the humility of this disposition takes its beginning from the love of God, and receives continual increase in it. For whoever loves God perfectly seeks nothing other than his honor in all things, and does not know how to exalt himself in anything, but desires to be subject to all for God’s sake. And the more he is cast down by insults and injuries, the more, rejoicing, he is glad in the Lord. For he sees that he is wretched, so that in himself he may proclaim the Lord glorious. He who truly loves his Lord seeks nothing other than his glory.

It is clear from what has been said that the perfect charity which is promised to those ascending the degrees of humility is displayed in this seventh degree. For the other five degrees that follow in the Rule add nothing to the perfection of the inner man existing in the seventh, but rather compose the outer man, lest he disturb the inner. Finally, from this seventh degree we can erect certain new ascents of humility and raise all the other degrees higher in them. For a more fervent filial fear resides in him who is able to make further progress in the breadth of the others.

Now that the common ascents of the heart 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 whoever does not always strive to advance in these degrees of humility should know that he sins against the Rule; and unless he recovers his former holy effort by repentance, he incurs the sentence of damnation. For the Rule says thus: “But if he should ever act otherwise, let him know that he will be condemned by the one whom he mocks.” So if a person making less progress in religion believes himself guilty before the divine judgment, what else does one who abandons the effort to advance deserve but to undergo the sentence of damnation? For where an account is rendered, according to the Rule, even concerning a lesser fault among those striving to advance, monks who despise every effort to advance are without doubt condemned by the sentence of the Judge. Therefore, if you do not wish to incur the danger of damnation, strive always to preserve the effort of advancing under the Rule.

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

The eighth degree of humility, then, is set down in the Rule as follows: if the monk does nothing except what the common rule of the cenobium, 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 put his own customs before the examples of the elders, since it is not enough for one to stand in the seventh degree if he does not keep the rule of the community.

The ninth degree of humility follows from the Rule; through it excessive talkativeness is forbidden. For it befits a monk to keep silence, especially while he is seated in the midst of the elders. Indeed, one who speaks when not questioned is deservedly regarded as a fool.

The tenth degree of humility forbids readiness to laughter and levity, since whoever delights in laughter is shown to be foolish and estranged from the fear of God.

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

The twelfth degree of humility teaches the monk to order the outward man, in appearance and dress, from a humble heart, and to show by his outward conduct also that he is inwardly devout. And although this degree is last in the order of them all, nevertheless in the practice of those beginning to make progress it is first. And therefore Bernard, describing these twelve degrees of humility, begins from this one and, ascending to the first, descends in order, so to speak. For no one easily advances inwardly to compunction of heart and the fear of God if he does not order his manners outwardly.

On the devout fitting of the powers for entrance into the third region.

Article VI

Since, by the six degrees of humility, the inner powers of a person have above all been purged, grounded, and reformed, it is now said to be very necessary in monks that they be more devoutly prepared for entrance into the third region. Now this diligence in striving toward higher things, as we have said, is necessary for the cenobite, since where the effort to make progress is laid aside, acquired virtue is altogether dissipated. No one is permitted to stand still in this second region; rather, we are all commanded to ascend to the third through continual effort. Indeed this continual motion casts every slothful and lukewarm person down into the first region of the flesh, but it gently impels the humble and those fervent in desire always toward the third, without violence.

Therefore whoever has deserved to obtain from the Lord, through humility, the reformation of his powers is already near the third region of the spirit. In order that he may be able to enter it effectively, it is necessary that, by most diligently fitting the powers of his soul, he order them to their several operations. The intellect is then said to be rightly fitted for entrance into the third region when it is illumined for knowing the highest truth according to its capacity. Memory is ordered to the same end when it is fully absorbed in holding and cherishing the highest truth. But if the will is disposed to love the highest good, which is God, it is well prepared for the entrance of the spirit.

In order, then, that the cenobite may be able to attain purification of the intellectual powers, it is necessary that, dying to the world, he seek a mind made peaceful from every inner and outer disturbance, so that, buried within the bosom of divine love, it may remain there and never withdraw from the sweetness of inward union. Toward this rest of mind they are rooted in four ways, who, in good will, [unclear]

The first degree of good will [unclear] beginnings, which is called upright will. For the soul that, consenting to the law of God, is subjected to God through an upright will, even if it still seems weak, is ordered toward the path of virtue. For when the flesh resists, virtue brings it to completion, and how upright the will is is proved by the violence done by the spirit. Yet a will is often called upright and good even when it is found to be less strong. The good that it loves it cannot always carry out; the evil that it hates it grieves that, through weakness, it has committed. Through the weakness of the flesh it is very near the lowest region, yet by the uprightness of its intention and by the 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 dwelling depresses the sense that thinks many thoughts. O who could describe this battle between spirit and flesh, where the spirit itself desires to subject the flesh to itself through an upright will, and the weak flesh always resists the spirit through contrary desires?

The second degree is a will strong in uprightness, so that it both vigorously flees the evil that it hates against the impulses of the flesh, and firmly grasps, by doing it, the good that it loves, although with labor.

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

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

The first is the complete renunciation of oneself; for a will is proved still to be weak if it is not mortified through the total renunciation of self.

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

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

Finally, this transformation into divine love, according to the opinion of Bernard, is love, affection, adhesion, union, charity, or fruition. No one can attain it unless he has learned to mortify all his lower affections of spirit. For the spirit of a person who has his heart lifted up to God is called a perfect will, and it is united with God in the sweetest bond. Therefore in these degrees of good will the faithful cenobite ought without interruption to direct his effort upward, and always to examine with prudent care how much he is making progress or falling short. For Saint Bernard says: Just as one who remains in a vicious will is condemned, so one who does not strive to make progress in other things is blameworthy. For where the effort to make progress is laid aside, the danger of falling away is incurred.

On the Example and Experimental Knowledge of All the Things Mentioned Above

Article VII

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

The first, then, that is required for a good man is the good testimony of conscience, namely that no mortal sin lies hidden in the conscience. For the mind that is polluted by the guilt of mortal sin is testified by conscience to have an evil state.

Therefore every monk must examine himself diligently and carefully cleanse himself of the faults he has committed according to the ordinance of the Church. But he who, on examining his conscience, has found it clean from mortal sin should offer humble praises to God and should not neglect to add the examination of the things that follow.

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

The third is that in all things he obey God, holy mother Church, and the prelates set over him, and not depart from the path of right and enlightened reason; for whoever despises this threefold obedience has denied the faith. It is therefore necessary to show equal obedience to these three in the right order, according to the ordinance of reason, so that the monk’s life may remain blameless in its actions and free from fear.

These three things, possessed with humble sincerity, make a good man and show the state of a conscience that hopes well in the Lord. But the man who lacks one of these is not perfectly good, even if he appears to be good. If, however, repenting 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 before. Moreover, in order that from a good man a good religious, or spiritual man, may be born, three other things are required, according to the aforesaid Castellensis.

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

The second thing through which a good man becomes a good religious is called spiritual freedom in God. This freedom, once the phantasms of all things have been excluded, can raise itself, unencumbered, upward to God in all its exercises, and continually lift itself without impediment in thanksgiving together with devout prayers.

In the third way a good man becomes spiritually good when, through the desire of love, the spirit is united with God by grace. These last two make our cenobite spiritual and often introduce him among the citizens of the third region. Therefore whoever desires to have good confidence 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 negligence and sins, and to be unwilling to amend the errors one has committed? The confidence of the just, arising from the testimony of a good conscience, is always best, and is continually subject to God in humble service. But the impious and sinners, disturbed by their own actions, raise themselves against God and do not trust in the testimony of conscience, but rather presume vainly.

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

Since this second region principally instructs the cenobite in due order through the steps of humility that proceed from the fear of God, it is necessary for him clearly to know the roots of that fear, if he wishes to reach the love of God by ascending. 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 did not set them out in the first step of humility for this reason: that we should not confuse the order of the things to be said with excessive prolixity. There are, then, seven roots of the fear of God, through which the cenobite is led to compunction and, by making progress in true humility, is more strongly rooted.

The first root of the fear and love of God is intent meditaThe first root of the fear and love of God is intent meditation on the incomprehensible divine majesty: the more curiously it is investigated by man, the less it is comprehended. 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 on the highest goodness is divided, according to our purpose, into seven considerations, which are not unfittingly adapted to the seven days of the week, or even to the seven canonical hours. And although that highest and most perfect goodness abundantly suffices for us as matter for meditation, nevertheless, 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 is praiseworthy in the principal work of creation: for he who was able to bring forth all things out of nothing created, by his will alone, things so great, so solid, so varied, and so noble. From this consideration arises wonder at divine power, through which man is moved to the fear of God.

Second, the provident wisdom of God is praiseworthy, because, knowing all things, he orders the universe and governs by his providence all things that he has created. He knows all things, understands all things; by his counsel he disposes all things; by his command he contains all things. For, as a certain lover of worldly wisdom 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 shut out; he is beneath all things and is not oppressed; he is above all things and is not borne up. He includes all things, for although he is wholly everywhere, he is confined in no place; great and immense, he is bounded by no quantity. He orders all things as he wills; stable in himself and always immovable, he changes the vicissitudes of things; without passion of mind he mercifully prepares eternal rewards for the good; without disturbance he condemns the unjust in wrath. Great without magnitude, immense without quantity, he has set a limit to things; governing the world, he disposes all things.

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

It is praiseworthy because the man whom he created in his own image, fallen so wretchedly 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 power, and, when I had perished, became man for me and, dying on the cross, redeemed me? What shall I repay to you, mediator of God and men, Jesus, savior of the world, who, though you are God exalted and inestimable, became man for me, the vilest, and were willing to undergo things so vile and unworthy? Behold, my heart speaks to you; all my inward parts bow toward you, because no voice can express what, concerning your most innocent passion, you grant your faithful inwardly to feel in their hearts.

Fourth, in the work of our justification, the kindly patience of God is praiseworthy, because he not only mercifully bears with sinners, but also calls those who are to be justified to repentance by the promises of eternal joys. Who could suffice to praise this clemency of the most indulgent father, who so mercifully justifies sinners returning to him, gives after a fall the grace of meriting, ordains manifold occasions 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 himself into his faithful, making friends and sons out of enemies. He does not consider what sort of sinner a person was before; he seeks only that thereafter he remain faithful to him. Great is the clemency of divine compassion, which so mercifully receives the penitent to pardon, and even promises them great rewards after guilt.

Fifth, the deep justice of God is praiseworthy in the damnation of the reprobate, because he permits no evil to pass unpunished, depriving the sinner of the good which, by sinning, the fool does not fear to lose. Finally, to speak in our manner, the supreme purity of God is shown praiseworthy in this: it abominates every sin and vice as a putrid corpse. We have also recognized that his wisdom is praiseworthy in the damnation of the impious, which, drawing good out of evils to itself...

he compels them to serve him in punishment, though by sinning against justice they had refused to be subject to him in guilt.

Sixth, God’s abundant munificence is praiseworthy in the glorification of the blessed, since for a small merit he rewards his elect with so ineffable a recompense, and bestows on them, as immortals, a gift together with the holy angels.

Seventh, God’s incomprehensible excellence in himself is praiseworthy: he orders all things according to his providence, and, always without motion or time, remains unchangeable in his most consequent perfection. The contemplation of this seventh consideration pertains to the Sabbath of eternal blessedness, in which there is no longer the work of laborious conduct, but the happy blessedness of an eternal dwelling and of 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 in the heavenly Sabbath not work but eternal rest will be laid upon the just. Therefore, if we desire happily to reach those heavenly mansions, let us rest in God alone, in whom the rational creature is perfected by resting; and, perfected through the adherence of love, it rejoices with the Lord in ineffable union and joy.

Now, for the praising of God, let pure devotion seek nothing henceforth outside God, since almighty God himself, perfect and most wise, suffices for all as the matter of his praise, and exceeds every praise by his infinite perfections. For Scripture says: “Praise the Lord as much as you can; he will still surpass it.” For he is greater than all praise, and therefore he is to be praised by us most humbly rather in himself and for his own sake than from his creatures.

From the aforesaid considerations concerning God there arises a manifold and varied affection of devotion; through it, too, a more worthy effect of prayer is generated according to the desire of the affection. For when meditation of the heart is taken up concerning God’s majesty or power, reverent wonder is produced. But when we begin to meditate on his ineffable wisdom, confounded by our own imperfect justice, we accuse ourselves. Thus, in consequence, from consideration of God’s mercy the hope of pardon is taken up;

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

Concerning Meditation on the Work of Our Reparation in the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ.

Root II.

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

First, with respect to its proceedings, it was unjust, because he who was born of a virgin neither contracted sin nor committed it, nor was deceit found in his mouth. For death is inflicted on us for sin; but he could not justly die who was always just and innocent, without any sin. Finally, a man is killed contrary to human law if a sentence of death is brought against someone neither confessed nor convicted of a crime. For before Pilate the Savior was accused on three counts: that, calling himself a king, he forbade tribute to be given to Caesar; and third, that he made himself the Son of God. The Gospel speaks about the first two, and the accusation is shown to be false. For regarding the first, the contrary was plainly established, since Christ said that his kingdom was not earthly. Nor was the falsity of the second hidden from Pilate, for he knew that Jesus had commanded that the things that were Caesar’s should be given to Caesar. When questioned by the governor concerning the third, he was silent, because Pilate could not hear the divine generation the generation of Jesus, or even his human nativity.

His Passion also was contrary to custom, because it received no delay of time. He is not, according to custom, placed in prison; nothing is deliberated in his case; but, once taken, he is at once dragged before the judge to be subjected to death. Scourged, spat upon, and afflicted with many injuries, blows, and mockeries, he is nailed to the cross. Third, it was contrary to the law of nature, and procured from the obstinate hatred of the heart. For nature forbids raging against the dead, and shudders at tearing with new wounds a body already slain. For our redeemer, dead on the cross, is pierced through with a lance; and, contrary to the law of nature, though dead, he is wounded by the impious.

Second, the Passion of Christ is said to have been ignominious as to its manner for the six causes that follow. First, because of the paltry price: for blood of incomparable worth 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, something found to have been done to no robber. Third, because of the unworthiness of the place: for he is crucified outside the city in the place of Calvary, where robbers and criminal murderers are punished for their deserts. Fourth, because of the shameful punishment: for he is hung naked on the cross, a penalty owed only to robbers and criminal men. Indeed, as Scripture says, the redeemer of the world was condemned by a most shameful death. Fifth, because of the shameful mockery: for before the whole multitude he is hung naked on the cross, and, as if a fool and a madman, is blasphemed by all. Concerning this the psalmist says: “All the day my shame is before me.” Sixth, because of the shameful company: for, counted with criminals, he is hung in the midst of robbers. What are you doing now, O Christian soul? Behold, your savior hangs in the middle among robbers, and do you not fear to sit in the first place in council?

Third, the most holy Passion of Christ, as to its pain, was most bitter for seven reasons. First, because of the delicate vitality of his flesh, which in its natural constitution was most excellent, and therefore was more grievously afflicted in the endurance of pains. For delicate flesh suffers more than flesh coarse by natural condition. Therefore, since the flesh of Christ was subtle and delicate, he emitted a bloody sweat in the garden. Second, because of the character of those who killed him: for Christ was killed not by strangers to his own people, but by his own blood-relatives and neighbors, as he had earlier complained through the prophet: “My people, what have I done to you?” For one suffers more tolerably from strangers and enemies than from one’s own people, from whom at least friends, by reason of nearness of blood, show compassion. Third, because of the bitterness of the Passion: for he is afflicted more in those places where pain is felt more greatly because of the nerves. For, raised up on the cross, he is fastened through hands and feet; the Lord of all, thirsting, is given gall and hyssop to drink. For the psalmist says of him: “They have pierced my hands and my feet; they have counted all my bones.” Who could conceive in the mind the pain of your most holy heart, good Jesus, when the hardest nails began so cruelly to pierce your hands and feet? Would that my soul might always show itself grateful to you; would that the remembrance of your most holy Passion might not depart from my memory. I shall easily be able to obtain from you the effect of my prayers if it should befall me to 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 in my prayers I shall receive whatever is fitting for salvation. Fourth, because of its duration, the Passion of Christ was most bitter: for from the hour of his capture until death he was always in most bitter torment. “All the day,” he says, “I went about sorrowful,” and “there is no health in my flesh.” Fifth, because of the generality of the Passion: for in whatever ways Christ could suffer, he suffered uniquely. For he suffered in his reputation, since, falsely accused, he is blasphemed by the impious. He also suffered in his possessions, because, naked and stripped, he is hung upon the wood;

whose garments are divided by lot among the soldiers. He suffers in his soul, because, foreseeing the bitterness of the passion, he was sorrowful even unto death. He suffered in his whole body, since from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head there was no soundness in him. He suffers in his friends, since he is betrayed by a disciple and, deserted by all, is even publicly denied by Peter. He is also afflicted in compassion for his mother, whose most holy soul is remembered as having been pierced by the sword of sorrow. He suffered from the ingratitude of many, because he foresaw that the death which he endured in compassion for all would be lost in many of the reprobate.

Finally, he suffered in all the senses, as we are taught from the Gospel. He suffers in his eyes, which, with many tears poured out, are veiled with a cloth. He suffers in his hearing, when, mocked with many insults and reproaches, he is blasphemed. He suffers in smell, since he is defiled by the foul spittle of the Jews. He suffers in touch, since he is tormented in all the members of his body. He suffers in taste, because, thirsting, he is given gall and vinegar to drink.

Sixth, because of the cause of the passion, which was solely the injury done by the Jews, since he suffered entirely without guilt. For whoever suffers unjustly is tormented all the more in spirit. But the innocent Son of God dies for our sins and is tormented for our crimes, as is read in Isaiah: Truly he himself bore our infirmities.

Seventh, because of the lack of every consolation, since Christ found no one consoling him in his passion. For he says in the Psalm: You have put friend and neighbor far from me, and my acquaintances because of misery. Indeed, his acquaintances stood far off.

Fourth, the passion of Christ was fruitful with respect to its effect, and this is principally to be considered in three things. First, the remission of sins was accomplished; second, the bestowal of grace; third, the display of glory. These three things are indicated by the title affixed to the cross, which, as the evangelist says, contained the cause of Jesus’ passion: Jesus of Nazareth, king of the Jews. For Jesus, saving sinners, pertains to the first; Nazarene, bestowing the flower of grace, to the second; king of the Jews, granting the heavenly kingdom to those who confess him, to the third.

Moreover, in this second root we have arranged meditations on the passion of the Lord for the individual hours of the seven days of the week. We have placed them after the end of the third region so as not to disturb the order of what is to be said here with their excessive length. For we see that what we have now set out pertains rather to reading than to meditation, and therefore we postpone those meditations.

On Meditation on the Benefits of God. Root III.

The third root of divine fear and love is fixed in meditation on the benefits of God, through which one comes to the grace of devotion. For the beginning of devotion is placed in meditation on the benefits of God, from the memory of which love is born. Its middle, as progress in that meditation itself, desires nothing other than to please God above all things, from whom it knows that it has been anticipated in many benefits without merit. Its end loves God above all things with burning desire and pure fervor of mind, and longs to cling to him alone there continually, without intermediary.

And although merciful God has bestowed many things specially upon each one of us, nevertheless, because we are writing this synthema not for one person but for many, we ought to discuss at length, not the particular benefits allotted to individuals, but the general benefits conferred upon 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 the material for daily meditation. But if anyone is unable to ascend to that summit of contemplation, let him strive to exercise himself more fervently in these meditations on the benefits of God, so that, while he diligently continues the lower things, once purified he may ascend stronger to the higher. Therefore let the monk devoutly consider what he has received, so that he may be able to show himself grateful. Let him render to God what he has received, if he desires to be good.

For first he gave us body and soul with their ornaments; and those whom he created intellectual in his own image, he also mercifully called to the heavenly kingdoms. What more could he have given us, he who, when he had created us although we did not exist, gave himself? But what can we return to our Creator, since by our own merit we are sinners and weak? Let us return what we are; let us return what we owe: namely, faithful service for the body that 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 in him with trembling.” Serve faithfully; love reverently. On the part of the body, render faithful service to your Creator; on the part of the soul, love him with all your strength. Serve him because the Lord is powerful and great; love him because he is good. His power is shown in your creation; his goodness is made clear in your restoration. Since, when you did not exist, he created you by his power, he deserves faithful service; since by his goodness he restored you when you had fallen, he deserves the affection of sincere love. For truly he is our Father through love; he is Lord through incomprehensible power.

Second, he gave us faith with the sacraments, for just as he made us without our will, so he called us to faith without our merit. For Christ says to his disciples in the holy Gospel: “You did not choose me, but I chose you.” Through faith the Christian soul is led back to its beginning; we are bound to devote the sacraments that he gave with perpetual adherence, and to remain continually in his holy covenant. For in baptism we renounced the devil and all his pomps; we promised that we would cling to Christ forever, as those who raised us from the sacred font, our guarantors, stood before the Lord for us in the faith of our parents. Therefore let us always say from the heart with the prophet: “It is good for me to cling to God, to place my hope in the Lord God.”

Third, almighty God gave us the craft of righteousness and the teachings of truth. For these we owe our Creator faithful performance and perpetual service without deceit.

Therefore we are commanded first of all to do all things to the praise of God, and in everything we do to raise our intention chiefly to his honor. For only a good intention toward God distinguishes works; only love makes them fruitful. Behold, the Lord bestowed on us the craft of nature for praising him; moreover he gave the teachings of salvation through the law; he requires from us praise and love above all things. Therefore let us exercise, to the honor of God, the craft bestowed on us, and the pure eye of intention will come about through the teaching of the law.

Fourth, the merciful Father bestowed on us the world with its necessary elements; for these he requires from us sincere contemplation of himself as due. Whatever we discern in this world ought to lead us to the memory of God and continually provoke us to love its Creator above all things. Hence Bernard, well practiced in sacred matters, says: the whole and true lover of God, wherever he turns, has the familiar admonition of his Creator; he uses things as a mirror, and thus, by reflection, is lifted up from creatures to the Creator. For concerning each thing he says: if those things that were created with time, are changed, and pass away seem good, beautiful, and sweet, what goodness, beauty, and sweetness does God their author possess, remaining forever, who has reserved for himself things incomparably better than these? By this consideration the devout man regards all human beings with the simple eye of the mind, as the likeness of the image of God, and does not curiously attend to the pleasing or displeasing form of the body in them. 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 destruction of perpetual death by his blood. We are commanded to devote benevolent imitation to this love of our Savior, if we desire to come to his kingdom. For the prince of the apostles says to the faithful: “Christ suffered for us, leaving you an example, that you should follow his footsteps.” What shall I repay you, O good Jesus, for your benefits toward me, so great and so immense?

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

Sixth, the Creator has bestowed on us time for meriting eternal life, and has given the necessary nourishment of the body. For here indeed we are debtors to ourselves, since in this time we owe to ourselves the acquisition of merits. Why, then, do we spend the days of salvation so negligently and without the fruit of merits, when we have nothing more precious than time? Behold, within this brief present time we can merit the joys of eternal blessedness, and yet we all dissemble when it comes to doing what is good. Woe to us, foolish and mad, who accept nothing in this world as more precious than time, and yet are accustomed to spend nothing more cheaply. For now an acceptable time is granted to us; now the days of salvation are given, in which we ought to persist in holy works with the greatest fervor, and always to have regard for the hour of death.

Seventh, God has set before us heaven, filled with all joy, and has promised himself, with all the things contained in it, as a reward. For this generosity of our Savior we ought to devote ourselves to holy works of mercy, and show ourselves imitators of God according to our strength. To this he exhorts us in his sacred Gospels: “Be merciful, just as your Father, God, is merciful.” At the end of the world also, when the day of judgment has come, by his own promise he will send the merciful into eternal life, since whoever has shown mercy will obtain mercy. And lest any monk should say, “I can show mercy to no one, since my religious life allows me to possess absolutely nothing,” let us know that among the necessary works of mercy the spiritual are the more powerful. If you wish, as a monk, to be merciful, pray to God for the wretched; give saving instruction to the ignorant.

The sum, then, of meditation on the benefits of God rests on three exercises, in which it is chiefly and wholly contained. In the first, we must attribute all things to God, not to ourselves; in the second, by remembering God’s benefits, we must exercise ourselves in the pursuit of love; in the third, for the benefits received, we must give thanks with a pure heart. But if through these exercises concerning benefits we wish to kindle our heart to the love of God, we ought to consider six conditions in those gifts just mentioned. First, consider that God’s gift is altogether noble; second, that it is especially fruitful and valuable for you; third, that it is varied, manifold, and repeated very often. These three consider the gift as ordered in itself; the two that follow have regard to the person of the giver; the last notes the condition of the receiver. Fourth, then, consider the great affection of the giver toward you; fifth, his inestimable dignity; sixth, that you, the receiver, are lowly and contemptible, and unworthy of all things, though you receive great things from the greatest one. And by these considerations of benefits, the love of God is accustomed to rise up in the mind of a devout person, and, advancing by sure steps, to lift the spirit toward contemplation.

can be, because the best does not become better, nor does the greatest become greater. God created you in his goodness, not because your condition was necessary to him, but because it was advantageous to you alone. Whoever considers this goodness of God with intent meditation rightly praises his Creator.

Second, so that you may not be lifted up into pride, O man, consider the vileness of your condition: that 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 has guilt; your birth, misery; your life, punishment; your dissolution, the distress of death. For a man born of woman, living a short time, is filled with many miseries; and then he is especially miserable when he does not recognize that he is miserable in the flesh.

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

Fourth, faithful soul, consider how exceedingly vile you have become by repeating your ways in the act of sin, for you have shown yourself an adulteress to Christ, your bridegroom, though he joined you to himself by his own blood, wholly unstained. What are you doing, O miserable one? Why do you abandon your most beloved bridegroom, or why, foolish one, do you withdraw from your beginning? Know yourself to have been placed in the flesh, not so that you may consent to its vices and desires, but rather so that you may resist them by the command of reason. For as often as, by dissembling, you have yielded your consent, so to speak, to the disordered movements of the flesh and to things contrary to divine rectitude, so often, turned away from the highest good and from your bridegroom, 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 for the woman who was his companion, fell into death, so any soul that consents to the pleasures of its flesh shamefully withdraws from its beginning, which is God.

But alas, miserable one, where have you fallen? You have dwelt in a foreign land; you have been defiled with the dead; you have been counted with those descending into hell. You have abandoned the fountain of wisdom; you have turned backward; you have committed adultery.

But hear my counsel, and return as quickly as possible to the guide of your youth, Jesus; submit yourself wholly and humbly to him. He is merciful. He will gladly receive you as you return to him; he will forgive your sins, 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 are converted to Jesus, be converted in truth, because the highest Truth cannot love anything except what is true.

There is also another mode of self-knowledge, which is taken up with respect to God, whenever an incomparable comparison between God and man is contemplated. Concerning this mode, Bernard, clear in contemplation, says: Never does the measure of human imperfection perceive itself better than in the light of God's countenance and in the mirror of divine vision. For there, one who is more in the day and sees more clearly what is lacking in himself amends day by day, by likeness, whatever he has lost through unlikeness, drawing near to him by likeness from whom he has been made distant by unlikeness. Therefore let us raise the sharpness of the mind to the most luminous mirror of divine perfection; let us submit our affection to that immutable good, so that in God's wisdom we may be able to perceive our own foolishness, and in his power consider our own weakness.

On Keeping the Memory of One's Sins. Root V.

The fifth root of the fear of God is the memory of sins, and the foulness of sin itself when it is often contemplated. For truly, whoever genuinely understands the ugliness of mortal sin always fears the pit of this evil. But so that you may in some way recognize the gravity of sin, you must consider the seven points that follow.

First, then, consider the beauty of God's justice, to which sin is wholly contrary and therefore most to be fled. For through sin the soul is wholly turned away from the highest good, and the love that is naturally within it for its beginning is changed into hatred.

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

Second, consider the enormity of sin, and carefully weigh how greatly its foulness displeases God. Behold, because of pride the just God cast Lucifer, the noblest angel, out of heaven, and condemned him with his accomplices to the burning of eternal fire. He also compelled our first parents, Adam and Eve, to go out of paradise because of disobedience, and by a just judgment condemned the whole human race, in their crime, to the sentence of a double death. Finally, let us turn over the whole history of the Old and New Testament, and we shall find that what was known to have been rashly committed against God’s justice was often gravely punished by it. Therefore the gravity of the crime is easily recognized if one considers the severity of the vengeance that followed.

Third, consider what grave scandal arises from sin, especially when one sins in the presence of others. For someone who by his evil example provokes another to sin shows himself to be an adversary of God. For God, by his will and out of mercy, has determined to save souls redeemed by the blood of his only-begotten Son; this person, through evil example and out of aversion from God, desires to destroy them. The sin of scandal is said to be gravest with respect to guilt for this reason: because, as we have said, it opposes God. But if the person who gives occasion for harm must be considered to have caused the harm, the sinner subjects himself to as many sentences of death as he has caused people by his evil example to fall into mortal crime. For Christ says in the holy Gospel: Woe to the person through whom scandal comes. And again he says: Whoever scandalizes one of these little ones who believe in me, it is expedient for him that a millstone turned by an ass be hung around his neck, and that he be drowned in the depth of the sea. True repentance is rare in one who scandalizes the little ones, because when he neglects to restore another’s loss, he in no way attains the fruit of saving repentance.

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

Fifth, consider whom you have offended by sinning: not a human being, but God; not a creature, but the Creator. He against whom you have sinned is great and immeasurable, terrible and glorious; his majesty makes the angels tremble, and all the powers of heaven marvel at his power. To God, the highest and unchangeable Good, the beginning and end of every creature, the rational spirit ought to devote love and the desire for union beyond human understanding, and it ought to lift itself wholly, truly, to that one thing, as to its own center, scorning all phantasms; to this it can raise itself the more easily, the more leaving all other things behind, it has striven to unite itself to itself. For by the power of that One, union comes about everywhere in the one; nor are things more alike more easily united to one another for any other reason than that they are one in quality. Therefore the soul is most rightly said to be united with that one principle of things only when, having become most perfectly one in itself, it is separated from every multiplicity and, above all imagination, reason, and understanding, its unity alone escapes, enjoying through loving affection the unity of God, joining its own center, so to speak, with the center of the universe.

But when the human soul itself, wrongly yielding to its quasi-marriage with the flesh, is turned toward any animal passions, then that very unity is badly changed into a multiplicity contrary to the One alone; and it becomes as far removed from its own principle as it has been divided from itself. Finally, the soul itself contracts great difficulty in returning to that one ineffable divine One whenever, confused in itself, it falls into the sin of apostasy. Consider now how great and ineffable he is against whose honor sin is committed; and since you are wholly unable to understand the greatness of his majesty, learn humbly to fear his power.

Sixth, consider what you have lost by sinning, so that, once the greatness of the loss is known, repentance may hasten and restore through tears what has been lost. What, then, wretched one, have you lost by sinning? Hear what you have lost. You had been made like God by grace, a companion of the angels, a member of Christ, and an heir chosen for eternal happiness; you ought to have lived and rejoiced without end in the goods of the Lord with all the saints. But what happened when you sinned?

You have been compared to senseless beasts, and have been made like them. For when you were in honor you refused to understand; you abandoned the fountain of life; by sinning you became a companion and member of the devil, a whore of Antichrist, an heir of hell. You abandoned life; you chose everlasting death. If you fear the sentence, change your will, and you will find forgiveness.

Seventh, consider what you have deserved by sinning; for if eternal death is inflicted for one sin, think what one who commits many, not to say innumerable sins, deserves.

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

Now, therefore, from these seven considerations make a plaster for your wounded soul; 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, because he who receives the humble confession of the penitent has not promised tomorrow to the one who delays. For where haste finds pardon, delay often cuts off life. Hope for a longer life draws many to destruction, because while they trust that they can live longer in this world, they make the time of repentance pass without repentance. But you, man, if you accept my counsel, do not defer repentance, because you do not know what tomorrow’s day will bring you. For he deserves to lose the time of repentance who so often does not fear to put off the pursuit of repentance.

On Present Vanity and Eternity, the sixth root.

The sixth root of fear is raised up in the mind of one meditating if the vanity of visible things and the eternity of invisible things are considered with studious intention. For all things that we behold in this world are wholly subject to vanity and corruption, and will last for only the briefest time. All mortal things hang beneath uncertain chance, and by their own mutability promise flight. Whatever you have today will perhaps leave you tomorrow, or now, while you are speaking, will cease to be yours. For we perceive nothing in this world as long-lasting and stable, but see all things changed with time.

Now, therefore, ascend the watchtower of your mind, O faithful cenobite, and consider how all things that time contains are nothing, because whatever visible thing is now perceived will be corrupted after a little while. Take from past things a consideration of present things, and see that what has passed away is not, and what now seems to be will not be after a little while. Where are the kings of the nations? Where the princes? Where the leaders? Where the rich? Where those once powerful in the world? Where are all the lovers of the world? Where the men who despised the arduous road to heaven? Finally, where are all those once known to you in the world, whom death has meanwhile snatched away while you have been in the cloister? Behold, from the origin of the world, both those who lived for many years and those who lived for few have all died in their own generation; and, according to the diversity of their merits, at the dictate of justice, they have received diverse rewards. The lovers of God, joined to the Creator of all, receive everlasting bright dwellings filled with inestimable joys; and the worshipers of the world, contemners of God's commandments, once swollen here with honors, puffed up with knowledge, immersed in riches, and devoted to pleasures and vices, have descended to hell to be tormented without end. I ask you, what harm now does the once laborious contempt of the world, contrary to the flesh, do to the saints in heaven, for which they now rejoice forever in the glad vision of God? Or what profit now is the once-enjoyed consolation of the flesh to the impious buried in hell, for which they now receive the torments of eternal damnation? Think on these things while it is profitable; meditate on these things while the opportunity of taking care is present.

Again, ascending higher, try, with the gaze of your mind, to fix yourself as far as you can in the abyss of infinite depth, and to consider how long that is which is eternal. Eternity is time that is enclosed by no end and bounded by no span. The saints of God will rejoice forever, blessed in glory; sinners will burn forever, wretched in hell. O eternity, name terrible without end: who will be able to think of you, or to speak of you, without fear? Truly, he who thinks of you will never sin forever. Eternity has no end. Hear a comparison; and when it proves insufficient for eternity, take up fear. If a heap of sand were set in the size of Mount Olympus, stretched up to heaven, from which after ten thousand times ten thousand years a small bird consumed only one grain, that mountain would by no means be said to be going to last forever, but would be subject to an end; and although after innumerable years, nevertheless it would at some point cease. Yet all that time during which some part of the mountain remained, however very long it might be, would nevertheless seem nothing in comparison with eternity. For eternity admits neither the imagination of an end, nor the hope of completion, nor a boundary.

O therefore how foolish, how witless, how insane is the man who casts away this consideration of eternity, and spends uselessly the acceptable time granted to him for meriting eternal goods. The hour will come, and already hastens near, in which the wretch, when he can no longer act better, will learn what eternity is. But you, my monk, who desire to be faithful, cast away from yourself every care of the world; place all your concern on 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 the pure necessity of the body. Separate yourself, I pray, from low things, so that, good as you are, you may be delighted by eternal things. Let no care of the flesh remove you from the inward tranquillity of the mind; let no pleasure corrupt you. Strive always, as much as you can, to persist in prayers with devotion, and again to raise yourself more often through the affection of love.

On Always Having Zeal for God.

The Seventh Root of Fear.

The monk is commanded to exercise himself in the seventh root of fear in no small measure. 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 zeal for him in yourself; when you see an injury against God, do not pretend not to see it, because whoever does not at once resist those who detract from his lord is proven to love him less. Let people know you as such a lover of God and enemy of vices that they do not hear evil spoken in your presence, nor dare to do anything evil while you look on.

they should not presume to do so in your sight. Be conspicuous for uprightness of spirit, renowned for the merit of your life, venerable for your zeal. Let the upright love you as a servant of God; let the wicked fear your face as that of a judge. Let no one in your presence presume to do anything alien to good morals, since all know that you cannot tolerate injury to God. Thus Phinehas earned an everlasting priesthood, when by zeal for the law he powerfully appeased the Lord’s anger. If you see order perishing in the monastery, that is, if your brothers have begun in any way to corrupt regular observance, do not, if you are a servant of God, keep silent about their vices. Set yourself firmly and strongly on behalf of the house of the Lord; exercise zeal for God as much as you can; destroy the counsels of the malicious; resist the rashness of the proud. If you are a true lover of God, by your face alone you will scatter the gatherings of the wicked. For no one will lay bare his plan before you if he suspects your zeal to be opposed to it. But if the evil and the wicked do not fear your presence when they do wrong, then surely they recognize no zeal for God in you.

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

Woe to monks and abbots who so boldly cast aside zeal for God, who put human familiarities before the divine command, who conceal the vices of their subjects through foolish compassion, who observe the traditions of the holy rule neither in themselves nor in others. And what shall I say? We see among cloistered monks obedience to commands despised, zeal for righteousness scorned, observance of the rule held in contempt. Two or more make a bond of carnal friendship among themselves under the name of charity; the sick entrust the diseases of their soul to those still sicker, and they in no way seek God’s friendship through purity of mind. Each one thinks his companion better than the rest, and each, deceived, loves the other not spiritually but carnally, since they do not raise their affections to God and love nothing but the consolations of the flesh. But when you see a monk seeking the friendship of weak brothers, you ought to judge him not a servant of God but a lover of the flesh. For one who truly occupies his whole heart in the love of God cares nothing for human friendship. The love of Jesus is enough for him in all things; outside him he seeks nothing further. But one who has sought the consolation of his mind in external things shows by his conduct 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: when it pierces the heart of one who loves you, the spirit longs to see you face to face and, having you, to embrace you. Indeed, one who loves you forgets himself and meditates on nothing but your most sweet presence. There is nothing in the world that pleases one who loves you; nothing is found anywhere that the soul desires except you. O with how many sighs the mind wounded by love is distressed; with how abundant tears the face is watered in secret, because as often as it thinks on the face of the beloved reigning in heaven, so often it weeps that it is desolate on earth.

Meanwhile the languishing mind often tries to say something of its most beloved Jesus, and it also strives to provoke others to love him; but as soon as it begins to utter the most sweet name of Jesus, unwillingly, because of the greatness of love, it falls silent. For the love of Jesus is expressed by no words, but is felt with sweetness in the secret of the mind. I know 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 has died, and shall I be able to restrain my tears?” Do not weep, O faithful soul; for although your love died to redeem you from death, yet he has now risen from the dead so that in heaven he may crown you with the crown of life. Be faithful unto death, and he will give you the crown of life.

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

Since no one suddenly becomes supreme, nor can anyone by his own powers suddenly ascend to that highest summit of divine love, I now think it useful to note briefly certain manners or degrees themselves of loving God.

Therefore, to move the human heart into divine love, the passion of our Lord Jesus Christ is, in my judgment, more effective than all other things, if it is diligently contemplated in a person’s mind purely, sweetly, fervently, and perseveringly. Truly, whoever often recalls to memory the life, passion, and death of our Savior, especially according to the principal articles, suffering with him and giving thanks, prepares a swift ascent of the heart to divine love. But this most holy occupation of the mind concerning the Lord’s passion we shall treat opportunely in the second principal part of this work, where we shall explain more fully the manner of spiritual exercise. As for the rationale of what has been said here, I find three manners of loving God, which I shall briefly explain in order.

The first manner commands that you love him who loves you sweetly, and join your whole self to him gently, so that your heart loves nothing apart from God and seeks nothing from elsewhere. For since God is the whole, he alone desires to possess the whole heart of the one who loves, and he removes it from dissimilar thoughts. Therefore, if you wish to love sweetly, love wholly. For the love of God accomplishes either everything or nothing. Let meditation on the passion of Jesus Christ our Savior possess your whole self, until love sweetly grows strong in you. You must despise everything that flatters in the flesh, if you desire to come to the love of God. For no one can love God sweetly in this life so long as he is convicted of loving anything in the world. Indeed, the love of the world is utterly contrary to divine love, because where the one is admitted into the inner chambers of the heart, the other is forbidden to be present. But how much sweetness, how much gentleness, and how much joy of mind the love of God generates in the heart of the one who loves, no one at all understands except the one who, having despised all the things and events of the world, has loved God alone for a long time. The heart of one who loves God loves none of the things that are in the world; it despises the riches, honors, and favors of the age; it fears no adversities to be undergone for love of its Lord. The love of God is never idle; it always desires to come to its own beginning; it refuses to endure no labors in this world. Therefore let the one who does not wish to become sluggish love.

The neighbor also must be loved sweetly on account of God, and for no reason should he 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 exposes his property, body, and soul for him. Christ taught this; the Son of God did this for us. Truly, 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 when we keep his commandment concerning love toward God and toward the neighbor. Therefore let us love our neighbor, because he is a member in Christ together with us, so that, just as one member in the body suffers with another, so a brother may humbly be helped by a brother for the love of Christ.

The second manner commands you to love wisely, and to seek nothing else in divine love than God. Extend your affection toward that Word which was in the beginning with God; raise your mind above everything that has been created, because unless you forsake yourself and all things that are in the world, you will not be able to come to him whom you love. Finally, if you desire to love God wisely, do not consider yourself to be anything, O man, because where a man considers himself to be anything, he already loves unwisely.

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

He is not a strong lover of God who is afraid to undergo death for him. For love is strong as death. One’s neighbor is loved wisely if it is not the human being but the vice that is hated. He is loved strongly, however, if every injury is forgiven him from a disposition to do good to that same person.

Here ends the second region.

[unknown]

[unclear] Preface to the third treatise of the first part, which describes the supreme region of the spirit of cloistered persons.

As I am at last about to write, with the Lord's help, about that supreme region of the spirit, I am shaken at once by fear and by shame: for I, a small man, fear to speak of the greatest matters, and I blush deeply to teach what I have not sufficiently experienced. For what intellect of any man, however well exercised, could know the state of a mind sweetly resting in God through love? Or what speech, even of the most eloquent orator, could explain the secret sweetness of inward contemplation? Indeed, the exercise of this third region surpasses human understanding for the greater part. In it the mind of a purified man, through the fervor of divine love, is carried above itself; and, while its natural essence remains, it is lulled with wondrous sweetness and absorbed in the abyss of divine contemplation. For it is oppressed by so great a sweetness of inward majesty that it seems unable either to understand or to express its own state. Having left behind the sensitive operation, it also passes wholly beyond the intellective operation; and, what is more, leaving itself behind, without imagination, reason, or understanding, it is lifted above itself by affection to that supreme summit of divine darkness.

But when it has altogether failed from itself, it does not act but rests; nor, when it returns to itself, can it understand what it has undergone, or reveal to anyone the manner of its elevation. For this elevation of the mind into God is so profound and so sublime that not only can the inexperienced person not understand it, but even the experienced person cannot fully explain in words what it is like. But what will I be able to say about the mountain of divine darkness, which I have not yet deserved to penetrate? For the well of inward contemplation is deep, and I am weak, since I have brought no vessel fit for these waters, nor have I prepared steps suitable for ascending to heights. Composed words do not befit a fool; nor ought an unskilled and cold man to speak of the secrets of divine contemplation, one who still remains with the weak in the valleys. For only he speaks fruitfully about profound matters who is illuminated by the twofold ray of the spirit. Nevertheless, since I am a man placed under obedience to the annual chapter, I am compelled to take up the mandate of that synod and to complete, according to my powers, the work set before me. Therefore I enter upon the third region of cloistered persons under the guidance of the venerable father lord Johannes of Bursfelde, the devout abbot, so that, by reducing as far as I can into my own manner of speaking what he described in learned and truthful discourse, I may appear to have obeyed the chapter.

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

The third or supreme region of the soul is called spiritual; in it the highest rest and tranquility of mind are found. This region is compared to the empyrean heaven, in which there is the true rest of all and the true happiness of souls. The spirit abiding in this region leaves behind what is below reason, and, lifted up by love, ascends wondrously into God. For whatever it does in this most holy region is judged to be wholly divine. Here the human spirit, caught up above itself, receives the divine inrush; and, lulled in the darkness of divine contemplation, withdrawn from all creatures, it sweetly rests. In this region almighty God directs the spirit of the contemplative person; and, with the intellectual powers of the soul simplified and called back from every phantasm into the inner chamber, he perfects them according to their directed tendencies. And leading the mind, stripped of every multiplicity, to himself as the one principle, he also makes it one in himself, not by nature, but by gracious participation. The citizens of this supreme region are truly spiritual persons, who, having despised all things and affections of the world, love nothing in this world except God, covet nothing inordinately, but, absorbed by inward affection by the divine spirit, thirst vehemently for God alone and burn with ineffable desire for love of him. For they are driven into God by so great a fervor of love that, lifted above themselves, they commonly leave behind all intellectual operations, and, caught up into the abyss of divine contemplation, admit nothing whatever except God. Existing there insensibly through the grace of love, they become one with God, while the property of their natures is preserved, by the gift of participation. For the holy apostle of Jesus Christ says: He who clings to the Lord is one spirit. And again he says: Those who are led by the Spirit of God are the sons of God. The same apostle also shows himself to be a citizen of this most holy region when he cries out to the Philippians: But our conversation is in heaven. For as long as we are in the body we are exiles from the Lord; but we are sweetly led, as though through sleep, to our homeland when in mind and spirit we have our conversation in heavenly things. I have said “through sleep” not properly, but by a remote comparison. For in dreams we go forth amid images of things intelligible to us, with their forms preserved in the imagination; but in contemplation, beyond every imagination, we are lifted up pure in mind and spirit to God. And therefore this supreme region of the soul is called spiritual; from it all religious persons obtain the name of spirituality. Woe to us. We are called spiritual from this most blessed region, and we are named religious lovers of God, though nevertheless we desire to attain the summit of this mountain through contemplation. In this region charity holds command, wisdom the consulship; in it nothing is loved except God, nothing is committed inordinately. This most holy region, moreover, belongs to the empyrean heaven, because those whom it receives spiritually as citizens it leads to the joys of heaven.

sends them on without intermediary. For just as the lowest region of the flesh sends its citizens, when they die, to hell, and the middle region of reason sends its citizens to purgatory, so this region sends its perfect worshippers, when they depart, on to heaven. The dignity of this third and highest region is expressed by many prerogatives, and is especially commended in seven articles, as will be said in order.

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

Article 1

First, then, this third region of the soul is called pleasing by comparison, because it is compared to the highest empyrean heaven. For just as in the empyrean heaven all things are tranquil, so on this summit of the highest region the mind of the person contemplating God is shaken by no disturbances. Here is the highest rest of the contemplating soul; here no vicious crowd dwells; no bitterness of mind draws near at all. In the empyrean heaven, indeed, the majesty of God is seen by the holy spirits through an ineffable gift; here, in darkness, through the longing of love, it is seen above understanding. There God is all in all; here nothing among all things is pleasing except God. There it is granted to the saints to rest from their labors without end; here the mind is permitted, in rest, to taste beforehand the unspeakable sweetness of inward delight. There is no blessedness greater than that in heaven, and there is no tranquillity in the world 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 and long for nothing other than always to cling to God. O how secure is the conscience of such persons, how joyful their way of life, where no evil is committed and nothing is desired except that highest, unchangeable good. For the mind purified through divine love, which has truly and perseveringly ascended this region, desires nothing fleshly, nothing disordered, but raises its whole self in contemplation of the highest majesty through longing, and rests sweetly in God alone. O who could truly express the inward sweetness of the soul that loves God, where the mind recalls the powers and capacities of the soul from the dispersion of multiplicity into one, and raises them upward with fiery affections into the chamber of the spirit? Here it directs its gaze and love toward that luminous, unchangeable good, rejects entirely every created and creatable multiplicity, and gathers the soul into one, so that, being one in itself, it may rise without the hindrance of multiplicity to the principle of light, which is one. For unity alone can reach the one principle of things, because unity flees multiplicity, and unity seeks the one. For the more you cling to multiplicity, the more you withdraw from unity.

Therefore, for those dwelling in this highest region of the spirit, God is accustomed, so that he may raise them in contemplation to the principle of his love, to cast away from them every multiplicity clinging in imagination or understanding, so that, gathered in their own unity, they may be able to strive ardently toward him alone with the simple affection of love, whom they know to be above every position.

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

Article 2

Second, this highest region of the spirit is sweet and most pleasant by a singular likeness of the spirit. For the citizen of this most holy region, as I might say, is separated from the citizens above by only one wall of light, because, while the spirit still dwells in the flesh, it cries out toward heaven as though through a wall. But that wall is the barrier of the flesh, from which the spirit, once freed, is about to depart and migrate to heaven when the spirit is separated from the body. But the spirit wounded by sins, which cannot raise itself to this region with the pure affection of love, is still said to stand farther away from the empyrean heaven. Those, however, who dwell in this most quiet region are very near the empyrean heaven, because, weighed down by no stains of sins, they despise all earthly and fleshly things, and always long to have their way of life in heaven in mind and spirit.

Certainly 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 a riddle, while those contemplate him in clear vision. In both places there is sweetness for those who contemplate: here great, there greatest; here in the desire of fervent love, there in the possession of most blessed vision.

In this supreme region of divine contemplation the rational spirit calls back its powers and faculties into its own inner chamber, where it too, free from every phantasm, is at rest; it raises itself above itself into the dense darkness of God, in which, lulled by ecstatic love, it rests sweetly. Here there is no troublesome confusion of thoughts, no imagining of phantasms; rather, the naked mind is lifted upward and contemplates without any thought or imagination. Indeed, when the mind itself again gives access to thoughts, it shows itself to be descending once more to the middle region, which is that of reason.

But since the human mind cannot always remain unmoved at the summit of divine contemplation, it must often return to the rational exercise of the second region. If, however, it has slipped down into sensual passions, then it descends again to the lowest region. Yet the spirit of the true lover of God, although because of the frailty of the flesh it cannot always remain in the delight of contemplation, nevertheless strives often, through enkindled affection, to raise itself to that region, so that it may carry out the exercise of reason in such a way that it does not entirely abandon 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 may thirst for the Lord Jesus above all things and may always long with burning desires to embrace him. Standing in this region, it is indeed very near the empyrean heaven, and therefore is inflamed toward it with the greatest desires of love.

O how many groans and tears the mind fervent with love is accustomed to pour forth; how ardently it sighs for heavenly things, since the nearer it is to the empyrean heaven through the secret of contemplation while standing in this supreme region, the more ardent its desire is known to be to leave the prison of the body. Hence with the holy apostle the mind, languishing with love, says in its burning sighs: “I desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ.”

That This Region of the Soul Is Divine in Its Instruction. Article 4.

Third, this supreme region of the soul is said to be divine in instruction, because in it the mind, pierced by divine love, is taught not by a human being 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 there is that saying of the prophet: “And they shall all be teachable by God.” For the Holy Spirit dwells in the heart of one who loves Jesus, and illuminates it by his invisible teaching.

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

But we must consider that mystical theology is acquired through the exercise of a purified affection and is taught through the fire of love. Speculative theology, however, which we call scholastic, is learned through the exercise of the intellect, while the mind, burning continually with zeal for study, is devoted to it. For the acquisition of mystical theology, the purification of affection from every entanglement is required, so that the will, depraved through aversion, may be reformed through the conversion of inward love toward its source. Indeed, unless affection has been purified from every disordered desire, it does not ascend to the height of this most sacred wisdom. But if it has cast away sensual passions, if the human will has been conformed to the divine will, the mind through enkindled by love, the mind is raised upward and is lifted by anagogical movements into the immensity of the divine darkness. No one understands the sweetness of this theology unless he receives it, and no one receives it unless he seeks it alone out of all things through the sighs of love. The psalmist sought this when he prayed to the Lord: “Would that my ways were directed to keep your justifications at all times.” For by such movements of desire the holy man was borne upward toward obedience to the divine will, so that in that same Psalm 118 he spoke scarcely any verse in which he did not set down a divine word equivalent to judgment.

The exercise of this purification is begun in the second region and is completed in this one. For no small labor is required, so that the affection may be purified from the desires of the world. But once the exercise of spiritual reformation has been taken up, the mind gradually advances in love; it longs to ascend to this region by fixed degrees; through desire it hastens to 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 the complete purification of the affection, it is stripped of every creature, 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 school, therefore, the Holy Spirit is believed to preside over those who learn by divine instruction. He teaches a person to love nothing in this world, and to conform himself in all things to the will of God. Happy is the one who has deserved to be the disciple of this master; happy is the one who has entered this school through the desire of love, because in mystical silence he perceives wondrous things which God has hidden from those who do not love him.

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

Article IV

Fourth, this most holy region of the spirit is said to be founded in simplicity, in which the mind is united to its own immutable principle, not through essence, but through the love of adherence. For, as we have already said above, that highest good, God, is one; and our soul cannot approach him unless, stripped of all multiplicity which belongs to reason, imagination, and understanding, it strives to present itself wholly united to itself. For the soul itself naturally desires to reach the highest good; but the more it is divided by multiplicity in its operation, the less fit it is found to come to God. For multiplicity is opposed to unity, and the more the mind has turned itself toward many things, the more it withdraws from unity.

One, two, three, four are ten. You withdraw from the one, because you are multiplied in number. Return to the one, if you wish to have the principle. For one is the principle of all things; if you add anything to it in your soul, 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, once multiplicity has been stripped away, to render yourself one.

For since all good things are from the first good, and every love, toward whatever good it is borne, has been naturally kindled by that same good, our love cannot rest in any goods as in its final 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, since we say that things most like each other are united more easily for no other reason than because we see that they are one in quality. Therefore the soul is believed to be able at last to be united with the one highest principle of things when, stripped of all multiplicity and united to itself, it is lifted up into God by most fervent love.

Just as there is no union between things diverse in quality, so there can be no adherence between God and a soul divided in itself. For the union of one with one comes about through likeness of quality, and the adherence of the mind, simplified and stripped of all things through the affection of love, will be with God. Thus the highest region of the spirit is founded in simplicity: in it the mind of the purified person is raised into God by the most fervent desire of love and is united by grace to its own immutable principle. Intellect and affection are two.

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

Whoever, then, through the exercise of devotion and purity, has deserved, by Christ’s gift, to arrive at this region of union and simplification, should learn to remain prudently at all times in deep humility, lest through pride he lose the gift he rejoices to possess. For Bernard, that deep and most cautious contemplator of divine things, says: “One striving toward higher things must lay humility deep and think humbly of himself, lest, while he is vainly lifted above himself, he fall from the height to which he seemed to have ascended.” Therefore one who remains in this region should prudently return at times to the degrees of humility described in the second; the mind should learn humbly to remain in deep resignation of itself, because as soon as it has despised self-denial, it falls from the highest mountain into a monstrous precipice.

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

That this supreme region of the spirit is magnificent by reduction.

Fifth, this supreme region of the spirit is said to be magnificent by reduction, and therefore it is to be sought by all with the highest desires. For that heavenly Father of ours inhabits this as his own house, to which he calls us exiles and pilgrims, as if to our fatherly dwelling. Into this dwelling he mercifully receives us when we return with the prodigal son; in love he rushes into our embrace; 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 ready to receive us into his embrace even after our contempt? We wretched ones have withdrawn through the rashness of our own will; we have squandered our portion of the inheritance with the harlots of carnal affections; we have been shamefully stripped of every beauty and fatherly adornment. Why do we not return to the Father, whom we know to be ineffably merciful? At least after our fault, I beg, let us return, who scorned to avoid ruin. Return, return, wretched Shulamite; return, grievously captive in your affections; return, mortified in sorrows. Why do you delay? Why do you tarry? Return, faithful soul, to Jesus, the guide of your youth; return to your former husband; go back to your most loving Father, who awaits you with longing love. For behold, he awaits you with patience, and through the prophet Isaiah he cries to you: “Return to me, for I have redeemed you. I have blotted out your iniquities like a cloud, and your sins like a mist.” What is this, O soul, that you are in the land of enemies? You have grown old in a foreign land; you are defiled with the dead; you are counted with those who descend into hell. Remember that almighty God made you from nothing; consider that he formed you in his image and likeness; remember whence you have fallen; see where you have gone, to be trampled underfoot among the pigs of unclean affections. Your Creator placed you from the beginning in this highest region of the spirit; he entrusted to you the natural exercise of his love; he also bestowed on you the hope of life that will endure forever. But you have abandoned the fountain of wisdom; you have gone out into the lowest region of unlikeness; you have squandered the promised goods of the inheritance. Yet return, even late at last, to the exercise of repentance in the middle region, until, cleansed from all your iniquities, you may deserve to return to the delight of the highest region.

There the most indulgent Father will receive you as you return joyfully; he will clothe you with the recovered first robe of innocence; he will give you on your hands the ring of most holy covenant, and on your feet the shoes of true mortification of evil affections, so that, adorned with these ornaments like a faithful bride, you may cling to him continually and never thereafter withdraw from his love. Finally he will kill the fatted calf for your food; he himself will be the steward and at the same time the banquet; by the greatness of his surpassing love he will give his own flesh for food and his own blood for drink. There the holy Spirit of the Lord will be present and will fill you with his mystical gifts. Then, rejoicing in the Lord, you will sing: “The fruit of Jesus is sweet to my throat, for his spirit is sweeter than honey.”

Thus this highest region of the spirit is great in reduction, because the citizens whom it receives into its own dwelling it leads back to the delight of the heavenly homeland. We recognize the citizens of this most holy region infallibly from the fruits of the spirit, concerning which we know the holy Apostle to have said: “The fruit of the spirit is charity, joy, peace, patience, goodness, long-suffering, gentleness, faith, modesty, continence, chastity.” These fruits the citizens of this third region bring forth, because, filled with God and united to him, they always walk joyful in the Lord and most fervent in charity. For whatever happens to a just man dwelling on this mountain of love will not sadden him. For the soul that is always peaceful and tranquil in the love of God is lifted up by no prosperity and disturbed by no adversity.

That this highest region of the spirit is joyful and most true in treasuring up. Article VI.

For this reason this most beautiful region of the spirit is called joyful and most true in treasuring up: because 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.

is: when the purified mind is kindled by its heat, it is raised to this region as if to love’s own storehouse.

For the Lord says in the holy Gospel: “Where your treasure is, there your heart also will be.” This is the treasure hidden in the field of the Scriptures; when a man has found it, he hides it, and going away he sells everything, 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 joyfully possess the field together with the treasure. There is in the world no possession more pleasant than divine love; there is in this life no greater beauty, since whoever has this treasure of love seeks nothing further. And just as fire is naturally borne upward, so love is lifted up in this region of the spirit as if to its own proper dwelling.

For the mind, set aflame by divine love, is always raised toward God with fiery affections, and with wondrous sweetness is moved beyond every thought toward its own beginning. Purified in the exercise of the second region, it prepares itself for the ascent of this third region through loving affection. It longs as much as it can to come to him whom it loves; it thinks of nothing other than Jesus, the treasure of its heart; it adores him, because of the greatness of its love, with fiery sighs. But when the most sweet office of contemplation has been completed, the beloved suddenly slips away; the love-sick mind is recalled to the exercise of the second region. In that exercise the true lover of God sees that he does indeed dwell bodily among men, but in affection and desire he lives with his most beloved Jesus.

And although this anagogical action of the created spirit occurs by the impulse of the Spirit of God, nevertheless the mind, purified through the exercise of the second region, must advance itself toward the ascent and, disposed by a most fervent affection, cooperate with the divine Spirit. For truly almighty God, who gave us freedom of choice, will not raise anyone unwilling into this highest region of his contemplation. Therefore our will is required for our own salvation; love demands the ascent.

If you wish to ascend to this highest summit of the divine darkness, you will have to love very greatly. The will, once purified, receives love; love, when greatly enkindled, produces ecstasy. Therefore, if you desire to fly up to the mountain of contemplation, you must, by loving God most fervently, go wholly beyond yourself. But if you truly love God, you despise both yourself and everything else except him alone. For he himself is truly the treasure of the soul; if anyone has obtained him through love, he will always think of Jesus. This treasure is acquired by loving; no one understands its usefulness unless he has received it through love. Whoever desires to have this inestimable treasure should fix his heart constantly in the love of the most sweet Jesus. For truly, he who loves possesses; he who possesses loves. The mind that has merited to have this treasure of the love of Jesus remains constantly with him in affection in this highest region.

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

Article VII

Seventh, this most holy region of the soul abounds in great freedom of the spirit; in it the soul, free from the passions of the flesh, reigns united to God through love. 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.” Truly, one who remains in this region of the spirit is made free from every defilement of flesh and blood; stripped of every phantasm of thought, naked and alone, 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 this world’s consolations. Therefore let a man consider himself, and diligently examine his love; and if he finds himself devoutly affected, frequently lifted up by fiery desires to divine love even without preceding 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 that he raises into the ray of divine love he also makes know the condition of its state. This freedom of soul is acquired through the fervor of divine love, because the heart In this most holy freedom divine wisdom is learned; the sweetness of divine goodness is tasted beforehand with inestimable delight; the mind, made most free, is caught up above itself; resting in the silence of the divine darkness, it is lulled to sleep.

And this mystical wisdom is said to consist in the mind lifted up and purified in God, which is hindered by no obstacle of any thing from its effective progress. Ascending in this region, the mind kindled by love utterly abandons thoughts and images; it becomes alone, naked, and most free, because thoughts, on account of the office of memory, are compelled to remain in the middle region, and they can in no way approach the highest region of the spirit, which is above all human understanding. For one ascends here by love through affection and desire alone; let the phantasms of thoughts be driven far away from here. For as soon as the mind begins to ascend by thoughts, it is repulsed and falls into the middle region.

Nevertheless, the ascent itself is begun through the operation of the intellect; when this soon fails, it is completed through affection. For the intellect stirs up desire toward love of the highest good; as far as it can, it commends his beauty. But when affection, once stirred, has begun to ascend through love to contemplation of so great a beauty, the intellect, failing from wonder, falls silent. But the mind, not enduring the company of the intellect, alone and naked, and most free from every image of thought, enters the dark mountain shining above; it contemplates the beloved, not indeed face to face, but in an enigma; it fails by reason of the greatness of love; caught up, it rests in silence.

It is read that once Moses, leader of the people of Israel, called by God, ascended the dark mountain alone; it is recorded that he kept the people from access to the mountain under threat of death. The Lord appeared in the darkness and gave the law to the people through Moses himself. For thus it is written in Exodus: The whole of Mount Sinai smoked, because the Lord had descended upon it in fire; and smoke rose from it as from a furnace. And the whole mountain was terrible, and the sound of the trumpet gradually grew greater, and was drawn out longer. And all the people saw the lamps and the smoking mountain; 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.

All these things are full of mysteries; if they are examined with diligent consideration, they will magnificently commend this highest 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 indicate the crowd of thoughts and phantasms. Moses alone, the leader of the people, is permitted to ascend the mountain and enter the darkness, because affection, inflamed with divine love, alone is lifted up 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 in any way be able to penetrate the secret of the divine majesty.

The crowd stands far from the mountain, terrified with fear, because while the mind alone enters the abyss of contemplation through the affection of love, the whole crowd of thoughts, utterly failing, is thrown into confusion. The intellect does not dare to approach nearer as affection ascends, but, standing far off, shaken with fear in itself, is compelled to remain. Hence, yielding to majesty, astonished, it says to the Lord with the prophet: Truly you are a hidden God. But when Moses is on the summit of the mountain, he is enveloped in darkness; he does not grasp God by the light of the intellect, but passes into contemplation of him only through love and desire. Moses, and not the Lord, speaks to the fearful people, because purified affection enters the dwelling-place of love, and through it the powers of the spirit are illumined.

By What Modes or Degrees One Must Ascend to This Highest Summit of This Region, Article Nine

Although in very many preceding places of this little work the mode of ascending to this highest region of the spirit, nevertheless, as I think, it will not be useless to repeat often what has been well said, so that we may hold it more firmly. For, as it seems to me, it profits little to describe the beauty of contemplation unless we also know how to show those who desire it the manner of arriving at it. Therefore, anyone wishing to ascend through desire of love to the pleasantness of this highest region should take care to exercise himself diligently in the labors of the middle region; for unless in that region he has been purified from sensual passions through the pursuit of holy compunction, he approaches this one not without danger. For the completion of this exercise let him often recall to memory the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ; let him weep from delight in divine love; let him learn, frequently and attentively, to pass through the text of that Passion in meditation, and to rouse himself to compassion for the Savior. And because the body, which is corrupted, weighs down the soul, so that the mind may be able to lift itself powerfully in this meditation on the Lord's Passion, let him take care, if need be, to present to his thoughts images truly sensible. Therefore, withdrawing from crowds in silence, let him begin to turn over the sequence of the Passion by remembering it; let him see himself with the eyes of the mind as present at each event with the suffering Lord; let him hear Jesus speaking in imagination; let him go with him as he passes through all the places of the Passion. Then, at each article, let him apply his affections from the desire of compassion; let him gaze with faithful eyes upon Jesus suffering, set before him; weeping from anguish of heart, let him grow accustomed, in spirit, to address him as though bodily present, and to embrace him wounded at the column and on the cross through desire of love. For the mind will soon be able to be kindled in the love of the Lord Jesus, if it truly grows accustomed to suffer with him through tears of meditation. But I remember that I have written elsewhere at greater length about the most effective exercise of the Lord's Passion; therefore here I have treated it briefly. For those who do not know how to meditate, it is enough to have given these beginnings, since those who know have higher things.

Therefore, when affection has been purified from every passion and concupiscence that impedes it, the mind, with the intellect assisting, begins to think somewhat upon the goodness and beauty of the highest good; then it desires to comprehend the immutable good. But when, with the intellect lifting it up, it raises itself through wonder toward knowledge of him, immediately the operation of the intellect vanishes; nor can reason follow affection any further, since it sees that affection can be raised up only in another way, and utterly naked from all things. But so long as the mind has not been lawfully purified, affection does not reach the true darkness of this mountain.

Contemplation, however, is sometimes accomplished by dilation of the mind, because when the soul stretches itself more vehemently by its own effort in holy meditation, meditation is changed into contemplation. This mode of contemplation usually rises by three degrees: art, by which we learn what must be done; exercise, by which we carry out what has been learned; and attention, by which we fulfill the duty.

Sometimes contemplation is taken up by an uplifting of the mind into God, because when the mind has been divinely irradiated above the human, it passes as if by an unwonted rapture into the contemplation of divine things. This mode also is raised into the height of contemplation by three degrees: for sometimes the understanding of a person, divinely inspired, receives something that wholly exceeds the measure of its own knowledge. The second degree raises the mind above its own effort, when, divinely illumined, it perceives something to which no human effort attains. In the third degree the mind is raised on high, when it is divinely illumined in contemplation above the bounds of human nature and effort.

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

Here ends the third region of cloistered persons. Jij 8 c Preface to the Second Principal Part of the Spiritual Exercise of Cloistered Persons. It begins happily.

Since, with the help of our Lord Jesus Christ, we have recently completed the little work on the threefold region of cloistered persons, assigned to us by the annual chapter, it now remains that, taking up according to our strength the second principal part of the work, we describe the manner and form of the daily spiritual exercise. For among cloistered persons there are many weak and feeble people, and some of them perhaps would gladly ascend to the contemplation of divine love if they had a manner suited to beginners.

For all who have been established in holy religious life, great care must be taken that the mind not grow sluggish in idleness, since whoever withdraws from the continual labor of spiritual exercise gradually falls into the depth of torpor. For just as this visible fire of ours cannot subsist in its operation without fuel suitable to it, so the love of inner compunction cannot remain in a person’s mind without the continual exercise of devotion. For as soon as the labor of spiritual study has been interrupted through negligence, all compunction of devotion gradually vanishes. No one, indeed, can remain stable and firm in a holy purpose unless he strives daily to renew the fervor of his mind through 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 through laziness from the holy fervor of the spirit, it must learn to renew itself each day through some spiritual exercise, so that, while the fuel of love is supplied day by day, the desire for making progress may be further kindled. Thus, we read, 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 stir themselves to a new fervor of spirit. One drove his mind toward compunction of devotion through the study of sacred reading; another stirred up the sweet seed of Passion through meditation; another, through the continuation of a holy purpose, placed before his inner eyes each day the image of approaching death; another, by a fixed manner in prayers, daily offered himself to the Lord with tears.

It is believed that none among them was without a daily spiritual exercise of the mind; none was found given over to idleness, because the kingdom of God is promised to those laboring in the vineyard of the Lord, but denied to the idle. Considering this, the devout fathers of the annual chapter unanimously decreed that the present exercise should be taken up and offered for practice to their subjects who did not have better things.

And although so great a multitude of monks subject to the aforementioned chapter neither can nor ought to be confined to the formula of a single exercise, nevertheless it is set forth for all in common, so that anyone who does not have a better exercise may use it. It is especially fitting that novices converted to the order should exercise themselves in the manner set forth below, until, grounded in humility, they grow through compunction to better things. But those who consider that they have already, for a long time, been accustomed by devotion to dwell in higher things should at least allow these things, without envy, to the little ones. For I do not doubt that many persons devoted to better modes of spiritual exercise are living in the order, who know by long practice how to remain in the supreme region of the spirit through the ray of divine love. We in no way force our small offerings upon these people, 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 humbly prepared not to teach the perfect, but rather to hear them as our teachers.

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

Therefore, the one who is going to serve as a soldier for our king, our Lord Jesus Christ, according to the monastic rule, should first of all strive humbly and perseveringly to take up the strongest weapons of holy obedience; then he should accustom himself to be continually exercised in holy works, to persist in prayers without interruption and with devotion, and to love God above all things. Whatever he does, let him put the honor of God alone before him; whatever he begins, let him always send prayer ahead to the Lord. For truly he speaks with the Lord God who is always occupied in devout prayers. But so that a good cenobite may continually have ready at hand a manner of praying with elevation of mind, let him not neglect 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 may more often be raised to the love of heavenly things, and the fervor of the Holy Spirit be more frequently renewed.

At Matins.

Therefore, when the devout cenobite has been roused for Matins, let him at once shake off from himself every sluggishness of sleep; let him believe that he has been called to fight for his Lord, to whom he has professed himself. Let him therefore strive to meet his king with cheerfulness, and to prepare himself humbly, with fervor of spirit, for his immortal service. Immediately let him raise himself with the greatest decorum, 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 forever.

Then, descending from his bed, kneeling on bent knees, let him say:

I give thanks to you, almighty God, who have deigned to guard me, an unworthy sinner, during this night. I ask you through your mercy, that throughout this day and at all times you may direct me in your praise, keep me clean from sin, and sweetly inflame me in your most holy love. Or let him say:

O adorable Trinity, O venerable Unity: through you we have been created, true eternity; through you we have been redeemed, you highest charity. Protect 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 the infinite ages of ages. Amen.

Then, turned toward 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 receive prayer through you, who, born for us, consented to be yours. Mary, mother of grace, mother of mercy, protect us from the enemy and receive us in the hour of death. Glory be to you, O Lord, who were born of the Virgin, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, for everlasting ages. Amen.

But when the signal first sounds:

At Prime

let the cenobite go to the secrecy of the inner chamber; by cleansing his conscience, let him examine it diligently; and let him compose himself in the three following matters.

First, indeed, in preparing himself for prayer, let him apply himself to drawing his mind back from external things, vain and perishable and contrary to the spirit, toward inward things, and to thinking absolutely nothing of secular or temporal affairs. Just as Abraham is read to have stood firm and driven the birds away from the sacrifice, so it seems necessary for us to act against worldly thoughts that fly about us intrusively during divine services. The cenobite can more easily bring his mind to this forgetting of passing things if he is willing rather often to recall to memory the sixth root, placed above in the second region, concerning the vanity of present things.

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

Third, for one who wishes devoutly to attend upon 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 worship him must worship in spirit and truth.” The most devout orator of God, Bernard, also says: “The little recruit of Christ must be taught in his prayer to lift his heart upward, to pray spiritually, to withdraw from bodily images, and to think nothing bodily.” But because 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 by an easier mode of elevation. Hence he also says: “For a weak person meditating or praying, an image of the Lord’s Nativity, humanity, Passion, or Resurrection is more safely set before him, so that the weak soul, which knows nothing except the body, may be moved toward divine things according to the measure of its capacity. For truly, when through faith it does not separate God from man in the form of the mediator, it somehow 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 turn over 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. For praise is very close to love.

But so that you may always be able freely to raise your heart in prayer to the Lord God, learn to love nothing in this world in a singular way; for one who is attached to nothing at all wanders off less often. For nothing so unloads the heart and renders it free; nothing makes one converse so generously and without constraint before the Lord; and nothing so quickly and lightly gathers a person back to interior things after various outward tumults, as to be attached in all things and events to nothing by private affection, but to be resigned to God and to one’s superiors, and to conduct oneself humbly in all things. Besides this, whatever is enjoined upon one so disposed for the glory of God and the preservation of regular discipline, the cenobite accepts all of it sincerely with humble obedience, whether it is convenient or burdensome. And this firmness of soul, despising prosperous things as much as adverse ones, wonderfully raises the mind and transforms it into a certain enjoyment of most chaste love.

At the Second Signal.

But when the second signal has sounded, the cenobite, now sufficiently recollected inwardly, should leave his cell with composure; he should always bless the Lord in his heart; with the prudent virgins he should hasten to meet the bridegroom; he should think that he hears the signal of the great king.

Leaving the cell, let him say:

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

Entering the church, let him say:

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

Passing before the crucifix, let him say:

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

At the holy water:

Remove from me, O Lord, all my iniquities, so that I may deserve to enter the holy of holies with a pure mind. Sprinkle me, O Lord, with hyssop, etc.

Before an 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 for us continually.

Passing before the altar, let him say:

Glory to you, O 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, principle of all things: have mercy on me for your own sake.

principle of all things: have mercy on me for your own sake.

Before the venerable sacrament.

Hail, living victim, truth and life, in whom the ancient sacrifices have come to an end. Through you infinite glory is given to the Father. Through you may the Church always stand fortified. Grant me rewards in eternal life. Amen. Or: O saving victim.

Standing in his place in choir.

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

Before all the hours.

Since the power of the Lord’s incarnation and passion incomparably surpasses all the merits of all the saints, for this reason the lover of God, before each of the hours, should say this prayer to God the Father with attentive mind, in heart or with the mouth.

Prayer

Almighty, eternal God, who created us from nothing when we did not exist, and mercifully redeemed us when we had perished, I ask you, by your unchangeable majesty: receive these praises and prayers which I am about to speak to you now and at every time, 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 suffering and dying for us on the cross. Amen.

Note on the aforesaid prayer.

Do not think this manner of praying frivolous, nor invented by human curiosity; for if you believe that God has often taught his friends many things by revelation, you contradict nothing in 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 about this manner and form of praying. Know, moreover, that I am thoroughly persuaded that the prayer which a devout mind has resolved to offer to God the Father in union with the Lord’s passion is most pleasing to almighty God. And this offering can be placed first, mentally or orally, not only in the canonical hours, but also in other prayers, masses, and any good exercises or works. But if through forgetfulness it has not been placed first, it can be inserted during prayer, or even added after its completion.

How the monk ought to conduct himself in the hours

The devout monk should apply great diligence, lest his mind admit images or thoughts about transitory things; for unless vain thoughts are driven back at once in the beginning, they will disturb the heart’s intention throughout the whole office. Therefore the faithful one who prays should gather himself wholly within, and, according to the Rule, prefer nothing to the divine service. While singing psalms, let him refer the very subject matter of the psalms to the fitting focus of his intention; let him prudently attend to the sense of the prayer; let him pronounce the words distinctly and in order; let his mind strive upward. After each psalm or lesson, however, let him examine himself carefully and test whether compunction of devotion has increased.

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

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

After Matins

When the office of Matins has been completed, and confessions have been made or heard, let him not neglect immediately to read the hour of the Holy Cross. When it 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 outpouring of your most holy blood, and by the power of your most innocent death: have mercy on me now and at the hour of my death. Amen.

Then let him say:

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

Since, when Matins has been finished, our custom is that they prepare themselves by confession for what is to be celebrated on that day, therefore the devout cenobite, whenever his confession has been completed, should at once devoutly carry out the penance imposed on him; and, insofar as this can be done, he should not approach the altar unless sacramental confession has always first been made.

On leaving the church.

After each hour, when the divine office has been completed, or indeed at any time whatever, on leaving the church he may repeat the order and manner of praying described above for entering the church, and observe the same rite in each of its places. But if for greater devotion he wishes to vary this manner, he will pray the following little prayers, or similar ones.

Before the high altar, bowing, let him say:

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

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

Prayer

I give thanks to you, almighty and eternal God, because you have deigned to call me, an unworthy sinner, to your service, not by any merits of mine but by the sole condescension of your mercy. I beseech you, by the pain of the wounds of our Lord Jesus Christ, your only-begotten Son, and by the outpouring 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 punishments of purgatory, in that union of charity in which you received the same Lord Jesus Christ as he died for us 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.

Morning recollection.

Then enter for a little while into the examination of your conscience, and see whether you still possess in yourself the conditions of a good cloistered person described in the seventh article of the second region. If you know that anything is lacking, do not neglect to reform it as soon as possible, lest little by little you fade away through sloth. For it is written: He who neglects small things falls little by little. And Augustine, the holy lover of God, says: No sin is so small that it does not grow by neglect. Therefore, when the conscience has been examined and reformed in holy fervor, say:

Prayer for perseverance.

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

Going to bed.

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

Sitting in bed.

May the peace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the integrity of blessed Mary ever virgin, the sign of the holy cross, the memory of the Lord’s passion, and the intercession of all the saints guard me now and forever. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Signing himself, let him lie down.

The exercise of the cenobite at Prime.

Consideration 2.

When our devout cenobite has been awakened from sleep for Prime, let him keep the order and manner set out above before Matins for recollecting himself and praying.

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 Holy Spirit. Amen. Then, descending from his bed and remaining fervent in his holy purpose, let him again fall to his knees and, with hands joined, 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 all tongues, gathered the nations into the unity of faith. Send forth your Spirit, and they shall be created. And you shall renew the face of the earth.

Prayer

O God, to whom every heart is open, to whom every will speaks, and from whom no secret is hidden: purify the thoughts of our heart by the pouring-in of the Holy Spirit, that we may deserve to love you perfectly and to praise you worthily. Through Christ our Lord. Let him add O flourishing rose, and, if he wishes, anything else according to his devotion.

At the first signal.

Then, at the first signal of any hour, or also at the striking of the clock, unless he is occupied with higher meditations, let him say: Blessed be the name of the Lord, from this time now and forever. And let him add some brief little prayer formed from the ardor of his mind, in this or a similar manner.

A Little Prayer.

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

Another.

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

Another.

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

Another.

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

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

At the second signal.

When the second signal sounds, both for Prime and for the other hours of the day, let the manner set out above for Matins be observed, so far as the time permits each person to pray. But when our cenobite enters or leaves the church, let him not neglect to show reverence to God before the altars and the crucifix; rather, bowing humbly, let him say the appropriate prayers according to custom. For the modest bending of the body is regarded as an outward showing of the inner person well ordered toward God.

In the chapter-place after Prime.

After Prime, when the devout cenobite enters the chapter-place, let him remember to give thanks to God for the victory of the holy martyrs, whom he knows to have served the Lord, in the greatest fervor of spirit, through the testimony of death after despising the torments inflicted on them. Therefore, when you have heard the brave deeds of the saints read, pray to the Lord that, by their merits, he may deign to forgive your sins and mercifully strengthen you to bear the yoke of monastic discipline, so that you may obtain fellowship with them. And this desire is proposed for you to take up when, after their passions have been read, divine help is invoked three times by all. We do these things also at the beginning of the day so that, strengthened for patience by the examples of the saints, we may fear no adversities throughout the whole day. But when you hear that some martyr stood bravely in the agony of contest, you will pray to God in these or similar words.

Prayer

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

If the name of a confessor, or of a virgin, or of a saint of some other condition has been recited, the devout lover of God will readily vary, according to the ardor of his affection, a prayer to any saint extemporaneously. For affective prayers are more effective than all others.

At the Reading of the Rule

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

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

When the Names of the Dead Are Recited

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

Prayer

I beseech you, most sweet Lord Jesus, through the pain of your wounds, through the shedding of your most holy blood, and through the power of your most innocent death: have mercy on these souls, and on all those commended to me in prayer, and on all the faithful departed; and grant them eternal rest. It is indeed a great work of mercy to intercede before the merciful Judge for souls placed in the prison of purgatory, and out of charity to aid them through the remembrance of the Lord's passion. For I firmly believe, and with pious confidence trust, that the prayer poured out for the dead from charity alone returns doubled into the bosom of the one who prays. For the devout person who here, through the fervor of divine love, by praying particularly 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 actions is perfect in every respect, let the devout monk rejoice that he has found a remedy for his imperfection, because whatever is committed from human frailty in well-reformed monasteries is corrected daily. For the chapter of faults, continued on individual days, washes away public offenses; sacramental confession, repeated daily through the grace of contrition, remits hidden negligences. We discern four chapters in the monastery, concerning 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 monk proclaims himself for his negligences, or is proclaimed by another. In this chapter the lover of God, who has denied his very self to himself, humbly both accuses his own negligences and allows them to be accused by others, lest he be judged more severely by the Lord after this life. For the holy apostle of God says: If we judged ourselves, we would certainly not be judged. And the prophet Nahum says: Affliction shall not rise up a second time. For truly, the one who here is now voluntarily afflicted for his sins, for the love of God, is worthy, as one well purified, to be freed by the mercy of the Creator from future affliction.

If only all cloistered persons knew how much the proclamations of chapter, when borne voluntarily, profit them for the merit of eternal life, they would bear all accusations and injuries for the love of God with inestimable joy. For we merit more when we patiently suffer injuries and adversities for the love of God and fraternal charity than if we devote ourselves to good works.

Therefore, standing in judgment, let the devout monk not fear any proclamations whatever, but desire to be accused by others in remembrance of the Lord's passion, knowing that before him has been set the loftiness of glory, to be bestowed in heaven upon humble patience. O brother, why would you not bear the proclamations of the brothers, you who desire the fellowship [you who] await the company of the angels? Let all indignation be absent from you; let murmuring be absent; let pride depart far away. For you have no cause for impatience. Either you are accused justly, or unjustly. If justly, why would you not endure it? It is better to be purified here in small matters than after this life in many. And he who sins publicly must be corrected before all. But if you are accused unjustly, remember that you are a monk, and you will find that you are bound to suffer injuries. For when you are accused justly, know that you must be purified through humble patience; when unjustly, you show yourself a true monk and gain greater merit. 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 a true lover of God loves the one who accuses him all the more, and always on that same day offers him either some prayer or some special service. If you are good and wise, the accusation cannot displease you; but if you are wicked and foolish, you deserve to be accused at all times. For Scripture says of the wise man: Correct a wise man, and he will love you. But of the wicked and foolish the prophet says: They hated the one who corrected them in the gate, and they abhorred the one who spoke perfectly.

The second chapter, active, is that in which one person accuses another.

We call the second chapter active: that in which we no longer accuse ourselves, but accuse another. For the act of this accusation, charity is supremely necessary; compassion too, no less than discretion, must be applied. Therefore, when you wish to accuse your brother by reason of charity, always bring in the fear of God; and, mindful of the fellowship of eternal life, say at the beginning: Our beloved brother committed this or that; I ask that he be willing to amend himself for the Lord’s sake. Whatever must be said, let him put it forward in few words and with compassion; let him state the fact simply; let him not increase the fault of the accused by aggravating it; but let him silently commit to the president’s judgment whether what was done was good or evil. For the person who alone, among many, aggravates a brother’s fault by passing sentence commonly carries away the suspicion of bitter zeal and displeasure.

Therefore, whoever strives to accuse another should beware that he is not moved against his brother by bitter zeal; for if the charity of the accuser does not intervene, resentment does not amend the accused. The accusation of an accuser never bears fruit in a delinquent when the love of God and fraternal charity do not commend it. For almighty God, since he is supremely good, will not grant to your accusation the purpose of compunction in your brother’s heart when he finds that you have been moved to accuse not from charity but from displeasure. But where he finds the root of his charity, he will not deny good fruit. If, however, you sense that you have been moved by some indignation against your brother, it is better to postpone the accusation for a time than to wound yourself so cruelly with 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 chapter 72 of the Rule that a monk, accused in whatever place or time, as soon as he senses that his senior’s mind has been moved, even slightly, should cast himself down at his feet, and there lie humbly until his command. Here he is in no way permitted to excuse himself or to place the fault on another; rather, the monk is commanded to be silent and humbly acknowledge himself. For one who is a true monk neither murmurs when corrected justly, nor excuses himself when accused unjustly. In the divine offices also, and in the other conventual places, as soon as a devout cenobite has offended in some matter through negligence, humbling himself according to the custom, he makes satisfaction there; and he chooses rather to undergo the greater penance in doubtful cases than to wound his conscience with a lesser one, or to cause scandal to others. But whoever still understands this humiliation, to be undertaken at every time and place, as burdensome and difficult, does not walk according to the spirit but still lives carnally; and unless he makes this Jebusite tributary to himself by subduing it, he will never be a true and devout cenobite.

The fourth chapter is that of deliberations and counsels.

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

After the Daily Chapter.

If, after the chapter of faults, one must return to the church for Terce, let the manner of ordered prayer described above be observed in each case. But if you pass from chapter to your cell, then again, on bended knees, as after Matins, pray to the Lord as the hour permits. Then, if the hour allows, let him recollect himself a little and recall to mind the debt of his profession. Afterward let the cenobite pray thus.

Prayer

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 [unclear] At Private Masses.

Since human nature, by its own strength, cannot of itself undertake the entrance 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. Thus, because on account of our weakness we cannot approach the invisible majesty, we may have a mediator approaching on our behalf, one who is both God and man. For the merit of the most holy Passion of our mediator opened for us the entrance to the kingdom of heaven, gave us spiritual nourishment of life, and, just as the vine supplies nourishment of life to the branch, so in Christ our mind truly lives. This spiritual nourishment, however, we receive with special sweetness in the sacrament of the body and blood of that same mediator of ours, whenever we devoutly offer it to God the Father as an odor of sweetness. And this most sacred oblation of the body and blood of the Lord not only profits us for the pardon of sins, but also wonderfully aids the souls of the departed who are placed in purgatory. Therefore this noble sacrifice is to be offered with great and continual devotion, for all our good works, which in themselves are very worthless, are most pleasing to God the Father through this most holy oblation. Therefore, so that our devout cenobite may be able to attend more fervently at the offering of this precious sacrifice, let him note four things in order.

Of the Brother Serving at Mass.

The devout brother who is going to serve at Mass ought to come to this with the greatest cheerfulness and fervor, and prepare himself to serve the priest most humbly. For Saint Hugh says: Serve freely at Masses, because it is the office of angels; and when you serve at that sacrifice, you make familiar to yourself those whose coworker you stand as. If, according to the Savior’s promise, one who receives a righteous man in the name of a righteous man receives the reward of a righteous man, who will deny the reward of the celebrant to the one who devoutly serves at Mass? Whoever, then, with the fervor of divine love, has been accustomed devoutly and frequently to stand by in serving those who celebrate, the divine generosity will also reward him in this life with some special grace.

in this life he is accustomed to reward with some special grace; and when he is dying, the holy angels are believed to come to meet him as one known to them familiarly, and to present the soul of the minister of Jesus with joy before his sight. For thus the Son prays to the Father in the holy Gospel: Father, I will that where I am, there also my minister may be.

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

For Jesus, now presiding in heaven, will not be able to be harsh toward us when we pray with full faith, since he 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, walking among men, did not cure? Will the Lord Jesus, then, be able now to deny mercy to us when we ask in faith, he who, while still mortal, was so merciful to those who prayed to him? For he says: All things are possible to one who believes.

Therefore, one who is about to serve at Mass should before all things strive to purge himself of every evil temptation and disordered affection, and, as much as he can, draw himself back to himself through the desire of Jesus’ love, so that, purified, he may be able to assist the Lord and pray effectively both for himself and for the whole Church, for the living and the dead. Therefore, standing behind the priest during Mass, at a suitable time, let him pray in these or similar words.

Prayer of the One Serving

Most sweet and most loving Lord Jesus, I beseech you by every anguish of your most holy heart which you endured in your passion, I beseech you by the shedding of your most holy blood, and by the power of your most innocent death. I beseech you by the most sacred mystery of your body and blood, at the immolation of which I, an unworthy minister, am present before you: have mercy on me and purify my heart from every illicit affection, so that I may be able to serve you worthily. Grant me true contrition and pardon for all my sins, the grace of holy compunction, constant remembrance of your passion, pure devotion of heart, a fountain of tears, purity of serene conscience, and the perpetual fervor of your most holy love.

Grant me, I beseech you, most merciful lover of humankind, through the pain of your wounds, a firm purpose in holy fervor, true contempt for all worldly things, continual desire for the heavenly homeland, and sure progress in holy religion. Grant me, most sweet Jesus, constancy in adversity, patience in tribulation, discipline in conduct, and always and everywhere true humility in mind. Make me, I pray, a participant in this most holy sacrifice of your body and blood, so that my mind may feel the sweetness of your presence, may burn sweetly in your love, and may never depart from you for eternity. Amen.

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

Further, let him pray for the universal Church; let him pray for the faithful and the unbelieving, so that almighty God may keep believers in the faith and convert unbelievers to the Catholic faith. Let him also pray for the useful conversion of persons to the order, through whom both his monastery may advance in both states 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 out will return into the bosom of the one who prays.

But let the devout minister of Christ beware that he not neglect, on any occasion, any of those things that belong to his office, lest or make the celebrant distracted by his own prayers or restlessness. When there is leisure he may meditate or pray in silence; when service is required, he ought to interrupt at least his verbal prayers and respond to the priest by serving 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,” continuing to the end of that hymn.

After the elevation the devout cenobite should turn himself to the Lord Jesus, desiring from the depths of his heart to have fellowship in so great a mystery; and, as though he were about to communicate, he should prepare his disposition. For as often as the devout lover of God desires to receive the body of Christ from the fervor of his heart, he is believed to have received the power of the sacrament. For the Lord Jesus said to a certain soul dear to him: If a man, fervent in love for me, desired to receive my body a thousand times in a day, if it were possible, then just as often, before me, through the power of my body itself, he would truly obtain his desire in his soul. Therefore, with this desire conceived in the mind of one who loves Jesus, let the cenobite pray to the Lord in this or a similar manner.

Prayer of the Minister

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

The Careful Preparation of the Priest Who Is About to Celebrate

The priest who is about to approach to offer this most sacred sacrament of the Lord’s body and blood should first examine himself carefully, and very cautiously consider of which region he is a citizen.

If he still finds himself a dweller in the region of the end, he ought not approach the altar unless he first strives to cleanse himself through contrition and confession, and through a firm purpose of amending himself. But if he finds himself a citizen of the second region, if he discovers that his faculties have been reformed and ordered toward the cenobitic end, he can easily dispose himself for celebration, since by daily emptying himself of his own affection he has learned to lift himself upward more frequently through desire. For divine goodness quickly enters the affection of a person 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, he should 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 is not prepared beforehand for fervor. For this reason our fathers, desiring each of us to advance in his own free devotion, did not wish to occupy us with many psalms before approaching the altar, as some do; not because anyone ought therefore to approach without recollection, but so that each might more freely devote himself in secret to exercises or prayers more suited to his own devotion.

Accordingly, wishing to recommend elevation of mind in the Lord Jesus to those celebrating before they approach 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. Thus the devout cenobite who is about to approach the altar, if he has time and inclination, may say this or a similar prayer beforehand, or prepare himself in whatever ways he wishes.

Prayer Before 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; who also gave us your flesh to eat and your blood to drink; and who established that mystery by the power of the Holy Spirit, saying, “As often as you do these things, you shall do them in memory of me”: I beseech you by the pain of your wounds and by the most precious of your blood, by the power of your most innocent death, and by your very body and blood, the price of our salvation. I ask by that wonderful and ineffable charity with which you so loved us, wretched and unworthy as we are, that you washed us from our sins in your blood: have mercy on me and forgive me all my sins. Teach me, your unworthy servant, whom, among your other gifts, you have also deigned to call to the priestly office, not by any merits of mine but by the sole graciousness of your mercy, through your Holy Spirit, to handle this mystery with that reverence and honor, devotion and fear, with which it ought and is fitting to be handled. Grant me, I beseech you, always to believe and understand, feel and firmly hold, say and think about so great a mystery what pleases you and what is expedient for the salvation of my soul. Let your good Spirit enter into my heart, and there sound without sound; and without the noise of words let him speak in me the truth of such great mysteries. For they are exceedingly deep and covered with sacred veils. Because of your great mercy, most sweet Lord Jesus, grant me to celebrate the solemnities 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, free my heart from all vain, unclean, harmful, and illicit thoughts, so that it may become a worthy dwelling place of your love, now and without end forever.

I pray you, lover of humankind, most sweet Lord Jesus, by the whole power of your most holy passion: drive away from me the spirit of elation and pride, vainglory and envy, lust and blasphemy; and fill my soul with the virtue of charity and innocence. King of virtues, Jesus Christ, lover of holy chastity and integrity, I pray you, by the most holy virginity of the most blessed Mother of God and undefiled Virgin Mary, and by the purity of your most reverend body: extinguish in me, with the dew of heavenly blessing, the 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 undefiled 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, for you alone justify the ungodly, and from what is unclean you can make clean.

Therefore, by your omnipotence, I pray you: grant to me, your unworthy servant, true contrition for my sins, pure devotion, and most fervent fear and reverence; with purity of heart and a fountain of sweet tears, with spiritual joy and heavenly gladness, with humility and the fervor of charity, may I be able to offer to you. O most sweet Lord Jesus, grant me your mercy in this hour, so that my mind may feel the sweetness of your most blessed presence, the devotion of the holy angels around me, and a peaceful lifting up of myself into you.

Take away from me, Lord Jesus, all my iniquities, and mercifully kindle in me the fire of your love. Do not be angry with me, O Jesus, ineffable good, nor restrain the multitude of your supreme compassion. For it is not in my 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 a heart of flesh and compunction, one that fears you, loves you, cherishes you above all things, delights in you alone, follows you, and enjoys you forever.

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

Heal my heart, O Lord, from every sickness, so that it may taste no sweetness except you, seek no love except you, and love no consolation except you. O most holy Jesus, bread of life and understanding, having in yourself every delight and every sweetness of fragrance, you who always refresh us from yourself and never fail in yourself: 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 all times. Be the protection and continual salvation of my body and soul. Drive away from me the enemies who lie in wait for me, so that, fortified by the sacrament of your body and blood, I may advance through you on the straight path under regular discipline, and after this life may joyfully come to your kingdom.

An Excuse for the Length.

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

Meditation before the Approach to the Altar.

Finally, through meditation on the Lord’s passion, or at least on one of its more sacred articles, or on several if the opportunity of time is present, the mind of a devout person is pierced with compunction by a wonderful operation, provided that the habit of savoring meditation is possessed.

I would call meditation on the Lord’s passion “savoring” when a person, purified by true mortification, as soon as he has begun to turn over the Lord’s passion in thought, is dissolved into tears without violence, from love alone, and from the excessive desire of fervor is prepared as though for a certain transport of mind. Whoever has received this gift from the Lord will never be able to prepare himself better for celebrating than if, before the approach to the altar, he always passes over with tears at least one article of the Lord’s passion by meditating on it. Indeed, since the celebration of masses was instituted by our Redeemer himself in memory of the Lord’s passion, a person never prepares himself for it better and more fruitfully than if he is more fervently set aflame through meditation on that most bitter passion itself.

The Elevation of the Priest’s Mind to God during 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 comprehension? For there the true body and true blood of our Lord Jesus Christ are consecrated in an ineffable manner; there the Lord of majesty, truly present, is adored; there the army of angels, standing by its invisible 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, who searches the reins and the heart, be able to find anything in us that offends him. Let all worldly anxieties depart far from here; let all thoughts withdraw. Let nothing be thought here except what pertains to the consummation of so great a mystery; let nothing turn in the mind except what is fitting in the presence of so great majesty and glory. For here what is enacted is not an office of human power, but a miracle of divine majesty: the Son of God is offered to the Father; the body of our Redeemer is truly received; the mystery of our reparation is celebrated. Therefore, standing at the altar, let the priest remember that he stands before an invisible majesty, and let him beware of thinking anything whatever from elsewhere.

After celebration. Let careful custody of the mind be maintained

After the celebration, or the communion of the Lord’s body and blood, let the devout cenobite render thanks to almighty God, and throughout the whole day, by spiritual exercise, preserve himself in the purity and devotion of mind already begun. Let him direct his affections toward God with fiery rays, and not grow lukewarm from his holy purpose. Before all else, let him strive to love nothing in this world, but, with his heart entirely stripped of all earthly affections, to raise it continually to the fire of divine love. Let him always consider how, from this time onward, he may establish his life as if anew in the holy fervor of his way of life, and humbly dispose himself for the more frequent repeated reception of so great a guest.

Finally, during the day, amid the labors enjoined upon him, let him more often, with some prayer, offer himself to God the Father in the virtue and union of that sacrament, so that through the exercises of holy communion and regular obedience he may be kindled more fully in divine love. And we attain this divine love especially through the virtue of this venerable sacrament, if, in memory of the Lord’s Passion, by communicating in it more often, we are renewed through the grace of compunction. For indeed the devout human mind, through communion in this most sacred sacrament, is kindled by the effective operation of the fervor of divine love; and, wholly denied to itself, united by grace into Christ, it is transformed. Therefore, the more each person, denied to himself through true resignation, has offered himself to the Lord as a living victim in memory of the Lord’s Passion, the more disposed he will be to celebrate worthily.

After private masses. Returning to the cell.

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

I beseech you, sweetest Lord Jesus, by the virtue 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 gift, 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 write; and let him fervently attend to the work enjoined upon him by obedience.

At the first signal for choir, before the high mass.

When the first signal has sounded for the hour that is customarily allowed before the high mass, let the cenobite at once put aside everything he has in his hands and read the preparatory prayers for choir, as they were set out above before Matins. Afterward let him go to choir with reverence and maturity, bowing and praying according to the rite set down above.

At the high mass.

Consideration 4.

At the ringing for the high mass, you may read the appointed hour of the Holy Cross, and afterward, as much as time permits, recall to memory something from the prologue set before the private masses. For the sum of our salvation is placed in the merit of the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ; nor is any good work of merit believed to belong to us unless it is offered in his virtue. The memory of this Passion is enacted in the celebration of masses, where the innocent Lamb, slain for us, is offered to God the Father in an ineffable mystery. Therefore 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 prays that it be given her by God the Father through him. This regard for the merit of the Lord’s Passion our devout cenobite should have in his heart; upon it the whole office of the mass should revolve sweetly, as upon the lower millstone. For every mass, wherever it may be that is said in God’s holy Church, is at all times referred to the merit of the Lord’s Passion.

On the Introit of the Mass.

We do not intend, however, to explain the office of the mass point by point, since each of our men can find many explanations by others; but we wish to give an occasion for meditation to devout brothers, whom we know to be inflamed with inward desires. Therefore you can reduce the first part of the introit and the verse, in meditation, to the incarnation of the Lord, and refer the repetition with the Gloria to his nativity. Nevertheless, you must diligently examine what the introit contains according to its literal sense, so that you may be able to find a suitable spiritual understanding for yourself. For nothing is done in vain in the divine office, but all things are filled with mysteries and sacred actions.

On Kyrie eleison.

Kyrie eleison is Greek, and is composed of a noun and a verb; among the Greeks these are two words. The first is from kyrios, which means “lord”; kyrie is said in the vocative. The second is from eleeo, which means “I have mercy”; eleeson, “have mercy,” is uttered in the imperative. Hence comes Kyrie eleison, that is, “Lord, have mercy,” through elision for Kyrie eleison, since a vowel before a vowel may be elided for a better sound.

Therefore Kyrie eleison is said three times to the Father, so that he who, from exceeding charity, willed his Son to be incarnate of the Virgin and to die for us may deign by his mercy to assist us in our necessities. To the Son also we say Christe eleison three times, in which we pray him to assist us. We also utter Kyrie eleison three times to the Holy Spirit, in which we humbly invoke him, through his ineffable goodness, to come to our aid.

On the Gloria in excelsis Then the Gloria in excelsis Deo is said in the singular number; in it we confess the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit to be one sole true God in Trinity of persons and unity of substance. Accordingly, during this angelic hymn the monk ought to be very devout, and, so to speak, attentive to each single word; in it the gift of peace is promised to people of good will, and God is humbly adored by us in various phrases.

¶ At the Collects.

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

¶ At the Epistle.

When the Epistle is read, you ought diligently to attend to everything, and with the greatest fervor of spirit give thanks to God, because, leaving behind the Jewish people, he so mercifully chose to call you and your ancestors from Gentile error to his faith.

¶ At the Gradual.

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

At the Gospel.

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

At the Creed.

When the symbol of the catholic faith is sung, consider all the words and mysteries with humble fervor of spirit, and hasten at once to gather your whole self within yourself,

L ij so that you may be able to give thanks, without any merit of your own, to him who called you to the faith, and to lift yourself up into him through the love of the Spirit. Think, if you can, indeed as much as you can, how great, lofty, and immeasurable is the Son of God who willed to be incarnate for you, and how hard and bitter were the things he endured for you.

At the Offertory.

During the offertory, apply your mind, together with the host that is to be consecrated, to the oblation; weigh carefully what is being done there mystically.

For the host is round and white. In its whiteness, purity, innocence, and the suffering humanity of our Savior are set forth as 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.

I have no fitting gift to offer you, almighty God; I hand over myself to you as a sacrifice. Receive me, therefore, holy Father, in union with the most holy oblation of the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, your only-begotten Son, as an eternal gift to you and as a perpetual servant; and give me the continual burning of your holy love, so that I may be able always to render you service pleasing to you. Through the same Christ.

¶ Prayer.

I offer to you, almighty God, the life, passion, and death of the same our Lord Jesus Christ: for my sins; for the holy Roman and universal Church; for the supreme pontiff; for our bishop; for our abbot; for all my confreres; for the unity of our observance; for our whole order also; 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. I beseech you, holy Father, receive this oblation of mine in union with that charity by which you received the same our Lord Jesus Christ as he died for us on the cross; and may it be pleasing to you.

At the Preface.

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

At the Sanctus.

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

Under the Canon.

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

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

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

At the Elevation.

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

O Christ, king of glory, you are the everlasting Son of the Father. You, to deliver us, etc., to the end.

For this part of the hymn Thomas Aquinas is read to have prayed to the Lord under the elevation.

At the Agnus Dei.

When the Agnus Dei is sung, lift up your mind to the Lord Jesus with singular confidence, and humbly pray that he may receive you into perpetual peace. Direct your affection to him for whose love you have abandoned all things; seek from him, through reception of sacred communion, stable progress in your holy purpose.

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 desire you may deserve to behold the Lord Jesus presiding in majesty, whom, sent to the Father in the sacrament, you can no longer see on earth. Therefore kindle your desire through an image of desolation, in the manner of those who are unwillingly separated from their friends.

Say, therefore, in your heart:

Meditation.

Behold, my Lord has returned to the heavens; he has left me desolate on earth. What am I doing here with mortals, when I have an immortal Lord? Why do I not follow him? Alas for me, because my sojourning has been prolonged; I have dwelt with the inhabitants of darkness; my soul has long been a sojourner. I desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ; but who will deliver me, unhappy man, from the body of this death? O 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 to the end, but deign frequently to lift up my mind to you, so that, since I cannot see you bodily while placed in this mortality, at least lifted up in affection and desire in your most holy love, I may deserve 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 to me a gracious helper, and direct me always in your most holy will, so that I may truly be able to please you.

After the High Mass and the Following Hour.

After the end of the hour that immediately follows high mass, return to your cell with the customary reverence described above. Pour out prayers to the Lord through fervor of spirit, as we taught after matins. Spend whatever remains of the time Continue in meditations. Consider the foulness of sin: how it separates a person from God and condemns forever the one who is turned away and does not repent. Take care, therefore, to turn your will wholly to God with the firmest resolve, and, as far as you can, to avoid at all times the contagion of sin.

On the Regular Meal.

Consideration V

When the signal for the meal is rung, have heartfelt compassion for the sick, the needy, and the poor who suffer want; and when you can do nothing else for them, entreat the Lord on their behalf.

Consider that among Christians there are many far better than you whom harsh poverty oppresses in this life, to whom neither the food necessary for sustenance is offered nor even the thinnest clothing supplied for covering the body. But you, a monk, though you are a despiser of the world, are clothed in excellent garments and sit at table like a prince. Food is set before you to satiety by brothers better than you; all necessary things, even to the point of surfeit, are provided for you, an unworthy sinner, by the servants of God. Consider, therefore, what end this abundance of goods will have in a monk, since by entering religion you professed poverty, and now in religion you feast more splendidly than worldly rich men. Take care, then, not to be ungrateful for such great benefits of God. Live according to the rule which you have professed. Pray for those who contribute temporal substance to your monastery, that almighty God may mercifully grant them eternal life.

On Reading at Table.

When seated at table, be composed while eating. 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 diligently what is read at table, so that, just as the body is refreshed by its food, so the soul may not be deprived of its own refreshment. Learn, while eating, frequently to raise your mind to heavenly things, and by the word of sacred reading, which is never lacking while we eat, sweetly to inflame it with divine compunction.

For the true and inward worshiper of God, whenever he hears anything read, even at meals, about the bitterness of the Lord’s passion, the fervor of divine love, or the kingdom of the heavenly homeland, immediately groans from excessive desire; his affection is kindled in the fire of love; compelled by exceeding sweetness, he weeps. Indeed, the mind that truly loves the Lord Jesus, as soon as it hears his name or looks upon the image of the crucified one, is dissolved in compunction and by affection is raised to his feet or to his embrace.

At Thanksgiving.

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 particular prayer for the dead, you do well.

On Regular Reading.

On leaving the refectory for your cell, if it is not a fast day, complete the customary manner of praying; then read something good for edification, meditate, do whatever work has been assigned to you, or write. But if it is a fast day, take up the volume for your study and enter the place of regular reading. Sitting with the others, read in silence whatever you wish. But if you are asked by the presiding officer to say something good, answer humbly, briefly, and usefully, without curious citations. Use plain speech, and do not bring forward the vain curiosities of secular people. Do not entangle the brothers sitting around you, or your superiors, in your words, but express the thought of your mind simply in a few words, unless perhaps the presiding officer, for some definite reason, orders you to make a longer address.

The Monk’s Exercise after Dinner until Vespers.

Consideration VI

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

On Dwelling in the Cell and the Works to Be Done in It.

There are three places in which a devout monk and lover of God ought often to be found: namely, in church, in his cell, and, at the proper time, in the refectory. But he does not permit wandering about the monastery, because it is written of the wicked, the reprobate, and the gyrovagues: “The wicked walk about 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 will sit solitary and keep silence, because he has lifted himself above himself.”

There are five chief works of the cell. The first is to attend to commands; the second is to read usefully; the third is to apply oneself at suitable times to meditation; the fourth is to pray frequently; the fifth is to rest fittingly. We shall speak briefly of these in order.

In the cell, first, you should attend to commands.

First, then, while you are in the dwelling of the cell, learn to attend to commands and not to prefer your empty devotions to obedience. For Scripture says: “Obedience is better than the sacrifices of fools, and to hearken 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 occasion, but strive diligently to perform the work imposed on you for the love of our Lord Jesus Christ and the merit of holy obedience. Hence Hugh, a lover of quiet, says: “Be gladly in your cell, and always do something in it that may build you up, and that has been enjoined by your superior. Consider that it is not within your right to go out of it without permission, except for the necessity of nature.” You also have, concerning this, the prohibition of our most holy father Benedict in the Rule, which forbids you exit and running about without permission.

Second, in the cell one ought to read usefully.

It is especially fitting for a monk who is 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 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 instructed only in simple teachings. And Hugh says to the monk who loves simplicity: “Do not read in order to be considered more learned, nor read curiosities that do not build up, because vain reading begets vain thoughts and extinguishes the devotion of the mind.” Therefore simpler monks should read simple things, not lofty ones; devout things, not curious ones, so that those who, because of slowness of understanding, are not learned in higher matters may not become dissolved in vain things. But we do not forbid suitable studies to those who are stronger in spirit, because all things are clean to the clean, and nothing that is read harms those who are truly devout. Nevertheless, let no one claim for himself a strength of mind that he does not have, but let it be placed in the abbot’s discretion, so that he may see who is fit for freedom in reading.

Third, in the cell you should apply yourself at suitable times to meditations.

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

Fourth, in the cell you should pray frequently.

The holy apostle admonishes us to devote ourselves to prayer without interruption, 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 as we are instructed toward good by readings, so by prayers we are delivered from evil. For the Lord says in the holy Gospel: “Pray, that you may not enter into temptation.” Prayer feeds the hungry mind, extinguishes the fire of carnal desire, instructs morals, and drives away demons. If you wish always to be with God, always 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.

Fifth, in the cell you should rest fittingly.

He rests best who commits no evil. He rests well who despises all the occupations of the world. Be quiet in your cell, so that you do not wander here and there in any thought. Be pure and tranquil in mind, so that you may deserve to obtain tasteful wisdom. For holy Prosper says in verse: “Wisdom imbues a tranquil mind, free from cares, and will be the guest of a peaceful breast.” And again he says: “Those who are quiet can search the law in whatever way they can, if hearts free from the clamor of the world are empty. Therefore, that the mind intent on pious studies may be helped, let divine love conquer fleshly quarrels.” Remain, then, quiet in your cell, and by loving the truth you will be able to know it. For a tranquil mind cannot be receptive of divine wisdom when the body is restless. Hence Hugh says: “Be quiet in the dormitory, so that another may not be disturbed by you. Whether you are waking or wishing to sleep, let the memory of God’s goodness always come to you with thanksgiving, because he himself always watches over us, so that he may guard us from every evil as we humbly serve him.” When you go to your bed, first [unclear] of God, by thinking about him or meditating on him, so that you may be able to fall asleep sweetly amid holy thoughts. For as the occupations of a waking person have been, so will be the rest of the one who sleeps, and so too will his dreams be. For a mind fervent with divine love, whether sleeping or waking, will not be able to forget the one it loves, just as the bride says in the Song of Songs: I sleep, and my heart keeps watch.

At Vespers. Consideration VII.

When the first signal for Vespers has been heard, and after saying in the customary way, Blessed be the name of the Lord, along with the other things usually said beforehand, have compassion on those occupied in worldly business, and give thanks that almighty God has willed you to be free from those things in order to serve him. Then recollect yourself inwardly; or you may meditate somewhat on the Lord’s Passion, until, when the second signal sounds, you go to choir. For in my judgment there is no meditation better for beginners and those advancing toward compunction and devotion of mind than that which takes its beginning, through burning affections, from the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ.

At the Vigils of the Dead.

When, at the summons for the vigils after Vespers, you may recite the hour of the Holy Cross, and afterward think somewhat about the immeasurable charity of God by which he loves faithful souls. Then, as much as you can, consider how great is the desolation of those holy souls placed in purgatory; how great is the pain for a spirit separated from the body and longing to return to the center of its first principle, not to be able to behold the face of its Creator in friendly enjoyment, but to be compelled to wait in punishments and torments most grievous to it. For so great is the desolation, sadness, and grief of a separated soul placed in punishments and longing to come to God, that no kind of torment known to us in this world could be compared with its sorrow. Indeed, there is no comparison, in our manner of speaking, between bodily sadness and desolation and the state of a separated spirit, appointed to a delay in its return to its own principle.

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

Passing Through the Cemetery or Cloister.

Pray for the dead.

When you pass through a cemetery, cloister, or some other place of burial for the dead, do not forget your brothers and all the dead; but, moved by charity, have compassion on them, and strive to assist them before the Lord in this or a similar manner.

Prayer

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

Another.

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

Read the following prayer often.

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

After Vespers Until Compline. Consideration VIII

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

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

At supper, when you hear the signal for the spiritual collation, strive to go to it at once with gravity, and to hear the last reading of the day with fervor of spirit. For the word of holy exhortation that has last been heard will cling more tenaciously to the mind throughout the whole night. But if it is a fast day, the collation has customarily been observed in the refectory while drinking. Therefore be attentive to sacred reading in every place, because when the word of holy exhortation is gladly received with attention, it cannot happen that the mind is not often lifted up.

At Compline.

When you come to Compline, beseech the Lord that he may make you always despise all worldly and carnal things, and grant you continually to remain in his most holy love, so that when the course of the present life is completed, you may deserve to enter the temple of God not made by hands, and rejoice forever in the Lord with all the saints. But 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.

As soon as Compline has begun, 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 mind.

On Recollection after Compline. Consideration IX.

Since we cannot remain wholly unmoved in one holy state of mind, it is necessary for us to renew our holy purpose frequently, so that as often as, during the day, by wandering along the byways of sins, we depart from the one beginning of our mind, the highest God, so often we may return to him through contrition and compunction, with amendment firmly resolved. Hence our holy fathers established for us that we should devote ourselves to recollection after Compline and examine ourselves concerning the negligences committed during the day, so that 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 monk, wishing to recollect himself fruitfully and with useful continuance, ought chiefly to examine himself in order on five points.

The First Thing to Be Observed in Recollection.

The Rendering of Account.

The first thing to be observed is the rendering of account, by which the monk is commanded to bring back before the eyes of the mind, for correction, whatever he remembers that he has committed in the day by failing negligently, badly, or less well. And so, turned toward the Lord, he should lie before his bed with hands clasped, and say in this or a similar manner:

I give thanks to you, almighty and merciful God, for all your benefits, which you have deigned to bestow on me, an unworthy sinner with no merit at all, from my youth up to this hour.

For I, who have deserved no good, have received many and innumerable gifts of your goodness. Would that I could give worthy thanks to you, the highest and unchangeable good; would that I could praise you in your holy service with a pure heart and clean conscience. But, alas, with weakness, concupiscence, and evil habit prevailing, I, who ought to have clung to your most holy love with a pure heart and conscience, have offended you again and again by many negligences and faults; and as often as, according to the inward inspirations of your goodness, I have tried to rise to fervor of spirit, alas, so often I grieve that I have fallen again.

Behold, good Jesus, how many faults, how many negligences, how many offenses I have fallen into today alone; how many vain, how many useless, how many pernicious 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, wretched man, who could not spend even one very brief day in your most holy service without impurity of heart and negligence; I who have committed so many faults and various imperfections today. I confess to your goodness, O most gentle God, all my sins into which I have fallen from the beginning of my age. Before your feet, O sweetest Jesus, I place all the negligences that I have committed today. I ask for pardon, which I am not worthy to receive; I beg for grace, which I confess I have so often received in vain. O Jesus Christ, most loving mediator of God and men, do not cast away me, a wretched sinner, whom you willed to purchase with your own blood. I confess to you all the negligences into which I have in any way fallen today, and the faults that I have committed.

Here the monk, prostrate in mind before the Lord, should recall the more serious negligences to memory, and, humbly asking pardon, should lament his imperfection. Above all, let him consider whether he has offended anyone by word or deed; whether he has said anything against a brother; whether he has committed anything against charity and reverence; or whether he knowingly saddened someone wrongly. And in general, in whatever respect he has acted against God, against himself, against his prelate, against his neighbor, or the Rule, or the statutes of the fathers, he should take care to bring back for examination in this chapter whatever he knows he has offended in. And concerning secret matters, in tomorrow's confession; concerning public and regular transgressions, in the next chapter meeting, he should faithfully and from his heart resolve to clear himself by accusing himself. Let him grieve over what he has committed, make satisfaction for what he has repented of, and beware of what he may commit.

Next, let him consider the grave danger of offending God, whether the sin has been venial or mortal. For Jean Gerson, chancellor of Paris, says in the treatise On the Spiritual Life: "Even venial sin is so much against God that, according to 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 smallest sin against God's will for the whole world. For the most blessed pontiff Augustine says: "No sin is so venial that it does not become mortal while it is pleasing." You may say: this statement cannot be true, because if a sin is venial, it can never become mortal; but if it becomes mortal, it was not venial. But listen and understand. I grant that venial sin, considered in itself, cannot become mortal. But one and the same sin, which can stand together with charity, becomes merely venial for one person by negligence and weakness alone; for another, however, through contempt and aversion from God in the same sin, it is without doubt imputed as mortal, because it is pleasing even insofar as it is sin and contrary to God. Blessed, therefore, is he who is always fearful; but he who is hard of mind will fall into evil. Whoever neglects the smallest sins when he can amend them gradually falls into greater ones.

Indeed, how much sin displeases almighty God is shown by the punishment that follows. For so often in the sacred books and in the deeds of times past we read of sinners against the Lord being gravely punished, that we rightly fear the pit of sin. How much even the very briefest thought of an averted spirit 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 pride, he was cast into hell.

How contrary to the Lord idle and useless words are, the account in the Lives of the Holy Fathers about the infernal pigs appearing among those speaking useless things and gnashing their teeth warns us plainly enough.

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

How much deeds and negligence concerning one's office displease him is clear in the sons of Eli, who were negligent and less careful about the rite of sacrifice.

How much evil deeds offend God, since we can understand it from, as it were, countless histories, need not be proved by a few examples.

When, however, our monk in his devout recollections finds himself burdened by the aforesaid or by any other negligences or sins, however grave, let him assume such contrition for the past as is possible for him, a purpose of amendment by firmly avoiding them in the future, and penance for what he has committed. Therefore let him take up the counsel of the aforesaid chancellor, and, being compunct, say:

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

¶ Truth 1: to the Lord.

Lord my God, you know all things. You know that, by your granting, I have a good purpose, and with your help I intend to amend myself according to my powers in the future.

¶ Truth 3.

Sin, however, is avoided by prayers, calling upon God for help; by punishments, inflicting penance on the body; and by flight, avoiding the occasion of sin. Therefore, for the third truth, let him say:

¶ Truth 3.

Lord my God, I have a good will to make confession of my sins, according to your command and holy mother...

of mother Church, according to place and time, and from the heart, wholly and without pretense.

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

The Indication of Future Caution.

The second thing he prescribes for the monk to observe in his recollection is called the indication of future caution. Let him consider what have been for him the occasions of past transgression, and he will more easily guard himself from future danger. For the pit of sin is never better blocked up than if the occasion of sin is avoided. And Saint Bernard says: “For the coming night, indeed, an indication must be made, distributing one’s exercises according to the rule of the common institution.” In these things he duly pays every debt, if the spirit is subjected to God and the flesh to the spirit, and if anything has been omitted, neglected, or imperfect, it does not remain unrecompensed in manner, time, and place.

The Request for Suffrages.

The third thing in the recollection of a good monk is the devout request for suffrages; for he, understanding his own weakness very well, seeks help from those stronger than himself. Therefore, as soon as he has completed his recollection, he turns to the holy and undivided Trinity to ask for mercy; then he invokes the most blessed Mother of God; afterward he implores the prayers and assistance of all the saints. And here he remembers not only himself, but pours out prayers for the whole order and the Church.

The Blessing for Going to Rest.

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

The Blessing for Rest.

May the merits of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the integrity of blessed Mary ever virgin, the sign of the holy cross, the power of the Lord’s passion, and the blessing, protection, and merit of all the saints, angels, and elect of God, stand between me and all my 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 beg you, by the merit of your most holy passion: have mercy on me and guard me from all snares and illusions of the enemy, so that with a pure mind and a clean body I may be able to rise at the appointed hours and praise you with fervor of spirit.

Discretion for Obtaining Rest.

The fifth and last thing to be commemorated in recollection is discretion for obtaining rest: so that, just as the monk must never wholly omit this evening recollection, so also he should not wish, too indiscreetly, to prolong it to the destruction of his head. Therefore, when all things have been completed with discretion, let him raise the desire of his fervor toward God with tears, if he can, but let him not confound his mind. As he goes up to his bed, let him carry with him into memory something about the Lord’s passion, or about the love of Jesus, or certainly about the glory of the heavenly kingdom, in which, while sleeping, he may rest sweetly. For Bernard says: “When you are about to go to sleep, carry something with you in memory or thought, in which you may fall asleep peacefully; something that may also sometimes help you to dream, and that may receive you when you wake, and restore you to the state of yesterday’s intention. Thus the night will be illuminated for you like the day, and your 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 for redemption, while you return to that from which you had not wholly departed.”

Nevertheless, discretion must always be applied in all these things, lest either excessive meditation, hindering sleep, destroy the brain, or sleep taken immoderately interrupt meditation altogether. For at this hour the monk ought rather to sleep than to meditate, so that in due time so that, at the appointed time, he may be ready to rise and well disposed in cheerfulness of soul for the divine office. For an affection too greatly inflamed by meditation destroys the brain and the senses, and takes sleep from the eyes of the weak. Therefore meditation in bed should be brief, where the head does not have great strength either by grace or by nature.

On Manual Labor. Tenth Consideration.

Since our most holy father Benedict, in the Rule, commends as true monks those who live by the labor of their hands, and declares them blessed, it seemed fitting to us, after the end of the day, to say something about this most holy exercise. Indeed, we read that this work is commended in many ways by the holy fathers, and we know that in it they profited before God and human beings in no small measure. For the holy apostle says: “He who does not work, let him not eat.” What Augustine, that teacher among the most learned teachers, 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 not lukewarmly at the work of their hands, so that they might not incur the danger of idleness, and, living from their own labors, after the example of the most blessed teacher of the nations, burden no one. Would that we too, brothers, might deign to take up this holy exercise of laboring with the same intention and goodwill as they, so that after the end of our labor we may deserve to rest with them without end in the heavenly homeland.

There Are Four Things for a Monk to Observe in Labor.

When called to labor, a monk should strive to show himself such in all things that he does not lose the merit of bodily labor through dissolution of mind. For we see many among monks going out to labor in the wrong way, whom we see seeking nothing other than the comforts of the flesh. Some of these take up useless and less necessary labors so that, in the time of the regular fast, they may have an occasion for eating.

For they labor so that they may eat; whether it benefits or harms the monastery, they do not care. Others have been accustomed to arrange various labors so that, under this pretext, they may be able to run about here and there without the bridle of discipline. Others procure labors useless to the community so that they may freely indulge in vain talk and frivolities. Others love external labors so that, as if by a suitable opportunity and without suspicion, they may be able to see and speak with people whom I will not call seculars, known and friendly to them according to the flesh and not according to God. Others, because of instability of mind, unable to rest in the monastery, always seem to pant after labors. The intention of all those laboring in this way is not sincere, and therefore they do not attain the excellent 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, and intend nothing except the profit of the soul. While you are at 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 things that follow: in outward conduct be faithful, serviceable, and kindly; inwardly, humble and devout; in speech, sparing and edifying; in manners, composed and mature. If you keep these four things in labor, you will always return to your cell better.

Outwardly the Monk Should Be Faithful, Kindly, and Serviceable.

The first thing to be diligently observed by the cenobite in labor is that, in working, he always show himself faithful to his monastery; that he anticipate the brothers out of charity in serving and ministering, or also in carrying heavier things; and that in all words and deeds he show himself kindly and tractable. Saint Bernard, the lover of God, says: A serious and prudent soul prepares itself for every labor, yet is not dissolved in it, but through it is more intent and strives more; for it always has before its eyes not so much what it is doing as what, by doing it, it is striving for. The more truly it strives, the more fervently and faithfully also it works with its hands, subjecting to itself the service of its whole body, in in which the will makes practice, and practice supplies strength for the exercise. The devout and faithful cenobite who truly loves God does not spare himself in labor, but is accustomed to apply himself to the manual tasks imposed on him with such fervor, cheerfulness, and fidelity, as if by his labor alone he had to gather together and feed all who are established in the monastery. For the most prudent soul knows that it is devoting itself wholly to God, whatever bodily necessity for his servants it happens to labor for. For just as spiritual things cannot long endure in religion without the cooperation of temporal things, so I do not hesitate to call one who ministers bodily necessities to those serving God, for God's sake, a servant of God. Therefore whatever a good cenobite can acquire for the monastery by his labors with right intention, let him know that he is offering all that to the Lord. Nevertheless, the monk must always understand that he is to labor in such a way that he in no way omits monastic prayers, masses, and the other services of holy mother Church.

Manual work, however, undertaken out of curiosity and self-complacency is judged before the inward judge to be deprived of the merit of obedience; and work presumed as idle and without the superior's permission is held liable to account. But the good cenobite, who desires to please God alone, should say to himself that saying of Bernard in every stealthy intrusion of an idle word, deed, or thought: If you were about to die now, would you do in this way what you are now doing, thinking, or saying? But if, were you now about to die, you would not do what you are doing in the way you are doing it, you are most foolish, since, destined to die shortly, you so boldly send the works of death on ahead to death for yourself. But if, since it is necessary, you desire to die well, do at no time what you would not do if death were already present. For whatever you do now, whether good or bad, you will find after death.

Let the monk be inwardly humble and devout.

Second, in the time of labor the monk must be inwardly devout and humble, since if he abandons the progress of inward fervor, what he acquires outwardly through labor is of no help.

Therefore, so that the soul may truly profit while laboring, let him bring back to constant memory the degrees of good will written in the first section. Let him arrange meditations on the Lord's passion with fervor of devotion, in which he may conform his labors, as far as possible, to Christ's labor. Let him always be humble in heart by self-denial. Let him be devout in affection through the fervor of holy compunction, so that the labor of his hands may outwardly advance the usefulness and advantage of the community, while his mind does not withdraw from the inward sweetness of divine love. If labor wearies the working cenobite, if heat burns him, if untimely thirst oppresses him, let him call to mind what the Lord of labor endured for us, and he will bear everything lightly. And so let him say this prayer to the Lord.

Prayer of one laboring.

Most sweet and most lovable Lord Jesus, king of heaven and earth, who for my redemption were born of the most pure Virgin Mary, and for thirty-three years lived among human beings as God and man; who had great labors in walking, teaching, and preaching; and who willingly and patiently endured thirst, hunger, heat, and cold, for all of which I give thanks to you: receive, I beseech you, these very small labors of mine, however useless, which in humility of your most holy testament I offer to you in memory and honor of all your labor and of your most holy passion. And may they be pleasing to you in that union by which your most holy labors were pleasing to God the Father. Amen.

During the time of labor let our cenobite turn over in mind the chief articles of the Lord's passion: first, as though commemorating them before Christ in his passion; then, giving thanks at his knees; third, asking for mercy in himself according to the likeness of them.

Let him also recall to memory the ways of life of any holy fathers, or the passions of the martyrs, and let him consider what reward and glory they now receive in the fatherland for their labors.

Let the monk be sparing and edifying in speech.

The third thing to be observed especially by the monk in labor The third thing to be observed by the monk for progress in labor is that he speak little, and what is edifying. For Scripture says: “In much speaking sin will not be lacking.” And let no monk speak without permission, if he truly desires to be good. But when permission to speak has been given, let him speak only a few useful things, knowing that idle and scurrilous words are condemned everywhere by the rule. Let him establish for himself, everywhere and at all times, such a manner of speaking, with circumspection, that by speaking he offends no one. Let him prefer to listen rather than desire to speak; and let him not say everything that comes into his mind, if he fears the reproach of fools. For thus Hugh says to the monk: “Do not pour out everything you know, like a vessel without a lid, which as soon as it is tilted pours out whatever it contains, and lies open to every dust and impurity.”

Take diligent care that you do not seem to seek your own glory in any way, directly or indirectly; nor reveal to anyone, from a desire for boasting or otherwise imprudently, anything praiseworthy that 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 mocked. Beware of idle words, because when we do not notice such things for long, we gradually slip into harmful ones; from them arise disturbances, dissipations, or grave corrosions of spiritual progress. Be such in your inner conversation that, through love of spiritual meditation, silence may please you more at every time than talkativeness.

Let the cenobite be composed and mature in conduct.

Fourth, the monk, both in labor and outside it, and everywhere, is bound to compose his conduct and to show himself mature before men in all things, both in deeds and in words. Let him be clean and humble in heart; let him be kind and useful in speech; let him be modest and grave in his gait; let him be mature and exemplary in his whole way of life. The whole person is easily brought into conformity with the norm of discipline, if the effort to make progress is held firmly in the soul at all times. For truly, when a monk desires daily to advance toward better things, he avoids every dissolution and disorderly way of life. For a firm effort to make progress has this as its own property: that it makes the mind of the one striving 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 quickly dissolves into open dissolution of mind where the root of discipline does not have the fear of God. Therefore, so that our cenobite may always be able to be composed both inwardly and outwardly, let him strive to be truly rooted in the fear of the Lord. For one who fears God neglects nothing. And the love of God is not idle.

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

Since, then, we have begun to speak about the maturity and composure that a monk must preserve before men, it seems useful to us now to say briefly how he ought to show himself to individual persons. For he is instructed to show himself in one way to his prelate, and is commanded to show himself in another way to his brothers and to secular persons. To his ruler, in the place of Christ, he ought to show reverence; to his brother, charity; to those who injure him, meekness; to secular persons, modest piety. Therefore let the monk render to each what is his own, and he will truly be composed before God and men. What he owes to God, and what to himself, has been sufficiently said above; now let us pursue what has been proposed to us.

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

First, the monk’s conduct ought to be reverential toward the prelate, as the Lord says in the holy Gospel: “Whoever hears you hears me; and whoever despises you despises me.” For the monk who withholds due obedience and reverence from his abbot does injury to almighty God. For as our most holy father says in the Rule, the abbot is shown to hold the place of Christ in the monastery. Therefore whoever Therefore whoever despises the vicar of some king has without doubt despised the king himself. But tell me, good brother: why do you withhold due reverence from your prelate, whom you hear is Christ’s vicar? Perhaps you think him evil and wholly unworthy of such an office, and for that reason you think it is permissible for you to despise him. Not so, brother, not so. Rather, consider whose place it is in which Christ’s vicar presides, and know that you honor the sender, not the one sent. If you wish to be Christ’s disciple, always consider why you have come, and you will never deny reverence even to an unworthy prelate. For why have you come? Surely so that, according to the Gospel and the Rule, you may deny yourself for God’s sake; so that under another’s command you may serve Christ as a soldier; so that with patience you may await the eternal reward for these things. Therefore do not, brother, do not lose the crown of eternal blessedness prepared for you in heaven because of one man’s displeasing conduct, a crown you ought not exchange for the whole world.

Remember that you have nothing except from God, to whom you owe wholly what you are and what you know, so that you may fulfill his will and live according to his ordinance. But since you cannot understand God’s will by your own consideration, you must humbly obey your rector as his vicar, to whom you have subjected yourself; nor must you examine either his life or his command, since it is not permitted you to judge your shepherd. Indeed, in your profession you swore that you ought not carry out your own will, but that you wished to obey the abbot in all things according to the Rule. Therefore the abbot is lord of your will, not by his own assumption, but by the ordinance of God, whose vicar he also is. But handling another’s property against the owner’s will is theft, and you know that thieves will have no share in the kingdom of Christ and of God.

Thus the monk who has been professed according to the Rule to God and to his abbot no longer thereafter has lordship over his own will. If afterward he usurps that will for himself, he commits theft and sacrilege. Nor will permission obtained save the presumptuous man, if it has been obtained by threats and insults. Your abbot, O brother, is God’s vicar; to him you must render the obedience promised, not as to a human being but as to God, and show humble reverence in God’s place. For whatever is given by subjects to the 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, strive at all times to present yourself toward him in such a way that he may freely be able to command you to do or leave undone whatever seems expedient to him, and that he may have no fear at all of any insolence or disturbances of your spirit. For if your abbot is compelled to fear you, his monk, the order of justice is violated; and where a disciple strives to be above the master, he sins against the Gospel.

Take care, therefore, lest you withhold reverence and honor from prelates; take care lest by saddening them you offend the Lord. Rather, see to it that, whatever sort of men they may be, you meet them reverently and obey their commands in all things according to the Gospel and the Rule. Believe me, brother, because the fault committed by a subject against a prelate will be punished most severely, either in the present life or in the life to come. For it is written: “Do not touch my anointed ones.” Whatever your prelate commands you, you must receive with such trust that you believe God has inspired it in him.

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

Second, the conduct of a monk toward his brothers is commanded to have charity, through which alone peace and concord are maintained in the monastery. Let our faithful cenobite always think, and turn over in his heart, the common joy of souls in eternal blessedness; and let him continually direct the eye of the mind toward the equal condition of souls, so that his thought may not withdraw from love of their future fellowship. If a brother has offended you in any way by word or deed, if he has been troublesome or opposed to you in some matter, do not weigh the disorderly movement of sensuality from this; do not consider his present weakness, but lift the eyes of your mind to the nobility of his soul, and consider what kind of fellowship in eternal blessedness he is to have with you. To this end you ought often to recall to memory the chapter of the Rule on the good zeal of monks, so that you may more easily rouse yourself.

you may be able to rouse yourself. Above all, take care not to admit displeasure against your brother, because he who is frequently angry with his neighbor plainly proves that he does not love God. For whoever loves God with his whole heart does not admit displeasure against his faithful brother. The monk, indeed, ought to be established in such elevation of mind that, whatever a brother may have committed against him, by weighing the nature of that brother’s soul he cannot be moved.

Let the monk’s conduct toward those who injure him be gentle.

Third, the monk’s conduct toward those who injure him ought to be gentle, because only then is it well done, if regard is always had for the common future happiness and companionship. To attain this gentleness of soul, let our cenobite learn often to recall to mind the conduct of the holy fathers, and faithfully consider with how much joy they received injuries. Let him strive above all, as far as possible, to imitate our Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who not only endured the injuries and insults of the wicked with a most gentle heart, but also prayed to the Father for his persecutors, that they might not perish. Imitating this example of the Savior, the holy fathers were accustomed, for the love of God, to receive injuries patiently and gently, and, what is more, to love those who injured them. To this end let the cenobite recall to mind the degrees of gentleness, which are briefly contained and included in these verses:

Adapt. Strengthen. Being gentle, bear contrary things. Preserve. Restrain. Rest wholly within yourself. Correct prudently. Be merciful. Give wisely. Pray by setting yourself there, by desiring martyrdom.

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

The twelve degrees of humility.

The first of the degrees of the righteous fears the Almighty. The second puts reins on the enticements of the flesh. The third reverently subjects himself to the abbot.

The fourth, with insults despised, patiently obeys. The fifth reveals the secrets of his heart to the abbot. The sixth judges himself vile and unworthy. The seventh believes himself to be inferior to all. The eighth does nothing that the rule of the cell does not allow. The ninth does not speak until another asks him. The tenth banishes laughter and condemns guffawing. The eleventh speaks few words of reason. The twelfth always looks at the ground with head bowed.

On the same, otherwise.

Look upon God, and do not do your own will; let another govern you. Bear hard things; hide nothing in your heart, but also seek the lowest things. Be a cleansing refuse; do not wander alone; stop your tongue. Let laughter be sparing, speech weighty, gestures humble.

Note: Peripsema ought to be read and written, not peripsima, as the unlearned read in the Epistle to the Romans; and it is said to mean the filings and purging of all things.

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

Fourth, the monk’s conduct toward secular people ought to be modest, so that neither his familiarity with them is excessive nor his withdrawal indiscreet. Hence Hugh says: With respect to people, as far as lies in you, avoid everything that can be a bad example to them, just as it befits a faithful servant of God to advance the honor of his Lord in all things, and to guard against dishonoring him. And do not be familiar with any woman, even a holy one. For if they are discreet, you will please them more by this; but if they are importunate, they are all the more to be avoided. Do not be suspicious. Be attentive to the weak, humble in acts of service; 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 fearful of God.

But in founding all virtues and good morals, set before yourself that most brilliant and most perfect example of all brightness, of the life and conduct of our Lord Jesus Christ, who was sent from heaven for this, that he might lead us on the way of virtues and teach us by his own example, just like himself. Therefore, the more a monk has taken care to conform himself to him by imitation on the way of virtues, the more like and nearer to him he will doubtless be in the glory of eternal happiness. Whatever you do, always look to him, and see how he conducted himself in all things according to the Gospel and your estimation. For since he is best, he conducted himself best in all things. Say, then, to yourself: If my Lord Jesus were present, what do you think he would do in this matter, or what would he now say? Surely he would both act and speak in the best way; and I ought to imitate him in all things according to my strength.

General conclusion of all spiritual exercises.

Consideration XII

Wishing at last to put an end to this work, we say that the completion of all spiritual exercises consists in two things. First, in the knowledge and feeling of one’s own imperfection, so that the monk may always be conscious of his weakness and remain rooted in humility. Second, in the desire and effort to come to a higher conduct, so that he may always desire to advance in spirit toward better things and not withdraw at all from this effort. Toward this effort of advancing, every cenobite ought to extend his mind at every moment; if he ever sets it aside, he incurs transgression of his vow and very grave danger to his soul. But let the monk take care that consideration of his own weakness does not cast down the effort to advance; let him take care that the effort itself does not despise the consideration of imperfection. Rather, let these two so cling mutually to each other that they never withdraw from one another. But if excessive consideration of one’s own imperfection has tempted the mind toward despair of God’s mercy, let him recall to memory what the holy abbot Bernard said: Let us breathe again, brothers, because although we are nothing in our own hearts, perhaps something in 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. Thus the Psalmist said: I am poor and sorrowful. Behold the first. Your salvation, O God, has received me. 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, alien to every anxiety and to the cares of the world. For the Holy Spirit is a spirit of freedom and joy: he loves a free heart, joyful in God, and, so to speak, applauds one like himself. For just as a bird tied to the earth cannot lift itself up to heaven by flying, so a mind occupied with perishable things cannot raise itself to heavenly things. Nor should the spirit be cast down by too much frequent practice; otherwise the brain too is confused, and one labors in vain through dry habit. Therefore let the cenobite, fervent in spirit, learn always to persist in these things with moderation, and by his intention continually refer the purpose of every exercise to God, who is the beginning and end of all goodness. Let him faithfully direct his effort toward fear and love of him, and fix his mind in profound humility, since one who is rooted in love is not easily abandoned by God.

Here ends the spiritual exercise of cloistered persons, by Peter of Friedberg, in the noble city of Mainz, on the eighth Ides of August, in the year of salvation M.cccc.xcviii.

The Compendium of the Spiritual Exercise Begins. Johannes Trithemius.

Although this formula of spiritual exercise, published by us for the edification of cloistered persons, might appear very brief to any devout persons who have leisure, nevertheless we fear that to those occupied with household affairs it may seem rather lengthy. For when their thought is stretched by continual concern in arranging the necessities of their subjects, the mind is easily wearied even by very brief spiritual exercises. Therefore, lest our monks who are either devoted to exterior matters, or are less devout in spiritual conversation, be able, by occasion of its length, to take refuge in their customary excuse, we have been ordered to abbreviate the same instruction, so that the fervent may keep the longer one in their devotion, and the lukewarm may not omit the shorter.

The Practice of the Spiritual Exercise Follows.

Before each and every hour, in general, the devout cenobite should strive to direct his effort toward this end: that with all his strength he may desire to magnify God in his heart, by the root of his benefits. Let there be in him so great a most fervent ardor of devotion, so great a compunction, and finally so great an outpouring of tears, that whoever sees him chanting psalms may be moved by his example to magnify the Lord. Secondly, let him remember that he can be stirred to charity toward his neighbor, since love is directed toward God in vain if one’s neighbor is hated. Therefore, when all the thorns of displeasure have been expelled, let the most devout cenobite, turned toward the Lord, pray.

Prayer

Almighty, eternal God, who, instructing us for the exercise of your love through the manifold creation of things, commanded us to love you above all things with all our strength, and our neighbor as ourselves for your sake: graciously grant me the grace of your most holy love and of love for my neighbor, so that, with every movement of displeasure, aversion, and anger restrained, Another Prayer.

I beseech you, holy Father, almighty, eternal God, by 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 in your commandments; and, cleansed by your mercy from every stain of sin, may never offend you hereafter.

After Matins

When Matins has been completed, while still remaining in the church, or also when placed in your cell, take up for yourself the disposition of true resignation, praying thus.

Prayer

O Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, who at the hour of Matins, placed in the greatest anguish of your most holy heart, after your threefold prayer resigned yourself most fully to the will of God your Father: grant me, by the power of that charity of yours, perfectly to despise my own will in all things for love of you, and truly to resign myself at every time 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 the choir, you enter the chapter place, 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 hour of Prime, falsely accused before Pilate, truly confessed yourself to be the Son of God: have mercy on me and grant me, through your innocence, the virtue of true confession, so that I may humbly endure any words of accusation against me, and may not withdraw from the inward tranquillity of mind on account of any reproaches. You who live and reign with God the Father.

After Terce.

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

Prayer

Sweetest Lord Jesus, who for us were pitiably scourged, mocked, derided, crowned with thorns, and spat upon at the hour of Terce: grant me, by the power of all your passions, through the outpouring of your most holy blood, always to be content for love of you with every baseness and extremity, so that, in view of my sins, I may humbly regard myself as your unworthy servant, and yet may 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 sufferings; and, inflamed with desire for the seventh degree of humility, pray to him with fervor of spirit.

Prayer

Sweetest Lord Jesus, who for us wretched sinners, after the countless sorrows of your passion, while your most sorrowful mother looked on, carried your cross to the place of your death; on which, cruelly fastened, with gall and vinegar to drink and mocked in many ways.

You were given gall and vinegar to drink and were mocked in many ways: I beseech you, by the pain of your wounds, grant me forgiveness of all my sins, the grace of holy compunction, a fountain of tears, the profound virtue of 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 continually burn with your love.

After None.

After None, be mindful of most sweet Jesus dying on the cross; and, falling in spirit at his knees, with tears and with as much devotion as you can, give thanks and pray.

Prayer

I adore and hold you, most sweet Lord Jesus Christ, king of heaven and earth, dying on the cross for me, wretched as I am; and I humbly give you thanks for your holy Passion and most innocent death. O most loving Savior, what shall I repay you for all the things you have repaid to me? Behold, I offer myself to you; I long continually to dwell in your most holy wounds. I beseech you, by the virtue of your most innocent death: have mercy on me as you know how; pierce my flesh with fear of you; 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 worthily with my mouth, and follow you in deed, as far as I am able, with a humble manner of life. I beseech you, most merciful Lord Jesus, by that anguish of your most holy heart which you endured on the cross when your most holy soul departed from your body: have mercy on my soul at its departure.

The first hour after dinner.

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

Prayer

Lord God, whose great kindness created me, in my first parent, from the mud of the earth, so that, mindful of my humble condition, I might glorify you, my creator, in true humility: grant me, I beseech you, to know my frailty truthfully at all times, so that, when I consider how vile I am and almost nothing by my own merit, I may deserve to please you by your gift. Through Christ.

The second hour.

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

Prayer

Almighty, everlasting God, who by the incarnation and death of the only-begotten Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, out of your mercy alone, deigned to bring us wretches, dead in sins, to life: grant me, by the virtue 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 dinner, let the faithful cenobite remember his vows which he promised to the Lord, and especially the renunciation of all ownership, namely in possessions, judgments, and will; and, moved to compunction, let him pray to the Lord in fervor of spirit thus.

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 the things promised to you through the virtue of humility, chastity, obedience, and poverty with such purity of mind that, by your mercy, I may deserve to come to your kingdom promised to the poor in spirit. Through our Lord.

After Vespers

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

Prayer

Almighty, everlasting God, who wished to lead us through the visible things which you created to knowledge and love of invisible things: grant me so to know the vanity of present things that I may deserve always to think with a pure mind on the eternity of future things. 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 and you as guide, we may so pass through temporal goods that we do not lose eternal ones.

Another prayer

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

After supper and collation.

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

Prayer

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

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

After Compline

After Compline, when the devout cenobite has gathered his strength, let him enter alone into the secret place of his heart, and leave outside all the cares and anxieties of the world, so that, free and released from all things, he may be worthy to speak with the Lord Jesus through the desire of compunction, and to be sweetly united with him through the fire of love. Therefore, when the faults of the day have been recalled to mind for examination in the highest degree, let him pray thus to the Lord.

Prayer

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

To the Son.

Lord Jesus Christ, I commend my body and my soul to you 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 the snares of the ancient serpent; suppress the illicit motions of the flesh; drive far away foul and evil dreams; repel the phantasms of the night, so that I may sleep secure in your peace, and, at the hours appointed for me, rise cheerfully to your praises. Amen.

To the Father.

O my holy Father, almighty and eternal God, who gently received us into your grace in the passion of your only-begotten Son:

mercifully receive, I beseech you, all the good works that I have done on this day, by your gift, in words, deeds, or thoughts, in the power and union of that charity and love with which you received that same Son of yours, hanging and dying on the cross for us. I commend myself to you, holy Father, this night and at all times, in the faith and union of that charity with which your Son, our Lord, when about to die, commended his spirit to you upon the cross.

To Saint Mary.

Holy and immaculate Virgin Mary, Mother of God, I ask you, through the bitter passion and death of your sweetest Son, do not reject me, a wretched sinner, because of my unclean conscience, but remember that you are the mother of mercy, and pray for me to God, whom you bore, that he may mercifully forgive me my sins, make me his fervent lover, guard me this night from all snares and evils, and after the death of the flesh 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 entrusting by which your beloved Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, when he was 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 to exercise ourselves in it often, with all the devotion we can, because we shall easily obtain the effect of our prayers if, through the love of compassion, we adore the Lord in the power of his wounds. Therefore, faithful cenobite, with all the diligence I can, I admonish, exhort, and ask you that, mindful of the benefits of God, you entirely 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 do this at greater length, do not refuse to show yourself grateful to your Redeemer with at least one word. The Lord Jesus himself has often revealed to his lovers, to whom he wished, that nothing is more pleasing to him, and nothing more useful to us, than to recall the memory of his passion and death with thanksgiving, and to admonish others to do the same. Receive, therefore, a shortened word, lest a more extended prayer make you weary.

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

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

Or thus:

To your most bitter passion and most innocent death, Lord Jesus Christ, with a compassionate soul I give thanks. I ask you, have mercy on me.

Or thus:

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

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

Lest I be more prolix than is fitting, here I place an end to this compendium. For that venerable assembly of abbots of our annual chapter instructed me to avoid prolixity in this place, lest lukewarm and worldly cloisterers use weariness as an excuse. If the Lord Jesus grants me a life free from cares, as I have always desired, I shall try to satisfy both my own intention and another’s request. For I have resolved, at the request of certain virgins dedicated to Christ, to hand down a rule to hand down, by which every devout cenobite may be able to exercise himself in the passion of the Lord against all temptations. If, in this exercise, he remains for even a few months, practicing as he ought, little by little he will sweetly fly from the humanity of Christ to his divinity through the ray of love. For the continual meditation of the Lord's passion opens an easy approach for those who desire to come to the love of God, because, while the mind is pierced with compassion and with the memory of the benefits of so great a lover, it is lifted up to love, burning with desire and tears. Therefore you cloistered persons dedicated to God, who have no leisure to attend to many things, receive these few things. Although there is not in them the continual fire of love, nevertheless for those who persevere it will be able to be renewed.

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