Liber de Triplici Regione Claustralium et Spirituali Exercitio Monachorum

On the Threefold Region of Cloistered Persons and the Spiritual Exercise of Monks ...

Collated, complete.

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Epistle of Johannes Trithemius, abbot of Sponheim, to 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, called Trithemius, abbot in Sponheim, of the same order and congregation, in the diocese of Mainz, sends reverence and charity.

I have obeyed your commands, most venerable fathers, and, as you instructed me, have undertaken to correct the little work On the Threefold Region of Cloistered Persons, together with the spiritual exercise of monks, lately edited by the venerable father lord Johannes, abbot of Bursfeld. And truly, had your authority not compelled me, I should never have dared to lay a hand on the distinguished work of so great a father, who, it is clear, being far more learned and holier than I, wrote excellently. For what could I correct, where everything is found most approved? A good and devout man, he wrote no otherwise than as he lives and [teaches?].

Nevertheless, in order to satisfy both your command and the requests of the author himself, I have rendered the whole little work in briefer, though not fewer, sentences, and, attending to accents, have brought it as far as I could into my own manner and style of writing. I kept the order and material of the earlier volume, but completely changed the form and customary mode of expression. I added many things that seemed useful to me in almost every place; I took away a few; in individual cases I altered the words, not the sense. For your command moved me to dare this, and the insistent request of the aforesaid father persuaded me. For you wished me to make a new work out of old material, to add whatever seemed suitable to me, to cut away superfluities, and to alter what had to be changed. I have done what I could; I have obeyed your commands; by rewriting it I have completed, according to the strength of my ability, which is slight, the work enjoined upon me.

Receive now, therefore, most beloved fathers, a work not mine but yours, not composed by me but rather rewritten. If it pleases you, praise the talent of the aforesaid father; but if, because of its meanness, it displeases you, correct my imperfection, since I, who had from another's resources the best material for a spiritual edifice, have through my inexperience constructed an unsuitable structure. If I have become foolish, you compelled me. Therefore, whether the work pleases or displeases, it was easier for me, by writing ineptly, to accept your command obediently than, against obedience, to keep silence. Yet I trust not in my own powers but in another's merits, since a work that charity has produced will displease no one who loves God.

I desire 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 their spiritual exercise.

When I call 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 most abundant fruits in the order of our holy father Benedict, has now for the most part failed among monks. For we see cloistered persons returning in their morals to the world; we see the institution of regular observance despised by many; and religion, which from the beginning had been instituted for contempt of the world, is again being recalled to the vanities of the world by wicked monks. The crown has fallen from our head; the integrity of regular discipline has been corrupted; and the former fervor of holy conduct has perished. We see many monasteries of our order lying buried in the worst deformity; but we see very few reformed to the purity of the Rule.

The cause of this destruction of regular institution is negligence in spiritual exercises; for as soon as the spirit of fervor grew dull in the minds of cloistered persons, the flesh, previously dead through self-denial, revived, and the world, which before had appeared dry and contemptible to devout hearts, began to flourish again in carnal minds. Indeed, the thought of the human heart, prone to evil from youth, unless it has been stirred up to fervor of spirit by the daily bridle of spiritual exercise, soon falls back into its former negligence and grows lukewarm from its holy purpose. For just as newly broken ground, deprived of the diligent care of a cultivator, quickly returns, as thorns grow up, into its former desolation, so the human mind, however pure or holy it may be, is quickly reduced to thickets of vices unless it is renewed to fervor of spirit by the daily exercise of devotion. Led by this consideration, the fathers of our Bursfeld observance, devout cultivators, commanded us and posterity by word and example that, since because of our frailty we cannot remain steadfast in fervor of spirit, at least by an evening recollection after Compline, accusing the negligences of the day, [unclear] of the mind

[unclear] in our state, that we may be renewed to the fervor of our purpose? But whoever has neglected the exercise of daily instruction falls into a deep torpor, as the wise man says in Ecclesiasticus: If you do not hold yourself steadfastly in the fear of the Lord, your house will quickly be overthrown; and this is understood as a good conscience. The Rule of our father Benedict seems sufficient for a monk, since it is agreed to contain all the material of exercises, both spiritual and bodily, necessary for monks for the preservation of regular discipline. And therefore all the exercises of monks must be humbly subjected to the constitutions of the Rule, because whatever is prescribed either by us or by others for the instruction of monks is all assigned to the observance of the monastic norm. For the whole sum of our religion, which is acquired by the continuation of spiritual exercise, is contained in compendium, as in its 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 lowering of itself, is conformed to the ordinances of the holy Rule; and the more it is known to present a monk as good and humble, close to God, the more it opposes the studies of contemptuous pride. The holy mysteries of this exercise direct the mind of its worshippers, by an invisible teaching, toward the love of God as toward its due end along a secure path; they wondrously acquire the grace of inward devotion; and they cause the monk to despise all earthly things as nothing and to burn sweetly at all times with the lower spirit. The animal man does not receive this wholesome exercise of devotion; the vain and curious monk does not understand this study; the proud man does not admit this knowledge, to be preferred to all things. Happy is he who learns to penetrate the secrets of this exercise; happy is he who has deserved to receive this gift of holy compunction from the Lord, for whoever has once perfectly obtained it will fear no adversities of this world. But that exercise which, lacking its due end, does not direct the minds of cloistered men to the observance of the commandments of the Rule does not infuse the holy spirit of discipline, because where the obedience of subjection is despised, no gift is accepted by almighty God.

For it is written: Obedience is better than sacrifices, and to hearken is better than to offer the fat. And although many little works of spiritual exercise, composed by various persons, are found, nevertheless, because not all things suit everyone, it has seemed good to us also to publish something in conformity with the Rule of our most holy father Benedict, by which we may be able to stir ourselves up more greatly and more nearly to the purity of regular observance. Therefore we divide the present little work, collected from the exercises of the excellent father Theoderic, once abbot of the monastery of Bursfeld, into two principal parts. The first of these is set in the consideration of monastic institution; the second is occupied with the exercise of the spiritual life. In the first you are ordered to know yourself; in the second, to raise the mind from earthly things to heavenly things. Therefore, approaching according to our powers the purpose of the consideration, we divide the first treatise into three parts, according to the threefold state of cloistered men, of whom we may call the first sensual, the second rational, the third spiritual. From this threefold state of men we take a fitting title for this work, which we call On the Threefold Region of Cloistered Men. In these three regions the whole crowd of monks is included, as will be said in what follows.

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, therefore, is called sensual, lowest, and animal; in it are contained the roots of all evils. Men set in this dark region share with beasts according to their kind; indeed they observe, so to speak, beastly manners, while they yield either nothing or little to reason, but concede all things to sensuality like beasts. For in that lowest region three sensual powers of the soul preside. The first, the sensitive power, is diffused among the objects of the five exterior senses; the second, the concupiscible power, delights in carnal things; the third, the irascible

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

And this lowest region is compared to the airy heaven; for just as hailstorms, snows, lightning, and various tempests are generated in the air, so also in the minds of carnal men inhabiting this dark region various tempests of vices rage. Woe to carnal monks who inhabit this dark region, in which there is frequent motion of crimes, 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 bestial desires. Now the works of the flesh dwelling in this lowest region are manifest: fornication, uncleanness, shamelessness, lust, service of idols, sorceries, enmities, rivalries, angers, quarrels, dissensions, sects, envies, murders, drunkenness, revelries, and things like these; concerning which the holy Apostle proclaims that those who do such things shall not obtain the kingdom of God.

These are the signs of the works of the lowest region; these are the deadly tempests of the carnal minds of monks, who live irreligiously in religion, who despise the traditions of the holy fathers, who with ruinous presumption contemn 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 enervate themselves with the pleasures of the flesh, who stubbornly break the vow of holy religion which they professed, who, despising the salvation of their souls, disdain to follow the grace of God calling them.

Therefore he handed them over to a reprobate sense and to false judgment, so that they consider evil good, and those things which in truth are very bad they falsely judge to be very good. These are those of whom the holy Apostle prophesied: carnal monks, whisperers, detractors, hateful to God, insulting, proud, exalted, inventors of evils, disobedient to their superiors, foolish, disorderly, without affection, without covenant, without mercy, filled with all iniquity, malice, wickedness, contention, deceit, and malignity. For those who do such things are worthy of everlasting death, and not only those who do them, but also those who consent to those who do them, and those who, from their office, in no way oppose the pursuits of the wicked.

For indeed the ruler of souls who does not correct delinquent subjects entangles himself in the crimes of others for his damnation; and by keeping silent he is made the companion of those whose faults damnation will follow. For whoever, being set as a pastor of souls, neglects to amend sinners according to canonical rule, even if he is without fault of his own, nevertheless before the strict Judge he will be condemned for another’s desert. For the supreme shepherd says to the prophet: Son of man, I have given you as a watchman to the house of Israel; and you shall hear the word from my mouth and announce it to them from me. If, therefore, when I say to the wicked man, You shall die by death, you do not announce it to him, nor speak so that he may turn from his impious way and live, that wicked man indeed shall die in his iniquity, but I shall require his blood from your hand.

And our blessed father says in the Rule: Let the abbot know, he says, that the fault of the shepherd will lie upon him if the householder can find any lack of profit in his sheep. O sentence to be feared above all by all shepherds, by which not only the depraved conduct of subjects is ascribed to the rector, but he is also held guilty before the inward Judge for their lesser progress. O what shall we miserable shepherds say in that strict examination, we who neglect to amend according to the Rule the monks committed to us when they sin in many ways; we who do not call those lying in the lowest region to higher things, but, carnal with the carnal, grow sluggish 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 but perpetual horror dwells. For just as monks walking according to the rule of the spirit are to be happily crowned without end in heaven with the holy angels, so those who, contrary to the norm of monastic institution, persevere in this lowest region of the flesh until death, worse than pagans, are to be eternally tormented with demons in hell. For that blessed man truly said: Just as I have never seen men better than those who have advanced in the cenobium, so I have not experienced any worse than those who have failed in the monastery. For monastic profession requires the perfection of the spiritual life, and tends toward the summit of virtues as toward its proper due end. But insofar as anyone [unclear] from this effort of making progress in /

has failed after being placed in a monastery, by so much the farther does he withdraw from the purpose of a monk.

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

Although the description of this lowest region is generally fitting for any carnal human beings who dwell in sins and crimes with beasts, nevertheless, so that we may attend to our own, we intend to speak of lukewarm and carnal cloistered men, doing no injury at all to the good and devout. For always and in all things we wish the conduct of good cloistered men to remain untouched and unharmed whenever we discuss the evil pursuits of the depraved. Therefore we rebuke evil cloistered men and depraved manners; honoring the good everywhere, as is fitting, we praise them. And what else than evil can we say of the evil, in whom we find no good things to say? In a holy order they live disorderly; 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 penitence. This disorder of carnal monks we comprise in eight articles, although we are not unaware that they are disordered in many things. First, indeed, the citizens of this lowest region, beastly monks, are disordered toward God; next, 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 goods of the monastery; seventh, toward contempt of the world; consequently, toward penitence 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 lowest things in mind and body, who do not hasten to advance toward the highest things. These disordered conditions of the lowest region, therefore, I shall take care to set forth briefly in order, and to demonstrate, as far as I can, how far carnal monks are from God. For, as the prophet says, salvation is far from sinners.

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

Therefore the carnal monks of this lowest region, mad inhabitants, are disordered toward God in many ways: they never feel the sweetness of his love; they admit no compunction of divine fear; in their affections they are beastly and swollen with pride; in their carnal pleasures they are unclean at all times.

And first, indeed, their disorder toward God takes its origin from ignorance, since, given over to animal passions, they do not care to have God in their knowledge, nor do they consent to think on those things that lead the soul to fear of him; but, blinded by evil desires, they vanish away in their thoughts. But what does Scripture say? He who is ignorant will be ignored. They do not wish to understand so that they may do good; they do not tremble before the face of the strict judge; without penitence they continually persevere in evil. Indeed, in the manner of beasts of burden, they do not fear to rot in their pleasures; they do not heed the patience of God calling them to penitence; they seek nothing other than the advantages of their flesh. At all times they walk in the greatest sins without any fear; they stubbornly refuse to know the ways of the Lord.

They think little of the future judgment, or not at all; they do not fear the punishments prepared in hell for sinners; the grace of compunction never pierces their hearts, for the love of God does not inflame their minds. 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; and [unclear] shamefully neglect their own salvation; they descend to hell with demons. Indeed, those who, forgetful of God, keep badly the vow of holy monastic life do not attain the rewards of heavenly life that are to be given to the just.

Second, carnal monks are disordered toward God by foolish profession, because they promise to live according to the Rule, yet do not truly care to fulfill this. And what is more disorderly than to promise holiness of life to the Lord God and to remain in the foulness of one’s former life? Whoever conducts himself in a monastery otherwise than the monastic Rule teaches is a mocker of almighty God, not a monk.

Because we see many today among cloistered persons living secularly; that more of them seem to neglect the purpose of their profession; that the observance of regular discipline is violated in various ways; that they knowingly ignore the goodness of God; that they refuse to do penance.

Thirdly, many cloistered persons of this lowest region are disordered toward God through neglect of the service owed to him: they serve their own affections and carnal desires in various ways, and always come to the service of God with a distracted mind. Of these, some come lukewarm to choir without any devotion; others come unwillingly, compelled by necessity; certain men, scattered by outward thoughts, are present bodily at the divine offices, but in mind wander outside through various workshops. Others do not fear to seek out false excuses by which they may, as it were lawfully, absent themselves from choir. Now they feign severe pain in the head; now they mendaciously allege this, now that; and while they deceitfully withdraw the service owed to almighty God, they incur the reproach of eternal malediction owed to the negligent.

Fourthly, there are very many disordered toward God through the working of habit: even if they sometimes escape the malediction of the negligent, nevertheless they never approach the fruit of eternal devotion. For they come to the service of God from habit alone, nor are they moved to any good work by devotion. Others, placed under grave necessity, obey the commands of superiors quite unwillingly, and fear temporal penalties rather than the judgment of God. These carry the cross of the Lord with Simon under compulsion; like the heifer of Ephraim trained for threshing, they persist in good works by habit alone. But those do not do good well who come to the service of God with an intention not duly ordered. They also perform the deed of the just without the reward of the just, who in good and just works do not take up a good will.

Fifthly, the citizens of the lowest region are disordered toward God through the vice of ingratitude, which is the greatest crime of a disordered will. And indeed, he who is found ungrateful to the Lord for benefits received is often, by his own deserving, exposed to being scourged by various and most grievous temptations. And therefore he deserves to lose the benefit that he has received, who

neglects to show to his benefactor. And what greater ingratitude can there be than not to live religiously in religion: to break a vow, to violate shamefully the purpose solemnly undertaken? For the monk who entangles himself in carnal vices, who neglects to live according to the rule which he has professed, willingly incurs the greatest vice of ingratitude.

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

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

First, therefore, disorderly monks disparage the life of their pastor, and stubbornly accuse his deeds, because when they consider that their ruler walks according to the traditions of the holy fathers, they fear to be corrected in their depravity. For among reprobate minds the life of good men 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.

Article III.

A disorderly monk is one who attempts [unclear] against the rules of the monastery of a venerable order. And there are three ways of this: first, when a monk has had something disorderly, he ought to be excommunicated. Second, when a disorderly monk has had excommunication, they ought to be excommunicated by the same. Third, when a monk has had something disorderly, they ought to give excommunication to him. Why then? First, so that he does not give offense in what is done to himself. Second, so that he does not offend other monks. Third, so that he does not do injustice. Fourth, so that he does not do what is contrary to the good part. Fifth, so that he does not confirm error. Sixth, so that he does not abide in error. Seventh, so that he does not contribute to sins. Eighth, so that he does not summon into evil. Nineteenth, so that he does not come into the forum. Tenth, so that he does not come into the council. Eleventh, so that he does not come to the synod. Thirteenth, so that he does not come before the master. Fourteenth, so that he does not come against the custom of any bishop. Seventeenth, so that he does not come as one deputed before the pope. Sixteenth, so that he does not come to the apostolic chaplaincy. Twenty-first, so that he does not come on account of this. Twenty-third, so that he does not come for the aforesaid cause. Twenty-third, so that he does not come if he has excommunication against him. Twenty-fourth, so that he does not come except through him who had the power of excommunicating. Twenty-sixth, so that he does not come, not even if the monk is sick. Twenty-seventh, so that he does not come [unclear] of the same sickness. Twenty-ninth, so that he does not come when he is sick. Thirtieth, so that he does not come with the sick. Thirty-first, so that he does not come without apostolic license. Thirty-second, so that he does not come except at certain times. Thirty-third, so that he does not come against the ordained temporal [unclear]. Thirty-fourth, so that he does not come, contrary to the good part, in habit. Twenty-fifth, so that he does not come, being committed to sins. Twenty-eighth, so that he does not come by the custom of the church. Twenty-seventh, so that you do not come before popes. Twenty-eighth, so that you do not come to the synod. Twenty-ninth, so that you do not come before the master. Thirty-second, so that you do not come for the aforesaid cause.

Moreover, a disorderly monk is one who, against the rules of the monastery, has had [unclear], and ought to be excommunicated. And there are three ways of this: first, when a monk has had injustice, they ought to be excommunicated. Second, when a monk has had something unjust, they ought to give excommunication by the same. Third, when a monk has something unjust, they ought to give excommunication to him. Why then? First, so that he does not give offense in what is done to himself. Second, so that he does not offend other monks. Third, so that he does not do what is unjust. Fourth, so that he does not do what is contrary to the good part. Fifth, so that he does not confirm error. Sixth, so that he does not abide in error. Seventh, so that he would not tolerate sins. Eighth, so that he would not summon into evil. Nineteenth, so that he does not come to the forum. Eleventh, so that you do not come before the synod. Twelfth, so that you do not come before the master. Thirteenth, so that you do not come for the aforesaid cause.

Moreover, a disorderly monk is one who, against the rules of [unclear], has had [unclear] and ought to have excommunication. And there are three ways of this: first, when a sick monk has had [unclear], they ought to be excommunicated. Second, when a sick man has had a sick woman, they ought to give excommunication by him. Third, when a sick man has excommunication. Why then? First, so that he does not give offense in what is done to himself. Second, so that he does not offend other monks. Third, so that he does not do what is unjust to the sick. Fourth, so that he does not do what is contrary to the good part for the sick. Fifth, so that he does not confirm errors for the sick. Sixth, so that he does not abide in error for the sick. Seventh, so that he would not tolerate sins for the sick. Eighth, so that he would not summon the sick into evil. Nineteenth, so that he does not come to the forum for the sick. Eleventh, so that you do not come before the master for the sick. Thirteenth, so that he is not [unclear] before popes for the sick.

Moreover, a disorderly monk is one who, against the ordained temporal [unclear], has had [unclear] and ought to have excommunication. And there are three ways of this: first, when a monk has had [unclear] at the aforesaid time, he ought to have excommunication. Second, when he has had the aforesaid temporal [unclear], they ought to give excommunication to the same. Third, when he has the aforesaid excommunication. Why then? First, so that he does not give offense in what is done to himself. Second, so that he does not offend another monk. Third, so that he does not do what is unjust at the aforesaid times. Fourth, so that you do not do what is contrary to the good part at the aforesaid times. Fifth, so that he would not tolerate sin at the aforesaid times. Sixth, so that he would summon the aforesaid sins. Seventh, so that he confirms

[unclear]: he always hates a pastor of purified conduct.

Second, the citizens of this dark region are disorderly toward their prelate, when they disparage his office, though they are not ignorant that he has been ordained by God to preside in the monastery. On an easy occasion they murmur against him; they do not observe his commands; and those who had long ago, for love of God, subjected themselves to the arms of holy obedience now, after the manner of Sarabaites, with obedience despised, usurp for themselves the will of their own desires as a pernicious lord. They desire to have an abbot suited to their own depraved habits; they reject one who is holy and useful. If they find a lax and sluggish pastor, they intoxicate him with many poisons by flattering him, calling him the best and most pious father; and they subject themselves to him not humbly but willingly, since from him they fear no correction of their wickedness.

Third, carnal monks show themselves disorderly toward their own pastors when they withhold 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 the vicar of Christ, he will not be able to hate him without very grave crime. Indeed, he who does not love his pastor for the love of Christ is not a true lover of God. For Christ, who wishes even enemies to be loved, how would he permit his own vicars to be hated? Therefore consider him who wished an abbot to be set over you in his own stead, and henceforth there will be no cause of displeasure against him.

Fourth, the disorderly citizens of the shadowy valley derogate from reverence for their pastor, when they not only disdain to render him the honor due by the Rule, but, what is worse, do not even fear 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, since the obedience that is rendered to superiors is shown to Christ. But perverse cloisterers, always ungrateful for the precedence of their prelates, do not fear contumaciously to oppose the divine ordinance; they disdain to obey the commands of the holy Rule; and they dishonor their abbot, to whom they ought to show all reverence, tearing him with hatred and detraction. Whatever he does, whatever he ordains, whatever he has said, it displeases them as badly done, since at all times they detract from his way of life; despising his office, these diseased sheep seek nothing more than the confusion of their pastor. Some of these judge and despise their abbot in secret; others contradict him to his face; and while they neglect to show reverence to their pastor, they throw all observance of discipline into confusion. Pride is always familiar to them, and shamefulness friendly to the flesh, since those who voluntarily withdraw themselves from the affection of their pastor 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 of raging against himself, and confounds the unity of the mystical body.

Fifth, carnal monks, disorderly toward their pastor, disparage his authority when they think that nothing is permitted to him in the cenobium unless they themselves have consented. With haughty neck 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 cases, and to usurp for themselves the primacy of counsel, so that the abbot may dare to do or arrange nothing unless the matter first proceeds by their consent. But what does the blessed legislator Benedict say in the Rule? “The abbot, having heard the counsel of the brothers, should consider it with himself and do what he judges more useful.” And again: “Let the brothers give counsel with all the subjection of humility, 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 ordaining of a prior, he says: “We have provided that, for the sake of preserving charity and peace, the ordering of his monastery should depend on the abbot’s decision.” This ordinance certainly concerns the appointment and removal of all officials of the monastery; it requires not the consent of the brothers but the counsel of those who fear God. Finally, the Rule commands that everything be done according to the will of the abbot, and that absolutely nothing be presumed that has not been enjoined by him. This authority of his, carnal monks, rash usurpers of their own will, by various

[Unclear] he tries to break, and to disturb the order and charity of the whole monastery, while they think that nothing should be done by the ruler except what they themselves think right. But tell me, proud inhabitants of the lowest region, who always establish your own will, who usurp another’s right for yourselves: is this the virtue of obedience, to refuse to yield to the command of a superior, but to cling stubbornly to your own judgment? The holy father did not prescribe in the Rule that you should live thus; he commanded you in all things to follow the will of the abbot. For obedience is the greatest virtue of a monk, which our divine father wished to commend so highly that he said a good work done without the abbot’s will lacks merit. Hence, giving instruction, he concludes thus: therefore let all things be done with the abbot’s will, and let no one in the monastery follow the will of his own heart. But if the ruler’s prudence does not seem sufficient for the ordering of the monastery, that must be imputed to the carnal monks, who voluntarily set over themselves one who was unsuitable. Folly always hates prudence, and wicked monks detest a wise abbot. Those, therefore, who knowingly set a fool over themselves will necessarily be subject to his ordering and will. Finally, no insufficiency of the shepherd ought to extinguish the obedience of subjects, since the Rule commands us to obey even one who is useless. For it says: the abbot’s commands must 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 rightly and with good intention, since we see the substance of the monastery perishing through bad governance.” But the Apostle contradicts you, because evils must not be done so that good things may come; nor, on account of loss in a temporal matter, is the subjection of humility to be abandoned. For when a choice arises between undergoing some loss of temporal substance and 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 monies from our hands, but souls. Indeed, whoever prefers [unclear] to obedience [unclear]. But the citizens of this lowest region, carnal monks, tear apart the virtue of obedience in various ways and attack the weapons of holy humility, so that it seems easier to me to train a new monk from the world than to be able to amend the sloth of these men. But from their fruits we plainly know what sort they are: namely, those who violate peace and charity in the monastery, disturb the concord of unity, sow discord between the brothers and the abbot, and stubbornly refuse to obey the commands of the Rule. These are the works of bad cloisterers; these are the signs of the lowest citizens, who, as most wicked defenders of their own will, cast away the weapons of holy obedience, live by the flesh and not by the spirit, defer either not at all or only slightly to the statutes of the fathers, and do not acquiesce in sound counsels; their condemnation is just. For just as it is impossible for a blazing fire not to rise upward, so it is impossible for a monk without obedience to penetrate the secrets of heaven.

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

Since we have shown that many monks of the lowest region are disordered toward their shepherds, shall we, as though sparing ourselves, not show the disorders of prelates toward their subjects? Neither does the name of abbot sanctify anyone, nor does the eminence of pastoral care save an undeserving man. Therefore, since many among the prelates inhabit the mountain of the lowest region with the beasts of the earth, they are by no means to be passed over by us in silence. For many rulers of cloistered men show themselves disordered toward their subjects: they not only neglect to feed according to the Rule the souls entrusted to them, but tear and kill them in various ways. But whenever anyone from the lowest region is taken up as a shepherd, the pursuits of the wicked are strengthened for the worse. Therefore a good man who loves God must be promoted as abbot: one who has long since overcome this lowest region, who has learned how 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 must be of higher merit than the monks, since whoever is established as a ruler of souls:

it is necessary that he be adorned with many virtues. For if a pastor, still weak, dwells in the lowest region with the sheep, by neglecting the feeble he kills them, he does not strengthen them. For if a blind man offers guidance to a blind man, he must fall into the pit together with him. But the pastor who does not show himself ordered toward his subjects according to the Rule is to be called not a pastor but a hireling, and he will not remain forever in the house of the Lord. There are, moreover, many disorders of carnal prelates, which do the more harm the more rarely they are corrected.

And first, indeed, 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 achieve his own will, he refuses nothing to those who ask things contrary to the Rule. For indeed one 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 benefit them according to the Rule; he rejoices to be called abbot; he does not know how to show himself a pastor. Therefore he receives the vain 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 the abbacy to a better man. He is a hireling, and the sheep do not belong to him. He is not a true monk, he is not a good pastor, he is not a sincere lover of God, who, while presiding over monks, is unwilling to yield if by the counsel of those who fear God it has seemed expedient. The care of governing 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 pastor and a true monk, remember that your intention must at all times be formed in such a way that you are prepared, out of love of God, humbly to feed according to your powers the souls committed to you; and that you are prepared also to resign the pastoral office, at the judgment of God and of good men, from integrity of heart. If you always preserve this intention abiding in your mind, you will be a good pastor both to yourself and to others. But if in the pastoral care you love your own honor; if you prefer your advantage to the benefit of your subjects, you still dwell with the beasts in the lowest region, and you make manifest that you are of a disordered heart.

Secondly, a pastor of souls becomes disordered toward his subjects if his mind is occupied too greedily with temporal affairs; if he bears greater anxiety for secular business than for the souls committed to him. This excessive care for temporal things the holy father Benedict forbids in the Rule, and he rightly judges rational souls to be preferred to all the things of the world. "Before all things," he says, "let the abbot not, by dissembling or slighting the salvation of the souls committed to him, bear more anxiety for transitory, earthly, and perishable things; but let him always consider that he has undertaken to rule souls, for which he is to render an account." Thereupon the loving father gives assurance concerning bodily necessities, if one who loves God worships him with a pure mind. "And lest perhaps," he says, "he complain of smaller resources, let him remember what is written: First seek the kingdom of God and his justice, and all these things will be added to you. And again: Nothing is lacking to those who fear God."

But the disordered pastor of monks is seduced by greed; he is blinded in mind as though without feeling; having cast away from himself the fear of the Lord, sold under sin with Ahab, he runs to the aid of wickedness; he [sets aside?] confidence in the promises made through the holy father about obtaining necessities; he is occupied with external things more than befits a monk. Driven thereafter by the goads of greed, he despises the commandments of God and of holy mother Church; he does not keep feast days; he is wholly immersed in earthly affairs; he meditates on nothing other than temporal things. Like Saul, the fool transgresses the commandment of God; in his folly he thinks that he is expiated by sacrifices against obedience. Finally, grown fat and enlarged either by secular affairs or by secular cares, he very often falls into every 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 the holy union. Then, having become reprobate with Saul, he invokes the counsel of the pythoness; he declares obedience to reform damnable for his monastery; he desires to be absolved as quickly as possible from submission to the holy confederation; to this end he relates many things falsely and mendaciously. But when the authority of the annual chapter is despised with impunity, there remains

so that monastic observance is wrecked; for the love of God keeps the good regularly in discipline, and the fear of correction restrains the wicked from evil works. Whoever, however, strives to evade the unity of the chapter imitates the devil. Thus the emperor of the Bulgarians orders the Christians subject to him to hold an assembly in church, under [unclear], though he grants them freedom to believe whatever they wish. For that crafty man knew that the sincerity of the Christian faith could not long stand, if the office of public exhortation should happen to be lacking. This adversary of the Christian faith the disorderly and carnal abbot strives as far as he can to imitate, when he resists the founding of so necessary a chapter. For the authority of the chapter alone is what maintains the observance of regular discipline in the order; and if it is despised, no integrity of monastic life will remain.

But the inhabitant of the lowest region, the disorderly abbot, devises countless pretexts against regular observance: he mentions the conditions of his monastery as contrary; he complains that his ancient privileges are [unclear]; he is indignant that his subject monks are [unclear]. But woe to disorderly men, through whom it shall happen that even one monastery is lost from this most holy congregation.

Next, the plague of avarice 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; it takes away the servant of Christ and makes him a minister of the devil. Therefore the abbot who has submitted his mind to this vice shows himself to be not a shepherd but a hireling. He always gapes after earthly gains; 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 more often turned over. He joins field to field; always burying gold and silver in his chest, he heaps it up; and while he too much desires his monastery to abound in temporal goods, he prepares prey for robbers. Often the public fisc of the lord [unclear] swallows and devours the monastery’s money, which the excessive greed of the monks of the monastery brings in.

Woe to you, greedy shepherd of cloistered men, who bear greater solicitude for brute animals than for the souls entrusted to you. A horse falls ill and at once you prepare a remedy; a soul perishes and you think no danger threatens. An ox and an ass are sick and you have compassion; a brother is swallowed up by sadness and you do not come to his aid. You, therefore, hireling and not shepherd, who with a stubborn heart despise the infirmities of your brothers, who do not succor those placed in bitterness, do not presume that you can escape the hand of the Lord, whose sheep you allow to perish so wickedly.

Third, a ruler is disorderly toward his subjects when those whom he ought to have guarded carefully within the enclosure of the monastery he places outside, not without danger. For indeed, when a weak monk is exposed to the governance of nuns or to secular churches, the integrity of regular observance is violated, because one who, still remaining in the lowest region, has not learned to subject the flesh to the spirit neither knows how to preside over others without danger to himself. But the disorderly shepherd who, for the sake of the advantage of temporal property, does not fear to expose his monks to so great a danger is guilty of all the souls that perish on such an occasion, and before the inward Judge he is bound to restitution for all. It does not belong to the profession of a monk to rule secular churches; it is not expedient for a weak monk to preside over nuns.

But what then? Ought a monk to set himself against the command of his shepherd if he wishes him to reside with nuns or in the churches of seculars? 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 infringe the obedience of subjection; if I consent to exposing monks to danger, I confess that I sin. Yet I shall say in a few words what I think, although I am not ignorant that truth will bring forth hatred. Just as a monk, by the necessity of his profession, is bound simply to obey his shepherd in all things that are according to the monastic rule, so a prelate cannot, without the monk’s own will, compel a monk to those things that are above the rule, especially when danger to salvation intervenes. But to rule churches, to preside over women, to reside outside the monastery: this is not to have obeyed according to the Rule. Therefore, fathers, do not [unclear] against me if I have spoken the truth; do not

to draw away, if I have expressed what seems to me: nevertheless you will do what seems to you, even if I protest. Yet truly, I beg you, do not expose your monks to chastity’s peril; do not violently compel anyone to the government of nuns and parish churches, since you can find many who ambitiously seek these offices. Obedience is indeed good, but it is by no means to be preferred to truth and the salvation of the soul. For when the danger of salvation is at issue, it is better humbly to set obedience aside by making excuse than to suffer shipwreck of chastity. Woe to the prelates of monks who incorporate churches of secular clergy into their monasteries, who loosen the bosom of desire with the torches of avarice, because, while they think they are benefiting posterity, they damn many by the occasion.

Fourth, the ruler of monks is made disorderly toward his subjects if he is found turbulent and anxious. In a pastor 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 disorderly ruler sometimes, through indiscreet fury, thinks himself the tyrant of monks; he does not know himself as father and companion of the humble. What in government is more savage, what more wicked in power, where neither God, nor reason, nor understanding, but a beast, holds rule? Truly, where God and understanding govern authority, the judgments of those presiding do not depart from the rectitude of the law of nature. But a disorderly and anxious ruler is infected by various passions of beasts; he always suspects evil of the monks, and while he wrongly directs the manner of rule, he is always anxious and fears, with Herod, to lose his kingdom.

Fifth, the pastor of cloistered men is called disorderly toward the monks if, in distributing the goods of the monastery, he is regarded as either excessive or obstinate. He is to be called excessive if, in distributing, he has been prodigal, or too diffuse in indiscreet largesse. But he is called obstinate if he has not given at the proper time the things that ought to be given, or if he grudgingly expends necessary things on 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 admits no counsels of the wise in any matters to be done. And indeed among pastors of souls there are very many disorderly through this sickness of mind, who either distribute the goods of the monastery too improvidently or preserve them with too much tenacity. They prepare most lavish banquets for their flatterers; but to others, toward whom they are averse, they refuse even the least things. In the house of guests or in their abbey, pastors, depraved by disorderly conduct and even to the point of gluttony, sometimes eat; they always drink of the best wine; but to poor monks, who by watching and singing bear the burden of the day and the heat, they scarcely grant scant necessities.

Sixth, the prelate of monks is shown to be very disorderly if, bold against God, by making little of his judgments, he is lifted up into pride. For truly, since a pastor cannot be corrected by his subjects, he is referred by the holy father Benedict to the judgment of God, as is contained in many places of the Rule. “Let the abbot know,” he says, “that concerning all his judgments he must render account to God.” And again: “But the ordained abbot should always consider what a burden he has undertaken, and to whom he is going to render account of his stewardship.” And again he says: “As soon as vices begin to arise, let him cut them off with charity, not with tyranny.” And in another place he warns, saying: “Yet the abbot himself should do all things with the fear of God and observance of the holy Rule, knowing beyond doubt that concerning all his judgments he will render account to God, the most just judge.” But the disorderly ruler of monks, like an asp with stopped ears, scorns to hear this warning of the most holy lawgiver; he despises the patience of God’s long-suffering; he thinks nothing of the future examination, until at last the angry judge says to his face: “You did these things, and I kept silence. Now, therefore, render account of your stewardship; resign to me the sheep of my inheritance, and without delay restore to me the souls once entrusted to you in the body; replace their number whole. If even one of them has perished through your negligence, my face [unclear] your soul forever

will not see. What then will you answer to the supreme shepherd, useless ruler, when not only the blood of those perishing is required of you, but also an account of those making less progress is demanded? Behold, now in the worst security, disregarding God’s judgment, you walk about; you think that everything that pleases you in the body is permitted to you, and you do not ever consider to whom you will have to render account for all things. Soon the Lord of all will come, to whom you do not fear to show yourself an unfaithful servant, whose honor you do not fear to arrogate to yourself. Unless meanwhile you do penance, unless you amend your life for the better, you will burn with demons in hell without end.

Seventh, it happens that a shepherd is disordered toward his subjects if, neglecting the common good, he seeks his own advantage with a vicious intention; if, presiding in a monastery, he serves not God but his own interests, while he rejoices that he is prelate in order to obtain the pernicious liberties of the flesh, and fraudulently provides for himself for the future from the goods of the monastery. This disorder, however, is especially seen in those who resign their office on whatever pretext; to them, as the reward of their stewardship, as if they had been bishops, an annual pension is assigned from the goods of the monastery. This is not the manner of those seeking the Lord; this is not the way of the old monks. When you resign the pastoral office for God’s sake, resign it simply; do not demand anything 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 should you demand a pension, when you know that you are a monk? Just as in buying prelacies the vice of simony is committed, so by demanding a pension for the resignation of an abbacy one sins against the rule. What then? Do we condemn those who, resigning the office of pastoral care without fault, have received annual provisions from the goods of the monastery? Far from it. We do not forbid necessities; we deny superfluities. Yet he who is a true monk and lover of God is content with regular provision even after an abbacy.

In what ways the monks, citizens of the lowest region, are disordered toward one another.

Article Four.

The citizens of the lowest region, monks and carnal men, are disordered toward one another in many and various ways; for since, stirred up 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 troubled conscience is always savage and presumptuous, and an evil mind never has the joys of peace, but is continually shaken by vice and sorrow; it is inwardly tormented by the everlasting fires of crimes. And so monks, citizens of the dark region, blinded by evil and disordered affections, do not consider the end of the monastic profession; they love nothing but the advantage of the present life; they neglect their own salvation; they do not rise up to the love of eternity.

First, therefore, they are greatly disordered toward one another when they cast aside the intellectual regard that ought to be had among brothers; when they do not notice the image of God in man; when they do not think of the communion of grace and glory infused into men and to be granted in the future; nor do they care to show one another the love of brotherly fellowship. They live with one another like horse and mule, concordant in bodily appearance, because whatever is pleasing to sensuality they love, and whatever accords with reason they do not admit. One is loved by another not because he is a man, but because he is like his lover in the affection of sensuality. For the carnal man loves in man not virtues, not religion, not, finally, nature itself, but flesh, blood, bodily quality. Since, therefore, the love of carnal men is carnal, it is easily changeable by occasion. For the citizens of this lowest region venerate similar ways of life, and monks always embrace monks like themselves with affection. The one whom God loved from eternity the disordered cenobite persecutes; the one whom God, because of his demerits, despises, this man venerates as a saint.

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

[unclear] begins humbly to obey his seniors for God's sake. But when the seniors, citizens of this lowest region, withdraw paternal affection from the younger men, the lesser ones are inflamed with grave hatred; and when the young consider that they are unjustly despised by them, they daily accuse their corrupt morals. Therefore weak young men learn the seniors' morals, which are not upright; and, as it is said in the proverb, just as they see the elders sing, so too the younger ones dance.

Thirdly, monks are badly ordered toward one another when they cast aside good zeal and mutual obedience, and assume the evil kind of zeal that is forbidden by the Rule. By words and deeds they commit various wrongs against one another; each, in his eagerness 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 always pant for revenge. Zeal for regular discipline is despised; the passion of indignation and bitterness rules. They meet one another with averted faces, and by open signs they reveal 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 ever-wretched condition of carnal monks, which is as near to hell as it is estranged from the fear of God. For they imitate not angels but demons, all those who, through evil zeal, delight to be discordant in the school of peace. Indeed, just as a brute animal does not abandon the savagery of its nature, so a beastly monk does not withdraw from the worst zeal.

In What Manner the Monks, Citizens of the Lowest Region, Are Ordered Toward Themselves. Article V.

The carnal monks, citizens of the lowest region, are disordered in 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; for while each one pollutes himself with the filth of vices, his wicked mind departs from the original rectitude of his condition. Nor is it any wonder if the cultivator of the lowest region becomes outwardly disordered toward others, when through various passions of the flesh he is inwardly confounded and dissipated 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 subject to the spirit; the spirit is commanded to be subject to him from whom it received the form of being. But among carnal minds the order of reason is perverted, when the flesh rules over the spirit, and reason, which according to the power of understanding implanted in it ought to have governed all things, being suffocated by the pleasures of the flesh, does not hasten under command to the rectitude of judgment.

Therefore carnal monks are disordered toward themselves through the vice of curiosity, because by inquiring into another's life they judge curiously, and do not amend their own life, defiled by every vice. They do not know how to correct great crimes in themselves, yet they proudly rebuke others who offend in very small matters. They carefully consider the speck in their brother's eye, and excuse the beam clinging to their own eyes as if it were nothing. They subject all their affections to sensuality, and, after despising the judgment of right reason, they live carnally like beasts; passion frequently stirs them to anger; the frenzy of envy inflames them against their neighbor. With an anxious mind they always demand vengeance against their brothers; often, blinded by excessive fury, they obtain it not without harm to themselves. But disordered citizens cannot long lie hidden in secret; for the more they remain unknown to themselves through the elation of the mind, the more, through blind judgment, they become manifest to others. For every proud and disordered man is said first to be ignorant of himself, because if he truly knew himself, he would by no means be proud. But since the disordering of oneself takes its origin from pride, we cannot describe this plague better than if we take care to lay open its roots, descending by degrees to the depths below. For just as the summit of the spiritual life is contained in the twelve degrees of humility, so the source of all monastic disorder is contained in the twice-six degrees of pride.

Thus the first degree of pride is called curiosity. By it monks badly ordered toward themselves neglect their own life and morals, and continually inquire into either the deeds or the words of others. At all times they accuse the negligences of the brothers; they rebuke the life of the pastor; and the more curiously they desire to know outwardly what belongs to others, the farther they withdraw from themselves. But for monks the vice of curiosity

it is most pernicious: for once it has invaded his mind, stripping him of all virtues, it makes him a dwelling-place of vices. It is a very true sign of weakness to examine the deeds of others and, beyond the rule of one’s office, to be occupied with matters belonging to others [unclear]. For the monk who, according to the definition of his name, is commanded to care for himself alone, scrutinizes the deeds of others not without manifest danger to his own salvation. But whoever subject themselves to the vice of curiosity soon descend to the second degree of pride. For one always disposes toward another, and no single sin alone rules 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 disordered 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 dissipated in the heart. It is the judgment of a disordered mind to run about through various images of things and always to produce new forms of sensual affections.

The third degree of pride is called empty joy, which is produced from the lightness of a disordered man’s mind. Carnal monks compose for themselves various images of affections; when these meet agreeably with sensuality they rejoice, but when otherwise happens, contracting grave indignation, they slip into various temptations. But that is not true joy which [unclear], nor does the gladness long continue which does not have its source in the love of God. And therefore disordered men, tossed by vain joy into boastful vaunting, fall, 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, magnifying themselves before others, they exalt themselves. If they have done any good, they boldly bring it forward in public, often mendaciously inventing even things they have not done. They desire to seem holy, learned, prudent, and noble, and they devise 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 you begin to praise anyone in their presence, they at once rise up to the contrary; they say many vicious things against him, because, while they desire to show themselves alone praiseworthy, they do not permit anyone else to be praised in their presence.

The fifth degree of pride is understood as singularity, which is generated from the swelling of vaunting. Into this degree proud cloistered men fall, who through boasting have presumed that they surpass others either in merit or in knowledge. Hence, lest they appear like the rest in their manner of life, out of self-pride alone they show themselves singular in all things. But this singularity is reprehended in the monastery, where all are commanded to live in common according to the rule. Proud monks, as blessed Bernard testifies, while 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 rest are eating than if they had fasted seven other days. In short, one little prayer said singularly seems more advantageous to them than the whole psalmody of one night. During the meal they often carry their eyes around the table, and if they see someone eating less they groan and begin to grieve that they themselves have been beaten, cruelly withholding from themselves what they had provided for necessary nourishment. These proud cloistered men are energetic for their own singular practices, sluggish for common ones. In bed they keep watch; in choir and at the regular reading they drowse.

The sixth degree of pride takes its beginning from the fifth; it is called the arrogance of the proud. Indeed, when disordered cloistered men begin, through zeal for singularity, to appear outwardly to others, they burn into a greater madness of arrogance, and whatever is said by men in their praise they foolishly judge to be true. O pitiable folly of the proud: although in all other matters they believe no one more than themselves, about themselves alone they believe themselves less than another. Whatever praise of themselves they hear from the unskilled, they ascribe not to the ignorance or good will of the one praising, but to their own merits. But whoever is delightfully fed by human praises is held before the Lord to be empty of every virtue and full of arrogance.

The seventh degree of pride is born from the preceding one; it is called the presumption of the proud. This [unclear] all the arrogant

as do those who, in a singular way, believe themselves to be something great. Of these Bernard says: “He who thinks that he surpasses others, how should he not presume more concerning himself than concerning others? He sits first in the assembly; in councils he answers first; uncalled, he comes forward; unbidden, he thrusts himself in; when a matter has been arranged, he rejects what has been done by others. Whatever he himself has not done or arranged, he thinks has not been rightly done nor finely ordered. He judges those who judge; he prejudges those who are to judge. For the man for whom God is not sufficient in his heart seeks comfort in external things in vain.”

The eighth degree of pride is called the defense of sins, which indeed is always born of presumption. For a presumptuous monk always thinks himself better than everyone; if he has committed anything, he either stubbornly denies it, or, if he has been convicted, excuses it in many ways. For how will he be able humbly to confess his fault, who does not recognize himself as guilty? If you try to chastise such a man for his offenses, you always make him worse. Therefore whoever, when corrected for any matter, slips into words of malice; whoever opposes excuses for sins to the one reproving him, falls into this descent of death, opposed to the fifth degree of humility. But the presumptuous man strives to excuse his sin in various ways, for he is found to have fallen into this degree of pride. For either he says, “I did not do it”; or, “I did it indeed, but I did well”; or, if badly, “not very badly”; or, if very badly, “not with evil intention.” And if he has been convicted of malice, immediately, in excuse of himself, he does not fear to bring forward another’s counsel to the abbot, and never according to the Rule will he reveal hidden things to the abbot. But when he comes to confession, he will cloak the truth with a feigned mind, because, so that he himself may be able to escape confusion, he strives to bring others’ negligences 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 deeds and examinations of others; he complains that no one lives rightly in the monastery; he thinks that there is no charity among the brothers. But if his vain presumption has been detected through the skill of the confessor, he immediately seeks another confessor; and if the abbot should begin gently to wish to oppose him, the monk, lifted up into the ninth degree of pride, falls through restlessness of mind.

The ninth degree of pride is described as murmuring or impatience, which for the most part dominates carnal monks. Indeed, the man whose confession is feigned, when touched by one light insult or penance, is immediately raised up into open pride; the deceit of simulated humility is uncovered, nor can the feigned mind hide itself any longer, but it is compelled to bring out in public whatever lies hidden within. Thereafter, having become no longer in control of himself, the proud monk murmurs at everything; he obstinately accuses the shepherd’s judgment, however just; he gnashes his teeth; when stirred, he grows angry; without reason, like a madman, he is troubled by whatever he wishes. 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, he silently acquiesces in others’ judgments, which is very difficult for such men, he will soon, having become brazen and shameless, fall all the worse into this degree, inasmuch as the desperate temper of his mind does not [unclear]. He always advances toward worse things; and he who before had arrogantly despised his brothers in secret now also, what is more serious, openly shows that he despises his master.” But the censure of divine judgment does not allow this degree of pride to pass long unpunished, since monks rebellious against their shepherds frequently apostatize from the order; others, on account of serious crimes, foul prisons; some, expelled from monasteries, wander in exile, homeless and wretched; many, horribly struck by the Lord and despairing, hasten to the lower regions. For it is written: “He who resists authority opposes God’s ordinance.”

And again the Lord says of 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? How long will you corrupt the truth? But I dare to say what I wish you were ashamed to hear. In the strict judgment of God, rebellious monk, presumption of law will not save you, who now proudly scorn the obedience of subjection. Law commands obedience; it requires humble subjection within order.

Consequently rebellious monks fall into the eleventh degree of pride, which is the liberty of sinning: they scorn not only the corrections and exhortations of the brethren, but also those of the prelates. For truly, when rebellion is taken up against the teacher, boldness in sinning is produced, since he who despises the authority of correction already commits all crimes as though lawfully. Love of God voluntarily restrains good cenobites from sins, and fear holds back the weak. But where neither love of God nor fear of correction penetrates the monk, then the mind, through rebellion and the habit of sinning, draws near to hell. For Scripture says: “When the wicked man has come into the depth of evils, he despises.” What does he despise? He despises God; he scorns men; in despair, he does not know how to seek the salvation of his soul.

They fall, therefore, into the twelfth degree of pride who through boldness in sinning run into evil habit. This is the nearest descent to hell; this is the path of hell; this is the swift way 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 compassion, because when habit is not resisted, a necessity of sinning is produced. For wickedness always advances toward the worse, and, always falling, falls more deeply.

Behold, these are the twelve degrees of pride by 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 unworthiness of vices darkens the cenobite, makes him disordered toward himself, and in morals changes the man into a very savage beast. The end of these things is destruction; and unless before the death of the flesh the remedy of penitence intervenes, the progress of the evil degrees damns the monk who will burn without [unclear].

Whoever, being disordered toward himself, has once fallen first into the degree of pride, if he does not strive to rise as quickly as possible through penitence, soon casts himself headlong into the second and consequently into all the rest in order. But the disorder of carnal monks toward themselves is expressed in sum in these degrees of elation, by which they are shown to be citizens of the lowest region. What, however, is said of disordered and proud monks, we must also understand of prelates of the lowest region.

In what way the citizen of the lowest region [unclear]. Article VI

Whoever, established in a monastery, neglects to order his inner affections toward the purity of holy [unclear], frequently also transgresses enormously in outward matters. Monks disordered toward God are consequently proved to be disordered toward all things. For just as the good cenobite, united by love to the divine will, considers all secondary things in the right order of reason with a simple eye, so one turned away from God through disordered affections sins even in the goods that he uses badly. Therefore carnal monks, cultivators of the lowest region, are badly disordered not only toward the soul but also toward the temporal substance of the monastery. For an outward disturbance of the body follows the inward confusion of the mind, and the one demonstrates the other.

First, indeed, the citizen of the lowest region is badly ordered toward the goods of the monastery when they demand that these be granted to them in an improper order, or in any way usurp more than the use of the regular institution permits. For the Rule commands that all necessary things be given to the monks; it utterly forbids superfluities.

Second, those use the goods of the monastery badly who do not fear to give and receive contrary to the master’s prohibition, or who faithlessly commit deceit and fraud in things entrusted to them. For a monk who, according to his own whim, without reasonable cause, contrary to the Rule, in any way without permission squanders the goods of the monastery.

against the rule, just as an unfaithful and falsifying proprietor sins.

Third, disorderly monks or abbots misuse the goods of the monastery when they indulge them in 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, ought to be guarded like the vessels of the holy altar, lest it be dissipated in any way through negligence. But he who forbids the useless expenditure of cloistered goods would by no means, without sin, permit them to be lavished on base uses. What will the monks and rulers of the lowest region answer to the lawgiver in the strict examination, who do not fear to dissipate the goods of the monastery on parents, kinsmen, mimes, actors, and base persons, as an occasion and reward of sin?

Fourth, carnal abbots and monks sin more gravely in the goods of the monastery when they gather them too greedily, to the detriment of divine charity and of salvation. For made subject to the law of avarice, they think of nothing but profits and money; they violate feast days and 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 perishing sinner. So truly have all disorderly cloisterers been blinded that they consider avarice prudence and think riches to be reform. They join field to field; they call profit piety; and where they see temporal goods abound, there they say the best discipline is observed. They refuse to spend even a few things for the common good of the order, because they have truly lost the order of charity. They raise useless, curious, and damnable structures on high; they keep costly garments and ornaments scarcely necessary for divine service; they clothe sacred things with gold; they leave Christ’s poor naked. This greedy curiosity does not befit monks, since we are commanded to imitate the holy men of old 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 repay them with prayers. They all cheerfully receive the alms of the faithful, but few render the suffrages of prayers for the givers. From these things many citizens of the lowest region, when they have come to the order, serve not God but the belly; they desire that more food, drink, and clothing be given to them than necessity requires; and those who in the world could scarcely have bread and vegetables in [unclear] now, having become monks, refuse eggs and little fish. They importunately demand that great, varied, diverse, and delicate fish be given to them; murmuring through desire of the flesh with the children of Israel in the desert, they cry out for [unclear]; they say that they cannot eat eggs and peas; they always desire more delicate things.

In what way 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 conversion, must do violence to the pleasures of the flesh and strongly contemn the world with all its vanities. But the carnal monks, citizens of the lowest region, who are badly ordered not only toward adverse things but also toward spiritual things, are also badly ordered toward contempt of the world.

And first, indeed, 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, contrary to the rule, delicate; they prefer the desires of the flesh to the salvation of the soul; they do not seek the sweetness of inward conversation. They nourish their flesh too delicately, through which they are continually set aflame in various desires. For no one can truly contemn the world who neglects to restrain the appetite of the flesh even in the smallest things. If you eat to satiety, you do not truly contemn the world. For the first commandment imposed on those who contemn the world is grounded in abstinence alone. But if you fill your belly with food to satiety, you immediately fall either into lust or into severe sloth.

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

Secondly, they are disordered with respect to despising the world because of the vain concupiscence of the eyes. For the monk who forgets the true honor of faithful souls delights utterly in worldly pomps and overly curious ornaments. Indeed, a person’s outward attire reveals what each one is inwardly, hidden within himself. To wear rings on the fingers, corals on neck-bands, scent-vessels in the hands, and pleats in cowls shows not a monk but a soldier; it presents not a humble cenobite but a proud secular man. This adornment in monks cannot please anyone except the reprobate; indeed, it is often found to have displeased even the proud. Woe to you, disordered cloisterers, who through the double concupiscence of the eyes descend to hell, while you desire to see in others what is not expedient, and present yourselves to be seen by others otherwise than you ought.

What have the jewels of the world to do with you? What have the curiosities of the world? All these beauties, as Saint Bernard bears witness, make a masculine soul effeminate; these public refinements quickly weaken a manly purpose. Such men are like ragged boys who, because of one thin red band fastened to a torn sleeve, think themselves very handsome and comely, and insolently mock others set before them, though very well dressed, as if they were naked. These pompous cloisterers see others walking in humble garb, despising the world in the spirit of poverty, and for that reason pleasing both God and men; but they see themselves despised by the wise and by princes, and sometimes not even admitted to conversation. Seeing these things, the proud, even if they grieve bitterly as though over an injury, nevertheless utterly refuse to lay aside their pride.

Thirdly, the citizens of the lowest region are badly ordered with respect to contempt of the world because of pride of life, since they are infected not only with vain complacencies of the flesh, but also are proud through swelling of mind. For all who follow the desires of the flesh become [unclear] in mind; they do not know how to endure equals; they do not accept superiors. They rejoice that a great retinue of servants attends them; they strive to sit in council; they always wish to appear glorious to men; they walk pompously in public. Swollen with the spirit of pride, they boast that they possess monasteries notable from their foundation, rich in temporal goods, in jewels, in buildings, and in elaborate privileges. With uplifted heart they despise poor monks or abbots of exiled monasteries; they do not blush to prefer themselves to better men. The more they desire to hunt for glory in outward things, the farther they withdraw from true glory with the foolish virgins.

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

Article VIII.

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

First, indeed, they are badly ordered with respect to penance through carelessness of mind, while they neglect to understand how greatly sin displeases almighty God, whom they do not fear to contradict by the decision of a depraved will. Just as black night is opposed to day, so the sinner, turned away from divine goodness, is considered hostile and adversarial.

What a putrid corpse is wont to do in the sight of men, sin, in its own way, does incomparably in the sight of the angels. But carnal monks despise the honor of God, and therefore they do not notice the insult of sin. They neglect to amend venial sins, and so commit mortal sins as if with license. For Scripture says: He who neglects the smallest things falls little by little. Hence the saying of Bernard admonishes us, saying: Let no one, brothers, say in his heart, “These things are light; I do not care to correct them. It is no great matter if I remain in these venial and very small sins.” This, brothers, is impenitence; this is unforgivable blasphemy against the Holy Spirit. For no one can escape greater sins if he has despised amending the lesser. Nothing is worse than carelessness of mind.

Secondly, carnal monks, lovers of the lowest region, are exceedingly disordered with respect to penitence, since they do not notice the contagion of sin. For just as a healthy man is very often infected by a contagious disease, so from one sin a man is inclined 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 become filthier 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 carelessness a man becomes slippery from one sin into another.

Thirdly, carnal monks disordered with respect to penitence contract the worst sickness through the habit of sin, while they fall into a pernicious blindness of mind. Every vice often committed is held cheap, and through habit is judged lighter. Just as grace illumines 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 feels contempt. No sin is so great that through habit it does not seem light and small.

Fourthly, disorderly cloisterers, blinded through the habit of evil, 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 the purpose of amendment. Woe to those who, buried in the habit of sin, do not fear the censure of the strict examination; who do not withdraw from blindness of mind through the remedy of contrition, since just as now they despise the long-suffering of God’s goodness, so in that terrible hour they will undergo the sentence of eternal death. What will confession of the mouth be able to profit where there is no true contrition of the heart? Without contrition there is no saving confession, nor can there be contrition without the purpose of amendment. The judgment of contrition is to be unwilling to sin any more.

Fifthly, the disorderly citizens of the lowest region, made despisers of almighty God through the habit of sinning, always fall into graver dangers of the soul, while they always approach wrongly the most holy sacred mysteries of the body and blood of the Lord. They make a superficial confession from habit; they allow themselves, thinking they are well ordered, to proceed great in their consciences. But now, as if allied with hell, they no longer fear God; they contemn the paths of an amended life; they consider themselves well ordered; they do not care with how many vices they are inwardly filled. At times, sensibly affected by a fantastic devotion, they already think that the Holy Spirit is present; they affirm that they are beloved by God and holy. They also shamelessly thrust themselves into the divine mysteries; not discerning the body and blood of the Lord, they receive it for judgment and condemnation upon themselves. Finally, such people, communicating unworthily, are more grievously hardened, because, while they think themselves very secure and to be living well, they do not duly care to cleanse their conscience from vices. Thus Judas the apostate, the evil of betrayal which before, as a certain [unclear] says, he feared to commit against the Savior, after the morsel had been taken and the devil had entered into him, did not fear to carry out boldly and without shame. O how many are the carnal monks of this lowest region, proud, arrogant, envious, murmuring, and bound fast by various sins, whose conscience is rarely or never made clean through true contrition, who nevertheless are not afraid to approach the most holy altar almost daily.

Behold how evil is the society of all in this lowest region

... of [unclear]: whose end is destruction; for whom, through the death of the body, a descent to hell is prepared. This is the far-off region, bestial and of unlikeness, into which that prodigal son went, who squandered the portion of his inheritance luxuriously with harlots. In this region dwell carnal citizens; concerning such people 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 inhabits it; in it not peace but bestial discord reigns, as the prophet says: There is no peace for the wicked, says my Lord.

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

Although between the first region of the evil and the second of the good there is, properly speaking, no middle, nevertheless there are some who often move between the two: while through weakness they are now lukewarm, now through contrition of mind they seem to be devout. These are weak human beings. Although they are not submerged in the lowest region, nevertheless through negligence they are very near it, and indeed frequently fall into it through bad habit, since they do not withdraw as far as they can from the affections of the flesh. Concerning them Bernard says in a certain sermon: Pernicious lukewarmness, because it is dangerous, because it is most troublesome and full of misery and pain, and plainly nearest to hell, is rightly reckoned the shadow of death. Indeed one may find faint-hearted and slack people, failing beneath the burden, needing rod and spurs; whose joy is brief, whose sadness is faint-hearted; whose compunction is brief and rare, since their thought is with animals, their way of life lukewarm; whose obedience is without devotion, speech without circumspection, prayer without intention of heart, reading without edification. Finally, as we see, fear of Gehenna scarcely restrains them; shame restrains them; reason scarcely bridles them; discipline scarcely holds them in check. If people of this kind remain long beneath the burden, either they are crushed and succumb, or in a certain way they are in hell, so that they never fully breathe the sweet yoke and the light burden.

And so such pernicious lukewarmness flows from this, that their will has not yet been purified, nor do they will the good as they have known it, being drawn away and enticed by their own concupiscence. For they love in their flesh little earthly consolations, whether in word or in sign or in deed or in some other thing; and if they sometimes interrupt these things, they nevertheless do not break them off completely. Hence it is that they rarely direct their affections toward God, and their compunction is not continual, but occasional. But the soul that is subject to these distractions cannot be filled with the visitations of the Lord; and the more it is emptied by those things, the more fully it will be filled with these. If much, much; if little, little. Or perhaps, if you approve this more, those things will never be able to be mixed with these for eternity. For spirit and flesh, fire and lukewarmness, do not dwell together in one house, especially since lukewarmness itself is accustomed to provoke the Lord to vomiting. Whoever, therefore, desires to flee from the midst of Babylon, whoever longs to come to the region of the spirit, should take care always to repel from himself the torpor of threatening care, and in holy purpose to burn continually through the fire of divine love. Nothing harms those who wish to serve God so much as lukewarmness of mind, which always arises at the beginning from some small negligence; but unless it is immediately cured, it increases successively and wonderfully. But one placed in the neighborhood of the lowest region often relapses into the same, because the dregs of his former carnal way of life still subtly occupy his will, and easily, on some occasion, disturb the weak fervor of 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 a certain violence intervenes, habit will always strengthen the vice of sinning. This lowest region is rightly called hell, because by a certain likeness of disturbance and aversion it is compared to hell. After this life there are three dwellings of souls, which receive citizens emigrating from this world out of the three regions. For the first dwelling is called hell, and this is compared to the lowest region. For just as in hell no order, but everlasting horror, dwells, so in this lowest region all the fury of a blinded mind, affection

by carnal [unclear] it is disturbed. In hell all are evil, and in the lowest region good persons are found nowhere. But whoever fall down into hell have belonged to the lowest region. For the lowest region always sends its citizens to the lower world, unless, led by penitence, while living they have taken care to renounce dead works. The second abode is called purgatory, and this is compared to the second, rational region. For just as purgatory purges and perfects souls, and sends them, once purged, to the kingdom of heaven, so this second region washes its citizens who persevere in it, through continual exercise, from the filth of sins, and disposes them for the ascent to the third region, which is called spirit. In this abode all are good, yet still to be purged so that they may become better; and in the second region nowhere are there evil persons, yet they are always to be exercised so that they may be made better. This region sends its citizens who die in it to purgatory, since, although all are good, nevertheless they do not yet seem fit for the kingdom without a temporary purgation. Indeed, those who inhabit this middle region, although they seem to be very near the highest, nevertheless have not yet been wholly removed from the dust of the lower one. But the third abode of separated souls is called the kingdom of heaven, and this is compared to the highest region, that of spirit. For just as in that heavenly fatherland there is highest rest and eternal peace, so in the region of spirit there is continual tranquility of mind. Here ends the first region.

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

Let us now at last leave this dark region of carnal persons, in which the whirlwind of crimes remains, and the continual tempest of punishments. We have granted it enough, and we have lingered over it more than had been our purpose. 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 shadowy region; we must hasten diligently, through the middle region of reason, to the highest summit of spirit. Let us now, then, 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, in which there is continual labor for seeking out the highest truth. The fervor of mind strives always to raise the citizens of this middle region to higher things; but the weakness of the flesh, by the motion of a raging whirlwind, struggles to draw them back to the lowest things. From this arises continual labor; from this arise sighs and groans, because the body that is corrupted weighs down the soul, and the earthly dwelling depresses the sense that thinks many things. This is the narrow way that leads to life, and few walk through it. In this region violence is imposed upon the concupiscences of the flesh until the will is subjected to the spirit at its nod. For the Lord says in the Gospel: The kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent seize it. In this region the war of combat is declared to the servant of God; so the wise man testifies: Son, he says, 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 exercises, while, driven in various ways, we are not able to remain long in the fervor of spirit. Now the weakness of the flesh calls us back from the zeal for advancement; now the temptation of the ancient enemy vexes us; now the company of neighbors hinders us;

now the deceitfulness of the world leads astray. Therefore those who wish to make progress in this region of labor have need of the greatest courage, because no one can resist his temptations to the end unless he strives daily to do violence to himself. But whoever thinks that he has come to this region should not presume on his own powers, for just as the grace of God, in order to work the 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 on himself, but let him who stands take heed lest he fall. The life of man upon earth is warfare, for through many tribulations one comes to the kingdom, and heaven is acquired by the arduous labors of the virtues. “Going,” says the prophet, “they went and wept, casting their seeds; but coming they shall come with exultation, carrying their sheaves.” Indeed, those who sow in tears shall reap in joy. But if anyone fails in the sowing, certainly he 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 courageously 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 incurs the danger of failing where he has lost the desire of making progress. This is the place of continual combat; whoever neglects to fight in it falls back to be conquered. The preface ends.

Begins the second region of the soul, which is called rational, in which men are occupied amid many labors. Therefore the second region of the soul is called rational, in which the mind is exercised by continual labor for the inquiry into the highest truth; the farther it separates itself from the lowest, the more it approaches the highest. And this region is proposed as being likened in certain ways to the ethereal heaven, in which the position of the stars and continual motion are found.

For just as that motion itself, by the order of the first mover as cause, is always arranged in heaven, so continual labor is at work 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. Now such powers of the soul are three: memory, understanding, and will.

From these, memory gathers the likenesses and phantasms of things, and extends itself concerning what is arduous. The understanding, by discerning those phantasms, considers them, and here investigates the true. But the will embraces what has been approved by the understanding and ordered, and this is concerned with the known good. When these three powers of the soul rightly preserve their order, they lead the spirit in faith toward heavenly things.

This second region is compared to the ethereal heaven, in which, just as there is continual motion and the position of the stars, so in this middle region there is continual motion and labor against the battles of vices. And just as the motion of the stars fulfills the order of office implanted in it by nature, so each power of the soul, when it is subjected to its own object, is perfected toward the end ordained for it, so far as can happen to wayfarers. But none of these powers can be perfected simply to fullness in this region, since no one in this foreign [unclear] is so perfect that he cannot be more perfect in his own order. For even if memory, in its own object, which is the arduous, 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 in this region, in which we can form no phantasms or likenesses of God. The understanding also, the counselor, as I might say, of the blind will, extends itself concerning the true; but however much it considers its own object, it is not satisfied until it can apprehend every truth and arrive at the knowledge of the eternal, highest, and infallible truth without the opinion of fantastic speculation. But that perfection is possible for no wayfarer so long as he remains in the body of mortality. The will also, in its own object, which is the good, to be satisfied and true/

will not be able to rejoice, unless it comes to that unchangeable and highest good, which no instability of change overshadows. The highest truth and unchangeable good is God, who said to Moses: “Man shall not see me and live.” And the disciple of the highest truth says: “No one has ever seen God.” But also the prophet, addressing the Lord, says: “Truly, you are a hidden God.” Although, however, the three aforesaid powers of the soul cannot in this life perfectly comprehend their object, nevertheless none should cease from its duty, lest it incur the danger of failing there where it has abandoned the appointed effort. Therefore the citizens of this middle region mortify evil affections in themselves; they adorn themselves with continual virtues; they direct all their works with right intention; they depart not at all from the office of reason.

The citizens of this region are scholastic, speculative, and active men, devoted to various and indeed honorable arts, who subject the sensual or carnal powers to reason; who do not neglect to cleanse these three powers of the soul from all illicit objects; who always raise their intention toward the end of honorable usefulness; who reform the will, in act or in habit, toward its due end. Therefore the coenobite, a lover of this cleansing, who desires to ascend to the third region of the spirit, while remaining in the middle region, must 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 neglects to keep them, he shows that he is still a citizen not of the middle but of the lowest region. For, as we said above, no one can remain in this middle region without a continual effort to make progress; in it, not to have progressed is to fail, and not to have ascended is to descend. Therefore the monk who, having overcome the dark region, has at last, with the Lord’s help, deserved to arrive at this middle one should know that he must beware lest he abandon, even for a little, the effort to make progress; but he should always stretch himself toward what lies further, and remember the admonition of the wise man, who says: “Unless you hold yourself constantly in the fear of the Lord, your house will quickly be overturned,” that is, your conscience. For it is impossible for anyone to make progress in holy conduct who has neglected daily to renew, through fear of the Lord, the effort to make progress. The effect of this renewal is shown to be ordered when the truth of the articles of the middle region is duly observed. The first article, therefore, is the diligent intention of the coenobite’s end; the second is the due restraint of the sensual powers; the third, the faithful cleansing of the powers; the fourth, the attentive reformation of the works of the lowest region; the fifth, the ordered institution of the true coenobite’s progress; the sixth, the adaptation of the powers for entry into the third region; and the seventh, the exemplary or experiential certainty of all the aforesaid matters.

On the continual and diligent intention of the end of coenobitic conduct. The first article.

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

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

God, says John, is charity; and he who abides in charity abides in God, and God in him. But everyone who abides in God does not sin. The second end, disposing one toward the first and principal end as though through some suitable means, 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 attain the principal end of charity who neglects to observe the means.

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

This monastic denial of self-will seems chiefly to consist in three things, without which no one is truly to be said to have denied himself. First, the mortification of self-will requires in the monk the eradication of his own judgment, because whoever relies on his own judgment or counsel disdains humbly to be subject to another. For the root from which the defense of self-will arises is called adherence to one's own counsel or judgment. Whoever, established in a monastery, desires to cling to his own judgment, sins gravely against the rule as a usurper of self-will. For it befits the cenobite to live by another's command rather than his own, if toward eternal life through the merit of obedience [unclear]. According to Bernard, [self-will?] is the greatest leprosy of the soul; the more hidden it is, the more pernicious it will be; and the more anyone abounds in it, the sounder he seems to himself to be.

Second, mortification of the will requires the emptying-out of one's own affections, because no one is able to stand rightly ordered amid adversities and advantages, and truly subject to God, who does not strongly restrain his carnal affections. Third, for the mortification of self-will that poverty of spirit is required, lest in things of use, in food, clothing, and the rest, the monk's affections be taken captive; because whoever loves these things too much shows himself, against the rule, to be a lover of self-will. For the true cenobite, a cultivator of this middle region, must fervently devote himself to the doctrine of humility, willingly despise all worldly things for the love of God, and love absolutely nothing except God. If he has anything for use, with the rule permitting it, let him beware of attaching the affection of his heart to it, and let him be ready, at the judgment of the pastor and for the benefit of the brothers, to resign all things with a peaceful heart. Let him always choose the things that are simple and meaner; let him give thanks to God in all things, and, placing his hope and sufficiency in him alone, say cheerfully: In you, Lord Jesus, possessing all things, for your love I willingly despise all things; I shall care nothing at all about transitory things.

Therefore let our devout cenobite always direct the eye of his intention, with faithful consideration, toward this end of the monastic institution; let him never withdraw from the sight of it, because whoever in action forgets the ultimate end wanders like an inexperienced and blind sailor amid the storms of the sea, soon to perish. Let the faithful monk therefore imitate [a sailor?] skilled in [navigation?], so that, just as he, always keeping the harbor before his eyes, strives with attentive solicitude to direct the ship there, so the mind of a good man may always be directed toward God as toward the shore and ultimate end. Archers set up some definite mark for themselves, and, lest their sight be scattered from the fixed target, they close one eye. And 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 it also the eye of lower affection is closed, lest the sharpness of higher consideration be scattered through [unclear]. For it is necessary

to close off the affection of earthly curiosity and the understanding of the wisdom of the flesh, as though by not knowing them, if by the mind’s gaze we desire always to raise ourselves to the due end. And just as the eagle is said to look upon the sun with eyes unstruck by its glare, so the monk, God’s servant, contemplates without interruption the end of the monastic institution. Just as a prudent traveler, as he proceeds with pleasure, considers the lodging toward which he is heading, so a good coenobite, in everything he does, always pants chiefly with fervent desire toward his own end, which is God. But a foolish traveler is one who, when placed on the road, forgets the lodging toward which he is heading, and, straying, knowingly becomes entangled in the various impediments of others. And the monk who does not studiously consider the end of his destination assuredly wanders blind on the road.

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

Let the intention of the coenobitic life always be faithful, so that it wishes to desire nothing other than God’s praise and honor; 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 God’s service, in order that it may serve its Lord faithfully and seek his glory, not its own.

On the Due Restraint of the Sensual Powers. Article 2.

How useful and how necessary it is for us to restrain the powers of the sensual passions, I think no one is ignorant, especially among monks. Indeed, whoever in this region desires to reach the due end of regular life which we have described must tame his disordered natural habits and movements with prudent constancy, because no one can truly resign himself to another’s command who does not strongly restrain the powers of the sensual passions. For one who desires to make progress must leave behind both the movements and the prudence of the flesh with a steadfast spirit, and show himself a son of divine grace, not of flesh and blood. For Scripture says: If you live according to the command of the flesh, you will die. Indeed, those who sow in the flesh will also reap corruption from the flesh. But flesh and blood will not possess the kingdom of God. But what does the Savior say to us? “A man’s enemies,” he says, “are those of his household.” And who are these household members, if not the sensual powers that oppose the spirit? For concupiscibility and irascibility, our enemies, stir up everything in us against the spirit, and continually disturb the house of conscience with various passions. For so long as these sensual powers carry out their natural movements and courses in a person, they do not permit him to ascend to the freedom of the spirit. Concupiscibility delights in the pleasing things of the sense of the flesh, and the contrary power, irascibility, detests the body’s pains. Meanwhile, as long as this war of the flesh is waged in a person, the monk is considered a restless, carnal cultivator of the lowest region. Therefore whoever desires to come to eternal life must strongly restrain in all things these disordered powers of the senses.

Therefore let the faithful coenobite strive to direct the concupiscible power toward pains that are acceptable to God, and to reform all his affections according to God’s good pleasure. If he has done this, he will confidently pray to the Lord: “My soul has longed to desire your justifications at all times.” And that

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

From these two powers every disordered affection arises; and good affections likewise are generated from these by opposition. For joy and hope take their beginning from the concupiscible power, and the irascible power brings forth grief and fear. Concerning these Saint Bernard says thus: “The whole heart of man is perverted by four affections; if we bring these back to God, the whole heart of man is converted.”

On 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 cenobite who is slackened by the torpor of negligence is never cleansed from vicious affections. For he brings back corruption from his errors. Therefore the cenobite, the cultivator of this middle region, must correct his inner powers from every disorder, if he wishes to remain constantly in the pursuit of making progress. These intellectual powers, then, are to be cleansed in this way.

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

Then our faithful cenobite must not neglect to cleanse his memory from every [unclear] and illicit occupation; he must admit no [unclear] base or less useful images for [unclear]; and he must study to repel phantasms of irrational passions and [unclear] meditations, and, so far as can be done, to think nothing foolish.

The will also must be purged from every disordered affection, so that it may will nothing except what right reason [unclear] to be willed, and reject nothing except what reason, according to the judgment of truth, forbids it.

This restriction of the powers and cleansing of the powers is thus spoken of: it grants absolutely nothing to anyone [unclear], except to one who is strong in the struggle by great, discreet, and continual diligence, knowing that the kingdom of God suffers violence, and that no one can subdue the enemy to himself in any way, unless he has resolved to fight against him fiercely and perseveringly. For, as the blessed pontiff Augustine bears witness, we know that a man does not die well unless he has first died to vices and concupiscences. But no one among men truly dies to these except the one who resists his own wills through continual labor, sowing in tears. The mind, therefore, must be armed with saving teachings; strength of patience must be taken up in all things. For just as someone unarmed and impatient of labor cannot throw down an armed enemy, so a monk without spiritual arms and a certain continual force of fighting cannot cleanse his intellectual powers. Although the arms of spiritual warfare are very many in their own usefulness, nevertheless three in particular must be taken up by the monk.

And first, indeed, vigor is necessary for the cenobite in everything that he does, so that he may dare to attack things contrary to the flesh bravely, and may grow lukewarm at no time in his holy purpose. For the exercises of the spirit are hard and utterly contrary to the flesh; in

in which it is not enough to persevere steadfastly; [unclear] scorns to put on the strongest armor. If, therefore, 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 strongly against everything.

Next, a certain holy severity is set before you to be assumed, through which all the contrary and adverse things of this world are borne as almost nothing. For indeed, whoever has once truly assumed this kindly severity of mind for the love of God and with desire for heaven, will thereafter fear no adversities of the flesh so greatly; rather, he is so inwardly flooded with reflection on the divine reward that he seems to take more delight in adversities that occur to him than in prosperities.

But severity is by no means pleasing to the weaker unless it has been tempered somewhat by the sweetness of kindness. Therefore, consequently, this kindness of [soothing?] is to be assumed, so that when, through the weakness of the flesh, someone is tempted in battle, or even wounded, and at times totters, through penance he may soon rise again, to fight more strongly anew. For if the soldier of Christ has fallen in battle, he must, through contrition and the other remedies of penance, rise again as often as necessary, to fight again, until at last, at some time, by God’s mercy, he is able to overcome the adversary. If the just man falls seven times in a day and rises again, how will the sinner, now penitent, not hope for pardon? Rise, therefore, O soldiers, to fight again as often as you have fallen when the adversary prevails; always renew the warfare more strongly from the beginning, so that the enemy whom for the time being you cannot overcome by strength you may at last overcome by perseverance. Do not despair of victory, O faithful cenobite, because you have often been overcome by temptation and have fallen into the snare of vice. Do not lie prostrate any longer 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 victor over the adversary. For no one suddenly becomes supreme, nor is victory over the enemy granted at once to [unclear] soldiers, lest, destined to perish more grievously, they be lifted up in pride.

The possession of a thing acquired with difficulty is always dearer, and a good that is acquired laboriously is guarded with greater diligence. So long does God, the loving Father, permit us, conquered by the temptations of the adversary, to fall at intervals of change into the pit of sin, until, conscious of our weakness, we learn to hope for nothing in our own powers but only in the grace of him alone. But you, man, who often interrupt your purpose by sinning, never delay to rise again; for even if you cannot perfectly subject the enemy to yourself, nevertheless it will be good for you if the last day is able to find you standing and fighting, even after a fall often repeated. But those to whom the mercy of God has granted strength 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 IV.

Since indeed, as we taught at the end of the first treatise, this middle region is nearest to the first on its lowest side, in which, if the cenobite has been even a little negligent and slack, he immediately falls back, without any middle state, into the former one. And therefore whoever desires to persist in this region by making progress should always, with attentive vigilance, strive to reform the works of the lowest region. And, lest we be lengthy, whoever desires to practice this reformation in himself should assume in this region works contrary to the eight articles of the first. For, as is prescribed by the tradition of physicians, contraries are cured by contraries.

The citizens of this middle region, therefore, faithful monks, are commanded first to look to this: that they strive to order themselves toward God above all things. This ordering is said to be done well if God, according to the law, is loved above all things from the whole heart. Next, toward his prelate, the devout cenobite

let him show: let him render humble reverence to him; let him strive to love him with sincere charity; and let him keep, according to the rule, all the things that he commands.

The ruler of souls also, having been appointed over the cenobites, should take care to conduct himself 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 put temporal things before spiritual things. Let him hate vices, love the brethren, and show himself exemplary in all good things.

Next, let the brethren cleave to one another as members of one head; let them love one another in the true charity of God, and not withdraw 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 and other evil affections first separates himself from the head, and then does injury to Christ.

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

In the use of the monastery’s goods let them always beware of exceeding the instruction of the rule; rather, let them strive everywhere to show themselves ordered and faithful in all things. Let them desire to have nothing contrary to the abbot’s will; let them admit no pleasure of the spirit in the use of things.

Then faithful cenobites will take care to order themselves, according to the rule’s instruction, toward 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 for monks. Therefore the good cenobite, through the pursuit of compunction, should always learn to have recourse to penitence, humbly to accuse himself of his transgressions in chapter, willingly to perform the imposed penance, and faithfully to amend himself in all things.

On the Ordered Instruction of True Monastic Progress and the Degrees of Humility. Article Five.

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 happened to dwell. Therefore the cenobite who desires to make progress in this middle region should learn to order himself, through humility, toward the true progress of monastic instruction, because no one truly attains humility except one who dwells upon spiritual pursuits. True progress in regular instruction, excluding all adulterine muses, arises from the degrees of humility, which, through their roots, are set down in the rule as twelve. The roots of this progress come from the pursuit of sacred reading, which gradually leads a person to the fear of the Lord. From reading arises spiritual meditation, from which holy compunction is generated. The more useful mode of cenobitic meditation consists in the memory of the Lord’s passion and in the consideration of God’s benefits. Further, those who, exceeding this middle region, come to tranquility of spirit render their meditations more sublime through contemplation of the divine majesty and excellence. And indeed we shall speak of these in their own place. But these two roots receive growth from the watering of continual prayer, and strengthen into the vigor 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 it the other degrees are generated, succeeding in order. But monks who neglect the salutary pursuit of the Scriptures and holy meditations together with continual prayers in no way reach this first degree of humility. But those who [unclear] the first degree

[He] cannot ascend the [first?] step of humility; when will he be able to reach the others? For the second is never ascended if the first is neglected. Therefore he who neglects one ascends none.

The pursuit of sacred reading, however, must not be undertaken for the vanity of the world, nor for the pleasure of a seduced mind, because reading never profits toward compunction when the delight of the flesh or of vanity corrupts it. A monk, moreover, cannot attain devotion through the pursuit of sacred reading unless he strives to change all curiosity into a simple spirit. Therefore whoever desires to advance from the reading of the Scriptures toward compunction, whoever [desires] to ascend to humility, must choose [unclear], but only that which can more fully stir the mind to the love of God. For this purpose the reading of [unclear] seems to me sufficiently suitable, because by memory it is often recalled to love of him. We also willingly admit miracles and the repeated torments of punishments or joys of separated souls, in conformity with the Catholic faith, by which we have found that sluggish hearts are often stirred to compunction. Finally, the passions of the holy martyrs greatly kindle the fervor of devotion; in them, while we bring back to mind the unconquerable charity of Christ, moved to compunction by the example of such great constancy, touched as though by a certain fire of love, we sigh over our imperfection. From reading the material of meditation is taken, and as the former has been, so the latter will be. Not the shameful songs of poets, not the curious doctrines of philosophers, not the swelling writings of rhetoricians: these rather choke the fervor that must be kindled. If, therefore, you wish to persist in good meditations, do not occupy your mind with readings other than holy and devoutly known ones. For indeed not even one [unclear] is generated from study. Let him who studies for the knowledge of this world read those things that suit him for erudition; but let him who seeks compunction think upon those things that kindle the soul to the love of God through fear.

Frequent reading, therefore, should take its beginning from the last things that await us; then let the deeds of the holy fathers be read, so that the memory of future things may shake the mind to the fear of God, and the exemplary life of the saints may kindle the desire of imitation. For the wise man says: Remember your last things, and you will not sin forever. The 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 rewarded may move desire, and iniquity punished may forbid the license of sinning. Therefore the devout cenobite should always recall to memory the examples and virtues of the saints; he should consider the brief pleasure of the wicked, but their eternal torment, so that by fearing unhappiness he may deserve to escape it, and by insisting on their virtues obtain their perpetual joy. The distinct condition of the good and the wicked is no light matter, since each is described as destined to remain forever and is bounded by no end. O eternity, always to be feared by all mortals, in which after this life there is no fear of consummation for the righteous, and no hope of deliverance for the perverse. Let him who can consider what eternity is; let him who dares imagine an end, and when in eternity he has found nothing other than eternity, let him understand how nothing is all the time in which he lives in this world. For indeed, once the spirit has been stripped of the flesh, it is necessarily compelled to enter the abyss of eternity; and the condition that it has once obtained according to its merits [unclear] without end. Whoever shall have departed once from this life without the recompilation [unclear] of penitence will remain to be tormented without end with the demons in hell. From these meditations fear [enters] the mind, and little by little one comes to love. But so that we may be able to lead the cenobite successively through these roots to charity, it pleases us to explain briefly, in order, the steps 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.

For from servile fear, taken up not merely in a servile manner but prudently and virtuously, there proceed meditations on horror and punishments, which, restraining the soul from sin, gradually introduce filial fear. For indeed, when by consideration of punishments the mind is turned to horror, the boldness of sinning is restrained, because the servant who fears blows keeps the commandments of the Lord. But this servile fear alone is not sufficient for meriting the fatherly inheritance; nevertheless, as an initial effect, it disposes one toward filial fear, which is sufficient.

For initial fear is placed midway between the two, and is easily changed from servile into filial. This initial fear receives meditations concerning the last things, and fears both to incur punishments and to lose the sweet homeland. And here [unclear] is placed in the Rule, where its roots are also described.

Filial fear, however, embraces its meditations in love, since it fears nothing else except that the beloved father should 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 joy and gladness unto length of days. And again: It will be well with him who fears God at the last, and on the day of his death he will be blessed. This fear is also called chaste, because it detests evils not from fear of punishments but from love alone.

From this threefold fear we see three breadths of spiritual exercises arising around the degrees of humility, and individual exercises corresponding to individual fears. For servile fear performs its exercises in one way, initial fear applies itself to virtues in another way, and filial fear proceeds in its works in a much different way. For just as the affections of hearts arise in various ways, so the exercises of one fear are done in different ways. In one way the publican, mindful of his crimes, feared the sentence of the judge; in another way Jerome said that he heard the voice of the trumpet calling the dead to judgment. For the holy Gospel says of the former: Standing afar off, the publican would not lift up his eyes to heaven, but striking his breast he said, God, be merciful to me, a sinner. But that blessed Jerome says: Whether I drink or eat, I always think I hear that trumpet sounding in my ears: Rise, dead, come to judgment. The compunction of each arises from fear, but both are not generated from the desire of one affection. For the publican, terrified by the guilt of his sins, feared the sentence of the just judge, and therefore, being compunct, he said: God, be merciful to me, a sinner. Jerome, however, is not shaken by fear from the guilt of [unclear], but, founded in charity and reckoning himself a useless servant, reveres the abyss of divine justice.

The second degree is to relinquish one’s own will for the love of God, and in no respect to love one’s own willing against the Rule.

This degree arises from the first ascent of humility and is raised into the third. For indeed, he who fears God, and truly fears to be separated from him and to undergo 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 truly said: Take away one’s own will, and now there will be no hell. For nothing burns in hell except one’s own will; nothing loses the grace of God except voluntary fault. Therefore whoever, truly fearing God, fears to lose his grace, greatly fears his own will as the betrayer of his soul. Consideration of the danger of one’s own will makes the cenobite despise his own willing and deny himself to himself. And this denial of one’s own will and of oneself is accomplished in three ways, as will be said in what follows.

And first, indeed, he denies himself to himself who strives to live according to the teaching of eternal Wisdom and not according to his own impulses, and to obey Christ in all things when 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; your ears, lest they hear vain things; and in place of the sweet things of this world take bitter things. Learn to despise the pleasures of your body, to love tranquillity and peace of heart, to receive all tribulations for love of me patiently and joyfully, and desire to be seen by all as base and contemptible. 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 can be done, to conform your life with all your strength to the way of life of your Savior. For he who says that he remains in Christ ought himself also to walk just as he walked. Whoever has done these things has well denied himself.

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

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

Just as this resignation of oneself takes its foundation from the second degree of humility, so also it necessarily requires an inward resignation, in every way, 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 wholly subjected to the divine will and conformed to it out of entire love. For thus the Lord himself taught us to pray: Thy will be done, as in heaven and on earth. And that saying of the psalm-writer: Into thy hands I commend my spirit. Never in this world is one lived more securely than if the human will is perfectly subjected to God.

Indeed, the perfect resignation of oneself, by which the cenobite truly subjects his will to God, shows the straight way to the highest good without any intermediary. Here there is the greatest tranquillity of mind, the utmost security is in the heart, because the soul that strives to subject itself perfectly to God will no longer be able to fear any contrary thing of this world except sin alone. Whatever adversity should rush upon it, with the Lord’s help it has learned to overcome; whatever advantage it desires, it understands that it possesses in the Lord alone. It despises all adverse things for love of him; it has placed all good things in his love. For that devout man spoke prudently: Let go of all things, and you will find all things. Leave behind covetousness, 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, so that a will once denied is never taken back. For that holy Bernard says to the contemners of this aid: Why do you again meddle with yourselves, you who once, by mature deliberation, handed over your will to us? For the monk who has once handed over his will to God into the hands of the abbot does not take it back without the crime of sacrilege.

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

Third, resignation of the will is perfected if it is never broken off. For the Savior says: He who has persevered unto the end shall be saved. Therefore when you see a cenobite inquire

whether moved by anger. You should know that the whole mass of the temptation proceeds from lack of resignation; and you will never cure this sickness’s disease unless you first persuade him to the resignation of a renounced will.

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

The keeping of one degree without the observance of the other does not suffice in a monk; nor is the will of a cenobite subjected to the divine ordering if it disdains 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 should find that he has committed even a little outside obedience. For he always considers with faithful devotion what the Lord says in the Gospel: “He who hears you hears me, and he who despises you despises me.” Hence that blessed Bernard says to the monks: “Whatever a man commands in God’s stead must be received no otherwise than if God himself commanded it in person.” Therefore the true monk should prefer this subjection of obedience to every sacrifice, should do absolutely nothing against its integrity, and should continually say to himself what is written: “Obedience is better.” The rule says: therefore all things are to be done with the abbot’s will.

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

This obedience, however, is owed strictly to prelates according to the Gospel and the monastic rule; for although mutual obedience among the brothers is good, still it must never be preferred to the command of a superior. They command monks to render discreet obedience to one another, and, with the precepts of superiors preserved, to anticipate one another in mutual services. And, to bring an example from our custom: everyone must be obeyed according to order. If a brother calls upon you, obey willingly; if a senior commands something else, set aside the command of the first and obey him. Again, if the prior of the convent interposes his command, all mutual obedience of the brothers will cease. But if the abbot’s command intervenes, no obedience to any other will have force to the contrary. For he is believed to act first in the monastery in Christ’s stead, and therefore he is preferred to all.

There are seven gradual circumstances of the virtue of holy obedience, which blessed Bernard described thus. The first degree of obedience is to obey willingly, namely that you have no will of your own at all, but believe your shepherd’s good pleasure 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 withdraw his strength from the command, and pretend that he is weak and unequal to the precepts. The sixth is to obey humbly, not proudly, not arrogantly, not contentiously; since unless obedience is humble, it will bring back not reward but punishment. The seventh is to obey perseveringly, because obedience that is interrupted before completion is not true obedience; and only he who perseveres unto the end is rewarded.

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

The fourth degree of humility is patience in adversities, concerning which our holy father Benedict speaks in the Rule: if a monk, under obedience, embraces patience with a silent conscience amid hard and adverse things, or even amid any injuries inflicted on him. This degree too takes its beginning from the third, for no one is truly to be called obedient if he has been found impatient. For, as that divine Chrysostom says, he cannot be acceptable to the king who has been subject to the enemy; nor is he truly subject to Christ who has been enslaved to passionate and impatient flesh. For 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, for no virtue is lawfully perfected if patience is lacking.

Indeed, with blessed Gregory bearing witness, it is of greater merit to receive adversities patiently for God than to toil in good works. And Saint Jerome says: He who believes that tribulation has come upon him for his sins calls forth God’s mercy toward himself more fully for doing good. Therefore let the cenobite learn to set the virtue of patience against all things that happen to him, if he desires to triumph over his enemies. For he who suffers conquers; he who murmurs is overcome.

Moreover, in three things the virtue of patience is especially necessary, and is rewarded with the highest prizes. In insults of words, the patience of a prudent man and lover of God preserves the purpose of humility; in the removal of goods and temporal advantages it receives increase; and in injury to the body, with silent conscience, it strengthens the practice of virtue. Now consider, 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 be troubled to bear similar things with patience for love of him.

From the three degrees immediately preceding we constitute one end of the cenobites, which, as it seems to us, we reasonably call threefold in degree. For by three degrees, namely the second, third, and fourth, the end of the cenobitic institution is perfected, and the renunciation of one’s own will is consummated. For where patience, the preserver of the virtues, is joined to the renunciation of one’s own will and to obedience, every pleasure and concern of the body is mortified. Whoever has deserved to ascend this threefold degree has fulfilled the Lord’s commandment, in which he says in the Gospel: He who 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, into which the faithful cenobite is said to ascend if he confesses to his abbot, with humble trust, all evil thoughts coming into his heart, or any evils committed in secret. For indeed, if anything is committed amiss through impatience at the adversary’s suggestion in the preceding threefold degree, in this one it is restored through contrition and humble confession. For no one is found so perfect that he does not contract the stain of earthly conduct, as Scripture says: In many things we all offend. For no one is clean from sin, not even an infant whose life is one day upon the earth. Necessarily, therefore, this degree follows the fourth without any intervening step, and in it all the negligences of the preceding degrees are amended. True confession lifts up the soldier who falls in battle, heals him when wounded by the enemy, and comforts him when weak and fainthearted. Whoever, therefore, [unclear] to stand in battle and conquer

... the enemy bravely: let him more often have recourse to the protections of true confession. For it is impossible for one wounded by the enemy to recover health if he neglects to open the wound itself to the physician. Therefore you, faithful cenobite, who desire to save your soul and to be a good soldier of Jesus Christ, do not omit humble confession, because you will never be able to conquer the devil better than if you take care faithfully to disclose to your abbot all the thoughts he suggests to you and 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 overcome by many temptations of the enemy.

The sixth degree of humility arises from true confession: that the monk should consider himself vile for all things and unworthy. For according to the Rule we believe him to be a true monk whom we see, from humble patience, to be content with every vileness and extremity in food and clothing. But that vileness is placed in customary inconveniences. For the former willingly embraces patience in cheaper garments, foods, and whatever necessities of the body; the latter delights in serving the sick, lepers, and the cast off, in being confounded, degraded, and despised in all things. Therefore the monk who is truly dead to the flesh and the world should be content with every vileness and extremity; he should show himself a faithful worker in all things, and yet, because of the corruption of nature by which he offends in many things, he should believe himself vile and unworthy. For truly whatever good is done in this world, however holily and religiously one lives in this age, it can suffice no one for meriting eternal life unless God’s great mercy deigns to come to his aid. We receive the greatest things for the least; we expect the kingdom of God not as owed to us from our own merit, but from the grace of the promises. For the holy Apostle says: The sufferings of this time are not worthy to be compared with the future glory that will be revealed in us. For if we receive the justice of God without mercy, we are worthy of hell. We all incur wrath by sinning, but we obtain love 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, nevertheless no one does a good thing well unwillingly. For the grace of God and freedom of choice stand in such relation to one another that one without the other cannot suffice for saving a human being, but both must necessarily come together for the operation of virtue. Since therefore 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 is the merit of confession and the single foundation of all the preceding degrees. For as long as the cenobite remains in this degree of humility, he will stand firm in the former ones.

The seventh degree of humility is not only to believe oneself from the inmost affection of the heart to be viler than all, but also to desire with a simple mind that others believe and say this about him. This condition of holy humility is placed on high, and in this time 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 viler than all. The second is that he should rejoice to be esteemed vile and abject by all, and should desire this from the inmost affection of the heart without pretense. The third condition is placed in a higher dwelling: namely, that from the same affection the monk should delight in being treated most vilely and trampled upon by all. Rooted in this humility, the cenobite loves reproach and insult; he does not fear to be despised and most vilely cast aside, because, submitting his whole self in the love of God, he humbly places himself, and hastens toward insults as toward feasts with the greatest cheerfulness. But so that you may understand the truth of this seventh degree, read the following considerations.

The first consideration directs the mind to hope in divine love, which arises from a certain pious confidence. For although a human being does not know whether he is worthy of love, nevertheless each person can in some measure recognize it from the disposition of his own heart:

what he ought to think about his own state, good or bad.

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

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

Fourth, one must consider that an evil disposition of the heart hinders and makes void 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 evil in deed and tongue is never well examined unless the evil of the heart is first truly known. But each person can examine his own heart better than another can, and consider what sort of person lies hidden within himself. Therefore for the cenobite to whom care of another has not been entrusted, it is enough to inspect his own heart diligently, and in no way to occupy himself with scrutiny of another’s heart. But the shepherd of monks, to whom care of souls is entrusted, is also commanded to know the face of his flock.

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

Seventh, it should be noted that a small evil of one’s own heart does more harm to the one who knows it in himself than a great evil suspected doubtfully concerning another’s heart. For the former is to be lamented, because it is certain and known; the latter is to be piously excused, because it is unknown.

Eighth, one must consider that since each person sees many imperfections in his own heart which he cannot recognize in others, on account of these he ought to judge himself inferior, insofar as they are obstacles to grace. But insofar as they defile the soul, he should despise himself as [more vile than all others?], even if he knows their public crimes. For since the root of their heart is utterly unknown to him, he cannot know with certainty how divine election has been ordained from eternity concerning him. Who would have believed that the thief crucified with the Lord was chosen from eternity, [if] he judged him according to works? All things turn to 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 looks upon them, as elect, not according to the misery in which they now are, but according to future glory. Therefore the cenobite is careful not to detract from others; he is careful not to judge 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.

But the disposition of this seventh degree, because of that clause, “from the inmost disposition of the heart,” has a threefold root of its origin, namely truth, hope, and charity. For indeed, when the faithful cenobite sees that he does not have his being from himself, he truly thinks 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 unaware that nothing is made from nothing. Therefore the monk [rejoices with?] truth, who in this respect judges himself and his works to be nothing, because he fears incurring the vice of falsehood if he were to believe himself to be something great. And therefore, withdrawing from himself, he abandons himself, and places his being, living, and ability in God alone. Second, this disposition arises from hope of acquiring greater grace, because when a person, through humility, abandons himself, he approaches nearer to the grace of God. Third, the humility of this disposition takes its beginning from love of God, and continually receives increase in it. For whoever perfectly loves God seeks nothing other than his honor in all things, nor does he know how to exalt himself in anything, and for God’s sake he desires to be subject to all. But the more [unclear] reproaches and injuries

he is cast down; rejoicing all the more, he is glad in the Lord. He sees himself to be 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 steps of humility is shown in this seventh step. For the other five steps that follow in the Rule add nothing to the perfection of the inner man who is established in the seventh, but rather order the outer man, lest he disturb the inner. Finally, from this seventh step we can erect certain new ascents of humility, and in them raise all the other steps higher. For filial fear resides more fervently in him who, by the breadth of love, can make greater progress.

Now that the ascents of the heart up to the step of charity have been learned, let the cenobite consider with what zeal, with what effort, with what perseverance he ought to exercise himself in these things, so that he may reach this seventh step of love. But he who does not always strive to advance in these steps of humility should know that he sins against the Rule; and unless by a holier effort he comes to his senses in repentance, he incurs the sentence of damnation. For thus the Rule says: “But if at any time he has acted otherwise, let him know that he is to be condemned by him whom he mocks.” But if anyone making too little progress in religion is deemed guilty by divine judgment, what else does one who abandons the effort of advancing deserve than to receive the sentence of damnation? For where, according to the Rule, one is held guilty for lesser progress even among those who are striving to advance, monks who despise every effort of advancing are without doubt condemned by the sentence of the Judge. Therefore, if you do not wish to incur the danger of damnation, strive continually to preserve the effort of advancing under the Rule.

Since we have said that the other five steps of humility pertain to the custody of the inner man, let us also expound them briefly. For the monk who neglects to order his outward conduct according to the Rule will not remain ordered for long in inward things. For just as a body stripped of clothing is corrupted, so humility without conduct is [unclear].

The eighth step of humility, then, is set down in the Rule thus: if a monk does nothing except what the common rule of the cenobium, or the examples of the elders, encourage. In this step, singularity of outward conduct contrary to the Rule is forbidden to monks; but inward singularity of greater charity and humility is forbidden to no one. Therefore let no one prefer his own inventions to the holy Rule; let no one place his own customs before the examples of the elders, because to stand in the seventh step is not enough for one who does not keep the rule of the community.

The ninth step of humility follows from the Rule, through which excessive talkativeness is forbidden. For it befits a monk to keep silence, especially while he sits in the midst of his seniors. Indeed, he who speaks without being questioned is deservedly regarded as a fool.

The tenth step of humility forbids readiness of laughter and levity, because whoever takes delight in laughter is shown to be foolish and estranged from the fear of God.

The eleventh step of humility enjoins modesty and maturity upon the monk, so that when the opportunity and permission to speak are granted, he may speak with humble gravity, without laughter and 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 step of humility teaches the monk to order the outer man, in appearance and bearing, from a humble heart, and to demonstrate also by outward conduct how devout he is inwardly. And although this step is last in the order of all, nevertheless in the practice of those beginning to advance it is first. And therefore Bernard, in describing these twelve steps of humility, begins from this one, and by ascending to the first, as I might put it, descends through the order. For no one easily advances inwardly to compunction of heart and fear of God who does not order his conduct outwardly.

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

When, by the degrees of humility, the innermost powers of a person have especially been purified, founded, and reformed, it is now said to be very necessary in monks that they be fitted more devoutly for entrance into the third region. This diligence in striving toward higher things is, as we have said, necessary for the cenobite, because wherever the effort to advance is laid aside, acquired virtue is utterly 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. For truly this continual movement casts all the slothful and lukewarm back into the first region of the flesh, but gently and without violence always impels the humble and those fervent in desire toward the third. Therefore whoever has deserved to obtain from the Lord, through humility, the reformation of his powers is already near to the third region of the spirit. In order that he may be able to enter it powerfully, it is necessary that, by most diligently fitting the powers of his soul, he order them to their several operations. The intellect is then said to be rightly fitted for entrance into the third region when it is illuminated to know the highest truth according to its capacity.

For the same purpose the memory is ordered when it is fully absorbed in retaining and cherishing the highest truth. But if the will is disposed to loving the Highest, which is God, it is well fitted for the entrance of the spirit.

Now, in order that the cenobite may be able to attain the purification of the intellectual powers, it is necessary that, dying to the world, the mind, pacified from every inward and outward tumult, should rest, so that, buried within the bosom of divine love, it may remain there and never withdraw from the sweetness of inward union. To this rest of the mind [unclear]. The first degree of good will lays the beginnings of the virtues, which is called right will.

For the soul which, consenting to the law of God, is subjected to God through right will, even if it still seems weak, is directed to the path of virtue. For virtue is perfected while the flesh resists, and how right the will is is proved by the force of the spirit. Yet often a will is called right and good even when it is found to be less strong. The good that it loves it cannot always accomplish; the evil that it hates it grieves that it has committed through weakness. Through the weakness of the flesh it is very close to the lowest region, but through rightness of intention and the effort to advance it is continually kindled toward the liberty of the spirit. For the body that is corrupted weighs down the soul, and the earthly dwelling depresses the mind that thinks many things. O who could describe this battle between spirit and flesh, where the spirit itself desires to subject the flesh to itself through right will, and the weak flesh always resists the spirit through contrary desires?

The second degree is a will strong in rectitude, so that it both bravely flees the evil that it hates against the impulses of the flesh, and strongly grasps by action 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 truly 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 a man does not divide his powers at all, but continually stretches himself wholly toward his God through the denial of all things. Three things are necessary for this degree, so that good will may be made full in us.

The first is complete denial of oneself, because the will is shown still to be weak if it is not mortified through every kind of self-denial.

The second thing required for a full good will is perfect resignation [unclear]; if anyone desires to apprehend it, let him fervently ascend the third degree of humility. F ii

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

Finally, this transformation into divine love, according to Bernard's opinion, is love, loving affection, adherence, conjunction, charity, or fruition; no one can attain it unless he has learned to mortify all the affections of his lower spirit. For the spirit of a man who has his heart raised upward into God is called perfect will, and is united with God by a most sweet bond. In these degrees of good will, therefore, the faithful cenobite must direct his effort upward without interruption, and always examine with prudent zeal how much he is advancing or falling short. For Saint Bernard says here: Just as he who remains in a vicious will is condemned, so he is blameworthy who does not strive to advance in other things. For where the effort to advance is laid aside, the danger of falling back is incurred.

Concerning the exemplary and experiential [aspect] of all the aforesaid. Article VII.

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

The first thing, therefore, required for a good man is the testimony of a good conscience, namely that no mortal sin lie hidden in the conscience. For the mind that is polluted by the guilt of mortal sin testifies that the state of the conscience is evil.

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

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

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

These three things, possessed with humble sincerity, make a good man and show the state of a conscience that hopes well in the Lord. But a man to whom one of these is lacking is not perfectly good, even if he seems to be good. But if one who repents of his sins has resolved henceforth to fulfill these three things, he is now made good and pleasing to God, however evil he had been before. Moreover, so 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, through zeal for discipline, from every emulation or incitement of the flesh. This purity is never better acquired than if the world, with all things, is despised.

The second thing through which a good man is made a good religious is called spiritual freedom in God. This, of things

with all phantasms excluded, it can raise itself, free in all its exercises, upward to God, and in thanksgiving with devout prayers lift itself continually without impediment.

In the third way a good man is made spiritually good: when, through the desire of love, the spirit is united with God [unclear]. These two last things make our cenobite spiritual, and often introduce him to the citizens of the third region. Whoever, therefore, wishes rightly to trust in the testimony of his own conscience should strive humbly to exercise himself in the aforesaid things, because one never prudently presumes upon safety when danger is not avoided. And what is so dangerous as always to live in negligence and sins, and to refuse 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.

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

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

The first root of the fear and love of God is the intent meditation upon the incomprehensible divine majesty, which is understood so much the less, the more curiously it is investigated by man. For the prophet says: Truly thou art a hidden God. This meditation generates wonder at divine perfection; wonder causes reverence; from reverence arises fear of majesty; and from fear worship is produced. But meditation on the highest goodness is divided, according to the present purpose, into seven conditions, which are not unsuitably fitted to the seven days of the week, or even to the seven canonical hours. And although that highest and most perfect goodness abundantly suffices for us as matter for meditation, nevertheless, because it belongs to few to be able to rise to invisible things without visible things, we wish to raise the minds of the weak through things known to things unknown. For the holy Apostle says: The invisible things of God, from the creation of the world, are beheld, being understood through the things that have been made; his everlasting power also and divinity, so that they are without excuse.

First, therefore, the wondrous power of God’s might is 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 stirred to the fear of God.

Second, the provident wisdom of God is praiseworthy, because, knowing all things, he orders them, and governs by his providence all things that he has created. He knows all things, understands all things; by his counsel he disposes all things; by his command he encloses all things. 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 himself orders all things as he wills; stable in himself and always immovable, he changes the vicissitudes of things; he mercifully prepares eternal rewards for the good without passion of mind; angered without disturbance, he condemns the unjust. 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

is: for 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 worthy of praise, 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 man 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 worthy of praise 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 fashion, the supreme purity of God is shown worthy of praise in this, that it abominates every sin and vice as a putrid corpse. We have also recognized that his wisdom is worthy of praise in the damnation of the impious, which, drawing good things out of evils, compels those to serve him in punishment who, sinning against justice, were unwilling to be subject in guilt.

Sixth, God’s abundant munificence is worthy of praise in the glorification of the blessed, since for a small merit he rewards his elect with so ineffable a recompense, as though he gave them an immortal gift with the holy angels.

Seventh, the incomprehensible excellence of God is worthy of praise in itself, which orders all things according to his providence and, in [unclear], always without motion or time, remains immovable. The contemplation of this seventh consideration pertains to the sabbath of eternal felicity, in which there is no longer the operation of laborious activity, but the blessedness of a happy, eternal dwelling and rest. Indeed, just as God, creator of all things, is read to have completed all his work on the seventh day and to have rested, so not labor but eternal rest will be imposed upon the just in the heavenly sabbath. Therefore, if we desire happily to come to the heavenly mansions, let us rest in God alone, in whom the rational creature is perfected by resting; perfected through the adherence of love, it rejoices with the Lord in ineffable union and joy. Henceforth, in order to praise God, let pure devotion seek nothing outside God, since almighty God himself, perfect and most wise, suffices for all as the matter of his praise, and exceeds all praise by his infinite perfections. For Scripture says: Praise the Lord as much as you can; he will still surpass. For he is greater than all praise; and therefore he is to be praised by us most humbly in himself and for himself rather than from creatures.

From the aforesaid considerations about God there arises a manifold and varied affection of devotion, through which also 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 the majesty or power of God, reverent wonder is produced. But when we begin from his unutterable wisdom, confused by our [unclear] imperfection, we accuse ourselves. Thus consequently, from consideration of the mercy of God, hope of pardon is aroused

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

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

Root II.

The second root of the fear and love of God is generated in meditation on our redemption [unclear], which is produced through diligent exercise in the life, conduct, teaching, and Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ. Among all meditations we believe this one to be more useful for us, in which we know our salvation and the sum of eternal happiness to be contained. And [unclear] that the Passion of the Lord, as to its procedure, was unjust; as to its manner, ignominious; as to its pain, bitter; and as to its effect, fruitful, and therefore it must always be kept in memory.

First, as to its procedure, 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 without any sin was always just and innocent. Indeed, contrary to human law a man is killed if a sentence of death is passed upon one who has neither confessed nor been convicted of a crime. For the Savior was accused before Pilate on three charges: that, calling himself king, he forbade tribute to Caesar; third, that he made himself the Son of God. Of the first two the Gospel speaks, and the accusation is shown to be false. For regarding the first, the contrary was manifestly clear, since Christ said that his kingdom was not earthly. The falsity of the second also did not escape Pilate, who was not ignorant that Jesus had commanded that the things which were Caesar’s be given to Caesar. When asked by the governor about the third, he was silent, because Pilate was unworthy to hear of the divine generation of Jesus, or even of his human birth.

His Passion also stood contrary to custom, because it received no delay of time. He is not placed in prison according to custom; nothing is deliberated in his case; but once captured he is immediately dragged to the judge to be subjected to death; scourged, spat upon, and afflicted with many injuries, blows, and mockeries, he is nailed fast on the cross. Third, it was contrary to the law of nature, and procured from obstinate hatred of heart. For nature forbids raging against the dead, and shudders at lacerating with new blows a body already slain. For after the Redeemer [unclear] had died on the cross, he is pierced with a lance; and contrary to the law of nature, after death he is wounded by the impious.

Second, the Passion of Christ is said to have been ignominious as to its manner, for the six reasons that follow. First, because of the paltry price, since blood of incomparable price 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 ignominious service, since, full of wounds, he is compelled to carry his cross while half-dead, [unclear]. Thieves and criminal murderers are punished for their own deserts. Fourth, because of the ignominious punishment, since he is hung naked on the cross, a penalty owed only to thieves and criminal men. Indeed, as Scripture says, the Redeemer of the world was condemned by a most shameful death. Fifth, because of the ignominious mockery, since he is hung naked on the cross before the whole multitude and is blasphemed by all as though foolish and insane. Of this the psalmist says: “All day long my shame is before me.” Sixth, because of the ignominious company, since, reckoned with the wicked, he is hung in the midst of thieves. What are you doing now, O Christian soul? Behold, your Savior hangs in the midst among thieves, and you do not fear to sit in the first place in council?

Third, the most holy Passion of Christ, as to its pain, [was] most bitter

[unclear] was: for seven reasons. First, because of the delicate liveliness of his flesh, which in its natural complexion was most excellent, and therefore was more grievously afflicted in the endurance of pains. For delicate flesh suffers more than flesh that is coarse by natural condition. Therefore, since Christ's flesh was subtle and delicate, he poured forth bloody sweat in the garden. Second, because of the character of those who killed him, since Christ was not killed by strangers, but by his own blood-relatives and nearest kin, as earlier he complained through the prophet: "My people, what have I done to you?" For one suffers more tolerably at the hands of strangers and enemies than at the hands of one's own people, since at least friends, by reason of nearness of blood, suffer with one. Third, because of the bitterness of the passion, since he is more afflicted in those places in which pain is felt more strongly because of the nerves. For, raised up on the cross, he is fastened through hands and feet; the Lord of all is given gall and [unclear] 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 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 happen that I take 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 prayers I shall receive whatever is fitting for salvation. Fourth, because of its long duration, the passion of Christ was most bitter, since from the hour of his capture until death he was always in most bitter torment. "All day," he says, "I went about sorrowful, and there is no health in my flesh." Fifth, because of the universality of the passion, since in all the things in which Christ could suffer, he suffered in a singular way. For he suffers in reputation, since, falsely accused, he is blasphemed by the impious. He also suffered in possessions, since he is suspended naked and stripped upon the wood, and his garments are divided by lot among the soldiers. He suffers in soul, since, foreseeing the bitterness of the passion, he was sorrowful even unto death. He suffered in his whole body, since from the sole of the foot to the crown of the head there was no health 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 afflicted also in compassion with his mother, whose most holy soul, it is remembered, the sword of sorrow pierced. He suffered from the ingratitude of many, since he foresaw that the death which he endured out of compassion for all would be lost in many reprobates. Finally, he suffered in all the senses, as we are taught from the Gospel. He suffers in the eyes, which, with many tears poured forth, are covered with a little cloth. He suffers in hearing, when, amid many insults and outrages, he is mocked and blasphemed. He suffers in smell, since he is defiled with 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, since, being thirsty, 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 wholly without fault. For indeed whoever suffers unjustly is tormented much 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 bore our infirmities." Seventh, because of the lack of all consolation, since Christ found no one consoling him in his passion. For he says in the psalm: "You have put far from me friend and neighbor, and my acquaintances because of misery." Indeed, his own stood far off from him.

Fourth, the passion of Christ was fruitful with regard to its effect, which must be considered principally in three things. For first there was the remission of sins; second, the bestowal of grace; third, the presentation of glory. And these three things are indicated by the title affixed to the cross, which, as the evangelist says, contained the cause of the passion of Jesus: "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews." For "Jesus," saving sinners, pertains to the first; "of Nazareth," conferring the flower of grace, to the second; "King of the Jews," presenting 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 each of the hours of the seven days of the week; we have placed them after the end of the third region for this reason: lest in this place we disturb the order of the things to be said by their excessive length. For what we have now set out, we perceive to pertain 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 remembrance of which love is generated. The middle, as progress within that meditation itself, desires nothing other than to please God above all things, from whom it knows itself to have been anticipated, without merit, by many benefits. But the end loves God above all things with burning desire and pure fervor of mind, and longs to cling there continually to him alone, without intermediary. And although merciful God has conferred many things specially on each one of us, nevertheless, because we are writing this our [synthema] not for one person but for many, we must set forth not particular benefits assigned to individuals, but general benefits allotted to all, repeatedly and at length. Therefore we comprise the more important ones under the number seven, so that through the seven days of the week, or even in the canonical hours themselves, we may have ready at hand material for meditating daily. But if anyone cannot ascend to that summit of theory, let him strive to exercise himself more fervently in these meditations on the benefits of God, so that, while he diligently continues in the lower things, being purified he may ascend stronger to the higher. Therefore let the cenobite devoutly [remember?] 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 longs to be good.

For first he gave us body and soul with their adornments; 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, who, after creating us when we did not exist, gave himself? But what can we render to our Creator, who by our own merit are sinners and weak? Let us render what we are; let us render what we owe: namely, faithful service for the body 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, offer faithful service to your Creator; and 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 declared in your restoration. Since, when you did not exist, he created you by his power, he deserves faithful service; he restored the fallen by his goodness, he deserves the sincere affection of 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 created us without our will, so he called us to the faith without our merit. For Christ says to his disciples in the holy Gospel: You did not choose me, but I chose you. Through faith the Christian soul is led back to its beginning; the sacraments that he gave, we are bound to maintain 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 adhere forever to Christ, those who lifted us from the sacred font standing as sureties for us before the Lord in the faith of our parents. Therefore let us always say from the heart with the prophet: It is good for me to adhere to God, to place my hope in the Lord God.

Third, almighty God gave us the art of rectitude and the teachings of truth. For these we owe our Creator faithful execution and perpetual service without fraud.

We are therefore commanded first of all to do everything for the praise of God, and in everything that we do to raise our intention chiefly to his honor. For only a good intention toward God distinguishes works; love alone makes them fruitful. Behold, the Lord has conferred on us the art of nature for praising him; moreover he has given the teachings of salvation through the law; he requires from us praise and love above all things. Let us therefore exercise, for the honor of God, the art conferred on us, and through the teaching of the law the eye of intention will become pure.

Fourth, the merciful Father has conferred on us the world with its necessary elements; for these he requires from us a sincere contemplation of himself as our due. Whatever we see in this world ought to bring us to the remembrance of God, and continually stir us to love its Creator above all things. Hence Bernard, practiced in sacred matters, says: The whole and true lover of God, wherever he turns, has a familiar reminder of his Creator, and uses things as a mirror, and by thinking thus is lifted up from creatures to the Creator. For concerning each thing he says: If those things seem good, beautiful, and sweet which, created with time, are changed and pass away, what goodness, beauty, and sweetness does their author, God, have, remaining forever, who has reserved for himself things incomparably better than these? By this consideration of things the devout person looks upon all human beings with the simple eye of the mind as a 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 for us in torments, and redeemed us, lost as we were, from the destruction of perpetual death by his blood. We are commanded to offer a willing 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 in his footsteps. What shall I repay to you, O good Jesus, for your benefits toward me, so great and so immeasurable? I shall suffer with you in heart, I shall suffer with you in deed; I shall imitate you in the affections of the mind according to my ability.

Sixth, the Creator has conferred on us the time for meriting eternal life; he [gave?] the necessary nourishment of the body. For here we are debtors to ourselves, since in this time we owe ourselves the acquisition [of merit?]. Why then do we spend the days of salvation so negligently and without the fruit of merit, when we have nothing more precious than time? Behold, within a brief time now we can merit the joys of eternal happiness, and all of us neglect to do what is good. Woe to us, foolish and insane, who have received nothing in this world more precious than time, and yet are accustomed to spend nothing more cheaply. For now an acceptable time is granted to us; now the day of salvation is bestowed, in which we ought to devote ourselves to holy works with the greatest fervor, and always to [provide for?] the hour of death.

Seventh, he set before us all heaven, filled with joys, and promised himself, together with the things contained in it, as rewards. For this munificence of our Savior we ought to devote ourselves to the holy works of mercy and, according to our strength, show ourselves imitators of God. To this he exhorts us in his sacred Gospels: Be merciful, as your Father God also is merciful. At the end also, when the day of judgment has come, the merciful, as the Lord himself promises, will go into eternal life, since whoever has done mercy will obtain mercy. And lest someone from among the monks say to me, “I can show mercy to no one, since the religious life permits me to possess absolutely nothing,” let us know that among the necessary works of mercy the spiritual are the more powerful. If you, monk, wish to be merciful, pray to God for the wretched; bestow saving teaching upon the unlearned.

Therefore the sum of meditation on the benefits of God rests upon three exercises, in which it is principally contained whole. In the first, indeed, we ought to attribute all things to God, not to ourselves; in the second, by remembering the benefits of God, to exercise ourselves in the pursuit of love; in the third, [unclear] concerning the benefits received

[Preceding page illegible in the source.]

…[it] cannot [become better]: because neither does the best become better, nor the greatest become greater. God created you by his goodness, not because your creation was necessary to him, but advantageous to you alone. He who considers this goodness of God with intent meditation deservedly praises his Creator.

Secondly, lest you be lifted up into pride, O man, consider the vileness of your condition: that you were made from the slime of the earth, and after a little while, consumed by worms, you will return into dust in the earth. Why then are you proud, [you] earth and ashes? Your conception has fault; [your] nativity, misery; [your] life, penalty; the dissolution of death, anguish. For man, born of woman, living a short time, is filled with many miseries; and then he is most miserable, when he does not acknowledge himself miserable in the flesh.

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

Fourthly, consider, O faithful soul, how exceedingly vile you have been made, repeating your ways in the act of sin: since you have shown yourself an adulteress to Christ your spouse, when he had joined you to himself—wholly immaculate—by his blood. What do you do, O wretched one? Why do you desert your most loving spouse, or why, foolish, do you withdraw from your beginning? Know that you are placed in the flesh—not that you should consent to its vices and concupiscences, but rather that you should resist [them] by the command of reason. For as often as you shall have surrendered your consent (so to speak, by dissembling) to the inordinate motions of the flesh, contrary to divine rectitude, so often, turned away from the supreme good and from your spouse, you show yourself an adulteress. Beware, beware, O soul redeemed by the blood of Christ, lest the love of the flesh deceive you; for, just as the first man, deceived by love of his consort woman, fell into death, so any soul whatever, consenting to the pleasures of its flesh, basely withdraws from its beginning, which is God. But, alas, wretched [soul], how 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 forsaken the fountain of wisdom; you have been turned backward; adulter[y]…

you have committed. But hear my counsel, and return as quickly as possible to Jesus, the guide of your youth; submit yourself wholly and humbly to him. He is merciful: he will gladly receive you as you return to him; he will forgive your vices, and, if you ask, will bestow the grace of his love. But you must withdraw from the affections of the flesh, if you desire to come into the sight of your Savior. Therefore, if you turn to Jesus, turn in truth, because supreme Truth cannot love anything except what is true.

There is also another mode of self-knowledge, which is taken up with respect to God, whenever the incomparable comparison between God and man is contemplated. Concerning this mode Bernard, illustrious in contemplation, says: Never does the measure of human imperfection better detect itself than in the light of God’s countenance and the mirror of divine vision. For there, he who is more in the day, and sees more what is lacking in himself, day by day amends by likeness whatever he has done wrong by unlikeness, drawing near through likeness to him from whom he was made far off through unlikeness. Therefore let us raise the gaze of the mind to the super-bright mirror of divine perfection; let us submit our affection to that unchangeable good, so that in God’s wisdom we may be able to detect 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 very foulness of sin often pondered. For indeed, he who truly understands the shamefulness of mortal sin always greatly fears the pit of this evil. But so that you may in some way recognize the gravity of sin, you must consider the seven things that follow.

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

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

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

Third, consider how grave a scandal arises from sin, especially when one sins before others. For he who by his own evil example provokes someone to sin shows himself to be an adversary of God. For God, by his own will and out of mercy, disposed to save souls redeemed by the blood of his Only-Begotten; this man, through evil example and out of aversion from God, desires to destroy them. But the sin of scandal, with respect to guilt, is for this reason called very grave: because, as we have said, it is opposed to God. But if the one who gives occasion for harm is to be thought to have caused the harm, the sinner subjects himself to be condemned by as many sentences of death as he has made men fall into mortal crime by his own evil example. For Christ says in the holy Gospel: Woe to the man through whom scandal comes. And again he says: He who shall scandalize one of these little ones in

for those who believe in me: it is expedient for him that a millstone be hung about his neck, and that he be sunk in the depth of the sea. Rare is the true repentance of one who scandalizes the little ones, because, when he neglects to make restitution for the harm done to another, he by no means attains to the fruit of saving repentance.

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

Fifth, consider whom you offend by sinning: not a man, but God; not a creature, but the Creator. He against whom you have sinned is great and immeasurable, terrible and glorious; his majesty the angels tremble at, his power all the heavenly spirits marvel at. To the highest and unchangeable good, God, the beginning and end of every creature, the rational spirit ought to devote love and the desire of adhesion beyond human understanding, and to raise itself wholly to that truly one thing, as to its own center, despising all phantasms; and it can lift itself up to this so much the more easily, the more, leaving all other things behind, it has striven to unite itself to itself alone. For by the power of that one itself, wherever union occurs, nor for any other reason are things more alike more easily united to one another than because they are one in quality. Therefore the soul is then at last most rightly said to be united with the one principle of things when it, having been made [most purely?] one in itself, is separated from every multitude and, above all imagination, reason, and understanding, its unity alone escapes, enjoying through loving affection the unity of God, joining, so to speak, its own center with the center of the universe. But when the human soul itself, suffering badly along with its flesh as if with its spouse, is turned toward any animal passions, then that very unity is badly changed into a multitude contrary to the one alone, and it becomes so much the more remote from its principle as it has been divided from itself. Finally, the soul itself contracts a great difficulty in returning to that one ineffable divine thing whenever, confused in itself, it falls into the sin of apostasy. Think 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 the recognized greatness of the loss may hasten repentance and restore through tears what has been lost. What, then, wretched man, have you lost by sinning? Hear what you have lost. You had been made like God through grace, the companion of angels, a member of Christ, and chosen heir of eternal happiness; you ought to have lived and rejoiced without end in the goods of the Lord with all the saints. But what has happened with your sin? You have been compared to senseless beasts, and have been made like them. For when you were in honor, you were unwilling to understand; you abandoned the fountain of life; by sinning you have been made the companion and member of the devil, the harlot of Antichrist, the heir of hell. You abandoned life; you chose everlasting death. If you fear the sentence, change your will, and you will find remission.

Seventh, consider what you have deserved by sinning, since if eternal death is inflicted for one sin, he who has many, not to say in-

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

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

On present vanity and eternity, the sixth root.

The sixth root of fear is raised up in the mind of the one meditating, if the vanity of visible things and the eternity of invisible things are considered with zealous intention. For all things which we behold in this world are wholly subject to vanity and corruption, and indeed will last for a very short time. All mortal things hang upon uncertain chance, and by their own changeableness promise flight. Whatever you have today will perhaps leave you tomorrow; or even now, while you are speaking, it will cease to be yours. For we perceive nothing in this world long-lasting and stable, but see all things change with time.

Ascend now, therefore, the watchtower of your mind, O faithful monk, and consider how all things which time contains are nothing, since whatever visible thing is now perceived will soon be corrupted. Take from things past a consideration of things present, 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 are the men who despised the arduous way of heaven? Finally, where are all those once known to you in the world, whom death meanwhile snatched away while you were in the cloister? Behold, from the origin of the world, both those who lived for many times and those who lived for few, all died in their own generation; and according to the diversity of their merits, with justice dictating, they also received diverse rewards. The lovers of God receive everlasting bright dwellings, filled with inestimable joys, associated with the creator of all; and the worshippers of the world, despising God’s commandments, once swollen here with honors, puffed up with knowledge, immersed in riches, given over to pleasures and vices, have descended to hell to be tormented without end. What harm, I ask, does that once laborious contempt of the world, contrary to the flesh, now do to the saints in heaven, for which they already enjoy forever the glad vision of God? Or what profit now to the impious buried in hell is the consolation of the flesh once possessed, for which they now receive the torments of eternal damnation? Think on these things while it is profitable; meditate on these things while the opportunity of taking care is present.

Again, ascending higher, try with the gaze of the mind, as far as you can, to fix your eyes on the abyss of infinite depth, and to consider how long that is which is eternal. Eternal is a time which is enclosed by no end, bounded by no space. The saints of God, blessed, will exult forever in glory; sinners, wretched, will burn forever in hell. O eternal name, terrible without end, who will be able to think on you or speak you without fear? Truly, whoever thinks on you never sins forever. The eternal has no end. Hear a comparison, and, since it will not be sufficient for eternity, receive fear. If a heap of sand were placed in the size of Mount Olympus, stretching all the way to heaven, from which after ten thousand years only one grain were [unclear] by a small

a little bird would [wear it away?]; 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 destined someday to cease. Yet all that time during which something of the mountain remained, however very long it was, would nevertheless seem, relatively, to be nothing in comparison with eternity. For eternity admits neither the imagining of an end, nor the hope of completion, nor a limit.

O therefore how foolish, how senseless, how mad is the man who casts aside 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 wretched man will learn what eternity is, when he will no longer be able to do better. But you, my monk, who desire to be faithful, cast away from yourself all anxiety for the world. Set all your care toward the love of God. Do nothing, think nothing, except what can lead you to the love of your Creator, or what you know pertains to the edification of others or to the pure necessity of the body. Separate yourself, I pray, from the lowest things, so that, being good, you may be delighted by eternal things. Let no anxiety of the flesh remove you from the inward tranquillity of mind; let no pleasure corrupt you. Strive always, as much as you are able, to persist in prayers with devotion, and again, through the affection of love, to raise yourself more frequently.

On Always Having Zeal for God.

The Seventh Root of Fear. Root VII. The monk is commanded to exercise himself in this no little.

For no one who truly loves his lord tolerates with equanimity injuries done to him. You therefore, monk, who desire to be a faithful servant of Jesus Christ, do not neglect zeal for him within yourself. When you see an injury to God, do not conceal it, because whoever does not at once resist those who disparage him is proved to love his lord less. Let men know you as such a lover of God and enemy of vices that they do not dare to speak evil before you, nor presume to do anything evil while you look on.

Be conspicuous in uprightness of soul, renowned for the merit of your life, venerable in zeal. Let the righteous love you as a servant of God; let the reprobate dread your face as a judge. Let no one presume to do anything in your sight that is alien to good morals, since indeed all know that you cannot tolerate an injury to God. Thus Phinehas merited the everlasting priesthood, when by zeal for the law he powerfully appeased the wrath of the Lord. If you see order perishing in the monastery, and if your brothers have begun in any way to corrupt regular observance, do not, if you are a servant of God, keep silence about their vices. Set yourself firmly against them, with strength, for 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 depraved. For no one will lay bare his counsel before you if he suspects your zeal to be opposed to him. But if the evil and reprobate, while doing evil, do not fear your presence, assuredly they recognize no zeal for God in you. Therefore, that you may show yourself a true servant of Christ, you ought willingly, for love of God, to forgive your brothers the injuries inflicted on you, and to beseech God for those very persons who injure you. But it is not yours to forgive injuries done to your Lord without his will, but rather to avenge them out of zeal for uprightness. In these matters let love of blood cease; let the bond of friendship give way far off. Zeal for God is rightly to be preferred to all things. For friendship with 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 familiarities with men 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 that obedience to commands is despised, zeal for uprightness scorned, observance of the rule contemned. Two or more enter among themselves into a covenant of carnal friendship under the name of charity; the infirm entrust their diseases of soul to those more infirm, and

they by no means seek the friendship of God through purity of mind. Each one thinks his own companion better than the rest; and each, deceived, loves the other not spiritually but carnally, since they do not raise their affections to God: they love nothing but the consolations of the flesh. But the monk whom you see seeking the friendship of weak brethren you must regard not as a servant of God but as a lover of the flesh. For he who truly occupies his whole heart in the love of God cares nothing for human friendship. The love of Jesus suffices him for all things; apart from him he seeks nothing further. But he who has sought consolation of mind in outward things shows by his deed that he does not love God with his whole heart. The love of God loves solitude, hates the tumults of men, and does not seek the conversations of friends. O good Jesus, how sweet is your love, since it penetrates the heart of him who loves you; seeing you, the soul longs [to see] you; possessing you, it desires to embrace you. For truly he who loves you forgets his very self; he meditates on nothing but the sweetest presence of you. There is nothing in the world that pleases one who loves you; nowhere is there found anything that the soul desires besides you. O with how many sighs the mind wounded by love is distressed; with what most abundant tears the face is watered in secret, because as often as it thinks of the face of the beloved presiding in heaven, so often it laments itself desolate on earth. Meanwhile the languishing mind often tries to say something of its most beloved Jesus; it strives also to provoke others to love of him; but as soon as it has begun to utter the sweetest name of Jesus, unwillingly, because of the greatness of love, it falls silent. For the love of Jesus is expressed by no words, but is felt with sweetness in the secrecy of the mind. I know one 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 in order to redeem you from death, yet now he has risen from the dead, that in heaven [he may give] 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 the highest, nor can anyone by his own powers suddenly ascend to that supreme summit of divine love, I now think it useful briefly to note the fixed manners or degrees themselves of loving God.

Therefore, for moving the human heart to divine love, the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, in my judgment, is more effective than all other things, if it has been meditated upon in a man’s mind purely, sweetly, fervently, perseveringly, and diligently. For truly, he who often recalls to memory, with compassion and thanksgiving, the life, Passion, and death of our Savior according to the chief principal articles, prepares a swift ascent of the heart to divine love. But this most holy occupation of the mind concerning the Passion of the Lord we shall treat opportunely in the second principal part of the work, where we shall set forth more broadly the manner of spiritual exercise. But so far as the account of what has been said pertains in this place, 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, that you join your whole self to him sweetly, so that your heart loves nothing outside God and seeks nothing from elsewhere. For since God is wholly simple, he alone desires to possess the whole heart of the lover; he drives it far from dissipated thoughts. Therefore if you wish to love sweetly, love wholly. For the love of God makes either everything perfect or nothing. Let meditation on the Passion of Jesus Christ our Savior possess you wholly, until love sweetly grows strong in you. You must despise everything in the flesh that flatters, if you desire to arrive at the love of God. For no one can sweetly love God in this life so long as he strives to love anything in the world. Indeed, love of the world is utterly contrary to divine love, since where one is admitted to the inner chambers of the heart, the other is forbidden to be present. But how great a sweetness, how great a delight, and how great a joy of mind the love of God in

No one at all understands what it begets in the heart of the lover, 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 favor of the age; it is not afraid to undergo any adversities for the love of its Lord. The love of God is never idle; it always desires to come to its source; it refuses to endure no labors in this world. Therefore let him love who does not wish to become slothful. One's neighbor too is to be loved sweetly on account of God, and by no reasoning is he to be offended against God or justice. Let each person always show himself to his brother, in words and deeds, such as he expects others to be toward himself. For he truly loves his neighbor who, for his sake, exposes his goods, body, and soul. This Christ taught; this the Son of God did for us. Indeed, he who 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; we then believe in Him when we observe His commandment concerning love toward God and toward our neighbor. Let us therefore 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 be humbly helped by a brother for the love of Christ. The second mode commands you to love wisely, and to seek nothing else in divine love but God. Extend your affection toward that Word which was in the beginning with God; lift your mind above everything that is created, because unless you leave behind yourself and all things that are in the world, you will not be able to come to Him whom you love. Finally, if you desire to love God wisely, do not think yourself, O man, to be anything, because where a man thinks himself to be something, he already loves unwisely. The third mode commands that you love strongly, and never be afraid 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 not the man but the vice is hated. But he is loved strongly if every injury is forgiven from a heart intending to do good to him.

The second region ends.

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

At last, as I am about to write, with the Lord’s help, of that highest region of the spirit, I am shaken by fear and shame alike, because, being small, I fear to speak of the greatest things, and I am much ashamed to teach what I have not sufficiently experienced. For what intellect, however practiced, of any man could apprehend 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 caught up above itself, and, while its natural essence remains, is absorbed, lulled by wondrous sweetness, in the abyss of divine contemplation. For it is overwhelmed by such sweetness of inward majesty that it seems unable either to understand or to express its own state. For, having abandoned sensory operation, it wholly passes beyond even the intellectual; and, what is more, abandoning itself, without imagination, reason, or understanding, it is lifted by affection above itself to that highest summit of the divine darkness.

But when it has utterly failed away from itself, it does not act but rests; nor, when returned to itself, can it understand what it has undergone, nor reveal to anyone the manner of its elevation. For this elevation of the mind into God is so profound and so sublime that not only can one who has not experienced it not understand it, but not even one who has experienced it can fully explain it in words as it is. But what shall I be able to say about the mountain of divine darkness, which I have not yet deserved to penetrate? For the well of inward contemplation is deep, and I am weak, since I have brought neither a vessel suited to these waters, nor prepared steps [of ascent?] suited to steep places. Well-arranged words do not befit a fool; nor should an unskilled and cold man speak of the secrets of divine contemplation, one who still stands with the weak in the valleys. For only he speaks fruitfully of deep things who is illumined by the double ray of the spirit. Yet 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 finish, according to my strength, the work set before me. Therefore I enter upon the third region of cloistered persons under the guidance of the venerable father, lord John of Bursfelde, the devout abbot, so that, by bringing back as far as possible to my own manner of speaking what he described in scholastic and truthful discourse, I may seem to have obeyed the chapter.

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

The third, or highest, region of the soul is called spiritual; in it the highest rest and tranquillity of mind is found. And this region is compared to the empyrean heaven, in which there is the true rest of all and the true blessedness of souls. The spirit established in this region leaves the rational beneath itself, and, lifted up through love, wondrously ascends into God. For whatever is done in this most holy region is judged wholly divine. Here the human spirit, caught up above itself, receives the divine inflowing; and, lulled in the darkness of divine contemplation, withdrawn from all creatures, it sweetly comes to rest. In this region almighty God directs the spirit of the contemplative to himself, and perfects the simplified intellectual powers of the soul, recalled from every phantasm into the inner chamber, according to their tendencies and objects; and, leading the mind stripped of all multiplicity to himself, the one principle, he also makes it one in himself, not by nature but by gracious participation. The citizens of this highest region are truly spiritual men, who, despising all the things and affections of the world, love nothing in this world except God, desire nothing inordinately, but, absorbed by inward affection from

by the divine Spirit, they thirst vehemently for God himself; they burn with ineffable desire for love of him. For they are carried toward God with such fervor of love that, lifted above their very selves, they very often abandon all intellectual operations and, borne into the abyss of divine contemplation, admit absolutely nothing except God; and, existing there insensibly through the grace of love, they become one with God by the gift of participation, while the property of the natures remains preserved. For the holy apostle of Jesus Christ says: “He who cleaves to the Lord is one spirit.” And again he says: “Those who are led by the Spirit of God, these are sons of God.” The same apostle also shows himself to be a citizen of this most holy region, when he cries to the Philippians: “Our conversation is in heaven.” For as long as we are in the body, we are pilgrims away from the Lord; but, as if through a dream, we are sweetly led to our homeland when we dwell in heavenly things by mind and spirit. I would say “through a dream” not properly, but by a remote comparison. For in dreams we go forth by images of things intelligible to us, the forms being preserved in the imagination; in contemplation, beyond every imagination, we are raised pure to God in mind and spirit. And therefore this supreme region of the soul is called spiritual; from it all religious obtain the name of spirituality. Woe to us. From this most blessed region we are called spiritual; we are named religious lovers of God, we who nevertheless desire to attain the summit of this mountain through contemplation. In this region charity holds empire, wisdom the consulship; in it nothing is loved except God, nothing is done inordinately. This most holy region belongs to the empyrean heaven, because those whom it spiritually receives as citizens it will send on to the joys of heaven without intermediary. For just as the lowest region of the flesh will send its citizens, when they die, to hell, and the middle region of reason to purgatory, so this one will send its perfect worshippers, when they depart, to heaven. The dignity of this third and supreme region is expressed by many prerogatives and is especially commended in seven articles, as will be said in order.

That This Supreme Region Is the Cloistral Spirit. Article 1.

And first, indeed, this third region of the soul is described by a pleasing comparison, because it is compared to the highest empyrean heaven. For just as all things are tranquil in the empyrean heaven, so on this summit of the supreme region the mind of a man [contemplating?] God is agitated by no disturbances. Here is the highest rest of the contemplating soul; here no crowd of vices dwells; no bitterness of mind comes near. In the empyrean heaven, indeed, the majesty of God is beheld by the holy spirits by an ineffable gift; here, in darkness, through the desire of love, it is seen above understanding. There God is all in all; here nothing among all things pleases except God. There it is granted to the saints to rest from their labors without end; here the mind is permitted, by resting, to foretaste the unspeakable sweetness of inward delight. There is no felicity 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: they love absolutely nothing in this world; they desire nothing other than always to cleave to God. O how secure is the conscience of such people, how joyful their manner of life, where no evil is committed, where nothing other than that supreme, immutable good is desired. For the mind purified by divine love, which has truly and [fully?] ascended this region, desires nothing carnal, nothing inordinate; it raises itself wholly into contemplation of the highest majesty through desire; it rests sweetly in God alone. O who [unclear] the inward sweetness.

... of one loving [God] could truly express, when the mind recalls the powers and faculties of the soul from the dispersion of multiplicity into one, and raises them upward with burning affections into the chamber of the spirit. Here it directs its gaze and its love toward that immutable good of lights; it utterly rejects from itself every created and creatable multiplicity; the soul gathers itself into one, so that, being one in itself, it may be able to rise without the impediment of multiplicity to the principle of light, which is one. Only unity can clearly attain to the one principle of things, because unity flees multiplicity; the one requires unity. For the more you have yielded to multiplicity, the more you withdraw from unity. Therefore God, for those dwelling in this highest region of the spirit, so that love may be able to rise in contemplation of its principle, is accustomed to renounce from himself every multiplicity clinging in imagination or understanding, so that, gathered in its own unity, it may be able to strive ardently toward that simple [unclear] with the affection of love, which it knows to be above every position.

That this highest region of the spirit is thus sweet and lovable by reason of nearness. Article [unclear].

Second, moreover, this highest region of the spirit is sweet and most pleasant by likeness, indeed with a singular spirit. For the citizen of this most holy region, [unclear] parts, as I might say, separates light as life from the citizens above, because the spirit, while it inhabits the flesh, cries to heaven as though through a wall. But light [unclear] the parts of the flesh [unclear], from which the free spirit, about to migrate to heaven, goes forth when the spirit is separated from the body. But the spirit wounded by sins, which cannot raise itself to this region by a pure affection of love, is still said to stand farther away from the empyrean heaven. Those, however, who dwell in that most quiet region are nearest to the empyrean heaven, because, weighed down by no stains of sins, they despise all earthly and carnal things and always desire to dwell in heavenly things in mind and spirit.

Indeed those who inhabit the empyrean heaven and those who dwell in this third region have one and the same delight. But there is this difference, that for both there is sweetness in contemplating God: here it is great, there it is greatest; here in the desire of fervent love, there in the possession of most blessed vision.

In this highest region of divine contemplation the rational spirit recalls its powers and faculties into its chamber, in which it too, free from every phantasm, is at rest; it raises itself above itself into the dense darkness of the divine, in which, put to sleep by ecstatic love, it rests sweetly. No troublesome confusion of thoughts is stirred here, no imagining of phantasms; rather the naked mind is raised upward and contemplates without any thought or imagination. For truly, when the mind itself opens an entrance to thoughts, it again shows that it is descending to the middle region, which belongs to reason.

But since the human mind cannot always remain unmoved on the summit of divine contemplation, it is necessary that it often return to the rational exercise of the second region. If, however, it has slipped down into sensual passions, then again it descends to the lowest region. But the soul of the true lover of God, although on account of the frailty of the flesh it cannot always remain in the pleasantness of contemplation, nevertheless strives more often, through burning affection, to lift itself to that region, so that it may fulfill the exercise of reason in such a way that it does not wholly omit the sweetness of inward delight. O how good it is to cling to the Lord; how sweet it is to attend to God alone, so that the mind may thirst for the Lord Jesus before all things and always long to embrace him with burning desires. Indeed, one who stands in this region is nearest to the empyrean heaven, and therefore is inflamed toward it with the greatest desires of love.

O how many groans and tears the mind fervent with love is accustomed to send forth; how ardently it sighs for heavenly things; since the nearer it is known to be to the empyrean heaven while standing in this highest region through the secret of contemplation, the more ardent is its affection for leaving the prison of the body. Whence

and, with the holy apostle, the mind, languid with love, says in its fiery sighs: “I desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ.”

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

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

In this region the Spirit, true wisdom, Mary’s best part, is read in the tranquillity of silence; mystical theology is taught in the secret of the divine darkness with ineffable sweetness; the mind, disposed toward its beloved through the fervor of most holy love, speaks in secret, and is constantly raised up toward him by desire. This wisdom, or mystical theology, can indeed be commended by man, 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 purified affection; it is taught through the burning of love. Speculative theology, however, which we call scholastic, is learned through the exercise of the intellect, while the mind, growing warm with continual study, is put under discipline. For the acquisition of mystical theology, the purification of affection from every entangling thing is required, so that the will, depraved by aversion, may be reformed by the conversion of inward love to its own principle. For indeed, unless affection has been purified from every disordered concupiscence, it does not ascend to the height of this most sacred wisdom. But if it has cast off sensual passions, if the will of man has been conformed to the divine will, the mind is lifted upward through fiery love, and is raised by anagogical movements into the immensity of the divine darkness.

No one understands the sweetness of this theology except the one who receives it, except the one who seeks it alone, before all things, through the sighs of love. The psalmist was seeking this when he prayed to the Lord: “Would that my ways be directed to keeping your justifications at all times.”

For with such movements of desire the holy man was borne upward to the service of the divine will that, in the same one hundred eighteenth psalm, he said 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 consummated in this one. For no small labor is required for affection to be purified from the concupiscences of the world. But once the exercise of spiritual reformation has been undertaken, the mind gradually advances in love; it desires to ascend to this region by fixed steps; it hastens by desire to the invisible school of this theology; sighing with continual groans, it knocks at the door of divine compassion. But the mind is not admitted into the secret of this mystical wisdom unless, after every kind of purification of affection, it is stripped of every creature, and unites itself to itself, and withdraws far from every reasoning or imagination 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, it is believed that the Holy Spirit presides by divine instruction over those who learn; he teaches man to love nothing in this world, and to conform himself in all things to God’s will. Happy is he who has deserved to be a disciple of this master; happy is he who has entered this school through the desire of love, since in mystical silence he perceives wondrous things that God has hidden from those who do not love.

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

Fourth, this most holy region of the spirit is said to be founded on simplicity, in which the mind not through essence

but through the love of adhesion it is united to its own unchangeable principle. For, as we have already said above, that highest good, God, is one; our mind cannot approach it unless, having stripped off every multiplicity that pertains to reason, imagination, and intelligence, it strives to present itself wholly united to itself. For the mind itself naturally desires to attain the highest good; but the more it is divided in its operation through multiplicity, the less fit it is found for uniting itself to God. For multiplicity is opposed to unity, and the more the mind has directed itself toward many things, the more it withdraws from unity. One, two, three, four: they are ten. You withdraw from the one, because you are multiplied in number. Return to the one, if you desire to have the principle. For the one is the principle of all things; if you add anything to it in your mind, you at once withdraw from it. When you say “one,” you say “principle.” If you say “two,” you have already abandoned the principle. Therefore, so that you may always be able to contemplate your principle, take care at all times, having stripped off multiplicity, to render yourself one. For since all good things are from the first good, and every love borne toward any good whatsoever is naturally kindled from 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 is made by the power of that one alone, since we say that things more alike are more easily united to one another for no other reason than that we see them to be one in quality. Therefore the mind is believed at last to be able to be united with the one supreme principle of things when, stripped of every multiplicity and united to itself, it is lifted up to God by most fervent love. Just as no union occurs between things diverse in quality, so there can be no adhesion between God and a mind divided in itself. For the union of one thing with one thing occurs by likeness of quality, and there will be adhesion with God for the mind simplified and stripped of all things through a loving affection. Thus the highest region of the spirit is founded upon simplicity; in it the mind of the purified man is raised up to God by the most fervent desire of love, and through grace is united to its own unchangeable principle. Intellect and affection are the two eyes of the soul. The first of these, intellect, is indeed raised up to know God, but it is not sufficient to come to the mountain of divine darkness, since it advances burdened with 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, and, separated from all creatures, thinks nothing sensible; ascending in mystical silence, it rests naked. This is the simple eye by which the whole body is made luminous; this is the eye of which the bridegroom boasts in the Canticles: “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 eyes.

But whoever, through the exercise of devotion and purity, has deserved, by Christ’s granting, to arrive at this region of union and simplification, should learn at all times to remain prudently in profound humility, lest through pride he lose the gift that he rejoices to possess. For Bernard, that profound and most cautious contemplator of divine things, says: “One who strives toward higher things must deepen humility and think humbly of himself, lest, while he is vainly lifted up above himself, he fall from the height to which he seemed to have ascended.” Therefore one standing in this region should prudently return at times to the steps of humility described in the second [section]; the mind should learn to temper itself to remain in profound resignation of self, because as soon as the mind has despised self-denial, it rushes down from the highest mountain into an immense precipice.

For many, trusting in the jubilation of their sensual devotion, have been deceived: they ascended this highest mountain without the foundation of humility. Others, with heads injured and senses destroyed, became foolish, because, not yet mortified in their passions, they presumed to enter the darkness of mystical silence. Others, lifted up into pride, were still given over to sensuality; through the fault of their own will they descended into the depth of hell. For he says concerning the ascent of this

by the writing of the summit. “The beast that has touched the mountain: let it be overwhelmed with stones.” Then a beast is said to touch the mountain when a man, not yet purified through the exercise of the second region, tries to ascend the third. For so long as the affection has not been purged of the passions of its sensuality, the beast still lives in him. But if the mind of man presumes to approach the mountain of God with its bestiality, it is overwhelmed by as many stones as it is wounded by movements of passions. For the wise man says: “The sluggard has been stoned with a miry stone, and all will speak in contempt of him.” By the miry stone carnal affection is expressed, because man is compared to mire. For in Job it is written: “Remember, I beseech thee, that thou hast made me as clay, and wilt reduce me to dust.” And again he says: “I am compared to mire, and I am likened to ashes and cinders.” Thus the sluggard is overwhelmed with a miry stone when the mind, still unclean with carnal and sensual passions, attempts to ascend the mountain of contemplation; there, as unworthy, by the hard stones set against it, it is forced to undergo repulse and ruin. For no one will be able to reach this most tranquil region of the spirit who has not first, through long exercise, been purified in the furnace of the middle region. Whoever, still given over to carnal passions, tries to approach this highest region of the spirit is as one striving to draw water in a sieve. Indeed, this region does not admit carnal minds into itself, since it is prepared for hearts purified from every affection.

That this highest region of the spirit is made magnificent by a return.

This highest region of the spirit is said to be magnificent by a return, and therefore it is to be sought by all with the highest desires. For that heavenly father of ours inhabits it as his own proper house, to which he diligently calls us, exiles and pilgrims, as to a paternal dwelling. Into this he mercifully receives us when we return with the prodigal son; through love he rushes into our embraces; he clothes us with the first robe; he grants the garment of charity to those who love. Why, then, do we neglect to return as quickly as possible to the most indulgent father, whom we see to be ready for our embraces even after contempt? We wretches departed through the rashness of our own will; we squandered the portion of our inheritance with the harlots of carnal affections; we have been shamefully stripped of every beauty and paternal adornment. Why do we not return to the father, whom we know to be ineffably merciful? Let us return at least, I beseech you, after fault, we who scorned to avoid ruin. Return, return, wretched Shulamite; return, grievously captive in affections; return, mortified in sorrows. Why do you delay? Why do you tarry? Return, O faithful soul, to the guide of your youth, Jesus; return to your former husband; go back to the most loving father who awaits you with the desire of love. For behold, he awaits you with patience and cries to you through the prophet Isaiah: “Return to me, because I have redeemed you. I have blotted out your iniquities like a cloud, and your sins like a mist.” What is this, O soul, that you are in the land of enemies? You have grown old in a foreign land; you have been defiled with the dead; you have been reckoned with those descending into hell. Remember that almighty God created you out of nothing; consider that he formed you in his image and likeness; be mindful whence you have fallen; see where, cast among swine, you are trampled under the feet of the unclean. 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 upon you the hope of life that would always endure. But you abandoned the fountain of wisdom; you went out into the lowest region of unlikeness; you squandered the goods of the promised inheritance. But return, even late at last, to the exercise of repentance in the middle region, until, purged of all your iniquities, you may merit a return to the pleasantness of the region

highest. There your most indulgent father will receive you as you return joyfully; he will clothe you, the first robe of innocence having been recovered; and he will give you the ring of most holy covenant upon your hands, and the shoes of true mortification of evil affections upon your feet, so that, adorned with these ornaments like a faithful bride, you may cleave continually to him and henceforth in no way withdraw from his love. Finally, for food he will kill for you the fatted calf; he himself will be the server and at the same time the banquet; by the greatness of his surpassing love he will give his flesh for food and his own blood for drink. There the Holy Spirit of the Lord will be present; he will fill you with his mystical gifts. Then, rejoicing in the Lord, you will sing: The fruit of Jesus is sweet to my throat, because his spirit is sweeter than honey.

Therefore this highest region of the spirit is great by way of restoration, since the citizens whom it receives into its habitation it leads back to the delight of the heavenly fatherland. We recognize the citizens of this most holy region infallibly from the fruits of the Spirit, concerning which we know that the holy Apostle spoke: 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 walk always joyful in the Lord and most fervent in charity. For whatever may befall a just man dwelling on this mountain of love will not sadden him. For the mind, 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 by Treasuring Up, Article Six

Joyful and most true. For this reason this most beautiful region of the spirit is called joyful and most true by 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; when the purified mind is kindled by its fervor, it is raised to this region as to its own storehouse of love.

For the Lord says in the holy Gospel: Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. This is the treasure hidden in the field of the Scriptures; when a man finds it, he hides it, and going off sells everything, so that he may be able to buy the field with the treasure.

The field is this highest region of the spirit; the treasure is divine love. When a man finds it, he ought to despise all other things, so that he may be able joyfully to possess the field with the treasure. There is no possession in the world more joyful than divine love; there is no greater beauty in this life, because whoever has this treasure of love requires nothing more. And just as fire is naturally borne upward, so love is raised into this region of the spirit as to its own proper dwelling-place.

For the mind, set aflame by divine love, is always lifted up to God with burning affections, and with wondrous sweetness is moved above every thought into its own beginning. For, purified in the exercise of the second region, it prepares itself for the ascent of this third region through loving affection; it longs to come to him whom it loves so greatly; it thinks of nothing other than Jesus, the treasure of its heart; by the greatness of surpassing love it adores him with burning sighs. But when the most sweet office of contemplation has been completed, suddenly the beloved slips away; the mind, languishing with love, is recalled to the exercise of the second region, in which the true lover of God is seen indeed to dwell bodily among men, but in affection and desire he lives with his most beloved Jesus.

And although that anagogical action of the created spirit takes place by the impulse of the Spirit of God, nevertheless the mind, purified through the exercise of the second region, must advance itself toward the ascent and, disposed through most fervent affection, must concur with the divine Spirit. For indeed almighty God, who bestowed on us freedom of choice, will not raise anyone unwilling to this highest region of his contemplation. Therefore our will is required for our own salvation; love is demanded for the ascent.

If you wish to ascend to this highest summit of the divine darkness

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

That this third and highest region of the soul enjoys the greatest freedom of spirit. Article VII.

Seventh, this most holy region of the soul abounds in great freedom of spirit; in it the spirit, free from the passions of the flesh and united to God through love, reigns. For the holy Apostle says: Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And again: Whoever are led by the Spirit of God, these are sons of God. Truly, the spirit abiding in this region is made free from every defilement of flesh and blood; stripped also of every phantasm of thought, naked and alone, it is lifted into the darkness of divine contemplation. This is the true freedom of the soul: to rest in the fervor of divine love, and to love no consolations of this world. Therefore let a man consider himself and carefully examine his love; and if he finds himself devoutly affected, frequently raised up to divine love by fiery desires 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 causes to know the condition of its state. This freedom of soul is acquired through the fervor of divine love, because the Holy Spirit inhabits the heart of one who loves God, and grants true freedom to those who love.

In this most holy freedom divine wisdom is learned; the sweetness of divine goodness is fore-tasted with inestimable sweetness; the mind, made most free, is carried away above itself; resting in the silence of the divine darkness, it is lulled to sleep. And this is called mystical wisdom, consisting in the mind raised up and purified into God, which is hindered by no obstacle of any thing whatever from its effective progress. Ascending into this region, the mind, kindled by love, wholly 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, nor can they in any way approach the highest region of the spirit, which is above every understanding of man. For one ascends here through love by affection and desire alone; the phantasms of thoughts are driven far from here. For as soon as the mind begins to ascend through thoughts, it falls back, thrust down into the middle region. Nevertheless, the ascent itself is begun through the operation of the intellect; when that soon fails, it is consummated through affection. For the intellect stirs up desire in the love of the highest good; as far as it can, it commends his beauty. But when the affection, stirred up through contemplation of love, has seized upon such beauty, the intellect, failing from amazement, falls silent. But the mind, unable to endure 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 because of the greatness of love; caught up, it rests in silence.

Once Moses, leader of the Israelite people, called by God, is read to have ascended the dark mountain alone; he is recorded to have forbidden the people access to the mountain under threat of death. In the darkness the Lord appeared; through Moses himself he gave the law to the people. For thus it is written in Exodus: But the whole of Mount Sinai was smoking, because the Lord had descended upon it in fire, and smoke rose from it as from a furnace. And the whole mountain was terrible, and the sound of the trumpet gradually grew greater.

and it stretched out at greater length. But all the people saw the flashes and the smoking mountain; and, terrified and shaken with fear, they stood far off, saying to Moses: “Speak to us yourself, and we will hear; let not the Lord speak to us, lest perhaps we die.”

All these things are full of mysteries; if they are examined with diligent consideration, they will magnificently commend this supreme region of the spirit. For Mount Sinai signifies the height of this region; the smoking darkness represents the object of contemplation; Moses expresses the affection burning in love; the people show the crowd of thoughts and phantasms. Moses alone, the leader of the people, is permitted to climb the mountain and enter the darkness, because the affection, inflamed with divine love, alone is raised to the summit of highest contemplation. But the people are forbidden, under threat of death, to approach the mountain, because no intellect, no thought, no imagination or reasoning will be able in any way to penetrate the secret of the divine majesty. The people stand far from the mountain, terrified with fear, because while the mind alone enters through the affection of love into the abyss of contemplation, the whole crowd of thoughts, utterly failing, is disturbed. The intellect does not dare to draw nearer when the affection ascends, but, standing far off and shaken with fear within itself, is forced to remain. Hence, yielding to the majesty, astonished, it says with the prophet to the Lord: “Truly you are a hidden God.” But when Moses is on the summit of the mountain, he is wrapped in darkness: he does not grasp God by the light of the intellect, but passes into contemplation of him only through love and desire. Moses, and not the Lord, speaks to the fearful people, because the purified affection enters the dwelling-place of love, through which the powers of the spirit are enlightened.

By what methods or steps one must ascend to this supreme summit of this region.

Article IX.

Although in many preceding places of this little work I have briefly set forth the way of ascending to this supreme region of the spirit, nevertheless, as I think, it will not be useless to repeat more often things well said, so that we may be able to retain them more closely. For it seems to me of little profit to describe the beauty of contemplation unless we also know how to show those who desire it the way of coming to it. Therefore let one who wishes to ascend, through the desire of love, to the pleasantness of this supreme region strive 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 does not approach this one without danger.

For the completion of this exercise, let him often recall our Lord Jesus Christ to memory; let him weep from delight in divine love; and let him learn, by frequent attentive meditation, to run through the text of his Passion and to stir himself to compassion for the Savior. And because the body that is corrupted weighs down the soul, so that the mind may be able to raise itself powerfully in this meditation on the Lord’s Passion, let him strive, if need be, to present to his thoughts images that are truly sensible. Therefore, withdrawing from crowds, in silence let him begin by recollection to turn over the order of the Passion. Let him see himself with the eyes of the mind as present with the suffering Lord at each event; let him hear Jesus speaking in imagination; let him go with him as he goes through all the places of the Passion. Then let him apply his affections to each article out of the desire of compassion; let him gaze with faithful eyes upon the suffering Jesus set before him, weeping because of anguish of heart. Let him grow accustomed in spirit to address him as though bodily present, and through the desire of love to embrace him wounded at the pillar and on the cross. For the mind will quickly be able to be kindled in the love of the Lord Jesus if it truly becomes accustomed to suffer with him through the tears of meditation.

But I remember having written elsewhere at greater length about the most efficacious exercise of the Lord’s Passion; therefore here I have passed over it briefly. For it is enough to have given the beginnings to those who do not know how to meditate on it, since those who know have higher things. Therefore, when the affection has been purified from every hindering passion and concupiscence, the mind, with the intellect assisting, begins somewhat to think upon the goodness and beauty of the highest good; then it longs to comprehend the immutable good. But when, as the intellect raises it up, it lifts itself through admiration toward knowledge of it, immediately

the reasoning of the intellect vanishes; nor can reason follow affection any further, when it sees that it cannot be raised up from all things otherwise than alone and wholly naked. But so long as the mind has not been properly purified, affection does not reach the true darkness of this mountain.

Contemplation, however, is sometimes accomplished by an enlargement of the mind, because when the soul, by its own effort, stretches itself more intensely in holy meditation, meditation is changed into contemplation. And this mode of contemplation is accustomed to rise up by three degrees: by art, through which we learn what must be done by us; by exercise, through which we perform what has been learned; by attention, through which we fulfill our duty.

Sometimes contemplation is taken up into God by an uplifting of the mind, when the mind, divinely irradiated above human things, passes as though by [unclear] 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 effort, when, divinely enlightened, it perceives something to which no human effort reaches. In the third degree the mind is raised on high, when above the bounds of human nature and effort it is divinely illuminated in contemplation.

At times, too, contemplation directs itself by alienation of the mind toward the mountain of divine darkness, when, the memory of present things lulled to sleep, the soul passes by the illumination of divine operation into a state unknown to human knowledge. And this mode belongs especially to this supreme region of the spirit, in which the mind of the true lover of God is seen kindled with so great a fervor of love that it is often proved to be alienated from itself. For sometimes, by the greatness of devotion, it is carried outside itself; sometimes by exceeding wonder it is lifted above itself; at times, on account of immeasurable exultation, it leaves itself behind and, by the ray of love, passes into the supreme elevation of contemplation. But the delight of this highest and supreme region is not understood by a mortal man who has not ascended to it, purified through the experience of love.

The third region of the cloistered ends.

Preface to the second principal part of the spiritual exercise of the cloistered. Happily begins.

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

For even among the cloistered there are many weak and feeble persons, of whom some perhaps would gladly ascend to the contemplation of divine love if they had a method suitable for beginners. For all who are established in holy religion must take the greatest care that the mind not grow sluggish in idleness, since whoever has fallen away from the continuous labor of spiritual exercise gradually falls into the depth of torpor. For just as this visible fire of ours cannot continue in its operation without fuel suited to it, so the love of inward compunction cannot remain in a person’s mind without the continual exercise of devotion. For as soon as the labor of spiritual study has been interrupted through negligence, all compunction of devotion gradually vanishes. Indeed, no one can remain stable and firm in a holy purpose who does not strive daily to renew the fervor of the 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 man is in desires.” Therefore, lest the mind gradually slip away through sloth from the holy fervor of the spirit, let it learn to renew itself daily through some spiritual exercise, so that, while fuel is supplied to love day by day, the desire of making further progress may be more greatly kindled. Thus we read that the most holy fathers once made progress in the order; thus we know that they remained in devotion, because they knew very well the instability of the human mind, and therefore to rouse themselves to new

O adorable Trinity, O venerable Unity: through you, true eternity, we have been created; through you, highest charity, we have been redeemed. Protect, save, free, rescue, and cleanse all your people. We adore you, almighty one; to you we sing; to you be praise and glory for endless ages. Amen.

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

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

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

But when the signal first sounds

At the first [signal]

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

First, preparing his zeal for prayer, he should strive to recall his mind from outward things, vain and perishable and contrary to the spirit, to inward things, and to think 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 importunately around us during divine services. The monk can bring his mind more easily to this forgetfulness of passing things if he will often recall to memory the sixth root, set 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 strength he cannot persist in the holy fervor of the spirit unless divine compassion deigns to help him. Finally, let the humble monk understand that he is not worthy to praise his Creator, and from this let him seek help from the Lord and the merit of worthy praise. But if he desires to know more about knowledge of himself, let the devout monk read the fourth root.

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

But because it is not granted to all to be able to raise the mind above understanding to the invisible God, provision must also be made for the weak by an easier manner of elevation. Hence he also says: For the weak person meditating or praying, the 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 body, may be moved toward divine things according to the measure of its capacity. For while through faith in the form of the mediator it does not divide God from man, it sometimes reaches God in man. For our Savior, the mediator of God and men, Jesus Christ, is God and man.

Therefore let the devout monk 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 near 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, because a mind that is affected by absolutely nothing is more rarely distracted. For nothing so unburdens the heart and renders it free; nothing makes it converse before the Lord so generously and without constraint; and nothing so quickly and lightly gathers a person back to inward things after various outward disturbances, as to be affected in all things and circumstances by no private attachment to anything, but to live humbly in all things, resigned to God and to one’s superiors. Moreover, whatever has been enjoined upon one so disposed for the glory of God and the preservation of regular discipline, the monk accepts all this with humble obedience, whether it is convenient or troublesome. And this solidity of soul, despising prosperous things as well as adverse ones, wonderfully [unclear] the mind

raises [it], and transforms [it] into a certain enjoyment of most chaste love.

At the second signal.

But when the second signal sounds, the cenobite, now sufficiently recollected toward inward things, should leave his cell with due composure; he should always bless the Lord in his heart; with the wise virgins he should hasten to meet the bridegroom; he should consider that he hears the signal of the great king. On leaving the cell, let him say:

Protect, O Lord, your people by the sign of the holy cross from all snares of all enemies, that we may render 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.

On 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, 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, that with a pure mind I may deserve to enter the holy of holies. You shall sprinkle me, O Lord, with hyssop, etc. Before the image of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

O blooming rose, beautiful Mother of the Lord. O gentle Virgin. O most fruitful vine: brighter than the dawn, pray continually for us. Passing before the altar, let him say:

Glory to you, O Lord, who were born of a Virgin, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, unto everlasting ages. Or:

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

Before the venerable sacrament.

Hail, living host, truth and life, in whom the ancient sacrifices have been brought to an end. Through you infinite glory is given to the Father. Through you the Church stands continually defended. Grant me rewards in eternal life. Amen. Or: O saving host.

Standing in his place in choir.

But when he has come to his accustomed place of standing in choir, if there is time, let him consider what our holy father Benedict said in the Rule about reverence in prayer and psalmody. Then, considering the 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 one. If the office of matins is sung for some saint, let the psalmody be said before the Lord in memory of that saint. But if the matter of the psalms accords with the passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, it must be referred to its 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 best how to direct its intention to the praise of the Creator, and to vary it at once in each verse according to the character of the psalmody. For according to the matter of the things that are sung, whenever it wishes it exercises itself, and now embraces the humanity of Christ, now suddenly, with another verse, is raised up into his divinity. Nevertheless, if it pleases him, our faithful cenobite can, while the same signal continues, bring back to mind the fervor of the holy angels praising God without interruption, and conform himself to them by desire according to his powers.

Before all the hours.

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

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

Note concerning the foregoing prayer.

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

How a monk ought to conduct himself in the hours.

The devout cenobite should employ great diligence, lest the mind admit images or thoughts about passing things; for unless vain thoughts are repelled at once in the beginning, they will disturb the intention of the heart throughout the whole office. Therefore the faithful one at prayer should gather himself wholly within himself, and, according to the Rule, put nothing before the service of God. While chanting the psalms, he should refer the very subject matter of the psalms to the fitting focus of his intention; he should prudently consider the meaning of the prayer; he should pronounce the words distinctly and in order; he should direct his mind upward. After each psalm or lesson, however, he should examine himself by carefully considering himself, and should test whether the compunction of devotion is still fervent in his mind. If he finds that fervor is still present, he should strive to kindle it more fully 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, immediately reproving himself he should say these or similar words: Woe to me, wretched man, who praise my God so negligently. Behold, my Lord, suffering most bitterly for me the whole night, had no rest, and I could not watch with him one hour? Help me, Lord my God, that I may be able to sing psalms to you wisely.

Finally, under each psalm he should, as occasion offers, stir himself to the compunction of fervor by some ardent words, so that through mental exhortation he may inflame his affection still more. Saying, for example: Would that, 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, he should not neglect at once to read the hour of the Holy Cross; when it has been completed, he should add this little prayer:

I beseech you, most sweet Lord Jesus, by the pain of your wounds, and by the shedding of your most holy blood, and by the power of your most innocent death: have mercy on me now and at the hour of my death.

Prayer.

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, his venerable mother, with all the saints, be everlasting praise and glory for infinite ages. Amen.

Then let him say.

Since, after matins have been completed, it is our custom that those who are to celebrate during the day prepare themselves by confession, therefore the devout monk, once his confession has been made at whatever time, should at once devoutly perform the penance enjoined on him; and he should not approach the altar unless sacramental confession has always first been made, so far as possible.

On Leaving the Church

On leaving the church after each hour, when the divine office has been completed, or also at any other time, he may repeat the order and manner of praying at the entrance of the church described above, and observe the same rite in his several places. But if he wishes to vary this manner for greater devotion, he shall pray the following little prayers, or similar ones.

Bowing before the high altar, let him say:

Blessed be the holy Trinity and the undivided Unity; we shall confess him, because he has shown us his mercy.

O most holy majesty, beginning of all things, have mercy on me. Amen.

Returning to the Cell

Then after matins and the several hours of the day, when the devout lover of Christ has returned to his cell, let him fall on his knees before his bed; let him 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. Let him therefore 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, by no merits of mine, but by the worthy consideration of your mercy. I ask you, through the pain of the wounds of our Lord Jesus Christ, your only-begotten Son, and through the shedding of his most holy blood and the power of his most innocent death: receive this sacrifice of my service for the glory of your majesty, for my sins, for your holy Church, and for the souls of all the faithful departed who are placed in the pains of purgatory, in that union of charity in which you accepted the same our Lord Jesus Christ dying for us on the cross; and grant me, through the merit of the same passion, to love you in truth and to remain ever faithful in your service. Amen.

Morning Recollection

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

Prayer for Perseverance

Grant, we beseech you, almighty God, through the merit of the passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, and through the intercession of blessed Mary ever virgin, 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 be able continually to render service pleasing to you. Through the same Christ our Lord. Amen.

Entering the bed, let him fortify himself with the sign of the cross and say with attention of spirit: In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ I intend to lay myself down, so that, strengthened, I may be able more fully to praise his divine majesty throughout the day. Sitting in bed: The peace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the purity of blessed Mary ever virgin, the sign of the holy cross, the sorrow of the Lord's passion, and the intercession of all the saints preserve me now and always. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Let him lay himself down while signing himself.

Exercise of the Monk at Prime

Consideration 2

When our devout monk has been roused in due manner for prime, let him keep the order and manner of recollecting himself and praying, set forth above before matins:

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

Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful, Prayer, 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.

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

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

Receive me, most sweet Lord Jesus, as your perpetual servant, that I may always have you as my only good. Another: I beseech you, most merciful God, grant me to live so innocently in holy religion that I may be able to come to you, the beginning and end of every good. Another: O that my ways may be directed to keep 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 merit to find you, the highest good of the soul. Then the general preparation for prayer shall be observed.

Little Prayer

and, fortifying himself with the sign of the life-giving cross, let him say: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Then, descending from his bed and being fervent in his holy purpose, let him again fall to his knees, and with hands clasped say: Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful, Prayer, 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. O God, to whom every heart lies open and every will speaks, and from whom no secret is hidden: purify, by the infusion of the Holy Spirit, the thoughts of [our?] heart, that we may merit to love you perfectly and praise you worthily. Through Christ our Lord. Let him add “O flowering rose,” and, if he wishes to add anything else out of devotion, let him do so. At the first signal. Then at the first signal of any hour of the day, or also at the striking of the clock, if he has not been occupied with higher meditations, let him say: Blessed be the name of the Lord, from this time forth and forevermore. And let him add some brief little prayer formed [unclear], in this or a similar manner: Receive me, most sweet Lord Jesus, as your perpetual servant, that I may always have you as my only good. Another: I beseech you, most merciful God, grant me to live so innocently in holy religion that I may be able to come to you, the beginning and end of every good. Another: O that my ways may be directed to keep your justifications at all times. 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 merit to find you, the highest good of the soul. Then the general preparation for prayer shall be observed.

Little Prayer

and, fortifying himself with the sign of the life-giving cross, let him say: Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful, Prayer, 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. O God, to whom every heart lies open and every will speaks, and from whom no secret is hidden: purify, by the infusion of the Holy Spirit, the thoughts of [our?] heart, that we may merit to love you perfectly and praise you worthily. Through Christ our Lord. Let him add “O flowering rose,” and, if he wishes to add anything else out of devotion, let him do so. At the first signal. Then at the first signal of any hour of the day, or also at the striking of the clock, if he has not been occupied with higher meditations, let him say: Blessed be the name of the Lord, from this time forth and forevermore. And let him add some brief little prayer formed [unclear], in this or a similar manner: Receive me, most sweet Lord Jesus, as your perpetual servant, that I may always have you as my only good. Another: I beseech you, most merciful God, grant me to live so innocently in holy religion that I may be able to come to you, the beginning and end of every good. Another: O that my ways may be directed to keep your justifications at all times. 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 merit to find you, the highest good of the soul. Then the general preparation for prayer shall be observed.

Little Prayer [unclear] and, fortifying himself with the sign of the life-giving cross, let him say: Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful, Prayer, 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. O God, to whom [every heart?] lies open and every will speaks, and from whom no secret is hidden: purify, by the infusion of the Holy Spirit, the thoughts of [our?] heart, that we may merit to love you perfectly [and?] praise you [unclear]. Through Christ our Lord. Let him add “O flowering rose,” and, if he wishes to add anything else out of devotion, let him do so. At the first signal. Then at the first signal of any hour of the day, or also at the striking of the clock, if [he has not been occupied] with higher [unclear].

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

At the Second Signal.

When the second signal sounds, both for Prime and for the remaining hours of the day, let the manner set down above for Matins be observed, insofar as the time allows each one 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, but, humbly bowing, let him say the fitting prayers according to custom. For the modest bowing of the body is held to be a sign of the inner man well ordered toward God.

In the Chapter-Room after Prime.

As the devout cenobite goes after Prime into the chapter-room, let him remember to give thanks to God for the victory of the holy martyrs, whom he knows to have served as soldiers for the Lord, in the greatest fervor of spirit, despising the torment of their own [bodies?], through the witness of death. Therefore, when you hear the brave deeds of the saints read, pray to the Lord that by their merits he may deign to forgive you your sins, and mercifully strengthen you to bear the yoke of monastic discipline, so that you may attain fellowship with them. And this desire is set before 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 to patience by the examples of the saints, we may fear no adversities throughout the whole day. But when you hear that some martyr stood bravely in the struggle of the contest, you will pray to God in these or similar words.

Prayer.

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

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

At the Reading of the Rule.

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

Then let him consider that just as the Rule is read daily for the advancement of the good and devout, so for the lukewarm, the wicked, or the negligent it is recited to the increase of damnation, so that they may be without excuse. Finally, let him know that he is bound to faithful effort in all the things that the Rule contains, just 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 will pray thus for these and for all other faithful departed, entrusted and not entrusted to him, no less out of charity than out of duty.

Prayer.

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

[With cha]rity he has compassion; dying, he is honored with an inestimable reward. For the Lord says in the holy Gospel: Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.

On the chapter of faults

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

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

The first chapter is called passive, in which our devout cenobite proclaims himself for his negligences, or is proclaimed by another. In this chapter the lover of God, who has denied his very self to himself, humbly both accuses his negligences and suffers himself to be accused of them by others, lest he be judged more harshly by the Lord after this life. For the holy apostle of God says: If we judged ourselves, we would certainly not be judged. And the prophet Nahum says: Affliction shall not rise up a second time. For indeed, he who here, for his sins and for love of God, is now voluntarily afflicted, is worthy, as one well purged, to be freed by the mercy of the Creator from future affliction.

Would that all cloistered persons knew how greatly capitular proclamations, voluntarily endured by them, would profit toward the merit of eternal life: they would endure all accusations and injuries for love of God with inestimable joy. For we merit more when we patiently suffer injuries and adversities for love of God and brotherly charity than if we devote ourselves to good works.

Therefore, let the devout monk, standing in judgment, fear no proclamations whatever, but desire to be accused by others in memory of the Lord’s passion, knowing that before him the height of glory has been set forth, and is to be conferred in heaven upon humble patience. O brother, why would you not endure the proclamations of the brethren, you who expect the fellowship of angels? Let all indignation be far from you; let murmuring be far away; let pride withdraw far off. For you have no cause for impatience. For you are proclaimed either justly or unjustly. If justly, why would you not endure it? It is better to be purged here in small matters than after this life in many. And he who sins publicly is to be rebuked before all. But if you are proclaimed unjustly, remember that you are a monk, and you will find that you are bound to injuries. For when you are proclaimed justly, know that you are to be purged through humble patience; when unjustly, you show yourself a true monk and merit more. Therefore, when you are proclaimed, recall to memory the fourth and sixth degrees of humility; and if you are a true monk, pray even for those who accuse you. For the true lover of God loves the one who proclaims him all the more, and always on the same day bestows upon him either some prayer or some special service.

If you are good and wise, proclamation will not be able to displease you; but if you are evil and foolish, you are worthy to be proclaimed at all times. For Scripture says concerning the wise man: Rebuke the wise man, and he will love you. But concerning the evil and foolish the prophet says: They hated the one who rebuked in the gate, and they abhorred the one who spoke perfectly.

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

The second chapter we call active, in which we no longer proclaim ourselves, but another. For the act of this proclamation charity is supremely necessary; compassion also, no less than discretion, must be applied. Therefore, when you wish to proclaim your brother by reason of charity, you should always apply the fear of God; and, mindful of the fellowship of eternal life, at the beginning you should say: 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 deed simply; let him not increase the fault of the one proclaimed by aggravating it; let him silently entrust to the presiding officer the judgment whether what he did was good or bad. For he who alone among many aggravates the fault of a brother by passing sentence

[unclear] suspicion for the most part brings back. Therefore he who tries to accuse another should beware lest he be moved against his brother by the zeal of bitterness; for if the charity of the accuser does not intervene, rancor does not amend the accused. The admonition of the accuser never bears fruit in the offender when the love of God and brotherly charity do not commend it. For indeed, although almighty God is supremely good, he will not give to your accusation the purpose of compunction in the heart of the brother, when he finds that you have been moved to accuse not out of charity but out of displeasure. For where he finds the root of his charity, he will not deny good fruit. But if you perceive that you have been moved against your brother by some indignation, it is better to 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 of private humiliation is prescribed 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, in whatever place or time he has been accused, as soon as he has perceived his senior’s mind to be even slightly moved, should immediately 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 ordered to be silent and humbly acknowledge himself. For he who is a true monk neither murmurs when justly corrected nor excuses himself when unjustly accused. Likewise in the divine offices and in the other conventual places, as soon as a devout cenobite has offended in anything through negligence, humbling himself according to the custom there, he makes satisfaction, and chooses rather to perform a greater penance in doubtful cases than to wound his conscience with a lesser one, or to cause scandal to others. But he who still understands this humiliation, to be undergone at every time and place, as burdensome and difficult, does not walk in the spirit but still lives carnally; unless, by subjugating this Jebusite, he has made it tributary to himself, he will never be a true and devout cenobite.

The fourth chapter is that of discussions and counsels.

We call the fourth chapter deliberative, when we call the brothers to counsel for some difficult matter. How this chapter ought to be held, Saint Benedict makes clear in the Rule concerning the brothers to be admitted to counsel. Therefore the humble and true cenobite, when he has been called to counsel, approaches humbly with reverence and modesty; when asked what he thinks, he speaks few words; he is by no means offended if his counsel is disregarded and another’s approved. For he states humbly what he thinks, but always preferring the counsels of others to his own; and with true subjection he commits both himself and his opinion to be examined by the one presiding. For he so annihilates himself in deep humility that he always believes more in others than in himself, and trusts that good counsel is divinely inspired in those better than himself; and in his mind he is accustomed to place his prelate before all as the vicar of Christ. Indeed, the monk especially advances toward the mortification of his own will who, in giving counsels, refers his own opinion to the abbot with cheerful humility, [unclear] from true humility, and recognizes that the 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, the manner of ordered prayer set out above is to be observed in each case. But if from chapter you pass to your cell, again on bended knees, as after Matins, let him bring [unclear] back to the Lord. Afterwards let the cenobite pray thus:

Prayer.

Grant me, I ask, O Lord God, to make progress in the observance of your commandments according to the good pleasure of your most holy will, and [unclear] the debt of my profession according to the norm

[unclear] you endured: I beseech you by the shedding of your most holy blood, and by the power of your most innocent death. I beseech you by the most sacred mystery of your body and blood, at whose immolation to you I stand by as a useless minister: have mercy on me and purify my heart from every unlawful affection, so that I may be able to minister to you worthily. Grant me true contrition and pardon for all my sins, the grace of holy compunction, continual remembrance of your passion, pure devotion of heart, a fountain of tears, purity of serene conscience, and 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, and also true contempt of all worldly things, continual desire for the heavenly homeland, and sure progress in holy religion. Grant me, sweetest Jesus, constancy in adversities, patience in tribulation, discipline in conduct, and true humility always and everywhere in my mind. Make me, I pray, a sharer 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 pastor; let him pray for the whole congregation, that the Lord may mercifully direct the former in his will, and, guarding the latter under regular observance, may defend it from every adversity.

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

But let the devout minister of Christ take care that he not neglect, on any occasion, any of the things that belong to his office, nor render the celebrant distracted by his prayers or disturbances. When there is leisure he will be able to meditate or pray in silence; when he must minister, he ought to interrupt at least vocal prayers, and, ministering diligently to the priest in all things, respond.

At the elevation of the most sacred body of Christ, he will be able, after the example of Saint Thomas Aquinas, to say attentively to Christ: “You are the King of glory, O Christ; you are the everlasting Son of the Father,” as far as the end of that hymn.

After the elevation, let the devout monk turn himself to the Lord Jesus, desiring from his inmost heart to have fellowship in so great a mystery, and let him prepare his affection as though he were going to communicate; for as often as a devout lover of God should desire from the fervor of his heart to receive the body of Christ, he is believed to have received the power of the sacrament. For the Lord Jesus said to a certain soul friendly to him: If a man fervent in my love, from desire, should wish to receive my body a thousand times in a day, if that were possible, so many times in my sight, through the power of that same body of mine, he would truly obtain his desire in his soul. And therefore, once this desire has been conceived in the mind of one who loves Jesus, let the monk pray to the Lord in this or a similar manner.

Prayer of the One Ministering.

Would that, most loving Lord Jesus, I were so well and fervently disposed that it were permitted me now to receive your most holy body in this venerable sacrament; would that it were permitted me to repeat this holy 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 to receive the power and grace of this most holy sacrament now and at all times in my soul, so that I may be able to remain continually in you.

The Careful Preparation of the Priest Who Is to Celebrate.

When the priest is about to approach to immolate this most sacred sacrament of the Lord’s body and blood, let him first examine himself diligently, and of what region he is

[unclear] should examine most carefully. If he still finds himself a cultivator of the [first?] region, he ought not to approach the altar unless, through contrition and confession and a firm purpose of amending himself, he first strives to cleanse himself. But if he finds himself a citizen of the second region, if he has found his powers reformed and ordered toward the cenobitic end, he can readily dispose himself for celebrating, since by emptying out his own affection day by day he has learned more often to lift himself upward 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, let him first set forth some ardent prayers by which he may be able to stir himself to greater compunction. For devotion is rarely granted at the altar if the mind 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 us to be occupied, after the manner of certain people, with many psalms before approaching the altar; not because anyone ought therefore to approach without recollection, but so that each one might be more freely able, in secret, to devote himself to exercises or prayers more suited to his devotion.

Therefore, desiring to commend to those who celebrate an elevation of the mind to the Lord Jesus before approaching the altar, we have compiled the following prayer from that which is said to be Saint Ambrose of Milan's, which we believe to be quite efficacious by virtue of the Lord's Passion. Accordingly, a devout cenobite about to approach the altar, if he has leisure and wishes, will be able to set forth this or a similar prayer beforehand, or to 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 established that mystery in the power of the Holy Spirit, saying: “As often as you shall do these things, you shall do them in memory of me.” I beseech you by the pain of your wounds and by the pouring out of your most precious blood, and by the power of your most innocent death, and by your very body and blood, the price of our salvation; I beseech you by this wondrous and ineffable charity by which you so loved us miserable and unworthy ones that you washed us from our sins in blood: [unclear] all my sins, and 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 solely by the gracious condescension of your mercy, through your Holy Spirit, to handle this mystery with that reverence and honor, devotion and fear with which it ought and is fitting.

Grant me, I beg, always to believe and understand, feel and firmly hold, say and think concerning so great a mystery that which pleases you and that which is expedient for the salvation of my soul. Let your good Spirit enter into my heart, to sound there without sound, and without the noise of words to speak within me the truth of such great mysteries. For they are very deep, and covered with sacred veils. Because of your great mercy, sweetest Lord Jesus, grant me to celebrate the solemnities of masses with a pure heart and a clean conscience. I beseech 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 dwelling-place of your love, now and without end forever.

I beseech you, O lover of humankind, sweetest Lord Jesus, by every 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 beseech 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 beg, the goads of the flesh, and all lustful stirrings and disordered affections, and give me true and perpetual chastity, together with the other

with your gifts, which please you in truth, so that at all times, with unstained body and 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 too many sins and my many negligences. But I also know, and with my whole heart believe and with my mouth confess, that, since you are almighty, you can make me worthy, you who alone justify the ungodly, and from the unclean can make the clean.

Therefore, by your omnipotence, I pray you: grant to me, your unworthy servant, true contrition for my sins, and also pure devotion, and most fervent fear and reverence, so that with purity of heart and a fountain of sweet tears, with spiritual gladness and heavenly joy, with humility and the fervor of charity, I may be able to offer to you. O sweetest Lord Jesus, grant me in this hour your mercy, so that my mind may feel the sweetness of your most blessed presence, and the devotion of the holy angels around me, and the peaceful elevation of [itself?] in 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 withhold the multitude of your mercies from me. 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 contrite, which may fear you, love you, cherish you above all things, delight in you alone, follow you, and enjoy you forever.

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

Heal my heart, Lord, from every weakness, so that it may feel no sweetness except you, seek no love except you, love no consolation except you. O most holy Jesus, bread of life and understanding, having in yourself every delight and every sweetness of fragrance, who always refresh us from yourself and never fail in yourself: let my heart, I beseech you, eat you, and let my soul be filled with the sweetness of your savor. O holy bread, O living bread, beautiful bread, clean 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. Repel 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 come gladly to your kingdom.

An Excuse for the Lengthiness.

If this prayer has seemed too long to anyone, let him read the part he wishes, since for this reason we have divided it into short paragraphs, that we might remove weariness. But the person who wants to read neither the whole nor a part complains of its length in vain, since he is shown to be unwilling to pray either at length or briefly.

Meditation Before Approaching the Altar.

For by 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 wondrous working, if the custom of tasteful meditation

may be held as [unclear] of communion. I would indeed call meditation on the Lord’s passion savory: when a man, purified through true mortification, as soon as he has begun to turn over the Lord’s passion in thought, 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. He who has received this gift from the Lord will never be able to prepare himself better for celebrating than if, before approaching the altar, he always runs through in meditation, with tears, at least one article of the Lord’s passion. For indeed, since the celebration of masses was instituted by our redeemer himself in memory of the Lord’s passion, a man never prepares himself for it better and more fruitfully than if he burns more fervently through meditation on that most bitter passion itself.

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

With what great reverence, devotion, and purity of mind we ought to stand before almighty God at the altar, what discourse could express, or what understanding penetrate by comprehending? For there the true body and true blood of our Lord Jesus Christ are confected in an ineffable manner; there the Lord of majesty, truly present, is adored; there the army of angels, attending upon 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 in us anything that offends him. Let all worldly cares withdraw far from here; let all thoughts depart. Let nothing be thought here except what pertains to the consummation of so great a mystery; let nothing turn in the mind except what befits the presence of so great a majesty and glory. For here no office of human power is performed, but the miracle of divine majesty; the Son of God is sacrificed to the Father; the body of our redeemer is truly received; the mystery of our reparation is celebrated. Therefore the priest standing at the altar should remember that he stands before an invisible majesty, and should beware of thinking anything from any other source.

After celebration. Let careful guard be kept over the mind.

After the celebration, or after communion of the Lord’s body and blood, let the devout cenobite offer thanksgivings to almighty God; and let him keep himself throughout the whole day in the purity and devotion of mind he has begun, through spiritual exercise; let him direct his affections toward God with fiery rays, and not grow lukewarm from his holy purpose. Before all things let him strive to love nothing in this world, but to raise his heart continually to the fire of divine love, wholly stripped of all earthly affections. Let him always think how henceforth he may order his life as though anew, in the holy fervor of his way of life, and humbly dispose himself for the frequently repeated reception of so great a guest. Finally, through the day, in the labors enjoined upon him, let him often offer some prayer to God the Father in the power and union of that sacrament, so that through the exercises of holy communion and regular obedience he may inflame himself more greatly in divine love. And we attain this divine love especially through the power of this venerable sacrament, if, by receiving it more often in memory of the Lord’s passion, we are renewed through the grace of compunction. For indeed the devout mind of man, through communion of this most sacred sacrament, is kindled by the effective operation of fervent divine love; and, having wholly denied itself, is transformed into Christ through grace united [unclear]. Therefore, the more each person, denied to himself through true resignation, has offered himself as a living sacrifice in memory of the Lord’s passion, the more disposed he will be to celebrate worthily.

After private masses. Returning to the cell.

When the celebration of masses has been finished and the thanksgivings concluded according to custom, let the monk return to his cell, and after the customary prayer has been said beforehand, as above at matins:

Let him recollect himself for a little while, and kindle himself more fully toward the holy purpose of perseverance. Then, turning to the Lord, let him say:

Prayer.

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

At the first signal for choir before High Mass.

When the first signal has sounded for the hour which customarily precedes High Mass, the monk, immediately putting aside everything he has had in his hands, should read the preparatory prayers for choir, as they have been set out above before Matins. Afterwards let him go to choir with reverence and maturity, bowing and praying according to the rite set forth above.

At High Mass.

Consideration IV.

When the bells are rung for High Mass, you will be able to read the proper hour of the Holy Cross, and afterwards, so far as time permits, to recall to mind something from the proem set before private masses. For the sum of our salvation is placed in the merit of the passion of our Lord Jesus Christ; nor is any good work believed to be meritorious for us which is not offered in its power. The memory of this passion is enacted in the celebration of masses, where the innocent Lamb, slain for us, is offered to God the Father in an ineffable mystery. Therefore we truly hope for salvation from our Savior alone, the Lord Jesus Christ, whom we believe to have suffered for us. And so whatever the Church asks in the collects, she humbly prays that it be given to her by God the Father through him. Therefore let our devout monk keep in his heart this regard for the merit of the Lord's passion; upon it the whole office of the Mass may sweetly run, as upon a lower millstone. For every Mass, of whatever kind it may be, that is said in the holy Church of God, is at all times referred to the merit of the Lord's passion.

On the Introit of the Mass.

We do not intend, however, to explain the office of the Mass point by point, since each of our men can find many works by others; but we wish to give devout brothers occasion for meditation, whom we know to be inflamed by inward desires. Therefore you can, by meditation, refer the first part of the introit and the verse to the incarnation of the Lord, and refer the repetition with the Gloria to his nativity. Nevertheless you ought carefully to examine what the introit contains according to the 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; and among them these are two words. For the first is from kyrios, which is “lord”; kyrie is said in the vocative. The second is from eleeo, which is “I have mercy”; eleeson, “have mercy,” is uttered in the imperative. Hence kyrie eleison is formed, that is, “Lord, have mercy,” by elision for kyrie eleison, since a vowel before a vowel can be elided for a better sound.

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

On Gloria in excelsis

Then “Glory to God in the highest” is said in the singular number, in which we confess the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, one sole true God in the Trinity of persons and the unity of substance. Consequently, during this angelic hymn the monk ought to be very devout and, so to speak, individually attentive to each word; in it the gift of peace is promised to men of good will, and God is humbly adored by us in various expressions.

At the Collects.

But when the collects or prayers are uttered to God by the priest, the monk, standing bowed, should think of nothing else, but, listening to the words of the priest, should present his own desire to God in agreement 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 the Jewish people behind, he mercifully willed to call you and your forebears from Gentile error to his faith.

At the Gradual. Alleluia. Sequence.

At the Gradual.

Or at the tract, consider how long a desire the holy fathers had, who before Christ’s incarnation longed for his coming. Afterwards reflect with how many labors and injuries your Savior was wearied for thirty-three years in this world for your sake, he who voluntarily gave himself to death for your salvation. Then call to mind the long and perilous exile of your soul in the flesh, so that through this meditation on present misery you may be able to inflame your affection more fully toward divine love.

During the Gospel.

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

During the Creed.

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

At the Offertory.

At the offertory apply your mind, together with the host to be consecrated, in offering; weigh what is done there mystically. For the host is round and white. In its whiteness are set forth the purity, innocence, and suffering humanity of our Savior, to be offered to God the Father 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 worthy gift to offer you, almighty God; as a sacrifice I hand myself over to you. Therefore, holy Father, receive me, in union with the most holy offering 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 fire of your holy love, that I may be able always to render you service pleasing to you. Through the same.

Prayer.

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

During the Preface.

At the preface take care to raise your mind from all earthly things to heavenly things, and to prepare it to praise the Lord with the holy angels. Remember that through the merit of 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 lifted 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.

During the Canon.

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

Holy Father, I offer to 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 unto death for us: for my sins, or for that brother, or for this or that necessity; and I beseech you, through the pain of the wounds of the same your sweetest Son, and through the pouring out 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 also act in like manner concerning the other articles of the Lord’s Passion, and enlarge them in offering according to the intention of your affection.

At the Elevation.

If, at the elevation of the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, your mind 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, etc., to the end. For Thomas Aquinas is read to have prayed this part of the hymn to the Lord at the elevation.

At the Agnus Dei.

When the Agnus Dei is sung, raise your mind to the Lord Jesus with singular trust, and humbly pray that he receive you into perpetual peace. Direct your affection toward him for love of whom you have left all things; ask from him a stable progress in your holy purpose through reception of sacred communion.

At the Ite, missa est.

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

Say, then, in your heart:

Meditation.

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

After High Mass and the Following Hour.

After the end of the hour that immediately follows high mass, return to your cell with the customary reverence described above; pour out prayers to the Lord through fervor of spirit, as we taught after Matins; what remains of the time

persist in these meditations. Consider the foulness of sin, which separates from God and condemns forever the man who has turned away and does not repent. Take care, therefore, to turn your will wholly to God with a most firm resolve, and to avoid, with all your strength and at all times, the contagion of sin.

On Regular Refection.

When the signal is sounded for refection, feel heartfelt compassion for the sick, the needy, and the poor who suffer want; and when you can do nothing else for them, beseech 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 not even the food necessary for sustenance is offered at this hour, nor even the thinnest garments supplied to clothe the body. But you, though you are a monk and a despiser of the world, clothed in the best garments, sit at table like a prince; food is set before you to satiety by brothers better than yourself; all necessities are ministered to you, an unworthy sinner, by God’s servants, even to the point of nausea. Consider, therefore, what outcome this abundance of things will have in a monk, since you, who by entering religion professed poverty, now in religion feast more splendidly than the rich of the world. Take care, therefore, not to be ungrateful to God for such great benefits; 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 Table Reading.

When you are sitting at table, be composed while eating; do not look about here and there, but be intent on eating the food set before you only for nature’s necessity, 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 by no means be deprived of its own refection. Learn, while eating, often to raise your mind to heavenly things, and by the word of sacred reading, which is never lacking to us as we eat, sweetly to inflame yourself with divine compunction. For the cleric and inward worshipper of God, whenever he hears anything read, even at meals, about the bitterness of the Lord’s passion, about the fervor of divine love, or about the kingdom of the heavenly homeland, at once groans with excessive desire; his affection is kindled in the ardor of love; compelled by exceeding sweetness, the man sheds tears. For truly the mind that genuinely tastes God as sweet, as soon as it hears his name or looks upon the image of the crucified, is dissolved in compunction and is lifted by affection to his feet or his embrace.

At the Thanksgiving.

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

On Regular Reading.

Leaving the refectory for your cell, if it is not a fast day, fulfill the accustomed prayer; then read something good for edification; meditate, or do the work that has been assigned to you, or write. But if it is a fast day, take up the volume of your study and enter the place of regular reading; sitting with the others, read in silence what you wish. But if you are asked by the president to say something good, you will answer humbly with a few useful words and 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 discourses, but express the conception of your mind simply in few words, unless perhaps the president, for a definite reason, orders you to make a longer discourse.

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 seek God’s help in everything you do. But when you are in your cell, do not be idle; rather, do something good, especially what the obedience of the abbot has enjoined. Now write; read something good or meditate, because in his cell an idle monk makes either a beast or a demon. But of these things we shall speak in their proper place in what follows. Take care to spend the time usefully, because concerning all these things you are shortly to render an account to God.

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 frequently to be found: namely, in the church, in his cell, and, at the proper time, in the refectory. But he must not allow himself to wander about the monastery, because it is written of the wicked, the reprobate, and the gyrovagues: “The ungodly walk in a circuit.” But of the just man Jeremiah says: “It is good for a man when he has borne the yoke of the Lord from his youth; he shall sit solitary and be silent, because he has raised himself above himself.” The works of the cell, however, are few. The first is to attend to commands; the second is to read profitably; the third is to devote oneself at fitting times to meditation; the fourth is to pray frequently; the fifth is to rest becomingly. Let us speak briefly of these in order.

First, in the cell you must attend to commands:

First, then, while you are in the dwelling of the cell, learn to attend to commands, and not to prefer your [unclear] devotions to obedience. For Scripture says: “Obedience is better than sacrifices, and to hearken is better than to offer fat.” Therefore, if something has been assigned to you to do in the cell, do not transgress the paths of obedience on any pretext, 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, lover of quiet, says: “Be gladly in the cell, and always do something in it that may edify you and has been enjoined by a superior, considering that you have no right to leave it without permission, except for the necessity of nature.” You have also on this matter the prohibition of our most holy father Benedict in the Rule, who forbids you exit and wandering without permission.

Second, in the cell one ought to read profitably.

It especially befits a monk, while he is in the cell, always to read something good and to occupy himself profitably in all things. For sacred reading overcomes the temptations of the devil, calms the fires of the flesh, makes one despise the world, and lifts 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 he who is still weak in spirit must be imbued only with simple teachings. And Hugh says to the monk who loves simplicity: “Do not read in order to be considered more learned, nor read curious things that do not edify, since vain reading begets vain thoughts and extinguishes devotion of mind.” Therefore simple things, not lofty ones, are to be read by the simpler monks; devout things, not curious ones, so that those who, because of slowness of understanding, are not learned in higher matters may not become dissipated in vain ones. But for those who are stronger in spirit we do not forbid studies suited to them, since all things are clean to the clean, and nothing read harms the truly devout. Nevertheless, let no one claim for himself a strength of spirit that he does not have; rather, it is placed in the abbot’s discretion to judge who seems fit for freedom of reading.

Third, in the cell you must devote yourself at fitting times to meditations.

As a flower springs from the root, so meditation is generated from reading. If the reading has been vain, the meditation too will be fruitless and useless. For meditation is the fruit of reading, and prayer is the offspring of meditation. Take care, therefore, to devote yourself at fitting times to holy meditations, so that you may sometimes also build up the mind and lift it, through the fervor of divine love, into contemplation. Finally, meditation itself lifts the mind.

and commends the zeal for reading to memory.

Fourth, you ought often to pray in the cell.

The holy apostle admonishes us to persist in prayer without interruption, because, just as breath is always necessary for us for the life of the flesh, so continuous prayer is altogether necessary for the health of the mind. For just as by readings we are instructed toward good, so by prayers we are freed from evil. For the Lord says in the holy Gospel: Pray, that you may not enter into temptation. For prayer refreshes the hungry mind, extinguishes the fire of carnal 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 unfruitful.

Fifth, you ought to rest properly in the cell.

He rests best who commits no evil. He rests well who despises all the occupations of the world. Be quiet in the cell, so that you do not wander this way and that with any thought; be pure and tranquil in mind, so that you may deserve to attain savory knowledge. For Saint Prosper says in a poem: Wisdom imbues a tranquil mind, empty of cares, and will be the guest of a peaceful breast. And again he says: Those who are quiet can scrutinize the law in some measure, if hearts free from the noise of the world are at leisure. Therefore, so that the mind intent upon pious studies may be aided, let divine love overcome carnal quarrels. Therefore remain quiet in the cell, and by loving you will be able to know the truth. For the mind will not be able to be tranquil and receptive of divine wisdom when the body is restless. Hence Hugh says: In the dormitory be quiet, lest another be disturbed through you. But waking or wishing to sleep, let the memory of God’s goodness always occur to you with thanksgiving, because he himself always watches over us, so that he may guard us, humbly serving him, from every evil. When you go to your bed, first something

about thinking or meditating on God, you ought to set beforehand, so that amid holy thoughts you may be able sweetly to fall asleep. For such as the occupations of one awake have been, such also will be the repose of one sleeping, and such will be his dreams. For the mind, burning with divine love, will be able, neither sleeping nor waking, to forget its beloved, as the bride says in the Canticles: “I sleep, and my heart keeps watch.”

At Vespers. Seventh Consideration.

When the first signal for Vespers has been heard, and, according to custom, “Blessed be the name of the Lord” has been said, with the other things customarily set before it, have compassion on those occupied in secular business, and give thanks to almighty God that he has willed you to be free from those things for serving him. Then you will be able to gather yourself back to inward things, or to meditate somewhat on the Passion of the Lord, until, when the second signal sounds, you go to choir. For in my judgment there is no better meditation for beginners and those making progress, for compunction and devotion of mind, than that which takes its beginning from the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ through ardent affections.

At the Vigils of the Dead.

When compelled by the vigils, after Vespers you will be able to perform the hour of the Holy Cross, and afterward to think somewhat about the immense charity of God with which he loves faithful souls. Then, as much as you can, consider in how great desolation those holy souls placed in purgatory are; how great is the pain for a spirit separated from the body and desiring to return to the center of its beginning, not to be able to behold the countenance of its Creator through friendly fruition, 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 soul separated, placed in punishments, and desiring to come to God, that no kind of torments known to us in this world could be compared with its sadness. There is no comparison, in our manner of speaking, of bodily sadness and desolation with the state of a separated spirit, placed in delay of return to its beginning.

At Nocturns. Seventh Consideration.

Whence the aforesaid hour of the dead seems to be held as night, which is nocturnal. For although nocturns do not end the day, but are continued through the night, for that reason it is now called nocturnal, as if he had said night; nevertheless today he says nocturnal. And this he does, as is said in the book of the holy father Benedict, who says: Nocturns are an hour between Matins and Vespers. At Nocturns. Seventh Consideration. Whence you will be compelled to the nocturns of the vigils after Vespers, the hour, desolation, Holy Cross, desiring, pain, for the spirit, center, to its beginnings, to return, desiring, to behold, to be compelled, sadness, grief, so that no kind of torment to come, to compare, to wait most grievously, known with its sadness, could compare, the state of the spirit, in return, placed toward its beginning.

At Nocturns. Eighth Consideration.

Whence you will be compelled to the nocturns of the vigils after Vespers, by the desolation of the Holy Cross, desiring, by pain, for the spirit, the center to its beginnings to return, desiring, to behold, [unclear], sadness, by grief, so that no kind of torment to come, to be compared, to be awaited most grievously, known with its sadness, could compare, the state of the spirit in return, placed toward its beginning.

At Nocturns. Ninth Consideration.

Whence he has been compelled by the nocturnal hour of the vigils after Vespers; the hour of the dead seems to be held as night, which does not end the day but is continued through the night; for that reason it is called nocturnal, as if he had said night, yet today nocturnal. And this he does, as is said in the book of the holy father Benedict, who says: Nocturns are an hour between Matins and Vespers. At Nocturns. Ninth Consideration. Whence you will be compelled by the nocturnal hour of the vigils after Vespers, by the desolation of the Holy Cross, desiring, pain, for the spirit, the center to its beginning, to return, desiring, to behold, [unclear], sadness, grief, so that no kind of torment to come, to compare, to wait most grievously, known with its sadness, you could compare, the state of the spirit, return to its beginning, placed.

At Nocturns. Tenth Consideration.

Whence you have been compelled by the nocturnal hour of the vigils after Vespers; the hour of the dead seems to be held as night, which does not end the day but continues through the night. Therefore it is called [unclear], as if you had said night, yet today [unclear]. And this he does, as is said in the aforesaid book of Saint Benedict the father, who says: Nocturns are an hour between Matins and Vespers. At Nocturns. Tenth Consideration. Whence he has been compelled to the nocturnal hour of the vigils after Vespers, the hour of the dead, by the desolation of the Holy Cross, desiring, pain, for the spirit, the center to its beginning, to return, desiring, to behold, [unclear], sadness, grief, so that no kind of torment to come, to compare, to wait most grievously, known with its sadness, could [unclear], the state of the spirit, return to its beginning, placed.

At Nocturns. Eleventh Consideration.

Whence you have been compelled by the nocturnal hour of the vigils after Vespers; the hour of the dead seems to be held as night, which does not end the day but continues through the night; therefore it is called nocturnal, as if you had said night, yet today nocturnal. And this he does, saying in the aforesaid book of the aforesaid Saint Benedict, who says: Nocturns are an hour between Matins and Vespers. At Nocturns. Eleventh Consideration. Whence he has been compelled to the nocturnal hour of the vigils after Vespers, the hour of the dead, by the desolation of the Holy Cross, desiring, pain, for the spirit, the center to its beginning, [unclear] desiring to return, to behold, [unclear], sadness, grief, so that no kind of torment to come, to compare, to wait most grievously, known with its sadness, you could [unclear], the state of the spirit, return to its beginning, placed.

At Nocturns. Thirteenth Consideration.

Whence you have been compelled by the nocturnal hour of the vigils after Vespers; the hour of the dead seems to [unclear] night, which does not end the day but continues through the night; therefore it is called [unclear] or nocturnal, as if you had said night, yet today nocturnal. And this he does, saying in the aforesaid book of the aforesaid Saint Benedict, who says: Noct

Have compassion, therefore, as much as you can, on the desolation of the faithful souls groaning in the prison of purgatory, and pour out diligent prayers for them to the Lord. For even if, by his justice, the almighty and merciful Father 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 for them in charity. For Scripture says: It is holy and wholesome to pray for the dead, that they may be loosed from sins.

Passing through the cemetery, or the precinct. Pray for the dead.

When, however, passing through a cemetery, a precinct, or another place of burial of the dead, do not forget your brothers and all the departed, but, moved by charity, have compassion on them, and strive to aid them before the Lord in this or a similar manner.

¶ Prayer

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

Read the following prayer often

I beseech you, most sweet Lord Jesus, Son of the living God, by the pain of your wounds, and by the shedding of your most holy blood, and by the power of your most innocent death: have mercy on the souls of all the faithful departed who are in the punishments of purgatory, and give them a dwelling-place of 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 inclinations, and there, on bended knees, give thanks to your most merciful preserver, because he has not only mercifully snatched you from the vanities of the world, but has also guarded you in the order from many evils and dangers. Then think over how many bodily and spiritual goods the loving Father has bestowed on you, though you deserve nothing; and, what is greatest, that to you, faithfully persevering in his love, he has promised himself as a reward. Be grateful, and always watchful in prayer, so that you may sweetly burn 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 struck for the collation.

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

At compline.

Going to compline, beseech the Lord that he may always make you despise all worldly and carnal things, and grant you to remain constantly in his most holy love, so that, when the course of this present life has been completed, you may be worthy to enter the temple of God not made by hands, and to rejoice forever with all the saints in the Lord. At the end of compline, however, when [unclear] is rung

when you have heard the sign of the angelic salutation, you shall humbly greet the most blessed Mother of God and Virgin Mary, that by her merits she may guard you through the night and continually intercede with her Son for your salvation.

After Compline.

When Compline has begun [unclear], 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 often to renew our holy purpose, so that as often as during the day, by wandering through the byways of sins, we withdraw from the one first principle of our soul, the most high God, so often by contrition and compunction we may return to him, with amendment firmly purposed.

Hence our holy fathers established for us that we should attend 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 continuation, ought principally to examine himself in order in five matters.

The first thing to be observed in recollection. The rendering of account.

The rendering of account is the rendering of account by which the monk is bidden to bring back before the eyes of his mind, for chastisement, whatever he remembers himself to have committed during the day by negligence, or badly, or less well, by transgressing. Therefore, turned toward the Lord, with hands clasped, let him lie before his bed 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 show to me, an unworthy sinner and one deserving utterly nothing, from my youth up to this hour; for though I have deserved no good, I have received many and innumerable gifts of your goodness. Would that I could worthily give thanks to you, the highest and unchangeable good; would that, useful in your holy service, I could praise you with a pure heart and a clean conscience. But alas, with weakness, concupiscence, and evil habit prevailing, I, who ought to have clung with a pure heart and conscience to your most holy love, have offended you again and again with many negligences and faults; and as often as, according to the inward inspirations of your goodness, I have tried to rise to fervor of spirit, alas, so often I grieve that I have fallen again.

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

Woe to me, wretched man, who could not pass even one very short day in your most holy service without impurity of heart and negligence; who today have committed so many faults and various imperfections. I confess to your goodness, O most gentle God, all my sins into which I have fallen from my earliest age; before your feet, O sweetest Jesus, I place all the negligences that I have committed today. I seek pardon, which I am not worthy to receive; I ask for grace, which I confess that I have so often received in vain. O most loving mediator of God and men, Jesus Christ, do not despise me, a wretched sinner, whom you willed to purchase with your own blood. I confess to you all the negligences into which today in any way I have fallen, 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, however, let him reconsider 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 knowingly saddened anyone badly. And generally in whatever matter he has acted against God, against himself, against the prelate, against

... he should strive to recall to the examination of this chapter whatever he knows he has transgressed against his neighbor, or against the rule or the statutes of the fathers; and concerning secret matters, in confession on the morrow; concerning public and regular transgressions, in the next chapter, by accusing himself, he should faithfully and sincerely purpose to clear himself. Let him grieve for what has been committed; let him make satisfaction for [unclear]; let him beware of things to be committed.

Then let him consider the grave danger of offending God, whether the sin be venial or mortal. For John Gerson, chancellor of Paris, says in his treatise On the Spiritual Life: “Even venial sin is so much against God that by his justice he could damn a man eternally for it. But that he does not impute it to a man unto damnation proceeds not from justice but from his infinite goodness.” And the holy bishop Anselm admonishes us that a man ought not knowingly to commit the least 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 when it is pleasing.”

You would say: this opinion cannot be true, because if a sin was 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 man through negligence and weakness alone, while for another, through contempt and aversion from God in the same sin, it is without doubt rightly imputed as mortal, because it is pleasing even insofar as it is sin and against God. Blessed, therefore, is he who is always fearful; but he who is hard of mind will fall into evil. He who neglects the smallest sins when he can amend them gradually falls into graver ones.

Indeed, how greatly sin displeases almighty God is shown by the vengeance that follows. For so often in the sacred volumes and in the deeds of past time we read that those sinning against the Lord were gravely punished, that we rightly fear the pit of sin. How greatly even the briefest thought of a spirit turned away displeases him is declared to us by the fall of the first angel. As soon as [unclear] showed himself disorderly by growing proud against the Lord, he was cast into hell.

How greatly idle and useless words are against the Lord is sufficiently shown to us by the very plain story in the Lives of the Holy Fathers about the infernal pigs appearing among brothers speaking useless things.

How greatly evil and pernicious words offend almighty God was made clear in the boy of five years who blasphemed, whom the devil, snatching him alive from his father’s lap, carried off to hell, as is believed.

How greatly deeds and negligences 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 greatly evil deeds offend God, although from infinite histories, so to speak, we can understand it, there is no need to prove by a few examples.

But when our cenobite, devout in his recollections, has found himself burdened by the things mentioned above, or by any other negligences or sins, however grave, let him assume the contrition possible to him concerning the past, the purpose of amendment for firmly avoiding future things, and penitence for what has been committed. Let him therefore take up the counsel of the aforesaid chancellor, and, moved to compunction, let him say:

“Lord my God, I confess” ¶ Truth I “to your most holy goodness that thus or thus I have sinned against your will. For this I grieve vehemently, and because I have offended you, who are wholly good, I humbly do penance.

Lord my God, you know all things concerning me.” ¶ Truth III “You know that, by your granting, I have a good purpose, and I intend, with your help, to amend myself according to my powers in the future.” But sin is avoided by prayers, by calling upon God for help; by punishments, by inflicting penance on the body; by flight, by avoiding the occasion of sin. Therefore for the third truth let him say: ¶ Truth III “Lord my God, I have a good will to make confession of my sins, according to your commandment and holy

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

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

The Appointment of Future Caution.

The second thing which is prescribed for the monk to observe in his recollection is called the appointment 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 never is the pit of sin better stopped up than when the occasion for sin is avoided. And Saint Bernard says: For the night as it comes on, an appointment must be made, distributing one’s exercises according to the rule of the common institution. In these every debt is duly paid, if the spirit is subjected to God and the flesh to the spirit; and if anything has been omitted, neglected, or imperfect, let it not remain unrecompensed in due manner, time, and place.

The Request for Suffrages.

The third thing in the recollection of a good monk is the devout request for suffrages: since he well understands his own weakness, he asks 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 aid 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 Resting.

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

The Blessing of Rest.

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

Prayer.

I commend myself this night and at all times into your wounds, most loving Lord Jesus; and I beseech you, through 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 clean body I may be able to rise at the hours appointed for me and praise you with fervor of spirit.

Discretion for Having Rest.

The fifth and last thing to be commemorated in recollection is discretion for having rest: just as the monk should never wholly omit this evening recollection, so too he should not wish to prolong it too indiscreetly 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; let him not confuse his mind. But as he climbs into bed, let him carry with him in memory something of the Lord’s passion, or of the love of Jesus, or certainly of the glory of the heavenly kingdom, in which, as he sleeps, he may rest sweetly. For Bernard says: When you are going to sleep, take something with you in memory or thought, in which you may fall asleep peacefully, which sometimes may also help you to dream, which may also receive you when you wake, and restore you to the state of yesterday’s intention. Thus the night will shine like day for you, and night will be your illumination in its delights, so that you may fall asleep peacefully, rest in peace, and easily wake; and when you rise, you will be ready for redemption in 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 immoderate sleep, taken beforehand, cause meditation to be wholly interrupted. For at this hour the monk should rather sleep than meditate, so that in time

established, he should be disposed to rise, and well ordered in gladness 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 let meditation in bed be brief where great strength is not present in the head, either by grace or by nature.

On the Labor of the Hands. Consideration 10.

Since our most holy father Benedict, in the Rule, commending as true monks those who live by the labors of their own hands, declares them blessed, it seemed fitting to us that after the end of [unclear] we should say something about this most holy exercise. Indeed, we read that this work was commended in many ways by the holy fathers, in which we know that they advanced before God and men in no small measure. For the holy Apostle says: He who does not labor, let him not eat. And what the most learned doctor Augustine thought about this manual exercise, he shows most clearly in the book On the Work of Monks. We also read that those ancient, most holy fathers dwelling in solitude sweated not lukewarmly over 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 doctor of the Gentiles, might burden no one. Would that we too, brothers, might deign to undertake this holy exercise of laboring with the same intention and goodwill as they, so that after the end of our labor we may deserve to rest with them without end in the heavenly homeland.

Four Things Are to Be Observed by Monks in Labor.

When summoned to labor, the 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 no right way, whom we perceive to seek nothing other than the enticements of the flesh. Of these, some 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 in order to eat; whether it benefits or harms the monastery, they do not care. Others are accustomed to arrange various labors so that, as if by occasion, they can 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 conversations and frivolities. Others love outside labors so that, as if through opportunity and without suspicion, they may be able to see and speak with people, not to say those whom they know, secular persons and friends, for the flesh and not for God. Others, because of instability of mind, being unable to be quiet in the monastery, always seem to pant after labors. The intention of all who labor 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; intend nothing except the advancement of the soul. And while you are at labor, do not imprudently extinguish the fervor of the spirit; do not omit the exercise of spiritual conversation, but take care diligently to observe everywhere the following four things. In outward conduct be faithful, serviceable, and benevolent; inwardly, humble and devout; in speech, sparing and edifying; in manners, composed and mature. If you keep these four things in labor, you will always return to your cell better.

Outwardly the Monk Becomes Faithful, Benevolent, and Serviceable.

The first thing that must be diligently observed by a cenobite in labor is that in laboring he should always show himself faithful to his monastery; in serving and ministering, or even in carrying heavier burdens, he should from charity anticipate the brothers; and in all words and deeds he should show himself benevolent and tractable. And Saint Bernard, lover of God, says: A serious and prudent soul prepares itself for every labor, and yet is not dissolved in it, but through it rather stretches and strives more, for it always has before its eyes not so much what it is doing as that by doing it [unclear]. The more truly it strives, the more fervently and faithfully it works with its hands, subjecting to itself the service of its whole body, in

by which the will makes use; use, by exercise, supplies strength. The devout and faithful cenobite, who loves God in truth, does not spare himself in labor, but is accustomed to apply himself with such great fervor, cheerfulness, and fidelity to the works of his hands laid upon him, as though by his labor alone he were compelled to feed all those established in the monastery. For the most prudent soul knows that he spends himself wholly for God, whatever bodily necessity of his servants may happen to make him labor. For just as spiritual things cannot long subsist in religion without the cooperation of temporal things, so I do not hesitate to call the one who, for God's sake, supplies the bodily necessities to those serving God a servant of God. And therefore whatever a good cenobite can acquire for the monastery by his labors with right intention, he should know that he offers all that to the Lord. Nevertheless the monk should always understand that he must labor in such a way that he in no wise omits the monastic prayers, masses, and the other services of holy mother Church.

But manual work that is elaborate and undertaken out of self-complacency is deprived of the merit of obedience before the eternal Judge; and, as idle and presumed without the superior's permission, it is held liable to account. But the good cenobite, who desires to please God alone, in every creeping-in of an idle word, deed, or thought, should say to himself that saying of Bernard: If you were now about to die, would you do this thing which you are now doing, thinking, or saying? But if, were you now about to die, you would not do what you are now doing, you are very foolish, since you so boldly permit yourself, at the time of death, while you are soon to die, unto death. But if you desire to die well when it becomes necessary, do at no time what you would not do if death were already present. For whatever you have done now, after death you will find it, whether it is good or evil.

Within, let the monk be humble and devout.

Second, at the time of labor the monk ought to be devout and humble within. If he abandons the progress of inward fervor, what he outwardly acquires through labor profits nothing. Therefore, so that the soul may truly make progress while laboring, let him always recall to memory the degrees of good will written in the first [rule?]. Let him set in order meditations on the Lord's passion with the fervor of devotion, in which he may conform his labors, according to his ability, to the labors of Christ. Let him always be humble in heart through self-denial. Let him be devout in affection through the fervor of holy compunction, so that the outward labor of the hand may profit toward the [unclear] and the usefulness of the community, and the mind may not withdraw from the inward sweetness of divine love. If labor wearies the working cenobite, if heat burns him, if untimely thirst oppresses him, let the Lord's labor, which he endured for us, be recalled, and he will bear all things lightly. Therefore 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 were among men as God and man; and who had great labors in walking, teaching, and [unclear]; and endured thirst, hunger, heat, and cold willingly and patiently, for all of which I give thanks to you: receive, I beseech you, these very small labors of mine, though useless, which I offer in humility to your most holy [testament?], in memory and honor of all your labor and of your most holy passion; and may they please you in the union by which your most holy labors pleased God the Father. Amen.

Let our cenobite, moreover, during the time of labor, turn over in his mind the principal articles of the Lord's passion, first by recalling them as though with Christ present in the passion; then by giving thanks at his knees; thirdly by asking mercy in himself according to the likeness [of them].

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

In speech let the monk be sparing and edifying.

Third, what must be observed by a monk in labor

[unclear]: that he speak few words and edifying ones. Scripture says: “In much speaking sin will not be lacking.” Let no monk speak without permission, if he truly desires to be good. But once permission to speak has been granted, let him speak only a few useful things, knowing that idle and jesting words are condemned by the Rule in every place. Let him establish for himself such a manner of speaking in every place and at every time, through circumspection, that by speaking he offend no one. Let him hear more willingly than he is pleased to speak, and let him not say everything that his mind has suggested, [unclear]. 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 within itself, and lies open to all dust and uncleanness. Take diligent care that you not seem, directly or indirectly, to seek your own glory, nor reveal imprudently to anyone, from a spirit of boasting or otherwise, whatever commendable thing lies hidden in you. If you are silent about yourself and keep yourself hidden, you will be more pleasing; if you disclose and commend yourself, you will become cheap in the sight of all and will be laughed at. Beware of idle words: when we do not pay attention to such things, we slip little by little into harmful ones; from them are produced either disturbances or dissipations, or serious erosions of knowledge. Be such in your inner way of life that, through love of spiritual meditation, silence always delights you more than talkativeness.”

The cenobite should be composed and mature in his manners.

The monk should take care to order his manners both in labor and outside it, in every place, and in all things, both deeds and words, show himself mature before men. 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 man is ordered outwardly according to the norm of discipline if the effort to make progress is held the more firmly in the soul in all things. For indeed, while the monk desires daily to advance to better things, he avoids all dissipation and disorderly conduct. For a firm effort to make progress has this as its own property: that it makes the soul of the one striving very circumspect in all things. But he who does not have a firm effort to make progress for the better cannot truly be called composed, although he may seem to men to be mature. For feigned maturity quickly dissolves into open dissipation of mind where the root of discipline, the fear of God, is not present. Therefore, so that our cenobite may always be composed within and without, let him strive truly to be rooted in the fear of the Lord. For he who fears God neglects nothing. And the love of God is not idle.

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

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

His conduct toward the prelate, in the place of Christ, should be reverential.

First, the conduct of the monk ought to be reverential toward the prelate, as the Lord says in the holy Gospel: “He who hears you hears me, and he who despises you despises me.” For the monk who withholds the obedience and reverence due to his abbot does injury to almighty God. For, as our most holy father says in the Rule, the abbot is proved to hold the place of Christ in the monastery. Whoso

Whoever, therefore, despises the vicar of any king has undoubtedly shown contempt for the king himself. But tell me, good brother, why do you withhold due reverence from your prelate, whom you hear to be the vicar of Christ? Perhaps you consider him wicked and wholly unworthy of such an office, and for that reason you think it lawful for you to despise him? Not so, brother, not so; but consider whose place it is in which the vicar of Christ presides, and know that you honor the one who sends, not the one sent. If you wish to be Christ’s disciple, consider always for what purpose you have come, and you will never deny reverence to an unworthy prelate. For what purpose have you come? Certainly that, according to the Gospel and the Rule, you may deny yourself for God’s sake; that under another’s command you may serve Christ as a soldier; that for these things you may patiently await the eternal reward. Therefore, brother, do not, do not lose the crown of eternal happiness prepared for you in heaven because of displeasure with one man, a crown which you ought not to exchange for the whole world. Remember that you have nothing unless from your own [unclear]; you must humbly obey him as vicar of him to whom you have subjected yourself, and you must not examine either his life or his command, since it is not lawful for you to judge your shepherd. For in your profession you swore that you ought not to carry out your own will, but that you wished to obey the abbot in all things according to the Rule. The abbot, therefore, is lord of your will, not by his own assumption, but by the ordinance of God, whose vicar he also is. But the handling of another’s property against its lord’s will is theft, and you know that thieves will have no share in the kingdom of Christ and of God. Thus a monk who has made profession according to the Rule to God and to his abbot no longer thereafter has lordship over his own will; and if afterward he usurps that same will of his for himself, he commits theft and sacrilege. Nor will permission obtained save the presumptuous man, if it was obtained by threats and insults. Your abbot, O brother, is the vicar of God; to him you must render the obedience promised, not as to a man but as to God, and show humble reverence in God’s place. For whatever is rendered by subjects to their ruler is undoubtedly referred to God, whose vicar he is. Since, therefore, you have subjected yourself to your prelate for God alone and for no other cause, you should strive at all times to show yourself such toward him that he may freely be able to command you to do or omit whatever seems expedient to him, and may have no fear at all of any insolences or disturbances of your mind. For if your abbot is compelled to fear you, his monk, the order of equity is violated; and where the disciple strives to be above the master, sin is committed against the Gospel. Beware, therefore, lest you withhold reverence and honor from prelates; beware lest by saddening them you offend the Lord. Rather take care to meet them reverently, whatever kind of men they may be, and to obey their commands in all things according to the Gospel and the Rule. Believe me, brother, that the fault which is committed by a subject against a prelate is punished very severely, either in the present life or in the life to come. For it is written: Do not touch my anointed ones. Whatever your prelate commands you, you ought to receive it with such confidence that you believe God has inspired it in him.

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

Secondly, the monk’s conduct toward his fellow brothers is commanded to have charity, through which alone peace and concord are maintained in the monastery. Let our faithful cenobite always think on, and turn over in his heart, the common joy of souls in eternal happiness; and let him continually direct the eye of his mind toward the equal condition of souls, so that his thought may not withdraw from love of future fellowship. If a brother offends you in any way by word or deed, if he has been troublesome or hostile to you in anything, do not weigh the movement of disordered sensuality arising from it; do not consider his present weakness, but lift up the eyes of your mind to the nobility of his soul, and consider what sort of fellowship in eternal happiness it will have with you. For this purpose you ought rather often to recall to memory the chapter of the Rule on the good zeal of monks, so that more easily toward brotherly charity you may [unclear] yourself

may be able to stir up. Before all things beware lest you admit displeasure against your brother; for he who is often 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. But a monk ought to be established in so great an elevation of mind that, whatever a brother has committed against him, by considering the nature of that man’s soul he cannot be moved.

Let the monk’s conduct toward those who wrong him be gentle. Third, the monk’s conduct toward those who wrong him ought to be gentle; and this is done well only if regard is always had for their common future happiness and fellowship. To attain this gentleness of spirit, let our cenobite learn rather often to recall to mind the ways of life 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 impious with a most gentle heart, but also entreated the Father for his persecutors, that they might not perish. The holy fathers, imitating this example of the Savior, were accustomed to receive injuries patiently and gently for love of God, and, what is more, to love the very persons who wronged them. To these things let the cenobite recall to mind the degrees of gentleness, which are contained briefly in these verses: Fit. Comfort. Gentle, bear contrary things. Preserve. Restrain. Rest wholly within yourself. Correct prudently. Be merciful. Give wisely. Pray, putting yourself forward, desiring martyrdom. For if humility has possessed the mind of the cenobite, it makes him love injuries. The degrees of humility are contained in these words.

The twelve degrees of humility. The first of the degrees of the righteous fears the Almighty. The second puts reins upon the allurements of the flesh. The third submits himself reverently to the abbot.

The fourth, when insults are disregarded, patiently obeys. The fifth discloses to the abbot the hidden things of the heart. The sixth stands as vile and unworthy in his own judgment. The seventh believes that he is lower than all. The eighth does nothing that the rule of the cell does not allow. The ninth does not speak while another does not ask. The tenth banishes laughter and condemns loud guffawing. The eleventh speaks a few words of reason. The twelfth always looks at the ground with head bent.

On the same matters, otherwise. Behold God, and do not do your own will; let another rule you. Endure hardships; hide nothing in your heart, but seek also the lowest things. Be refuse itself; do not wander idly; obstruct the tongue. Let laughter be sparing, speech grave, gestures humble.

Note: Peripsema ought to be read and written, not peripsima, as the ignorant read in the Epistle to the Romans; and it means filings and the cleansing of all things.

Let the monk’s conduct toward lay people be modest. Fourth, the monk’s conduct toward lay people ought to be modest, so that neither familiarity with them is excessive nor withdrawal indiscreet. Hence Hugh says: Concerning people, as far as lies in you, beware of everything that can be no good example to them, just as it befits a faithful servant of God to promote the honor of his Lord in all things and to guard against dishonor to him. Nor should you be familiar with any woman, even a holy one. For if they are discreet, by this you will please them more; but if they have been troublesome, they are the more to be avoided. Do not be suspicious. Be ready to serve the sick in humble services; be very truthful in words; let your words be as an oath, and you will edify others. Love poverty. Be chaste in all things, and everywhere God-fearing.

In all virtues and good morals to be founded, set before yourself that most renowned and most perfect example of all brightness: the life and conduct of our Lord Jesus Christ, who to

this one was sent from heaven, that he might go before us in the way of virtues, and instruct us by his example, as himself. Therefore the more the monk has taken care to conform himself to him in the way of virtues by imitation, the more like and nearer to him he will undoubtedly be in the glory of eternal blessedness. Whatever you do, always look to him, and consider how he bore himself in all things according to the Gospel and your own judgment. For since he is the best, he bore himself best in all things. Say therefore to yourself: If my Lord Jesus were present, what do you think he would do about this, or what would he now say? Certainly he would both act and speak in the best way, whom I must imitate in all things according to my strength.

General conclusion of all spiritual exercises. Consideration twelve.

Wishing at last to put an end to this work, we say that the fulfillment of all spiritual exercises consists in two things. First, in the knowledge and sense 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 way of life, so that he may always desire to advance in spirit toward better things, and by no means withdraw from this effort. Toward this effort of advancing every cenobite ought to stretch out his mind at every moment; if he has at any time abandoned it, he incurs the transgression of his vow and the gravest danger to his soul. But let the monk beware lest the consideration of his own weakness cast aside the effort of advancing; let him beware lest that very effort despise the consideration of imperfection; but let these two so adhere to each other mutually that they never depart from one another. But if excessive consideration of one’s own imperfection has tempted the mind toward [unclear] despair of God, let him recall to memory what the holy abbot Bernard said: Let us breathe again, brothers, for even if we are nothing in our own hearts, perhaps something in us may lie hidden in the heart of God. These two considerations, of our weakness and of the 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 taken me up. Behold the second.

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

Here ends the spiritual exercise of cloistered persons, by Petrus Fridbergensis, in the noble city of Mainz, on the eighth Ides of August, in the year of salvation 1498.

Here begins the compendium of spiritual exercise. Johannes Trithemius.

If the formula of spiritual exercise, published by us for the edification of cloistered persons, could seem very brief to all the devout who have leisure, nevertheless we fear that to those occupied with household business it may seem rather prolix. For while their thought is stretched out with continual solicitude 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 given over to exterior matters, or less devout in spiritual conversation, might be able, on the occasion of prolixity, to flee to the argument of their customary excuse, we have been ordered to abridge the same instruction, so that the fervent may keep the greater one in their devotion, and the lukewarm may not omit the lesser.

There follows the practice of spiritual exercise.

Before all and each of the Hours in general, let the devout cenobite strive to direct his effort to this end: that in his heart, by the root of His benefits, he may desire with all his strength to magnify God. Let there be in him so great a most fervent ardor of devotion, so great a compunction, and finally so great an overflowing 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, because love is directed toward God in vain if the neighbor is hated. Therefore, when all the thorns of displeasure have been driven out, let the most devout cenobite, turned toward the Lord, pray.

¶ Prayer

Almighty, everlasting God, who, instructing us for the exercise of Your love by 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 of neighbor, so that, all motions of displeasure, aversion, and anger being repressed, I may always love You above all things with a pure heart, and may in no way depart from sincere love of my neighbor; so that, just as a member adhering to a wounded member suffers with it, so my mind, sincerely loving my neighbor, may deserve to be a member of our true head, Jesus Christ. Who lives and reigns with You.

¶ Another Prayer.

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

After Matins.

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

After Prime.

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

¶ Prayer.

Most loving and sweetest Lord Jesus, who at the first hour, falsely accused, 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 those who accuse me, and may not be driven away by any reproaches from the inward tranquility of my mind. You who live and reign with God the Father.

After terce.

After terce you will 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 upon 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 third hour: grant me, by the power of all your sufferings, through the shedding of your most holy blood, always to be content, for love of you, with every abasement and extremity; so that, in consideration of my sins, I may humbly regard myself even as your unworthy workman, and yet may in no way grow lukewarm in your holy service.

After sext.

After sext, consider the Lord Jesus bearing his cross before all and then hanging pitiably upon it, together with the other particulars of his punishments; and, inflamed with desire for the seventh degree of humility, pray to him with fervor of spirit. Prayer.

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

After none.

After none, be mindful of sweetest Jesus dying on the cross; and, falling down in spirit at his knees, with tears, giving thanks with as much devotion as you can, you will pray.

Prayer.

I adore you, sweetest Lord Jesus Christ, King of heaven and earth, dying for wretched me on the cross, and I humbly give you thanks for your holy passion and most innocent death. O what shall I render to you, most loving Savior, for all that you have rendered to me? Behold, I offer myself to you; I continually desire to dwell in your most holy wounds. I beseech you, through the power of your most innocent death, have mercy on me as you know how; pierce my flesh with fear of you, and restrain in me all disordered motions, so that, inflamed with the fervor of your most holy love, I may love you with a pure heart, confess you as praiseworthy with my mouth, and follow you in deed, according to my strength, in humble conduct. I beseech you, most merciful Lord Jesus, through that most holy anguish of your 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 the meal.

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

Prayer.

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

The Second Hour.

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

Prayer.

Almighty everlasting God, who have deigned, by the incarnation and death of your only-begotten Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, to give life, from your mercy alone, to us wretched people dead in sins: grant me, through the power of his most innocent passion, pardon for all my sins, so that henceforth I may deserve to serve you with a pure conscience. Through the same our Lord.

The Third Hour.

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

Prayer.

Almighty and merciful God, who with kindly favor sanctify and receive the vows of your servants offered to you from faithful devotion: grant me to render all that I have promised, through the power of humility, chastity, obedience, and poverty, with such purity of mind that I may deserve, by your mercy, 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 raised to the 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 the knowledge and love of invisible things: grant me so to know the vanity of present things that I may always deserve to think with a pure mind upon the eternity of things to come. Another.

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

Another Prayer.

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

After Supper and Collation.

After supper or collation, let the faithful cenobite clothe his desire with what fervor of charity he can, for good zeal and especially for souls; 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, by the example of the same your Son, to be strengthened 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 at the proper time to resist those who contradict you, and manfully set myself as a wall for your house. Through the same our Lord.

After Compline.

After Compline, with his strength gathered, let the devout cenobite enter alone into the secrecy of his heart; and let him leave outside all cares and anxieties of the world, so that, free and released from all things, he may deserve to speak with the Lord Jesus through the 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 summarily to the memory of examination, 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, through the shedding of your most holy blood, and through the power of your most innocent death, pardon for all my sins, so that, with my conscience cleansed, I may henceforth cling continually to you through the desire of love, make daily progress in holy religion, and humbly submit myself in all things to your most holy will.

To the Son.

My body and my soul I commend to you, Lord Jesus Christ, this night and at all times, in the power and union of that love by which, hanging on the cross, you commended your beloved mother, the Virgin Mary, to the disciple; in which love, I beseech you, guard me from all snares of the ancient serpent; suppress the illicit movements of the flesh; drive far away foul and evil dreams; and repel the phantoms of the nights, so that I may sleep secure in your peace, and rise cheerfully at the hours appointed for me to your praises. Amen.

To the Father.

O Lord, holy Father, almighty eternal God, who have called us to your grace in the passion of your only-begotten Son

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

To Saint Mary.

Holy and immaculate Mother of God, Virgin Mary: I ask you, through the bitter passion and death of your most sweet Son, do not reject me, a wretched sinner, on account 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 a fervent lover of himself, guard me this night from all snares and evils, and after the death of the flesh lead my soul to eternal life. To your protection, most blessed Virgin Mary, I commit myself this night and at all times, in the virtue and union of that commending by which your beloved Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, when now about to die on the cross, commended you to John, his disciple.

On the remembrance of the Lord’s Passion.

Since the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ is the gate of our salvation, through which the kingdom of heaven is opened to us, we ought, with whatever devotion we can, to exercise ourselves in it very often, because we shall readily obtain the effect of our prayers if, through the love of compassion, in the virtue of his wounds, we adore the Lord. Therefore, faithful cenobite, with all the diligence I can I admonish, exhort, and ask you that, mindful of God’s benefits, you utterly 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 cannot manage this at greater length, do not refuse to show yourself grateful to your Redeemer with at least one word. If the Lord Jesus himself revealed to those lovers of his to whom he wished that nothing is more pleasing to him, and nothing more useful to us, than to recall with thanksgiving the memory of his Passion and death, and to admonish others to do the same. Receive, then, an abbreviated word, lest a longer prayer make you weary.

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

I give thanks to you, most sweet Lord Jesus, for all the wounds, pains, and injuries of your most innocent Passion and death; I ask you, through that 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 thanks to you for your holy Passion, by which you delivered wretched me from everlasting death. I ask you, through the virtue of that Passion of yours, make me forever a partaker of your most innocent death.

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

Lest I be more prolix than is fitting, here I put an end to the compendium. For that venerable assembly of abbots of our annual chapter instructed me to avoid prolixity in this place, lest lukewarm and worldly cloisterers call weariness as a cause. If the Lord Jesus gives me a life free from cares, as I have always desired, I shall endeavor to satisfy both my own intention and another’s request. For, when certain virgins dedicated to Christ were asking, I resolved to hand down a rule by which any devout cenobite may be able to exercise himself in the Lord’s Passion against all temptations; if he has continued, as he ought, in exercising himself in it for a few months, little by little he will sweetly fly from the humanity of Christ to his divinity by the ray of love. For to those desiring to come to the love of God, continued meditation on the Lord’s Passion opens an easy approach, because while the mind, through compassion, is pierced from the memory of the benefits of so great a lover, burning with tears and desire it is lifted up to love. Therefore you cloisterers dedicated to God, for whom there is no leisure to attend to many things, receive these few things; in them, although there may not be a continuous fire of love, it can nevertheless be renewed for those who persevere.

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

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