THE FIRST CHAPTER
Of four degrees of Christian men's living; and of the course of his
calling that this book was made unto
THE SECOND CHAPTER
A short stirring to meekness, and to the work of this book
THE THIRD CHAPTER
How the work of this book shall be wrought and of the worthiness of it
before all other works
THE FOURTH CHAPTER
Of the shortness of this work, and how it may not be come to by the
curiosity of wit, nor by imagination
THE FIFTH CHAPTER
That in the time of this work all the creatures that ever have been, be
now, or ever shall be, and all the works of those same creatures, should be hid
under the cloud of forgetting
THE SIXTH CHAPTER
A short conceit of the work of this book, treated by
question
THE SEVENTH CHAPTER
How a man shall have him in this work against all thoughts, and
specially against all those that arise of his own curiosity, of cunning, and of
natural wit
THE EIGHTH CHAPTER
A good declaring of certain doubts that may fall in this work, treated
by question, in destroying of a man's own curiosity, of cunning, and of natural
wit, and in distinguishing of the degrees and the parts of active living and
contemplative
THE NINTH CHAPTER
That in the time of this work the remembrance of the holiest creature
that ever God made letteth more than it profiteth
THE TENTH CHAPTER
How a man shall know when his thought is no sin; and if it be sin, when
it is deadly and when it is venial
THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER
That a man should weigh each thought and each stirring after that it
is, and always eschew recklessness in venial sin
THE TWELFTH CHAPTER
That by virtue of this work sin is not only destroyed, but also virtues
begotten
THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER
What meekness is in itself, and when it is perfect and when it is
imperfect
THE FOURTEENTH CHAPTER
That without imperfect meekness coming before, it is impossible for a
sinner to come to the perfect virtue of meekness in this life
THE FIFTEENTH CHAPTER
A short proof against their error that say that there is no perfecter
cause to be meeked under, than is the knowledge of a man's own
wretchedness
THE SIXTEENTH CHAPTER
That by virtue of this work a sinner truly turned and called to
contemplation cometh sooner to perfection than by any other work; and by it
soonest may get of God forgiveness of sins
THE SEVENTEENTH CHAPTER
That a very contemplative list not meddle him with active life, nor of
anything that is done or spoken about him, nor yet to answer to his blamers in
excusing of himself
THE EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER
How that yet unto this day all actives complain of contemplatives as
Martha did of Mary. Of the which complaining ignorance is the cause
THE NINETEENTH CHAPTER
A short excusation of him that made this book, teaching how all
contemplatives should have all actives fully excused of their complaining words
and deeds
THE TWENTIETH CHAPTER
How Almighty God will goodly answer for all those that for the excusing
of themselves list not leave their business about the love of Him
THE ONE AND TWENTIETH CHAPTER
The true exposition of this gospel word, "Mary hath chosen the best
part"
THE TWO AND TWENTIETH CHAPTER
Of the wonderful love that Christ had to man in person of all sinners
truly turned and called to the grace of contemplation
THE THREE AND TWENTIETH CHAPTER
How God will answer and purvey for them in spirit, that for business
about His love list not answer nor purvey for themselves
THE FOUR AND TWENTIETH CHAPTER
What charity is in itself, and how it is truly and perfectly contained
in the work of this book.
THE FIVE AND TWENTIETH CHAPTER
That in the time of this work a perfect soul hath no special beholding
to any one man in this life
THE SIX AND TWENTIETH CHAPTER
That without full special grace, or long use in common grace, the work
of this book is right travailous; and in this work, which is the work of the
soul helped by grace, and which is the work of only God
THE SEVEN AND TWENTIETH CHAPTER
Who should work in the gracious work of this book
THE EIGHT AND TWENTIETH CHAPTER
That a man should not presume to work in this work before the time that
he be lawfully cleansed in conscience of all his special deeds of
sin
THE NINE AND TWENTIETH CHAPTER
That a man should bidingly travail in this work, and suffer the pain
thereof, and judge no man
THE THIRTIETH CHAPTER
Who should blame and condemn other men's defaults
THE ONE AND THIRTIETH CHAPTER
How a man should have him in beginning of this work against all
thoughts and stirrings of sin
THE TWO AND THIRTIETH CHAPTER
Of two ghostly devices that be helpful to a ghostly beginner in the
work of this book
THE THREE AND THIRTIETH CHAPTER
That in this work a soul is cleansed both of his special sins and of
the pain of them, and yet how there is no perfect rest in this life
THE FOUR AND THIRTIETH CHAPTER
That God giveth this grace freely without any means, and that it may
not be come to with means
THE FIVE AND THIRTIETH CHAPTER
Of three means in the which a contemplative prentice should be
occupied; in reading, thinking, and praying
THE SIX AND THIRTIETH CHAPTER
Of the meditations of them that continually travail in the work of this
book
THE SEVEN AND THIRTIETH CHAPTER
Of the special prayers of them that be continual workers in the work of
this book
THE EIGHT AND THIRTIETH CHAPTER
How and why that short prayer pierceth heaven
THE NINE AND THIRTIETH CHAPTER
How a perfect worker shall pray, and what prayer is in itself; and, if
a man shall pray in words, which words accord them most to the property of
prayer
THE FORTIETH CHAPTER
That in the time of this work a soul hath no special beholding to any
vice in itself nor to any virtue in itself
THE ONE AND FORTIETH CHAPTER
That in all other works beneath this, men should keep discretion; but
in this none
THE TWO AND FORTIETH CHAPTER
That by indiscretion in this, men shall keep discretion in all other
things; and surely else never
THE THREE AND FORTIETH CHAPTER
That all writing and feeling of a man's own being must needs be lost if
the perfection of this work shall verily be felt in any soul in this
life
THE FOUR AND FORTIETH CHAPTER
How a soul shall dispose it on its own part, for to destroy all witting
and feeling of its own being
THE FIVE AND FORTIETH CHAPTER
A good declaring of some certain deceits that may befall in this
work
THE SIX AND FORTIETH CHAPTER
A good teaching how a man shall flee these deceits, and work more with
a listiness of spirit than with any boisterousness of body
THE SEVEN AND FORTIETH CHAPTER
A slight teaching of this work in purity of spirit; declaring how that
on one manner a soul should shew his desire unto God, and on ye contrary, unto
man
THE EIGHT AND FORTIETH CHAPTER
How God will be served both with body and with soul, and reward men in
both; and how men shall know when all those sounds and sweetness that fall into
the body in time of prayer be both good and evil
THE NINE AND FORTIETH CHAPTER
The substance of all perfection is nought else but a good will; and how
that all sounds and comforts and sweetness that may befall in this life be to
it but as it were accidents
THE FIFTIETH CHAPTER
Which is chaste love; and how in some creatures such sensible comforts
be but seldom, and in some right oft
THE ONE AND FIFTIETH CHAPTER
That men should have great wariness so that they understand not bodily
a thing that is meant ghostly; and specially it is good to be wary in
understanding of this word in, and of this word
up
THE TWO AND FIFTIETH CHAPTER
How these young presumptuous disciples misunderstand this word in,
and of the deceits that follow thereon
THE THREE AND FIFTIETH CHAPTER
Of divers unseemly practices that follow them that lack the work of
this book
THE FOUR AND FIFTIETH CHAPTER
How that by virtue of this work a man is governed full wisely, and made
full seemly as well in body as in soul
THE FIVE AND FIFTIETH CHAPTER
How they be deceived that follow the fervour of spirit in condemning of
some without discretion
THE SIX AND FIFTIETH CHAPTER
How they be deceived that lean more to the curiosity of natural wit,
and of clergy learned in the school of men than to the common doctrine and
counsel of Holy Church
THE SEVEN AND FIFTIETH CHAPTER
How these young presumptuous disciples misunderstand this other word
up; and of the deceits that follow thereon
THE EIGHT AND FIFTIETH CHAPTER
That a man shall not take ensample of Saint Martin and of Saint
Stephen, for to strain his imagination bodily upwards in the time of his
prayer
THE NINE AND FIFTIETH CHAPTER
That a man shall not take ensample at the bodily ascension of Christ,
for to strain his imagination upwards bodily in the time of prayer: and that
time, place, and body, these three should be forgotten in all ghostly
working
THE SIXTIETH CHAPTER
That the high and the next way to heaven is run by desires, and not by
paces of feet
THE ONE AND SIXTIETH CHAPTER
That all bodily thing is subject unto ghostly thing, and is ruled
thereafter by the course of nature, and not contrariwise
THE TWO AND SIXTIETH CHAPTER
How a man may wit when his ghostly work is beneath him or without him
and when it is even with him or within him, and when it is above him and under
his God
THE THREE AND SIXTIETH CHAPTER
Of the powers of a soul in general, and how Memory in special is a
principal power comprehending in it all the other powers and all those things
in the which they work
THE FOUR AND SIXTIETH CHAPTER
Of the other two principal powers, Reason and Will, and of the work of
them before sin and after
THE FIVE AND SIXTIETH CHAPTER
Of the first secondary power, Imagination by name; and of the works and
of the obedience of it unto Reason, before sin and after
THE SIX AND SIXTIETH CHAPTER
Of the other secondary power, Sensuality by name; and of the works and
of the obedience of it unto Will, before sin and after
THE SEVEN AND SIXTIETH CHAPTER
That whoso knoweth not the powers of a soul and the manner of her
working, may lightly be deceived in understanding of ghostly words and of
ghostly working; and how a soul is made a God in grace
THE EIGHT AND SIXTIETH CHAPTER
That nowhere bodily, is everywhere ghostly; and how our outer man
calleth the work of this book nought
THE NINE AND SIXTIETH CHAPTER
How that a man's affection is marvelously changed in ghostly feeling of
this nought, when it is nowhere wrought
THE SEVENTIETH CHAPTER
That right as by the defailing of our bodily wits we begin more readily
to come to knowing of ghostly things, so by the defailing of our ghostly wits
we begin most readily to come to the knowledge of God, such as is possible by
grace to be had here
THE ONE AND SEVENTIETH CHAPTER
That some may not come to feel the perfection of this work but in time
of ravishing, and some may have it when they will, in the common state of man's
soul
THE TWO AND SEVENTIETH CHAPTER
That a worker in this work should not deem nor think of another worker
as he feeleth in himself
THE THREE AND SEVENTIETH CHAPTER
How that after the likeness of Moses, of Bezaleel and of Aaron meddling
them about the Ark of the Testament, we profit on three manners in this grace
of contemplation, for this grace is figured in that Ark
THE FOUR AND SEVENTIETH CHAPTER
How that the matter of this book is never more read or spoken, nor
heard read or spoken, of a soul disposed thereto without feeling of a very
accordance to the effect of the same work: and of rehearsing of the same charge
that is written in the prologue
THE FIVE AND SEVENTIETH CHAPTER
Of some certain tokens by the which a man may prove whether he be
called of God to work in this work
AND HERE ENDETH THE TABLE OF THE CHAPTERS
GHOSTLY FRIEND IN GOD, I pray thee and I beseech thee that thou wilt have a
busy beholding to the course and the manner of thy calling. And thank God
heartily so that thou mayest through help of His grace stand stiffly in the
state, in the degree, and in the form of living that thou hast entirely
purposed against all the subtle assailing of thy bodily and ghostly enemies,
and win to the crown of life that evermore lasteth. Amen.
Of four degrees of Christian men's living; and of the course
of his calling that this book was made
unto.
GHOSTLY friend in God, thou shalt well understand that I find, in my boisterous
beholding, four degrees and forms of Christian men's living: and they be these,
Common, Special, Singular, and Perfect. Three of these may be begun and ended
in this life; and the fourth may by grace be begun here, but it shall ever last
without end in the bliss of Heaven. And right as thou seest how they be set
here in order each one after other; first Common, then Special, after Singular,
and last Perfect, right so me thinketh that in the same order and in the same
course our Lord hath of His great mercy called thee and led thee unto
Him by the desire of thine heart. For first thou wottest well that when thou
wert living in the common degree of Christian men's living in company of thy
worldly friends, it seemeth to me that the everlasting love of His Godhead,
through the which He made thee and wrought thee when thou wert nought, and
sithen bought thee with the price of His precious blood when thou wert lost in
Adam, might not suffer thee to be so far from Him in form and degree of living.
And therefore He kindled thy desire full graciously, and fastened by it a leash
of longing, and led thee by it into a more special state and form of living, to
be a servant among the special servants of His; where thou mightest learn to
live more specially and more ghostly in His service than thou didst, or
mightest do, in the common degree of living before. And what more?
Yet it seemeth that He would not leave thee
thus lightly, for love of His heart, the which He hath evermore had
unto thee since thou wert aught: but what did He? Seest thou nought how Mistily
and how graciously He hath privily pulled thee to the third degree and manner
of living, the which is called Singular? In the which solitary form and manner
of living, thou mayest learn to lift up the foot of thy love; and step towards
that state and degree of living that is perfect, and the last state of all.
A short stirring to meekness, and to the work of this
book.
LOOK up now, weak wretch, and see what thou art. What art thou, and what hast
thou merited, thus to be called of our Lord? What weary wretched heart, and
sleeping in sloth, is that, the which is not wakened with the draught of this
love and the voice of this calling! Beware, thou wretch, in this while with
thine enemy; and hold thee never the holier nor the better, for the worthiness
of this calling and for the singular form of living that thou art in. But the
more wretched and cursed, unless thou do that in thee is goodly, by grace and
by counsel, to live after thy calling. And insomuch thou shouldest be more meek and loving to thy ghostly spouse, that He that is the Almighty God,
King of Kings and Lord of Lords, would meek Him so low unto thee, and amongst
all the flock of His sheep so graciously would choose thee to be one of His
specials, and sithen set thee in the place of pasture, where thou mayest be fed
with the sweetness of His love, in earnest of thine heritage the Kingdom of
Heaven.
Do on then, I pray thee, fast. Look now
forwards and let be backwards; and see what thee faileth, and not what thou
hast, for that is the readiest getting and keeping of meekness. All thy life
now behoveth altogether to stand in desire, if thou shalt profit in degree of
perfection. This desire behoveth altogether be wrought in thy will, by the hand
of Almighty God and thy consent. But one thing I tell thee. He is a jealous
lover and suffereth no fellowship, and Him list not work in thy will but if He
be only with thee by Himself. He asketh none help, but only thyself.
He wills, thou do but look on Him and let Him alone. And keep thou the windows
and the door, for flies and enemies assailing. And if thou be willing to do
this, thee needeth but meekly press upon him with prayer, and soon will He help
thee. Press on then, let see how thou bearest thee. He is full ready, and doth
but abideth thee. But what shalt thou do, and how shalt thou press?
How the work of this book shall be wrought, and of the
worthiness of it before all other
works.
LIFT up thine heart unto God with a meek stirring of love; and mean Himself,
and none of His goods. And thereto, look the loath to think on aught but
Himself. So that nought work in thy wit, nor in thy will, but only Himself. And
do that in thee is to forget all the creatures that ever God made and the works
of them; so that thy thought nor thy desire be not directed nor stretched to
any of them, neither in general nor in special, but let them be, and take no
heed to them. This is the work of the soul that most pleaseth God. All saints
and angels have joy of this work, and hasten them to help it in all
their might. All fiends be furious when thou thus dost, and try for to defeat
it in all that they can. All men living in earth be wonderfully holpen of this
work, thou wottest not how. Yea, the souls in purgatory be eased of their pain
by virtue of this work. Thyself art cleansed and made virtuous by no work so
much. And yet it is the lightest work of all, when a soul is helped with grace
in sensible list, and soonest done. But else it is hard, and wonderful to thee
for to do.
Let not, therefore, but travail therein till
thou feel list. For at the first time when thou dost it, thou findest but a
darkness; and as it were a cloud of unknowing, thou knowest not what, saving
that thou feelest in thy will a naked intent unto God. This darkness and this
cloud is, howsoever thou dost, betwixt thee and thy God, and letteth thee that
thou mayest neither see Him clearly by light of understanding in thy reason,
nor feel Him in sweetness of love in thine affection.
And therefore shape thee to bide in this darkness
as long as thou mayest, evermore crying after Him that thou lovest. For if ever
thou shalt feel Him or see Him, as it may be here, it behoveth always to be in
this cloud in this darkness. And if thou wilt busily travail as I bid thee, I
trust in His mercy that thou shalt come thereto.
Of the shortness of this word, and how it may not be come to
by curiosity of wit, nor by
imagination.
BUT for this, that thou shalt not err in this working and ween that it be
otherwise than it is, I shall tell thee a little more thereof, as me thinketh.
This work asketh no long time or it be once
truly done, as some men ween; for it is the shortest work of all that man may
imagine. It is never longer, nor shorter, than is an atom: the which atom, by
the definition of true philosophers in the science of astronomy, is the least
part of time. And it is so little that for the littleness of it, it is
indivisible and nearly incomprehensible. This is that time of the which it is
written: All time that is given to thee, it shall be asked of thee,
how thou hast dispended it. And reasonable thing it is that thou give account
of it: for it is neither longer nor shorter, but even according to one only
stirring that is within the principal working might of thy soul, the which is
thy will. For even so many willings or desirings, and no more nor no fewer, may
be and are in one hour in thy will, as are atoms in one hour. And if thou wert
reformed by grace to the first state of man's soul, as it was before sin, then
thou shouldest evermore by help of that grace be lord of that stirring or of
those stirrings. So that none went forby, but all they should stretch into the
sovereign desirable, and into the highest willable thing: the which is God. For
He is even meet to our soul by measuring of His Godhead; and our soul even meet
unto Him by worthiness of our creation to His image and to His likeness. And He
by Himself without more, and none but He, is sufficient to the full and much more to fulfil the will and the desire of our soul. And our soul by
virtue of this reforming grace is made sufficient to the full to comprehend all
Him by love, the which is incomprehensible to all created knowledgeable powers,
as is angel, or man's soul; I mean, by their knowing, and not by their loving.
And therefore I call them in this case knowledgeable powers. But yet all
reasonable creatures, angel and man, have in them each one by himself, one
principal working power, the which is called a knowledgeable power, and another
principal working power, the which is called a loving power. Of the which two
powers, to the first, the which is a knowledgeable power, God that is the maker
of them is evermore incomprehensible; and to the second, the which is the
loving power, in each one diversely He is all comprehensible to the full.
Insomuch that a loving soul alone in itself, by virtue of love should
comprehend in itself Him that is sufficient to the full--and much
more, without comparison--to fill all the souls and angels that ever may be.
And this is the endless marvellous miracle of love; the working of which shall
never take end, for ever shall He do it, and never shall He cease for to do it.
See who by grace see may, for the feeling of this is endless bliss, and the
contrary is endless pain.
And therefore whoso were reformed by grace thus
to continue in keeping of the stirrings of his will, should never be in this
life--as he may not be without these stirrings in nature--without some taste of
the endless sweetness, and in the bliss of heaven without the full food. And
therefore have no wonder though I stir thee to this work. For this is the work,
as thou shalt hear afterward, in the which man should have continued if he
never had sinned: and to the which working man was made, and all things for
man, to help him and further him thereto, and by the which working a
man shall be repaired again. And for the defailing of this working, a man
falleth evermore deeper and deeper in sin, and further and further from God.
And by keeping and continual working in this work only without more, a man
evermore riseth higher and higher from sin, and nearer and nearer unto God.
And therefore take good heed unto time, how that
thou dispendest it: for nothing is more precious than time. In one little time,
as little as it is, may heaven be won and lost. A token it is that time is
precious: for God, that is given of time, giveth never two times together, but
each one after other. And this He doth, for He will not reverse the order or
the ordinal course in the cause of His creation. For time is made for man, and
not man for time. And therefore God, that is the ruler of nature, will not in
His giving of time go before the stirring of nature in man's soul; the which is
even according to one time only. So that man shall have none
excusation against God in the Doom, and at the giving of account of dispending
of time, saying, "Thou givest two times at once, and I have but one stirring at
once."
But sorrowfully thou sayest now, "How shall I do?
and sith this is thus that thou sayest, how shall I give account of each time
severally; I that have unto this day, now of four and twenty years age, never
took heed of time? If I would now amend it, thou wottest well, by very reason
of thy words written before, it may not be after the course of nature, nor of
common grace, that I should now heed or else make satisfaction, for any more
times than for those that be for to come. Yea, and moreover well I wot by very
proof, that of those that be to come I shall on no wise, for abundance of
frailty and slowness of spirits, be able to observe one of an hundred. So that
I am verily concluded in these reasons. Help me now for the love of JESUS!"
Right well hast thou said, for the love of JESUS.
For in the love of JESUS; there shall be thine help. Love is such a power, that
it maketh all thing common. Love therefore JESUS; and all thing that He hath,
it is thine. He by His Godhead is maker and giver of time. He by His manhood is
the very keeper of time. And He by His Godhead and His manhood together, is the
truest Doomsman, and the asker of account of dispensing of time. Knit thee
therefore to Him, by love and by belief, and then by virtue of that knot thou
shalt be common perceiver with Him, and with all that by love so be knitted
unto Him: that is to say, with our Lady Saint Mary that full was of all grace
in keeping of time, with all the angels of heaven that never may lose time, and
with all the saints in heaven and in earth, that by the grace of JESUS heed
time full justly in virtue of love. Lo! here lieth comfort; construe thou
clearly, and pick thee some profit. But of one thing I warn thee
amongst all other. I cannot see who may truly challenge community thus with
JESUS and His just Mother, His high angels and also with His saints; but if he
be such an one, that doth that in him is with helping of grace in keeping of
time. So that he be seen to be a profiter on his part, so little as is, unto
the community; as each one of them doth on his.
And therefore take heed to this work, and to the
marvellous manner of it within in thy soul. For if it be truly conceived, it is
but a sudden stirring, and as it were unadvised, speedily springing unto God as
a sparkle from the coal. And it is marvellous to number the stirrings that may
be in one hour wrought in a soul that is disposed to this work. And yet in one
stirring of all these, he may have suddenly and perfectly forgotten all created
thing. But fast after each stirring, for corruption of the flesh, it falleth
down again to some thought or to some done or undone deed. But what
thereof? For fast after, it riseth again as suddenly as it did before.
And here may men shortly conceive the manner of
this working, and clearly know that it is far from any fantasy, or any false
imagination or quaint opinion: the which be brought in, not by such a devout
and a meek blind stirring of love, but by a proud, curious, and an imaginative
wit. Such a proud, curious wit behoveth always be borne down and stiffly
trodden down under foot, if this work shall truly be conceived in purity of
spirit. For whoso heareth this work either be read or spoken of, and weeneth
that it may, or should, be come to by travail in their wits, and therefore they
sit and seek in their wits how that it may be, and in this curiosity they
travail their imagination peradventure against the course of nature, and they
feign a manner of working the which is neither bodily nor ghostly--truly this
man, whatsoever he be, is perilously deceived. Insomuch, that unless
God of His great goodness shew His merciful miracle, and make him soon to leave
work, and meek him to counsel of proved workers, he shall fall either into
frenzies, or else into other great mischiefs of ghostly sins and devils'
deceits; through the which he may lightly be lost, both life and soul, without
any end. And therefore for God's love be wary in this work, and travail not in
thy wits nor in thy imagination on nowise: for I tell thee truly, it may not be
come to by travail in them, and therefore leave them and work not with them.
And ween not, for I call it a darkness or a
cloud, that it be any cloud congealed of the humours that flee in the air, nor
yet any darkness such as is in thine house on nights when the candle is out.
For such a darkness and such a cloud mayest thou imagine with curiosity of wit,
for to bear before thine eyes in the lightest day of summer: and also
contrariwise in the darkest night of winter, thou mayest imagine a
clear shining light. Let be such falsehood. I mean not thus. For when I say
darkness, I mean a lacking of knowing: as all that thing that thou knowest not,
or else that thou hast forgotten, it is dark to thee; for thou seest it not
with thy ghostly eye. And for this reason it is not called a cloud of the air,
but a cloud of unknowing, that is betwixt thee and thy God.
That in the time of this word all the creatures that ever have
been, be now, or ever shall be, and all the works of those same creatures,
should be hid under the cloud of
forgetting.
AND if ever thou shalt come to this cloud and dwell and work therein as I bid
thee, thee behoveth as this cloud of unknowing is above thee, betwixt thee and
thy God, right so put a cloud of forgetting beneath thee; betwixt thee and all
the creatures that ever be made. Thee thinketh, peradventure, that thou art
full far from God because that this cloud of unknowing is betwixt thee and thy
God: but surely, an it be well conceived, thou art well further from Him when
thou hast no cloud of forgetting betwixt thee and all the creatures
that ever be made. As oft as I say, all the creatures that ever be made, as oft
I mean not only the creatures themselves, but also all the works and the
conditions of the same creatures. I take out not one creature, whether they be
bodily creatures or ghostly, nor yet any condition or work of any creature,
whether they be good or evil: but shortly to say, all should be hid under the
cloud of forgetting in this case.
For although it be full profitable sometime
to think of certain conditions and deeds of some certain special creatures,
nevertheless yet in this work it profiteth little or nought. For why? Memory or
thinking of any creature that ever God made, or of any of their deeds either,
it is a manner of ghostly light: for the eye of thy soul is opened on it and
even fixed thereupon, as the eye of a shooter is upon the prick that he
shooteth to. And one thing I tell thee, that all thing that thou thinketh upon, it is above thee for the time, and betwixt thee and thy God: and
insomuch thou art the further from God, that aught is in thy mind but only
God.
Yea! and, if it be courteous and seemly to say,
in this work it profiteth little or nought to think of the kindness or the
worthiness of God, nor on our Lady, nor on the saints or angels in heaven, nor
yet on the joys in heaven: that is to say, with a special beholding to them, as
thou wouldest by that beholding feed and increase thy purpose. I trow that on
nowise it should help in this case and in this work. For although it be good to
think upon the kindness of God, and to love Him and praise Him for it, yet it
is far better to think upon the naked being of Him, and to love Him and praise
Him for Himself.
A short conceit of the work of this book, treated by
question.
BUT now thou askest me and sayest, "How shall I think on Himself, and what is
He?" and to this I cannot answer thee but thus: "I wot not."
For thou hast brought me with thy question
into that same darkness, and into that same cloud of unknowing, that I would
thou wert in thyself. For of all other creatures and their works, yea, and of
the works of God's self, may a man through grace have fullhead of knowing, and
well he can think of them: but of God Himself can no man think. And therefore I
would leave all that thing that I can think, and choose to my love that thing
that I cannot think. For why; He may well be loved, but not thought.
By love may He be gotten and holden; but by thought never. And therefore,
although it be good sometime to think of the kindness and the worthiness of God
in special, and although it be a light and a part of contemplation:
nevertheless yet in this work it shall be cast down and covered with a cloud of
forgetting. And thou shalt step above it stalwartly, but Mistily, with a devout
and a pleasing stirring of love, and try for to pierce that darkness above
thee. And smite upon that thick cloud of unknowing with a sharp dart of longing
love; and go not thence for thing that befalleth.
How a man shall have him in this work against all thoughts,
and specially against all those that arise of his own curiosity, of cunning,
and of natural wit.
AND if any thought rise and will press continually above thee betwixt thee and
that darkness, and ask thee saying, "What seekest thou, and what wouldest thou
have?" say thou, that it is God that thou wouldest have. "Him I covet, Him I
seek, and nought but Him."
And if he ask thee, "What is that God?" say
thou, that it is God that made thee and bought thee, and that graciously hath
called thee to thy degree. "And in Him," say, "thou hast no skill." And
therefore say, "Go thou down again," and tread him fast down with a
stirring of love, although he seem to thee right holy, and seem to thee as he
would help thee to seek Him. For peradventure he will bring to thy mind diverse
full fair and wonderful points of His kindness, and say that He is full sweet,
and full loving, full gracious, and full merciful. And if thou wilt hear him,
he coveteth no better; for at the last he will thus jangle ever more and more
till he bring thee lower, to the mind of His Passion.
And there will he let thee see the wonderful
kindness of God, and if thou hear him, he careth for nought better. For soon
after he will let thee see thine old wretched living, and peradventure in
seeing and thinking thereof he will bring to thy mind some place that thou hast
dwelt in before this time. So that at the last, or ever thou wit, thou shalt be
scattered thou wottest not where. The cause of this scattering is, that thou
heardest him first wilfully, then answeredest him, receivedest him,
and lettest him alone.
And yet, nevertheless, the thing that he said was
both good and holy. Yea, and so holy, that what man or woman that weeneth to
come to contemplation without many such sweet meditations of their own
wretchedness, the passion, the kindness, and the great goodness, and the
worthiness of God coming before, surely he shall err and fail of his purpose.
And yet, nevertheless, it behoveth a man or a woman that hath long time been
used in these meditations, nevertheless to leave them, and put them and hold
them far down under the cloud of forgetting, if ever he shall pierce the cloud
of unknowing betwixt him and his God. Therefore what time that thou purposest
thee to this work, and feelest by grace that thou art called of God, lift then
up thine heart unto God with a meek stirring of love; and mean God that made
thee, and bought thee, and that graciously hath called thee to thy
degree, and receive none other thought of God. And yet not all these, but if
thou list; for it sufficeth enough, a naked intent direct unto God without any
other cause than Himself.
And if thee list have this intent lapped and
folden in one word, for thou shouldest have better hold thereupon, take thee
but a little word of one syllable: for so it is better than of two, for ever
the shorter it is the better it accordeth with the work of the Spirit. And such
a word is this word GOD or this word LOVE. Choose thee whether thou wilt, or
another; as thee list, which that thee liketh best of one syllable. And fasten
this word to thine heart, so that it never go thence for thing that
befalleth.
This word shall be thy shield and thy spear,
whether thou ridest on peace or on war. With this word, thou shalt beat on this
cloud and this darkness above thee. With this word, thou shall smite down all
manner of thought under the cloud of forgetting. Insomuch, that if
any thought press upon thee to ask thee what thou wouldest have, answer them
with no more words but with this one word. And if he proffer thee of his great
clergy to expound thee that word and to tell thee the conditions of that word,
say him: That thou wilt have it all whole, and not broken nor undone. And if
thou wilt hold thee fast on this purpose, be thou sure, he will no while abide.
And why? For that thou wilt not let him feed him on such sweet meditations of
God touched before.
A good declaring of certain doubts that may fall in this word
treated by question, in destroying of a man's own curiosity, of cunning, and of
natural wit, and in distinguishing of the degrees and the parts of active
living and contemplative.
BUT now thou askest me, "What is he, this that thus presseth upon me in this
work; and whether it is a good thing or an evil? And if it be an evil thing,
then have I marvel," thou sayest, "why that he will increase a man's devotion
so much. For sometimes me think that it is a passing comfort to listen after
his tales. For he will sometime, me think, make me weep full heartily for pity
of the Passion of Christ, sometime for my wretchedness, and for many other
reasons, that me thinketh be full holy, and that done me much good.
And therefore me thinketh that he should on nowise be evil; and if he be good,
and with his sweet tales doth me so much good withal, then I have great marvel
why that thou biddest me put him down and away so far under the cloud of
forgetting?"
Now surely me thinketh that this is a well
moved question, and therefore I think to answer thereto so feebly as I can.
First when thou askest me what is he, this that presseth so fast upon thee in
this work, proffering to help thee in this work; I say that it is a sharp and a
clear beholding of thy natural wit, printed in thy reason within in thy soul.
And where thou askest me thereof whether it be good or evil, I say that it
behoveth always be good in its nature. For why, it is a beam of the likeness of
God. But the use thereof may be both good and evil. Good, when it is opened by
grace for to see thy wretchedness, the passion, the kindness, and the
wonderful works of God in His creatures bodily and ghostly. And then it is no
wonder though it increase thy devotion full much, as thou sayest. But then is
the use evil, when it is swollen with pride and with curiosity of much clergy
and letterly cunning as in clerks; and maketh them press for to be holden not
meek scholars and masters of divinity or of devotion, but proud scholars of the
devil and masters of vanity and of falsehood. And in other men or women whatso
they be, religious or seculars, the use and the working of this natural wit is
then evil, when it is swollen with proud and curious skills of worldly things,
and fleshly conceits in coveting of worldly worships and having of riches and
vain plesaunce and flatterings of others.
And where that thou askest me, why that thou
shalt put it down under the cloud of forgetting, since it is so, that it is
good in its nature, and thereto when it is well used it doth thee so
much good and increaseth thy devotion so much. To this I answer and say--That
thou shalt well understand that there be two manner of lives in Holy Church.
The one is active life, and the other is contemplative life. Active is the
lower, and contemplative is the higher. Active life hath two degrees, a higher
and a lower: and also contemplative life hath two degrees, a lower and a
higher. Also, these two lives be so coupled together that although they be
divers in some part, yet neither of them may be had fully without some part of
the other. For why? That part that is the higher part of active life, that same
part is the lower part of contemplative life. So that a man may not be fully
active, but if he be in part contemplative; nor yet fully contemplative, as it
may be here, but if he be in part active. The condition of active life is such,
that it is both begun and ended in this life; but not so of contemplative life. For it is begun in this life, and shall last without end. For why?
That part that Mary chose shall never be taken away. Active life is troubled
and travailed about many things; but contemplative sitteth in peace with one
thing.
The lower part of active life standeth in good
and honest bodily works of mercy and of charity. The higher part of active life
and the lower part of contemplative life lieth in goodly ghostly meditations,
and busy beholding unto a man's own wretchedness with sorrow and contrition,
unto the Passion of Christ and of His servants with pity and compassion, and
unto the wonderful gifts, kindness, and works of God in all His creatures
bodily and ghostly with thanking and praising. But the higher part of
contemplation, as it may be had here, hangeth all wholly in this darkness and
in this cloud of unknowing; with a loving stirring and a blind beholding unto
the naked being of God Himself only.
In the lower part of active life a man is without
himself and beneath himself. In the higher part of active life and the lower
part of contemplative life, a man is within himself and even with himself. But
in the higher part of contemplative life, a man is above himself and under his
God. Above himself he is: for why, he purposeth him to win thither by grace,
whither he may not come by nature. That is to say, to be knit to God in spirit,
and in onehead of love and accordance of will. And right as it is impossible,
to man's understanding, for a man to come to the higher part of active life,
but if he cease for a time of the lower part; so it is that a man shall not
come to the higher part of contemplative life, but if he cease for a time of
the lower part. And as unlawful a thing as it is, and as much as it would let a
man that sat in his meditations, to have regard then to his outward bodily
works, the which he had done, or else should do, although they were
never so holy works in themselves: surely as unlikely a thing it is, and as
much would it let a man that should work in this darkness and in this cloud of
unknowing with an affectuous stirring of love to God for Himself, for to let
any thought or any meditation of God's wonderful gifts, kindness, and works in
any of His creatures bodily or ghostly, rise upon him to press betwixt him and
his God; although they be never so holy thoughts, nor so profound, nor so
comfortable.
And for this reason it is that I bid thee put
down such a sharp subtle thought, and cover him with a thick cloud of
forgetting, be he never so holy nor promise he thee never so well for to help
thee in thy purpose. For why, love may reach to God in this life, but not
knowing. And all the whiles that the soul dwelleth in this deadly body,
evermore is the sharpness of our understanding in beholding of all ghostly
things, but most specially of God, mingled with some manner of
fantasy; for the which our work should be unclean. And unless more wonder were,
it should lead us into much error.
That in the time of this work the remembrance of the holiest
Creature that ever God made letteth more than it
profiteth.
AND therefore the sharp stirring of thine understanding, that will always press
upon thee when thou settest thee to this work, behoveth always be borne down;
and but thou bear him down, he will bear thee down. Insomuch, that when thou
weenest best to abide in this darkness, and that nought is in thy mind but only
God; an thou look truly thou shalt find thy mind not occupied in this darkness,
but in a clear beholding of some thing beneath God. And if it thus be, surely
then is that thing above thee for the time, and betwixt thee and thy God. And
therefore purpose thee to put down such clear beholdings, be they
never so holy nor so likely. For one thing I tell thee, it is more profitable
to the health of thy soul, more worthy in itself, and more pleasing to God and
to all the saints and angels in heaven--yea, and more helpful to all thy
friends, bodily and ghostly, quick and dead--such a blind stirring of love unto
God for Himself, and such a privy pressing upon this cloud of unknowing, and
better thee were for to have it and for to feel it in thine affection ghostly,
than it is for to have the eyes of thy soul opened in contemplation or
beholding of all the angels or saints in heaven, or in hearing of all the mirth
and the melody that is amongst them in bliss.
And look thou have no wonder of this: for
mightest thou once see it as clearly, as thou mayest by grace come to for to
grope it and feel it in this life, thou wouldest think as I say. But be thou
sure that clear sight shall never man have here in this life: but the feeling may men have through grace when God vouchsafeth. And therefore
lift up thy love to that cloud: rather, if I shall say thee sooth, let God draw
thy love up to that cloud and strive thou through help of His grace to forget
all other thing.
For since a naked remembrance of any thing under
God pressing against thy will and thy witting putteth thee farther from God
than thou shouldest be if it were not, and letteth thee, and maketh thee
inasmuch more unable to feel in experience the fruit of His love, what trowest
thou then that a remembrance wittingly and wilfully drawn upon thee will hinder
thee in thy purpose? And since a remembrance of any special saint or of any
clean ghostly thing will hinder thee so much, what trowest thou then that the
remembrance of any man living in this wretched life, or of any manner of bodily
or worldly thing, will hinder thee and let thee in this work?
I say not that such a naked sudden
thought of any good and clean ghostly thing under God pressing against thy will
or thy witting, or else wilfully drawn upon thee with advisement in increasing
of thy devotion, although it be letting to this manner of work--that it is
therefore evil. Nay! God forbid that thou take it so. But I say, although it be
good and holy, yet in this work it letteth more than it profiteth. I mean for
the time. For why? Surely he that seeketh God perfectly, he will not rest him
finally in the remembrance of any angel or saint that is in heaven.
How a man shall know when his thought is no sin; and if it be
sin, when it is deadly and when it is
venial.
BUT it is not thus of the remembrance of any man or woman living in this life,
or of any bodily or worldly thing whatsoever that it be. For why, a naked
sudden thought of any of them, pressing against thy will and thy witting,
although it be no sin imputed unto thee--for it is the pain of the original sin
pressing against thy power, of the which sin thou art cleansed in thy
baptism--nevertheless yet if this sudden stirring or thought be not smitten
soon down, as fast for frailty thy fleshly heart is strained thereby: with some
manner of liking, if it be a thing that pleaseth thee or hath
pleased thee before, or else with some manner of grumbling, if it be a thing
that thee think grieveth thee, or hath grieved thee before. The which
fastening, although it may in fleshly living men and women that be in deadly
sin before be deadly; nevertheless in thee and in all other that have in a true
will forsaken the world, and are obliged unto any degree in devout living in
Holy Church, what so it be, privy or open, and thereto that will be ruled not
after their own will and their own wit, but after the will and the counsel of
their sovereigns, what so they be, religious or seculars, such a liking or a
grumbling fastened in the fleshly heart is but venial sin. The cause of this is
the grounding and the rooting of your intent in God, made in the beginning of
your living in that state that ye stand in, by the witness and the counsel of
some discreet father.
But if it so be, that this liking or
grumbling fastened in thy fleshly heart be suffered so long to abide
unreproved, that then at the last it is fastened to the ghostly heart, that is
to say the will, with a full consent: then, it is deadly sin. And this
befalleth when thou or any of them that I speak of wilfully draw upon thee the
remembrance of any man or woman living in this life, or of any bodily or
worldly thing other: insomuch, that if it be a thing the which grieveth or hath
grieved thee before, there riseth in thee an angry passion and an appetite of
vengeance, the which is called Wrath. Or else a fell disdain and a manner of
loathsomeness of their person, with despiteful and condemning thoughts, the
which is called Envy. Or else a weariness and an unlistiness of any good
occupation bodily or ghostly, the which is called Sloth.
And if it be a thing that pleaseth thee, or hath
pleased thee before, there riseth in thee a passing delight for to think on
that thing what so it be. Insomuch, that thou restest thee in that
thought, and finally fastenest thine heart and thy will thereto, and feedest
thy fleshly heart therewith: so that thee think for the time that thou covetest
none other wealth, but to live ever in such a peace and rest with that thing
that thou thinkest upon. If this thought that thou thus drawest upon thee, or
else receivest when it is put unto thee, and that thou restest thee thus in
with delight, be worthiness of nature or of knowing, of grace or of degree, of
favour or of fairhead, then it is Pride. And if it be any manner of worldly
good, riches or chattels, or what that man may have or be lord of, then it is
Covetyse. If it be dainty meats and drinks, or any manner of delights that man
may taste, then it is Gluttony. And if it be love or plesaunce, or any manner
of fleshly dalliance, glosing or flattering of any man or woman living in this
life, or of thyself either: then it is Lechery.
That a man should weigh each thought and each stirring after
that it is, and always eschew recklessness in venial
sin.
I SAY not this for that I trow that thou, or any other such as I speak of, be
guilty and cumbered with any such sins; but for that I would that thou weighest
each thought and each stirring after that it is, and for I would that thou
travailedst busily to destroy the first stirring and thought of these things
that thou mayest thus sin in. For one thing I tell thee; that who weigheth not,
or setteth little by, the first thought--yea, although it be no sin unto
him--that he, whosoever that he be, shall not eschew recklessness in venial
sin. Venial sin shall no man utterly eschew in this deadly life. But
recklessness in venial sin should always be eschewed of all the true disciples
of perfection; and else I have no wonder though they soon sin deadly.
That by Virtue of this word sin is not only destroyed, but
also Virtues begotten.
AND, therefore, if thou wilt stand and not fall, cease never in thine intent:
but beat evermore on this cloud of unknowing that is betwixt thee and thy God
with a sharp dart of longing love, and loathe for to think on aught under God,
and go not thence for anything that befalleth. For this is only by itself that
work that destroyeth the ground and the root of sin. Fast thou never so much,
wake thou never so long, rise thou never so early, lie thou never so hard, wear
thou never so sharp; yea, and if it were lawful to do--as it is not--put thou
out thine eyes, cut thou out thy tongue of thy mouth, stop thou thine ears and
thy nose never so fast, though thou shear away thy members, and do
all the pain to thy body that thou mayest or canst think: all this would help
thee right nought. Yet will stirring and rising of sin be in thee.
Yea, and what more? Weep thou never so much
for sorrow of thy sins, or of the Passion of Christ, or have thou never so much
mind of the joys of heaven, what may it do to thee? Surely much good, much
help, much profit, and much grace will it get thee. But in comparison of this
blind stirring of love, it is but a little that it doth, or may do, without
this. This by itself is the best part of Mary without these other. They without
it profit but little or nought. It destroyeth not only the ground and the root
of sin as it may be here, but thereto it getteth virtues. For an it be truly
conceived, all virtues shall truly be, and perfectly conceived, and feelingly
comprehended, in it, without any mingling of the intent. And have a man never
so many virtues without it, all they be mingled with some crooked
intent, for the which they be imperfect.
For virtue is nought else but an ordained and a
measured affection, plainly directed unto God for Himself. For why? He in
Himself is the pure cause of all virtues: insomuch, that if any man be stirred
to any one virtue by any other cause mingled with Him, yea, although that He be
the chief, yet that virtue is then imperfect. As thus by example may be seen in
one virtue or two instead of all the other; and well may these two virtues be
meekness and charity. For whoso might get these two clearly, him needeth no
more: for why, he hath all.
What meekness is in itself, and when it is perfect and when it
is imperfect.
NOW let see first of the virtue of meekness; how that it is imperfect when it
is caused of any other thing mingled with God although He be the chief; and how
that it is perfect when it is caused of God by Himself. And first it is to wit,
what meekness is in itself, if this matter shall clearly be seen and conceived;
and thereafter may it more verily be conceived in truth of spirit what is the
cause thereof.
Meekness in itself is nought else, but a true
knowing and feeling of a man's self as he is. For surely whoso might verily see
and feel himself as he is, he should verily be meek. Two things
there be, the which be cause of this meekness; the which be these. One is the
filth, the wretchedness, and the frailty of man, into the which he is fallen by
sin; and the which always him behoveth to feel in some part the whiles he
liveth in this life, be he never so holy. Another is the over-abundant love and
the worthiness of God in Himself; in beholding of the which all nature quaketh,
all clerks be fools, and all saints and angels be blind. Insomuch, that were it
not that through the wisdom of His Godhead He measured their beholding after
their ableness in nature and in grace, I defail to say what should befall
them.
This second cause is perfect; for why, it shall
last without end. And the tother before is imperfect; for why, it shall not
only fail at the end of this life, but full oft it may befall that a soul in
this deadly body for abundance of grace in multiplying of his desire--as oft
and as long as God vouchsafeth for to work it--shall have suddenly
and perfectly lost and forgotten all witting and feeling of his being, not
looking after whether he have been holy or wretched. But whether this fall oft
or seldom to a soul that is thus disposed, I trow that it lasteth but a full
short while: and in this time it is perfectly meeked, for it knoweth and
feeleth no cause but the Chief. And ever when it knoweth and feeleth the tother
cause, communing therewith, although this be the chief: yet it is imperfect
meekness. Nevertheless yet it is good and notwithstanding must be had; and God
forbid that thou take it in any other manner than I say.
That without imperfect meekness coming before, it is
impossible for a sinner to come to the perfect Virtue of meekness in this
life.
FOR although I call it imperfect meekness, yet I had liefer have a true knowing
and a feeling of myself as I am, and sooner I trow that it should get me the
perfect cause and virtue of meekness by itself, than it should an all the
saints and angels in heaven, and all the men and women of Holy Church living in
earth, religious or seculars in all degrees, were set at once all together to
do nought else but to pray to God for me to get me perfect meekness. Yea, and
yet it is impossible a sinner to get, or to keep when it is gotten,
the perfect virtue of meekness without it.
And therefore swink and sweat in all that
thou canst and mayest, for to get thee a true knowing and a feeling of thyself
as thou art; and then I trow that soon after that thou shalt have a true
knowing and a feeling of God as He is. Not as He is in Himself, for that may no
man do but Himself; nor yet as thou shalt do in bliss both body and soul
together. But as it is possible, and as He vouchsafeth to be known and felt of
a meek soul living in this deadly body.
And think not because I set two causes of
meekness, one perfect and another imperfect, that I will therefore that thou
leavest the travail about imperfect meekness, and set thee wholly to get thee
perfect. Nay, surely; I trow thou shouldest never bring it so about. But
herefore I do that I do: because I think to tell thee and let thee see the
worthiness of this ghostly exercise before all other exercise bodily
or ghostly that man can or may do by grace. How that a privy love pressed in
cleanness of spirit upon this dark cloud of unknowing betwixt thee and thy God,
truly and perfectly containeth in it the perfect virtue of meekness without any
special or clear beholding of any thing under God. And because I would that
thou knewest which were perfect meekness, and settest it as a token before the
love of thine heart, and didst it for thee and for me. And because I would by
this knowing make thee more meek.
For ofttimes it befalleth that lacking of knowing
is cause of much pride as me thinketh. For peradventure an thou knewest not
which were perfect meekness, thou shouldest ween when thou hadst a little
knowing and a feeling of this that I call imperfect meekness, that thou hadst
almost gotten perfect meekness: and so shouldest thou deceive thyself, and ween
that thou wert full meek when thou wert all belapped in foul stinking pride. And therefore try for to travail about perfect meekness; for the
condition of it is such, that whoso hath it, and the whiles he hath it, he
shall not sin, nor yet much after.
A short proof against their error that say, that there is no
perfecter cause to be meeked under, than is the knowledge of a man's own
wretchedness.
AND trust steadfastly that there is such a perfect meekness as I speak of, and
that it may be come to through grace in this life. And this I say in confusion
of their error, that say that there is no perfecter cause of meekness than is
that which is raised of the remembrance of our wretchedness and our before-done
sins.
I grant well, that to them that have been in
accustomed sins, as I am myself and have been, it is the most needful and
speedful cause, to be meeked under the remembrance of our
wretchedness and our before-done sins, ever till the time be that the great
rust of sin be in great part rubbed away, our conscience and our counsel to
witness. But to other that be, as it were, innocents, the which never sinned
deadly with an abiding will and avisement, but through frailty and unknowing,
and the which set them to be contemplatives--and to us both if our counsel and
our conscience witness our lawful amendment in contrition and in confession,
and in making satisfaction after the statute and the ordinance of all-Holy
Church, and thereto if we feel us stirred and called by grace to be
contemplatives also--there is then another cause to be meeked under as far
above this cause as is the living of our Lady Saint Mary above the living of
the sinfullest penitent in Holy Church; or the living of Christ above the
living of any other man in this life; or else the living of an angel in heaven,
the which never felt--nor shall feel--frailty, is above the life of
the frailest man that is here in this world.
For if it so were that there were no perfect
cause to be meeked under, but in seeing and feeling of wretchedness, then would
I wit of them that say so, what cause they be meeked under that never see nor
feel--nor never shall be in them--wretchedness nor stirring of sin: as it is of
our Lord JESUS CHRIST, our Lady Saint Mary, and all the saints and angels in
heaven. To this perfection, and all other, our Lord JESUS CHRIST calleth us
Himself in the gospel: where He biddeth that we should be perfect by grace as
He Himself is by nature.
That by Virtue of this work a sinner truly turned and called
to contemplation cometh sooner to perfection than by any other work; and by it
soonest may get of God forgiveness of
sins.
LOOK that no man think it presumption, that he that is the wretchedest sinner
of this life dare take upon him after the time be that he have lawfully amended
him, and after that he have felt him stirred to that life that is called
contemplative, by the assent of his counsel and his conscience for to profer a
meek stirring of love to his God, privily pressing upon the cloud of unknowing
betwixt him and his God. When our Lord said to Mary, in person of all sinners
that be called to contemplative life, "Thy sins be forgiven thee,"
it was not for her great sorrow, nor for the remembering of her sins, nor yet
for her meekness that she had in the beholding of her wretchedness only. But
why then? Surely because she loved much.
Lo! here may men see what a privy pressing of
love may purchase of our Lord, before all other works that man may think. And
yet I grant well, that she had full much sorrow, and wept full sore for her
sins, and full much she was meeked in remembrance of her wretchedness. And so
should we do, that have been wretches and accustomed sinners; all our lifetime
make hideous and wonderful sorrow for our sins, and full much be meeked in
remembrance of our wretchedness.
But how? Surely as Mary did. She, although she
might not feel the deep hearty sorrow of her sins--for why, all her lifetime
she had them with her whereso she went, as it were in a burthen bounden
together and laid up full privily in the hole of her heart, in
manner never to be forgotten--nevertheless yet, it may be said and affirmed by
Scripture, that she had a more hearty sorrow, a more doleful desire, and a more
deep sighing, and more she languished, yea! almost to the death, for lacking of
love, although she had full much love (and have no wonder thereof, for it is
the condition of a true lover that ever the more he loveth, the more he longeth
for to love), than she had for any remembrance of her sins.
And yet she wist well, and felt well in herself
in a sad soothfastness, that she was a wretch most foul of all other, and that
her sins had made a division betwixt her and her God that she loved so much:
and also that they were in great part cause of her languishing sickness for
lacking of love. But what thereof? Came she therefore down from the height of
desire into the deepness of her sinful life, and searched in the foul stinking
fen and dunghill of her sins; searching them up, by one and by one,
with all the circumstances of them, and sorrowed and wept so upon them each one
by itself? Nay, surely she did not so. And why? Because God let her wit by His
grace within in her soul, that she should never so bring it about. For so might
she sooner have raised in herself an ableness to have oft sinned, than to have
purchased by that work any plain forgiveness of all her sins.
And therefore she hung up her love and her
longing desire in this cloud of unknowing, and learned her to love a thing the
which she might not see clearly in this life, by light of understanding in her
reason, nor yet verily feel in sweetness of love in her affection. Insomuch,
that she had ofttimes little special remembrance, whether that ever she had
been a sinner or none. Yea, and full ofttimes I hope that she was so deeply
disposed to the love of His Godhead that she had but right little special
beholding unto the beauty of His precious and His blessed body, in
the which He sat full lovely speaking and preaching before her; nor yet to
anything else, bodily or ghostly. That this be sooth, it seemeth by the gospel.
That a Very contemplative list not meddle him with active
life, nor of anything that is done or spoken about him, nor yet to answer to
his blamers in excusing of
himself.
IN the gospel of Saint Luke it is written, that when our Lord was in the house
of Martha her sister, all the time that Martha made her busy about the dighting
of His meat, Mary her sister sat at His feet. And in hearing of His word she
beheld not to the business of her sister, although her business was full good
and full holy, for truly it is the first part of active life; nor yet to the
preciousness of His blessed body, nor to the sweet voice and the words of His
manhood, although it is better and holier, for it is the second part
of active life and the first of contemplative life.
But to the sovereignest wisdom of His Godhead
lapped in the dark words of His manhood, thither beheld she with all the love
of her heart. For from thence she would not remove, for nothing that she saw
nor heard spoken nor done about her; but sat full still in her body, with many
a sweet privy and a listy love pressed upon that high cloud of unknowing
betwixt her and her God. For one thing I tell thee, that there was never yet
pure creature in this life, nor never yet shall be, so high ravished in
contemplation and love of the Godhead, that there is not evermore a high and a
wonderful cloud of unknowing betwixt him and his God. In this cloud it was that
Mary was occupied with many a privy love pressed. And why? Because it was the
best and the holiest part of contemplation that may be in this life, and from
this part her list not remove for nothing. Insomuch, that when her
sister Martha complained to our Lord of her, and bade Him bid her sister rise
and help her and let her not so work and travail by herself, she sat full still
and answered not with one word, nor shewed not as much as a grumbling gesture
against her sister for any plaint that she could make. And no wonder: for why,
she had another work to do that Martha wist not of. And therefore she had no
leisure to listen to her, nor to answer her at her plaint.
Lo! friend, all these works, these words, and
these gestures, that were shewed betwixt our Lord and these two sisters, be set
in ensample of all actives and all contemplatives that have been since in Holy
Church, and shall be to the day of doom. For by Mary is understood all
contemplatives; for they should conform their living after hers. And by Martha,
actives on the same manner; and for the same reason in likeness.
How that yet unto this day all actives complain of
contemplatives as Martha did of Mary. Of the which complaining ignorance is the
cause.
AND right as Martha complained then on Mary her sister, right so yet unto this
day all actives complain of contemplatives. For an there be a man or a woman in
any company of this world, what company soever it be, religious or seculars--I
out-take none--the which man or woman, whichever that it be, feeleth him
stirred through grace and by counsel to forsake all outward business, and for
to set him fully for to live contemplative life after their cunning and their
conscience, their counsel according; as fast, their own brethren and their
sisters, and all their next friends, with many other that know not
their stirrings nor that manner of living that they set them to, with a great
complaining spirit shall rise upon them, and say sharply unto them that it is
nought that they do. And as fast they will reckon up many false tales, and many
true also, of falling of men and women that have given them to such life
before: and never a good tale of them that stood.
I grant that many fall and have fallen of
them that have in likeness forsaken the world. And where they should have
become God's servants and His contemplatives, because that they would not rule
them by true ghostly counsel they have become the devil's servants and his
contemplatives; and turned either to hypocrites or to heretics, or fallen into
frenzies and many other mischiefs, in slander of Holy Church. Of the which I
leave to speak at this time, for troubling of our matter. But nevertheless here
after when God vouchsafeth and if need be, men may see some of the
conditions and the cause of their failings. And therefore no more of them at
this time; but forth of our matter.
A short excusation of him that made this book teaching how all
contemplatives should have all actives fully excused of their complaining words
and deeds.
SOME might think that I do little worship to Martha, that special saint, for I
liken her words of complaining of her sister unto these worldly men's words, or
theirs unto hers: and truly I mean no unworship to her nor to them. And God
forbid that I should in this work say anything that might be taken in
condemnation of any of the servants of God in any degree, and namely of His
special saint. For me thinketh that she should be full well had excused of her
plaint, taking regard to the time and the manner that she said it in. For that
that she said, her unknowing was the cause. And no wonder though she
knew not at that time how Mary was occupied; for I trow that before she had
little heard of such perfection. And also that she said, it was but courteously
and in few words: and therefore she should always be had excused.
And so me thinketh that these worldly living
men and women of active life should also full well be had excused of their
complaining words touched before, although they say rudely that they say;
having beholding to their ignorance. For why? Right as Martha wist full little
what Mary her sister did when she complained of her to our Lord; right so on
the same manner these folk nowadays wot full little, or else nought, what these
young disciples of God mean, when they set them from the business of this
world, and draw them to be God's special servants in holiness and rightfulness
of spirit. And if they wist truly, I daresay that they would neither do nor say as they say. And therefore me thinketh always that they should be
had excused: for why, they know no better living than is that they live in
themselves. And also when I think on mine innumerable defaults, the which I
have made myself before this time in words and deeds for default of knowing, me
thinketh then if I would be had excused of God for mine ignorant defaults, that
I should charitably and piteously have other men's ignorant words and deeds
always excused. And surely else, do I not to others as I would they did to me.
How Almighty God will goodly answer for all those that for the
excusing of themselves list not leave their business about the love of
Him.
AND therefore me thinketh, that they that set them to be contemplatives should
not only have active men excused of their complaining words, but also me
thinketh that they should be so occupied in spirit that they should take little
heed or none what men did or said about them. Thus did Mary, our example of
all, when Martha her sister complained to our Lord: and if we will truly do
thus our Lord will do now for us as He did then for Mary.
And how was that? Surely thus. Our
lovely Lord Jesus Christ, unto whom no privy thing is hid, although He was
required of Martha as doomsman for to bid Mary rise and help her to serve Him;
nevertheless yet, for He perceived that Mary was fervently occupied in spirit
about the love of His Godhead, therefore courteously and as it was seemly for
Him to do by the way of reason, He answered for her, that for the excusing of
herself list not leave the love of Him. And how answered He? Surely not only as
doomsman, as He was of Martha appealed: but as an advocate lawfully defended
her that Him loved, and said, "Martha, Martha!" Twice for speed He named her
name; for He would that she heard Him and took heed to His words. "Thou art
full busy," He said, "and troubled about many things." For they that be actives
behove always to be busied and travailed about many diverse things, the which
them falleth, first for to have to their own use, and sithen in
deeds of mercy to their even-christian, as charity asketh. And this He said
unto Martha, for He would let her wit that her business was good and profitable
to the health of her soul. But for this, that she should not think that it were
the best work of all that man might do, therefore He added and said: `But one
thing is necessary.'
And what is that one thing? Surely that God be
loved and praised by Himself, above all other business bodily or ghostly that
man may do. And for this, that Martha should not think that she might both love
God and praise Him above all other business bodily or ghostly, and also thereto
to be busy about the necessaries of this life: therefore to deliver her of
doubt that she might not both serve God in bodily business and ghostly together
perfectly---imperfectly she may, but not perfectly--He added and said, that
Mary had chosen the best part; the which should never be taken from
her. For why, that perfect stirring of love that beginneth here is even in
number with that that shall last without end in the bliss of heaven, for all it
is but one.
The true exposition of this gospel word, "Mary hath chosen the
best part."
WHAT meaneth this; Mary hath chosen the best? Wheresoever the best is set or
named, it asketh before it these two things--a good, and a better; so that it
be the best, and the third in number. But which be these three good things, of
the which Mary chose the best? Three lives be they not, for Holy Church maketh
remembrance but of two, active life and contemplative life; the which two lives
be privily understood in the story of this gospel by these two sisters Martha
and Mary--by Martha active, by Mary contemplative. Without one of these two
lives may no man be safe, and where no more be but two, may no man
choose the best.
But although there be but two lives,
nevertheless yet in these two lives be three parts, each one better than other.
The which three, each one by itself, be specially set in their places before in
this writing. For as it is said before, the first part standeth in good and
honest bodily works of mercy and of charity; and this is the first degree of
active life, as it is said before. The second part of these two lives lieth in
good ghostly meditations of a man's own wretchedness, the Passion of Christ,
and of the joys of heaven. The first part is good, and this part is the better;
for this is the second degree of active life and the first of contemplative
life. In this part is contemplative life and active life coupled together in
ghostly kinship, and made sisters at the ensample of Martha and Mary. Thus high
may an active come to contemplation; and no higher, but if it be full seldom
and by a special grace. Thus low may a contemplative come towards
active life; and no lower, but if it be full seldom and in great need.
The third part of these two lives hangeth in this
dark cloud of unknowing, with many a privy love pressed to God by Himself. The
first part is good, the second is better, but the third is best of all. This is
the "best part" of Mary. And therefore it is plainly to wit, that our Lord said
not, Mary hath chosen the best life; for there be no more lives but two,
and of two may no man choose the best. But of these two lives Mary hath chosen,
He said, the best part; the which shall never be taken from her. The
first part and the second, although they be both good and holy, yet they end
with this life. For in the tother life shall be no need as now to use the works
of mercy, nor to weep for our wretchedness, nor for the Passion of Christ. For
then shall none be able to hunger nor thirst as now, nor die for
cold, nor be sick, nor houseless, nor in prison; nor yet need burial, for then
shall none be able to die. But the third part that Mary chose, choose who by
grace is called to choose: or, if I soothlier shall say, whoso is chosen
thereto of God. Let him lustily incline thereto, for that shall never be taken
away: for if it begin here, it shall last without end.
And therefore let the voice of our Lord cry on
these actives, as if He said thus now for us unto them, as He did then for Mary
to Martha, "Martha, Martha!"--"Actives, actives! make you as busy as ye can in
the first part and in the second, now in the one and now in the tother: and, if
you list right well and feel you disposed, in both two bodily. And meddle you
not of contemplatives. Ye wot not what them aileth: let them sit in their rest
and in their play, with the third and the best part of Mary."
Of the wonderful love that Christ had to man in person of all
sinners truly turned and called to the grace of
contemplation.
SWEET was that love betwixt our Lord and Mary. Much love had she to Him. Much
more had He to her. For whoso would utterly behold all the behaviour that was
betwixt Him and her, not as a trifler may tell, but as the story of the gospel
will witness--the which on nowise may be false--he should find that she was so
heartily set for to love Him, that nothing beneath Him might comfort her, nor
yet hold her heart from Him. This is she, that same Mary, that when she sought
Him at the sepulchre with weeping cheer would not be comforted of angels. For
when they spake unto her so sweetly and so lovely and said, "Weep
not, Mary; for why, our Lord whom thou seekest is risen, and thou shalt have
Him, and see Him live full fair amongst His disciples in Galilee as He hight,"
she would not cease for them. For why? Her thought that whoso sought verily the
King of Angels, them list not cease for angels.
And what more? Surely whoso will look verily
in the story of the gospel, he shall find many wonderful points of perfect love
written of her to our ensample, and as even according to the work of this
writing, as if they had been set and written therefore; and surely so were
they, take whoso take may. And if a man list for to see in the gospel written
the wonderful and the special love that our Lord had to her, in person of all
accustomed sinners truly turned and called to the grace of contemplation, he
shall find that our Lord might not suffer any man or woman--yea, not
her own sister--speak a word against her, but if He answered for her Himself.
Yea, and what more? He blamed Symon Leprous in his own house, for that he
thought against her. This was great love: this was passing love.
How God will answer and purvey for them in spirit, that for
business about His love list not answer nor purvey for
themselves
AND truly an we will lustily conform our love and our living, inasmuch as in us
is, by grace and by counsel, unto the love and the living of Mary, no doubt but
He shall answer on the same manner now for us ghostly each day, privily in the
hearts of all those that either say or think against us. I say not but that
evermore some men shall say or think somewhat against us, the whiles we live in
the travail of this life, as they did against Mary. But I say, an we will give
no more heed to their saying nor to their thinking, nor no more
cease of our ghostly privy work for their words and their thoughts, than she
did--I say, then, that our Lord shall answer them in spirit, if it shall be
well with them that so say and so think, that they shall within few days have
shame of their words and their thoughts.
And as He will answer for us thus in spirit,
so will He stir other men in spirit to give us our needful things that belong
to this life, as meat and clothes with all these other; if He see that we will
not leave the work of His love for business about them. And this I say in
confusion of their error, that say that it is not lawful for men to set them to
serve God in contemplative life, but if they be secure before of their bodily
necessaries. For they say, that God sendeth the cow, but not by the horn. And
truly they say wrong of God, as they well know. For trust steadfastly, thou
whatsoever that thou be, that truly turnest thee from the world unto God, that
one of these two God shall send thee, without business of thyself:
and that is either abundance of necessaries, or strength in body and patience
in spirit to bear need. What then recketh it, which man have? for all come to
one in very contemplatives. And whoso is in doubt of this, either the devil is
in his breast and reeveth him of belief, or else he is not yet truly turned to
God as he should be; make he it never so quaint, nor never so holy reasons shew
there again, whatnot ever that he be.
And therefore thou, that settest thee to be
contemplative as Mary was, choose thee rather to be meeked under the wonderful
height and the worthiness of God, the which is perfect, than under thine own
wretchedness, the which is imperfect: that is to say, look that thy special
beholding be more to the worthiness of God than to thy wretchedness. For to
them that be perfectly meeked, no thing shall defail; neither bodily thing, nor
ghostly. For why? They have God, in whom is all plenty; and whoso
hath Him--yea, as this book telleth--him needeth nought else in this life.
What charity is in itself, and how it is truly and perfectly
contained in the work of this
book.
AND as it is said of meekness, how that it is truly and perfectly comprehended
in this little blind love pressed, when it is beating upon this dark cloud of
unknowing, all other things put down and forgotten: so it is to be understood
of all other virtues, and specially of charity.
For charity is nought else to bemean to thine
understanding, but love of God for Himself above all creatures, and of man for
God even as thyself. And that in this work God is loved for Himself, and above
all creatures, it seemeth right well. For as it is said before, that
the substance of this work is nought else but a naked intent directed unto God
for Himself.
A naked intent I call it. For why, in this work a
perfect Prentice asketh neither releasing of pain, nor increasing of meed, nor
shortly to say, nought but Himself. Insomuch, that neither he recketh nor
looketh after whether that he be in pain or in bliss, else that His will be
fulfilled that he loveth. And thus it seemeth that in this work God is
perfectly loved for Himself, and that above all creatures. For in this work, a
perfect worker may not suffer the memory of the holiest creature that ever God
made to commune with him.
And that in this work the second and the lower
branch of charity unto thine even-christian is verily and perfectly fulfilled,
it seemeth by the proof. For why, in this work a perfect worker hath no special
beholding unto any man by himself, whether that he be kin or stranger, friend
or foe. For all men him thinks equally kin unto him, and no man
stranger. All men him thinks be his friends, and none his foes. Insomuch, that
him thinks all those that pain him and do him disease in this life, they be his
full and his special friends: and him thinketh, that he is stirred to will them
as much good, as he would to the homeliest friend that he hath.
That in the time of this work a perfect soul hath no special
beholding to any one man in this
life.
I SAY not that in this work he shall have a special beholding to any man in
this life, whether that he be friend or foe, kin or stranger; for that may not
be if this work shall perfectly be done, as it is when all things under God be
fully forgotten, as falleth for this work. But I say that he shall be made so
virtuous and so charitable by the virtue of this work, that his will shall be
afterwards, when he condescendeth to commune or to pray for his
even-christian--not from all this work, for that may not be without great sin,
but from the height of this work, the which is speedful and needful
to do some time as charity asketh--as specially then directed to his foe as to
his friend, his stranger as his kin. Yea, and some time more to his foe than to
his friend.
Nevertheless, in this work he hath no leisure
to look after who is his friend or his foe, his kin or his stranger. I say not
but he shall feel some time--yea, full oft--his affection more homely to one,
two, or three, than to all these other: for that is lawful to be, for many
causes as charity asketh. For such an homely affection felt Christ to John and
unto Mary, and unto Peter before many others. But I say, that in the time of
this work shall all be equally homely unto him; for he shall feel then no
cause, but only God. So that all shall be loved plainly and nakedly for God,
and as well as himself.
For as all men were lost in Adam and all men that
with work will witness their will of salvation are saved or shall be
by virtue of the Passion of only Christ: not in the same manner, but as it were
in the same manner, a soul that is perfectly disposed to this work, and oned
thus to God in spirit as the proof of this work witnesseth, doth that in it is
to make all men as perfect in this work as itself is. For right as if a limb of
our body feeleth sore, all the tother limbs be pained and diseased therefore,
or if a limb fare well, all the remnant be gladded therewith--right so is it
ghostly of all the limbs of Holy Church. For Christ is our head, and we be the
limbs if we be in charity: and whoso will be a perfect disciple of our Lord's,
him behoveth strain up his spirit in this work ghostly, for the salvation of
all his brethren and sisters in nature, as our Lord did His body on the Cross.
And how? Not only for His friends and His kin and His homely lovers, but
generally for all mankind, without any special beholding more to one than to
another. For all that will leave sin and ask mercy shall be saved
through the virtue of His Passion. And as it is said of meekness and charity,
so it is to be understood of all other virtues. For all they be truly
comprehended in this little pressing of love, touched before.
That without full special grace, or long use in common grace,
the work of this book is right travailous; and in this work, which is the work
of the soul helped by grace, and which is the work of only
God.
AND therefore travail fast awhile, and beat upon this high cloud of unknowing,
and rest afterward. Nevertheless, a travail shall he have who so shall use him
in this work; yea, surely! and that a full great travail, unless he have a more
special grace, or else that he have of long time used him therein.
But I pray thee, wherein shall that travail
be? Surely not in that devout stirring of love that is continually
wrought in his will, not by himself, but by the hand of Almighty God: the which
is evermore ready to work this work in each soul that is disposed thereto, and
that doth that in him is, and hath done long time before, to enable him to this
work.
But wherein then is this travail, I pray thee?
Surely, this travail is all in treading down of the remembrance of all the
creatures that ever God made, and in holding of them under the cloud of
forgetting named before. In this is all the travail, for this is man's travail,
with help of grace. And the tother above--that is to say, the stirring of
love--that is the work of only God. And therefore do on thy work, and surely I
promise thee He shall not fail in His.
Do on then fast; let see how thou bearest thee.
Seest thou not how He standeth and abideth thee? For shame! Travail fast but
awhile, and thou shalt soon be eased of the greatness and of the hardness of
this travail. For although it be hard and strait in the beginning,
when thou hast no devotion; nevertheless yet after, when thou hast devotion, it
shall be made full restful and full light unto thee that before was full hard.
And thou shalt have either little travail or none, for then will God work
sometimes all by Himself. But not ever, nor yet no long time together, but when
Him list and as Him list; and then wilt thou think it merry to let Him
alone.
Then will He sometimes peradventure send out a
beam of ghostly light, piercing this cloud of unknowing that is betwixt thee
and Him; and shew thee some of His privity, the which man may not, nor cannot
speak. Then shalt thou feel thine affection inflamed with the fire of His love,
far more than I can tell thee, or may or will at this time. For of that work,
that falleth to only God, dare I not take upon me to speak with my blabbering
fleshly tongue: and shortly to say, although I durst I would do not.
But of that work that falleth to man when he feeleth him stirred and helped by
grace, list me well tell thee: for therein is the less peril of the two.
Who should work in the gracious work of this
book.
FIRST and foremost, I will tell thee who should work in this work, and when,
and by what means: and what discretion thou shalt have in it. If thou asketh me
who shall work thus, I answer thee--all that have forsaken the world in a true
will, and thereto that give them not to active life, but to that life that is
called contemplative life. All those should work in this grace and in this
work, whatsoever that they be; whether they have been accustomed sinners or
none.
That a man should not presume to work in this work before the
time that he be lawfully cleansed in conscience of all his special deeds of
sin.
BUT if thou asketh me when they should work in this work, then I answer thee
and I say: that not ere they have cleansed their conscience of all their
special deeds of sin done before, after the common ordinance of Holy Church.
For in this work, a soul drieth up in it all
the root and the ground of sin that will always live in it after confession, be
it never so busy. And, therefore, whoso will travail in this work, let him
first cleanse his conscience; and afterward when he hath done that in him is
lawfully, let him dispose him boldly but meekly thereto. And let him
think, that he hath full long been holden therefrom. For this is that work in
the which a soul should travail all his lifetime, though he had never sinned
deadly. And the whiles that a soul is dwelling in this deadly flesh, it shall
evermore see and feel this cumbrous cloud of unknowing betwixt him and God. And
not only that, but in pain of the original sin it shall evermore see and feel
that some of all the creatures that ever God made, or some of their works, will
evermore press in remembrance betwixt it and God. And this is the right wisdom
of God, that man, when he had sovereignty and lordship of all other creatures,
because that he wilfully made him underling to the stirring of his subjects,
leaving the bidding of God and his Maker; that right so after, when he would
fulfil the bidding of God, he saw and felt all the creatures that should be
beneath him, proudly press above him, betwixt him and his God.
That a man should bidingly travail in this work, and suffer
the pain thereof, and judge no
man.
AND therefore, whoso coveteth to come to cleanness that he lost for sin, and to
win to that well-being where all woe wanteth, him behoveth bidingly to travail
in this work, and suffer the pain thereof, whatsoever that he be: whether he
have been an accustomed sinner or none.
All men have travail in this work; both
sinners, and innocents that never sinned greatly. But far greater travail have
those that have been sinners than they that have been none; and that is great
reason. Nevertheless, ofttimes it befalleth that some that have been
horrible and accustomed sinners come sooner to the perfection of this work than
those that have been none. And this is the merciful miracle of our Lord, that
so specially giveth His grace, to the wondering of all this world. Now truly I
hope that on Doomsday it shall be fair, when that God shall be seen clearly and
all His gifts. Then shall some that now be despised and set at little or nought
as common sinners, and peradventure some that now be horrible sinners, sit full
seemly with saints in His sight: when some of those that seem now full holy and
be worshipped of men as angels, and some of those yet peradventure, that never
yet sinned deadly, shall sit full sorry amongst hell caves.
Hereby mayest thou see that no man should be
judged of other here in this life, for good nor for evil that they do.
Nevertheless deeds may lawfully be judged, but not the man, whether they be
good or evil.
Who should blame and condemn other men's
defaults.
BUT I pray thee, of whom shall men's deeds be judged?
Surely of them that have power, and cure of
their souls: either given openly by the statute and the ordinance of Holy
Church, or else privily in spirit at the special stirring of the Holy Ghost in
perfect charity. Each man beware, that he presume not to take upon him to blame
and condemn other men's defaults, but if he feel verily that he be stirred of
the Holy Ghost within in his work; for else may he full lightly err in his
dooms. And therefore beware: judge thyself as thee list betwixt thee and thy
God or thy ghostly father, and let other men alone.
How a man should have him in beginning of this work against
all thoughts and stirrings of
sin.
AND from the time that thou feelest that thou hast done that in thee is,
lawfully to amend thee at the doom of Holy Church, then shalt thou set thee
sharply to work in this work. And then if it so be that thy foredone special
deeds will always press in thy remembrance betwixt thee and thy God, or any new
thought or stirring of any sin either, thou shalt stalwartly step above them
with a fervent stirring of love, and tread them down under thy feet. And try to
cover them with a thick cloud of forgetting, as they never had been done in
this life of thee nor of other man either. And if they oft rise, oft
put them down: and shortly to say, as oft as they rise, as oft put them down.
And if thee think that the travail be great, thou mayest seek arts and wiles
and privy subtleties of ghostly devices to put them away: the which subtleties
be better learned of God by the proof than of any man in this life.
Of two ghostly devices that be helpful to a ghostly beginner
in the work of this
book.
NEVERTHELESS, somewhat of this subtlety shall I tell thee as me think. Prove
thou and do better, if thou better mayest. Do that in thee is, to let be as
thou wist not that they press so fast upon thee betwixt thee and thy God. And
try to look as it were over their shoulders, seeking another thing: the which
thing is God, enclosed in a cloud of unknowing. And if thou do thus, I trow
that within short time thou shalt be eased of thy travail. I trow that an this
device be well and truly conceived, it is nought else but a longing desire unto
God, to feel Him and see Him as it may be here: and such a desire is
charity, and it obtaineth always to be eased.
Another device there is: prove thou if thou
wilt. When thou feelest that thou mayest on nowise put them down, cower thou
down under them as a caitiff and a coward overcome in battle, and think that it
is but a folly to thee to strive any longer with them, and therefore thou
yieldest thee to God in the hands of thine enemies. And feel then thyself as
thou wert foredone for ever. Take good heed of this device I pray thee, for me
think in the proof of this device thou shouldest melt all to water. And surely
me think an this device be truly conceived it is nought else but a true knowing
and a feeling of thyself as thou art, a wretch and a filthy, far worse than
nought: the which knowing and feeling is meekness. And this meekness obtaineth
to have God Himself mightily descending, to venge thee of thine enemies, for to
take thee up, and cherishingly dry thine ghostly eyen; as the father
doth the child that is in point to perish under the mouths of wild swine or
wode biting bears.
That in this work a soul is cleansed both of his special sins
and of the pain of them, and yet how there is no perfect rest in this
life.
MORE devices tell I thee not at this time; for an thou have grace to feel the
proof of these, I trow that thou shalt know better to learn me than I thee. For
although it should be thus, truly yet me think that I am full far therefrom.
And therefore I pray thee help me, and do thou for thee and for me.
Do on then, and travail fast awhile, I pray
thee, and suffer meekly the pain if thou mayest not soon win to these arts. For
truly it is thy purgatory, and then when thy pain is all passed and
thy devices be given of God, and graciously gotten in custom; then it is no
doubt to me that thou art cleansed not only of sin, but also of the pain of
sin. I mean, of the pain of thy special foredone sins, and not of the pain of
the original sin. For that pain shall always last on thee to thy death day, be
thou never so busy. Nevertheless, it shall but little provoke thee, in
comparison of this pain of thy special sins; and yet shalt thou not be without
great travail. For out of this original sin will all day spring new and fresh
stirrings of sin: the which thee behoveth all day to smite down, and be busy to
shear away with a sharp double-edged dreadful sword of discretion. And hereby
mayest thou see and learn, that there is no soothfast security, nor yet no true
rest in this life.
Nevertheless, herefore shalt thou not go back,
nor yet be overfeared of thy failing. For an it so be that thou mayest have
grace to destroy the pain of thine foredone special deeds, in the
manner before said--or better if thou better mayest--sure be thou, that the
pain of the original sin, or else the new stirrings of sin that be to come,
shall but right little be able to provoke thee.
That God giveth this grace freely without any means, and that
it may not be come to with
means.
AND if thou askest me by what means thou shalt come to this work, I beseech
Almighty God of His great grace and His great courtesy to teach thee Himself.
For truly I do thee well to wit that I cannot tell thee, and that is no wonder.
For why, that is the work of only God, specially wrought in what soul that Him
liketh without any desert of the same soul. For without it no saint nor no
angel can think to desire it. And I trow that our Lord as specially and as
oft--yea! and more specially and more oft--will vouchsafe to work this work in them that have been accustomed sinners, than in some other, that
never grieved Him greatly in comparison of them. And this will He do, for He
will be seen all-merciful and almighty; and for He will be seen to work as Him
list, where Him list, and when Him list.
And yet He giveth not this grace, nor worketh
not this work, in any soul that is unable thereto. And yet, there is no soul
without this grace, able to have this grace: none, whether it be a sinner's
soul or an innocent soul. For neither it is given for innocence, nor withholden
for sin. Take good heed, that I say withholden, and not withdrawn. Beware of
error here, I pray thee; for ever, the nearer men touch the truth, more wary
men behoveth to be of error. I mean but well: if thou canst not conceive it,
lay it by thy side till God come and teach thee. Do then so, and hurt thee
not.
Beware of pride, for it blasphemeth God in His
gifts, and boldeneth sinners. Wert thou verily meek, thou shouldest
feel of this work as I say: that God giveth it freely without any desert. The
condition of this work is such, that the presence thereof enableth a soul for
to have it and for to feel it. And that ableness may no soul have without it.
The ableness to this work is oned to the work's self without departing; so that
whoso feeleth this work is able thereto, and none else. Insomuch, that without
this work a soul is as it were dead, and cannot covet it nor desire it.
Forasmuch as thou willest it and desirest it, so much hast thou of it, and no
more nor no less: and yet is it no will, nor no desire, but a thing thou
wottest never what, that stirreth thee to will and desire thou wottest never
what. Reck thee never if thou wittest no more, I pray thee: but do forth ever
more and more, so that thou be ever doing.
And if I shall shortlier say, let that thing do
with thee and lead thee whereso it list. Let it be the worker, and
you but the sufferer: do but look upon it, and let it alone. Meddle thee not
therewith as thou wouldest help it, for dread lest thou spill all. Be thou but
the tree, and let it be the wright: be thou but the house, and let it be the
husbandman dwelling therein. Be blind in this time, and shear away covetise of
knowing, for it will more let thee than help thee. It sufficeth enough unto
thee, that thou feelest thee stirred likingly with a thing thou wottest never
what, else that in this stirring thou hast no special thought of any thing
under God; and that thine intent be nakedly directed unto God.
And if it be thus, trust then steadfastly that it
is only God that stirreth thy will and thy desire plainly by Himself, without
means either on His part or on thine. And be not feared, for the devil may not
come so near. He may never come to stir a man's will, but occasionally and by
means from afar, be he never so subtle a devil. For sufficiently and
without means may no good angel stir thy will: nor, shortly to say, nothing but
only God. So that thou mayest conceive here by these words somewhat (but much
more clearly by the proof), that in this work men shall use no means: nor yet
men may not come thereto with means. All good means hang upon it, and it on no
means; nor no means may lead thereto.
Of three means in the which a contemplative Prentice should be
occupied, in reading, thinking, and
praying.
NEVERTHELESS, means there be in the which a contemplative prentice should be
occupied, the which be these--Lesson, Meditation, and Orison: or else to thine
understanding they may be called--Reading, Thinking, and Praying. Of these
three thou shalt find written in another book of another man's work, much
better than I can tell thee; and therefore it needeth not here to tell thee of
the qualities of them. But this may I tell thee: these three be so coupled
together, that unto them that be beginners and profiters--but not to them that
be perfect, yea, as it may be here--thinking may not goodly be
gotten, without reading or hearing coming before. All is one in manner, reading
and hearing: clerks reading on books, and lewd men reading on clerks when they
hear them preach the word of God. Nor prayer may not goodly be gotten in
beginners and profiters, without thinking coming before.
See by the proof. In this same course, God's
word either written or spoken is likened to a mirror. Ghostly, the eyes of thy
soul is thy reason; thy conscience is thy visage ghostly. And right as thou
seest that if a foul spot be in thy bodily visage, the eyes of the same visage
may not see that spot nor wit where it is, without a mirror or a teaching of
another than itself; right so it is ghostly, without reading or hearing of
God's word it is impossible to man's understanding that a soul that is blinded
in custom of sin should see the foul spot in his conscience.
And so following, when a man seeth in a bodily or
ghostly mirror, or wots by other men's teaching, whereabouts the foul spot is
on his visage, either bodily or ghostly; then at first, and not before, he
runneth to the well to wash him. If this spot be any special sin, then is this
well Holy Church, and this water confession, with the circumstances. If it be
but a blind root and a stirring of sin, then is this well merciful God, and
this water prayer, with the circumstances. And thus mayest thou see that no
thinking may goodly be gotten in beginners and profiters, without reading or
hearing coming before: nor praying without thinking.
Of the meditations of them that continually travail in the
work of this book.
BUT it is not so with them that continually work in the work of this book. For
their meditations be but as they were sudden conceits and blind feelings of
their own wretchedness, or of the goodness of God; without any means of reading
or hearing coming before, and without any special beholding of any thing under
God. These sudden conceits and these blind feelings be sooner learned of God
than of man. I care not though thou haddest nowadays none other meditations of
thine own wretchedness, nor of the goodness of God (I mean if thou feel thee
thus stirred by grace and by counsel), but such as thou mayest have
in this word SIN, and in this word GOD: or in such other, which as thee list.
Not breaking nor expounding these words with curiosity of wit, in beholding
after the qualities of these words, as thou wouldest by that beholding increase
thy devotion. I trow it should never be so in this case and in this work. But
hold them all whole these words; and mean by sin, a lump, thou wottest
never what, none other thing but thyself. Me think that in this blind beholding
of sin, thus congealed in a lump, none other thing than thyself, it should be
no need to bind a madder thing, than thou shouldest be in this time. And yet
peradventure, whoso looked upon thee should think thee full soberly disposed in
thy body, without any changing of countenance; but sitting or going or lying,
or leaning or standing or kneeling, whether thou wert, in a full sober
restfulness.
Of the special prayers of them that be continual workers in
the word of this book
AND right as the meditations of them that continually work in this grace and in
this work rise suddenly without any means, right so do their prayers. I mean of
their special prayers, not of those prayers that be ordained of Holy Church.
For they that be true workers in this work, they worship no prayer so much: and
therefore they do them, in the form and in the statute that they be ordained of
holy fathers before us. But their special prayers rise evermore suddenly unto
God, without any means or any premeditation in special coming
before, or going therewith.
And if they be in words, as they be but
seldom, then be they but in full few words: yea, and in ever the fewer the
better. Yea, and if it be but a little word of one syllable, me think it better
than of two: and more, too, according to the work of the spirit, since it so is
that a ghostly worker in this work should evermore be in the highest and the
sovereignest point of the spirit. That this be sooth, see by ensample in the
course of nature. A man or a woman, afraid with any sudden chance of fire or of
man's death or what else that it be, suddenly in the height of his spirit, he
is driven upon haste and upon need for to cry or for to pray after help. Yea,
how? Surely, not in many words, nor yet in one word of two syllables. And why
is that? For him thinketh it over long tarrying for to declare the need and the
work of his spirit. And therefore he bursteth up hideously with a
great spirit, and cryeth a little word, but of one syllable: as is this word
"fire," or this word "out!"
And right as this little word "fire" stirreth
rather and pierceth more hastily the ears of the hearers, so doth a little word
of one syllable when it is not only spoken or thought, but privily meant in the
deepness of spirit; the which is the height, for in ghostliness all is one,
height and deepness, length and breadth. And rather it pierceth the ears of
Almighty God than doth any long psalter unmindfully mumbled in the teeth. And
herefore it is written, that short prayer pierceth heaven.
How and why that short prayer pierceth
heaven
AND why pierceth it heaven, this little short prayer of one little syllable?
Surely because it is prayed with a full spirit, in the height and in the
deepness, in the length and in the breadth of his spirit that prayeth it. In
the height it is, for it is with all the might of the spirit. In the deepness
it is, for in this little syllable be contained all the wits of the spirit. In
the length it is, for might it ever feel as it feeleth, ever would it cry as it
cryeth. In the breadth it is, for it willeth the same to all other that it
willeth to itself.
In this time it is that a soul hath comprehended after the lesson of Saint Paul with all saints--not fully,
but in manner and in part, as it is according unto this work--which is the
length and the breadth, the height and the deepness of everlasting and
all-lovely, almighty, and all-witting God. The everlastingness of God is His
length. His love is His breadth. His might is His height. And His wisdom is His
deepness. No wonder though a soul that is thus nigh conformed by grace to the
image and the likeness of God his maker, be soon heard of God! Yea, though it
be a full sinful soul, the which is to God as it were an enemy; an he might
through grace come for to cry such a little syllable in the height and the
deepness, the length and the breadth of his spirit, yet he should for the
hideous noise of his cry be always heard and helped of God.
See by ensample. He that is thy deadly enemy, an
thou hear him so afraid that he cry in the height of his spirit this little
word "fire," or this word "out"; yet without any beholding to him
for he is thine enemy, but for pure pity in thine heart stirred and raised with
the dolefulness of this cry, thou risest up--yea, though it be about
midwinter's night--and helpest him to slack his fire, or for to still him and
rest him in his distress. Oh, Lord! since a man may be made so merciful in
grace, to have so much mercy and so much pity of his enemy, notwithstanding his
enmity, what pity and what mercy shall God have then of a ghostly cry in soul,
made and wrought in the height and the deepness, the length and the breadth of
his spirit; the which hath all by nature that man hath by grace? And much more,
surely without comparison, much more mercy will He have; since it is, that that
thing that is so had by nature is nearer to an eternal thing than that which is
had by grace.
How a perfect worker shall pray, and what prayer is in itself;
and if a man shall pray in words, which words accord them most to the property
of prayer.
AND therefore it is, to pray in the height and the deepness, the length and the
breadth of our spirit. And that not in many words, but in a little word of one
syllable.
And what shall this word be? Surely such a
word as is best according unto the property of prayer. And what word is that?
Let us first see what prayer is properly in itself, and thereafter we may
clearlier know what word will best accord to the property of prayer.
Prayer in itself properly is not else,
but a devout intent direct unto God, for getting of good and removing of evil.
And then, since it so is that all evil be comprehended in sin, either by cause
or by being, let us therefore when we will intentively pray for removing of
evil either say, or think, or mean, nought else nor no more words, but this
little word "sin." And if we will intentively pray for getting of good, let us
cry, either with word or with thought or with desire, nought else nor no more
words, but this word "God." For why, in God be all good, both by cause and by
being. Have no marvel why I set these words forby all other. For if I could
find any shorter words, so fully comprehending in them all good and all evil,
as these two words do, or if I had been learned of God to take any other words
either, I would then have taken them and left these; and so I counsel that thou
do.
Study thou not for no words, for so shouldest
thou never come to thy purpose nor to this work, for it is never got
by study, but all only by grace. And therefore take thou none other words to
pray in, although I set these here, but such as thou art stirred of God for to
take. Nevertheless, if God stir thee to take these, I counsel not that thou
leave them; I mean if thou shalt pray in words, and else not. For why, they be
full short words. But although the shortness of prayer be greatly commended
here, nevertheless the oftness of prayer is never the rather refrained. For as
it is said before, it is prayed in the length of the spirit; so that it should
never cease, till the time were that it had fully gotten that that it longed
after. Ensample of this have we in a man or a woman afraid in the manner
beforesaid. For we see well, that they cease never crying on this little word
"out," or this little word "fire," ere the time be that they have in great part
gotten help of their grief.
That in the time of this work a soul hath no special beholding
to any vice in itself nor to any virtue in
itself.
DO thou, on the same manner, fill thy spirit with the ghostly bemeaning of this
word "sin," and without any special beholding unto any kind of sin, whether it
be venial or deadly: Pride, Wrath, or Envy, Covetyse, Sloth, Gluttony, or
Lechery. What recks it in contemplatives, what sin that it be, or how muckle a
sin that it be? For all sins them thinketh--I mean for the time of this
work--alike great in themselves, when the least sin departeth them from God,
and letteth them of their ghostly peace.
And feel sin a lump, thou wottest never what,
but none other thing than thyself. And cry then ghostly ever upon
one: a Sin, sin, sin! Out, out, out!" This ghostly cry is better learned
of God by the proof, than of any man by word. For it is best when it is in pure
spirit, without special thought or any pronouncing of word; unless it be any
seldom time, when for abundance of spirit it bursteth up into word, so that the
body and the soul be both filled with sorrow and cumbering of sin.
On the same manner shalt thou do with this little
word "God." Fill thy spirit with the ghostly bemeaning of it without any
special beholding to any of His works--whether they be good, better, or best of
all--bodily or ghostly, or to any virtue that may be wrought in man's soul by
any grace; not looking after whether it be meekness or charity, patience or
abstinence, hope, faith, or soberness, chastity or wilful poverty. What recks
this in contemplatives? For all virtues they find and feel in God; for in Him
is all thing, both by cause and by being. For they think that an
they had God they had all good, and therefore they covet nothing with special
beholding, but only good God. Do thou on the same manner as far forth as thou
mayest by grace: and mean God all, and all God, so that nought work in thy wit
and in thy will, but only God.
And because that ever the whiles thou livest in
this wretched life, thee behoveth always feel in some part this foul stinking
lump of sin, as it were oned and congealed with the substance of thy being,
therefore shalt thou changeably mean these two words--sin and God. With this
general knowing, that an thou haddest God, then shouldest thou lack sin: and
mightest thou lack sin, then shouldest thou have God.
That in all other works beneath this, men should keep
discretion; but in this
none.
AND furthermore, if thou ask me what discretion thou shalt have in this work,
then I answer thee and say, right none! For in all thine other doings thou
shalt have discretion, as in eating and in drinking, and in sleeping and in
keeping of thy body from outrageous cold or heat, and in long praying or
reading, or in communing in speech with thine even-christian. In all these
shalt thou keep discretion, that they be neither too much nor too little. But
in this work shalt thou hold no measure: for I would that thou shouldest never
cease of this work the whiles thou livest.
I say not that thou shalt continue ever
therein alike fresh, for that may not be. For sometime sickness and other
unordained dispositions in body and in soul, with many other needfulness to
nature, will let thee full much, and ofttimes draw thee down from the height of
this working. But I say that thou shouldest evermore have it either in earnest
or in game; that is to say, either in work or in will. And therefore for God's
love be wary with sickness as much as thou mayest goodly, so that thou be not
the cause of thy feebleness, as far as thou mayest. For I tell thee truly, that
this work asketh a full great restfulness, and a full whole and clean
disposition, as well in body as in soul.
And therefore for God's love govern thee
discreetly in body and in soul, and get thee thine health as much as thou
mayest. And if sickness come against thy power, have patience and abide meekly
God's mercy: and all is then good enough. For I tell thee truly,
that ofttimes patience in sickness and in other diverse tribulations pleaseth
God much more than any liking devotion that thou mayest have in thy health.
That by indiscretion in this, men shall keep discretion in all
other things; and surely else
never
BUT peradventure thou askest me, how thou shalt govern thee discreetly in meat
and in sleep, and in all these other. And hereto I think to answer thee right
shortly: "Get that thou get mayest." Do this work evermore without ceasing and
without discretion, and thou shalt well ken begin and cease in all other works
with a great discretion. For I may not trow that a soul continuing in this work
night and day without discretion, should err in any of these outward doings;
and else, me think that he should always err.
And therefore, an I might get a waking and a
busy beholding to this ghostly work within in my soul, I would then have a
heedlessness in eating and in drinking, in sleeping and in speaking, and in all
mine outward doings. For surely I trow I should rather come to discretion in
them by such a heedlessness, than by any busy beholding to the same things, as
I would by that beholding set a mark and a measure by them. Truly I should
never bring it so about, for ought that I could do or say. Say what men say
will, and let the proof witness. And therefore lift up thine heart with a blind
stirring of love; and mean now sin, and now God. God wouldest thou have, and
sin wouldest thou lack. God wanteth thee; and sin art thou sure of. Now good
God help thee, for now hast thou need!
That all witting and feeling of a man's own being must needs
be lost if the perfection of this word shall verily be felt in any soul in this
life.
LOOK that nought work in thy wit nor in thy will but only God. And try for to
fell all witting and feeling of ought under God, and tread all down full far
under the cloud of forgetting. And thou shalt understand, that thou shalt not
only in this work forget all other creatures than thyself, or their deeds or
thine, but also thou shalt in this work forget both thyself and also thy deeds
for God, as well as all other creatures and their deeds. For it is the
condition of a perfect lover, not only to love that thing that he loveth more than himself; but also in a manner for to hate himself for that
thing that he loveth.
Thus shalt thou do with thyself: thou shalt
loathe and be weary with all that thing that worketh in thy wit and in thy will
unless it be only God. For why, surely else, whatsoever that it be, it is
betwixt thee and thy God. And no wonder though thou loathe and hate for to
think on thyself, when thou shalt always feel sin, a foul stinking lump thou
wottest never what, betwixt thee and thy God: the which lump is none other
thing than thyself. For thou shalt think it oned and congealed with the
substance of thy being: yea, as it were without departing.
And therefore break down all witting and feeling
of all manner of creatures; but most busily of thyself. For on the witting and
the feeling of thyself hangeth witting and feeling of all other creatures; for
in regard of it, all other creatures be lightly forgotten. For, an thou wilt
busily set thee to the proof, thou shalt find when thou hast
forgotten all other creatures and all their works--yea, and thereto all thine
own works--that there shall live yet after, betwixt thee and thy God, a naked
witting and a feeling of thine own being: the which witting and feeling
behoveth always be destroyed, ere the time be that thou feel soothfastly the
perfection of this work.
How a soul shall dispose it on its own part, for to destroy
all witting and feeling of its own
being.
BUT now thou askest me, how thou mayest destroy this naked witting and feeling
of thine own being. For peradventure thou thinkest that an it were destroyed,
all other lettings were destroyed: and if thou thinkest thus, thou thinkest
right truly. But to this I answer thee and I say, that without a full special
grace full freely given of God, and thereto a full according ableness to
receive this grace on thy part, this naked witting and feeling of thy being may
on nowise be destroyed. And this ableness is nought else but a
strong and a deep ghostly sorrow.
But in this sorrow needeth thee to have
discretion, on this manner: thou shalt be wary in the time of this sorrow, that
thou neither too rudely strain thy body nor thy spirit, but sit full still, as
it were in a sleeping device, all forsobbed and forsunken in sorrow. This is
true sorrow; this is perfect sorrow; and well were him that might win to this
sorrow. All men have matter of sorrow: but most specially he feeleth matter of
sorrow, that wotteth and feeleth that he is. All other sorrows be unto this in
comparison but as it were game to earnest. For he may make sorrow earnestly,
that wotteth and feeleth not only what he is, but that he is. And whoso felt
never this sorrow, he may make sorrow: for why, he felt yet never perfect
sorrow. This sorrow, when it is had, cleanseth the soul, not only of sin, but
also of pain that it hath deserved for sin; and thereto it maketh a
soul able to receive that joy, the which reeveth from a man all witting and
feeling of his being.
This sorrow, if it be truly conceived, is full of
holy desire: and else might never man in this life abide it nor bear it. For
were it not that a soul were somewhat fed with a manner of comfort of his right
working, else should he not be able to bear the pain that he hath of the
witting and feeling of his being. For as oft as he would have a true witting
and a feeling of his God in purity of spirit, as it may be here, and sithen
feeleth that he may not--for he findeth evermore his witting and his feeling as
it were occupied and filled with a foul stinking lump of himself, the which
behoveth always be hated and be despised and forsaken, if he shall be God's
perfect disciple learned of Himself in the mount of perfection--so oft, he
goeth nigh mad for sorrow. Insomuch, that he weepeth and waileth, striveth,
curseth, and banneth; and shortly to say, him thinketh that he
beareth so heavy a burthen of himself that he careth never what betides him, so
that God were pleased. And yet in all this sorrow he desireth not to unbe: for
that were devil's madness and despite unto God. But him listeth right well to
be; and he intendeth full heartily thanking to God, for the worthiness and the
gift of his being, for all that he desire unceasingly for to lack the witting
and the feeling of his being.
This sorrow and this desire behoveth every soul
have and feel in itself, either in this manner or in another; as God
vouchsafeth for to learn to His ghostly disciples after His well willing and
their according ableness in body and in soul, in degree and disposition, ere
the time be that they may perfectly be oned unto God in perfect charity--such
as may be had here--if God vouchsafeth.
A good declaring of some certain deceits that may befall in
this work.
BUT one thing I tell thee, that in this work may a young disciple that hath not
yet been well used and proved in ghostly working, full lightly be deceived;
and, but he be soon wary, and have grace to leave off and meek him to counsel,
peradventure be destroyed in his bodily powers and fall into fantasy in his
ghostly wits. And all this is along of pride, and of fleshliness and curiosity
of wit.
And on this manner may this deceit befall. A
young man or a woman new set to the school of devotion heareth this sorrow and
this desire be read and spoken: how that a man shall lift up his
heart unto God, and unceasingly desire for to feel the love of his God. And as
fast in a curiosity of wit they conceive these words not ghostly as they be
meant, but fleshly and bodily; and travail their fleshly hearts outrageously in
their breasts. And what for lacking of grace and pride and curiosity in
themselves, they strain their veins and their bodily powers so beastly and so
rudely, that within short time they fall either into frenzies, weariness, and a
manner of unlisty feebleness in body and in soul, the which maketh them to wend
out of themselves and seek some false and some vain fleshly and bodily comfort
without, as it were for recreation of body and of spirit: or else, if they fall
not in this, else they merit for ghostly blindness, and for fleshly chafing of
their nature in their bodily breasts in the time of this feigned beastly and
not ghostly working, for to have their breasts either enflamed with an unkindly
heat of nature caused of misruling of their bodies or of this
feigned working, or else they conceive a false heat wrought by the Fiend, their
ghostly enemy, caused of their pride and of their fleshliness and their
curiosity of wit. And yet peradventure they ween it be the fire of love, gotten
and kindled by the grace and the goodness of the Holy Ghost. Truly, of this
deceit, and of the branches thereof, spring many mischiefs: much hypocrisy,
much heresy, and much error. For as fast after such a false feeling cometh a
false knowing in the Fiend's school, right as after a true feeling cometh a
true knowing in God's school. For I tell thee truly, that the devil hath his
contemplatives as God hath His.
This deceit of false feeling, and of false
knowing following thereon, hath diverse and wonderful variations, after the
diversity of states and the subtle conditions of them that be deceived: as hath
the true feeling and knowing of them that be saved. But I set no
more deceits here but those with the which I trow thou shalt be assailed if
ever thou purpose thee to work in this work. For what should it profit to thee
to wit how these great clerks, and men and women of other degrees than thou
art, be deceived? Surely right nought; and therefore I tell thee no more but
those that fall unto thee if thou travail in this work. And therefore I tell
thee this, for thou shalt be wary therewith in thy working, if thou be assailed
therewith.
A good teaching how a man shall flee these deceits, and work
more with a listiness of spirit, than with any boisterousness of
body
AND therefore for God's love be wary in this work, and strain not thine heart
in thy breast over-rudely nor out of measure; but work more with a list than
with any worthless strength. For ever the more Mistily, the more meekly and
ghostly: and ever the more rudely, the more bodily and beastly. And therefore
be wary, for surely what beastly heart that presumeth for to touch the high
mount of this work, it shall be beaten away with stones. Stones be hard and dry
in their kind, and they hurt full sore where they hit. And surely such rude strainings be full hard fastened in fleshliness of bodily feeling, and
full dry from any witting of grace; and they hurt full sore the silly soul, and
make it fester in fantasy feigned of fiends. And therefore be wary with this
beastly rudeness, and learn thee to love listily, with a soft and a demure
behaviour as well in body as in soul; and abide courteously and meekly the will
of our Lord, and snatch not overhastily, as it were a greedy greyhound, hunger
thee never so sore. And, gamingly be it said, I counsel that thou do that in
thee is, refraining the rude and the great stirring of thy spirit, right as
thou on nowise wouldest let Him wit how fain thou wouldest see Him, and have
Him or feel Him.
This is childishly and playingly spoken, thee
think peradventure. But I trow whoso had grace to do and feel as I say, he
should feel good gamesome play with Him, as the father doth with the child,
kissing and clipping, that well were him so.
A slight teaching of this work in purity of spirit; declaring
how that on one manner a soul should shed his desire unto God, and on ye
contrary unto man.
LOOK thou have no wonder why that I speak thus childishly, and as it were
follily and lacking natural discretion; for I do it for certain reasons, and as
me thinketh that I have been stirred many days, both to feel thus and think
thus and say thus, as well to some other of my special friends in God, as I am
now unto thee.
And one reason is this, why that I bid thee
hide from God the desire of thine heart. For I hope it should more clearly come
to His knowing, for thy profit and in fulfilling of thy desire, by
such an hiding, than it should by any other manner of shewing that I trow thou
couldest yet shew. And another reason is, for I would by such a hid shewing
bring thee out of the boisterousness of bodily feeling into the purity and
deepness of ghostly feeling; and so furthermore at the last to help thee to
knit the ghostly knot of burning love betwixt thee and thy God, in ghostly
onehead and according of will.
Thou wottest well this, that God is a Spirit; and
whoso should be oned unto Him, it behoveth to be in soothfastness and deepness
of spirit, full far from any feigned bodily thing. Sooth it is that all thing
is known of God, and nothing may be hid from His witting, neither bodily thing
nor ghostly. But more openly is that thing known and shewed unto Him, the which
is hid in deepness of spirit, sith it so is that He is a Spirit, than is
anything that is mingled with any manner of bodilyness. For all bodily thing is
farther from God by the course of nature than any ghostly thing. By
this reason it seemeth, that the whiles our desire is mingled with any matter
of bodilyness, as it is when we stress and strain us in spirit and in body
together, so long it is farther from God than it should be, an it were done
more devoutly and more listily in soberness and in purity and in deepness of
spirit.
And here mayest thou see somewhat and in part the
reason why that I bid thee so childishly cover and hide the stirring of thy
desire from God. And yet I bid thee not plainly hide it; for that were the
bidding of a fool, for to bid thee plainly do that which on nowise may be done.
But I bid thee do that in thee is to hide it. And why bid I thus? Surely
because I would that thou cast it into deepness of spirit, far from any rude
mingling of any bodilyness, the which would make it less ghostly and farther
from God inasmuch: and because I wot well that ever the more that thy spirit
hath of ghostliness, the less it hath of bodilyness and the nearer
it is to God, and the better it pleaseth Him and the more clearly it may be
seen of Him. Not that His sight may be any time or in any thing more clear than
in another, for it is evermore unchangeable: but because it is more like unto
Him, when it is in purity of spirit, for He is a Spirit.
Another reason there is, why that I bid thee do
that in thee is to let Him not wit: for thou and I and many such as we be, we
be so able to conceive a thing bodily the which is said ghostly, that
peradventure an I had bidden thee shew unto God the stirring of thine heart,
thou shouldest have made a bodily shewing unto Him, either in gesture or in
voice, or in word, or in some other rude bodily straining, as it is when thou
shalt shew a thing that is hid in thine heart to a bodily man: and insomuch thy
work should have been impure. For on one manner shall a thing be shewed to man,
and on another manner unto God.
How God will be served both with body and with soul, and
reward men in both; and how men shall know when all those sounds and sweetness
that fall into the body in time of prayer be both good and
evil
I SAY not this because I will that thou desist any time, if thou be stirred for
to pray with thy mouth, or for to burst out for abundance of devotion in thy
spirit for to speak unto God as unto man, and say some good word as thou
feelest thee stirred: as be these, "Good JESU! Fair JESU! Sweet JESU!" and all
such other. Nay, God forbid thou take it thus! For truly I mean not thus, and
God forbid that I should depart that which God hath coupled, the
body and the spirit. For God will be served with body and with soul both
together, as seemly is, and will reward man his meed in bliss, both in body and
in soul. And in earnest of that meed, sometimes He will enflame the body of
devout servants of His here in this life: not once or twice, but peradventure
right oft and as Him liketh, with full wonderful sweetness and comforts. Of the
which, some be not coming from without into the body by the windows of our
wits, but from within; rising and springing of abundance of ghostly gladness,
and of true devotion in the spirit. Such a comfort and such a sweetness shall
not be had suspect: and shortly to say, I trow that he that feeleth it may not
have it suspect.
But all other comforts, sounds and gladness
and sweetness, that come from without suddenly and thou wottest never whence, I
pray thee have them suspect. For they may be both good and evil; wrought by a
good angel if they be good, and by an evil angel if they be evil.
And this may on nowise be evil, if their deceits of curiosity of wit, and of
unordained straining of the fleshly heart be removed as I learn thee, or better
if thou better mayest. And why is that? Surely for the cause of this comfort;
that is to say, the devout stirring of love, the which dwelleth in pure spirit.
It is wrought of the hand of Almighty God without means, and therefore it
behoveth always be far from any fantasy, or any false opinion that may befall
to man in this life.
And of the tother comforts and sounds and
sweetness, how thou shouldest wit whether they be good or evil I think not to
tell thee at this time: and that is because me think that it needeth not. For
why, thou mayest find it written in another place of another man's work, a
thousandfold better than I can say or write: and so mayest thou this that I set
here, far better than it is here. But what thereof? Therefore shall
I not let, nor it shall not noye me, to fulfil the desire and the stirring of
thine heart; the which thou hast shewed thee to have unto me before this time
in thy words, and now in thy deeds.
But this may I say thee of those sounds and of
those sweetnesses, that come in by the windows of thy wits, the which may be
both good and evil. Use thee continually in this blind and devout and this
Misty stirring of love that I tell thee: and then I have no doubt, that it
shall not well be able to tell thee of them. And if thou yet be in part
astonished of them at the first time, and that is because that they be uncouth,
yet this shall it do thee: it shall bind thine heart so fast, that thou shalt
on nowise give full great credence to them, ere the time be that thou be either
certified of them within wonderfully by the Spirit of God, or else without by
counsel of some discreet father.
The substance of all perfection is nought else but a good
will; and how that all sounds and comfort and sweetness that may befall in this
life be to it but as it were
accidents.
AND therefore I pray thee, lean listily to this meek stirring of love in thine
heart, and follow thereafter: for it will be thy guide in this life and bring
thee to bliss in the tother. It is the substance of all good living, and
without it no good work may be begun nor ended. It is nought else but a good
and an according will unto God, and a manner of well-pleasedness and a gladness
that thou feelest in thy will of all that He doth.
Such a good will is the substance
of all perfection. All sweetness and comforts, bodily or ghostly, be to this
but as it were accidents, be they never so holy; and they do but hang on this
good will. Accidents I call them, for they may be had and lacked without
breaking asunder of it. I mean in this life, but it is not so in the bliss of
heaven; for there shall they be oned with the substance without departing, as
shall the body in the which they work with the soul. So that the substance of
them here is but a good ghostly will. And surely I trow that he that feeleth
the perfection of this will, as it may be had here, there may no sweetness nor
no comfort fall to any man in this life, that he is not as fain and as glad to
lack it at God's will, as to feel it and have it.
Which is chaste love; and how in some creatures such sensible
comforts be but seldom, and in some right
oft.
AND hereby mayest thou see that we should direct all our beholding unto this
meek stirring of love in our will. And in all other sweetness and comforts,
bodily or ghostly, be they never so liking nor so holy, if it be courteous and
seemly to say, we should have a manner of recklessness. If they come, welcome
them: but lean not too much on them for fear of feebleness, for it will take
full much of thy powers to bide any long time in such sweet feelings and
weepings. And peradventure thou mayest be stirred for to love God for them, and
that shalt thou feel by this: if thou grumble overmuch when they be
away. And if it be thus, thy love is not yet neither chaste nor perfect. For a
love that is chaste and perfect, though it suffer that the body be fed and
comforted in the presence of such sweet feelings and weepings, nevertheless yet
it is not grumbling, but full well pleased for to lack them at God's will. And
yet it is not commonly without such comforts in some creatures, and in some
other creatures such sweetness and comforts be but seldom.
And all this is after the disposition and the
ordinance of God, all after the profit and the needfulness of diverse
creatures. For some creatures be so weak and so tender in spirit, that unless
they were somewhat comforted by feeling of such sweetness, they might on nowise
abide nor bear the diversity of temptations and tribulations that they suffer
and be travailed with in this life of their bodily and ghostly enemies. And
some there be that they be so weak in body that they may do no great
penance to cleanse them with. And these creatures will our Lord cleanse full
graciously in spirit by such sweet feelings and weepings. And also on the
tother part there be some creatures so strong in spirit, that they can pick
them comfort enough within in their souls, in offering up of this reverent and
this meek stirring of love and accordance of will, that them needeth not much
to be fed with such sweet comforts in bodily feelings. Which of these be holier
or more dear with God, one than another, God wots and I not.
That men should have great wariness so that they understand
not bodily a thing that is meant ghostly; and specially it is good to be wary
in understanding of this word "in," and of this word
"up."
AND therefore lean meekly to this blind stirring of love in thine heart. I mean
not in thy bodily heart, but in thy ghostly heart, the which is thy will. And
be well wary that thou conceive not bodily that that is said ghostly. For truly
I tell thee, that bodily and fleshly conceits of them that have curious and
imaginative wits be cause of much error.
Ensample of this mayest thou see, by that
that I bid thee hide thy desire from God in that that in thee is. For
peradventure an I had bidden thee shew thy desire unto God, thou
shouldest have conceived it more bodily than thou dost now, when I bid thee
hide it. For thou wottest well, that all that thing that is wilfully hidden, it
is cast into the deepness of spirit. And thus me thinketh that it needeth
greatly to have much wariness in understanding of words that be spoken to
ghostly intent, so that thou conceive them not bodily but ghostly, as they be
meant: and specially it is good to be wary with this word in, and this
word up. For in misconceiving of these two words hangeth much error, and
much deceit in them that purpose them to be ghostly workers, as me thinketh.
Somewhat wot I by the proof, and somewhat by hearsay; and of these deceits list
me tell thee a little as me thinketh.
A young disciple in God's school new turned from
the world, the same weeneth that for a little time that he hath given him to
penance and to prayer, taken by counsel in confession, that he be
therefore able to take upon him ghostly working of the which he heareth men
speak or read about him, or peradventure readeth himself. And therefore when
they read or hear spoken of ghostly working--and specially of this word, "how a
man shall draw all his wit within himself," or "how he shall climb above
himself"--as fast for blindness in soul, and for fleshliness and curiosity of
natural wit, they misunderstand these words, and ween, because they find in
them a natural covetyse to hid things, that they be therefore called to that
work by grace. Insomuch, that if counsel will not accord that they shall work
in this work, as soon they feel a manner of grumbling against their counsel,
and think--yea and peradventure say to such other as they be--that they can
find no man that can wit what they mean fully. And therefore as fast, for
boldness and presumption of their curious wit, they leave meek prayer and
penance over soon; and set them, they ween, to a full ghostly work
within in their soul. The which work, an it be truly conceived, is neither
bodily working nor ghostly working; and shortly to say, it is a working against
nature, and the devil is the chief worker thereof. And it is the readiest way
to death of body and of soul, for it is madness and no wisdom, and leadeth a
man even to madness. And yet they ween not thus: for they purpose them in this
work to think on nought but on God.
How these young presumptuous disciples misunderstand this word
"in," and of the deceits that follow
thereon.
AND on this manner is this madness wrought that I speak of. They read and hear
well said that they should leave outward working with their wits, and work
inwards: and because that they know not which is inward working, therefore they
work wrong. For they turn their bodily wits inwards to their body against the
course of nature; and strain them, as they would see inwards with their bodily
eyes and hear inwards with their ears, and so forth of all their wits,
smelling, tasting, and feeling inwards. And thus they reverse them against the
course of nature, and with this curiosity they travail their
imagination so indiscreetly, that at the last they turn their brain in their
heads, and then as fast the devil hath power for to feign some false light or
sounds, sweet smells in their noses, wonderful tastes in their mouths; and many
quaint heats and burnings in their bodily breasts or in their bowels, in their
backs and in their reins and in their members.
And yet in this fantasy them think that they
have a restful remembrance of their God without any letting of vain thoughts;
and surely so have they in manner, for they be so filled in falsehood that
vanity may not provoke them. And why? Because he, that same fiend that should
minister vain thoughts to them an they were in good way--he, that same, is the
chief worker of this work. And wit thou right well, that him list not to let
himself. The remembrance of God will he not put from them, for fear that he
should be had in suspect.
Of divers unseemly practices that follow them that lack the
work of this book.
MANY wonderful practices follow them that be deceived in this false work, or in
any species thereof, beyond that doth them that be God's true disciples: for
they be evermore full seemly in all their practices, bodily or ghostly. But it
is not so of these other. For whoso would or might behold unto them where they
sit in this time, an it so were that their eyelids were open, he should see
them stare as they were mad, and leeringly look as if they saw the devil.
Surely it is good they be wary, for truly the fiend is not far. Some set their
eyes in their heads as they were sturdy sheep beaten in the head,
and as they should die anon. Some hang their heads on one side as if a worm
were in their ears. Some pipe when they should speak, as if there were no
spirit in their bodies: and this is the proper condition of an hypocrite. Some
cry and whine in their throats, so be they greedy and hasty to say that they
think: and this is the condition of heretics, and of them that with presumption
and with curiosity of wit will always maintain error.
Many unordained and unseemly practices follow
on this error, whoso might perceive all. Nevertheless some there be that be so
curious that they can refrain them in great part when they come before men. But
might these men be seen in place where they be homely, then I trow they should
not be hid. And nevertheless yet I trow that whoso would straitly gainsay their
opinion, that they should soon see them burst out in some point; and yet them
think that all that ever they do, it is for the love of God and for
to maintain the truth. Now truly I hope that unless God shew His merciful
miracle to make them soon leave off, they shall love God so long on this
manner, that they shall go staring mad to the devil. I say not that the devil
hath so perfect a servant in this life, that is deceived and infect with all
these fantasies that I set here: and nevertheless yet it may be that one, yea,
and many one, be infect with them all. But I say that he hath no perfect
hypocrite nor heretic in earth that he is not guilty in some that I have said,
or peradventure shall say if God vouchsafeth.
For some men are so cumbered in nice curious
customs in bodily bearing, that when they shall ought hear, they writhe their
heads on one side quaintly, and up with the chin: they gape with their mouths
as they should hear with their mouth and not with their ears. Some when they
should speak point with their fingers, either on their fingers, or
on their own breasts, or on theirs that they speak to. Some can neither sit
still, stand still, nor lie still, unless they be either wagging with their
feet or else somewhat doing with their hands. Some row with their arms in time
of their speaking, as them needed for to swim over a great water. Some be
evermore smiling and laughing at every other word that they speak, as they were
giggling girls and nice japing jugglers lacking behaviour. Seemly cheer were
full fair, with sober and demure bearing of body and mirth in manner.
I say not that all these unseemly practices be
great sins in themselves, nor yet all those that do them be great sinners
themselves. But I say if that these unseemly and unordained practices be
governors of that man that doth them, insomuch that he may not leave them when
he will, then I say that they be tokens of pride and curiosity of wit, and of
unordained shewing and covetyse of knowing. And specially they be
very tokens of unstableness of heart and unrestfulness of mind, and specially
of the lacking of the work of this book. And this is the only reason why that I
set so many of these deceits here in this writing; for why, that a ghostly
worker shall prove his work by them.
How that by Virtue of this word a man is governed full wisely,
and made full seemly as well in body as in
soul.
WHOSO had this work, it should govern them full seemly, as well in body as in
soul: and make them full favourable unto each man or woman that looked upon
them. Insomuch, that the worst favoured man or woman that liveth in this life,
an they might come by grace to work in this work, their favour should suddenly
and graciously be changed: that each good man that them saw, should be fain and
joyful to have them in company, and full much they should think that they were
pleased in spirit and holpen by grace unto God in their presence.
And therefore get this gift whoso by grace
get may: for whoso hath it verily, he shall well con govern himself by the
virtue thereof, and all that longeth unto him. He should well give discretion,
if need were, of all natures and all dispositions. He should well con make
himself like unto all that with him communed, whether they were accustomed
sinners or none, without sin in himself: in wondering of all that him saw, and
in drawing of others by help of grace to the work of that same spirit that he
worketh in himself.
His cheer and his words should be full of ghostly
wisdom, full of fire, and of fruit spoken in sober soothfastness without any
falsehood, far from any feigning or piping of hypocrites. For some there be
that with all their might, inner and outer, imagineth in their speaking how
they may stuff them and underprop them on each side from falling, with many
meek piping words and gestures of devotion: more looking after for
to seem holy in sight of men, than for to be so in the sight of God and His
angels. For why, these folk will more weigh, and more sorrow make for an
unordained gesture or unseemly or unfitting word spoken before men, than they
will for a thousand vain thoughts and stinking stirrings of sin wilfully drawn
upon them, or recklessly used in the sight of God and the saints and the angels
in heaven. Ah, Lord God! where there be any pride within, there such meek
piping words be so plenteous without. I grant well, that it is fitting and
seemly to them that be meek within, for to shew meek and seemly words and
gestures without, according to that meekness that is within in the heart. But I
say not that they shall then be shewed in broken nor in piping voices, against
the plain disposition of their nature that speak them. For why, if they be
true, then be they spoken in soothfastness, and in wholeness of voice and of
their spirit that speak them. And if he that hath a plain and an
open boisterous voice by nature speak them poorly and pipingly--I mean but if
he be sick in his body, or else that it be betwixt him and his God or his
confessor--then it is a very token of hypocrisy. I mean either young hypocrisy
or old.
And what shall I more say of these venomous
deceits? Truly I trow, unless they have grace to leave off such piping
hypocrisy, that betwixt that privy pride in their hearts within and such meek
words without, the silly soul may full soon sink into sorrow.
How they be deceived that follow the fervour of spirit in
condemning of some without
discretion.
SOME men the fiend will deceive on this manner. Full wonderfully he will
enflame their brains to maintain God's law, and to destroy sin in all other
men. He will never tempt them with a thing that is openly evil; he maketh them
like busy prelates watching over all the degrees of Christian men's living, as
an abbot over his monks. ALL men will they reprove of their defaults, right as
they had cure of their souls: and yet they think that they do not else for God,
unless they tell them their defaults that they see. And they say that they be
stirred thereto by the fire of charity, and of God's love in their
hearts: and truly they lie, for it is with the fire of hell, welling in their
brains and in their imagination.
That this is sooth, it seemeth by this that
followeth. The devil is a spirit, and of his own nature he hath no body, more
than hath an angel. But yet nevertheless what time that he or an angel shall
take any body by leave of God, to make any ministration to any man in this
life; according as the work is that he shall minister, thereafter in likeness
is the quality of his body in some part. Ensample of this we have in Holy Writ.
As oft as any angel was sent in body in the Old Testament and in the New also,
evermore it was shewed, either by his name or by some instrument or quality of
his body, what his matter or his message was in spirit. On the same manner it
fareth of the fiend. For when he appeareth in body, he figureth in some quality
of his body what his servants be in spirit. Ensample of this may be
seen in one instead of all these other. For as I have conceived by some
disciples of necromancy, the which have it in science for to make advocation of
wicked spirits, and by some unto whom the fiend hath appeared in bodily
likeness; that in what bodily likeness the fiend appeareth, evermore he hath
but one nostril, and that is great and wide, and he will gladly cast it up that
a man may see in thereat to his brain up in his head. The which brain is nought
else but the fire of hell, for the fiend may have none other brain; and if he
might make a man look in thereto, he wants no better. For at that looking, he
should lose his wits for ever. But a perfect prentice of necromancy knoweth
this well enough, and can well ordain therefore, so that he provoke him not.
Therefore it is that I say, and have said, that
evermore when the devil taketh any body, he figureth in some quality
of his body what his servants be in spirit. For he enflameth so the imagination
of his contemplatives with the fire of hell, that suddenly without discretion
they shoot out their curious conceits, and without any advisement they will
take upon them to blame other men's defaults over soon: and this is because
they have but one nostril ghostly. For that division that is in a man's nose
bodily, and the which departeth the one nostril from the tother, betokeneth
that a man should have discretion ghostly; and can dissever the good from the
evil, and the evil from the worse, and the good from the better, ere that he
gave any full doom of anything that he heard or saw done or spoken about him.
And by a man's brain is ghostly understood imagination; for by nature it
dwelleth and worketh in the head.
How they be deceived that lean more to the curiosity of
natural wit, and of clergy learned in the school of men, than to the common
doctrine and counsel of Holy
Church.
SOME there be, that although they be not deceived with this error as it is set
here, yet for pride and curiosity of natural wit and letterly cunning leave the
common doctrine and the counsel of Holy Church. And these with all their
favourers lean over much to their own knowing: and for they were never grounded
in meek blind feeling and virtuous living, therefore they merit to have a false
feeling, feigned and wrought by the ghostly enemy. Insomuch, that at the last
they burst up and blaspheme all the saints, sacraments, statutes,
and ordinances of Holy Church. Fleshly living men of the world, the which think
the statutes of Holy Church over hard to be amended by, they lean to these
heretics full soon and full lightly, and stalwartly maintain them, and all
because them think that they lead them a softer way than is ordained of Holy
Church.
Now truly I trow, that who that will not go
the strait way to heaven, that they shall go the soft way to hell. Each man
prove by himself, for I trow that all such heretics, and all their favourers,
an they might clearly be seen as they shall on the last day, should be seen
full soon cumbered in great and horrible sins of the world in their foul flesh,
privily, without their open presumption in maintaining of error: so that they
be full properly called Antichrist's disciples. For it is said of them, that
for all their false fairness openly, yet they should be full foul lechers
privily.
How these young presumptuous disciples misunderstand this
other word "up"; and of the deceits that follow
thereon.
NO more of these at this time now: but forth of our matter, how that these
young presumptuous ghostly disciples misunderstand this other word up.
For if it so be, that they either read, or
hear read or spoken, how that men should lift up their hearts unto God, as fast
they stare in the stars as if they would be above the moon, and hearken when
they shall hear any angel sing out of heaven. These men will sometime with the
curiosity of their imagination pierce the planets, and make an hole in the
firmament to look in thereat. These men will make a God as them
list, and clothe Him full richly in clothes, and set Him in a throne far more
curiously than ever was He depicted in this earth. These men will make angels
in bodily likeness, and set them about each one with diverse minstrelsy, far
more curious than ever was any seen or heard in this life. Some of these men
the devil will deceive full wonderfully. For he will send a manner of dew,
angels' food they ween it be, as it were coming out of the air, and softly and
sweetly falling in their mouths; and therefore they have it in custom to sit
gaping as they would catch flies. Now truly all this is but deceit, seem it
never so holy; for they have in this time full empty souls of any true
devotion. Much vanity and falsehood is in their hearts, caused of their curious
working. Insomuch, that ofttimes the devil feigneth quaint sounds in their
ears, quaint lights and shining in their eyes, and wonderful smells in their
noses: and all is but falsehood. And yet ween they not so, for them
think that they have ensample of Saint Martin of this upward looking and
working, that saw by revelation God clad in his mantle amongst His angels, and
of Saint Stephen that saw our Lord stand in heaven, and of many other; and of
Christ, that ascended bodily to heaven, seen of His disciples. And therefore
they say that we should have our eyes up thither. I grant well that in our
bodily observance we should lift up our eyes and our hands if we be stirred in
spirit. But I say that the work of our spirit shall not be direct neither
upwards nor downwards, nor on one side nor on other, nor forward nor backward,
as it is of a bodily thing. For why, our work should be ghostly not bodily, nor
on a bodily manner wrought.
That a man shall not take ensample of Saint Martin and of
Saint Stephen, for to strain his imagination bodily upwards in the time of his
prayer.
FOR that that they say of Saint Martin and of Saint Stephen, although they saw
such things with their bodily eyes, it was shewed but in miracle and in
certifying of thing that was ghostly. For wit they right well that Saint
Martin's mantle came never on Christ's own body substantially, for no need that
He had thereto to keep Him from cold: but by miracle and in likeness for all us
that be able to be saved, that be oned to the body of Christ ghostly. And whoso
clotheth a poor man and doth any other good deed for God's love
bodily or ghostly to any that hath need, sure be they they do it unto Christ
ghostly: and they shall be rewarded as substantially therefore as they had done
it to Christ's own body. Thus saith Himself in the gospel. And yet thought He
it not enough, but if He affirmed it after by miracle; and for this cause He
shewed Him unto Saint Martin by revelation. All the revelations that ever saw
any man here in bodily likeness in this life, they have ghostly bemeanings. And
I trow that if they unto whom they were shewed had been so ghostly, or could
have conceived their bemeanings ghostly, that then they had never been shewed
bodily. And therefore let us pick off the rough bark, and feed us off the sweet
kernel.
But how? Not as these heretics do, the which
be well likened to madmen having this custom, that ever when they have drunken
of a fair cup, cast it to the wall and break it. Thus should not we do if we
will well do. For we should not so feed us of the fruit, that we
should despise the tree; nor so drink, that we should break the cup when we
have drunken. The tree and the cup I call this visible miracle, and all seemly
bodily observances, that is according and not letting the work of the spirit.
The fruit and the drink I call the ghostly bemeaning of these visible miracles,
and of these seemly bodily observances: as is lifting up of our eyes and our
hands unto heaven. If they be done by stirring of the spirit, then be they well
done; and else be they hypocrisy, and then be they false. If they be true and
contain in them ghostly fruit, why should they then be despised? For men will
kiss the cup for wine is therein.
And what thereof, though our Lord when He
ascended to heaven bodily took His way upwards into the clouds, seen of His
mother and His disciples with their bodily eyes? Should we therefore in our
ghostly work ever stare upwards with our bodily eyes, to look after
Him if we may see Him sit bodily in heaven, or else stand, as Saint Stephen
did? Nay, surely He shewed Him not unto Saint Stephen bodily in heaven, because
that He would give us ensample that we should in our ghostly work look bodily
up into heaven if we might see Him as Saint Stephen did, either standing, or
sitting, or else lying. For howso His body is in heaven--standing, sitting, or
lying--wots no man. And it needeth not more to be witted, but that His body is
oned with the soul, without departing. The body and the soul, the which is the
manhood, is oned with the Godhead without departing also. Of His sitting, His
standing, His lying, needeth it not to wit; but that He is there as Him list,
and hath Him in body as most seemly is unto Him for to be. For if He shew Him
lying, or standing, or sitting, by revelation bodily to any creature in this
life, it is done for some ghostly bemeaning: and not for no manner
of bodily bearing that He hath in heaven. See by ensample. By standing is
understood a readiness of helping. And therefore it is said commonly of one
friend to another, when he is in bodily battle: "Bear thee well, fellow, and
fight fast, and give not up the battle over lightly; for I shall stand by
thee." He meaneth not only bodily standing; for peradventure this battle is on
horse and not on foot, and peradventure it is in going and not standing. But he
meaneth when he saith that he shall stand by him, that he shall be ready to
help him. For this reason it was that our Lord shewed Him bodily in heaven to
Saint Stephen, when he was in his martyrdom: and not to give us ensample to
look up to heaven. As He had said thus to Saint Stephen in person of all those
that suffer persecution for His love: "Lo, Stephen! as verily as I open this
bodily firmament, the which is called heaven, and let thee see My bodily
standing, trust fast that as verily stand I beside thee ghostly by
the might of My Godhead. And I am ready to help thee, and therefore stand thou
stiffly in the faith and suffer boldly the fell buffets of those hard stones:
for I shall crown thee in bliss for thy meed, and not only thee, but all those
that suffer persecution for Me on any manner." And thus mayest thou see that
these bodily shewings were done by ghostly bemeanings.
That a man shall not take ensample at the bodily ascension of
Christ, for to strain his imagination upwards bodily in the time of prayer: and
that time, place, and body, these three should be forgotten in all ghostly
working.
AND if thou say aught touching the ascension of our Lord, for that was done
bodily, and for a bodily bemeaning as well as for a ghostly, for both He
ascended very God and very man: to this will I answer thee, that He had been
dead, and was clad with undeadliness, and so shall we be at the Day of Doom.
And then we shall be made so subtle in body and in soul together, that we shall
be then as swiftly where us list bodily as we be now in our thought
ghostly; whether it be up or down, on one side or on other, behind or before,
all I hope shall then be alike good, as clerks say. But now thou mayest not
come to heaven bodily, but ghostly. And yet it shall be so ghostly, that it
shall not be on bodily manner; neither upwards nor downwards, nor on one side
nor on other, behind nor before.
And wit well that all those that set them to
be ghostly workers, and specially in the work of this book, that although they
read "lift up" or "go in," although all that the work of this book be called a
stirring, nevertheless yet them behoveth to have a full busy beholding, that
this stirring stretch neither up bodily, nor in bodily, nor yet that it be any
such stirring as is from one place to another. And although that it be sometime
called a rest, nevertheless yet they shall not think that it is any such rest
as is any abiding in a place without removing therefrom. For the
perfection of this work is so pure and so ghostly in itself, that an it be well
and truly conceived, it shall be seen far removed from any stirring and from
any place.
And it should by some reason rather be called a
sudden changing, than any stirring of place. For time, place, and body: these
three should be forgotten in all ghostly working. And therefore be wary in this
work, that thou take none ensample at the bodily ascension of Christ for to
strain thine imagination in the time of thy prayer bodily upwards, as thou
wouldest climb above the moon. For it should on nowise be so, ghostly. But if
thou shouldest ascend into heaven bodily, as Christ did, then thou mightest
take ensample at it: but that may none do but God, as Himself witnesseth,
saying: "There is no man that may ascend unto heaven but only He that descended
from heaven, and became man for the love of man." And if it were possible, as
it on nowise may be, yet it should be for abundance of ghostly
working only by the might of the spirit, full far from any bodily stressing or
straining of our imagination bodily, either up, or in, on one side, or on
other. And therefore let be such falsehood: it should not be so.
That the high and the next way to heaven is run by desires,
and not by paces of
feet.
BUT now peradventure thou sayest, that how should it then be? For thee thinkest
that thou hast very evidence that heaven is upwards; for Christ ascended the
air bodily upwards, and sent the Holy Ghost as He promised coming from above
bodily, seen of all His disciples; and this is our belief. And therefore thee
thinkest since thou hast thus very evidence, why shalt thou not direct thy mind
upward bodily in the time of thy prayer?
And to this will I answer thee so feebly as I
can, and say: since it so was, that Christ should ascend bodily and
thereafter send the Holy Ghost bodily, then it was more seemly that it was
upwards and from above than either downwards and from beneath, behind, or
before, on one side or on other. But else than for this seemliness, Him needed
never the more to have went upwards than downwards; I mean for nearness of the
way. For heaven ghostly is as nigh down as up, and up as down: behind as
before, before as behind, on one side as other. Insomuch, that whoso had a true
desire for to be at heaven, then that same time he were in heaven ghostly. For
the high and the next way thither is run by desires, and not by paces of feet.
And therefore saith Saint Paul of himself and many other thus; although our
bodies be presently here in earth, nevertheless yet our living is in heaven. He
meant their love and their desire, the which is ghostly their life. And surely
as verily is a soul there where it loveth, as in the body that Doeth by it and
to the which it giveth life. And therefore if we will go to heaven
ghostly, it needeth not to strain our spirit neither up nor down, nor on one
side nor on other.
That all bodily thing is subject unto ghostly thing, and is
ruled thereafter by the course of nature and not
contrariwise.
NEVERTHELESS it is needful to lift up our eyes and our hands bodily, as it were
unto yon bodily heaven, in the which the elements be fastened. I mean if we be
stirred of the work of our spirit, and else not. For all bodily thing is
subject unto ghostly thing, and is ruled thereafter, and not contrariwise.
Ensample hereof may be seen by the ascension
of our Lord: for when the time appointed was come, that Him liked to wend to
His Father bodily in His manhood, the which was never nor never may be absent
in His Godhead, then mightily by the virtue of the Spirit God, the
manhood with the body followed in onehead of person. The visibility of this was
most seemly, and most according, to be upward.
This same subjection of the body to the spirit
may be in manner verily conceived in the proof of this ghostly work of this
book, by them that work therein. For what time that a soul disposeth him
effectually to this work, then as fast suddenly, unwitting himself that
worketh, the body that peradventure before ere he began was somewhat bent
downwards, on one side or on other for ease of the flesh, by virtue of the
spirit shall set it upright: following in manner and in likeness bodily the
work of the spirit that is made ghostly. And thus it is most seemly to be.
And for this seemliness it is, that a man--the
which is the seemliest creature in body that ever God made--is not made crooked
to the earthwards, as be an other beasts, but upright to heavenwards. For why?
That it should figure in likeness bodily the work of the soul
ghostly; the which falleth to be upright ghostly, and not crooked ghostly. Take
heed that I say upright ghostly, and not bodily. For how should a soul, the
which in his nature hath no manner thing of bodilyness, be strained upright
bodily? Nay, it may not be.
And therefore be wary that thou conceive not
bodily that which is meant ghostly, although it be spoken in bodily words, as
be these, up or down, in or out, behind or before, on one side or on other. For
although that a thing be never so ghostly in itself, nevertheless yet if it
shall be spoken of, since it so is that speech is a bodily work wrought with
the tongue, the which is an instrument of the body, it behoveth always be
spoken in bodily words. But what thereof? Shall it therefore be taken and
conceived bodily? Nay, but ghostly, as it be meant.
How a man may wit when his ghostly work is beneath him or
without him, and when it is even with him or within him, and when it is above
him and under his God.
AND for this, that thou shalt be able better to wit how they shall be conceived
ghostly, these words that be spoken bodily, therefore I think to declare to
thee the ghostly bemeaning of some words that fall to ghostly working. So that
thou mayest wit clearly without error when thy ghostly work is beneath thee and
without thee, and when it is within thee and even with thee, and when it is
above thee and under thy God.
All manner of bodily thing is without thy
soul and beneath it in nature, yea! the sun and the moon and all the
stars, although they be above thy body, nevertheless yet they be beneath thy
soul.
All angels and all souls, although they be
confirmed and adorned with grace and with virtues, for the which they be above
thee in cleanness, nevertheless, yet they be but even with thee in nature.
Within in thyself in nature be the powers of thy
soul: the which be these three principal, Memory, Reason, and Will; and
secondary, Imagination and Sensuality.
Above thyself in nature is no manner of thing but
only God.
Evermore where thou findest written thyself in
ghostliness, then it is understood thy soul, and not thy body. And then all
after that thing is on the which the powers of thy soul work, thereafter shall
the worthiness and the condition of thy work be deemed; whether it be beneath
thee, within thee, or above thee.
Of the powers of a soul in general, and how Memory in special
is a principal power, comprehending in it all the other powers and all those
things in the which they
work.
MEMORY is such a power in itself, that properly to speak and in manner, it
worketh not itself. But Reason and Will, they be two working powers, and so is
Imagination and Sensuality also. And all these four powers and their works,
Memory containeth and comprehendeth in itself. And otherwise it is not said
that the Memory worketh, unless such a comprehension be a work.
And therefore it is that I call the powers of
a soul, some principal, and some secondary. Not because a soul is
divisible, for that may not be: but because all those things in the which they
work be divisible, and some principal, as be all ghostly things, and some
secondary, as be all bodily things. The two principal working powers, Reason
and Will, work purely in themselves in all ghostly things, without help of the
other two secondary powers. Imagination and Sensuality work beastly in all
bodily things, whether they be present or absent, in the body and with the
bodily wits. But by them, without help of Reason and of Will, may a soul never
come to for to know the virtue and the conditions of bodily creatures, nor the
cause of their beings and their makings.
And for this cause is Reason and Will called
principal powers, for they work in pure spirit without any manner of
bodilyness: and Imagination and Sensuality secondary, for they work in the body
with bodily instruments, the which be our five wits. Memory is
called a principal power, for it containeth in it ghostly not only all the
other powers, but thereto all those things in the which they work. See by the
proof.
Of the other two principal powers Reason and Will; and of the
work of them before sin and
after.
REASON is a power through the which we depart the evil from the good, the evil
from the worse, the good from the better, the worse from the worst, the better
from the best. Before ere man sinned, might Reason have done all this by
nature. But now it is so blinded with the original sin, that it may not con
work this work, unless it be illumined by grace. And both the self Reason, and
the thing that it worketh in, be comprehended and contained in the Memory.
Will is a power through the which we choose
good, after that it be determined with Reason; and through the which
we love good, we desire good, and rest us with full liking and consent
endlessly in God. Before ere man sinned, might not Will be deceived in his
choosing, in his loving, nor in none of his works. For why, it had then by
nature to savour each thing as it was; but now it may not do so, unless it be
anointed with grace. For ofttimes because of infection of the original sin, it
savoureth a thing for good that is full evil, and that hath but the likeness of
good. And both the Will and the thing that is willed, the Memory containeth and
comprehendeth in it.
Of the first secondary power, Imagination by name; and of the
works and the obedience of it unto Reason, before Sin and
after.
IMAGINATION is a power through the which we portray all images of absent and
present things, and both it and the thing that it worketh in be contained in
the Memory. Before ere man sinned, was Imagination so obedient unto the Reason,
to the which it is as it were servant, that it ministered never to it any
unordained image of any bodily creature, or any fantasy of any ghostly
creature: but now it is not so. For unless it be refrained by the light of
grace in the Reason, else it will never cease, sleeping or waking, for to
portray diverse unordained images of bodily creatures; or else some
fantasy, the which is nought else but a bodily conceit of a ghostly thing, or
else a ghostly conceit of a bodily thing. And this is evermore feigned and
false, and next unto error.
This inobedience of the Imagination may
clearly be conceived in them that be newlings turned from the world unto
devotion, in the time of their prayer. For before the time be, that the
Imagination be in great part refrained by the light of grace in the Reason, as
it is in continual meditation of ghostly things--as be their own wretchedness,
the passion and the kindness of our Lord God, with many such other--they may in
nowise put away the wonderful and the diverse thoughts, fantasies, and images,
the which be ministered and printed in their mind by the light of the curiosity
of Imagination. And all this inobedience is the pain of the original sin.