Works 7

Prologue. To his beloved brother G. and the other servants of Christ dwelling at Hamersleben, H., a servant of whatever sort to your holiness, wishes that you may walk in one peace and attain to one rest. This Soliloquy of love, which is entitled On the Earnest-Money of the Soul, I have written for none other than your charity, that you may learn where you ought to seek the true love, and how you ought to rouse your hearts, by the pursuit of spiritual meditations, to the joys on high. This, then, dearest brother, I ask: that you receive it together with the others into remembrance of me; and that neither what is sent specially to you exclude the rest, nor what is given in common to all diminish the prerogative of the gift.

I do not wish here to court you with elegance of style, but only — because I could not conceal it — to show you the affection of my devotion toward you. Greet brother B. and brother A. and all the others, whose names, even though I am not able here and now to enumerate them one by one, I yet long to see all written in the book of life. Farewell. The Soliloquy on the Earnest-Money of the Soul. The speakers are the Man and the Soul. THE MAN. I will speak in secret with my soul, and in friendly converse I will require of her what I desire to know. No stranger shall be admitted, but with open conscience we two alone shall exchange words. For thus there will be no fear in me to ask hidden things, nor any shame in her to answer the truth. Tell me, I pray, my soul, what is it that you love above all things?

I know that your life is love, and I know that you cannot exist without love. But I would have you confess to me without shame, what among all things you have chosen to love. Let me put it still more plainly, that you may understand more clearly what I am asking you. Look upon the world, and all the things that are in it; there you will find many beautiful and alluring forms, which entice human affections, and which, according to the varied delights of those who enjoy them, kindle their desires to flow toward them. Gold has its gleam, precious stones have their luster, the beauty of flesh has its comeliness, painted tapestries and dyed garments have their color. Such things are infinite. But why should I enumerate them to you? Behold, you too know them all, you have seen well-nigh every one, you have experienced very many.

You recall that you have already seen many things, and you still see many, in which you can test and prove what I am saying. Tell me therefore, I beg you, which one thing out of all these you have made your own — the one you wish to embrace alone, and forever to enjoy? For I am certain that either you love something of these things that are seen, or, if you have already set all these aside, you have something else that you love above all of them. THE SOUL. Just as I cannot love what I have never seen, so of all these things that are seen, I have not yet been able not to love something; and yet, of all these, I have not yet found which one is to be loved above all.

For by many experiences I have already learned that the love of this world is deceitful and fleeting; a love which I am always compelled to exchange — either when that which I had chosen for myself perishes and I lose it, or when something else comes along that pleases me more. Thus I still float uncertain amid my desires, since I can neither be without love, nor find true love. THE MAN. I rejoice that at least you are not fixed in the love of temporal things; but I grieve that you do not yet rest in the love of eternal things. You would be more wretched if you made a homeland out of exile; but now, since you wander in exile, you must be called back to the way. You would be making a homeland out of exile, if you wished to have an eternal love in this transitory life.

But now you wander in exile, because, while you are dragged along by the desire of temporal things, you do not find the love of eternal things. Yet this can be for you a great beginning of salvation: that you have learned to change your love for the better; for thus you will be able to be torn away from all love of temporal things, if a greater beauty be shown you, which you may embrace more gladly. THE SOUL. How can that be shown which cannot be seen? And how can that be loved which cannot be seen? Surely, if in temporal things, which can be seen, there is no true and abiding love, and if what cannot be seen cannot be loved, then eternal misery follows the one who lives forever, if an ever-abiding love is never found.

For no one can be blessed without love, since it is plain that to be wretched consists in this alone: not to love that which is. Nay rather, who would call him — I do not say blessed, but even a man — who, forgetting his humanity and spurning the peace of fellowship, should love himself alone with a certain solitary and wretched love? It is necessary, therefore, either that you approve the love of the things that are seen, or, if you take this away, that you point out other things which may be loved more wholesomely and more pleasantly. THE MAN. If you think these temporal and visible things are to be loved because you observe that a certain comeliness of their own kind is in them, why do you not rather love yourself, who by your own form altogether surpass the comeliness and beauty of visible things? Oh, if only you could behold yourself!

Oh, if you could see your own face, you would surely recognize how worthy of reproach you had been, when you esteemed anything outside yourself worthy of your love! THE SOUL. The eye sees all things, but does not see itself; and by that very light by which we discern other things, we do not see our own face, in which the light is placed. By the testimony of others men learn their own faces, and they come to know the appearance of their own countenance more often by hearing than by seeing — unless perhaps you bring forth some mirror of another kind, in which I may come to know and love the face of my heart; just as anyone would rightly call him most foolish who, to feed his self-love, should perpetually gaze upon the likeness of his own face in a mirror.

Since therefore I cannot contemplate my own face and what the appearance of my countenance is like, I more easily extend the affection of my love toward those things which seem admirable on the outside. Especially since love never allows itself to be solitary, and in this very thing it is already in a manner love, if it does not diffuse the force of its affection upon another partner of equal worth. THE MAN. He is not solitary with whom God is; nor is the force of love thereby extinguished, if its appetite is restrained from abject and worthless things. Rather, he does himself an injury who admits into the fellowship of his love either dishonorable things, or at any rate things that are not worthy of his love.

First of all, then, it is necessary that each one consider himself, and when he has come to know his own dignity (lest he do injury to his love) not love things more abject than himself. For even those things which, considered in themselves, are beautiful, become cheap when compared with things more beautiful. And just as it is unfitting to join deformed things to beautiful ones, so it is altogether unbecoming to set on a level with beauty those things which have nothing but a certain lowest and imaginary beauty. You do not wish, O soul, to have a solitary love; yet do not have a prostituted one either. You seek the only one; seek then also the uniquely chosen one. You know that love is a fire, and fire indeed seeks fuel that it may burn. But beware lest you throw on it that which supplies smoke rather, or a stench.

Such is the power of love, that you must needs become such as that is which you love; and you who are joined to it by affection are in a manner transformed, by the very fellowship of love, into the likeness of it. Attend therefore, O soul, to your own beauty, and you will understand what kind of beauty you ought to love. Your own face is not invisible to you. Your eye sees nothing well, if it does not see itself. For when it is well-clear-sighted for contemplating itself, no foreign likeness from without, nor any shadowy imagining of the truth, can deceive it.

But if perhaps that inner vision of yours has been darkened through negligence, and you are not able to contemplate yourself as is fitting and expedient, why at least do you not weigh, from another's judgment, what you ought to think of yourself? You have a Bridegroom, but you do not know it. He is the fairest of all, but you have not seen His face. He has seen you, for unless He had seen you, He would not love you. He has not yet willed to present Himself to you, but He has sent gifts, He has given an earnest-money, a pledge of love, a token of affection. If you could know Him, if you could see His beauty, you would no longer be in doubt about your own beauty.

For you would know that one so fair, so comely, so graceful, so unique would not have been captivated at the sight of you, unless a singular comeliness, admirable beyond all others, drew Him. What then will you do? Now you cannot see Him, because He is absent. And therefore you do not fear, nor are you ashamed, to do Him injury — in that you despise His singular love, and shamefully and immodestly prostitute yourself to another's lust. Do not do so. If you cannot yet know what manner of one He is who loves you, consider at least the earnest-money which He has given;

perhaps in that very gift of His, which is in your keeping, you will be able to recognize with what affection you ought to love Him, with what zeal and diligence you ought to keep yourself for Him. His earnest-money lies in tokens; His gift is noble — for it neither befitted so great a One to give little things, nor would so wise a One have given great things for a trifle. Great, therefore, is what He has given you; but greater is what He loves in you. Great, then, is what He has given. What has your Bridegroom given you, O soul? You are waiting, perhaps, and do not know what I am about to say. You are pondering from whom you have received anything great, and you do not find that you have or have received anything of the sort whereof you might glory. I will tell you therefore, that you may know what your Bridegroom has given. Look upon this whole world, and consider whether there be anything in it that does not serve you.

Every nature directs its course to this end: that it may attend upon your service and minister to your benefit, and may meet your delights and your needs alike with an unfailing abundance. The heaven, the earth, the air, the seas, with all the things that are in them, do not cease to fulfill this; in this the circuits of the seasons, by their yearly renewals and revived births, renewing the old, restoring what has decayed, repairing what has been consumed, supply nourishment in perpetual feeding. Who, then, do you think established this? Who commanded this of nature, that it should serve you with one accord? You receive the benefit, and you do not recognize its Author. The gift is in plain sight; the Giver is hidden.

And yet reason itself does not allow you to doubt that this is not your due, but another's benefit. Whoever, then, He is, He has conferred much upon you, who gave you all this and so much; He is much to be loved, who could give so much; and He who willed to give so much, has loved much. So great a Lover, then, and so worthy to be loved, is shown forth by His gift; so that, just as it is foolish not freely to long for the love of one so powerful, so it is impious and perverse not to love in return one who loves so much. See then, O imprudent and rash soul, see what you are doing, when in this world you long to be loved and to love.

The whole world is made subject to you, and yet you do not disdain to admit into the fellowship of your love — I do not say the whole world, but I know not what tiny scrap of the world, scarcely some little portion of it, which surpasses nothing in beautiful form, nor in necessary usefulness, nor in great quantity, nor in best goodness. Surely, if you love these things, love them as subject things, love them as servants, love them as gifts, as the earnest-money of the Bridegroom, as the presents of a Friend, as the benefits of the Lord. Yet so that you always remember what you owe to Him: love these things not instead of Him, nor along with Him, but for His sake, and through these things love Him, and above these things love Him. Beware, O soul, lest (which God forbid!) you be called not a bride but a harlot, if you love the gifts of the Giver more than the affection of the Lover.

You do a greater injury to His charity if you both accept His gifts, and yet do not repay love in return. Either refuse His gifts (if you can), or, if you cannot refuse His gifts, repay love in return. Love Him; love yourself for His sake; love His gifts for His sake. Love Him that you may enjoy Him; love yourself in that you are loved by Him. Love in His gifts the fact that they are given by Him. Love Him for yourself, and yourself for Him; love His gifts as from Him to you, for your own sake. This is pure and chaste love, having nothing sordid, nothing bitter, nothing transitory — comely in its chastity, delightful in its sweetness, stable in its eternity. THE SOUL. Your words have inflamed me; I have conceived an ardor, and I burn within.

For although I have not yet seen this One whom you declare to be so lovable, yet by the very sweetness of your discourse and the pleasantness of your exhortation, I confess, you kindle me to the love of Him. Indeed, I am compelled by your arguments to love above all things Him from whom I see that I have received all things as a pledge of love. Nevertheless, one thing still remains which greatly diminishes for me the happiness of this love — unless the hand of your consolation wipe that away too (as it has the rest). THE MAN.

I confidently promise you that in this love there is nothing which ought rightly to displease you; and yet, lest I seem to be deceiving your credulity rather than bearing witness to the truth, I wish you to open to me what troubles you, so that, confirmed once more by my reasonings, you may grow stronger in the desire of Him. THE SOUL. I wish you to remember — though I do not think you have forgotten — that a little while ago (when you were commending a worthy and honorable love) you said that love ought to be not only single but uniquely chosen; that is, set upon one alone beloved and one alone to be loved — because love is not perfectly praiseworthy if either another is loved along with the one, or one who is not supremely to be loved is loved alone.

Behold, then, I love the uniquely chosen and uniquely beloved One. But I suffer this injury to my love: that, loving alone, I am not alone loved. For this earnest-money of His love, which you set before me — how many they are, or indeed of what sort, with whom this is shared in common with me, you yourself know. With what privilege of singular love, then, shall I be able to glory, since I have received this thing which you declare so great in common — I will not say with bestial folk, but even with the very beasts? What more does the light of the sun confer on me than on the reptiles and the worms of the earth? All alike live, all breathe; the same food, the same drink of all — what is this so great? what is this so singular? You surely see what sort of thing it is.

And so you do not prove sufficiently fittingly that He is to be loved in a singular way, unless you also show that He Himself has loved in a singular way, at least in some respect. These things, I confess, would indeed be great and worthy of a singular love, if they had been given in a singular way. THE MAN. This carefulness of yours cannot displease me, for in this it is plain that you desire to love perfectly, since you investigate so diligently the ground of perfect love. Gladly, therefore, do I undertake to discuss this with you, that I may both defend the love of so excellent a One from this injury for which you find fault, and at the same time restore you to wholeness, lest by any suspicion you waver from love of Him. There are three things in which you may find that which troubles you. Distinguish the gifts you have received from your Bridegroom;

for some were given in common, some specially, some singularly. Things given in common are those which serve all together with you, for your sake. Things given specially are those which are granted to many — yet not to all — together with you, for your sake. Things given singularly are those which are given to you alone. What then? Does He love you any the less because He has granted certain of His gifts to all together with you? Would He have made you happier if He had given the world to you alone? Behold, men have not been created upon the earth, the beasts are not, and you alone possess the riches of the world — where then is that pleasant and useful fellowship of human society? Where the solaces, where the delights, which you now enjoy?

See therefore that in this too He has conferred much upon you: that He created these things together with you for your comfort. If this world and all these things serve you, how are not all things also made for your service? Does the head of the household eat his bread alone? Does he drink his drink alone? Is he alone clothed with his garments? Is he alone warmed by his fire? Does he alone dwell in his house? Yet not without reason is the whole said to be his — whatever they have who serve him, whether by love or by subjection. Whether, then, those things which serve you, or those things which are necessary to those who serve you — all are given to you, all render service to you. THE SOUL. What troubled me, you have cut off rather than uprooted.

For I was complaining of this: that, loving uniquely, I am not uniquely beloved, because I see the pledge of my love granted equally to others. But your reasonings have persuaded me to believe that those things too were given singularly to me, which I saw given in common for the use of those who serve me. In which I confess that you have spoken to me fittingly enough, but not sufficiently, concerning that which troubled me; for from this I am taught that all the things by which the life of irrational creatures is sustained are rather to be assigned to my dominion, in that those very things by which they are nourished are also appointed for my use. Yet the privilege of singular love is not thereby established, because these things are known to be made subject not to me alone, but alike to all men — and indeed to many more amply.

In all these things, then, which have been granted in common for the use of men — and indeed, if some unjustly claim something more for themselves, they err who ascribe anything singularly to their own dominion. There is, therefore, a certain special love of the Creator toward men, in which men themselves may glory more than other creatures — yet not over one another. For as to what you say in support of singular love, namely that the fellowship of men has been given to me among other things, since both my things are granted to them and theirs to me, I can find nothing singular in this. In which fellowship not only the lost glory of singularity wounds me, but also the cheapness of participation.

For how many unbelievers, how many wicked, how many impure persons are there, who can glory alike in this fellowship? THE MAN. It ought not to disturb you that in the use of temporal things there is the same participation for the good and the bad; nor should you think that they are loved by God in like manner because you see them share all these things alike with you. For just as the beasts were created not for their own sake but for man's sake, so wicked men live not for their own sake but for the sake of the good. And just as their life serves the benefit of the good, so everything by which their life is nourished, there is no doubt but that it is to be referred to the increase of the good.

And for this reason the wicked are permitted to live among the good: that their fellowship may exercise the life of the good, whom they both admonish by their own felicity to seek better goods than these — goods which the wicked cannot share — and by their own iniquity compel to love virtue the more closely. Lastly, that while they see those, destitute of divine grace, rushing through every precipice of vices, the good may learn how great thanks they ought to render to the Creator for their own salvation. For the plan of the divine dispensation, for the increase of our salvation and as a lesson for our glorification, required this: that just as in the life of the beasts we say there is no supreme felicity in using these things, so likewise in the life of wicked men we may learn that there is no supreme felicity in lording it over them.

In like manner, therefore, these things had to be granted to the good and the bad alike, because otherwise the good would not believe that better things were reserved for them, unless they saw these things to be common to both good and bad. Complain no further, then, of the fellowship or felicity of the wicked, nor on that account suppose that they are to be reckoned with you in the privilege of singular love, because you have them as companions in the use and dominion of passing things; since even in this, as we have already said, they profit your salvation, in that they can not only use these things with you, but even lord it over them. But what shall I say of the fellowship of the good? For this alone now remains, that you consider whether on this account you cannot glory in the singular love of your Bridegroom — namely, that you are not loved by Him without the fellowship of the good.

Wherefore I wish you to recall that saying (which I brought forward earlier in support of my point), which you then judged to be somewhat less fitting for that which was being treated there and was thus to be proved. I therefore now repeat it, that I may discuss it more diligently in your presence: whether its truth lends any support to confirming that which we are striving to demonstrate. For I said that the fellowship of men too has been granted to you by the gift of the Creator, that thereby you might take comfort in living, lest, destitute and left to a certain solitary and inert life, you should waste away. As, therefore, the life of the wicked is an exercise for you, so the life of the good is a solace — those who are surely such that you ought not to disdain to have them as partakers of your felicity, nor as sharers of your love.

For if you truly love the good, then whatever benefit is bestowed upon them, the charity which is in you rejoices over it, not as over something belonging to another, but as over something of its own. Although, therefore, it would be blessed to enjoy this love even alone, yet it is far more blessed to delight in it together with the congratulation of many good ones; for when the affection of love is spread out even to those who share in it, the joy of charity and its sweetness are enlarged. For spiritual love then becomes the better a singular love for each, when it is common to all. Nor is it diminished by the participation of many, since its fruit, one and the same, is found whole in each single one.

The fellowship of the good, therefore, sets no limit to the privilege of your singular love, because your Bridegroom loves you in all those whom He loves for your sake; and by this very fact He also loves you singularly, because He loves nothing without you. But do not fear that His heart is in a manner distracted, through affection, into love of many, and that it is therefore less toward each, as though He seemed somehow partitioned and divided among all. He is present to each one as to all, because He would not bestow upon each a different or a greater affection of love, if He loved each one without the participation of all.

Therefore let all uniquely love the One, that all may be uniquely loved by the One; because no other but the One is uniquely to be loved by all, nor can any other but the One uniquely love all. And let all love themselves in the One as though one, that by the love of the One they may become one. This love is unique, yet not private; alone, yet not solitary; shared, yet not divided; common, yet singular; single to all and whole to each; neither decreasing through participation, nor failing through use, nor growing old through time; ancient and new, desirable in affection, sweet in experience, eternal in fruit, full of pleasantness, refreshing and satisfying, and never breeding loathing. THE SOUL.

Your declarations are quite delightful to me, and I confess that from this very thing I now begin to crave the love of Him more ardently, whereas before I had begun rather to loathe Him the more. Truly one thing still remains to my desire, which, if I shall be able to obtain it through you, I shall not doubt that I have been fully satisfied in every respect. And this is: whether it can somehow be shown how this Bridegroom of chastity is present, both in affection and in effect, to each of those whom He loves, as though to all. And of the affection indeed I shall not be able to doubt, if I come to know that this is true in effect. THE MAN.

O my soul, if you so greatly persist in your undertaking, and judge yourself not yet satisfied unless you recognize that an altogether singular benefit of your Bridegroom has been bestowed upon you, in this too I gladly grant your petition, since I know that this insistence of yours is born rather of devotion than of importunity. For in this also your most excellent Lover has provided for you, lest there should be nothing in which you might singularly glory concerning Him; but just as He gave things common and special, so also He granted things singular. Common indeed are those things which come into the use of all, such as the light of the sun, the breath of the air. But special are those things which have been granted not to all, but as it were to a certain society, such as faith, wisdom, discipline.

But singular are those things which are imparted to each one as his own, such as to Peter the primacy among the apostles, to Paul the apostolate among the Gentiles, to John the privilege of love. Consider therefore, O my soul, what things common with all, what special with some, what singular you alone have received. In all these He has loved you, which He has bestowed either in common upon all together with you, or specially upon certain ones, or singularly upon you alone. With all those, again, He has loved you, with whom He has joined you by the participation of His gift. Above all those He has loved you, above whom He has preferred you by the gift of singular grace. In every creature you are beloved; with all the good you are beloved; above all the wicked you are beloved.

And lest it seem too little to you that you have been loved above all evils, consider how many good things there are that received less than you did. But since I see that, out of a desire for a singular love, you strive rather toward those gifts which have been given to you singularly, although much could still be said about the things among which and with which you are loved, I am content to let what has already been said suffice. Yet I do not wish you to count it a small thing to be loved amid so great things, or with such companions, where you have all good beings as your fellows, and the evil ones, indeed, as subject to you, just as all created things are. You have seen, then, O my soul, how great are the things among which you are loved; you have seen what manner of beings they are with whom you are loved; now consider, as far as you can, before whom you are loved.

I speak to you, my soul: you know what you have received, and you must come to know it still better, lest you begin either to presume upon things you have not received, or to fail in giving thanks for the things you have received. Would that I could call them to mind in the way that profits you and that pleases Him who gave these things to you! For He gave them to you for this very purpose: that you might always hold them in memory, and never grow lukewarm and forgetful of His love. First, consider, my soul, that there was a time when you did not exist, and that your very beginning to be you received as His gift. His gift, therefore, it was that you came to be. But had you given Him anything before you came to be, so that this should be repaid to you by Him, namely that you should come to be?

Nothing at all; you had given nothing, nor could you have given anything before you came to be, but freely you received from Him that you should exist. To whom, then, were you preferred in being made? Who could have received less than one who received that he might come to be? And yet, unless this — to receive existence — were itself something, one who did not exist could not have begun to be; and unless to be were better than not to be, He who is would have bestowed nothing more upon the one who is not. Why, then, my God, did You make me, unless because You willed me to be rather than not to be? And You loved me more than all those who did not merit to receive this from You.

Since, therefore, my God, You gave me existence — a good and great good, a good and beautiful good, Your own good You gave to me — and (in giving me this) You preferred me above all those to whom You were unwilling to give this so great good of Yours. O my soul, do we say anything at all when we say this to our God? To our God, by whom we were made, made who once were not, and have received more than all those who were not made. Truly thus, thus we do say something, and we say much when we say this; and this we ought always to say, lest we ever forget Him from whom we have received so great a good. He who, even had He given nothing further, would yet for this very gift always be worthy to be praised and loved by us.

But now He has given more, for He gave not only being, but beautiful being, comely being; and just as this surpasses nothing through existence, so it goes beyond mere something through form, in which that which is gives much pleasure, and still more that which is of such a kind. In this, my soul, behold yourself preferred above all those whom you see did not receive so excellent a good of existing. But not even here could the bounty of the best Giver come to its limit. He gave still something more, and drew us further into His likeness; He willed to draw to Himself through likeness those whom He was drawing to Himself through love. He gave us, then, to be, and to be beautiful;

He also gave us to live, that we might excel both those things which do not exist, through essence; and those which are disordered or ill-composed, through form; and those which are inanimate, through life. You are bound by a great debt, my soul; you have received much, and have had nothing of your own. And for all these things you have nothing to give in return, except only that you love. For what was given through love can be repaid neither better nor more fittingly than through love. Now this whole gift you received through love. For God could have given life to other creatures of His also, but in this gift He loved you more. Nor did He love you more because He found more in you to be loved, but because He freely loved you more, and made you such that now indeed He deservedly loves you more.

The more I hear, the more I long to hear; go on, I pray, and relate what follows. MAN. After being, and after beautiful being, after living, there was given also to perceive, and given also to discern; and it was given through that same love, which, had it not gone before, nothing would have been given by the bestower, and nothing received by the needy one. How sublime, and how comely you have been made, my soul! What did this so great and such an adornment intend, save that the very same One who clothed you prepared a bride for His bridal-chamber? He knew for what work He was forming you; He knew what kind of adornment befitted that work; and therefore He gave what was fitting, and what was so fitting that He Himself, who gave it, also loved it. Outwardly He adorned you with senses, inwardly He illumined you with wisdom.

Giving sense as it were an outward, and wisdom as it were an inward attire. Hanging the senses outwardly like certain gleaming gems, adorning wisdom within like a natural beauty upon the face of your countenance. Behold your adornment: it surpasses the beauty of all gems; behold your face: it excels the comeliness of all forms. Such altogether it was fitting that she should be, who was to be led into the bridal-chamber of the heavenly King. How greatly you are loved, and before how many you are loved, since you have been made such! How singular a gift, how granted to not all, to be granted to none but the beloved and those worthy to be loved!

Much could you have gloried, and much ought you to have been guarded, lest you should lose such a gift, lest you should defile such an ornament, lest you should corrupt so great a comeliness, lest, having lost it or left it unprotected, you should become more wretched than you would have been wretched had you never received it or had it never been perfected; lest the confusion of foulness should torment you together with the loss of forfeited beauty, and you should become, when cast off, viler than if you had never been taken up. This, then, was to be guarded, and that to be guarded against, so that this guarded should endure, and that, warded off, should not befall. But see what you have done, my soul: you forsook your bridegroom, and prostituted your love with strangers. You corrupted your integrity, you defiled your beauty, you scattered your adornment.

So vile, so foul, so unclean have you become, as though you were no longer worthy of the embraces of such a bridegroom. You forgot, then, your bridegroom, and did not render worthy thanks for so great benefits. You became a harlot, and through your excessive fornications your breasts have grown slack. Your brow has become wrinkled, your cheeks withered, your eyes languid and dull, your lips overspread with pallor, your skin dried up, your strength broken, hateful even to your own lovers. SOUL. I was hoping that all those preludes were tending toward another end; but, as I see, you have said these things to my greater confusion, that you might show me the more deserving of hatred, since, having received such great benefits and not kept them, you have proved me the more ungrateful.

I could wish, then, either that what has been spoken had not been done, or at least that what was done had not been spoken, so that forgetfulness might cover my confusion, even if presumption did not escape the guilt. MAN. They have been said not for your confusion, but for your instruction, that you might become the more bound to Him who both made you when you were not, and redeemed you when you had perished. For I recalled even that, in proof of His love, so that, taking the occasion from it, I might now begin to tell you how greatly this bridegroom of yours (who appeared so exalted when He formed you) deigned to be humbled when He restored you. There so sublime, here so humble, yet not here less lovable than there, because not here less admirable than there.

There He powerfully bestowed great things upon you; here He mercifully endured dreadful things for you. For in order to raise you up to that place from which you had fallen, He Himself deigned to descend here where you were lying; and in order that what you had lost might be justly restored to you, He Himself deigned piously to suffer what you were enduring. He descended, then; He took up, He endured, He conquered, He restored: He descended to the mortal, He took up mortality, He endured the passion, He conquered death, He restored man. Behold, my soul, be astounded at such wonders, such benefits shown for your sake. Consider how greatly He loves you, who deigned to do such great things for your sake. You had been made beautiful by His gift; you have been made foul by your own iniquity.

But again you were cleansed and made comely by His mercy, charity working on both sides. Once, when you were not, He loved you so as to create you; afterward, when you were foul, He loved you so as to make you beautiful; and to show you how greatly He loved you, He willed to free you from death by no other means than by dying, so that He might not only expend the benefit of mercy, but also display the affection of charity. But now He loves you with so sincere a charity, as though you had always remained with Him; He neither reproaches you with your guilt, nor casts His benefit in your teeth. And if you henceforth are willing faithfully to persevere with Him, and to love Him as is fitting, and to keep your love for Him unstained, He promises to give greater things than the former. SOUL.

Now in a certain way I begin to love my own fault, because, as I see, it has not profited me a little to have done myself harm, in proportion as from it that which with all my prayers I longed to know is made known to me more clearly than the light. O happy fault of mine! For while He is drawn by charity to wash it away, His very charity is thereby opened to me, who long for it and desire it with my whole heart. Never would I have so well acknowledged His love, had I not experienced it amid such great perils. O how happily I fell, who after my fall rose again more happily! No love is greater, no affection more sincere, no charity more holy, no devotion more ardent: He, the innocent, died for me, finding in me nothing that He might love.

What, then, O Lord, did You love in me, and love so much that You would die for me? What such thing did You find in me, for which You were willing to endure things so great and so hard? MAN. O my soul, accuse yourself before the Lord, that until now you have been ungrateful for His so great benefits, and have been unwilling to acknowledge His very many acts of mercy. But that you may understand still better how much you owe Him, while I pursue His remaining benefits according to the order I have begun, I wish you to attend diligently. SOUL. This I always desire to hear, which is so sweet to me that I would have you repeat the same thing unceasingly, rather than hasten on to the other things which remain to be heard. MAN.

You had gone away, then, and had perished; and because you had been sold in your sins, He came after you to redeem you, and loved you so much that He weighed out the price of His own blood for you, and by such a bargain both brought you back from exile and redeemed you from servitude. SOUL. I did not know that God loved me so much; I ought no longer to be vile in my own eyes, who so pleased God that He chose even to die for me, lest He should lose me. MAN. And what if you should begin to consider how many, and what manner of men, in comparison with you, have been cast off, who could not obtain this grace which has been given to you?

Surely you have heard how, from the beginning until this day, how many generations of men have passed away, who all, without the knowledge of God and without the price of their redemption, have slipped into everlasting destruction. Above all those your Redeemer and Lover preferred you, when He bestowed upon you this grace, which none of these merited to receive. And what will you say? Why do you think you were preferred above all those? Were you stronger, were you wiser, were you nobler, were you richer than all those, that you merited to obtain this special grace above all of them? How many strong, how many wise, how many noble, how many rich were there? And yet, one and all, abandoned and cast off, they perished.

You alone above all those were taken up; and why this was done in you, you can find no cause save only the free charity of your Savior. Your bridegroom, then, your lover, your Redeemer, your God, chose you and chose you beforehand. He chose you among all, and took you up out of all, and loved you above all. By His own name He called you, that His memorial might ever be with you; He willed you to be a partaker in the name, a partaker in the truth of the name, since He anointed you with that oil of gladness (with which He Himself was anointed), so that he might be anointed by the Anointed One, who from Christ is called a Christian. SOUL.

Much, I confess, has been conferred upon me; but I ask you, if (as you assert) I have now been taken up, why am I still kept waiting, since I cannot yet come to the embraces of the bridegroom? MAN. You do not know, then, my soul, you do not know how foul you were before, how polluted, how deformed and squalid, torn and dissipated, full of all horror and monstrosity. And how do you so quickly demand to be led into that bridal-chamber of modesty and chastity, unless you are first at least, by some care and zeal, refined and restored to your former comeliness?

For this is what you are now awaited for; this is why this bridegroom of yours still withdraws His presence from you, and does not yet admit you into mutual embraces and sweet kisses: namely, because neither ought the polluted to touch the clean, nor does it befit the beautiful to look upon the foul. But when you have been prepared and becomingly adorned, then at last you will enter into that bridal-chamber of the heavenly bridegroom, to remain there without confusion. Nor will you then be ashamed of your former foulness, since you will have nothing foul, nothing worthy of shame. First, therefore, take care to cultivate your form, to adorn your face, to compose your attire, to wipe away your stains, to repair your cleanliness, to correct your manners, to keep discipline, and, all things at length being changed for the better, to render yourself a bride worthy of a worthy bridegroom.

I wish to say something whereby I may make you more cautious, lest, because you hear that you are chosen, either elation should make you swollen with pride, or negligence should render you dissolute. Have you never heard what King Ahasuerus did, when he repudiated Queen Vashti on account of her insolence? — a notable deed, a useful example, a grave warning. She, then, was cast off for her pride, and the king's command went forth that from all his kingdom beautiful maidens, virgins, should be gathered together and brought to the city of Susa, and handed over into the house of the women under the hand of the eunuch Hegai, who was the overseer and keeper of the royal women; and there they should receive women's adornment, and the rest of things necessary for their use.

And so they were to be cultivated and adorned with all things abundantly supplied according to royal magnificence. For six months they were to be anointed with oil of myrrh, for another six they were to use certain perfumes; and thus arrayed and adorned, they were to pass from the women's hall to the king's chamber, so that she who out of all should please most might sit for Vashti upon the throne of the kingdom (Esther 2). See how many were chosen, that one might be chosen — namely she who should appear to the king's eyes more beautiful and more adorned than the rest. The king's ministers choose many for the adorning; the king himself chooses one for the bridal-chamber. The first choice of the many was made according to the king's command; the second choice of the one was made according to the king's will.

Let us consider, then, whether perhaps this example may be fitted to the present matter of which we are treating. The King, the Son of the supreme King, came into this world (which He Himself had created) to betroth to Himself a chosen wife, an only wife, a wife worthy of royal nuptials. But because Judea scorned to receive Him appearing in the form of humility, she was cast off. And the king's ministers were sent — the apostles, namely — throughout the whole world to gather souls and to bring them to the City of the King, that is, to the holy Church, in which is the house and dwelling of the royal women, that is, of the holy souls, who are made fruitful and bring forth sons not for servitude, but for the kingdom.

They, because they serve God not out of fear but out of charity, bring forth their offspring as it were into the freedom of good works. Many, therefore, being called, enter the Church through faith, and there receive the sacraments of Christ, prepared as it were certain ointments and antidotes for the repair and adornment of souls. But because by the mouth of Truth it is said, 'Many are called, but few are chosen' (Matt. 20), not all who have been admitted to this adorning are to be chosen for the kingdom, but only those who so strive to cleanse and cultivate themselves by these things that, when they have been led into the king's presence, they may be found such as He Himself would rather choose than reject. See, then, where you have been placed, and you will understand what you ought to do.

For your bridegroom has placed you in the hall where the women are adorned; He has given you various perfumes and diverse kinds of spices, and royal foods; He has commanded that there be ministered to you from His own table whatever can avail for health, whatever for refreshment, whatever for repairing your beauty, whatever for increasing your comeliness. Beware, then, lest you be negligent in cultivating yourself, lest in your last day, when you shall have been presented in the sight of this bridegroom, you be found unworthy (which God forbid!) of His fellowship. Prepare yourself as befits the bride of a King — and the bride of the heavenly King, the bride of the immortal Bridegroom. SOUL. You have again embittered me, and struck me with no small dread.

For as far as may be understood from your words, I have changed my purpose, but I have not escaped the peril. I have changed my purpose, because from him who once distracted me with a wandering and unstable love, I have been turned to the one love. I have not escaped the peril, because, as you assert, unless I shall have striven to show myself worthy in every way, I do not attain to the fruit of this love. It remains, therefore, that you now expound to me more diligently concerning this hall in which the royal women are nourished, and concerning the royal food that is given to them, and concerning the very ointments also with which they are anointed, and concerning all the rest that is provided for their cultivation or comeliness.

For by His very love I am moved henceforth to expend zeal upon those things without which I see I cannot attain to the affection of His love. And would that I might merit to be that one whose comeliness and adornment the king shall praise. How happy is she, and how much more chosen than the chosen, who shall carry her zeal through to this end! How small would I now reckon all toil, if I could carry my zeal through to this end. I beg you, therefore, not to be slow to teach me one by one what those remedies are by which I ought to reform my face to this comeliness, because I vehemently desire to please Him, whose charity toward me I acknowledge to be so kind, and whose love so delightful. MAN. So indeed it is necessary that you do.

And I pray that He Himself, who has already granted you the will to do this, may also be willing to grant the strength to accomplish it. You ask what the hall is; ask also what the king's chamber is. Set these two dwellings before yourself, because you have need of considering them. There is, then, the hall; there is the king's chamber. In the hall the brides are prepared for the nuptials; in the chamber, however, the nuptials are celebrated. The present Church is as it were the hall, in which the brides of God are now prepared for the future nuptials. The heavenly Jerusalem is as it were the King's chamber, in which the nuptials themselves are celebrated.

But after the times of adorning, they pass from the hall to the King's chamber, because after the times of working well they come to receive the fruit of their good work. But the present Church is called a hall because of the three orders of the faithful: of the married, of the continent, of rulers or virgins. Let us see, next, what the ointments are, and the kinds of perfumes, what the foods, what the garments prepared for the adornment of the brides. Nor is this to be passed over: that the bridegroom Himself, just as He freely first loves those who are in some manner foul and base, so also freely expends upon them every aid toward their adornment.

Nor do they have anything of themselves, unless they receive from Him that whereby they may please Him; so that you may know this too belongs to His love — that you have wherewith you may adorn yourself, you who indeed have nothing of yourself, unless you have received it from Him. First is the font of baptism here set, and the laver of regeneration, in which you wash away the filth of past crimes. Then chrism and oil, in whose anointing you are smeared with the Holy Spirit. After these, anointed and bathed with the unction of gladness, you come to the table, and there receive the nourishment of the body and blood of Christ, by which, inwardly fattened and refreshed, you drive away that hurtful leanness of past fastings, and, restored to your pristine fullness and strength, you in a manner grow young again.

Then you put on the garments of good works, and by the fruit of almsgiving, together with fastings and prayers, with holy vigils and other works of piety, you are adorned as it were with a certain varied ornament. Last of all follow the aromatics of the virtues, whose sweetly breathing fragrance puts to flight all that stench of the old filth, so that you seem in a manner to be wholly changed and transformed into another, and you are made more joyful, more lively, more healthful. There is given to you also a mirror, holy Scripture, that you may see your face in it, lest the composition of your adornment have anything less or other than is fitting. What, then, do you say, my soul? Do you know whether you have as yet received any of these things?

Surely in the font you were washed; surely from the King's table you ate the same food, and drank the same drink. But perhaps you have been polluted again — you have tears with which to wash yourself again. The unction has again withered in you — by good and pious devotion anoint yourself again. You are again worn out by long fasting: again washed with tears, and renewed by the unction of pious devotion, return to your refreshment. See with how pious a dispensation help is at every point afforded to you. You did not have, and it was given to you; you lost, and it is restored to you; nowhere are you abandoned, that you may know how greatly He loves you, by whom you are loved;

He does not wish to lose you, and therefore with so great patience He waits, and piously grants, that things so often negligently lost may again and again, if you are willing, be repaired. Oh, how many have now perished who had received these things together with you, but did not merit to receive again with you the things they had lost! More, therefore, than all those, are you loved, because to you so kindly is restored what was lost, which to them, once lost, was so strictly denied. Has no grace of working well been given to you? Yet the good will, by His own bestowing, has not been denied. If you do great works, you are mercifully exalted. If you do not do great works, perhaps you are salutarily humbled.

He knows better than you what is profitable for you; and on this account, if you wish to think well of Him, understand that everything which is done to you by Him is done well. Perhaps you do not have the grace of the virtues, but while you are shaken by the assault of vices, you are better established in humility. An infirm humility smells more sweetly to God than an exalted virtue. Dare not, therefore, to prejudge anything of His disposition, but always with fear and reverence pray Him, that in the manner He Himself knows He may come to your aid. If any evils still remain in you, may He piously wash them away; if any good things have been begun, may He kindly bring them to perfection, and lead you to Himself by the way that He Himself shall will. What more shall I say to you? Is there yet anything we can say to show forth His love?

I speak to you, my soul: is there anything? What do you say? If you tell your own things, you will not be able to tell another's. If your own and another's, yet not all. For who can tell all? And yet we know that the origin of all things is charity. Behold, two are born, the same nobility of birth in both, the same hour of nativity. The one is left in poverty, the other is exalted with riches, and charity works upon both, because it both humbles this one by poverty and consoles that one by abundance. This one is weak, and that one is strong. That one is held back lest he accomplish evil; this one is strengthened, that he may grow vigorous unto a good work; charity approves both, it does not reprove. The one is illumined through wisdom, the other is left in the simplicity of his own understanding.

The one, that he may study to despise himself; the other, that he may study to acknowledge his Creator; yet to both charity willed to be present. Such is the love of God toward us, nor does human infirmity endure anything at all which He (so far as is in His goodness) does not dispose unto our good. A CONFESSION. I confess to You Your mercies, O Lord my God, that You have not abandoned me, sweetness of my life and light of my eyes. What shall I render to You for all that You have bestowed upon me? (Ps. 115). You wish that I love You — and how shall I love You? how much shall I love You? who am I that I should love You?

And yet let me love You, O Lord, my strength, my firmament, my refuge, my deliverer, my God, my helper, my protector, the horn of my salvation, and my upholder; and what more shall I yet say? You are the Lord my God (Ps. 17). O my soul, what shall we do for the Lord our God, from whom we have received so many and so great good things? For He was not content to bestow upon us the same good things (which He bestows on others also), but in our evils too we acknowledge Him as a singular lover, so that we may singularly love Him as much for our good things as for all our evils. You have given to me, O Lord, that I should acknowledge You, and that, above many others, I should understand things revealed of Your secrets.

Others, my contemporaries, You left in the darkness of ignorance, and into me, above them, You poured the light of Your wisdom. You have given to me to know You more truly, to love You more purely, to believe in You more sincerely, to follow You more ardently. You have given to me a capacious mind, a ready understanding, a tenacious memory, an eloquent tongue, a gracious speech, a persuasive teaching, effectiveness in work, grace in conversation, advancement in studies, accomplishment in undertakings, solace in adversities, caution in prosperities; and wherever I turned myself, everywhere Your grace and mercy went before me. And You did all things for me: often when I seemed to myself consumed, suddenly You delivered me; when I was straying, You led me back; when I was ignorant, You taught me;

when I sinned, You rebuked me; when I was sorrowful, You consoled me; when I despaired, You strengthened me; when I fell, You raised me up; when I stood, You held me; when I went, You led me; when I came, You received me. All these things You did for me, O Lord my God, and many others of which it will always be sweet for me to think, always to speak, always to give thanks, that I may praise and love You for all Your benefits, O Lord my God. Behold, you have, my soul, your pledge, and in your pledge you recognize your bridegroom; keep yourself untouched for Him, keep yourself unpolluted, keep yourself whole, keep yourself unstained.

If once you were a harlot, now you have been made a virgin, even as His love is wont to restore integrity to the corrupted, and to preserve chastity in the unstained. But always consider how great a mercy He has wrought with you, and in this weigh how greatly you are loved by Him, in that you know His benefit has never been lacking to you. SOUL. Truly I confess that this love is deservedly called singular, which, though it diffuses itself among many, yet so uniquely embraces each one. Truly a beautiful and wondrous good, which is common to all, and wholly the possession of each.

Presiding over all, filling each one, present everywhere, exercising care over all, and yet providing for individuals as though for all. So indeed it seems to me, when I consider His mercies toward me: that (if it is right to say so) God in a way does nothing else but provide for my salvation, and I see Him so wholly occupied in guarding me, as if He had forgotten everyone else and willed to attend to me alone. Always He shows Himself present, always He offers Himself ready; wherever I turn, He does not forsake me; wherever I am, He does not withdraw; whatever I do, He likewise stands by;

and that He is present at last as the perpetual observer of all my actions and thoughts, and—so far as His goodness is concerned—as an inseparable fellow-worker, He plainly shows by the very effect of His work. From this it stands established that, although His face cannot yet be seen by us, His presence can never be escaped. But I confess that, considering this more attentively, I am thrown into utter confusion by both fear and immense shame, that I behold Him, whom I so vehemently desire to please, present to me everywhere and seeing all my hidden things. Oh, how many things there are in me of which I blush before His eyes, and for which I now fear to displease Him more, than I trust that I can please Him for those things which are praiseworthy in me (if there are any)?

Oh, would that I could be hidden a little while from His eyes, until I had wiped away all these stains, and so at last might appear before His sight spotless and without blemish! For how shall I be able to please Him in this deformity, in which I myself too am so greatly displeasing to myself? O old stains, O foul and shameful stains, why do you cling so long? Go away, depart, and do not presume any longer to offend the eyes of my Beloved. Do not deceive yourselves: you shall not always remain with me (with His help), although while I still loitered you could not be exterminated. I have sworn concerning you that I will neither keep nor love you any longer, for I utterly detest and wholly abominate your vileness.

And henceforth, even if I could remain unseen by my Bridegroom, I would still not wish to be defiled by you. How much more now, since I am openly before Him, and since His offense surely grieves me more than even my own vileness. Depart, then; in vain do you cling to me any longer, for even while remaining with me, you are not mine. I judge you alien to my lot, and I will henceforth have no fellowship with you. I have another model to which I desire to be conformed, and to another I look continually, and as much as I can I ever draw more and more thence the likeness. And whence I have also learned this, that I must exterminate you, and how I am to do this I now recognize. MAN.