Having come to know what pride is, it is necessary now to consider the effects of pride.

00:29 Introduction

03:45 The Beginning of Sin

06:57 Pride Goeth before the Fall

15:38 The Pharisee and the Tax Collector

17:43 The Prayer of Faith

29:06 Righteous Sin

40:34 Pride and Humility according to Dante’s Purgatorio

48:01 The Valley of the Proud

Music: “Johann Sebastian Bach, Little Fugue in G Minor, BMV 578 (Pipe Organ),” from Pixabay.com

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About the text: Dante Alighieri (c. 1265-1321) was the first to write extensively in an Italian dialect and is therefore considered the father of Italian literature and a precursor of the Italian Renaissance. Deeply indebted to his early contemporary Thomas Aquinas both philosophically and theologically, Dante’s Divine Comedy follows in the tradition of Vergil, who serves as his guide through hell and purgatory. In cantos X through XII, Dante is led through the first circle of Mount Purgatory where he meets those being cleansed of pride by carrying great stones up the mountain.

Canto X

When we had crossed the threshold of the door
Which the perverted love of souls disuses,
Because it makes the crooked way seem straight,

Re-echoing I heard it closed again;
And if I had turned back mine eyes upon it,
What for my failing had been fit excuse?

We mounted upward through a rifted rock,
Which undulated to this side and that,
Even as a wave receding and advancing.

“Here it behoves us use a little art,”
Began my Leader, “to adapt ourselves
Now here, now there, to the receding side.”

And this our footsteps so infrequent made,
That sooner had the moon’s decreasing disk
Regained its bed to sink again to rest,

Than we were forth from out that needle’s eye;
But when we free and in the open were,
There where the mountain backward piles itself,

I wearied out, and both of us uncertain
About our way, we stopped upon a plain
More desolate than roads across the deserts.

From where its margin borders on the void,
To foot of the high bank that ever rises,
A human body three times told would measure;

And far as eye of mine could wing its flight,
Now on the left, and on the right flank now,
The same this cornice did appear to me.

Thereon our feet had not been moved as yet,
When I perceived the embankment round about,
Which all right of ascent had interdicted,

To be of marble white, and so adorned
With sculptures, that not only Polycletus,
But Nature’s self, had there been put to shame.

The Angel, who came down to earth with tidings
Of peace, that had been wept for many a year,
And opened Heaven from its long interdict,

In front of us appeared so truthfully
There sculptured in a gracious attitude,
He did not seem an image that is silent.

One would have sworn that he was saying, “Ave;”
For she was there in effigy portrayed
Who turned the key to ope the exalted love,

And in her mien this language had impressed,
“Ecce ancilla Dei,” as distinctly
As any figure stamps itself in wax.

“Keep not thy mind upon one place alone,”
The gentle Master said, who had me standing
Upon that side where people have their hearts;

Whereat I moved mine eyes, and I beheld
In rear of Mary, and upon that side
Where he was standing who conducted me,

Another story on the rock imposed;
Wherefore I passed Virgilius and drew near,
So that before mine eyes it might be set.

There sculptured in the self-same marble were
The cart and oxen, drawing the holy ark,
Wherefore one dreads an office not appointed.

People appeared in front, and all of them
In seven choirs divided, of two senses
Made one say “No,” the other, “Yes, they sing.”

Likewise unto the smoke of the frankincense,
Which there was imaged forth, the eyes and nose
Were in the yes and no discordant made.

Preceded there the vessel benedight,
Dancing with girded loins, the humble Psalmist,
And more and less than King was he in this.

Opposite, represented at the window
Of a great palace, Michal looked upon him,
Even as a woman scornful and afflicted.

I moved my feet from where I had been standing,
To examine near at hand another story,
Which after Michal glimmered white upon me.

There the high glory of the Roman Prince
Was chronicled, whose great beneficence
Moved Gregory to his great victory;

’Tis of the Emperor Trajan I am speaking;
And a poor widow at his bridle stood,
In attitude of weeping and of grief.

Around about him seemed it thronged and full
Of cavaliers, and the eagles in the gold
Above them visibly in the wind were moving.

The wretched woman in the midst of these
Seemed to be saying: “Give me vengeance, Lord,
For my dead son, for whom my heart is breaking.”

And he to answer her: “Now wait until
I shall return.” And she: “My Lord,” like one
In whom grief is impatient, “shouldst thou not

Return?” And he: “Who shall be where I am
Will give it thee.” And she: “Good deed of others
What boots it thee, if thou neglect thine own?”

Whence he: “Now comfort thee, for it behoves me
That I discharge my duty ere I move;
Justice so wills, and pity doth retain me.”

He who on no new thing has ever looked
Was the creator of this visible language,
Novel to us, for here it is not found.

While I delighted me in contemplating
The images of such humility,
And dear to look on for their Maker’s sake,

“Behold, upon this side, but rare they make
Their steps,” the Poet murmured, “many people;
These will direct us to the lofty stairs.”

Mine eyes, that in beholding were intent
To see new things, of which they curious are,
In turning round towards him were not slow.

But still I wish not, Reader, thou shouldst swerve
From thy good purposes, because thou hearest
How God ordaineth that the debt be paid;

Attend not to the fashion of the torment,
Think of what follows; think that at the worst
It cannot reach beyond the mighty sentence.

“Master,” began I, “that which I behold
Moving towards us seems to me not persons,
And what I know not, so in sight I waver.”

And he to me: “The grievous quality
Of this their torment bows them so to earth,
That my own eyes at first contended with it;

But look there fixedly, and disentangle
By sight what cometh underneath those stones;
Already canst thou see how each is stricken.”

O ye proud Christians! wretched, weary ones!
Who, in the vision of the mind infirm
Confidence have in your backsliding steps,

Do ye not comprehend that we are worms,
Born to bring forth the angelic butterfly
That flieth unto judgment without screen?

Why floats aloft your spirit high in air?
Like are ye unto insects undeveloped,
Even as the worm in whom formation fails!

As to sustain a ceiling or a roof,
In place of corbel, oftentimes a figure
Is seen to join its knees unto its breast,

Which makes of the unreal real anguish
Arise in him who sees it, fashioned thus
Beheld I those, when I had ta’en good heed.

True is it, they were more or less bent down,
According as they more or less were laden;
And he who had most patience in his looks

Weeping did seem to say, “I can no more!”

Canto XI

“Our Father, thou who dwellest in the heavens,
Not circumscribed, but from the greater love
Thou bearest to the first effects on high,

Praised be thy name and thine omnipotence
By every creature, as befitting is
To render thanks to thy sweet effluence.

Come unto us the peace of thy dominion,
For unto it we cannot of ourselves,
If it come not, with all our intellect.

Even as thine own Angels of their will
Make sacrifice to thee, Hosanna singing,
So may all men make sacrifice of theirs.

Give unto us this day our daily manna,
Withouten which in this rough wilderness
Backward goes he who toils most to advance.

And even as we the trespass we have suffered
Pardon in one another, pardon thou
Benignly, and regard not our desert.

Our virtue, which is easily o’ercome,
Put not to proof with the old Adversary,
But thou from him who spurs it so, deliver.

This last petition verily, dear Lord,
Not for ourselves is made, who need it not,
But for their sake who have remained behind us.”

Thus for themselves and us good furtherance
Those shades imploring, went beneath a weight
Like unto that of which we sometimes dream,

Unequally in anguish round and round
And weary all, upon that foremost cornice,
Purging away the smoke-stains of the world.

If there good words are always said for us,
What may not here be said and done for them,
By those who have a good root to their will?

Well may we help them wash away the marks
That hence they carried, so that clean and light
They may ascend unto the starry wheels!

“Ah! so may pity and justice you disburden
Soon, that ye may have power to move the wing,
That shall uplift you after your desire,

Show us on which hand tow’rd the stairs the way
Is shortest, and if more than one the passes,
Point us out that which least abruptly falls;

For he who cometh with me, through the burden
Of Adam’s flesh wherewith he is invested,
Against his will is chary of his climbing.”

The words of theirs which they returned to those
That he whom I was following had spoken,
It was not manifest from whom they came,

But it was said: “To the right hand come with us
Along the bank, and ye shall find a pass
Possible for living person to ascend.

And were I not impeded by the stone,
Which this proud neck of mine doth subjugate,
Whence I am forced to hold my visage down,

Him, who still lives and does not name himself,
Would I regard, to see if I may know him
And make him piteous unto this burden.

A Latian was I, and born of a great Tuscan;
Guglielmo Aldobrandeschi was my father;
I know not if his name were ever with you.

The ancient blood and deeds of gallantry
Of my progenitors so arrogant made me
That, thinking not upon the common mother,

All men I held in scorn to such extent
I died therefor, as know the Sienese,
And every child in Campagnatico.

I am Omberto; and not to me alone
Has pride done harm, but all my kith and kin
Has with it dragged into adversity.

And here must I this burden bear for it
Till God be satisfied, since I did not
Among the living, here among the dead.”

Listening I downward bent my countenance;
And one of them, not this one who was speaking,
Twisted himself beneath the weight that cramps him,

And looked at me, and knew me, and called out,
Keeping his eyes laboriously fixed
On me, who all bowed down was going with them.

“O,” asked I him, “art thou not Oderisi,
Agobbio’s honour, and honour of that art
Which is in Paris called illuminating?”

“Brother,” said he, “more laughing are the leaves
Touched by the brush of Franco Bolognese;
All his the honour now, and mine in part.

In sooth I had not been so courteous
While I was living, for the great desire
Of excellence, on which my heart was bent.

Here of such pride is paid the forfeiture;
And yet I should not be here, were it not
That, having power to sin, I turned to God.

O thou vain glory of the human powers,
How little green upon thy summit lingers,
If’t be not followed by an age of grossness!

In painting Cimabue thought that he
Should hold the field, now Giotto has the cry,
So that the other’s fame is growing dim.

So has one Guido from the other taken
The glory of our tongue, and he perchance
Is born, who from the nest shall chase them both.

Naught is this mundane rumour but a breath
Of wind, that comes now this way and now that,
And changes name, because it changes side.

What fame shalt thou have more, if old peel off
From thee thy flesh, than if thou hadst been dead
Before thou left the ‘pappo’ and the ‘dindi,’

Ere pass a thousand years? which is a shorter
Space to the eterne, than twinkling of an eye
Unto the circle that in heaven wheels slowest.

With him, who takes so little of the road
In front of me, all Tuscany resounded;
And now he scarce is lisped of in Siena,

Where he was lord, what time was overthrown
The Florentine delirium, that superb
Was at that day as now ’tis prostitute.

Your reputation is the colour of grass
Which comes and goes, and that discolours it
By which it issues green from out the earth.”

And I: “Thy true speech fills my heart with good
Humility, and great tumour thou assuagest;
But who is he, of whom just now thou spakest?”

“That,” he replied, “is Provenzan Salvani,
And he is here because he had presumed
To bring Siena all into his hands.

He has gone thus, and goeth without rest
E’er since he died; such money renders back
In payment he who is on earth too daring.”

And I: “If every spirit who awaits
The verge of life before that he repent,
Remains below there and ascends not hither,

(Unless good orison shall him bestead,)
Until as much time as he lived be passed,
How was the coming granted him in largess?”

“When he in greatest splendour lived,” said he,
“Freely upon the Campo of Siena,
All shame being laid aside, he placed himself;

And there to draw his friend from the duress
Which in the prison-house of Charles he suffered,
He brought himself to tremble in each vein.

I say no more, and know that I speak darkly;
Yet little time shall pass before thy neighbours
Will so demean themselves that thou canst gloss it.

This action has released him from those confines.”

Canto XII

Abreast, like oxen going in a yoke,
I with that heavy-laden soul went on,
As long as the sweet pedagogue permitted;

But when he said, “Leave him, and onward pass,
For here ’tis good that with the sail and oars,
As much as may be, each push on his barque;”

Upright, as walking wills it, I redressed
My person, notwithstanding that my thoughts
Remained within me downcast and abashed.

I had moved on, and followed willingly
The footsteps of my Master, and we both
Already showed how light of foot we were,

When unto me he said: “Cast down thine eyes;
’Twere well for thee, to alleviate the way,
To look upon the bed beneath thy feet.”

As, that some memory may exist of them,
Above the buried dead their tombs in earth
Bear sculptured on them what they were before;

Whence often there we weep for them afresh,
From pricking of remembrance, which alone
To the compassionate doth set its spur;

So saw I there, but of a better semblance
In point of artifice, with figures covered
Whate’er as pathway from the mount projects.

I saw that one who was created noble
More than all other creatures, down from heaven
Flaming with lightnings fall upon one side.

I saw Briareus smitten by the dart
Celestial, lying on the other side,
Heavy upon the earth by mortal frost.

I saw Thymbraeus, Pallas saw, and Mars,
Still clad in armour round about their father,
Gaze at the scattered members of the giants.

I saw, at foot of his great labour, Nimrod,
As if bewildered, looking at the people
Who had been proud with him in Sennaar.

O Niobe! with what afflicted eyes
Thee I beheld upon the pathway traced,
Between thy seven and seven children slain!

O Saul! how fallen upon thy proper sword
Didst thou appear there lifeless in Gilboa,
That felt thereafter neither rain nor dew!

O mad Arachne! so I thee beheld
E’en then half spider, sad upon the shreds
Of fabric wrought in evil hour for thee!

O Rehoboam! no more seems to threaten
Thine image there; but full of consternation
A chariot bears it off, when none pursues!

Displayed moreo’er the adamantine pavement
How unto his own mother made Alcmaeon
Costly appear the luckless ornament;

Displayed how his own sons did throw themselves
Upon Sennacherib within the temple,
And how, he being dead, they left him there;

Displayed the ruin and the cruel carnage
That Tomyris wrought, when she to Cyrus said,
“Blood didst thou thirst for, and with blood I glut thee!”

Displayed how routed fled the Assyrians
After that Holofernes had been slain,
And likewise the remainder of that slaughter.

I saw there Troy in ashes and in caverns;
O Ilion! thee, how abject and debased,
Displayed the image that is there discerned!

Whoe’er of pencil master was or stile,
That could portray the shades and traits which there
Would cause each subtile genius to admire?

Dead seemed the dead, the living seemed alive;
Better than I saw not who saw the truth,
All that I trod upon while bowed I went.

Now wax ye proud, and on with looks uplifted,
Ye sons of Eve, and bow not down your faces
So that ye may behold your evil ways!

More of the mount by us was now encompassed,
And far more spent the circuit of the sun,
Than had the mind preoccupied imagined,

When he, who ever watchful in advance
Was going on, began: “Lift up thy head,
’Tis no more time to go thus meditating.

Lo there an Angel who is making haste
To come towards us; lo, returning is
From service of the day the sixth handmaiden.

With reverence thine acts and looks adorn,
So that he may delight to speed us upward;
Think that this day will never dawn again.”

I was familiar with his admonition
Ever to lose no time; so on this theme
He could not unto me speak covertly.

Towards us came the being beautiful
Vested in white, and in his countenance
Such as appears the tremulous morning star.

His arms he opened, and opened then his wings;
“Come,” said he, “near at hand here are the steps,
And easy from henceforth is the ascent.”

At this announcement few are they who come!
O human creatures, born to soar aloft,
Why fall ye thus before a little wind?

He led us on to where the rock was cleft;
There smote upon my forehead with his wings,
Then a safe passage promised unto me.

As on the right hand, to ascend the mount
Where seated is the church that lordeth it
O’er the well-guided, above Rubaconte,

The bold abruptness of the ascent is broken
By stairways that were made there in the age
When still were safe the ledger and the stave,

E’en thus attempered is the bank which falls
Sheer downward from the second circle there;
But on this, side and that the high rock graze.

As we were turning thitherward our persons,
“Beati pauperes spiritu,” voices
Sang in such wise that speech could tell it not.

Ah me! how different are these entrances
From the Infernal! for with anthems here
One enters, and below with wild laments.

We now were hunting up the sacred stairs,
And it appeared to me by far more easy
Than on the plain it had appeared before.

Whence I: “My Master, say, what heavy thing
Has been uplifted from me, so that hardly
Aught of fatigue is felt by me in walking?”

He answered: “When the P’s which have remained
Still on thy face almost obliterate
Shall wholly, as the first is, be erased,

Thy feet will be so vanquished by good will,
That not alone they shall not feel fatigue,
But urging up will be to them delight.”

Then did I even as they do who are going
With something on the head to them unknown,
Unless the signs of others make them doubt,

Wherefore the hand to ascertain is helpful,
And seeks and finds, and doth fulfill the office
Which cannot be accomplished by the sight;

And with the fingers of the right hand spread
I found but six the letters, that had carved
Upon my temples he who bore the keys;

Upon beholding which my Leader smiled.

From The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri, translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

About the text: In this parable, Jesus exalts the tax collector because he recognises his own unworthiness, does not see himself fit even to raise his eyes to heaven, and appeals to God’s mercy. In contrast, the just Pharisee thanks God for his righteousness, boasts of it, and looks down on the repentant tax collector. The moral is to be like the humble tax collector or—even better—like the innocent little children brought to Him when he concludes the parable.

He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and despised others: “Two men went up into the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, ‘God, I thank thee that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week, I give tithes of all that I get.’ But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, ‘God, be merciful to me a sinner!’ I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other; for every one who exalts himself will be humbled, but he who humbles himself will be exalted.”

Now they were bringing even infants to him that he might touch them; and when the disciples saw it, they rebuked them. But Jesus called them to him, saying, “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them; for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.”

Taken from The Catholic Edition of the Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright © 1965, 1966 National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

From Sirach we turn to Augustine, not only a spiritual master but a brilliant and insightful commentator on both Scripture and human nature. Augustine provides us with a classic definition of pride as “the craving for undue exaltation.” He notes that pride preceded the sin of Adam and Eve in believing the serpent and eating the fruit; it is only because they had already turned from God toward themselves that they sought to become gods by disobedience. That sin of disobedience was great, but the greater evil was the pride that preceded it.

Next, St. Luke presents to us Jesus’ parable of the righteous Pharisee who boasts of his justice in the Temple while looking down his nose at the miserable tax collector who appeals to God for mercy. Truly, Jesus says, it was the tax collector and not the Pharisee who went home that day justified. Augustine draws on this parable to show that the proud cannot pray for prayer requires a lacking and belief in something more, whereas the proud man is already full of himself; there is no room for more. For this reason, the proud man cannot pray; he does not have faith. Rather, the prayer of faith is the prayer of humility. To complement Augustine’s position, Cyril of Alexandria presents the Pharisee as one whose righteousness leads him to sin. This parable becomes a warning to all those who consider themselves righteous: beware pride, for by it the righteous perish in their righteousness.

Finally, we move on to the early Renaissance as Mike Shramm unpacks Dante’s treatment of pride and humility in the Divine Comedy. This is followed Dante’s own words in cantos X through XII of the Purgatorio, wherein he and his guide, Vergil, begin their ascent of Mount Purgatory with the proud—heavily laden with great stones, forcing them to bend down and look at the ground. Here we are exposed to not only the punishment but the cure for pride: humility—and there we must pause. Humility must wait until part 3 of this issue.

With Dante, then, let us linger as we bear the burden of pride and its effects, and as we look with longing for the heights of humility.

Aaron P. Debusschere
Editor

About the text: One of the most famous works produced by St. Augustine (354–430) was written over a decade and a half in response to accusations that the sack of Rome by Alaric the Goth in 410 was due to the impiety of Christians. While the first half of the work focuses on responding to the accusations of the pagans, the second half transitions to an examination of the true “Eternal City,” the City of God marked by love of God, which stands in opposition to the earthly city marked by love of self. In this passage from book XIV—early in the second half of the work—Augustine defines pride and shows how it preceded and resulted in the Fall of Adam and Eve.

Our first parents fell into open disobedience because already they were secretly corrupted; for the evil act had never been done had not an evil will preceded it. And what is the origin of our evil will but pride? For “pride is the beginning of sin.” And what is pride but the craving for undue exaltation? And this is undue exaltation, when the soul abandons Him to whom it ought to cleave as its end, and becomes a kind of end to itself. This happens when it becomes its own satisfaction. And it does so when it falls away from that unchangeable good which ought to satisfy it more than itself. This falling away is spontaneous; for if the will had remained steadfast in the love of that higher and changeless good by which it was illumined to intelligence and kindled into love, it would not have turned away to find satisfaction in itself, and so become frigid and benighted; the woman would not have believed the serpent spoke the truth, nor would the man have preferred the request of his wife to the command of God, nor have supposed that it was a venial transgression to cleave to the partner of his life even in a partnership of sin.

The wicked deed, then — that is to say, the transgression of eating the forbidden fruit — was committed by persons who were already wicked. That “evil fruit” could be brought forth only by “a corrupt tree.” But that the tree was evil was not the result of nature; for certainly it could become so only by the vice of the will, and vice is contrary to nature. Now, nature could not have been depraved by vice had it not been made out of nothing. Consequently, that it is a nature, this is because it is made by God; but that it falls away from Him, this is because it is made out of nothing. But man did not so fall away as to become absolutely nothing; but being turned towards himself, his being became more contracted than it was when he clave to Him who supremely is. Accordingly, to exist in himself, that is, to be his own satisfaction after abandoning God, is not quite to become a nonentity, but to approximate to that.

And therefore the holy Scriptures designate the proud by another name, “self-pleasers.” For it is good to have the heart lifted up, yet not to one’s self, for this is proud, but to the Lord, for this is obedient, and can be the act only of the humble. There is, therefore, something in humility which, strangely enough, exalts the heart, and something in pride which debases it. This seems, indeed, to be contradictory, that loftiness should debase and lowliness exalt. But pious humility enables us to submit to what is above us; and nothing is more exalted above us than God; and therefore humility, by making us subject to God, exalts us. But pride, being a defect of nature, by the very act of refusing subjection and revolting from Him who is supreme, falls to a low condition; and then comes to pass what is written: “You cast them down when they lifted up themselves.” For he does not say, “when they had been lifted up,” as if first they were exalted, and then afterwards cast down; but “when they lifted up themselves” even then they were cast down — that is to say, the very lifting up was already a fall.

And therefore it is that humility is specially recommended to the city of God as it sojourns in this world, and is specially exhibited in the City of God, and in the person of Christ its King; while the contrary vice of pride, according to the testimony of the sacred writings, specially rules his adversary the devil. And certainly this is the great difference which distinguishes the two cities of which we speak, the one being the society of the godly men, the other of the ungodly, each associated with the angels that adhere to their party, and the one guided and fashioned by love of self, the other by love of God.

The devil, then, would not have ensnared man in the open and manifest sin of doing what God had forbidden, had man not already begun to live for himself. It was this that made him listen with pleasure to the words, “You shall be as gods,” which they would much more readily have accomplished by obediently adhering to their supreme and true end than by proudly living to themselves. For created gods are gods not by virtue of what is in themselves, but by a participation of the true God. By craving to be more, man becomes less; and by aspiring to be self-sufficing, he fell away from Him who truly suffices him. Accordingly, this wicked desire which prompts man to please himself as if he were himself light, and which thus turns him away from that light by which, had he followed it, he would himself have become light — this wicked desire, I say, already secretly existed in him, and the open sin was but its consequence. For that is true which is written, “Pride goes before destruction, and before honor is humility;” that is to say, secret ruin precedes open ruin, while the former is not counted ruin. For who counts exaltation ruin, though no sooner is the Highest forsaken than a fall is begun? But who does not recognize it as ruin, when there occurs an evident and indubitable transgression of the commandment? And consequently, God’s prohibition had reference to such an act as, when committed, could not be defended on any pretense of doing what was righteous.

And I make bold to say that it is useful for the proud to fall into an open and indisputable transgression, and so displease themselves, as already, by pleasing themselves, they had fallen. For Peter was in a healthier condition when he wept and was dissatisfied with himself, than when he boldly presumed and satisfied himself. And this is averred by the sacred Psalmist when he says, “Fill their faces with shame, that they may seek Your name, O Lord;” that is, that they who have pleased themselves in seeking their own glory may be pleased and satisfied with You in seeking Your glory.

But it is a worse and more damnable pride which casts about for the shelter of an excuse even in manifest sins, as these our first parents did, of whom the woman said, “The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat;” and the man said, “The woman whom You gave to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat.” Here there is no word of begging pardon, no word of entreaty for healing. For though they do not, like Cain, deny that they have perpetrated the deed, yet their pride seeks to refer its wickedness to another — the woman’s pride to the serpent, the man’s to the woman. But where there is a plain transgression of a divine commandment, this is rather to accuse than to excuse oneself. For the fact that the woman sinned on the serpent’s persuasion, and the man at the woman’s offer, did not make the transgression less, as if there were any one whom we ought rather to believe or yield to than God.

From City of God XIV.13–14, trans. Marcus Dods, 1887.

About the text: St. Augustine is remembered in part for his numerous sermons, some of which may have taken as long as two hours to preach—remember that next time you have to sit through a particularly long homily. Other of his sermons are incredibly short. In this brief but punchy sermon, Augustine admonishes the faithful to pray with humility, for the proud cannot pray, being already full and without faith.

On the words of the Gospel, Luke 18:1, “They ought always to pray, and not to faint,” etc. And on the two who went up into the temple to pray: and of the little children who were presented unto Christ.

1. The lesson of the Holy Gospel builds us up unto the duty of praying and believing, and of not putting our trust in ourselves, but in the Lord. What greater encouragement to prayer than the parable which is proposed to us of the unjust judge? For an unjust judge, who feared not God, nor regarded man, yet gave ear to a widow who besought him, overcome by her importunity, not inclined thereto by kindness. If he then heard her prayer, who hated to be asked, how must He hear who exhorts us to ask? When therefore by this comparison from a contrary case the Lord had taught that “men ought always to pray and not to faint,” He added and said, “Nevertheless, when the Son of Man shall come, do you think that He shall find faith on the earth?” If faith fail, prayer perishes. For who prays for that which he does not believe? Whence also the blessed Apostle, when he exhorted to prayer, said, “Whosoever shall call upon the Name of the Lord, shall be saved.” And in order to show that faith is the fountain of prayer, he went on and said, “How then shall they call on Him in whom they have not believed?” So then that we may pray, let us believe; and that this same faith whereby we pray fail not, let us pray. Faith pours out prayer, and the pouring out of prayer obtains the strengthening of faith. Faith, I say, pours out prayer, the pouring out of prayer obtains strengthening even for faith itself. For that faith might not fail in temptations, therefore did the Lord say, Watch and pray, lest ye enter into temptation. “Watch,” He says, “and pray, lest ye enter into temptation.” What is to “enter into temptation,” but to depart from faith? For so far temptation advances as faith gives way: and so far temptation gives way, as faith advances. For that you may know, Beloved, more plainly, that the Lord said, “Watch and pray, lest ye enter into temptation,” as touching faith lest it should fail and perish; He said in the same place of the Gospel, “This night has Satan desired to sift you as wheat, and I have prayed for thee, Peter, that thy faith fail not.” He that defends prays, and shall not he pray who is in peril? For in the words of the Lord, “when the Son of Man shall come, do you think that He shall find faith on the earth?” He spoke of that faith, which is perfect. For it is scarce found on the earth. Lo! This Church of God is full: and who would come hither, if there were no faith? But who would not remove mountains, if there were full faith? Look at the very Apostles: they would not have left all they had, have trodden under foot this world’s hope, and followed the Lord, if they had not had great faith; and yet if they had full faith, they would not have said to the Lord, “Increase our faith.” See again, that man confessing both of himself (behold faith, yet not full faith), who when he had presented to the Lord his son to be cured of an evil spirit, and was asked whether he believed, answered and said, “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.” “Lord,” says he, “I believe,” I believe; therefore there was faith. But “help my unbelief,” therefore there was not full faith.

2. But inasmuch as faith belongs not to the proud, but to the humble, “He spoke this parable unto certain who seemed to themselves to be righteous, and despised others. Two men went up into the temple to pray, the one a Pharisee, and the other a publican. The Pharisee said, God, I thank You that I am not as the rest of men.” He might at least have said, “as many men.” What does, “as the rest of men,” mean, but all except himself? “I,” he says, “am just, the rest are sinners.” “I am not as the rest of men, unjust, extortioners, adulterers.” And, lo, from your neighbour, the publican, you take occasion of greater pride. “As,” he says, “this publican.” “I,” he says, “am alone, he is of the rest.” “I am not,” says he, “such as he is, through my righteous deeds, whereby I have no unrighteousness.” “I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all that I possess.” In all his words seek out for any one thing that he asked of God, and you will find nothing. He went up to pray: he had no mind to pray to God, but to laud himself. Nay, it is but a small part of it, that he prayed not to God, but lauded himself. More than this he even mocked him that did pray. “But the Publican stood afar off;” and yet he was in deed near to God. The consciousness of his heart kept him off, piety brought him close. “But the Publican stood afar off:” yet the Lord regarded him near. “For the Lord is high, yet has He respect unto the lowly.” But “those that are high” as was this Pharisee, “He knows afar off.” “The high” indeed “God knows afar off,” but He does not pardon them. Hear still more the humility of the Publican. It is but a small matter that he stood afar off; “he did not even lift up his eyes unto heaven.” He looked not, that he might be looked upon. He did not dare to look upwards, his conscience pressed him down: but hope lifted him up. Hear again, “he smote his breast.” He punished himself: wherefore the Lord spared him for his confession. “He smote his breast, saying, Lord, be merciful to me a sinner.” See who he is that prays. Why do you marvel that God should pardon, when he acknowledges his own sin? Thus you have heard the case of the Pharisee and Publican; now hear the sentence; you have heard the proud accuser, you have heard the humble criminal; hear now the Judge. “Verily I say unto you.” The Truth says, God says, the Judge says it. “Verily I say unto you, That Publican went down from the temple justified rather than that Pharisee.” Tell us, Lord, the cause. Lo! I see that the publican goes down from the temple justified rather than the Pharisee. I ask why? Do you ask why? Hear why. “Because every one that exalts himself shall be abased, and he that humbles himself shall be exalted.” You have heard the sentence, beware of its evil cause. In other words, you have heard the sentence, beware of pride.

3. Let now those ungodly babblers, whosoever they be, who presume on their own strength, let them hear and see these things: let them hear who say, God made me a man, I make myself just. O you who are worse and more detestable than the Pharisee! The Pharisee in the Gospel did indeed call himself just, but yet he gave thanks to God for it. He called himself just, but yet he gave God thanks. “I thank You, O God, that I am not as the rest of men.” “I thank You, O God.” He gives God thanks, that he is not as the rest of men: and yet he is blamed as being proud and puffed up; not in that he gave God thanks, but in that he desired as it were no more to be added unto him. “I thank you that I am not as the rest of men, unjust.” So then you are just; so then you ask for nothing; so then you are full already; so then the life of man is not a trial upon earth; so then you are full already; so then you abound already, so then you have no ground for saying, “Forgive us our debts!” What must his case be then who impiously impugns grace, if he is blamed who give thanks proudly?

4. And, lo, after the case had been stated, and the sentence pronounced, little children also came forth, yea, rather, are carried and presented to be touched. To be touched by whom, but the Physician? Surely, it will be said, they must be whole. To whom are the infants presented to be touched? To whom? To the Saviour. If to the Saviour, they are brought to be saved. To whom, but to Him “who came to seek and to save what was lost.” How were they lost? As far as concerns them personally, I see that they are without fault, I am seeking for their guiltiness. Whence is it? I listen to the Apostle, “By one man sin entered into the world. By one man,” he says, “sin entered into the world, and death by sin, and so death passed upon all men by him in whom all sinned.” Let then the little children come, let them come: let the Lord be heard. “Suffer little children to come unto Me.” Let the little ones come, let the sick come to the Physician, the lost to their Redeemer: let them come, let no man hinder them. In the branch they have not yet committed any evil, but they are ruined in their root. “Let the Lord bless the small with the great.” Let the Physician touch both small and great. The cause of the little ones we commend to their elders. Speak ye for them who are mute, pray for them who weep. If you are not their elders to no purpose, be ye their guardians: defend them who are not able yet to manage their own cause. Common is the loss, let the finding be common: we were lost all together, together be we found in Christ. Uneven is the desert, but common is the grace. They have no evil but what they have drawn from the source: they have no evil but what they have derived from the first original. Let not them keep them off from salvation, who to what they have so derived have added much more evil. The elder in age is the elder in iniquity too. But the grace of God effaces what you have derived, effaces too what you have added. For, “where sin abounded, grace has superabounded.”

From Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, series 1, vol. 6, trans. R.G. MacMullen, 1888.

About the text: The Book of Sirach is one of those wonderful books filled with wisdom but that is unfortunately left out of many Bibles. Even in most Catholic Bibles, the present passage lacks a great deal. Here we draw from the Douay-Rheims, which is based on the Greek text, so as to delight in the full passage on pride, the turning from God, which is the beginning of sin. In contrast, the truly great man is the one who fears the Lord.

Remember not any injury done thee by thy neighbour, and do thou nothing by deeds of injury. Pride is hateful before God and men: and all iniquity of nations is execrable. A kingdom is translated from one people to another, because of injustices, and wrongs, and injuries, and divers deceits. But nothing is more wicked than the covetous man. Why is earth and ashes proud? There is not a more wicked thing than to love money: for such a one setteth even his own soul to sale: because while he liveth he hath cast away his bowels. All power is of short life. A long sickness is troublesome to the physician. The physician cutteth off a short sickness: so also a king is to-day, and to-morrow he shall die. For when a man shall die, he shall inherit serpents, and beasts, and worms.

The beginning of the pride of man, is to fall off from God: Because his heart is departed from him that made him: for pride is the beginning of all sin: he that holdeth it, shall be filled with maledictions, and it shall ruin him in the end.

Therefore hath the Lord disgraced the assemblies of the wicked, and hath utterly destroyed them. God hath overturned the thrones of proud princes, and hath set up the meek in their stead. God hath made the roots of proud nations to wither, and hath planted the humble of these nations. The Lord hath overthrown the lands of the Gentiles, and hath destroyed them even to the foundation. He hath made some of them to wither away, and hath destroyed them, and hath made the memory of them to cease from the earth. God hath abolished the memory of the proud, and hath preserved the memory of them that are humble in mind.

Pride was not made for men: nor wrath for the race of women. That seed of men shall be honoured, which feareth God: but that seed shall be dishonoured, which transgresseth the commandments of the Lord. In the midst of brethren their chief is honourable: so shall they that fear the Lord, be in his eyes.

The fear of God is the glory of the rich, and of the honourable, and of the poor: Despise not a just man that is poor, and do not magnify a sinful man that is rich. The great man, and the judge, and the mighty is in honour: and there is none greater than he that feareth God.

Taken from the Douay-Rheims 1899 American Edition.

About the Text: St. Cyril (376–444) was the Patriarch of Alexandria in the fifth century who notably defended the hypostatic union—the doctrine that Jesus Christ is a divine Person with a human nature—against Nestorius of Constantinople. In this sermon St. Cyril reminds the listener that one’s righteousness brings with it the danger of pride, such that “there is a righteous man who perishes in his righteousness.” He warns us to be like the publican, who recognises his sin and repents of it, rather than the Pharisee who boasts of his purity.

You who love instruction, and are eager to listen, receive once again the sacred words: delight yourselves in the honey of wisdom; for so it is written, “Good words are honeycombs, and their sweetness is the healing of the soul.” For the labour of the bees is very sweet, and benefits in many ways the soul of man: but the divine and saving honey makes those in whom it dwells skilful in every good work, and teaches them the ways of spiritual improvement. Let us therefore, as I said, receive again in mind and heart the Saviour’s words. For He teaches us in what manner we ought to make our requests unto Him, in order that the act may not prove unrewarded to them who practise it; and that no one may anger God, the bestower of gifts from on high, by means of those very things by which he imagines that he shall gain some benefit. For it is written. “There is a righteous man, who perishes in his righteousness.”

For see, I pray, an instance of this clearly painted, so to speak, in the parable set before us. One who prayed is condemned because he did not offer his prayer wisely. “For two men, it says, went up unto the temple to pray, the one a Pharisee, and the other a publican.” And here we must admire the wise arrangement of Christ our common Saviour, in all things whatsoever He does and says. For by the parable previously read to us, He called us to diligence, and to the duty of offering prayer constantly: for the Evangelist said, “And He spoke unto them also a parable, to the intent that men ought always to pray, and must not grow weary.” Having then urged them to diligence in constant prayer, yet, as I said, lest by doing so sedulously but without discretion, we should enrage Him Whom we supplicate, He very excellently shows us in what way we ought to be diligent in prayer. “Two men then, He says, went up unto the temple to pray.” Observe here, I pray, the impartiality and entire fairness of the unerring Nature: for He calls those who were praying men, since He looks not so much at wealth or power; but regarding their natural equality, He considers all those who dwell upon earth as men, and as in no respect different from one another.

And what then was the manner of their prayer? “The Pharisee, it says, prayed thus to himself. God, I thank You that I am not like the rest of mankind, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or as this publican.” Many at once are the faults of the Pharisee: for first of all he is boastful, and without sense; for he praises himself, although the sacred Scripture cries aloud, “Let a neighbour praise you, and not your own mouth: a stranger and not your own lips.” But, O excellent sir, one may well say to him, Behold, those who live in the practice of good and holy actions, as any one may see, are not very ready to listen to the words of flatterers: yes, and even if men extol them, they often are covered with shame, and drop their eyes to the ground, and beg silence of those that praise them. But this shameless Pharisee praises and extols himself because he is better than extortioners, and the unjust, and adulterers. But how did it escape your notice, that a man’s being better than the bad does not necessarily and of course prove him to be worthy of admiration: but that to vie with those who habitually excel, is a noble and honourable thing, and admits a man into the number of those who are justly praised.

Our virtue therefore must not be contaminated with fault, but must be single-minded and blameless, and free from all that can bring reproach. For what profit is there in fasting twice in the week, if your so doing serve only as a pretext for ignorance and vanity, and make you supercilious and haughty, and selfish? You tithe your possessions, and make a boast thereof: but you in another way provoke God’s anger, by condemning men generally on this account, and accusing others; and you are yourself puffed up, though not crowned by the divine decree for righteousness, but heap, on the contrary, praises upon yourself. “For I am not, he says, as the rest of mankind.” Moderate yourself, O Pharisee: “put a door to your tongue, and a lock.” You speak to God Who knows all things. Await the decree of the Judge. None of those skilled in the practice of wrestling ever crowns himself: nor does any man receive the crown of himself, but awaits the summons of the arbiter. Lower your pride: for arrogance is both accursed and hated by God. Although therefore you fast with puffed up mind, your so doing will not avail you: your labour will be unrewarded; for you have mingled dung with your perfume. Even according to the law of Moses a sacrifice that had a blemish was not capable of being offered to God: for it was said unto him, “Of sheep, and ox, that is offered for sacrifice, there must be no blemish therein.” Since therefore your fasting is accompanied by pride, you must expect to hear God saying, “This is not the fast that I have chosen, says the Lord.” You offer tithes: but you wrong in another way Him Who is honoured by you, in that you condemn men generally. This is an act foreign to the mind that fears God: for Christ even said, “Judge not, and you shall not be judged: condemn not, and you shall not be condemned.” And one also of His disciples said, “There is one Lawgiver, and Judge: why then do you judge your neighbour?” No man because he is in health ridicules one who is sick for being laid up and bedridden: rather he is afraid, lest perchance he become himself the victim of similar sufferings. Nor does any man in battle, because another has fallen, praise himself for having escaped from misfortune. For the infirmity of others is not a fit subject for praise for those who are in health: nay, even if any one be found of more than usually vigorous health, even then scarcely does he gain glory thereby. Such then was the state of the self-loving Pharisee.

But what of the publican? He stood, it says, “afar off,” not even venturing, so to speak, to raise up his eyes on high. You see him abstaining from all boldness of speech, as having no right thereto, and smitten by the reproaches of conscience: for he was afraid of being even seen by God, as one who had been careless of His laws, and had led an unchaste and dissolute life. You see also that by his external manner, he accuses his own depravity. For the foolish Pharisee stood there bold and broad, lifting up his eyes without scruple, bearing witness of himself, and boastful. But the other feels shame at his conduct: he is afraid of his Judge, he smites upon his breast, he confesses his offences, he shows his malady as to the Physician, he prays that he may have mercy. And what is the result? Let us hear what the Judge says, “This man, He says, went down to his house justified rather than the other.”

Let us therefore “pray without ceasing,” according to the expression of the blessed Paul: but let us be careful to do so aright. The love of self is displeasing to God, and He rejects empty haughtiness and a proud look, puffed up often on account of that which is by no means excellent. And even if a man be good and sober, let him not on this account suffer himself to fall away into shameful pride: but rather let him remember Christ, Who says to the holy apostles, “When you have done all those things, those namely which have been commanded you, say, We are unprofitable servants, we have done that which was our duty to do.’‘ For we owe unto God over all, as from the yoke of necessity, the service of slaves, and ready obedience in all things. Yes, though you lead an excellent and elect life, don’t exact wages from the Lord; but rather ask of Him a gift. As being good, He will promise it you: as a loving Father, He will aid you. Restrain not yourself then from saying, “God be merciful to me the sinner.” Remember Him Who says by the voice of Isaiah, “Declare you your sins first, that you may be justified:” remember too that He rebukes those who will not do so, and says, “Behold, I have a judgment against you, because you say ‘I have not sinned.’” Examine the words of the saints: for one says, “The righteous is the accuser of himself in the beginning of his words.” And another again, “I said, I will confess against myself my transgression unto the Lord: and you forgave the iniquity of my heart.”

What answer then will those make to this, who embrace the new tenets of Novatus, and say of themselves that they are pure? Whose prayer do they praise? That of the Pharisee, who acquitted himself, or that of the Publican, who accused himself? If they say that of the Pharisee, they resist the divine sentence; for he was condemned as being boastful: but if that of the Publican, why do they refuse to acknowledge their own impurity? Certainly God justifies those who know well their transgressions, and are willing to confess them: but these men will have the portion of the Pharisee.

We then say, that in many things we “all of us offend,” and that no man is pure from uncleanness, even though his life upon earth be but one day. Let us ask then of God mercy; which if we do, Christ will justify us: by Whom and with Whom, to God the Father, be praise and dominion, with the Holy Spirit, for ever and ever, Amen.

From A Commentary upon the Gospel according to Luke by S. Cyril, Patriarch of Alexandria, trans. Robert Payne Smith, 1859, rev. Roger Pearse, 2008.

About the Author: Mike Schramm lives with his wife and seven children in southeastern Minnesota, where he teaches theology and philosophy. His writing can be found at https://substack.com/@mikeschramm.

I tell my students every Spring as we begin, with the Pilgrim himself, our walk through the three stages of the afterlife as presented in Dante’s Divine Comedy, that my favorite leg of this journey is Purgatorio, though it is likely the least popular of the three. While Purgatorio does not share the horrifyingly evocative imagery of Inferno, nor the inspirational, conclusive beauty of Paradiso, its content stands as the most spiritually practical of the three. This is because the focus of Purgatorio, in contrast to Inferno and Paradiso which highlight the nature of sin and virtue themselves respectively, focuses on the movement from sin to virtue. Conversion from sin to virtue is the focus of the Christian life here on earth. Dante presents this conversion in a unique, engaging, and provocative way.

The primary theme throughout the Divine Comedy is a concept called the contrapasso. This word translates directly to English as “to suffer the opposite.” This is primarily applied to the punishments Dante inflicts on sinners in his Inferno. These punishments are fitting not because of the pain they inflict, but because of how they uniquely reflect the nature of the sin itself. While most often identified with the punishments of Inferno, the contrapasso applies just as readily to the purifications of the souls on Dante’s Purgatorio. These images, like their Infernal predecessors, uniquely reflect the nature of the sin being purified as well as reflect the nature of the purification itself. This purification takes the form of a corresponding virtue, which is not only practiced by the penitents but modelled in the lives of Jesus and Mary. Sinners are meant to contemplate these stories much like one contemplates the mysteries of the Rosary. It is in contemplating these models, specifically the details of their lives that show their virtues, that Dante begins his treatment of pride.

“Ecce ancilla Dei,” (Canto X, line 44)

As Virgil and Dante ascend the mountain of Purgatory to the terrace of the proud, they hear the Latin phrase, “Ecce ancilla Dei,” which translates to “Behold, the handmaid of the Lord,” a reference to Luke 1:38. This story recounts the Annunciation, when St. Gabriel reveals to Mary God’s plan of salvation and she graciously accepts. Her willingness to be God’s “handmaid” is highlighted by Dante to illustrate Mary’s humility. It is also in this moment whereupon she conceived Jesus, which was the ultimate act of humility in God’s kenotic lowering of himself to the level of creatures in taking on human nature. Dante gives us this model first as it is this humility that will purify sinners of their pride as they walk this circle. This walk will carry its own lessons as well.

“their heavy torment bends them to the ground” (Canto X, line 116)

Dante describes the punishment of these sinners as one representative of pride, which seeks to lift oneself up above others, as one that must bring them low. Heavy boulders lay across the shoulders of these sinners as they walk up this level of Mount Purgatory. The instructive irony of this punishment is that the very thing they thought lifted them up, or Dante says, their “mind presume to flight,” turns out to be the very thing that weighs them down, that keeps them from truly ascending (Canto X, line 127–8).

Dante describes how, “They were indeed bent down—some less, some more— // according to the weights their backs now bore” (Canto X, line 136–7). This implies that the size of the weights differ according to the pride they carried in their lives, which Dante will confirm when he declares that “each [sinner has] his own degree of suffering” (Canto XI, line 28). Pride puffs oneself up, so that one cannot bow because they are superior. Now, they are forcibly bent low. Those who exalted themselves, are finally being humbled (cf. Matthew 23:12). These weights, and their struggle, are not their only education.

“Look downward … pay // attention to the pavement at your feet.” (Canto XII, line 13–15)

As previously stated, the purpose of Purgatorio is not to punish for sin, but to be healed from it. This healing comes from a conversion of the heart from sin to virtue. For these souls, it is less about punishment for pride and more about movement, however slow, from pride to humility. Dante provides just such an opportunity for development of this virtue and does so in a remarkably creative way. By necessity, these souls carrying large boulders on their backs must look down as they march. This follows from their position as prideful in life when they looked down upon others. Now, they can only look down at the ground. They looked down upon everyone in life, now they can only look down at the ground.

The ground, for its part, has a twofold education itself for these souls. First, their path is strewn with the tombstones of “great men,” showing these proud souls where their pride will ultimately bring them. This is Dante’s subtle nod to memento mori, “remember your death,” a humbling epithet of the great equalizer for rich, poor, beautiful, ugly, healthy, and sickly. Second, the ground itself is a reminder of humility, as “humble” derives from the Latin humus, which means “ground.” Humus is also the root of the word, “human,” showing us that we best remember that we are in relationship to God as contingent creatures in need of his grace. It brings together two great truths of the Christian spiritual life that we are “dust” and “to dust” we will return (cf. Gen 3:19) and that humility reflects authentic humanity as being created in the image, but also still in need, of God.

“Walk humbly with your God” is Micah 6:8

The Divine Comedy is a masterclass in spiritual theology and Purgatorio especially is a step-by-step walk through the stages of the spiritual life. Dante understood that the Christian life is not simply transcendental Truth, but also Goodness and Beauty as well. His poem incorporates all three of these transcendentals as it seeks to instruct us more deeply about the nature and work of God in our lives, provide us models for how to know and live out this will, and presents it in a way that is breathtaking in its harmony, clarity and integrity. One can only respond with profound humility.

The Bible tells us that pride is the beginning of sin. If we wish to root out sin, we must root out pride.

00:29 Introduction

04:55 On Pride and Its Cure

55:55 The Twelve Degrees of Pride

Music: “Johann Sebastian Bach, Little Fugue in G Minor, BMV 578 (Pipe Organ),” from Pixabay.com

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All other vices flow from pride in such a way that some of the Church Fathers replaced it with vainglory in the list of capital sins and instead placed pride in a category all its own as the Queen of the Vices. This is why—for those paying close attention—the intro to the text of John Cassian’s Institutes in part 2 of our last issue identified the subject matter as “means of overcoming the eight deadly sins.” The same is indicated in the first part of this issue, which begins with Cassian’s treatment of pride, which he identifies as “the eighth and last combat” of the monk.

Cassian’s work is an expert treatment of the primal vice, based on the collected wisdom of many generations of monks dwelling in the desert and wrestling with sin and temptation. Cassian identifies the progress pride makes as it grows from the smallest seed in the monk’s soul and develops into a thirst to gather others around him to teach them the way of perfection; he grows so full of himself that he fails to see that he is himself most in need of instruction and not fit to teach. Cassian describes the successive stages of pride not so much as growth—as he would describe the successive stages of virtue—but as descent; this he does ironically to convey that the more one elevates himself in pride, the deeper he plunges into the depths of sin and away from the heights where God dwells. Yet, Cassian does not end in the depths; rather, he presents humility, the beginning of every virtue as the cure of pride and admonishes the monk to imitate the way of humility, of lowering oneself, by means of which one truly reaches the heights of perfection.

Our other work presented here comes from St. Bernard of Clairvaux, one of the great spiritual masters of the Middle Ages and an excellent student of the desert fathers. He builds on Cassian’s treatment of pride by developing twelve degrees of the vice, each aligned with one of the degrees of humility. Unlike Cassian, Bernard begins with humility, making his way up the twelve steps to the pinnacle of holiness, before descending through the corresponding twelve steps of pride back to the base. The image produced is something like the mountain of God, where one meets Christ at the top, but having reached the summit, one can still fall into pride and must be always careful to keep his focus fixed on God and Him alone. Here, on account of limited space, we reproduce only Bernard’s treatment of the twelve descending steps of pride. We would, of course, encourage any and all to read his treatment in full, as it is readily accessible.

In the subsequent parts of this issue we will treat of the effects of pride as well as its cure, concluding with Christ as the exemplar of humility, so we follow Cassian’s pattern more than Bernard’s, but Bernard is far from foreign.

And, of course, if you like what we are doing, I encourage you to support us by sharing our work, subscribing on Substack, browsing our store, submitting articles for future issues, or simply—but most importantly—through prayer. Now, without further ado, we embark on our journey through the stages of pride.

Aaron P. Debusschere
Editor

About the Author: Bernard of Clairvaux (1090–1153) was one of the earliest members of the Cistercian Order—an attempt at reforming the Benedictines by returning to the Rule of St. Benedict—and certainly its most famous. A skilled preacher and perhaps even a mystic, Bernard’s constant scriptural language and imagery has gained for him the title “last of the Fathers.” The present text is an excerpt from a longer work on the degrees of humility and pride, which draws extensively from St. Benedict’s Rule and the earlier monastic tradition. Here he details the descent of the monk into the depths of pride.

The first degree of pride is curiosity. This you may detect by the following signs. Look at that monk, whom you have hitherto supposed to be a sensible man. He has now taken to staring about him, whether he is standing up, walking about or sitting down. He thrusts his head forward, and pricks up his ears. From his outward movements you can clearly see the inward change that he has undergone. For it is the froward man who winketh with the eye, presseth with the foot, and speaketh with the finger (Pr 6:12), and from the unusual movements of his body is seen to have lately contracted disease of the soul — the careless sluggishness of which in self-examination makes it inquisitive about others. So since it takes no heed to itself it is sent out of doors to feed the kids. And as these are the types of sin, I may quite correctly give the title of ‘kids’ to the eyes and the ears, since as death comes into the world through sin, so does sin enter the mind through these apertures. The curious man, therefore, busies himself with feeding them, though he takes no trouble to ascertain the state in which he has left himself. Yet if, O man, you look carefully into yourself, it is indeed a wonder that you can ever look at anything else. You inquisitive fellow, listen to Solomon — you silly fellow, hearken to the wise man, as he says, With all watchfulness guard thy heart (Pr 6:23), in other words, keep all your senses on the watch to protect that which is the source of life. For whither, inquisitive man, will you retire from your own presence — to whom will you in the meantime intrust yourself? How dare you, who have sinned against heaven, lift up your eyes to the sky? Look down to the earth if you want to recognize yourself. It will show you what you are, for earth thou art, and to earth shalt thou go (Gn 3:9).

Now there are two reasons for which you may raise your eyes without being to blame for so doing — one is to seek, the other is to render, assistance. David raised his eyes to the mountains for the former, the Lord lifted His over the crowd for the latter purpose. The motive of the one was misfortune, that of the other was mercy, neither was to blame. If you likewise with due regard to place, time and occasion, look up when you or a brother are in distress, I not only do not blame you, I highly commend you. For misfortune allows the one action, mercy approves the other. But in different circumstances I should call you an imitator not of the Prophet nor of the Lord, but of Dina or of Eve, aye, verily, of Satan himself. For Dina when she went out to feed her kids, was snatched away from her father and her maidenhood was taken from her. O Dina, what need was there for thee to look on strange women? Was it necessary — did it serve any useful purpose — or was it done out of mere curiosity? Thy look may have no purpose, but it is not without purpose that men gaze on thee. There is curiosity in thy look, but more in the look that is turned on thee. Who could have supposed that thy curious carelessness or careless curiosity would afterwards prove to be not reckless but ruinous to thee, thy friends and thine enemies?

And thou, O Eve, wast placed in Paradise, that thou mightest work with thine husband and bestow thy care on him; and if thou hadst discharged thy duty, thou wouldst eventually have passed into a better sphere where there would have been no need for thee to be engaged in any work, or to be beset by any care. Leave was given to thee to eat of every tree in Paradise, except that one which is called the tree of knowledge of good and evil (Gn 2:9). For if the others are good and have a good savour, what need is there to eat of one which also has an evil savour? Not to be more wise than it behoveth to be wise (Rm 12:3) For to know evil is not knowledge but folly. So preserve what is given, await what is promised, avoid what is forbidden, lest thou lose what is allowed. Why lookest thou so eagerly for thy death ? Why dost thou so often cast in that direction those wandering eyes of thine? What pleasure hast thou in looking on that which thou mayest not eat? Perchance thou dost reply, ‘I stretch forth mine eyes not my hand. It is not looking but eating that is forbidden. May I not turn those eyes which God has placed under my control in any direction that I please?’ To which the Apostle shall answer, All things are lawful for me, but all things are not expedient (1 Cor 6:12). Although it may not be in itself a guilty act, it affords an incentive to sin. For if thy mind had not shown insufficient attention to its own condition, it would have had no time for idle curiosity. Although there may be no offence, there is an opportunity as well as a suggestion to offend and a reason for offending. For while thou art thinking of something else, the serpent creeps craftily into thine heart, and addresses thee in an alluring tone. He overcomes thy reason with his enticements, allays thy fear with falsehoods, and tells thee that thou art in no danger of death. He increases thy distress, as he stimulates thine appetite; he sharpens curiosity and strengthens desire. At length he offers what is forbidden and takes away what is allowed. He presents thee with fruit and deprives thee of Paradise. Thou takest poison: thou wilt perish thyself and wilt bring forth children who will perish. Thou hast sacrificed salvation, without losing the power to give birth. We are born, we die and thus we are born only to die, because we are dead before we are born.

And as for thee, ‘pattern of perfection’ (Ez 28:12–13), thou wast placed not in Paradise, but in Eden the garden of God. What more couldst thou reasonably desire? Filled with wisdom, and exalted in honour, thou shouldst have expected nothing higher and worked for nothing stronger than thyself. Remain where thou art, lest thou fall from thy position, if thou walkest among things that are too great and wonderful for thee. But why dost thou sometimes turn round and look to the north? I see thee, I already detect thee peering too inquisitively into the unknown heights above thee, I will place sayest thou, my throne towards the north (Is 14:13). The other dwellers in heaven are standing, whilst thou alone dost desire to sit, and dost thereby disturb the harmony of the brethren, the peace of the whole heavenly community, and, so far as it lies in thy power to do so, the tranquillity of the Trinity. Does this curiosity carry thee so far, thou wretched being, that with unrivalled presumption thou dost not scruple to give offence to the citizens and to do injury to the king? Thousands of thousands minister to him and ten times a hundred thousand stand before him (Dn 7:10), where no one is allowed to sit, but He alone who sitteth upon the cherubims (Ps 80[79]:1) and receiveth the ministrations of others. And dost thou — how shall I put it — claiming a wider outlook, a more incisive scrutiny and a freer entrance than that of the others, place a seat for thyself in heaven, that thou mayest be on a level with the Most High? What is thine object — on what dost thou rely? Thou fool, estimate thy powers, think of the result, consider the process. Dost thou presume on the knowledge or on the ignorance — on the willingness or on the reluctance — of the Most High? But how can He whose purpose is all good, and whose knowledge is unlimited, either consent to or be unaware of, thine evil design? Dost thou think that though He undoubtedly knows and disapproves it, He is unable to prevent it? But unless indeed thou art doubtful whether thou art a created being, I cannot suppose that thou canst doubt the omnipotence, omniscience and excellence of thy Creator, seeing that He was able to create thee out of nothing, and, knowing what thou wouldst turn out to be, willed to make thee the powerful being that thou art. When therefore thou thinkest that God will tolerate that of which He disapproves and has the power to prohibit, do I perchance see in thee the completion — aye, and the origin — of that idea which after thee and because of thee is constantly held by those like thee on earth, and which is embodied in the common saying, ‘An usurper keeps reckless followers?’ Is thine eye evil because he is good (Mt 20:15)? This wicked presumption of thine on His benevolence has produced in thee an insolent disregard of His knowledge, and a daring defiance of His power. For this, and nothing less than this, thou unholy one, is thy train of thought. This is the wickedness that thou dost devise on thy bed, and sayest ‘thinkest thou that the Creator will destroy His own work? I am well aware that no thought of mine escapes God, because He is God, nor does any such thought please Him, because He is good. Nor can I escape His hand — if He so wishes — because He is mighty. But need this be a cause of dread to me? For if through His goodness He can have no pleasure in evil done by me — how much less can He derive it from evil action of His own? I should call it evil on my part to wish to oppose His will — and on His part to avenge Himself. He therefore cannot wish to take vengeance for any crime, since He neither will nor can part with His inherent goodness.’ It is thyself — thou wretch, alone that thou deceivest, not God. Thou deceivest thyself, I repeat, and thy wickedness lies to thyself not to God. Thou dost indeed act deceitfully, but He detects thy motive. Thus thou deceivest thyself not God. And since in return for His great goodness, thou dost contemplate great evil towards Him, thy wickedness naturally leads thee to hate Him. For what can be more unjust than that the Creator should be scorned by thee for the very reason for which He most deserves thy love? What can be more outrageous than that when thou hast no doubt that the power of God shown in thy creation, could be used for thy destruction, thou dost yet rely on His abundant kindness, and that this should lead thee to hope that He will be unwilling to exercise His vindictive power? Wilt thou repay good with evil and love with hatred (Ps 109[108]:5)?

Now I say that this malice is deserving, not of passing indignation but of abiding wrath. For it is thy desire and hope to be on an equality with the most gracious and most high Lord, although that is not His wish. Thou desirest that He shall have always before His eyes the distressing sight of thine unwelcome presence, and thou thinkest that though He is able to cast thee down, He will not do so, but that He will prefer Himself to suffer than to allow thee to perish. It is undoubtedly in His power to overthrow thee, if such be His will — but in thine opinion His kindness will not allow Him to entertain such a wish. If He be such as thou supposest Him to be, it is clear that thy conduct in not loving Him is so much the baser. And if He does allow action to be taken against Himself rather than take action against thee — how great must be thy malice in having no consideration for Him who disregards Himself in sparing thee? But it is inconceivable that He who is perfect can fail to be both kind and just. It is not as though kindness and justice cannot exist together. Kindness is really better when it is just than when it is slack — nay more, kindness without justice is not a virtue. It therefore appears that thou remainest ungrateful for the loving-kindness of God whereby thou wast created without exertion on thy part, but thou fearest not His justice of which thou hast had no experience, and dost therefore audaciously incur guilt for which thou dost falsely promise thyself impunity. Now mark that thou wilt find Him whom thou hast known to be kind, to be also righteous, and thou wilt thyself fall into the ditch which thou hast dug for thy Creator. Thy design seems to be to inflict on Him an injury which He is able to avoid if He wishes to do so — a wish which thou thinkest that He cannot entertain, as He will not be wanting in that kindness which has led Him never within thine experience to punish anybody. The righteous God will most justly retaliate by punishing thee, since He neither can nor ought to allow such a slight on His goodness to remain unpunished. He may, However, so moderate the severity of His sentence that, if thou art willing to return to reason, He will not refuse thee pardon. But such is thy hardness and impenitent heart (Rm 2:5), that thou art incapable of such a wish, and therefore canst not escape the penalty.

But now listen to the accusation against thee. Heaven, saith He, is my throne and the earth my footstool (Is 66:1). He did not say ‘east’ or ‘west’, or any one region in the heaven, but the whole heaven is my throne. Thou must not therefore seat thyself in a portion of the heaven, since He has chosen the whole of it for Himself. Thou canst not place thyself on earth, for it is His footstool. For the earth is a solid body, on which is seated the Church, founded on a strong rock. What wilt thou do ? Driven out of heaven, thou canst not remain on earth. Choose then for thyself a place in the air, not for session but for flight, so that thou, who didst attempt to shatter the security of eternity, shall pay the penalty of thine own unrest. For, whilst thou art driven to and fro between Heaven and earth, the Lord is seated on a throne high and elevated (Is 6:1) and the whole earth is full of His majesty — so that thou canst find no place except in the air. For the Seraphim with their wings of contemplation fly from the throne to the footstool, and from the footstool to the throne, while with their other wings they cover the head and feet of the Lord. And I think that they are purposely so placed that, as the access to Paradise was barred against sinful men by the Cherubim, so also shall a limit be set to thy curiosity by the Seraphim. The result will be that thou wilt no longer, with more impudence than prudence, investigate the secrets of heaven, nor wilt thou discover the mysteries of the Church on earth, but shalt find a home only in the hearts of the proud, who neither deign to live on earth like other men, nor fly like the angels to heaven. But although His head is hidden from thee in heaven and His feet on earth, thou mayest as it were be allowed to see — and to envy — some part of what lies between, whilst thou art suspended in the air, and dost behold the angels descending and ascending past thee, though thou art altogether ignorant of what they hear in heaven or tell on earth.

O Lucifer, thou who didst rise in the morning, surely a bearer no longer of light, but of night — aye, even of death — thy proper course was from the east to the south, and dost thou invert the order and perversely tend towards the north? In proportion to thy haste to rise is the rapidity of thy decline and fall. Yet, thou curious one, I should wish to investigate more closely the object of thy curiosity. I will place, sayest thou, my throne towards the north. And as thou art a spirit, I think that neither ‘north’ nor ‘throne’ is to be understood in a local or literal sense. For, I suppose that by ‘the north’ is meant evil men, and by ‘my throne’ thy control over them. For in the foreknowledge of God, thou hast from thy chosen proximity to Him, a clearer insight into the future than had others; and as these were neither enlightened by any ray of wisdom, nor warmed by the love of the spirit, thou didst find in them as it were thine opportunity. Thus didst thou establish thy rule over them, so that thou mightest pour into them some of thy clever cunning, and influence them with thy wicked warmth; so that as the Most High controlled all the sons of obedience by His wisdom and His goodness, thou mightest govern these by thy cunning wickedness and wicked cunning, and in this respect thou mightest resemble Him. But I am surprised that, since in God’s foreknowledge thou didst foresee thy rule, thou didst not in like manner foresee thy ruin. For if thou didst foresee it, what madness it was to be so wickedly eager for dominion as to prefer rule and wretchedness to submission and happiness. Or was it not better for thee to be a partner in those regions of light than ruler of those dark places? But it is more likely that thou didst not look forward — either for the reason which I gave above — that in thy reliance on the kindness of God thou didst say in thine heart, He will not require it (Ps 10:13), and didst therefore wickedly offend Him, or because when thou didst see thy rule, the beam of pride at once rose up in thine eye — which through its interference was unable to discern its danger.

In like manner Joseph did not foresee his sale though he had foreseen his promotion — and this although the sale was to precede the promotion. I should not from this conclude that the great patriarch was guilty of pride, but that his experience proves that those who possess the spirit of prophecy must not be supposed to have foreseen nothing because they did not foresee everything. Some one may, perhaps, maintain that the fact that this youth recorded his dreams — of whose symbolic significance he was at the time unaware — was a mark of self-sufficiency. I still think that this should be ascribed to their symbolic character or to his boyish innocence, rather than to conceit. And if there were such conceit, he was able to atone for it by his subsequent painful experiences. For revelations of a character pleasing to themselves are sometimes made to certain persons, and though such knowledge must inevitably engender conceit in the human mind, the prediction may; nevertheless be fulfilled — albeit in such a way that the vanity which has caused even a slight delight in the importance of the revelation shall not be unpunished. For a physician uses not only ointment but fire and iron, with which he cuts out or cauterizes everything which is useless for the treatment of the wound, so that there may be no obstacle to the remedial working of the ointment. In like manner does God as the physician of souls, prescribe and administer to a soul of such a disposition, temptations and troubles in order that, chastened and humbled, it may turn joy into sorrow, and think the revelation a delusion. The result is that vanity disappears, though the truth of the revelation is not impaired. Thus Paul’s tendency to self-exaltation is checked by his thorn in the flesh, while he is himself uplifted by repeated revelations. Thus want of faith in Zacharias is punished by loss of speech, yet the declaration of the angel that the truth would be made clear during his lifetime is unaltered. Thus again, by honour and dishonour (2 Cor 6:8) do the saints make progress, though among the special gifts which each receives, they are only too well aware of the existence in them of that vanity which is common to mankind; so that while they know themselves to be the possessors of supernatural favour, they may ever remember whom they truly are.

But what about revelations to mere curiosity? I took the opportunity of dealing with these in a digression, when I tried to show that the wicked angel before his fall was allowed to foresee that dominion which he afterwards acquired over wicked men, but not to anticipate his own condemnation. That is a matter about which questions of small moment may be raised which it is easier to ask than to answer, and of which the sum and substance is but this — that he fell from the truth because his idle speculation led him to unlawful desire and thus to presumptuous aspiration.

Curiosity therefore rightly claims the first place among the degrees of pride, and is thus revealed as the beginning of all sin. But unless this is suppressed very speedily it will soon develop into a careless frame of mind which constitutes the second degree.

For the monk who is careless about himself and unduly inquisitive about other people, looks up to some as his betters and looks down upon others as his inferiors — in some he sees cause for envy, while others are the objects of his scorn. It thus happens that his mind, enervated by his habit of staring about him, is oppressed by no anxiety on its own account, now through pride soars to the heights and then sinks through envy to the depths. He shows at one moment a sulky acquiescence in his own wickedness, at another a childish delight in his excellence. In the former he exhibits his weakness, in the latter his vanity, in both his pride; for it is love of his own excellence that gives him distress when others surpass him, and joy when he surpasses them. This unbalanced disposition shows itself in speech sometimes brief and bitter, sometimes full and feeble, alternately jocose and doleful, and always silly. Compare if you please these two earliest degrees of pride with the two highest degrees of humility, and see if the last one of these latter does not repress curiosity, and the one before it levity. You will find the same contrast if the other degrees are similarly compared. But now let us go on to the study of the third degree — without, however, falling into it.

It is characteristic of the proud that they always look out for pleasure and shun sadness, in accordance with the saying: The heart of fools is where there is mirth (Eccles 7:5). So it is that the monk who has already descended two degrees of pride and through inquisitiveness has arrived at levity, when he sees the joy for which he is always on the look out constantly interrupted by the distress which he feels at the sight of good in others, chafes under the sense of humiliation and takes refuge in a suggestion of unreal comfort. Henceforth he restrains his inquisitiveness on that side on which his own worthlessness and his neighbour’s excellence are shown to him, and turns his whole attention to the other side. He may thus mark only too carefully those things in which he seems to be the better man, and may hide those in which others surpass him, and so may put away all thought of sorrow and remain always merry. It thus happens that silly merriment soon gains sole possession of the man whom joy and sorrow alternately claim.

I set this before you as the third degree of pride; now note the marks by which you may detect it, either in yourself or in anyone else. You seldom or ever hear a man of this kind groan, or see him shed tears. You will think, if you consider, that his faults are either forgotten or forgiven. His gestures are those of a buffoon, his look that of a coxcomb, his step that of a dandy. He is always making jokes, and never loses a chance of laughing. He cuts out of his mind all discreditable and therefore distressing recollections, and concentrates his mental vision on his real or pretended merits. As he thinks of nothing but what is pleasant without considering whether it is lawful, he can neither restrain laughter nor hide his unseasonable merriment. A bladder swells when it is full of wind, but if a small hole is pricked in it and it is squeezed, it creaks as it collapses, and the air does not rush out at once, but is gradually expelled and gives out frequent intermittent sounds. In like manner when a monk has filled his mind with vapid and vulgar thoughts, the flood of folly which cannot, owing to the rule of silence, find full and free vent, is thrown but from his narrow jaws in guffaws of laughter. He constantly hides his face as if ashamed, compresses his lips, and clenches his teeth. He laughs loudly without meaning to do so, and even against his will. And when he has stopped his mouth with his fists he is frequently heard to sneeze.

But when vanity increases, and the bladder begins to be inflated, it becomes necessary to loosen the belt and allow a larger outlet for the air, otherwise the bladder will burst. So the monk who is unable to discharge his superabundant store of unseemly merriment by laughter or by gesture, breaks forth with the words of Elihu, My belly is as new wine which wanteth vent, which bursteth the new vessels (Jb 32:19). He must speak out or break down. For he is full of matter to speak of, and the spirit of his bowels constraineth him (Jb 5:18). He hungers and thirsts for hearers, at whom he may throw his banalities, to whom he may pour out his feelings, and let them know what a fine fellow he is. But when he has found his opportunity of speaking — if the conversation turns on literary matters, old and new points are brought forward; he airs his ideas in loud and lofty tone. He interrupts his questioner and answers before he is asked. He himself puts the question and gives the answer, nor does he even allow the person to whom he is talking to finish his remarks. When the striking of the silence gong puts a stop to conversation, he complains that a full hour is not a sufficient allowance, and asks for indulgence that he may go on with his gossip after the time for it is over — not to add to the knowledge of any one else, but to boast of his own. He has the power but not the purpose of giving useful information. His care is not to teach you or to learn from you things which he does not know, but that the extent of his learning may be made known. If the subject under discussion is religion, he is forward with his vision and his dreams. He upholds fasting, prescribes vigils, and maintains the paramount importance of prayer. He enlarges at great length but with excessive conceit on patience, humility and all the virtues in turn, with the intention that you on hearing him should say, Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh (Mt 12:34–35), and that a good man out of his good treasure bringing forth good things. If the talk turns on light subjects he becomes more loquacious, because he is on more familiar ground. If you hear the torrent of his conceit you may say that his mouth is a fount of such buffoonery as to move even strict and sober monks to light laughter. To put it shortly, mark his swagger in his chatter. In this you have the name and description of the fourth degree of pride. Remember the description and avoid the reality. With this warning, go on to the fifth degree which I call eccentricity.

A man who prides himself on being better than his fellow-men thinks it a disgrace if he does not do something more than they do, whereby his superiority may be apparent. Therefore the general rule of the monastery and the example of its senior members are not enough for him. Yet His anxiety is not to be, but to be seen to be better than they. His effort is not to lead a better life but visibly to surpass others, so that he may be able to say, I am not as the rest of men (Lk 18:11). He takes more credit to himself for having once gone without a meal while others were having theirs, than he does in having shared in a fast of seven days. One little private prayer of his own seems to him more commendable than the recitation of all the Psalms set for an entire night. At mealtime he has a habit of casting his eyes all round the tables, and if he sees anyone eating less than himself, he is annoyed at being outdone. He begins severely to cut down the amount of food which he had hitherto recognized as his necessary ration, because he is more afraid of loss of credit than of the pangs of hunger. If he catches sight of anyone more shrunken and sallow than himself, he cannot rest under what he considers to be a disgrace. And, since he cannot see his own face and the aspect under which he presents himself to onlookers, he examines his hands and arms which he can see, beats his breast, taps his shoulders and loins, and from the more or less attenuated condition of his limbs forms an opinion as to the paleness or colour of his face. But while active in all his private devotions, he is indolent in public worship. He keeps vigil while in bed, and goes to sleep in his stall. He sleeps all night while others are chanting the early Psalms. When the vigil is over, and the other monks are resting in the cloister, he alone lingers in the oratory. He coughs and spits, and the ears of those sitting outside are filled with the sighs and groans from his corner. By his silly and singular action he has established a high reputation with his more simple brethren, who quite approve what they see of his doings, though they do not detect their motive, and, by the commendation which they bestow on him, they aid and abet the wretched man’s mistake.

He believes what he hears, praises his own action, and pays no attention to the motive. He welcomes a favourable opinion and forgets its purpose. And he who in everything else puts more trust in himself than in other men, attaches more weight to the opinions of others about him than to his own. So not only does he think that he exhibits superior religion on account of his verbal profession or special display of piety, but in his inmost heart he considers himself more holy than any one else. And if he knows that he is praised for anything, he ascribes it, not to the ignorance or the kindliness of the person who commends him, but, with much conceit, to his own deserts. So after eccentricity, conceit has made good its claim to be the sixth degree. After it, audacity shows itself — and in it the seventh degree consists.

For if a man thinks himself superior to others, is it likely that he will not push himself in front of them? He is the first to take his seat at meetings, the first to intervene in debate. He comes forward without invitation, and with no introduction but his own; he re-opens questions that have been settled, and goes again over work that has been done. He considers that nothing that he has not himself designed and carried out, has been properly organized or satisfactorily executed. He criticises those who sit in judgment, and tells them what their decisions should be. If, when the time comes for the appointment of a Prior, he is not promoted to the office, he is certain that his Abbot is either jealous or mistaken. But if some less important duty is assigned to him, he is displeased and contemptuous, for, as he feels himself qualified for greater work, he thinks that he ought not to be employed in smaller matters. But it is inconceivable that a man who, with more rashness than readiness, is very anxious to undertake all sorts of work, should not sometimes make mistakes. And it is the duty of the Abbot to reprove such an one for his error. But how will he confess his fault, if he neither thinks himself, nor will allow others to think him, worthy of censure? Therefore when his fault is pointed out to him, it is not removed but grows worse. So if, when he is reproved, you see him incline his heart to wicked words, you may know that he has sunk to the eighth degree, which is called defence of wrong-doing.

There are many ways in which defence is made for sin. A man either says ‘I did it not’ or ‘I no doubt did it, but I acted rightly in so doing’, or ‘I may have acted wrongly but not to a serious extent,’ or, ‘If I was seriously wrong, I had no bad intention’. If, however, he, like Adam and Eve, is proved to be guilty, he attempts to excuse himself on the ground that he was tempted by some one else. But if a man unblushingly defends even open sins, will he ever humbly disclose to the Abbot the hidden evil thoughts which come into his mind?

But although defences of this kind are considered so wrong that they are called by the Prophet evil words (Ps 141[140]:4), a false and perverse confession is much more dangerous than even a brazen and stubborn defence. For there are some who, when they are reproved for rather conspicuous offences, and know that no excuse which they may offer will be accepted, have recourse to a more cunning form of defence — they reply by a deceitful confession. For there is, as it is written, one that humbleth himself wickedly and his interior is full of deceit (Ecclus 19:23). The countenance is downcast — the body is prostrate. They exact from themselves, if they are able to do so, some tears. They interrupt their speech by sighs and intersperse their words with groans. A man of this description not only offers no excuse for the offences with which he is charged, but himself even exaggerates his guilt. He does this that you, when you hear him make a further accusation against himself of some impossible or inconceivable crime, may be disposed to disbelieve even that of which you thought him guilty — and thus, from the fact that he makes a confession which you fully believe to be false, some doubt may be thrown on that which you held to be almost certain. And when these men make a statement the acceptance of which they do not desire, by their confession they excuse, and by their disclosures they conceal, their fault. Their confession sounds praiseworthy in the mouth, but wickedness is hidden in the heart; so that he who hears may think that the confession is made with more humility than accuracy, and may apply to them that Scriptural saying, The righteous man at the beginning of his speech is his own accuser (Pr 18:17). For in the sight of men they would rather be thought wanting in truthfulness than in humility — while in the sight of God they are lacking in both. But if their guilt is so clear that by no subterfuge can it be entirely concealed, they nevertheless adopt the tone, though not the spirit of repentance, and by this means remove the mark, though not the reality of their guilt, as they make up for ignoring an open offence by the credit of a public confession.

A fine sort of humility is this, in which pride seeks to array itself, that it may not lose caste! But this double-dealing is soon detected by the Abbot, unless he is to some extent imposed upon by this haughty humility, and thus induced to pass over the fault or postpone the penalty. The furnace trieth the potter’s vessels (Ecclus 27:6), and distress reveals the real penitent. For the man who is truly penitent does not shrink from the trouble of repentance. Whatever is prescribed to him on account of the fault which he detests, he accepts with submissive and silent acquiescence. And if through this very obedience unexpected hardships arise, and he thereby sustains injuries that were not intended, he does not give up, so that lie may show that lie has his place in the fourth degree of humility. But he whose confession is unreal, when he is confronted with a slight rebuke, or trifling penalty, is unable either to feign humility or to conceal his dissimulation. He murmurs, gnashes his teeth and loses his temper, and it becomes clear that, so far from standing in the fourth degree of humility, he has fallen into the ninth degree of pride, which from the above description of it, may well be called sham confession. How great, think you, must be the proud man’s consternation when his deceit is detected, his pardon forfeited, and his fault not condoned? He is at last found out and condemned by all — and the general indignation is all the greater when men see how erroneous was their former judgment of him. It is then the duty of the Abbot to be less ready to pardon him, because the forgiveness of one would be an offence to all.

Unless by a merciful intervention of Providence this man quietly accepts the unanimous verdict — a thing which it is very difficult for such persons to do — he soon becomes shameless and defiant, and more hopelessly degenerate, and sinks through rebellion into the tenth degree, so that he who had hitherto by his conceit treated his brethren with veiled discourtesy, now by his disobedience shows open contempt for authority. For it should be observed that all the degrees — which I have divided into twelve — may be arranged in three groups; in the first six there is disrespect to the brethren, in the four that follow defiance of authority, while the last two show complete contempt for God. And it should also be noted that, just as the first two degrees in the ascending scale of humility must be attained before entering the community so the last downward steps in pride, which are their counterpart, cannot be taken whilst in it. That the first two degrees must be previously passed, the language of the Rule makes clear. For it says that ‘The third degree is that anyone for love of God should submit with entire obedience to his superior’ (Rule, 7). Therefore if this submission, which beyond doubt is made when the novice enters the convent, is assigned to the third degree, the necessary presumption is that the two preceding degrees have been passed. Therefore when a monk scorns alike the harmony of the brethren and the decision of his ruler, what more can he do in the monastery except cause scandal?

So after the tenth degree — which has been described as ‘rebellion’ — the man is at once caught in the eleventh. He then enters those paths which are attractive to men, at the end of which (unless God shall perchance have interposed some barrier for his protection) he will be plunged into the nethermost hell — that is into contempt of God. For the wicked man when he is come into the depth of evils, contemneth (Pr 18:3). The eleventh degree may be called freedom to sin, since in it a monk, who sees that he has now neither a ruler to fear nor brethren to respect, can safely and freely give full play to his own desires, which shame as well as fear prevented him from doing while in the monastery. But although he no longer dreads his brethren or his Abbot, he has not yet lost all awe of God. Reason, some faint echo of which still remains, places this check upon his inclination, and it is not without some hesitation that he enters on his sinful course, and, like a man who is trying to ford a stream, steps rather than runs into the torrent of vice.

But when, by the awful judgment of God, his first offences have been unpunished, the pleasure that he has derived from them is freely repeated, and its repetition engrosses him. Lust is quickened, reason lulled, and habit becomes bondage. The wretched man is drawn into the abyss of evil, made prisoner to the despotic rule of vice, and so overwhelmed by the whirlpool of his carnal desires that he forgets alike his own reason and the fear of God, and says madly in his heart, There is no God (Ps 13:1). He now, without scruple, puts pleasure in the place of law, his mind, his hands and his feet are no longer forbidden to consider, execute and pursue courses that are unlawful; but whatever comes to his heart, his mouth or his hand, he designs, discusses and carries out, with evil intent, idle utterance, and sinful action. Just as a righteous man, when he has risen through all the degrees, is able by his habitual goodness to run eagerly and easily to life; so does the wicked man, who has gone down through the same degrees, in consequence of his evil practice emancipated from the rule of reason and unrestrained by the bridle of fear, hasten undaunted to his death. There are some in the middle who are wearied and worried — who, alternately tortured by the fear of hell, and hindered by longstanding habit, find the descent or ascent hard work. The first one and the last one alone move quickly and without hindrance. The latter hastens to death — the former to life — the one more speedily, the other with greater care. Love makes the one eager, lust renders the other inert. The affection of the one, the indifference of the other make both insensible to toil. So in the one perfect love, in the other consummate wickedness drives out fear. Loyalty gives confidence to the one, blindness does the same for the other. So the twelfth degree may be called the habit of sinning, because in it the fear of God is lost, and its place is taken by scorn.

From Saint Bernard, The Twelve Degrees of Humility and Pride, trans. Barton R.V. Mills (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1929), 55–87.

About the text: St. John Cassian (c. 360–435) gave up the wealth he enjoyed in his youth to become a monk first in Bethlehem, then Egypt, and finally in Marseille. During his time in Egypt, he gathered together the sayings of many desert fathers into a collection known as the Conferences. On account of Cassian’s influence on St. Benedict, the Conferences were read during meals in Benedictine monasteries through the following centuries. Another of his works, the Institutes, outlines the liturgical rules followed by the monks as well as their means of overcoming the eight deadly sins. Here is book XII of the Institutes, on the first and worst of sins: pride.

1. Our eighth and last combat is against the spirit of pride, which evil, although it is the latest in our conflict with our faults and stands last on the list, yet in beginning and in the order of time is the first: an evil beast that is most savage and more dreadful than all the former ones, chiefly trying those who are perfect, and devouring with its dreadful bite those who have almost attained the consummation of virtue.

2. And of this pride there are two kinds: the one, that by which we said that the best of men and spiritually minded ones were troubled; the other, that which assaults even beginners and carnal persons. And though each kind of pride is excited with regard to both God and man by a dangerous elation, yet that first kind more particularly has to do with God; the second refers especially to men. Of the origin of this last and the remedies for it we will by God’s help treat as far as possible in the latter part of this book. We now propose to say a few things about that former kind, by which, as I mentioned before, those who are perfect are especially tried.

3. There is then no other fault which is so destructive of all virtues, and robs and despoils a man of all righteousness and holiness, as this evil of pride, which like some pestilential disease attacks the whole man, and, not content to damage one part or one limb only, injures the entire body by its deadly influence, and endeavours to cast down by a most fatal fall, and destroy those who were already at the top of the tree of the virtues. For every other fault is satisfied within its own bounds and limits, and though it clouds other virtues as well, yet it is in the main directed against one only, and specially attacks and assaults that. And so (to make my meaning clearer) gluttony, i.e., the appetites of the belly and the pleasures of the palate, is destructive of strict temperance: lust stains purity, anger destroys patience: so that sometimes a man who is in bondage to some one sin is not altogether wanting in other virtues: but being simply deprived of that one virtue which in the struggle yields to the vice which is its rival and opposed to it, can to some extent preserve his other virtues: but this one when once it has taken possession of some unfortunate soul, like some most brutal tyrant, when the lofty citadel of the virtues has been taken, utterly destroys and lays waste the whole city; and levelling with the ground of vices the once high walls of saintliness, and confusing them together, it allows no shadow of freedom henceforth to survive in the soul subject to it. And in proportion as it was originally the richer, so now will the yoke of servitude be the severer, through which by its cruel ravages it will strip the soul it has subdued of all its powers of virtue.

4. And that we may understand the power of its awful tyranny we see that that angel who, for the greatness of his splendour and beauty was termed Lucifer, was cast out of heaven for no other sin but this, and, pierced with the dart of pride, was hurled down from his grand and exalted position as an angel into hell. If then pride of heart alone was enough to cast down from heaven to earth a power that was so great and adorned with the attributes of such might, the very greatness of his fall shows us with what care we who are surrounded by the weakness of the flesh ought to be on our guard. But we can learn how to avoid the most deadly poison of this evil if we trace out the origin and causes of his fall. For weakness can never be cured, nor the remedies for bad states of health be disclosed unless first their origin and causes are investigated by a wise scrutiny. For as he (viz., Lucifer) was endowed with divine splendour, and shone forth among the other higher powers by the bounty of his Maker, he believed that he had acquired the splendour of that wisdom and the beauty of those powers, with which he was graced by the gift of the Creator, by the might of his own nature, and not by the beneficence of His generosity. And on this account he was puffed up as if he stood in no need of divine assistance in order to continue in this state of purity, and esteemed himself to be like God, as if, like God, he had no need of any one, and trusting in the power of his own will, fancied that through it he could richly supply himself with everything which was necessary for the consummation of virtue or for the perpetuation of perfect bliss. This thought alone was the cause of his first fall. On account of which being forsaken by God, whom he fancied he no longer needed, he suddenly became unstable and tottering, and discovered the weakness of his own nature, and lost the blessedness which he had enjoyed by God’s gift. And because he “loved the words of ruin,” with which he had said, “I will ascend into heaven,” and the “deceitful tongue,” with which he had said of himself, “I will be like the Most High” (Is 14:13–14), and of Adam and Eve, “You shall be as gods,” therefore “shall God destroy him forever and pluck him out and remove him from his dwelling place and his root out of the land of the living.” Then “the just,” when they see his ruin, “shall fear, and shall laugh at him and say” (what may also be most justly aimed at those who trust that they can obtain the highest good without the protection and assistance of God): “Behold the man that made not God his helper, but trusted in the abundance of his riches, and prevailed in his vanity.”

5. This is the reason of the first fall, and the starting point of the original malady, which again insinuating itself into the first man, through him who had already been destroyed by it, produced the weaknesses and materials of all faults. For while he believed that by the freedom of his will and by his own efforts he could obtain the glory of Deity, he actually lost that glory which he already possessed through the free gift of the Creator.

6. And so it is most clearly established by instances and testimonies from Scripture that the mischief of pride, although it comes later in the order of the combat, is yet earlier in origin, and is the beginning of all sins and faults: nor is it (like the other vices) simply fatal to the virtue opposite to it (in this case, humility), but it is also at the same time destructive of all virtues: nor does it only tempt ordinary folk and small people, but chiefly those who already stand on the heights of valour. For thus the prophet speaks of this spirit, “His meat is choice.” And so the blessed David, although he guarded the recesses of his heart with the utmost care, so that he dared to say to Him from whom the secrets of his conscience were not hid, “Lord, my heart is not exalted, nor are my eyes lofty: neither have I walked in great matters, nor in wonderful things above me. If I was not humbly minded;” and again, “He that works pride shall not dwell in the midst of my house;” yet, as he knew how hard is that watchfulness even for those that are perfect, he did not so presume on his own efforts, but prayed to God and implored His help, that he might escape unwounded by the darts of this foe, saying, “Let not the foot of pride come to me,” for he feared and dreaded falling into that which is said of the proud, viz., “God resists the proud” (Jm 4:6); and again: “Every one that exalts his heart is unclean before the Lord.”

7. How great is the evil of pride, that it rightly has no angel, nor other virtues opposed to it, but God Himself as its adversary! Since it should be noted that it is never said of those who are entangled in other sins that they have God resisting them; I mean it is not said that God is opposed “to the gluttonous, fornicators, passionate, or covetous,” but only “to the proud.” For those sins react only on those who commit them, or seem to be committed against those who share in them, i.e., against other men; but this one has more properly to do with God, and therefore it is especially right that it should have Him opposed to it.

8. And so God, the Creator and Healer of all, knowing that pride is the cause and fountain head of evils, has been careful to heal opposites with opposites, that those things which were ruined by pride might be restored by humility. For the one says, “I will ascend into heaven” (Is 14:13); the other, “My soul was brought low even to the ground.” The one says, “And I will be like the most High;” the other, “Though He was in the form of God, yet He emptied Himself and took the form of a servant, and humbled Himself and became obedient unto death” (Phil 2:6–8). The one says, “I will exalt my throne above the stars of God;” the other, “Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly of heart” (Mt 11:29). The one says, “I know not the Lord and will not let Israel go” (Ex 5:2); the other, “If I say that I know Him not, I shall be a liar like you: but I know Him, and keep His commandments” (Jn 8:55). The one says, “My rivers are mine and I made them:” the other: “I can do nothing of myself, but my Father who abides in me, He does the works.” The one says, “All the kingdoms of the world and the glory of them are mine, and to whomsoever I will, I give them” (Lk 4:6); the other, “Though He were rich yet He became poor, that we through His poverty might be made rich” (2 Co 8:9). The one says, “As eggs are gathered together which are left, so have I gathered all the earth: and there was none that moved the wing or opened the mouth, or made the least noise” (Is 10:14); the other, “I have become like a solitary pelican; I watched and became as a sparrow alone upon the roof.” The one says, “I have dried up with the sole of my foot all the rivers shut up in banks” (Is 37:25); the other, “Cannot I ask my Father, and He shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels” (Mt 26:53)? If we look at the reason of our original fall, and the foundations of our salvation, and consider by whom and in what way the latter were laid and the former originated, we may learn, either through the fall of the devil, or through the example of Christ, how to avoid so terrible a death from pride.

9. And so we can escape the snare of this most evil spirit, if in the case of every virtue in which we feel that we make progress, we say these words of the Apostle: “Not I, but the grace of God with me,” and “by the grace of God I am what I am” (1 Co 15:10); and “it is God that works in us both to will and to do of His good pleasure” (Phil 2:13). As the author of our salvation Himself also says: “If a man abide in me and I in him, the same bears much fruit; for without me you can do nothing” (Jn 15:5). And “Unless the Lord builds the house, they labour in vain that build it. Unless the Lord keeps the city, the watchman wakes but in vain.” And “Vain is it for you to rise up before light.” For “it is not of him that wills, nor of him that runs, but of God that has mercy” (Rm 9:16).

10. For the will and course of no one, however eager and anxious, is sufficiently ready for him, while still enclosed in the flesh which wars against the spirit, to reach so great a prize of perfection, and the palm of uprightness and purity, unless he is protected by the divine compassion, so that he is privileged to attain to that which he greatly desires and to which he runs. For “every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights” (Jm 1:17). “For what do you have which you did not receive? But if you have received it, why do you glory as if you had not received it” (1 Co 4:7)?

11. For if we recall that thief who was by reason of a single confession admitted into paradise (Lk 23:40), we shall feel that he did not acquire such bliss by the merits of his life, but obtained it by the gift of a merciful God. Or if we bear in mind those two grievous and heinous sins of King David, blotted out by one word of penitence (2 Sm 12:13), we shall see that neither here were the merits of his works sufficient to obtain pardon for so great a sin, but that the grace of God superabounded, as, when the opportunity for true penitence was taken, He removed the whole weight of sins through the full confession of but one word. If we consider also the beginning of the call and salvation of mankind, in which, as the Apostle says, we are saved not of ourselves, nor of our works, but by the gift and grace of God, we can clearly see how the whole of perfection is “not of him that wills nor of him that runs, but of God that has mercy,” who makes us victorious over our faults, without any merits of works and life on our part to outweigh them, or any effort of our will availing to scale the difficult heights of perfection, or to subdue the flesh which we have to use: since no tortures of this body, and no contrition of heart, can be sufficient for the acquisition of that true chastity of the inner man so as to be able to gain that great virtue of purity (which is innate in the angels alone and indigenous as it were to heaven) merely by human efforts, i.e., without the aid of God: for the performance of everything good flows from His grace, who by multiplying His bounty has granted such lasting bliss, and vast glory to our feeble will and short and petty course of life.

12. For all the long years of this present life disappear when you have regard to the eternity of the future glory: and all our sorrows vanish away in the contemplation of that vast bliss, and like smoke melt away, and come to nothing, and like ashes are no more seen.

13. Wherefore it is now time to produce, in the very words in which they hand it down, the opinion of the Fathers; viz., of those who have not painted the way of perfection and its character in high-sounding words, but rather, possessing it in deed and truth, and in the virtue of their spirit, have passed it on by their own experience and sure example. And so they say that no one can be altogether cleansed from carnal sins, unless he has realized that all his labours and efforts are insufficient for so great and perfect an end; and unless, taught, not by the system handed down to him, but by his feelings and virtues and his own experience, he recognizes that it can only be gained by the mercy and assistance of God. For in order to acquire such splendid and lofty prizes of purity and perfection, however great may be the efforts of fastings and vigils and readings and solitude and retirement applied to it, they will not be sufficient to secure it by the merits of the actual efforts and toil. For a man’s own efforts and human exertions will never make up for the lack of the divine gift, unless it is granted by divine compassion in answer to his prayer

14. Nor do I say this to cast a slight on human efforts, or in the endeavour to discourage any one from his purpose of working and doing his best. But clearly and most earnestly do I lay down, not giving my own opinion, but that of the elders, that perfection cannot possibly be gained without these, but that by these only without the grace of God nobody can ever attain it. For when we say that human efforts cannot of themselves secure it without the aid of God, we thus insist that God’s mercy and grace are bestowed only upon those who labour and exert themselves, and are granted (to use the Apostle’s expression) to them that “will” and “run,” according to that which is sung in the person of God in the eighty-eighth Psalm: “I have laid help upon one that is mighty, and have exalted one chosen out of my people.” For we say, in accordance with our Saviour’s words, that it is given to them that ask, and opened to them that knock and found by them that seek (Mt 7:7); but that the asking, the seeking, and the knocking on our part are insufficient unless the mercy of God gives what we ask, and opens that at which we knock, and enables us to find that which we seek. For He is at hand to bestow all these things, if only the opportunity is given to Him by our good will. For He desires and looks for our perfection and salvation far more than we do ourselves. And the blessed David knew so well that by his own efforts he could not secure the increase of his work and labour, that he entreated with renewed prayers that he might obtain the “direction” of his work from the Lord, saying, “Direct the work of our hands over us; yea, the work of our hands do you direct;” and again: “Confirm, O God, what you have wrought in us.”

15. And so, if we wish in very deed and truth to attain to the crown of virtues, we ought to listen to those teachers and guides who, not dreaming with pompous declamations, but learning by act and experience, are able to teach us as well, and direct us likewise, and show us the road by which we may arrive at it by a most sure pathway; and who also testify that they have themselves reached it by faith rather than by any merits of their efforts. And further, the purity of heart that they have acquired has taught them this above all; viz., to recognize more and more that they are burdened with sin (for their compunction for their faults increases day by day in proportion as their purity of soul advances), and to sigh continually from the bottom of their heart because they see that they cannot possibly avoid the spots and blemishes of those faults which are ingrained in them through the countless triflings of the thoughts. And therefore they declared that they looked for the reward of the future life, not from the merits of their works, but from the mercy of the Lord, taking no credit to themselves for their great circumspection of heart in comparison with others, since they ascribed this not to their own exertions, but to divine grace; and without flattering themselves on account of the carelessness of those who are cold, and worse than they themselves are, they rather aimed at a lasting humility by fixing their gaze on those whom they knew to be really free from sin and already in the enjoyment of eternal bliss in the kingdom of heaven, and so by this consideration they avoided the downfall of pride, and at the same time always saw both what they were aiming at and what they had to grieve over: as they knew that they could not attain that purity of heart for which they yearned while weighed down by the burden of the flesh.

16. We ought therefore, in accordance with their teaching and instruction, so to press towards it, and to be diligent in fastings, vigils, prayers, and contrition of heart and body, for fear lest all these things should be rendered useless by an attack of this malady. For we ought to believe not merely that we cannot secure this actual perfection by our own efforts and exertions, but also that we cannot perform those things which we practise for its sake, viz., our efforts and exertions and desires, without the assistance of the divine protection, and the grace of His inspiration, chastisement, and exhortation, which He ordinarily sheds abroad in our hearts either through the instrumentality of another, or in His own person coming to visit us.

17. Lastly, the Author of our salvation teaches us what we ought not merely to think, but also to acknowledge in everything that we do. “I can,” He says, “of my own self do nothing, but the Father which abides in me, He does the works.” He says, speaking in the human nature which He had taken, that He could do nothing of Himself; and shall we, who are dust and ashes, think that we have no need of God’s help in what pertains to our salvation? And so let us learn in everything, as we feel our own weakness, and at the same time His help, to declare with the saints, “I was overturned that I might fall, but the Lord supported me. The Lord is my strength and my praise: and He has become my salvation.” And “Unless the Lord had helped me, my soul had almost dwelt in hell. If I said, My foot is moved: Your mercy, O Lord, assisted me. According to the multitude of my sorrows in my heart, Your comforts have given joy to my soul.” Seeing also that our heart is strengthened in the fear of the Lord, and in patience, let us say: “And the Lord became my protector; and He brought me forth into a large place.” And knowing that knowledge is increased by progress in work, let us say: “For you light my lamp, O Lord: O my God, enlighten my darkness, for by You I shall be delivered from temptation, and through my God I shall go over a wall.” Then, feeling that we have ourselves sought for courage and endurance, and are being directed with greater ease and without labour in the path of the virtues, let us say, “It is God who girded me with strength, and made my way perfect; who made my feet like hart’s feet, and sets me up on high: who teaches my hands to war.” And having also secured discretion, strengthened with which we can dash down our enemies, let us cry aloud to God: “Your discipline has set me up unto the end, and Your discipline the same shall teach me. You have enlarged my steps under me, and my feet are not weakened.” And because I am thus strengthened with Your knowledge and power, I will boldly take up the words which follow, and will say, “I will pursue after my enemies and overtake them: and I will not turn again till they are consumed. I will break them, and they shall not be able to stand: they shall fall under my feet.” Again, mindful of our own infirmity, and of the fact that while still burdened with the weak flesh we cannot without His assistance overcome such bitter foes as our sins are, let us say, “Through You we will scatter our enemies: and through Your name we will despise them that rise up against us. For I will not trust in my bow: neither shall my sword save me. For You have saved us from them that afflict us: and hast put them to shame that hate us.” But further: “You have guided me with strength unto the battle, and hast subdued under me them that rose up against me. And You have made mine enemies turn their backs upon me, and hast destroyed them that hated me.” And reflecting that with our own arms alone we cannot conquer, let us say, “Take hold of arms and shield: and rise up to help me. Bring out the sword and stop the way against them that persecute me: say to my soul, I am your salvation.” And You have made my arms like a brazen bow. And You have given me the protection of Your salvation: and Your right hand has held me up. “For our fathers got not the possession of the land through their own sword; neither did their own arm save them: but Your right hand and Your arm and the light of Your countenance because You were pleased with them.” Lastly, as with anxious mind we regard all His benefits with thankfulness, let us cry to Him with the inmost feelings of our heart, for all these things, because we have fought, and have obtained from Him the light of knowledge, and self-control and discretion, and because He has furnished us with His own arms, and strengthened us with a girdle of virtue, and because He has made our enemies turn their backs upon us, and has given us the power of scattering them like the dust before the wind: “I will love You, O Lord my Strength; the Lord is my stronghold, my refuge and my deliverer. My God is my helper, and in Him will I put my trust. My protector and the horn of my salvation, and my support. Praising I will call upon the name of the Lord; and I shall be saved from mine enemies.”

18. Not alone giving thanks to Him for that He has created us as reasonable beings, and endowed us with the power of free will, and blessed us with the grace of baptism, and granted to us the knowledge and aid of the law, but for these things as well, which are bestowed upon us by His daily providence; viz., that He delivers us from the craft of our enemies; that He works with us so that we can overcome the sins of the flesh, that, even without our knowing it, He shields us from dangers; that He protects us from falling into sin; that He helps us and enlightens us, so that we can understand and recognize the actual help which He gives us, (which some will have it is what is meant by the law); that, when we are through His influence secretly struck with compunction for our sins and negligences, He visits us with His regard and chastens us to our soul’s health; that even against our will we are sometimes drawn by Him to salvation; lastly that this very free will of ours, which is more readily inclined to sin, is turned by Him to a better purpose, and by His prompting and suggestion, bent towards the way of virtue.

19. This then is that humility towards God, this is that genuine faith of the ancient fathers which still remains intact among their successors. And to this faith, the apostolic virtues, which they so often showed, bear an undoubted witness, not only among us but also among infidels and unbelievers: for keeping in simplicity of heart the simple faith of the fishermen they did not receive it in a worldly spirit through dialectical syllogisms or the eloquence of a Cicero, but learned by the experience of a pure life, and stainless actions, and by correcting their faults, and (to speak more truly) by visible proofs, that the character of perfection is to be found in that faith without which neither piety towards God, nor purification from sin, nor amendment of life, nor perfection of virtue can be secured.

20. I knew one of the number of the brethren, whom I heartily wish I had never known; since afterwards he allowed himself to be saddled with the responsibilities of my order: who confessed to a most admirable elder that he was attacked by a terrible sin of the flesh: for he was inflamed with an intolerable lust, with the unnatural desire of suffering rather than of committing a shameful act: then the other like a true spiritual physician, at once saw through the inward cause and origin of this evil. And, sighing deeply, said: “Never would the Lord have suffered you to be given over to so foul a spirit unless you had blasphemed against Him.” And he, when this was discovered, at once fell at his feet on the ground, and, struck with the utmost astonishment, as if he saw the secrets of his heart laid bare by God, confessed that he had blasphemed with evil thoughts against the Son of God. Whence it is clear that one who is possessed by the spirit of pride, or who has been guilty of blasphemy against God — as one who offers a wrong to Him from whom the gift of purity must be looked for — is deprived of his uprightness and perfection, and does not deserve the sanctifying grace of chastity.

21. Some such thing we read of in the book of Chronicles. For Joash the king of Judah at the age of seven was summoned by Jehoiada the priest to the kingdom and by the witness of Scripture is commended for all his actions as long as the aforesaid priest lived. But hear what Scripture relates of him after Jehoiada’s death, and how he was puffed up with pride and given over to a most disgraceful state. “But after the death of Jehoiada the princes went in and worshipped the king: and he was soothed by their services and hearkened unto them. And they forsook the temple of the Lord, the God of their fathers, and served groves and idols, and great wrath came upon Judah and Jerusalem because of this sin.” And after a little: “When a year had come about, the army of Syria came up against him: and they came to Judah and Jerusalem, and killed all the princes of the people, and they sent all the spoils to the king to Damascus. And whereas there came a very small number of the Syrians, the Lord delivered into their hands an infinite multitude, because they had forsaken the Lord the God of their fathers: and on Joash they executed shameful judgments. And departing they left him in great diseases.” You see how the consequence of pride was that he was given over to shocking and filthy passions. For he who is puffed up with pride and has permitted himself to be worshipped as God, is (as the Apostle says) “given over to shameful passions and a reprobate mind to do those things which are not convenient.” And because, as Scripture says, “every one who exalts his heart is unclean before God,” he who is puffed up with swelling pride of heart is given over to most shameful confusion to be deluded by it, that when thus humbled he may know that he is unclean through impurity of the flesh and knowledge of impure desires — a thing which he had refused to recognize in the pride of his heart; and also that the shameful infection of the flesh may disclose the hidden impurity of the heart, which he contracted through the sin of pride, and that through the patent pollution of his body he may be proved to be impure, who did not formerly see that he had become unclean through the pride of his spirit.

22. And this clearly shows that every soul of which the swellings of pride have taken possession, is given over to the Syrians of the soul, i.e., to spiritual wickedness, and that it is entangled in the lusts of the flesh, that the soul being at last humbled by earthly faults, and carnally polluted, may recognize its uncleanness, though while it stood erect in the coldness of its heart, it could not understand that through pride of heart it was rendered unclean in the sight of God; and by this means being humbled, a man may get rid of his former coldness, and being cast down and confused with the shame of his fleshly lusts, may thenceforward hasten to betake himself the more eagerly towards fervour and warmth of spirit.

23. And so it is clearly shown that none can attain the end of perfection and purity, except through true humility, which he displays in the first instance to the brethren, and shows also to God in his inmost heart, believing that without His protection and aid extended to him at every instant, he cannot possibly obtain the perfection which he desires and to which he hastens so eagerly.

24. Thus much let it suffice to have spoken, as far as, by God’s help, our slender ability was able, concerning spiritual pride of which we have said that it attacks advanced Christians. And this kind of pride is not familiar to or experienced by most men, because the majority do not aim at attaining perfect purity of heart, so as to arrive at the stage of these conflicts; nor have they secured any purification from the preceding faults of which we have here explained both the character and the remedies in separate books. But it generally attacks those only who have conquered the former faults and have already almost arrived at the top of the tree in respect of the virtues. And because our most crafty enemy has not been able to destroy them through a carnal fall, he endeavours to cast them down and overthrow them by a spiritual catastrophe, trying by this to rob them of the prizes of their ancient rewards secured as they were with great labour. But as for us, who are still entangled in earthly passions, he never deigns to tempt us in this fashion, but overthrows us by a coarser and what I called a carnal pride. And therefore I think it well, as I promised, to say a few things about this kind of pride by which we and men of our stamp are usually affected, and the minds especially of younger men and beginners are endangered.

25. This carnal pride therefore, of which we spoke, when it has gained an entrance into the heart of a monk, which is but lukewarm, and has made a bad start in renouncing the world, does not allow him to stoop from his former state of worldly haughtiness to the true humility of Christ, but first of all makes him disobedient and rough; then it does not let him be gentle and kindly; nor allows him to be on a level with and like his brethren: nor does it permit him to be stripped and deprived of his worldly goods, as God and our Saviour commands: and, though renunciation of the world is nothing but the mark of mortification and the cross, and cannot begin or rise from any other foundations, but these; viz., that a man should recognize that he is not merely spiritually dead to the deeds of this world, but also should realize daily that he must die in the body — it makes him on the contrary hope for a long life, and sets before him many lengthy infirmities, and covers him with shame and confusion. If when stripped of everything he has begun to be supported by the property of others and not his own, it persuades him that it is much better for food and clothing to be provided for him by his own rather than by another’s means according to that text (which, as was before said, those who are rendered dense through such dulness and coldness of heart, cannot possibly understand), “It is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35).

26. Those then who are possessed by such distrust of mind, and who through the devil’s own want of faith fall away from that spark of faith, by which they seemed in the early days of their conversion to be enkindled, begin more anxiously to watch over the money which before they had begun to give away, and treasure it up with greater avarice, as men who cannot recover again what they have once wasted: or — what is still worse — take back what they had formerly cast away: or else (which is a third and most disgusting kind of sin), collect what they never before possessed, and thus are convicted of having gone no further in forsaking the world than merely to take the name and style of monk. With this beginning therefore, and on this bad and rotten foundation, it is a matter of course that the whole superstructure of faults must rise, nor can anything be built on such villainous foundations, except what will bring the wretched soul to the ground with a hopeless collapse.

27. The mind then that is hardened by such feelings, and which begins with this miserable coldness is sure to go daily from bad to worse and to conclude its life with a more hideous end: and while it takes delight in its former desires, and is overcome, as the apostle says, by impious avarice (as he says of it “and covetousness, which is idolatry, or the worship of idols,” and again “the love of money,” says he, “is the root of all evils”) can never admit into the heart the true and unfeigned humility of Christ, while the man boasts himself of his high birth, or is puffed up by his position in the world (which he has forsaken in body but not in mind) or is proud of his wealth which he retains to his own destruction; and because of this he is no longer content to endure the yoke of the monastery, or to be instructed by the teaching of any of the elders, and not only objects to observe any rule of subjection or obedience, but will not even listen to teaching about perfection; and such dislike of spiritual talk grows up in his heart that if such a conversation should happen to arise, he cannot keep his eyes fixed on one spot, but his gaze wanders blankly about here and there, and his eyes shift hither and there, as the custom is. Instead of wholesome coughs, he spits from a dry throat: he coughs on purpose without any need, he drums with his fingers, and twiddles them and scribbles like a man writing: and all his limbs fidget so that while the spiritual conversation is proceeding, you would think that he was sitting on thorns, and those very sharp ones, or in the midst of a mass of worms: and if the conversation turns in all simplicity on something which is for the good of the hearers, he thinks that it is brought forward for his special benefit. And all the time that the examination of the spiritual life is proceeding, he is taken up with his own suspicious thoughts, and is not on the watch for something to take home for his good, but is anxiously seeking the reason why anything is said, or is quietly turning over in his mind, how he can raise objections to it, so that he cannot at all take in any of those things which are so admirably brought forward, or be done any good to by them. And so the result is that the spiritual conference is not merely of no use to him, but is positively injurious, and becomes to him an occasion of greater sin. For while he is conscience stricken and fancies that everything is being aimed at him he hardens himself more stubbornly in the obstinacy of his heart, and is more keenly affected by the stings of his wrath: then afterwards his voice is loud, his talk harsh, his answers bitter and noisy, his gait lordly and capricious; his tongue too ready, he is forward in conversation and no friend to silence except when he is nursing in his heart some bitterness against a brother, and his silence denotes not compunction or humility, but pride and wrath: so that one can hardly say which is the more objectionable in him, that unrestrained and boisterous merriment, or this dreadful and deadly solemnity. For in the former we see inopportune chattering, light and frivolous laughter, unrestrained and undisciplined mirth. In the latter a silence that is full of wrath and deadly; and which simply arises from the desire to prolong as long as possible the rancorous feelings which are nourished in silence against some brother, and not from the wish to obtain from it the virtues of humility and patience. And as the man who is a victim to passion readily makes everybody else miserable and is ashamed to apologize to the brother whom he has wronged, so when the brother offers to do so to him, he rejects it with scorn. And not only is he not touched or softened by the advances of his brother; but is he rather made more angry because his brother anticipates him in humility. And that wholesome humiliation and apology, which generally puts an end to the devil’s temptation, becomes to him an occasion of a worse outbreak.

28. I have heard while I have been in this district a thing which I shudder and am ashamed to recall; viz., that one of the juniors — when he was reproved by his Abbot because he had shown signs of throwing off the humility, of which he had made trial for a short time at his renunciation of the world, and of being puffed up with diabolical pride — most impertinently answered, “Did I humiliate myself for a time on purpose to be always in subjection?” And at this wanton and wicked reply of his, the elder was utterly aghast, and could say nothing, as if he had received this answer from old Lucifer himself and not from a man; so that he could not possibly utter a word against such impudence, but only let fall sighs and groans from his heart; turning over in silence in his mind that which is said of our Saviour: “Who being in the form of God humbled Himself and became obedient”— not, as the man said who was seized with a diabolical spirit of pride, “for a time,” but “even to death” (Phil 2:6, 8).

29. And to draw together briefly what has been said of this kind of pride, by collecting, as well as we can, some of its signs that we may somehow convey to those who are thirsting for instruction in perfection, an idea of its characteristics from the movements of the outward man: I think it well to unfold them in a few words that we may conveniently recognize the signs by which we can discern and detect it, that when the roots of this passion are laid bare and brought to the surface, and seen and traced out with ocular demonstration, they may be the more easily plucked up and avoided. For only then will this most pestilent evil be altogether escaped, and if we do not begin too late in the day, when it has already got the mastery over us, to be on our guard against its dangerous heat and noxious influence, but if, recognizing its symptoms (so to speak) beforehand, we take precautions against it with wise and careful forethought. For, as we said before, you can tell a man’s inward condition from his outward gait. By these signs, then, that carnal pride, of which we spoke earlier, is shown. To begin with, in conversation the man’s voice is loud: in his silence there is bitterness: in his mirth his laughter is noisy and excessive: when he is serious he is unreasonably gloomy: in his answers there is rancour: he is too free with his tongue, his words tumbling out at random without being weighed. He is utterly lacking in patience, and without charity: impudent in offering insults to others, faint-hearted in bearing them himself: troublesome in the matter of obedience except where his own wishes and likings correspond with his duty: unforgiving in receiving admonition: weak in giving up his own wishes: very stubborn about yielding to those of others: always trying to compass his own ends, and never ready to give them up for others: and thus the result is that though he is incapable of giving sound advice, yet in everything he prefers his own opinion to that of the elders.

30. And when a man whom pride has mastered has fallen through these stages of descent, he shudders at the discipline of the cœnobium, and — as if the companionship of the brethren hindered his perfection, and the sins of others impeded and interfered with his advance in patience and humility — he longs to take up his abode in a solitary cell; else is eager to build a monastery and gather together some others to teach and instruct, as if he would do good to many more people, and make himself from being a bad disciple a still worse master. For when through this pride of heart a man has fallen into this most dangerous and injurious coldness, he can neither be a real monk nor a man of the world, and what is worse, promises to himself to gain perfection by means of this wretched state and manner of life of his.

31. Wherefore if we wish the summit of our building to be perfect and to rise well-pleasing to God, we should endeavour to lay its foundations not in accordance with the desires of our own lust, but according to the rules of evangelical strictness: which can only be the fear of God and humility, proceeding from kindness and simplicity of heart. But humility cannot possibly be acquired without giving up everything: and as long as a man is a stranger to this, he cannot possibly attain the virtue of obedience, or the strength of patience, or the serenity of kindness, or the perfection of love; without which things our hearts cannot possibly be a habitation for the Holy Spirit: as the Lord says through the prophet: “Upon whom shall My spirit rest, but on him that is humble and quiet and hears My words,” or according to those copies which express the Hebrew accurately: “To whom shall I have respect, but to him that is poor and little and of a contrite spirit and that trembles at My words?”

32. Wherefore the Christian athlete who strives lawfully in the spiritual combat and desires to be crowned by the Lord, should endeavour by every means to destroy this most fierce beast, which is destructive of all virtues, knowing that as long as this remains in his breast he not only will never be free from all kinds of evils, but even if he seems to have any good qualities, will lose them by its malign influence. For no structure (so to speak) of virtue can possibly be raised in our soul unless first the foundations of true humility are laid in our heart, which being securely laid may be able to bear the weight of perfection and love upon them in such a way that, as we have said, we may first show to our brethren true humility from the very bottom of our heart, in nothing acquiescing in making them sad or in injuring them: and this we cannot possibly manage unless true self-denial, which consists in stripping and depriving ourselves of all our possessions, is implanted in us by the love of Christ. Next the yoke of obedience and subjection must be taken up in simplicity of heart without any pretence, so that, except for the commands of the Abbot, no will of our own is alive in us. But this can only be ensured in the case of one who considers himself not only dead to this world, but also unwise and a fool; and performs without any discussion whatever is enjoined him by his seniors, believing it to be divine and enjoined from heaven.

33. And when men remain in this condition, there is no doubt that this quiet and secure state of humility will follow, so that considering ourselves inferior to every one else we shall bear everything offered to us, even if it is hurtful, and saddening, and damaging — with the utmost patience, as if it came from those who are our superiors. And these things we shall not only bear with the greatest ease, but we shall consider them trifling and mere nothings, if we constantly bear in mind the passion of our Lord and of all His Saints: considering that the injuries by which we are tried are so much less than theirs, as we are so far behind their merits and their lives: remembering also that we shall shortly depart out of this world, and soon by a speedy end to our life here become sharers of their lot. For considerations such as these are a sure end not only to pride but to all kinds of sins. Then, next after this we must keep a firm grasp of this same humility towards God: which we must so secure as not only to acknowledge that we cannot possibly perform anything connected with the attainment of perfect virtue without His assistance and grace, but also truly to believe that this very fact that we can understand this, is His own gift.

From Institutes, trans. C. S. Gibson, Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, series 2, vol. 11 (1894).

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It is impossible to have a discussion about the goods and evils of money without addressing the virtue of poverty. We do that here.

00:29 Introduction

03:15 Excerpt from the Life of Antony

08:20 The Espousals of St. Francis and Lady Poverty

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Music: “Johann Sebastian Bach, Little Fugue in G Minor, BMV 578 (Pipe Organ).” from Pixabay.com

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As such, we include an excerpt from the Life of Antony, written by the great champion of the Nicene faith St. Athanasius of Alexandria; it tells the well-known tale of how St. Antony came to give up everything to live out total poverty in the desert of Egypt.

Yet, when the ideal of poverty is introduced, many of us call to mind the holy friar of the thirteenth century, God’s troubadour, St. Francis of Assisi. While today he is often associated with animals and hippydom, Francis was an incredibly holy man who sought to live out the Gospel and conform himself to Christ perfectly—which he did to the extent of embracing radical poverty, kissing lepers, and even receiving the stigmata.

The life of Francis is a fascinating one and an inspiring one; it is a life that quickly gathered around him a throng of men and women alike who desired to embrace the same life of poverty. Among them were some who wrote down the story of his life—sometimes in a more straightforward vein like St. Bonaventure and sometimes in a more poetic and romantic vein as in the Espousals of St. Francis and Lady Poverty. Certainly no one can wax so eloquent in praise of Lady Poverty as a first-generation Franciscan, so we leave the work here in full and occupying the great bulk of part 4.

Now, while we’ve presented the ideal of radical poverty here, it must be recognised that some of us have families to care for and cannot in prudence embrace such a form of poverty. It must nevertheless be made clear that all of us are to be poor in spirit, to embrace poverty to whatever extent is possible and prudent in our given context, so that we may be more generous with what we have both toward God and toward those in need. What this looks like is different in every case, so we leave it to you to determine for yourselves through prayer and the guidance of wise and holy souls.

Aaron P. Debusschere
Editor

About the text: St. Francis of Assisi (1181–1226) made such a dramatic impression on the popular imagination with his radical embrace of poverty that his holiness was undeniable and he was canonised only two years after his death. Immediately after his death, various accounts of Francis’ life and works appeared such as The Little Flowers of St. Francis and this one, The Espousals of St. Francis to the Lady Poverty. This account details Francis’ pursuit of Poverty while singing her praises by applying to her many passages from Scripture generally applied liturgically to Mary or the Church.

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Here beginneth the Holy Commerce of the Blessed Francis with the Lady Poverty:

Among the cardinal excelling virtues which prepare a place and mansion for God in the Soul of Man, and show a more excellent and a speedier way of approaching and attaining unto Him, Holy Poverty shines resplendent in her authority, and excels all others by her peculiar Grace. For she is the Foundation and Guardian of all the Virtues, and holds the Primacy among the Evangelical Counsels. Wherefore let not the other Virtues fear should the rain descend, and the floods come, and the winds blow, threatening destruction, if only they have been founded upon the Rock of Poverty. And justly; for the Son of God, the Lord of Hosts and King of Glory, loved this Virtue with a special love, sought this Virtue, found her, and by her wrought Salvation in the midst of the Earth. Her, in the beginning of His preaching, He placed as a Beacon to lighten those entering the Haven of the Faith, and as chief corner-stone of His House. The Kingdom of Heaven which He promised hereafter to all the Virtues, He openeth to Poverty even in this life. For “Blessed,” He has said, “are the Poor in Spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.” They are worthy of the Kingdom of Heaven who have freely renounced all Earthly Things out of Love and Desire for Heavenly Things. He must needs live by Heavenly Things who takes no thought of Earthly Things, and counts them but as dung: even in this our Exile shall he feed on the honied crumbs which fall from the table of the Holy Angels, that he may taste and see how sweet the Lord is. This is truly to find the Kingdom of Heaven; ’tis the Pledge of an Eternal Mansion therein, and, as it were, a foretaste of the Blessedness to come.

Wherefore the Blessed Francis, as a true Follower and Disciple of the Saviour, gave himself up from the beginning of his Conversion with all his Heart, with all his Strength, and with all his Mind, to seek and to find, to have and to hold the Lady Poverty, dreading no Adversity, fearing no Evil, sparing no labour, shunning no suffering of the body, so only that he might come unto her to whom the Lord had given the Keys of the Kingdom of Heaven. Like an eager explorer he began to go about the highways and by-ways of the City, diligently seeking her whom his Soul did love. He asked of those who stood about, he questioned those who met him, saying: Saw ye her whom my Soul loveth? But his speech was dark to them as an alien tongue, and, not understanding him, they answered: We know not what thou sayest: speak to us in our own tongue, and we will answer thee. For there was not at that time any word or sign in the language, by which the Children of Adam could discourse together of Poverty. They hated her then as they hate her now, nor could they speak with patience to one who sought her. So they answered him that this thing was unknown to them, and that they had no knowledge of what he sought. Then, said the Blessed Francis, I will go unto the Great and the Wise, and ask them, for they know the Ways of the Lord and the Judgments of God. But these only answered him yet more roughly, saying: What is this new doctrine which thou bringest to our ears? May that Poverty which thou seekest always abide with thee, and with thy children, and with thy seed after thee. As for us, we had rather enjoy the delights of life and abound in riches, for the span of our Life is short and tedious, and in the end of a man there is no remedy. Therefore we know nothing better than to eat and drink and be merry while there is still time.

But the Blessed Francis, hearing these things, marvelled in his Heart and gave Thanks to God, saying: Blessed art Thou, O Lord God, Who hast hid these things from the Wise and Prudent, and revealed them unto Babes. Even so, Father, for so it hath seemed good in Thy Sight. O God, the Author and Ruler of my being, deliver me not over to their Counsels, nor suffer me to fall into their iniquity, but give me Thy Grace, so that I may find what I seek, for I am Thy servant, and the Son of Thy Handmaid.

And the Blessed Francis, being come out of the City, made haste to reach a certain field, in which, from afar off, he saw two old men sitting, full of a heavy sorrow, the one of whom was saying: To whom shall I look save to some Poor Little Man, contrite of Heart, and who fears my Words? And the other: For we brought nothing into this World, and it is certain we can carry nothing out of it. But having food and a covering to our Bodies, let us be therewith content.

And when the Blessed Francis had come up with them, he said unto them: Tell me, I beseech you, where the Lady Poverty dwells, where she feeds her flock, where she takes her rest at noon, for I languish for the Love of her. But they answered him, saying: O good Brother, we have sat here for a Time, and Times, and half a Time, and have often seen her pass this way, and many were they who sought her. Many were they, once upon a time, who walked in her train, but oft she would return alone and desolate, unadorned by jewels or fine raiment, unescorted by any following. And she would weep bitterly, saying: The Sons of my Mother have fought against me. But we did answer and say: Have patience, for the Righteous love thee. And now, O Brother, ascend the great and high Mountain whereon the Lord hath placed her. For she dwelleth in the Holy Mountains, because God hath loved her more than all the tents of Jacob. Giants have failed to follow her footsteps, and the Eagle to fly to the summit of her Hill. Poverty is the one thing despised of all men, for it is not found in the land of them that live in delights. Wherefore she is hid from the eyes of the Living, and the fowls of the air know her not. But God understandeth her way; He knoweth her Dwelling-place. If therefore, O Brother, thou wouldst ascend unto her, put off the Garments of thy Pleasures, and lay aside every weight and the Sin which besets thee, for unless thou art free from these trammels, thou canst not attain unto her who is placed at so great a height. But because My Lady is gracious, she is easily seen by those who love her, and found by those who seek her. To meditate upon her, Brother, is perfect Understanding, and whoso watcheth for her shall speedily be secure. Take with thee trusty Companions that thou may’st profit by their Counsel, and be sustained by their Help in the way, for woe to him that is alone; when he falleth he shall have none to raise him up. But do you uphold one another.

And when he had heard these Counsels, the Blessed Francis chose unto himself a few faithful Companions, with whom he set out for the Mountain. And he said unto his brothers: Come ye, let us go up to the Mountain of the Lord, to the House of the Lady Poverty, that she may teach us her Ways, and we will walk in her Paths. And when they beheld the Ascent from every side, and saw how exceeding high and steep it was, they began to say one to another: Who shall ascend this Mountain, and who shall reach unto the Mountain’s top? The which, when Blessed Francis heard, he said unto them: Strait is the Way, and narrow the Gate, which leadeth unto Life, and few there be that find it. Be strong in the Lord, and in the power of His Might, and all things difficult will become easy unto us. Lay down the Burden of your own Will, cast away the heavy Weight of your Sins, and gird yourselves like Strong Men. Forget those things which are behind, and reach forth to those which are before. I say unto you that every place that your foot shall tread upon shall be yours. For as a Spirit before our face is Christ the Lord, drawing us to the Mountain’s summit by the Bonds of Charity. Wonderful, O Brethren, are the Espousals of Poverty, but we may hope to enjoy her embraces, for the Mistress of Nations is become as a Widow, the Queen of all Virtues is become contemptible. There is none in all the Land who dares call upon her, none who will stand over against us, none who by right can forbid this Blessed Union. All her Friends have despised her, and are become her Enemies.

And when he had thus spoken, they followed after the Blessed Francis. And as with light feet they hastened to the summit of the Mountain, they beheld my Lady Poverty on the topmost Pinnacle gazing down the Mountain. And when she saw them climbing thus valiantly, nay, as it were, rather flying towards her, she marvelled exceedingly, and said to herself: Who are these that fly like the Clouds and as Doves to their windows? It is long since I saw such as these, or looked upon men so free from trammels. Therefore will I speak to them of the things which I ponder in my Heart, lest, like the rest, they should repent them of their hardy ascent when they behold the dizzying abyss below. I know they cannot possess me without my consent, but I shall find Favour before my Heavenly Father if I give them the Counsels of Salvation. And behold a Voice spoke unto her, saying: Fear not, Daughter of Sion, for these are of the Seed which the Lord hath blessed. He hath elected them in Charity unfeigned. So from the Throne of her Neediness, the Lady Poverty presented them with Blessings of Sweetness, and said unto them: Tell me the cause of your Advent, my Brothers, and why you hasten thus speedily from the Valley of Tears to the Mountain of Light. Can it indeed be that you seek me who am poor and needy, tossed by the tempest, and bereft of all consolation?

And the Blessed Francis and his Companions answered her, saying: Yea, we have indeed come out to seek thee, Lady, and we beseech thee to receive us in Peace. We desire to become the Servants of the Lord of the Virtues, for He is the King of Glory. We have heard that thou art the Queen of the Virtues, and we have proved it by experience. Wherefore, prostrate at thy Feet, we humbly beseech thee to abide with us, and to light our Way to the King of Glory, as thou wast unto Him the Way, when, a Day-Spring from on High, He humbled Himself to visit them that sat in Darkness and the Shadow of Death. For we know that thine is the Power, thine the Kingdom, that thou art constituted Mistress and Queen of the Virtues by the King of Kings Himself. Therefore, we entreat thee, make Peace with us and we shall be saved, and He will receive us through thee, Who through thee did redeem us. Do but elect to save us, and we shall be made free. For the King of Kings and Lord of Lords Himself, the Creator of Heaven and Earth, desired thy Comeliness and thy Beauty. When the King was at His Rest, rich and glorious in His Kingdom, He left His House, and forsook His inheritance, the Glory and Riches of His House, and His Royal Seat, and sought thee with gracious words. Great therefore is thy Dignity, and there is none so exalted as thee, since He could leave all Angelic Delights and the great Abundance of Celestial Virtues, to seek thee in the nethermost parts of the Earth, in the miry Clay, in the Darkness and the Shadow of Death. Thou wast hated by all the Children of Men, and all fled at thy Coming, or strove, as they could, to drive thee from them. And though some could not fly thee altogether, yet not for that reason wert thou less hated and loathed by them.

But then came the Lord, the Lord God, and took thee for Himself, and lifted up thy Head among the Tribes of the people, crowning thee His Bride, and exalting thee above the Highest Heavens. And although, of a surety, many still hate thee, not knowing thy Virtue and thy Glory, yet hast thou nothing lost thereby, for thou dwellest in Freedom in thy holy Mountains, in the most firm habitation of the Glory of Christ. Thus the Son of the Most High, having become a Lover of thy Beauty, dwelt only with thee in the World, and found thee most faithful in all Things. Even before He left His bright Realms for the Earth, thou hadst prepared Him a fitting place, a Throne on which to sit, a Couch in which to rest, a most poor Virgin from whom He sprung, and shone upon the World. At His Nativity thou didst run to meet Him, so that He might find comfort in thee, and not in soft places. Thou didst lay Him in a Manger, as saith the Evangelist, for there was no room in the Inn. And thus didst thou always inseparably accompany Him, so that during His whole Life, while He dwelt among Men, though the Foxes had Caves, and the Birds of the Air Nests, He had no place to lay His Head. And when He Who in the Past had opened the lips of the Prophets opened His own Lips to preach, among the many things which He spake, He first praised, first exalted thee, saying: Blessed are the Poor in Spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. And when He chose Witnesses to His Holy Preaching and to His glorious Work for the Salvation of Man, He did not take rich Merchants, but poor Fisherfolk, that by this choice He might show forth that thou wert to be loved by All. And finally that thy Goodness, thy Greatness, thy Power, might be made manifest to All, and how thou art above all the Virtues, and how without thee there is no Virtue, and how thy Kingdom is not of this World but from Heaven, thou alone didst remain with the King of Glory when all His Elect and Beloved had fled from Him in Affright.

Like unto a most dear Mistress and faithful Spouse, thou didst not leave Him for an instant. The more He was despised by All, the more didst thou cleave to Him. For if thou hadst not been with Him, He could never have been so despised by All. Thou wast with Him when the Jews reviled, the Pharisees scoffed, and the High Priests reproached Him. Thou wast with Him when He was struck, when He was spat upon, when He was scourged. He Who should have been reverenced by All, was derided by all, and thou alone didst minister unto Him. Thou wast with Him unto Death, even the Death of the Cross. And on the Cross itself, His Body being stripped, His Arms extended, His Hands and Feet pierced, thou didst suffer with Him, so that nothing did seem more glorious in Him than thou.

When He ascended into Heaven, He left to thee the Seal of the Kingdom of Heaven, that thou might’st seal the Elect, that whosoever should aspire to Eternal Life might come to thee, pray to thee, and enter by thee, for if he be not sealed with thy Seal, no man may enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Therefore, O Lady, have compassion upon us, and seal us with the Seal of thy Grace. For who is there so craven-spirited and foolish as not to love thee with all his Heart, thee who hast been chosen by the Most High, and prepared from all Eternity? Who is there that does not reverence and honour thee, when He Whom all the Heavenly Host adore hath clothed thee with such Honour? Who would not readily adore thy Footsteps, to whom the Lord of Majesty so humbly inclined, whom He so intimately embraced, to whom he was joined in so great a Love? We therefore beseech thee, O Lady, by Him and through Him, despise not our petitions in our Necessities, but deliver us at all Times from all Dangers, O Glorious and ever blessed Lady!

To these Words my Lady Poverty, with joyful Heart, and cheerful Mien, and most sweet Voice, made answer, saying: I confess to you, my Brothers and most dear Friends, that from the moment you began to speak, I was filled with Gladness and exceeding great Joy, for I acknowledge your Fervour, and already know your Holy Intent; your words are dearer to me than Gold and Precious Stones, and sweeter far than Honey and the Honeycomb. For it is not you that speak, but the Holy Ghost that speaketh in you, and it is His Unction that inspires you in all the things which you have spoken concerning the Most High King, Who by His Grace alone chose me as His Beloved, taking away my Reproach among Men, and glorifying me among the Highest in Heaven. Therefore I desire, if it will not weary you, to tell you the story of my Estate. It is a long Story, but not less useful, and will teach you how to walk with God and please Him, giving heed that you who wish to put your hands to the plough in no wise look back.

I am not new, as many think, but old and full of years, knowing the nature of Things, the Varieties of Creatures, the mutability of Time. I know the vacillations of the Heart of Man, in part by the experience of Ages, in part by subtlety of Nature, in part by the Merit of Grace. In the beginning I dwelt in the Paradise of God, where Man was naked. Or rather, I was in Man, and of his Essence when he was naked, walking with him in that spacious Paradise, fearing nothing, doubting nothing, thinking no Evil. I thought to have stayed with him forever, for he had been created by the Most High, just, good, and wise, and placed in a most beautiful and delectable Place. I was joyful exceeding, entertaining him at all Times, for possessing Nothing, he belonged wholly to God. But, woe is me, he succumbed to Evil, which had been unknown from the beginning of the Creation, and the unhappy Spirit of Evil, who, through Vainglory, had lost Wisdom, entered the body of a Serpent because he could not inhabit Heaven, and treacherously assailed Man, that like himself he might become a transgressor of the Divine Law. Unhappy Man, giving ear unto his evil Counsellor, acquiesced and consented, and having forgotten God, his Creator, followed the Example of the first Transgressor. In the beginning, says Holy Writ, Man was naked but not ashamed, for he was perfect in innocence. But having sinned, he knew that he was naked, and being ashamed, he hastily made himself an apron of the leaves of the fig-tree.

When, therefore, I saw that my Companion had sinned, and was dressed in leaves (for he had nothing else), I left him. And standing afar off, I beheld him through my Tears, and waited for Him Who should save me from Faintness of Spirit in so great a Storm. And suddenly there came a Sound from Heaven that shook the whole of Paradise, and a most bright Light shone from Heaven. And I looked and beheld the Lord of Majesty walking in Paradise in the cool of the day, resplendent in ineffable Glory. A mighty Host of Angels was in His Train, crying with a loud Voice: Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Sabaoth, the Earth is full of the Majesty of Thy Glory. Thousands of Thousands ministered unto Him, and ten thousand times a hundred thousand stood before Him. Then in Fear and Trembling, overcome with Dread and Amazement, my Body chill, my Heart fast beating, I cried out of the Depths: Mercy, Lord—have Mercy! Enter not into Judgment with Thy Servant, for in Thy Sight shall no Man living be justified. But He said unto me: Go, hide thyself for a while, until Mine Anger be overpast. And straightway He called my Companion, saying: Adam, where art thou? Who answered: I heard Thy Voice, and was afraid, because I was naked, and I hid myself. Naked indeed! The man who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell among Thieves was stripped of this World’s Goods, but Adam had been robbed of the Likeness of God. But that King Who is Most High and yet most Gracious, awaited his Repentance, and gave him the Opportunity of returning to Him. Yet in his wretchedness he inclined his Heart to evil Words, and to making excuses for Sin. And thus he increased his guilt, and heaped up punishment, treasuring up unto himself Wrath against the day of Wrath and Revelation of the just Judgment of God. For he spared not himself nor his seed after him, delivering up All to the terrible Curse of Death.

And all the Angels that were present condemned him, and the Lord cast him forth from Paradise by a just but not less merciful Judgment, and bade him return to the Earth from whence he was taken, greatly tempering the Curse He had laid upon him. And being stripped of his robe of Innocence, God made him garments of skins, therein signifying that Death had come into the World. And when I saw my Companion clothed with the skins of dead beasts, I left him altogether, for he had been cast forth to multiply his labours, whereby he might become rich. I went forth a fugitive and wanderer upon the Earth, weeping and mourning exceedingly, and I found not where to rest the sole of my Foot. When Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and the other Patriarchs, received in promise Riches and a Land flowing with Milk and Honey, I sought Rest among them, but found none. A Cherub with a Flaming Sword stood before the Gates of Paradise until the Most High came down from the Bosom of the Father, Who sought me out most graciously. And when He had fulfilled all those Things of which you have spoken, and desired to return to the Father Who had sent Him, He made me a Testament to His Elect, and confirmed it by irrefragable Decrees: Lay not up Gold nor Silver, nor Money. Carry neither Purse, nor Scrip, nor Bread, nor a Staff, nor Shoes, nor two Coats. And if any Man will contend with thee and take away thy Coat, let go thy Cloak also. And whoever shall compel thee to go a Mile, go with him other twain. Lay not up unto yourselves Treasures upon Earth, where Rust and Moth doth corrupt, and where Thieves break through and steal. Take no thought, saying: What shall we eat, or what shall we drink, or wherewithal shall we be clothed? And take no Thought of the Morrow, for the Morrow will take Thought for itself. Sufficient unto the Day is the Evil thereof. Whosoever doth not renounce all that he hath, cannot be my disciple. . . . And many the like sayings, which are all to be found in the Gospels.

All which Things the Apostles and all the Disciples most diligently observed, nor did they ever fail to fulfil the Things they had heard from the Master. They bore themselves as most valiant Knights and Judges of the Earth, carrying the Message of Salvation everywhere, the Lord working with them, and confirming the Word with Signs that followed. They glowed in Charity, abounded in Piety, and endured every Want, taking care that it should not be said of them: These men preach but do not practise. Hence one of them speaketh boldly, saying: For I will not dare to speak of any of those Things which Christ hath not wrought by me by Word and Deed, and by the Power of the Holy Ghost. And yet another speaketh thus: Silver and Gold have I none. Thus did they, one and all, in Life and in Death, exalt me by the highest Praises. And those who heard these Masters, gave heed to their Preaching, selling all their goods and substance, and dividing them according as every man had need. And they were all together and had all things in common, praising God and having favour with all the People.

Wherefore the Lord increased daily such as should be saved. Indeed for long the Truth of their Words remained among many, more especially while the Blood of the Crucified Poor One, Jesus Christ, was warm in their memory, and the Noble Chalice of His Passion inebriated their Hearts. For if any of them sought to leave me at any time because of my too great Rigours, they would remember the Wounds of the Lord by which He made manifest His loving Compassion, and bitterly repent of the Temptation, clinging to me more closely, and embracing me more eagerly than ever. And I abode in them all, ever striving to impress upon their Memory the Dolours of the Passion of the Eternal King. So strengthened by my Words, they cheerfully encountered the cruel Sword which shed their holy Blood. And this Triumph continued and endured a long while, so that daily a thousand thousand were sealed with the Seal of the Most High King.

But alas! after a while Peace was made, a Peace more hurtful than any War. In the beginning of that long Peace but few were sealed, in the middle of it yet fewer, at the end fewer still. And behold! of a surety in this Peace is my Bitterness most bitter; for All fly from me or drive me from them; by none am I sought, by All forsaken. This Peace was the work of Enemies, not of Friends; of Strangers, not of my Sons. I indeed nourished and raised up Sons, but they contemned me. In that Time when the Lamp of the Lord shone upon my Head, and I walked by His Light through the Darkness, Satan was raging in many who were with me, the World was enticing them, and the Concupiscence of the Flesh, so that many of them ended by loving the World and the Things of the World.

But the Crown of all the Virtues, and that is the Lady Persecution, to whom the Lord, equally with me, delivered the Kingdom of Heaven, was by my side, and in all things a faithful Helper, a strong Champion, and a prudent Counsellor. She, when she saw any grow lukewarm in Heavenly Charity, or forgetting it a while, or fixing their Hearts on Earthly Things, she straightway sounded the Trump and moved her Armies, and made their faces to be ashamed, that they might seek the Name of the Lord. But now my Sister has left me, the Light of my Eyes is not with me, for while my Sons are at rest from the Persecutors, they are most cruelly torn by civil and intestine War, envying each other, and struggling for the acquisition of Wealth and an abundance of luxuries.

After a while some began to breathe again, and wished of their own accord to walk in the right Road, which once they had walked in of necessity. All these came to me with prayers and tears, and entreated me to make a perpetual League of Peace with them, and to abide with them as I formerly did in the days of my Youth, when the Lord was with me, and my Children were round about me. These were men of virtue, peaceful men, without Rebuke before the Lord, constant in brotherly Love, so long as they remained in the Flesh, poor in Spirit, poor in this World’s Goods, rich in Holiness, abounding in the Gifts of Heavenly Grace, fervent in Spirit, rejoicing in Hope, patient in Tribulation, meek and humble of Heart, and keeping Peace in their Souls, Harmony in their Ways, Steadfastness in their Hearts, and a joyful Unity in their Walk through Life. These men were indeed devoted to God, pleasing to the Angels, beloved of Men, unsparing to themselves, merciful to Others, devout in Deed, modest in Demeanour, cheerful of Countenance, earnest of Heart, humble in Prosperity, high-minded in Adversity, temperate of Life, sober in Dress, sparing of Sleep, modest and devout, shining before all Men in the Light of their Good Works. My Soul was joined unto these my Sons, and there was one Faith and one Spirit within us.

Finally there rose up among us Men who were not of us, certain Sons of Belial speaking Vain Things, working Iniquity, calling themselves Poor Men when they were not Poor, despising and dishonouring me who had been loved with Whole-heartedness by those glorious Men of whom I have spoken, following the Way of Balaam, the Son of Bosor, who loved the Wages of Sin, Men of a corrupt Mind, devoid of Truth, supposing Gain to be Godliness, Men who in assuming the Habit of Holy Religion, did not put on the New Man, but sought to hide the Old. They derided their Elders, and in secret scoffed at the Life and Character of those who had begun the Way of Holy Conversation, saying that they were imprudent, merciless, and cruel, and that I, whom these holy ones had taken into their Company, was idle, empty, base, rude, lifeless, and feeble. ’Twas my great Rival who zealously worked all this, hiding under a Sheep’s Clothing the Cunning of a Fox and the Fierceness of a Wolf.

Avarice was this Rival’s name, and she is the Immoderate Desire of acquiring and holding Riches. But they called her by a holier Name, so that it might not seem that they had abandoned me, by whose Gift they had been raised from the Dust and lifted up out of the Mire. So they spake gently of her to me, but there was Craft and Anger in their Hearts. And though the Desolation of a City which is set upon a Hill cannot be hid, yet they gave her the Name of Discretion or Foresight, though such Discretion were better named Confusion, and such Foresight a pernicious Forgetfulness of all Good Works. And they said unto me: Thine is the Power; thine the Kingdom: fear not. It is good to use Charity and labour for Good Ends, to succour the Needy and give to the Poor. But I answered: What you say is just, Brothers, but I beseech you, consider your Calling. Do not look back. Do not come down from the house-top to take anything out of your Houses, neither return back from the fields to take your Clothes. Do not be busied about this World’s Affairs, nor be entangled again in its Pollution, which you have escaped through the Knowledge of the Saviour. For those who are entangled therein a second time must needs be overcome, and the latter End is worse with them than the Beginning, if by a Pretence of Piety they turn from the Holy Commandment which has been delivered unto them. And after I had thus spoken, there arose a Dissension among them, for some said that I was good and spoke the Truth, but others that I desired to seduce them into following me, in that I was wretched, and wished to make them wretched with me.

My Rival could not yet drive me out of their Land, for there were still many Men among them in all the great Zeal and Charity of their First Fervour, who assailed Heaven by their Cries, and penetrated to the Throne of God by their Perseverance in Prayer, rapt in Contemplation and despising all Things which were of the Earth. Then the Creator of All Things commanded me, and He Who created me said: Let thy Dwelling be in Jacob, and thine inheritance in Israel, and take thou Root in My Elect. All which Things I most diligently obeyed. And while I abode with them, and we walked together on the Royal Road, they became, on my account, of good Repute among the People, and admirable in the Sight of the Mighty. They were honoured by all Men, and reputed as Saints, though they could not endure to be thus called, remembering what the Son of God had said: I seek no Glory from Man; therefore they refused all Honour offered them by Men.

But whilst my Disciples were thus walking in so great Fervour of the Love of Christ, Avarice, taking to herself the Name of Discretion, spake and said unto them: Do not show yourselves so severe to Mankind, nor thus contemn their Honours, but have a kindly Countenance for them, and do not outwardly reject the Honours offered to you: be content to do so inwardly. It is a good thing to have the Friendship of Kings, the Acquaintance of Princes, the Intimacy of the Great, for if they honour and venerate you, if they rise up to meet you, many seeing this shall follow their Example, and be the more easily turned to God. And my Friends, acknowledging these advantages, but not guarding themselves from the Snare which had been set in the Way, in the End embraced Honours and Glory with all their Heart. They thought themselves to be inwardly such as they seemed outwardly, but they gloried in the Praises they received, and were like the Foolish Virgins without Oil, profitless servants upon the Earth. And Men who believed them to be interiorly that which they seemed exteriorly, freely offered them their Goods in Remission of their Sins. In the beginning they had counted all these Things as dung, saying: We are Poor Men and always desire to be Poor; we do not desire your goods but you. We have Food and wherewithal to cover ourselves and desire no more, for Vanity of Vanities and All is Vanity. Wherefore the devotion of Men towards them increased still more, so that many held in small Regard the Goods which they saw thus despised of the Saints.

That cruel Enemy of mine, Avarice, seeing this, began to grow exceeding angry, and to gnash her teeth, and in vexation of Spirit said to herself: What shall I do? For all the World is going after her! I will take, said she, the Name of Prudence, and will speak in their Hearts, and perchance they shall hear and consent. And she did as she had said, speaking unto them humble words, and saying: What do you here all the Day idle and making no Provision for the Morrow? In what could it hurt you to have the necessaries of Life, so long as you lack all Superfluities? For in Peace and Quietness could you work out your Salvation and the Salvation of Mankind, if you were supplied with all Things Needful to you. Therefore, while you have Time, provide for yourselves and those who shall come after you, for Men may not always be so generous to you, nor give you the customary Gifts. It would be good for you to be always as you are, but that is impossible, for God causes you daily to increase and multiply. Would God reject you because you had Wherewith to give to the Needy, and could remember the Poor, when He Himself has said: It is more blessed to give than to receive? Why, therefore, do you not receive the Goods which are offered you, and not defraud the Givers of their Eternal Reward? You need fear no harm from the possession of Riches, so long as you account them as Nought. There is no Evil in Things themselves, but only in the Soul of Man, for God saw All Things and they were good. To the Good, all Things are good, all Things serviceable, for them All Things were made. O how many having possessions use them evilly, which had they been yours, would have been put to a good use, for holy is your Purpose, holy your Desire. You do not wish to enrich your Relations who are already rich enough, but simply to have All Things necessary, so that your Conversation may be the more honest and orderly. These, and similar things, she said unto them, and some having already a corrupt Conscience, gave a ready Assent. But others turned a deaf ear to her Sayings, and by shrewd Answers refuted her Reasoning, alleging, as did also their opponents, Arguments from Holy Writ.

But Avarice, seeing that she could not, unaided, attain her ends upon my Disciples, changed her plan, that she might better fulfil her Purpose. So she called in Sloth, who neglects to begin good Works, or to finish those begun. And Avarice made a Treaty with Sloth, and entered into a Compact with her against the Religious. They were not intimate, these two, nor closely affined, but they readily made Common Cause in Evil-doing, as formerly did Pilate with Herod against the Messiah. And when their Plan was laid, Sloth began her Ravages, and having given Assault with her Satellites, she entered the Domain of the Religious, and by sheer Force carried off their Arms and extinguished their Charity, reducing them to Tepidity and Sluggishness. And so, a little also by Pusillanimity of Spirit, they became altogether dead of Heart.

After a While some of the Religious began to sigh most lamentably for the Flesh-pots of Egypt which they had left behind, and ignobly to seek what with noble Heart they had abandoned. They fretted at having to walk in the Ways of God’s Commandments, and followed His Injunctions with a barren Heart. They grew faint under their Burden, and for Want of the Spirit could scarcely breathe. Compunction they rarely felt, and never Contrition; at Obedience they murmured; their Thoughts were Earthy, their Joy carnal, paltry their Sorrow and their Speech imprudent, their Laughter easily provoked. Mirthful of Visage, their Carriage full of Vanity, their Garments soft and delicate, carefully cut, and still more carefully fashioned, they slept inordinately, ate overmuch, and drank intemperately. Their talk was full of Jests, and Railleries, and Idle Words. They engaged in Story-telling, changed the Rule, disposed of Patronage, and were busily occupied about the Affairs of the World. Of Spiritual Exercises there was no Care or Thought; but rarely Exhortations to save the Soul; they had become lukewarm in Celestial Things. In the Hardness of their Hearts they began to envy one another, to provoke one another, to domineer over one another, one Brother eagerly bringing the vilest Accusations against another. They shunned Gravity, and sought false Sources of Joy, seeing that they could not have the true. Nevertheless they kept up some show of Sanctity, so that they might not be utterly despised, and by holy Talk they sought to hide their wretched way of Life from the Simple. But so great was the Ruin of the Interior Man, that, unable to contain themselves, their evil Life burst forth in exterior Manifestations. In short they began to fawn upon the World, striking bargains with Worldlings that they might empty their Purses, and they enlarged their Buildings and multiplied those Things which they had forever renounced. They bartered their Words to the Rich, and their Courtesies to Noble Ladies. They eagerly frequented the Courts of Kings and Princes, that they might join House to House and lay field to field. And now they have become great and rich, and have waxed strong, because they have proceeded from Evil to Evil and have not known God. They were cast down when they were lifted up; they fell to the Earth before their Birth, and yet they say unto me: We are thy Friends.

In my Sorrow I sorrowed all the more over certain Religious who had been poor and contemptible in the World, and yet grew rich after they had come to me. And when they had waxed fat and gross beyond the rest, they spurned and derided me. They in the World were thought unworthy of Life, being destitute through Need and Hunger. Once they ate Grass and the Bark of trees, they were disfigured by their Calamity and Misery, and now they are not content with the Community Life, but separate themselves without shame, eating of special Meats. Their Example in this is hurtful to the rest, and, moreover, they aspire to Honour among the Disciples of Christ, who in this World were held most worthy of Contempt. They who often wanted for Barley-bread and Water, and were glad to lie under the Hedges, were the Sons of the Ignorant and Mean and Unknown, on a level with my own Wretchedness. Now they hate me and fly far from me, and are not ashamed to spit in my face. I have suffered Contumely and Terrors at their Hands, and those who were my Friends and stood by my side have insulted me. They grew ashamed of me, and cast me off all the more that they knew they had been enriched by my Favours, so much so that they even scorned to hear my Name.

In my Sorrow I sorrowed and said unto them: Return, ye rebellious Children, and I will heal your Backslidings. Take heed and beware of Avarice, which is the Service of Idols, for the Avaricious Man shall not be satisfied with Silver. Call to Mind your former Days in which, being illuminated, you endured a great Fight of Afflictions. Do not be of them who draw back unto Perdition, but of them that believe to the Saving of the Soul. He who made void the Law of Moses died without Mercy under two or three Witnesses. How much more, think you, doth he deserve sorer Punishment, who hath trodden under Foot the Son of God, and hath accounted the Blood of the Covenant, by which he was sanctified, an unclean thing, and hath done despite to the Spirit of Grace? Return, then, ye Transgressors, search your Hearts, for a Man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of Things which he possesseth.

But they were angered, and said: Go to, depart from us, thou miserable thing. We desire not the knowledge of thy Ways. And I answered and said unto them: Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, at least, O ye, my Friends. Why do you persecute me without a Cause? Did I not tell you that your Ways and mine would not agree? It repenteth me that I have ever seen you.

And the Word of the Lord came to me, saying: Return, return, O Shulamite, return, return, that we may look upon thee. These are the Children of Wrath; they will not hear thee, because they will not hear Me. Their Hearts have become stubborn and unbelieving; they have departed and gone away, but they have not rejected thee without rejecting Me. For thou hast taught them against thee, and instructed them against thine own Head, for if they had never received thee, they would never have been made rich. They pretended to love thee, so that having received thy Benefits, they might depart from thee. Wherefore under adverse Temptation they have turned away, and having laid hold on Lying, they would not return. Do not again believe those that speak thee fair, for they despise thee and seek thy Life. Do not offer Prayers or Hymns for them, for I will not hear thee: I have cast them off because they have despised Me.

Lo! then, dear Brothers, I have told you a long story, so that your eyes may behold where you go, and that you may see what you should do. It is perilous to look back and attempt to deceive God. Remember Lot’s wife, and do not believe every Spirit. But I have confidence in you, dearest Brothers, for I see better Things in you than in any others, and you are nearer to Salvation. You seem to have abandoned Everything, and to have freed yourselves from all Burdens. And the best proof is this, that you have ascended this Mountain, which it is given to so few to do. But I tell you, dear Friends, that the Wickedness of many others hath made me suspicious of the Virtues of the Good, for I have too oft had experience of ravening Wolves in Sheeps’ Clothing.

I desire that each one of you should become a Follower of the Saints, who by Faith and Patience have come into my Inheritance. But because I dread lest the Fate of others should overtake you, I give you this salutary Counsel: that you should not in the Beginning aim at the Higher and more Hidden Things, but that, setting Christ before you, you should little by little come to the Highest. Take heed lest, when the dung of Poverty has been laid about your Roots, you should after all be found barren, for then there will remain nothing but the Axe. Do not trust entirely to the Love which you now have, for Man is more prone to Evil than to Good, and the Soul easily returns to former Habits, even though it may long have been separated from them. I know that with your great Fervour all Things seem easy to you. But remember what is written: Behold they that serve Him are not steadfast, and in His Angels He found Wickedness. At first it will seem sweet to you to bear Anything, but after awhile, lulled in Security, you will become careless of the Blessings you have received. You will imagine that you can return to Him whenever you wish, and find the old consolation. But the Spirit of Negligence, once admitted, is not so easily got rid of. Your Heart will turn after other Things, but Reason will call you to return to the Former Things. Lapsed into Sloth and Idleness, Words of Excuse will rise easily to your Lips: We cannot be strong as we were in the Beginning, and now the Times are changed; not knowing that it is written: When a Man hath come to his End then would he make a Beginning. For a voice will always dwell in your Hearts, saying: To-morrow, and To-morrow, we will return to the former Man, for it was better with us then than it is now. Behold, I have foretold you many Things, my Brothers, and many other things have I to say unto you, which ye cannot bear now. But the Hour cometh when I shall speak to you plainly of All Things.

And when my Lady had made an end of speaking, the Blessed Francis, with his Companions, fell upon his Face, giving Thanks to God, and said: Thy Sayings, O Lady, are well-pleasing unto us, nor in ought that thou hast said can we find any Fault. All that we have heard in our Land concerning thy Words and thy Wisdom, is most true; nay, far greater is thy Wisdom than the Fame thereof. Blessed are thy Servants and Disciples, who dwell forever with thee and hear thy Words of Wisdom. May the Lord thy God, to Whom thou wast pleasing from all Eternity, be forever blessed, Who loved thee and made thee Queen, that thou mightest execute Judgment and Mercy on thy Servants. O how good and how sweet is thy Spirit, chastising the Erring, and admonishing Sinners. Behold, O Lady, by the Love wherewith the Eternal King did love thee, by the Love wherewith thou didst love Him, we beseech thee do not despise our petition, but deal with us according to thy Mercy and Loving-kindness. Great are thy Works, and beyond the Tongue of man to tell, wherefore undisciplined Souls fly from thee, for thou walkest alone in rocky Places, terrible as an Army set in Array, and Fools cannot dwell with thee. But we are thy servants and the Sheep of thy Pasture Forever, and Forever and Ever, have we sworn and determined to keep the Judgments of thy Justice.

At these Words my Lady Poverty was deeply moved, and as her Property is to have Mercy and spare, she could restrain herself no longer, but having speedily embraced them, and given to each the Kiss of Peace, she said: Behold, my Brothers and my Sons, I will come with you, because I know that through you I shall win many more.

But the Blessed Francis, beside himself for joy, began to praise Almighty God with a loud Voice, for that He had not abandoned those who trusted in Him, saying: Bless the Lord, all ye His Elect, keep Days of Rejoicing, and give Glory unto Him, for He is Good and His Mercy endureth Forever. And coming down from the Mountain they brought my Lady Poverty to the Place where they dwelt. And it was about the Sixth Hour.

And when the Brothers had made all Things ready, they urged the Lady Poverty to eat with them. But she said unto them: Show me first your Oratory, the Cloister and Chapter House, the Refectory, Kitchen, Dormitory, and Stables, your fine Seats and polished Tables and noble Houses. For I see none of these Things, and yet I do see that you are blithe and cheerful, abounding in Joy, filled with Consolation, as if you expected all these Things to be supplied to you at will. But they made answer and said: O Lady and Queen, we thy Servants are weary with the long Journey, and thou in coming with us hast endured not a little. Therefore, if it please thee, let us eat first, and thus refreshed, we will do thy Bidding. And my Lady answered: It pleaseth me well. But first bring Water that we may wash our Hands, and a Cloth wherewith to dry them. And they brought forth a broken earthenware Vessel—for they had no sound one—full of Water. And having poured the Water on her hands they searched on all sides for a Cloth. But when none could be found, one of the Brethren offered the Habit he wore, that therewith my Lady might wipe her Hands. And giving Thanks she took it, magnifying God with all her Heart Who had given her such Men as Companions.

And after this they led her to the Place where the Table was made ready. But she looked round about, and seeing Nothing save three or four Crusts of Barley-bread laid upon the Grass, she marvelled exceedingly within herself, saying: Who ever saw the Like in the Generations of Old? Blessed art Thou, O Lord God, Who hast care of All, for Thy Power is at hand when Thou wilt, and Thou hast taught Thy People, that by such Works they may please Thee. And thus they sat a while giving Thanks to God for all His Gifts. Then my Lady Poverty commanded them to bring in Dishes the Food which they had cooked. But they fetched a Basin full of cold Water, that all might dip their Bread therein, for here was there no abundance of Dishes or superfluity of Cooks. My Lady Poverty then begged that she might at least have some uncooked savoury Herbs, but having neither Garden nor Gardener, the Brethren gathered some wild Herbs in the Wood, and placed them before her. Who said: Bring me a little Salt, that I may savour these Herbs, for they are bitter. But they answered her: Then must thou tarry a while, Lady, until we go into the City to obtain it, if haply there should be any one who would give us some. Then she asked them, saying: Fetch hither a Knife that I may trim these Herbs, and cut the Bread, which verily is hard and dry. Who answered: O Lady, we have no Smith to make us knives. For the present, use thy Teeth in the place of a Knife, and afterwards we will provide. Whereupon she said: Have you a little Wine? To which they answered: No, Lady, we have no Wine, for the necessaries of Man’s Life are Bread and Water, and it is not good for thee to drink Wine, for the Spouse of Christ should shun Wine as Poison.

And when they were satisfied, rejoicing more in the Nobility of Want than if they had had an Abundance of All Things, they blessed the Lord, in Whose Sight they had found such Favour, and led my Lady Poverty to a Place where she might sleep, for she was weary. And she lay down upon the bare ground. And when she asked for a Pillow, they straightway brought her a Stone, and laid it under her Head. So after she had slept for a brief space in Peace, she arose and asked the Brothers to show her their Cloister. And they, leading her to the Summit of a Hill, showed her the wide World, saying: This is our Cloister, O Lady Poverty. Thereupon she bade them all sit down together, and opening her Mouth she began to speak unto them Words of Life, saying:

Blessed are you, my Sons, of the Lord who made Heaven and Earth, who have received me into your House with such Fulness of Charity that it seems to me as if, being with you, I had to-day been in Paradise. Wherefore I am full of Joy and abound in Consolation, and I ask pardon of you for having so long delayed my Coming. Verily the Lord is with you, and I knew it not. Behold, what I longed for I see, what I desired I hold, for I am joined to them that are a type upon Earth of Him to Whom I am espoused in Heaven. The Lord bless your Fortitude, and receive the Work of your Hands. I pray and most earnestly beseech you, as most dear Sons, to persevere in those Things which you have begun by the Inspiration of the Holy Ghost, not abandoning your Perfection as is the Custom with some, but avoiding all the Snares of Darkness, strive ever after Things more Perfect. Most high is your Perfection, above Man and the Strength of Man, and it excels in its Brightness the Perfection of your Forefathers. Have no Doubt or Fear concerning the Kingdom of Heaven, for you already hold the Earnest of Future Inheritance and a Pledge of the Spirit, being sealed with the Seal of the Glory of Christ, and are like in all things, by His Grace, to that first Company of Disciples which He gathered about Him when He came into the World. For that which they did when He was with them, you have done not seeing Him, and you need not fear to say: Behold we have left all Things and have followed Thee.

Let not the Greatness of the Fight, nor the Magnitude of the Labour hinder you, for Great shall be your Reward. Looking unto the Author and Finisher of All Good Things, Our Lord Jesus Christ, Who having Joy set before Him, endured the Cross, despising the Shame, hold fast to the Confession of your Hope, without wavering. Run with Charity to the Fight that is before you; run, too, with Patience which is most necessary to you, that by so doing the Will of God you may receive the Promise. For God is able by His Holy Grace to bring to a happy Consummation, the Work which is above your Strength, because He is faithful to His Promises. Let nothing be found in you pleasing to the Spirit of the Children of Unbelief, let there be no Doubt or Hesitation, lest in working their Wickedness against you, they convict you of Consent. For it is a proud Spirit, but its Pride and Arrogancy are greater than its Strength. This Spirit is exceeding wrath with you, and it will turn against you all the Arms of its Cunning. It will seek to pour out the Venom of its Malice upon you, like one who in fighting had thought all his Enemies vanquished, and now rages to see you looking down upon him. All the Inhabitants of Heaven, O dearest Brothers, rejoice exceedingly in your Conversion, and have sung a new Song before the Face of the Eternal King. The Angels rejoice because of you, for through you many shall continue Virgins, they shall be resplendent in Chastity, and shall fill the empty places in the City on High, where Virgins are established in especial Glory, for those that neither marry nor are given in Marriage are like the Angels in Heaven. The Apostles exult at seeing their Life renewed, and their Doctrine preached, and because you show an Example of the Highest Sanctity. And the Martyrs exult, waiting to see their Constancy in the Shedding of Blood made manifest in you also. The Confessors dance before the Lord, knowing that their Victory in the Face of the Enemy is often to be repeated in you. The Virgins who follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth, likewise rejoice, knowing that by you many will be daily added to their Number. The Whole Court of Heaven is filled with Joy, for daily shall they keep the Festival of some new Inhabitant, and because they shall be continually incensed with the Odour of Holy Prayers ascending from this Valley of Tears.

Therefore, I beseech you, dear Brothers, by the Mercy of God, for which you have made yourselves thus Poor, carry out that which you have come to do, for which you left the Rivers of Babylon. Receive in all Humility the Grace which has been given you, use it worthily in All Things, and always for the Praise, Honour, and Glory of Him Who died for you, Our Lord Jesus Christ, Who with the Father and the Holy Ghost, liveth and reigneth, Victorious and Glorious, Eternal God, World without End, Amen.

Here endeth the Treatise concerning the Lady Poverty and our seraphic Father, the Blessed Francis.

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Translated by Montgomery Carmichael as The Lady Poverty. London, 1901. https://www.gutenberg.org/files/66025/66025-h/66025-h.htm#I

About the Text: According to Athanasius, the Patriarch of Alexandria and, for a time, the lone defender of Nicaea, St. Antony was the first to go out into the desert of Egypt as a monk. He is, therefore, considered the founder of monasticism. Athanasius met Antony in his youth and learned much from him; he later wrote the Life of Antony, which immediately became a classic and was spread throughout the Christian world. The Life of Antony begins with his call to sell all he had and to follow Christ.

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1. Antony you must know was by descent an Egyptian: his parents were of good family and possessed considerable wealth, and as they were Christians he also was reared in the same Faith. In infancy he was brought up with his parents, knowing nought else but them and his home. But when he was grown and arrived at boyhood, and was advancing in years, he could not endure to learn letters, not caring to associate with other boys; but all his desire was, as it is written of Jacob, to live a plain man at home. With his parents he used to attend the Lord’s House, and neither as a child was he idle nor when older did he despise them; but was both obedient to his father and mother and attentive to what was read, keeping in his heart what was profitable in what he heard. And though as a child brought up in moderate affluence, he did not trouble his parents for varied or luxurious fare, nor was this a source of pleasure to him; but was content simply with what he found nor sought anything further.

2. After the death of his father and mother he was left alone with one little sister: his age was about eighteen or twenty, and on him the care both of home and sister rested. Now it was not six months after the death of his parents, and going according to custom into the Lord’s House, he communed with himself and reflected as he walked how the Apostles left all and followed the Saviour; and how they in the Acts sold their possessions and brought and laid them at the Apostles’ feet for distribution to the needy, and what and how great a hope was laid up for them in heaven. Pondering over these things he entered the church, and it happened the Gospel was being read, and he heard the Lord saying to the rich man, “If you would be perfect, go and sell that you have and give to the poor; and come follow Me and you shall have treasure in heaven.” Antony, as though God had put him in mind of the Saints, and the passage had been read on his account, went out immediately from the church, and gave the possessions of his forefathers to the villagers—they were three hundred acres, productive and very fair—that they should be no more a clog upon himself and his sister. And all the rest that was movable he sold, and having got together much money he gave it to the poor, reserving a little however for his sister’s sake.

3. And again as he went into the church, hearing the Lord say in the Gospel, “be not anxious for the morrow,” he could stay no longer, but went out and gave those things also to the poor. Having committed his sister to known and faithful virgins, and put her into a convent to be brought up, he henceforth devoted himself outside his house to discipline, taking heed to himself and training himself with patience. For there were not yet so many monasteries in Egypt, and no monk at all knew of the distant desert; but all who wished to give heed to themselves practised the discipline in solitude near their own village. Now there was then in the next village an old man who had lived the life of a hermit from his youth up. Antony, after he had seen this man, imitated him in piety. And at first he began to abide in places outside the village: then if he heard of a good man anywhere, like the prudent bee, he went forth and sought him, nor turned back to his own palace until he had seen him; and he returned, having got from the good man as it were supplies for his journey in the way of virtue. So dwelling there at first, he confirmed his purpose not to return to the abode of his fathers nor to the remembrance of his kinsfolk; but to keep all his desire and energy for perfecting his discipline. He worked, however, with his hands, having heard, “he who is idle let him not eat,” and part he spent on bread and part he gave to the needy. And he was constant in prayer, knowing that a man ought to pray in secret unceasingly. For he had given such heed to what was read that none of the things that were written fell from him to the ground, but he remembered all, and afterwards his memory served him for books.

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Translated by H. Ellershaw, Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, second series, vol. 4 (1892).