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Christian Mysticism by William Ralph Inge

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Ruysbroek, it is plain, had no qualms in using the old mystical
language without qualification. This is the more remarkable, because
he was fully aware of the disastrous consequences which follow from
the method of negation and self-deification. For Ruysbroek was an
earnest reformer of abuses. He spares no one--popes, bishops, monks,
and the laity are lashed in vigorous language for their secularity,
covetousness, and other faults; but perhaps his sharpest castigation
is reserved for the false mystics. There are some, he says, who
mistake mere laziness for holy abstraction; others give the rein to
"spiritual self-indulgence"; others neglect all religious exercises;
others fall into antinomianism, and "think that nothing is forbidden
to them"--"they will gratify any appetite which interrupts their
contemplation": these are "by far the worst of all." "There is another
error," he proceeds, "of those who like to call themselves
'theopaths.' They take every impulse to be Divine, and repudiate all
responsibility. Most of them live in inert sloth." As a corrective to
these errors, he very rightly says, "Christ must be the rule and
pattern of all our lives"; but he does not see that there is a deep
inconsistency between the imitation of Christ as the living way to the
Father, and the "negative road" which leads to vacancy.[259]

Henry Suso, whose autobiography is a document of unique importance
for the psychology of Mysticism, was born in 1295[260]. Intellectually
he is a disciple of Eckhart, whom he understands better than
Ruysbroek; but his life and character are more like those of the
Spanish mystics, especially St. Juan of the Cross. The text which is
most often in his mouth is, "Where I am, there shall also My servant
be"; which he interprets to mean that only those who have embraced to
the full the fellowship of Christ's sufferings, can hope to be united
to Him in glory. "No cross, no crown," is the law of life which Suso
accepts in all the severity of its literal meaning. The story of the
terrible penances which he inflicted on himself for part of his life
is painful and almost repulsive to read; but they have nothing in
common with the ostentatious self-torture of the fakir. Suso's deeply
affectionate and poetical temperament, with its strong human loves and
sympathies, made the life of the cloister very difficult for him. He
accepted it as the highest life, and strove to conform himself to its
ideals; and when, after sixteen years of cruel austerities, he felt
that his "refractory body" was finally tamed, he discontinued his
mortifications, and entered upon a career of active usefulness. In
this he had still heavier crosses to carry, for he was persecuted and
falsely accused, while the spiritual consolations which had cheered
him in his early struggles were often withdrawn. In his old age,
shortly before his death in 1365, he published the history of his
life, which is one of the most interesting and charming of all
autobiographies. Suso's literary gift is very remarkable. Unlike most
ecstatic mystics, who declare on each occasion that "tongue cannot
utter" their experiences, Suso's store of glowing and vivid language
never fails. The hunger and thirst of the soul for God, and the
answering love of Christ manifested in the inner man, have never found
a more pure and beautiful expression. In the hope of inducing more
readers to become acquainted with this gem of mediaeval literature, I
will give a few extracts from its pages.

"The servitor of the eternal Wisdom," as he calls himself throughout
the book, made the first beginning of his perfect conversion to God in
his eighteenth year. Before that, he had lived as others live, content
to avoid deadly sin; but all the time he had felt a gnawing reproach
within him. Then came the temptation to be content with gradual
progress, and to "treat himself well." But "the eternal Wisdom" said
to him, "He who seeks with tender treatment to conquer a refractory
body, wants common sense. If thou art minded to forsake all, do so to
good purpose." The stern command was obeyed.[261] Very soon--it is the
usual experience of ascetic mystics--he was encouraged by rapturous
visions. One such, which came to him on St. Agnes' Day, he thus
describes:--"It was without form or mode, but contained within itself
the most entrancing delight. His heart was athirst and yet satisfied.
It was a breaking forth of the sweetness of eternal life, felt as
present in the stillness of contemplation. Whether he was in the body
or out of the body, he knew not." It lasted about an hour and a half;
but gleams of its light continued to visit him at intervals for some
time after.

Suso's loving nature, like Augustine's, needed an object of affection.
His imagination concentrated itself upon the eternal Wisdom,
personified in the Book of Proverbs in female form as a loving
mistress, and the thought came often to him, "Truly thou shouldest
make trial of thy fortune, whether this high mistress, of whom thou
hast heard so much, will become thy love; for in truth thy wild young
heart will not remain without a love." Then in a vision he saw her,
radiant in form, rich in wisdom, and overflowing with love; it is she
who touches the summit of the heavens, and the depths of the abyss,
who spreads herself from end to end, mightily and sweetly disposing
all things. And she drew nigh to him lovingly, and said to him
sweetly, "My son, give me thy heart."

At this season there came into his soul a flame of intense fire, which
made his heart burn with Divine love. And as a "love token," he cut
deep in his breast the name of Jesus, so that the marks of the
letters remained all his life, "about the length of a finger-joint."

Another time he saw a vision of angels, and besought one of them to
show him the manner of God's secret dwelling in the soul. An angel
answered, "Cast then a joyous glance into thyself, and see how God
plays His play of love with thy loving soul." He looked immediately,
and saw that his body over his heart was as clear as crystal, and that
in the centre was sitting tranquilly, in lovely form, the eternal
Wisdom, beside whom sat, full of heavenly longing, the servitor's own
soul, which leaning lovingly towards God's side, and encircled by His
arms, lay pressed close to His heart.

In another vision he saw "the blessed master Eckhart," who had lately
died in disfavour with the rulers of the Church. "He signified to the
servitor that he was in exceeding glory, and that his soul was quite
transformed, and made Godlike in God." In answer to questions, "the
blessed Master" told him that "words cannot tell the manner in which
those persons dwell in God who have really detached themselves from
the world, and that the way to attain this detachment is to die to
self, and to maintain unruffled patience with all men."

Very touching is the vision of the Holy Child which came to him in
church on Candlemas Day. Kneeling down in front of the Virgin, who
appeared to him, "he prayed her to show him the Child, and to suffer
him also to kiss it. When she kindly offered it to him, he spread out
his arms and received the beloved One. He contemplated its beautiful
little eyes, he kissed its tender little mouth, and he gazed again and
again at all the infant members of the heavenly treasure. Then,
lifting up his eyes, he uttered a cry of amazement that He who bears
up the heavens is so great, and yet so small, so beautiful in heaven
and so childlike on earth. And as the Divine Infant moved him, so did
he act toward it, now singing now weeping, till at last he gave it
back to its mother."

When at last he was warned by an angel, he says, to discontinue his
austerities, "he spent several weeks very pleasantly," often weeping
for joy at the thought of the grievous sufferings which he had
undergone. But his repose was soon disturbed. One day, as he sat
meditating on "life as a warfare," he saw a vision of a comely youth,
who vested him in the attire of a knight,[262] saying to him,
"Hearken, sir knight! Hitherto thou hast been a squire; now God wills
thee to be a knight. And thou shalt have fighting enough!" Suso cried,
"Alas, my God! what art Thou about to do unto me? I thought that I had
had enough by this time. Show me how much suffering I have before me."
The Lord said, "It is better for thee not to know. Nevertheless I will
tell thee of three things. Hitherto thou hast stricken thyself. Now I
will strike thee, and thou shalt suffer publicly the loss of thy good
name. Secondly, where thou shalt look for love and faithfulness, there
shalt thou find treachery and suffering. Thirdly, hitherto thou hast
floated in Divine sweetness, like a fish in the sea; this will I now
withdraw from thee, and thou shalt starve and wither. Thou shalt be
forsaken both by God and the world, and whatever thou shalt take in
hand to comfort thee shall come to nought." The servitor threw himself
on the ground, with arms outstretched to form a cross, and prayed in
agony that this great misery might not fall upon him. Then a voice
said to him, "Be of good cheer, I will be with thee and aid thee to
overcome."

The next chapters show how this vision or presentiment was verified.
The journeys which he now took exposed him to frequent dangers, both
from robbers and from lawless men who hated the monks. One adventure
with a murderer is told with delightful simplicity and vividness. Suso
remains throughout his life thoroughly human, and, hard as his lot had
been, he is in an agony of fear at the prospect of a violent death.
The story of the outlaw confessing to the trembling monk how, besides
other crimes, he had once pushed into the Rhine a priest who had just
heard his confession, and how the wife of the assassin comforted Suso
when he was about to drop down from sheer fright, forms a quaint
interlude in the saint's memoirs. But a more grievous trial awaited
him. Among other pastoral work, he laboured much to reclaim fallen
women; and a pretended penitent, whose insincerity he had detected,
revenged herself by a slander which almost ruined him.[263] Happily,
the chiefs of his order, whose verdict he had greatly dreaded,
completely exonerated him, after a full investigation, and his last
years seem to have been peaceful and happy. The closing chapters of
the Life are taken up by some very interesting conversations with his
spiritual "daughter," Elizabeth Staeglin, who wished to understand the
obscurer doctrines of Mysticism. She asks him about the doctrine of
the Trinity, which he expounds on the general lines of Eckhart's
theology. She, however, remembers some of the bolder phrases in
Eckhart, and says, "But there are some who say that, in order to
attain to perfect union, we must divest ourselves of God, and turn
only to the inwardly-shining light." "That is false," replies Suso,
"if the words are taken in their ordinary sense. But the common belief
about God, that He is a great Taskmaster, whose function is to reward
and punish, _is_ cast out by perfect love; and in this sense the
spiritual man _does_ divest himself of God, as conceived of by the
vulgar. Again, in the highest state of union, the soul takes no note
of the Persons _separately_; for it is not the Divine Persons taken
singly that confer bliss, but the Three in One." Suso here gives a
really valuable turn to one of Eckhart's rashest theses. "_Where_ is
heaven?" asks his pupil next. "The intellectual _where_" is the
reply, "is the essentially-existing unnameable nothingness. So we
must call it, because we can discover no mode of being, under which to
conceive of it. But though it seems to us to be no-thing, it deserves
to be called something rather than nothing." Suso, we see, follows
Dionysius, but with this proviso. The maiden now asks him to give her
a figure or image of the self-evolution of the Trinity, and he gives
her the figure of concentric circles, such as appear when we throw a
stone into a pond. "But," he adds, "this is as unlike the formless
truth as a black Moor is unlike the beautiful sun." Soon after, the
holy maiden died, and Suso saw her in a vision, radiant and full of
heavenly joy, showing him how, guided by his counsels, she had found
everlasting bliss. When he came to himself, he said, "Ah, God! blessed
is the man who strives after Thee alone! He may well be content to
suffer, whose pains Thou rewardest thus. God help us to rejoice in
this maiden, and in all His dear friends, and to enjoy His Divine
countenance eternally!" So ends Suso's autobiography. His other chief
work, a Dialogue between the eternal Wisdom and the Servitor, is a
prose poem of great beauty, the tenor of which may be inferred from
the above extracts from the Life. Suso believed that the Divine Wisdom
had indeed spoken through his pen; and few, I think, will accuse him
of arrogance for the words which conclude the Dialogue. "Whosoever
will read these writings of mine in a right spirit, can hardly fail to
be stirred in his heart's depths, either to fervent love, or to new
light, or to longing and thirsting for God, or to detestation and
loathing of his sins, or to that spiritual aspiration by which the
soul is renewed in grace."

John Tauler was born at Strassburg about 1300, and entered a Dominican
convent in 1315. After studying at Cologne and Paris, he returned to
Strassburg, where, as a Dominican, he was allowed to officiate as a
priest, although the town was involved in the great interdict of 1324.
In 1339, however, he had to fly to Basel, which was the headquarters
of the revivalist society who called themselves "the Friends of God."
About 1346 he returned to Strassburg, and was devoted in his
ministrations during the "black death" in 1348. He appears to have
been strongly influenced by one of the Friends of God, a mysterious
layman, who has been identified, probably wrongly, with Nicholas of
Basel,[264] and, according to some, dated his "conversion" from his
acquaintance with this saintly man. Tauler continued to preach to
crowded congregations till his death in 1361.

Tauler is a thinker as well as a preacher. Though in most points his
teaching is identical with that of Eckhart,[265] he treats all
questions in an independent manner, and sometimes, as for instance in
his doctrine about the uncreated ground of the soul,[266] he differs
from his master. There is also a perceptible change in the stress
laid upon certain parts of the system, which brings Tauler nearer than
Eckhart to the divines of the Reformation. In particular, his sense of
sin is too deep for him to be satisfied with the Neoplatonic doctrine
of its negativity, which led Eckhart into difficulties.[267]

The little book called the _German Theology_, by an unknown author,
also belongs to the school of Eckhart. It is one of the most precious
treasures of devotional literature, and deserves to be better known
than it is in this country. In some ways it is superior to the famous
treatise of a Kempis, _On the Imitation of Christ_, since the
self-centred individualism is less prominent. The author thoroughly
understands Eckhart, but his object is not to view everything _sub
specie oeternitatis_, but to give a practical religious turn to his
master's speculations. His teaching is closely in accordance with that
of Tauler, whom he quotes as an authority, and whom he joins in
denouncing the followers of the "false light," the erratic mystics of
the fourteenth century.

The practical theology of these four German mystics of the fourteenth
century--Ruysbroek, Suso, Tauler, and the writer of the _German
Theology_, is so similar that it is possible to consider it in detail
without taking each author separately. It is the crowning achievement
of Christian Mysticism before the Reformation, except in the English
Platonists of the seventeenth century, we shall not find anywhere a
sounder and more complete scheme of doctrine built upon this
foundation.

The distinction drawn by Eckhart between the Godhead and God is
maintained in the _German Theology_, and by Ruysbroek. The latter, as
we have seen,[268] does not shrink from following the path of analysis
to the end, and says plainly that in the Abyss there is no distinction
of Divine and human persons, but only the eternal essence. Tauler also
bids us "put out into the deep, and let down our nets"; but his "deep"
is in the heart, not in the intellect. "My children, you should not
ask about these great high problems," he says; and he prefers not to
talk much about them, "for no teacher can teach what he has not lived
through himself." Still he speaks, like Dionysius and Eckhart, of the
"Divine darkness," "the nameless, formless nothing," "the wild waste,"
and so forth; and says of God that He is "the Unity in which all
multiplicity is transcended," and that in Him are gathered up both
becoming and being, eternal rest and eternal motion. In this deepest
ground, he says, the Three Persons are implicit, not explicit. The Son
is the Form of all forms, to which the "eternal, reasonable form
created after God's image" (the Idea of mankind) longs to be
conformed.

The creation of the world, according to Tauler, is rather consonant
with than necessary to the nature of God. The world, before it became
actual, existed in its Idea in God, and this ideal world was set forth
by means of the Trinity. It is in the Son that the Ideas exist "from
all eternity." The Ideas are said to be "living," that is, they work
as forms, and after the creation of matter act as universals above and
in things. Tauler is careful to show that he is not a pantheist. "God
is the Being of all beings," he says; "but He is none of all things."
God is all, but all is not God; He far transcends the universe in
which He is immanent.

We look in vain to Tauler for an explanation of the obscurest point in
Eckhart's philosophy, as to the relations of the phenomenal to the
real. We want clearer evidence that temporal existence is not regarded
as something illusory or accidental, an error which may be
inconsistent with the theory of immanence as taught by the school of
Eckhart, but which is too closely allied with other parts of their
scheme.

The indwelling of God in the soul is the real centre of Tauler's
doctrine, but his psychology is rather intricate and difficult. He
speaks of three phases of personal life, the sensuous nature, the
reason, and the "third man"--the spiritual life or pure substance of
the soul. He speaks also of an "uncreated ground," which is the abyss
of the Godhead, but yet "in us," and of a "created ground," which he
uses in a double sense, now of the empirical self, which is imperfect
and must be purified, and now of the ideal man, as God intended him to
be. This latter is "the third man," and is also represented by the
"spark" at the "apex of the soul," which is to transform the rest of
the soul into its own likeness. The "uncreated ground," in Tauler,
works upon us through the medium of the "created ground," and not as
in Eckhart, immediately. The "created ground," in this sense, he calls
"the Image," which is identical with Eckhart's "spark." It is a
creative principle as well as created, like the "Ideas" of Erigena.

The _German Theology_ says that "the soul has two eyes,[269]" one of
which, the right eye, sees into eternity, the other sees time and the
creatures. The "right eye" is practically the same as Eckhart's
"spark" and Tauler's "image." It is significant that the author tells
us that we cannot see with both eyes together; the left eye must be
shut before we can use the right.[270] The passage where this precept
is given shows very plainly that the author, like the other fourteenth
century mystics,[271] was still under the influence of mediaeval
dualism--the belief that the Divine begins where the earthly leaves
off. It is almost the only point in this "golden little treatise," as
Henry More calls it, to which exception must be taken.[272]

The essence of sin is self-assertion or self-will, and consequent
separation from God. Tauler has, perhaps, a deeper sense of sin than
any of his predecessors, and he revives the Augustinian
(anti-Pelagian) teaching on the miserable state of fallen humanity.
Sensuality and pride, the two chief manifestations of self-will, have
invaded the _whole_ of our nature. Pride is a sin of the spirit, and
the poison has invaded "even the ground"--the "created ground," that
is, as the unity of all the faculties. It will be remembered that the
Neoplatonic doctrine was that the spiritual part of our nature can
take no defilement. Tauler seems to believe that under one aspect the
"created ground" is the transparent medium of the Divine light, but in
this sense it is only potentially the light of our whole body. He will
not allow the sinless _apex mentis_ to be identified with the
personality. Separation from God is the source of all misery. Therein
lies the pain of hell. The human soul can never cease to yearn and
thirst after God; "and the greatest pain" of the lost "is that this
longing can never be satisfied." In the _German Theology_, the
necessity of rising above the "I" and "mine" is treated as the great
saving truth. "When the creature claimeth for its own anything good,
it goeth astray." "The more of self and me, the more of sin and
wickedness. Be simply and wholly bereft of self." "So long as a man
seeketh his own highest good _because_ it is his, he will never find
it. For so long as he doeth this, he seeketh himself, and deemeth that
he himself is the highest good." (These last sentences are almost
verbally repeated in a sermon by John Smith, the Cambridge Platonist.)

The three stages of the mystic's ascent appear in Tauler's sermons. We
have first to practise self-control, till all our lower powers are
governed by our highest reason. "Jesus cannot speak in the temple of
thy soul till those that sold and bought therein are cast out of it."
In this stage we must be under strict rule and discipline. "The old
man must be subject to the old law, till Christ be born in him of a
truth." Of the second stage he says, "Wilt thou with St. John rest on
the loving breast of our Lord Jesus Christ, thou must be transformed
into His beauteous image by a constant, earnest contemplation
thereof." It is possible that God may will to call thee higher still;
then let go all forms and images, and suffer Him to work with thee as
His instrument. To some the very door of heaven has been opened--"this
happens to some with a convulsion of the mind, to others calmly and
gradually." "It is not the work of a day nor of a year." "Before it
can come to pass, nature must endure many a death, outward and
inward."

In the first stage of the "dying life," he says elsewhere, we are much
oppressed by the sense of our infirmities, and by the fear of hell.
But in the third, "all our griefs and joys are a sympathy with Christ,
whose earthly life was a mingled web of grief and joy, and this life
He has left as a sacred testament to His followers."

These last extracts show that the Cross of Christ, and the imitation
of His life on earth, have their due prominence in Tauler's teaching.
It is, of course, true that for him, as for all mystics, Christ _in_
us is more than Christ _for_ us. But it is unfair to put it in this
way, as if the German mystics wished to contrast the two views of
redemption, and to exalt one at the expense of the other. Tauler's
wish is to give the historical redemption its true significance, by
showing that it is an universal as well as a particular fact. When he
says, "We should worship Christ's humanity only in union with this
divinity," he is giving exactly the same caution which St. Paul
expresses in the verse about "knowing Christ after the flesh."

In speaking of the highest of the three stages, passages were quoted
which advocate a purely passive state of the will and intellect.[273]
This quietistic tendency cannot be denied in the fourteenth century
mystics, though it is largely counteracted by maxims of an opposite
kind. "God draws us," says Tauler, "in three ways, first, by His
creatures; secondly, by His voice in the soul, when an eternal truth
mysteriously suggests itself, as happens not infrequently in morning
sleep." (This is interesting, being evidently the record of personal
experience.) "Thirdly, without resistance or means, when the will is
quite subdued." "What is given through means is tasteless; it is seen
through a veil, and split up into fragments, and bears with it a
certain sting of bitterness." There are other passages in which he is
obviously under the influence of Dionysius; as when he speaks of
"dying to all distinctions"; in fact, he at times preaches
"simplification" in an unqualified form. But, on the other hand, no
Christian teachers have made more of the _active will_ than these
pupils of Eckhart.[274] "Ye are as holy as ye truly will to be holy,"
says Ruysbroek. "With the will one may do everything," we read in
Tauler. And against the perversion of the "negative road" he says, "we
must lop and prune vices, not nature, which is in itself good and
noble." And "Christ Himself never arrived at the 'emptiness' of which
these men (the false mystics) talk." Of contemplation he says,
"Spiritual enjoyments are the food of the soul, and are only to be
taken for nourishment and support to help us in our active work."
"Sloth often makes men fain to be excused from their work and set to
contemplation. Never trust in a virtue that has not been put into
practice." These pupils of Eckhart all led strenuous lives themselves,
and were no advocates of pious indolence. Tauler says, "Works of love
are more acceptable to God than lofty contemplation": and, "All kinds
of skill are gifts of the Holy Ghost.[275]"

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Anyone who knows Plath's poetry will see the connection between Three Women and Plath's subsequent poems, particularly in the way she talks about the agony of childbirth, the rush of love for this tiny alien being, and both the wonder and wounded rawness of motherhood. It is a beautiful piece, full of startling imagery that draws you in through the sheer intensity of its femaleness, and because it so precisely articulates the emotions that are often thought but seldom voiced by women - certainly not in the early 1960s - about men, motherhood and our relationship to our bodies.

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