The state existing between the divine and the human heart is described as a "blissful abiding," a blessed waiting for the other whose fulfillment presupposes leaving everything of this earth behind. Driven by its intense desire to live fully, the soul responds in strong, emotionally-charged words that nevertheless in their refinement show reserve:
The soul that has experienced many raptures and blissful ecstasies suffers all the more when God withdraws his presence, and longing increases.4 Longing rises to the paradox that in spite of all the levels of rapture and union with God-and beyond them-the goal is far from attained; and that the highest stage in this life ultimately remains that of hungering and thirsting for God. This blessed longing is the final attitude to be assumed by the human heart. The end of a love dialogue blurts this out like a cry for help:
I have such a hunger for the heavenly Father that I forget all cares. And I so thirst for his Son that it removes from me all earthly desires. And I have such a passionate need for the Spirit of them both that it goes beyond the wisdom of the Father, which I cannot grasp; and beyond the Son's suffering, which I cannot bear; and beyond the consolation of the Holy Spirit, which I cannot receive.
Whoever becomes entangled in longing such as this must forever hang blessedly fettered in God. (111 3)
This antithetical paradox is the linguistic equivalent of an inscrutable, lofty stage of experiencing God. Thus she says: "Yearning love causes a pure heart much sweet anguish" (111 24). For the soul's wish to attain the vision of and union with God remains unfulfilled on this earth in spite of any foretaste and all the heart-rending laments:
O Lord, if it could ever happen to me that I might gaze upon you as my heart desires and hold you in my arms, then the divine pleasures of your love would needs permeate my soul to the degree possible for people on earth. What I would be willing to suffer thereafter has never been seen by human eyes. Indeed, a thousand deaths were too little.... If you, Lord, can bear it, let me long pursue you in yearning. (111 23)
At the end of her life in Helfta, in the context of a meditation on the seven penitential psalms in which she reflects on death, she writes:
If we were to think of this hour often, all our pride would sink to the ground, as he [God] shall then reveal his glorious countenance to us. Then my soul shall have its favorite pastime. What I now painfully long for can never happen on earth as my heart would wish it. (VII 35)
What remains in the heart to the end is the strength to yearn longingly. Hence she begs her Lord in the same passage to "cover me with the mantle of your long-cherished desire."
3. The Power and Impotence of the Heart
Up to now we have seen that it is only by accepting God's love that the soul is empowered because in opening itself to the unfathomable ground of God, the imperilment of one's own heart is exposed. It is primarily the superior power of God's love which causes inexpressible suffering: "Bright love of playful flood ...causes [the heart] to die without death" (111 13). The agonies of this love are compared in detail with the passion of Christ, with the result that devotion to the passion turns into a mysticism of suffering in which pain loses its bitter quality as one concentrates on following Christ and on his suffering as redemption and reparation-all the more so when the heart itself is affected:
5 Cf. also my detailed study of this theme: "`Frau Pein, ihr seid mein nachstes Kleid.' Zur Leidensmystik im Fliefenden Licht der Gottheit der Mechthild von Magdeburg," Die dunkle Nacht der Sinne, ed. Gotthart Fuchs (Dusseldorf, 1989), 63-107.
The power and authority of this teaching here does not derive from book-learning. Rather, her "teaching" flows forth from the capacity of her heart for suffering, which God has totally consigned to himself. This remains a mystery to the speculative intellect. For this reason she later distances herself from her theologically-schooled fellow nuns in Helfta.6 Earthly wisdom is contrasted with supernatural, heavenly wisdom. Its preeminence is stressed further by a vision of Christ in VI 24. In a vision Mechthild sees the bloody wound in the heart of Jesus and is instructed that divine blood had to be shed if we were to be saved.
All suffering and humiliation are just a knocking at the gate of heaven up to the time when my heart's blood poured onto this earth. Only then was heaven opened. (VI 24)'
This vision explains that the blood from the heart of Christ, taken as his whole suffering during the passion, calls out for all times on behalf of humankind, because of its own weakness, to the mercy of the Father. In this redemptive suffering all human suffering is subsumed. Christ does not free Mechthild from her suffering, but rather strengthens her in her imitation of him as a kind of overflowing of love, as suffering in reparation with the promise of final glory, of which she experiences a foretaste as the assurance of future glory. From the tension caused by this yearning hope, strength of heart increases and can thus say: "Lovely love with guileless gift blots out the surly heart's complaint" (III 13).
According to Mechthild's words, an unsuspectedly strong power grows in the heart so that "a person retains a heart alien to all earthly things, so alien that, if a person loses earthly things, his heart becomes buoyant and his soul unfettered" (VI 4).
Expanding on such a high degree of detachment-one is reminded of the teaching of Meister Eckhart-she continues:
No one possesses the whole of heaven in his heart but he alone who has removed himself from all consolation and all favors in this world....And yet God cannot restrain himself-and we cannot do without it-from giving us his abundance and his favor. (VI 20)
Despite all her joy in suffering, and in view of human frailty, her trust in God's mercy carries the day. It is so great that even human weakness, when it is the only possibility, is brought before God's countenance and serves even in this form as a song of praise:
There are, however, opposing powers constantly at work that can distract the human heart from its destiny, and can pull it down and entangle it in purely finite goals. Suggestions whispered by the devil (under the seductive guise of total surrender as a sign of holiness), where it is a question of keeping within bounds and of being chaste, cannot shake a heart that has been steeled in suffering and thus possesses the power of discernment. In a dialogue with the devil, in response to his suggestions, she says:
If I were to tell everyone the secrets of my heart, things would be quite nice for me in the short term. But then you would intently strive to make the fun end badly. You would do this so that I might fall into doubt, sadness, unbelief, impurity, and thereafter into everlasting anguish. Another reason you are doing this is so that I might imagine that you come to me thus because I am so holy. (IV 2)
Out of the same certainty of her heart she responds:
For out of Lucifer flows "ceaselessly from his fiery heart.. .all sin and shame." She likewise recognizes that suffering "is born of Lucifer's heart" (IV 12). And the deepest pit of hell, duplicity, "is begotten in Lucifer's heart" (11 26). She fights on against all these destructive powers. Her chief concern is peace of heart, but not at any price. The "holiest peace of heart... comes from keeping one's integrity in all that one does" (V 22). Truth comes before any fraudulent peace. Because Mechthild takes no pride in her being divinely favored and admits that she displays self-effacement again and again in spite of her experiences of God, she says:
When Mechthild speaks here of chosen hearts as a parallel or allusion to the chosen "noble hearts" of courtly poetry, which foster courtly love in a special way in a culture of the heart, then the nobility which she claims for the soul derives, for her, from a divine origin. This is perceived in the depths of the heart when all of one's own activity there ceases. She only speaks of it with great reserve: "Divine sweetness is enjoyed in the solitude of the heart" (VI 2).
The solitude or desert wilderness of the heart points, by way of an image, to the inaccessible, secluded location of a doublefaceted experience of God. Terrifying in his infinite remoteness, emptiness, and immensity, God outdoes himself by bringing joy through his nearness. Thus
she says: "Mary Magdalene, I live with you in the desert wilderness, because all things are foreign to me except God alone" (11 24).' Nearness of God surpasses all human consolation, leaving it far behind. God alone suffices. And yet words fail her in her blessed state:
Ultimately Mechthild forswears happiness with God for the sake of more genuine praise, wishing nothing more for herself. And thus, beset by the terrors of the dark night of God's remoteness and bereft of all consolation amid attacks of disbelief, she experiences how suddenly, as though through a miracle, bitter "gall has become honey for the palate of my soul" (IV 12) .9 In this highly dramatized dialogue of declaration and response Mechthild anticipates succinctly the central themes of the Spanish mysticism of Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross. Repeatedly she speaks of the various degrees of purification as a precondition for grasping God more profoundly, as the fruit of a higher level of love, in the same way as does Richard of St. Victor: "God bestows vision in proportion to love."
The final purification in the night of the senses and the intellect is described tersely and penetratingly in VI 12, asJohn of the Cross will develop it later in detail in the night canticles of his poetic theology. Thus Mechthild is an early classic witness for the human heart struggling with the love of God that consumes everything and demands all human energies. She experiences this struggle and all its consequences, be it the increase in her own capacity for suffering as the noblest form of praise and gratitude, or in courageously speaking prophetically to her times.
Because of the demanding nature of its language and content, it is consequently a great service Frank Tobin has performed in making this profound book accessible in its totality to the English-speaking world, for the first time with a solid edition of the original as the textual base. A commanding and fascinating female figure of the thirteenth century is thereby given the opportunity to speak. Alongside the manifestly intimate character of her writing, and going beyond what has relevance for her personal life, she assigns to her book a public function. Everything was done solely "for God's honor" and "for the book's teaching."
1. The abbreviations used for the books of the Bible follow the practice of the New American Bible.
II. Other frequently cited works are abbreviated as follows:
FL: Mechthild of Magdeburg's Flowing Light of the Godhead.
Lux div.: The Lux divinitatis, the Latin version of the FL. This can be found in Revelationes Gertrudianae ac Mechtildianae. 1875-77. Ed. Solesmes Monks (Louis Paquelin). 2 Vols. Poitiers and Paris: Oudin, 1875, 1877. Vol. 2: Sororis Mechtildis Lux divinitatis. 423-643.
Morel: Offenbarungen der Schwester Mechthild von Magdeburg oder Das flief3ende Licht der Gottheit. Aus der einzigen Handschrift des Stiftes Einsiedeln. Ed. Gall Morel. Regensburg, 1869. Reprinted, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1963, 1976, 1980. (This was the only edition of the FL available until 1990.)
N I and N IL Das flief3ende Licht der Gottheit. Nach der Eindsiedler Handschrift in kritischem Vergleich mit der gesamten Uberlieferung. Ed. Hans Neumann. Munich: Artemis. Vol. 1 (1990): Text. The book, chapter, and line (s) in the FL being referred to are given, followed by N I plus the page number in Vol. 1; e.g., V 34, 41-43; N 1 68. Vol. 2 (1993): Untersuchungen (Investigations). References to Neumann's notes given by the text they refer to, followed by N II plus the page number in Vol. 2; e.g., note to I 28, 5; N 11 19.
Neumann 1964: "Beitrage zur Textgeschichte des `FlieBenden Lichts der Gottheit' and zur Lebensgeschichte Mechthilds von Magdeburg." In Altdeutsche and altniederlandiche Mystik. Ed. Kurt Ruh. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1964. 175-239.
Schmidt: Mechthild von Magdeburg. Das flief3ende Licht der Gottheit. Zweite, neubearbeitete Ubersetzung mit Einfuhrung and Kommentar von Margot Schmidt. Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Frommann-Holzboog, 1995. References are to the page preceded, where appropriate, by the note number; e.g., note 292, p. 397.
1. The Beguines
echthild of Magdeburg (c. 1208-c. 1282/94), the author of The Flowing Light of the Godhead offered here in translation, lived most of her life as a beguine; and even though it would be taking matters to extremes to claim a type of spirituality specific to beguines,' a brief examination of their way of life, ideals, and the social situation in which the movement arose, flourished, and declined can contribute much to our understanding and appreciation of her book.z Beguines were women who led lives of voluntary poverty, chastity, and religious devotion withoutjoining an approved religious order. The movement began in the larger towns of the Low Countries during the twelfth century and spread south as far as Cologne and Strassburg, and also to the German-speaking East. It flourished from about 1220 to 1318 and gradually died out because of widespread ecclesiastical opposition. In Mechthild's time in Germany beguines usually lived in a communal house, sustaining themselves through support from their families, gifts, and work. Typical forms of work were nursing, weaving, spinning, embroidery, preparing the dead for burial, and housework for others.
The reasons motivating women to undertake this way of life seem to be the same as those contributing to the founding of the Franciscan and Dominican orders about the same time: the wish to return to the ideals of early Christianity and imitate more closely the lives of the apostles. Beguines strove to be unworldly while living in the world. Spending much time in prayer, both communal and private, attending mass and other church services, frequenting the sacraments, practicing moderate asceticism, and performing menial work, with nothing to call their own-not even themselves-they desired only to find favor with their divine Bridegroom and sought to elevate those around them more by leading exemplary apostolic Christian lives than by teaching.
Beguine houses usually fell under the jurisdiction of the local parish priest, but because of the similarities in mode of life and ideals beguines were often drawn into close contact with nearby Franciscan or Dominican communities. In contrast to earlier religious orders, they, like the beguines, settled in towns in order to carry out their apostolic work. From the beginning the beguines met with criticism from some quarters because they belonged to no ecclesiastically approved order and, hence, supervision over them was minimal. Also, because many beguine communities were developing into centers of mysticism and were providing northern Europe with its first mystical writings in the vernacular, questions of religious orthodoxy among them soon arose. This opposition to the beguines and the reasons for it are worth noting because the atmosphere thus created provides an essential part of the context in which Mechthild was writing. In composing her book Mechthild was faced with addressing the following two questions: What gave her, a woman with no formal education or special training in theology and belonging to no approved order, the right to speak out on theological matters and to criticize sharply the clergy, even its most prominent members? And by whose authority did she write, or why should she have expected her words to be taken seriously?
Though opposition to the beguines was in evidence from the beginning among those who viewed all change with suspicion, early papal pronouncements encouraged the movement. Pope Honorius III expressed approval of communities of pious women of northern continental Europe, and Pope Gregory IX's bull Gloriam virginalem extended papal protection to the "chaste virgins of Teutonia," which probably meant both those in Germany and those in the German-speaking parts of the Low Coun tries. Soon, however, those voicing criticism gained strength. Besides the misgivings arising from beguines not being members of an approved order, they were often accused of hypocrisy and laziness because, it was said, they lived on alms and refused to work. There were also charges that false piety cloaked lives of gross sensuality.
In the course of the thirteenth century several synods in Germany dealt with matters relating to beguines and passed decrees that forbade their wandering about and required them to live in communal houses, to work to support themselves, and to obey their parish priests; at two synods held late in Mechthild's life or shortly afterward (Trier, 1277, and Eichstatt, 1284) beguines were
warned against the preaching of false doctrine. Of special interest for our purposes is a synod held in Magdeburg in 1261, when Mechthild was well along in her writing and parts of her book were no doubt already in circulation.' The synod, presided over by Archbishop Rupert, declared that beguines should, like other parishioners, obey their parish priests or be excommunicated.'
Not until well after Mechthild's death, however, did the forces opposed to beguines carry the day and deal serious blows to the vitality of the movement. In 1312 the Council of Vienne called for an inquisitional investigation of beguines and beghards-their male counterparts-in Germany. It also decreed that beguine communities were to be dissolved and that such organizations should be permanently forbidden, but it left open the possibility for truly faithful women to live lives of penance and humility in common. Because of the decrees of the Council of Vienne and the inconsistent policies of the popes toward beguines, the movement declined, though some communities continued in the Low Countries and the Rhineland until quite recently. During the early decades of the fourteenth century most beguine communities in Germany resolved their precarious position by embracing the rule of an established order (Franciscan, Dominican, or Cistercian) and lived much as they had before, but under the guidance and supervision that these orders provided.
2. Mechthild's Life
The few facts we have about Mechthild's life come from her own writings, from the Latin translation of the FL (the Lux divinitatis), and from the forewords to them written anonymously. Scholars have generally accepted this information as trustworthy, and from it the following picture emerges.' Mechthild was born about 1208 into a noble family. Just what level of nobility, however, is a matter of conjecture and dispute. Schmidt places the family home within the archdiocese of Magdeburg.' Neumann describes her birthplace as the western Middlemarch.' The most convincing evidence for her being well born is the obvious familiarity her book shows with life in the castle and with courtly culture, especially courtly literature. Mechthild makes the point more than once that she is unlearned; that is, that she knows little Latin and has had no formal training in theology, which might invest her words with religious authority; but much of her writing shows a detailed knowledge of both the forms and content of the literature of the German high courtly period drawing to a close during her youth.
The Flowing Light of the Godhead Page 3