[In the following essay, Coleman presents an overview of Hilton's life, works, and influence, noting his prevalent qualities of charity and humility.]

The Scale of Perfection first appeared towards the end of the fourteenth century.¹ During the next one hundred years it was often copied, and it circulated in many manuscripts. In 1494 it was printed by Caxton's successor, Wynkyn de Worde; by 1533 eight editions had been published. Almost from its first issue it became a devotional classic. People of most diverse religious types have fallen beneath its spell. Thoughtful readers will soon discover the reason of this. The book answers in a most satisfying way the permanent needs of the soul. Other qualities recommend it: its contents are well arranged; its theme is clearly stated and admirably developed; its style is simple, persuasive, and quietly convincing; and throughout it is marked by lofty thought, deep insight, and sanity of judgement. Such a book could not help but make a wide appeal.

Excellent as the Scale is, however, we may feel a little surprise that for so long it should have taken precedence over other classics of the devout life. It has not the quaint candour and picturesque homeliness of the Ancren Riwle; it lacks the poetic imagery and spiritual rapture of Richard Rolle; it has not the intellectual force and sparkling humour of the Cloud; it does not share the strange touch of genius we find in Julian; nor for variety of interest and vividness of characterization can it compete with The Book of Margery Kempe. Yet in spite of these facts it is true to say that no other mystical work in our tongue has had a deeper or more abiding influence than this.

Walter Hilton was an Augustinian canon of Thurgarton, near Southwell, in Nottinghamshire. Miss Underhill, in the Introduction to her edition of the Scale, gives some interesting details of Thurgarton and its Priory, the ruins of which still stand, and provide some idea of its former beauty and spaciousness. She discusses, too, in a suggestive way the influence of the delightful pastoral surroundings on the mind of Hilton, as assisting to develop in him ‘that gentle realism, that quiet intimacy and simplicity, which mark his teaching, with its perfect avoidance of forced contrast and exaggeration’.² She also gives, to complete the picture, an entertaining account of his Order, showing how active the Augustinian Canons were in religion, education, and philanthropy; yet,

‘Some of his brothers in religion, judging from the records of fourteenth-century Chapters, took their vocation less earnestly; combining it with a considerable degree of worldly enjoyment. Thus in 1334 it was necessary to forbid dancing and unseemly songs. Blue capes, tight hose, and fanciful shoes were also condemned, as unsuited to the religious life; and the canons ordered to wear gaiters or jack-boots when they went abroad. In 1346 the Chapter was forced to deal with the passion for dogs—so often a difficulty in houses of religion—and prohibit the habit of feeding them in the refectory.’³

But to our regret, keen investigator though Miss Underhill is, she can give no fresh information about the author himself. The one definite date we can attach to Hilton is that of his death; this is given in a note on a manuscript as March 24, 1396. Beyond this useful but unilluminating fact, we know practically nothing. His is another of the fertile lives of that period which remains wrapt in obscurity. Hence with him, as with many other authors of early mystical literature, we are driven to the works themselves to learn what we can of their writer's personality.

Luckily Hilton's productions are rich in revelations of this kind. They show a man of entire devotion to our Lord, of rare humility of spirit, and with a profound admiration for the contemplative life. Along with his love of the mystical he combines a passion for the evangelical which comes out most clearly in his celebrations of the Holy Name. Though with his customary meekness, he often asserts that he himself did not practise contemplation, yet we cannot doubt he knew something of the spiritual joy of which he writes, for his words about union with Christ are quick with reality. To make him the able director of souls he was, he must have had an exceptional combination of mental and spiritual gifts: ancresses, fellow-monks, and influential men of the world, sought his guidance. His sane outlook and kindly thoughtfulness are seen in his recommendations concerning discipline: he will have no vain or foolish excesses in watchings, fastings, scourgings, or other self-inflicted austerities; the right balance of body and soul are to be kept. Altogether, his writings give the impression of a wise, kind, and gentle teacher, who found in the study, practice, and commending of contemplation his life's purpose and joy.

There has been some discussion as to whether he was a learned man. Most of his commentators think he was; Miss Underhill doubts it. She supplies but slight evidence for this opinion. She points out a curious error in the use of a Latin term,⁴ but it was one of those trivial slips of which any writer might be guilty. No one can deny that for the age in which he lived he possessed a wide range of knowledge. He had been a diligent student of the great Church Fathers, particularly St. Augustine and St. Gregory, St. Bernard and St. Bonaventura; he had fruitfully studied St. Thomas Aquinas and his fellow-scholastics; but, of these recognized authorities, probably Richard of St. Victor, that bold expositor and bright exemplar of the contemplative life, had done as much as any one to stimulate his interest in mystical doctrine and experience.

In addition to these greater lights of the Church, he owed not a little to his own countrymen. There is evidence that he had read with profit the Ancren Riwle. For Richard Rolle he had a real affection, sometimes using his very words; but Hilton, with his more sober temperament, was a trifle afraid of the Yorkshire hermit's ecstasies, especially of the sensible phenomena—about these he gives careful warning. To the author of the Cloud his debt was immense; that acute thinker exercised a major influence over Hilton's mind; on many pages of the Scale you detect distinct traces of the earlier work. There are not a few parallels between Julian and Hilton; they may have read each other's writings.

In considering the creative forces—so far as they were human—in Hilton's spiritual development, we certainly come to the fountain-head when we name the Bible; he knew it thoroughly, accepted it implicitly, and grounded all his teaching upon it. In his quotations he gives both the Latin and English texts; this makes his extracts most valuable.

We possess three books by Hilton: the Scale, the Treatise to a Devout Man,⁵ and The Song of Angels.⁶ Other writings attributed to him are to be found in private and public libraries in this country and France. If there is anything to compare with the three already known, it is to be hoped that some enterprising publisher will in the near future rescue these manuscripts from oblivion, and give them to the world. We have seen it was thought at one time that Hilton might have written the Cloud. His name has also been associated with other works, most notably with that devotional masterpiece, the Imitation of Christ. No one would make that claim to-day, as the authorship of Thomas à Kempis is now practically universally accepted. It is, however, a tribute to Hilton's genius that his name should have been linked to this famous book. For the time being, our author's reputation will continue to rest, as it has always done, upon the Scale.

The book is addressed to a ‘ghostly sister in Christ Jesus’. The author says, ‘Thou art bound by custom and thy rule to say thy Breviary’; further on he states, ‘Right so shalt thou stand as an anchoret in that lot’; and in another place, ‘Thou hast forsaken riches and the having much of this world, and art shut up in a cell’. These, and other references which could be given, make it fairly certain that he is writing for an aspirant to the contemplative life, who has passed through a nunnery, and has entered upon the solitary state in some house or cell. But it is equally clear that the writer has in mind, not only the needs of this particular person, but all who may desire to live the religious life.

The title, The Scale—or Ladder of Perfection, visualizes the soul's upward movement from the imperfect to the perfect life. Like Jacob's ladder, it is set up between earth and heaven; it leads from self to God; from the slavery of sin to the freedom of salvation; from the world of phenomena, with its multiplicity, confusion and phantasms, to the world of Reality, with its unity, order and abiding certainties. Necessarily, the climber's progress will be slow:

‘But from the lowest to the highest a soul cannot suddenly start, no more than a man that would climb upon a ladder that is high, and setteth his foot on the lowest stave, can at the next step get up to the highest, but must go by degrees from one to another till he comes to the highest.’⁷

A few chapters previously, the author had given to the aspiring soul a most valuable hint that would help it in its ascent to the Highest:

‘And this mayest thou do the better, and the more readily, if thou be diligent and careful to set thy heart most upon one thing, and that is nought else but a spiritual desire after God, how to please Him, love Him, and know Him, to see Him and to enjoy Him by grace here in a little feeling, and in the bliss of heaven in a full being. This desire, if thou keep it, will tell thee what is sin, and what is not; and what thing is good and what better; and if thou wilt but fasten thy thoughts to the same desire, it shall teach thee all that thou needest, and it shall procure thee all that thou wantest. Set the point of thy thoughts more upon God whom thou desirest than upon the sin which thou abhorrest. If thou do so, then God fighteth for thee, and will destroy sin in thee.’⁸

The first part of the book deals with the cultivation of the spiritual life. Though Hilton's teaching here follows familiar lines, we will spend a little time with it, as it may prove instructive, not merely as information, but as a guide-book for the advancement of our own soul.

He says that in Holy Church there are two kinds of lives by which a Christian is to be saved: active and contemplative. The active consists in the more external matters of religion: in basing character and conduct on God's commandments, including obedience to Christ; and in showing love and charity to those about us by deeds of kindness and mercy. Contemplation refers more to the internal life of religion: to the soul's ardent and deliberate search for God, issuing in true knowledge and clear vision of Him, which in turn will bring the soul into ever-deepening experiences of the Divine Goodness; character and conduct, by taking on new power and fresh beauty, will find expression in the flowering of spiritual virtues, particularly true humility, and in the exercise of perfect love and charity amongst our fellows. Contemplative life advances stage by stage: first knowing—in getting a clearer sight of God by ‘the opening of the eye of the soul’, then feeling—especially of warmth, joy, and sweetness, in Christ; last comes spiritual illumination:

‘This third sort, which is as perfect as can be had in this life, consisteth both in knowing and affecting; that is, in knowing and perfect loving of God, which is when a man's soul is first reformed by perfection of virtues to the image of Jesus, and afterwards, when it pleaseth God to visit him, he is taken in from all earthly and fleshly affections, from vain thoughts and imaginings of all bodily creatures, and, as it were, much ravished and taken up from his bodily senses, and then by the grace of the Holy Ghost is enlightened, to see by his understanding Truth itself—which is God—and spiritual things, with a soft, sweet, burning love in God, so perfectly that he becometh ravished with His love, and so the soul for the time is become one with God, and conformed to the image of the Trinity.’⁹

Because of the bodily fervours and mental delights of these experiences, he finds it necessary, like other writers on the mystical life, to say a word about the psychophysical accompaniments. He warns his readers against visions or revelations, against all excitations of the sense, as brightness of the eye, wonderful sounding in the ear, sudden sweetness in the mouth; and especially against ‘any sensible heat, as it were fire glowing and warming in the breast’. Here possibly he had in mind those who wished to be imitators of Richard Rolle. As such abnormal experiences may be wrought by both good and wicked angels, they must always be regarded with suspicion. On the other hand, if a spirit, or feeling, or revelation increases our desire,

‘knitting the knots of love and devotion faster to Jesus, opening the eye of the soul into spiritual knowing more clearly, and maketh it more humble in itself, this spirit is of God’.¹⁰

As helps to contemplation, he recommends the usual means: reading of Scripture and holy books; diligent prayer with devotion; and meditation on subjects best suited to the soul's needs. To prosecute these spiritual exercises wisely we shall need to have sincere humility—to make us feel our entire unworthiness; firm faith—in the teachings and sacraments of the Church; and a resolute will and purpose to seek after God—that we may know Him, serve Him, and love Him with all our heart. We are told that in all these works it is best to use discretion, ‘for the mean is the best’.

Prayer and meditation must be constantly practised as helps. Throughout, the author insists that Prayer, in spirit, form, and purpose shall be based upon the loving study of Scripture. When the soul has been prepared by this instruction, it can use three kinds of vocal prayer: the paternoster with psalms and hymns; the ordained prayers of the Church, as matins, evensong, and hours; and spontaneous utterances inspired by the momentary experience: ‘This (last) kind of prayer pleases God much, for it proceeds wholly from the heart.’ It may at times be offered in the heart only, without speech, ‘with great rest and quietness both of body and soul’. If in our prayer vain thoughts intrude themselves, we must just pray on and not be upset; God will accept and reward the intention. If on the other hand our heart is wondrously visited by heavenly love, we must make the most of such fervour, and keep it as long as we can—though it will make great demands upon us:

‘This is a point of the passion of love, the which by great violence and mastery breaketh down and mortifieth all lusts and likings of any earthly thing, and woundeth the soul with the blessed sword of love, that it makes the body sink, not able to bear it.’¹¹

He cautions beginners that even if they have these divine visitations, they should not leave vocal prayer and other outward exercises too soon, and give themselves wholly to meditation. Not a few enthusiastic converts to certain successful modern movements might profitably heed his wise words:

‘For ofttimes in that time of rest which they take to themselves for meditation, imagining and thinking on spiritual things after their own fancies, and following their bodily feeling, having not yet received sufficient grace thereto, by indiscretion they overtravail their wits and break their bodily strength, and so fall into fancies and singular conceits, or into open errors, and hinder that grace which God hath already given them, by such vanities. The cause of all this is secret pride and overweening of themselves; for when they have felt a little grace and some sensible devotion, they esteem it so much to surpass the graces and favours He doth to others that they fall into vain-glory. Whereas if they but knew how little it were in comparison of that which God giveth, or may give, they would be ashamed to speak anything of it, unless it were in a case of great necessity.’¹²

Meditation is another help in the soul's progress. In this exercise no certain rule for every one to observe can be given, because our Lord will deal with each seeker according to his disposition, his circumstances, and his need. For example, those who have been the slaves of sin and feel sharp compunction of heart, will find their thoughts directed to His passion; while those who have not been thus defiled, but have been kept in a measure of innocency, will find their minds centred on His birth and humanity. Thus, in the practice of meditation, we shall sensibly recognize our limitations, not desiring to be treated as other than we are; and for the subject of meditation, we shall gladly receive the divine guidance, acknowledging it is the one best calculated to help us:

‘Our holy Fathers heretofore taught us that we should know the measure of our gift, and therefore to work upon it, and according to it, and not take upon us, out of our head or imagination, to have more in our feeling or ability than indeed we have. We may ever desire the best, but we may not ever work the best or our utmost, because we have not yet received that grace and ability.’¹³

In addition to the above helps there is, if we would further advance towards contemplation, another necessary work: a man must withdraw from external things, and enter into himself, to know his own soul and its powers. This inward sight will show the nobility and dignity of our first creation, and the wretchedness and misery we are now in as a result of our sin. This knowledge will make a man eager for deliverance, and for the restoration of his lost powers. Then it is he discovers that Jesus represents all he has lost, and he finds his need of Jesus—his soul's Lover and Saviour. What blessing there is in that Name!

‘I mean not this word Jesus painted upon the wall, or written in letters on the book, or formed by lips in sound of the mouth, or framed in thy mind by imagination, for in this wise may a man void of charity find Him; but I mean Jesus Christ, that blessed Person, God and Man, Son of the Virgin Mary, whom this name betokeneth; that is all goodness, endless wisdom, love and sweetness, thy joy, thy glory, and thy everlasting bliss, thy God, thy Lord, and thy salvation.’¹⁴

We should live for nothing else than to desire and to know Jesus; to find Him is beyond all joy, either earthly or heavenly. We are to be like the woman of whom our Lord told in the parable—when she had lost her groat she lit a candle, and sought through the house till she found it:

‘This groat is Jesus which thou hast lost, and if thou wilt find Him, light up a lanthorn, that is God's Word. … By this lanthorn thou shalt see where He is, and how to find Him. And if thou wilt, thou mayest together with this, light up another lanthorn, that is the reason of thy soul … by the which thy soul may see all spiritual things. … By this lanthorn mayest thou find Jesus, that is if thou hold up this lanthorn from underneath the bushel. That is to say, thy reason must not be overlaid with earthly business, or vain thoughts and earthly affections, but always upwards, above all vain thoughts and earthly things as much as thou canst. If thou do so, thou shalt see all the dust, all the filth and small motes in thy house; that is to say, all fleshly loves and fears in thy soul. … And thou shalt cast out of thy heart all such sins, and sweep thy soul clean with the besom of the fear of God, and wash it with thy tears, and so shalt thou find thy groat, Jesus; He is thy groat, thy penny, thy heritage.’¹⁵

This inward sight of our soul not only reveals our lost righteousness and beauty, but also ‘the ground of sin’ out of which arise all other sins. What is it we shall find?

‘Surely this; a dark and ill-favoured image of thy own soul, which hath neither light of knowledge nor feeling of love of God. This image, if thou behold it heedfully, is all inwrapped and clothed with black stinking rags of sin. … Out of this spring many great streams of sin, and small ones also. Just as out of the image of Jesus, if thou be reformed in the beams of spiritual light, will spring and ascend up towards heaven burning desires, pure affections, wise thoughts and all comeliness of virtues. Even so out of this image spring stirrings of pride, of envy and such other, which cast thee down from the comeliness of a man into a beast's likeness.’¹⁶

The author gives a swift glance beneath the surface of this image when he pithily defines it as ‘a false and inordinate love of ourselves’. This is the fountain-head of all our sinning, for from it flow pride, envy, anger, sloth, covetousness, gluttony, and lechery: the seven deadly sins. With these he deals very much in the same way as those writers whose treatment we have already considered. He says, too, that this image has five windows: ‘these are the five senses by which the soul goeth out of herself, and fetcheth her delight, and seeketh her feeding in earthly things, contrary to the nobility of her own nature’. His account of the dangers and misuses of the senses also resembles that of his predecessors.

It will be apparent that up to this point Hilton has followed, with a preferential stress of certain facts, the traditional line of exposition in the presentation of his subject. For the idea just introduced, that the divine image in man is mutilated by sin is, as every student knows, a favourite one with mystical writers of every age. Perhaps Hilton, in comparison with other teachers, gives it a more central place in the Scale, just as he subjects it to a more searching analysis; but this is because he is going to deal more thoroughly with the opposite process—the regeneration of the image: the entire reconstruction of personality, ‘the issue of a new edition of our ego’.¹⁷ Here we come upon the really distinctive part of his teaching: it is in the selection and use of original terms in describing the soul's restoration to its former glory.

This image of God, ‘which in its first shaping was wonderful fair and bright, full of burning love and ghostly light’,¹⁸ was lost through the sin of Adam; hence it could not be restored by man, but by God alone. This is the work of the Lord Jesus Christ, who is both God and Man: His precious death is the ground of all reforming of man's soul, as it is also the means by which the soul is saved from hell and brought to heaven. The process of this reforming, we are told, has two stages: one is in part, and had in this life; the other is in fulness, had in a measure in this life, but in its completeness known only in the larger life to come. The reforming in part can and must be felt here and now, or the soul will never be saved:

‘But this reforming is on two manners: one is in Faith only, another is in Faith and in Feeling. The first sufficeth to salvation, the second is worthy to have passing great reward in the bliss of heaven. The first may be had easily and in a short time, the second not so, but through length of time and much spiritual pains. The first may be had, and yet the man may have together with it the stirrings and feelings of the image of sin: but if he do not voluntarily assent thereto, he may be and remain reformed in Faith to the likeness of God.

‘But the second putteth out the liking in, and delight felt in sensual motions and worldly desires, and suffereth no such spots to abide in this image. The first is only of beginning and profiting souls, and of active men. The second is of perfect souls, and of contemplative men. For by the first reforming the image of sin is not destroyed, but it is left, as it were, all whole in feeling. But the second destroyeth the old feelings of this image of sin, and bringeth into the soul new gracious feelings, through the workings of the Holy Ghost. The first is good, the second is better, but the third, that is in the bliss of heaven, is best of all.’¹⁹

The reforming of Faith is accomplished by divine grace working through the appointed channels: especially the ordained sacraments of baptism and penance. These are provided to deal with original and actual sin; when sincerely believed in and faithfully practised, they prove efficacious. But the soul must believe. The act of faith is the vital factor. Hilton continually asserts that this is true of all the divine ordinances of the Church. The mere mechanics and materials of the sacraments can accomplish nothing; the spiritual attitude of the believer determines the working of grace. This repeated emphasis upon the necessity of faith distinguishes our author from some teachers of a later age, whose belief and advocacy were not a little tainted with superstition.

The reforming of Faith is not difficult to get; it is common to all members of the Church, even though they are not conscious of possessing it, and it is the promise of their salvation. But the reforming of Feeling is much more radical, and can only be secured by high aspiration, sustained effort, and earnest discipline:

‘But reforming in Feeling is only in those souls that are coming to the state of perfection, and that cannot be attained unto suddenly, but after great plenty of grace, and much and long spiritual exercising, and thereby shall a man attain thereto, and that will be after that he is first healed of his spiritual sickness, and after that all bitter passions and fleshly lusts and other old feelings are burnt out of the heart by the fire of desire: and new gracious feelings are brought in with burning love and spiritual light. Then doth the soul draw near to perfection, and to reforming in feeling.’²⁰

He says, using the psychological terms of his day, that reforming of Feeling is a thorough renovation of the soul and all its faculties: ‘memory, understanding, and will’: terms intended to cover our intellectual, emotional, and volitional functions. Still more particularly, he says of ‘reason’, which is not so much a faculty of the soul, as the soul itself in its highest form of activity, when directed to God and heavenly things:

‘Your reason, which is properly the image of God, through grace of the Holy Ghost, shall be clothed in a new light of truth, holiness, and righteousness, and then it is reformed in feeling. For when the soul hath perfect knowledge of God, then it is reformed.’²¹

That emphasis upon knowledge is one of the constant notes of the great mystics.

The reward of this reformation is the progressive apprehension of the Divine Being, and of the glorious qualities that spring from His eternal Nature:

‘He openeth the inner eye of the soul, when He enlighteneth her reason through the touching and shining of His blessed light for to see Him and know Him, not all fully at once, but by little and little, by divers times, as the soul is able to bear it. He seeth Him not what He is, for that can no creature do in heaven nor in earth. Nor seeth he Him as He is, for that sight is only in the bliss of heaven. But he seeth Him that He is an unchangeable being, a supreme power, a sovereign truth, supreme goodness, a blessed life, an endless bliss.’²²

It will now be quite clear what Hilton means by his double reformation. In the soul's progress towards perfection, he divides the journey into two parts, instead of the usual three. His reformation of Faith corresponds to purgation. A soul is called from the love of the world, and after that is ‘righted, tried, mortified, and purified’. Not every believer advances far along this first stage, and of those who do, not many move beyond it; they remain nominal Christians—nothing more. Yet some of these in active life, by their nobler character and their fuller service to God and man, certainly show the fruits of a disciplined life: they approach to contemplation.

Reformation of Feeling embraces the other two stages, the illuminative and the unitive. The eager soul leaves behind the uncertainties, the privations, and the sense of frustration belonging to the purgative way; more and more the heavenly light shines upon its pathway, bringing revelations, in most unexpected places, of new joys, new beauties, and new contacts; more and more there is a dawning consciousness of the ever-present Divine Companion; till at last, partly in this life and fully in the life to come, knowledge and feeling are fulfilled in vision. The soul, being restored to the divine likeness, has achieved its highest destiny: it is one with Him who all along was alike its Desire and its Desired:

‘And verily that is the chiefest thing that Jesus loveth in a soul, that it may be made spiritual and divine in sight and in love, like to Him in grace, as He is by nature: for that shall be the end of all lovers.’²³

One of the best known parts of Hilton's book is the long section where, under the analogy of a pilgrim's journey to Jerusalem, he describes all this—the soul's progress to contemplation, and its final reward. For, as he says, in his allegorical style, Jerusalem means a sight of peace, and betokens contemplation in perfect love of God.²⁴ In passing, it is interesting to point out that time and again these pages will remind the reader of Bunyan's immortal allegory, The Pilgrim's Progress: the earlier work might have been a draft of the later. The beginning of the journey is reforming in Faith, which is grounded on the teaching and laws of Holy Church. To face the journey, the pilgrim must go armed with the virtues of the Christian life, pre-eminently humility and love—twin weapons of the soul's armoury which never fail in the hour of need. To keep fit, the wayfarer will practise bodily and spiritual exercises best suited to his disposition and state. Lurking enemies—temptations and trials—are graphically described, and remedies against them recommended. Above everything else, the soul must keep alive its desire for Jesus:

‘He is all, and He doth all, if thou couldst see Him. Thou dost nothing but sufferest Him to work in thy soul, and assentest to Him with great gladness of heart, that He will vouchsafe to do so in thee. Thou art nothing else but a reasonable instrument by which and in which He worketh: and therefore when thou feelest thy thoughts, through the touching of grace, taken up with the desire of Jesus, with a mighty devout will for to please Him and love Him, then think that thou hast Jesus, for He it is that thou desirest. Behold Him well, for He goeth before thee, not in bodily shape, but insensibly, by secret presence of His power. Therefore see Him spiritually if thou canst, and fasten all thy thoughts and affections to Him, and follow Him wheresoever He goeth, for He will lead thee on the right way to Jerusalem.’²⁵

Hilton shows how this desire brings the soul into that experience which the mystics vividly describe in the familiar phrase, ‘the dark night of the soul’. Here we have some of his most forceful and persuasive writing. He starts with a text from Isaiah, ‘My soul hath desired Thee in the night’. The night referred to, says the author, is not merely the space between two days, but it is also a spiritual night. For there are two days or two lights: the first a false light, is the love of this world; the second, a true light, is the perfect love of Jesus felt through grace in a man's soul:

‘The everlasting love of Jesus is a true day and a blessed light. … And now, what man perceiveth and seeth the love of this world to be false and failing, and therefore will forsake it and seek the love of Jesus, yet may he not for all that presently feel the love of Him, but he must abide awhile in the night, for he cannot suddenly come from that one light to the other, that is from the love of the world to the perfect love of God. This night is nought else but a forbearing and a withdrawing of the thought and of the soul from earthly things by great desire and yearning for to love and see and feel Jesus and spiritual things. … And if he come to this pass then it is night with him, for then he is in darkness. But this is a good night and a light darkness, for it is a stopping out of the false love of the world, and it is an approaching of the true day. And verily the darker this night is the nearer is the true day of the love of Jesus.’²⁶

If we would know whether we are in this ‘secure’, ‘restful’, and ‘profitable’ darkness, there is a sure test: can the soul reject every other appeal—of the bodily senses, worldly thoughts, vain imaginations, and desire Jesus only? If so, the darkness is safe, and will soon be past. For this desire of the love of Jesus felt in the darkness slays all sin, all fleshly affections, and all unclean thoughts; and so the soul, hastening to draw near to Jerusalem, sees preliminary gleams of the awaiting glory:

‘Thou art not there yet, but by some small sudden lightnings that glide out of the small caves of that city, shalt thou be able to see it afar off ere thou come to it, for know thou well, though that thy soul be in this restful darkness without the trouble of worldly vanities, it is not yet clothed all in light, nor turned all into the fire of love. But it perceiveth full well that there is somewhat above itself that it knoweth not, nor hath not yet, but would have it, and burningly yearneth after it, and that is nought else but the sight of Jerusalem.’²⁷

In a word, if a man would come to the perfect love of God, he must die to the world; and so he finds the entrance to abundant life:

‘This dying to the world is this darkness, and it is the gate of Contemplation, and to reforming in feeling, and none other than this. There may be many sundry ways, and several works letting and leading sundry souls to Contemplation: for according to divers disposings of men, and after divers states as are religious and seculars, according as they are in, are there divers exercises in working. Nevertheless there is but one gate: for whatsoever exercise a soul useth, unless thereby he come to this knowing, and to a humble feeling of himself, and that is, that he be mortified and dead to the world, as to the love of it, and that he may feel himself sometime in this restful darkness, by the which he may be hid from the vanities of the world, as to the love of them, and that he may feel himself what he is indeed, he is not yet come to the reforming in feeling, nor hath he Contemplation fully.’

‘This is, then, a good darkness, and a rich nought, that bringeth a soul to so much spiritual ease, and so quiet softness.’²⁸

Finally, there is the reward, the blessed inward vision:

‘And thus is the soul made humble, as I understand, by the working of the Holy Ghost, that is, the gift of love: for He openeth the eye of the soul to see and to love Jesus, and He keepeth the soul in that sight restfully and securely: and He slayeth all the stirrings of pride wonderfully and privily and softly, and the soul knoweth not how.’²⁹

From this section on ‘the dark night’ two facts emerge: Hilton's indebtedness to The Cloud of Unknowing; and his qualified acceptance of the opinions of Dionysius. These two facts in turn reveal a third: Hilton's independence of mind. We saw that while the author of the Cloud was a great admirer of Dionysius, he would by no means follow him into those realms of thick darkness where Dionysius desired to lead the aspirant to the contemplative life; the writer of the Cloud would advance along the negative way only as far as was necessary for a true purgation of the soul. Hilton showed even greater caution; he would not advance as far as his predecessor. Hilton's treatment of the ‘darkness’ contains but a moderate element of negation, and not a hint of the stark and empty nothingness of the Areopagite.

On this same subject of ‘the dark night’ Hilton's name has been linked with that of St. John of the Cross. Dom Knowles has said, ‘It is impossible to resist the conclusion that this state is the same as that described by St. John under the name of the Dark Night of the Senses’.³⁰ Even more positively Noetinger claims, ‘… the teaching of the two writers is identical’.³¹ This is hard to accept. St. John conducts the soul through a threefold night—of the senses; of the understanding and reason; and of memory and will—which in the end brings the soul into a state of oblivion. How different is the soul's pilgrimage to Jerusalem, where gleams of golden sunlight constantly break on the pathway. That first part of the Spaniard's journey is like passing through a wilderness in winter time; by comparison, the Englishman's resembles a walk through one of our lovely Northern dales in spring.

A word may be added about our author's two smaller works. The Treatise to a Devout Man was produced for a friend who had sought Hilton's guidance. He was a man of honourable standing in the world, with wealth, large possessions, and many servants. The Treatise is a tract containing the application of the teaching of the Scale to a particular case. There is one difference. Hilton recommends his inquirer to live a mixed life; this is a blend of active and contemplative lives: the external works of love and mercy of the one, and the internal joys and comforts of the other. In a striking figure, which conveys the gist of the tract's teaching, Hilton warns this friend against neglecting his family responsibilities and social duties for the pursuit of spiritual exercises; this will displease God:

‘In so doing thou art careful to do honour and worship to His head and to His face, and to deck and adorn them fairly and curiously, but thou neglectest and leavest His body, with the feet, ragged and rent, and takest no care nor heed of them.’³²

The Song of Angels is addressed to a ‘Dear brother in Christ’—probably a fellow-monk. It is a charming little work, with distinct traces of Dionysian doctrine, and of Richard Rolle's Fire of Love. After describing the joys of onehead with God, he says:

‘Also, our Lord comforteth a soul by angel's song. What that song is, it may not be described by no bodily likeness, for it is ghostly, and above all manner of imagination and reason. It may be felt and perceived in a soul, but it may not be shewed. Nevertheless, I shall speak thereof to thee as me thinketh. When a soul is purified by the love of God, then is the eye of the soul opened to behold ghostly things, as virtues and angels and holy souls, and heavenly things. Then is the soul able because of cleanness to feel the touching, the speaking of good angels. This touching and speaking, it is ghostly and not bodily. … Not that this song of angels is the sovereign joy of the soul. … For the sovereign and essential joy is in the love of God by Himself and for Himself.’³³

This high and pure love is the fruit of prolonged discipline; hence the concluding words of this choice letter are a solemn warning to all would-be mystics:

‘Lo, I have told thee in this matter a little as me thinketh; not affirming that this sufficeth, nor that this is the soothfastness in this matter. But if thou think it otherwise, or else any other man savour by grace the contrary hereto, I leave this saying, and give stead to him, It sufficeth to me for to live in truth principally, and not in feeling.’³⁴

As we read and re-read Hilton's works, certain qualities of his mind stand out with growing sharpness, and increasingly commend him to our heart: qualities that seldom fail to win the admiration of our people.

For instance, there is his devotion to the Bible. Here we stress the point that Hilton was not only a faithful student of the Word, but also a true lover. The Scriptures fed the springs of his soul. His sweetest praises flow as he tells of his joy in meditating upon the holy pages. He wants everybody to share this grace—for it may be found ‘as well in laymen as in learned’. Though some of his sharpest arrows were shot at the Lollards, he must have felt a real sympathy with Wycliffe in his courageous efforts to put God's Word into the hands of everybody, especially of the masses in the towns and the toilers on the land.

Again, Hilton never tires of pleading for the practice of humility and charity; as twin virtues they are fundamental to character and conduct, to everything worthy in the Christian life; as trusty weapons they will scatter our foes on the pilgrim-way; and as glad offerings of our soul they will open doors into the Divine Presence. As regards humility, no Christian teacher ever strove more earnestly to implement his own words; on many a page you find delightful and naïve expressions like this:

‘And truly this is my own case, who feel myself so wretched, frail, and fleshly, and so far from the true feeling of that which I speak of, that in a manner I do nothing but cry God mercy, and desire after it as well as I can, with a hope that our Lord will bring me thereto in heaven.’³⁵

His charity was as broad as his humility was deep. Considering the age in which he lived his tolerance was remarkable. He seems so ready to make allowances where necessary, and will at times provide excuses for the recalcitrant. This excellent spirit breaks down now and again, as when he refers to Jews and Saracens, and even to an unbaptized infant—‘an image of the fiend and a brand of hell’.³⁶ But he is at his severest when he denounces ‘heretics and hypocrites’: it is the Lollards he has in mind; with these, to our regret, he is much too extreme. With all others he is prepared to observe his own principle:

‘Many men do deeds of charity, and have no charity. To reprove a sinner for his sin to his amendment, in a convenient time, is a deed of charity; but to hate the sinner instead of the sin, is against charity.’³⁷

Then, there is his emphasis upon character. Though we refer to this briefly, it must not be regarded lightly. There is a sense in which it could be said that everything Hilton wrote was intended to press home the necessity for reality in religion. He was a devoted son of the Church; he loved the servants, services, and ordinances of the Church; he also realized the value of ascetical practices. But in all these he never mistook the means for the end; and that one end was Christian character—the production of Christ-like men. With Hilton, personality was bigger than system, creed, or ritual. For this we admire him.

We must point out, too, that there are some notable omissions in Hilton. He has little to say about the sacrament of mass, about priestly authority, or about the grace of celibacy. These are significant silences: they hint at the struggles of the next age, and at the emancipations of the age following that.

In conclusion, we ought to note that Hilton gained remarkable facility in the use of the vernacular; he wrought it into a medium which admirably expresses his clear, chaste, and methodical mind. Such a placid and sober style does not lend itself to the epigrammatic; but at times, by the turn of a phrase, the choice of a fitting word, and the use of an apt metaphor, he does achieve some striking results. Here are one or two examples:

When the soul, living the devout life, wins its reward, ‘reason is turned into light and will into love’.³⁸

We should cultivate a clean heart, ‘for what is a man but his thoughts and his loves’.³⁹

Each one will avoid pride and vanity by remembering ‘how thou art as full of sin as a hide or skin is full of flesh’.⁴⁰

A burning heart, filled with devotion, is secure from sensual taint: ‘There dare no flesh-fly rest upon the pot's brink boiling on the fire.’⁴¹

On studying Scripture: ‘But verily he must have white teeth, and sharp, and well-picked, that can bite of this spiritual bread.’⁴²

Men who seek worldly honours, goods, and riches are not wise: ‘They are like to children that run after butterflies, and, because they look not to their feet, they sometimes easily fall down and break their legs.’⁴³

Let a man be meek and patient, ‘till he may, by custom and using of his mind, feel the fire of love in his affection, and the light of knowing in his reason’.⁴⁴

But when our author has said all he can, he still has to confess:

‘How that Presence is felt may better be known by experience than by any writing: for it is the life and the love, the might and the light, the joy and the rest of a chosen soul. And, therefore, he that hath once truly felt it cannot forbear it without pain, neither can he choose but desire it, it is so good in itself and so comfortable.’⁴⁵

NOTE ON MODERN EDITIONS OF THE SCALE

I debated long with myself as to which of three modern editions of the Scale I should use for quotation in the foregoing section.

Father Dalgairns's edition, first published in 1870, is a modernized text based upon a version issued by Serenus de Cressy in 1659, on the title-page of which Cressy claims that ‘by the changing of some antiquated words it (i.e. the Scale) is rendered more intelligible’. A comparison of this with the two versions mentioned below will show that Cressy's changes were numerous, applying to words, phrases, and sentences: and, occasionally, to the insertion of brief explanatory clauses. This treatment admittedly had the effect of making the original ‘more intelligible’: but it is as well to let readers know that the text has undergone some free revision. Because its English—clear, smooth, and crisp—is so pleasant to read, this version has remained a favourite with many.

Miss Underhill's edition, dated 1923, is the outcome of first-hand study of the manuscripts. She regrets that in the 1659 version ‘antiquated words’—including many of Hilton's most characteristic expressions—were replaced by seventeenth-century paraphrases or conventional equivalents. She has therefore restored as fully as possible the original text: and, while she has modernized the spelling, she has changed only entirely obsolete words into their current synonyms. Hence she claims that in her book the reader may count on coming nearer to Hilton's words and spirit, than has been possible since the black letter edition of Wynkyn de Worde. Miss Underhill has done her work most thoroughly, and has provided an edition indispensable to students and scholars.

Still another edition was published in 1927: its title-page reads, ‘Modernized from the first printed edition of Wynkyn de Worde, London, 1494, by an Oblate of Solesmes’. It contains an informing and discriminating Introduction translated from the French of Dom M. Noetinger. As only a minimum of alteration has been made in the text, it retains a considerable amount of the Middle English of the original.

For the help of readers unfamiliar with medieval literature, it was necessary to include in each of these two later editions a rather large glossary. For many reasons I would like to have quoted from either of these restored texts—perhaps preferably from Miss Underhill's, for hers is undoubtedly the best available—but had I done so, I should have been bound either to supply a glossary or to give the equivalent words as footnotes. As I thought either course would unnecessarily interfere with the convenience of the general reader, I decided, not without reluctance, to use Dalgairns's edition. May I at once add that all lovers of the Scale will desire to possess both of these praiseworthy versions.

Notes

1. On modern editions of the Scale see the Special Note at the end of this chapter [in Emglish Mystics of the Fourteenth Cemtury]. Extracts throughout this chapter are from Dalgairns's edition. Chapter numbers are the same as in Underhill and Noetinger.

2. p. x.

3. p. xii.

4. p. 8.

5. Included in Dalgairns's edition.

6. In The Cell of Self-Knowledge.

7. Book II, Chap. 17: the ladder as a figure of speech was very popular in medieval literature.

8. Bk. I, Ch. 91.

9. Bk. I, Ch. 8.

10. Bk. I, Ch. 12.

11. Bk. I, Ch. 30.

12. Bk. I, Ch. 28; see also ‘Song of Angels’ in Cell of Self-Knowledge, pp. 68-9.

13. Scale, Bk. I, Ch. 41.

14. Bk. I, Ch. 46.

15. Bk. I, Ch. 48.

16. Bk. I, Ch. 52.

17. Noetinger, p. xxvi.

18. Scale, Bk. II, Ch. 1.

19. Bk. II, Ch. 5.

20. Bk. II, Ch. 17.

21. Bk. II, Ch. 31.

22. Bk. II, Ch. 32.

23. Bk. II, Ch. 42.

24. Bk. II, Ch. 21.

25. Bk. II, Ch. 24.

26. Bk. II, Ch. 24.

27. Bk. II, Ch. 25.

28. Bk. II, Ch. 27.

29. Bk. II, Ch. 37.

30. The English Mystics, p. 120.

31. Noetinger, p. xxxvii.

32. Treatise, Ch. VI.

33. Cell of Self-Knowledge, pp. 66-7,

34. Cell of Self-Knowledge, pp. 72-3,

35. Scale, Bk. I, Ch. 16.

36. Bk. II, Ch. 6.

37. Bk. I, Ch. 68.

38. Bk. I, Ch. 14.

39. Bk. I, Ch. 88.

40. Bk. I, Ch. 89.

41. Bk. II, Ch. 42.

42. Bk. II, Ch. 43.

43. Treatise, Ch. 14.

44. Song, p. 72.

45. Scale, Bk. II, Ch. 41.