The author applies the dynamic between Martha and Mary to the present day, stating that “all actives complain of contemplatives” (40). Whenever a person feels called by grace to withdraw from worldly business and pursue a contemplative life, their friends, family, and community often react with criticism and misunderstanding. These critics will point to the many examples of people who attempted such a life and failed, falling into hypocrisy, heresy, or losing their sanity. The author acknowledges that many have indeed failed, becoming “the devil’s servants and his contemplatives” because they did not follow true spiritual counsel (40). However, he dismisses these cautionary tales as irrelevant to the validity of the contemplative path itself, promising to address the causes of such failings later.

The author defends his comparison of modern critics to the “special saint” Martha, clarifying that he means no disrespect to her. He argues that Martha, and by extension modern “actives,” should be excused for their complaints because their criticism stems from ignorance. Martha did not understand the deep spiritual work in which Mary was engaged. In the same way, people today do not understand what disciples of God are doing when they withdraw from the world. The author expresses a charitable view, stating that if these critics truly understood, they would not speak or act as they do. He reflects on his own past faults committed out of ignorance and concludes that if he desires God’s forgiveness, he must also charitably excuse the ignorant words and deeds of others.

The author assures the reader that if contemplatives follow Mary’s example—remaining focused on their spiritual work and not responding to criticism—God will defend them just as Jesus defended Mary. Perceiving the fervent love in Mary’s soul, Jesus answered Martha on Mary’s behalf. He gently noted that Martha was “troubled about many things” (42), acknowledging the goodness of her active work. He then added, however, that “one thing is necessary” (42), which the author identifies as the direct love and praise of God above all other activities. Jesus concluded that “Mary hath chosen the best part” (43), a perfect stirring of love that begins in this life and continues without end in heaven. The author frames this as a divine affirmation of the superiority of the contemplative life.

The author clarifies Jesus’s statement that “Mary hath chosen the best part” (43). He explains that since the Church recognizes only two lives (active and contemplative), one cannot choose the “best” of two. Instead, “the best part” refers to the highest of three degrees of spiritual practice spread across these two lives (43). The first degree (good) is the active life of mercy and charity. The second (better) involves spiritual meditations on one’s sins and Christ’s Passion, forming a bridge where the active and contemplative lives meet. The third degree (best of all) is the work that “hangeth in this dark cloud of unknowing” (43), which is the pure, contemplative love as practiced by Mary. While the first two parts end with earthly life, this third part lasts for eternity. The author concludes by paraphrasing Jesus’s words as a message to all actives: “[M]eddle you not of contemplatives […] let them sit in their rest and in their play, with the third and the best part of Mary” (44).

The author reflects on the “wonderful love” between Jesus and Mary, presenting it as an example of Christ’s love for all repentant sinners called to contemplation. Mary’s devotion was so total that nothing could distract her from seeking him. Even the comforting words of angels at the empty tomb were not enough to distract her, because she sought only “the King of Angels” (45). In turn, Jesus’s love for her was so great that he could not suffer anyone to speak or even think a word against her without answering in her defense, as he did when he rebuked Simon the Leper for his judgment of Mary. The author stresses that this account of their relationship in the Gospels is a model for those undertaking the contemplative work described in the book.

The author promises that, if a person conforms their life to Mary’s example of devoted contemplation, Jesus will spiritually defend them in the hearts of their critics. Furthermore, God will inspire others to provide for the contemplative’s material needs, such as food and clothing. This directly refutes the argument that one must be financially secure before embarking on a contemplative life. The author insists that God will provide one of two things: either an abundance of necessities or the spiritual patience to bear need. To doubt this is a sign of weak faith. He advises the contemplative to focus more on the “wonderful height and the worthiness of God” than on their own wretchedness, for those who are truly meek will lack nothing, as they possess God, “in whom is all plenty” (46).

The author argues that the contemplative work of loving God in the cloud of unknowing perfectly contains all other virtues, especially charity. He defines charity as loving God for Himself above all creatures and loving one’s neighbor as oneself for God. The first part is fulfilled because this work is a “naked intent directed unto God for Himself” (47), seeking no reward or release from pain, only God’s will. The second part, love of neighbor, is fulfilled because in this work, the contemplative holds no special regard for any single person. All people—kin and stranger, friend and foe—are seen as equally kin. Those who cause pain are even regarded as special friends, and the contemplative wishes them as much good as their closest companion.

Elaborating on the previous chapter’s point, the author clarifies—that during the act of contemplation—the soul has “no special beholding to any man in this life” (48). All distinctions between friend, foe, kin, or stranger dissolve because the only motivation for love is God himself. While it is natural and lawful to feel a more homely affection for certain people outside of this work—as Christ himself did for John, Mary, and Peter—in the moment of contemplation, all are loved equally and “as well as himself” (48). By uniting with God in this way, the contemplative soul works for the salvation of all humanity, just as Christ on the cross suffered for everyone without special distinction. As with charity and meekness, all other virtues are implicitly contained within this focused act of love.

The author states that the contemplative work is a great “travail,” or labor, unless one has a special grace or is well-practiced. This travail, however, does not lie in the “devout stirring of love” (49), which is the work of God alone, freely offered to any soul disposed to receive it. Rather, the human travail consists entirely in the effort of “treading down of the remembrance of all the creatures that ever God made, and in holding of them under the cloud of forgetting” (49). The human task is to clear the mind of distractions, while God’s task is to provide the love. The author encourages the reader to persevere, promising that the work, though difficult at first, will become restful and light. At times, God will work entirely by Himself, perhaps sending a “beam of ghostly light” through the cloud of unknowing to reveal some of his secrets and inflame the soul with love (49).

The author specifies who should engage in this contemplative work. He answers that it is for all people who have made a true and willful decision to forsake the world and dedicate themselves to the “contemplative life” rather than the “active life.” This calling is open to everyone in this state, regardless of their past, even if they have been “accustomed sinners.”

The author establishes an important precondition for beginning the contemplative work: One must not attempt it before having “cleansed their conscience of all their special deeds of sin done before, after the common ordinance of Holy Church” (51). This work is meant to dry up the root of sin that persists after formal confession. After fulfilling the Church’s requirements, one can meekly begin. The author notes that as long as the soul is in a physical body, it will always experience the “cumbrous cloud of unknowing” and feel the thoughts of created things pressing between it and God (51). This is a consequence of original sin, a just outcome for humanity having chosen the stirrings of its subjects over the command of its Creator.

All who undertake this contemplative work must be prepared to “bidingly travail in this work, and suffer the pain thereof” (52). While everyone experiences this travail, it is far greater for those who have been sinners than for the innocent. Paradoxically, the author notes that sometimes “horrible and accustomed sinners come sooner to the perfection of this work” through God’s merciful grace (52). This mystery will be revealed on Doomsday, when some who are now despised as sinners will be seated with saints, while some who now seem like angels may be cast down. The author uses this to conclude that—in this life—no one should judge another person’s ultimate spiritual state, though their deeds may be lawfully judged.

Following the previous chapter, the author explains who has the authority to judge other people’s deeds. He states that judgment belongs only to those with spiritual power over souls, either through an official position granted by the Church or through a private prompting of the Holy Ghost acting in “perfect charity.” He strongly warns the reader not to presume to blame or condemn others unless they are certain they are being stirred by the Holy Ghost, as it is easy to make a mistake. The proper focus should be on judging oneself in consultation with God or a spiritual father, while leaving other people alone.

The author offers practical advice for the beginning of the work. Once the conscience is lawfully cleansed, the work can begin “sharply.” When memories of past sins or new temptations arise, the practitioner should “stalwartly step above them with a fervent stirring of love, and tread them down under thy feet” (54). These thoughts must be covered with a “thick cloud of forgetting” (54), and this action must be repeated as often as the thoughts arise. If the labor feels too great, one can seek out “privy subtleties of ghostly devices” to help (54), which are best learned through direct experience with God.

The author offers two “ghostly devices” for dealing with persistent, intrusive thoughts. The first device is to act as if you are unaware of the thoughts pressing upon you and instead “look as it were over their shoulders, seeking another thing: The which thing is God” (55). The author identifies this device as a form of charity, a “longing desire unto God” (55). The second device is for when you feel completely overwhelmed: “[C]ower thou down under them as a caitiff and a coward” and yield yourself to God in the hands of your enemies (55). This feeling of being “foredone for ever” is a true knowing of one’s own wretchedness (55), which the author identifies as meekness. This deep meekness, in turn, moves God to descend mightily to rescue the soul.

The author suggests that mastering these devices will cleanse the soul of sin, but also of the pain associated with past sins. This does not, however, lead to a state of perfect rest in this life. The pain of original sin will always remain until death, continually generating “new and fresh stirrings of sin” (56). These new stirrings must be constantly “smitten down” with the “sharp double-edged dreadful sword of discretion” (56). This constant struggle demonstrates that there is no true security or rest in this life. Nonetheless, one should not be discouraged, as the pain of original sin will be much less provocative once the pain of one’s specific past sins has been dealt with.

The author insists that this contemplative work cannot be achieved through any human “means.” It is a grace given freely by God “without any desert of the same soul” (57). God may even grant this grace more often to great sinners than to the innocent to show His mercy. No soul is able to receive this grace without the grace itself; the ability to do the work is inseparable from the work. The desire for it is a sign of already possessing it. Therefore, the practitioner should be passive and receptive, letting the divine stirring be the “worker” while being only the “sufferer.” One should not try to help or analyze it, but simply allow the naked intent to be directed to God, trusting that the devil cannot stir the will directly and without means.

Although the contemplative work itself is without means, the author identifies three preparatory means a “contemplative prentice” should use: Lesson (Reading or Hearing), Meditation (Thinking), and Orison (Praying). These are coupled together: Thinking cannot be achieved without prior reading or hearing, while prayer cannot be achieved without prior thinking. The author uses an analogy: God’s word is a mirror, your reason is your soul’s eye, and your conscience is your soul’s face. Just as one needs a mirror to see a spot on one’s own face, a soul blinded by sin needs to read or hear God’s word to see the “foul spot in his conscience” (59). After seeing the spot, one runs to the well (Holy Church for confession, or merciful God for prayer) to be washed.

The meditations of those who are continually engaged in this contemplative work are different from the formal process described in the previous chapter. Their meditations are “sudden conceits and blind feelings” of their own wretchedness or God’s goodness (60), arising without any specific reading or hearing beforehand. The author suggests that for such a person, meditating on the single word “SIN” or “GOD” is sufficient. These words should be held as whole concepts, not broken down or intellectually analyzed. By “SIN,” one should mean a lump representing nothing other than one’s own self; this beholding of one’s being as sin is a deep and sobering practice.

Just as their meditations are sudden, so too are the special prayers of a contemplative worker. This does not refer to the formal prayers ordained by the Church, which they still respect and perform, but to their personal prayers. These arise “suddenly unto God, without any means or any premeditation” (61). If words are used, they should be very few—ideally, a single syllable. The author compares this to a person in sudden danger who cries out a short, powerful word like “fire!” or “out!”. Such a short cry pierces the ears of a hearer more effectively than a long speech and—similarly—a short prayer from the depths of the spirit “pierceth the ears of Almighty God” more effectively than a long, mindless prayer (61). This is why it is written that “short prayer pierceth heaven” (61).