Continuing the discussion of the short prayer, the author seeks to define what kind of word is best suited for it. He first defines prayer itself as “a devout intent direct unto God, for getting of good and removing of evil” (63). Based on this definition, the ideal words for this contemplative work are those that most completely encompass all good and all evil.

Since all evil is contained within the concept of sin, the author suggests using the single word “sin” when praying to remove evil. Conversely, since all good is contained within God, he suggests crying out the word “God” when praying to receive good. He emphasizes that he would have chosen shorter words if any existed that could so fully capture these realities.

The specific words, however, are less important than the method. The author warns the reader not to get lost in intellectual study to find the right words, because this spiritual work is achieved “only by grace” (63), instead of by intellect. One should use whatever word God inspires them to use. Although the prayer is short, its frequency is not limited. Like a person in danger who continuously cries “fire” or “out” until they receive help, the soul should pray this word unceasingly until its spiritual longing is fulfilled.

The author suggests that the practitioner should not focus on any particular vice or virtue during this contemplative work. When using the word “sin,” for example, one should not think of specific transgressions like pride, envy, or gluttony. For the contemplative, all sins are equally grievous because even the smallest sin separates the soul from God. Instead, one should experience sin as an undifferentiated “lump,” something inseparable from one’s own being. The spiritual cry should be a general one: “Sin, sin, sin! Out, out, out!” (64). This cry is best learned directly from God through experience and is most effective when it is a purely spiritual feeling rather than a spoken word.

Similarly, when using the word “God,” one should not focus on any of God’s specific works or any particular virtue like meekness, charity, or patience. The contemplative understands that to have God is to have all good things. The goal is simply to “mean God all, and all God” (64), so that nothing else occupies the mind or the will. Because a person in this life is always burdened by the “foul stinking lump of sin” (64), the two words—“sin” and “God”—should be used interchangeably, driven by the understanding that having God means lacking sin and lacking sin means having God.

The author makes an important distinction between this contemplative work and all other human activities. In every other aspect of life—eating, drinking, sleeping, prayer, reading, and social interaction—one must exercise discretion and moderation, avoiding extremes. In this specific spiritual work, however, one should “hold no measure” (65). The author states he wishes the practitioner would “never cease of this work” while they remain alive (65).

He acknowledges that constant, intense practice is impossible due to sickness, natural needs, and other interruptions. The desire for this work, however, should be constant and held “either in earnest or in game” (65), meaning either in active practice or in will. Because the work requires great physical and spiritual restfulness, the practitioner should be careful with their health and not be the cause of their own weakness. If sickness comes unavoidably, one should accept it with patience and trust in God’s mercy. The author notes that patience in tribulation can be more pleasing to God than the most fervent devotion one might feel when healthy.

The author offers a paradoxical solution to the problem of maintaining discretion in daily life (e.g., in eating and sleeping). He advises against trying to meticulously measure and regulate these external behaviors. Instead, he instructs the reader to practice the central contemplative work “evermore without ceasing and without discretion” (66). He argues that a soul completely dedicated to this internal work will naturally develop a “great discretion” in all external matters.

He believes that a person will sooner achieve balance and moderation in their life through a “heedlessness” of outward things—a byproduct of being totally absorbed in the inner work—than by consciously trying to manage them. The chapter concludes with a powerful exhortation to begin this work immediately: to lift the heart with a “blind stirring of love” (66), focusing alternately on the “sin” one possesses, and the “God” one lacks, and recognizing the urgent need for God’s help.

To achieve the perfection of this spiritual work, the practitioner must lose all awareness of their own existence. The cloud of forgetting must be used to push away all thoughts of other creatures and their actions, but also all thoughts of oneself and one’s own deeds. The author explains that a perfect lover loves the beloved more than themselves and, in a way, even learns to “hate himself for that thing that he loveth” (67).

This self-abnegation is necessary because the self is inextricably bound up with the “foul stinking lump” of sin (67), which stands as the final barrier between the soul and God. Even after one has successfully forgotten every external thing, a “naked witting and a feeling of thine own being” remains (67). This fundamental self-awareness is the ultimate obstacle and must be completely destroyed before the soul can truly experience God.

The author explains how a soul can destroy the “naked witting and feeling of thine own being” (68). This cannot be done by human effort alone; it requires a special grace from God and a corresponding “ableness” in the soul to receive that grace. This “ableness” is cultivated through a “strong and a deep ghostly sorrow” (68).

This is not an ordinary sorrow, the author says. It is a deep anguish arising from the realization that one’s very existence is the obstacle to union with God. The practitioner should not strain their body or spirit. They should sit still, “all forsobbed and forsunken in sorrow” (68). The source of this perfect sorrow is not in considering what one is, but that one is. This sorrow is powerfully cleansing, purifying the soul of sin and also of the punishment due for sin, making it able to receive a divine joy that removes all self-awareness.

This state of sorrow would be unbearable if not for a “manner of comfort” and holy desire that sustains the soul (68). The practitioner does not desire to cease existing (“unbe”), which would be “devil’s madness.” Rather, while remaining grateful to God for the gift of being, they long unceasingly to be free from the awareness and feeling of that being.

The author warns that young, inexperienced disciples are highly susceptible to deception in this work, which can lead to both physical and spiritual ruin. The root causes of this deception are pride, fleshly impulses, and intellectual curiosity. Novices often hear spiritual instructions—such as to “lift up his heart” (70)—and interpret them in a “fleshly and bodily” manner (70), rather than a spiritual one.

This misunderstanding leads them to physically strain their hearts and bodies, which in turn can cause them to fall into “frenzies” and exhaustion. More dangerously, this misguided effort can produce a false spiritual “heat.” This heat might be a natural side effect of bodily strain, or it might be a demonic deception, which they mistake for the fire of the Holy Spirit.

The author explains that this “false feeling” inevitably leads to “false knowing” taught in the “Fiend’s school,” just as true feeling leads to true knowing in “God’s school.” He notes that the devil has his own “contemplatives.” The author states he will focus only on the deceptions that are most likely to affect the reader attempting this particular work.

To avoid the deceptions described previously, the author advises practitioners to approach the work gently, with spiritual eagerness (“listiness”) rather than with forceful, physical (“boisterous”) effort. The gentler and meeker the approach, the more spiritual it is; the more rude and forceful, the more bodily and “beastly” it becomes.

A “beastly heart” that tries to force its way into this work will be “beaten away with stones”—a metaphor for the hard, dry, and fleshly strainings that injure the soul and cause it to “fester in fantasy” (71). The proper disposition is to “love listily, with a soft and a demure behaviour” and to patiently await God’s will rather than snatching at it like a “greedy greyhound” (71).

In a playful turn, the author suggests a kind of spiritual coyness, advising the reader to act as if they are trying to hide from God how desperately they want to see and feel Him. He admits this sounds childish, but asserts that one who practices this way will experience a joyful, loving “play” with God, like a father kissing and embracing his child.

The author defends his “childish” advice to hide one’s desire from God, explaining that it serves a specific spiritual purpose. First, he argues that this act of “hiding” the desire within the “deepness of spirit” will paradoxically make it even more known to God (72). Second, and more importantly, this technique is designed to help the practitioner transition from a “boisterousness of bodily feeling” to the “purity and deepness of ghostly feeling” (72).

Since God is a Spirit, He must be approached spiritually. Any desire mixed with bodily strain is less pure and therefore “farther from God” (72). By attempting to hide the desire, one is forced to internalize it completely, stripping it of its physical manifestations and making it more purely spiritual. The author clarifies that he is not asking for the impossible—one cannot literally hide anything from God—but is prescribing a method to prevent the practitioner from making a “bodily shewing” of their desire, as they would to another human, thereby keeping the work pure.

The author clarifies that his emphasis on purely spiritual work does not mean rejecting the body’s role in devotion. God has joined the body and spirit, and He desires to be served by both, promising to reward both in heaven. As a foretaste of this reward, God sometimes grants devout souls “wonderful sweetness and comforts” that are felt physically (74).

A critical distinction must be made, the author notes: Comforts and sweetness that arise from within—springing from “abundance of ghostly gladness” (74)—are from God and should be trusted. All other comforts, sounds, or sweetnesses that come suddenly from without, through the physical senses, should be held in suspicion. These external experiences could be from a good angel or an evil one.

The authentic inner comfort is safe because it is caused directly by God’s “devout stirring of love” in a pure spirit, free from fantasy (74). While declining to give a full guide on discerning external spiritual phenomena, the author assures the reader that diligently practicing the “blind […] stirring of love” will provide the necessary wisdom (74). This practice will bind the heart so that one will not give full credence to external consolations until they are confirmed either internally by the Spirit of God or externally by the counsel of a discreet spiritual father.

The true substance of all spiritual perfection, according to the author, is simply a good will that is in full accord with God’s will. The author defines this as a “well-pleasedness and a gladness that thou feelest in thy will of all that He doth” (76). All spiritual experiences, such as feelings of sweetness and comfort, are merely secondary “accidents” that depend on this fundamental good will.

These comforts are called “accidents” because they can be either present or absent without damaging the underlying substance of a good will (at least in this life; in the bliss of heaven, the author says, substance and accident will be permanently united). A soul that has achieved this perfection is as content to lack these consolations at God’s will as it is to feel and have them. Therefore, the practitioner’s primary focus should always be on cultivating this “meek stirring of love” in the will (76), not on seeking or holding onto pleasant spiritual feelings.

The author defines “chaste love” as a love for God that is not dependent on sensible comforts or feelings. A sign of imperfect love is grumbling or feeling distressed when these sweet feelings are absent. If one’s love is primarily for the consolations themselves, then it is neither “chaste nor perfect” (77). True, chaste love is fully pleased to lack these comforts according to God’s will, even while it welcomes them when they come.

God distributes these comforts differently among souls according to their specific needs. Some people are spiritually weak and require such consolations to endure temptations. Others are physically weak and unable to perform great penances, so God cleanses them spiritually through these sweet feelings. Conversely, some are so spiritually strong that they can find all the comfort they need within their own souls by offering up the “meek stirring of love” (77). The author humbly states that only God knows which of these states is holier or more dear to Him.

A grave danger in the spiritual life is to misunderstand spiritual language in a literal, bodily sense. The author warns that “bodily and fleshly conceits” are the cause of much error (78), particularly concerning the words “in” and “up.”

He describes a common pitfall for new disciples. Upon hearing that they must draw their wits “within” themselves or “climb above” themselves, they take the instructions physically. Driven by pride and a “curiosity of natural wit” (78), they abandon foundational practices like meek prayer and penance and attempt what they believe is a higher, ghostly work. In reality, this misguided effort is a “working against nature” (78), with the devil as its “chief worker”. This path does not lead to God. Instead, the author says, it leads directly to “madness” and the death of body and soul. Although these disciples believe they are focusing only on God, they are in fact deeply deceived.

The author details the destructive consequences of misunderstanding the instruction to work “inwards.” Presumptuous disciples turn their physical senses inward “against the course of nature” (79), straining to see with their inner eyes and hear with their inner ears. This intense and “indiscreet” misuse of the imagination can “turn their brain in their heads” (79).

Once their minds are disordered, the devil gains the power to create false sensory experiences: feigned lights, sounds, smells, tastes, and strange sensations of heat or burning in the body. Deceptively, those in this state feel a “restful remembrance” of God, free from distracting thoughts. The author explains this is because the devil, who is the architect of this false work, has no incentive to disrupt it with the very temptations he would normally provide. He allows the “remembrance of God” to remain in order to keep his victim from suspecting the true source of their experience (79).

Those who are deceived in this false work exhibit many “unseemly practices” that distinguish them from God’s true disciples, who are always graceful and well-ordered. The deceived may stare wildly as if “mad,” hang their heads oddly, or speak in a strained, “piping” voice (a sign of a hypocrite) or a whining, greedy tone (a sign of a heretic).

The author lists other physical tics: writhing their heads when listening, constantly pointing or fidgeting, “rowing” with their arms while speaking, and incessant, inappropriate smiling and laughing like “giggling girls.” These habits are not necessarily major sins, but the author suggests that they can be compulsive and uncontrollable. If so, they are “tokens of pride and curiosity of wit” and an “unstableness of heart” (81). Above all, they are a clear sign of “the lacking of the work of this book” (81). The author includes this catalog of behaviors so that a true spiritual worker can use it as a diagnostic tool to evaluate their own practice.

In sharp contrast to the unseemly behaviors of the deceived, a person who truly engages in the work of this book becomes wise and graceful in both body and soul. Their presence is so transformed that even the most “worst favoured” person would become attractive and pleasant to be around. Such individuals govern themselves well and can offer wise counsel, adapting to all types of people without falling into sin themselves. Their words are filled with “ghostly wisdom, full of fire, and of fruit” (82), spoken with sober truthfulness.

This authentic holiness stands in contrast to the behavior of hypocrites, who use “meek piping words and gestures” to appear holy to others while remaining proud and corrupt within (82). These people are more concerned with an awkward gesture before men than with “a thousand vain thoughts” before God (82). While true inner meekness should be reflected in outward behavior, it should not be expressed in an unnatural, “piping” voice that goes against one’s normal way of speaking. Such an affectation, unless caused by sickness, is a clear “token of hypocrisy” (82). This internal pride combined with external false humility can lead the soul into great sorrow.

The devil can deceive people by inflaming their minds with a false spiritual fervor, compelling them to “maintain God’s law” by indiscriminately correcting the sins of others (83). These individuals act like “busy prelates,” reproving everyone as if they had pastoral authority over them. They believe they are motivated by the “fire of charity” and God’s love, when in fact they are driven by the “fire of hell, welling in their brains and in their imagination” (83).

To explain this lack of discretion, the author uses an analogy. He claims that when the devil appears in bodily form, he has only one large, wide nostril through which one can see his brain, which is the “fire of hell” (83). This single nostril symbolizes a lack of spiritual discernment. A normal human nose, with two nostrils, represents the ability to “dissever” or distinguish between good and evil, and better and worse, before making a judgment. Those deceived by this false zeal have a “ghostly” single nostril; their inflamed imagination (“brain”) causes them to “shoot out their curious conceits” and condemn others’ faults without proper advisement (83).

The author describes another group of people who fall into error, through intellectual pride more than through physical mis-practice. These individuals, relying on their “natural wit and letterly cunning,” reject the “common doctrine and the counsel of Holy Church” in favor of their own understanding (85). Because they have never been grounded in the humble, non-intellectual practice of “meek blind feeling,” they become susceptible to a “false feeling” engineered by the devil (85).

Ultimately, the author says, this path leads such people to “blaspheme all the saints, sacraments, statutes, and ordinances of Holy Church” (85). They become heretics who attract “fleshly living men” (85)—worldly people who find the Church’s rules too difficult. These followers are drawn to the heretics because they seem to offer a “softer way” to salvation. The author issues a stark warning: “[W]ho that will not go the strait way to heaven, that they shall go the soft way to hell” (85). He asserts that these individuals are “Antichrist’s disciples” and that, despite any outward appearance of fairness, they are secretly entangled in “horrible sins of the world in their foul flesh” (85), especially lechery.