by Meister Eckhart

The Eternal Birth is Sermon IV in C. de B. Evans's 1924 translation of Franz Pfeiffer's collected works of Meister Eckhart. Its scriptural text is Luke 2:42 — the twelve-year-old Jesus lost in the temple and found again at the starting-point — and from this domestic scene Eckhart launches one of his most sustained and celebrated arguments: that the birth of the eternal Son within the soul is not something that happens once but an event perpetually awaiting the soul's readiness. To find the noble birth, one must quit the multitude — all the creaturely diversifications of memory, will, and understanding — and return to the ground out of which one came.

The sermon's central movement is a dialogue between an anxious seeker and the imperturbable teacher. What is this darkness I must enter? A potential receptivity. Is there no return from it? None. Must I stay in total idleness? Yes, absolutely. The argument is paradoxical to the edge of scandal: God is obliged to overflow into the emptied vessel as inevitably as sunlight fills clear air; the soul need do nothing but stop obstructing. From this Eckhart draws a practical sign of the birth — when it has truly happened, all creatures cease to hinder and begin instead to point toward God, as lightning turns every leaf toward itself — and concludes with the hook of love, which binds more securely than any penitential harshness.

Eckhart (c. 1260–1328) was a Dominican friar, theologian, and mystic, born in Hochheim in Thuringia. He studied and taught in Paris, held the chair of theology at Cologne, and rose to the rank of Vicar-General of the Bohemian province. In 1326 the Archbishop of Cologne brought heresy charges against him; Eckhart appealed directly to the Pope, died in 1328 before the verdict, and was posthumously condemned in the bull In Agro Dominico (1329). This archive presents the complete text of the sermon in the translation of C. de B. Evans, published in London by John M. Watkins, 1924, as Volume I of his edition of Meister Eckhart's works. Evans translated from Franz Pfeiffer's 1857 critical edition of the Middle High German text (Deutsche Mystiker des vierzehnten Jahrhunderts, vol. ii), where the work appears as Sermon IV. Source digitised at the Internet Archive (identifiers: meistereckhart0001eckh; in.ernet.dli.2015.31707). The sermon is reproduced here as a public-domain archival text.

Et cum factus esset Jesus annorum duodecim etc. (Luc. 2). We read in the gospel that when our Lord was twelve years old he went with Joseph and Mary to Jerusalem into the temple; and when they went out, Jesus remained behind in the temple without their knowing it. And when they reached home and missed him, they sought him among acquaintances and among strangers, among their kindred, and among the multitude, and found him not; they had lost him in the crowd. So there was nothing for it but to return whence they were come; and when they got back to their starting-point, into the temple, there they found him.

If thou wilt find this noble birth, verily thou must quit the multitude and return to the starting-point, into the ground out of which thou art come. The powers of the soul and their works, these are the multitude: memory, understanding and will; these all diversify thee, therefore thou must leave them all: sensible perception, imagination and everything wherein thou findest thyself and hast thyself in view. Thereafter thou mayest find this birth, but, believe me, not otherwise. He has never been found among friends, nor among kindred nor acquaintances, there rather does one lose him altogether.

Now the question arises, whether this birth is to be found in anything which, albeit relating to God, is nevertheless taken in from without through the senses, in any presentment of God as good, wise, or compassionate, or whatever intellect can conceive of divinity: whether this birth is to be found in any such-like things? In truth, no! for, although good and godlike, they are nevertheless introduced from without through the senses; all must well up from within, out of God, if this birth is to shine with a really clear light, and thy own work must lie over, every faculty serving his ends not thine own. If this work is to be done, God alone must do it, and thou must undergo it. Where from thy willing and knowing thou truly goest out, God with his knowing surely and willingly goes in and shines there clearly. Where God thus knows himself thy knowledge is of no avail and cannot stand. Do not fondly imagine that thy reason can grow to the knowledge of God; that God shall shine in thee divinely no natural light can help to bring about; it must be utterly extinguished and go out of itself altogether, then God can shine in with his light bringing back with him everything thou wentest out of and a thousandfold more, besides the new form containing it all.

Of this we have an allegory in the gospel. When our Lord had talked so friendly with the Gentile woman at the well, she left her pitcher there, and running to the town announced to her people that the true Messiah was come. The people, not believing her report, went out with her to see him for themselves. Then said they unto her, 'Now we believe, not because of thy words, but because we have seen him in person.' Verily, neither by any creaturely science nor by thine own wisdom canst thou be brought to know God divinely. To know God God-fashion, thy knowledge must change into downright unknowing, to a forgetting of thyself and every creature.

Now haply thou wilt say: 'Prithee, Sir, what is the use of my intellect if it has to be inert and altogether idle? Is it my best plan to raise my mind to the unknowing knowing which obviously cannot be anything? For if I knew anything it would not be ignorance, nor should I be idle and destitute. Must I remain in total darkness?'

—Aye, surely! Thou canst do no better than take up thy abode in total darkness and ignorance.

—'Alas, Sir! must everything go then, and is there no return?'

—No, truly! By rights there is no return.

—'But what is this darkness? What does it mean, what is its name?'

—It can only be called a potential receptivity, which, however, is not altogether wanting in nor indigent of (real) being: the merely potential conception wherein thou shalt be perfected. Hence there is no return from it. And thou returnest it is not because of any truth; it is either the senses, the world or the devil. And persisting in this turning back, thou dost inevitably lapse into sin and art liable to backslide so far as to have the eternal fall. Wherefore there is no turning back, only a pressing forward and following up this possibility to its fulfilment. It never rests until fulfilled with all being. As matter never rests until fulfilled with every possible form, so intellect never rests till it is filled to the full of its capacity.

Concerning this a heathen master says: 'Nature has nothing swifter than the heavens which surpass all else in swiftness.' But surely the mind of man outstrips them. Given that it retains its vigour and stays undemeaned and undismembered by what is base and gross, it can outstrip high heaven nor slacken till the summit, where it is fed and cherished by the Arch-Good, by God himself.

How profitable then to ensue this possibility, for by keeping thyself empty and bare, merely tracking and following and giving up thyself to this darkness and ignorance without turning back, thou mayest well win that which is all things. And the more thou art barren of thyself and ignorant of things the nearer thou art thereto. Of this barrenness it is written in Hosea: 'I will lead my friend into the desert and will speak to her in her heart.' The genuine Word of eternity is spoken only in eternity, where man is a desert and alien to himself and multiplicity. For this desolate self-estrangement the prophet longed, saying: 'Who will give me the wings of a dove that I may fly away and be at rest!' Where shall I find peace and rest? Verily in rejection, in desolation and estrangement from all creatures. Wherefore David says: 'I had rather be an abject in the house of my God than have honour and riches in the tabernacles of sinners.'

Now haply thou wilt say: 'Alas, Sir, after all, is it necessary to be barren and estranged from everything, outward and inward: the powers and their works, must all go? It is a grievous matter for a man thus to be left by God without support; for God to thus augment his misery, neither enlightening nor encouraging nor working in him, for that is what your teaching means. For a person in such downright nothingness would it not be better to be doing something to beguile the gloom and desolation; to pray or read or go to church or else make shift by working at some useful occupation?'

No, be sure of this: absolute stillness, absolute idleness is best of all. Know that thou canst not without harm exchange this state for any other whatsoever. Fain wouldst thou partly fit thyself and let God partly fit thee, but that cannot be. Art never so quick to think of this fitness and desire it, God forestalls thee always. But granting, what is impossible, that it is shared: that the preparation for this working or infusion is jointly his and thine, know then, that God is bound to act, to pour himself out into thee as soon as ever he shall find thee ready. Think not it is with God as with a human carpenter, who works or works not as he chooses, who can do or leave undone at his good pleasure. It is not thus with God; but finding thee ready he is obliged to act, to overflow into thee; just as the sun must needs burst forth when the air is bright and clear, and is unable to contain itself. Forsooth, it were a very grave defect in God if, finding thee so empty and so bare, he wrought no excellent work in thee nor primed thee with glorious gifts.

In the same sense philosophers declare that the instant the child-stuff is ready in the mother's womb, God pours into the body its living spirit, that is, the soul the form of the body. It is one flash, the being-ready and the pouring-in. Nature reaching her summit, God dispenses his grace: the instant the spirit is ready God enters without hesitation or delay. In the book of Mystery it is written that our Lord offers himself to men: 'Behold I stand at the door and knock, waiting for someone to let me in, with him will I sup.' Thou needst not seek him here or there, he is no further off than at the door of thy heart; there he stands lingering, awaiting whoever is ready to open and let him in. Thou needst not call to him afar, he waits much more impatiently than thou for thee to open to him. He longs for thee a thousandfold more urgently than thou for him: one point the opening and the entering.

Thou wilt say, perhaps: 'How can that be? I have no inkling of him.' — Know, that to find him is not in thy power but in his. He discovers himself when he chooses and he hides himself too when he will. This is what Christ meant when he said to Nicodemus, 'The spirit breatheth where he will; thou hearest his voice, but knowest not whence he cometh nor whither he goeth.' This is a contradiction: 'Thou hearest but knowest not.' By hearing we know. Christ meant that through hearing it is imbibed or absorbed; as though to say: thou receivest it but unawares. For know, God cannot leave anything void and unfilled; that aught should be empty or void is not to be endured by nature's God. And thou seemest, therefore, not to find him and to be wholly empty of him, yet that is not the case. For were there any emptiness under heaven, whatever it might be, or great or small, the heavens must either draw it up to them or, bending downwards, fill it with themselves. God, nature's lord, on no account permits of anything remaining empty. Wherefore stand still and waver not, lest turning away from God now for the moment thou never turn back to him again.

Peradventure thou wilt say: 'Well, Sir, since you are always assuming that some day this birth will happen in me, that the Son will be born in me, can I have any sign whereby to recognise that it has taken place?'

Yes, surely! There would be three signs. I will tell you one of them. I am often asked whether it is possible to reach the point of not being hindered by anything in time, either by multiplicity or matter? Indeed it is! If this birth really happens no creature can hinder thee, all point thee to God and this birth. We find in lightning an analogy for this. Whatever it strikes, whether tree, beast or man, it turns towards itself with the shock. A man with his back to it instantly flings round to face it; all the thousand leaves of the tree turn over to front the stroke. So with all whom this birth befalls, they are promptly turned towards this birth with everything present, be it never so earthly. Nay, even what was formerly a hindrance is now nothing but a help. Thy face is turned so full towards this birth, no matter what thou dost see and hear, thou receivest nothing save this birth in anything. All things are simply God to thee who seest only God in all things. Like one who looks long at the sun, he encounters the sun in whatever he afterwards looks at. If this is lacking, this looking for and seeing God in all and sundry, then thou lackest this birth.

Thou mayest question: 'Ought anyone so placed to practise penance? Does he lose anything by dropping penitential exercises?'

Penitential practices, among other things, were instituted for a special object. Fasting, watching, praying, kneeling, scourging, wearing of hair shirts, hard lying or whatever it may be, were all invented because body and flesh stand ever opposed to spirit. The body being far too strong for it, there is always battle joined between them, a never-ending conflict. Here the body is bold and strong for here it is at home; the world helps it, the earth is its fatherland, it is helped by all its kindred: food, drink, ease — all are opposed to spirit. The spirit is an alien here, in heaven are its kindred, its whole race; there dwell its loved ones. To succour the spirit in its distress and to impede the flesh somewhat in this strife lest it conquer the spirit, we put upon it the bridle of penitential practices to curb it, so that the spirit can control it. This is done to bring it to subjection; but to conquer and curb it a thousand times better, put thou upon it the bridle of love. With love thou overcomest it most surely, with love thou loadest it most heavily. God lies in wait for us therefore with nothing so much as with love. For love is like the fisherman's hook. To the fisherman falls no fish that is not caught on his hook. Once it takes the hook the fish is forfeit to the fisherman; in vain it twists hither and thither, the fisherman is certain of his catch. And so I say of love: he who is caught thereby has the strongest of all bonds and yet a pleasant burden. He who bears this sweet burden fares further, gets nearer therewith than by using any harshness possible to man. Moreover, he can cheerfully put up with whatever befalls, cheerfully suffer what God inflicts. Naught makes thee so much God nor God so much thine own as this sweet bond. He who has found this way will seek no other. He who hangs on this hook is so fast caught that foot and hand, mouth, eyes and heart and all that is man's is bound to be God's.

So then thou canst not, better than by love, prevail over thy foe and stop him doing thee a mischief. Wherefore it is written: 'Love is strong as death and hard as hell.' Death separates soul from body, but love separates all things from the soul; she will not tolerate at any cost what is not God nor God's. Who is caught in this net, who walks in this way, whatsoever he works is wrought by love, whose alone the work is: busy or idle it matters nothing. Such an one's most trivial action is more profitable, his meanest occupation is more fruitful to himself and other people and to God is better pleasing than the cumulative works of other men, who, though free from mortal sin, are yet inferior to him in love. He rests more usefully than others labour.

Await thou therefore this hook, so thou be happily caught, and the more surely caught so much the more surely freed.

That we may be thus caught and freed, help us O thou who art love itself. Amen.

Colophon

The Eternal Birth (Sermon IV in the Pfeiffer edition) by Meister Eckhart (c. 1260–1328). This archive reproduces the translation of C. de B. Evans, published in The Works of Meister Eckhart, Volume I, London: John M. Watkins, 1924. Evans translated from the Middle High German text established by Franz Pfeiffer in Deutsche Mystiker des vierzehnten Jahrhunderts, vol. ii (Leipzig, 1857). The scriptural text is Luke 2:42. Source digitised at the Internet Archive (identifiers: meistereckhart0001eckh; in.ernet.dli.2015.31707). The sermon is reproduced here as a public-domain archival text.

Compiled and formatted for the Good Work Library by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026.

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