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Eleven books by a shoemaker of Görlitz who wrote, by his own account, because he could not help it. Ten of them stand here in the seventeenth-century English of John Sparrow, who translated Boehme within a generation of his death and whose prose is itself now four hundred years old; where that English has drifted out of reach, the facing pane carries a modern register — the same text with archaic inflection and spelling normalised by rule, never paraphrased. Nothing is reworded, and where no register appears beside a passage it is because the rules found nothing to change.
The eleventh book is not in English at all, and it is the reason this note exists.
Des trois principes de l'essence divine, printed at Paris in 1802, is the same work as Concerning the Three Principles of the Divine Essence, which stands here as the second book — the same twenty-seven chapters in the same order, opening `Du premier principe de l'essence divine` against Sparrow's `Of the first Principle of the Divine Essence`. Its translator was Louis-Claude de Saint-Martin, who gave the last years of his life to putting Boehme into French, and who has a shelf of his own in this Lycaeum.
That makes a closed circuit inside this archive, and it is worth naming plainly. Saint-Martin translates Boehme. La Iniciación, printed in Montevideo a hundred and forty years later, traces its own descent through Saint-Martin. A reader can therefore follow one thread from a German mystic of 1619, through the French philosopher who carried him into another language, to a Spanish-language monthly of the 1940s that claimed them both — and read every step of it in the original.
The two are shelved as one work rather than two because that is what they are. They are not set as facing panes: an English translation of 1619 and a French translation of 1802 are two independent readings of a lost German original, and pairing them line by line would assert a correspondence neither translator ever claimed.
14 CONFESSIONS OF JACOB BOEHME I saw it as in a great deep in the internal ; for I had a thorough view of the Universe, as a complex moving fulness wherein all things are couched and wrapped up ; but it was impossible for me to explain the same. Yet it opened itself in me, from time to time, as in a young plant. It was with me for the space of twelve years, and was as it were breeding. I found a powerful instigation within me before I could bring it forth into external form of writing ; but whatever I could apprehend with the external principle of my mind, that I wrote down. Afterwards, however, the Sun shone upon me a good while, but not constantly, for sometimes the Sun hid itself, and then I knew not nor well understood my own labour. Man must confess that his knowledge is not his own but from God, who manifests the Ideas of Wisdom to the soul, in what measure he pleases. It is not to be understood that my reason is greater or higher than that of all other CONFESSIONS OF JACOB BOEHME 5 men living ; but I am the Lord's twig or branch, and a very mean and little spark of his light ; he may set me where he pleases, I cannot hinder him in that. Neither is this my natural will, that I can do it by my own small ability ; for if the Spirit were withdrawn from me, then I could neither know nor understand my own writings.
2O gracious amiable Blessedness and great Love, how sweet art thou ! How friendly and courteous art thou ! How pleasant and lovely is thy relish and taste ! How ravishing sweetly dost thou smell ! O noble Light, and bright Glory, who can apprehend thy exceeding beauty ? How comely adorned is thy love ! How curious and excellent are thy colours ! And all this eternally. Who can express it ? Or why and what do I write, whose tongue does but stammer like a child which is learning to speak ? With what shall I 6 CONFESSIONS OF JACOB BOEHME compare it ? or to what shall I liken it ? Shall I compare it with the love of this world? No, that is but a mere dark valley to it. O immense Greatness ! I cannot compare thee with any thing, but only with the resurrection from the dead ; there will the Love-Fire rise up again in us, and rekindle again our astringent, bitter, and cold, dark and dead powers, and embrace us most courteously and friendly. O gracious, amiable, blessed Love and clear bright Light, tarry with us, I pray thee, for the evening is at hand. CHAPTER II 1AM a sinful and mortal man, as well as thou, and I must every day and hour grapple, struggle, and fight with the Devil who afflicts me in my corrupted lost nature, in the wrathful power which is in my flesh, as in all men continually.
3Suddenly I get the better of him, suddenly he is too hard for me ; yet, notwithstanding, he has not overcome or conquered me, though he often gets the advantage over me. If he buffets me, then I must retire and give back, but the divine power helps me again ; then he also receives a blow, and often loses the day in the fight. But when he is overcome, then the heavenly gate opens in my spirit, and then 8 CONFESSIONS OF JACOB BOEHME the spirit sees the divine and heavenlyBeing, not externally beyond the body, but in the well-spring of the heart. There rises up a flash of the Light in the sensibility or thoughts of the brain, and therein the Spirit does contemplate. For man is made out of all the powers of God, out of all the seven spirits of God, as the angels also are. But now seeing he is corrupted, therefore the divine moving does not always unfold its powers and operate in him. And though it springs in him, and if indeed it shines, yet it is incomprehensible to the corrupted nature. For the Holy Ghost will not be held in the sinful flesh, but rises up like a lightning - flash, as fire sparkles and flashes out of a stone when a man strikes it. But when the flash is caught in the fountain of the heart, then the Holy Spirit CONFESSIONS OF JACOB BOEHME 9 rises up, in the seven unfolding fountain spirits, into the brain, like the dawning of the day, the morning redness.
The source text as printed, transcribed diplomatically. Where the source language uses a non-Latin script that reaches us only through a Victorian romanisation, this layer is labelled transliteration, because that is what we hold.
14 CONFESSIONS OF JACOB BOEHME I saw it as in a great deep in the internal ; for I had a thorough view of the Universe, as a complex moving fulness wherein all things are couched and wrapped up ; but it was impossible for me to explain the same. Yet it opened itself in me, from time to time, as in a young plant. It was with me for the space of twelve years, and was as it were breeding. I found a powerful instigation within me before I could bring it forth into external form of writing ; but whatever I could apprehend with the external principle of my mind, that I wrote down. Afterwards, however, the Sun shone upon me a good while, but not constantly, for sometimes the Sun hid itself, and then I knew not nor well understood my own labour. Man must confess that his knowledge is not his own but from God, who manifests the Ideas of Wisdom to the soul, in what measure he pleases. It is not to be understood that my reason is greater or higher than that of all other CONFESSIONS OF JACOB BOEHME 5 men living ; but I am the Lord's twig or branch, and a very mean and little spark of his light ; he may set me where he pleases, I cannot hinder him in that. Neither is this my natural will, that I can do it by my own small ability ; for if the Spirit were withdrawn from me, then I could neither know nor understand my own writings.
2O gracious amiable Blessedness and great Love, how sweet art thou ! How friendly and courteous art thou ! How pleasant and lovely is thy relish and taste ! How ravishing sweetly dost thou smell ! O noble Light, and bright Glory, who can apprehend thy exceeding beauty ? How comely adorned is thy love ! How curious and excellent are thy colours ! And all this eternally. Who can express it ? Or why and what do I write, whose tongue does but stammer like a child which is learning to speak ? With what shall I 6 CONFESSIONS OF JACOB BOEHME compare it ? or to what shall I liken it ? Shall I compare it with the love of this world? No, that is but a mere dark valley to it. O immense Greatness ! I cannot compare thee with any thing, but only with the resurrection from the dead ; there will the Love-Fire rise up again in us, and rekindle again our astringent, bitter, and cold, dark and dead powers, and embrace us most courteously and friendly. O gracious, amiable, blessed Love and clear bright Light, tarry with us, I pray thee, for the evening is at hand. CHAPTER II 1AM a sinful and mortal man, as well as thou, and I must every day and hour grapple, struggle, and fight with the Devil who afflicts me in my corrupted lost nature, in the wrathful power which is in my flesh, as in all men continually.
3Suddenly I get the better of him, suddenly he is too hard for me ; yet, notwithstanding, he has not overcome or conquered me, though he often gets the advantage over me. If he buffets me, then I must retire and give back, but the divine power helps me again ; then he also receives a blow, and often loses the day in the fight. But when he is overcome, then the heavenly gate opens in my spirit, and then 8 CONFESSIONS OF JACOB BOEHME the spirit sees the divine and heavenlyBeing, not externally beyond the body, but in the well-spring of the heart. There rises up a flash of the Light in the sensibility or thoughts of the brain, and therein the Spirit does contemplate. For man is made out of all the powers of God, out of all the seven spirits of God, as the angels also are. But now seeing he is corrupted, therefore the divine moving does not always unfold its powers and operate in him. And though it springs in him, and if indeed it shines, yet it is incomprehensible to the corrupted nature. For the Holy Ghost will not be held in the sinful flesh, but rises up like a lightning - flash, as fire sparkles and flashes out of a stone when a man strikes it. But when the flash is caught in the fountain of the heart, then the Holy Spirit CONFESSIONS OF JACOB BOEHME 9 rises up, in the seven unfolding fountain spirits, into the brain, like the dawning of the day, the morning redness.
The source text as printed, transcribed diplomatically. Where the source language uses a non-Latin script that reaches us only through a Victorian romanisation, this layer is labelled transliteration, because that is what we hold.
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