"Purity and simplicity are the two wings with which man soars above the earth and all temporary nature"
About this Quote
Purity and simplicity aren’t offered here as quaint virtues; they’re engineered as lift. Thomas a Kempis, the devotional writer behind The Imitation of Christ, turns moral language into a physics metaphor: the soul has weight, the world has drag, and only a certain kind of inner discipline gets you airborne. “Two wings” is doing quiet rhetorical work. One wing alone won’t fly. Purity without simplicity curdles into anxious moral bookkeeping; simplicity without purity becomes minimalism as aesthetic, a lifestyle brand that still leaves the ego in charge.
The phrase “above the earth and all temporary nature” is the tell. Kempis isn’t asking you to appreciate nature; he’s asking you to transcend its claims. “Earth” means appetite, status, distraction, the constant churn of wanting. “Temporary nature” signals the medieval Christian hierarchy of value: time-bound goods are not evil, just dangerously persuasive. The subtext is a warning about attachment. You don’t have to renounce everything, but you do have to stop letting everything own you.
Context matters: Kempis writes from a monastic-inflected world (the Devotio Moderna) that prized inwardness over spectacle, daily practice over public piety. The sentence reads like a corrective to performative religion and restless consumer desire before either had modern names. Its elegance is also its provocation: it reframes freedom not as adding options but subtracting dependencies. The “soaring” isn’t escapism; it’s a spiritual vantage point where the temporary can finally be seen as temporary.
The phrase “above the earth and all temporary nature” is the tell. Kempis isn’t asking you to appreciate nature; he’s asking you to transcend its claims. “Earth” means appetite, status, distraction, the constant churn of wanting. “Temporary nature” signals the medieval Christian hierarchy of value: time-bound goods are not evil, just dangerously persuasive. The subtext is a warning about attachment. You don’t have to renounce everything, but you do have to stop letting everything own you.
Context matters: Kempis writes from a monastic-inflected world (the Devotio Moderna) that prized inwardness over spectacle, daily practice over public piety. The sentence reads like a corrective to performative religion and restless consumer desire before either had modern names. Its elegance is also its provocation: it reframes freedom not as adding options but subtracting dependencies. The “soaring” isn’t escapism; it’s a spiritual vantage point where the temporary can finally be seen as temporary.
Quote Details
| Topic | Wisdom |
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