The last age of the church

In Short

This short, intense treatise serves as a jeremiad against the corruption of the medieval clergy, specifically targeting the practice of simony—the buying and selling of church offices. Written in the shadow of the Black Death and various societal upheavals, the work interprets contemporary scandals as clear signs of the approaching Antichrist. It remains a historical curiosity, providing a window into the anxieties of a period where faith, prophecy, and political disillusionment collided, solidifying its place as a significant, if contested, relic of pre-Reformation thought.

The Story

The narrative begins with a lament: the Church is sitting in darkness, abandoned by those who should shepherd the flock. The author, traditionally identified as the reformer John Wycliffe, views the prevailing atmosphere of the mid-fourteenth century not merely as a time of political instability, but as a spiritual twilight. He argues that the Church has been infiltrated by the "demon of simony," where ecclesiastical positions—from small benefices to high offices—are treated as commodities to be traded for profit.

The progression of the argument is rooted in a rigid, prophetic framework. Using the authority of the Abbot Joachim and other mystical commentators, the author delineates a historical sequence of "tribulations" that have plagued the Church. The first was the persecution of early martyrs; the second was the rise of heresy. We are currently living, the author contends, in the era of the third tribulation: the "merchandise walking in darkness." This is the era of spiritual corruption, where the hunger for silver and the manipulation of church rents have replaced true devotion.

Central to this argument is a complex, almost obsessive, chronological calculation. The author maps these historical eras onto the letters of the alphabet, attempting to prove that the world is currently trapped under the "tenth letter." This letter represents the final stage before the definitive, and most terrifying, event: the coming of the Antichrist. The author connects this spiritual decline to physical signs of a broken world, such as the pestilences of the mid-century, which he interprets as divine judgment. He describes these calamities as proof that the natural order is failing, noting, for instance, the strange physical malformations reported in children born after the plague years.

The text moves toward a somber conclusion. As the author guides the reader through these dark prognostications, the tone becomes increasingly urgent. He draws upon old prophecies—often cryptic and symbolic—to suggest that the final epoch is not just coming, but is already unfolding. There is no promise of a simple recovery; rather, the focus is on the necessity of recognizing the signs of the times. The work ends with a call to internal transformation, using the metaphor of the "hard stone" of the human heart, which must be softened by the "blood of the worm"—a complex theological allusion to the passion of Christ. The final message is one of stark preparation, urging the faithful to remain vigilant, as the final, fourth tribulation—the reign of the Antichrist—looms on the horizon, known only to God.

How It Unfolds

The lament for the clergy The text opens with a stark critique of the priesthood, portraying them as blind shepherds who have prioritized profit over the salvation of souls. The author establishes the central conflict, framing the financial exactions of the Church as a form of spiritual slavery.

The historical pattern of suffering The author outlines three distinct tribulations that have historically tested the Church, starting with early martyrdoms and evolving into the subtle, dangerous heresy of simony. He uses the work of Abbot Joachim to justify this cyclical view of history, arguing that human events follow a preordained, divine timeline.

The geometry of the apocalypse The middle section is dominated by an intricate, alphabet-based chronology that attempts to fix the current year within the final countdown. The author provides reasons for why his era is uniquely positioned at the end of the "tenth letter," signaling that the time for reform has passed and the time for judgment has arrived.

The signs of a dying world The narrative shifts to the physical consequences of the Church’s corruption, linking the moral failures of the hierarchy to the biological catastrophes of the age. The author cites the recent plague years and the perceived degradation of the youth as tangible evidence of the world’s impending expiration.

The final confrontation The work closes by looking toward the fourth and final tribulation, which is the arrival of the Antichrist. The author concludes that while the specific timing remains hidden, the current state of the world necessitates a radical turning toward the redemptive power of Christ’s suffering.

The People

The author, while writing in his own voice, acts as the primary observer and judge of his age. He is not a dispassionate chronicler, but a polemicist who wants to shake the reader out of complacency. He is motivated by a profound, almost desperate desire to reconcile the catastrophic events of his time—the plague, the corruption, and the social unrest—with a coherent, divine plan.

Opposing him, though represented as an abstract force rather than a singular person, are the "simonians"—the clergy and church officials who facilitate the buying and selling of spiritual offices. To the author, they are the agents of the Antichrist, blocking the path to God for their own material gain. They stand in the way of his vision of a pure, uncorrupted Church.

The figure of the Antichrist looms over the entire work, serving as the ultimate antagonist. He is not just a future boogeyman, but the inevitable conclusion to the path the Church is currently traveling. The author also invokes historical figures like Saint Peter, Saint Paul, and the Abbot Joachim to bolster his authority, treating these figures as spiritual allies in his struggle against the contemporary corruption of the faith.

In Its Own Voice

"Alas forsorwe grete prestis sittinge in derkenessis & in schadewe of deeþ/ noȝt hauynge him þat openly crieþ/ al þis I wille ȝeue ȝif þou auaunce me."

The author opens his address to the reader by lamenting the state of the priesthood, using the language of spiritual despair to describe those who trade divine favor for advancement.

"Chaffare walkynge in derkenessis is þe pryui heresie of symonyans/ bi resoun of whiche þe þridde tribulacioun schal entre into Cristis Chirche."

Here, the author defines the defining sin of his era, labeling the secret corruption of simony as the specific cause of the present, catastrophic tribulation.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an exploration of moral and institutional failure. It asks a fundamental question: when an institution meant to guide humanity becomes obsessed with wealth and power, how does it signal the end of its own relevance? The work is a bridge between medieval mysticism and the practical necessity of reform. It explores the tension between the belief that history is a finite, unfolding drama and the chaotic reality of living through a time of unprecedented suffering. It forces the reader to confront the idea that the "end of the world" is not a distant, abstract event, but something that manifests in the daily choices of those in power. It is about the search for meaning in a landscape of ruin.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in the history of ideas or the development of reformist rhetoric will find this text compelling. It is, however, a difficult read. The language is Middle English, and the structure is deeply embedded in the scholastic traditions of the fourteenth century, which can feel foreign to modern sensibilities. The author’s reliance on obscure prophecies and complex, almost circular, chronological arguments often makes for dense, demanding prose.

Yet, there is an undeniable power in the author’s voice. To read it is to step into the mind of someone who believes they are witnessing the unraveling of the world. The warmth here is not found in comforting platitudes, but in the author’s fervent, if occasionally fanatical, concern for the state of the human soul. What stays with you is the sheer sense of urgency. The text captures a specific brand of existential anxiety that feels surprisingly resonant, even when the specific references to "tenth letters" or "seedis of profetis" fade from view. It is not a book for a casual weekend; it is a document that requires patience and a willingness to sit with the strange, dark, and urgent convictions of a distant past.