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Bernard of Clairvaux, as a monk of the Middle Ages, is a distant figure to most people today. History has sometimes judged him harshly; yet he is still read, translated, and debated by those interested in the spiritual life. His message actually transcends the time and place in which he wrote; it is perennial and particularly relevant for our time, making him close to twentieth-century man for several reasons. First, he is fully human and has never denied the human dimension in himself or in others. The candor of his analysis—or psychoanalysis—of his own ego is appealing to us, if at first a bit surprising. In describing his ego, he speaks of our own; what takes place in him also goes on in each of us.

In recognizing ourselves in him, we can identify with him and follow him on his journey from the finiteness common to all humanity to union with the infinite God. He gives us confidence in ourselves: his path can become our own. We too can go to God without losing our personal identity; God accepts us and draws us to himself as he has made us and experience has fashioned us.

St. Bernard belongs to the twelfth century, the highpoint of the Middle Ages from the point of view of spirituality. It was the age when the West achieved an integral and balanced humanism. As a result of the barbarian invasions, a new type of person came into being who combined the experience of the old Greco-Roman culture, which had been handed down especially by the Church Fathers, with the eager vitality of a youthful generation. This new, elite generation, especially those in monastic Orders, had slowly assimilated the whole legacy of the Ancients; they had faithfully passed it along but without reviving it very much. Medieval man was reaching maturity in the second half of the eleventh century, as the worth of the individual grew more evident.

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Until that time, social structures had been the predominant influence.

In the twelfth century a whole new secular and religious literature developed, which was devoted to a study of human feelings, especially love. It was the time that saw the development and clarification of the theology of marriage, as well as the growing prestige and popularity of the novels of courtly love. It was also the age of those spiritual writers whose masterpieces nourished the most religious people of the day, influenced others in society, and shaped the future. The greatest of these writers is Bernard of Clairvaux. The importance that he places on the state of the soul, both in his life and in his works, shows him to be a man of modern outlook. Yet he never engages in a superficial sentimentality, but is solidly based in traditional doctrine. He achieved the first great synthesis in the West between all of scriptural and patristic theology on the one hand, and the totality of human experience on the other. He left his mark on all who wrote on the spiritual life in the twelfth century, and after him the way was open for new syntheses. In the next century a whole new philosophical thought was coupled with this strong, interior zeal. By the thirteenth century, the time was ripe for, among others, St. Bonaventure, who, according to recent research, owed much to St. Bernard.

This evolution of thought continued with the great spiritual figures of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries and, later on, with those of the Renaissance and of the Protestant and Catholic reformations; each insisted more or less on a certain aspect of theological consideration or mystical experience. But the point of origin for the synthesis of thought and experience is St. Bernard, the voice of the twelfth century.

Bernard's unique and definitive distinction is due to his method of reconciling personal, subjective experience with universal, objective teaching. In his life and work, Bernard's experience is the result of situations that history handed down or assigned to him; doctrinally, he receives the Christian tradition and accepts it in its fullness, but he also brings to it his enriching experience of genius and grace. Factually, people exist and events take place independently of him. He does not allow himself to be controlled by these facts; these, too, he accepts and at the same time tries to transform them. In himself, he must also accept the limitations that are part of the finite human condition; in accepting them, he also interprets them to make sense of them.

Experience and thought are the two guidelines to follow in considering Bernard's life, work, and doctrine—three realities that are really inseparable. There are several possible ways to introduce a writer like

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St. Bernard. One is to present the events of his life, and then to speak of his character, and finally of his writings. This method, however, might very well break the unity that existed between his interior contemplative activity and his equally intense exterior action. St. Bernard's personal development is expressed'in his writings. It is only in the light of that development that we can realize the significance he attached to his works and understand their content. I will not recall here all the events in which St. Bernard was involved, but will place his writings within the framework of his development, indicating the precise merit of various works from which representative excerpts have been selected for this volume.

His Lire REFLECTED IN His WRrrTEN Works We have very little historical information about Bernard's early years, normally such an important period in anyone's life. There is a hagiographical account attributed to the eminent theologian William of St.Thierry, who knew Bernard after he had become Abbot of Clairvaux.

During Bernard's own lifetime, William was given the task of writing his biography, with a view to keeping it for posterity, but he was a good distance from Clairvaux, where Bernard lived, and wrote without the latter's knowledge. He never consulted Bernard or questioned any of his brothers, although several were monks at Clairvaux. Book One of William's First Life of Bernard is a theological masterpiece but hardly a model of objective biography. He employed the standard themes of traditional hagiography, whether pre-Christian, Christian, or monastic: dreams, heavenly. visions, and victory over temptations against chastity. Then, too, he may have projected his personal problems on St. Bernard. Above all, he presented a theological interpretation for the phenomenon of the newly founded (1098) Cistercian Order, of which Bernard was the most famous member. He was primarily concerned to show the Abbey of Clairvaux as a model of monastic life; this he accomplished with some idealization.

We do know something of the family into which Bernard was born in 1090. His family belonged to the minor nobility of Burgundy, his father being a knight and his brothers destined to become the same.

Bernard, however, had been sent by his parents to a small school kept by the Canons Regular at St.-Vorles, near Dijon. While we know nothing of his schoolmasters, we can presume that at least some of them

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were excellent, for Bernard emerged from their care a remarkable thinker and a well-trained Latinist. Since thousands of children studied at St.-Vorles and similar schools, and there was not another St. Bernard among them, his uniqueness cannot be explained by schooling alone; account must be taken of his truly extraordinary natural gifts and the exceptional graces he received. At best, we can say that the teaching method followed at St.-Vorles and elsewhere, which we know from many sources, could transform an extremely gifted child into a stylist of renown.

Bernard himself said nothing about his childhood and made only a few veiled references to his teenage years. After finishing his studies, he probably returned to the family estate at Fontaine-les-Dijon, where the fortified castle still stands, evoking the twelfth century and its way of life. There were many young noblemen, like Bernard's brothers, with little to do except hunt, or take part in tournaments and other violent pastimes. They also engaged in the frequent wars between various chateaux.

Bernard did mention "literary matches" in which many participated. During the long evenings in the courts of the low and high nobility, people liked to listen while troubadours and minstrels recounted stories, told tales, and sang songs of little substance; sometimes the courtiers tried to outdo them by composing verses in the troubadours' style. It is possible that Bernard, too, may have tried his hand, but we do not know.

He must have had his share of the various temptations that are the lot of the young in any age. It is likely that they were accompanied by that special intensity which marked his every experience, for later on he would speak of temptations with astonishing realism—for example, in his fifth Sermon on Psalm 90. When, as an adult, he began to express his ideas on human existence, there was no indication of any particular obsession. His strong aggressiveness was certainly apparent; it was

God's gift and a mark of natural energy that was capable of transformation through grace. Aware of this side of his personality, he spoke of it as a vital force to be controlled, not repressed. He never claimed complete success at keeping his aggressiveness in check, and historians bear this out. But he seems to have achieved, perhaps at great cost, a psychological equilibrium resulting in a joyful disposition that drew others to him.

In the year 1111, at the age of twenty-one, he decided to become a monk at Citeaux, the Cistercian proto-monastery, then in its first fer-

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vor, and located only a few miles from the cháteau where he was born.

His great enthusiasm made him unwilling to keep his ideal to himself and he managed to bring his uncle, his brothers, and a group of young noblemen round to the same vocation. He even persuaded his sister,

Humbeline, to leave her husband'and become a nun. In 1112, he and his companions entered Citeaux. His undisputed leadership of the group is an example of the kind of drawing power he always had over others; such a gift can be problematical and easily abused. He was by no means the eldest but he had authority over them all, not so much because he became their abbot as because they recognized the sincerity of his religious convictions.

In 1115, just three years following his arrival at Citeaux, Bernard was sent to found a monastery at Clairvaux in Champagne, to which he led his brothers and companions, and attracted other young men as well. Soon he was in a position to make other foundations, in 1118,

1119, 1121, and almost every year after that. He made 68 foundations in thirty-five years and was the principal promoter of his Order, which, at the time of his death, comprised some 350 houses, of which 164 were answerable more or less directly to his authority. They extended across the whole of Europe, from Scandinavia to southern Portugal, from northern England to central Europe. A spiritual motivation had to be ensured in each monastery, beginning with the motherhouse. It has been estimated that between 800 and 900 monks had been part of the community of Clairvaux before Bernard's death. Some of them were sent to daughterhouses that, in turn, made other foundations. Thus, there were thousands of men, generally young, who left society and often a military career to take up the cloistered life. If to this number one adds the members of some 290 other Cistercian monasteries founded during Bernard's lifetime, one has some idea of the tremendous peace corps, with tens of thousands of members, that Bernard helped to establish. What architect of peace has played such a role in his century or in any other?

At first, Bernard taught only his monks, but before 1124 the prior of his monastery, in the name of the community, asked him to set down in writing his doctrine on humility. He thus obtained Bernard's first work, which is also his first masterpiece: his treatise The Steps of Humility and Pride. Bernard's message was, however, destined to go beyond the confines of Clairvaux and in fact he was consulted from all sides. About the same time, he drew up the Letter on Love at the request of the monks of the Grande Chartreuse. It contains the heart of his message on the

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love of God and is the first and most detailed explanation of monastic love in the twelfth century. It became the eleventh text in his collection of letters, and he considered it important enough to reproduce at the end of the treatise he wrote shortly after: On Loving God.

He took advantage of some leisure time while convalescing from an illness to compose a series of three (later four) long homilies on the Gospel of the Annunciation: /n Praise of the Virgin Mother. In the preface, he confesses that he felt compelled to write for he could not keep to himself all that he felt. The more he enjoyed contemplative solitude with God, the more responsible he felt for sharing with others the interior light he had received.

During his first period of literary activity, he also produced the Apology to William of St.-Thierry, which he dedicated to the Benedictine abbot. William had urged him to take part in a controversy involving some Cistercians and the monks of Cluny: The former accused the latter of lacking in fervor, while the Cluniacs maintained that the new Order broke with tradition. The polemic was heated. Since Bernard had no part in originating the dispute and intervened only because he was asked to, he assumed the role of mediator. Once involved in the conflict, he wrote spiritedly and, in the second part of the Apology, composed a satire on the Cluniacs that is a model of its kind. He gives an amusing description of the supposed abuses at Cluny, not all of which can be verified in historical or archeological documents. However, he also expressed himself with such conviction and warmth of feeling that he achieved his purpose. The abbot of Cluny, Peter the Venerable, was defensive about certain points in the Apology that he felt needed modification, but he also profited from the lesson and legislated reforms along the lines suggested by the abbot of Clairvaux. It would seem from the manuscript tradition that most traditional monks, making allowances for exaggeration, welcomed the author in their libraries. He had given them proof of his fairness by devoting the first part of his treatise to humbling the Cistercians, who boasted of their new observance; continuing with this theme, he composed some of the finest pages ever written on the legitimate diversity that contributes to the richness of the Church and is perfectly consistent with its unity.

From that point on, Bernard of Clairvaux was no longer simply a monastic teacher, but was asked to extend his teaching office to those engaged in pastoral care and to other areas of Church life. In 1127 or 1128, Henri Le Sanglier, Archbishop of Sens, asked Bernard for the discourse that became On the Conduct and Duties of Bishops. This would

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be a formidable undertaking presenting certain difficulties. 'The request for such a tract suggested to Bernard that there were, in fact, abuses to condemn. Moreover, writing such a work might place him on the wrong side of the archbishop, a high-ranking prelate whose ecclesiastical province included the dioceseof Langres, in which Clairvaux was located. Bernard did, however, take up the challenge and spoke out with courage and earnestness. His love for the poor and concern for the virtue and holiness of Church leaders were an evident part of his message, which was well received and became one of his most frequently copied works.

The Council of Troyes (1128) was the first public Church business outside the monastic realm to receive Bernard's attention. This council set up the first regulations concerning the Knights 'Templar, a new religious institute that had been established at Jerusalem by Bernard's cousin, Hugh of Payns. At the latter's request he wrote Book in Praise of the New Militia between 1128 and 1136. The new religious community, similar to Third Order members and attached to a community of Canons Regular, presented two problems. First of all, how to justify the fact that their role, which was to protect pilgrims and other Christians in the Holy Land, led them on occasion to fight and even kill their enemies? Making use of arguments that were perhaps more valid in his own day than in ours, Bernard tried to persuade them that everything depended on their motives. He reminded them that they, too, might become combat victims. Death is, for all of us, the great encounter with God, who will then judge our hearts and intentions. If the knights used their arms not out of hatred, but to defend a just cause with the least amount of violence, they had nothing to fear. In his warnings to the Knights Templar, Bernard also expanded on a theme he had treated elsewhere: his satirical criticism of secular knighthood as empty and violent. He was not satisfied with condemning its evils or placing it in opposition to a religious knighthood. His monasteries, which he was fond of comparing to spiritual fortresses, became the training ground for an enormous army of what he called "warriors for peace."

The Knights Templar posed a second problem—whether it might not be better for them to lead a contemplative life like the Canons who guaranteed the service of prayer in the Temple, rather than waging war in the street. Since they were performing their military service on holy ground, St. Bernard told them, they should at least profit from the location to meditate on the mysteries that had unfolded there. To help them follow his advice, Bernard wrote a series of excellent meditations

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on all the great events connected with human salvation that took place in the Temple of Jerusalem, at Bethlehem, in Nazareth, and on Calvary. He spoke of all the places where Jesus gave proof of his love, and of the Holy Sepulchre where his resurrection revealed that the Father had accepted his sacrifice by having him enter into glory. Thus, even the interior crisis of the first military Order gave St. Bernard opportunity to bring himself and others to the contemplation of God.

Shortly after the council, a schism broke out in the Roman Church; the legitimate Pope, Innocent II, found himself faced with a rival, Anacletus. Princes took sides in the division of the papacy and in 1130 a meeting was held at Etampes, in France, where Bernard rallied the weight of French opinion round Pope Innocent. For eight years he was involved in reestablishing unity in several ways. He accompanied the Pope in his travels through France in 1130 and 1131. In 1132, he defended the papal cause in the south of France. The following year, the Pope, having taken refuge at Pisa, summoned Bernard, who intervened in the Pope's favor in Genoa, Milan, and other Italian cities, after which he returned with the Pope to Rome. In 1135, he took part in the Diet of Bamberg and the Council of Pisa, and traveled again through northern Italy, still working to achieve Church unity. Bernard returned to Clairvaux but, in 1137, was recalled to Rome by the Pope and cardinals; again, he labored to bring the schism to an end, which was finally accomplished in the following year.

In the midst of all his moving about, he managed to write a long, subtle work, again dedicated to William of St.- Thierry, which he called

On Grace and Free Will, borrowing one of St. Augustine's titles. The interesting Prologue informs us how Bernard snatched opportunities for writing, and reveals the principal source of his teaching, namely, his experience. During the same period, students and teachers in city schools were having spirited discussions on problems affecting the Christian life of the faithful and the pastoral responsibility of the clergy.

But the brightest monks and abbots were no longer remaining silent either, nor were they content to solve administrative problems at their meetings. Bernard began at this point by recounting one of these group conversations. One day, he had publicly praised "the work accomplished in him by God's grace"; "on the one hand, I recognized (agnoscerem) that grace had placed goodness within my reach; on the other hand, I perceived (sentirem) that it was responsible for my progress; and finally I hoped that it would help me to advance even further." Someone near Bernard had put to him a series of questions which he quotes,

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then answers and uses as a point of departure for his exposition. At the outset, he quotes a New Testament passage, frequently cited thereafter: the Epistle to the Romans. He is especially concerned with chapters five to eight, in which St. Paul describes, analyzes, and resolves the conflict he himself experienced, between the inclination toward sin and the life of the Spirit. Centuries later, this was the decisive text in the genesis of Martin Luther's doctrine. The last sentence of Bernard's treatise is a gloss on Romans 8:30: "Those whom God has justified, and not those whom he found justified, he has also glorified." It was Bernard's wish to rewrite a commentary on this basic text in the style of his own time, for it is the key to interpreting all Christian experience.

In 1135, just when he was most taken up with finding a solution to the schism of the Roman Church, Bernard was invited by a Carthusian friend, Bernard of Portes, to undertake a commentary on the Song of Songs. The sole object of the biblical poem is to exalt the love that once had united two young spouses, and that had become the symbol of God's Covenant with Israel and later with the Church. It is also a figurative representation of the intimate relationship between Christ and those who live according to the Spirit. Bernard of Portes was perhaps not the only one to realize that the time had come for the Abbot of Clairvaux to undertake a comprehensive literary work. No doubt he envisaged a masterpiece that would display the full range of the Cistercian's talent and contain the richness of his experience, both of the interior life and of Church affairs, which he had acquired in the course of twenty years' work in the service of God and men. At first, Bernard hesitated; then he agreed to do the work. He was too open-minded to limit himself to a literal explanation of each verse of the text from beginning to end. Instead, he used the biblical poem as a pretext to speak of all the things he held dearest concerning the spiritual life, the mysteries of the faith, and the mission of the Church. Toward the end of 1136, he was interrupted when called to Rome for the third time, owing to the schism. He had already drawn up twenty-four sermons.

On his return from Rome he resumed work in the summer of 1138 and began by making a new draft of the twenty-fourth sermon. He also wrote an introduction to the revised sermon in which he explained the significance of his recent journey. Not one to be distracted or overtaken by events, Bernard kept control over his own plans despite outside occurrences. Thus, he easily took up his writing again at the verse where he had left off and was hard at it for eighteen years, until the moment when death prevented the completion of a sermon. For the rest of his

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life his great opus was the underlying task of this busiest of men. His eighty-six sermons on the Song of Songs are actually a series of treatises based much more on his own experience than on the text of the poem; in fact, he does not go beyond the first verse of the second of the eight chapters of the biblical book. But he discovered a way to expound at length on a number of issues: his Christian reaction to the death of his brother Gerard, his views on clergy reform, and a rebuttal of the errors of the heretics of the Rhineland, as well as an error attributed to Gilbert de la Porrée, Bishop of Poitiers. Despite digressions, the connecting thread running throughout the work is the relationship of love, which unites the three divine Persons to the Church, and in and through the Church to all its members. It is in light of this relationship of love that he analyzes facts pertaining to himself and to the Church.

Because of the success of his various interventions, Bernard became publicly known and was increasingly caught up in conflicts of doctrine, politics, and monastic life. While passing through Paris in 1140, he addressed a group of student clerics urging them to put an end to the vices in which some of them indulged. While we do not have the actual text of his appeal, we know that it had the desired effect. Many students turned to monastic life and followed Bernard to Clairvaux.

This was notably true of Geoffrey of Auxerre, who had been a disciple of Peter Abélard. He was to become Bernard's secretary, later his biographer and successor, and continued his sermons on the Song of Songs.

A short time later, Bernard put together a sermon entitled On the Conversion of Clerics, which is undoubtedly the substance of his Paris discourse. In it he gives a most penetrating psychological analysis of all the forms of selfishness that worm their way into the hidden corners of the heart. He then goes on to describe the joy of those who turn away from selfishness and live according to the Beatitudes.

The year 1140 marks the first, brief digression in Bernard's ordinary activities. Until that time, he had refrained from intervening in theological disputes but now yielded to the insistences of William of St.-Thierry. The latter, who had become a Cistercian at Signy, one of Clairvaux's daughterhouses, urged Bernard to oppose the teachings of Master Abélard, which were considered dangerous by some of his contemporaries. Bernard hesitated, resisting the demand. But William sent him an entire dossier summing up the incriminating errors and assembling ideas and passages from the Church Fathers for a rebuttal. Once again convinced that he could be of service to the Church, Bernard threw himself into the controversy with all his fiery spirit. On both

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sides the arguments were violent. Between Bernard and Abélard there passed the usual anathemas as each one, invoking the apocalyptic language of the Old Testament, tried to convince the other of the truth of his position. Bernard attended a bishops' meeting at Sens in 1140 where

Abélard's ideas were not discussed in the presence of the teacher's followers, as Bernard had hoped; they were delated to Rome. Bernard then launched a propaganda campaign in the form of letters to influential members of the Curia. With the help of documentary material received from William of St.- Thierry, he wrote a long epistle, similar to a treatise, intended for the Pope. It was the one hundred nineteenth letter of his collection and entitled "Against the Errors of Abélard."

'The brilliant master of the Paris schools had developed bold new insights concerning the doctrines of the Trinity, Redemption, and Grace, which were restated and clarified by subsequent scholars and proved beneficial to many. But William, Bernard, and others thought that Abélard's ideas, as then presented, posed a threat to Christian faith.

The epistle also served as an opportunity for Bernard to proclaim his own faith and love. The final pages of this letter-treatise contain some of his most beautiful writing on the mystery of Jesus.

At the request of two Benedictines, who were at odds with their abbot over the interpretation of certain points of the Rule of St. Benedict, Bernard wrote, shortly before 1143, a very subtle treatise entitled

On the Precept and Its Application. Yt contains a definitive clarification of the delicate relationship between the monastic Rule and the power of those responsible for its application. While setting certain limits on the authority of superiors, he placed no limits on charity and the obedience that it prompts. In 1145, Bernard traveled to the south of France to oppose the errors of two popular preachers, Peter of Bruys and his disciple, Henry; their teachings ran the risk of calling into question the very groundwork of Church and state. A second period of digression for Bernard began in 1146. It came late in his life and lasted only two years. It resulted from the part he played, at the request of Eugene III, the first Cistercian Pope, in launching a Crusade intended to save

Christian holdings in the Holy Land.

The Pope and the king of France, Louis VII, had thought of calling for a French Crusade. Securing agreement among the French nobility for such a project was certainly difficult, but not impossible. However, it was not sufficient to decide to wage a holy war. Prospective soldiers, whether nobleman or peasant, had to be stirred to enthusiasm and Bernard seemed the only one who possessed sufficient moral authority to

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put over the idea of a sacred campaign. He obeyed the order to enlist support for the holy cause and was present at Vézelay in 1146 when the king's herald read the papal document calling for the start of the Crusade. Bernard's vision, however, went beyond just another holy war. His monastic idealism—certainly not his knowledge of politics or military operations—led him to suggest a Crusade in which the Christian rulers and people of East and West would take part. He drew up several letters explaining his idea; one in particular, of great length, was adapted to various recipients but the message was essentially the same for all. Hitherto, volunteers for a Crusade had been motivated by the promise of indulgences, privileges, and other advantages. Bernard wished to change all that. He described the Crusade as an exclusively spiritual undertaking, an opportunity to renounce sin and turn to God, and to increase one's love for Jesus Christ. In place of the cruel and senseless wars fought by Christian knights in their own countries, Bernard demanded an act of pure generosity. This moving letter gives us some idea of Bernard's words as he preached in favor of the Crusade.

The text has been copied, printed, read, and translated down to our own day by people with no Crusade in mind. Yet it has made them reflect on themselves, on what God had done for them in Christ, and on what they could and ought to do for him in return, whatever the circumstances of their lives.

For a year and a half, from autumn 1146 to the spring of 1148, Bernard traveled through France, Flanders, the Rhineland, and Bavaria, to win over the monarchs, nobility, and general population to the idea of the Crusade. He was not entirely successful. Rivalries sprang up fairly quickly among those who had gone off to fight; hostility was also reported between the Crusaders and the governments of the countries through which they passed. Toward the end of 1149, the enterprise fell apart and Bernard was held responsible. Insofar as he was not well informed on contemporary political conflicts and the difficulties of such an undertaking, he could be considered responsible for the debacle. But the principal cause of the Crusade's failure was the dissension between sovereigns and knights. Bernard saw the defeat as an insult to God. He accepted the personal humiliation that followed and the ensuing unpopularity of his monasteries. But he did not become discouraged.

Continuing his promotion of clergy reform, he began to write the Life of St. Malachy, an archbishop of Armagh who, while traveling on the Continent, had recently died at Clairvaux. Bernard had scarcely

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known him personally and was not at all acquainted with Ireland. But he obtained some information from that country, which he used to sketch a portrait of Malachy as a reforming bishop, for such he conceived him to be. His life of the Irish bishop served to illustrate a pastoral treatise concerning Church prelates that had been composed some time previously for the Archbishop of Sens.

Following a council at Rheims in April 1148, Bernard grew alarmed at the dangers posed by the teaching of Gilbert de la Porrée on the Trinity. His concern is revealed in the five-volume work that occupied his final years. Eugene III, his former disciple, requested a work on papal spirituality, which gave Bernard an opportunity to outline a synthesis of all his concepts. The treatise, entitled Consideration, is concerned with self-knowledge and the contemplation of God. This term, which is found in the Bible, had appeared in the Pastoral Rule, which St. Gregory the Great intended for the clergy of his day and which, for centuries after him, served as a manual of the spiritual life for bishops and priests. Bernard thought it should be rewritten for his own time.

The role of the Pope had evolved since the sixth century when the Pastoral Rule appeared. 'The Roman Curia had developed in a manner that Bernard judged excessive and that gave rise to certain abuses. Once again he spoke his mind as he had done in the treatise On the Conduct and Duties of Bishops. He knew that not everyone in the papal entourage approved of this French abbot who interfered so effectively in numerous conflicts. The tension between him and the Italians in the Curia surfaced at the time of the schism of Anacletus and later during the controversy over Abelard. Bernard maintained the friendships he had formed with Italian cities where he was once warmly received; he did not favor the Roman cardinals' tendency toward centralization. As devoted as he was to-the cause of unity between Pope and Christians, he refused to be an absolute instrument of centralization; he was more the Pope's man than a Curial agent. So much is evident in the third book of Consideration, surely the most virulent attack ever written on the Roman Curia. His position of strength enabled Bernard to avoid flattering or seeking the favor of any of the influential members of Church government; yet his condemnation of abuses was accepted, stated as it was with authority and within the lofty context of the spiritual life. He was, in fact, as successful as he had been with the Apology on the subject of Cluny, and the treatise On the Conduct and Duties of Bishops. The number of manuscript editions of Consideration still preserved in the Vatican Library proves that many Popes, cardinals, and other prelates had their

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own copy of this work, which was a forceful reminder of their duties as Churchmen. Even in our own day a certain Curial cardinal revealed that each year he reread Consideration during his annual retreat.

What might in effect have been a critical work, serving only "to tear down," to use a Pauline phrase, became at Bernard's hands a constructive work, useful for "building up." Rather than beginning with an attack on practical and immediate problems, he started with what is most essential in any spirituality: the difficulty of remaining centered in God while greatly involved in the service of one's neighbor. This is a vital question confronting Christians in every age; the response he gave in this treatise, therefore, is of permanent and universal value.

Writing in a confident, pedagogical style, Bernard left aside the concrete, existential situation of the Pope and anyone else engaged in active service. Then he took the reader by the hand, so to speak, and led him from a consideration of himself to an examination of the reality that is below him, then to that which is around him, finally coming to that which is above him. Book Five of Consideration, in which he discusses these realities, is his final literary endeavor and represents the summit of his doctrine: quiet contemplation of the mysteries of the Trinity and the incarnation.

By the spring of 1153, Bernard was 63 years old and worn out, but still had enormous spiritual energy. He was in the process of carefully revising his most important works, word by word, so as to leave behind a corrected, definitive edition. However, his physical strength began to ebb and he fell ill, just as serious political problems broke out in Lorraine. The Archbishop of Tréves came to Clairvaux asking him to go to Metz and act once again as mediator. Bernard got up, went off to Metz where he fulfilled his mission, and returned to his monastery, where he died on August 20, 1153.

There were many ecclesiastical issues in which Bernard was involved that have not been touched on here. Nothing has been said, for example, of his activities on behalf of Church reform or of his efforts to renew and expand communities of monks and Canons Regular, including foundations made by Clairvaux, which were one of his most constant concerns. His occasional partiality toward Cistercians gave rise to problems, notably in the case of episcopal appointments to Langres and York, when his judgment was less than objective. At other times as well—during conflicts between rulers and nobility, on the occasion of marriages with their juridical, political, and canonical consequences—

Bernard was so convinced of the rightness of his course that he exag-

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gerated in a way that rhetoric alone cannot explain. He omitted or played down certain facts while emphasizing others, and too willingly listened to hearsay, which was sometimes untrue.

Contradictions also occur in his writings. At times he caught himself in inconsistencies for which he expressed regret and asked forgiveness, and suppressed those passages in his letters before sending them out. But this was not always the case. When considering Bernard's motives, then, it is very difficult to unravel what is purely human from what is faithful to the Gospel. Surely God alone is the judge. But historians have the right to get to the bottom of such inconsistencies, which although infrequent are nonetheless regrettable.

However, in most cases he acted as peacemaker, trying, often with success, to reconcile enemies. He also kept close watch on the spiritual progress of his community and was responsible for the economic development and administration of Clairvaux. All of this gives us some idea of the tremendous activity he carried on, while maintaining the contemplative life without which he could not have written so well on contemplation.

Bernard's action and contemplation are two sides of his character, which come across clearly in his letters and sermons. It has been estimated that he sent a thousand letters or so, more than five hundred of which have been preserved. They vary greatly in length—from a few lines to long treatises—although most are a few pages long, and they are equally diverse in subject matter. They form a literary unit, however, because Bernard did not, as a rule, send a simple business letter giving concrete instructions about specific problems. His epistles, elevated in tone with scriptural allusions, spoke of the spiritual life, stressed motivation and intention, and recalled fundamental truths. His correspondence is thus somewhat disappointing to the historian who finds in it more in the way of ideas and feelings than detailed information. The latter was confided to the messenger, who passed it along orally to the recipient. The written text itself was concerned with placing every situation within the entire context of Church reform. Bernard was fully aware of the doctrinal nature of his letters and spent the last years of his life, aided by his secretary, Geoffrey of Auxerre, putting together an official collection intended for publication. He selected 225 letters, and revised the text and arranged it in a most systematic manner. An early selection indicates the tone of the letters: It consists of texts describing the principal aspects of the monastic vocation and life.

Next, following the chronological order of the Popes, he organized let-

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ters in hierarchical order to Popes, cardinals, bishops, abbots, laymen, and women. It is clear from the choice of his texts and their presentation that Bernard wanted to create a true "mirror of the Church," holding out to each member a program for his or her life. He wished also to indicate the principles to be followed in resolving various cases as they arose. Thus this corpus of documents written on different occasions has become a summary of applied spirituality.

The other set of writings that reflect Bernard's lifelong teaching is his liturgical sermons, which are the longest and most contemplative of his works. Bernard gave many sermons, especially to his monks, but never wrote any of them down. Fortunately we can reconstruct his sermons and capture his oral style, thanks to the hundreds of sentences his listeners jotted down, giving either a summary or the development of his actual preaching. These remnants are important source material that were forgotten until our own time and discovered during preparation of the recent critical edition of the complete works of St. Bernard. They indicate the extent to which Bernard's doctrine influenced the daily life of his monks, and reveal much about their psychology as well as his own.

Like the Church Fathers, Bernard wrote in various literary categories—treatises, sermons on the Song of Songs, letters, saints' lives, and sermons for the liturgical year. He drafted hundreds of liturgical sermons, none of which were actually preached in the form that has come down to us. His extant sermons are those that were dictated to a secretary, who marked them up by way of editing, and then made them public. Depending on circumstances, the secretary sometimes had a considerable part to play in the work of copying both the sermons and the letters. Certain texts underwent several different editions, and among these there are varying degrees of authenticity. St. Bernard never wrote on anything but wax tablets, naturally a perishable record.

He has left nothing written in his own hand, not even a signature. The problems that arise with homiletic works can be solved only with the help of the manuscript tradition, which, happily, is abundant, even unique in history. When he had decided to deliver a message in the form of a sermon, Bernard conformed to the rules of that genre: He pretended to have an audience in front of him and imagined their reactions to what he said, although, of course, he was speaking only in the presence of a scribe. But the tone of the sermon was always one of a "contemplative discourse," teaching the truths of the faith and their effects in the Christian life.

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Bernard's sermons are concerned for the most part with the mysteries and scriptural texts celebrated and proclaimed in the liturgy. A percentage of them are devoted to "various topics": virtues or vices, and monastic observances. Farly on, these texts circulated as a fairly long and rather organized series of-sermons. Little by little, however, they came to be grouped in categories, reflecting the development of the liturgical cycle. Toward the end of his life, Bernard himself put together a vast collection of his sermons, which forms a genuine commentary on the liturgical year. Beginning with Advent and going through to the mysteries celebrated at the end of the Church year in November, Bernard discusses the liturgical seasons and the feasts of Our Lord, Our Lady, and the saints. He wrote an actual treatise for each of the major Church feasts. He began with the Old Testament development of the particular event, then explained its dogmatic content and significance in terms of the New Testament, coming at last to its moral and psychological application. His sermons, which recently have become the object of methodical study by scholars, reveal a vast amount of dogmatic and practical theology and are yielding ever new riches.

So far we have seen St. Bernard's development and the evolution of his work. There is a certain internal logic to the growth pattern that gives it a unity in spite of the vicissitudes of his life, which spans an age in which the Church underwent extraordinary contention. His life consisted of a series of experiences that stemmed from his dedication to the Church. They often involved conflicting situations and his writings show how he reacted to these circumstances, and to personal and general problems. In each case, he reflected on the human condition and on God's activity in transforming it, and found meaning in the confusion of chance events. St. Bernard should be read in the same manner as he wrote: His writings should be seen as a reflection of his experiences as he interacted with people and events.

His spirituality derived from a particular period of history but he was able to draw lessons from it that are of permanent and universal value.

Although his writings were often occasioned by circumstances, they give us an insight into his profound beliefs, which are those of classical Christianity and, as such, will continue to be shared by a great many readers.

INTRODUCTION

SIGNIFICANCE AND SourCcES OF His MESSAGE Problems with St. Bernard St. Bernard's written works run.to some 3,500 pages. It'is far from easy to select passages that form only 10 percent of the whole and yet give an idea of the totality. Nor is it any less difficult to put his compositions in order. It must be said at the start that St. Bernard is not an easy author; one of the problems is that he says so much about everything. His is the logic of love that is without measure, drawing all things to itself, as to its center. It would not be entirely satisfactory to follow a strictly chronological order in presenting the chosen texts.

The dates of some of the works are not known with certainty; at times, he wrote very different works in the same period. To adopt a systematic order would imply a subjective element and constitute an interpretation. This last method, however, cannot be completely avoided since Bernard himself has not put together any system or left a summary. We are dealing here with a poet, rather than a professor, who freely casts his ideas in every direction, leaving his readers to organize them according to their needs and inclination. A compromise, then, would seem to be necessary in presenting his works. In the beginning we will give two of the early treatises that briefly set out the motivating doctrinal principles of Bernard's life. At the end,

I will offer selections from two of the great works of his mature period to demonstrate how the whole of this doctrine influenced his personal life and activity. In between, various other texts will show how his course of action proceeded from his doctrine.

There are problems when trying to present extracts from so large and varied a body of work. Bernard was a contemplative who realized the value of time and wrote at leisure. Speaking of a precept in the Book of Wisdom, he said: "The writer achieves wisdom only with time."

Modern man is in a hurry; he likes to discover ideas quickly without much reading and even his prayer is often hasty. The aim of the ancient and medieval spiritual authors was not to provide food for reflection; rather, they sought to encourage an experience through recollections of a poetical nature. They gave free rein to their imagination in a way that, to us, seems more like fantasy than thought. They wrote playfully of symbols and were given to variations on biblical themes that appear more rhapsodic than strictly theological. The medieval style often seems obscure but is, in fact, mysterious: The deliberate lack of clarity

INTRODUCTION

hides inexhaustible treasures. Each reading of St. Bernard brings to light unsuspected riches, whether the reader is influenced by the ancient thought of Plato or more modern thinkers like C. Jung or P. Ricoeur. The exegesis of St. Bernard's works is in its early stages; as human knowledge advances, it will suggest certain clues, as yet unknown, for the interpretation of his writings.

'The purpose of an introduction is not to give in advance a summation of the texts chosen or of the works selected; nor should it explain the entire content of the writer's thought. Instead, it should indicate the problems that may arise when reading the works; additionally, it should offer guidelines to the reader by placing excerpts within the context of the entire work and drawing attention to certain aspects that may not be immediately apparent. The introduction should, however, allow the reader the joy of personal discovery. It may discuss certain things that are not in the selected texts but are necessary to an understanding of them. Without going into detail, it ought to propose a few basic ideas that will encourage some readers, at least, to proceed to a reading of the entire work.

It can be said that for Bernard everything begins and ends with experience and, in between, experience is the object of reflection. God is the source of all things, including experience, but the first object of man's thought is himself and the experience of his unique personal history. He tries to understand that history with the help of God's grace and in light of his word. This experience of himself and his pitiable condition sends him back to God and causes him to experience his love; it also leads him to put that love into practice according to the circumstances in which he is called to serve his brothers in the Church. None of these aspects of St. Bernard should be neglected; to treat only the theory or only the asceticism would be to break the unity of his thought. Bernard's theology is practical and authentic; although it involves a measure of speculative thinking, it is rooted in and intended for everyday life.

History and Experience The first point to be clarified in any introduction to the writings of St.

Bernard is his use of Sacred Scripture, for it can present a serious obstacle to the modern mind, which is so accustomed to critical and scientific exegesis. His biblical sense is not unique but is shared with the Church Fathers and other medieval spiritual writers. Some have

INTRODUCTION

pushed the method even farther than he but Bernard's use of Scripture is so free and constant—and marked by seeming imagination—that it risks losing the modern reader and requires, therefore, some clarification.

His idea of Scripture can be summarized by saying that it is, for him, a pretext, in both senses of the word. First, it is a text that predates his own experience and thinking and in that sense is a "pre-text." He was able to interpret his experience only because it had its continual source in the Church. He could thus similarly understand the solution that the Spirit of God brought to his problems, or more exactly, to the problem that he had with himself. Once his understanding and relationship to God had improved, he could freely use Scripture to speak of himself to God, and of God to others. Everything in the Bible then served as a "pretext" for his liberal proclamations.

Love is the sole object of the sacred texts that recount the history both of salvation and of personal experience. Everything comes from and must lead to love. Salvation history is a love story between God and his people, between God and his Church, between God and each person. God is the source, origin, and inspiration of the Bible—a belief that determines how it is read and utilized. God's love is self-revealing; it is expressed through the inspired authors and later through his Incarnate Son. God continues to speak in the words he has left us and through his Spirit, who continues in us the work he began with the biblical writers. The sacred author—and to the greatest degree, Jesus

Christ—speaks and writes because of love, under the influence and control of that love which he has experienced.

Out of love God seeks us and wants us to seek him. He longs for us, draws us to himself, and is present to us through his powerful words and in his Word. Through grace, he does everything to ensure that we will go to him to experience an encounter of loving union. God's presence in the Bible is actual and effective. Scripture, which provides the attractive wrapping on divine love, is written for all men collectively as well as each person individually. We are asked to remove the cover and find the hidden contents within; in this way, sacred history, which is universal, objective, impersonal, and external, becomes our history.

The Bible does more than recount history, even holy history, or present a collection of truths. Its facts and ideas serve as both pre-text and pretext for this encounter between two loves: that of God for man and man for God.

Since we are creatures of the flesh who, with all animals, are re-

INTRODUCTION

ceptive to sensations and thereby form images, God has adapted himself to our nature to explain his mysteries. From every level of human experience he has used symbols that we must now decipher. The symbolic meaning must be understood with the help of the same Spirit who inspired the biblical texts. Thus we.are to take part in the experience of the sacred authors and help one another to understand, through analogy, the meaning of God's mysteries.

Bernard saw his teaching role as essentially that of a biblical exegete. He was fully aware that he could exercise that function only with the help of God's grace; accordingly, he often asked, at the beginning and end of his sermons, for prayers for enlightenment. Tradition has regarded him chiefly as an exegete and the earliest artists depicted him holding the Book, opening it and explaining it. His very title "Doctor

Mellifluous" was bestowed because of his interpretation of Scripture and has nothing to do with the characteristic sweetness of honey. Instead, the epithet is in keeping with a traditional explanation, derived from Origen and developed by Bernard himself. According to the theory, one draws the hidden meaning from the literal sense of the biblical text, just as honey is made to flow from the honeycomb or as Moses drew water from the rock.

We could illustrate these considerations with several quotations that have been put together in specialized studies, but the texts given in this volume will provide enough examples. Whenever necessary Bernard explained each word of the text as strictly and precisely as twelfthcentury methods allowed, and it may be inferred that he invites the modern reader to make use of the scientific exegesis of our time. But customarily he used a text that was considered familiar—a pre-text— as a pretext to speak of God, as God had spoken through the inspired poets and as the Church speaks in her liturgy—with the freedom born of love. This poetic language may not be the only one possible but it is certainly best suited for bringing the history of salvation within the experience of each person and for referring indirectly to the mystery within that history and experience. Scripture verses filled his mind and memory to overflowing; they were always on the tip of his tongue, but he did not use them indiscriminately. Generally his intuition suggested a basic text that capsulized his thought exactly but he prepared himself and his reader with all sorts of references and recollections. Then the experience was expressed and the key quotation given, often preceded by a lemma such as *And finally .

. Denique," which was an indication that the reasoning was concluded.

INTRODUCTION

In Bernard's method there is an authentic reasoning process that is quite different from that of logic and abstract speculation. In his treatise On Grace and Free Will, he demonstrated his ability to make use of abstract ideas and speculative reasoning. But he always endeavored to have his reader share in his own thinking. He assimilated the Bible so completely that it became part of himself and he had no need to refer to the text before quoting it to verify his statements. He cited Scripture from memory and often as it was given in the antiphons and responsaries sung in the liturgy, where text and melody were adapted to one another. Through Scripture he received his faith, in the Church and through its tradition. Then he used Scripture to give expression to that faith, sharing its "taste" and "savor," as he said. The content of the message must first be known or perceived, as it were, through the exterior senses; it must next be assented to. The condition for arriving at that kind of spiritual perception is love, without which the Bible becomes a dead letter. And the result is wisdom—in Latin sapientia, which indicates taste and flavor—with its blessings of joy, love, thanksgiving, and song.

We can read St. Bernard with a grasp of his theology and without annoyance at his poetry if we are open to his charm, if we let him "enchant" us, literally; for his style, which includes a biblical reference in nearly every line, is what he himself has termed a spiritual canticle: carmen spiritus. Ideally, he should be read in Latin and out loud so as to appreciate the music of his words. Much of his prose is actually poetry in verse, with rhyme, assonance, and a refined sense of rhythm. Any translation, however careful, must necessarily lose something of this harmony and part of the biblical flavor. In reading Bernard, we must sing with him; as he said of his sermons on the Song of Songs: "Only the voice that sings can understand, Sola quae cantat audit."

Scripture is so important in Bernard's works that there is a temptation to neglect his other sources. He quoted from authors before his time but it is extremely rare for him to give credit, even to a Father of the Church. This was undoubtedly part of the living tradition he had received from the readings at the Divine Office or in community, or from those he did privately, or from conversations he had with William of St.-Thierry or other spiritual and learned men. At times too much effort has been made to put references after some of his sentences, as though he had borrowed them from others. He depended especially on a general atmosphere and a rich tradition. He had certainly read the texts of St. Anthony, St. Augustine, and St. Gregory the Great, and

INTRODUCTION

Origen's commentary on the Song of Songs; from these Fathers he retained certain germinal ideas, which he later developed with constructive freedom.

The only theologian from whom he definitely borrowed some ideas was another monk and abbot, a contemporary of his youth and a spiritual author as well as a metaphysician: St. Anselm of Canterbury.

Bernard was not always his match when it came to the power of dialectic. But on at least one important point he extended St. Anselm's thought, explaining it by means of a subtle yet clear distinction, which has to do with the relationship of freedom and grace, and is found in his treatise on that subject. Elsewhere in his work, Bernard admits the contributions of his predecessors; however, he goes beyond them and makes them applicable first to himself and then to his readers, whom he invites to do the same.

Tue Way or Love:

From Humitity To EcsrAsv On the path leading back to God, the point of departure is humility and the point of destination is love. Both are a question of experience, then a matter of reflection, and at length become motivating principles put into practice.

Interior Struggle St. Bernard's religious experience has sometimes been described almost exclusively in terms of what we usually call the mystical experience, that is, those rare occasions when a handful of Christians may enjoy sublime states of prayer and union with God. It is true that in his work references to his experience can sometimes be construed in that way; however, we must elaborate on his meaning, which extends to man's awareness of himself and his wretchedness and takes into account his distance from God. It is this fundamental understanding that awakens the call to God and prepares the individual to discern God's response and receive his "visit." From this point of view, there can be no "mystical" experience without a prior "ascetic" experience. All of Bernard's teaching has this experiential quality, as we say today, and 1 will explain this statement with certain examples.

The point of departure for Bernard's entire doctrine is an intense, personal experience of the interior struggle. All of his theology is

INTRODUCTION

merely a reflection on this primary fact in light of the Gospels and St.

Paul. He reflected on it daily, recognizing that it was also the experience of every man. Man had lost the perfect spiritual freedom that permitted continual union with God through an unwavering adherence to the divine will, but he can still regain that freedom. He does not despair for he knows that God became man and saved us in Jesus Christ, and that hereafter his salutary grace is at work in us. Thus, there are always two sides to the question: a deep realism that causes humility, and a sure hope that gives rise to courage and optimism. These are the two traditional aspects of what has been described as compunction by St.

Gregory the Great and the monastic tradition. Etienne Gilson has written to the effect that the philosophy of St. Augustine is essentially a metaphysics of conversion, because it is dominated by the one fact of the religious experience of his own conversion. Even so, it could be argued that St. Bernard's doctrine is a theology of compunction, fostered by the basic monastic experience as tradition described it and as he knew it—he and a great many monks with whom he was so close, in whose name and for whom he spoke and wrote. This comes through clearly in the thousands of references scattered throughout his work.

In realistic, often moving, and sometimes exaggerated terms, Bernard frequently declares the limits of the human condition, what today's philosophers call man's finiteness. Depending on the case, he gives more or less attention to the states of mind that, according to today's philosophy, characterize existence: anxiety, loneliness, failure, absurdity, reason's inability to explain everything, the tendency toward discouragement, and anguish in the face of death. Still, if Bernard had remained at that point, he would have added nothing to what the pessimistic moralists of ancient times and the latter-day preachers had said all along. His description of the interior struggle serves as the starting point for a reflection that shows Christian hope as the remedy for human need. "Misery," as he says in connection with Scripture, calls upon "mercy," using a word play that also has its origin in the Bible. (Note: In Latin, mercy is misericordia; in French, miséricorde.

Thus, the pun is lost in English.) In contrast to the sinner-self there is God, who is all-holy, whose power is as great as his love, who can and will come to man's aid, and who has already done so in Jesus Christ.

Using scriptural concepts and allusions, Bernard describes a kind of alchemy that transforms weakness into a capacity for grace through which man may act according to God's will and proceed toward his encounter and ultimate union with the Lord.

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a - "Weakness" and "temptation" are at first experienced matter-offactly. They next become the object of "thought," "meditation,"

"self-knowledge," and then of "discernment." "Conscience" grasps their positive value and meaning as an opportunity for conversion and a return to God. The battlefield of the human heart and the victory to be won there provide the theme for his sermons on Lent and on Psalm 90; the latter is a psalm in time of temptation, which Jesus cited when he was tempted in the desert. The psalm and especially the words oculis tuis considerabis are the occasion for a development of contemplative knowledge, which is an inward-looking glance of self-judgment, as clear and searching as possible. Since this is a glance of faith, it sees within our true self already altered, transformed, and on the path to glorification through the working of grace. Contemplative knowledge has two inseparable objects: selftruth and self-judgment on the one hand, faith in God's kindness on the other; this explains the profound optimism of the Christian who, having taken the measure of his condition, does not yield to despair.

Bernard describes man's internal contradiction—the difficulty of so many discordant elements in us—and then shows that grace is already bringing them into harmony. This is a true cause for wonder.

He refers to the path by which we travel from misery to glory and thereby gives an indication of the last four books of De Consideratione.

His declaration that harmony is possible among so many contrasting elements in man causes great admiration for God's work throughout the world and in all of creation. Bernard attributes this attitude especially to contemplatives.

Hi vero qui cum Maria soli Deo vacant, considerantes quid sit Deus in mundo, quid in bominibus, quid in angelis, quid in seipso, quid in reprobis, contemplantur quia Deus est mundi rector et gubernator, bominum liberator et adiutor, angelorum sapor et decor, in seipso principium et finis, reproborum terror et horror. In creaturis mirabilis, in bominibus amabilis, in angelis desiderabilis, in seipso incomprebensibilis, in reprobis intolerabilis.

[There are those who, along with Mary, are concerned with God alone. They dwell on what God is in the world, in human beings, in angels, in himself, and in the condemned.

They dwell on the reality of God as the ruler and lord of the world, as the liberator and helper of men, as the delight and

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beauty of the angels, as beginning and end within himself, as the terror and fright of wrongdoers. He is marvelous in his creatures, lovable in men, desirable in angels, beyond comprehension in himself, and intolerable in the reprobate. ]

All of Bernard's teaching is concerned with this passage from "flesh" to "spirit," in the Pauline sense, and from self-centeredness to an openness to the whole of creation as the result of going beyond oneself, of surpassing that instinctive self, as yet unliberated by grace. In its most elevated forms, this going beyond will be the excessus or going out of self that is ecstasy. But apart from these exceptional cases, those rare, brief moments, the monk, who performs the duties incumbent on every Christian with total dedication, must try throughout each day to surpass himself, to raise himself to the level of the grace that is already present and active in him. This he attempts by ascetic practices: by contemplating Christ in Scripture and by prayer and mortification in all its forms. In this way, he will succeed in rediscovering his true self on its true level, namely, on the level of the spiritual life, or that of the Spirit. He will also find the true self of others, and of God; these three discoveries constitute the three degrees of charity.

It has not always been sufficiently noticed that the entire Bernardine theory of the restoration of the image of God in man is a "monastic" doctrine. It includes a concept of grace and freedom that is of remarkable accuracy as a theory; the doctrine also involves the practice of asceticism, or the daily use of concrete means by which man strives to make himself anew, according to Christ's example. St. Bernard's treatises on "theology" are inseparable from the text of his letters and sermons in which he gives details on how the monk can live up to his ideal. From this point of view, books such as the Apology and The Rule and Dispensation, as well as other writings on obedience, provide the necessary complement to works of a more dogmatic character. Those who study the history of doctrine are especially given to lingering over the latter.

Man's end is to recognize truth, which is God. To do this he must be aware that his relationship with God is based on need. The obstacle to the relationship is pride; the remedy is humility. Grace is the condition for meeting God in Christ. The result is the esteem man places on his dignity, rediscovered in God's image. While self-ignorance and pride lessen man's worth, humility, which recognizes man's need as well as his capacity for God, reveals man to himself. In this way, he

INTRODUCTION

emerges from himself and ascends; he grows and reaches new dimensions of love, both for God and for neighbor. In this context, Bernard uses the expressions sese excedere and extendere. The humble man becomes gentle and merciful: miser, mitis, misericors. Thus, faith and asceticism—or, more exactly, living-faith transformed in humility and charity—cause the real self to emerge from the ego, to use current expressions. Faith and asceticism awaken the ego to the freedom enjoyed by the real self and enable it to become a person in the sight of God, who delights it with communion and fellowship.

Bernard always conveys this message of glory, but tempered by his message of humility; it is a doctrine of extreme realism that considers man's wretched condition and, at the same time, displays perfect confidence in the glory that is already within him and simply awaits the moment to show forth its effects. Literary expression will reveal a little of that hidden light which can be perceived with the eye of faith. With St. Bernard and other great spiritual writers, the intensity of experience can explain the strong character and impassioned speech and, consequently, accounts for a degree of exaggeration in his writing. Whether speaking of the depths of man's vileness or the heights he may reach during visits from the Word of God, Bernard seems at times to go too far, to go beyond the limits of what is reasonable, or at least what is normal and customary. Actually, he simply reveals about himself what is true of all of us. His writings are an indication of his thinking, which is contemplative and, at the same time, concerned with the well-being of others. Each of his works began with a particular purpose in mind, but in each one Bernard achieved universal application. The more a person understands himself, the more he can enlighten others about themselves.

Knowledge and Love The treatises on humility and love must be read in the light of this knowledge about oneself and others. The two works are parallel and complement one another. One is concerned with the degrees of knowledge and the other with those of love. Humility is the knowledge or, more exactly, the active recognition, the acknowledgement, of the truth about three realities: first, about ourselves and our finiteness; second, about others: Since the misfortune of the human condition is common to all people, we have no right to judge or feel superior to anyone else; third, about God, who, in his Son Jesus Christ, has shown us the way

INTRODUCTION

to return to the truth and the fullness of life, which is beyond our limitations. Through this "contempt for self," which is a true appreciation of self taking into account our tendency toward evil as well as our ability to accept God, we come to the profound truth that is at the very heart of our existence, without which our existence would have no meaning and, in that sense, no existential truth.

All of this would not be possible except for God's grace, which reconciles us to what Christ has revealed, taught, and lived. He was and is the Image of God and the model we are to imitate and conform to. He submitted to the "law" of suffering and death in order to free us from the law and from the slavery of sin. "If we believe in Him and therefore imitate his humility, we are admitting the truth about ourselves. The weight of our distress no longer oppresses us; the certainty of being able to reach God makes our ascent to Him less difficult." Our charity becomes limitless, embracing even our enemies; it urges us to be visibly compassionate toward everyone and enables us to accept all difficulties. Little by little ardor and fervor replace misery and pain.

Now purified, the "heart" experiences peace. It can contemplate God; that is, it can behold him without seeing him, for it is already united to God as a wife is joined to her husband. Here many quotations spring to mind from the Song of Songs, which Bernard expounded at length in the great work that occupied his final years. The essence of his message is already germinally present in this treatise on humility, an achievement of his youthful period. This discourse also stresses the role of the Holy Spirit, whose liberating work enables us to go beyond our finiteness, to be open to everyone, and to be united to the One who is All. Thus, as a result of humility, which is a true realization of himself and his relationship to every other being, man is able to give meaning and direction to his existence. He is made for union with God: Such is his reason for being, and he has the assurance of being able to fulfill his calling.

In the treatise on love, the degrees of love correspond to those of knowledge. They are also three in number, the fourth being an exceptionally rare foretaste of the absolutely perfect love to come in heavenly glory. We must love ourselves, love others, and love God.

Love of self begins with acceptance of our carnal condition, namely, that we exist in a body and with a body; not simply that we

"have" a body but that we are a body. We must ensure all its basic needs: food, clothing, and proper care. But we must love it in moderation, unlike the love we owe to God, which ought to be wholehearted.

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Here we see the reason for Bernard's profound optimism concerning the body and his insistence on ascetic practices to keep it under control.

For if we give in to all its impulses, we cannot master the succeeding degrees of love. Our body may make us carnal, but we are also endowed with a mind, which allows us to be open to others.

We should note at first that our human condition, a combination of finiteness and possible greatness, is undeniably the common lot of all human beings. Our love, therefore, must become "social," and this implies recognition of the following truth: We exist in a society from which we receive and to which we must contribute, and this entails many practical consequences of which Bernard often spoke to his monks. He greatly insisted on "social grace" as a requirement for any communal life; this is a trait equally necessary for any Christian. Everything that Bernard said about fraternal love in the rest of his work, and everything he did throughout his life in the service of his neighbor, was simply the practical application of the social character of love.

This love must, however, lead to God. Loving God with all one's being means, at first, with one's entire body. Being master of one's body and refusing to give in to all its instinctive urges does not destroy it. Even the martyr does not lose his body forever; it will be restored to him in glory and will share in infinite, eternal love, with the human being completely united to the Risen Christ. He in whom the fullness of divinity dwelt bodily has now entered into the light of the Father, the Word, and the Spirit. Anyone united to him will also enter that light. The body, then, during earthly life and for all eternity, is a ^companion" that God gives to the soul, and as such it must be loved. "Nec sane dixerim ut vel ipsam odio habeas carnem tuam. Dilige eam tamquam tibi datam in adiutorium." [Nor would I say that you should hate your own body. Love it as something that has been given to you to help you.]

This supposes that the body is a good thing, even if it bears the mark and consequences of sin like the rest of man. It must be recalled, too, that for Bernard the "concupiscence of the flesh" that is discussed in the New Testament is not a reality of the body, but of the "flesh," in the sense that St. Paul uses that word: Concupiscence involves the whole being in its sinful condition. This is what Bernard expresses when he says at times that concupiscence is found not in the body, but in the "heart." When the heart has been healed, purified, and redirected, it takes the body with it in its flight to God. Bernard firmly believed that man could control his appetites. His realistic acceptance of the libido and his belief in its possible sublimation, with the help of

INTRODUCTION

grace, strike a modern note. Once we grasp the meaning of Bernard's medieval language—itself a legacy of the Bible—we see how he casts a Christian light on what psychology confirms but cannot resolve from a theological point of view.

Another feature of St. Bernard that brings him close-to modern psychology is the importance he places on desire. In it he sees a form of love, pointing to the possession of and union with God that will be completely realized only in our future life beyond time. St. Bernard gives a very strong meaning to the word "desire"; it is not simply a feeling of discontent or an emotional tendency toward what would fill the present emptiness. It is a vital and positive fact: Desire is the form that love takes in our earthly existence. God is present in this desire, which he has placed in the depth of our being to enable us to overcome the disappointments caused by every other desire. The desire for God is already a genuine manner of possessing him; it is the certainty that God is present to us, through faith, in spite of his apparent absence; it is the sure hope that this absence will be transformed into total presence, this darkness into light.

Placing ourselves in Bernard's perspective, we grasp the dynamic of the ascending degrees of love, from its most ordinary forms, accessible to everyone, to its most sublime manifestations. The heights of love are granted rarely, briefly, and only to a few, but they have been promised to everyone, forever, and in a definitive manner; then desire will give way to possession because faith will be transformed into vision. Here Bernard presents a very realistic, practical, and progressive program; it begins with meditation on the examples Christ has left us from his earthly life and ends in "ecstasy," that state in which a person is transported outside himself and is, for a moment, united with his life in glory, thus experiencing a foretaste of his existence for all eternity.

Bernard is in complete conformity on this point with the traditional doctrine of the Church Fathers, according to which the experiences of the mystics are a prophetic anticipation of the blessed gifts proper to the Risen Christ and to those who have been raised with him.

OPENING OURSELVES TO THE MysTERY or Gop All of Bernard's teaching on the topics already mentioned presupposes a dogmatic theology of God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit. Not only does he assume faith in these mysteries but he often refers to it in a rather

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developed manner. Many of his texts speak explicitly of faith in God's mysteries. I will quote from some of them, also draw attention to the major theses that make up his thought.

God is the origin of all things; he is the absolute being discussed in Book V of the Consideration; he is.the Trinity spoken of in the eighth sermon on the Song of Songs. In the latter, Bernard tries to give an idea of the triune God by comparing him to what is similar and dissimilar, and by describing the interchange between the one who kisses, the one who is kissed, and the kiss that unites them.

Not only has this ineffable mystery been revealed to us, but it has also been communicated and shared in the mysteries of the Incarnate

Word. In order to speak to men, God made an image of himself, since men, as corporal beings, cannot understand or express things without images. The Bible, which is a book of mental pictures, places within our reach all the symbols, characters, and parables by which God prepared the coming of his Image and his Word. Moreover, the New Testament makes us witnesses of the parable of Christ's entire earthly life, from the time he was born of the Virgin Mary to the moment he ascended to the Father. Bernard's Christology is so elaborate, coherent, and complete that any attempt to summarize it would risk impoverishment and distortion. Here I shall cite just two important facts necessary for understanding the significance of the texts presented in this volume.

The first is the effective and exemplary importance attached to the human experience of Christ, of which Bernard often spoke, especially with reference to the passage in the Epistle to the Hebrews that tells of Jesus learning obedience and suffering through what he experienced.

In his Son, God wished to share man's experience of finiteness. This is illustrated in a text taken from one of the sermons on St. Andrew (1.6) devoted to the theme of the Cross—the Cross of Christ, the Cross of the Apostle and martyr, the Cross of the Christian:

Quid magnum fuerat, Domine Iesu, si, accedente bora propter quam veneras, intrepidus stares, tamquam qui potestatem babebas ponendi animam tuam, et nemo tollebat eam a te? Aut non longe gloriosius fuit, quando quidem totum propter nos agebatur, ut non modo passio corporis, sed etiam cordis affectio pro nobis faciat, et quos vivificabat mors tua, tua nibilominus et trepidatio robustos, et maestitia laetos, et taedium alacres, et turbatio quietos faciar, et desolatio consolatos?

Lego quidem in Lazari resurrectione, quia infremuit spiritu et turbavit seipsum. Sed esto interim quia se ipse turbavit, non conditionis

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necessitate, sed suae beneplacito voluntatis. Nunc autem aliquid iam amplius audio. Usque adeo siquidem praevaluit ea quae fortis est ut mors dilectio, ut Christum Dei angelus confortaverit. Quis, quem?

Evangelistam audi:

Apparuit, inquit, angelus confortans eum. [How great it was, Lord Jesus, as the hour for which you bad come approacbed, tbat you stood intrepid as one bolding tbe power to lay down your own life and not have someone take 1t from you. Yet only a little more glorious was it that you did all of this for our sake. You committed to us not only your body's suffering but also your heart's affection. Your death gave us life, your fear made us brave, your sadness made us joyful, your loathing made us eager, your trouble made us tranquil, and your desolation consoled us. I read that at the resurrection of Lazarus, your spirit groaned and writhed in distress. Yet this happened not because 1t was forced on you, but because you consented to 1t out of kindness. Now I bear something else more clearly:

For all this time love, which is as strong as death, has prevailed, so that the angel of God could comfort Christ. Who comforted whom?

Listen to the Evangelist: The angel appeared and comforted him.] Yet nothing is brought to completion in the Passion alone. Like the whole of his human existence from the moment of the incarnation, the suffering of Christ on the Cross was directed toward his glorification, which is made manifest in the brilliance of the ascension. Bernard had great devotion to the mystery of the ascension and initiated a solemn procession at Clairvaux to mark the feast; this was contrary to the usages of Citeaux but came, in time, to be adopted by the whole Order.

He has left more sermons on the ascension than on almost any other mystery, including the Passion. He saw the ascension as the fulfillment of the mystery of love in which the Incarnate Word returned to the glory of the Father. Formerly hidden in the humility of the flesh, the Son now sends the Holy Spirit to men to unite them to the Father in love. The ascension symbolizes Christ passing from the life of the flesh to glory in the life of the Spirit. This transition from flesh to Spirit can be accomplished in us because it has first taken place in Christ. The Spirit comes to us by means of the flesh of the Lord, which is united to his divinity; by the flesh of the Son of man, we are raised to the Spirit of the Son of God.

Bernard's Christology is made complete by a theology of the Holy Spirit—a pneumatology—the elements of which are scattered throughout his works. He discusses the Holy Spirit in relation to the Father

INTRODUCTION

and the Son, in relation to Christ, and to each of us. He is fond of expanding on the biblical theme of the "gifts" of the Spirit, which today we call charisms. Among the variety of the gifts, he distinguishes those we receive for ourselves from those we receive for the sake of others.

The former are infused; the latter are poured out upon us. We must know how to "discern" between the two categories of gifts and this insight is itself an effect of the Spirit within us. Then, we must learn to help others to see clearly within themselves; this endeavor is the correct object of counseling (consilium), which is intended to encourage the freedom of the other person, not to stifle it. Bernard credits "the Spirit of freedom" with our ability to choose and decide in a manner consistent with God's plan for us. If we are submissive to the workings of the Holy

Spirit in us and attentive to his promptings, he blesses us with fervor and joy. When we are open to the Spirit, we can receive him and listen to him: *Which of you, in the secrecy of his heart, has sometimes heard the Spirit cry out: Abba, Father? It is the one who felt moved by the same Spirit as the Son who takes for certain the Father's love. Be confident, whoever you are, be confident and doubt nothing. In the Spirit of the Son, recognize yourself as the Father's daughter, as the spouse of the Son or His sister."

Such is the goal of what we traditionally call the "interior life": to instill in us the very life of the Trinity; to allow Christ to live and act in us. Christ, the mediator between the Father and mankind, having received the fullness of the Spirit, sent him to us and continues that action. In his Letter 113, written to the nun Sophie, Bernard contrasts what is exterior and seems outside (foris) with what is interior (;ntres); then, in a sentence applicable to everyone, he sums up the personalized character of Christian spirituality: It is, he says, simply the actual presence of Christ in us, which St. Paul speaks of in the Epistle to the Ephesians (3:17): "Intres est quod delectat, quia intres est quem delectat, nisi forte tu dubitas habitare Christum per fidem in corde tuo." [What you love is within you, since he whom you love is within you, unless perhaps you doubt that Christ dwells by faith in your heart.] Finally, as it says in Psalm 44:14, all the glory of the King's daughter comes from within.

THE SPIRITUAL CANTICLE

Having established the truly objective foundation of the life of every Christian, we turn to individual psychological differences, which Ber-

INTRODUCTION.

nard frequently explained in his sermons on the Song of Songs. The sermons treat many subjects, as noted above; here we will confine our discussion to topics relating to the experience of union with God. As we refer to these themes, following the author's order of presentation, the continuity and harmony of the work will emerge from its seeming disorder. The themes will also call to mind and sum up everything discussed so far.

Key ideas that will determine subsequent developments are set out at the beginning of the work. The Song of Songs is a poem in praise of Christ and the Church, sung to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

It also expresses the longings of the sanctified soul. The union with God, which is extolled by the symbol of the kiss, indicates the presence of the grace of the Incarnate Word in the soul. "His living and effective word is a kiss," St. Bernard says, "not a meeting of lips, which can sometimes be deceptive about the state of the heart, but a full infusion of joys, a revelation of secrets, a wonderful and inseparable mingling of the light from above and the mind on which it is shed" (2,2). The soul contemplates the mystery of God and experiences the effects of his presence. Through the Incarnation, Christ the Mediator brings God's mercy to man in his distress. Filled with God's presence, the soul, while remaining fully human, is no longer in distress; rather, like Mary Magdalene, the sinner who renounced her faults and adopted a life of holiness, the soul can say: "I am black, but beautiful."

Here, Bernard sees man's redemption more in terms of the incarnation than of Christ's death and resurrection. The incarnation is the fundamental Christian mystery from which the other mysteries unfold; it also marks the completion of all the divine preparations. It was fitting for God to assume flesh but this favor was delayed until our own time.

At long last, "God took flesh for the sake of people who delight in flesh, so that through it they might learn to delight in the spirit as well" (6,3).

The gift of union with Christ is that much greater because we waited for it so long.

Bernard always places himself in a historical perspective; in the light of history we can better understand and appreciate God's gift of himself to men. The incarnation derives its meaning from the Old Covenant, which it prolongs, and from eschatology, for all its effects will be accomplished at the end of the world. The just people of the Old

Testament awaited the incarnation but it did not come in their time.

We in the Church possess Christ but look toward heaven where we will see him face to face.

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The kiss of the Father and the Son is the Holy Spirit. Christ gives the kiss to his spouse, or bride, whom he fills with his Spirit. The Spirit, in turn, unites the bride to the Father through the Son. Mystical union is the extension of the relationship of love that exists among and unites the three divine Persons. The bride, who is actually the Church and the soul, hopes that this mystery of charity will be fulfilled in her.

The fulfillment can take place only through the working of the Holy Spirit, who enables the bride to experience mystical knowledge in which love becomes understanding.

Man can know God without loving him. Beginning with creation, he can proceed rationally to the idea of the first cause, but this will tell him only of the divine essence, not of the relationship within the Holy

Trinity. Mystical knowledge, however, having love as its source and object, pleases and gratifies the soul. It is a share in the loving knowledge of the divine Persons, a share Christ granted to the Apostles and, through them and the Church, to all sanctified souls. Bernard's only intention is to communicate that knowledge or, more exactly, to prepare us for it in mind and heart. He is fully aware that it is God, not man, who brings about the mystical experience and inclines the soul to receive his gift.

Bernard frequently uses the word "experience." In the first sermon, he writes: "Only the touch of the Holy Spirit teaches, and it is learned by experience alone. Let those who have experienced it enjoy it; let those who have not, burn with desire, not so much to know it as to experience it." (1,11). The experience is the culminating point in the Christian life to which all the soul's progress must tend. As we grow in grace and learn to trust in the Lord, our experience of love increases until we come to feel God's kiss on the mouth. In the early stages of conversion, we approach the feet of the Lord; later we reach his hands; the kiss on the mouth is an experience reserved for those who have achieved perfection.

This experience, however, occurs but rarely and we may ask:

What does it involve? The kiss is an event complete and absolute in itself; its unity would be lost were its elements separated. Thus Bernard does not analyze the experience, but simply describes it. He tries to summarize the richness of the experience in a subtle statement that speaks of a pleasant contemplation, of peace and ecstasy (4,4). Each word in the definition is significant and is necessary to the meaning of the other words. Ecstasy, peace, contemplation, and pleasure: each corresponds to one of the effects of grace that elevates the soul and enables

INTRODUCTION

it to enjoy the sustained presence of God. The soul feels a certain relation with the Bridegroom. At the beginning of conversion, it smelled the fragrance of God but remained far from him. Now the soul comes close to him and the two meet.

From time to time—"rarely," says St. Bernard—God takes the soul to himself and delights it in loving ecstasy. This communion with God is always a brief experience and the soul is filled with an understanding of God's mercy. The cleaving of the mind to God brings about an intoxicating joy that quiets and stills the mind's activity.

Expertus potest credere (he who has been tested can believe): This axiom inspired by the writings of St. Bernard sums up the expressions he is fond of using. "We speak of divine things known only to those who have experienced them" (41.3). "It is my duty to speak and I may not be silent; my words stem from my own experience or from that of others" (57.5). Thus, St. Bernard explicitly, if not clearly, testifies to God's visiting the soul. What, then, are these visits?

There are many ways to see God. In heaven we shall see him face to face, as he is, sicuti est. On earth we know him in different ways, most commonly in creation. God's works show that he is, not what he is. He sometimes revealed himself to the patriarchs and prophets through visions and voices in a manner that appealed to the senses and imagination. Yet, these were only exterior manifestations. God still remained outside the souls he enlightened. But he sometimes deigns to enter the soul that, purified by desire and consecrated to love, prepares him a place. The soul then experiences God's presence from within. This is known as the "visit."

The visit must be preceded by constant prayer and longing. God comes infrequently but one must always be filled with desire for him.

Love is constantly on the watch. Suddenly its flame grows and, with the sudden burst of unaccustomed ardor, the presence of God is recognized. "It burns with sweetness" (57,7). The love that springs from desire gives way to the love that comes from God's presence. The latter is more ardent and intense. Normally after quite some time has passed,

God's grace enables men of prayer to think less of their sins and take greater delight in meditating on his Word. From time to time, the Bridegroom shows them his face and permits them to gaze on him in unspeakable joy. They advance from light to light under the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

Previously, such men had felt the need for a physician because temptations of the flesh still had a hold on them. They were sorry for

INTRODUCTION

their faults, which had to be corrected; for this, God gave them his remedies, not his kisses. But the same Jesus who is physician of the soul is also its Spouse. He takes away all the bitterness that the soul found in itself and fills it with his sweetness. After healing the soul, he gives himself to it completely, raising it above apathy and weakness, and speaking to it of himself. Listening to him, the soul must realize that this is not its own voice, nor are these its own thoughts. They are the words of the Bridegroom, verba Verbi, the words of the Word (32,4).

The soul must receive a special charism, that gift of the Holy Spirit which St. Paul refers to as "the discerning of spirits" (1 Cor 12:10), in order to recognize the voice of the Word (32.6). By itself the soul is not sufficiently discerning, even after testing and purification. For the thoughts inspired by the Bridegroom are similar to our own, since they call into play the same powers of the mind. Their source, however, is different: They come from God, not from us. Our thoughts are evil and carnal, while his are good and spiritual. God does not come to us in bodily form because he is a Spirit, nor does he act in the soul any longer through the exterior senses as he did with the Old Testament prophets.

Now he reveals himself through the intimacy of love. He is received into the innermost heart, which he fills with his loving presence. He does not appear; he enters the soul. He touches and excites the heart, communicating his love without saying much, for his effects speak of his presence (31.6).

Bernard tells us that God is not above using the service of angels to reveal himself. Does his household not include angels who see the Father's face? They bring about the soul's encounter with God, either by taking the soul up to God or by bringing the Bridegroom to the soul.

They help man to contemplate and then to speak of his experience. The necessary conditions for the "visit" include the help of the angels, as well as the work of God and the purifying of heart and memory. Learning is of little use in all this for it cannot obtain or explain the visit. In these matters, the essential thing is to be "sensible and balanced," sapere ad sobrietatem (36,2). In his thirty-sixth Sermon, Bernard affirms both the benefits and the limits of Christian knowledge. He may have written that sermon during the time of his quarrel with Abélard, whose method of understanding was so profoundly different from everything

Bernard preached. How far apart is the mystic from the teacher! In explaining his concept of learning in the Church, Bernard undoubtedly justifies his conduct toward the innovators who jeopardize the faith of the uneducated. But he also goes on to declare that his mystical under-

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LI standing owes nothing to human knowledge. The limits of rational knowledge first come to light through humility, which is simply true self-knowledge, and then through the experience of God's sweetness.

Although legitimate and useful to the Church, rational knowledge is not enough to bring about the mystical experience.

The soul must be roused to mystical experience by the Holy Spirit (incitamenta spiritus). St. Bernard speaks of the soul as "being of one mind with God, wed to the Lord of angels" (40,4); these actions are clearly beyond its capacity. For the mystical experience, the soul must be alone, free even of intelligent thoughts; everything, even neighborly concern, is put aside and the soul and its spouse are alone. The joyful pleasures that the soul experiences vary according to its dispositions.

Like the children of Israel who ate manna in the desert, each one is satisfied according to his capacity and relish for God. The sweetness of God's presence delights the palate of each soul in a different way, and to each one God reveals different aspects of himself, varying the joys he bestows. The rapture, transport, and ecstasy of the soul do not constitute the beatific vision, but the man who seeks God lives at times in the shadow of Christ, and the darkness of faith prepares him for the vision. In a certain sense, the mystical experience is already "a vision"

(45,6), although inferior to what will be seen in heaven, and a unique and inexpressible dialogue. The soul no longer sees the Bridegroom as King, but as Beloved. It gazes on him but cannot see him; it holds silent conversation with him, yet does not speak. The soul welcomes the Bridegroom in wonder and thanksgiving that grow stronger as he gives himself to the spouse even more. This mutual praise produces a kind of intoxication in the soul.

God's visit does not last long but its effects remain. During mystical union, the individual is dead to concupiscence and, subsequently, is much less inclined to do evil. The ecstasy is beneficial to the creative powers, the memory, and other mental faculties, while the lower appetites no longer dull the soul and impede contemplation. Despite the continuing effects of the visit, however, the withdrawal of the Bridegroom's presence causes the soul much suffering, which lasts until he comes again. Alternating throughout life between union with and separation from its Spouse, the soul knows both the joy of his coming and the sadness of his going away. The suffering is that much greater for having tasted such sweetness.

"Whoever drinks of this water will thirst again" (Jn 4:13). The Bride pines away with love and is in cruel torment; having enjoyed

INTRODUCTION

union with the Beloved, she now finds it more painful to be separated from him. The Bridegroom's slowness to return is a bitter affliction to the Bride and his absence only heightens both her desire and her sorrow. However he may hurry to ease her impatience, she is consumed with longing until he returns. Between visits, the Bride bears up under her suffering and even finds a measure of peace by "gathering the fruits of good works and enjoying the sweet scent of faith" (51.3). She delights in a feast of heavenly goods during holy meditation and probes the secrets of God's will, moving heaven by her devoutness. In spirit, she passes through the dwellings of paradise, where she is awed by the band of apostles and prophets, the victorious martyrs, and the choirs of angels. In fasting and prayer, she recalls the kindness of the Lord, and is sustained by the loftiest thoughts until the Beloved returns.

These personal, intimate visits are simply the extension of the coming of the Word to mankind through the incarnation. The union of the soul and the Bridegroom is the fulfillment, the realization of the union of Christ and the Church. "Together we make up the Church and each one participates in its blessings" (57.3). Each of us receives the graces and benefits that are bestowed on the entire Church. The Church is one with Christ; "the Church is not one soul; it is the unity or, better yet, the unanimity of many souls" (61.2), each of whom is indebted to all the others. Graces that the individual soul receives must be placed at the service of all, if the needs of the Church so require. In the following passages, Bernard gives us the key to the amazing continuity that he was able to maintain between contemplation and activity.

During his long years of service he came to be called the "pillar of the Church."

After the Bridegroom has gazed on the soul with kindness and mercy, his voice softly whispers the divine will. His voice is love itself, and love never rests but is continually urging the heart to do God's bidding. The spouse also hears the call to rise up in haste and take up the work of saving souls. The nature of true, pure contemplation is such that, while kindling the heart with divine love, it sometimes fills it with great zeal to win other souls for God. The heart gladly gives up the quiet of contemplation for the work of preaching. Once its desires are fulfilled, the heart quickly returns to contemplation, as to the source of good works. In the same way, once it has tasted anew the delights of contemplation, it joyfully dedicates itself

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to new works. Nevertheless, the soul fears the changing affections and fluctuating movements between contemplation and action. It is likewise wary of becoming overly attached to anything, lest it turn away,.even slightly, from the divine will. (57,9) Thus, the Bride is ever-watchful and listens for the steps of the Bridegroom, so as not to be taken unawares by the time or swiftness of his visits. She knows when he is near and when he is far away; he does not surprise her even if he comes in haste. In recompense, not only does he regard her with mercy, but he delights her with loving words and his voice fills her with joy. (57.10) "Come back, my beloved," Bernard exclaims after each visit of the Bridegroom. Jesus comes so that the soul will cling to him; he goes away so that the soul will call him back. He wants us to love him and takes certain steps to win our love: He gives himself so that we will enjoy his presence; he then leaves us so that we will long for it even more. "It may be rash to say so, but I confess that the Word of God has come to me several times. He has often entered my soul and sometimes I have been unaware of his coming. But I sensed that he was there and I remember his presence. At other times I was able to anticipate his coming, but I could not discern the moment he arrived or left.

. Did he enter my soul? Did he come from without, or was he not already within me? I realize there is nothing good in me. I was raised far above myself.

... No sight or sound revealed the Bridegroom, but a single movement of my heart told me he was there" (64, 1-6).

What, then, is taking place here? The mystical experience eludes analysis but to understand what is involved, we must weigh St. Bernard's own words. The dialogue of love becomes increasingly urgent, as the Bride and her beloved exchange their impassioned declarations.

The Bride can no longer remain silent; yet she is at a loss to express what she is experiencing. Unable to contain the intense love of her heart, she no longer minds what she says. She sighs and pours out the ardor that consumes her. The words on her tongue are left unuttered; the dialogue of love between spouse and beloved gives way to a burst of love.

The canticle is a nuptial song that lends itself admirably to expressing the language of love. "Run through this wedding song and you will see that the Bride, filled to overflowing and enraptured with love,

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does not speak but shouts for joy." From that point on, the nuptial theme dominates Bernard's thinking and provides the poetry for its subsequent development. "My beloved is mine and I am His." These words from the Song of Songs (2:16) represent a mutual assent, an embrace. There is an outpouring of love. Everything takes place in the heart and reason is powerless either to effect or express this mutual love.

The marriage between the soul and the Bridegroom is the continuation of the union between the Word of God and mankind. The Father has sent his Son, who in turn has sent his Spirit to the Church. 'Those who humble themselves in imitation of Christ and serve his Church with perfect detachment will attain intimate union with him. 'The "infused love" with which God fills their hearts makes them grow in humility. The more they realize their sinfulness, the more they understand God's bountiful kindness toward them, for he establishes a measure of equality between his creature and himself. "Oh, the sweetness, the mercy, and the strength of his love! The ruler of all has become one of us. What has brought this about? Love has accomplished this; love which is unconcerned with its dignity, rich in graciousness, strong in attachment, effective in persuasion. Is there anything stronger than love? It triumphs over God. And yet, is there anything gentler?

He is love" (67,4).

Love, then, is the last word, and the key word, of this message, and it is the reason that the message remains partly a mystery. Bernard chose to present his doctrine in poetic imagery taken from the Song of Songs, for he wanted the subject of union with God to remain shrouded in mystery. This aspect of his teaching deserves greater attention even though all the studies on St. Bernard try to make his message explicit.

It is certainly of interest to know how his doctrine is interpreted, but in these pages it is important to set forth the doctrine itself. Its theological richness and the lyricism of its expression do not rule out a keen psychological insight. These qualities alone explain why so many

Christian men and women have recognized in the writings of St. Bernard a description of their own state of mind.

CoMiNc Back TO THE WoRLD OF MEN Toward the end of the last sermon on the Song of Songs that his duties may have allowed him to finish (85,1 3), Bernard clearly states that the joy of union with God must not prevent the individual from responding

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. to the needs of his fellow-man. The whole of his life was marked by a movement from action to contemplation. His writings have shown us what filled his heart; we must now consider how he shared his gifts with others. At the end of this Introduction and of the selection of texts that follow, we too must leave the heights of contemplation to see how Bernard placed his knowledge, talent, and generosity at the service of others. There can be no question of recalling all his activities; a few symbolic examples will be enough to give a glimpse of the motives of his actions.

First, there is the circle of relatives and friends—those nearest to him. In his twenty-sixth sermon on the Song of Songs, he expressed at length what he felt on the death of his brother, Gerard. Gerard was one of his natural brothers, but he had others; he was also one of his monks, but they too were numerous. Why did he speak of this brother with such warmth and grant him such favor? Because Gerard was more than brother and monk; he was a friend. What Bernard set out to write in the form of a sermon is a treatise on spiritual friendship and it is from that point of view that he approaches different aspects of the Christian life: companionship, mutual help, the mystery of death, and the practice of counselling. Because he was filled with the Holy Spirit, Gerard could help Bernard and others to discern what the Spirit was asking of them in the various circumstances of death. Bernard especially wanted to show, using a personal example, what he always taught: that love for God, far from excluding love for human beings, transformed it instead and made it a precious form of charity. The affections of the heart present no obstacle to the experience of God, once they have been freed from all egotism and every trace of self-interest, and directed toward the living Christ at the center of one's being. On the contrary, affection demonstrates an altruistic dimension that grows to include everyone.

And so, beyond the rhetorical element obviously present in this text, there appears an intense human quality. The literary devices used in the sermon do not prevent it from being a masterpiece of Christian humanism; it is a sincere, open, and intense work that has consoled generations of Christians affected by the separation of death.

In the first part of this Introduction, we have already discussed the role that St. Bernard played in the second Crusade. There is no need to go over that ground again, but there is good reason to reproduce in this volume the two key texts that confirm Bernard's emphasis on discerning the reasons that motivate human actions. Before the Crusade, the reason was the desire to act nobly out of love for Christ. After the

INTRODUCTION

Crusade and its failure, the reason was the humility to accept the defeat of one's plans, especially when purely human interests and egotistical designs corrupted intentions that should have been pure. These two texts, rare among the writings of St. Bernard on the Crusade—the encyclical-letter 363-and the beginning of Book II of the Consideration— also allow this affair, which was a chance event, to be restored to its properly limited place in the life of St. Bernard. Those who have not read Bernard's works present him as warlike and violent; reading him is sufficient to show him as he truly was. He is certainly not to be held responsible for belonging to an age whose culture was different from our own, but he wished to remove himself from that culture in order to place himself on the spiritual plane.

Finally, we come to Bernard's letters—a third category of evidence that reveals him in an unmistakable light—particularly those that communicate his humanity. People came from all over to consult him about various problems: doctrine, Church policy, monastic reform, and especially questions having to do with the spiritual life or simply with human relations. He once wrote to Pope Eugene III, "People say that I am the Pope, and not you. They come to me from all sides weighted down with their cares. It would be scandalous and sinful to refuse my help to so many friends" (Letter 239). Sometimes he even took the initiative in writing, often in order to defend the weak. Historians continue to examine and comment on his long letters, which tell us something of his era, or of his position on political, doctrinal, or Church affairs.

There is another category of letters in his writings, less important in the history of ideas and facts than in the history of the human heart.

These are the letters that have been chosen for inclusion here, for they give us a glimpse of a side of Bernard that should not go unnoticed.

Gone for the moment is the man involved in politics and the Church, and in his place we see simply Bernard the man—as he is—the man of God and the saint; the man with all his deepest reactions and the saint whose entire psychology is imbued with grace, despite its persistent weakness. The saint is always a man of heart and, as such, is deserving of our meditation. The letters that tell us little or nothing of the public, official life of the abbot of Clairvaux have a great deal to say about his interior life and everyday existence. They could be called his private letters, for they reveal much in the way of his personal feelings. We have selected some of them for this volume.

Bernard's letters contain certain forms of expression, inevitably

INTRODUCTION

taken from the literature of his day, that reveal him to be large of heart, the father of his monks, the friend, the saint consumed with kindness, and the noble Christian who feels for the poor and who loves the little ones. How close to us he was in his thinking, and how wrong we have been in the past to give almost all our attention to the official documents that have sometimes hardened our attitudes! As a result, we have perpetuated a picture of an austere man and leader, whose authority led at times to injustice. It is certainly true that tendencies in Bernard's character and temperament may warrant this harsh judgment. It would be less than truthful to retain only a negative assessment of St. Bernard or to stress it overmuch, just as our portrait would be incomplete if we looked only at his sublime virtues and extraordinary graces. He himself never gave in to that temptation and spoke more often of his weakness than of the divine favors he received. At the end of Letter 70, he recalled an incident when he became angry for no good reason; he then accuses himself of his fault and urges others not to follow his example of rashness. On other occasions he protests against the praise he has received; he uses irony when speaking of himself. His firm charity prompted him to write with much tenderness and affection in his two letters to Countess Ermengarde; but as he once said of Gerard, "He is a man," and he cannot conceal the workings of his mind when addressing a woman.

Some of his letters are for the purpose of counseling, in which he put his teaching into practice.

Leaving aside the question of the voluntary embrace of religious life in Bernard's time, he extends an invitation in his vocational letters to friends to come and share the joys of monastic life. During his many absences, he wrote letters to his monks assuring them that he is with them in spirit; he sends them his spiritual direction, tells them that the separation is painful to him and that he hopes to see them again soon.

There are requests for forgiveness in which he gives proof of great tenderness. He intervenes with merciless superiors, urging them to have pity on a delinquent monk and welcome back one who has left the monastery and is now repentant. There are letters of consolation to those who are suffering either because of a death in the family or because a son has entered the cloister. Bernard composed letters of reconciliation attempting to smooth over a difference of opinion or make enemies forget their quarrel. Finally, there are letters of pure friendship, whose sole end is to give pleasure and express the affection and gratitude he feels for his correspondent.

In all these writings, St. Bernard speaks openly of his soul and

INTRODUCTION

even of his body. He loves with a heart of flesh and wishes others to understand that fact. Christ for him is not a remote God with whom we are united in ecstasy when we are taken out of ourselves; he is present in every man whose salvation he wills and it is in our fellowmen that we begin to serve the Lord. And when we cannot act effectively for our neighbor, we can at least tell him that we wish him well and desire his happiness. This is why we have chosen some of Bernard's compassionate letters that bring to light his concern for the poor; for if any attitude conforms to the Gospel, it is the latter. It is also the reason that we conclude with long excerpts from his portrait on the charity, humility, and compassion that ought to activate Christians. What he wrote for a bishop in Letter 42 has value for everyone and always.

These, then, are examples of Bernard's practical mysticism; they are also demonstrations of his accurate knowledge and his proper love for self, for others, and for God. In the concrete situations instanced in his letters, he showed that what he taught elsewhere in a theoretical manner was truly feasible.

In conclusion, it is not necessary to stress the importance of such a message for our time. It has been recognized and handed down through the centuries since St. Bernard's time, for the abundance of manuscripts and editions of his writings is rare in literary history. His message has been welcomed by different traditions: There is a whole series of studies on St. Bernard and translations of his works in Lutheranism. Luther himself read, quoted, and praised Bernard; he was attracted to the medieval saint whose writings gave attention to the conflict in man between the law of sin and that of the Spirit. Calvin, too, appreciated him, and today the explanation of his work continues. The experiential, existential—even phenomenological—nature of his teaching makes St. Bernard close to many modern thinkers and those who come under their influence. At the same time, since his is grounded in the Scriptures, he brings us back to the sources, and to the Source itself, of all Christian spirituality.

ABBREVIATIONS: Wonks OF BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX

Epistola de erroribus Petri Abaelardi Abael Adv Sermo in Adventu Domini Sermo in Annuntiatione Dominica Ann Sermo in Ascensione Domini Sermo de Conversione ad Clericos De Consideratione Liber de Diligendo Deo Epistola Liber de Gratia et Libero Arbitrio Liber de Gradibus Humilitatis et Superbiae

Homiliae super Missus est in Laudibus Virginis Matris Epistola de Moribus et Officibus Episcoporum

Sermo in Dominica I Novembris Sermo in Dominica infra Octavam Assumptionis Beatae Mariae Virginis Sermo in Festivitate Omnium Sanctorum Sermo in Die Sancto Pentecostes Liber de Precepto et Dispensatione Sermo super Psalmum Qui Habitat Sermo in Quadragesima Quad SC Sermo super Cantica Canticorum Tpl De laude Novae Militiae V Mal CCCM GCSE Vita Sancti Malachiae Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Medievalis

Corpus Christianorum Series Latina Collectanea Ordinis Cisterciensis Reformatorum

Coll OCR CSEL Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum

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