MONASTIC culture of the middle ages has two kinds of sources. Some are of a literary nature: written texts whose content must be assimilated through meditative reading or through study. Others belong to the domain of religious experience. Of these latter, the most important, the one which enables all the others to be combined in the harmony of a synthesis, is the one which induces the desire to reach the culmination of this experience. The content of monastic culture has seemed to be symbolized, synthesized, by these two words: grammar and spirituality. On the one hand, learning is necessary if one is to approach God and to express what is perceived of Him; on the other hand, literature must be continually transcended and elevated in the striving to attain eternal life.

 [1] A Literature of  Transcendence

ACTUALLY, the strongest and most frequently occurring descrip tion of this transcendence was to be found joined to considerations on the eternal life. Thus, in order to complete the presentation of the essential components of monastic culture, and after having emphasized the place that grammatica held in it since St. Benedict and particularly since the Carolingian reform, we must speak of its dominant orientations, of what keeps it faithful to St. Gregory’s influence: its eschatological tendency, which is but another name for compunction. _{[p. 66]}

 [2] The Symbols of Elevation

THE first, the most important of the themes to which the monks of the Middle Ages applied literary art is what could be called devotion to Heaven. The monks delighted in using the new language they created to translate the desire for Heaven so dear to the heart of every contemplative that it becomes the characteristic feature of monastic life. Let us listen, for example, to an anonymous witness, who represents, so to speak, the general opinion, and who, not being a monk, is free from any prejudice. After having defined, in a commentary on the Canticles, “practical life” or “active life,” he adds:

“The theoretical life, with which this book of the Scripture is concerned, is the contemplative life in which one aspires only to the celestial realities, as do monks and hermits.”¹

To speak of this longing for Heaven will then mean evoking the spiritual atmosphere in which monastic culture flourishes. To do this in connection with the use the monks will make of the sources of their culture, we need no longer adhere to the chronological order of events. Henceforth unchanging principles common to all periods will be under consideration. Once the fact that devotion to Heaven was much practiced in medieval monasticism has been established, its importance for the culture and theology of the monks will follow as a natural conclusion.

[3] The Heavenly Jerusalem

WITHOUT doubt, medieval men thought about Hell. Monks also describe it in “visions” into which they project the images and ideas they have of the other world. But their adventures beyond the grave, like Dante’s later, almost all end in Paradise.2 And, in the texts they used for prayer, meditation on Heaven is more frequently met with than meditation on Hell. In their spiritual _{[p. 67]} works, there are not only chapters but entire treatises with titles like these: On celestial desire,3 For the contemplation and love of the celestial homeland, which is accessible only to those who despise the world,4 Praise of the celestial Jerusalem,5 On the happiness of the celestial homeland.6  Sometimes these texts are exhortations or elevations in verse or in prose; sometimes verses of psalms alternate with subjects for meditation and with prayers. As today people occasionally make the exercise for a good death, then they used to make the exercise of Jerusalem: they reflected on Heaven, they cultivated the desire to go there one day, and they asked for the grace to do so. In order to understand monastic psychology, let us take from writings which crystallized it, a few revealing themes. The word theme is the one most suited to this subject. For the topic we are discussing differs from speculative science where theses are stated, followed by proofs. It belongs to the realm of symbolic expression. Its intent is to arouse desire for an indescribable experience. And, just as in music, and in poetry, art consists in making “variations” on simple yet rich themes, so the true worth of monastic language lies in its evocative powers. This could not be otherwise, since it is a biblical language, concrete, full of imagery and consequently poetic in essence. But, although they are not abstract, these modes of expression must not be taken any the less seriously.

All the themes used are biblical in origin. This in no way excludes in certain cases, the calling upon classical literary reminiscences: thus in speaking of celestial happiness, reference will be made to the locus amoenus, the Golden Age, the Elysium whose description by Pindar and Aristophanes had left traces in St. Augustine’s Neoplatonism, and through him in particular as intermediary, in medieval literature. But the primary inspiration always comes from Sacred Scripture. The fact is, that in all monastic _[p.68] literature, even in writings not specifically intended to treat of heavenly beatitude, Heaven is continually mentioned. Many themes embody the same realities under different forms: no logical connection can be established between them. These following are the principal ones.

First of all, there is the theme of Jerusalem. St. Bernard defines the monk as a dweller in Jerusalem: monachus et Ierosolyrnita. Not that he must be bodily in the city where Jesus died, on the mountain where, it is said, He is supposed to return, For the monk, this might be anywhere. It is particularly in a place where, far from the world and from sin, one draws close to God, the Angels and the Saints who surround Him. The monastery shares Sion’s dignity; it confers on all its inhabitants the spiritual benefits which are proper to the places sanctified by the life of the Lord, by His Passion and Ascension, and which will one day see His return in glory.

The mountain of the return is the symbol of the monasticmystery, and for every Christian who becomes a monk, it is as ifhe always lived in this blessed spot. It is there that he can beunited to the real Holy City. St. Bernard adds: “Jerusalem means those who, in this world, lead the religious life; they imitate,according to their powers, by a virtuous and orderly life, theway of life of the Jerusalem above.”7 Speaking of one of his novices, he said that the latter had found the way to accomplishthe words of St. Paul: conversatio nostra in caelis est,8 and he adds:

He has become not a visitor who admired the city as a traveler,but as one of its devoted inhabitants, one of its authentic citizens,not of the earthly Jerusalem comparable to Mount Sinai in Arabia which is, with all its children, in slavery, but of the one above, the free Jerusalem, our mother. And if you must know, I am speaking of Clairvaux. There one can find a Jerusalem associated with the heavenly one through the heart’s complete devotion, _{[p. 69]} through the imitation of its life, and through real spiritual kinship. There, henceforth, he will find rest, according to the promise of the Lord, for ever and ever; he wanted to dwell there, because there is to be found, if not as yet the vision, at least the expectation, in all security, of the true peace, of which it is said: “The peace of God surpasseth all understanding.”9

The monastery is then a Jerusalem in anticipation, a place of waiting and of desire, of preparation for that holy city towards which we look with joy. His biographer wrote of a disciple of St. Bernard, the Blessed David of Himmerod, who was always smiling: “He had, like the Saints, a face shining with joy; he had the face of one going toward Jerusalem.’10

Actually, one of the favorite themes of monastic mysticism in the Middle Ages is the contemplation of the glory which God enjoys and which He shares with His elect in heaven. This final reality which, in prospect, is the goal of our present existence is frequently described by a symbol: that of a city, Jerusalem. Most frequently it is not said that this city is in Heaven, as if to distinguish it from another which is not in Heaven. Occasionally it is even called “the land of the living.” What matters is not its location - the human images we are forced to use in speaking of it are only analogies - it is the life that is led there, that is to say, God’s own life. Thus those who participate in God are all citizens of one and the same Church, in Heaven and on earth. The “type” which serves to evoke it, is not the Jerusalem of the flesh whose Temple was material, but it is the spiritual Jerusalem of which St. Paul spoke to the Galatians and of which the earthly Jerusalem was merely a figure. Those who are united with God form a single community: Heaven and the Church. It is simply given one name; to it is applied what the Bible said of the Holy City, both in the description of the Prophets or in those of the Apocalypse. _[p.70]

Often linked to the theme of Jerusalem are those of the Temple and the Tabernacle. From Bede to Peter of Celle, more than one author has written of these symbols for the presence of God and the life led eternally in his dwelling place.11

 [4] Ascent into Heaven

THE Jerusalem above is the end the monk strives for. He will rise towards it through everything which calls to mind - and gives reality to - an ascension, and this introduces a whole series of themes. First that of the Ascension par excellence - of Christ Our Lord: This is one of the Mysteries of Christ on which St. Bernard left the greatest number of sermons, more even than on the Passion.12 The monk leaves the world. Like every Christian, he detaches himself from it. But even more, because of special vocation, he separates himself from it. He goes away into solitude, often onto a mountain, the better to fulfill the precept that the Church, on the feast of the Ascension, gives to all the faithful: “To live in the celestial regions,” in caelestibus habitemus. When the Lord had disappeared in the cloud of His glory, the Apostles kept their eyes raised to Heaven. Two angels came to tell them that they would not see Him again until such time as He would return. Soon would come the time for them to spread out over the whole world, to sow the seeds of the Gospel, to plant the Church. Monks, however, have the privilege of continuing the watch. They know that they will not see the Lord; they will live by faith. Nevertheless, there they will remain. Their cross will be to love without seeing, and yet to watch constantly, to keep their eyes on nothing but God, invisible yet present. Their testimony before the world will be to show, by their existence alone, the direction in which one must look. It will be _[p.71] to hasten, by prayer and desires, the fulfillment of the kingdom of God.

The Transfiguration foreshadowed the Ascension, and hence, they loved to think of this mystery. Peter the Venerable introduced to Cluny and to monasticism, this Eastern feast which only entered the calendar of the universal Church some three centuries later. He composed an office for it and wrote on this mystery a long treatise as beautiful as it is rich in doctrine.13

 [5] The Fellowship of the Angels

STILL another theme is borrowed from the angels; all sorts of comparisons suggest connections, points of resemblance, between the life of the monks and the vita angelica. On this point, there are innumerable texts.14 What is their significance? Did they propose escaping from our world of the senses, becoming disincarnated, “playing the angel”? By no means. But the adoration the angels render God in Heaven helps us understand the important place given to prayer in the life of the monks. When angelic life is spoken of, the being of the angels receives less consideration than the function of praise which they perform. It has been correctly stated that this mode of expression is not a

hyperbole full of ambiguities which a sound theology, with a liking for exact terms, would have to distrust. ... What is being sought, first and foremost, is an equivalence for the expression of eschatological values. It is in Heaven that man will be “like unto angels.”15 But since we are already on the threshold of the Kingdom and are participating in the initial benefits of eternal life, it is altogether natural that this present life be described in terms of angelic life.16

This theme and all those which encourage us to think of Heaven are valid for every Christian, and they are by no means restricted to the monk. It is only that they are so much more developed in monastic literature - the literature written by the monks and the literature which is of interest to them-because monks seek after the perfection of Christian life in a certain way, which more than for others has eschatological meaning. Its role is to recall to all men that, after all, they are not made for this world.

The symbolism of flight is also frequent in the texts. Generally it is based on this verse of Psalm 54: “Had I but wings, I cry, as a dove has wings, to fly away, and find rest.” From Origen to St. Teresa of the Child Jesus, mystical authors have liked to express by means of this image their desire for God.17 St. Gregory was not the first to make use of this idea,18 but the importance which he gave to the symbolism of weight, and of flight which overcomes it, contributed much to the penetration of this vocabulary into medieval monastic literature. Long lists of references can be found in St. Bernard as well as in all the others.

The contrast between what may be called the two concupiscences likewise helped Smaragdus, for example, to express his desire for celestial life. The task we face is, really, to substitute the concupiscence of the spirit for that of the flesh. A parallel is established between them in which the role of spiritual concupiscence is to comfort the weary soul with hope of future glory.19 But instead of placing emphasis on the negative aspect of asceticism, that is to say on suppression of desire, this mode of expression accentuates the positive side: the soaring toward God, the inclination toward the End of man which is God possessed fully and eternally.

 [6] The Gift of Tears

FINALLY, the desire for Heaven inspires many texts on tears. The tears of desire, born of the compunction of love, are a gift from Our Lord; they are asked for and their meaning is interpreted. In a chapter On the Grace of Tears, Smaragdus has gathered together references taken from Holy Scripture, from the Lives of the Fathers and from St. Gregory. Others have developed the theme in a more original manner. Such a one was, in particular John of Fécamp whose works were to have great influence on all later spiritual literature. These “tears of charity,” these “suave tears,” engendered by the perception of God’s sweetness, by the desire to enjoy it eternally, are accompanied by sighs, which are not signs of sadness, but of hopeful desire. ²⁰ In the Middle Ages, monasticism has a whole literature of suspiria.21

 [7] The Glory of Paradise

WE have thus seen in a rapid survey the principal themes which served to express the monk’s longing for Heaven. The texts that will illustrate them are almost countless, and often extremely beautiful. Sometimes they are accompanied, in the manuscripts, by pious illustrations of very high quality, which picture for the eyes what the Bible describes for us concerning the City above. The iconography of the desire for Heaven is no less artistic, no less rich in poetry than the literary texts. One of the best known, most frequently copied and edited texts, is St. Peter Damian’s On the Glory of Paradise. ²² Its stanzas have a profundity of vocabulary, a musical rhythm which make them all but intranslatable. The poem opens with twenty stanzas which state the theme: the parched soul thirsts for the fountain of eternal life; imprisoned, it longs soon to see the walls within which the flesh keeps it captive break down; exiled, it aspires to enjoy at last its native land.

This is the happiness which it had lost through sin. The soul wants to recover possession of it, and that is why it loves to contemplate its glory. Its present suffering awakens the memory of Paradise lost. All the most beautiful things, the most pleasing to the senses, to be found in the Scripture are called upon to give an idea of this total happiness: fruits, flowers, Springtime, sunlit meadows, the glory of the Saints, the splendor of the Lamb, the recovered harmony between flesh and spirit, health, inexhaustible youth, understanding and mutual love among the elect, unalterable union - nothing is lacking of all that the Christian could desire to receive from God upon entering the heavenly joys. But this happiness is not static, fixed once and for all within a boundary that cannot be crossed. Happiness grows to the degree that it receives satisfaction, and is satisfied in the proportion that it grows. Endlessly, desire and possession cause each other to increase, because God is inexhaustible - and this consideration is, no doubt, the one which best helps us acquire a certain picture of what eternity really is. What Gregory of Nyssa had analyzed under the name of epectasis, St. Peter Damian has also described: “Always eager and always satisfied, the elect have what they desire: satiety never becomes wearisome, and hunger, kept alive by desire, never becomes painful. Desiring, they eat constantly, and eating they never cease to desire.” ²³ The joys which more than satisfy the senses and the spirit seem to renew themselves, because the Lord gives of Himself more and more. This long poem ends with a plea for entrance into Heaven. But the expressed request is given less place than the contemplation of the desired happiness. To think of the glories of Paradise is to prove that we love the One we hope to possess there, who already gives Himself to us when He gives us the capacity to desire Him.

Another example of this literature of desire is the Epithalamium between Christ and the Virgins, which is probably by a monk of Hirsau of the twelfth century and which has come down to us through Cistercian manuscripts. ²⁴ The text contains no less than one hundred and twenty-nine double strophes. They describe the entrance of the virgins into the Kingdom of Christ, and then the happiness which they find there. Here again, the garden of Paradise supplies all the images: flowers and perfume, enchantment for the senses and the spirit, such is the setting where love is to bloom. The wedding procession comes forward, and Christ is at last revealed. His glory, which up to now has remained hidden, appears in its full light: “How great is the intimate love which devours the soul when faith produces its full effect: to unite members to their true leader!” The bride is decked with all the ornaments described in Psalm 44, and this happiness belongs to all united by the same love of God. This time which shall have no end - tempus interminabile - is a Sabbath, a Passover, a summer; there, there will be neither old age, nor death, nor any change. It is repose which consists in knowing God as He is, in looking at Him with a glance which is absolutely pure. Again it is a city, Jerusalem, adorned with all the precious stones, each of them. symbolizing a virtue and the joy which is its reward. And here it is the hymn, Urbs Jerusalem beata which fires the poet’s imagination. But the five spiritual senses, fully satisfied, are but means for speaking about the one true happiness, the one real reward, which is God Himself, and the description of this holy City provides the opportunity for a paean of thanks in anticipation of the promised and expected glory, complete union with Christ. It is an exhortation to detachment from all that is not God, to the exclusive pursuit of God; it is a prayer for help and perseverance in this obscure and unrelenting quest: “We seek you Lord, sighing; raise us to You, Yourself.” Several times there recurs the word interminabilis, used to qualify both celestial joy

and the poem which sings of it. The soul joins in the happiness of the Virgin and the Blessed, happiness described in symbols which are always new. In searching for means to express it the soul begins to sing the canticle of the Lamb. The singing is kept up so that it may give an idea of the happiness which is its object, and in order to obtain it by means of repeated prayer.

 [8] John of Fécamp

NO author has developed the theme of desire of Heaven more than has John of Fécamp. It can be said that his whole work is an aspiration toward God. This work is important first of all because it is very beautiful, and - on that very account - because it had an immense influence, an influence which cannot be measured. Under the names of Cassian, St. Ambrose, Alcuin, St. Anselm, St. Bernard, above all under the title of Meditations of St. Augustine, the writings of John of Fécamp were the most widely read spiritual texts before the Imitation of Christ. St. Bernard was well acquainted with John of Fécamp - reminiscences may be discerned in his writings - and he is akin to him in quality of style, and in the intensity of his mystical élan. We wish that we could here quote long passages from these lofty songs. The heading itself of the longest portion of the Confessio theologica will suffice to give an idea of its contents:

Here begins the third part in which the soul, full of devotion, animated by extreme love of Christ, inclined toward Christ, sighing for Him, desiring to see Him who is its only love, finds nothing sweeter than to groan and weep, unless it is to flee, to remain silent, and to rest saying; “Had I but wings, I cry, as a dove has wings, to fly away, and find rest.” ²⁵

Finally, there is a long elevation on the glories of Jerusalem . 26 Its author, whose name is unknown to us, was probably a religious of the Benedictine Abbey of Bèze, at the beginning of the twelfth century; in any case, he is clearly a disciple of Gregory the Great and of John of Fécamp. His words pour out like a torrent in the enthusiasm of his fervor. As he says, he “heard within him God speaking to him of Himself “; he belongs to those in whose hearts “there flows already a little of the dew that falls from Heaven.” He attempts no abstract treatise on beatitude. He wants to provoke, to prepare the way for a certain contact with God, a sort of union, entirely spiritual, which he is obliged to describe by means of sensory comparisons: sight and touch. He sings the litanies of the Glorified Lord, surrounded by His court.

The inhabitants of the City, inseparable from one another, are angels and men. Their happiness comes from being with God; He penetrates their entire being and even the body is given its share of bliss.

From this contemplation of the City of God there is born the desire to be there, an active desire; it is both expectation and inclination; properly, it is hope.

The duties of asceticism flow from this mystical view; detachment is only the reverse of attachment to Christ; it is, henceforth, the condition and the proof of love. He who wishes to fly to his God bends toward Him: he stretches forth his arms, he prays, and his eyes stream with tears of joy.

 [9] The City of God

THE text, in the manuscript, has no divisions. But, in reality, it is a kind of poem in prose. The biblical flavor and the vitality which account for the charm of this poetry, the rhythm and assonance of the very musical language at once so sober and so powerful, give to these burning stanzas a movement and a freedom which reflect the inner life of a truly spiritual man, one who is already participating in the happiness he is describing.

Necessarily translation will weaken a text of this quality, but it can at least give an idea of it. Here then is this admirable prayer which reveals so well the inner attitude of so many other nameless monks:

The frequent recollection of the city of Jerusalem and of its King is to us a sweet consolation, a pleasing occasion for meditation and a necessary lightening of our heavy burden. I shall say something briefly - and, I hope, usefully ! - on the city of Jerusalem for its edification; and for the glory of the reign of its King I shall speak and I shall listen to what the Lord within me tells me of Himself and of His city. May my words be as a drop of oil on the fire which God has enkindled in your hearts, so that your souls, burning with both the fire of charity and the oil of this exhortation, may rise up stronger, burn with greater fervor and mount ever higher. May your soul leave this world, traverse the heavens themselves and pass beyond the stars until you reach God. Seeing Him in spirit and loving Him, may you breathe a gentle sigh and come to rest in Him...

Therefore, as the Catholic faith believes, and as Sacred Scripture teaches us, the Father is the ultimate origin of all things, the Son is the archetype of perfect beauty, and the Holy Spirit is the perfection of all joy; the Father is the cause of the established universe, the Son is the light by which we perceive the truth, the Spirit is the fountain whence we drink of the waters of felicity. The Father has mightily created all from out of nothing, the Son has wisely ordered this mighty creation and the Holy Spirit has multiplied with benignity the things thus created and ordered. On our way, the Son makes us disciples, the Holy Spirit consoles us as He would grieving friends; arrived in our true home, the Father makes us victors and covers us with glory. Comprehensible to itself is the all high and all holy Trinity, but incomprehensible to angels and men; and what here we believe, there do we see: how one is divisibly Three, and the Three are indivisibly one.

The city of Jerusalem is built upon the heights. Its builder is God. There is but one foundation of this city: it is God. There is but one founder: it is He, Himself, the All High, who has established it. One is the life of all those who live in it, one is the light of those who see, one is the peace of those who rest, one is the bread which quenches the hunger of all; one is the spring whence all may drink, happy without end. And all that is God Himself, Who is all in all: honor, glory, strength, abundance, peace and all good things. One alone is sufficient unto all.

This firm and stable city remains forever. Through the Father, it shines with a dazzling light; through the Son, splendor of the Father, it rejoices, loves; through the Holy Spirit, the Love of the Father and the Son, subsisting, it changes; contemplating, it is enlightened; uniting, it rejoices. It is, it sees, it loves.

It is, because its strength is the power of the Father; it sees; because it shines with the wisdom of God; it loves, because its joy is in the goodness of God. Blessed is this land which fears no adversity and which knows nothing but the joys of the full knowledge of God.

Now, each has his own garment; but in the eighth age, the armies of the blessed will bear a double palm. All will know. All words will be hushed and only hearts will speak. Bodies will be spiritual and invisible, bright as the sun, quick and pliant as could be desired, with strength to carry out any command.

Then will be the month of months, and the most glorious of sabbaths. Then will the light of the moon be like to the light of the sun, and the light of the sun will shine with seven-fold brilliance, and every saint’s face will shine like the sun in the kingdom of his Father.

This city will have no need of the sun’s light; but God the all - Powerful will illumine it. His torch is the Lamb: the Lamb of God, the Lamb without spot whom the Father sent into the world as a saving victim, who living without sin, dying for sinners, took away the sin of the world, loosed the pains of hell and liberated the prisoners from the lake without water, triumphant before them, and reinstating them in His kingdom by His side.

He is most beautiful in countenance, very desirable to see, He upon whom the Angels desire to gaze, He is the King of peace, He whose countenance is desired by all the world. He is the propitiator of sinners, the friend of the poor, the consoler of the afflicted, the guardian of the little ones, the teacher of the childlike, the guide of pilgrims, redeemer of those who have died, the courageous helper of warriors, the generous rewarder of victors.

He is the golden altar of the Holy of Holies, the place of rest of sons, the spectacle pleasing to the angels. He is the sublime throne of the supreme Trinity, raised above all, He who is blessed of the ages. He is the crown of the Saints, the light of all, the light of angels.

O what will we give Him in return for all He has given us? When shall we be delivered from the body of this death? When shall we be filled with the abundance of the house of God, seeing the light in His light? When then will the Christ appear, our life, and shall we be with Him in glory? When shall we see the Lord God in the lamb of the living, the kindly rewards, the man of peace, the dweller in repose, the consoler of the afflicted, the first - born of the dead, the joy of the Resurrection, the man of the right hand of God, He whom the Father has established. He is the Son of God, chosen from among thousands. Let us hear Him, run to Him, thirst for Him; may our eyes stream with tears of desire, until we be taken away from this valley of tears and rest in the bosom of Abraham.

But what is Abraham’s bosom? What do they possess, what do they do, those who rest in Abraham’s bosom? Who will understand by his intelligence, who will explain in words, who will experience through love what strength and beauty, glory, honor, delight and peace there are in Abraham’s bosom? Abraham’s bosom is the Father’s repose. There are revealed openly the power of the Father, the splendor of the Son, the sweetness of the Spirit. There the saints feast and leap with joy in the presence of God, there are luminous dwellings, there the souls of the Saints rest and take their fill of the abundance of Divine praise: in them is found joy and gladness, thanksgiving and words of praise.

There is magnificent solemnity, opulent repose, inaccessible light, interminable peace. There are the great and the humble, and the slave set free from his master. There dwells Lazarus, who once sat covered by ulcers by the door of the rich man, now forever happy in the glory of the Father. There is enjoyment for the choirs of angels and saints.

O how broad and pleasing is Abraham’s bosom! O how calm and secret ! How free and clear ! O Israel, how good is Abraham’s bosom, not for those who glory in themselves but for those whose hearts are good principally for those it embraces and makes anew. Without your help, O God, eye has not seen what has been prepared in the bosom of Abraham for those who await you. Man does not know this secret, which does not appear upon earth to those who live in pleasure. This secret is one which the eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor has it entered into the heart of man; it is what is promised to the faithful fighting for Christ, and what is given to the victorious who reign with Christ in glory.

What do we have still in common with perishable things, we to whom so much is promised in Heaven? What could we enjoy on earth in the company of sinners, we who are called to the court of the heavenly host? What are the pleasures of the flesh to us who ought to bear the image of the celestial? What do we have to do with the concupiscence of the eyes, we who long to gaze upon the spectacle which is pleasing to the angels? With worldly ambition, we to whom is promised the possession of Heaven ?

Thus, while like all our fathers, we are guests and strangers, while our days pass by like a shadow over the earth and there is no respite, while the avenging angel, the blinding cloud, the wind of the tempest, and the enveloping fire pass over the earth, let us flee from the darkness of Egypt to the shadow of the wings of God, and stay there until iniquity has passed away, until the day breathes and the shadows bow low, in order to merit being placed in Abraham’s bosom.

There are the true riches, there are the treasures of wisdom, length and joy of life. There is full force where nothing is weakness, where nothing courageous is lacking. There is full wisdom where there is no ignorance, where no true understanding is lacking. There is utmost felicity where there is no adversity, where no goodness is lacking. There is full health because there is full charity, there is full beatitude because there is full vision of God. Vision, I say, is in knowledge, knowledge is found in love, love is with praise, and praise finds security and ail this is without end.

Who will give us wings like the dove, and we shall fly across all the Kingdoms of this world, and we shall penetrate the depths of the eastern sky.  Who then will conduct us to the city of the great king in order that what we now read in these pages and see only as in a glass, darkly, we may then look upon the face of God present before us, and so rejoice?

City of God ! What glorious things have they not said of thee ! In thee is the home of those who are joyous, in thee is the light, and the life of all. Thy foundation is a single stone, a living corner - stone, uniquely precious. Thy gates will shine with splendid diamonds. They will be opened wide. Thy walls will be of precious stones, thy towers gleaming with jewels. Thy streets, O Jerusalem, will be paved with gems and with a pure gold like transparent crystal, and in thee will be seen the vision of glory, in thee will be sung the songs of gladness, and all will hear the sweet concert of Heaven, the symphony, the choir, and all will utter a single word: Alleluia !

A word without peer, word of all sweetness, word full of praise ! In this city dwell our parents and dearest friends ready to call upon God in our behalf; they await our coming, and so far as they are able, they hasten our journey.

Let us lift up our hearts to them in our hands, let us rise above all transitory things. Let our eyes stream constantly with tears toward the joys which are promised us. Let us be happy because of what has already been accomplished in the faithful who, yesterday, were fighting for Christ, and today reign with Him in glory.

Let us be happy because of what has been told us in truth: We shall go into the land of the living.

Most illustrious of lands, celebrated land which the Lord has blessed, land flowing with milk and honey, desirable land which carnal Israel counted as nothing but for which every true Israelite will struggle until death. Blessed is the hour when we shall enter into this land, where the Lord as He passes will minister unto us, while the angels rejoice and the saints enjoy bliss everlasting.

On that day, God will manifest Himself to us and to all our friends, He will wipe away every tear from the eyes of the saints. He will give back great things in return for small, for perishable things, bliss. Then all will become clear to us, everything will belong to all; then, visibly, shall we see how God is three and one, all in all, and above all. Then will our hearts rejoice with the fulness of joy, and our joy no one shall take from us: for what we are now in expectation, then shall we be in reality: sons of the kingdom, united to the angels, eternal inheritors of God, co - heirs with Christ, by the same Christ, Our Lord who with the Father and the Spirit, liveth and reigneth, world without end. Amen !

 [10] Themes of Anticipation

IT is true then: medieval monastic literature is, in large part, a literature of compunction, whose aim is to possess, to increase, and to communicate the desire for God. And this fact opens up to us a whole conception of monastic culture and of monastic life. The latter is considered as an anticipation of celestial life; it is a real beginning of eternal life. Everything is judged according to its relationship with the final consummation of the whole of reality. The present is a mere interlude. This conception is often expressed by means of two themes which can merely be indicated here. The first is that of the pre - libation, which again calls upon the vocabulary borrowed from the senses, notably the sense of taste; ²⁷ this pre-taste engenders in the soul, a joy, an exaltation, a sort of intoxication, but an intoxication within the bounds of faith and asceticism. It owes nothing to purely natural stimulant; it is a “sober inebriation.” ²⁸

 [11] Rest and Leisure

THE second theme is that of leisure. Because it anticipates eternal rest, monastic life, the life in the “cloistered paradise” ²⁹ is a life of leisure. That is the definition most frequently found and in this case it is expressed in terms like otium, quies, vacatio, sabbatum, which are occasionally used to reinforce each other: otium quietis, vacatio sabbati. ³⁰ These terms must be understood properly; the reality they describe is as different from quietism as the traditional hysuchia is from Hesychasm. Otium lies midway between the two perils: otiositas and negotium which is the very denial of otium. Otium is the major occupation of the monk. It is a very busy leisure, negotiosissimum otium, as St. Bernard and so many others have repeated. This theme, like all the others, is of biblical inspiration. There is, to be sure, a classical tradition of otium. But when William of Saint-Thierry, for example, takes from Seneca and Pliny the expression otium pingue, he gives it an entirely new meaning, ³¹ the one used by Ecclesiastes in an expression often repeated by monastic writers: sapientia scribae in tempore otii. ³² The symbol of the bed, and even of the “little bed” is grafted on the theme of leisure: Lectulus poster f oridus, 33 The bed is monastic life; the lectulus is contemplation. ³⁴Hence a whole symbolism of “waking sleep.” ³⁵ Mystical language constantly uses paradoxes like these to evoke, without exhausting their meaning, realities too complex to be contained within abstract definitions. It is always a question of the reconciliation, on the level of spiritual experience, of ideas which, in appearance and on the natural level, are contradictory.

[12] Desire: Possession of Love

THIS conception of the foretaste of Heaven gives direction and also its form to the monks’ culture and theology. Because it belongs to the eschatological order - anticipated but still imperfect participation in the sight of God - contemplation is essentially an act of faith, hope, and love. It is not, therefore, the end result of a discursive activity of the intelligence, it is not the reward of learning acquired through study, and it does not result in an increase of speculative knowledge. It tends to foster love under the forms love takes on while awaiting celestial beatitude: a vague possession, the possession of desire. Since contemplation in its full meaning means possession in perfect knowledge, it will be attained only in Heaven; it is impossible here on earth. But one can obtain from God the gift of real anticipation which is the desire itself. ³⁶ To desire Heaven is to want God and to love Him with a love the monks sometimes call impatient. ³⁷ The greater desire becomes, the more the soul rests in God. Possession increases in the same proportion as desire. ³⁸ But just as death is the condition upon which full satisfaction depends, so this pretaste demands that we must die to the world. There is no contemplation without mystical death, without mortification. ³⁹ This obligation is incumbent upon all Christians; all the faithful are called upon to detach themselves from the world and to cling to God who is symbolized by Heaven. St. Anselm, at the end of the Proslogion where he tries, in his own words, “to elevate his spirit unto God,” engages in a long contemplation of the happiness of God and those who enjoy it in Heaven, as if that were the end to which all his striving to understand revelation was directed. ⁴⁰ He considers this same contemplation the aim of all moral exhortation. In a letter to Hugh the Hermit, in which he sketches the outline of a sermon which could be given to seculars, he emphasizes in closing, the necessity of stimulating them to long for Heaven, and he refers to what he had written at the end of the Proslogion. ⁴¹ In reality, devotion to Heaven cannot remain a monopoly of the monks. They, however, did practice it more than others, since in the cloistered life their attention was less distracted from the God Who gives Himself in creating the desire for Him. An anonymous monastic author of the twelfth century showed very clearly how union with God is realized in desire and becomes inseparable from it:

He who wishes to merit reaching the threshold of eternal life, God asks of him only a holy desire. In other words, if we are unable to make the efforts which merit eternity, we are, in spite of being so base and so slow, through our desire at least for eternal realities already hastening toward it. We want to eat in proportion to our hunger, to sleep in proportion to our weariness; in the same way it is by virtue of a holy desire that we search for Christ, that we are united with Him and love Him. ⁴²

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