Volume II, Treatise I, Chapter XXIII

Of the Three Degrees Ef Mortification

Berore I conclude this treatise, I shall briefly explain the three degrees of mortification, established by St. Bernard, and assigned a3 80 many steps to raise us to the highest pitch of perfection. The first degree is taught us by St. Peter, in his first canonical epistle:—-“I conjure you,” says he, “‘my dear brethren, to look upon yourselves as strangers and passengers only in this world, and to abstain from all carnal desires which make war against the soul.” (1 Peter 2:11) We are no more than strangers here, and banished from heaven, our native country. ‘“We have no fixed abode at present, we are in pursuit of another, and we wander. like pilgrims, and are far from God, so long as we carry about us these our mortal bodies.” (Hebrews 13:14) Let us therefore behave ourselves like travellers who are far distant from home. A traveller, says St. Bernard, always keeps the straight road, and endeavours to avoid all turning and winding paths as much as he can. If he chances to see people on the way, either quarrelling or making mirth, he is not at all concerned nor troubled, but prosecutes his journey without stopping; because these things do not constitute his business. His chief affair is to long after his country, and advance every day towards it; for this reason he contents himself with ordinary clothes and homely fare, and takes nothing along with him that is burthensome, or that may retard his journey. Thus we ought to do in the pilgrimage of this world; we must look upon ourselves, as really we are, to be on a journey: nothing ought to stop us upon the way, not must we carry any thing along with us which is unnecessary. “Having food and raiment, we ought to be content;” (1 Timothy 6:8) and as for the rest, we must leave behind us every thing that is useless or superfluous; that we may perform our journey so much the better and more speedily. Let us therefore languish after our dear native country, and let us testify our grief at being so far from it, by crying out with the Psalmist:— “Woe is me that my sojourning is prolonged!”-(Psalms 119:5) Happy is the man, says St. Bernard, that really thinks himself a pilgrim in this world; he knows, and knowing laments his unhappy exile, in these pathetic words:—“Be not deaf to my tears, O Lord; I am a stranger and a pilgrim before you, as all my predecessors were; call me home to live for ever with you.” (Psalms 38:13)

It is certain this degree implies a more than ordinary virtue; and to arrive to it requires no small pains; but there is another of moreé elevated perfection. For though a traveller, says St. Bernard, makes no long stay in a country, where he passes; yet it often happens that, curious to know the customs and manners of the inhabitants, he delays for some time; and though this delay does not quite break off his journey, yet it certainly interrupts his return; and he may also be disposed to take so much pleasure in gratifying his curiosity, that he will not only return late, but perhaps will never arrive in his native country. You will perhaps ask me, who can be more estranged and disengaged from the world, than he who lives in it like a traveller? Jt is he who lives in it and is dead to it. A traveller is always in want of something or other for his journey, and were there nothing else but the care of providing necessaries, and the carriage of them, it would be a sufficient hindrance. But he that is dead, does not feel a want of any thing, not so much as a grave. He is equally indifferent to praise and censure: flattery and detraction sound both alike to him, or to speak more properly, he understands neither the one or the other. This is the second degree of perfection, which is far more sublime and perfect than the first, and is thus described by St. Paul: “You are dead, and your life is hidden with God in Christ.” (Colossians 3:3) Hence you see, that it is not enough to be in the world as a traveller, but you must be truly dead to it. Would you know how to effect this? Look on a man that is dead—“He neither hears, sees, nor speaks —no passion of pride or anger disturbs him;”—(Lansperg); nothing at all troubles him, all sense and motion has left him. If then you still have eyes to pry into other people’s actions; if you are never at a loss for an answer to excuse yourself, and to do away the obligation of obedience; if you take it ill when your failings are reprehended; and lastly, if you feel proud and angry when you are neglected or despised, be assured that you are so far from _ being dead to the world, that you live and act by a worldly spirit. For one that is dead is altogether unconcerned at any contempt or injury done him. Happy is the man, says St. Bernard, that is thus dead. This kind of death is the only true life—it disengages us from the world, even in the midst of it, or rather it separates us from all things in this present life.

“See here,” continues the saint, “a very noble degree of mortification, but perhaps we may find one yet more sublime.”—(Bern. Serm. vii. Quadrages.) Where shall we seek for it, or where shall we find it but in him that was rapt to the third heaven. For if there be another degree more sovereign than what we have spoken of, it very well deserves the name of a third heaven. For what can we do more than to lay down our lives in imitation of “Jesus Christ, who was obedient even to death.” (Philippians 2:8) Nothing sure can go beyond this. Yes, there still remains something more, it is the death of the cross, as the apostle adds, and as the holy church sings upon Good Friday, in memory of the passion. To die upon a cross, is more than barely to die; for in those days it was the greatest infamy to die upon a cross. This is the third degree of mortification, far more sublime than the two others, and to which St. Paul was elevated, as well as to the third heaven, when he said, “the world is crucified to me, and I to the world.” (Galatians 6:14) He was not content to say, that he was dead to the world, but would add that he was crucified to it, and that the world was a cross to him, and he to it. It is the same as if he had said, pleasures, honours, riches, the esteem and praise of men, and all the world courts and adores, is a sensible cross to me, and an object of hatred and horror; on the contrary, I love and embrace with the greatest tenderness of my heart, all that the world looks upon as infamy and disgrace. It is then that a Christian is truly crucified to the world, and the world to him, when he perceives that the world is a cross to him, and he to it. This made St. Bernard own, that this third degree of mortification, was far more perfect than the two others. For though a traveller only passes by, without making any considerable stay, to look upon what offers itself to his sight, yet he still’ beholds those objects, and in that must needs spend some little time. And as for him that is dead to the world, which is the second degree, he is indeed equally indifferent to adversity and prosperity, to infamy and honour. But still the third degree far surpasses this; and is not satisfied with this holy indifference. He that attains this perfection, thinks it a poor business to look upon the esteem and glory of the world as nothing, and as if he were dead, unless he really thinks them a cross and the greatest punishment which can be inflicted on him. To be insensible to affronts and disgrace, is but a very small matter in his sight, who rejoices and glories in them, and says with St. Paul; “far be it from me to glory, unless in the cross of Christ Jesus, by which the world is crucified to me, and I to it.” It is the love of Jesus Christ that makes me hate all the world loves, and causes me to place my greatest content and delight in what the world hates. “T am filled with comfort, and I feel a superabundant joy in my afflictions,”” (2 Corinthians 7:4); and all my satisfaction is in suffering for Jesus Christ.

This is the third degree, which St. Bernard justly terms the third heaven, because it is so sublime. Holy men and masters of a spiritual life are of the same opinion, since the most sovereign perfection of mortification consists in it; and philosophy teaches, that it is a certain sign of having acquired any virtue in perfection when we perform its acts with ease and pleasure. Do you then desire to know if you have arrived at this third and most perfect degree of mortification? Examine yourself, whether you rejoice when your inclinations are thwarted, your petitions denied, and you yourself contemned; on the contrary, when people respect and honour you, does this trouble and afflict you? ‘ Wherefore, let every one of us consider,” says St. Bernard, “in what degree we are, and endeavour to make a new progress; for by our advancing from one virtue to another we shall enjoy the beatific vision in the heavenly Zion.” This was the sublime state which our Saviour spoke of to St. Francis in these words: “If you desire to enjoy me, make all bitter things sweet, and all sweet things bitter to you.”

Ceesarius in his dialogues tells us, that there was a lay-brother in one of the monasteries of the Cistertians, called Rodolphus, a great servant of God, and frequently favoured with divine revelations,?

who, staying one night in the church after matins, saw our blessed Saviour and fifteen Cistertian monks about him, all hanging upon grosses. OurSaviour’s body reflected so great a light, that by the help thereof he easily knew the monks, for they were all still living. On his being much surprised at this sight, our Saviour asked him if he knew those persons who were there crucified with him? He answered yes, but could not comprehend what the vision meant. ‘‘ These,” says our Saviour, “whom you see, are the only persons that are crucified with me, by a conformity of their lives to my death and passion.”-=-(2 Corinthians 7:4)

About ReligiousBookshelf.com · A Supernerd Media project