Eleventh century
For when we have renounced the world, we have constituted God as our property and consequently we have become His property in such a way that He has become our portion and we are His peculiar heritage. If then the omnipotent God Himself deigns to be our portion, what kind of riches, I ask, will it avail anyone to acquire which could exceed in merit this matchless treasure? For that treasure is such that even if it be alone, all riches can truly be possessed in it. "In the heart of Jesus are bidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge." . . .
How, O monk, do you mean to save Christ up in your cell? First, cast out money, for Christ and money do not go well together in one place; if you shut them both up at the same time, you will find yourself the possessor of one without the other. The richer you may be in the poor wealth of this world, the more miserably lacking you are in true riches. Therefore if money is there, let it retire immediately into other halls so that Christ may find vacant the cell of your heart. That great Guest seeks indeed to descend into the recesses of your lodging-place, and He wishes to dwell alone there, without any companions. For how can you try, in the poor corner of your cell, to put strange companions with that One whom the vastness of heaven and earth cannot contain? Let terrestrial wealth give way where celestial treasure is admitted! . . .
This treasure, then, namely Christ, our God and Lord, who was made for us as both redeemer and reward, He Himself both the promiser and the prize, who is both the life of man and the eternity of the angels--this, I say, store away with diligent care in the recesses of your heart. On Him cast the anxiety of any care whatsoever. In Him delight through the discourse of zealous prayer. In Him refresh yourself by the nightly feasts of holy meditation. Let Him be your food, and your clothing no less. If it should happen that you lack anything of external convenience, do not be uncertain, do not despair of His true promise in which He said, "Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and all things shall be added unto you."
Nor do I judge it possible, dearest brother, to exclude this from your memory, that we have often grieved among ourselves in familiar intercourse about that baneful habit of the monks; we have suffered in fraternal love over the brothers who are restless and sinking to their ruin through the vice of roaming about. For there are some who, when they bore the burden of service in the world, were weary under this yoke of human servitude with running hither and thither, and therefore they resolved to go over to monastic peace through love of liberty. Now, however, they burn with such a great flame of pernicious restlessness that when no occasion of going to a distance presents itself, they seem to be shut in by the dark horror of prison confinement, which without doubt the astuteness of the old enemy is not ignorant of. For those whom that most evil rider drives to this, he urges on to the dangerous incitements of wandering so that they, returning to the vanity of the world, may perish and turn others away from seizing the path of true salvation. . . .
From this poisoned root of restlessness so many shoots of vices spring that whatever plant it is perceived in is stripped of all the fruit of monastic perfection like a withered tree. . . . For, to name only a few out of many, a monk while travelling is not able to fast because the hospitable kindness shown him does not permit it. He does not recite the psalms as he should because the loquacity of the moving company prevents him. He does not persist in nightly vigils because the privacy of isolation is lacking; he does not sweat on bended knees in prayer because the toil of travel does not agree with the zeal of holy devotion. He is in no way constrained by the rule of silence because frequently when occasions arise, though unwillingly, he gives way to much speaking. . . .
Whoever, therefore, as a monk hastens to attain the height of perfection, let him confine himself within the walls of his cloister, let him love spiritual quiet, let him have a horror of running about in the world, as he would of immersing himself in a pool of blood. For the world is more and more every day polluted by the contamination of so many crimes that any holy mind is corrupted by the mere consideration of it. . . .
ON THE MORTIFICATION OF THE FLESH
And so there is nothing but the love of God and the mortification of yourselves. For if the apostolic maxim lives in us, which says, "Always bearing the dying of Jesus in our body," because carnal love does not have anything to diffuse itself within us, by necessity all our Joy transfers itself, raised on high, to God; and our fire, leaping up, lives there because within us it does not have room to spread. The man who is wise and earnestly intent on guarding his salvation watches always with such great solicitude to repress his vices that with the belt of perfect mortification he girds his loins and his reins, his belly as well as his flanks, on all sides. This indeed is then done, when the itching palate is repressed, when the bold tongue is restrained in silence, when the ear is closed to evil speaking, when the eye is forbidden to look at illicit things, when the hand is restrained lest it strike cruelly, the foot lest it go off wandering idly; when the heart is resisted lest it envy the good fortune of another's happiness, lest it desire through avarice that which is not its own, lest it cut itself off by wrath from fraternal love, lest it arrogantly praise itself above others, lest it yield to seductive luxury through pleasure, lest it sink immoderately into grief, or in joy open the way to the tempter.
Therefore, dearest brothers, seize the arms of all the virtues--sobriety, humility, patience, obedience, chastity, charity--and fight not on behalf of fields or cities, not for children or wives, but for your souls which rise above every emotion of relationship. Especially should you fast, so that your youth may acquire strength, and pray, for the reason that fasting subdues the vigor of the flesh and prayer raises the soul to God. It should be known, however, that some, while they indiscriminately carry out the fast, do not receive the benefits of fasting; for whatever they deny themselves one day, the next they gorge on at will. And so it is that one day of fasting serves for the following day. . . .
That one fasts well who on the day of refreshment [after fasting] is content with the common fare, if, that is, while he does not reject any kind of food, he does not also exceed the daily portion of those eating. Nevertheless, do not, ascribing too much importance to fasting, lose sight of obedience which is the golden road to heaven. . . .
Be content with garments mean and few. Accustom yourself to wearing light and scant clothing. This indeed is done at first not without difficulty but as habit grows, when it becomes natural, the discomfort of cold is easily assuaged. Moreover, the poverty of clothing and the scarcity of food immediately drive out all avarice from the heart of a monk. For what should I long for that does not add either to food or clothing? Therefore, as beginners we shudder not without a certain dread at the bareness of feet, and scarcity of clothes, the hardness of bed, the harshness of food, the drink of water, imagining sauces and other such things; persevering and persisting for a long time, however, we find these things easy from then on and bearable. Frequency indeed mitigates severity, and custom makes rigor agreeable. . . .
Come now, brother, what is this body which you clothe with such diligent care and nourish gently as if it were royal offspring? Is it not a mass of putrefaction, is it not worms, dust, and ashes? It is fit that the wise man consider not this which now is, but rather what it will be afterwards in the future, pus, slime, decay, and the filth of obscene corruption. What thanks will the worms render to you, who are about to devour the flesh you nourished so gently and tenderly? Come, I say, why did Christ suffer? That He should wash away His own sins and blot out the faults of His own trangression? But hear Peter on this, saying, "Who did no sin, neither was guile found in His mouth." For whom then did He suffer? Peter himself answers, "Christ suffered for us, leaving us an example that ye should follow in His steps." . . . Why then do we read that Christ suffered, unless we follow His example from His footsteps? . . . Let the holy mind not fear therefore to share the cross of Christ in scourging, let him not blush with shame at the nakedness of the body, since He says, "For whosoever shall be ashamed of Me and of My words, of him shall the Son of man be ashamed, when He shall come in His majesty ... . . ."
ON THE MORTIFICATION OF THE SPIRIT
Now let me speak with embarrassment about those who follow after the rabble of the grammarians and who, abandoning spiritual studies, lust to learn the trifles of earthly art. Counting as little the Rule of Benedict they rejoice to apply themselves to the rules of Donatus. These, scorning the experience of ecclesiastical discipline, and panting after secular studies, what else do they seem to do but abandon the chaste spouse in the marriage bed of faith and descend to actresses and harlots? . . .
Moreover, the one who endeavoured to lead the troops of all the vices placed the desire for learning as head of the army, and so in her train brought all the crowds of iniquities into the unhappy world. What marvel, therefore, if in the daughter of Eve still vibrates that same spear which formerly the old enemy thrust into the same Eve? . . . Moreover, tears which are from God approach the tribunal of divine grace confidently, and obtaining what they seek, are assured of certain remission of our sins. Tears are mediators in the peace to be negotiated between man and God, and truthful and learned masters in any uncertainty whatsoever of human ignorance. For when we doubt whether something is pleasing to God or not, never do we receive greater certainty than when we pray, truly weeping. . . .
O tears, spiritual delights, even above honey and the honeycomb, and sweeter than all nectar! how you refresh minds raised to God with the pleasant sweetness of secret savour, and water arid and wasting hearts in the inmost part with the draught of supernal grace. . . .
From Opuscula. varia (Migne, Patrologia Latina, vol. 345), trans. J.B.R.