Over the past fifty years, there has been a growing interest in the myriad group of texts at one time mistakenly attributed to St. Bernard of Clairvaux, some of which were quite influential in the development of medieval spirituality, particularly in the decades following Bernard’s death in 1153. The present volume, part of a (minor) trend of recent translations of some of these relatively short pseudo-Bernardine works (the sixth since 2010), provides a detailed study and thoroughly annotated English text of what clearly was once the single most popular of the entire body of writings which, rightly or wrongly, were credited to the authorship of Bernard. (An astounding 671 mss., partial or complete, are extant, compared to well under a hundred mss. of representative texts actually by the Cistercian abbot.) The Very Devout Meditations attributed to Bernard of Clairvaux is the first English version in more than 300 years of the Meditationes Piisimae de Cognitione Humanae Conditionis (Most Devout Meditations On the Knowledge of the Human Condition – the full title provided at the outset of the translation itself [87]), the most common of a variety of titles affixed to the treatise, that found (among the dubious writings) in the monumental seventeenth-century edition of Mabillon, reprinted in Migne’s Patrologia Latina, the source used for the present volume.

The translator, David Bell, one of the most prolific, and eclectic, scholars of Cistercianism over the past half-century, also provides an engaging and informative preliminary discussion of the Meditationes (rather unusually identified both as “Introduction” and as “Part I,” consisting of five separate chapters) that is actually longer than the translation itself (81 vs. 66 pages). His interest in the pseudo-Bernardine corpus generally and the Meditationes in particular goes back at least thirty years, with the appearance of his article on published English translations of Bernard, both authentic and attributed, between 1496 and 1970, in which he notes that the very first of these treatises to be printed was in fact the very text he himself translates here. (This interest may in fact have begun more than two decades earlier, as he confusingly mentions early in his first chapter that the article was “published in 1970” [4], though the sole bibliographical reference here and subsequently is to the 1995 publication of a festschrift for the great Bernardine editor and scholar Jean Leclercq, later explicitly mentioned in the text itself [71]; might the essay have been written circa 1970 – which would explain the terminus ad quem – but not actually published until a quarter-century later?)

The opening chapter (3-17) situates the Meditationes in the context of pseudo-Bernardine literature in general, with a brief overview of recent research. Bell describes it as predominantly meditative, active and discursive rather than contemplative in orientation, “spiritual” rather than mystical, that is, for the average (particularly monastic) reader, rather than those in the more advanced stages of the spiritual life, “and all the more profitable for that” (6). Endorsing the conclusions of Abbot Elias Deitz in his 2016 introduction to three of the other recently published translations, he locates it among the De Conscientia treatises, introspective works aimed at moral reform from within (one of a number of different classifications found in this prefatory material). The chapter closes with fairly detailed summaries of two other pseudo-Bernardine works now available in translation, one from this trio and the other from the pair translated by Mark DelCogliano in 2010. One puzzling anomaly is that at the conclusion of the following chapter, Bell summarizes five main points “of this first chapter” (35) – i.e. the one now coming to a close. This may simply be a slip of the pen, but one wonders if at an earlier stage of composition a considerably shorter version of what is now chapter 1 might have served as the opening section of what has become chapter 2, and was subsequently made its own separate chapter by adding the extensive synopses of these two other works (the second of which, instructions for priests, has little thematic relation to the Meditationes), which some readers may find more detailed than they are prepared for and somewhat of a digression from the main focus, especially this early in the discussion.                  

In any case, chapter 2 (19-35) includes a further classification of the Meditationes as belonging to the overlapping genres of contemptus mundi, image and likeness and “know thyself” literature. After a brief summary of its fifteen chapters (as found in the Mabillon/Migne edition), Bell takes up the question of authorship, concluding that while, according to his own testimony, the writer was definitely a monk and a priest, his identity remains unknown. Basing himself on the extensive reliance on authentic Bernardine texts and the early attribution to Bernard himself, Bell believes the author was almost certainly a Cistercian, a likely but not definitive conclusion; Bell seems to be unbothered by the fact that, as he points out, there are apparently no other Cistercian writers among the work’s voluminous sources (see 28), which he proceeds to discuss in detail, clearly expressing his own enjoyment of the challenge, tedious as it often is, of tracking down even obscure passages from earlier authors, a process made possible by the profusion of online databases in recent decades. He notes that almost half the references come from Augustine and pseudo-Augustine, Bernard and pseudo-Bernard, but he has identified passages from more than thirty additional authors, integrated smoothly into the text (a complete source index is provided immediately following the translation, which is itself extensively annotated with scriptural as well as patristic and medieval citations). As for the date, Bell suggests between 1170 and 1190, a generation or two after Bernard, largely on the basis of the similarity of technique to that of the Cistercian Thomas of Perseigne, who wrote during this period, both the integration of Cistercian and Victorine spirituality and more generally the “multitude of sources, seamlessly woven together” (34) that Bell repeatedly points out as a primary element for what he considers the high literary quality of the treatise (see also 26, 70); again this is a plausible but not definitive suggestion (and there is no hint that Bell considers Thomas a possible candidate for the authorship).       

The two following chapters (37-54; 55-70) concentrate respectively on the theoretical and practical teaching of the Meditationes (roughly corresponding to the first four and final eleven chapters of the treatise). The former focuses principally on the “image and likeness” theme rooted in Augustinian theology, particularly of course in the De Trinitate, with its tripartite structure of the soul as memoria, intellectus (or intelligentia as this author prefers) and voluntas/caritas; Bell points out that the treatise reflects Augustine’s stress on the intellectual dimension more closely than Bernard’s emphasis on the will and on freedom as central to living out the divine image. As Bell goes on to note, the author recognizes and articulates the authentic Augustinian position that it is not merely in the static structure of the soul that the divine image is to be found, but in the dynamic activity of remembering, understanding and loving God and so participating in Trinitarian life. The remainder of this chapter considers the author’s treatment of the radical loss of the divine likeness through the fall, the total inability to recover this likeness by one’s own power, the pessimistic Augustinian tradition that emphasizes the depravity of sinful humanity, in which most sins are mortal and damnable, finishing up with the author’s teaching on the necessity of sacramental confession, a transitional topic leading to the more practical considerations to be discussed in the next chapter. Bell notes that there are no “psychological niceties” or “subtleties of intentionality” here – “We will be condemned or delivered by what we do, and that is all there is to it” (53) – a stark summons to abject self-abnegation and repentance.

The following chapter continues on this topic, pointing out that the author situates his discussion in the context of the Benedictine vow of conversatio morum, a complete change in one’s way of life, without ever using the term. The two intertwined means for effecting this transformation are seen to be love and prayer, insights on the first recurring throughout the treatise in no tightly organized fashion, including the beautiful summary statement from chapter 7 quoted by Bell: “Love all people, and show yourself worthy to be loved by all, so that you may be a peacemaker and a child of God” (65; 127). The second is considered in what Bell calls the most systematic portion of the treatise, chapters 6-8, five points on prayer including quieting the mind, listening, praying anywhere and everywhere, praying often, being faithful to prayer even when it is apparently fruitless. He concludes this chapter by expressing his own growing appreciation for the text during the course of translating it, moving from a dismissive attitude toward the work as “an overly pessimistic diatribe against human sin and corruption” (69) to a recognition that it is a well organized, highly effective summons to conversion of life, to the process of restoration of the lost divine likeness, that deserved the popularity it received in its day and the renewed attention is has begun to receive in our own.            

The final chapter of Part I summarizes the history of previously published English translations, beginning with an anonymous printing by Wynkyn de Worde in 1496, then jumping ahead to subsequent translations, of various degrees of fidelity, in 1611, 1614 (selections), 1631, 1700 and 1701, with only excerpts appearing subsequently (in 1951 and 1956) until the present work – the only one to provide information on its sources. Most of these were done by Anglicans, though in calling the 1631 version by the Benedictine exile James Batt the only version translated by a Roman Catholic Bell is evidently restricting that term to a post-Reformation context, as of course the initial 1496 publication, as well as a small number of medieval translations extant in manuscript form (making a total of nine surviving previous English translations in all), would have been undertaken by members of the English Church in union with Rome. The best, in Bell’s judgment, was that by an otherwise unidentified R. Warren, MA, depicted in Anglican clerical attire, though evidently the most popular, running to ten editions, was that published in a collection the following year by the quite well-known George Stanhope, dean of Canterbury Cathedral and royal chaplain, which Bell describes as a “long meditative paraphrase,” with extensive cuts and additions, that serves as “a vehicle for Stanhope’s High Church ideas” (81). With this survey of the English versions of the Meditationes, to which he is about to add, Bell brings his thorough Introduction/Part I to a conclusion.                

There are at least a couple of aspects of the treatise not discussed in detail by Bell that merit some further consideration. The first is the more doctrinal implications of the work’s denigration of the physical dimension of the human person. However effective they may be rhetorically in “goad[ing] us to take the necessary steps” (44) toward restoring the divine likeness in the soul by arousing visceral disgust with the corrupted and corruptible body, its physical functions and its eventual decay, and however characteristic they may be of the contemptus mundi theme of that era, the author’s overwhelmingly negative descriptions are seriously deficient in conveying the full range of authentic Christian teaching. There is no stress on the essential goodness of creation repeatedly affirmed in the opening chapter of Genesis; evidently there is no awareness of the Pauline distinction between sarx and soma, no attention to “and the Word became flesh” (Jn. 1:14), no allusion to “no one hates his own body” (Eph. 5:29), only the most fleeting notice of the glorified body of the resurrected Christ and the transformation of the whole person, body and soul, in the future resurrection of the just, no consideration of the “carnal” love of Christ in authentic Bernardine writings such as Sermon 20 on the Song of Songs, no trace of the “devotion to the humanity of Christ,” the incarnate Christ, already begun with Cistercians such as Aelred and to become central to the spirituality of the Franciscans so soon to flower. Its vivid depiction of the “human being [as] nothing but stinking sperm, a sack of shit, and food for worms” (103) certainly doesn’t reflect a balanced, accurate, scripturally grounded recognition of the sacramentality of the material world in general and the human body in particular.        

            On the other hand, the author’s skill in his overall handling of tone, particularly in his subtle modulations of the relation between speaker and audience, is evidence of genuine literary talent that enables him to attract and hold the attention of his readers. His smooth transition from first-person singular to plural in both the positive first chapter on human dignity and the negative chapter on human misery that follows draws the audience in without alienating it by conveying any sense of moral or intellectual superiority. When he does turn to second-person direct address in chapter 3, the very first words – “O soul” (101) – make clear that he is not excluding himself from the critique that follows, even as he subsequently transitions to speak repeatedly to “you men and women,” first of their degraded condition (102, 103), then of their nobility of soul and of the sacrificial death of Christ to redeem it (105). He returns to first person plural in chapter 4 in envisioning the fulfillment of eternal life, completing the first movement of the treatise. In considering daily self-examination in the following chapter, he moves unexpectedly from a generalized to a very particular “you,” a close friend and fellow monk, whom he is both advising and admiring, as one who is far more spiritually mature than himself. This initiates a strategy that will continue throughout the remainder of the treatise, in which the speaker takes a consistently self-deprecating attitude toward himself. Even when the addressee once again becomes the generic “whoever you are” (121), which soon happens, the rapport established with the unassuming narrator continues as he consistently points out his own shortcomings: being inattentive in prayer (119), giving advice that he does not himself follow, preferring reading to prayer, avoiding being available to listen to others (127), praying with the mouth rather than the heart (128), possessed of (or by) a fickle, “unruly and unstable heart” (130), “split[ing] up” his confessions among different priests rather than admitting all his sins at once (133), reacting defensively at the monastic chapter of faults when his failures are revealed (135 ff.) (the only aspect of this series mentioned in Bell’s introduction). How much of this is actually autobiographical and how much the result of inventing a fictive persona is impossible to tell, but either way its effectiveness in fostering a receptive attitude in his readers is quite evident and quite attractive.

The translation itself is smooth and quite readable, and with its abundant documentation of the wide range of sources integrated into a unified presentation it clearly supports Bell’s contention that the Meditationes “is not just a collection of miscellaneous sources lumped together, but a skillfully constructed compilation of carefully selected materials seamlessly woven together to form an effective treatise” (70). While there is certainly little likelihood of a modern reader preferring this composition by one of the many pseudo-Bernards to an authentic work by the real Bernard, the availability of the Meditationes in a well-introduced, well-translated, copiously annotated English version does provide the opportunity to appreciate why it became so popular in its own era, and to consider what insights it might still be able to provide for ours.