The approach taken by Abba Paphnutius in Cassian’s third Conference is more direct. He sees three levels of renunciation in the life of the monk.
a) By the first renunciation he departs from family and possessions and embraces the monastic lifestyle.
b) By the second renunciation, which engages his energies for most of his life, he struggles to find freedom from the slavery of his past life and the vices of both body and spirit.
c) The third renunciation allows him so fully to let go of this familiar world that he is drawn into the sphere of the spirit and begins to experience here on earth the reality of heavenly bliss.
Beginning at the end, as the first Conference recommends, he recognizes that the goal of monastic life is to arrive at that singleness of outlook that permits the experience of God. For this to happen, the monk has to confront, and by grace to overcome, the instincts and tendencies that complicate his life and muddy the surface of his mind. This is difficult to achieve so long as he is embroiled in the inevitable turmoil associated with family and career. So he abandons a normal existence, makes an effort to live as a monk, and after years of undramatic struggle comes to a point of self-transcendence where the spiritual world begins to form part of his everyday horizon. At this final stage the work begun in initial conversion finds its completion. The purpose of renunciation is clear in such a long-term perspective. It is the means by which a monk prepares himself to be drawn into the contemplation of God. If you want to see God then attain purity of heart: If you want an undivided heart then live a simple life—and that involves systematically eliminating whatever makes it unnecessarily complex. In other words, it involves renunciation. So long as we live fragmented existences any pursuit of contemplative experience is likely to be frustrated. This is what Thomas Merton says with his usual trenchancy.
The first thing you have to do before you set about thinking about such a thing as contemplation is to try to recover your basic natural unity, to reintegrate your compartmentalized being into a coordinated and single whole, and learn to live as a unified human person. This means that you have to bring back together the fragments of your distracted existence so that when you say “I” there is really someone present to support the pronoun you have uttered.13
Those who seek the guidance of Hindu and Buddhist spiritual masters seem to manifest a certain willingness to accept a stern discipline of life as a means of entering more deeply into meditation. They do not always grasp the connection between asceticism and mysticism, but they believe that their confidence in their spiritual guide is well-placed. As a result they practise renunciation, they are open to guidance, they accept criticism and correction. In Zen meditation halls those whose attention wavers are brought back to concentration by a sharp blow on the neck with a stick. If we tried that in the West we would probably end up in jail!
Christian mystical tradition is no less equipped to guide people in the way of prayer, but for some reason we seem less bold in making demands on those who seek instruction. In the past few centuries these techniques (if they may be so called) are more psychological than physical or bodily. There is less adventure involved in the examination of conscience or learning to practise meekness than in fasting or shaving one’s head. It may be that the credibility of the Church is less, not only because of scandals, but also due to the fact that its representatives are sometimes perceived as part of an institutional power structure and therefore resented. Too many years of fund-raising, building construction, liturgical management, and social involvement may have engineered such an extroverted image of the clergy that some may become dubious about their competence in matters of interiority. Those who are looking for “something more” veer towards the exotic, not always wisely. Another possible reason is more theological. Especially since the Second Vatican Council, our emphasis on grace and on the mercy of God can sometimes lead us to see less clearly the role that the practice of intelligent discipline plays in neutralizing vice and preparing the way for contemplative experience.
The mystical tradition of the West is no lame duck. It is clear both about its goals and the means that are necessary to attain them. We can find plenty of evidence to support this assertion by leaping back a few centuries and looking at the way Benedict approached asceticism and how he integrated it in a tradition that remained true to itself without disregarding the human needs of those who sought to be guided by it.
1. St. Benedict’s Approach to Asceticism
The way of life established by the Rule of Benedict does not give much scope for dramatic feats of ascetical practice. In fact the standard of living, the level of comfort, and the availability of conveniences may appear to be somewhat higher than that of the average family in the locality. It takes a little experience to perceive the strictness that more often than not underlies the veneer of gracious living.
a) Benedictine Asceticism Consists in Corporate Living.
The choice of individual mortification can sometimes be spoiled by inappropriate motivation and self-will. Very often people will be attracted to practices that reinforce their vices rather than neutralize them. One who is overly taciturn will aim at becoming even more silent, and another who has anorexic tendencies may manifest a zest for fasting. Choosing exactly the wrong means is a proclivity well chronicled in Gregory the Great’s Pastoral Rule. This is why Benedict does not want his monks to burden themselves with extra practices during Lent unless they first check matters out with the spiritual father (49:8–10). To the incurable individualist, self-denial is no longer much fun if everybody is doing it. In addition, control of the exercise passes out of one’s own hands. My experience in some communities would lead me to conclude that it can be more penitential to eat the common meal than to abstain. Certainly this was often the case in twelfth-century Cistercian monasteries where miracles were sometimes necessary to make the food digestible. If the great enemy to spiritual growth is self-will, then the most effective means of progress is to curtail its exercise. Following the common norm in all things without murmuring or self-inflation is probably one of the best means of doing this.
b) Benedictine Asceticism is Being Subject to Discernment.
Having a goal means that there is always a standard against which every proposition can be measured. Adopting a disciplined lifestyle means that a certain lightness and spontaneity is lost. Whatever course of action a monk seeks to follow, whatever plan a community adopts, must be submitted to the test of whether the proposition is likely to contribute to the realization of the fundamental purpose of monastic life. Inevitably there are different views about such matters, and the eventual decision may go against my personal preferences. There is an asceticism involved in consenting to live a life based on principles and values rather than on whatever captivates me at a particular moment. It means that there is no chance of relief, no vacation. All my days are passed under a discipline that depends on interior attitudes rather than on external regulation. This is the way of life I have chosen; this is how I express who I am. Unfortunately I can never have a holiday from myself. Sometimes we will find ourselves hankering for a more mindless existence.
c) Benedictine Asceticism Adapts to Circumstances.
St. Benedict is praised for his flexibility. He gives the abbot the right to change or suspend any measure that is not working because of particular circumstances. There is, however, a flip side to this admirable quality. The abbot is expected to cool things down in favor of the “weak,” but he is also instructed to turn up the heat when he is dealing with the “strong” (64:19). This attitude means that there is less danger of asceticism being reduced to the level of the institutional and symbolic. If there is no bite in daily monasticism, there is a possibility that monks and nuns will forget what they are about, and devote most of the waking hours to concern about work, relationships, and practical matters. The search has ceased. Desire for God has become submerged, cocooned under a mountain of immediate concerns. If life here below is too comfortable we will w
ant to settle down. Where a sense of purpose fails, morale plummets. Asceticism reminds us that we are not yet in heaven, we are still on the way. It invites us to lift up our hearts to where our treasure is, and to find our principal joy there.
d) Benedictine Asceticism is Moderate.
Again, the moderation of Benedict is rightly celebrated. Moderation and sufficiency are the principles that guide his ordering of daily life: Extremism and excess are eliminated. For all who give themselves to lifelong fidelity to the Rule, this is a valuable protection against early burnout. Surprisingly, however, moderation is not so easy to observe. Sometimes it is easier to go without than to walk the fine line between too much and too little. The point about Benedict’s provisions is that no single observance is absolutized. Abstemiousness in food gives way to the special needs that follow manual work (41:4-5); the great silence after compline can be broken on behalf of guests (42:10), and loving consideration is to be shown to old men and children (37:3).
e) Benedictine Asceticism is Unremitting.
“The life of the monk should have a Lenten character all the time” (49:1). The vow of stability means that the monk is deprived of the possibility of disguising his lack of commitment by moving around. Despite the fact that Benedict recognizes that few have the strength to live in a perpetual Lent, and he himself was rebuked for attempting to do so, the ideal remains. A monk expects that the value of self-denial will have some scope in his daily experience; if it has dropped off the radar of his conscience, something is wrong. The paradox one often encounters in fervent communities is that the level of asceticism often rises as the years go by. Austerity of life is not something imposed on newcomers to channel their fervor, but it is a choice that grows out of inner conviction as a monk learns to embrace with delight and from the love of Christ things that may hitherto have seemed hard and burdensome (Prol. 47-48, 7:68-69). The principle of self-denial as a means of discipleship remains intact until one’s final breath, though obviously the means used will vary according to possibility.
f) Benedictine Asceticism is Invisible.
Those with a superficial acquaintance with monastic communities often come to the conclusion that Benedictine conversatio is not so tough. It is true that the more dramatic austerities of former times are no longer much in evidence: There is less silence, the food is better, the hours of sleep are longer, and the exclusion of the modern world is less total. These are only minor adaptations. The great struggle against self is not fought on these fronts. It takes place more at the level of maintaining one’s personal commitment as one changes and the world and the monastery also change. Stability is not a matter of inertly standing still, but like riding on a surfboard, it demands a lot of effort to stay up. Living in the same place, with the same people, and following the same rule of life for forty years and more is a particular challenge in our times; the tendency to escape either physically or mentally is strong. This is why the hardest thing of all for many today is staying put and letting the monastic process run through to completion. We are far too inclined to believe that if immediate gratification is lacking it is because something is wrong and change is called for. Wrong! Patience is called for, as Benedict seems to have recognized (Prol. 50), until we get to the point where things get easier and sometimes seem quite delightful.
Benedict’s program of renunciation (if it may be so termed) is built upon the conception of a community formed by gospel values, a group of people who declare their independence of the society in which they live by choosing different priorities. It is not primarily negative. Those who faithfully follow Benedict’s Rule are not usually fiercely world-rejecting, body-denying, self-hating people. They are not fanatics. Those formed by monastic tradition more often than not come out the other end as prudent, gentle, and tolerant, both toward themselves and toward others.
2. Giving Primacy to Interiority
Aparticular area of asceticism that is characteristic of the Benedictine tradition is summarized in the word often chosen to epitomize it: Peace. Elsewhere I have written of monastic conversatio as “an unexciting life.” Ideally it makes prudent use of a technique recently given the acronym REST, “Restricted Environmental Stimulation.”14 Most of us live in a sensate culture with a vast appetite for the sensational. As a result many young people find monastic life “boring,” and many of the not-so-young welcome any drama to break the tedium of a typical monastic day. More than twenty years ago I coined the phrase “creative monotony.” Today, more than ever, I believe that this should be one of our important priorities: to make our communities places of intense peace, where interiority is possible and positive reinforcement is given to those who wish to journey deeper into prayer. This involves a certain enthusiasm for the discipline and practice of silence, non-communication, recollection. The purpose of a quiet life needs to be clear: It is to facilitate a quiet mind in which spiritual priorities become progressively more dominant. Nor is this withdrawal an invitation to isolation and introspection. It is, rather, a matter of providing the opportunity of entering more deeply into reality and of living from the heart. As prayer becomes less conceptual, however, there is a movement away from involvement in all sorts of busyness, yet without becoming less present to common and communal life. In fact, the lack of external stimulation has been seen in the tradition of Evagrius as one mode of apatheia, which, in turn, was regarded as the generator of agape.15
An interior life demands a reduction in the importance given to many external events—notably those ephemeral happenings that fill our newspapers today and are forgotten next week. It is also a move away from the elevation of all sorts of trivialities into issues of major importance. Often it is the renunciation of a tendency to create a tempest in a teacup and, instead, to choose the path of peacemaking. Above all, the way of interiority is the acceptance of spiritual poverty, a tolerance for the dark way of faith, and a take-it-or-leave-it attitude to all that is not God. Again, Thomas Merton says it well.
Contemplative prayer is, in a way, simply the preference for the desert, for emptiness, for poverty. One has begun to know the meaning of contemplation when [one] intuitively and spontaneously seeks the dark and unknown path of aridity in preference to every other way. The contemplative is one who would rather not know than know. Rather not enjoy than enjoy. Rather not have proof that God loves him.16
The key word seems to be “preference.” Choosing a low-impact lifestyle as a means to living a more intense spiritual life is an option willingly pursued. It can never be imposed from without. A quiet life marked by periods of solitude and silence and characterized by patience and calmness cannot be created by external regulation. It can come only from a heart that has tasted how good the Lord is and how energizing it can be to be still before the Lord. To such a one the renunciation of many fatuous excitements is no hardship, but the highway to inner tranquility.
In all this we are confronted with a choice about whether we live from the heart or allow our lives to be dictated by what happens around us. Fundamental to any serious attempt to live a spiritual life is the priority given to the deep self over the superficial self. Living from the heart means negating self-will, refusing to allow the ego to dominate our affairs. Asceticism tries to put a bridle on the ego’s wild impulses, to reduce the highs and lows of immature desire, and to bring some consistency and gravitas into our search for God. Part of how this is accomplished is the creation of an ambiance in which interior impulses are not only permitted but actively encouraged to assert themselves.
3 Leisure
A disciple should be quiet and listen.
RB 6:6
T he Benedictine vocation includes within its integrity an attraction to leisure—a time and space of freedom in which the deep self can find fuller expression.17 In a paradoxical sense, self-realization is the principal task of the monk or nun in the Benedictine tradition. This is not the result of a self-conscious narcissism, but derives from a fundamental fidelity to God’s call embodied in what
we are, the imperative to allow full scope to the potentialities of our nature. That is why members of a community that follows Benedict’s rule are such a varied lot. They are not formed by particular tasks to be accomplished, but are encouraged to grow to the limit of their particular possibilities in the tasks assigned to them. Practically, communities have to engage in work that provides for their support. Ideally, the moneymaking occupations of a monastic community do no more than finance a modest lifestyle together with the possibility of helping others. Work is not designed to maximize profit so as to enable conspicuous consumption. To some extent monastic work grows out of the possibilities presented by those who make up the community. If this happens, then work not only provides self-support, it also offers the possibility of self-expression and human fulfillment. It can become a channel of growth that forms the character of those involved in it. It is because monastics strive to be fully present in whatever occupation engages them that the work they do is endowed with a special character. Their work is shaped by pursuit of excellence that is typical of those who embrace the monastic way.
Strangers to the City Page 3
