Strangers to the City

by Michael Casey

  Aelred seems to be suggesting that it is through the response to correction that we can gauge the depth and quality of a brother’s spiritual life. For Aelred the tranquil willingness to accept reproofs is an integral part of the relationship of obedience. He sees it as an essential means of breaking the tyranny of bad habits that are often invisible to ourselves. “Like a sheep, which is an example of simplicity, being neither angry with the shearer nor resistant to its slayer, let him so subject himself simply to the one who corrects him and simply accept the rebuke.”69

  On the other side, giving correction demands discernment and courage, courage because it will almost certainly be unwelcome, discernment because one’s own motivation needs to be thoroughly scrutinized. Whether there is scope today for what Clement of Alexandria termed “pedagogical anger” is a question worth pondering. It is probably true that in many places former structures of correction have fallen into disuse, thus placing a greater burden on the initiative of those with pastoral responsibility. Instead of being a routine irritant, correction now usually comes as a shock. Benedict’s suggestion that we are more likely to sin by defect than by excess in this matter of pastoral intervention is probably truer in the contemporary world than it ever was. It takes a very special person to be able to accept correction, especially when it is delivered in a manner that is experienced as hurtful. Often, because of the intrinsic difficulty of the situation, there are impedances to clear communication and, as a result, misunderstandings arise that take a lot of good will to resolve. One with pastoral responsibility will have to gauge beforehand whether the risk of intervention is likely to produce a good result; inevitably there will be miscalculations.

  Correction is probably one of those situations envisaged by Benedict in the fourth step of humility, where he talks about encountering things that are hard and contrary and meeting with undeserved injuries. His solution is simple though not easy: We embrace Christ’s cross. This takes the whole incident from the plane of interpersonal conflict and rancor to a higher and deeper level, where we encounter Christ, participate in his sufferings and so become more worthy to share in his kingdom.

  8 Mutuality

  Let them compete in showing

  obedience to one another.

  RB 72:6

  St. Benedict’s presentation of mutual obedience looks like, and probably was, an afterthought. Having spoken at great length and with strong emphasis about the value of obedience, in the context of the monk’s obedience to an abbot, he began to appreciate that the perfect disciple would desire to go further—if he could do so without creating disorder. A monk committed to the practice of mutual obedience is one who has come to the realization that he could be instructed and formed by many members of the community whose monastic experience was broader and deeper than his own. If he remains alert, each day will bring hundreds of opportunities in which he can say “yes” to God and “no” to self-will. If he wanted to, he could turn his whole existence into an orgy of obedience. This ideal and probably nonexistent monk would then begin to look around for other “superiors” from whom he might obtain the benefit of obedience. Progressively he would extend his submission to include not only middle management but also all the petty princelings that monastic life seems to bring into existence. He is voluntarily and uncringingly meek before any who want to give him instructions, be they polite or peremptory.

  Needless to say we would want to be sure that such a monk is not just spineless and supine, so uncertain of himself that he needs others to take responsibility for what he does. We would need to be assured that he is not needlessly suppressing his own insights, skills, and talents. We would hope that he is not playing some sort of twisted mind-game whereby he asserts his superiority by a feigned deference or an exaggerated compliance. We return to the question of finality. It is not the submission itself that is praiseworthy but the motivation for which it is embraced, whether this be self-denial, a willingness to learn from others who are smarter and wiser, or a desire to imitate the loving obedience of Christ.

  In such a spiritually motivated monk it is probably true to say that generic obedience pre-exists the specific obedience given to those with institutional authority. His “yes” is unconditional precisely because it does not depend on the clout of the one to whom it is given. The phrasing of Benedict’s presentation is interesting. “The good of obedience is to be shown by all not only to the abbot, but the brothers are also to obey one another thus, knowing that it is by thisroad of obedience that they are to go to God” (71:1-2). The Latin seems to imply that it is especially mutual obedience that brings us closer to God. Any who defy institutional authority call down institutional sanctions on their heads; this fear of the negative consequences of disobedience can make our compliance less of an expression of gratuitous love. When we submit to someone of no importance, who has no capacity to penalize our refusal even subtly, then we are deliberately and cold-bloodedly abandoning our own plans and projects in favor of an unnecessary obedience. In a sense this is a purer expression of a desire to abandon self-will, and so a more genuine obedience.

  1. The Struggle for Community

  Community is a warm and fuzzy term that evokes something deeply satisfying for those of us who have been reared in a world in which individualism is rife. The cry of “Let’s build community” was often heard in the 1970s as a protest against forms of religious life that had become over-institutionalized and impersonal. Community and mutuality are certainly attractive ideals, but their practical implementation is neither simple nor easy. It is interesting to note that in the broad range of commentaries that have appeared over the years, few have devoted much attention or manifested much insight on the topic of mutual obedience, whereas vertical obedience has inspired many lyrical pages, especially—as Jean Leclercq once pointed out—by abbots.

  Command obedience is easy to understand; the notion of mutual obedience is far more subtle and liable to misinterpretation. It is not some sort of Aquarian democracy. It is not the negation of all management structures or authority. A group in which everybody self-asserts is chaotic to the point of losing all cohesion. In such an unhappy situation, community life becomes the playground of all sorts of sub-personal forces, many of which flourish while their owners are mostly unaware. Conflict and division are the most visible results. As the demise of many experimental communities shows, there need to be formal limits to individualism. Some vertical authority is necessary to ensure that unresolved personal conflicts do not metastasize. The trick is to find a happy medium that goes beyond regimentation and leaves room for personal style and initiative without losing a common sense of purpose in the process.

  Lots of people operate reasonably well when they are “in the world” with their own space and a range of safety valves. When they embrace a common life they may find that many of the avenues of recuperation that they hitherto took for granted are unavailable. Pressure builds up, and some of the residue of past history begins to create a ferment inside them. This they attribute to the malign ambiance or the actions of those around them. Before long, instead of reading what is happening inside themselves, they begin to project onto their neighbors the disturbance they feel. Blame takes over: Difference is seen as insensitivity, and everyday thoughtlessness is interpreted as deliberate malice. The ideal of community, so long desired, evaporates before the reality. Mutuality may be an admirable goal but it seems that it cannot be realized in this place, and certainly not with these people.

  That this is not a distinctly modern experience is shown from the following quotation from Augustine:

  Here is a man who does not know what goes on inside. He does not know how a wind entering into in a harbor can cause ships to collide. So, he enters the community, hoping for security, and thinking that no one there would need to be tolerated. He finds brothers there who are bad, but who would not have been found to have been bad if they had not been admitted. (It is necessary that first they be tolerated so that maybe they will be
corrected; they cannot be easily excluded unless they first be tolerated.) He experiences an impatience that is beyond tolerance. “Who asked me to come here? I was thinking that there was charity here.” Thus while he becomes irritated at a few nuisances, he himself does not persevere in the fulfillment of what he vowed. He deserts his holy endeavor and becomes guilty of not rendering what he vowed. And when he departs from that place, he curses it and speaks badly of it. He speaks only of what he endured and insists that he was unable to carry on. Sometimes these [difficulties] are real. However the real difficulties caused by the evil ought to be tolerated for the sake of association with the good. Scripture says to him, “Woe to those who lose endurance” (Sir. 2:16). Furthermore he belches forth the evil odor of his anger with the result that others about to enter are dissuaded, simply because he himself when he entered was not able to persevere. What are they like in his opinion? They are envious, contentious, non-supportive, mean. This one did such a thing and this other one did that. Wicked man, why are you silent about the good? Why do you speak loudly about those for whom you had no tolerance, and keep quiet about what they had to tolerate because you were bad?70

  This is where Benedict’s insight about mutual obedience is helpful. True community is built on self-denial. If this seems like madness, then understand how necessary it is to rethink basic beliefs and values. I am not saying that mortification is the purpose of community life, but it is the means by which each person builds up an ambiance of mutuality. I cannot listen if I do not practice restraint of speech. I cannot serve if I seek only to be served or if I am unable to overcome the lazy inertia that renders me motionless. Being attentive to others means becoming forgetful of self. Here, as elsewhere, it is the unconditional character of my benevolence that certifies its integrity. If I think of others only when I feel like it, then my service is no more than an arcane form of self-pleasuring. If my concern is limited to a select few, then it is beginning to look like a form of patronage, and we know how strongly Benedict rejected that (69:1–4). My part in creating a climate of mutuality is to hold back on self-assertion so as to leave room for others. I must be constantly inviting others to flow into the common space, welcoming them, affirming them, even though this has to be done at the price of not asserting my own rights. Where deliberate nonassertion is lacking, real affective community cannot develop.

  Of course, I cannot build community on my own, no matter how heroically I give space to others. There is no such thing as unilateral mutuality. The whole point about mutuality is that it is omnidirectional. This implies that I must be not only generous in giving but also gracious in receiving, willing to be loved as much as to love, open to being served as much as outgoing in offering assistance. Those who operate under a compulsion to perform good works need to learn the art of stepping back sometimes and letting others acquire merit. It is only within the context of an integral common life that I can acquire the virtues that are the providential means of my transformation. And it needs to be said that often I acquire these virtues almost unwillingly. They are forced upon me because otherwise my continuing presence in the community would be intolerable both to me and to others. How can I learn patience and forgiveness and the art of saying “Sorry” unless situations arise in which I am called to turn agreeable theory into laborious practice?

  The true genius of a genuine monastic community is that it keeps switching roles so that in some situations it is I who am the wrongdoer, in others the victim; in others again, I am both. I have to learn the art of humble apology as well as that of gracious acceptance of apology. In most communities one who presides in one function will be a minor actor or an apprentice in different circumstances. A senior may need to get instructions from a junior, a superior may ask a fraternal favor of a brother, a big man in the community may, in particular circumstances, find himself dependent on a nobody. In one activity I am a parent figure, in another a child. Most of us who live in community take for granted this kind of diverse interaction—but for those who willingly accept such a topsy-turvy approach to status, it is one of the great sources of humility, humanity, and humor. It is one of the reasons for which even famous monastic people are often not so full of themselves or dedicated defenders of their own dignity. Living in a permanent community imparts a quality of groundedness, or even earthiness, that subverts any incipient tendency to self-exaltation.

  As with the house at Bethany, many communities will notice divergent tendencies among their members: Some prefer to work, others to entertain. There is no need to view this division of attention adversarially. It is the principle of complementarity of gifts at work. Of course, where there is a latent resentment prowling around looking for someone to devour, difference becomes the target for criticism and disdain. Those more drawn to practical pursuits will be often at war with the spiritually inclined, as Bernard of Clairvaux notes.71 In a sense, such tension is not only unavoidable but healthy. No single individual possesses all the talents necessary for the realization of a community’s corporate potential. Everyone is defective in something. As a result we need one another, and we need to recognize, appreciate, and encourage the different giftedness of others as a means of ensuring the common progress that provides a matrix for my own growth. We are all unavoidably both unique and incomplete. We work best when we work together. Someone with a grand vision will simultaneously be grateful to and irritated by another with the knack of delving into details. As a theoretician I may appreciate the presence of practical people, but this is not to say that cooperating with them is not a challenge.

  We can probably take this a step further and say that it is the neediness of the “weak” that encourages the resourcefulness of the “strong.” Without the “weak” the “strong” cannot exist. We see this happening in the body: When one system is disabled, another steps in to compensate by taking over some of its functions. For example, those who lose the use of their legs may develop a powerful upper body physique. In the same way, when a family member becomes chronically ill, love impels others to transcend themselves to care for the invalid and to keep the family functioning and together. In a community each member has a particular bundle of strengths and weaknesses. Each contributes not only by being a powerhouse of creative energies, but also by being the end-user of such energies. There is no point in growing parsnips if everybody refuses to eat them. There is no purpose in composing complex troparia if no one will sing them. It is only by responding to the needs of others that we develop our latent gifts. If no need existed then the talents would remain hidden. In this way weakness creates strength. O wondrous exchange!

  If I accept my limitations and liabilities and look to others to do what I cannot, then we are bound together through many such multi-dimensional interactions. The struggle in building community is often a matter of my not recognizing my need for others. In a sense, it is my failure to see the need to be saved from my own deficiencies, not only by God but by other men and women. Sometimes the best way to turn an enemy into a friend or to restart stalled communications is to ask a favor, to put ourselves in the position of a petitioner, to give the other a chance to demonstrate magnanimity. This is not so easy. Sometimes there will be rebuffs, but the tactic works more often than not, so long as we approach it in a spirit of humility and simplicity. By admitting our “weakness” we allow the other to feel “strong,” and most people like us a little more for that.

  2. Mutuality and Equality

  Benedict’s formula for intra-community relationships was, perhaps, modeled on the prescription given to spouses in the Epistle to the Ephesians: “Each of you must love his wife as himself, and the wife should fear the husband” (Eph. 5:33). So towards the end of his list of implements for good work Benedict writes, “Venerate the seniors, love the juniors” (4:70-71 and 63:10). What he means by “venerate” and “honor” is later explained as “obey with all charity and diligence” (71:4). The relationship is not between equals. The honor due to the long monastic experience of the sen
iors is to be translated into a willingness to learn from them and submit oneself to them. Failure in this matter was interpreted as an expression of contentiousness and stubbornness. As such it was regarded as serious and could lead ultimately to expulsion from the community. Benedict’s understanding of “mutual obedience” is not perhaps what we might think the words would indicate.

  When it comes to assigning particular functions to the community, Benedict prescribes that the choice is to be guided by the aptitude of the potential appointees, not by their age (63:6) or, surprisingly, by their rank (ordo) in the community, otherwise a significant element for Benedict in determining community relations. Abbots and deans are to be chosen “according to their meritorious life and wise doctrine and not per ordinem” (21:4), “even though the last in ordine of the community” (64:2). Singers and readers are nominated “according to their capacity to edify the hearers and not per ordinem” (38:12). As brothers all are equal, but the capacity of each for particular tasks is unequal. It is the abbot’s task to discern the particular gifts of those he governs and to assign to each roles and functions that will enable them to do what they are given with facility and flair.