Strangers to the City

by Michael Casey

  Stability comes from the verb stare, to stand. We all know that it is very difficult to remain standing for a long period without moving. The best way to remain upright is not to stay still but to keep walking. We can walk for much longer periods than we can stand, because the various muscle systems are alternately worked and rested. Stability is not immobility. It is the knack of remaining constant in the midst of change. The best example of this is a surfer. He knows that to get up and stay up on his surfboard he needs to be aware of the movement of wind and water so that he can subtly adjust his centre of gravity. The best way to persevere is to keep growing. This will not occur without periods or relative slackness and occasional wobbles, but the important thing is to keep moving forward, to keep adapting to changed circumstances and to re-orient oneself towards the goal. As St. Bernard implies, it is stability that prevents us from coming to grief when circumstances are adverse. “The contract of stability rules out henceforth any feeble relapse, angry departure, aimless or curious wandering and every vagary of fickleness.”125

  Stability is not a commitment to sameness. On the contrary it is a springboard that projects us into the future and ensures that the charism does not atrophy. As such it is an ongoing call to transcendence, not an excuse for nesting in the present. This is how Sister Helen Lombard explained this paradox:

  To live within our history, individually and

  together, as a cenobium, rooted in Christ, with a

  listening ear, a discerning heart, open to continuing

  conversion, free to hear the call of the Spirit in

  our today, and daring and courageous enough as

  Benedictine women to respond to go beyond.

  This is ultimately the challenge and the amazing

  paradox of stability.126

  The magic of stability lies in a sustained and dynamic application of the means that lead most surely to the goal we have chosen. Often this means taking a long-term view of life. We are all prone to suffer from what has been termed the “instant gratification syndrome”: We feel that something is wrong unless the desired outcome quickly follows on the initiation of the process. The trick in monastic life, as in so many other projects, is to see the linkage between short-term chores and long-term aims. This is not always an easy task, since in some cases the laws of cause and effect do not apply in monasteries. Union with God, innocence of life, progress in prayer, and affective community do not always succumb to Promethean striving. More often they result from the contrary experience of failure and neediness. This means that often we have to keep plodding on, even when everything seems to indicate that our effort is vain.

  It is precisely this peasant-like plodding that is at risk in our slick, results-oriented culture. Benedict thinks that the monk, as he progresses to the top, goes through a stage of seeing himself as little more than a beast of burden (7:50). Certainly he is to be denied the glory of achieving perfection, but equally certain is the truth that he will never be beyond the pale of God’s mercy. Opting out of the achievement race is one of the ways in which the monk distinguishes himself from his contemporaries. He knows that his relatives and friends hope that he will be a “success” as a monk, and perhaps that is also his unconscious ambition. Ultimately, however, it is in the promises of God that he places his hope. Such unrewarded fidelity is not very glamorous to behold or exciting to endure, but it indicates a solid attachment to God that all the drama of achievement can scarcely rival.

  There is very little mystery about perseverance—it simply involves making use of the means that monastic life offers, day by day and year by year, and having confidence in God. Perseverance is not a matter of gritting one’s teeth in difficult times or stretching oneself forward to cross the finishing line. As Benedict notes, it begins on Day One (58:9). It is a matter of really committing oneself (as distinct from “making a commitment”) to give one’s best to the monastic process and to stay with it while it works its magic on us. Grace is working on us to neutralize the natural fecklessness of the will; what we have to do is to avoid interfering with the process.

  A good community provides us with a style of life that renders perseverance more plausible: the standard monastic observances, good spiritual directors, quality affective relationships, generativity, creative work, transparent and participatory governance, feedback, realistic boundaries, balanced days and seasons, appropriate relaxations. The list could be extended. The point to notice, however, is that perseverance is as much a quality of the community as it is of the individuals who are its members. To the extent that such qualities as those listed above are lacking, a community loses its adhesive grip and individuals more easily fall away. These apostasies will often be ascribed to subjective causes, and sometimes this is accurate. In many cases, however, the affective climate of the community and its governance have been contributory factors, perhaps allowing discontent to fester untended for fear of disturbing the status quo or, at the other extreme, steamrolling changes that many neither need nor want.

  Stability is neither progressive nor conservative. Its strength lies in its attention to the present moment, like the peasant at his plow, concentrating on the job at hand and not much looking up from it. Yet the labor is sustained by the hope of a harvest. It is not for nothing that he works. Salvation is a matter of hope; for the moment stability helps to ensure that the furrows run true.127

  3. Reaping the Benefits

  Stability of place is not meant to protect us from earthquakes. Nor is it meant to provide a safe haven for agoraphobics. The restrictions of geographical mobility and the sober sameness of the living environment have another purpose. Stability of place and its contingent expressions such as enclosure are traditional means of securing stability of mind—stabilitas mentis. This enduring equanimity was recognized by the monastic tradition as a usual precondition for contemplative prayer. Years of heartfelt monastic observance produce a certain monasticity of thought and imagination—a conversion of memory that complements the more outward conversion of manners. It is part of the effect of low-impact living that we have the opportunity to undergo a purification of our mental faculties.

  We know how memories can persist without our being fully in control of them, sometimes forming larger clusters with correspondingly greater clout. Childhood experiences of petty injustice can link up with recent events to produce a generalized mistrust of those with power over us. Humiliations continue to rankle years after they happen, causing us to blush with shame or become angry. The touches and inner warmth and excitement of a deep relationship linger to increase the bathos of loneliness. Dormant anger can be rekindled by a thought and surge unchecked until we are overwhelmed by rage. Pornographic images can continue to stimulate even after a different lifestyle has been embraced. Even when outward behavior is well-ordered, thoughts, affections, imaginations, and feelings still easily run riot.

  The potential tyranny of obsessive or seasonally obsessive thoughts was well known to monastic tradition, as the writings of Evagrius and John Cassian attest. Who among us has not become suddenly conscious of wistful thoughts of home, family, friends, freedom, culture, holidays, hobbies, work, career, achievement? They drift in from nowhere and whiteout whatever contentment we have built up over the years, making us unnecessarily miserable and, often, ready to blame others for our joyless existence.

  The prescription we find in the ancient writers is that we become vigilant and proactive concerning our thoughts and imagination. Sometimes this involves submitting them to conscious scrutiny in order to discover what they are trying to tell us. Often, however, it is a matter of intervening decisively to stop escaping from the present by half-living in the past or daydreaming about a possible future. Living mindfully involves limiting all forms of escapism, not only those that are frivolous, but more so the serious concerns that sometimes hijack our attention and concern. To achieve a good level of serious interior recollection we need to exercise some control over the sense-impressions and images that
cross our paths. Constantly seeking to be entertained by the pursuit of novelties of one kind or another is a most effective way of blocking any progress toward contemplation. Carpe diem! We need to seize the opportunity that the present offers and to live it to the full.

  The sustainability of our commitment demands that we are proactive in ordering our life. In particular it means nipping in the bud any tendency to lead a double life by blurring the boundaries between good and evil, so that large areas are accepted as morally neutral. We cannot afford to be vague. Behavior inconsistent with the commitments we have made usually begins at the level of thought. Long before any overt infidelity a mental betrayal has occurred that is not reversible without great self-honesty and considerable effort. This is why Benedict follows the tradition in recommending exposure of our thoughts to a spiritual senior (Prol. 28, 4:50). Our divided heart is the source of these conflicting thoughts; unless we are alert we can find ourselves drawn willy-nilly in opposite directions.By bringing them into awareness we can confront them directly and, supported by the senior’s presence, make a choice.

  The effect of vigilance coupled with the sharing of thoughts is simplicity of life and lightness of spirit. Whether we recognize it or not, the presence of contrary imaginations blunts both our mental acuity and our feeling-response to everyday events. Giving a clear direction to our actions in line with our goal reduces the dispersion of energies and induces a sober sense of well-being. The simple life is not a happy accident, nor does it result from the inability to envisage alternatives. Simplicity is a quality of a heart that is undivided; it is brought about by a long sequence of courageous decisions taken and implemented. Simplicity is not the elimination of complexity but the habit of making consistent choices within complexity. A simple lifestyle is one with an uncontested finality: It knows its ultimate and immediate goals, and provides access to the means by which these aims are realized. One who has freely chosen to adopt such a lifestyle finds the fullest freedom by making use of the means that lead most effectively to the goal. The essential monastic observances are not alien impositions to be resisted with adolescent truculence or revolutionary fervor, but they are well-trodden paths to the fulfillment of the monastic dream. Walking them avoids wasting time and energy. Persevering on these sometimes hard and rough roads (58:8) will finally lead to God.

  It cannot be emphasized too much that stability is not drudgery; progressively it becomes a source of deep happiness. We observe the transitions that Benedict notes at the end of the chapter on humility. Effort becomes habit or second nature, which then becomes delight. Alternatively, fear is transformed into love (7:67–69). Far from dragging ourselves along in dread-filled compliance, “we run along the road of God’s commandments with swelling heart and a sweetness of love that is beyond description” (Prol. 49).Following the guidance of the gospel according to Benedict’s Rule is not merely a lifestyle, it is a way of life, a way that leads to more abundant life.

  When Malcolm Muggeridge was making a TV documentary about the Cistercian monks in Scotland he elicited from one of the senior monks a reply that delighted him. In response to his question about monastic austerity the reply came, “It’s a hard bed to lie on, but a soft bed to die on.” The truth contained in this bit of doggerel is profound. Monastic life is demanding, but its exigencies make sense in the context of eternal life. And lest we become disheartened, sometimes we receive from God an anticipation of what awaits us. And along the way there are many collateral benefits.

  The sacrifices involved in monastic life are frequently chronicled, but we ought not to forget the hundredfold. There is a certain beauty that is a consequence of spending most of one’s life in a single pursuit, attached to one place, and living with the same people. We are at liberty to be ourselves, no longer hiding behind facades or masks. Yet this self is more than the fleeting persona of this present moment; it is a self that stretches expansively over many years and decades, full of seeming contradictions and subject to so many vicissitudes. We are surrounded by so many memories of times past, of people now in heaven, of projects completed or left undone, of trees planted, of griefs and joys. As we pass through the monastery and listen to the echoes embedded in its walls, the refrain we hear is, “This is your life.” Because of these voices we are compelled to live at a high level of truthfulness, since we cannot escape from what we have been and still are. A strong sense of continuity develops, and a deeper feeling of acceptance. This is where I belong. This is my home. Here I live; here I will die. This has been the journey that God has called me to make, and throughout the various reversals of fortune God has never abandoned me. Here have I become a stranger to this earthly city only because I have become a citizen of the cloistral paradise. “This is truly an awesome place, the house of God, the gate of heaven” (Gen. 28:17).

  Notes

  Abbreviations

  CChrM Corpus Christanorum Continuatio Mediaevalis (Turnhout: Brepols)

  CFS Cistercian Fathers Series (Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications)

  CSQ Cistercian Studies Quarterly

  CSS Cistercian Studies Series (Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications)

  PL Patrologia Latina (Paris: Migne)

  SBOp Sancti Bernardi Opera (Rome: Editiones Cistercienses)

  SChr Sources Chrétiennes (Paris: Cerf)

  Notes

  Non-conformity with this age is primarily a matter of beliefs and values. It is not an advocacy of antiquarianism or neoprimitivism. It does not close off the possibility of dialogue with the age in which we live. On the contrary, it welcomes the opportunity for any fusion of horizons. It is not necessarily opposed to the search for relevance that is sometimes covered by the term “chronological inculturation”; nor is it so entrenched in the customs of a previous generation that it is resistant to aggiornamento. Non-conformity to this age is something to be sought in so far as it is a deliberate and common sense commitment to the distinctive beliefs and values that alone make monastic life meaningful.

  Viktor Dammertz, “St. Benedict: Master of Religious Life,” Consecrated Life 6.2 (1982), p. 251.

  David Parry, Households of God: The Rule of St. Benedict with Explanations for Monks and Lay People Today (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1980), p. 12.

  Twelfth-century Cistercians seemed to take it for granted that detachment from this age was essential for the realization of the monastic project. Isaac of Stella equates the desire for God that is the source of devotion with distaste for everything to do with the world: Sermons 37:14; SChr 207, p. 292. And Aelred of Rievaulx was convinced that one could love fully neither God nor neighbor so long as worldly loves prevailed: Nemo enim perfecte diligit, qui aliquid in hoc saeculo concupiscit, Sermo 8:12; CChrM 2a, p. 67.

  Aelred chronicles a common problem: Novices often find that their previous spiritual fervor disappears after entry. Mirror of Charity II, Chapter 17.

  “Two thirds of religious conversions are gradual, the result of intellectual and emotional quest. Only a third are sudden. Conversions usually occur to adolescents, the sudden ones early in one’s teens, the slower ones later.” Gary Wills, “God in the Hands of Angry Sinners,” New York Review of Books, April 8, 2004; pp. 68–74.

  “Self-promotion” is Terrence Kardong’s rendering of exaltatio. “Here the meaning is moral and psychological: the persons are vaunting themselves and not waiting humbly for God’s action.” Benedict’s Rule: A Translation and Commentary (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1996), p. 136.

  “It’s revealing of our psychotherapeutic view of humanity and of our blame-based culture that we are so persuaded that the quality and quantity of what we ingest is primarily reactive, that our eating habits are less a matter of will and agency than one of displaced response to an injury or harm we have suffered, more often than not in the distant past.” Francine Prose, Gluttony (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), p. 61.

  Aelred of Rievaulx, Sermons 34:3; CChrM 2a, p. 279. Later in the same sermon Aelred speaks about some of t
he higher reaches of spiritual experience, but warns, “What I want to communicate to you is that you do not come to this point by doing nothing or by taking it easy, but by labors, vigils, tears, and contrition of heart.” Sermons 34:29, p. 285-86.

  This is the conclusion of a paper given by Kallistos Ware, “The Way of the Ascetics: Negative or Affirmative” in Vincent L. Wimbush e.a. [ed.], Asceticism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 13. The quotation is from Fr. Alexander Elchaninov.

  Thus Isaac of Stella: Sermons 5:24; SChr 130, p. 160: “I ask you brothers, for what reason do you labor amid sweat, do you live in poor conditions, do you remain vigilant both in bodily exercises and in spiritual pursuits, so that once vices are eliminated and a pattern of good living is established, the virtues may be introduced so that you may, as good workers, ‘live soberly, justly and piously in this world’?” His answer to the question is the same as Cassian’s. Austerity contributes to the purity of heart in which the vision of God is possible.

  John Paul II, Reconciliatio et Paenitentia, # 18.

  Thomas Merton, “Inner Experience,” CSQ 18 (1983), p. 3.

  See William C. Bushell, “Psychophysiological and Comparative Analysis of Ascetico-Meditational Discipline: Toward a New Theory of Asceticism,” in Asceticism, p. 560.

  Speaking especially of Evagrius, Bernard McGinn writes: “A more complete investigation than can be given here would reveal that apatheia and agape can be considered as two sides of the same katastasis (state of soul), the goal of all ascetic effort and the necessary precondition for the pure prayer, the two stages of which lead to the ‘essential gnosis of the Trinity.’” “Asceticism and Mysticism in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages,” in Asceticism, p. 67.