ASSUMPTION
ABBEY

 

CURRENT
NEWSLETTER

 

INDEX

 

SUBSCRIPTIONS

 

Is Father Always Right?

RB 71 and Nonviolence: II

by Terrence Kardong, O.S.B.

 

 

 

    While Benedict was unaware of Dorotheos’ conference, he probably had seen John Cassian’s Conf. 16, “on Friendship.” Benedict uses the identical vocabulary of Conf. 16.15 (senserit . . . commotio) to speak of the case of one person making an obeisance when it appears that another is offended. Cassian’s theory of spiritual friendship is interesting enough for us to explore here at some length. Then we can better evaluate Benedict’s utilization of the material.

 

    Cassian has a very specific theory of friendship that may seem rather narrow to the modern reader. For him, there may be close human ties based on common interest or connaturality, but these are transitory and easily interrupted. The only really solid and perduring basis for friendship is equality in virtue. Where people love each other for goodness’ sake, no other tie is necessary. But it is important, in this view, that the friends be equally virtuous, for if they are not, the less virtuous will begin to resent the other, and assign blame for the problems of the relationship on the other person (16.3).

 

    Cassian did not invent this view of friendship. It goes back at least to the Greek Stoics and Cicero’s De Amicitia (19.69). It was quite influential among the Church Fathers such as Jerome (In Matt. 2:7) and Augustine (De Gen. 18). It may even have been one of the ideals that Luke had in mind when he wrote in Acts 2:44 that the first Jerusalem Christians had all things in common. Aelred of Rievaulx refers to the same principle of equality of virtue in his 12th century treatise on Spiritual Friendship (3:90). So the theme was a common one in ancient times.

 

    Cassian was realistic enough to know that virtue is not always the main dynamic in friendship. There are conflicts between friends and Conference 16 is largely concerned with resolving them. In 16.6, Cassian suggests a series of purifying steps that will enable friendship to bloom: 1) Renounce attachment to things. 2) Renounce excessive opinions. 3) Know that love and peace are the primary desiderata. 4) Never get angry, even justifiably. 5) Do not rest while another remains angry at you. 6) Remember you shall die.

 

    One of Cassian’s typical themes is to show that human growth cannot be achieved through mere externals. So with friendship; if there is harmony, renouncement must go beyond material greed. A friend must also learn to put aside a lot of judgments, theories and opinions, for these cause division (16.9). But a bitter or spiteful silence will not do, either. A mere lack of offensive words is not enough. Even turning the other cheek is not an infallible sign of love, for masochists love to turn the other cheek (16.18-20). The difficulty with badly lopsided friendships, according to Cassian, is that the weaker party (as regards virtue) will continue to find reasons to be quarrelsome. Then it will take all the strength the superior partner can muster to maintain peace and equilibrium (16.26).

 

    In 16.27, Cassian comments that anger is of such a nature that when it is not given room, it languishes and perishes, but if openly exhibited it burns more and more. The point here is not to repress anger, but rather to defuse it by immediate action if at all possible. When a disagreement arises, one should not allow passions to build up over time but attempt to maintain communication toward possible understanding:

 

    And on the other hand, we have known some people (I wish we didn’t know them!) who are so obstinate and hard-hearted that when they feel themselves aroused against another or feel another roused against them, instead of making humble satisfaction or soothing conversation as they ought, they hide their upset and agitation by going off and reciting psalm verses. They think they will soothe the bitterness of their hearts this way, but they only increase by disdain what they could have instantly extinguished if they had been willing to show themselves more solicitous and humble.

 

    For a timely compunction could have healed their own wounds and soothed the souls of their neighbors. By acting that way, they foster their own lack of courage and, yes, their pride, rather than extirpating the first suggestions of a quarrel. And they forget the precepts of the Lord: “Whoever is angry at his neighbor will be guilty at the judgment. “If your neighbor has something against you, leave your gift at the altar and first go reconcile with your neighbor. Then come offer your gift” (Mt 5.22,24). (Conf. 16.15)

 

    Now we can better evaluate what Benedict has made of Cassian’s treatise in the four short verses of RB 71.6-9. Obviously, the alterations are considerable and amount to a virtual metamorphosis. Most importantly, Benedict has shifted the entire discussion from the question of friendship among equals to the very unequal relation between monastic senior and junior. This puts a strain on the Stoic theory that it can hardly bear.

 

    For example, where Cassian asks the stronger friend to pacify the weaker, Benedict now demands that the junior monk pacify the senior. This assumes that the junior is more advanced in virtue, a principle that no traditional society could accept. But in fact monastic training programs have often demanded much higher standards of behavior from novices than from senior monks.

 

    Furthermore, since Benedict is not talking about the restoration of friendship but rather the assuagement of a “higher being”, there is no question of “soothing conversation” (conloquio lenire: Conf. 16.15). Only a complete abasement by prostration will do. Friends do not prostrate to each other, but the point here is not to restore equality and unity, but to stress inequality. When one prostrates to another, the message is “I am lower than you.” Prostration was not as unusual and drastic for the ancients as it would be for us, but it was still a servile gesture.

 

    To return to Cassian, it should be remarked that the person is urged not to withdraw for different reasons than in RB 71.6-9. For Cassian, one refuses to go apart to pout or seethe for one’s own good as well as that of the neighbor. Cassian very shrewdly notes that solitary meditation, no matter how pious, is of far less value in such circumstances than ordinary human communication. It is not a one-way street as it is for Benedict, who forbids the junior to do anything but instantly prostrate to make satisfaction. All Benedict seems concerned about is the disturbance to the senior. One might argue that Benedict is interested in restoring the public order, but the words themselves do not indicate that.

 

    The impression we get from RB 71.6-9 is that the highest priority is the tranquility of the senior or superior. Cassian puts heavy emphasis on peace and tranquility at all costs in Conf. 16, but Benedict narrows this down to the preservation of the peace of soul in the elder. And once the senior’s interior garden is disturbed, the burden of restoring it is placed completely on the junior. This emphasis makes Benedict appear as a spokesman for the Stoic doctrine of apatheia. That is an unusual role for Benedict and it makes one wonder whether he really wrote this passage.

 

4. Non-Violent Conflict Resolution

 

    In this last part, we will add some further suggestions which are largely drawn from the writing of the greatest of all modern teachers on non-violence, Mohandas Gandhi (1869-1948). Even though it may seem unfair to compare a fragmentary sixth century text to a fully developed modern system, it can help us understand why this part of RB is so unsatisfying today.

 

    One of Gandhi’s basic ideas is that truth is all-powerful. Whenever he talks about conflict resolution, he never agrees to set truth aside. For him, human relations are not just a matter of keeping one another happy. That can perhaps be accomplished temporarily by conspiring to keep silent over substantive issues, but the truth is powerful and it will win out. In fact, Gandhi says that not only is God truth (John 14:6), but truth is God. He coins the term “truth-force” (satyagraha) and he teaches that if we really believe that the truth has power, then we will act accordingly.

 

    That will mean, for instance, that we will not attempt to use force to further the truth, for if we do, we prove that we really believe the truth is weak. An important corollary of this is that if truth is divine, then no human can claim to possess the whole truth. Consequently, one must always assume that the other person, no matter how sunk in ignorance or malice, also possesses a part of the truth. Consequently, we are never wholly on the side of the angels and the other is never completely evil.

 

    A concern for truth is not so apparent in RB 71.6-9. Because Benedict puts such great stress on instant reparation by the junior when one of the elders is even slightly perturbed, the whole question of objective truth is significantly obscured. The great thing is to keep “father” from getting angry. This may be a charitable wish to spare the other the pain of anger or a self-serving desire to avoid his wrath. In either case, the atmosphere is one of extreme paternalism (or maternalism). The suggestion is that if the underling avoids saddening or angering the master or mistress, all will be well. Truth may be served in such a system, but whether it is or not is incidental. In fact, one commits a sin of lèse majesté by even asking the truth-question. The great losers in this system are the masters. Someone once remarked to a new bishop: “You will never hear the truth again.” For Gandhi, that is a foretaste of hell.

 

    For Gandhi, it is not enough that people cease struggling against one another. If that means swallowing one’s convictions and accepting injustice in the name of peace and harmony, then he calls that cowardice. In his opinion, cowardice is worse than violence, because it robs people of their dignity and self-esteem. Gandhi’s philosophy is not a strategy of the weak. He aims to make people strong, no matter what their political or physical condition. And he wants to galvanize the powerless into powerful action. It is a basic mistake to think of Gandhi’s pacifism as passivity. He is the champion of non-violent action.

 

    Even though it is probably unintended, the seniority system of Benedict, and especially in the extreme form found in RB 71.6-9, can and does have the effect of teaching passivity. If juniors are to behave as if they are always in the wrong in any conflict with seniors, then they are being trained to think of themselves as weaklings. To be required to exhibit abject servility, even in the face of injustice, can corrode the human spirit, especially if this form of “character training” is not fully agreed to, but simply put up with. Juniors eventually become seniors, but if they have interiorized the attitudes of underlings, they will continue to employ the characteristic techniques of the weak: deviousness, secrecy and sabotage. What we need to teach people in monastic formation is courage, by which I mean a respect for the truth, and the conviction to serve it at any cost.

 

    In one sense, it may seem to increase the danger of violence when one urges people to act bravely on behalf of the truth. This seems to open the door to the clash of fanaticisms and factions, the very thing Benedict calls “bad zeal” in RB 72.1. How can there be peace where everyone, from the bottom on up, feels qualified to struggle on their own authority for the truth? In recent years formerly docile populations have become aware of their rights, and so the media are full of stories of the clash of oppressors and oppressed. One would hesitate to import a theory of class struggle into the monastic life, but the question remains, how can we learn to be less violent in our interpersonal relations, without returning to former patterns of servility and dominance?

 

    One of Gandhi’s major insights is that the only justification for struggling with an opponent is to convert and not to crush. In the Gandhian world there are no losers, just winners. This philosophy raises extraordinary problems when applied to large-scale social and political questions. In the realm of personal relations it is less problematic, and when one adds the teaching of the New Testament, it becomes eminently apropos, especially for monks. If the monastic ethos includes a reluctance to direct the outcome of things, especially in regard to the lives of others, then Gandhian ahimsa (no harm) must be monastically attractive.

 

    Yet there is no hint of conversion in the scene portrayed in RB 71.6-9. The junior monk is not asked for a change of heart. Submission is demanded in a sort of mechanistic way, as if the very action itself could somehow solve the problem. In fact the language used is that of the temple cult or the law court, “let him make satisfaction” (satisfaciet). Nor is there any suggestion that human understanding has improved between two people. We seem to be involved here in some kind of impersonal transaction. Prostration is also demanded from the excommunicated, who petition to return to the liturgy in RB 44.4, but there the individual needs a symbolic means of signaling penitence to the whole community. RB 71.6-9 is a conflict between individuals, so other means of reconciliation would seem more appropriate.

 

    In comparing Gandhian non-violence to a very restricted text like RB 71.6-9, I do not mean to suggest that it is only concerned with personal quarrels and misunderstandings. Far from it. Gandhi forged his theories in the crucible of vast political and social conflicts which went far beyond everyday dimensions. When he taught the masses of India non-violent resistance, it was for the purpose of reclaiming their human rights from foreign occupiers. In essence, Gandhi insisted that the people had the truth on their side and so they could not fail if they pressed forward their cause. But if they did so violently, they would undermine their cause. And so they had to learn to press forward non-violently.

 

    When one challenges the power structure in this way, the almost inevitable result is a violent reaction. The non-violent resister must expect this and be prepared for it. Gandhi and Martin Luther King prepared their followers by courses in the techniques of self-protection and so on, but more important was their preparation of the people for suffering. The non-violent resister must learn how to suffer. In fact Gandhi’s faith rested on the remarkable proposition that the oppressor could only be converted by the spectacle of the suffering victims.

 

    But how does one learn to suffer? How does one become strong enough not to return evil for evil? Gandhi located the source of strength in asceticism. This part of his teaching is not very attractive to the modern mentality, but it bulks very large in Gandhi’s writings. This Indian genius understood well the ascetic teachings of his Jain ancestors that only radical poverty can set us free. Therefore, the fewer material comforts we are attached to, the less we have to fear, for no one can strip us of what we don’t have. Gandhi extended this principle to diet, sex and even clothing.

 

    At its deepest level, however, Gandhian non-violence is not just based on physical and moral toughness. Beneath these matters of life-style, the really non-violent person is motivated by a love which is rooted in God. If we really believe that God is the father of all creatures and therefore all women and men are our sisters and brothers, we will relate to them in love. This love must extend to the most unlovable and even the hateful enemy. This is the only sound basis for non-violent resistance, according to the teaching of Mohandas Gandhi.

 

    It is impossible for anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of monasticism to read Gandhi without noticing the connections. Certainly he and St. Benedict would have little to quarrel about in regard to basic issues such as asceticism and the need to see God in the neighbor — and the stranger. One also gets the impression that Gandhi’s satyagrahi or pure person is not much different from Benedict’s humble person, who arrives at love through suffering (RB 7.6-9). The mature monk ought to be so purified from attach­ment, and so filled with love, as to solve interpersonal conflict without violence. The alternatives are not flight or collision. The answer is courageous, loving dialogue, even in the face of serious disagreement.

 

    Given such a person, RB 71.6-9 is not unrealistic. There are monks who are true satyagrahis. They may even be juniors, though one should not expect such maturity from them. Truly humble monks can afford to concede a great deal to “opponents.” What would be a humiliation for another person — for example prostration — does not lessen their self-esteem, since their values are far purer and deeper than ordinary. They will not compromise the truth — that is a violation of humility. Nor will they back away from true evil. But they will absorb the violence of us sinners into themselves and bury it in God.

Iconoclasm? Desecration? No, Frs. Odo (left) and Thomas are inspecting the statue of Our Lady in the courtyard after removing her from her base. The base needs to be rebuilt.

Index Page | Top

ASSUMPTION ABBEY
418 THIRD AVENUE WEST

RICHARDTON, ND 58652

 

contact.assumptionabbey.com

Of course, Thomas and Odo had help from a bunch of strong fellows from St. Anthony's Parish in Linton, ND, who were spending a day of retreat here. Some retreat!