Thursday, February 28, 2008

Finally, A Response!

To the Ochlophobist:

First off, thank you for your responses to my questions. It took a couple of weeks for what you said to settle into my head, but now that it has, I find myself grateful for this chance to think more deeply than I usually do about the liturgy, emotions, prayer, sainthood and their relation to drama and literature in general. I'm not sure where I come down in all of this (these are not, after all, small questions!). So I think, rather than making grand assertions that I'm unsure about, I will try to limit myself to small questions and points that, hopefully, won't be too annoying to either of us. I'm going to resist the urge to do one long post that somehow weaves all of my ideas together into a, single, beautiful truth tapestry, both because I'm a lazy writer of dubious talent, and so that important things don't get lost in the shuffle. This, then, will be the first of a series of posts, God willing.

My first order of business will be to attempt to meet your challenge to “Name one instance of a saint who, though meditating on the mess of human life thereby achieves sanctity.” Your challenge, as I understand it, was an attempt to drive home the point that "no saint achieves or maintains sanctity through bottom-up theology", and that "in every instance of the Church's hagiography, the saint's sanctity is measured by his or her embrace of [a] lack of tension."

I would assert that "meditating on the mess" is indeed one of the methods of achieving or maintaining sanctity recommended to us by the Church, through Her Saints. The following is a passage from the Spiritual Instructions of St. Seraphim.

St. Isaac the Syrian teaches, my beloved, that you should live in vigilance and that during your ceaseless labors, you should always be concious of your attendant sorrows, as well as the wilderness in which you dwell. Be cognizant of the insights of your mind, as well as the crude nature of your own intelligence. While in silent meditation, be aware of both the healing remedies that are given you by the True Physician for your internal well-being, as well as the harmful remedies proffered to you by the demons. For both can take the form of physical ailments or hardships, or bring your soul frightful images of things that are to come, Both can surround you in a warm embrace, and can fill you with sweet tears, as well as spiritual joy.
Under these conditions, can you ever know for sure whether your infirmity is being healed or your passions are being abated? You must keep track and constantly look within yourself to determine, as far as you are able, which passions have begun to subside, which have been destroyed, and which have left you for good. Look to see which are beginning to abate as a result of the healing of your soul and not merely because you have rid yourself of those things that inflame them. Determine which passions are being destroyed as a result of your own convictions and not because the supports for their existence have been removed.
Still this is not enough. Be sure that in the place where you sores once festered, that the new and healthy skin of spiritual peace is growing instead.
Determine the nature of the other passions that stand ready to assail you one after the other. How frequently do they attack? Are they physical in nature or are they spiritual? Are they simple or complex? Do they merely pass through your mind or do they leave a distinct and lasting impression upon the soul?
Still, how do they manifest themselves-with authority, or as a lingering presence? How does the mind, the ruler of all emotions, react to them? Does it enter into battle against them as they declare war on you? Does it force them to surrender by its strength? Or does it simply ignore them?
Ascertain which of your old passions are still present, and which new ones have started to emerge. And finally, see whether your passions take on real and physical characteristics, or whether they reside in your memory and emerge without any arousal, stimulation, or excitation.
Only this kind of examination will reveal to you the complete state of your spiritual health. Thus, a person following the teachings of the Blessed Apostle Paul, “takes the whole armor of God that he may be able to withstand in the evil day.” (From "The Joy of the Holy" by Harry Boosalis, pg. 129)


To my mind, this passage puts to bed the notion that an "embrace of a lack of tension" is incompatible with "meditating on the mess" that is the soul. It's true, the process of which St. Seraphim speaks does not seem to be, in the first instance, a bottom up sort of thing. Rather, it seems that we are to be conscious of our sorrows and joys without letting them seduce us into identifying with them. We are to remember that the mind is " the ruler of all emotions." However, I think we should also not overlook the fact that St. Seraphim likens this process to fighting a battle, so it may be reasonable to expect that we are going to feel fear, anxiety and yes, even tension. In light of our discussion, this passage raises the question, for me, of what it means to "take up the whole armor of God". Are we to make use of whatever means are safely at our disposal to sharpen our discernment and understanding of our dramatic inner battle? Might not a good play be one of those means?

What say you, sir?


PM3K

5 comments:

Ochlophobist said...

Poem Master,

Thank you for this response.

In the comment in question on the previous thread, I wrote:

In every instance of the Church's hagiography, the saint's sanctity is measured by his or her embrace of the lack of tension of which I speak. Name one instance of a saint who through meditating upon the "mess" of human life thereby achieves sanctity, or, worse, name one saint who derives theological truth from the muddy puddle of the mess. All Orthodox theologizing starts with Christ and works down from there (with regard to theological cosmologies and anthropologies). No Orthodox theologizing begins with material or anthropological phenomenon and works up to Christ or the Holy Trinity from there.

In the quote you have provided St. Seraphim, via St. Isaac, teaches that we need to take note of our spiritual progress and attempt to discern whether it is genuine progress or something demonic which feigns progress but is actually a form of self-deception. It is worth noting that this passage only speaks of taking assessment of whether or not given passions have in reality been overcome, and/or what exact role they play in a given life.

I struggle to see how we then might conclude that by taking assessment of passions in our life we are, by the meditating on the mess, thereby saved. The soul, by nature, is not necessarily a mess. St. Seraphim is not teaching that our salvation is brought about by our understanding our passions. He did not teach that the more one understands one's passions the closer, by way of understanding passion, one gets to Christ. Quite the contrary, he taught as the Orthodox Church does that the closer one gets to Christ the more one is aware of one's passions. When I read the passage you provide, I read a saint telling one how to take a serious and sober assessment of one's spiritual health. That assessment will not save you. The assessment is in order to give one awareness of what is currently getting in the way of the soul’s communion with God. The communion of the soul with God is salvation. The mere ridding of the passions is not salvation. The passions interfere, but we cannot learn the way of salvation by studying the particulars of that interference. The Sts. Seraphim/Isaac text itself infers a spiritual child who already loves God enough to want to be genuinely rid of the passions and who knows that a soul is meant to commune with God. Further, where in this text are we taught a theological truth that stems from mediation upon the passions? What do I learn about God by way of studying and knowing my own sin? I believe that answer to that question is: nothing.

I wrestled in Junior High and High School. I was horrible at first. My seventh grade year I lost every match. At the end of that season, my coach told me, “White, one of these days you are going to get tired of losing, and when you do, come see me.” Well, I happened to see him the summer between my 7th and 8th grade years. I trained with him several days. He told me that I was a mediocre wrestler, not horrible in technique and strength, but far from great as well, and that I would struggle to get to a point that I won more than I lost but that it could be done. He taught me that my primary problem was that I was afraid when I wrestled, and he was very much correct. So he taught me a few techniques. Before each meet the two teams would line up on the mat and you would directly face the person you would be wrestling. My coach taught me to look that person directly in the eyes, with no emotion expressed whatsoever, and to continue to stare at him, blankly, until we wrestled, which as I was a middle weight-class might be 50 or so minutes from the time I first engaged his eyes. Coach then taught me to count my steps as I walked out on the mat, so that my eyes never fell from staring at my opponent. I would bend down to feel that starting position tape with my hands in order to know where to start, but the whole time my eyes never left their target. I won ¾ of my matches my eighth grade year and went on to have winning seasons throughout high school. I had learned to let go of all fear. This little psychological trick disarmed even the fiercest of competitors, because most folks are unnerved about wrestling someone who appears to be crazy, and more important than that it gave me a firm, quiet confidence in my ability to not fall apart inwardly, and helped me to focus. My point in that story is to suggest that one can train one’s mind to do battle without fear. Christ tells us to be not afraid. St. Paul tells us to be ye not anxious. Scripture again and again tells us that there is now in Christ no tension between God and man, and where there is tension it is because of sin. We do not learn of God by way of our own sin. Now, for the vast majority of us there is fear and anxiety and a sense, oftentimes strong, of tension. God saves us nonetheless, and, especially during the beginning stages of sanctity, by teaching us to release the grip of fear, anxiety, and the sensation of tension. Fear, anxiety, and such tensions are themselves passions that we need to recognize as passions, perhaps through methods such as St. Seraphim suggests. That God saves sinners who have these passions does not mean that one must have had the passions in order to commune with God or that the passions themselves taught one of God. When we learn that we are sinners whom God is saving it is not our sin that teaches us this but the grace of the God who saves sinners that teaches us. Christ, the sinless one, knew as a perfect human that God saves sinners. The Theotokos, the most holy, without stain knew that God saved her and that God saves sinners, and she had very little “mess” to meditate upon. In my youth, it was the world weary former drug addict or adulterer or murderer or thief giving his testimony who was oft deemed as really understanding God the most. Hogwash. The particulars of past sins have nothing to do with how capable one is of knowing God. Those who most know God are those in the highest state of real sanctity. These will be the most aware of their sins, but again, it is not their awareness of sins which makes them holy, it is their holiness which makes them aware of their sins. Those who are very aware of their sins without sanctity usually do not seem to arrive at much sanctity in this life, because awareness of one’s sins without holiness or the residing grace of God very present in one’s life usually results in some form of socio-pathology.

I wonder if you have read Fr. Freeman’s quotes from Elder Porphyrios’ book Wounded By Love.

See http://fatherstephen.wordpress.com/2008/02/28/holy-humility-is-complete-trust-in-god-elder-porphyrios/ : “Complete trust in God - that’s what holy humility is. Complete obedience to God, without protest, without reaction, even when some things seem difficult and unreasonable. Abandonment to the hands of God….”

And http://fatherstephen.wordpress.com/2008/02/27/fasting-without-force/ : “You don’t become holy by fighting evil. Let evil be. Look towards Christ and that will save you. What makes a person saintly is love - the adoration of Christ which cannot be expressed, which is beyond expression, which is beyond… And such a person attempts to undertake ascetic exercises and to do things to cause himself to suffer for the love of God…. Ascetic exercises are such things as prostrations, vigils and so on, but done without force.”

The armor of God and the battle at hand do not concern first flesh and blood, but rather principalities and powers. Nor does this battle concern feelings. It seems to me that generally in Orthodox spiritual teachings we are taught not to fight against empty thoughts that come in prayer, not to fight against passions which strongly appear. These things are not where our real battle lies. Our real battle is to maintain the awareness of which St. Seraphim speaks, and to cultivate love and humility. If I am aware of my sin in a sober and serious and right-minded fashion, I am humbled by the awareness. But I have not learned to be humble from my sin, I have learned to be humble from Christ and His saints. Our real battle is to suffer for the love of God. Our real battle is, frankly, not a defensive battle against the passions which affront me, but an offensive battle to clothe myself and the cosmos in the love of Christ. I am not fighting against something, but for someone.

This battle for is not in Scripture or in the tradition cast in dramaturgical fashion, but rather in epic and lyric fashion. Only in the late West is that battle cast dramaturgically, and then done so with caricature, a vice-centered focus on defending the soul or judicially freeing the soul from determinisms with which such vice is associated, and a theology (rather theologies) in which tension is necessary – from Luther to Wesley to Rahner. I do not believe this inclination to be consistent with traditional Christianity. And I worry about the notion of making “use of whatever means are safely at our disposal to sharpen our discernment and understanding of our dramatic inner battle.” The “use of whatever means” is the utilitarian line that modern Christians have often used in approaching the inner battle (and the outer battles, social gospelling, etc.). Such a line of thought has not, in my estimation, proved to actually be useful. True, a great novel might help in this regard, as might a great poem but these only in the most rudimentary manner. I do not think that a “great” TV program ever can, because the medium itself depredates even as it (seemingly, on rare occasion) lifts up the soul. It is possible that a play might help one discern and understand the inner battle, though I would hold that in this case it is not the dramaturgic aspect of the play itself but rather a lyric or epic form within the play which brings a man to himself in some fashion.

Another obscenely long comment. Please forgive the petty thoughts of tired foolish man. Thank you for the discussion.

The Wrangler said...

"What do I learn about God by way of studying and knowing my own sin? I believe the answer to that question is: nothing."

We learn more deeply the depth of God's love for us. We come closer to understanding that we are "the greatest of sinners".It is one thing to say it in church, quite another to know it to our core. I am reminded of the woman who washed Jesus' feet with her tears. Because she loved much, her sins were forgiven. This kind of love is a way of knowing God. If we do not love like this, then we might, depending on our temperament, benefit from reflecting more deeply on our personal failings. This reflection is itself made possible by grace, I do not deny it.

"Your faith has saved you, go in peace." Christ, working in the woman, brought her to a deeper knowledge of her sins and therefore a deeper knowledge of the forgiveness of God. But the woman was also working along with Christ: "her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for she loved much." A person can have faith without loving well. In other words, there is such a thing as dead faith.

The Wrangler said...

The wrestling story is a good one for me to hear. I am not an athlete by any means and I have not had a galvanizing experience like the one you describe. I find myself constantly coming up against anxiety when I feel attacked by ideas or other people. I think you are right to point out that this can be attenuated. It gives me hope, so thank you for that.

However, the conclusion that you seem to be drawing from all of this leaves me uneasy, though not, thank God, anxious. It's true that we are told not to be anxious. Not only Paul but also Christ (pun alert) "stress" this: Do not worry about what you eat or what you wear...; In the world you will have triblations, but be of good cheer...; Also I have read somewhere, I think in Mother Gabriel's sayings (paraphrase): It is no longer possible for me to get worried...; worry is sheer ingratitude.... So, I am convinced that a holy person has been completely healed of their anxiety, or never felt it(though they were tempted by it), as we might surmise of Christ. But if you can introduce me to a single person who is not just relatively free from, but actually "incapable" of anxiety like Mother Gabriel was, then you would be introducing me to a Saint or a madman. All of us non-saintly folk should be able to imagine some instance where we would be attacked by anxiety or fear.

So, we should make hay while the sun shines, and say our prayers in that little space of peace that we have been blessed with. But it seems to me we should not think for a moment that our anxiety is healed merely because we are spared from the pain of it for a little while. The soul does not want to be crucified and we should expect it to fight us until our dying breath. Anxiety is one its weapons: why else would Christ and Paul warn us about it?

Also, it seems to me there is such a thing as a fight that is both for one thing and against something else at the same time. If you aren't fighting against something, then why call it a fight? Paul says our fight is against principalities etc. This obviously does not prevent it being for Christ, or for love or however you want to think about it.

Finally (for now), it seems to me there is no such thing as mere observation in the spiritual life. Even in a realm as determined and seemingly dead as the material world, there is the principle that the observer changes what he is observing in the very act of observing it. I can't look at something without the structure of my eye affecting how the light comes in and therefore affecting the very appearance of the objects in front of me. There is no such thing as neutral vision. If this is the case in the material world, it seems likely to hold in the less determined, more alive world of the soul. When we discover a fault, we have, by that discovery, changed the fault to a degree. It loses some of its power (or maybe gains some if we aren't careful or prayerful). We can watch it in action and our soul can be changed by that knowledge. As you may have heard from G.I. Joe: "knowing is half the battle". That's why "meditating on the mess" (I should write a self-help book) is powerful and important.

(My authorities for that last paragraph are G.I. Joe and Modern Science-I think I'm in trouble!)

Ochlophobist said...

With regard to your first comment I would suggest that the woman in question was meditating at that particular time on the love of and person of Christ, and not on her own sin. Indeed, I hold that this is vital, for if she were focused upon her own sin her act would have been a dramatic one, in search of catharsis, and not an honest act of love.

When we are focusing upon our own sin in order to "realize" the love of and person of God, God is thus held in abstraction. It is impossible to actually measure our farness from God by way of meditating on our own sin. For one thing, we will never in and of ourselves (certainly never before the Last Day) be able to give anything remotely close to a comprehensive account of our own sin and our culpability for it, etc. Sin, in a proper sense, in meaninglessness, and to ascribe it some sort of meaning by deducing the distance it pulled one from God is only to drag God into terms which are simply not real. This is one reason that those who truly are aware of their sins are those who are truly aware of the presence of God. Those persons become acutely aware of sin as it is for them a painful experience of being away from the presence of God. The goal of such persons, the desire of such persons, is to return to God, to meditate upon God, to give themselves entirely to God, not to focus on themselves or upon their own sin.

With regard to your second comment, I agree that one should be aware of passions when they present themselves. The Orthodox spiritual tradition categorizes the passions to considerable detail. Perhaps we are talking past each other. I am not suggesting that one should be ignorant of what a passion is, or ignorant of what needs to be done about it. I am suggesting that one should do as the fathers teach, which is to recognize it, but not fight it directly, to let it pass, not to meditate upon in in real time of its presence, for this will always result in failure of some sort (even seeming success when using this head on method usually results in pride). I am not an advocate of pop-buddhist spiritual free for allness. And yes, there is a real fight, but it is the fight for self-control. The principalities and powers want to control us, we must learn in Christ to control ourselves, but it is my understanding that this happens by our not meditating upon a lustful or angry thought, but returning to to sobriety and keen awareness of which the Church teaches. That said, being able to return to such a state requires much knowing, and thus I wholeheartedly agree with you that knowing is half the battle. But even still, I would say, we can know this passing passion for what it is without meditating upon it.

Does that make any sense?

The Wrangler said...

"But even still, I would say, we can know this passing passion for what it is without meditating upon it. Does that make any sense?"

Yes, far be it from me to say that looking at a passion is the only way of learning about it. We learn infinitely more about ourselves from looking to God. But we can't always (or even hardly ever) really look to God.