I have sometimes thought of my meditative practice as a time of “defragmentation.” When a computer defragments, it re-organizes itself, putting files in the right spots to clear up space and become more efficient. It becomes rightly ordered.
“Human beings, although created in the image of God, are animals with animal instincts. There is, despite our divine dignity, nothing singular about our wanting to eat, drink, and sleep, nor anything distinctive about the forces that incite us to learn, play, and reproduce. It is not otherwise with ceremonial head-bowing. Konrad Lorenz, the eminent modern naturalist, left a vivid record of a fight between two timber wolves, one enormous and old, the other smaller and young.
The wolves began by moving in circles around each other, fangs bared. Snaps too fast for the eye eventually followed: jaw met jaw; lips started to bleed. Gradually the older wolf slowly maneuvered the younger up against a wire fence, where he stumbled in the metal netting. The old one instantly leaped upon him. But then the unexpected and incredible happened. The tumult of the two gray furies suddenly ceased even though both continued to growl angrily, the elder in a deep bass, the younger in a higher tone suggestive of fear. Standing shoulder to shoulder, pressed against each other in a stiff, strained attitude, the two animals faced the same direction. But while the muzzle of the older wolf was up against the neck of the younger, the latter turned his teeth aside and instead offered to his enemy the unprotected bend of his neck, the most vulnerable part of his body. Within an inch of the tensed muscles that covered the jugular vein, the fangs of the stronger threatened the life of the weaker. Whereas during the initial frenzy both opposed each other with their impervious teeth to the fore, at the end the defeated beast exposed its defenseless throat to a lethal bite. Rarely does a battle between two wolves come to death, this because, when one wolf begins to dominate, the other is always able, without fleeing, to arrest the violence. This is done by suspending attack and offering the neck. With jugular exposed, field of vision restricted, and jaws turned aside and so useless, the weaker wolf surrenders; and the stronger, instead of taking advantage of a defenseless opponent, is stayed, its aggression inhibited. The encounter, after some minutes of tense stillness, with death a muscle contraction away, soon ends: the victor strides off, the loser slinks away. The act of bowing the head, of offering the neck in dire straits, is somehow programmed into a wolf's genes, as is the merciful response to it…
…We can understand why people bow their heads in prayer. It is because, before the divine, they know themselves to be defeated animals. Despite the story of Jacob at Bethel, there is no wresting with God, if by that is meant a real contest of power. “What are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them?” (Ps. 8:4, NRSV). Omnipotence has no opposition. The human beast can accordingly do nothing but surrender, that is, incline neck and ask for clemency – and then hope that God will respond not as Achilles but as the wolf, with compassion.”
– Dale Allison, The Luminous Dusk
The blog tends to be slightly or sometimes well behind where I am currently reading. I have several more series to do from within the Christian tradition, but am mainly reading in Vedanta and Yoga right now. As I have been reading more in the Vedanta and Yoga traditions, the concept of Siddhis (“miraculous powers” attained through meditation – see link for previous post) has been more on my mind.
Various teachers in the Yoga tradition put more or less weight on siddhis, with Patanjali himself seeming to view them as superfluous to the yogi’s true goal (see Pantajali’s Yoga Sutras 3:37). In general, I lean toward the belief that a fascination with siddhis and the like is a distraction from the contemplative quest. Nevertheless, reports of these types of things do surround the contemplative traditions as a whole.
The purpose of this post is to briefly document my own modest experience in this area:
When I first began seminary, I took a Spiritual Development class. One of my assignments was to spend multiple periods of two hours in prayer. There were no further instructions than simply to be in prayer for two hours.
During these periods I would pray for people I knew. Sometimes, I would inexplicably be presented with a powerful image while I was praying for an individual. In one case, as I was praying for a particular friend, I was presented with an image of the state of Washington. As far as I know, there was no prior link in my mind between this person and the state of Washington. The experience of the image itself could best be described as a “vivid stamp in the mind’s eye.” Hard to describe, but clear and unmistakable to me at the time.
As it happened, this friend (a former college roommate) called me soon after one of these prayer periods. He was in the military and at a point in his training when they were determining where he was going to be stationed next. He told me a few of the options: I remember New York being on the list along with several other states. He did not mention Washington as a possibility.
During our conversation, I told him “You are going to be stationed in Washington.” I then told him about the image I received while in prayer. He told me that Washington wasn’t an option, and the choice wasn’t up to him anyway, so we just left it at that.
A few months later my friend called me to tell me that, contrary to the options that had initially been presented to him, he was going to be stationed in Washington. He spent the next several years of his life there. At the time, both coming from an Evangelical perspective, we took it as a confirmation from God that this was where he was supposed to be.
I also had a similar experience around this time where an image was presented to me while praying for a friend which later seemed to be meaningful to the individual.
I don’t know what to make of these things, and of course coincidences happen and sometimes we interpret things in hindsight, drawing meaning where perhaps there was none to begin with.
But it’s also possible that we are connected in ways that we don’t understand. People, matter, time. We still really don’t know the first thing about how Reality works. And the deeper we go, the stranger and stranger things get.
So that’s my brief experience with Siddhis.
“A brother came to Scetis to visit Abba Moses and asked him for a word. The old man said to him, ‘Go sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you all things.’”
This will end the series of quotations from the Apophthegmata Patrum. “Go sit in your cell and your cell will teach you all things” seems, in large part, to sum up the ethos of the Desert Fathers.
“A secular man of devout life came to see Abba Poemen. Now it happened that there were other brethren with the old man, asking to hear a word from him.”
Oftentimes, people of surrounding cities would come to see the desert monastics and “ask for a word.” The monks served as spiritual directors of sorts. Richard Beck recently wrote a post about this dynamic in the Russian tradition.
“One day Abba Longinus questioned Abba Lucius about three thoughts saying first, ‘I want to go into exile.’ The old man said to him, ‘If you cannot control your tongue, you will not be in exile anywhere. Therefore control your tongue here, and you will be in exile.’ Next he said to him, ‘I wish to fast.’ The old man replied, ‘Isaiah said, “If you bend your neck like a rope or a bulrush that is not the fast I will accept; but rather, control your evil thoughts.”’ He said to him the third time, ‘I wish to flee from men.’ The old man replied, ‘If you have not first of all lived rightly with men, you will not be able to live rightly in solitude.’”
This saying reminds me of the thoughts of Meister Eckhart, quoted in Dangerous Mystic:
"I was asked, 'Some people shun all company and always want to be alone; their peace depends on it, and on being in church. Was that the best thing?' And I said, 'No!' Now I see why. He who is in a right state, is always in a right state wherever he is, and with everybody. But if a man is in a wrong state, he is so everywhere and with anybody."
Solitude doesn’t guarantee anything. It doesn’t guarantee a change in character. Sometimes it can just be escapism.
“Abba John said, ‘I think it best that a man should have a little bit of all the virtues. Therefore, get up early every day and acquire the beginning of every virtue and every commandment of God. Use great patience, with fear and long-suffering, in the love of God, with all fervour of your soul and body. Exercise great humility, bear with interior distress; be vigilant and pray often with reverence and groaning, with purity of speech and control of your eyes. When you are despised do not get angry; be at peace, and do not render evil for evil. Do not pay attention to the faults of others, and do not try to compare yourself with others, knowing you are less than every created thing. Renounce everything material and that which is of the flesh. Live by the cross, in warfare, in poverty of spirit, in voluntary spiritual asceticism, in fasting, penitence and tears, in discernment, in purity of soul, taking hold of that which is good. Do your work in peace. Persevere in keeping vigil, in hunger and thirst, in cold and nakedness, and in sufferings. Shut yourself in a tomb as though you were already dead, so that at all times you will think death is near.”
Cenobitic monasticism stresses the monastic life lived in community. Eremitic monasticism stresses the solitary nature of the monk. Often there is a mix of both solitude and community within monastic communities, but the Desert Fathers leaned heavily towards the eremitic – true “hermit” or solitary – way of life.
“This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.”
“In the early morning hour,
just before dawn, lover and beloved wake
and take a drink of water.
She asks, ‘Do you love me or yourself more?
Really, tell the absolute truth.’
He says, ‘There’s nothing left of me.
I’m like a ruby held up to the sunrise.
Is it still a stone, or a world
made of redness? It has no resistance
to sunlight.’
This is how Hallaj said, I am God,
and told the truth!
The ruby and the sunrise are one.
Be courageous and discipline yourself.
Completely become hearing and ear,
and wear this sun-ruby as an earring.
Work. Keep digging your well.
Don’t think about getting off from work.
Water is there somewhere.
Submit to a daily practice.
Your loyalty to that
is a ring on the door.
Keep knocking, and the joy inside
will eventually open a window
and look out to see who’s there.”
“The minute I heard my first love story
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.
Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere.
They’re in each other all along.”
Rumi was a mystic and poet who wrote of the love of God and also of the mystical bond that can happen between two people. He married twice (after his first wife passed) and also wrote about his deep experience of friendship. He learned to see God in all things, and in all people. And yet there were those to which he had an unspoken deeper bond.
Is love and commitment to another part of some mystics’ quest?
I think, if it is, you just know. Maybe you were in each other all along.
“A brother questioned him saying, ‘What is the work of the soul which we now consider to be subordinate, and what is that which was subordinate and which we now consider to be our chief work?’ The old man said, ‘Everything you do as a commandment of God is the work of the soul; but to work and to gather goods together for a personal motive ought to be held as subordinate.’ Then the brother said, ‘Explain this matter to me.’ So the old man said ‘Suppose you hear it said that I am ill and you ought to visit me; you say to yourself, ‘Shall I leave my work and go now? I had better finish my work and then go.’ Then another idea comes along and perhaps you never go; or again, another brother says to you, ‘Lend me a hand, brother’; and you say ‘Shall I leave my own work and go and work with him?’ If you do not go, you are disregarding the commandment of God which is the work of the soul, and doing the work of your hands which is subordinate.’”
– Theodore of Pherme
“Abba Nisterus said that a monk ought to ask himself every night and every morning, ‘What have we done that is as God wills and what have we left undone of that which he does not will?’ He must do this throughout his whole life.”
– Nisterus
“When individuals have finished purifying and voiding themselves of all forms and apprehensible images, they will abide in this pure and simple light and be perfectly transformed in it.”
– St. John of the Cross, The Ascent of Mount Carmel, Book 2 15:4
“A brother who shared a lodging with other brothers asked Abba Bessarion, ‘What should I do?’ The old man replied, ‘Keep silence and do not compare yourself with others.’”
“A hunter in the desert saw Abba Anthony enjoying himself with the brethren and he was shocked. Wanting to show him that it was necessary sometimes to meet the needs of the brethren, the old man said to him, ‘Put an arrow in your bow and shoot it.’ So he did. The old man then said, ‘Shoot another,” and he did so. Then the old man said, ‘Shoot yet again,’ and the hunter replied ‘If I bend my bow so much I will break it.’ Then the old man said to him, ‘It is the same with the work of God. If we stretch the brethren beyond measure they will soon break. Sometimes it is necessary to come down to meet their needs.’ When he heard these words the hunter was pierced by compunction and, greatly edified by the old man, he went away. As for the brethren, they went home strengthened.”
Even St. Anthony the Great had to take a break and B.S. with his boys sometimes.
“At one time Abba Agathon had two disciples each leading the anchoretic life according to his own measure. One day he asked the first, ‘How do you live in the cell?’ He replied, ‘I fast until the evening, then I eat two hard biscuits.’ He said to him, ‘Your way of life is good, not overburdened with too much asceticism.’”
This quotation shows that there were different ways of life, and different philosophies surrounding how much asceticism was beneficial in the thought of the Desert Fathers.
By entering the desert, the early monastics essentially took a vow to reject worldly comfort in order to seek God. To indulge in any of these comforts would be to “go back” and reject their vow. I believe this is a primary reason why there is so much emphasis placed on rejecting the “comforts of the flesh” in the writings of the Desert Fathers.
“Abba Andrew said, ‘These three things are appropriate for a monk: exile, poverty, and endurance in silence.’”
“He also said, ‘Always have the fear of God before your eyes. Remember him who gives life and death. Hate the world and all that is in it. Hate all peace that comes from the flesh. Renounce this life, so that you may be alive to God. Remember what you have promised God, for it will be required of you on the day of judgment. Suffer hunger, thirst, nakedness, be watchful and sorrowful; weep, and groan in your heart; test yourselves, to see if you are worthy of God; despise the flesh, so that you may preserve your souls.”
The severe asceticism of the Desert Fathers and some of their harsh language about “the world” (although this is likely hyperbole, cf. Jesus’ similar clearly hyperbolic statement in Luke 14:26) is what is most commonly offputting to those with a modern perspective, including myself. Many of these solitaries completely rejected society and practiced severe renunciation of any worldly comfort, living on the bare minimum of food, sleep, and physical comfort – pushing their bodies to their absolute limits. The story of Siddhartha Gautama (“the Buddha”) living on “a grain of rice a day,” wasting away by practicing asceticism, comes to mind.
In a sense, I feel like the Christian tradition, as a tradition, followed the same experiment as the Buddha, beginning in extreme self-denial of all comfort and eventually moderating that perspective (the Buddha developed and finally advocated for “the Middle Path”). For instance, the author of the Cloud of Unknowing (14th Century) says the following:
“Now if you ask me what sort of moderation you should observe in the contemplative work, I will tell you: none at all. In everything else, such as eating, drinking, and sleeping, moderation is the rule. Avoid extremes of heat and cold; guard against too much and too little in reading, prayer, or social involvement. In all these things, I say again, keep to the middle path. But in love take no measure. Indeed, I wish that you had never to cease from this work of love…
Perhaps by now you are wondering how to determine the proper mean in eating, drinking, sleeping, and the rest. I will answer you briefly: be content with what comes along. If you give yourself generously to the work of love, I feel sure you will know when to begin and end every other activity.”
I don’t believe that asceticism is core to the contemplative traditions as a whole. But what is a core theme in virtually all contemplative traditions is non-attachment. From a theistic perspective, one should find their life solely in God and not look to the “things of the world” for ultimate satisfaction. From this perspective one can only properly interact with people and things in the world when we aren’t attached to them – using them, at least partly, to fulfill our own needs. From a Buddhist perspective, suffering is a direct consequence of “attachment” or "craving” the things of the world.
The Desert Fathers practiced non-attachment by simply removing themselves from the world.
For those of us in society, removing ourselves completely isn’t an option. Instead, the focus turns to having a right relationship with the people and things in it. Modern monastics from the Christian tradition have likewise developed a different stance towards bodily asceticism and the proper monastic attitude to the world at large.
Although one can find traces of certain forms of mysticism in the New Testament documents themselves, the Christian Contemplative Tradition is typically seen as having more substantial origins in the deserts of 3rd Century Egypt. As Christianity became the official religion of Rome, martyrdom, often thought to be the “most perfect way of following Christ,” became a relic of the past. As an alternative to literally dying for the faith, hermits like St. Anthony the Great (usually seen as the “first Christian monk”) entered the desert to live lives of radical simplicity and seek God in nearly complete solitude. Desert spirituality was characterized less by official meditative practice and more by a way of life – asceticism, internal (sometimes referred to as hesychast) and external silence, solitude, unceasing prayer, battling temptation, and seeking absolute obedience to one’s conscience before God. Many of the Apophthegmata Patrum (“Sayings of the Desert Fathers”) seem harsh in retrospect, even to those of later developed Christian monasticism, but these original Christian monks were performing the first experiments in monastic and solitary life within their tradition. Many of their excesses, especially in regards to severe asceticism, would be moderated as the tradition developed.
The Apophthegmata Patrum have been passed down in multiple forms in both the Christian West and the Christian East. I will be sharing some quotations from The Sayings of the Desert Fathers (Alphabetical version). I don’t find everything in these sayings to be edifying, and they were people of their time just as we are people of our time, but I certainly resonate with the impulse of these original Christian monks towards the value of solitude.
"The Koran and the Talmud, the Bible and the Avesta, the Darshanas and the Analects praise silence. Religions are at one in teaching that, without quiet, the roots of piety will at best be shallow. The idea that God speaks not with the wind or the earthquake or the fire but with a still, small voice is a commonplace; it is general religious wisdom. In all places and at all times those longing to touch another world have instinctively known what to do – enter a desert, climb a mountain, join a hermitage."
– Dale Allison, The Luminous Dusk