St. John Cassian on vainglory

St. John Cassian's seventh principal fault is one of the most frustrating, in that almost everything we might do to avoid it is equally susceptible to the same temptation:

For where the devil cannot create vainglory in a man by means of his well-fitting and neat dress, he tries to introduce it by means of a dirty, cheap, and uncared-for style. If he cannot drag a man down by honour, he overthrows him by humility. If he cannot make him puffed up by the grace of knowledge and eloquence, he pulls him down by the weight of silence. If a man fasts openly, he is attacked by the pride of vanity. If he conceals it for the sake of despising the glory of it, he is assailed by the same sin of pride. In order that he may not be defiled by the stains of vainglory he avoids making long prayers in the sight of the brethren; and yet because he offers them secretly and has no one who is conscious of it, he does not escape the pride of vanity.

What, then, is to be done? St. Cassian advises the following steps:

1. Think "on that saying of David: 'The Lord hath scattered the bones of those who please men.' . . . consider that we shall not merely lose the fruits of those labours of ours which we have performed at the suggestion of vainglory, but that we shall also be guilty of a great sin, and as impious persons undergo eternal punishments, inasmuch as we have wronged God by doing for the favour of men what we ought to have done for His sake, and are convicted by Him who knows all secrets of having preferred men to God, and the praise of the world to the praise of the Lord."
2. Do not allow yourself "to do anything at the suggestion of vanity, and for the sake of obtaining vainglory." Often this is easier said than done, and it requires that we constantly examine our motives. If we see that we are doing something for the wrong reason, this is probably a good occasion to cut off our own desires.
   
3. When you have begun a thing well, "endeavour to maintain it with just the same care, for fear lest afterwards the malady of vainglory should creep in and make void all the fruits of our labours." Here's the real trick. Once you've started something, even if it was for the right motive to begin with, it's so easy to drift into doing it for the wrong reasons, or to welcome the praise that comes from others. It seems to take even more vigilance here than in starting something new, and I'm really not sure what the best strategy is to apply when we realize we've slipped. Stop doing whatever it is? Or is it enough to acknowledge and repent of the vainglory that has crept in?
   
4. Avoid as leading to boasting "anything which is of very little use or value in the common life of the brethren." Again, the particular context of his remarks is a monastery, but the principle applies in other walks of life. If we're doing something that is of little use to anyone else, we're probably doing it just for the sense of accomplishment. This is a hard thing. We're used to climbing the mountain because it's there, or studying humanities for the pure intellectual challenge, or striving in athletics just to beat our own personal best. I think it is possible and appropriate to do things for sheer joy, but if that joy is not centered on God, we too easily drift into pride.
   
5. Shun "whatever would render us remarkable amongst the others, and for which credit would be gained among men, as if we were the only people who could do it." This is another thing that's difficult even to pursue. If I can sing well, shouldn't I sing out? If I can fix things, shouldn't I look for ways to serve others with my ability? What about all the parables that teach us to make the best use of what we're given? Isn't it squandering God's gifts if we don't use our unique abilities? But the danger is very real, because if we're not truly using them for Christ, it's worthless--even worse than worthless.
   

It still leaves a lot of questions unanswered. But it's a start. Somehow, I think a major part of the battle (not necessarily half) is learning to examine even the most basic things that we do and the motives for which we do them. If we get no further than weeping over our sinful addiction to vainglory, we're still better off than before. And the silver lining (if there is one) is that this all-pervasive temptation can yield an element of humility that permeates everything we do. However much I may think I have my act together, I am never more than a blink away from sin. What cause does that leave me for pride?

The Elkridge Blessing (Part 2)

The pics are finally available from the Theophany service at Ss. Peter and Paul chapel and the blessing of Rockburn Branch. Dcn. Michael has been having issues with his site, but it's nice that at least they're up before the end of winter. I'm easier to spot in the outdoor shots with my bright green coat than the indoor.

St. John Cassian on fasting

In what amounts to a mostly selfish series of posts (as if anything about my blogging is not), I'm going to try to compile what I find to be some of the more useful remarks in St. John Cassian's books on the eight principal faults. By "useful" I mean, useful to me--undoubtedly, much that is useful to others will not make the cut. What's more, I don't even mean this in the sense of everything that is useful in his books, but mostly what doesn't stick in my head quite as easily, so that I might derive some particular benefit from writing it down. This latter qualification is emphatic, because it has the unfortunate effect of omitting some of the most important points. But precisely because they are so important, they are addressed in almost everything written or said about these subjects, so that I'm constantly reminded of them. The more mundane bits that I'm collecting here are probably less emphasized for good reason.

I should also clarify what St. Cassian's writings are about. He spent a good deal of time traveling throughout the Egyptian deserts, visiting monks in various places to glean their wisdom and practices and distill it all into some useful guidance for monasteries in western Europe. Of course, his writings are directed at monastics, and as such, will not always apply directly to laymen. But as long as we're careful to account for the difference in life situation, we can still glean a lot. After all, the fundamental point of monasticism is not to be different from everyone else, but simply to follow Christ.

We are in Great Lent, and the first fault St. Cassian addresses is gluttony, so fasting seems a logical place to start. There is a wealth contained in this little book, but I keep coming back mostly to the how-to parts. Fasting, of course, cannot succeed in isolation. The other principal faults must be addressed as well, which is why he doesn't stop here. Furthermore, fasting never works as an end in itself. The real objective is to make eating a less significant part of life, in light of more important things:

First then we must trample under foot gluttonous desires, and to this end the mind must be reduced not only by fasting, but also by vigils, by reading, and by frequent compunction of heart for those things in which perhaps it recollects that it has been deceived or overcome, sighing at one time with horror at sin, at another time inflamed with the desire of perfection and saintliness: until it is fully occupied and possessed by such cares and meditations, and recognizes the participation of food to be not so much a concession to pleasure, as a burden laid upon it; and considers it to be rather a necessity for the body than anything desirable for the soul. . . . And so at length we may enter on the course of our life, so that there may be no time in which we feel that we are recalled from our spiritual studies, further than when we are obliged by the weakness of the body to descend for the needful care of it. And when we are subjected to this necessity—of attending to the wants of life rather than the desires, of the soul—we should hasten to withdraw as quickly as possible from it, as if it kept us back from really health-giving studies. For we cannot possibly scorn the gratification of food presented to us, unless the mind is fixed on the contemplation of divine things, and is the rather entranced with the love of virtue and the delight of things celestial. And so a man will despise all things present as transitory, when he has securely fixed his mental gaze on, those things which are immovable and eternal, and already contemplates in heart—though still in the flesh—the blessedness of his future life.

We don't have to look hard to find examples of this principle. My son could practically starve himself to death if he were having enough fun doing other things. Get him playing with friends, or even other kids he just met, and it's almost impossible to drag him over to the table to eat for five minutes. Personally, I've ended up skipping lunch for a lot of reasons in my life--mostly because I had other things that I considered more important. In high school, dropping my lunch period made my schedule flexible enough to take the classes that I wanted. In various jobs, I've skipped lunch so I could leave early or go for a walk or get caught up on something--but it's always easiest to do when I have something to occupy my time instead of eating.

The point, then, is that fasting should not be a mere vacuum in our daily routine. I used to eat at this time--now I just sit around and think about food. Rather, it should be a zeal for our spiritual life that so consumes our efforts and focus that we consider food a distraction and an annoyance. Now, one application of this, I think, is that eating should be more interactive. There are plenty of stories in St. John Cassian and in other monastic writers about elders and hermits who would only eat when they had someone to share a meal with, or about breaking their usual fasting rule to offer hospitality to a guest. Eating has always had a social component to it, and it seems clear that that component should be more important than whatever of my own bodily desires are met by eating.

A guideline that I've toyed with but never really followed very well goes something like this--eat together with others; if no such opportunity arises, then eat when you must, due to hunger. Like anything else, there's still plenty of room to manipulate this kind of principle. The point isn't to seek out parties or to make your friends a means to an end. (No, I really don't care much for you, but you're as good an excuse as any to eat.) Maybe it's a principle that makes sense to me, because I'm not a very social person to begin with. Maybe it just needs to be explicated that part of the pursuit of the spiritual life involves a healthy level of solitude.

This overarching principle of priority leads into the next excerpt:

A monk therefore who wants to proceed to the struggle of interior conflicts should lay down this as a precaution for himself to begin with: viz.: that he will not in any case allow himself to be overcome by any delicacies, or take anything to eat or drink before the fast is over and the proper hour for refreshment has come, outside meal times; nor, when the meal is over, will he allow himself to take a morsel however small; and likewise that he will observe the canonical time and measure of sleep.

The context is in a monastery, where meal times and sleep times are carefully regulated. So the point here is, eat when it's time, with no snacking in between. This means, of course, that you will be eating together with the rest of the community, not based on your own biological urges. No one's going to starve by following this kind of rule. You might be hungry for a while, but you'll make it to the next meal time and eat whatever you need.

In a home where meal times are well-established, this rule could be applied pretty directly and probably is in many of them. We let our kids snack, but when we know it's coming up on a meal time, we make them wait. To them, it may seem like they really are starving to death, but it's a start in the process of learning discipline. Where meal times are less well-established, things can get a bit more complicated. But again, I think the general rule is, eat regular meals rather than snacking. Eat together if possible rather than alone.

Finally, some remarks on the type of food that we eat:

We should then choose for our food, not only that which moderates the heat of burning lust, and avoids kindling it; but what is easily got ready, and what is recommended by its cheapness, and is suitable to the life of the brethren and their common use. For the nature of gluttony is threefold: first, there is that which forces us to anticipate the proper hour for a meal, next that which delights in stuffing the stomach, and gorging all kinds of food; thirdly, that which takes pleasure in more refined and delicate feasting. And so against it a monk should observe a threefold watch: first, he should wait till the proper time for breaking the fast; secondly, he should not give way to gorging; thirdly, he should be contented with any of the commoner sorts of food.

Now, I'm no expert on what food "moderates the heat of burning lust," though if I recall correctly, that's at least part of the point of abstaining from meat and dairy as per the regular canonical fasting routine. My interest here is in the rest of what he has to say--the food we eat should generally be cheap, easy to prepare, and of common use. Now, when he says "common" here, I don't think he's exclusively talking about the avoidance of delicacies, though that's certainly something he has in view throughout. But he goes on to talk about those who want to eat a diet of beans or vegetables, rather than bread. There are many of the desert fathers who were known to subsist on such things, but my take on this is that it's a difference of communal life versus the life of a hermit. Many of the hermits would live on whatever they could forage around their dwellings. Presumably in a communal setting such a departure from the normal rule would require that someone make an extraordinary effort to get the alternate ingredients. In such cases, the best course is to accept whatever makes the most sense for the group; choosing to do otherwise could be a sign of vainglory (more on this later).

I sometimes struggle with this point, because what's cheap and easy in our culture is usually more processed, less healthy, and less basic. Because I generally fast alone, anything else would also mean preparing my own meals, buying a lot of special ingredients, and generally focusing a lot more attention on food than I do right now. Opening up a can of beans and a box of Triscuits is, quite simply, the best sort of meal preparation to keep from getting too obsessive about food. Another rule that I would say applies here is to eat leftovers. Don't get your heart set on whatever you know is in the cupboard, when there's something else that needs to be eaten up before it goes bad.

So, to boil down my personal application of these basic guidelines (again, what I'm shooting for, not where I am right now), I have in mind the following principles:

• Focus on spiritual development, so that eating in itself is treated as a distraction from what's really important.
  
• Don't snack--eat actual meals as necessary.
• When possible, eat at regular mealtimes with the family, and eat whatever is provided.
• Otherwise, choose food that is cheap, easy to procure, and easy to prepare; start with leftovers.
• If there's no opportunity to eat with others, eat alone when hunger requires it; usually this means eating late in the day, when you know with more certainty that you need to eat alone.

The other point with all of this that I need to work on is controlling how much I eat at a time. Here the basic rule that almost everyone gives is to eat enough so you're not actually full. To some degree it's trial-and-error, but that's also where a lack of variety can help. For one thing, you're less likely to stuff yourself if the food just isn't that interesting. For another, you start to learn how much is the right amount to eat.

St. John Cassian on anger

If you fast for quarrels and fights
and you strike a humble person with your fists,
why do you fast for me as you do today
so that your voice may be heard by its clamor?

--Isa 58:4

When the aged John, who was superior of a large monastery and of a quantity of brethren, had come to visit the aged Pæsius, who was living in a vast desert, and had been asked of him as of a very old friend, what he had done in all the forty years in which he had been separated from him and had scarcely ever been disturbed in his solitude by the brethren: “Never,” said he, “has the sun seen me eating,” “nor me angry,” said the other.

--The Institutes of St. John Cassian 5.27

On the threshold of the Fast, I've been re-reading some of St. John Cassian, particularly his books on the eight principal faults. I planned to read them for Lent anyway, but it occurred to me that I could use a refresher before I start the Fast, so that my attitude is right (or at least better) as I begin. Perhaps no more is this the case than with the fault of anger, since it's so easy to get snippy when one is hungry. The whole book on anger is worth reading several times, but this one, short chapter stood out to me:

Or how can we think that the Lord would have [anger] retained even for an instant, since He does not permit us to offer the spiritual sacrifices of our prayers, if we are aware that another has any bitterness against us: saying, “If then thou bringest thy gift to the altar and there rememberest that thy brother hath aught against thee, leave there thy gift at the altar and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift” (Matt 5:23-24). How then may we retain displeasure against our brother, I will not say for several days, but even till the going down of the sun, if we are not allowed to offer our prayers to God while he has anything against us? And yet we are commanded by the Apostle: “Pray without ceasing” (1 Thess 5:17); and “in every place lifting up holy hands without wrath and disputing” (1 Tim 2:8). It remains then either that we never pray at all, retaining this poison in our hearts, and become guilty in regard of this apostolic or evangelic charge, in which we are bidden to pray everywhere and without ceasing; or else if, deceiving ourselves, we venture to pour forth our prayers, contrary to His command, we must know that we are offering to God no prayer, but an obstinate temper with a rebellious spirit.

--The Institutes of St. John Cassian 8.13

Ouch! He doesn't leave much room here, does he? St. Cassian goes on at the end of the book on anger to raise this point as one of our best tools for self-correction. If we remember what an impediment anger is to prayer, how can we possibly let it go unchecked?

I would recommend as well a series of talks by now-Met. Jonah of Washington and New York, in which he discusses resentment and reacting (in anger) as obstacles to achieving inner stillness.

Religulous

I like a good debate as much as the next person--probably more, but I'm working on that. There was once a time when I identified my faith with my ability to reason and defend it. I went looking for debates so I could win them--not, of course, for my own glory, but to show that God was right. For many years, I pursued academic training with the primary goal of enhancing my ability to reason. Ironically, it led me to more questions than answers, and even to the point of practical agnosticism. Actually, it's only ironic from the perspective I had before--now I would say that it was the only logical place my striving could take me.

I've largely recounted my journey back to faith on my earlier blog, so I won't go through it again here. My point is simply that a lot has changed in my approach to faith and reason. I no longer have a burning desire to defend what I believe--certainly not to pick fights over it. If others have questions, I'm happy to discuss. But there's generally not much point going head-to-head with someone who has opposite convictions. No one really learns from it. That's why I'm no longer particularly interested in watching everything that appears in popular media about the roots of Christianity, or the Bible as history, or science and the Bible, etc. For one thing, I've seen most of the arguments before, and what you generally get in an hour or two for mass consumption can't possibly move the discussion forward. For another, I find it tiresome to perform my own analysis of such presentations, which is not likely to interest anyone else anyway.

But, as I say, I'm happy to answer questions when they come. That's why I spent some time this afternoon watching Bill Maher's Religulous, and why I'm sharing thoughts on it here. The friend who brought it up knows who he is. It won't be a blow-by-blow. Far from it, I'm going to try to keep my remarks as brief as possible by highlighting one overriding problem--that Maher cannot disguise his own religious conviction. For anyone who sees this about the film, it comes off as petty and hypocritical.

If you don't get the intensity of Maher's faith, just skip to the sermon he preaches in the last five minutes or so. He gives the most rabid fire-and-brimstone preachers a run for their money, as he warns of the dire consequences if we don't act now to eradicate religion. He shamelessly appeals to emotion and raw chemical response by bombarding the viewer with montages of image and sound. All this, as he declares how humble he is for doubting when those "religious" people (who are somehow different from him) are so certain of themselves. Now, I'm all for doubt as an important component of humility. But his argument is self-defeating, because he feels the need to pooh-pooh their apparent humility. Doubting human reason and submitting to revealed truth is false humility; doubting revelation and submitting to human reason is the real thing!

Of course, Maher has no trouble finding people who are overly certain about far too many things. And for every trucker or televangelist who can speak with utmost confidence, he's got a Catholic priest ready to tear down the faith he's supposedly dedicated his life to preaching, with equal certainty that all those old-fashioned ideas are just silly. I suppose we're meant to come away with a dim view of the believers; personally, I just have to scratch my head at those priests, whose credibility must be based on their position as clergy. Oh, wait--that's not where he's going with this, is he? No, but a two-second clip of someone who claims to have discovered both a "God gene" and a "gay gene" does seem to come ex cathedra. Maher never really comes out and says that he thinks anyone who can claim scholarly credentials--at least, if that results in them speaking against faith--must be believed infallibly, but he often acts like it.

He repeatedly asserts without question that the Gospels are not eye-witness accounts, presumably on the basis of some scholarly opinions. I'm not interested in arguing whether they are or aren't, but I bring up this particular example, because it highlights the contradiction that plagues this film. So, since the Gospels must not be verifiable history, the only logical conclusion is that it was all made up. But when he turns to the virgin birth, he insists that if it really happened, surely all four of the Gospels would have recorded it, not just two. Well, if all four of the Gospels were just recording oral tradition or legends or whatever you want to call them, we might suppose that they all would have repeated some widely-circulated tale of the virgin birth. But if they were in fact eye-witnesses (just supposing for the moment), what would we expect? If four men who met Jesus when he was an adult were writing about his life for the very purpose that they wanted to set down an accurate and reliable account before all the witnesses were gone, how would they tell us about his birth? They weren't there themselves. Would they just repeat rumors? Or would they base their remarks on what they had the opportunity to hear directly from someone who was there--the Virgin herself, for instance? Aren't the odds against all of them having a surviving eye-witness to interview? He can't have it both ways. One argument or the other might get some mileage on its own, but they can't both work.

Not that I expect Maher to be an expert in historical or literary analysis. But by claiming the intellectual high ground, he's set himself up for criticism when his own arguments are so shallow. Who's really promoting blind faith? In the segment on God and country, he never really gets to a point. It's scatter-shot, starting with his assertion that Jesus can't possibly have anything to do with nationalism, then a brief discussion about how the founding fathers of America weren't all Christians (no, really?), then an interview with one apparently clueless senator about the religious faith of Americans and the importance of the Ten Commandments. I suppose we're meant to think of all this that a lot of evil or deluded people are trying to connect God with America, and somehow that's bad, but nailing down anything more specific than that doesn't seem to be on the agenda. I came away feeling like he'd insulted my intelligence as a viewer, not my faith as a believer.

The film did have its bright spots. The discussion in the trucker chapel ended with some heartfelt, honest prayer and the closest thing to a compliment that Maher had to give. In his discussion with the Jesus actor at the Holy Land theme park, he actually asked some substantive questions about how God handles evil in the world and why God is so jealous. A lot more could have been said in response than we see (though Maher should have been impressed with how much the guy admitted ignorance rather than try to explain what lies beyond our understanding), and perhaps a lot more was said. There were several times when I had to question the editing. How many of the awkward pauses were fabricated by splicing in silence where a reply was actually given? (Ken Ham at a loss for words? Now that's implausible!) It's his show--I suppose it's his right to send whatever message he wants (not like he makes any claim to hard-hitting journalism). But for someone who claims to be advocating truth and reason over blind faith and manipulation, it still seems hypocritical to me.

I don't suppose there's much cause for surprise here. An agnostic who cares enough to produce a show about religion can hardly be very agnostic. One might expect that he's just as religious--just as evangelistic--as anyone he sets out to mock. But by sending such a contradictory message, he loses any opportunity he might have had to raise substantive questions for intelligent discussion. In other words, he's preaching to the choir--to his own people, who already agree with him. They get some good laughs, and then they get a rousing challenge at the end to go out there and storm the gates of heaven. Just what we need--one more religious leader shouting antagonism to his followers, and in the name of fixing what's wrong with those people. That's religulous.

this year's evil

Just when you thought it was safe to go back into Lent . . .

One of the things we've gained from moving to Elkridge is better proximity to some discount stores. I'll save the Super Walmart that's just up the road for another rant; this time, my beef is with Aldi. If you're not familiar with this store, I can only hope you will get to know it in the deepening economic crisis that yawns before us. Ethical issues aside (I don't know, and I don't want to know), it's just plain cheap. You put in a quarter deposit to unlock your cart and get it back when you return it. (If you don't care about the quarter, someone else will.) The cashiers just chuck your groceries back in the cart as they scan, and you put the mess in bags at a counter along the wall. They carry some name-brand stuff, but a lot of items are their own.

Anyway, my wife's better at singing their praises--I'm here to complain, so let's get down to it. Not long ago--just in time for Lent, it would appear--she discovered their fruit pies. You know the type--single-packaged dough shells filled with some kind of fruit. Since they're cheap, there's nothing fancy in the crust--flour, sugar, and low-grade vegetable oil. So . . . if your definition of "oil" for lent is olive oil, there's nothing objectionable. Nothing, that is, except the decadent, well-preserved sweetness of a dessert that I didn't need to know about. Think, a jelly donut with a long shelf-life. I've tried the apple and the cherry, and even without heating them up, I can tell it's going to be hard to resist.

Now that you know, my recommendation is to stay as far away from the things as possible. If knowing makes you go get one, we'll talk again at Forgiveness Vespers.

riding into the wind

This morning was probably the windiest ride I've had so far. Last night one of those storms blew through, where it looks like the rain is coming down in sheets, mostly sideways. Clear skies today, but it still says 25-35 mph west winds. I can believe the numbers, and west is definitely right. Rt. 1 runs SW-NE, and I was mostly riding into the wind or getting blown from the right. At points where I normally cruise downhill faster than I can pedal, I felt like I could almost coast to a stop just from the drag. Going uphill, I had to downshift a lot faster than normal and spent a lot of time in first gear. Sometimes when I'd hit an open stretch I could feel the bike wobbling, with the wind cutting across my path. It was a hard ride, but at least the wind helped keep me cool, and since the temperature today is just about right (50s all day), I was traveling light without any extra clothes.

So much for the literal meaning of today's title. The metaphorical ride into the wind refers to the mounting forces that conspire to make my commute more difficult and more expensive. On top of everything else, this morning (or rather, in the dark of night, when nothing good except Pascha happens) I got an e-mail from MTA announcing the installation of ticket machines in its rail stations. This measure "will provide increased access for ticket purchases during business hours." How convenient! Oh, wait. The e-mail is carefully crafted--it never explicitly says that ticket agents will be vanishing from most of these stations. What it does say is, "Odenton, Camden, and Brunswick Stations will have TVMs installed, and will continue to be staffed." That's a relief, but why are you telling me they will continue to be staffed? Was it ever in question? "AMTRAK Stations on the Penn Line . . . will still have ticket agents as well as TVMs. The Amtrak stations, as well as the remaining MARC stations, will continue to accept your Transit Benefits." "Remaining MARC stations?" Are some of them being torn down? Or are they talking about stations that will still have actual people working in them? So presumably this means that the oh-so-convenient machines will not accept our brand new transit vouchers (which, after all, have almost no other purpose than to accommodate the MTA). "Cash or vouchers of any kind cannot be used." Ah, there it is. So what can I do with the lovely things now? "We recommend using CommuterDirect.com."

Hmm. It does turn out that you can buy single-trip tickets online, which is what I need, since they discontinued 10-trip passes. That's better than I thought. Also, there's no shipping charge if you use plain U. S. Mail. But to use the vouchers, you have to send them in after placing your order. That's at least a first-class stamp. Not to mention, you're practically sending cash both ways, so there's good reason to get insurance, which isn't free. The other option is to buy the tickets at a station that still has a manned counter. Fortunately, Union Station is one of them. I'm normally rushing from Metro to train or from train to Metro when I'm there, but I suppose my best option will be to take some time every couple of months and buy a huge wad of tickets on my way home. At least, until the next change. Whatever it is, I'm sure it will do even more to encourage the use of mass transit.