Humility By Accident

In homily 24, St. Isaac points out a fundamental law of discernment: 

“Everything that can be perceived by the senses, whether an action or a word, is a  manifestation of something hidden within.”  

This principle of discernment is not given to us so that we can spy into the hearts of others by trying to surmise what is hidden in their hearts by scrutinizing their words and actions.  No, if we apply this principle to others then it ceases to be about discernment, and is rather about judgement, something none of us are called to do.  Of course, in certain contexts and in certain roles in the world (teacher, parent, police officer, judge, etc.) we may be called upon to make distinctions and decisions based on other people’s words and actions.  Even in the Church—actually, very often in the Church—we must make such distinctions and decisions based on people’s words and actions, yet we are never called upon to speculate about what may or may not be hidden in the hearts of others motivating their action. Only God and perhaps the person him or herself knows what is hidden in the heart.

I say perhaps the person knows what is hidden in his or her heart, but more accurately I should say seldom does a person know what is hidden in his or her heart motivating their words and actions. To know one’s own heart, many have said, is to begin to know God for the heart is the meeting place, the door, or the temple where the person meets with God. And so, the purpose of St. Isaac’s instruction that every word and action proceed from the heart is to help each of us to examine our own words and actions and begin to discern and discover what is hidden in our own hearts. It isn’t the warm fuzzy or cold prickly feelings we have inside that faithfully reveal to us what is in our hearts; rather, it is what we actually do and say that reveals what is in our hearts—often regardless of how we feel.

However, St. Isaac tells us, that some occurrences, that is some words and actions that proceed from us, are accidental. These do not come from the heart, unless they become continual or typical. These accidental words or actions, according to St. Isaac, do not necessarily come from our will or our free choice. Whether or not they are freely chosen and come from our will, thus revealing our heart, is shown primarily by the fact that they continue to occur. If they do not continue, then they are less likely to be from the heart.

For example, I might in a moment of tiredness or stress snap angrily at my grandchild. If I immediately repent and do not do it again, then we could say that it was an accidental occurrence, and St. Isaac says it is “only slightly taken into account.” This principle applies not only to bad behaviour, but also to good. If on a good day, someone catches me in a good mood and hits me up for a contribution to a good cause, I might give a hundred dollars. However, if this is not something I am continually doing, then St. Isaac says that it also is an accidental occurrence not really revealing anything in my heart. You might call this accidental generosity, but because it is not a continual action, not something I’m always doing, not something that characterizes me, this accidental generosity does not reveal a genuinely generous heart.

Why does this happen? Why is it that I can sometimes say some terribly mean things to the people I love the most.  Things that are not in my heart, things I do not want to be true. And why is it that I can suddenly be so amazingly patient or self controlled or generous in a particular unusual situation, but then immediately return to my normally impatient, intemperate and selfish self as soon as things return to normal? St. Isaac would chalk this up to human changeability, or to use his word, variableness. That is, human beings are able to change, able to repent, either for better or for worse.  

Thus, for as long as we live we need to watch ourselves carefully and never allow ourselves to pridefully boast in our mind that we have pretty much got things under control. In fact, St. Isaac tells us in homily 5 that 

“in each matter about which a man boasts himself, God permits that he change, so that he should be humbled, and learn humility.  This is why you must surrender all things to God’s foreknowledge, and not believe that there is anything in this life unchanging.”  

No matter how holy a person becomes, change for the worse is possible; similarly, no matter how sinful a person becomes, changes for the better is possible. However, with habit in either virtue or sin, change becomes more painful with time. This is why St. Isaac advises us, “While the transgression is still small and blossoming, pluck it up, before it spreads to cover the field.”

St. Isaac points out that although these accidental occurrences are not necessarily intentional on our part, neither are they random. God and our guardian angel, he says, work providentially to “pilot” these accidental occurrences, whether good or bad, so that they serve one of four functions in our lives. These four functions are (1) as incentive, (2) as a trial, (3) for training, or (4) as a recompense. St. Isaac advises us—in fact more than advises, he says we are blessed—if we compare every occurrence, that is everything we do and say, with what is really in our heart; and if it proves to be an accidental occurrence, then we should seek out its cause or function and see in it the instructing, providential hand of God.  

For example, I might stay up too late watching “just one more” episode of my favourite new series on Netflix, and the next day snap angrily at my wife, something I generally don’t do. Upon reflection I might realize that this accidental occurrence, this unusually bad behaviour on my part was a kind of recompense, a reaping of what I had sown. If I foolishly squander the time God gives me for rest, then I am more likely to change in bad ways: I am more likely to give myself permission to take my tiredness out on other people.  

Or here’s another example. Once (and only once—you will soon see why) the bishop asked me to serve vespers at a large conference. I have served vespers at least once a week for about twenty years. I know vespers. And yet, despite all of this experience, in the opening declaration of the service, I said the wrong words, which I realized right away, but it was too late, they were already loudly proclaimed for the bishop and all one thousand plus attendees to hear. And then the service went down hill from there. I must have made a dozen Jayvee mistakes in that one vespers service, all of which I noticed immediately and some of which I had been focusing very hard on immediately beforehand not to commit. But I made the dumb mistake anyway. The bishop’s one comment to me afterward was, “you need to study liturgics,” as though I were a seminarian celebrating vespers for the first time.  Here, my accidental occurrences, my liturgical mistakes, were along the line of trial. It was a large spoonful of humiliation, and I just needed to swallow it calmly and move on.

And then there are the good accidents. Most of what I know about counselling, for example, has come from good accidents. Somehow in God’s mercy, I say something or do something in counselling that works, that bears good fruit.  When this happens, St. Isaac calls it incentive. When an accidental occurrence creates or leads to something good, then we are given an opportunity to repeat it and learn it and ingrain it in our heart. I know nothing about counselling technique. Nevertheless, through trial and error, or rather through the incentive God has providentially given me through accidental occurrences producing good fruit, I have learned that I counsel best when I allow my heart to be open to the person I am talking to, to listen with an open heart and to love intensely the person or people sitting in front of me right at that moment. What begins as accidentally good behaviour on our part can be repeated and can sink into our heart making our own the character that will regularly produce this good behaviour.  

St. Isaac ends this homily by reminding us that the purpose of this changeability, these accidental occurrences, whether good or bad, is to teach us humility and self-reproach. When we know that we can always fail, in fact that we often fail even though others may not see it, then we can more easily humble ourselves before God and before our fellow human beings. St. Isaac reminds us that when we see ourselves as feeble and despicable (which, by the way, does not mean evil, it just means “to be looked down upon,” as Jesus taught us, to see others as higher than ourselves) when we see ourselves humbly, then we can know “that in very truth [we] walk on the path of God.”

Finding A Spiritual Father

Elder Porphyrios

I received an e-mail yesterday from someone asking advice on how to find a spiritual father.  I had to tell him that finding a spiritual father, in one sense, is very difficult and may take a lifetime.  In fact, if by finding a spiritual father he means that he is looking for a relationship with a spiritual mentor that is like what one reads about in the Philokalia or the Sayings of the Desert Fathers, or in the Ladder of Divine Ascent, then I would have to say that it is almost impossible to find a spiritual father. On the other hand, and in another sense, it is very easy to find a spiritual father or mother.  Finding a spiritual mentor in this sense has mostly to do with the seeker’s humility and willingness to be taught, and much less to do with the qualifications of the potential mentor.   Let me explain:

In the writings of the Holy Fathers, especially the ancient Fathers, we are given as examples to be emulated the many stories of absolute and unquestioning obedience of novices to their spiritual fathers.  We are told stories of holy men who submitted unquestioningly and with profound humility to spiritual fathers and who themselves became saints because of that humble submission.  We are told of clairvoyant elders, full of love for their spiritual children, who unerringly guided their spiritual children on the path to godlikeness, and we are told of spiritual children suffering harsh consequences as a result of disobeying their spiritual mentors.  This tradition of discipleship under a wise and experienced spiritual guide (father or mother as the case may be) is an essential part of our Orthodox Christian tradition and a necessary aspect of our growth and transformation into godliness.

However, this way of spiritual fatherhood is much misunderstood these days and consequently--even if unintentionally--sometimes results in unhealthy relationships and even spiritual abuse.  In such cases, instead of helping one grow in Christ, a inappropriate or misunderstood relationship with someone whom you consider to be a spiritual father or mother (or with someone who presents themselves as a spiritual father or mother) can result in prolonged spiritual infancy, years of confusion or anger, and even in one turning away from Christ completely.  

The fruit of this misunderstood or misapplied teaching about spiritual fatherhood began to be most clearly seen for the first time in eighteenth and nineteenth century Russia.  And it was in response to the abuse and suffering that he both experienced and saw that St. Ignatius Bianchaniov published in St. Petersburg in 1867 his Offering to Contemporary Monasticism.  The English translation of this text, first published in 1970, is called The Arena: Guidelines for Spiritual and Monastic Life.  It has been reprinted several times in English, the latest being 2012 by Holy Trinity Publications.  

Anyone who is serious about finding a spiritual father or mother must—and I really mean must—read this book.  What I am about to say about finding a spiritual father or mother has been influenced largely by this book, although I do not follow his exact presentation.  Some of what I am about to say is also influenced by my own experience and the wisdom I have picked up here and there from people much smarter than I.

First, when we are seeking a spiritual father or mother, we must realize that we live in a very different world from the world that produced the holy Fathers and Mothers we read about in the ancient spiritual writings of our Church.  St. Ignatius goes so far as to say (and I’m paraphrasing here) that there are no spiritual fathers any more—at least not like those that we read of in, for example, the Ladder of Divine Ascent or the Sayings of the Desert Fathers or the Rule of St. Benedict.  I don’t know if I can agree completely with St. Ignatius here.  There may indeed be one or two or three holy men or women hidden throughout the world—men and women who shine with the Divine Energies of God, who pray without ceasing and who are permeated by the love of God.  I still believe (or at leas hope) that there are a few such very holy people in the world today.  However, that is just the point in this paragraph: if there are any such very holy men or women worthy of complete obedience, if there are any in the world today, they are very few and they are hidden, devoting their life to prayer.

Such holy people are very hard to find.  They hide on purpose.  And what if you or I were to find one such holy person.  Would we at all understand him or her?  Would this saint at all understand us?  Really, It seems rather foolish to me—and perhaps it will to you once you think about it for a minute—to think that I as a busy person living in the world could indeed be helped much by a man or woman who has lived in constant prayer for the past forty years.  And if we were to meet such a person and were to confess our struggle, lets say, with watching too much TV or not always saying our morning prayers, gossiping about a fellow employee, what would you expect this holy monk to give you as advice other than the words of Jesus: “Well, if you want to be perfect, sell all you have and give the money to the poor and come and live in the cave just around the corner from me for the rest of your life and you will cure your problem with gossip.”

The reality is that this indeed would cure your problem with gossip, but unless you are yourself called to the eremitical life (the life of a hermit), it is a medicine much too strong for you.   And if you tried to follow this advice as a person not called to the eremitical life, you would indeed experience a great deal of spiritual harm.  But what other advice could this holy hermit give you?  It is indeed the pathway that he or she has found to salvation.  It is what he or she knows works.  And it is the perfect advice for someone who is called to be a hermit.  

And this we often forget when we read the Philokalia or some other holy writings of our Church.  These were written mostly by monks for monks or sometimes even by hermits for hermits.  Sure there is much people in the world can learn from these writings, but great humility and discernment is needed.  Advice designed for monks living in the desert of Scetes (for example) in fifth century Egypt has to be adjusted and modified to apply in a healthy way to someone living in the world today.  

It is just like medicine.  The same dose of medicine that would cure a 200 pound healthy adult might kill a infant.  We must be very aware of our immature and weakened spiritual state and the calling of our lives in the world when we seek to apply spiritual medicine that has been prescribed for mature spiritual men and women called to monastic life.

And this is the second problem we run into when we are looking for a spiritual father or mother:  We tend to have a much too high view of ourselves and of our needs as spiritual children.  This pride (or in the best case scenario, just plain ignorance) leads us to think that we need someone like St. Seraphim of Sarov or St. Herman of Alaska or (from the lofty heights of my own imaginings at one time) St. Pacomius the Great or his holy disciple St. Theodore to be our spiritual father.  We wrongly think that only such a holy person could ever guide us on the path to Christlikeness.  But the reality is that if we cannot be guided by people God has already put in our life, then we are fooling ourselves to think that a more holy spiritual father or mother would make all of the difference for us.  

Remember, Jesus did say, “he who is faithful in little will be found faithful in much.”  If we can’t be faithful in the little spiritual guidance God has already put in our life, how can we expect not to be singed by the white-hot holiness of a truly holy saint?  Humility is called for: humility and discernment.

And this I think is the third matter that has to be addressed in looking for a spiritual father or mother: humble discernment.  My bishop once wisely said that it is the responsibility of each of us to listen carefully and respectfully to those God has placed in our lives as teachers, priests, parents and mentors.  However, it is also our responsibility to separate, or discern, what is useful to us in what they say and in the example of their life, keeping and emulating those things which we find helpful; and then, to politely ignore the rest.  

Our problem, or at least my problem, is that what I think I want is a relationship with a spiritual father or mother that is fool proof, infallible, that does not require any engagement on my part other than mere mechanical obedience.  But such a relationships does not exist: at least not as a life-giving relationship between a spiritual father and son.  Such a mechanical relationship can lead to nothing but death. We are not machines.

The element missing in our misconceived understanding of a longed-for relationship with a very holy spiritual father or mother is love.  The reason why absolute obedience was possible and healthy among the holy Fathers we read about is that they loved absolutely.  In addition to holiness and humility, love permeated every aspect of the relationship of the spiritual father with his son.  And in the rare cases when the spiritual father was deranged, it was the holiness, humility and love of the spiritual son that drew the Grace of God to that relationship.  Holiness, humility and love: that’s what makes all of the difference.  

But the problem is that I am not very holy, humble or loving; and that’s the reason why I have to start small.  We all have to start where we are and with those God has already put in our life.  If we can humble ourselves and listen for what is life-giving and helpful in the advice given by those already in our lives, we might come to be able to hear what is life-giving from those God may bring into our lives in the future.  

I am a big believer in pilgrimages and monastery visits.  I think everyone should have a monastery that they consider their own, a place they visit often and support financially and pray for daily.  And who knows, maybe in such a monastery one might even find a spiritual father or mother who can effectively guide them in the spiritual life.  However, one thing is certain: if you cannot already submit to and gain good advice and help from the people God has already put in your life—sorting out what is life-giving for you and politely ignoring what isn’t—then you will certainly not find good spiritual guidance in a monastery or even on the Holy Mountain or even from a genuine God-bearing elder (were you to find one).  You will not find good spiritual advice not because it is not there, but because you have not trained yourself to hear it.  You have not begun by hearing the small wisdom God has given to those who are already in your life so that you can slowly grown to hear wisdom from those who are more spiritually advanced. 

I have personally known several people who have gone for confession and spiritual counsel to people who have the reputation of being spiritual elders.  Some have come back from this experience helped, encouraged and strengthened.  Others, going to the very same spiritual fathers, have had their lives torn apart and spent years in confusion and frustration.  This matter of spiritual fatherhood is a very dangerous business.  

You know, we all want a short cut, a failsafe way to heaven.  And I think many of us have imagined that finding a truly holy spiritual father or mother would provide that way.  But there are no short cuts in the spiritual life.  We all, each of us, must humble ourselves and both submit to others and take responsibility for our own life.  It is the tension, or better the breathing of our spiritual life: inhale, exhale; inhale, exhale; inhale (submit humbly), exhale (discern humbly); inhale (submit humbly), exhale (discern humbly).  This is the spiritual life.  Only to inhale or only to exhale is death.  But to grow in Christ, we must breathe.

Spiritual Discernment In The Fog, At Night, and Without My Glasses

Passions are like some hard [dark] substances that, standing in the midst between the light and vision, prevent the latter from discerning the difference of things.
St. Isaac the Syrian  Homily 66

St. Isaac the Syrian speaks of noetic vision as natural knowledge, that is, knowledge of God, of one another and of created things that human beings in a healthy (not sinning) state would know, not rationally (by deduction) but by seeing with their noetic eyes, the eyes of their soul or mind.  In English we might refer to this kind of knowing as intuition or as spiritual knowledge, or we might use a phrase like “knowing something in your heart.”

St. Isaac likens this noetic or spiritual vision to physical sight.  Just as there are many factors that either enable or interfere with one’s ability to see things with the physical eyes, so there are many factors that influence our ability to see spiritually--what St. Isaac calls discernment.  

The two essential factors in spiritual sight, or discernment, are a sound mind (nous) and Grace, which is “the sun that enables discernment.”  I cannot help associating “sound mind” with 2 Timothy 1:7 “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love and a sound mind (or self-control, sofronismos).  A sound mind, a healthy mind, is one that is under control.  Bringing our minds under control is healing our minds--it’s the same thing.  But if our minds continually wander and are easily caught up in arguments and “high things”(c.f. 2 Cor. 10:5 and Psalm 131:1), then no matter how much God shines His Grace upon us, our spiritual sight, or discernment, will be corrupt, fuzzy, and just plain wrong--like a blind man in full sunlight trying to guess the colour of the flower he smells.

A healthy mind is necessary for discernment, but so is Grace.  Grace, the light from God, does not always shine with the same intensity in our lives.  That is, sometimes God withholds a certain amount of Grace.  (Of course, God never completely withdraws His Grace, for then all creation would cease to exist.)  God may withdraw Grace for many possible reasons--or for no reason that reason can comprehend.  God is God.  However, one reason St. Isaac mentions for the withdraw of Grace is “stinginess,” and he even quotes a verse from the (Syriac) Old Testament: Ecclesiasticus (a.k.a. Wisdom of Sirach) 14:3 “Riches are not comely for a stingy man.”  

Riches here refer to the Grace of God, but stinginess, what can that be referring to?  After all, St. Isaac is a hermit writing to other hermits.  I don’t think he is referring to sharing your grace-filled insights with others.  In fact, I’m certain that is not what he is referring to because elsewhere he repeatedly exhorts his readers not to leave their cell on the pretext of edifying someone.  What then can this stinginess be referring to?  My best guess is that it is a reference to trying to save one’s own life (c.f. Matt. 16:25).  When we try to save our life, we lose it.  The riches of Grace are not comely for a person who is stingy with his or her life--trying to save it, not willing to lose what she or he thinks is important, not willing to die (spiritually) in secret, not willing to give up the delusion of control.  It is not comely for God to pour out much Grace (spiritual light) on those who hang on to life in this world (as it is) in a stingy manner, not wanting to give this paltry worldly existence completely over to God, not willing to let go in their hearts.

If this is what St. Isaac means, then no wonder I am so spiritually dense.  I am nearly blind wandering by the light of a crescent moon and a few stars.  Maybe the moon is the Theotokos, our Mother, shining with the reflected light of the Sun (Her Son), and the stars are the saints praying for us, the meandering ones.  But even the crescent moon and the stars are enough light to walk a well-trodden path.  It’s not enough light to see very far down the path or to see much of what’s off the path; but it is enough to put one foot in front of the other.  I know this is true physically for I have hiked in the dessert and mountains at night--it is possible, so long as the trail is well trodden.

I guess this is one of the main reasons why we need the Church--the well-trodden pathway to Christ.  St. Mary of Egypt gave herself completely to God and thus experienced tremendous Light, and as her mind healed, was able to live in the desert with God and without any direct, physical contact with the Church for 37 years (or was it 47, I don't remember).  I, however, hold back so much.  I fear so much.  Except for brief moments, my mind is a busy intersection of thoughts going this way and that.  It would not be comely for God to shine the riches of His Grace too brightly on me.  But I don’t despair.  I have a well-trodden path to follow.  I have enough Grace to see what is before me today: to say my prayers today, to control myself today, to manage my schedule so that I can go to Church on Sunday to receive the Precious Body and Blood of Christ.  One day at a time, one step at a time, through the prayers of our Immaculate, Most Blessed, and Glorious Lady Theotokos and Ever Virgin Mary and all of the Saints.  One day at a time.

St. Isaac speaks of other ways our spiritual vision is obscured.  Passions, he says, are like dark objects or clouds that come between the Grace of God and our minds (our spiritual eyes).  God may be pouring out His Grace abundantly on us, but because of our passions, we cannot see a thing.  I have hiked mountain passes that were shrouded in fog so thick that you could barely see your own feet--a dangerous state of affairs when the wrong move can send you plummeting several hundred feet.  This is what the passions do to us spiritually.  God may be giving us all of the Light possible, like the midday sun, but our passions shroud us like a thick fog and we make stupid mistakes and are easily seduced off the trail to our own (and other’s) hurt.

Another factor affecting discernment is ability.  That is, just as people with healthy eyes still have different abilities, so people with healthy minds still have differing abilities (remember, St. Isaac is writing in the 7th century, before anything was known about lenses and how the eye actually works).  There are one talent, two talent and five talent minds.  Not everyone has the same capacity for spiritual discernment.  What’s important is not how much or how little one sees or knows in their hearts.  What’s important is what they do with what they do see and know, how their knowledge of God leads them to repentance, how their knowledge of God leads them to surrender everything--rather than trying to save their own life like the servant who buried his talent because he was afraid.

Other factors that influence one’s discernment are  “the hinderances of times, places, and means.”  This is referring, I think, to the seasons and circumstances of life.  A parent raising small children is laying down her or his life in an very Christ-like way, but not in a way conducive to developing the inner life and prayer to a large degree.  It is a season. It is a season during which desire and longing can build so that when the season changes, longing and desire will lead you into the life of prayer that you have been longing for.  But even as a busy parent (or business person or auto mechanic or school teacher or nurse), just the longing itself and the mere desire for prayer and peace and stillness have a wonderful way of creating opportunities even in the midst of the zaniness, like a quiet park in the middle of a city.  The inner hermit in the cell of your heart can pray even while the “wild beasts” roar around you.

There are other factors too that St. Isaac mentions affecting our ability to develop the knowledge of God.  A weak will, the lack of a spiritual father or mother, a disposition (temperament or personality) not suited for spiritual pursuit.  None of these are unchangeable conditions.  God’s in the miracle business.  But we all have to begin where we are, with the limited ability and Grace we have, to seek to know, to long to know, to strive to give our lives to God.  If we do our part, God will take care of the rest.   If we follow what we know, maybe God will reveal to us some of what we do not know.