Tuesday, March 7, 2023
Some Important Thoughts on the First Crusade.
Monday, March 6, 2023
The Rule of Saint Benedict: Book Review
The Rule of Saint
Benedict is an early 6th century text comprised by 73 short chapters,
which sets forth a rule of life for monastic communities. Christian
persecution, and the martyrdoms it yielded, ended in the early 4th
century, and monasticism subsequently sprung up in the shape of hermeticism
throughout the Christian world. Monasticism was understood as a white martyrdom
which took the place of the witness of Christians going to their deaths for the
one true faith. Beginning with the desert Fathers, Christian hermits began to
flock to those Fathers which were known for their wisdom, and sought advice
from them when it came to the new way of the desert. This is the origination of
monastic rules and the subsequent cenobitic lifestyle of monastic communities.
Thomas E. Woods gives us a succinct introduction to Benedict of Nursia and his
famous Rule:
“Western monasticism is most deeply
indebted to one of its own: Saint Benedict of Nursia. Saint Benedict
established twelve small communities of monks at Subiaco, thirty-eight miles
from Rome, before heading fifty miles south to found Monte Cassino, the great
monastery for which he is remembered. It was here, around 529, that he composed
the famous Rule of Saint Benedict, the excellence of which was reflected in its
all but universal adoption throughout Western Europe in the centuries that
followed.”[1]
The Rule begins by
categorizing the various kinds of monks in existence: There are Cenobites,
Anchorites, and Sarabaites. Benedict goes on to describe all three and develops
an apologia for the way of the Cenobite. The Cenobite monk is one who lives in
community with other monks, under the rule of an abbot, in a particular
location. This is the best of the three because it is most conform to man’s
nature, who is a social animal and who learns virtue, especially humility and
obedience, through his interactions with peers and superiors. This is the most
ideal from of monasticism. The Anchorite monk is one who lives in solitude in a
particular location, dedicating his life to prayer and contemplation. Although
Benedict recognizes this form of monasticism as a genuine call and a special
grace, he nonetheless argues it is less ideal to the cenobitic lifestyle for
the reasons mentioned above. Finally, the Sarabaite monk is one who wanders
from one place to another, belonging to no particular community, and under no one’s
rule. Benedict criticizes this lifestyle as individualistic, lacking in obedience,
and filled with the spirit of self-service. He concludes that it is the worst
from of monasticism and should be completely rejected. Thus, the purpose of Benedict’s
Rule is to set forth a way of life for the Cenobite.
The Cenobitic
lifestyle is characterized by communal living where all things are shared in
common, and where the abbot exercises a monarchic authority over the community.
The monks take vows of poverty, chastity, obedience, and stability. Benedict
uses familial language and describes the abbot in terms of the Roman
Paterfamilias, emphasizing the required virtues he should possess. Thomas Woods
summarizes this well:
“Each Benedictine house was independent
of every other, and each had an abbot to oversee its affairs and good order.
Monks had previously been free to wander from one place to another, but Saint
Benedict envisioned a monastic lifestyle in which each remained attached to his
own monastery.”[2]
Benedict gives
great importance to silence, connecting it to Saint James’ exhortations against
the sins of the tongue. He reminds the monk that death should constantly be
before his eyes (memento mori) and that he should keep his head bowed in humility
throughout the day. Benedict also has harsh words for excessive laughter and
boisterousness: “But as for buffoonery or silly words, such as move to
laughter, we utterly condemn them in every place, nor do we allow the disciple
to open his mouth in such discourse.”[3] But these passages should
be understood in context. Although a real seriousness characterizes the Rule, a
calm sense of joy permeates its spirit from the first chapter to the last.
One of the longest
chapters is the one on humility, which lays out twelve different levels of the
virtue in question (from man’s inner state to his outer actions). John Climacus’
Ladder of Divine Ascent (600 A.D.) will later contain many similarities with
this chapter of the Rule, as well as our contemporary Alcoholics Anonymous
program in the mental health practice. What characterizes these various levels
is a strong emphasis on the primacy of obedience. Benedict instinctively ties
this to Christ’s kenotic mission and sonship (which find their climax in the
Paschal mystery).
The largest part
of the Rule is the section dedicated to the Divine Office (Liturgy of the hours).
It extends from chapter 8 through 19. Benedict, here, painstakingly lays out
the manner in which the Psalter is to be recited throughout the week,
organizing the psalms in different hours of the day (one at night).“At the hour
of Divine Office, as soon as the signal is heard, let each one lay aside
whatever he may be engaged on and hasten to it with all speed, and yet with
seriousness, so that no occasion be given for levity. Let nothing be put before
the Work of God.”[4]
A more colloquial translation which would better convey the meaning of Benedict’s
words would be “let nothing be preferred to the Work of God (which is the
liturgy).” Dom Paul Delatte, the third abbot of Solesmes and superior-general
of the Benedictines of France (revived by Dom Guéranger after the French
Revolution), in his commentary on the Rule, explains the following crucial
point when it comes to the place of the liturgy in Benedictine spirituality:
“What is certain is that St.
Benedict has himself defined the monastic life as the ‘school of the Lord's
service;’ that he places the regulation of the liturgy in the forefront of his
legislation; that he regulates this public prayer with more precision and care
than anything else, leaving to individual initiative the measure and manner of
private prayer; that he urges us finally ‘to set nothing before the Work of
God.’”[5]
What becomes
apparent throughout Benedict’s rule is the moderation with which everything is
set forth. The monks are to be well fed and given plenty of sleep, the abbot
ought to be firm but gentle, and the morale of the community is given great
importance. Here we see Benedict applying the principle of Romanitas,
and a wise sense of pedagogy makes itself felt throughout the text. Thomas
Woods, once again, captures well this quality of the Rule:
“The moderation of Saint Benedict's
Rule, as well as the structure and order it provided, facilitated its spread
throughout Europe. Unlike the Irish monasteries, which were known for their
extremes of self-denial (but which nevertheless attracted men in considerable
numbers), Benedictine monasteries took for granted that the monk was to receive
adequate food and sleep, even if during penitential seasons his regimen might
grow more austere. The Benedictine monk typically lived at a material level
comparable to that of a contemporary Italian peasant.”[6]
A crucial aspect of
the Rule that is well worth pointing out is the guidelines Benedict gives for how
to treat postulants and monks who may have a background of nobility, and how to
treat guests who visit the monastery. Guests are to be treated as Christ
himself: with the greatest honor (the abbot washes the hands of any new visiting
guest to signify that he is here to serve him). All members of the community
receive equal treatment and the nobility or poverty of one’s birth-status or of
one’s previous life is left at the door. Benedict draws the basis for this
practice from Saint Paul’s teaching:
“Saint Benedict also negated the
worldly status of the prospective monk, whether his life had been one of great
wealth or miserable servitude, for all were equal in Christ. The Benedictine
abbot ‘shall make no distinction of persons in the monastery. A freeborn man shall
not be preferred to one coming from servitude, unless there be some other and
reasonable cause. For whether we are bond or free, we are all one in Christ....
God is no respecter of persons.’”[7]
In conclusion, the
Rule of Saint Benedict is a civilization-shaping text which yields pedagogical,
spiritual, liturgical, and historical insights at every reading. It has a surprisingly
beautiful inner coherence and an unparalleled track record of effective social
and spiritual transformation. Although the motto ora et labora (work and
pray) is not found in the text of the rule, it is a wonderfully pithy
encapsulation of its spirit. Sober like the Romanesque architecture and the
Gregorian chant it gave rise to, the Rule will disappoint anyone looking for
extravagant literature or secret knowledge. But for the simple soul who seeks
the face of the Lord, it is a treasure trove of charity and humility.
[1] Thomas E. Woods, How the
Catholic Church Built Western Civilization (Washington D.C.: Regnery
Publishing, inc., 2005), 26-27.
[2] Thomas Woods, How the Catholic
Church Built Western Civilization, 27.
[3] Dom Paul Delatte, The Rule of Saint
Benedict, a Commentary by the Right Rev. Dom Paul Delatte, Abbot of Solesmes
and Superior-General of the Congregation of Benedictines of France (Eugene
Oregon: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 1950), 97.
[4] Dom Paul Delatte, The Rule of
Saint Benedict, 286.
[5] Dom Paul Delatte, The Rule of
Saint Benedict, 136.
[6] Thomas Woods, How the Catholic
Church Built Western Civilization, 27.
[7] Thomas Woods, How the Catholic
Church Built Western Civilization, 27.
Sunday, March 5, 2023
The Chessboard of Church History
Clues of historical events are everywhere. Sometimes we forget that history isn’t confined to textbooks; its influences and repercussions are all around us, from the floorplans of our homes, to the roads we drive on, to the stores we shop in. Time and space are a continuum, mutually shaping each other as reality expands and unfolds, and this dynamic interconnection runs through the smallest things in this universe to the greatest. Perhaps this may sound a little far-fetched, so let us put it to the test: Can we learn something about the history of the Catholic Church by studying the ancient board game of chess? Or can we demonstrate how the development of the Church’s doctrine and culture over time is symbolized by thirty-two carved pieces moving about on sixty-four squares? Many historians think so, and some teachers even recommend integrating the game and its history into school curriculum to help students better understand medieval European society. [1]
Chess is a game of war. Right away we are confronted by a board-view that aligns itself with the Judeo-Christian world-view. “The life of man upon earth is a warfare,” says Job (7:1 RSVCE), and Christ warns his disciples not to think he has come to bring peace on earth; he has brought a sword (Matt 10:34). Chess is a concrete visualization and application of two minds engaged in the combat of an otherwise invisible world of ideas, and thus it perfectly represents the spiritual struggle taking place on the battleground of physical creation. Is reality shaped by fate, chance, or the free will of intelligent beings? Unlike dice or cards, chess comes down firmly on the side of free will, as does the Catholic Church. Christians also recognize that the world in which free will operates is intelligible and governed by laws, since God has “ordered all things by measure, number, and weight” (Wis 11:21). As Dr. Thomas E. Woods observes, this vision of the rationality of the universe was the catalyst that launched modern scientific inquiry, a quantitative method for unlocking the mysteries of the universe.[2] Already we see that the world of a game is in congruence with a game of the worlds, a small epiphany of the cosmic war (Gen 3:15).
It is in the period from the Middle Ages to the early Renaissance in particular that demonstrate how Church history shaped chess, and how chess influenced the thought of Christians and the deeds and institutions of the time. During the long campaigns of the Crusades, there was a massive transfer of knowledge and customs between the Muslim and Christian soldiers, scholars, and religious and political leaders. Historian Richard Eales reported that “it is a paradoxical but well-established fact that even in the period of the Crusades more new learning came to the West from the Muslim ‘enemy’ than through eastern Christian civilization. This was true not only of science and mathematics, some of which, like chess, originated in India, but also of classical literature."[3]
Eventually this game became a kind of Scholastic thought tool, a mirror for individuals to understand morality and their societal roles in medieval feudalism. This was chiefly brought about by a 13th century Dominican friar, Jacobus de Cessolis, who wrote The Book of the Morals of Men and the Duties of Nobles and Commoners, on the Game of Chess, a treatise which was copied and translated more than any other work of the Middle Ages, and whose popularity almost rivalled the Bible itself! In it he describes the different social rankings and peasant professions of the time, assigning each one to a piece of the board and outlining the virtues, rights, and responsibilities proper to each (the importance held by the Church in this system is signified by the bishops who stand on either side of the king and queen, two pieces that were originally elephants in the Indian version). The friar also included instructions on how to play the game, encouraging his readers to experience “the symbolism in action."[4]
Chess was now woven into the tapestry of Christendom, and as it grew and expanded so did chess. One example of this was the changing attitudes towards women and the emerging ideal of chivalry and courtly love. Church historian Fr. John Vidmar, O.P., singles this out as a notable development that emerged from the crusaders’ exposure to the greater respect given to women in the east, and as a corollary devotion to the Virgin Mother of Christ also increased exponentially during this time.[5] This set the stage for the rise and power of certain women religious, nobility, and queens in the 14th and 15th centuries, such as Bridget of Sweden, Catherine of Siena, and Isabella of Spain. While it was probably sometime during the 10th century that the piece known as the king’s minister was renamed the queen (inspired by Queen Adelaide, wife of the Holy Roman Emperor Otto I), it was the inspiration of the Spanish Queen Isabella that endowed the queen with the superior power she exercises on the board today.[6]
From the cosmic spiritual warfare between good and evil, to the scientific and cultural discoveries during the Crusades, to the Scholastic developments in morality and sociology, society has shaped chess and chess has shaped society. This includes the human and divine society of the Church, which has also had a reciprocal historical relationship with this noble game. Eloquently capturing this fascinating reality, Paula Rivera writes: “The Catholic Church has always used symbols and art to capture the spiritual battles for our souls as seen in our cathedrals with the help of Michelangelo and Dante, and the game of chess carries on that tradition. Jesus was and is the king with the Blessed Virgin Mary, the queen, at his side and the center of the game. Each chess piece bestows some moral attributes to the game and portrays a visual display of the Church's majesty on a game board."[7] As I pointed out in the beginning, the actions of man through time take shape in the spaces we are surrounded by, even down to something as mundane as a floorplan. And this is the proof, argues David Shenk, “of how thoroughly chess became woven into the fabric—and literally tiled onto the floor—of Christian medieval European society."[8]
[1] John Pagnotti and William B. Russell III, “Exploring Medieval European Society with Chess: An Engaging Activity for the World History Classroom,” History Teacher vol. 46, no. 1 (2012), 29.
[2] Thomas E. Woods, How the Catholic Church Built Western Civilization (Washington D.C.: Regnery Publishing, 2012), 76.
[3] David Shenk, The Immortal Game (New York: Anchor Books, 2006), 49.
[4] Shenk, Immortal Game, 53-54.
[5] John Vidmar, The Catholic Church through the Ages (New York: Paulist Press, 2014), 136.
[7] Paula Rivera, “Catechism on a Board,” National Catholic Register, December 11-17, 2005, Commentaries.
[8] Shenk, Immortal Game, 51.
St. Philomena Painting
This image is an original painting done in a breviary. It depicts St. Philomena praying. There are various catholic symbols included in the image. One example is the background that expresses an underground pathway which represents the catacombs of St. Priscilla where her body was found many years after her martyrdom. Additionally, her garments are white which symbolizes her purity. St. Philomena died in defensum castitatis, meaning that she was a virgin martyr. This painting was made using a reference image painted in the 1960s by Feszty Masa.[1] Lastly, this image was intentionally painted within a breviary because the liturgy of the hours is the prayer of the Church. By adorning the book with an image of this saint, the one praying with the breviary is reminded of the gift of one's own life for the Church. St. Philomena died for love of Christ and his Church. The medium used to receive this gouache painting is significant of the young saint it depicts and her dedication to the Church.
[1] Feszty Masa, “St. Philomena,” painting, 1961, www.flickr.com.
Saturday, March 4, 2023
The Dialogue of Catherine of Siena: a Review
Catherine of Siena is perhaps the most famous mystical theologian of the Church, on par with Bonaventure (more or less). Her Dialogue is her most famous work next to her advice to Pope Urban VI. Although this work is not written by her but rather dictated while she was in a state of ecstasy, this work draws the reader directly into those moments of prayer. It reads as though God, Himself, is teaching the reader theology from His perspective. Thereby, what is provided is something that philosophy could never have provided, namely, God’s perspective. In doing this, the art of theology becomes something more dialogical than academic. Every theologian, and most especially, Dominican theologians, ought to read this before the title “theologian” is finally claimed. Further, every Christian who struggles with not encountering God in the audible conversation has much to gain from this work. Her work is broken up into four treatises: Divine Providence, Discretion, Prayer, and Obedience. Each of these treatises are ordered into levels of the spiritual life.
Her first treatise concerns Divine Providence. Divine
Providence ought to be understood as the eternal life-giving operation of God
which creates all things and holds them in harmonious existence insofar as the
creatures choose it, revealing His nature as all-powerful, all-knowing, and
all-loving, making perfect use of apparent contradictions, “natural” realities,
and supernatural gifts alike for the ultimate good of those who love Him. She
begins this treatise with a particular eye for the relationship with God in the
context of the somewhat virtuous soul. God continues to “dialogue” with us individually,
not just saving us in general, but also wooing oneself in particular. Even in
trial, perfection is brought about by virtue, making suffering evil something
that purifies us. It seems this part gives us eyes to see God i.e. to be open
to his love, whatever may come.
The second part of the Dialogue concerns the virtue
of discretion. This virtue arises resulting from accurate knowledge of God and
of self, which when joined to other virtues, especially charity, brings about many
opportunities for additional growth in virtue. Catherine’s (perhaps albeit God’s
through her) primary focus is this as it applies to sanctifying/salvific acts. However,
discretion stabilizes our disposition toward ourselves and God by recognizing
both subjects as eternal, thus it makes growth in virtue eternal and allows us
to collect grace rather than waste it. Humility cannot operate and remain “humility”
without discretion. She, then, pragmatically applies this to corporeal works
which are only made valuable by the love they contain, which is preexisted by
discretion. This primary point is then examined from the negative, life without
discretion, whence sin comes. Not only is discretion knowledge of both God and
self, but of their nature and relatedness i.e. their connection. Catherine
further connects previously discussed virtue as it relates to others and how
discretion completes this.
The third part concerns prayer. This stage is found in
general upon the completion of the acting with providence and the ordering of
one’s life to love of God, whence the soul rejoices in the communion of prayer
with Him whom the soul loves. She, like most of the spiritual masters of
Catholicism, discusses the importance of engaging the whole self in the act of prayer,
most importantly the heart. She further emphasizes living a life of prayer. She
also discusses the ardent and painful desire for infinite unity to God which is
realized in this stage of spiritual life.
The final part of the Dialogue describes aspects of obedience.
The location of this virtue is telling of the fact that God’s grace, self-knowledge,
and prayer must preexist obedience for it to be real, without the most
difficult of strife, and love. She describes obedience as a key to heaven.
Obedience appears to be an extension of prayer, the fullness of purity and
communion with God. It is written that obedience is supremely undermined by a lack
of virtue: pride, self-interest, self-reliance, and attachment to temporal goods.
This is simply an attempt at obedience in the context of rampant imperfection.
She reaffirms the prime place of love, which is the only force capable of
salvation, of moving forth in the spiritual life.
In conclusion, the Dialogue draws the reader through
the spiritual life and is thus truly timeless in its content. Analogous to the
works of other contemplative saints, especially Carmelites, this composition encompasses
both prayer and theology. The uniqueness of this work is that it reveals
something of God’s perspective for one who wishes to advance in the spiritual
life and that it very clearly did not come from any particular learning of the
physical fountain and its contents. However, it manages to concretely envelope
Dominican spirituality, through the infusion of angelic knowledge. Reading as
though God Himself was writing, it also draws the reader into the discourse of
practical, spiritual, and pastoral theology. The Dialogue does this with
regard to Divine Providence, Discretion, Prayer, and Obedience in particular,
addressing the spiritual life, in general.
“Thanks, thanks to You, oh eternal Father, for You have not
despised me, the work of Your hands, nor turned Your face from me, nor despised
my desires; You, the Light, have not regarded my darkness; You, true Life, have
not regarded my living death; You, the Physician, have not been repelled by my
grave infirmities; You, the eternal Purity, have not considered the many
miseries of which I am full; You, who are the Infinite, have overlooked that I
am finite; You, who are Wisdom, have overlooked my folly; Your wisdom, Your
goodness, Your clemency, Your infinite good, have overlooked these infinite
evils and sins, and the many others which are in me. Having known the truth
through Your clemency, I have found Your charity, and the love of my neighbor.
What has constrained me? Not my virtues, but only Your charity.”
Transcandental Beauty in Medieval Church Art.
Our Lady of the Sign
St. Thomas Aquinas by G. K. Chesterton: A Review
St. Thomas Aquinas by G. K. Chesterton is unique among Aquinas biographies because it seamlessly blends a discussion of his life with an introduction to his thought. Some books treat merely of his life and many more go into detailed explanations of his thought over several hundred pages. Chesterton, however, manages in less than two hundred pages to give us an accurate portrait of Aquinas the man while lucidly explaining the rudiments of his thought. "I have taken the view," he writes in the Introduction, "that the biography is an introduction to the philosophy, and that the philosophy is an introduction to the theology; and that I can only carry the reader just beyond the first stage of the story."[1] In other words, what Aquinas' believed was downstream from who he was, and the best way to begin grasping the former is to have an even better grasp of the latter.
With this in mind, Chesterton begins by comparing St. Thomas with St. Francis of Assisi. While St. Francis played a major role in developing the Catholic devotional life, St. Thomas played a major role in developing the Catholic intellectual life. Since both lives are crucial to the life of the Church and to mankind in general, we need holy men and women to show us how to live them. Sometimes we need an exemplar of the devotional life and sometimes we need an exemplar of the intellectual life. According to Chesterton, a nineteenth century starved of romance by the Enlightenment embraced St. Francis while an early twentieth century starved of reason by Romanticism is looking to St. Thomas.[2] It is therefore as a guide to healthy reasoning that Chesterton interested in St. Thomas and this is the St. Thomas he attempts to display to his audience.
Born to a noble family related to the Holy Roman Emperor and the King of France, St. Thomas could have had everything he desired on earth. Since he showed an inclination for religious matters, his family decided to educate him at Monte Cassino and arrange for him to become Abbot of that distinguished monastery. Young Thomas, however, decided to become a Dominican Friar, much to the consternation of his family who locked him up in one of their fortresses. So passionate was he about his vocation that he chased away with a firebrand a prostitute whom his family had sent to tempt him. Having somehow escaped from his fortress prison, Thomas arrived in Paris where he enrolled in the classes of St. Albert the Great. Regarded as a "dumb ox" at first because of his size and taciturn nature, his simple solutions to complex problems soon shocked his classmates and St. Albert himself. Together with St. Albert, he would turn Catholic philosophy away from Platonic separation of Forms and matter toward Aristotle's progression from matter to form.
The Church Fathers had adopted Plato's theory of Forms as the rational basis for their belief in God because they regarded God as the personification of each ideal Form. This system failed to provide an effective counter argument to dualists who believed that the material world was evil and only the world of Forms was good. By turning to Aristotle and treating the material world as the matter from which the mind abstracted form, St. Thomas proved that it served as the gateway to the spiritual. Chesterton regards this development as a revolution that changed the course of Catholic thought forever.
Chesterton regards St. Thomas' establishment of the reality of abstract concepts as one of his greatest achievements. By doing so, the Angelic Doctor avoided the extremes of those who doubt the senses and those who trust nothing but the senses. The senses feed the material world to the mind which abstracts the essence of each object from sense information. This leads the mind to regard God as the One Being in whom essence and existence are One because every other essence participates in His existence. Once we know God as our efficient and final cause, we can regard man as a person with dignity because "man must bear a likeness to God in the way that effects bear a likeness to their cause."[3] Chesterton regards the errors of his time, on both extremes, as efforts to pretend that some aspect of reality does not exist, so that they do not have to arrive at God. As a result, they also fail to arrive at the truth about man. Only St. Thomas takes mental processes to their logical conclusions and arrives at what Chesterton calls "the permanent philosophy."
As one commentator writes, "The genius of Chesterton's St. Thomas Aquinas lies in his unerring intuition that what makes the 'perennial philosophy' truly perennial is its capacity for anticipating each novel twist of sophistry by which intellectual pride attempts to evade the reality of God."[4] By introducing us to the absent-minded theologian who was also a practical realist, Chesterton attracts us to the paradoxical but very real earthiness that leads us upward to eternity. He thus gets to the heart of St. Thomas' whole belief system in a few short chapters.
[1] G.K. Chesterton, introduction to St. Thomas Aquinas (New York: Doubleday, 1956), 18.
[2] G.K. Chesterton, St. Thomas Aquinas (New York: Doubleday, 1956), 25.
[3] Jason Lloyd, "Let There Be Justice: A Thomistic Assessment of Utilitarianism and Libertarianism," Texas Review of Law and Politics 8, no. 1 (2003), 249.
[4] R.V. Young, "Chesterton's Paradoxes and Thomist Ontology," Renascence 49, no. 1 (1996), 76.
Book Review: Rule of St. Benedict
During the early ages of the church and the beginnings of the hermetic lifestyle, there was very little in the way of structure that allowed people who chose to live a life dedicated to Christ in structure. While we know and have heard of the desert fathers and their contributions to the life of monasticism, it does not go unnoticed that St. Benedict also had a role to play in these aspects. In the Rule of St Benedict, he lays out a life rooted in Christ, based on stability, and allows a faithful and fruitful life with prayer. This is a timeless book that, while written and followed by Benedictines, is not without the graces it can provide for everyday lay people.
The Book begins with a discussion of the roles within different distinctions of monks. It allows us to understand the importance of an abbot within a monastery in representing Christ within the Abbey. While it is always known that the role of the Pope still holds great importance even within the Abbey, it’s understood that the part of the Abbot is to look and be aware of his flock, much as the role of a priest would have within his own congregation.[1] With the presence of the Abbot within the monastery, there can be a Shepard to guide those towards a prayerful life; it can be difficult when one is left to their own devices without any proper guidance in the stability of prayer. To have an Abbot allows those within his flock to flourish.
St. Benedict begins to lay out the structure of the monastic life within his rule to allow monks to open their hearts and minds to the Lord. The rule acts not only as a rule book in which monks are specified to follow specific rules to live a structured life; it also includes steps that allow one to know how to live a life dedicated to Christ. An essential aspect of the rule must be the dedication to silence outlined within. Every night after compline, Benedictines are to be silent until vigils the following day, this dedication to silence can be a setback for those who do not wish to live the monastic life, but this allows for the invitation of Christ within their lives. “The Lord will Fight for you, and you have only to be silent.” (Ex 14:14).[2] Regarding the significance of silence, we also find the structure in which good works are listed. These two sections lie within the beginning of the rule and can be seen as necessary since they allow monks to understand the basis of their life within the Abbey. Silence within their lives will enable them to understand that they must listen to the Lord through their prayer, which is a primary focus, and good works show them that while they live a life dedicated to Christ and that charity is a part of that dedication; they have a mission to serve the poor and help those in need as well.
The significance of the Rule of St. Benedict lies within the structured life that it provides. When the occult life started to become one that people were drawn to, there was little present in the structure within the hermetic life. Most of the rule lists certain aspects of the life of the Benedictines regarding sleep, eating, and prayer.[3] During the time of the desert fathers, there was little in the way of structured prayers for them to have a rigid schedule regarding worship. Most time was spent in meditation, but within the rule, we see an emphasis on the liturgy of the hours within five dedicated prayer times within an Abbey. Daily prayer and mass are what their lives are rooted in; they are meant to live a life in service of Christ; how can they know Christ if they are not maintaining a stable relationship with him?
It is essential to understand that while reading the Rule of St. Benedict, it is not simply understood as a rule book but as a lifestyle. All of what is written is not to be seen solely as a way to have monks fall in line and have a structured way of living; the purpose of the rule is for them to live a life that is in better service of Christ. All that is written is for the benefit of the monks residing within their Abbey, for them to live a life of prayer, poverty, and grace. The rule also shows us that each monk within the Abbey is not to live their journeys alone but to help one another to grow and live their lives better in dedication to Christ. The monastic lifestyle became appealing during the 2nd age of the church because of this disconnect from the world to live a healthy life for the soul. The Rule of St. Benedict provides us with a look at the lifestyle of the monastic life, which is rooted in prayer and obedience to build a life that is in service to Christ. The main focus may reside for Benedictines, but the book still provides many great teachings for people looking to join the monastic life or those simply curious.
Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls: A Book Review
Dr. John Bergsma’s
Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls is a historical and theological
investigation on the relationship between the writings of a Jewish sect from
the first century (called the Essenes) and the writings of the Christian New
Testament (Gospels, Letters, and Revelation). In this work, the author does an
excellent job at making archeological and textual findings, as well as theological
speculation, easily accessible to the average lay reader.
The Dead Sea
Scrolls, arguably the greatest archeological discovery of modern times, were
discovered in the late 1940s in several caves beside the Dead Sea. They almost
certainly originated from the library of a nearby Essene community called
Qumran. New Testament scholarship began to evaluate the relationship of the
Scrolls with the New Testament, as it was discovered that they dated from
approximately 150 B.C. to 70 A.D. Bergsma goes on to meticulously compare the scrolls
with the New Testament—the Gospels particularly. The author tells us that “since
the discovery of the Scrolls, many began to realize that the Gospel of John,
out of all the New Testament books, has the most similarities in language and
concepts with these pre-Christian Jewish documents from the Dead Sea!”[1] He also explains that
Johannine scholarship was taken aback at the similarities in phrases that were
assumed, by default, to have been taken from Hellenism. This destroyed the
later dating theories and firmly set John’s Gospel in the first century.[2]
Among the
incredible eureka moments sprinkled throughout the work, the hypothesis that
John the Baptist was an exiled Essene is one of the most fascinating. Bergsma
explains that in the beginning of John’s Gospel, the two disciples of John the Baptist
leave his mentorship to follow Jesus. One of the two is identified as Andrew,
Simon’s brother, while the second one remains unnamed. Later in the Gospel we
see that John the Baptist’s disciples were engaged in a “discussion” with a “Judean”
over “purification.” It is important to keep these two facts in mind as we look
closer at John the Baptist himself.
Bergsma draws
attention to Josephus’ classification of the sects of first century Judaism,
namely, the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the Essenes.[3] He then goes on to say
that “the Essenes were the only sect of the Jews that produced prophets,
observed strict asceticism, and practiced celibacy,” all of which “describes
John: a celibate, ascetic, prophet preaching repentance before an imminent
judgment—a message also found abundantly in the scrolls.”[4] Finally, focusing on the
Qumranite Essenes (since that is where the Scrolls are agreed to have had their
origin), he adds that “both John and the Qumranites placed great emphasis on
washing with water in conjunction with repentance for sins.[5] Based on these
similarities, and based on the geographical closeness to Qumran of the
Baptist’s ministry, as well as Luke’s words of the Baptist having grown up in
the wilderness/desert (Luke 1:80), Bergsma’s conclusion that John used to be an
Essene is an argument of cumulative power.[6] This brings us back to the
“discussion” concerning “purification” which the Baptist’s disciples were
having with a “Judean.” In light of Scroll 1QMMT on “the works of the law,” we
now know that the Qumranites were engaged with the Pharisees in religious
debates concerning purification. Thus, when the Baptist’s two disciples decide
to follow Jesus in chapter 1, it is safe to assume, as the tradition does, that
the unnamed disciple (later described as the beloved disciple) was John
the evangelist, and that John and Andrew were therefore of Essene
sensibilities. This also explains the attribution of John’s Gospel to John and
the heavy similarities with Essene theology.
Another incredible
eureka moment was the author’s convincing solution to the famous “Passover discrepancy.”
Bergsma explains that the founding of the Essene movement, and of Qumran
specifically, was prompted by the political and religious unrest brought about
by the Hasmonean usurpation of the high priesthood in Jerusalem.[7] The Essenes left Jerusalem
due to the religious corruption and settled in the desert north of the Dead
Sea. The Essene’s had their own priesthood from the Zadokite line, as well as
their own liturgical calendars, and their own Passover.[8] In light of this
information, the famous Passover discrepancy between the synoptics and John
finds a resolution based in good historical scholarship. This also points to
the divisive nature of interpreting the “works of the law,” as we saw above.
The Essene’s did not only consider the pharisees’ interpretation erroneous, but
also the entire liturgical system taking place in Jerusalem to be corrupt.
The author also
argues that the term “the Jews” in John’s Gospel is actually a mistranslation,
and that it should be read as “the Judeans.” Bergsma explains that in the first
century the term ioudaios was not always a religious term, but often a
geographical term, just like Galilean. A “pan-Israelite” attitude is clearly
present in the Scrolls, and they never called themselves ioudaioi (or yehudim
in Hebrew). In John 3:22, John tells us that “after this Jesus and his
disciples went into the land of Judea; there he remained with them and baptized.”
The “land of Judea” is a geographical expression and can also be translated “Judean
territory.” Bergsma concludes as follows: “So, in light of the Scrolls, we
should change our translations of the Gospel of John. Everywhere Greek ioudaios
occurs in John, it should be translated ‘Judean’ rather than ‘Jew.’ The issue in
John is not that Jesus is a ‘Christian’ in constant debate with ‘Jews.’ That is
pathetically anachronistic.”[9]
The author goes on
to explain that until the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls, Jesus’ actions in
John chapter 9, when he spits on dirt and makes mud to cover a blind man’s eyes,
had long perplexed modern scholars.[10] This
chapter is both an account of Jesus’ actions and a theological treatise on the
sacrament of Baptism, of the new creation it brings about. The author quotes
the Qumranite Community Rule: “Who, indeed, is man among Your glorious
works? […] Kneaded from dust… he is so much spit, mere nipped-off clay,”[11]
then elsewhere in the Scrolls: “You placed knowledge in my frame of dust in
order that I might praise You. And I was formed of spittle. I was molded of
clay and my formation was in darkness.”[12] Now,
Genesis 2:7 reads: “Then the LORD God kneaded (yatzar) the man from the
dust of the ground.” Bergsma explains that “the idea of clay comes from the
verb used here, […] which means ‘to make something of clay,’ whose participle
is the Hebrew word for ‘potter’: yôtzêr.”[13]
This, of course, brings up other verses such as Isaiah 64:8, which Bergsma
translates as: “O LORD… we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the
work of your hand.”[14]
The author concludes that “there was a pious Jewish tradition that God spat on
the dust to make clay to knead the body of Adam, and [this] tradition is
reflected in all these passages of the Scrolls that speak of man as “mere
spit.”[15]
Throughout this
fascinating work Dr. John Bergsma connects one thing after another between the
scrolls and the New Testament. From a similar practice of the Eucharistic celebration
to teachings on sexuality and marriage, from the office of bishop to the
covenantal community as a temple, this work is a must read for anyone who wants
to go back in time and feel like they are rubbing elbows with the Apostles,
and even maybe with the Lord himself.
[1] John Bergsma, Jesus and the
Dead Sea Scrolls: Revealing the Jewish Roots of Christianity, (New York:
Image, 2019), xii. See also Raymond Brown, “The Qumran Scrolls and the
Johannine Gospels and Epistles,” pp.183-207 in The Scrolls and the New
Testament (ed. Krister Stendahl; New York: Harper, 1957), here p. 206.
[2] Bergsma, Jesus and the Dead Sea
Scrolls, 45.
[3] Bergsma, Jesus and the Dead Sea
Scrolls, 6.
[4] Bergsma, Jesus and the Dead Sea
Scrolls, 32.
[5] Bergsma, Jesus and the Dead Sea
Scrolls, 33. See also Geza Vermes, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in
English, (London: Penguin Books, 2011), 1QS 4:21, 103.
[6] Bergsma, Jesus and the Dead Sea
Scrolls, 42.
[7] For a full chronology see Geza
Vermes, The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English, (London: Penguin
Books, 2011), xix-xxi.
[8] Bergsma, Jesus and the Dead Sea
Scrolls, 98.
[9] Bergsma, Jesus and the Dead Sea
Scrolls, 56.
[10] Bergsma, Jesus and the Dead Sea
Scrolls, 61.
[11] Bergsma,
Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 61, 1QS 11:20-21.
[12] Bergsma, Jesus and the Dead Sea
Scrolls, 62, 4Q511,
3-4.
[13] Bergsma, Jesus and the Dead Sea
Scrolls, 62.
[14] Bergsma, Jesus and the Dead Sea
Scrolls, 62.
[15] Bergsma, Jesus and the Dead Sea
Scrolls, 62-63.