By Joseph R. Wood
I recently read an author’s claim that “as Christians we cannot simply ignore politics. We are supposed to be leaven in the world. So we cannot retreat to the hills as St. Benedict did”.
In fact, people today do “retreat to the hills” to live under the Rule of St. Benedict. Benedictine communities in many places, especially in the hills, are flourishing; so are the Carmelites. So are orders like the Dominicans, Franciscans, and others that combine withdrawal from the world with action in that world. All of them are powerful leaven.
Perhaps the author meant that as a passing jab at the so-called “Benedict Option,” with its much-debated merits and blind spots. But it seemed implicitly to convey that the contemplative life is obsolete. Yet the Catechism still endorses this life, even in the case of hermits, whose withdrawal is perhaps the most severe.
The author paraphrased Pope Benedict XVI in support of Christian political engagement. Pope Benedict was also a fervent defender of the contemplative life. His episcopal ring bore an image of St. Benedict, “founder of Western monasticism and patron of my pontificate”.
Addressing the Carthusians with their profound solitude and silence, he described the “deep bond… between the pastoral service of the Church’s unity and the contemplative vocation in the Church.” And he went on:
“Dear brothers, you have found the hidden treasure, the pearl of great price (cf. Mt 13:44-46); you have responded radically to Jesus’ invitation: ‘If you wish to be perfect, go, sell what you have and give it to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me’ (Mt 19:21). Every monastery—male or female—is an oasis where, through prayer and meditation, the deep well is constantly dug from which to draw the ‘living water’ to quench our deepest thirst.”
Benedict’s predecessor, Pope John Paul II, who was no stranger to political engagement, offered similar thoughts on the contemplative life, both Eastern and Western, in his 1996 Apostolic Exhortation Vita Consecrata:
“Hermits and hermitesses, belonging to ancient Orders or to new Institutes, or else directly dependent on the Bishop, bear witness to the passing nature of the present time by their interior and exterior separation from the world, and they attest by fasting and penance that man does not live by bread alone, but by the word of God (cf. Mt 4:4). Such a life ‘in the desert’ is an invitation to their contemporaries and to the ecclesial community itself never to lose sight of the supreme vocation, which is to be always with the Lord. Institutes wholly devoted to contemplation, composed of women or of men, are for the Church a reason for pride and a source of heavenly graces. By their life and mission, their members imitate Christ in his prayer on the mountain, bear witness to the lordship of God over history, and anticipate the glory to come.”
The sort of reflexive rejection of the contemplative life that I noted above sometimes comes from those who, at the end of their careers within or near the political whirlwind, find themselves wondering what it was all about. What voids does a life of intense concern for that “passing nature of the present time” leave, especially for those whose hopes of progress in the earthly city may have been broader than St. Augustine told us we should expect?
The “My kingdom is not of this world” cannot be shrugged off while glancing at the latest polls.
But the author I cited touches on a real problem. How is it possible to live a more contemplative life if heading for the hills is not a “realistic” option in one’s circumstances? That may be especially urgent for those who find themselves both repelled—negatively—by what today passes for politics and reason in our culture, political system, and Church, and called—positively—to a closer union with God.
A rich source for considering this question is the work of Fr. Donald Haggerty of New York. In his book, The Contemplative Hunger, Fr. Haggerty wonders whether a “contemplative revolution” might be taking place in the Church that “does not come only from contemplatives praying in cloisters and monasteries.” We may be in an age when many feel drawn to greater silence and solitude, and Fr. Haggerty offers much to help those who feel that attraction.
In a related book, The Hour of Testing: Spiritual Depth and Insight in a Time of Ecclesial Uncertainty, Fr. Haggerty wonders whether the confusion spread by some Catholic authorities who betray immutable truths of the Magisterium might make people aware that the Church is undergoing a Passion from within, perhaps even a final representation of Christ’s suffering.
Some Catholics will find in this age a call to contemplation and greater asceticism, in the hills or in their cities:
“With secular culture darkened by a hostility to truth, and the Church perhaps showing little moral courage in its leadership, God’s souls may have one of two options. In rare cases, they may choose some form of separation from society and a life of greater solitude and prayerful silence. The other possibility is to remain in the world, but while living in the world, to embrace a commitment to prayer that would seem inappropriate and excessive in more ordinary times… Contemplative souls in a final era of the Church will be servants of a holy preservation of the faith in a manner similar to the monastic scribes in the monasteries of the Dark Ages.”
These contemplatives should be prepared to be labeled odd, antisocial, cowardly, irresponsible, lazy, or worse, while their surrender to God will render them “unfit for mere worldly life.” Yet they will be precisely the leaven that the Church and the world desperately need at this moment.
About the author:
Joseph Wood is an assistant university professor in the School of Philosophy at The Catholic University of America. He is a pilgrim philosopher and an accessible hermit.