In the second place, since the Second Vatican Council the question of relevance has been made more complex because of the directives for reform that the Council gave to religious communities. The Council stated: “The up-to-date renewal of the religious life comprises both a constant return to the sources of the whole of the Christian life and to the primitive inspiration of the institutes, and their adaptation to the changed conditions of our time.”67 For better or worse, these directions for renewal have led during the past fifteen years to the abandonment of even more of the concrete provisions of the Rule in many communities that profess to live according to the Rule. For example, many of the provisions of the liturgical code that were observed until the recent liturgical reform have now fallen into desuetude in the face of innumerable and diverse “experiments.” Indeed, to many people the efforts at returning to the “primitive inspiration” and at “adaptation” seem to lead in opposite directions. In view of this apparently increasing discrepancy between the provisions of the Rule and life as it is actually lived in Benedictine communities, can modern monks and nuns claim with any plausibility to be living “according to the Rule of St. Benedict” as they continue to profess to do?
In the third place, there is the more generalized question of whether or not a document written in sixth-century Italy, in a relatively primitive social and economic context, can actually be relevant to people living in the complex technological culture of the late twentieth century. This of course involves the a priori assumption that the situation of modern man really is substantially different from that of people in late antiquity or the early medieval period. It usually involves also the assumption that there has been so much progress since the sixth century that there is not much point in wasting one’s time looking for solutions to modern problems in a sixth-century document. It is often pointed out that modern man has been conditioned not only by progress in the area of technology but by the vast expansion of knowledge in historical consciousness, natural science, the social sciences, and even in theology. All this has even led some to abandon or avoid the use of the words “monastic” and “monk” as containing in themselves connotations of “medieval” and “outmoded.”
These three aspects of the question of relevance will be discussed in the order in which they have been raised. The solutions proposed have been many and varied.68 They range from the observation, on the one hand, that the Rule should be treated as a distant historical ancestor without much bearing on real life to the insistence, on the other hand, that as many of the concrete provisions of the Rule that can possibly be observed should be observed. There have been others who try to sift out from the Rule those elements that are supposedly “time-conditioned,” and others who try to translate the Rule into the language of modern philosophers and psychologists. Few if any would advocate today that we should attempt to restore the observance of all the concrete provisions of the Rule. We shall not attempt to discuss all of these points of view here in detail.
1. “Observance” of the Rule
It is doubtful whether the question of the Rule’s relevance can be adequately resolved as long as the discussion remains focused on the comparatively narrow question of the observance of the precise directives of the Rule. This is not to assert that individual observances or regulations are unimportant, or that a “spirit” of the Rule can be distilled and preserved apart from the actual text (a question that will be discussed below), but rather that the question of the Rule’s relevance is a much more complex one, involving the historical relationship of the Rule to the previous monastic tradition and to subsequent monastic history. The Rule has not, in fact, provided an adequate and sufficiently detailed organizational basis for monastic life for well over a thousand years, and perhaps never did outside of St. Benedict’s own monastery. This has been supplied by declarations, constitutions and written as well as unwritten sets of customs. Yet, the Rule has always formed an important part of the tradition that has governed and inspired monastic life in the West.
Much of the modern study of the Rule has been inspired by and has followed the historical-critical methodology developed from the time of the Renaissance onward and particularly refined in the study of Scripture. It is axiomatic to this method that before one can determine the question of a text’s relevance, one must first determine its meaning; and to determine its meaning, it must be situated in its historical and literary context.69 It has been the purpose of this lengthy Introduction to do just that for the Rule of St. Benedict.70 It should be emphasized, however, that this is only an introduction and does not pretend to provide an adequate description of the historical and literary context of the Rule. To provide such would be the work of a commentary, which this volume does not pretend to be.
As was noted at the beginning of this Introduction, there were in existence when the Rule was written a monastic tradition well over two hundred years old and a large body of literature reflecting and transmitting that tradition. At this point we do not wish to recapitulate what has already been said but merely to add a few observations about the relationship of the Rule to that tradition, both from the point of view of the Rule’s author and from our point of view. St. Benedict viewed his Rule as a modest addition to the previously existing body of monastic literature (RB 73). His point of view should be taken seriously. He did not intend to replace the previous literature, but to provide a modest compendium and adaptation of it to serve as an introduction for those who wished to take up the practice of the monastic life in his time. The Rule can be fully appreciated only when it is viewed as an addition to this previous literature.
Part of the problem, however, in understanding the literary context of the Rule derives from the term itself (regula) and the connotations it has acquired. It has been demonstrated that in the tradition prior to RM, the term “rule” has a much broader meaning than simply a set of written regulations, and indeed in its usage in RB 73 it retains something of this broader meaning. In the writings of Jerome, Sulpicius Severus and others, it designates not a law distinct from the abbot but the authority of the abbot himself. In Cassian’s writings it designates the whole prior monastic tradition, the practices and observances of all the monasteries which Cassian sees as dating back to apostolic times, and which is for him a living tradition preserved above all in Egypt. In RM 2 and RB 2, the phrase sub regula has come to mean a written rule that complements the authority of the abbot.71 But in the last analysis, the function of both rule and abbot is similar: to pass on, adapt and concretize the previous monastic tradition. And this tradition in turn derives, according to RB 73.3, from Scripture itself, which provides the ultimate norm for human life (norma vitae humanae).
This last phrase is of particular importance for appreciating the literary genre of the Rule. It has been customary to regard the Rule of St. Benedict as belonging to the genre of legal literature or law codes, and the author as a great lawgiver. As we have noted, however, he sees his work as belonging to a body of literature that includes Scripture, the earlier Patristic literature and especially the writings of Cassian and Basil. “Law” is hardly an adequate classification for such a body of literature. Yet the author of RB sees all this literature as having something in common, namely, that it provides a practical guide for living and for the cultivation of virtue. The whole body of early monastic literature resembles rather that body of literature in the Old Testament that today is called “wisdom literature.” It has this in common with Old Testament wisdom literature, that although it contains certain theological principles, it is derived primarily from, and reflects experience of, life. It is intended to be a guide to wise living in the practical situations of life.
What is suggested here is not that there is direct continuity between Old Testament wisdom literature and early monastic literature, or that they are exactly the same genres. The body of early monastic literature is unthinkable without the intervention of the teaching of Jesus and the whole New Testament on which it depends far more than on the
Old Testament wisdom literature. And early monastic literature is far more restricted in scope than Old Testament wisdom literature. It is concerned, not with the wide variety of life-situations of the latter, but only with living the monastic life wisely. All the early monastic literature has this in common: it stems from the lived experience of the monastic life and represents an effort to preserve and pass on the wisdom gained from that experience. This wisdom was first passed on by living teachers who had gained it through their own experience. It was in many cases their disciples or admirers who sought to preserve their wisdom in written form to pass on to future generations. In cenobitic monastic settings where the community survived the death of the founder and where succeeding superiors were chosen from among the community, it became particularly important to have the wisdom of earlier generations available to guide both the superior and his subjects. It is of comparatively little importance whether this was passed on in the form of biographies, collections of sayings and anecdotes, compilations of regulations, or even more systematic efforts to set forth the spiritual life, such as the Institutes of Cassian. All served the same function — that of transmitting a wisdom tradition.
It is, then, to this broad genre of literature that the Rule of St. Benedict belongs and this wisdom tradition that it sought to transmit and adapt to the local conditions of sixth-century Italy. How this modest work came to occupy such a dominant position in Western monastic tradition has already been explained earlier in this Introduction. If one were to view the Rule simply as legislation for organizing the daily routine of a monastery, one would miss its essential character almost entirely. Nor is it merely the Prologue and first seven chapters that should be regarded as transmitting this wisdom tradition; in the rest of the Rule as well, the author sought to transmit and regulate those practices that experience of the monastic life had shown to be fruitful. Regulations are in fact one way of transmitting practical wisdom or the fruit of experience.
One aspect of wisdom literature, and indeed of law, is that it must be taught or inculcated without the expectation of immediate comprehension. Unlike more speculative knowledge, which can be assimilated through study, through simply following the thought process of the original author, practical wisdom is essentially related to experience. The insights of past generations provide a kind of matrix within which new experiences of life can be organized and assimilated. Proverbial insights from the past remain empty unless they are filled with fresh experiences of life. If this is true of wisdom in general, it is especially true of the spiritual life. Practice is essential to the assimilation of spiritual wisdom. One does not expect the novice to appreciate the wisdom of many provisions of the Rule, such as silence, obedience, the pursuit of humility, until he or she has actually practiced them. Nor can anyone who has not lived in the context of monastic life and experienced the situations that arise there be expected to appreciate many other provisions of the Rule, such as the need for the rule of seniority, the need to regulate the reception of guests, and the hesitancy of the Rule’s author over the appointment of a prior. Before one decides, then, that this or that provision of the Rule is “time-conditioned” and therefore to be discarded, one should consider the possible wisdom, the experience of human life and perennial human situations for which the provision has been developed. To adapt institutions, as will be argued below, is by no means the same thing as simply to discard or abandon them.
2. Renewal and adaptation
As was noted above, the Second Vatican Council suggested that two principles are involved in the renewal of religious life: a return to the sources and their adaptation to the changed conditions of our time. It suggested a “constant return to the sources of the whole of the Christian life and to the primitive inspiration of the institutes.” In attempting to spell this out further, the Council stated that “the spirit and aims of each founder should be faithfully accepted and retained, as indeed should each institute’s sound traditions.”72 Anyone who has read this Introduction thus far cannot but be aware that for those in the Western monastic tradition this is no simple task. Nor is it surprising that such an enormous task has been carried out in such a desultory fashion in the last fifteen years. St. Benedict is not a founder in the same sense as St. Dominic or St. Ignatius was. Nor is it very easy to determine his spirit and aims, since we know virtually nothing of him apart from the Rule itself. And it is very difficult to try to disengage the “spirit” of a text from the actual text itself. Some would deny that it is possible.
It is possible to learn something of the spirit of the author of the Rule by a careful comparison of the provisions and words of the Rule with its sources in the monastic tradition, particularly with the Rule of the Master, from which St. Benedict borrowed so much and yet whose text he so often altered significantly. This method, parallel to that used in the study of the Synoptic Gospels, can lead to considerable insight into the mind of the author. The “spirit of the founder,” however, can hardly be restricted to the results obtained in this way if one takes seriously St. Benedict’s own attitude toward the prior monastic tradition to which he consciously attaches himself in RB 73. The spirit of the founder is to be found in the main teachings of the monastic tradition that the author of the Rule intended to transmit as well as in the changes and adaptations he made in that tradition. In fact, the “spirit of the founder” for men and women in the Western monastic tradition is to be sought not only in the Rule of St. Benedict but in the whole monastic tradition, especially in its formative period preceding the time of St. Benedict. And in this tradition, despite many variations, local adaptations and occasional contradictions, there is a remarkable unanimity of teaching about the principal aspects of the monastic life: the practice of renunciation involving celibacy, sharing of goods, the need for self-discipline, the pursuit of humility, obedience, the centrality of prayer.
It is perhaps symptomatic of the present state of affairs (which, it is hoped, this volume may help to remedy) that many people today, even when they are acquainted with the Rule of St. Benedict, have not the slightest understanding of what is meant by the “monastic tradition.” Even those who profess to live according to the Rule are often unaware of the rich store of wisdom to be found in this whole body of literature. A major obstacle, then, to renewal has been ignorance, and much of this has been due to the inaccessibility of most of this literature to the non-scholar. This is being gradually remedied. One practical way in which the Rule can be relevant to the “constant” process of renewal is that it can provide a doorway, for those who study it carefully, to this whole body of wisdom concerning the spiritual life.
An additional and by no means inconsiderable role of the Rule in the past and the present is that it provides a common source and a common language for those seeking to live in the monastic tradition. These are aspects of the larger question of identity. Without a history a person has no identity, and without a history a social institution also will have a very difficult time maintaining an identity. Just as a family’s identity depends upon common ancestors, a common language and a common fund of memories, so does that of an institution such as monasticism. The weaker the knowledge of the past, the weaker the identity will be.
The second principle offered by the Council to guide the process of renewal was “adaptation to the changed conditions of our times.” This is a deceptively simple formulation of a very complex process. It presupposes a thorough familiarity with, and appreciation of, that which is to be adapted. It presupposes also an understanding of the relationship between monasticism and society, especially in the formative period of the monastic tradition. And finally, it presupposes the ability to single out those things that really are significantly changed conditions, that really do make our society different from that of antiquity or the Middle Ages and that therefore should impinge upon the monastic way of life.
As has already been indicated, the first of these conditions has been in large part missing from much of the discussion in recent times.
A wisdom tradition is in constant need of being rethought and re-experienced if it is to remain alive. It needs to be expressed anew in contemporary language, contemporary situations and contemporary behavior. But to do this, one must first be thoroughly steeped in the wisdom tradition. It is precisely this depth, however, that has been lacking. Without it, we run the risk of simply abandoning the tradition and substituting modern ideas and behavior as the norm. This is not adaptation; it is accommodation, or even surrender, to the values of the world.
Second, there has often been the presupposition that in antiquity monasticism somehow blended more peacefully into the social scene than it does today. This was hardly the case. The rise of the monastic movement represented in antiquity a notable rejection of what were then regarded as contemporary values and a deliberate choice of a way of life at sharp variance with accepted mores. The monastic movement represented an alternative to the normal social structure and to normal social behavior. This antithetical relationship to society and its mores is an essential aspect of the “spirit of the founder” as that can be discovered in the ancient monastic tradition. Therefore, the rule for adaptation cannot be simply what people do today; this will produce accommodation with the “world,” the ancient enemy of monasticism, rather than adaptation. A monasticism that is authentic must offer a way of life that provides an alternative to the values of contemporary society, not an echo of them.73
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