The Rule of Benedict

by Joan Chittister

  No monastics are to speak or associate with guests unless they are bidden; however, if the members meet or see guests, they are to greet them humbly, as we have said. They ask for a blessing and continue on their way, explaining that they are not allowed to speak.

  With the fall of the Roman Empire, travel through Europe on unguarded and unkept roads through hostile territory and at the prey of marauding bands became both difficult and dangerous. Benedictine monasteries became the hospice system of Europe. There, anyone was received at any time. Rich and poor alike were accepted as equals and given the same service: food, bedding, immediate attention day or night. Yet, so that the monastery could remain a monastery in the midst of a steadily growing need for this monastic service, a special kitchen and special workers were assigned to provide the necessary care. It’s an important addition to a chapter that could otherwise be read to mean that the monastic life itself was at the mercy of meandering peasants. The fact is that we all have to learn to provide for others while maintaining the values and structures, the balance and depth, of our own lives. The community that is to greet the guest is not to barter its own identity in the name of the guest. On the contrary, if we become less than we must be then we will be no gift for the guest at all. Parents must parent, and all the good work in the world will not substitute for that. Wives and husbands must be present to the other, and all the needs in the world will not forgive that. Balance and order and prayer in the life of those who practice Benedictine spirituality are keys to being a genuine support in the lives of others. Somehow, we must take on the needs of the world with a humble heart. As Edward Everett Hale said, “I cannot do everything but I can do something, and what I can do I will do, so help me God.”

  CHAPTER 54

  LETTERS OR GIFTS

  April 6 – Aug. 6 – Dec. 6

  In no circumstance are monastics allowed, unless the prioress or abbot says they may, to exchange letters, blessed tokens, or small gifts of any kind, with their parents or anyone else, or with another monastic. They must not presume to accept gifts sent them even by their parents without previously telling the prioress or abbot. If the prioress or abbot orders acceptance, they still have the power to give the gift to whomever; and the one for whom it was originally sent must not be distressed, “lest occasion be given to the devil” (Eph. 4:27; 1 Tim. 5:14). Whoever presumes to act otherwise will be subjected to the discipline of the rule.

  Rabbi Mordecai said, “If a single coin is left over in my house at bedtime, I cannot fall asleep. But if totally penniless, I sleep soundly, knowing that when the moment comes to awaken, I must immediately look to the Lord for aid.” And the rabbi of Porissover taught, “If a person is poor and meek, it is easy for that one to be joyful, inasmuch as there is nothing to guard against losing.” In a community based on equality in the midst of a highly stratified society, Benedict had no desire to create a subset of the independently wealthy whose parents or friends could provide for them beyond the means of the monastery. The purpose of monastic life was to discover that the possession of God was far more satisfying than anything we could receive from family or friends, that it was freeing, that it was enriching far beyond what we could collect for ourselves.

  We live in a culture that sees having things as the measure of our success. We strive for a life that sees eliminating things as the measure of internal wealth. Enoughness is a value long dead in Western society. Dependence on God is a value long lost. Yet, enoughness and dependence on God may be what is lacking in a society where consumerism and accumulation have become the root diseases of a world in which everything is not enough and nothing satisfies.

  CHAPTER 55

  CLOTHING AND FOOTWEAR

  April 7 – Aug. 7 – Dec. 7

  The clothing distributed to the members should vary according to local conditions and climate, because more is needed in cold regions and less in warmer. This is left to the discretion of the prioress or abbot. We believe that for each monastic a cowl and tunic will suffice in temperate regions; in winter a woolen cowl is necessary, in summer a thinner or worn one; also a scapular for work, and footwear—both sandals and shoes.

  Monastics must not complain about the color or coarseness of all these articles, but use what is available in the vicinity at a reasonable cost. However, the prioress and abbot ought to be concerned about the measurements of these garments that they not be too short but fitted to the wearers.

  Maimonides, one of the finest and best-educated minds in twelfth-century Jewish history, writes in the Mishneh Torah, “The dress of the wise must be free of stains; they should not wear the apparel of princes, to attract attention, nor the raiment of paupers, which incurs disrespect.” Clothing, in other words, was to clothe, neither to adorn nor to diminish the human person. Clothing was clothing.

  Benedictines differ in their literal interpretation of the passage on clothing in the Rule. Some groups focus on the types of clothing described and devise a uniform from a sixth-century wardrobe—a long dress, a cowl to protect against weather that was cold and damp, a scapular. Other groups emphasize that the clothing worn should simply be local and approved by the local prioress or abbot. Whatever the present demonstration of the passage, both groups believe in simplicity, sufficiency, and a guard against excess. Slavery to style is not Benedictine. Excess is not Benedictine. Ostentation and pretension and fads are not Benedictine. Slovenliness and dirt are not Benedictine. The Benedictine is clean, simple, and proper to the time and place because the stewardship of the universe demands a commitment to order, harmony, and rightness if it is to survive. The Benedictine is one of the world’s uncomplicated types who have what is necessary for every occasion and nothing more.

  Dress is a mark of values and aspirations and ideals. It is as easy to call attention to ourselves by too little as too much; as easy to lose sight of what we really are about in life by too much as too little. If the chapter on clothing has anything to say to the modern world at all, it is certainly that we need to be who we are. We need to look inside ourselves for our value and not pretend to be what we are not. We need to stop putting on airs and separating ourselves out and pretending to be what we are not. Fraud is an easy thing. The honesty of humility, the humility of honesty are precious and rare.

  Whenever new clothing is received, the old should be returned at once and stored in a wardrobe for the poor. To provide for laundering and nightwear, every member will need two cowls and two tunics, but anything more must be taken away as superfluous. When new articles are received, the worn ones—sandals or anything old—must be returned.

  Those going on a journey should get underclothing from the wardrobe. On their return they are to wash it and give it back. Their cowls and tunics, too, ought to be somewhat better than those they ordinarily wear. Let them get these from the wardrobe before departing, and on returning put them back.

  Taking care of the self has something to do with taking care of the universe. If we do not care about our presentation of self, it is unlikely that we will worry about littering the countryside or care about preservation of resources or stewardship of the earth. Being sloppy is not a monastic ideal. Just because a thing is not useful in the monastery anymore does not necessarily make it useless. It may, in fact, still be very useful to someone else and so should be given away. We owe what is useless to us to the poor. What is no longer important to us is to be made available to the other, in good condition, with quality and care. There is a Benedictine virtue in washing things and hanging them up and folding them nicely and keeping them neat and giving them to people who can use them, not because they are not worth anything but precisely because they are still worth something.

  Benedictine spirituality recognizes that a thing may become valueless to us before it actually becomes valueless. In that case it is to be given to someone else in good condition. Benedictine spirituality does not understand a world that is full of gorgeous garbage while the poor lack the basics of life.

  April 8 – A
ug. 8 – Dec. 8

  For bedding monastics will need a mat, a woolen blanket, and a light covering as well as a pillow.

  The beds are to be inspected frequently by the prioress or abbot, lest private possessions be found there. Anyone discovered with anything not given by the prioress or abbot must be subjected to very severe punishment. In order that this vice of private ownership may be completely uprooted, the prioress or abbot is to provide all things necessary: that is, cowl, tunic, sandals, shoes, belt, knife, stylus, needle, handkerchief, and writing tablets. In this way every excuse of lacking some necessity will be taken away.

  “The best way to know God,” Vincent Van Gogh wrote, “is to love many things.” Things do not destroy us. It is the way we approach things that entraps us. The Rule of Benedict provides for human needs without frugality, without abstemious control, without small-mindedness, and without indulgence. False asceticism is not a Benedictine virtue. Deprivation is not a Benedictine ideal. On the contrary, the point of Benedictine life is to live simply, joyfully, and fully. Benedict wants the monastic to have enough, to have it from the community, and to avoid hoarding, accumulating, consuming, and conniving. The Rule recognizes that people who lack the necessities of life often spend their time either consumed with thoughts of subsistence or struggling against bitterness and clawing for survival. On the other hand, people smothered by things run the risk of slipping into indolence or becoming blinded to the important things of life. In striking a balance between the two, Benedictine spirituality seeks to free the body so that the soul can soar. It is a gift long lost in a consumer society.

  The abbot and prioress, however, must always bear in mind what is said in the Acts of the Apostles: “Distribution was made as each had need” (Acts 4:35). In this way the prioress and abbot will take into account the weakness of the needy, not the evil will of the envious; yet in all their judgments they must bear in mind God’s retribution.

  Self-control is one value in the lexicon of monastic spirituality but compassion is another. Benedict may expect simplicity from the monastic, but he clearly expects great largesse from the abbot and the prioress. The function of authority, in other words, is to hold the Rule aloft in the community, to be clear about its standards and respectful of its values, without ever using the Rule as an excuse to frustrate people or irritate them or control them.

  There is a great deal of pain administered in the interest of virtue. Righteousness allows no exceptions. As a result, laws meant to free the spirit so often enslave it to ideals far beneath its purpose. Benedictine spirituality, practiced in the little things of life like the distribution of clothing that calls for a minimum and then allows more, says that we must always grasp for what we cannot reach, knowing that the grasping itself is enough.

  CHAPTER 56

  THE PRIORESS’S OR ABBOT’S TABLE

  April 9 – Aug. 9 – Dec. 9

  The table of the prioress or abbot must always be with guests and travelers. Whenever there are no guests, it is within their right to invite anyone of the community they wish. However, for the sake of maintaining discipline, one or two seniors must always be left with the others.

  This tiny chapter introduces a major question into Benedictine history and interpretation: Did the abbot eat in a separate dining room away from the monastics or did the abbot and guests eat at a special table in the midst of the community? And, whatever the case, what was the implication of this separate table for the rest of community life? If the monastic meal was a central symbol of community life, then the presence or absence of an abbot or prioress is of serious import, to say nothing of the notion that the ideas of cloister may then have been flexible enough to make guests, too, part of the monastery meal. There have been cogent arguments brought to bear on both interpretations that are both interesting and historically important.

  It seems, however, that the greater point of the chapter for us today is not the geography of the table but the fact that the leader of the community was expected to model the gift of self with strangers. It was the abbot and prioress themselves who showed the community the price and the process of availability and hospitality and presence to the other. Hospitality was not a warm meal and a safe haven. Hospitality in the Benedictine community was attention and presence to the needs of the other. Hospitality was a public ministry designed to nourish the other in body and in soul, in spirit and in psyche.

  Welfare agencies give clothes; parishes collect food for the poor; flea markets provide rare goods at cheap prices. The problem is that too many of the handouts come with hardly a look and never a personal moment for the people they set out to serve. Benedictine spirituality sets a standard of comfort and care, conversation and respect—the things that make a human being human—as well as bed and board. And, as the presence of the abbot and prioress proves, none of us can afford to be too busy or too important to do the same.

  CHAPTER 57

  THE ARTISANS OF THE MONASTERY

  April 10 – Aug. 10 – Dec. 10

  If there are artisans in the monastery, they are to practice their craft with all humility, but only with the permission of the prioress or the abbot. If one of them becomes puffed up by skillfulness in the craft, and feels that they are conferring something on the monastery, they are to be removed from practicing the craft and not allowed to resume it unless, after manifesting humility, they are so ordered by the prioress or abbot.

  There are three major points made in the chapter on the artists of the monastery: first, that there may be artists in a monastery; second, that they must themselves be humble about it; and third, that an art is not to be practiced for the sake of money. All three points have a great deal to do with the way we look at religious dedication, personal development, and contemporary society in the development of spiritual life today.

  The points made in the Rule are relatively plain: the development of the spiritual life does not depend on the suppression of beauty or the destruction of the self. The gifts we have been given are for the doing of them, not the denial of them. We do not smother great gifts in the name of great spirituality. The painter, the writer, the musician, the inventor, the scholar, all have to figure out how to put their gifts at the disposal of their spiritual life, not how to build a spiritual life at the expense of the gift.

  The unusually gifted person or the person with the unusual gift, however, is also required to see that their giftedness does not get in the way of their striving for sanctity. No gift is given to tyrannize the community. On the contrary, we are expected to learn to take our gifts in stride, to practice them because they deserve to be practiced and because the community can profit from them. Aristotle wrote, “The aim of art is not to represent the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance.” Any great gift is a revelation of the more in life, a natural expression of the spiritual, a necessary expression of the sacred. To stamp out the artist in the name of religious rigor is to stamp out the spiritual eye itself, and that kind of blindness plunges any group, any family, any person into darkness indeed. Without the artist to show us what we ourselves do not see of the beauty of the world around us, we lose sight of the beauty of God as well. Benedictine spirituality never substitutes conformity in discipline for fullness of expression in life. The function of the artist in the monastery—and in the life of us all—is to make the transcendent visible; to touch the soul in ways that match the soul; to enshrine beauty so that we may learn to see it; and to make where we live places of wonder.

  A monastery without an artist could be a poor place spiritually indeed.

  Whenever products of these artisans are sold, those responsible for the sale must not dare to practice any fraud. Let them always remember Ananias and Sapphira, who incurred bodily death (Acts 5:1–11), lest they and all who perpetrate fraud in monastery affairs suffer spiritual death.

  The evil of avarice must have no part in establishing prices, which should, therefore, always be a little lower than people outside the monastery ar
e able to set, “so that in all things God may be glorified” (1 Pet. 4:11).

  Of all the paragraphs in the Rule that are contrary to the cultural climate in which we live, this is one of the clearest. “Money often costs too much,” Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, and Benedictine spirituality would surely agree. Not just dishonesty but even the standards of the marketplace are un-Benedictine according to this chapter. Benedictine spirituality develops goods so that people can have them, not in order to make them available only to the highest bidder or to make excessive profits. Money gained in that fashion costs us compassion and community and our role as cocreators of the reign of God. It hollows out our souls and leaves us impoverished of character and deprived of the bounty of largesse. It is Benedictine to develop our gifts and distribute their fruits as widely and broadly as possible so that justice, but not profit, is the principle that impels us.

  CHAPTER 58

  THE PROCEDURE FOR RECEIVING MEMBERS

  April 11 – Aug. 11 – Dec. 11

  Do not grant newcomers to the monastic life an easy entry, but, as the apostle says, “Test the spirits to see if they are from God” (1 John 4:1). Therefore, if someone comes and keeps knocking at the door, and if at the end of four or five days has shown patience in bearing harsh treatment and difficulty of entry, and has persisted in the request, then that one should be allowed to enter and stay in the guest quarters for a few days. After that, the person should live in the novitiate, where the novices study, eat, and sleep.