Two Life-giving Practices
This is new year’s resolution season, and among the most popular from year to year are those focused on bodily health. On that subject, here’s a morsel of ancient wisdom with perhaps an unexpected twist:
A monk should always act as if he were going to die tomorrow; yet he should treat his body as if it were going to live for many years. The first cuts off the inclination to listlessness, and makes the monk more diligent; the second keeps his body sound and his self-control well balanced. —Evagrius
Evagrius highlights self-control as the key virtue for physical health. This is particularly relevant to those of us who live in affluent societies, where so many of our illnesses are related to abundance. Excess sugar leads to diabetes. Cancer is the unregulated proliferation of cells. While we have developed amazing medicines to treat these illnesses of abundance, we also know that self-control and moderation are among the best treatments and preventative measures. But we struggle to practice these virtues.
It’s possible that the other half of Evagrius’ advice can help us in this struggle. He asserts that acting as if we were going to die tomorrow cuts off the inclination to listlessness, that depressed condition in which a person lacks energy or enthusiasm. This may not make any sense to many modern people, who might understandably ask how a daily remembrance of death, a practice some might call “morbid”, could cut off an inclination to depression instead of fueling it.
It works because most people have something worth living for—a person we care about, for example, or a cause for which we’re fighting, or a responsibility we take seriously. When that’s the case, the intentional, momentary remembrance of death can paradoxically be one of the most life-giving practices we can observe. It can intensify our focus on what matters most, motivate us like nothing else could, and as a result free us from a listlessness or depression that we’re tempted to numb with materials and practices that are bad for our bodies, certain types and amounts of foods and drugs being the most obvious.
If the forgetfulness of what matters most creates the steady drip of a low-grade depression that renders us more susceptible to the self-indulgences that sap our bodily health, the intentional remembrance of death creates a quick splash of high-grade pain—sort of like a cold shower in the morning—that can produce clarity, thankfulness, and urgency for meaningful action.
In this season of resolutions, how could your life change if you pursued your longer-term goals in the light of a daily remembrance of death? Especially if resolutions haven’t worked well for you, perhaps it’s worth an experiment.
Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=353821Anger, Self-Will, and Leadership
A neighbor across the street has a customized license plate that reads: BN2SELF. Perhaps it’s a bit uncharitable of me, but I don’t find myself particularly interested in getting to know this person, let alone follow her.
In one of his texts on guarding the intellect, Saint Isaiah the Solitary writes, “Without anger a man cannot attain purity: he has to feel angry with all that is sown in him by the enemy…He who wishes to acquire [this] anger must uproot all self-will…”
One doesn’t need to believe in God, sin, or the devil to profit from this text.
Isaiah’s statement may come as a surprise to those who expect a monk to be all about peace and serenity. He recognizes our need for anger, with the important caveat that it is directed toward the right target: anything that enters our minds or hearts that undermines our alignment with the greater good. The purity of which Isaiah writes is purity of the mind, the state of being untroubled and undistracted by negative thoughts and desires. All of us have surely experienced the opposite and how that state of mind negatively affects our work and relationships.
But what about uprooting self-will? Some may dismiss this activity as specifically monastic or Christian and irrelevant to others. I’d argue that it’s not. We’ve all seen coaches yelling at their players for doing their own thing instead of following the plan. Self-will undermines both teamwork and community.
This topic also calls to mind Jim Collins’ famous description of a “level five” leader as one with a combination of personal humility and professional will. A great leader subordinates self-will to professional will in service of the company’s mission and vision.
Cutting our self-will paves the way both to the external, public victory of a team in the marketplace and to internal, personal victory on the battlefield of the mind because it helps us subordinate what we want to what we need, and our own good to the greater good.
Fueling our self-will, on the contrary, turns the crosshairs of anger’s targeting scope toward other people who would thwart us, like the person who cuts us off in traffic, and makes them the enemy instead of the thoughts and desires that undermine our alignment with the greater good.
To start shifting the crosshairs of anger’s targeting scope to a worthier target, answer this question: To what are you committed that is greater than yourself?
Mind the Gap
Originally a warning to subway travelers, the phrase conveys a powerful image for all travelers. In any journey or pursuit we might undertake, there’s always a gap between where we are and where we want to be.
In the late 4th century, a monk named John Cassian visited the Egyptian desert to learn about the monastic life from those who practiced it there. He recounts an important lesson he learned from one Abba Moses:
Children, all virtues and all pursuits have a certain immediate purpose; and those who look to this purpose and adapt themselves accordingly will reach the ultimate goal to which they aspire. The farmer willingly works the earth, enduring now the sun’s heat and now the winter’s cold, his immediate purpose being to clear it of thorns and weeds, while his ultimate goal is the enjoyment of its fruits. The merchant, ignoring dangers on land and sea, willingly gives himself to his business with the purpose of making a profit, while his goal is enjoyment of this profit. The soldier, too, ignores the dangers of war and the miseries of service abroad. His purpose is to gain a higher rank by using his ability and skill, while his goal is to enjoy the advantages of this rank.
This is simple and straightforward, the classic analytical strategy of breaking down larger goals into smaller objectives, steps, tasks, or whatever one would call them. But this is not always so easy to do, as the story shows:
Now our profession also has its own immediate purpose and its own ultimate goal, for the sake of which we willingly endure all manner of toil and suffering. Because of this, fasts do not cast us down, the hardship of vigils delights us; the reading and study of Scripture are readily undertaken; and physical work, obedience, stripping oneself of everything earthly, and the life here in this desert are carried out with pleasure.
You have given up your country, your families, everything worldly in order to embrace a life in a foreign land among rude and uncultured people like us. Tell me, what was your purpose and what goal did you set before yourselves in doing all this?
We replied: “We did it for the kingdom of heaven.” In response Abba Moses said: “As for the goal, you have answered well; but what is the purpose which we set before us and which we pursue unwaveringly so as to reach the kingdom of heaven? This you have not told me.”
When we confessed that we did not know, the old man replied: “The goal of our profession, as we have said, is the kingdom of God. Its immediate purpose, however, is purity of heart, for without this we cannot reach our goal. We should therefore always have this purpose in mind; and, should it ever happen that for a short time our heart turns aside from the direct path, we must bring it back again at once, guiding our lives with reference to our purpose as if it were a carpenter’s rule.”
from The Conferences (books 1-2), by John Cassian
When we consider the distance between where we are and where we want to be, it can be discouraging. It can look much darker, colder, and more hopeless than the small gap between the platform and the subway train.
If we instead consider and focus on the immediate purpose—the next step—between us and our goals, we are more likely to experience encouragement, enthusiasm, and hope—because we’re focusing on something closer to us, more in our sphere of control or influence.
But as the above story shows, it can sometimes be difficult to identify that immediate purpose or next step.
Most people can identify it with little or no difficulty when it is external, something to be said or done. What’s more difficult is identifying it when it’s something internal—something related to our patterns of thought, habits, or self-awareness. When the next step toward our goal is within us, an inner transformation, it’s helpful to enlist the aid of someone else, for none of us can see ourselves clearly. The gap between who we are and who we could be is much more obscure than the space between the subway train and platform.
As it turns out, the last word in that well known phrase “mind the gap” serves as a convenient acronym to remember Cassian’s story. If you want to be successful in your pursuit, mind the Goal And Purpose—with the knowledge that the next step, the “immediate purpose” as Abba Moses called it, may very well be within you.