THE WAY OF AWARENESS AND AUTHENTICITY

THE WAY OF AWARENESS AND AUTHENTICITY

John Chryssavgis

Introduction: A Lineage of Discernment

If there is a distinctive quality for which Barsanuphius (“that great old man”) and John the Prophet (“the other old man”) acquired unique and unequivocal reputation among their contemporaries as well as through the centuries, it is surely discernment. People approached the two quaint elders from many and varied walks of life, seeking advice for all kinds of questions and circumstances: from how to pray and when to forgive, to dealing with bishops and relating to non-Christians, and even to purchasing property or taking a bath. And along the way, all this communication and experience with visitors of all backgrounds further informed and expanded their own discernment and teaching.

For Barsanuphius and John, the essence and basis of the spiritual life “is entirely a matter of . . . discernment.” (Letter 713) The two elders of Gaza do not just emphasize and elaborate on discernment in their communication as in their correspondence; they exemplify and epitomize this distinct faculty in their experiences as well as in their exchanges. In fact, the principle and practice of discernment is in all likelihood the reason why sixth-century Palestinian spirituality was originally noticed and for a long time more familiar in the West than in the East; this was what captivated the Jesuits when they discovered the discourses of Dorotheus. So the way in which the two extraordinary elders appreciate and apply the notion of discernment arguably provides exceptional insight into the perception and expression of what is frequently—whether authentically or fraudulently—promulgated as divine will in the life of the church today.

People have conventionally identified the gift of discernment with specific people and specific places. One of the questions posed to Abba John pertains to the action one should take in the case where “there are no elders in a particular region in order that one may seek the advice of those who are able to discern. Should one perhaps . . . depart to another region where there are people qualified to discern?” In response, John quips: “Yes, one should do precisely that, and then comply with whatever they say.” (539) Clearly one’s spiritual life is perceived as being in jeopardy without proper discernment. But how can one be sure that a particular individual possesses this rare gift?

In one of the letters, Abba Barsanuphius admits—and is aware that others acknowledge—he is personally endowed with this unusual capacity:

If you hold me to be a discerning person, as someone who knows according to God that which occurs, then you would trust that no one should dare to deviate from my word without my knowledge. (226)

This is assuredly a bold assertion and one often brazenly contended by ordained clergy of all levels but also lay monastics to this day. The truth is that we increasingly and desperately need the gift of discernment in a world that grows progressively dark. Spiritual discernment can provide protection and direction at a time when everyone seemingly has a viral opinion about everything—often with little discretion, consideration or verification. Indeed, what is frequently missing from our churches and confessionals is a genuine sense of discernment understood not so much as a moralistic or prognostic instrument, but as a spiritual means or method of penetration and interpretation—as a way of leading people out of a spiritual lack of perception and impasse, enabling them to perceive the world with a different lens and ultimately through the eyes of God.

I know that—as Irina so eloquently told us yesterday—there are “young elders,” who see the tomb of Christ and whose disciples imagine their elder as God incarnate. But I am worried about a more subtle perversion; I am more concerned with the very authority wielded over others in the name of spiritual discernment and direction. My particular concern over the years has been less with the exercise of spiritual discernment—with which ironically so many ordained and lay Christians seem overly comfortable, even complacent, as if “men in black” somehow magically wield this otherwise rare gift; my concern is and more with the exploitation of spiritual authority by clergy in general. My consternation is not so much with the conception or definition of discernment in the classical patristic tradition, but with the misuse and abuse of authority in contemporary hierarchal and monastic circles. There, I think, the line between discernment and transparency or between divine accessibility and personal accountability is often blurred and sometimes breached.

How easily they talk about discernment, they who have never known discernment. There are so many charlatans and panderers in the world of spiritual discernment and spiritual direction. We live in an age where too many profess to be spiritual authorities and directors, but rarely consider their spiritual maturity, instead depending primarily on their institutional ordination or charismatic reputation. Yet, in the church, a religious leader should never speak from a position of prerogative or privilege; a spiritual director should speak from a position of parity—or, better still, a posture of humility. I recall Metropolitan Anthony Bloom once saying in a sermon: “The church ought to be as powerless as God himself.” There is no telling the damage that one can do in the church when one mistakes one’s own will to discern or do good with the authority to distinguish and do what one judges to be right. To paraphrase Pliny the Younger: “Everyone is prejudiced in favor of one’s own powers of discernment.”

Legacy and Lineaments of Discernment

What, then, should we make of the gift of discernment? And what are the criteria by which it is authoritatively and authentically exercised? How should we discern discernment?

Now, whereas in the apostolic period, discernment was perceived as a gift addressed to the church and generally offered to the community, in the monastic period, it was identified with ascetic discipline and gradually reduced to a virtue achieved upon conquering one’s demons or passions. Echoing their scriptural roots and adhering to their monastic predecessors, Barsanuphius and John advance this dual nature of discernment as given and gained, accepted and achieved. On the one hand, they perceive discernment as a rare gift for some; on the other hand, they promote it as a mandatory virtue for all (518, 621-622, 647, 681).

Thus, the Great Old Man believes that discernment can only and always be acquired “with God’s assistance.” (646) It takes concentrated effort and prolonged prayer—“sometimes one may spend . . . entire days” (522)—to determine whether one’s actions are aligned with godly discernment. And on receiving the prized gift of discernment, Barsanuphius says: “Let us guard this grace with gratitude.” (647) He believes that “those who have spent a long time in the monastic life . . . ought to be able to discern the deeper thoughts of others.” (98) He advises Theodore that a mature monk is capable of distinguishing between two or even three thoughts—between “proper” and “crooked” thoughts (265). As a result, one learns how to distinguish “whether things are right or wrong” (17), good or bad (37 and 546), calm or turbulent (474), ultimately “discovering with certainty that in the supposed good that comes from the devil, there may no trace of good at all, but only vainglory or turmoil or something similar.” (405)

            For his part, John the Prophet adopts a more practical approach, persistently underlining that “we [actually] require discernment.” (518) In fact, “everyone requires discernment” (622), he writes, while for any wrongdoing, “one should always blame oneself for lack of discernment” (624):

One should always do everything with discernment. To know one’s limits is discernment and stability of thought. Doing anything beyond one’s measure, whether almsgiving or anything else, is lack of discernment. (621)

His advice is quite simple and sensible:

So if it is something good, do it; and if it is not, then do not do it. However, in order that the good may not be done with turmoil, it is necessary to examine the governing thought and discern how this is occurring. (478)

Where the two elders clearly and categorically concur is on the inseparable link between discernment and humility, often citing the two in a single breath and expressly defining discernment as the polar opposite of the conceit involved in trusting oneself. Whether discernment is perceived as gift or feat, it is humility—the virtue of deferring to and lowering ourselves before all others, before God and all creation—that ultimately enables us to rise above trivial circumstance and petty conduct to behold the divine mystery everywhere.

And in this context, the elders underline the importance of moderation and discretion, recommending the middle or royal way: “This is the way of the Fathers” (212). Moreover, they highlight the importance of integrity and prudence for the proper exercise of discernment:

Prudence leads a person to discernment. As I have told you, brother, retain the integrity of the dove with prudence; for all of its thoughts are good and beneficial. (238)

As the manifestation of inner stability and maturity, discernment should not be taken for granted. Not everyone is “capable of discerning matters according to God” (714). Indeed, if integrity and prudence reflect the direction that leads to discernment (238), discernment resembles the door that opens up to further gifts, such as wisdom and knowledge, strength and support. Above all, discernment informs monastics about the advice they offer to others, acting as a safety valve in order to perceive “whether the teachings of their elders are mingled with their own teachings . . . or whether they need to be assured by God . . . about their veracity.” (604)

Whatever the case, discernment is always positive and constructive, always serving as “an emollient of the soul, an authentic balm.” For Barsanuphius, discernment involves the profound awareness of intention (πρόθεσιs) and disposition (προαίρεσιs). And here, the two Old Men transcend any rigid code of scripted or prescriptive ethics and teach a more compassionate situational or occasional ethos, where the individual assumes responsibility for his or her own actions. Simply put, each of us is different and we cannot tar everyone with the same brush. In their words:

There are sacks of a certain kind, and there are sacks of another. There is one sack that holds one measure of corn, while another holds three. If someone tries to force the sack that holds one measure to hold up to three measures, it will not be able to contain the corn. We cannot put all people on an equal footing. (469)

Perhaps this is where and why discernment is best translated as “differentiation.”

Attentiveness to Detail

Now, determining that people are on disparate levels also mandates adopting different standards. After all, not only do people differ from one another (157), but even the circumstances within one and the same person will vary from time to time (842). This is where a humble conscience also plays a vital role:

So long as the deed does not match the conscience, then it is not genuine but ironically just an illusion of the demons. (275) May God lead you to that measure of considering yourself to be beneath all creatures. (276)

Even the etymology of the term “con-science” (συν-είδησιs) implies a concurrence of multiple influences—a coincidence of numerous factors, each of them intricately interconnected and interdependent. Such knowledge is more intuitive than analytical; it invites and involves the subconscious, conscious and supra-conscious levels.

Sometimes, of course, discernment pertains to things “yet to come” in the future (459), enabling one to perceive the reason or rationale behind an occurrence (459) or else to prepare what to say in a given situation (690). However, it is not exclusively a charisma related to foresight; frequently, it is merely confirmed in hindsight (475). Likewise, discernment is sometimes reduced to diagnosis, the detection of spiritual disease or the determination of psychological dysfunction. In fact, the Gaza elders are less interested in what leads to or legitimizes specific circumstances or actions in life. Ultimately, they are more concerned about what limits or liberates us in our relationship with God; they are worried about what loosens or binds our way to healing. And in this respect, they suggest that one of the most apparent ways by which access to holiness and wholeness occurs is through awareness and attentiveness—a process of intense and vigilant self-awareness and self-examination. Failure to notice or observe what is going inside and around us occurs precisely because our vision is clouded by self-centeredness or obstructed by self-absorption.

Discernment, then, is the vital step to discernment as clarity of vision. But discernment is insufficient, even inappropriate when it comes at the expense of love. I must learn to distinguish between what is good or bad for me; but what is right or wrong for me cannot be measured regardless of its consequences for other people. The aim at all times is to discover wholeness at the least or no cost to others; or, put differently, the aim is to experience healing as communion.

The Vocation to Guard and Guide

Discernment, then, is a foundational intuition of spiritual formation and a fundamental instrument of spiritual direction. The spiritual guide is called to penetrate the depths and secrets of our heart—beneath superficial compromises and beyond artificial conventions—to reveal our authentic personality without disguise or disgust. And along this lengthy and arduous journey, insight and oversight dovetail at the point where the discernment of the director encounters the discernment of the disciple, where the fruit of unconditional supervision comes face-to-face with the fruit of unremitting surrender. Then, the relationship between elder and disciple becomes a mystery where confession issues in communion.

This is why, I think, Barsanuphius and John are a breath of fresh air—an exception in the ascetic tradition but also in ecclesial practice. Because they maintain the dimension of community and communion in their unprecedented collaborative ministry of spiritual direction. The truth is that not too many spiritual directors—and far less church leaders—are known for concluding their decision or judgment with the words: “Feel free to seek a second opinion”! (504) Barsanuphius even says: “Do not look for answers from others about yourself; create the answer for yourself”! For me, the Letters of Barsanuphius and John come alive in the words of the Greek poet Yannis Ritsos:

Every word is a doorway

to a meeting, one often cancelled,

and that’s when a word is true:

when it insists on the meeting.[1]

So discernment becomes a way of guarding oneself as well as of guiding others. The ascetic carefully watches the meditations of the heart and the movements of the body in order to grow in charity and compassion for others. This kind of discernment implies vigilance over intentions and actions by first sitting in one’s cell without distraction or delusion. And when the eye of the soul is illumined, then discernment becomes a light that enables others to perceive the way and will of God. By contrast, John Climacus says that lack of discernment implies “lack of vision,” whereby not only are we unable to distinguish between good and evil, but we fail to differentiate between sinner and sin. (453)

The gift of discernment thus implies recognition of the proper time and proper place to act with resolve or abstain with restraint. Presuming too much or assuming too little—literally, putting our foot in our mouth—is part and parcel of a lack of discernment. To adopt an image suggested by Barsanuphius the Great and, subsequently, John Climacus: “We cannot place one foot on the first rung of the ladder and immediately expect to set the other foot on the top rung.” Discernment is linked to the notion of kairos as the recognition of the appointed or appropriate moment of action or inaction, of counsel or silence, of intervention or interference—where discernment becomes the priority to cultivate and nurture the freedom of the other.

This is why the two elders recognize that there can never be any hard rule of discipline or penance. The letters of Barsanuphius and John are filled with examples of extreme as well as relaxed attitudes toward weakness and failure. No intervention is applied arbitrarily or imposed indiscriminately. The goal is not so much to acquire a sterilized technique of forgiveness but to recognize the messy business of personal healing.

Which means that discernment inherently contains a liberating effect. It is never understood in a legalistic sense; in fact, it dispels any notion of abstract morality or endorsed resolutions. It is often easier, but certainly always riskier, for spiritual directors to prescribe simplistic formulas; it is often more convenient, but clearly always precarious, for spiritual disciples to follow superficial slogans—of moralism or puritanism, traditionalism or even nationalism. Whereas, discernment is the power to comprehend the spirit of the rule rather than merely implement the letter of the law; it always functions in association with compassion, charity, and clemency. So in the prologue to the correspondence, the editor reminds readers that:

 [The elders] responded to questions bearing in mind the weakness in the thoughts of the persons inquiring, discreetly condescending to their level that those asking might not fall into despair, just as we see in the Lives of the Old Men. So we must not receive as a general rule the words spoken in a loving way to particular people for their particular need; instead, we should immediately discern that the saints addressed their response in a sure and specific way to those who approached them.

Authenticity: Living like it Matters

Sometimes, then, discernment is paralleled with prudence (158), being soft as a dove (238). However, at other times, it is likened to the sharp austerity of an axe. More than simple judgment (κρίσις), discernment involves slicing through (διά-κρισις) to the heart of the matter, piercing with precision (476) to what really matters. A person of judgment will place things in proper perspective; whereas a person of discernment will perceive things in a broader perspective, placing God at the center of reality. The prefix “διά” adds a third—a different, divine—dimension that penetrates the heart and rises above the moral dilemma between good and evil.

Discernment as διά-κρισις denotes perception, precision, and penetration. Discernment as διά-κρισις entails forthrightness (40) that cuts through the chaff and breaks through the façade of evil. Discernment as διά-κρισις exposes any false and mechanical adherence to religious rules and rigid regulations. Discernment as διά-κρισις erases political idletalk and nonsense, especially in ecclesiastical and religious circles. Discernment as διά-κρισις advances beyond the cosmetic and fraudulent, especially in traditionalist or fundamentalist congregations. By repudiating the darkness of deceit and instead radiating the light of truth, discernment discloses a deeper yearning for authenticity (288), beyond the superficial or duplicitous.

Nevertheless, transparency and authenticity do not imply arrogance or audacity. In fact, for Barsanuphius and John, authentic discernment as transparency is a quintessential aspect of silence. This means that discernment sometimes has more to do with what one actually does not say and does not do. It articulates what Ritsos, in the same poem, describes as “the silence [that] remains kneeling.” If John Climacus is right to claim that “discerning the divine will in all circumstances, all places, and all matters is only found among the pure in heart, body, and mouth,” then the rest of us should respect people more often with our silence and resignation, rather than rushing to instruct or legislate—the perennial temptation of every Christian believer and especially every spiritual director.

What worries me is when I see too much of us and too little of God in spiritual discernment and direction. Perhaps there is some validity to the phrase coined by Henri Nouwen about the importance of “a ministry of absence.”[2] The suspension of words will sometimes prove far more effective and supportive—far more formative and transformative, far more informative and instructive—than any presumed direction or instruction.

The tragic truth is that spiritual directors are impatient to talk, itching to teach. Yet, the discipline of silence is a vital part of discernment. Authentic discernment recognizes the cause of error and source of wrongdoing in oneself, not elsewhere. How otherwise could we justify statements by Orthodox hierarchs, who diagnose the origin of global evil in zionism, the reason for natural disaster in atheism, and the abandonment of orthodoxy in ecumenism? Or how otherwise could we explain Orthodox neophytes, who embrace their new-found traditionalism as a pulpit from which to pontificate or dictate, wielding their psychological baggage to define our present in light of their past? Finally, how otherwise could we acquiesce to the intolerable burdens placed on others by so-called or self-ordained discerning elders—especially, though not exclusively monastic—who impose distorted and perverted stipulations in an effort to accommodate their own ideas and experiences to the conditions and circumstances of others?

In this context, discernment is, on the one hand, a way of balance and integration in the spiritual life and, on the other hand, a way of penetrating the mysteries of divine compassion. After all, the spiritual way is more than a question of wavering between certain options or fluctuating between various opinions. It is intrinsically a matter of life or death, of choosing life over death; and discernment is the most reliable method of telling the difference between the two. Discernment does not always aim to clarify or resolve ambivalence; there are times when it provides affirmation or consolation in our very hesitation or quandary, reassuring us that ambivalence may itself reveal the dilemma of the Cross, that decision-making is sacred and personal. Otherwise, we may be trivializing the gift of discernment, while undermining the dignity of human beings.

Ivana mentioned yesterday about darkness as a stage of growth. The truth is that—if we are honest with ourselves and with God—then we will admit that the spiritual life is often just a series of movements between shadows, learning to “see in a mirror, dimly.” (1 Cor. 13.12) Sometimes, it is necessary to walk in uncertainty, to tread an uncomfortable and inconvenient path, to claim the freedom with which we are endowed. Sometimes, we may not experience the grace of Resurrection unless or until we have endured the disgrace of the Cross. Sometimes, discernment is recognizing that healing lies in the empty, albeit expectant interlude between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.

And in this context, discernment stands on the border between the mind and the heart, while at the same time serving as a bridge that connects our lives with others. When our interior life is at odds with our external conduct, the spiritual and emotional consequences are devastating both for ourselves and others, as for our social and natural environment. Our lives, inside and outside, should be in balance and harmony if we really wish to be “the salt of the earth” and “the light of the world.” (Matt. 5.13-14)

 As repeatedly emphasized throughout this conference, compassion is part and parcel of discernment; that is the quintessential teaching of the Gaza elders, inferred from Paul’s exhortation to Galatians: “Bear one another’s burdens.” (6.2) The spiritual guide is capable of discerning, distinguishing and differentiating the personal needs of a disciple without comparison or competition. This is especially evident in the correspondence of Barsanuphius and John, where discernment and spiritual direction invite transformation on the part of the elder and the disciple alike, in the context of their unique and uncompromising interconnection. This kind of discernment is ultimately the clearest evidence of authenticity and transparency.

Conclusion: Discernment as Treading Lightly

Discernment undeniably implies discipline; but first and foremost it involves self-discipline (159). It is a tool for monks to “govern themselves” (318) and “control their own body.” (524) There can be no self-righteousness in discernment, no entitlement in authority, no complacency in power. This is why Barsanuphius emphasizes that we have no individual rights (τό δικαίωμα), no dispensation or authorization (τό ἀψήφιστον) to control or even constrain others.

No one deservingly holds any position in the church; we may be ordained by God’s grace, but we serve only by God’s mercy. None among us can claim to be qualified for what we are or do—even through the gift of ordination. We have all achieved what we have and are with the help of others—above all, with the indulgence of God. We have all been placed in positions by election or selection, by coincidence or inheritance—even if we claim or condone authority over others. Otherwise, the damage is crippling and crushing.

Let me close by saying that there is a sense of sacred surrender and spiritual softness in the way of discernment, a humble and holy sensitivity to the movements and motivations of others. If we do not tread lightly and carefully, we risk trampling the desires and dreams of others. Treading gently and softly is at the heart of the gift of discernment. There can be no room for arbitrary imposition, no justification for assertive control, and no reason for sudden rejoinder. (258) In the words of Aldous Huxley in his poem “Island”:

Learn to do everything lightly . . .

Just lightly let things happen . . .

Lightly, lightly – it’s the best advice ever given me . . .

Nothing ponderous or portentous . . .

And . . . no theology, no metaphysics . . .

You must walk ever so lightly.

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[1] “The Meaning of Simplicity.” Translated by Edmund Keeley.

[2] See Henri Nouwen, The Living Reminder: Service in Prayer in Memory of Jesus Christ, San Francisco, CA: Harper One, 2009.