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.
[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.