The Cloister Walk - Kathleen Norris [11]
I was intrigued to discover that there are fussy monastic rules that predate that of Benedict, notably The Rule of the Master, in which fear and suspicion predominate, revealing an overwhelmingly negative view of both the world outside the monastery, and the motives of individuals within it. Predictably, the author of this rule attempts, in the words of one commentary, “to regulate everything in advance, to foresee every possible case.” Benedict appears relaxed and humane by comparison, more laissez-faire, much more trusting of individual discretion: “Whoever needs less should thank God and not be distressed,” he writes in the section about distribution of goods in the monastery, but he adds that “whoever needs more should feel humble because of his weakness, not self-important because of the kindness shown him. In this way, all the members will be at peace.” From the earliest days in the Egyptian desert, monastic life has attracted all classes of people. And this means, as Benedict was quick to realize, that equal treatment does not translate into equality; what is an unpleasantly hard bed to someone raised in wealth might be a luxury to a shepherd used to sleeping on the ground. As recently as the 1930s, monastic novices raised on American farms, who had slept all their lives on straw-filled ticking, got their first experience of mattresses and sheets in the monastery. (This cultural phenomenon, by which monastic deprivation becomes a form of luxury, is much in evidence today in the thriving Benedictine monastaries of the Third World, making Benedict’s wisdom on the subject of need more relevant than ever.)
The ongoing Benedictine experiment demonstrates a remarkable ability to take individual differences into account while establishing the primacy of communal life. I find this most evident when a Benedictine community is deciding whether or not to accept a candidate. Questions that would be primary in the business world—what are this person’s credentials and skills, what will they add to the organization’s efficiency and productivity?—are secondary, if they’re raised at all. Even the question of “acceptability,” which is so often a mask for prejudice, is muted. People are simply asked to consider whether or not this person has a monastic vocation for that particular community. The fact that you might not like the person, certainly not enough to want to live with them for the rest of your life, is not supposed to be a factor. The monastic value of not judging others, of giving them the benefit of the doubt, can become extremely painful at a time like this, because once a person becomes a part of the community, they are family.
Most monasteries now employ psychological screening methods for candidates, and the discipline of the novitiate tends to weed out the severely maladjusted. But I’ve often been touched by the way in which monastic communities, like strong families, can accommodate their more troubled members. Every monastery I know contains at least one borderline person, who may be socially retarded (or just extremely repressed), who has minimal brain damage, who suffers from a mental illness such as manic-depression, or who is ravaged by Alzheimer’s, or even, in the words of one monastic friend, who may simply be “surpassingly strange.” And it is good to see the many ways that communities find to make room. While monastic people are not conventionally nice to each other—as family, they