It is Only With the Heart that One Sees Rightly

Recently a parishioner sent a postcard to the daily Mass folks. Buzz and his wife, Diana, are doing The Way (El Camino de Santiago) and are on their way to St James de Compostela. The postcard quoted St Exupery's Little Prince: "It is only with the heart that one sees rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye." Certainly on such a pilgrimage we come to see people in more profound ways than we do when we look at them superficially. In the best cases pilgrims begin to see one another in ways which make them more whole and takes delight in them --- warts and all. It reminded me of a reflection I did one Friday just two or three weeks ago regarding the beam in one person's eye and the splinter in another!

Also recently I read the story of someone who, as a result of some sort of 'private revelation', apparently "fled Mass in horror" because she had supposedly seen "through the masks" of people attending Mass, perhaps most especially the priest presiding there. She wrote of seeing various persons' flaws, seeing raw, unfiltered truth, and she is trying to make sense of this way of seeing that happens to her at Mass. In light of this deeply disturbing experience (for the person writing about it has written about also being profoundly troubled by it in the past) there is some monastic wisdom which is critical to keep in mind, namely, we only see a person truly when we see them as God sees them. Keeping this in mind will help us hear what is being said again and again in the Gospel readings throughout this whole week.

It is one thing to see a person's flaws. That is certainly part of the truth of who we each are. But it is not the deepest truth and it is the deepest truth which the grace of God empowers us to see and work towards.  The less profound "truth" we may also see can become literally diabolical, that is, it can divide, throw, or tear apart (diabolos comes from the Greek, dia for apart and balein, to throw). It divides the see-er from her own heart, it tears apart the one seen in this way by treating a part of them as the whole or most important truth, and it can result in ripping apart the community in which such things occur. Such truth is meant to be filtered, filtered through hearts that see as God sees, that love as God loves --- with a mercy that does justice, a love that makes whole. Otherwise, the result is true misery for all involved. In light of all this I wanted to repost this piece I put up several years ago:

It is Only With the Heart that We See Rightly.

In one of the best selling books of all time, The Little Prince, there is a dialogue between a fox and the Little Prince. It occurs over a period of time. The Fox begins by explaining about what it means to be "tamed,"  and he notes that it involves forming ties with others. He begs the Prince to "tame him" and over time (the prince agrees to "waste time" in this way!) the Little Prince does so while the Fox allows himself to be tamed; in other words the Prince works to become the Fox's friend and the Fox becomes his. As a result the most mundane parts of reality are also transformed. Golden fields of wheat which hold no interest for the Fox ordinarily (he eats only chickens!) now remind the Fox of his friend's golden hair and occasion joy. When the time comes for the Little Prince to leave the Fox is sad, and then he gives the Little Prince his most precious secret, a secret he says most men have forgotten: [[It is only with the heart that one sees rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.]]

In last Friday's Gospel story Jesus knows that there is more than one way of "seeing" and he equates one of these with a destructive blindness which will lead everyone into the pit together. He warns that an untrained person is apt to harm someone and needs to get proper training before trying to act as a teacher. And he reminds us via this story that we ourselves are often afflicted with a beam in our own eye but that we are equally often one who blindly criticizes and offers to extract a splinter from another's eye. We hear one of Jesus' most damning judgments as he says: "You hypocrite! Remove the wooden beam from your own eye first; then you will see clearly to remove the splinter from in your brother's eye!"

Jesus clearly understands several things; he knows what the fox reminds us most "men have forgotten": First, that seeing rightly (compassion) is something we do with our hearts and this requires a kind of training. It is the kind of training one does when, over time, one helps (trains) a child to grow in a certain way. It takes years to "train" a child's ability to stand upright, to help them become persons who love themselves and others, who are capable of giving themselves to the world in a way which makes it better, richer, more holy. It takes years to help a child become responsible for their own hearts as we ourselves are called to be responsible for our own hearts Our hearts are, as I have said here a number of times, the places where we meet and respond to God, but they are also those places within us where obstacles to this meeting reside; for this reason they need to be "trained"  (formed, healed, nurtured, strengthened, aided) to see rightly. The responsibility for forming our hearts, for taming them (what Christians call growing in holiness), is a lifelong process of being made capable of compassionate seeing by living with and from Christ.

Secondly then, he knew that the way our attention is avidly drawn to the splinter in another's eye SHOULD lead us to suspect the beam in our own; that is, we should suspect the real obstacles to accurate vision, to compassion, exist in our own hearts. They represent ways of seeing we have made our own whether they have come from our culture, from peer pressure, from our own needs, successes or failures, from the hurts of childhood, or wherever. Because of this I think Jesus understood very well that we ordinarily operate from habitual ways of seeing and behaving which are less than Christian; we operate from characteristic attitudes of the false self that serve as lenses which distort our own vision and prevent us from seeing rightly or compassionately with the heart. In terms of the Gospel, and the story of the Little Prince, they are the lenses which prevent us from making neighbors of those we meet or know, the lenses which prevent us from loving others, from letting others "tame us," and therefore from becoming friends.

 Two pieces of monastic truth:

Monastic life encapsulated Jesus' teaching in a number of ways, but there are two pieces which are especially important here. The first is the monastic teaching on what are called "the passions."  The passions are obstacles to humility, that is, they are barriers to recognizing and celebrating the truth about who we are in regard to God and others. Thus they are also obstacles to compassion, to seeing others with the same kind of loving truthfulness. They are most often the beams in our own eyes and hearts which cause us to overreact to the splinters in our brother's or sister's eyes. They are the symptoms of woundedness and disease in our own hearts which cause us to project onto others and fail to love them as we ought and as they deserve. As Roberta Bondi reminds us, "a passion has as its chief characteristics perversion of vision and the destruction of love." (To Love as God Loves)

Common passions we are all too familiar with include perfectionism, a kind of habitual irritation with someone or some situation, anger, envy, depression, apathy or sloth, gluttony (which often has more to do, Bondi points out, with requiring novelty than it does with eating), irritable or anxious restlessness, impatience, selfishness, etc. In each, if we consider their effects, we will notice these habitual ways of relating to ourselves and our world cause us to see reality in a distorted way (this is one of the reasons we think of seeing reality through the green haze of envy, the red film of anger, or the black wall of depression, and so forth). Further, they get in the way of being open to or nurturing the truth of others --- that is, they are obstacles to love.

Similarly they are destructive of sight and love because they cause us to transfer onto others our own flawed expectations, values, failings and woundedness.  We know this by its psychological term: projection. It is a serious disordering of our hearts and minds that Jesus apparently understood well; it is a result of our own brokenness and sinfulness, and it assures not only that the person being projected onto CANNOT be heard or seen for who they are, but also that the one doing the projecting becomes more and more locked into their own blindness and inability to love the other as neighbor. The wisdom of Jesus' admonition, "Remove the beam from your own eye before you attempt to remove the splinter from your brother's," as well as the appropriateness of his anger in calling others on their hypocrisy is profound.

The second piece of monastic wisdom here we should remember, and one which is closely related to the importance of dealing with these passions has to do with the nature of really seeing another truly. In our own time we are very used to acting as though we only know someone really well when we see their flaws. We approach people and things "critically," searching out their failings and weaknesses and when we have discovered them, we believe we have discovered their deepest truth. How often have we heard someone say something like: "I thought I knew him, but the other day, he acted to betray me. Now I really know who he is!"

But monastic wisdom is just the opposite of this notion of knowing. It is strikingly countercultural and counterintuitive. In monastic life we only really know someone when we see them as God sees them: precious, sacred, whole, and beautiful. We only see them rightly when we look past the flaws **to the deep or true person at the core. We only see them truly when we see them with the eyes and humility of love. As we were reminded by Saint-Exupery and as tomorrow's Gospel implies strongly, "It is only with the heart that one sees rightly," --- and only once we have removed those distorting lenses monks call passions, that is, only once we have removed the beams from our own eyes will we be able to do this!

** N.B., I do not mean looking past these flaws in the sense of ignoring them completely (it may or may not be loving to do so) but rather looking past them so they may be seen within the context of the deeper truth and relatedness to God as ground and source. These flaws are tragic but they are tragic precisely because of the deeper truth of every person. Secondly, we must see the deeper truth not only as reality but as the person's profoundest potential. Looking past the flaws means loving the person in a way which summons them to realize their potential by healing and transcending the flaws. Only seeing with the eyes of the heart make this possible.

Achieving Purity of Heart: Leaping into the Abyss of God's Love

As I noted on Monday the contrast we feel between the Easter season culminating in Pentecost and the immediate shift to ordinary time is mirrored in the readings which remind us that after the giving of the Spirit Jesus was driven into the desert where he had to come to terms with the temptations his own identity as Son brought to him and consolidate or claim that Sonship more fully and radically. On Monday we were told the story of Elijah fleeing to the desert where he is fed by ravens --- one of the paradigmatic stories hermits claim as part of their own desert tradition. We also heard the beatitudes, that paradoxical charter of Christian living which reminds us that in want, those who have faith are filled, in hunger they are nourished, in grief they are consoled and in all kinds of darkness persons of faith find God as their light. This too is the essence of desert living, the essence of the contemplative and Christian journey where overwhelming light is experienced by faith as darkness and darkness is the occasion of an unquenchable and eternal light.

This paradoxical theme of fullness in emptiness, consolation in grief, etc, continued in the readings on Tuesday. Yesterday the widow overcame her fear of  having nothing, she relinquishes a certain kind of security, in faith gives all she has to Elijah and truly discovers as she embraces this particular emptiness that she is entirely safe in God's hands; besides that her jar of flour will not go empty nor her jug of oil run dry. ("Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and all these things will be added or given to you as well.") The Gospel reminds us that a light hidden under a bushel basket (this describes an attempt to hoard it and keep it as one's own)  is useless (in fact if the light is not quenched entirely by such an act it is apt to set fire to everything and destroy it) but if it is shared with others, if it is set on a lampstand where the entire household -- often consisting of several families -- can share it and live in light of it God will be glorified (revealed).

The hinge on which all these things turn is the purification of our hearts so that we not only truly let go of or relinquish that which provides temporary and partial security, but we also truly entrust ourselves to the One who is the ground and source of reality and so too, of absolute security. Unfortunately, some seem to do the first (the work of renunciation) without ever being able to do the second (the leap of faith) while most folks try to do the second (entrust themselves to God in faith) without ever doing the first (letting go of all except God)! This, by the way, is the reason Luke tells the story of the house which is cleaned out of demons but is left vacant and therefore comes to an even worse end! It is never enough to relinquish everything except our fear of emptiness and nothingness; we must also cast ourselves completely into God's hands in faith. But this act too has a paradoxical quality. It is a final and wholehearted act of renunciation where we consciously embrace the fear we have held at bay in one way and another, let go of our distrust (of reality, of God, etc), and leap -- fear pulsing against our breast -- into the void. In that leap we entrust ourselves to God because there is literally NOTHING else. Either God IS that void, that abyss, or he is not. It is the ultimate act of risk --- and the ultimate occasion of security.

Looking ahead to Friday's readings we are again faced with a radical choice so typical of desert spirituality; Jesus' words help us to see how truly radical this choice is, how profoundly our hearts need to be remade! [[If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. It is better to lose one of your members than to have your whole body thrown into Gehenna. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one of your members than to have your whole body go into Gehenna.]]

I admit I can no longer hear this reading without thinking of the story of Aron Ralston as well as the OT command from the beginning of Lent, "Choose Life!". You will remember  Ralston as the hiker who was trapped when a boulder he was climbing in a canyon in Utah was dislodged and his arm became wedged between it and the canyon wall. Mr. Ralston tried several times over the period of 127 hours to amputate his arm but was thwarted by the inability to cut the bones with the tool he had. He made superficial attempts in the effort to get his courage up. Finally, when his food and water were gone and it was clear that the choice was do it or die, he levered his arm in such a way as to break both bones in his forearm and took an all-purpose tool and severed the arm from his body. He then rappelled down a cliff and several hours later was rescued. Ralston was clear that if he had cut his arm off sooner he would have bled to death before being rescued and if he had waited any longer the rescuers would have found him dead and still-trapped. At great risk and embracing terrible fear and pain Aron chose life.

The choices we Christians are called to make in order to truly be Christian are every bit as radical  than the choice Aron Ralston made. The choices, both renunciations and affirmations,  involved in opting for the life of God rather than a superficial and domesticated Christianity are momentous and difficult. It is the purification of our hearts that is needed so we look on others with the love of Christ rather than the lust of a divided and selfish heart.  Our tendency to do what is lawful rather than what is right points similarly to a heart that needs to be remade by God's love so that it may really risk the vulnerability and generosity all true faith requires. Most importantly our choice of  God before, after and underlying every other choice we make requires amputations and adaptations every bit as costly as Aron's. The choice Jesus faced in the desert was to really BE God's own Son or to exploit the power and authority that were his by virtue of the Spirit's gifts demanded he face and renounce those things which tempted him to something less than and other than this; it is essentially the same choice we are presented with in this week's post-Pentecostal readings.

Whether it requires the lopping off of a sense of entitlement, a tendency to see others as expedients to our goals, the insecurities and other passions that cause us to see and value ourselves and others less than (as) true daughters and sons of God, any tendencies to selfishness, fearfulness, addiction, or whatever it is that makes our own hearts less than pure and open to love, we are called to do whatever it takes to choose life, abundant life in Christ. God calls us to holiness rather than mere respectability and that means a host of choices more radical than our culture or mere institutions impose on us, or (with the exception of the Church) even allow us. After all, it is through our choices for God that purity or singleness of heart is achieved and even greater choices for God are put before us. It is only as we both let go of the securities we cling to in the world we know apart from God AND leap further into the abyss of his love that our hearts are truly remade into those of daughters and sons of God.

It is only with the Heart that One sees Rightly

In one of the best selling books of all time, The Little Prince, there is a dialogue between a fox and the Little Prince. It occurs over a period of time. The Fox begins by explaining about what it means to be "tamed,"  and he notes that it involves forming ties with others. He begs the Prince to "tame him" and over time (the prince agrees to "waste time" in this way!) the Little Prince does so while the Fox allows himself to be tamed; in other words the Prince works to become the Fox's friend and the Fox becomes his. As a result the most mundane parts of reality are also transformed. Golden fields of wheat which hold no interest for the Fox ordinarily (he eats only chickens!) now remind the Fox of his friend's golden hair and occasion joy. When the time comes for the Little Prince to leave the Fox is sad, and then he gives the Little Prince his most precious secret, a secret he says most men have forgotten: [[It is only with the heart that one sees rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.]]

In last Friday's Gospel story Jesus knows that there is more than one way of "seeing" and he equates one of these with a destructive blindness which will lead everyone into the pit together. He warns that an untrained person is apt to harm someone and needs to get proper training before trying to act as a teacher. And he reminds us via this story that we ourselves are often afflicted with a beam in our own eye but that we are equally often one who blindly criticizes and offers to extract a splinter from another's eye. We hear one of Jesus' most damning judgments as he says: "You hypocrite! Remove the wooden beam from your own eye first; then you will see clearly to remove the splinter from in your brother's eye!"

Jesus clearly understands several things; he knows what the fox reminds us most "men have forgotten": First, that seeing rightly (compassion) is something we do with our hearts and this requires a kind of training. It is the kind of training one does when, over time, one helps (trains) a child to grow in a certain way. It takes years to "train" a child's ability to stand upright, to help them become persons who love themselves and others, who are capable of giving themselves to the world in a way which makes it better, richer, more holy. It takes years to help a child become responsible for their own hearts as we ourselves are called to be responsible for our own hearts Our hearts are, as I have said here a number of times, the places where we meet and respond to God, but they are also those places within us where obstacles to this meeting reside; for this reason they need to be "trained" (formed, healed, nurtured, strengthened, aided) to see rightly. The responsibility for forming our hearts, for taming them (what Christians call growing in holiness), is a lifelong process of being made capable of compassionate seeing.

Secondly then, he knew that the way our attention is avidly drawn to the splinter in another's eye SHOULD lead us to suspect the beam in our own; that is, we should suspect the real obstacles to accurate vision, to compassion, exist in our own hearts. They represent ways of seeing we have made our own whether they have come from our culture, from peer pressure, from our own needs, successes or failures, from the hurts of childhood, or wherever. Because of this I think Jesus understood very well that we ordinarily operate from habitual ways of seeing and behaving which are less than Christian; we operate from characteristic attitudes of the false self that serve as lenses which distort our own vision and prevent us from seeing rightly or compassionately with the heart. In terms of the Gospel, and the story of the Little Prince, they are the lenses which prevent us from making neighbors of those we meet or know, the lenses which prevent us from loving others, from letting others "tame us," and therefore from becoming friends.

 Two pieces of monastic truth:

Monastic life encapsulated Jesus' teaching in a number of ways, but there are two pieces which are especially important here. The first is the monastic teaching on what are called "the passions."  The passions are obstacles to humility, that is, they are barriers to recognizing and celebrating the truth about who we are in regard to God and others. Thus they are also obstacles to compassion, to seeing others with the same kind of loving truthfulness. They are most often the beams in our own eyes and hearts which cause us to overreact to the splinters in our brother's or sister's eyes. They are the symptoms of woundedness and disease in our own hearts which cause us to project onto others and fail to love them as we ought and as they deserve. As Roberta Bondi reminds us, "a passion has as its chief characteristics perversion of vision and the destruction of love." (To Love as God Loves)

Common passions we are all too familiar with include perfectionism, a kind of habitual irritation with someone or some situation, anger, envy, depression, apathy or sloth, gluttony (which often has more to do, Bondi points out, with requiring novelty than it does with eating), irritable or anxious restlessness, impatience, selfishness, etc. In each, if we consider their effects, we will notice these habitual ways of relating to ourselves and our world cause us to see reality in a distorted way (this is one of the reasons we think of seeing reality through the green haze of envy, or the red film of anger, or the black wall of depression, and so forth). Further, they get in the way of being open to or nurturing the truth of others --- that is, they are obstacles to love.

Similarly they are destructive of sight and love because they cause us to project onto others our own flawed expectations, values, failings and woundedness.  We know this by its psychological term: Projection. It is a serious disease Jesus apparently understood well, a result of our own brokenness and sinfulness, and it assures not only that the person being projected onto CANNOT be heard or seen for who they are, but also that the one doing the projecting becomes more and more locked into their own blindness and inability to love the other as neighbor. The wisdom of Jesus' admonition, "Remove the beam from your own eye before you attempt to remove the splinter from your brother's" as well as the appropriateness of his anger in calling others on their hypocrisy is profound.

The second piece of monastic wisdom here we should remember, and one which is closely related to the importance of dealing with our passions has to do with the nature of really seeing another truly. In our own time we are very used to acting as though we only know someone really well when we see their flaws. We approach people and things "critically," searching out their failings and weaknesses and when we have discovered them, we believe we have discovered their deepest truth. How often have we heard someone say something like: "I thought I knew him, but the other day, he acted to betray me. Now I really know who he is!"

But monastic wisdom is just the opposite of this notion of knowing. It is strikingly countercultural and counterintuitive. In monastic life we only really know someone when we see them as God sees them: precious, sacred, whole, and beautiful. We only see them rightly when we look past the flaws to the deep or true person at the core. We only see them truly when we see them with the eyes and humility of love. As we were reminded by Saint-Exupery and as tomorrow's Gospel implies strongly, "It is only with the heart that one sees rightly," --- and only once we have removed those distorting lenses monks call passions, that is, only once we have removed the beams from our own eyes will we be able to do this!

Remove the Beam from Your Own Eye: On Passions and Projection!

I saw a TV program a couple of years ago where a brilliant eye surgeon became schizophrenic soon after finishing his residency and establishing initially himself. His symptoms included visual hallucinations and an extensive delusional system so, delusional and in denial about his own illness, he attributed his symptoms to a mysterious eye problem which he decided to research and work out a treatment for. Most of the research involved taking poor and disabled persons in halfway houses and convincing their caregivers that they required SIGNIFICANT eye treatment including multiple laser and other surgeries. He sincerely believed that this work was helping people and that it would save his own life and career (this was all part of his illness afterall), but what he did was both criminal and destructive. Minor all-too-usual untreated eye-problems in the poor were magnified in the doctor's mind and became the justification for sadistic and careless experiments which always did more harm than good and were often irreversible. In a way it illustrates what happens to all of us in smaller and less floridly psychotic ways with regard to our own faults and the faults of others, and especially it reminds me of tomorrow's parable from Luke.

Jesus reminds us that a blind person who tries to lead others will lead everyone into the pit. He notes that an untrained person is apt to harm someone and needs to get proper training before trying to act as a teacher. And he reminds us via this parable that we ourselves are often afflicted with a beam in our own eye but that we are equally often one who blindly criticizes and offers to extract a splinter from another's eye. We hear one of Jesus' most damning judgments as he says: "You hypocrite! Remove the wooden beam from your own eye first; then you will see clearly to remove the splinter from in your brother's eye!"

Jesus clearly understands several things: First, humility is the opposite of hypocrisy rather than of pride, just as Matthew told us a few months ago. Secondly, he knew that the way our attention is avidly drawn to the splinter in another's eye SHOULD lead us to suspect the beam in our own. And thirdly, I think Jesus understood very well what became the monastic teaching on the passions: namely, that passions are those habitual ways of seeing and behaving, those characteristic attitudes of the false self that serve as lenses which distort our own vision and prevent us from seeing rightly with the heart.

We use the term passion today very differently than 3rd and 4th Century monastics, and very differently from the use of the term in monastic literature generally. For us passions are strong emotions or desires: we say John has a passion for social justice, Ted has a passion for health care reform, Mary is passionately in love with her husband, Nadja has a passion for playing the violin like no one you have ever seen, etc! But monastics use the term in a different sense. Passions in this literature are invariably negative and need not involve strong emotion. In fact they may prevent us from feeling emotions which are really one way of perceiving and appreciating the world around us.

The passions are obstacles to humility, that is, they are barriers to recognizing and celebrating that loving truthfulness about who we are in regard to God and others. They are most often the beams in our own eyes and hearts which cause us to overreact to the splinters in our brother's or sister's eyes. They are the symptoms of woundedness and disease in our own hearts which cause us to project onto others and fail to love them as we ought and as they deserve. As Roberta Bondi reminds us, "a passion has as its chief characteristics perversion of vision and the destruction of love." (To Love as God Loves) Common passions we are all too familiar with include perfectionism, a kind of habitual irritation with someone, anger, envy, depression, apathy or sloth, gluttony (which often has more to do, Bondi points out, with requiring novelty than it does with eating), irritable or anxious restlessness, impatience, selfishness, etc. In each, if we consider their effects, we will notice these habitual ways of relating to ourselves and our world cause us to see reality in a distorted way (this is one of the reasons we think of seeing reality through the green haze of envy, or the red film of anger, or the icy wall of depression, and so forth). Further, they thus get in the way of being open to or nurturing the truth of others --- that is, they are obstacles to love.

Similarly they are destructive of sight and love because they cause us to project onto others our own failings and woundedness. Recently I had the experience that what I wrote on a listserve was misinterpreted negatively. Even the way I punctuated posts was taken to mean something completely negative as was my writing nothing at all! (For instance, because I rarely mentioned God in my posts on eremitical life, I was considered to have no genuine spiritual life or be inadequately centered on God. When I noted that my writing (or anyone else's) should be read without attributions of negative motives and attitudes, something I considered possible because I had not written them with those motives or attitudes, I was instructed that my conscious motives were one thing, subconscious ones were another --- as though the reader could claim to know these better than I did myself! Projection. It is a serious disease Jesus apparently understood well, a result of our own brokenness and sinfulness, and it assures not only that the person being projected onto CANNOT be heard or seen for who they are, but that the one doing the projecting becomes more and more locked into their own blindness and inability to love the other as neighbor. The wisdom of Jesus' admonition, "Remove the beam from your own eye before you attempt to remove the splinter from your brother's" as well as the apropriateness of his anger in calling hypocrisy just that is evident.

There is also a bit of monastic wisdom here we should remember which is closely related to the importance of dealing with our passions. In our own time we are very used to acting as though we only know someone really well when we see their flaws. We approach people and things "critically," searching out their failings and weaknesses and when we have discovered them, we believe we have discovered their deepest truth. How often have we heard someone say something like: "I thought I knew him, but the other day, he acted to betray me. Now I really know who he is!" But monastic wisdom is just the opposite of this notion of knowing. It is strikingly countercultural and counterintuitive. In monastic life we only really know someone when we see them as God sees them: precious, sacred, whole, and beautiful. We only see them rightly when we look past the flaws to the deep or true person at the core. We only see them truly when we see them with the eyes and humility of love. As we were reminded by Saint-Exupery and as tomorrow's Gospel implies strongly, "It is only with the heart that one sees rightly," --- and only once we have removed those distorting lenses monks call passions, that is, only once we have removed the beams from our own eyes!

Detachment as the matrix for Christian (and eremitical!) Love

We have all heard the Christian term, "detachment," or at least, that is, we know the word and its common meaning. What does it actually mean in the context of monastic or eremitical life? What relation does it have to other values, to other demands of this or any Xtn life? Does it limit our ability to love others, for instance, or does it serve as the means to love more generously, more purely, more whole-heartedly? Does it demand an end to treasured relationships, or does it clarify and transform the way we participate in these? Does it somehow cause a lack of desire to participate in or nurture these relationships, or does it sharpen the delight we take in them and serve to allow the deepening of our commitment to the other? Is it marked by apathy (which is not the same as monastic apatheia!!) and a lack of feeling or energy for life, or does it help cultivate and condition a deeper sense of being alive and in love with life? And finally, does detachment entail a loss of self so complete that one can be said to be "nothing" or have no self (a la Bernadette Roberts, for instance), or is it a new way of possessing a self, a truer and fuller self which is more abundantly alive, and more profoundly related to reality?

As is probably obvious from the way I have phrased the questions, I believe genuine detachment does the latter in each case. It is possible to believe, using the common definition of the term, that detachment means an end to involvement, an end to relationships and to love, and even the loss of selfhood. It is possible, using this sense of the word, to set it in opposition to love and the involvement with others love demands, but in reality --- at least as I understand the term, and as the tradition of the desert Fathers and Mothers and other monastics and hermits I know understand it --- detachment is the means by which we are freed for authentic love; it is the matrix of Christian --- and so, eremitical --- love, not their antithesis. It is a mark and (partially) the means by which we claim TRUE selfhood, not the end or renunciation of it.

At the center of our understanding of the nature of detachment are a couple of truths: 1) we are called above all to love --- to love God and to love ourselves and others in, through and with God; this is the very nature of authentic selfhood, whether Divine or human selfhood, and 2) we cannot love God or others unless we have a self which is capable of this. Detachment, if it is a real value we pursue and cultivate must, like any other Christian value, contribute to these goals or it is worthless. More than worthless, it is destructive and even demonic --- that is, capable of distorting the persons we are and blocking the process of becoming God summons forth and grounds in us. But of course genuine detachment in the eremitical life, and in the Christian life more generally, is actually the basis for the freedom to be the selves we are called to be.

Detachment is the liberation exerienced by one who truly loves and is truly human. It is, like so many other things in Christian life and spirituality, a paradoxical reality. If it is not marked by a rich and full loving, an abundant life of love and liberated selfhood, then it is not Christian detachment. And yet, how easily it is to fail to understand this! How common the misunderstanding of the term, even in those who are focused on spirituality in some way!

Detachment and the Creation of the Self capable of Love:

I wrote recently that real love requires distance as well as closeness, and that enmeshment was destructive of authentic human love. It is that insight that is at the root of understanding the nature of Christian detachment. There is a second and related insight which is also at the root of things here, namely, that real love requires freedom from counterfeits and a liberation from the concerns of an ego self which measures selfhood in terms of what we do, what we have, or what others think of us. This latter liberation is important not only to see and accept (i.e., love!) ourselves for who we really are, but to see and accept or affirm others (i.e., love them!) similarly. The choice before us is really to see and accept ourselves as God sees us, or to see and accept ourselves as the world (and our ego-self) sees us. There is no other option really. Detachment describes the state (and process) of moving from the latter to the former. It is a matter of freeing ourselves (or rather, allowing ourselves to be freed) from the claims and enmeshments (i.e., attachments) of the false self and embracing the true self and all that constitutes that.

But this goal is not an end in itself. Detachment is not something to be pursued for its own sake. Detachment is at the service of something greater in the Christian life. It is at the service of the true self, yes, but above all that means it is at the service of the call to that self to love as Christ loves. Our own truest selves are hampered from becoming or being embodied in many ways, but one of the most destructive is by the attachments we make and have to all those values, structures, and realities which support the "ego-self, " that is, the self which is constantly judging and composing a portrait of "Me" which, again, is defined in terms of what I do, what I have, and what others think of me. Not only is the ego-self noisy and constantly rehearsing this portrait of self in order to maintain it so that it blocks our ability to hear the call of our own hearts, but, because it is constituted by attachments to these things, it detracts and distracts from the complete dependence upon God and God's summons (vocation) which is the necessary response to it and the One who grounds and authors it.

Detachment is therefore the loosening and breaking of these bonds of attachment which are neither from nor of God, these definitions and images of self and others that hold us in their grip along with all that sustains and empowers them. It is a process and goal which again is at the service of a larger one, namely the making of authentic, obedient selves capable of loving others IN CHRIST. Communion is the fruit of detachment, and any supposedly "spiritual" process which does not lead to genuine communion should not be mistaken for detachment. The paradox involved here should be underscored: when we are truly detached we are capable of loving concrete human beings AS THEY ARE in our day-to-day dealings with them. Detachment does not issue in a merely abstract and superficial love of "the poor," "the homeless," "the unloved," or the like (Bondi, To Pray and to Love). It results instead in the capacity to see others --- real flesh-and-blood people with warts, body odor, lousy dispositions, contrary opinions, and the like --- and love them for who they REALLY are, namely, the images of God who confront us with his presence everyday and who need to love and be loved in all the ways that we ourselves do.

On Detachment and Apathy:

And this has implications for those who see detachment as a kind of apathy. As I noted in the beginning of this post, apathy is not the same thing the desert Fathers and Mothers called apatheia. Apatheia was understood to mean a kind of imperturbability or holy stillness which resulted when one was rooted in and lived from and for the love and mercy of God and was no longer enmeshed in the world. It was not only not incompatible with profound love for others, it called and prepared for it. Neither then is true detachment marked by apathy. Detachment and apatheia were intimately linked because both involved the freeing of the self from passions, that is from those distorting lenses formed by woundedness, neediness, insecurity, ambition, greed, etc, which caused one to relate to reality in ways which were less than authentically human. But detachment and apathy on the other hand are actually antithetical to one another because apathy is a form of self-centeredness and bondage resulting in psychological death, whereas detachment is a form of freedom from self which opens to life and love.

[By the way, please note well: the passions, in the sense this term is used by the desert Fathers and Mothers and those who have followed them, are not simply strong feelings; they may involve strong feelings but they are really distorting lenses through which we come to relate inappropriately or inadequately to God, ourselves, and others. For a very good treatment of the reality of the passions as understood by the early Church fathers and Mothers see Roberta Bondi's, To Pray and to Love. There she defines them as, "habits of seeing, feeling, thinking, and acting that characteristically blind us to who we ourselves, our neighbors, and God really are so that we are not able to respond appropriately, rationally, and lovingly." A longer treatment is found in her book, To Love as God Loves, also highly recommended.] Given this view of things what sometimes passes for detachment and is rightly described as apathy is actually what the desert Fathers and Mothers called a passion.

All of this leads back to the questions with which I opened the post. Detachment is a freeing process and state which allows us to love others more honestly and generously. It does not close us off from others --- even if we are hermits --- but instead allows us to see and cherish them with the eyes and heart of God. It allows us to delight in reality in a way which our ego-selves would censure and shut down, because the detached self, the true self, is unconcerned with what this reality can do for us, how it can be owned or possessed by us, or how it affirms us. Detachment makes us capable of delight in the thing itself simply because it is what it is. And, it allows us to hear and respond to the vocational call which sounds instant by instant deep in the core of our being. In other words, it serves authentic humanity; it serves the growth of the true self which loves God and claims as its own to cherish all that is cherished by Him. Further, while the eremitical life poses unique challenges in embodying this love, the FACT of it is no less real for the hermit than it is for any other Christian. For every Christian, including the hermit, detachment is the matrix out of which authentic love is birthed.