The Ladder of Divine Ascent by John Climacus:On Unmanly Fears (Step 21)

No gentle acknowledgments of fear or gradual empowerment of self into fearlessness in John’s 21st step! He doesn’t mince words. Fear, he tells us, is outright “unmanly;” it is nothing else but “cowardice, the child of vainglory, the daughter of unbelief.”

Fear is not one-dimensional. This short, 2-page chapter uncovers different manifestations of fear in our souls and shows the price it exacts from our lives.

“Fear is danger tasted in advance,” we are told. How many of our daily anxieties stem from our thoughts getting ahead of us– anticipating, imagining or fleshing out different scenarios of future humiliation and failure– until our mental constructs become the reality we inhabit? John is light years ahead of psychotherapy and other treatments of mental disorders, including more recent specializations in anxiety disorders and phobias. He sees fear as stemming from faulty thought processes that treat imagined truths as actual truths. Yet precisely because fear is generated by something that does not actually exist in the present, John stares it in the face rather than cajoling it, and calls it an act of cowardice.

In most steps, John prescribes “treatments” for passions and demonstrates what freedom from them is like through a series of paradoxes. Just as, in a previous chapter, the poor man was shown to be actually rich because he was freed of cares, the man who fears God is not afraid of anything other than Him, while the man who is not afraid of God is afraid of his “own shadow.” The fear of God frees us from fear.

Fear is the result of faithlessness, we are told. Without faith we assume full responsibility for outcomes that matter to us, and live in constant anxiety over the possibility of our failure. We don’t have to go far. As parents, many of us anxiously look for opportunities to deliver lectures, make hints, and push conclusions in conversations with our children. How could we possibly relax into the experience of just loving them when it is clearly up to us to steer them in the right career path or opinion? Or how can anyone settle down in a conversation and actually listen to what others are saying , when so much care must be taken to ensure that we make the right impression and not let others get the upper hand? The greater our investment in outcomes, and the greater our belief in our power to control them, the greater our fear of failure! Living in fear and anxiety casts a shadow over our ability to love fully, unconditionally and in the present.

This is why vainglory is a spring of constant fear. If our happiness depends on praise, admiration, status, material possessions and other external manifestations of value, our soul becomes the breeding ground of fear; fear of losing or never achieving them can dominate our lives. Cowards, above all, are vainglorious.

All previous chapters echo in various ways the contrast between passions and freedom. In the chapter on poverty we are told that “poverty “is resignation from care…. It is life without anxiety and travels light, far from sorrow and faithful to the commandments…A poor man is lord of the world”(p. 189).” The virtue of chastity gives us “holy simplicity [as] a breastplate against the cunning of evil demons” (p. 183). If we have nothing, there can be no temptation of attachment or fear of loss. Fear in this step is not exactly a passion but the result of passions like vainglory and pride. To root it out you have to trace its origins in the darkest crevices of your soul and confront them head on.

John’s advice on how to confront our fears fully resonates with modern psychology: “Do not hesitate to go in the dark of the night to those places where you are normally frightened. The slightest concession to this weakness means that this childish and absurd malady will grow old.” But there are also major differences between psychology and ascetic spirituality with interesting implications.

Overcoming Fear

Unlike modern psychology, however, we don’t just draw on our own resources to fight it. Instead, we “put on the armor of prayer” and clothe ourselves with trust in God. Once again, John shows a connection between the spiritual and physical dimensions of prayer to God, conjuring up an image of child-like surrender: “when you reach the spot, stretch out your hands and flog your enemies with the name of Jesus…He who has conquered cowardice has clearly dedicated his life and soul to God.”

Moreover, unlike modern psychology, fear is not simply a mental disorder to be treated but a moral and spiritual illness to be conquered: “…it is the barrenness of soul [and not] the darkness or the emptiness of place which gives the demons power over us.” And it is in the soul that healing takes place. John’s compassionate view of mankind, however, always reminds us that we don’t have to aim at instantaneous transformation but accept a path of small and gradual steps: “If your soul is unafraid even when the body is terrified then you are close to being healed. “

A quote from a different translation of the Ladder in a footnote gives us a vision of what total freedom from fear is like; not only freedom from expectations but eagerly embracing “all unexpected events with a contrite heart. “

THE LADDER OF DIVINE ASCENT BY JOHN CLIMACUS: The Things that Deaden our Soul

The conventional understanding of “sin” is that of transgression of very concrete rules and laws.

This is how Wikipedia defines it:

Among some scholars, sin is understood mostly as legal infraction or contract violation of non-binding philosophical frameworks and perspectives of Christian ethics, and so salvation tends to be viewed in legal terms.

It continues with the relational definition of sin:

Other Christian scholars understand sin to be fundamentally relational—a loss of love for the Christian God and an elevation of self-love…

Hesychasts built on the relational definition of sin but delved to an unprecedented depth into the effects of the loss of love of God. In this sense, their profound understanding of the intricacies of the human soul, and the difference between healthy and unhealthy spiritual states, predates psychology and the steps to mental health that behavioral psychology espouses.

In step 18, St. Johns talks about insensibility “that is, deadening of the soul and the death of the mind before the death of the body.”

Have you had moments when the horrors shown on TV stir up indignation but do not touch your heart or bring tears to your eyes? Or when you are shocked to realize that at a particular moment, while you know you love your family, your heart is closed, and your feelings are frozen? The Ladder recognizes these moments of spiritual paralysis and their consequences on our salvation:

Insensibility both in the body and in the spirit is a deadened feeling, which from long sickness and negligence lapses into loss of feeling.

The word for insensitivity in the original Greek is anaesthisia—the same root as in “unaesthetic;” – loss of sensation, deadening of the senses.

Αναισθησία και στα σώματα και στις ψυχές είναι απονεκρωμένη αίσθησις, η οποία από χρονία ασθένεια και αμέλεια κατέληξε να αναισθητοποιηθή.

St. John forces us to face the consequences of insensitivity. Occasional insensitivity will become a habit causing “benumbed thought; the birth of presumption; a snare for zeal; the noose of courage; ignorance of compunction; a door to despair; the mother of forgetfulness, which gives birth to loss of the fear of God. And then she becomes the daughter of her own daughter.”

Insensitivity, constant sleepiness or dullness often hides a deeper attempt to escape into fantasy, apathy and sloth so we will have to face and engage with reality. Alertness, on the other hand, gives us a fighting chance to resist evil and withstand misfortune. It gives us clarity of mind and full presence in the moment to discern the glory of God all around us.

A state of alertness, John tells us, “is a quenching of lust, deliverance from fantasies in dreams, a tearful eye, a heart made soft and gentle, thoughts restrained food digested , passions tamed spirits subdued, tongue controlled, idle imaginings banished.”

Without alertness, our life slips through our fingers like a dream, and we are unable to be in the presence of God.

How many times are we absent from our own lives in mental and emotional “sleepiness?” Maybe we are too tired to engage with our family, opting to lay half- asleep in front of the TV with a bottle of beer. Or our minds are so cluttered with lists of chores to be done, worries about our next day’s presentation at a meeting, anger about perceived insults, that we barely take note of the beautiful spring day outside. Our senses and feelings have been so dulled that while we register others’ pains and sufferings and sympathize in our minds, our hearts cannot be engaged no matter how much we try to push our feelings.

Indulging in sleep or, as John calls it, a state of somnolence is “stealing half our life time or more.”

Alertness is focus; sharpness; full presence in the moment; a kind of spiritual transparency that allows God to enter unencumbered.

Fear (step 21) is another thief of souls. St. John, calls it “unmanly… a childish disposition in an old, vainglorious soul.”

Fear of course stems from focusing on what might happen in the future and prevents us from living life in the present. St. John goes further, however, to link fear with pride and vainglory.

If we didn’t think we deserved more than we had, we would not be afraid of loss. If we did not live to gain others’ acceptance and impress them with our wealth, position, looks and other material things, we would not spend our days in fear of rejection, disrespect or humiliation. If we think that we, alone, can battle to save ourselves, fear can grow into despair.

Cowardice is a falling away from faith that comes of expecting the unexpected. Fear is a rehearsing of danger beforehand; or again, fear is a trembling sensation of the heart, alarmed and troubled by unknown misfortunes. Fear is a loss of conviction. A proud soul is a slave of cowardice; it vainly trusts in itself and is afraid of any sound or shadow of creatures.

THE LADDER OF DIVINE ASCENT BY JOHN CLIMACUS: CHASTITY & SIMPLICITY

John brings the topic of chastity to a close in the final three pages of this chapter. He has already exposed the deceptiveness of passions and their devious progress in our souls. He has broken down and demystified the stages of their slow progress and shown us how we can choose to stop them at any stage.

He now muses about their origins. How is a passion generated? Is it because our body is somehow wired to respond to certain triggers? Is it the context? Is it the environment? He doesn’t feel pressed to provide an answer. What really matters is not to underestimate them. We should remember that a flickering spark– smell, sight or touch—can grow into a raging fire in no time.

What is the antidote for being tempted by the thrill of fire? John brings up the role of simplicity as a “breastplate against the cunning evil of the demons.” He refers to it as “Holy Simplicity.” Simplicity leads to humility and will guard us against delusion and false pride. It will afford us an uncluttered, clear mind that can detect dangerous passions before they spread. With simplicity and humility we will not be tempted to overestimate our own power and underestimate the first traces of a passion in our soul, certain that we will be able to stop and control it at will.

Those who are vainglorious, he continuous further down, are particularly prone to priding themselves for rooting out passions through prayer and fasting, unaware of new passions that have taken their place. Chastity and humility acknowledge our human weakness in being tempted by passions and God’s grace in overcoming them.

THE LADDER OF DIVINE ASCENT BY JOHN CLIMACUS: ON CHASTITY

“Chastity,” this chapter begins, “means the attainment of an immaterial nature. Chastity means an enviable home of Christ and an earthly paradise for the heart. Chastity means unnatural denial of human nature; a paradoxical quest of the mortal and fragile body toward the bodiless angels.”

Instead of quietly calling for meekness and self-denial, John sets an almost defiant tone from the start. He doesn’t sugar-coat the message. He is asking for no less than to go against human nature. Christians on a path of ascendance to God are not called to be ordinary—simply fulfilling their job description. We are called to be extraordinary and defy all assumptions about the limitations of human nature.

While the chapter admonishes monks to abstain sexually, it also explores the meaning of chastity beyond sexuality.

“It is not he who kept his body of clay untainted that is considered chaste,” Johns tells us. “He who has achieved perfect chastity is the one who has been able to subjugate the members of his body to the soul”

Chastity is not only physical abstinence in the letter of the law, but the ability to overcome passions and replace them with purity and simplicity. Unlike passions, a life of chastity does not draw us to it because it is exciting, flashy or prestigious. And this is perhaps the toughest part of the challenge—giving up the pursuit of grand goals and the thrill of intense passion and excess for what on the surface seems to be a merely simple life.

John does not let us get by with fantasy, however. He exposes the false “high” of passions by conjuring up a images of lives lived in excess of sex, indulgence, soft living and gluttony that are defiling the soul the way bad food upsets the stomach and can even poison you.

How do you fight passions? We are warned of the danger of seemingly overcoming one passion when, in reality, we are simply replacing it with another. The man who thinks he can overcome fornication by stuffing himself, John tells us, is like “someone who quenches fire with oil.”

Paradoxically, satisfying passions does not quench the thirst. On the contrary, the more we indulge in them, the greater the thirst becomes and hence the higher our need for excess and indulgence. An unchaste life is a life spiraling out of control. As in the case of chemical addictions, denial is one of the greatest dangers. It allows us to relax our vigilance and allow the tiny urges or small indulgences that can flame into all-consuming passions. John is telling us, in essence, what programs like Alcoholics Anonymous have come to understand: the first step is to admit that you are powerless.

Passions arise insidiously, in tiny, gradual steps that are easy to miss. The weapon is vigilance and mourning, coupled with discipline for stopping passions before they grow and dominate.

THE LADDER OF DIVINE ASCENT BY JOHN CLIMACUS: ON TALKATIVENESS & DESPODENCY (Steps 11 and 13)

Have you ever felt like you had to keep talking, not because you enjoyed it, but because you saw it as your responsibility to fill any awkward gaps of silence in the conversation? Or because you couldn’t stand the thought that someone may have been unaware of your accomplishments or your expertise on a topic? Or because you were sure that if you persisted long enough, you would eventually be able to persuade the other person that you were right?

In these situations, you usually know on some level that your motives are not just to communicate but to avoid becoming vulnerable or to make sure you are not ignored, disrespected or undervalued. This is why you feel listless or anxious and may leave a gathering with a sense of emptiness or exhaustion rather than the satisfaction of having connected with another human being.

Talkativeness, St. John tells us, is a grievous offense. Preoccupation with what we say and should say does not leave us with enough inner silence to be able to listen. It squanders our resources outward; strips us from inner peace and blocks spiritual nourishment leaving us vulnerable to despair. Like gluttony, talkativeness is an addiction; and like all addictions, it drives and controls the “talker,” rather than be controlled by him. Once you abandon self- discipline and the dike bursts open through what John calls “a relaxed lifestyle,” it is very difficult to mend the hole and stem the flood. As John says:

“It is hard to keep water in without a dike.”

No wonder John calls talkativeness “the darkening of prayer” and gateway to despondency.

Why is it that talkativeness leads to despondency? Talkativeness, John tells us, encourages the talker to dwell on destructive trains of thought such as recollections of wrongs or bragging. Compulsive talking can easily evolve into gossip or slander; tempt us to boast, lie or deceive in efforts to impress or manipulate others.

“Despondency or tedium of the spirit,” according to John, is “the paralysis of the soul.” We remain frozen and in limbo as we constantly procrastinate about what is important—reciting the psalms, praying, helping someone, connecting with others, loving and empathizing, doing our share of work. Instead of getting to our tasks, we distract ourselves with unimportant trivia.

I remember my compulsion to cook and clean the house when I was having a hard time starting the first chapter of my dissertation. This was my way of postponing a task that seemed to me insurmountable at the time.

Despondency implies the loss of all hope, according to St. John. “It is a voice claiming that God has no mercy and no love for man.”

Have you ever had the dream of being unable to finish your packing to get to the airport on time for your flight? In my version of this dream, instead of focusing on how to reduce my load to expedite my trip, I feel compelled to bring the entire contents of a hotel room, filled to the brim with clothes and toys. Each time I think I am done with packing, I discover yet another enormous quantity of clothes and toys behind a closet door or in a drawer, that needs to be packed.

I lose all hope of catching my flight, but I continue with the impossible task of stuffing a household worth of stuff into my suitcase without an end in sight.

The cure to my anguish would have been to exercise self-control and pack lightly, with only what was absolutely necessary .

For John the solution to spiritual tedium is the remembrance of death and past sins so that we can clearly perceive what is important and necessary and, thus, apply restraint.

The man who mourns for himself does not suffer from tedium

THE LADDER OF DIVINE ASCENT BY JOHN CLIMACUS: STEP 10, SLANDER

We are leaving Philokalia for a while to re-read the Ladder of Divine Ascent by St. John Climacus. With the exception of the Bible, writes Bishop Kallistos Ware in the introduction of this book, there is no other book as influential and foundational for Orthodox spirituality as the Ladder of Divine Ascent by St. John Climacus. While addressed to monastics, it embodies the transformational journey that all Christians are capable of, and have a right to, from the tumult of passions and fragmentation to wholeness, inner stillness and unity with God.

On Slander: Step 10

At first glance, it is easy to assume that we already know the topic of this chapter. “What’s there to say? Slander is bad. We get it!” Yet, as always, we are humbled by the twists and brand-new insights that St. John brings to the topic, making it new.

Curiously, John doesn’t address the propriety of the act or its effect on others. He concentrates on its root causes of slander—hatred, self- love, hypocrisy, brooding over past injuries, contempt for others, and desire for self-promotion– and emphasizes their destructive effect on our souls.

What is insidious about slander is the ease with which it can masquerade its intentions as innocent or even noble, hiding their dark underside: “I am only criticizing you out of love.” “It doesn’t bother me at all that you are fat. I strongly believe that all sizes are beautiful. I am just so concerned for your health.” John calls it: “a leech in hiding and escaping notice.”

Being tempted by slander should serve as a warning sign for us; an opportunity to examine our own soul rather than compile lists of others’ flaws.

Think of the first thoughts that come to mind before you resort to slander —focusing on someone’s flaws, remembering offenses against you, reliving a moment of humiliation over and over again until you are livid with “justifiable” anger,” honing and practicing smart and revengeful responses against “offenders.” You can hardly contain yourself. You are bursting with the desire to share your anger with others and get their support for the condemnation of the offender.

While by slandering others we may achieve a few seconds of relief and a sense of superiority, we are left wallowing in self- justification, seething at perceived offenses and stuck in isolation from others.

John calls for restraint at the first impulse to focus on others’ flaws and offenses against us. We should, instead, redirect our attention to ourselves. What do these thoughts of slander say about our own state of mind and the passions simmering in our heart? Are we lashing out at someone to avoid the pain of facing the reality of our sins?

“Those who pass speedy and harsh judgments on the sins of their neighbors,” John tells us, “fall into this passion because they, themselves, have failed to achieve a complete and unceasing memory of and concern for their sins. Anyone untrammeled by self- love and able to see his own faults for what they are would worry about no one else in this life.”

What are our lives like when we have rid ourself of the need to slander and removed the underlying causes? We are told that our hearts would then be open to love, effortlessly and immediately by looking for the good in others rather than judging and probing to identify the bad.

The temptation to slander stems from the temptation to look for, and focus on, flaws rather than virtues. It implies a spiritual state of inner turmoil, discontent and ingratitude that makes it difficult to achieve the humility to repent.

You cannot “mix judgement of others with the desire to repent.”

If we are prone to slander, we have put ourselves in automatic judgment mode, maintaining a sense of control but keeping love at bay.

As St. John tells us, “a charitable and grateful mind takes careful notes of the virtues it observes in another while the fool goes looking for faults and defects.”

He gives the example of the grape picker.

“A good grape picker chooses to eat ripe grapes and does not pluck what is unripe. A charitable and sensible mind takes careful note of the virtues it observes in another, while the fool goes looking for faults and defects…Do not condemn. Not even if your very eyes are seeing something, for they may be deceived.”

The tendency to slander implies a mind constantly holding itself above others and ensconced in anger and ingratitude.

Again, John focuses on the offender rather than the offended showing that the path of judgment and slander of others leads to spiritual death.

They searched out iniquity and died in the search ( ps. 63:7

THE LADDER OF DIVINE ASCENT BY JOHN CLIMACUS: STEP 8

We are leaving Philokalia for a while to re-read the Ladder of Divine Ascent by St. John Climacus. With the exception of the Bible, writes Bishop Kallistos Ware in the introduction of this book, there is no other book as influential and foundational for Orthodox spirituality as the Ladder of Divine Ascent by St. John Climacus. While addressed to monastics, it embodies the transformational journey that all Christians are capable of, and have a right to, from the tumult of passions and fragmentation to wholeness, inner stillness and unity with God.

On Placidity and Meekness (step 8)

“As the gradual pouring of water on a fire puts out the flame completely so the tears of genuine mourning can extinguish every flame of anger and irascibility.” This is how step 8 begins as the natural continuation of the previous step on mourning.

Meekness for me used to imply failure! People who let others step on them! Starting with my early teens, I scorned anything that resembled meekness, moderation, timidity, quietness. I defined myself through rebellion and excess. Unlike the faceless “meek” that stay in their little boxes, I was going to change the world and defy categories. Little did I know then that the appearance of strength does not signify true, inner strength! Quite the contrary! Keeping up the trappings of strength and power and avoiding quietude through noise—outrage, anger, talkativeness—are often indications of fear and emptiness.

Meekness for St. John and other ascetics most certainly does not imply weakness. On the contrary, while anger is “an easily changed movement of one’s disposition” and the “disfigurement of the soul,” meekness is a “permanent condition;” unaffected by either praise or insult. It is, in fact, “a triumph of one’s nature.” This is the most profound and insightful differentiation I have seen. Anger, however noble or justifiable we want to believe it is, is “movable;” something you can neither rely on nor control. It is a flash in time; a reaction rather than action, lacking permanence and substance. Meekness, on the other hand, is a hard-won spiritual state that deliberately, rather than reactively, cultivates virtues and resists temptations that threaten the inner stillness it has created. The difference between anger and meekness that John conjures up is one between a spoiled baby and a highly trained Olympic athlete. Clearly he does not use the term to signify weakness.

There is a practical, “how to” dimension in John’s Ladder that is rooted in deep understanding of human psychology and the depths of the soul. He knows that, even as we desire the inner stillness of meekness, it will go against engrained habits and we will resist it. This is why he reminds us continuously that virtues are achieved in stages in a lifelong spiritual warfare and walks us through the steps. First he advise us to learn how to keep “the lips silent when the heart is stirred” – go through the motions even if your heart is not yet open to it. Once you achieve this, the next step is to also “keep your thoughts silent when the soul is upset.” Reaching the next and final step is when you are so unaffected by anger that your soul isn’t even stirred by insult or injustice against you.

Vainglory, conceit, remembrance of past wrongs, self-justification, hate are among the passions that stir anger. Yet, “just as darkness retreats before light, so all anger and bitterness disappear before the fragrance of humility,” John writes. Meekness is the foundation on which we can anchor the virtue of humility. We will know that we have fully ascended the step of meekness when, instead of anger at someone who caused us harm, we feel compassion and love. Unless we root out anger and replace it with meekness and humility, there will simply be no space for the Holy Spirit to enter.

THE LADDER OF DIVINE ASCENT BY JOHN CLIMACUS. STEP 7

We are leaving Philokalia for a while to re-read the Ladder of Divine Ascent by St. John Climacus. With the exception of the Bible, writes Bishop Kallistos Ware in the introduction of this book, there is no other book as influential and foundational for Orthodox spirituality as the Ladder of Divine Ascent by St. John Climacus. While addressed to monastics, it embodies the transformational journey that all Christians are capable of, and have a right to, from the tumult of passions and fragmentation to wholeness, inner stillness and unity with God.

Mourning as Gateway to Life

We live our lives trying to minimize discomfort and avoid sorrow. We consider our happiness, safety, achievements, comfort and others’ respect as our indisputable rights. This shared worldview makes sense to us.

The world seen through the eyes of God, however, applies a different kind of logic that turns the logic of the world upside down. If you think that modern schools of thought, like nihilism or deconstructionism, are revolutionary, think again.

Mourning, John tells us in the beginning of this chapter, could be a melancholy of the soul, an anguished heart; futile longing for something that will never be obtained. This sounds logical to us. But then John suggests a different possibility for viewing it. “Alternatively,” he tells us: “mourning is a golden spur within a soul that has been stripped of all bonds and ties, set by holy sorrow to keep watch over the heart.” (p. 136, Penguin edition)

What does this mean? Instead of spelling it out, John relies on a series of paradoxes to gradually reveal its significance and implications. True mourning is the gateway to love and freedom, while the single-minded pursuit of bodily pleasures leads to emptiness and despair. Mourning, paradoxically, cleanses us and opens our hearts so that delight and a spirit of celebration arrive unexpectedly to fill our daily lives. Conversely those who pursue shallow pleasures through indulgence, glory or material goods can never satisfy their thirst and are led to despair. Achievement and status can only bring about shallow, inauthentic and passing moments of pleasure if we have not acknowledged, and repented for, the destructive passions that still weigh on our souls. Contrition paves the way to real, deep and unforced joy.

Groans and sadness cry out to the Lord, trembling tears intercede for us and the tears shed out of all holy love show that our prayer has been accepted.” P. 137

Mourning is not antithetical to joy. Surprisingly, those unable to mourn cannot experience true, inner joy.

The man who mourns constantly in a way that pleases God does not seize to celebrate daily, but tears without end are in store for him who him who does not abandon bodily celebration. P. 140

Mourning requires humility; surrender of the heart to God rather than intellectual understanding of Him. Theology and mourning do not go together, according to John. One sits on a professorial chair and the other “passes his days in rags on a dung heap.” Christ did not teach us from the heights and safety of heaven. He became one of us and willingly experienced the full extent of suffering as a man to save us. Through mourning we go from talking the talk to walking the walk, and from the head to the heart.

Mourning is, in fact, a gateway to life.

“If you find yourself unable to mourn, then lament that very fact,” John tells us.

This is a powerful image and a stunning possibility to contemplate. Can you imagine living without the capacity for empathy that would allow you to be touched by others’ struggles and experience love and sorrow for them? Or being unable to experience regret and, hence, to find redemption and experience transformation? This is why the ability to mourn is a gift:

True mourning penetrates the depths of our soul, freeing us from the need to show off, control or yearn for wealth and prestige that block us from openness to love and union with God:

He who has the gift of spiritual tears will be able to mourn anywhere. But if it is all outward show, there will be no end to his discussion of places and means.

Tears alone do not constitute mourning, however. There are, in fact, good tears and bad tears. We may cry because of a sense of entitlement and self-pity for lacking the rewards we feel entitled to. Or good tears may turn into bad tears when we become proud of them and feel superior to others.

Silly men take pride in their tears, and this is why some are not granted the gift of mourning…” When mourning is deep-rooted, it leaves no room for efforts to garner raise or reap rewards from God. Paradoxically, this is exactly when Christ comes uninvited to a heart that is open and cleansed through mourning.

Mourning, John tells us, is freedom from passions and anguish, a state of humility and inner stillness, an experience of love and union with God and man.

When the heart is filled with sorrow and weeps, it is full of tenderness and all this without having striven for it. …”the Lord has arrived uninvited and is holding out to us the sponge of loving sorrow, the cool waters of blessed sadness with which to wipe away the sadness of our sings.

THE LADDER OF DIVINE ASCENT BY JOHN CLIMACUS

STEP 4B

Since Lent has started, we are pausing our studies in Philokalia for a while to re-read the Ladder of Divine Ascent by St. John Climacus. With the exception of the Bible, writes Bishop Kallistos Ware in the introduction of this book, there is no other book as influential and foundational for Orthodox spirituality as the Ladder of Divine Ascent by St. John Climacus. It embodies the transformational journey that all Christians are capable of, and have a right to, from the tumult of passions and fragmentation to wholeness, inner stillness and unity with God. We use the edition, translated by Colm Luibheid and Norman Russell. Note, however, that my quotes are from a different, online translation. You can order the book from Amazon.

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In step #4, St. John brings up examples of obedience that are jarring to the modern sensibility.

On a visit to a monastery, for example, St. John notices a monk, called Abbacyrus, who is ill-treated and humiliated by all other monks. He has lived in the monastery for 17 years under this obedience. When asked about his apparent sufferings, the monk responds joyfully that he is thankful to God and the other monks for his humiliation and is certain that the goal was to benefit his soul. He explains that during these 17 years, he has never had to battle the demons. The benefit of such state of peace is worth the pain.

John mentions yet another example of extreme obedience. A monk named Macedonius, falsely confesses sins that he had not committed so he can gain humility through his subsequent punishment. When John asks him why he is pursuing such a humiliating course of life, he responds:

Never’, he assured me, ‘have I felt in myself such relief from every conflict and such sweetness of divine light as now. It is the property of angels,’ he continued, ‘not to fall, and even, as some say, it is quite impossible for them to fall. It is the property of men to fall, and to rise again as often as this may happen. But it is the property of devils, and devils alone, not to rise once they have fallen.’

“Blessed is the monk who regards himself as hourly deserving every dishonour and disparagement,” St. John concludes… “He who will not accept a reproof, just or unjust, renounces his own salvation.”

Nothing could be more diametrically opposite to the secular point of view that equates “winning” with success in imposing our will. Our delusion stems from our belief that we make the world (our children, home or workplace) right when we impose on them our sense of order. This belief burdens us with self-imposed responsibility. Instead of experiencing inner stillness we are constantly “on call” – judging, criticizing, maneuvering, controlling and, often conflicting with, others.

John asks us to compare the perceived extremity of total obedience with the extremity of anxiety in lives driven by our will and passions.

This anxiety has become such an intrinsic part of our daily lives that we are barely aware of it. Think about the latent unrest we experience at most moments of our lives, which we have come to perceive as “normal.”

In conversations we can hardly wait for someone of a different view to finish so we can insert our own opinion and set everyone straight. We can’t relax in the act of truly listening because we are silently constructing brilliant responses. We are constantly scanning our environment to ascertain that we and our family are well perceived by others. We are quick to identify and respond to any possible sign of disapproval, disrespect, slander, or injustice against us. We are drowning in activities—kids’ sports, conferences, meetings, social events where we can meet people of influence, opportunities for being visible and influential. Not that any of these things are inherently bad of course. Yet driven by our will and desire to control, such impulses dominate. We can never experience inner peace.

To achieve the goal of stillness of the soul, St. John advises meditation and restraint.

Control your wandering mind in your distracted body. Amidst the actions and movements of your limbs, practise mental quiet (hesychia). And, most paradoxical of all, in the midst of commotion be unmoved in soul. Curb your tongue which rages to leap into arguments. Seventy times seven in the day wrestle with this tyrant… Gag your mind, overbusy with its private concerns, and thoughtlessly prone to criticize and condemn your brother, by the practical means of showing your neighbour all love and sympathy.

Obedience means that you relinquish your role as the ruler of the word, the need to always manipulate, impress, control, come into conflict with others or talk over them to assert yourself or your universe will collapse.

Fix your mind to your soul as to the wood of a cross to be struck like an anvil with blow upon blow of the hammers, to be mocked, abused, ridiculed and wronged, without being in the least crushed or broken, but continuing to be quite calm and immovable. Shed your own will as a garment of shame, and thus stripped of it enter the practice ground. Array yourself in the rarely acquired breastplate of faith, not crushed or wounded by distrust towards your spiritual trainer.

THE LADDER OF DIVINE ASCENT BY JOHN CLIMACUS

Step 4 On blessed and ever-memorable obedience

Having renounced the world, St. John asks us to renounce ourselves in order to ascend the next rung in the Ladder.

Obedience is absolute renunciation of our own life, clearly expressed in our bodily actions.

How can we, as modern men and women, view the concept of obedience which is such a fundamental requirement to your ability to ascend the Ladder? After all, questioning authority, challenging boundaries and deconstructing received truths are part of the definition of the modern hero. Are we called to dutifully obey all those with authority over us? Is our ideal self, someone like Dilbert, mindlessly performing menial tasks and unable to form a single thought independently? Are there limits to obedience? Should you obey an abusive husband or boss for example? Or comply with the requests of someone whose judgment is impaired?

To grasp the meaning of “obedience” in ascetic life, we must first drop all familiar associations.

Let’s first consider the context. “Obedience” in ascetic spirituality refers to the relationship of a monastic to his spiritual director. Hence, obedience is exercised within an agreed upon relationship and assumes a consensual framework. Without mutual agreement and consent you have tyranny rather than obedience. For example, spiritual directors use their authority on those who have willingly entered the monastery and, hence, have already accepted a life of obedience. Conversely, the directors have accepted responsibility for guiding the souls of those in obedience to them, to lead them to salvation.

Christianity is practiced in community. No man is an island.

The concept of obedience is not alien to the modern world. The journey of healing in all 12-step and similar programs that fight addiction begins with humility and obedience. You must admit that you are powerless over a habit or addiction and seek a guide for your recovery journey. The concept of mentorship exists in multiple realms of life—from sports to business, artistic and trade apprenticeships.

Mother Raphaela, of the Holy Myrrhbearers monastery points out that the roots of the word “obedience” are in the Latin obaudire which means to listen. In that sense, relationships between husband and wife, parents and children are built on a construct of obedience in that they all involve mutual “listening” — mutual obligations and responsibilities for the salvation of the relationship rather than the fulfillment of one’s own will.

Ironically, as in the case of detachment, obedience becomes a gateway to freedom by releasing us from the tyranny of our own will. Self-will, which we often mistake for freedom, tethers our lives to the unceasing need to control and impose on others our script for how the world should run. It usually results in conflict, disappointment and bitterness as the world constantly falls short of our expectations. St. John shows us that faith and trust are gateways to obedience:

Obedience is the tomb of the will and the resurrection of humility…You who are therefore trying to lay your own burden on Another’s shoulders, you who are hastening to sign a pledge that you are voluntarily surrendering yourself to slavery, and in return want freedom written to your account, you who are being supported by the hands of others as you swim across this great sea—

Levels of Obedience and Surrender

To show us how obedience becomes the bridge to salvation, St. John tells a story as an example.

A repentant robber seeks to enter a monastery John was visiting. As a prerequisite to being admitted, the Abbott asks him to confess his sins before the brothers as an indication of his penitence. The robber complies, but the Abbot is still not convinced of the sincerity of his repentance. The robber next dons a hair shirt and ashes, has his hands tied behind him and appears humbled before 230 brothers at the monastery. The Abbot knows that, while he said the right things, he has not yet experienced true mourning. Eager to be admitted, the robber raises the bar and offers to confess his sins in the middle of the city square as an indication of his humility. Yet the Abbott still does not deem him worthy of admission. Suddenly, struck by a new awareness of his sins and filled with remorse, the robber drops to the ground, sheds real tears and confesses all his sins (pp. 94-95}. At that moment, he is probably not even worrying about the impression he makes on the Abbot or what he has to do to convince him. I picture him so crushed by a fresh awareness of the magnitude of his sins and the state of his soul that he has no interest in impressing others. The Abbott recognizes the sincerity of his repentance and admits him.

He later explains to St. John his reasons for making the robber wait for that long: had he admitted him before the robber fully faced his past and repented with his whole heart, he would have doomed him to a life of torment with his past sins still dwelling in him unresolved, and gnawing at his soul. Another consideration, the Abbot continued, was the opportunity to give an example to the brothers.

This pastor understood that public confession or displays of humility did not go far enough to render the robber completely transparent to God and the brothers. True repentance has to engage the heart completely without a shred of deception or attempts to hold back.

How often do we think we have forgiven or accepted something, mistaking what is only intellectual understanding for deep commitment of the heart? During moments when we are suddenly able to peel the last layer of the onion of our consciousness and our hearts are touched by love or grief, we just know it. There are no doubts or ambiguities; and the world looks different, even for a moment, as we experience it authentically.

The Abbot recognized that the robber’s repentance had not yet reached the heart and pushed him to the fullness of being through surrender to true mourning. Yet it was obedience–the robber’s willingness to put his complete trust in the pastor and dig deeper into his soul than he thought necessary-that enabled salvation and forgiveness.

This is the ideal of obedience. We do not achieve salvation alone and on our terms, but through communion with others and, especially, relationships bound by obedience to a spiritual director.