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Character
Sketch Of
St Benedict
Of Nursia
Ever since
Andrea de Cione Orcagna,
a fourteenth century painter (d. ca. 1368), St. Benedict has
been depicted rod in hand. Nothing is more apt to turn off
people of the twentieth century. Benedict of Nursia knew
the use of corporal punishment-could it have been otherwise
for a contemporary of the first Merovingian kings? - but the
trend set by the Tuscan painter limits the image of the abbot
in the extreme and falsifies it. Benedict was neither a pedagogue
in charge of juveniles of arrested development, nor an armed
policeman enforcing respect for the law. His pastoral staff
has a completely different meaning. But the
question persists. Why does Benedict appear so austere at first
acquaintance, when in fact he was the soul of kindness and
condescension personified? He suffered with the suffering,
loved everyone, was indulgent to a fault (except with pride),
and unwilling that anyone around him should be sad. Partly
responsible is the iconography, especially of modern times.
The St. Benedicts of the Beuronese school,
with their Olympian stiffness, their beards and their tomes,
are not particularly inviting. Gregory the Great's portrayal
of the Abbot of Cassino also had its repercussions on his image. Despite
the charm of the accounts, Benedict comes through as a wonder-worker,
a “miracle saint” whom one might admire but find
too distant. The biography is a little overdrawn, and the style
should not be confused with the substance. The Human Qualities Unpleasant
temperaments do not attract, even when redeemed by close union
with God. Benedict of Nursia enjoyed
a great attraction among his contemporaries. He had the
gift of evoking affection, and appears to have been a very
likable person. His nurse loved him enough to follow him to
his first retreat. His first miracle, that of mending for his
nurse the broken tray, shows that he could enter into and understand
the suffering of others: “Benedict, who had always been
a devout and thoughtful boy, felt sorry for his nurse when
he saw her weeping” (D 1). After the tray was mended,
Gregory shows the young ascetic “cheerfully reassuring” her. The attachment
of the monk Romanus is similarly
explained, attracted as he was from their first meeting. Benedict's
personality radiated charm, and it drew him disciples, monks,
even laypeople, like the brother of the monk Valentinian “who
visited the abbey every year to get Benedict's blessing and
see his brother” (D 13). Though
he had the gift of winning the heart, Benedict did not pride
himself on it. He was, first and last, a man of poise, with
a penchant for orderliness that he loved to see around him.
His idea of the follower was that of a well-ordered person,
composed, mature_ and of solid character. He loves administrators
who know what they are doing and do not neglect their office.
He wants practical arrangements to be trimmed to the realities
of monastic life. Not that
he is overly meticulous or picayunish. In many ways, in fact,
he is quite liberal and flexible, but nothing offends him more
than gossip mongers, or disciples who are indifferent, squander
time and the community's goods and in general show a lack of
foresight. When these faults become a way of life, as with
vagabond monks (St. Benedict calls them “gyrovagues”)
or with monks without a superior (whom he calls “sarabaites”),
he does not find words strong enough to castigate them: “a
detestable kind.. . of whose miserable conduct it is better
to be silent than to speak” (R 1). St. Benedict wants
his followers to cultivate order; he prescribes inventories
in order to know what comes in and what goes out. Both work
and reading are to be regular occupations, conscientiously
pursued. Serious is not synonymous with
boring; seriousness is rather a sign of maturity. In some remarks
of St. Benedict there is a distinct note of irritation at the
profusion of words. Himself of earnest mold, he had little
patience with frivolous and mischievous behavior. For all that,
he is not a kill-joy, on more than one occasion betraying a
sense of humor. But he does not want decisions made arbitrarily
and without preparation. What he loves is a certain gravity
of behavior, harnessed energy, silence, kindliness and mutual
respect; above all, attentiveness to things monastic. Benedict
strives for the right measure in everything, does nothing too
hurriedly, takes time to reflect, and looks for the balanced
solution to a problem, one that will serve not only for the
moment but promises to last. He has a predilection for
souls who live in the deeper regions of the heart, not on the
surface. He prizes silence, reveres peacefulness. Prominent
among his instruments of good works are the simple, natural
virtues. Great value is placed on caring, on cleanliness and
punctuality. Candidness, honesty, loyalty, temperance, the
sense of responsibility, these are admired and inculcated.
A life modulated by hours, days, seasons, and feasts was ideally
suited to him everything in its place. From the outset
he was determined to ban certain practices which to him were
the antithesis of monastic life. Accordingly, he locates his
followers in a definite place, holds them there by the vow
of stability and assigns them work, preferably according to
their aptitudes and tastes. His monastery forms part of the
countryside; it is rooted in the soil. But at the same time
unlimited spiritual horizons open to the disciples whom
he has gathered for an inner pilgrimage totally spiritual.
Everything in their earthly habitation is sacred because God
is in their midst. This, then,
is Benedict, a man without complication, practical and direct.
He was not speculatively inclined but rather, in the highest
degree, had a sense of the concrete, the world of reality.
Instead of teachings learnedly expounded, he preferred
description of attitudes and actions whose meaning was accessible
to all. He also had a genius for the simple, lapidary phrase
that is more easily remembered. Often he reminds one of the
desert fathers with their “sentences” or “apothegms”. Another
mark of his character was his regard for the truth and the
logic of things: “An abbot who is worthy to be over a
monastery should always remember what he is called, and live
up to the name of The language
of St. Benedict is the language of his time. He speaks simply
to simple people in the Latin of Campanians in
the sixth century. His style is brisk, fluent, and utterly
innocent of studied elegance. The idea of producing a literary
work never crossed his mind. He was not averse to repeating
himself, and throughout the Rule the same words, the same expressions
recur again and again. This guarantees the homogeneity of the
whole, the single authorship of all the parts despite a certain
disorder in the composition. Nevertheless, Benedict has the
qualities of a real author: he explains and clarifies his literary
borrowings, and sometimes just a minor touch illuminates
an obscure passage of his predecessors. Benedict
writes spontaneously. Certain expressions seem to echo his
oral teaching, words he loved to repeat to his followers. There
are stereotyped locutions, and ideas untiringly pressed. Like
the Evangelist St. John, who is cited sparingly, he seems unaware
of repeating himself. Sentence after sentence, he goes back
over his thought, refining and completing it with this or that
nuance. He proceeds in this way throughout his Rule. Were these
repetitions truly unconscious? Repetition favors memorization.
In the case of St. Benedict's disciples, maxims of the Rule
were impressed upon their minds and recalled in their frequent
meditation, producing in time reflex behavior conformed to
affirmed principles. Yet for
all his repetition, Benedict of Nursia was
not dull and unimaginative or locked into a sort of legalism.
He had a perceptive mind with a keen sense of the finer distinctions
in life and a promptitude for things of the spirit that
transcend sheer reason. St. Benedict is intuitive. His
sensibility to differences of age, origin, and social condition
was extraordinary. He knows that natures are not alike and
do not react alike. He shows concern for these differences
and a readiness to adapt to them. In the chapter on drink he
writes, “Everyone has his own gift from God, one in this
way and another in that” (1 Cor 7:7).
It is therefore with some misgiving that we regulate the measure
of other men's sustenance” (R 40). He does it, nonetheless;
as abbot and lawgiver it was his duty. The same
consideration is evident in the legislation on work, sleep,
the manner of correction, and the spiritual formation of his
followers. He has regard for the “needs of weaker brethren” (R
40). The abbot must be
on guard both against distinction of persons and the temptation
to impose stubborn uniformity, so convenient to a leader. He
must adapt himself to circumstances, “threatening at
one time and coaxing at another as the occasion may require,
showing now the stern countenance of a master, now the loving
affection of a father” (R 2). The needs of each are not
identical, but before God, each is essentially equal and
the same. Benedict
understands the weakness of human nature and has no illusions
on that score. He knows that complaints may not be gratuitous,
but he abhors grumbling (“the vice of murmurers”)
and tries to forestall it by removing the cause and even the
pretext. He is aware of crises of discouragement when assigned
work is too heavy (or imagined to be); and he knows of the
temptation to flee the monastery. The Dialogues of Gregory do not reveal a community of pure spirits in
the last stage of evangelical perfection. Surrounding the founder
are gossips, gourmands, egotists; others cannot stay with the
brethren at prayer time; obedience is far from being always
satisfactory; there are even grave perversions of the spirit
of poverty. St. Benedict's Rule shows him a realist: he does
not demand too much; he takes precautions; he appeals to the
supernatural in his disciples without falling into a supernaturalism
that is blind and insensitive to weaknesses. The founder
is mindful of the effects of age on the psyche, of its mental
and physical encroachments. He is not surprised that the generation
gap among his followers poses problems and calls for careful
handling. There are no illusions with him and no despair, only
confidence and healthy optimism. To round
out this human portrait, attention should be called to the
graciousness of St. Benedict. Many passages of the Dialogues give
evidence of it. He is thankful even when handed poisoned bread,
thankful when brought a donation half of which was withheld
by the bearer. He had the ability to read the human heart,
but instead of squashing an exposed offender he makes a friendly
remark or at worst a mild reproach, half in sorrow. Rarely
does he show anger. It happens, but then he prays for his offender
and gains him inwardly. He is kind and considerate without
being weak, and when on occasion he must be severe, he is not
harsh or intemperate. The secret of such inner harmony lies
not only in the nature with which he was blessed; its source
is in the holiness of Benedict. Man of Faith It was
natural for the founder, considering his moral and spiritual
fiber, to be an adamant defender of Christian orthodoxy. We
shall have occasion to speak of his opposition to Pelagianism But this
is just one aspect of his faith. To Benedict faith is a supreme
value, first in importance and an indispensable condition for
the whole monastic life. In many respects his career parallels
that of Abraham, “who believed God.” Bossuet in his panegyric of the Patriarch of monks addresses
himself to the similarity. A first exodus took him from
his father's house into the wilds. He abandons what he seems
to possess in favor of the unknown to which he feels himself
called. For love of God he was willing to venture his life
in the eremitic enterprise. His first failure with the monks
at Vicovaro did not dishearten him. He also
knew partial failure at Subiaco where
his goodness and amiability were not enough to overcome the
antagonism of the priest Florentius. To forestall the worst, he agreed to withdraw,
trusting in God to bring to fruition the work begun. At Monte Cassino he again set to work. He built a solid monastic community
for which he wrote a Rule. But dark clouds loomed, as told
by the saint to Theoprobus, whom
he himself had converted to the monastic life: “One day
on entering Benedict's room he found him weeping bitterly.
After he had waited for some time and there was still no end
to the abbot's tears, he asked what was causing him such sorrow,
for he was not weeping as he usually did at prayer but with
deep sighs and lamentations. ‘Almighty God has decreed
that this entire monastery and everything I have provided
for the community shall fall into the hands of the barbarians,’ the
saint replied” (D 17). It now
seemed to Benedict that his lifework would be a failure, doomed
as it was to destruction. Monte Cassino was
indeed destroyed in 589 by the Lombards.
To test Benedict's faith God demanded of him the sacrifice
of what he had toiled so long and hard to build. It is not
recorded that God also revealed to him the future of his Order:
barbarian Europe formed and transformed by the Rule of Cassino,
and Benedict's patronage invoked on the nations of the West. ‘Like
Abraham, St. Benedict lived by faith, accepting loss after
loss and the sacrifice of what was dearest to him, yet always
sure of God's faithfulness, no matter what. His trust was absolute.’ For the
sanctification of his disciples Benedict did not rely on his
Rule, or the observances he laid down, or any human strength,
but on God alone. The work to be accomplished
was God's work; God was its author and finisher, and despite
appearances it was being realized through the weakness of human
means. Because
he had faith, St. Benedict was a man of prayer. He was constantly
aware of the divine presence and asked his followers to keep
themselves in this presence as though it were visible. Seriousness
of purpose and inner recollection shone in his demeanor. The
Abbot of Monte Cassino was a man
with whom God alone mattered. The thought of God was his guiding
light and oriented him to the invisible, to the face of
the Lord. His soul was not completely itself except in
the conscious practice of this relationship of dependence.
It rejoiced in the protective hand of the Almighty. Seeking
after God was its one desire, arising from deep within itself
like an innate thrust, powerful yet tranquil, that turned it
upward toward its Creator. “All creation,” comments
St. Gregory, “is bound to appear small to a soul that
sees the Creator. Once it beholds a little of his light, it
finds all creatures small indeed. The light of holy contemplation
enlarges and expands the mind in God until it stands above
the world” (D 35). The fruits
of this inner steadfastness were peace and joy. St. Benedict
likes to see his sons and daughters happy; he wants “no
one to be troubled or vexed in the house of God” (R 31). Several
of his miracles had no other purpose than to bring peace and
contentment to those around him. The miracle of the iron blade
retrieved from the lake is one. Benedict handed the tool back
to the Goth and told him, “Continue with your work now.
There is no need to be upset” (D 6). Benedict,
who taught his disciples to seek peace and pursue it (R Prol;
Ps 33: 15), did not let his own peace forsake him. He lived
in a world in turmoil and had premonitions of still greater
turmoil. It caused him sorrow, but it did not stop him from
putting his trust in God. At the death of his sister he disregarded
his personal loss and, his thoughts on what man does not see,
was “overjoyed for her eternal glory, and gave thanks
to God in hymns of praise” (D 34). God alone counted.
It is strictly from this standpoint that he judges all things;
hence the absolute primacy of the spiritual in the organization
of his monastery and the consciousness of his own unimportance. An Ardent Soul Faith and
humility: two qualities of the soul that Benedict rightly considered
indispensable. Thanks to them he felt himself strong with the
strength of God. He shows a stalwart character, resolute and
persevering. His principles are firmly maintained, sometimes
to the point of near rigidity. Was his failure with the monks
of Vicovaro due to an excess of youthful
strictness? One is tempted to think so. At any rate, he seems
never to have completely forgotten it, and we get the impression
that he fears the lack of authority more than some of its excesses.
He is not afraid that it might be exercised rigorously, and
the ideal he sets forth is very demanding. Many
times, nevertheless, he takes into account the shortcomings
and limitations of his people, superiors as well as subjects.
He confronts these realities of life without being scandalized
like the Pharisee or surprised like the master making the sad
discovery of having counted too much on a disciple. His penal
code is a master piece of human sensitivity. In Chapter
68 - “If a Brother is Commanded to Do Impossible
Things,” things that seem too difficult - he puts
himself in the position of the disciple under obedience and
permits him to state his case. But he does not, in truth, retreat
from any of his demands or consent to a reduction of the ideal. In
the case of St. Benedict, perhaps more than in others, appearances
can be deceiving. Behind the tranquil exterior, behind the
prudent, practical, and seemingly ordinary manner, and the
good naturedness worthy of a
St. Francis de Sales, he concealed a devouring fire, an
insatiable thirst for perfection. An interior life of incredible
force impelled him. This tolerant, kindly, illusionless leader
could not be content with mediocrity. He wants no half measure
in the spiritual life. There is in him a kind of compulsion,
a drive for absoluteness. In his view life is not worth living
unless it strives for the perfection of love. In this he is
uncompromising and does not yield until unity of purpose and
resolve has been achieved; until, that is, the struggle between
the forces of good and evil has been won. The purity of his
desire is absolute. He wants his disciples to give all on earth,
in order to gain all in heaven. Not only the message but the
vocabulary also proclaims his thirst, his ardor. He loves superlatives;
expressions of totality and exclusion: “always, never,
all, absolutely no one, in no case, at once, in all respects,
by every means.” This ardor
overflows in charity, commiseration, and sympathetic understanding.
Many of his miracles, as we have said, are prompted by the
desire to relieve distress or want. He condoles with the grieved,
with the anguished; he comforts (D 27), he listens, he opens
his heart, and in the Rule, though he may seem the master,
he is foremost the very loving father. Such is
the author of the Rule: a force thoroughly master of itself,
humbly regardful of God's absolute rights and prepared to sacrifice
his all for them. Now and then an abbot or a monk is said to
be “another Benedict.” This is high praise indeed,
but it only underscores the exceptional importance of
the first Benedict in the history of the spiritual life. A
beautiful antiphon of Germanic origin names him caelestis norma vitae, a difficult title to translate but one that
calls to mind the idea of a living rule and a model of the
angelic life. The antiphon also bestows on St. Benedict the
titles of “doctor” and “leader.” This
he is even today, enduringly, after fifteen hundred years.
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