Matthew’s Random Ramblings

Here’s a famous poem for this week:

Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love,
and value all the gossip of rather severe
old men as a penny!
Suns can set and return:
when once the brief light has left us,
we must sleep for one perpetual night.
Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred,
then another thousand, then a second hundred,
then again another thousand, and then a hundred.
Then, when we have made many thousands,
we will exchange them in confused multitudes, so that we may not know,
or so that no bad man could envy,
when he know of so many kisses.

Sozomenos sat at his writing table. The sounds of the people of Nikaia dispersing from the tavernas below gave him an idea of the hour. It would be some years until he compiled all his notes and properly composed his history of the Assembly. Nonetheless, the spirit of writing had overcome him, so write he did. His lamp burnt on its brass lamp stand, casting a glow about the work scattered around the table. Scrolls were piled in a corner and a few codices were propped open in front of him. Loose bits of papyrus and wax tablets sat on either side of him. In his right hand he held a freshly-trimmed reed pen, with which he wrote his carefully-worded Greek.

When it was found that the event did not answer the expectations of the emperor, but that on the contrary, the contention was too great for reconciliation, so that he who had been sent to make peace returned without having accomplished his mission, Konstantinos convened a synod at Nikaia, in Bithynia, and wrote to the most eminent men of the assemblies in every country, directing them to be there on an appointed day. Of those who occupied the apostolic sees, the following participated in this conference: Makarios of Jerusalem, Eustathios, who already presided over the assembly of Antiokheia on the Orontes; and Alexandros of Alexandreia near Lake Mareotis. Ioulios,* overseer of Roma, was unable to attend on account of extreme old age; but his place was supplied by Vito and Vikentios, elders of his assembly. Many other excellent and good men from different nations were congregated together, of whom some were celebrated for their learning, their eloquence, and their knowledge of the sacred books, and other discipline; some for the virtuous tenor of their life, and others for the combination of all these qualifications. About three hundred and twenty overseers were present, accompanied by a multitude of elders and blessed servants.**

He stood and paced the room, fingering his prayer rope and uttering the name, “Jesus,” at each knot. He remembered arriving in Nikaia and being impressed by the city. Being situated where it was at a crossroads between Galatia and Phrygia, it had spent much of its life in trade. The markets were excellent, and Sozomenos had been glad to browse. This was a suitable stop-over in his journey from home in Palaestina to Konstantinopolis.

He had sat at the base of a pillar in the agora reading from Sokrates’ account of the gathering at Nikaia. Sokrates pointed out especially two of the overseers, Holy Spyridon and Holy Paphnutius. It was about Holy Spyridon that Sozomenos was reading, for Spyridon was from Kypros; his grandfather had been converted to the Anointed by the holy man Hilarion who had later settle on Kypros, so Sozomenos had an interest in this overseer particularly. Sokrates wrote about Spyridon:

Once about midnight, thieves having clandestinely entered his sheepfold attempted to carry off some of the sheep. But God who protected the shepherd preserved his sheep also; for the thieves were by an invisible power bound to the folds. At daybreak, when he came to the sheep and found the men with their hands tied behind them, he understood what was done: and after having prayed he liberated the thieves, earnestly admonishing and exhorting them to support themselves by honest labor, and not to take anything unjustly. He then gave them a ram, and sent them away, humorously adding, ‘that ye may not appear to have watched all night in vain.’ This is one of the miracles in connection with Spyridon.***

He had imagined Holy Spyridon in this very agora, telling people of the glory of the riches of life with the Anointed and performing miracles. As he walked in the hall where the gathering itself had occurred, he imagined Makarios and Eustathios making their plans for the formula stating the Son to be consubstantial with the Father.

To be in a place, to touch its stones, to set foot in the buildings where events occurred, to buy fruit from the same stall perhaps as Alexandros – this helped the past come alive for Sozomenos. History was an enquiry into the past and into events, and events took place in locations. Heredotos had himself travelled, and now Sozomenos was as well. His end goal would be Konstantinopolis, but he did not mind stopping along the way as he studied and heard stories.

Sozomenos continued pacing and praying in his room. It had been over one hundred years, and the Assembly had been through much since Nikaia. There had even been a time when, in the words of Holy Hieronymos, “The whole world groaned to find itself Arian.” And Ioulianos had brought back the old ways to the people, including his hometown of Bethelia in Palaestina, situated at the base of a high place with a temple to the old gods. But time had moved ever onward in its rushing flow. Theodosios had outlawed the old ways and closed the old temples.

So much had happened, and recently Nestorios had been deposed, along with the ideas of his fierce opponent Eutyches. Nonetheless, Sozomenos was an historian, and he saw the import of events, the flow and the shape. Where he stood in an inn in Nikaia rested upon what had happened in the palace in Nikaia those years before. Many said that Konstantinos’ conversion was the turning point for the Assembly into her victory; maybe they were right. As Sozomenos paused to look out his window, he wondered if perhaps it had not rather been the Spirit at Nikaia that had brought the Assembly into her true victory. For spiritual victory did not consist in being free from persecution and danger but of being free from falsehood and error, from sin and death.

It was late; the sounds of the Nikaians below were growing quieter, although there was at least one drunken young man at the door to his mistress’ house, drunkenly singing a song to her. Sozomenos snuffed his lamp and went to bed.

*No historian is perfect; it ought to read Silvester.

**From the translation in NPNF2 at the CCEL: http://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf202.iii.vi.xvii.html

***From the translation in NPNF2 at the CCEL: http://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf202.ii.iv.xii.html

This week’s poem: the first stanza of T.S. Eliot’s Choruses from the Rock:

The Eagle soars in the summit of Heaven,
The Hunter with his dogs pursues his circuit.

O perpetual revolution of configured stars,
O perpetual recurrence of determined seasons,
O world of spring and autumn, birth and dying
The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to God.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuries
Bring us farther from God and nearer to the Dust.

I think it’s a well-established fact that we live in a consumerist society, not only here in Canada but amongst our southerly neighbours and friends across the Atlantic.  And the evil of consumerism is not simply greed or the exploitation of others in our quest to acquire, acquire, acquire, but defining ourselves by what we consume, how we consume (there was something else, but it fell out of my brain).

So we end up with Coke-drinking guys walking out of a Silvercity where they just watched the latest Ben Stiller flick, wearing Tommy Hilfiger jeans and listening to Coldplay on an iPod Touch.  We shall know them by their stuff.  Or, conversely, someone wearing a skirt made out of old bedsheets or something and a T-shirt from Value Village walking out of the latest Jean-Pierre Jeunet film at a local repertory cinema carrying The Shock Doctrine and looking forward to a nice handmade ceramic mug full of chai tea at home.  OR someone walking out of the Four Seasons Centre for the Performing arts with patent leather shoes, a black Armani suit carrying the program from Don Giovanni who slips into his chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce and disappears from sight, headed for Rosedale, no doubt (and, if you look more closely, you’ll probably also see my uncle with his LL Bean pants and shirt hopping onto his bicylce with that Bell helmet that makes him look like a stormtrooper as he also leaves the opera).  Again, we are what we buy, we are known by our stuff, by our consumption.

And so I’m sitting here in my apartment, realising that books aren’t exempt.  Neither are religious items.  Just because a CD is of Palestrina or Rich Mullins or Bach or hymns doesn’t mean suddenly it’s not a material good.  Just because the art on the wall is adorned by a religious scene doesn’t magically remove its physicality and the reality of it as a physical good someone somewhere purchased.  Just because it’s a book doesn’t set it free from the constraints of being something you or someone else bought.

Intellectuals and scholars, especially those of us in the liberal arts and humanities, such as Classicists, English majors, historians, philosophers, theologians, come across a lot of books in our lifetimes.  And we buy a lot of said books.  We like them.  They are nice.  They feel comfortable in our hands and are pleasant to look at all lined up neatly on a shelf.  Old ones smell good.  New ones smell good.  (Ones of intermediate age don’t really smell at all.)  They are delightful to read (except when they suck or are infuriating or enraging or moronic or make you uncomfortable).  The ones with pictures are dazzling and make the soul to sing.  And so we buy them.

Yet as an aspect of consumerism, we are contributing — at least in the buying of new books — to the destruction of lots of trees and an inevitable amount of pollution producing by printing presses from Clarendon to New York to Tokyo.  Furthermore, as an act of consumption, book acquisition is yet another means of identifying oneself through material goods.  “I have many times more books than DVDs.”  “I like literary/science/detective/historical fiction.”  “Look at all my theology books.”  “As you can see by a casual glance, I prefer Oxford World’s Classics to Penguin Classics.”  “I have quite a fine collection of books about entomology.”  “Ah, yes, the big, beautiful book about Michelangelo!”  “My CDs, although fewer, display the same sort of educated taste as the books, from Bach and Beethoven to Wagner and Weber.”  “Shall we watch Boris Gudenov again?”

Books are things.

Yes, there are physical books that are themselves works of art and worth preserving.  They have been constructed beautifully, some by hand, some by machine.  They have wonderful full-colour plates or illuminations in them.

Yes, there are important/beautiful/useful things to be found in books.  Books can change the world.  They can change the way one looks at the world.

In the end, though, they are still consumer goods.  The guy in London designing posters that read, “Penguin Is Fiction,” isn’t thinking, “I do hope that this causes more people to buy Brideshead Revisited and that it will help them see the world in a different way.”  (Well, maybe he is.)  More likely, “I hope this will cause more people to buy Penguins and make us money.”

Books are paper and ink bound together along one edge.

They are destroyed by fire, silverfish, nuclear holocaust, mildew, rot, flooding, careless use, shredding, slicing, mangling, maiming.  Just like enormous DVD and CD collections, expansive wardrobes, fancy electronics, nice cars, pocket watches, and all other consumer goods from which people attempt to derive value, they are temporal.

Conspicuous consumption, no matter how intellectual it feels, is still conspicuous consumption.

Your value — my value — does not come from four overflowing bookcases, from owning The Name of the Rose, Till We Have Faces, The Lord of the Rings, The BFG, The New Bible Commentary, Celebration of Discipline, Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, The Oxford Classical Dictionary, four sets of the Iliad and Odyssey, most of the St. Augustine Loebs, Dante’s Divine Comedy, or a big fat History of Art.  Your essential character is not defined by your stuff.  Yes, having read the books you own may have helped shaped who you are, how you think, what you like, what your research interests are, how you read other books, what you believe, what you think is funny, and countless other things.  But the collection of books piled up in your personal library does not make you you.

You are more than stuff.

You are more than a consumer.

You are a human being, a person with much more going for him or her than a bunch of inked-up bits of paper all bound along one edge.  You have enormous potential for creativity and assimilation of information.  You can remember lots of stuff.  You can draw connections between things you know and things you’ve read.  You are a scholar.  You are more than the books you own.

Be yourself for yourself, not your stuff.

Iona is an island in the Hebrides.  In 563, the Irish missionary-monk St. Columba founded a monastery there.  Throughout the Middle Ages, Scottish kings (including dear old Macbeth) were buried there.  Today, the Iona Abbey is the central hub and base for the international ecumenical Iona Community, a group of Christians devoted to living within the ancient tradition of Celtic Christianity.

This week’s poem comes from that community and is by St. Columba himself and, like much of the poetry found in Iona: The Earliest Poetry of a Celtic Monastery, reminds me of Anglo-Saxon poetry.  As with other poetry you’ll find out there, its name comes from the first words.  It is a Latin poem, although other poems in the collection are Gaelic.  The translation is by Thomas Owen Clancy and Gilbert Markus (I thought of doing my own, but it would have been almost the same, and I don’t really feel like it).

Adiutor Laborantium

O helper of workers,
ruler of all the good,
guard on the ramparts
and defender of the faithful,
who lift up the lowly
and crush the proud,
ruler of the faithful,
enemy of the impenitent,
judge of all judges,
who punish those who err,
pure life of the living,
light and Father of lights
shining with great light,
denying to none of the hopeful
your strength and help,
I beg that me, a little man
trembling and most wretched,
rowing through the infinite storm
of this age,
Christ may draw after Him to the lofty
most beautiful haven of life
… an unending
holy hymn forever.
From the envy of enemies you lead me
into the joy of paradise.
Through you, Christ Jesus,
who live and reign . . .

First, a quotation to start us off.  John Cassian, Conferences 11.7.6:

Quemadmodum nullius alterius nisi nostrae salutis gratia prior nos ille dilexit, ita eum nos quoque nullius alterius rei nisi sui tantum amoris dilexerimus obtentu.

Which is to say:

Just as he loved us first for nothing other than for the sake of our salvation, so we also love him for nothing other than love for him alone.

On the topic of “The Importance of Cassian”, Thomas Merton writes:

He is the great monastic writer — the Master of the spiritual life par excellence for monks — the source for all in the West.  He is a classic, profoundly attached to tradition.  He is a perfect source for the whole tradition of Oriental monasticism — basically the doctrine of Origen, adapted for monks by Evagrius — resuming all that we have so far discussed in Patristic thought.  He is remarkable for his grasp of the essentials of monasticism, avoiding bizarre details, in contrast to Palladius for example.  He is not a mere compiler — he shows real literary talent and ability to organize ideas in an original synthesis valid for all.  He propagated in the West the doctrine of Active and Contemplative Lives.  He is interesting, human, a good observer and psychologist, a prudent Master of the spiritual life — every monk should know him thoroughly.  He influenced all the early monastic founders in the West — including St. Honoratus of Lerins, St. Caesarius; in Spain, St. Isidore and St. Fructuosus.  He even influenced the early monks of Ireland.  In the East he is revered by all — called a Saint.  He is included in the Philokalia and praised by St. John Climacus as “The Great Cassian.”  In modern times — after influencing St. Thomas [Aquinas], Cassian also had a profound effect on St. Ignatius and the Jesuits, on De Rance and the Trappists, on Port Royal, on Fenelon, etc.

The next paragraph is about his influence on St. Benedict.  And St. Benedict looms large over mediaeval monasticism and spirituality, thus leaving an indelible mark upon Christian spirituality as a whole.  Through his influence on Benedict alone, Cassian could be seen as an important figure in Christian Spirituality.

My research interests are on the rise of monasticism in Late Antiquity, on the centres of spiruality, asceticism, and knowledge that preserved the highest Christian ideal as well as the glories of the pagan past throughout the politically and culturally turbulent years of the Later Roman Empire and Early Middle Ages.  Their sources lie on the banks of the Nile in Egypt.  Cassian, having sought wisdom for the spiritual life, brings the richness of the Egyptian Fathers to Marseilles and the West.

More specifically, as I study John Cassian, I am asking how he adapts Desert Wisdom for the Gaulish context.  We’ll see how that turns out.

In my recent post about Livy, I mentioned at the end that there seems to be something of the ascetic in Scipio when he discusses suppression of desires with Masinissa (Livy Bk 30); and what more can you expect from a man born of a snake?

Born of a snake?

I’m still trying to see if I can find the story, but Scipio was rumoured to have been born of a snake (he probably started the rumours himself, mind you).  Scipio is not the only bright light of antiquity to claim this.  Alexander the Great, over a century previous, is said to have had this same parentage:

On the night his mother Olympias conceived him, she thought she saw in a dream that she was rolling with a huge serpent, and she was not deceived by the dream, for the work she carried in her womb was certainly greater than human mortality. (Justin, Epitome of Pompeius Trogus, 12.16.2)

Snakes are not just fearsome creatures; in our Judaeo-Christian cultural heritage, they have come to be associated with dragons, the devil, and evil.  Nonetheless, in other and ancient cultures, this was/is not necessarily the case.

Once I related to a Hindu friend a dream that involved a cobra, and he told me that for Hindus (Nepalese Hindus, anyway) such a dream would be a sign of good luck, snakes being a good omen.  Indeed, snakes are among the sacred animals for Hindus.

Closer to home, snakes in the ancient Graeco-Roman context are often associated with magic, healing, and the gods.  The lower parts of the bodies of the mythical Athenian kings Cecrops and Erichthonius were snake-formed; both of them were said to be born of gods, most especially from the Earth (Gaia) herself.

The temples of Asclepius, god of healing, were often home to snakes, and the priests used the snakes in the ceremonies to heal people.  If you go and check out the gallery of Asclepius images at the Greek Mythology Link, you will notice that several of them include snakes.  To this day, if you go to a medical arts building, you will find there Asclepius’ staff, intertwined with snakes.

I’m sure there are many other instances of snakes and religion in the ancient world.

The implication for the stories about Scipio and Alexander is that they were born of gods, not of men — hence their greatness.

Moreover, Scipio was a very religious man, and spent a lot of time in temple courts and other things.  What could be a better story among the soldiers of a brave, victorious general who also happens to be a deeply religious fellow than that he was born of Jupiter himself?  This is why he displays so many of the noble Roman virtues so prominently.  This is why he hangs out at temples (”Did you not know that I should be about my Father’s business?”).  This is why he is so victorious in battle.  This is why the gods favour Rome.

Publius Scipio Africanus is the son of a god!

This is a poem by A.S.J Tessimond about cats, those wiley beasts I love.  Monday begins the endlessness of Classical literature, so here’s a send-off that isn’t:

Cats, no less liquid than their shadows,
Offer no angles to the wind,
They slip, diminished, neat, through loopholes
Less than themselves; will not be pinned

To rules or routes for journeys; counter-
Attack with non-resistance; twist
Enticing through the curving fingers
And leave an angered, empty fist.

They wait, obsequious as darkness,
Quick to retire, quick to return;
Admit no aims or ethics; flatter
With reservations; will not learn

To answer to their names; are seldom
Truly owned till shot and skinned.
Cats, no less liquid than their shadows,
Offer no angles to the wind.

Titus Livius (Livy) is one of the great Roman historians.  This coming Winter/Spring, I’ll have to read what he has to say about the founding of Rome and of the beginning of the Second Punic War against Carthage — that would be the war wherein Hannibal famously crossed the Alps.  This past term, we read the conclusion of the Second Punic War.

No historian is unbiased.  Face it.  Not Gibbon, not Bury, not Syme, not NT Wright, not Herodotus, not Bill Bryson, not Thomas Cahill, not Tacitus, not Livy.  This is especially so in ancient historians, who, not being moderns, were seeking to teach something more than “just the facts” (this does not necessarily render them “unreliable”, it just makes them different from our historians).  Livy wanted to show off the greatness of the old ruling families of Rome, the glory of the optimates.  He wanted to display Rome’s virtues, the good things that Rome has done, the great men who built Rome.  Let me tell you a story that shows us Livy at work, displaying to us some of the values of the traditional aristocratic Roman male.

One of the major victories for the Romans under Scipio in North Africa (where Carthage is located) was the defeat of a local Numidian king allied with the Carthaginians, a man by the name of Syphax.  The man who defeated Syphax was a Numidian allied with Rome, Masinissa, who was also of regal parentage.  Livy records, “Masinissa said that nothing was more beautiufl in the present than that as a victor he would visit his paternal kingdom, regained after so long an interval.” (30.12.6)

Masinissa rushed ahead of the Romans to Syphax’s captial, Cirta.  At Cirta, he proceeded to rush to the royal palace.  At the royal palace, he met Syphax’s wife, Sophoniba.  Sophoniba also happened to be the daughter of Hasdrubal (not Hasdrubal Barca, Hannibal’s bro), the Carthaginian general against whom the Romans were waging war.  She told Masinissa that she would rather die than fall into the hands of a Roman.  Masinissa, rather than displaying the Roman virtues of gravitas and restraint and all that sort of thing, instead showed off his roamin’ barbarian personality and “entered into a hasty and shameless plan by love: he commanded that a wedding be prepared on that very day” (30.12.19-20).

Publius Scipio, the Roman general, didn’t take to kindly with this (neither did his legate Laelius, who tore Sophoniba from the marriage bed).  He had a private audience with Masinissa wherein he said:

Masinissa, I think that you, seeing some good in me, came in the beginning to Spain to join friendship with me, and afterwards into Africa you yourself joined all your hope in my protection.  But yet there is no virtue — out of all these for which I seem to be sought by you — in which I have prided myself equally as the restraint and control of desires.  I wish you to have added this to your other excellent virtues as well, Masinissa.  There is not, not — believe me — so much danger in our age from armed enemies as much as from desires surrounding us on all sides.  He who restrains and rules these with his own temperance, produces a much greater glory and much greater victory for himself than we have gained with Syphax conquered.  Those things which you have done actively and boldly with me absent, I have mentioned and remembered freely:  I prefer that you yourself consider those things with yourself than blush when I speak.  Syphax was conquered and captured under the auspices of the Roman people.  And so he, his wife, his kingdom, the territory and towns, the men who dwell there, at last, what was Syphax’s, is the booty of the Roman people; and it is right that the king and his wife, even if she were not a Carthaginian citizen, even if we didn’t see her father as a general of the enemies, be sent to Rome, and the judgement and authority concerning her be of the Senate and People of Rome, she who is said to have alienated an allied king from us and rushed headlong into arms.  Conquer your soul: beware lest you disfigure many good things with one vice, and soil the favour of so many merits with a greater fault than the cause of the misdeed is. (30.14.4-11)

Masinissa, after much loud groaning alone in his tent, decides that the only way to fulfil his pledge to Sophoniba that she not fall into Roman hands poisons her.  Sophoniba’s last words to the slave who brought the poison:  “I accept the wedding gift, and not ungratefully, if a husband could furnish nothing better for his wife: nevertheless, tell him this, that I would have died better if I had not been wed at my funeral.” (30.15.7)

First of all, this is a great story.  You should read it.  Get J.C. Yardley’s translation and read it for yourself (the above are my own translations; I’m just plugging Yardley because he was one of my profs in undergrad).  What caught my eye most of all was in Scipio’s speech: There is not, not — believe me — so much danger in our age from armed enemies as much as from desires surrounding us on all sides.  He who restrains and rules these with his own temperance, produces a much greater glory and much greater victory for himself than we have gained with Syphax conquered. Here we see the lawless, impetuous barbarian with his roamin’ desire brought before the restrained Roman with his gravity and temperance there to check his desires.  You see, Scipio is a great man not because he conquered Syphax but because he conquered his own desires.

There’s something of the ascetic in Scipio, wouldn’t you say?  But then, he was fathered by a snake, so what do you expect?

Over at the internetmonk, there are some cool conversations going on in the comments thread about Evangelicals and spiritual formation.  Where to go?  He started it all with this post, “So Where Does a Baptist Go for Spiritual Formation?“  The post was mainly to get conversation going in the comments, with people giving their own experiences seeking spiritual formation as members of the evangelical tradition — some expressing their frustrations, others telling of where they had found success, that sort of thing.

Then someone felt that, after 56 comments, this had gone on long enough.  Greg McR felt that most people there had missed the boat, that they had forgotten the most important part of the Christian life: Just read the Bible!  Poor Mr. McR was wrong, unfortunately.  A lot of the posters were regular Bible-readers, seeking the face of the Lord through Scripture.  They were just discussing other aspects of the Christian life that help us live out the lessons of the Bible more fully, to become people shaped in the image of Christ and reflective of Biblical living.  Unfortunately, no matter how hard people tried, Greg kept stirring the poop and provoked the Internet Monk enough to start a new post, Why Evangelicalism Drives Us Crazy, and Why We Need Each Other.  Check them out, the conversations are good; you might learn something or find you have something to add.

In the second of the two posts, PatrickW brought up a good point:

PatrickW

If reading the Bible (or anything else) is so critical to our spiritual development, it seems strange that the Lord took such a long time to teach His people how to read. It is only in the last 200 years or so that most Christians became literate.

Even now, reading the Bible, the BCP, and so on is not an option for millions of Christian people. What are they supposed to do?

To which I respond:

PatrickW,

I think that, if we look at the history of the Church, there has always been a tradition of oral reading of scripture and of preaching, as well as catechesis, more in-depth teaching. These were/are the sources for the illiterate to grapple with Scripture. Many of them, such as St. Antony of the Desert, having heard the Scriptures read aloud, meditated on the words that they had heard. Illiterate Egyptian monks would memorise the entire book of Psalms and other important passages of Scripture.

Perhaps this is also a major reason for the development of the spiritual father/director/mentor. Many people simply couldn’t read their Bibles, so guidance from someone who is more spiritually mature is almost a necessity.

Nonetheless, you raise a good point. Ultimately, it is Christ and Christ alone, indwelling us by the power of the Holy Spirit, Who can make us whole and spiritually mature. He is the only resource we need. That said, to quote a Desert Father, “prayer is hard work”; that goes for the whole spiritual life.

As far as we literate folk are concerned, there seems to be an emphasis within the Bible and within the tradition that we ought to be reading the Bible. John Cassian, one of the founding fathers of Western monasticism, only recommends the reading of the Scriptures, although he himself is clearly well-read and does not discourage reading of other spiritual writers (one does not write books to discourage the reading of books). It seems that the Fathers, the mediaeval writers, the Reformers, the Counter-Reformers, right up until now, all expect that literate Christians will use the Bible in spiritual formation.

And illiterate Christians will use it in their own way as well, meditating on it, memorising it, and applying it to their lives.