Tuesday, 29 October 2013

ST. JOHN CASSIAN - On The Spirit of Anger

Saint John Cassian


-- We have heard that some people try to excuse this most destructive disease of the soul by attempting to extenuate it by a rather detestable interpretation of Scripture. They say that it is not harmful if we are angry with wrongdoing brothers, because God Himself is said to be enraged and angered with those who do not want to know Him or who, knowing Him, disdain Him. For example: "The Lord was angry and enraged against His people" (Psalms 106:40). And when the prophet prays and says: "Lord, do not rebuke me in your fury, nor in your anger correct me" (Psalms 6:1). They do not understand that, in their eagerness to concede human beings the opportunity for pernicious vice, they are mixing the injustice of fleshly passion into the divine limitlessness and the source of all purity.

-- And so the monk who is on the way to perfection and who wishes to engage lawfully in the spiritual struggle must in every respect be free of the vice of anger and wrath. He should listen to what the vessel of election (Acts 9:15) commands of him: "All anger and indignation and uproar and blasphemy should be removed from you, as well as all malice" (Ephesians 4:31). When he says: "All anger should be removed from you," he makes no exception at all for us as to necessity and utility. He should strive to cure a wrongdoing brother, if need be, in such a way that, while bringing relief to one who is perhaps laboring under a rather slight fever, he does not get angry and bring upon himself the more baleful malady of blindness, so that as he sees the speck in his brother's eye he does not see the beam in his own eye (Matthew 7:3-5). For it behooves the one who wishes to heal someone else's wound to be healthy and untouched by any disease or illness, lest the gospel saying be applied to him: "Physician, heal yourself first" (Luke 4:23). And how will a person see to remove the speck from his brother's eye if he carries about a beam of wrath in his own eye?

-- For any reason whatsoever the movement of wrath may boil over and blind the eyes of the heart, obstructing the vision with the deadly beam of a more vehement illness and not allowing the sun of righteousness to be seen. It is irrelevant whether a layer of gold or one of lead or of some other metal is placed over the eyes; the preciousness of the metal does not change the fact of blindness.

-- Yet we have a function for anger placed quite appropriately within us, and for this purpose alone it is useful and beneficial for us to take it up -- when we wax indignant against the wanton movements of our own heart and are angered at things that we are ashamed to do or to say in the sight of human beings but that have found their way into the recesses of our heart, as we tremble with utter horror before the presence of the angels and of God Himself, whose eye penetrates everywhere and everything and from whom our consciences can hide no secrets at all.

-- And so we are commanded to get angry in a healthy way, at ourselves and at the evil suggestions that make an appearance, and not to sin by letting them have a harmful effect. The following verse opens itself to this same understanding in clearer fashion: "Be struck with compunction on your beds for what you say in your hearts" (Psalms 4:5). That is, whatever you think in your hearts when unexpected and deceitful suggestions rush in upon you, amend and correct with the most salutary compunction, removing all the noise and disturbance of wrath by means of moderate counsel, as if you were peacefully in bed.

When the blessed Apostle made use of the text of this verse and said: "Be angry, and do not sin," he added: "The sun should not go down on your anger, and you should not give room to the devil" (Ephesians 4:26). If it is dangerous to let the sun of righteousness go down on our anger, and if we immediately give room to the devil in our heart when we are angry, why did he previously command us to get angry, when he said: "Be angry, and do not sin"? Does he not clearly mean that you should be angry at your vices and your rage lest you grow dark on account of your wrath and Christ, the Sun of Righteousness, begin to go down in your dusky minds and, once He departs, you offer room in your hearts to the devil?

 -- But what is to be said of those persons (and this I am unable to mention without shame) on whose implacability even sundown itself place3s no limits and who draw it out for days on end? They maintain a rancorous spirit against those with whom theyare upset and, although they deny orally that they are angry, they manifest the deepest anger by their actions. They neither approach them with an appropriate word nor speak to them with ordinary civility, and in this regard they do not consider themselves in the wrong because they do not demand vengeance for their annoyance. Yet, because they do not dare to or at any rate cannot bring it out into the open, they turn the poison of their wrath back to their own destruction, brooding over it in their hearts and in glum silence digesting it within themselves. They do not at once and with strength of mind cast out their bitter sadness; instead they mull it over, and eventually as time goes on they deal with it equably.
-- How could the Lord wish to be held onto for even a moment when in fact he does not even allow the spiritual sacrifices of our prayers to be offered if we know that someone else is angry with us? As he says: "If, then, you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there at the altar, go first and be reconciled with your brother, and then come and offer your gift" (Matthew 5:23-24). How, then, are we permitted to be annoyed with our brother even until sundown -- not to mention for several days -- when, if he has something against us, we are not allowed to offer our prayers to God? We are commanded by the Apostle: "Pray without ceasing" (I Thessalonians 5:17). And: "In every place lifting up pure hands without anger and dissension" (I Timothy 2:8). It follows, therefore, that either we keep this kind of poison in our hearts and never pray, thus disobeying the apostolic and gospel precept by which we are commanded to pray ceaselessly and everywhere, or, if we deceive ourselves and dare to make prayer contrary to his prohibition, we realize that it is not prayer that we are offering to the Lord but a stubborn and rebellious spirit.

-- But why do we tarry for so long over gospel precepts and those of the Apostle when even the old law, which seems to be somewhat less demanding, warns of the very same thing? As it says: "you shall not hate your brother in your heart" (Leviticus 19:17). And again: "you shall not be mindful of the offense of your fellow citizens" (Leviticus 19:18). And again: "The ways of those who preserve the memory of a misdeed lead to death" (Proverbs 12:28). There as well you see that wickedness is checked not only in deed but even in secret thoughts, when not only hatred and vengefulness but even the recollection of an offense are commanded to be uprooted and cast out of the heart.

-- Sometimes, when we have been overcome by pride or impatience and are unwilling to correct our unseemly and undisciplined behavior, we complain that we are in need of solitude, as if we would find the virtue of patience in a place where no one would bother us, and we excuse our negligence and the causes of our agitation by saying that they stem not from our own impatience but from our brothers' faults. But, as long as we attribute our own wrongdoing to other people, we shall never be able to get near to patience and perfection.

-- The sum total of our improvement and tranquility, then, must not be made to depend on someone else's willing, which will never be subject to our sway; it comes, rather, under our own power. And so our not getting angry must derive not from someone else's perfection but from our own virtue, which is achieved not by another person's patience but by our own forbearance.

-- It is right, on the other hand, for those who are perfect and cleansed of all vice to search out the desert and, having been purged of vice in the community of the brothers, to go into it not as a refuge for their weak-spiritedness but with a view to divine contemplation and out of a desire for that deeper insight which can be grasped in solitude only by the perfect. For if we have brought any vices into the desert that we have not attended to, they will not be abolished but will lie hidden in us. For just as solitude can disclose the purest contemplation to those whose behavior has been corrected and from its unclouded perspective reveal a knowledge of spiritual mysteries, it is likewise accustomed not only to preserve but even to exaggerate the vices of those who have not corrected themselves. A person may seem patient and humble to himself as long as he has nothing to do with anyone else, but he will soon revert to his former nature should some disturbing event occur. Indeed, vices that have lain hidden emerge at once there, and like unbridled horses nourished by a long period of quiescence they eagerly break out of their restraints, all the more violently and savagely endangering their charioteer. For when contact with other human beings ce3ases, along with the discipline that that provides, the vices grow wilder in us if they have not previously been purged, and through slothful security we lose even the pretense of patience that we gave the appearance of possessing at least for the sake of our brothers' respect and our own good reputation when we lived among them.

-- It should be known, however, that in those manuscripts where it reads: "Whoever is angry with his brother without cause shall be liable to judgment," the phrase "without cause" is superfluous and was added by persons who did not think that anger needed to be cut off for a just cause, since in fact no one, however irrationally upset he was, would say that he had no cause for anger. It appear, therefore, that this was added by those who did not understand the intention of Scripture, which seeks to cut off completely the growth of anger and to maintain no occasion for indignation whatsoever lest, in ordering us to get angry with cause, an occasion for getting angry without cause also be offered us. For patience does not achieve its goal in righteous anger; it consists, rather, in not getting angry at all. I know, though, that the phrase "without cause" is interpreted in such a way as to mean that he is angered without cause who, when he is angry, is not allowed to seek revenge. Yet it is better to take it as it is found to be written both in many new manuscripts and in all the old ones.

-- Hence it behooves the athlete of Christ, who is contending lawfully, to root out the movements of wrath. The perfect medicine for this disease is that we realize, first, that in no way are we permitted to get angry, whether for an unjust or a just cause, knowing that we shall at once lose the light of discretion and firm and correct counsel, as well as goodness itself and the restraints of righteousness, if the guiding principle of our heart is obscured by darkness; and then, that the purity of our mind will soon be driven out and that it can never become a temple of the Holy Spirit as long as the spirit of wrath dwells in us. Lastly, we should understand that we are never allowed to pray or to make petition to God when we are angry. Above all, we should keep before our eyes the uncertain state of our human condition, daily realizing that we shall depart from our bodies and that our chaste abstinence, the renunciation of all our property, the contempt of wealth, and the toil of fasting and keeping vigil will confer nothing on us if eternal punishment is being readied for us by the Judge of all on account of wrath and hatred alone. 

St. John Cassian, The Institutes, (New York: The Newman Press, 2000)

Γιατί λες «Δόξα τω Θεώ»;

Έξω βροχή, πλημμύρα. Άνθρωποι λίγοι αλλά βιαστικοί προσπαθούν να αποφύγουν τις ουράνιες στάλες νερού. Ο ήλιος έχει μέρες να φανεί. Τα φώτα του δρόμου δεν καίνε πια, σημείο ότι είναι ημέρα…μα είναι σαν να μην ξημέρωσε ποτέ.

Το δωμάτιο σκοτεινό με ανταύγειες χρωμάτων από το φως του καντηλιού. Και εγώ ομιλώ με μια γλυκιά μελαγχολία, με την θυγατέρα του φθινοπώρου και της σιωπής.

Ρουφώ τον χρόνο παρατηρώντας το τρέμουλο της φλόγας του καντηλιού, το οποίο καθώς χορεύει λες και παρασύρει μαζί του και τα πρόσωπα τα άγια, τα σώματα εκείνων που στέκουν καθαρμένα με την μετάνοια, αποτυπωμένα στα χρώματα του αγιογράφου.

Δέρνουν αλύπητα οι στάλες το παράθυρο. Παράθυρο παλαιό, που από μέσα του ζήσανε πολλοί γείτονες και περαστικοί. Κάνω να το πλησιάσω, να ζήσω και εγώ λίγο από την ζωή των άλλων. Πλησιάζω. Το ακουμπώ, μα τα χνώτα μου εμποδίζουν την όρασή μου. Απομακρύνομαι λίγο.

Στον δρόμο δεν βλέπω πρόσωπα, μόνο σιλουέτες ανθρώπινες με ομπρέλες που τις σκέπουν.

Ξάφνου μία σιλουέτα μες στα μαύρα, μα φωτεινή. Χωρίς ομπρέλα. Χωρίς βιασύνη. Με μια ειρήνη στο βήμα και στο βλέμμα. Κοντοστέκεται στην γωνιά του πεζοδρομίου. Κοντοστέκεται σαν να ψάχνει κάτι. Απλώνει το χέρι του και αφήνει κάτι δίπλα σε κάτι σκουπίδια.

Μα όχι, δεν είναι σκουπίδια μόνο. Κάποιος άστεγος τυλιγμένος με εφημερίδες δίπλα σε σακούλες σκουπιδιών. Δεν τον είδα. Κανείς δεν τον βλέπει, μάλλον κανείς μας δεν θέλει να τον δει. Τα βλέμματα τον προσπερνούν. Δεν θεωρείται άνθρωπος, αποφεύγεται σαν σκουπίδι, μήπως μας λερώσει, μήπως μας αγγίξει και μας αφήσει κάποιο ανεξίτηλο σημάδι της ταλαιπώριας του.

Εκείνη όμως η μαύρη σιλουέτα, εκείνος ο άνθρωπος σταμάτησε. Σπαταλά λίγο χρόνο μαζί του. Μέσα στη βροχή. Βρίσκεται ακόμα εκεί, όταν αισθάνομαι την ανάσα μου να με προδίδει. Λες και με άφησε και αυτή και πήγε να δει από κοντά τι συμβαίνει.

Ο μαυροφορεμένος γονατίζει. Δεν του αρκεί που άφησε κάτι σε εκείνον τον ταλαίπωρο. Του μιλά. Του δίνει το χέρι του και ο ρακένδυτος άνδρας σηκώνεται όρθιος. Η βροχή, το παλιό τζάμι,δεν με αφήνουν να δω το πρόσωπό του. Είναι αδύνατος, καμπουριασμένος, μα θαρρείς ότι είναι νέος.

Κοιτώ τουλάχιστον δέκα λεπτά. Στέκομαι όρθιος μέσα στο σκοτεινό μα ζεστό δωμάτιό μου χωρίς να σκέφτομαι τίποτα, χωρίς να κάνω τίποτα…μόνο παρατηρώ.

Ξάφνου ο μαυροφορεμένος άνδρας γυρίζει προς το παραθύρι μου. Λες και ξέρει τι κάνω, λες και με βλέπει εδώ και ώρα. Παίρνει από το χέρι τον άρρωστο και προσπαθούν να περάσουν, τον γεμάτο από νερό, δρόμο. Θέλουν να περάσουν απέναντι, να έρθουν κάτω από το κατώφλι του σπιτιού μου.

Αποτραβιέμαι λίγο. Φοβάμαι μήπως με δουν τα μάτια εκείνου του άνδρα. Μα καθώς περνά η μοναδική αυτή σκέψη από το νου μου ο κτύπος του κουδουνιού με καθηλώνει. Ένα ρίγος περνά το κορμί μου. Το βλέμμα μου χαμένο προς την πόρτα, αγωνιά. Αγωνιά μήπως…«ντριν», το κουδούνι ξαναχτυπά. Ακίνητος, κόβω ακόμα και την ανάσα μου που ψιθυρίζει φόβο.

«Αδελφέ, βοήθησέ μας», μία φωνή ακούγεται κάτω από το σπίτι μου. «Αδελφέ…». Μάλλον κάποιον άλλο θα θέλουνε, κάποιον άλλο θα φωνάζουν, σκέφτομαι, και η φωνή μου απαντά, «Αδελφέ, για όνομα του Θεού, βοήθησέ μας…». Η βροχή δυναμώνει, ο θόρυβος που παράγει πλέον δεν ηχεί στα αυτιά μου όμορφα. Ηχεί σαν πόνος και απελπισία...

Αντί να πάω προς την πόρτα, κάθομαι στην βελούδινη πολυθρόνα μου. Ακουμπώ την πλάτη μου αναπαυτικά πίσω και περιμένω. Η ώρα περνά. Ησυχία. «Δόξα τω Θεώ» είπα μέσα μου…

Περιμένω λίγο ακόμα. Η βροχή σταμάτησε. Σηκώθηκα. Πλησιάζω το παράθυρο. Τα σκουπίδια ήταν ορφανά, ο ταλαίπωρος δεν βρισκόταν πλέον εκεί. Οι ομπρέλες είχαν πια κλείσει. «Δόξα τω Θεώ…» είπα κοιτώντας ψηλά στον ουρανό και ακούμπησα το μέτωπό μου στο παράθυρο.

Μα εκείνη την ώρα που ο ήλιος πολεμούσε να ξεπροβάλει, την στιγμή εκείνη που πίσω από την πλάτη μου το καντηλάκι αγωνιούσε μήπως σβήσει, εκείνη η σιλουέτα εμφανίστηκε στο απέναντι πεζοδρόμιο. Ήταν εκείνος, ο μαυροφορεμένος, ένας ιερέας, μούσκεμα, ακίνητος να με κοιτάζει. Δύο μάτια γεμάτα παράπονο, γεμάτα καλοσύνη και ενδιαφέρον. Δύο μάτια καθάρια που κρεμάστηκαν στο πρόσωπό μου.

Καθόμουν εκεί ακίνητος.
Καθόταν εκεί ακίνητος.

«Γιατί λες, δόξα τω Θεώ; Για την βοήθεια που δεν μας έδωσες, για την απραξία σου, για την ατολμία σου, την αναισθησία σου; Γιατί λες, δόξα τω Θεώ;» Δεν μίλησε, αλλά αυτά μου είπε. Δεν κούνησε τα χείλη του, απλά μου έγνεψε και χάθηκε μέσα στους περαστικούς. Μπορούσα να βοηθήσω. Που το ήξερε; Πως με γνώριζε; Ποιος ήταν αυτό ο ιερέας; Δεν ξέρω. Δεν θα μάθω μάλλον ποτέ.

Ήταν κάποιο υπαρκτό πρόσωπο, ή η ενσαρκωμένη μου συνείδηση; Μπορούσα να βοηθήσω μα δεν το έκανα, απλά παρατηρούσα...

Εκείνη την ημέρα, έκλαψα πολύ. Έκλαψα για εμένα, έκλαψα για το κατάντημά μου.

Έκλαψα, που δεν είπα ούτε ένα συγνώμη.

Αρχιμ. Παύλος Παπαδόπουλος

Πηγή: imverias.blogspot.gr
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...