Some Observations about Distress

Indeed, something with which we can all identify. Our experience of distress can range all the way from an unexpected calamity to a more pervasive, habitual state of mind which colors the way we view reality. The latter is of greater concern here because it can develop into a psychic and spiritual condition which enervates us on all levels of existence. I don’t have in mind more extreme manifestations of distress which literally could drive us crazy but those subtle states–much more insidious by reason of their invisibility–which distort our perceptions of reality. Perhaps “atmosphere” is a term akin to this condition...low-grade though constant. Usually the impulses which beget stress start off small and work their way into larger, more comprehensive forms which block out hope of resolving them. Nevertheless, a closer look at the dynamics of distress reveals that there seems to be a close parallel, if not identification, between God and troubling situations. Such a paradox isn’t as far off the mark as you’d first imagine. All you have to do is recall those vexing conditions which had thrown us flat on our faces and therefore compelled us to seek a higher power to get us out of the mess. What’s miraculous about this is that the time lapse between the two are almost instantaneous. Then once we resolve the situation, we walk away with barely a thought from whence we had drawn our support...that is, until the next bout of distress befalls us. If we are honest enough, we would admit that we were somehow in closer contact with reality on our knees–literally or metaphorically–than we had been at other occasions. We shouldn’t pass over such a condition nor treat it lightly, hence the reason for this little essay.

Roughly speaking, I’d identify two types of distress: one imposed from without and the other we bring upon ourselves. Since we can’t control the former, we are in a position to handle the latter even if it’s a spin-off from the one imposed from without (often the case). Thus I prefer to restrict my remarks to the woes we inflict upon ourselves or allow to govern our behavior. Once you learn to manage your inner life better, distress from without automatically loses some of its sting even if external events remain overwhelming. In many ways this interplay is a mystery, but it points out the extent to which mental constructs shape our inner and outer worlds. Memory is perhaps the most important faculty at work here, for we can keep current in our minds hurts from the distant past which color activity in the here and now. Therefore we can count upon a future full of worry. Instead of being obvious, these hurts prefer to lurk in the shadows. A common experience along this line is that we alternate between good and bad times. The bad ones stick out more even if they are few and far between. We sometimes map our lives by assessing the interludes between these two fluctuations. Even worse, the bad experiences are mileposts by which to gauge the intervals of good ones which always pale in importance. Quickly this attitude can work into a map-of-life visualized as a circle or square . In the former we picture ourselves going round and round on an never-ending cycle. In the latter we see ourselves “boxed” in with no where to go. All in all what we fear most is the repetition of past similar experiences, for when something negative comes round again, it does so with increased intensity which paralyzes us. That seems to be the real rub about distress.

We all get sick and tired of this cycle and wish to break free. In addition to this desire we’re saddled with society’s pithy sayings, the commonest being “One day at a time.” Even though such maxims had evolved from the wisdom of collective experience, somehow a vague awareness of them as quick remedies can be just as insidious as the experiences that gave them birth. They somehow constrict us in by hovering in the background rather than by their outright presence. When in a bind, you can almost expect a friend to come out with one of these sayings which helps little. “You’ll never the know the pain I’m in!” Parallel to how these maxims affect us is a more pervasive influence, namely, religion. By that I mean religious precepts. “Thou shalt not” (etc). Here familiar statements about divine love, forgiveness and the rest flow forth, usually in a liturgical setting. Next they spill over to the realm of those pithy sayings. Not only that, often such precepts have been backed up by an authoritative person or institution which in our distress-filled condition always takes on insensitive role. We vaguely feel as though we’re being mocked or made sport of. In limited circumstances such advice may be helpful but more often it has the opposite effect. The long term consequence is that we’re susceptible to rejecting religious authority which means rejecting the benefits of religion per se. The gulf between God and us seems even wider and pushes us to adopt an image pertinent to our circumstance even if we don’t do this consciously. Under these circumstances consider again the above mentioned image of a circle or square. We either go round and round in our distress or are boxed in by it. The two differ by reason of imagery yet depict the same fundamental anxiety.

Such is a brief outline of the mechanics of distress (minus traumatic events) as we all experience it. A lot of philosophical and theological ink has been spilled to explain the source of distress and how we are to deal with it. I don’t wish to add more material on the matter but to offer some reflections garnered from personal experience of living in a monastic community and then present them in a relatively straight-forward manner. The best part about such an environment is that you have other people living with you. Their presence is both positive and negative. Positive in that you have ready access to collective experience and support. Negative in that frequently your fellow monks are the prime source of your distress. Anyway, this little document boils down to just account of the broader human predicament and is to be taken as such.

When you live in an environment where basic needs are provided–food, shelter and laundry, not to mention “biggies” such health care and retirement–you have more time on your hands than most other folks. Ideally such a communal way of living was intended to free you up to pursue nobler things. While much of that remains hidden to the common eye, people are people whether inside or outside the monastery. Being free from worry about the basics of life is one thing you don’t hear much about yet given the modern state of society, it is the most important foundation for a sustained life of prayer. This is a luxury for which other folks would give an arm and a leg, yet it has inherent dangers. Perhaps what looms largest is too much time. A lot of monks may contest this, for like their peers in society they complain that they don’t have enough time to do what they want. Still, the daily horarium or schedule is structured as to achieve a fairly good balance despite deficiencies here and there.

I mention the monastic way of life for several reasons. Obviously it’s radically different from the experience of most people who live in a family-oriented milieu. Despite this, monks retain their humanity throughout their entire careers and (contrary to popular suspicion) don’t escape what plagues the rest of the human race. In fact, they are more attune to these afflictions; maybe not in an obvious or dramatic way but are so within their hearts. A total, semi-socialistic environment which serves to balance the needs of the community and the individuals within it sounds ideal. In fact it’s valid in many cases. Many people dream about this, especially those who are pressed for time. They envy monks who are freer to pursue reading, prayer and study, activities which demands considerable leisure not readily available in other life styles. At the same time there’s something unregenerate about human nature that isn’t satisfied even if all the basics are there and one is set free to do what he or she desires. Various labels are attached to this strange unfulfillment, for example, our inbuilt need for some kind of transcendent reality. That’s probably true, but here I’m more concerned with one of the spin-offs of this insatiable desire which hinder us from moving forward into this realm.

One way to test the depths of this unfulfillment is for a monk to step outside the enclosure, his normal environment. While it may be exciting on occasion, virtually every monk desires to return as soon as possible. Somehow the world out there is smaller than his physically circumscribed dwelling place. At least that identifies the emptiness and enables him to continue with his manner of life even if he undergoes trials hidden from the eyes of his confreres, let alone the outside world. Such a testing of boundaries may apply to other modes of life. Obviously it’s unadvisable for a married person to “try out” being with someone else and then returning to his or her original spouse! Nevertheless, experimentation doesn’t have to be outwardly dramatic. It can be as simple as pretending or imaging how you’d react in different circumstances. “Am I happier there (the world) than here (the monastery)?” might be one way of articulating this.

A monk is constantly exposed to religious stuff. You’d expect that to be true of his specialized environment, for it’s something he freely chose and continues with throughout his entire life. Although obvious, it remains a crucial point. As the years pass by there can be an increasing awareness of the gulf between the monk’s religious ideals and the experience of his own unregenerate human nature. Often the gap gets wider as time passes and requires a lot of fine-tuning at various stages along the line. To the untrained eye, this appears to be a regression, not an advancement, and can be quite discouraging. Here’s where not only the Christian tradition comes in which documents the dilemma but more especially one’s fellow monks who have tread this path. They, in turn, have had it confirmed by their elders and so forth all the way back to the beginning of monasticism (if you want to trace it that far). Another problem thrown into the mix is that commitment to an intense lifestyle is rare nowadays, having been more common in earlier times. That’s why the monastery is a good place to look in order to see how that inescapable experience of distress operates. As I said in an earlier footnote, monastic life is not unlike a laboratory but a laboratory which involves the living of life. Not everyone works in a laboratory. Nevertheless, we all make use of what comes out of real-life laboratories.

There’s another side to renouncing the world, one which monks are good at, and that is an appreciation of the benefits society has to offer. Not that he turns a blind eye to negative elements, but he makes use of the latest tools and gadgets not only for the monastery’s economic well-being but for his own spiritual advancement. There comes to mind advances in computer technology and in recent years, the Internet. You could say without much exaggeration that these things achieve their highest end in the monastic context. A monk employs them without abusing them and leaves off from them as soon as his goals have been achieved, that is, without becoming obsessed by their flashiness. It’s part of that above-mentioned experience of exiting the enclosure, seeing what’s out there, and being glad to return. Despite this common feature, it remains a difficult insight to pin down with accuracy, especially since so many opportunities exist. I briefly mention this for despite how many years a monk may reside in the enclosure, he’s always tempted in one way or another to perceive the grass as greener on the other side of the fence. This is a universal human response which looms larger in the monastery and may indirectly contribute to the monk’s experience of distress when things aren’t going well.

One commonality between monks and lay folk is that once everyone has done their thing–the day’s work and recreation having been accomplished–we come to the realization that life is the same. This especially happens at nightfall; maybe it’s because night is featureless and allows no disguises. You’re stuck with yourself whether you like it or not. Yes, night is the best time to realize this and to do so in relative peace and quiet. Maybe that’s one reason why monks instinctively prefer the night. More specifically, they rise at the other end of night or when most people are going to bed as on the weekends, that is, around three in the morning. Here is the time which belongs to monks alone; you don’t have to be a monk in the formal sense to appreciate this. When the sun rises, people shed their commonality, put on their disguises (which aren’t necessarily bad) and do their thing during the daylight hours. I bring up the time of night because often those thing which haven’t assailed us during the day do so at night, a point familiar to most of us. We’re most vulnerable at night and therefore feel ourselves more lonely then than at other times. However, towards dawn or those pre-dawn hours things tend to smooth out, yet another reason why monks prefer this time. They instinctively know how to sanctify those hours and the night hours that had preceded them.

When we are in stressful circumstances–and I have in mind those of the more interior variety, unseen by human eyes–we automatically reach out for help. It doesn’t have to be a person, thing or God; this instinctive cry for help springs upon us on its own accord. At least they don’t occur frequently (and thankfully). However, compared with other memories, painful memories make the most impression by taking up residence in our consciousness. “Squatting” may be an appropriate word in that they crowd out all other memories. Distress can’t last forever, at least on the conscious level. Once the situation has been resolved, we’re back at our regular life and work as though nothing had transpired. Even if you conjure up into the present a particular stressful situation in an effort to learn from it, you feel repulsed at its presence, pretty much give up and move on. Ancient monastic practices, along with other elements of the Christian tradition, have approximated this experience but with a different accent. They sought to place awareness of death at the center of their praxis because everyone will undergo it. Might as well invoke its presence now when you feel well physically as opposed to a later time when you’re up against the real thing. One of the first recorded record of this is Plato’s Phaedo where Socrates is in prison and freely talks about his impending end with his friends. While reading this Dialogue you get the distinct sense that Socrates is at peace whereas his friends are not. His struggle ended with his trial, so here he is several hours from his execution, ready to go. That’s reason enough why we should pay close attention to him. The testimony of any worthwhile person merits attention on his or hear deathbed and speaks directly to us in our distress.

Maybe we could speak some more on Socrates vis-a-vis death later on. However, the vast majority of us mortals are unable to attain his lofty state even though history offers an abundance of examples of how to live virtuously. A subtle, not fully explored dimension emerges here which affects us more than we’d admit. What bothers us is not so much a particular person held out as an example but the exhortations others have peppered us with to become like him or her. It’s a phenomenon we find in religious literature, for example, panegyrics dealing with the saints. While valuable in their own right, these exhortations set up a distinction between our unregenerate condition and models which appear well beyond our achievement. However, right now I’m more interested to look distress in the eye...not in the sense of steeling ourselves against all odds...but to see in a detached, cool manner if there’s any connection between it and our automatic mechanism of reaching out for help. Definitely there is, even at first we can’t slow down the transition. It’s the automatic nature of the response I find fascinating, as though any spacial-temporal gap were completely non-existent. We could outline this dilemma something as follows: If A equals B, then B equals A. Here A equals distress and B equals God, the person whom we expect will help us. Surely an inadequate equation, but then again, I’m concerned about the actual experience of distress and where it leads us. Regular logic doesn’t apply here; a type of “super” logic is at work, super in the sense of not superior to reason but above or beyond reason.

So here’s the problem. We stumble into a distress-filled situation, cry out for help, get this help, be grateful for it and shortly return to where we had been before having gotten ourselves in such a mess. In the meanwhile, recollections of our recent distress are too painful to bring to mind, for they are images which remind us of where we had been prior to our stress filled situation. If we’re astute to what is actually going on, we might shift such a recollection to one in the future, that is, death, as we saw with Socrates. Supposedly only humans know that they will die. Although we may have had a number painful experiences in life, they pale in comparison with the one to come, i.e., death. Actually death represents an absolute cessation of distress. Most people will say that they don’t fear death but the suffering that often precedes it, a fact which despite some bravado turns out to be fairly accurate. In this article I’m more interested not so much with death as those vexing situations leading up to it.

We require to slow down our responses to unpleasant incidents, for as already noted, they hit us like a ton of bricks and without warning. It’s a gesture we know we should do yet rarely carry it out. Maybe recollection of a given experience is helpful despite the above-mentioned caution as to the effectiveness of this process. Keep in mind that distress hits us in the gut, not the intellect. You really have to feel it on that level which includes attendant thoughts and emotions. The unpleasant memories of distress can be feigned only to such a degree which is not unlike the recommended feigning of death as a means to better appreciate life. At least with death you know it’s The End. With distress you know more is in store; it can end up being more nerve-racking than practicing for physical death. Thus slowing down the process of how distress befell seems better than an outright recollection of the experience. I’m reminded of the “slow” button on some DVD players where you can slow down the motion to varying degrees. It throws a wholly different perspective on the normal flow of events going across your screen.

Let’s say we’ve succeeded in slowing down the relationship between the cause of distress, its actual presence and its impingement upon our lives and the last step as a heart-felt cry for help. Invariably the second step lasts the longest and is the most painful, for we’re dealing with the onset of memories which beget further memories and so on until the cause-and-effect chain wears thin. Actually we’re the ones who end up broken as a result of so much spilt energy through this destructive process of recollection. When in the midst of a stressful circumstance we really can’t slow down this threefold relationship. It might be more accurate to say that awareness of this structure is located within our unconscious and represents itself through images as we go about our daily affairs. This differs from actually holding in mind particular memories of distress; the threefold structure is a kind of hidden template, if you will, in the back of our minds which we can get a snapshot of when a real-life situation emerges which evokes earlier distress. The structure thus channels the energy. We have to experiment at first with the process which, as stated earlier, consists of decelerating the process. Then as more distressful experiences come by, awareness of our template has a leveling effect until they slow down to something much more manageable. What’s really significant is an increasing trust in our hidden threefold template to altar these situations which otherwise could prove unmanageable. Not that we can go out and put this into practice like some other normal activity. Quite the contrary. Such hiddenness belies a transcendence not within our control. Yet once we really experience this transcendence in real life, we get something greater than faith. We’re now face-to-face with a reality more concrete than the stuff before our eyes.

If we’re willing to concede the virtual identity of personal stressful experiences with an automatic, almost involuntary reaching-out to someone/something, we open ourselves up for a pleasant surprise. Pleasant not that we should seek out disruptive experiences (no problem there; it comes anyway) but in the unexpected result that ensues provided we’re primed for it. This gets back to the “template” discussed in the last paragraph which we carry about in the secret of our hearts. I could be off base on this, but our template may bear kinship with those well-known yet misrepresented Platonic forms. The forms don’t exist “out there” but are more like connectors...filaments...which string events together. Becoming aware of them is the task at hand which, in turn, “connect” to human experience and help to make sense of the less desirable features of this experience. Of course, I am not speaking in scientific terms but more akin to mythological imagery.

When you speak with people who had undergone difficulties–not so much from external circumstances but from their own follies–you instinctively know you’re dealing with fallible individuals who have come to grips with truth; not abstractly but with the kind of veracity that hits home. Statistically speaking this group is very large, and we can take comfort of our membership in it. Invariably its members will dwell upon not so much what had brought them to abasement (i.e., their folly) but what had lifted them up from that wretched place. Note that almost always the dynamic of humiliation is colored in a down-to-up imagery. “I was really down the other day but now I feel elated” (or something similar). A parallel dynamic can take the reverse direction: you’re “up” in the sense of being haughty or exalted and “down” in the sense of being humbled. However, we’re trying to nail down a more direct experience of abasement and the positive outcome of it. Here’s where that notion of a transcendent “template” comes into place. Keep in mind that transcendent doesn’t mean a measuring stick in the sky comes down and evaluates our human experience. This whole notion of a transcendent archetype, well documented in the history of philosophy, is open to misunderstanding. Getting a proper grasp on it is akin to another Platonic concept, knowledge as recollection or anamnesis. You don’t walk around consciously “recalling” such knowledge, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to function. Anamnesis hovers in the background, making its presence felt when the occasion requires it to be revealed.

Let’s keep in mind that we are truly ourselves when down on our knees, physically or metaphorically. It’s a fairly universal experience not so much admitted in public but to ourselves or to confidants. Too often we let these experiences pass...actively rush them along...which is a natural inclination. No one likes to activate painful memories with the intent of projecting them into the future in order to govern present action. However, our rush to pass them by precludes the benefit of discerning that threefold pattern at work, in other words, our transcendent template. The pain or embarrassment is too intense and does not invite lingering around. Should we muster enough courage, we might be able to change our reaction–a thoughtless one-to-one encounter with pain coupled with embarrassment–into a response which is more in accord with our threefold pattern.

After having examined where we were before the onset of distress, its sudden impact and the long-term effects it produces, we should try to capitalize upon the real benefit which remains long after this chain reaction has run its course. It is what most people remember years later if they are truthful with themselves. That is, to say, the memory that wins out in the long run is how we came closer to ourselves and to God. For a good length of time it can run parallel with the nursing of old wounds and has to struggle to pull ahead. However, with most people of reasonable mental health the former prevails. The opposite phenomenon seems to be that when things are going well, life doesn’t allow for an irruption of the divine. Why this is so remains unclear even though you hear as far back as the Old Testament that prosperity makes people lazy and susceptible to a range of ills. At the same time, our distress reveals that we want to be happy if not especially prosperous. Because of this confusion we experience in the privacy of our conscience–it’s clearer when viewed with intellectual detachment–we quickly learn to find where real happiness lies. Paradoxically, it lies close to distress; the only problem is to stretch out this identity into a more or less continuous manner of life instead of hanging around for distress to jolt us out of the slumber of everyday life.

Abstraction. This word may be defined as a drawing (traho) away from (ab-), a bringing of something from a native to a not so native place to see what it’s made of. Thus I use abstraction not in the conventional, almost intellectual sense, but with an inclination towards the literal. In this instance concrete experience is absolutely necessary, i.e., distress, which will surely come our way. We might as well use this most universal of all human experiences instead of rushing through it or brushing it aside or even storing up memories of distress to get back at those who had perpetrated the experience. Even though I’ve just outlined this threefold pattern of transcendence a few paragraphs above, allow me to outline it in a slightly expanded way. I do this because I can’t emphasize enough the intent of transforming the nature of distress:

Distress -> Cry for Help -> Relief

The task at hand centers around that word “abstraction” I had introduced, of drawing-out (we could almost say “draining”) the contents with a view towards leaving the form. In such an emotionally charged environment as distress– environment in that distress affects us totally–people can fail to make the crucial leap from content to form. By applying this abstraction our transcendent template we’re able to relieve ourselves of what’s burdensome, even more so compared with a physical load taken off our backs. Toting around distress is akin to toting around a weight from which you can’t escape. Perhaps Job had something similar in mind when he exclaimed, “When it is morning, I wish it were night. When it is night, I wish it were morning.”

The real burden of distress is not so much the experience while it’s transpiring–we’re too caught up in its intensity to look further–but down the line when we’re trying to shake off memories waiting to take root in our minds. However, these are memories of the garden variety. They differ substantially from the operation of anamnesis or recollection which we may tentatively ally with that threefold template of transcendence. Somehow...and this is the real task at hand, hence the italics...we have to move from the way our normal recollective faculty works into anamnesis which existed before the former had emerged. The in-your-face type of memories (especially painful ones) do their best to block out anamnesis as constituting our real nature. The only common feature both share is that they are concerned with the past: one with immediate past and the other with a past so distant that it defies description. Memories plain and simple don’t require further explanation because we’re familiar with them as ordinary representations. However, anamnesis is better put as recollection. To recollect something is different from remembering. It seems that the former is more intimate and personal; it is less applicable to objects and pertains to people. The latter has more common application and does not necessarily impinge upon the person doing the remembering. Perhaps anamnesis may be equated with the traditional Judeo-Christian notion that we are made in God’s image and likeness. It is more akin to this image and the act of conforming to the image is the likeness part.

Let’s say that we have learned to slow down and abstract our most recent encounter with distress. We have been humiliated as a result of our folly which, in turn, was exposed to other people to behold. In other words, we are now marked (when you come right down to it, mostly in our own estimation). Still our concern isn’t with the opinions of others but with our self-imposed stigma. We’ve been humiliated, cried for help and got help in one way or another. Then we feel at peace, get off our knees and move on. Important! Look back right away before returning to normal life. Contrary to our personal wishes, distress make us take a beeline to our true nature...anamnesis...or whatever you want to call it...where we feel at home. This state is more than being at peace which is fine enough and where most people do not explore further. More accurately, the immediate after-effects of when we’ve cried out for help may be characterized by an absence of memories and thoughts. It was similar to hitting a brick wall but a hit which doesn’t cause a splat, for somehow we managed to survive. The best part of being humiliated and having received help is that we no longer carry about images, positive or negative, for we know concretely that they can never represent both our encounter with distress and the peace that ensues.

Judging from our personal experience, would we call “God” that to whom (which) we cry out when we’re in a bind? It seems to be, for who/what could deliver us from these awful circumstances? He, she, it, they...would have to be greater than ourselves as well as our predicament. Regardless of the theology you come up with, we are closer to genuine transcendence in such a pickle than at any time in our lives, excepting our deathbed. I’m sure we can move on to high things after having been rescued from distress, but we should attend to what happens after that fairly universal threefold pattern has run its course. Obviously the pattern is readily accessible to anyone. One step might be to read books on spirituality to garner experience from reliable sources. The Bible is a good place to start, so with this in mind, I offer a quote from Psalm 88. The English text reads, “Like one forsaken among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave” [vs. 5]. However, the Hebrew is wonderfully strange. It reads instead of “like one forsaken among the dead,” “free among the dead.” The verb is chaphash which connotes being set loose or liberated as from slavery.

Psalm 88 is perhaps the most despairing of the 150, hence a special reason why this verse is so marvelous. The psalmist has suffered incredibly and for all practical purposes, has died. He is left with nothing but this post-life condition, if you will; he has moved beyond the threefold pattern we discussed. The descriptions of that state are meager (to say the least) and come under the banner of such words as “heaven” or “blessedness.” In the fourth century Gregory of Nyssa developed the idea of epektasis or the perpetual growth in God which begins in this life and continues forever after death. Of all authors, Gregory comes closest to actually laying out a pattern (he calls it akolouthia) which remains unbroken by death. Compared with him, most Christian authors of spirituality don’t go this far. Should they do, they are stepping into territory less secure, theologically speaking.

With epektasis in mind, you get the accurate though superficial idea that yes, we continue our growth in God after death. Before death progress seems exciting as we surmount obstacles and grow in the life of virtue; such growth has its own rewards. Then we die and enter a supposed state of permanence devoid of movement. It’s almost as though we have frozen in the moral condition in which we had died and remain that way. On occasion the imagery is enlivened chiefly through images from or associated with the Book of Revelation. Early on when these ideas of beatitude were being hashed out, Origen came up with the idea of koros, satiety. In brief, all creation and Christians go through a process of purification and achieve oneness with God, including evil spirits. Once that’s accomplished, the process starts all over again and so on ad infinitum. Obviously Origen was condemned for this, but you have to give the guy credit. Not entirely unlike some modern cosmological theories, let alone multiple universes!

At the time when these novel ideas at the beginning of Christianity were peculating you had a bunch of people who went out into the desert to imitate the life of heaven. In other words, monasticism. It started off with individuals seeking God and later evolved into a communal endeavor; both tendencies co-existed and still do today. I mention this because monasticism is an attempt to achieve a state which approximates that of death with a view to peeping beyond the horizon. One of its mainstays is the idea of watchfulness, of being on the ramparts looking out both for the enemy’s assaults as well as the coming of Jesus Christ. Perhaps this is the most enduring image people have of monks, of being up there on guard duty. At the same time watchfulness is boring in that the image of a static person doing a static job for all his life seems like a dead-end. To the untrained eye such a person is not far removed from a corpse. A closer look, however, reveals that the physical nature of a person can’t go further except to become corpse-like. For all intensive purposes, the monk is dead, and as noted with regards to Gregory of Nyssa, little can be posited as to what’s going on inside him.

Because this condition is literally indescribable, it falls outside attempts at articulation. Our endeavors can get as far as the gate, that is, as far as describing a person who puts this approximation into practice. Hence the value of someone like Gregory of Nyssa, and why we can learn from him. There are many highly educated people who specialize in one field or another. Indeed, it’s an inspiration to be in their presence regardless of their specialty. Even better, their enthusiasm is contagious and inspires us to follow our own muse. Although I’ve had the opportunity to meet such people, quite a few of them have or have had rather severe personal problems (divorce chief among them). Judging from personal acquaintance extending over many years, such people can be midgets when it comes to the spiritual realm. I mention these rather singular group of folks because the contrast between their expertise and proficiency in spiritual matters is all the more striking. If that is so, what about the rest of us? More than likely the same observation applies. However, a group of people–education or expertise has nothing to do with it–is always present among us who are advanced in the spiritual life. Unfortunately the group is tiny which is an arresting observation given the fact that we marvel at the advances made in science or the minds that have created such innovations. In brief, all the achievements which have been made and are still being made aren’t terribly impressive. It would be even more marvelous if striking advances were made in virtue and hence the spiritual life (which seems atrophied in so many instances). In conclusion, if you want to really make progress and contribute to the human race, try handling distress in a creative way. Distress will always be with us, so might as well try it out.

Supplement (as noted in footnote #6)

This addendum contains a list of verses from the Psalter (RSV translation) where the word “distress” occurs. Granted, there are other similar if not stronger terms, but because of this essay’s title, I figure it’s easier to stick with this word. I choose the Psalter because it is the religious expression par excellance of the Judeo-Christian heritage. Furthermore, its sentiments can apply to anyone within (or without) this tradition or whether they subscribe to a formal religious structure or not. These verses are not simply instances of human “distress.” While that is obvious, they are listed because of their intimate connection with the psalmist’s cry for divine assistance.

-4.1: “You have given me room when I was in distress.”

-18.6: “In my distress I called upon the Lord; to my God I cried for help.”

-25.17: “Relieve the troubles of my heart, and bring me out of my distresses.”

-31.9: “Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am in distress.”

-32.6: “At a time of distress in the rush of great waters, they shall not reach him.”

-39.2: “I was dumb and silent...my distress grew worse.”

-59.16: “You have been to me a fortress and a refuge in the day of my distress.”

-69.17: “Hide not your face from your servant; for I am in distress, make haste to answer me.”

-78.49: “He let loose on them his fierce anger, wrath, indignation and distress.”

-81.7: “In distress you called, and I delivered you.”

-102.2: “Do not hide your face from me in the day of my distress!”

-106.44: “Nevertheless he regarded their distress when he heard their cry.”

-107.6: Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress.” Also, cf. vss. 13, 19 & 28.

-116.3: “The pangs of Sheol laid hold on me; I suffered distress and anguish.”

-118.5: “Out of my distress I called on the Lord; the Lord answered me and set me free.

120.1: “In my distress I cry to th Lord that he may answer me.”

+ The End +

Feast of St Joseph, 19 March 2004