Derived from the Greeks, the contrast between the contemplative and active life early on became a Christian commonplace. It was systematized by Thomas Aquinas, who regarded the distinction as both “fitting” and “adequate.” Fitting, because each human being, as a rational being, occupies himself with what is most delightful to him, whether that is the pursuit of knowledge or a life of active service. Adequate, because Jacob had two wives and no more, and Lazarus had only two sisters. 
Both sides can make a good case. Activists point out that true religion and undefiled is to visit orphans and widows in distress. They stress that faith without works is dead. Activists emphasize that the First Great Commandment to love God is worthless without the Second. Contemplatives point out that true religion also involves keeping ourselves unstained by the world. They emphasize that we are justified by faith apart from works. Contemplatives point out that Jesus didn’t call it the First Great Commandment for nothing.
Theoretically, the two ways are not in competition. Augustine insisted that Marys and Marthas are “both pleasing the Lord” and saw them as phases of one life rather than two ways of life. In this age, we have to be bustling Marthas, but we live in hope of future Marian serenity. In practice, though, activists and mystics haven’t always gotten along. Activists think mystics are too heavenly minded to be any use in their program. Contemplatives charge that activists are so busy with many things that they miss the one thing needful.
Having sketched this cartoon, I immediately want to scrap it. It’s true enough that believers lean in one direction or the other, but ultimately the choice is a false one. No one is a pure type, nor should anyone want to be. Activism without communion becomes a social agenda without much of anything to do with Jesus. Mysticism without activism is indeed dead.
But the way we scrap the cartoon is exceedingly important, and we can do it properly only by thoroughly purging the toxins of our world. On the assumption that religious passion is dangerous when it goes public, modern civilization has done its best to keep mysticism and activism from spending too much time together. Contemplatives have their own private standards, and these have to be left at the gate of the public square, where common standards of public accountability rule. Let the mystics loose, and you’ll see the square fill with suicide bombers or the White House occupied by a fundamentalist wingnut who keeps his itchy apocalyptic finger near the nuclear button.
Christians have accommodated to modernity at this point, as at so many others. Sometimes, we politely cloak our religious convictions to make them palatable in secular society. But we adjust to the naked square in subtle ways too. Believers often think, for instance, that the key is to maintain a balance of contemplation and action. There’s a ditch on each side, and we need to stay in the middle, on the road. But we can balance the two only if mysticism is separate enough from activism to put each on one side of the scale. When we try to balance them, we still regard activism and contemplation as two things. We hold inactive contemplation with the right hand, while we cling to uncomtemplative activism with the left.
I think the resolution has to be more radical, rooted in basic Christian convictions about God and his relation to the world. It was one of Karl Barth’s great insights to see that the Christian doctrine of election is essentially about God’s self-commitment, and only by implication about God’s decisions regarding human beings. Election means that God has eternally committed himself to make and to keep certain promises to chosen people in chosen places and times. This is the God he has determined to be, and, having determined to be this God to his world, this is the God he is. We cannot contemplate this God without immediately contemplating his promises and the wracked world that, we are given to hope, will finally be enclosed by those promises.
Even more fundamentally, Christian convictions about God’s nature break down the barrier between contemplative withdrawal and activist intervention. So long as we think of God as a distant deity, safely withdrawn from the mess, it makes sense for us to want to snuggle up with him in his cozy cabin in the woods. This is not an option for Christians, for the God we want to withdraw to is a God who has refused to withdraw, a God who has entered fully into our condition. Christians confess that God sent God to become flesh, and as a result we confess too that God is Father, Son, and Spirit.
That confession cannot help but alter what we contemplate when we contemplate God. Robert Jenson has spent a fruitful lifetime reminding us that the Triune God of the Christian Scriptures identifies himself by and with historical events and persons—the “God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,” the “I am the one who brought Israel from Egypt,” the “Father who raised the Son from the dead by the power of the Spirit.” Contemplation of such a God can never be a mere or permanent retreat. Every mystical moment doubles back to the world by which the Triune God identifies himself, since we cannot contemplate this God without musing on Abraham and Moses, without remembering the dusty roads of Galilee, the Upper Room, the cross and empty tomb.
At the same time, Christian convictions transform activism. We don’t take a break from communion with God to picket an abortion clinic or write a letter to the editor or help out at the food bank. We don’t become self-sufficient Pelagian agents when we step into the public square. God is the original activist who agitates a self-satisfied world severely enough to provoke a murderous backlash, and so our activism is an act of faith. Christian activism happens when believers are swept up by the Spirit to participate in God’s own activism. If that makes activism sound like mystical ecstasy, well, that’s my point. The contemplative Christian must act because he comes to share God’s desire to redeem creation. The active Christian must contemplate because he knows that only God can redeem it.
Peter J. Leithart is pastor of Trinity Reformed Church in Moscow, Idaho, and Senior Fellow of Theology and Literature at New St. Andrews College. His most recent book is Athanasius (Baker Academic).
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Comments:
I know that Luther and the other Protestant fathers tried to turn the Church from a mixed mission of cloistered contemplatives and workers in the world to a fusion of both fixed firmly in the active life. To me this was a disastrous turn. Taking away the contemplative life, properly understood, from those to whom God calls to it for his own glory and the labor of saving souls through prayer is a grave mistake. The pure mystic intervening with God for pure sinners through the prayers of a soul immersed in the Lord is, arguably, engaged in the most mighty activism of all.
Best,
Richard
I agree with this statement. People can also change and adapt to their surroundings to do whatever makes them feel better, whether that be studying for a PHD, or going to school.
But the rest of the article discusses activism. There will be those, even following the same religion, that won't believe that the same actions yields a "proper" result. All activism is just an expression of the legacy we all want to leave behind.
I suspect part of the reason for this difference in the Catholic notion of mysticism has to do with our ideas about the value of suffering and intercessory prayer. One of the concerns of Luther and the other reformers (as I understand it; open to correction here) was that by placing such an emphasis on the high value of prayer and penance Catholicism was monkeying with the biblical emphasis on the mediatorship of Christ--Catholicism was, in other words, being Pelagian. Obviously I don't agree with that, being an RC myself (and cf. St. Paul, Colossians 1:24); but it's easy to imagine how one could go from defending Christ's role as the one mediator between God and man to downplaying the participatory role that human prayer and suffering play in applying the salvific graces Christ won.
Apropos of "pure" mystics, the prince of such would be Saint John of the Cross who, let it be remembered, walked nearly thousands of miles in his reform work; designed and helped to build an aquaduct; taught catechism; wrote and painted. He also is alleged to have said that he would not walk across a plaza to see a stigmatic.
Finally: Would it be immodset of me to recommend my article on the true meaning of mysticism in the (dreaded?) Commonweal of 10/7/2011.
At the end of his life, Thomas apparently became even more mystically inclined and less impressed with his theological writings:
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Thomas stops writing near the end of his life
Gui and the Canonization Enquiry both comment on Thomas' behavior near the end of his life when he apparently abruptly stopped writing. He was, they note, working on the 3rd part of the Summa Theologiae.
Gui tells the following story. Thomas was praying in the church, observed by the sacristan. A voice from the crucifix said: "You have written well of me, Thomas; what do you desire as a reward for your labors?" Thomas replies: "Lord, only yourself." Gui then says that Thomas wrote little after this. (Gui, c. 23; cf c. 27)
During Thomas’ Canonization Enquiry, one of the witnesses—Lord Bartholomew of Capua, Chancellor to the King of Sicily—stated that something happened at Mass on the Feast of St. Nicholas (Foster: 6 December 1273) "which profoundly affected and altered" Thomas, and that after the Mass, "he refused to write or dictate" and "put away his writing materials." Reginald asked Thomas why, and Thomas replied that he cannot go on. When pressed by Reginald, who had begun to think that Thomas' hard work "might have affected his master's brain," Thomas answered: "Reginald, I cannot--because all that I have written seems to me so much straw." The Enquiry witness comments that soon after St. Nicholas' Day, Thomas went to visit a sister (Countess of San Severino) to whom he was very close, and who was disturbed on seeing her brother in such a "dazed" state. They repeat the occurrence of the "straw" statement here: Reginald, surprised at Thomas' behavior, follows him to the Countess estate, and questions him about why he is not writing, and receives the same answer about "so much straw." (Can. Enq. 79)
Gui also mentions the visit to the sister, and comments further about Thomas' physical condition. He says Thomas not infrequently during this period fell into a "trance," and that the trance at the Countess' home lasted longer than any prior incident, such that Reginald had to question him multiple times and "tug violently at his cloak" before he could get any reply from Thomas. He also notes that Thomas was "insensitive to pain" during this period. He did not, for example, seem to feel a leg cautery, and one night, while dictating comment on Boethius' De Trinitate to Reginald, the candle burned down to Thomas' fingers without him noticing. (Gui, c. 27-28)
This information is originally handed down to us by a Dominican, Bernard Gui, and other sources, and reprinted in Foster Kenelm's book The Life of Saint Thomas Aquinas: Biographical Documents. My reference is:
http://people.bu.edu/wwildman/WeirdWildWeb/courses/wphil/lectures/wphil_theme08.htm
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This is not a refutation of Saint Thomas' judgement of the mixed life, but it might indicate a shifting in the balance between them in his judgement, based on the experience of a lifetime. The vision of God is far greater in worth even than the act of masterfully theologizing, if we can trust the quote.
As for John of the Cross, I could not find the flippant comment about the stigmata that Professor Cunninghame attributes to John. But I did find this:
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For a most thorough understanding of the phenomena of the stigmata, consult the "Mystical Doctor" Saint John of the Cross, in The Living Flame of Love, and The Spiritual Canticle.
";;;if God sometimes permits [a spiritual] effect to extend to the bodily senses in the fashion in which it existed interiorly, the wound and sore appear outwardly, as happened when the serpah wounded St. Francis. When his soul was wounded with love by the five wounds, their effect extended to the body, and these wounds were impressed on the body, which was wounded just as his soul was wounded with love.
"God does not usually bestow a favor on the body without bestowing it first and principally on the soul. Thus the greater the delight and strength of love the wound produces in the soul, so much greater is that wound produced outside on the body, and when there is an increase in one there is an increase in the other. This so happens because these souls are purified and established in God, and what is a cause of pain and toment to their corruptible flesh is sweet and delectable to their strong and healthy spirit..." (Living Flame of Love, 2:13)
One of St. John's main points about the stigmata is that they represent a rare physical climax to the interior spiritual experiences previously granted by God to the soul in contemplative prayer. The interior spiritual experiences which he terms "wounds of love" are a normal - however uncommon - part of the life of prayer!
My source:http:// forums.catholic.com/showthread.php?t=94382
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What a difference from the alleged quote from St. John that Professor Cunningham cites! The stigmata can be, like sacraments in the old definition, outward signs of an inward grace, and the burning love of God. It is not likely that John thought of these signs of divine grace as beneath notice.
It would be folly to downplay the colossal accomplishments of mystical activists like John of the Cross, Theresa of Avila, and Catherine of Siena. Or Saint Thomas, for that matter. These were "supersouls" whose great endowments for contemplation and action God made and called forth to service. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
But I still have misgivings about Reverend Leithart's claim that there are no pure mystics. Gemma Galgani, Sister Faustina, and Therese of the Child Jesus came very close. They left their example, and in the case of Sisters Faustina and Therese autobiographical accounts, written only because of their vows of obedience. Sister Faustina could be said to act in the sense of using devout accomplices who could leave the convent to spread devotion to the Divine Mercy, but these women, along with Julian of Norwich (an author, but an anchoress walled up for life) gave the bulk of their lives to worship and prayer for others. I think on the judgement day we will be astounded and awed to learn the colossal works wrought by their faithful service.
This brings me to my point. Prayer, particularly charitable prayer, is an act. And a very powerful one. As a matter of practicality, few people can take the road of cloistered contemplation and prayer. But God does call certain souls to do just that, if we can believe Sister Faustina's story of her vision of Christ calling her to a life of contemplative sacrificial worship in a cloistered convent. That was her charism and that was what God used to spread the word of his mercy (and justice), with spectacular success. The lives of people so called are hardly fairly to be characterized as faith without works. Such people exist and it seems that they are created for and called to this work by God.
As to whether He should have done otherwise, I am reminded of Einstein's pronouncement that God does not play dice with the universe (speaking against the Quantum Theory), whereupon Niels Bohr, a founding father of Quantum Theory replied "Stop telling God what to do" (Einstein's science on this point was wrong, by the way). This is splendid advice for all God's creatures, including those who wonder if all those shut-ins praying their hearts out to worship their Creator and save the human race while drowning in the grace of God should be branded unfruitful or unfaithful servants.
Best,
Richard
For a most thorough understanding of the phenomena of the stigmata, consult the "Mystical Doctor" Saint John of the Cross, in The Living Flame of Love, and The Spiritual Canticle.
";;;if God sometimes permits [a spiritual] effect to extend to the bodily senses in the fashion in which it existed interiorly, the wound and sore appear outwardly, as happened when the serpah wounded St. Francis. When his soul was wounded with love by the five wounds, their effect extended to the body, and these wounds were impressed on the body, which was wounded just as his soul was wounded with love.
"God does not usually bestow a favor on the body without bestowing it first and principally on the soul. Thus the greater the delight and strength of love the wound produces in the soul, so much greater is that wound produced outside on the body, and when there is an increase in one there is an increase in the other. This so happens because these souls are purified and established in God, and what is a cause of pain and toment to their corruptible flesh is sweet and delectable to their strong and healthy spirit..." (Living Flame of Love, 2:13)
One of St. John's main points about the stigmata is that they represent a rare physical climax to the interior spiritual experiences previously granted by God to the soul in contemplative prayer. The interior spiritual experiences which he terms "wounds of love" are a normal - however uncommon - part of the life of prayer!
I owe this quote to a certain TJMiller: http://forums.catholic.com/showthread.php?t=94382
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This implies much more respect (and understanding) for authentic stigmata than Professor Cunningham suggests in his (attributed) quote from St. John
From innumerable examples, we can perhaps observe this: a women can receive a call to be a nun, or, on the other hand, can be called to become a sister, but almost never to be both (that would be a very special vocation indeed).
Nicely put and I agree, with one suggestion. I would like to accept the concept that this concept of God is anthropomorphic, while offering a corollary. If we are children of God, made in His image and likeness, then we are theomorphic, if only analogically. We can therefore communicate with God through his grace because he framed us for it, therefore making us capable of participation in the divine life.
By the way, my last email should have ended with
"Best, Richard." The rest is outtakes.
Best,
Richard
I fell as if you missed Dr. Leithart's point in this article. He intends, if I read correctly, to undermine the fierce dichotomy built between the active and contemplative life of the Church. She can have neither without the other. Because Wisdom Acts, so those who consider Wisdom (via prayer, contemplation, etc.) ought to act.
Pax,
H
I agree that the stigmata (when they are genuine, which usually they are not) should not be made into a fetish, but if we are to believe the testimony of some of the saints they are not trivial. St. Gemma reports that Christ in a vision offered her a very great grace, which she joyfully accepted. That evening she saw the wounded Christ give her the wounds of love, and thereupon the stigmata manifested themselves. Padre Pio tells (with slight variations) the same story. If Christ takes the stigmata seriously, so do I.
As far as the "baroque manifestations" in the spiritual tradition of Christianity, if these things come from God, as some of them seem to, I revere them. I am perfectly aware that rigorous discernment is necessary, as uncritical piety and outright fraud, perhaps even demonical deception, can and have multiplied the "miraculous" to preposterous multitudes which alienate people with critical minds, but God can do wonders and occasionally He actually does.
I agree that outward signs of God's presence are less important than the spiritual communion with God in the soul of the mystic. This is exactly the attitude that Jesus took towards his miracles. In general he performed miracles to help people, and shows something bordering on contempt towards the "Wow" factor. Amen. But he did use miracles to verify his spiritual authority, and as such I take all the wonders of God as traces of his presence. I think these are their real importance. What counts is conversion, repentance, and a life lived in the presence of God.
So I certainly believe that miracles still occur and are significant as signs of the reality of God and his care for his creatures. But the relationship between soul and Creator is primary.
Best,
Richard
From a friend on another path (Islam)
"I am The Way,The Truth, and The Light..." -Christ
Thank you for sharing this
All the best