I met a lot of Benedictines, from my community and others. Outside the cloister, guests tended to receive a show of preternatural serenity from the monastics. Inside the cloister, this behavior evaporated as if everyone took their monastics habit off when away from public scrutiny.
It slowly dawned that Benedictine life had not brought these folks anywhere in particular. They weren’t good or bad, but just ordinary, indistinguishable from everyone else. A few took seriously the call to grow in humility. Many paid little attention to monastic practices, caught up in everyday fears, ambitions and desires.
Because I spent a lot of time at the monastery before I entered the community, I knew the sisters were little different from the rest of us. Fear, anger or prejudice ruled them on occasion, just as such passions sometimes ruled me. I thought that was a good thing. We were all beginners, as Benedict expected for those who used his Rule. We could support each other as we walked side-by-side on the same road. The older sisters had spent more time walking it and so could offer advice from their struggles. I looked forward to hearing how they managed the journey. Even though I knew I'd resist, I looked forward getting help looking at myself.
Most of us have a hard time holding a mirror up to ourselves - taking a searching and fearless moral inventory (in the words of AA) that honestly lists both our actual weaknesses and our actual strengths. Like in AA, this is a necessary monastic step. Like in AA, we need the support of peers traveling the road with us. Monastic community is supposed to offer this. As Benedict says, we learn, out of love, to support with the greatest patience each other's weaknesses of body and personality. In that way everyone draws closer to God.
So it wasn't a shock to discover that under the hyper-monastic habits the sisters wore for guests, lived some very ordinary women. What hurt was discovering that the older sisters thought they'd already reached the pinnacle of monastic wisdom. They were "free of ego," and so needed to do no further work on themselves. Even an inadvertent challenge to this view of their achievement could not be tolerated.
How did the monastic promise fall so far short? How could people so easily twist it to support self-indulgence?
12-step programs are a very effective way to gain serenity, which is also the promise of monasticism. In both, we give up the illusion that we are in control. In exchange we gain knowledge and acceptance of our actually weaknesses and strengths.
All the parts of monasticism - from the insights of the old desert hermits to Benedict - are present in the 12 steps and 12 traditions. They are just cut up and rearranged. But Benedictine monasticism has one glaring difference. The monastery is a strict dictatorship. 12-step programs are insistently non-hierarchical, non-organized peer groups. The experience of peers provides a teaching resource, but the only authority is one's own Higher Power.
Benedictines are hardly the only group to found monastic practice on a dictatorial authority. Yet the problems with this approach are all too clear in the arrogance that was the downfall of the sisters I knew. The effectiveness of a non-hierarchical, unprofessional approach is equally clear in the success of 12-step programs in bringing people along the monastic road. But those in 12 step programs mostly go home to their separate lives after meetings. They are not trying to create an enduring, economically-interdependent family, such as is a monastery.
Is there a functional middle ground between these that would foster monastic community?