Discipline And Abundance

October 4, 1991

In the Middle Ages a monk framed the Law of the Monastic Cycle: “Discipline begats abundance, and abundance, unless we take the utmost care, destroys discipline; and discipline in its fall pulls down abundance.” This Monastic Cycle applied to those monasteries and religious orders which through a stern routine of work and prayer built up wealth and power. But yielding to the temptation to spend and enjoy the riches led to varieties of corruption, unseemly pomp and luxurious possessions, greed for money and sumptuous living, violations of the oaths of chastity with many monasteries and convents deserving the name of brothel rather than sanctuary. (Roland Bainton, REFORMATION OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY and other sources.) Henry VIII by proclaiming himself Head of the Church in England, and by severing allegiance to the Pope, not only secured his divorce to marry Anne Boleyn, but also gave himself the power to seize the jewels, wealth, and large estates of the monastic orders. Which he forthwith did, giving much of these to his favorites; thereby altering irrevocably the distribution of land, wealth and power in Britain.

The “law of the monastic cycle” may not be a universal rule. But it merits thoughtfulness in any place and time. We live in a nation of much abundance. (How that abundance is distributed is a dilemma of values and economics too complex to pursue here.) Has our abundance destroyed discipline, and, consequently, will abundance become scarcity?

Our land has rewarded us abundantly. For two centuries it required discipline: dawn to dusk hard work to clear, plow, seed, tend and reap the crops; hardship and determination to push ever more West, seeking the furs, gold, lumber. The great rivers were channels of profitable commerce. Engineers and sweated labor built the railroads that created and transported abundance. The ancient forests provided lumber for houses, barns, masts, furniture and other uses beyond counting. The rivers and streams irrigated the West producing fruit, vegetables, wheat, beyond any visionary dreams. We became the richest nation that history records.

But in the last century or so, something went wrong. We polluted the rivers and streams. Fish died. We dumped immeasurable tons of garbage in our ancient Mother, the Sea. Forests were denuded and became barren, ravaged hills. Chemical pesticides poisoned not only insect life, but also farm workers, not to speak of the unknown but probable toxic effects on many people who consumed the produce. One could go on in book-lengths how we have harmed ourselves and our posterity because because we thought the natural world was ours to use for unlimited profits, rather than recognizing that, we. too, are the natural world and certain to be maimed by our own excesses. “The land was ours before we were the land’s” (Robert Frost)

Is the “law of the monastic cycle” in effect? Will the breakdown in discipline lead to scarcity? Who knows the future? But there are ominous portents.

A culture of consumerism prevails. There are T-shirts and shopping bags with the motto, “shop ’til you drop.” Comedy or tragedy? Our national economy seems to depend on constantly accelerating consumer purchases, preferably, big ticket. An article in the Business section the other day pointed out that because only interest on home mortgages is now deductible on the Federal Income Tax return, buyers were paying up credit card debt because that interest is no longer a deduction. A parallel consequence is that people are buying less in order to limit debt interest, thus reducing sales. Such a mercantile and marketing worry is a reminder of Emerson’s judgment, “things are in the saddle and ride mankind.”

“Discipline” is a much reiterated word, at least in schools, many (but not all) homes, and the military. Whether the concept prevails widely in practice in our culture is arguable. In one of Saki’s (H. H. Munro) inimitable short stories, there is a cutting satire about discipline. An army regiment mutinied and killed its officers because the food was so deplorable, “...(the) War Minister saved the situation by his happy epigram ‘Discipline, to be effective, must be optional.’” Ridiculous? Of course. However, if there is not a strong motive of self-discipline, coerced discipline, in the long run, fails. The famous naturalist, John Muir (1838-1914) once said that he was richer than railroad multimillionaire, E. J. Harriman. Said Muir, “I have all the money I want and he hasn’t.”

Now I am not so uninformed and dense to assert that everyone with abundance will be victims of the Law of the Monastic Cycle. I have known many persons who have acquired abundance and maintained their self-discipline. They have found the balance between authentic needs and fleeting desires. They know the difference between a Sales Pitch and an answer to the issue at hand. They are less likely to strike out on a sinking curve or an illegal spitball. They have not fallen victim to the Monastic Cycle. May the numbers of these self-disciplinarians increase. Millions more are needed if there is to be some grasp on susceptibility, waste, pollution, corruption. Individually and in our institutions we need the guts to resist easy, pleasant (and wrong) answers to hard, unpleasant problems.

You might ask, “Any suggestions, Old Timer?” I could refer you to the Book of Lamentations in the Hebrew scriptures. But I am not as gloomy or sorrowful about our times as that author was over the destruction of Jerusalem and the desolation of the Jewish people. Instead, I’ll write an extended metaphor about the Beetle Ring.

Thirty or so years ago, I conducted service at the Cobblestone Universalist Church on the shores of Lake Ontario. Membership had dwindled; there was just an Annual Service. This Universalist Church was built in 1834, using lake stones smoothed by aeons of wind, wave, freeze, thaw. The building is a gem of the stonemasons' craftsmanship. The laying of cobblestones was much more difficult than brick. Bricks nest solidly together, but cobblestones do not. The layering of the mortar so that uniformity of tiers could be achieved was a skill that the stonemasons kept to themselves. The stones were uniform in size and how they were selected was not a secret.

The stonemasons used the Beetle Ring to sort the cobblestones. The Beetle Ring, either iron or stone, was a slab in which a hole had been cut away. If a cobblestone could be passed through the Beetle Ring, it was not too large for use; too small cobblestones would be obvious.

If many of us would use a Beetle Ring in our handling of abundance, perhaps self-discipline would be less vulnerable. We have needs; we have wants. Many times our “wants” are disproportionate to our needs. With a Beetle Ring of the resources of our minds, emotions, and values, we might discern if our “wants” are too large for our Beetle Ring. Then we could decide not to build that “want” into the building of Self. All of us have desires beyond our basic needs. That's OK – reasonable self-indulgence is not a vice. Midas would have been happier if he used a Beetle Ring. So would Donald Trump, if there is some truth in the many stories of his extravagance. Every one of you could cite other examples.

A Beetle Ring most assuredly could be used by our Federal, State and Municipal governments. I do not have to review for you all the “turkeys” that are voted to placate “at-home” interests and voters.

One concluding observation: One of the fascinating opening sentences in a novel that I have remembered for years was Sabatini’s dashing story, SCARAMOUCHE, “He was born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad.” If you think enough about that sentence, you may, like I have, believe living could be worse. If we can’t now and then chuckle or laugh at absurdities, even painful ones, we will miss ways we can cope with the strangeness of it all.

I’ll write no Book of Lamentations. No one of us is compelled to obey the Law of the Monastic Cycle. We need not assent tamely to institutions, government and corporate, who mistakenly believe they are exempt from that law.