Meditations on a Theme. A Spiritual Journey (an extract)

A true encounter is rarely experienced, if you give it its full meaning. People’s paths cross, they come up against one another − how many pass us by in the course of a single day without seeing us? And how many are those at whom we look with unseeing eyes, to whom we address neither a look, nor word, nor smile? And yet, every one of those people was a Presence, an image of the living God, whom God may have sent to us with a message or to receive a message from God through us, a word, a gesture, a look of acknowledgement, of compassion, of understanding. To be carried past one another in the street or in life, by the crowd or by chance, is not yet an encounter. We must learn to look and to see − to look attentively, thoughtfully, taking in the features of a face, its expression, the message of a countenance and of the eyes. We must learn, each of us and also in our human groups social, political, racial, national, to see one another in depth, looking patiently, as long as necessary, in order to see who it is who stands before us.

We all belong to human communities which have been separated or opposed to one another for centuries. For hundreds of years at times, we have turned our back, refusing to look into one another's eyes, moving ever farther apart. Then we have stopped; we turned round to see him who had been our brother and had become a stranger, even an enemy. But we were still too far apart to be able to distinguish his features, much less to see the image of God in him, This is how the pharisee viewed the publican, how nations look at nations, class at class, church at church, individual at individual.

We must start on a real pilgrimage, a long pilgrimage. We are near enough now to be able to look at one another straight in the eyes, reaching beyond the eyes into the depth of living hearts, observing minds, evaluating deeds, drawing from all this freshly acquired insight thoughtful and careful conclusions as to what was meant, intended and willed by other men, who no less than we ourselves wanted to understand and fulfill the will of God. All this requires a great deal of good-will. It is all too easy to see in the other what repels us, makes strangers of them. It is as easy to see in those who are on our own side nothing but the most attractive qualities.

But how difficult it is to be just. We usually think of justice in terms of attribution or retribution, of allotting to everyone his due, but justice goes farther and claims more, much more, from us. It begins at the moment when I see my neighbour (individual or collective) as different from me, at times irreducibly different, and recognising his total right to be so, accept the fact that he is himself and has no reason to be merely a replica of myself. He is as much Gods creature as I am; he was not made in my image but in God’s. He is called to be the likeness of God, not to be the likeness of me; and if he seems to me to be very far from being God’s like and kin, if he appears to be a repulsive caricature and not an image of God − has he not as much ground to see me likewise? We are all very ugly indeed, and also very miserable and should have such compassionate regard for one another.

To acknowledge another man’s right to be himself, not to resemble me, is the fundamental act of justice, which alone will make it possible for us to look at a man without trying to see and recognise ourselves in him, but to recognise him and beyond yet within him, to discern the Image of the Lord.

But it is not enough to look and to see, we must also learn to listen in order to hear. How often it happens that in a conversation, when opinions differ or clash – while our partner is trying to make us understand his views, opening to us his heart, giving us access to secret and often sacred recesses in his mind − instead of hearing what he says, we glean from his discourse enough material to be ready, the moment he falls silent if we can wait that long), to contradict him. This is what we mistakenly call a dialogue; the one speaks the other does not listen. And after the first round one changes places so that in the end each has spoken and none has heard.

So that listening is an art we must learn. It is not words we must hear and judge at their face value; not only phrases we must recognise because we use them ourselves. We must listen with such discernment that we can catch within a phrase, often inadequate, the evanescent gleam of truth, of a thought that struggles to express itself, however dimly, however tentatively; the truth of a heart which strives to make us aware of its treasures and its agony. Alas! All too often we are content with hearing mere words and it is to them that we address our reply. Had we taken the risk of doing more, to be attentive to the tone of voice, we might have discovered that the simplest words were heavy with anguish; we would then be duty-bound to respond to this anguish by compassion, charity, commitment. But how dangerous this is! And so, we choose to listen to words and respond to nothing else, we remain deaf to the spirit and yet – “the letter kills, only the spirit quickens.”

What are we then to do if we want to learn to see and to hear? The first condition was stated above: we must recognise and accept the alterity of the other; the other is different from me and is entitled to be such, I have no right to resent it or to expect him to become like me. But to see him as he is I must come near enough to discern everything there is to be seen, yet not so close as not to see any more the “wood for the trees”. An image may help us understand this: when we wish to see a statue we take our stand at a definite distance from it. This distance is not the same for everyone; it will depend on whether we see well or not, whether we are short- or long-sighted, but each person will have to find that point in space which will allow him, and perhaps him alone, to see best both the whole and every relevant detail, the point of equipoise between remoteness or closeness. If the distance increases we shall no longer see a statue but a block of stone which will become more and more shapeless as we move away from it. If on the contrary, we come too close, details will acquire undue prominence, and as we come even closer they also will fade away to leave us with nothing but the texture of the stone. Nothing will be left in either case of the message which the statue was to convey to us.

It is in a similar way that we must learn to see one another: to be far enough, to distance ourselves sufficiently to be free from irrational, self-centred reactions, from prejudice, from all those errors of judgement which come with emotional entanglement; yet near enough to feel related, responsible, committed. This will require an effort of will and genuine denying of self. It is easy to relate harmoniously to a statue. It is much more arduous to distance ourselves from a person we love or to come close to someone who is repellent to us. To do this, to conquer both fear and greed, we must disengage ourselves from our egotism, unlearn to see all things as though we were at the centre of the universe. We must learn to see things in an objective manner, as facts, which we can take in and investigate without asking first: how does the person or this circumstance affect me, my well-being, my security, my very existence? To be so dispassionate as to be able to see through appearances and despite material evidence, in depth, as Christ did – remember the calling of Matthew, the despised tax-gatherer. How different Christ’s way is to our own horrible gift of seeing through layers of transparency, of translucence and of light, the equivocal twilight of human imperfection or the darkness of a still unenlightened but rich internal chaos. We are not content to judge actions without giving people the benefit of the doubt; we question their very motives, suspect their intentions, instead of “believing all things, hoping all things.”

We must act ruthlessly against this tendency we have to judge everything from the viewpoint of our little self.

Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh*

a) Answer the questions:

1. Why is a true encounter rarely experienced?
2. Why are human communities separated or opposed to each over?
3. What make a pilgrimage toward each other a long and a difficult process?
4. When are people just in their appreciations of other people?
5. What does the author mean by “learning to look and see, to listen and to hear”?
6. What enables people to see things in an objective manner?

b) Sum up the author’s idea of a true encounter (250 words).

c) People’s opinions differ. That’s why many of those who listened to Mitropolitan Anthony’s lectures or broadcasts found their content uncomfortable and challenging. Study the text again and try to define:

· the ideas of the author you find appealing;

· the ideas you find difficult to understand;

· the ideas you reject completely.

d) Analyse the language of the religions lecture. Comment on the vocabulary and syntax of the text. What stylistic devices are applied by the author? What allusions can be found in the text? What features of the public speech are still evident in the printed version of the lecture?

XXXII. Read the text. Translate it into Russian. Do the exercises coming after the text. Dwell on the following points:

· What social problems are accompanied by or lead to violence?

· What other factors cause violence?

· What are traditional means to stop or reduce violence?

· How do you understand King’s concept of nonviolence?