Even among Christians there’s no uniform attitude towards monasticism. Some revere the monastic way of life while being unable to fully understand it; some consider it the pinnacle of Christian life, others an unnecessary extreme.
This conversation with Archimandrite Melchisedek (Artyukhin), abbot of the Moscow Podvoriye of the Optina Hermitage, only touches on the tip of the iceberg. We discuss the monastic vow that provokes the greatest misunderstanding yet matters most—obedience. We also discuss whether someone can be mistaken in leaving the world, the “selfishness” of monks, and parental blessing for the monastic path. And, of course, how and why people choose the narrow path of monasticism.
Fr. Melchisedek
To become a monk—out of gratitude to God
—Fr. Melchisedek, one of the most widespread prejudices about monasticism is that it’s people who failed to realize themselves in the world who join a monastery. How much truth is there in this?
—When secular people, especially young people, ask me: “How did you come to monasticism?” I usually jokingly say: “I was unlucky in love, and I was walking down the street when a brick fell on me. When I was in the hospital, some monks from the Holy Trinity-St. Sergius Lavra came and secretly carried me out and tonsured me a monk while I was unconscious. When I came to, I realized it wasn’t so bad.”
I joke because it still doesn’t make sense to the secular mind. Thus, we have these myths about an unhappy life or that monastics just couldn’t find a use for themselves.
You know, there’s a very wise saying: A weak man looks for who’s to blame; a strong man seeks for God. People become monastics out of love for God or because they’re looking for a special repentant way of life. But only those who have tasted and led a monastic life can understand it. How can you understand the sea when you’ve never seen it? Or how can you describe the taste of ice cream to an Australian Aboriginal if he’s never had it? That’s why Scripture says: Taste and see that the Lord is good. In order to see and understand, you have to taste.
—And why did you join a monastery?
—I was tonsured when I was twenty-four, motivated by the thought of dedicating myself to God out of wholehearted gratitude to Him.
Since I was raised in a non-believing family, I first encountered the Gospel when I was seventeen, and it turned my life upside down. I thought to myself: “I’ve been going the wrong way, not towards God. If I hadn’t met a man who gave me the Gospels, I would’ve had an ordinary worldly life: study, then work, family (and with my character, I don’t know what would have come of it). I wouldn’t have known the most important thing!” That’s when I first started thinking about dedicating myself to God: If He truly saved me from such great disaster, then I can’t lead a normal life now, like everyone else. It should somehow be dedicated to Him, to thank Him for salvation.
—You didn’t think a person in the world could dedicate himself to God?
—I was looking for complete dedication to God. It’s quite possible for a believer to find a use for himself in the world by getting married and following the priestly path, for example. Most people choose a middle path—the path of a good Christian life, which isn’t a bad thing at all. But I had a maximalist approach: I didn’t want to be dispersed, but to devote myself entirely to Him. And where can you give yourself entirely to God, where your life is dedicated to the Creator? In monasticism.
Orthodox monks in Zagorsk (Sergiev Posad), 1958. Photo: K. Kapa
—Decisions are often made impulsively, especially at a young age. Youth is prone to extremes. Couldn’t a mistake creep in there?
—It’s a good thought. But even now, at fifty-three, I don’t regret the decision I made in my youth. Because in my case, it was a conscious, deeply thought-out step. My desire for the monastic life was realized after seven years. At seventeen, a few months after I came to faith, I made this decision. And gradually I began to walk this path, testing myself many times over the course of those years. I studied, worked, then served in the army, and even there I was preparing for monastic life. Then I entered seminary, where I saw the example of the fathers of the Holy Trinity-St. Sergius Lavra and my peers, who submitted petitions and received the tonsure. I could try that on for myself.
When people suddenly tell me: “I’m going to a monastery to become a monk!” I say: “No!” If you love something, you prepare for it in advance. People who want to be professional soldiers start playing soldiers in childhood. If he’s serious about it, then he’ll join some kind of military-sports club—there used to be paramilitary youth clubs like that, where children did parachute jumps and rode motorcycles.
—How did you prepare for monasticism?
—For me, monasticism started in the kitchen. I would ask: “What’s the monastic way of life? What’s the monastic rule? There’s one way of life, quite specific: It’s life fully in accordance with the Gospel, which for a monastic is the absolute point of reference. St. Ignatius (Brianchaninov) wrote: “Monasticism is nothing other than an obligation to fulfill the Gospel commandments.” A monk seeks to fulfill the Gospel with his own life. And he’s obligated to be a monk not only in church, but everywhere, in any setting—“in a crowd or in the deepest desert,” as St. Ignatius says.
God wants His children to talk not only amongst themselves, but also with Him. And the best opportunity for communion with God is in a monastery, where there is no all-consuming burdensome care for life.
—Did you really have no cares?
—It caught up to me two years after my monastic tonsuring, which took place on November 29, 1987. A year later, in 1988 (just as I finished seminary), Patriarch Pimen decided to send an “assault force” to the Optina Hermitage, including the abbot of Optina, Archimandrite Evlogy, two hieromonks (one being me), two deacons, and four seminarians. After three years, I was appointed steward of Optina. And that was that. My solitary life ended, and I became a “foreman and builder” for the rest of my life. Disliking it terribly…
On obedience
—As a monk, you couldn’t resist this?
—The fact is that it was a vital necessity. Although I didn’t like this work, I figured, who else would do it? One of the four of us had to do it! There’s a sense of desire and a sense of duty, and they don’t always coincide. Obedience can be done out of love for the work, or it can be done out of a sense of duty.
—Does obedience mean carrying out something unquestioningly and unthinkingly?
—I’m categorically against that. I always tell the brethren that we should do things out of love, and I try to do that myself.
—What does “out of love” mean in this case?
—It means out of love for your family, for your brothers, not for the work. Not like slaves or hired hands. A monastery is a big family. You can love your work or not, but understand that it’s necessary for the family, which means it should be done as well as possible, using your will and your brains.
For example, one summer we planted thuja trees around the church. So you’re given the task of planting a tree, and you plant it. But did you drive a stake next to it and tie it up so it wouldn’t tilt in the wind? Did you cover it from the sun in eighty-five-degree heat? Sure, no one gave you detailed instructions, but you were supposed to think for yourself and do it like you were doing it for yourself. As the Apostle Paul says: Whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord (Col. 3:23).
Sts. Peter and Paul Church, dependency of Optina Monastery, in the Yasenovo District of Moscow
Is a monk an egotist?
—To many, monastics seem like gloomy, strict, unwelcoming people. Obviously this is a stereotype and oversimplification, but does it have some foundation?
—The most cheerful, funniest people are monks.
People don’t see it because they only see monks when they’re fulfilling some kind of duty. We mostly see the “ceremonial” side of monastic life. And what happens at a ceremony? Everyone marches in step, very seriously, like tin soldiers. But they can be completely different in ordinary life. It’s the same here. We simply don’t see the closer, more human side of their interaction.
—Monks are often accused of selfishness: Laymen have responsibilities towards their family, the state, they participate in public life, they create something. But a monastery, to put it simply, is a closed system where everyone is concerned only with themselves…
—We have to understand that the idea of a monastery as a bunch of lazy people who are just taking it easy under the guise of spiritual life, with not a care in the world, is an illusion. People in the world don’t work as much as monastics do! Let’s take Vatopedi on Mt. Athos, which brought the Belt of the Theotokos to Russia—it receives 500 pilgrims a day. They have to buy food for them, bring it in, prepare it, feed everyone, and then wash the dishes, and also wash the bed linens—most pilgrims stay for one night. And they also have to make it to all the divine services. Even sketes have guests.
There is no monk in a monastery who doesn’t do anything for the brotherhood or the pilgrims.
Ask yourself: Is this egotism?
—St. Gregory the Theologian says a monk is he who lives for God, and for Him alone. Is there a contradiction here?
—I once asked Fr. John (Krestiankin) a similar question, about how to combine various obediences, daily cares, and prayer. He said: “Our life should be like a Napoleon cake: dough, cream, dough, cream, and powdered sugar on top. If it’s only dough, that is, only work and cares, it won’t be a very good cake. If it’s only cream (only prayer), it’ll be too sweet. Cream and dough should be interspersed, then it’ll be good.” I asked what the powdered sugar means. He said: “The powdered sugar is humility.” Nothing will be of any benefit without it.
A rare calling?
—Can we say that monasticism is a rare calling, and you don’t need to look for it yourself?
—Both the desire for monasticism and the fulfillment of this desire are from God. The very thought about it is from God. So what, then, comes from man? Consent. The will to carry out that desire.
For example, you want ice cream, you have money, and you know where to buy it. But it’s Great Lent… There’s the desire, there’s the opportunity, but you don’t do it—you don’t consent.
Photo: V. Khodakov / Expo.Pravoslavie.Ru The feeling of love for monasticism comes from God. But not everyone sees it through.
So, I’m certain that it’s not us who choose this path. At least, that’s how it seems to me. When I consented to the thought of monasticism, with the desire to become a monk, it was like a green light turned on in every area of my life. And in this, I see the call of God.
—Can this call be confused with something else? With our own dreams, emotions, neophyte delight?
—No. When a man doubts, it means he doesn’t love God enough to devote himself to Him. And his monastic life will be half-hearted.
But when the desire for monasticism is irresistible, you’ll strive for it, even if all your circumstances are against it.
Why does the Gospel say that a man’s enemies are his household (cf. Mt. 10:32–38)? This is said, among other things, about those who desire the monastic life. No mother, no father easily blesses their children on this path. Why look far for examples? The parents of St. Sergius of Radonezh told him: “First see us through to the end, and only then become a monk.” And he fulfilled this filial duty. Even they didn’t agree to part with their son during their lifetime.
Moreover, the mother of the future St. Theodosius of the Kiev Caves beat him and forcibly brought him back from the monastery. But he didn’t obey his mother, and dedicated his life to God.
—So everyone has their own way. That means it’s not about renouncing your parents, as some think, and certainly not about a lack of love for them…
—It’s not about that. It’s about priorities. When a man has decided to dedicate his life to God, then God comes first. That doesn’t mean his parents are last. They’re not second, and second is also quite good!
—Do you need your parents’ blessing to join a monastery?
—It’s preferable, but not absolutely necessary.
For example, the Optina Elders instruct that you should get your parents’ blessing for marriage or monasticism. Plus, as the Holy Fathers say: “He who sows with a blessing shall reap with a blessing.”
My path to monasticism lasted seven years, and the final obstacle in my way was that I didn’t have my non-believing mother’s blessing to enter the monastery. My spiritual father told me I couldn’t become a monk without it. I said: “But my mother isn’t a believer. She can’t give such a blessing, in principle!” She actually told me: “Anything but that! You can go to seminary, but don’t become a monk.”
But then one day she went to the Lavra, where I was studying in seminary. She was sad about something and we had a difficult conversation. I asked her what happened.
“Nothing.”
“You’re not yourself.”
To which she said: “You’re probably going to become a monk.”
“Mama, what are you talking about? Look at the kind of girls we have here, studying to be choir directors! And I still have three years left. Forget about it—there’s still a lot of time left.”
“No, you’re going to be a monk.”
“And what makes you think that?”
“I had a dream. Some kind of sadness overcame me last night, and fell asleep with this sadness…”
The thing is that she was alone. My father left us when I was in first grade. My older brother got married and started his own family, and then I served in the army, and my mother never saw me. When I got back from the army, I was only able to stay at home for about a month. I was discharged in July, and by August I’d already enrolled in seminary and left for the Lavra. So again, she didn’t see me for about two years…
My mother continued her story:
“I fell asleep with these sad thoughts. Then in a dream I heard a strong, imperious voice: ‘Galina! There’s nothing to be afraid of. Your son will be a monk.’ I woke up in tears, with a single thought: ‘I don’t want this at all!’ My mind said one thing, but my feelings another. But this unforgettable voice gave me such peace in my soul, as if some inner strength had taken root…”
I told my spiritual father all of this, and he said: “It’s the voice of God. This is your path. You’ll come to the monastery in a month.”
And that was it. The last obstacle was gone…
Can we do without monasticism?
—Why, do you think, despite all the negative stereotypes and myths, does monasticism remain appealing and command respect?
Archimandrite Melchisedek
—Dostoyevsky wrote that for a man who lives in untruth and injustice, it’s important to know that there is truth somewhere. Perhaps we’re unrighteous, we’re not saints, but such people exist somewhere!
People want to have contact with the ideal of a pious life. St. John Chrysostom wrote that monasteries are like lights shining on men from afar, drawing everyone to their silence. It’s important for a believer to have the monastic life, a life of dedication to God, before him as a model!
I know of cases where people in power, people of position, wealthy, who’ve reached the heights of success, really fell in love with Mount Athos. They say: “I never would’ve imagined that this would happen. I’m simply in shock.” They plunged into another life, a world where everything is tied to God. For us, on the contrary, our whole life is tied to anything but God.
In general, monastic life is a mystery sealed with seven seals. You can’t explain it. St. John Climacus says that if people knew what joy there is in the monastic life, the whole world would join a monastery. If they knew what difficulties there are in the monastic life, no one would join a monastery. It’s a great mystery, a special life. You can talk about it a little theoretically, but to understand the fullness, the joy of life with God, you have to taste of it for yourself.
That’s why monasticism will always remain at once appealing, unspoken, and incomprehensible to worldly consciousness. There’s no getting around that.
