Modern scholars have abandoned the use of the phrase 'the dark ages', when referring to a period of history which they now prefer to denote as 'medieval' or 'the middle ages'. It is arrogant, they would argue, to dismiss any period of history by using a phrase which carries negative connotations. Nevertheless, there is no denying the spiritual darkness present in that age, as it remains in any period of human history. Far from seeking to dismiss the period in question, some important spiritual lessons may be drawn from a brief consideration of medieval monasticism. As the Church of Rome con­tinues to masquerade as a Christian church, it claims to convey sainthood to its most eminent followers. Since coming to office, for instance, the present Pontiff, John Paul II, has 'created' 278 saints and beatified 769 other persons, with another 2000 cases pending (The Spectator, 18 October, 1997). These are upheld as role models of how Christians ought to live.

Clearly then, the image of holiness and Christian piety that was so central to monasticism, retains some force in our own age. A familiar tradition of exposing the errors of Rome has been to draw attention to the moral cor­ruption it contained on the eve of the 16th century Reformation. Yet, by examining the very best of monasticism, when it was at its most vibrant within Western Europe, it can be shown to exhibit a perversion of genuine piety, and to display what in effect was spiritual pride.

The Appeal of Cluny in the 10th and 11th Centuries⤒🔗

Cluny was able to spread its influence beyond Burgundy in France to Eng­land, Germany, Spain, Italy and Byzantium. It could serve as an instrument of the Gregorian reform papacy during the abbacy of St Hugh, as well as in­fluence the 'Peace' and 'Truce of God' movements. In the late eleventh century when Urban II called for the first Crusade, his ideas had been shaped by his Cluniac background, reflecting the strong appeal which Cluny had, in terms of both the men it attracted as recruits and as patrons. In the kingdoms within which Cluny prospered, the nobility were taking on the traditionally royal role of providing patronage and ecclesiastical protection. However, its essential appeal was in the offer to deliver from the burden of sin, and this can be confirmed by reference to the rather large body of surviving charters recording donations to Cluny. A common preamble in such charters betrays the dangerous concept of a donation of material wealth in exchange for the remission of sins:

If a man desires to be made the heir of the land of which the Psalmist says, "I believe I shall see the good things of the Lord in the land of the living", he should not hesitate to give in exchange for it this land that we tread with our feet and that the worms inherit, in order that he might be cleansed from every stain of sin.

The meaning is all too clear: salvation was being sought through the works of the sinner, a doctrine which contrasts sharply with the New Testa­ment. In terms of what was being offered, it is possible to identify something of the spiritually seductive nature of monastic piety. Members of the laity could hope for the safety of their souls by donating wealth to a monastic house in return for masses and prayers said by men who seemed pious. The monks engaging in the work believed they were involved in the important business of saving souls. Thus by departing from the gospel of Christ and promulgating 'another gospel', they fell under the judgment: 'God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie' (2 Thessalonians 2:11).

In Cluny, therefore, a revised version of Benedictine monasticism was proving popular with the laity, enabling it to become a truly international phenomenon during the eleventh century. The encouragement of false piety soon saw other fruits, as it made use of anything open to the human imagi­nation to inspire awe in the worship of God. The Marian cult known in Byzantium was adopted into the liturgical devotion of Cluny. Monasticism claimed to benefit the sinner by offering salvation but it did so in such a way as to pervert true godliness. The essence of Cluny's piety was poverty. The irony is that Cluny grew materially richer, whilst the laity grew steadily poorer. Such a system of will-worship has always been bereft of any lasting spiritual value.

Cluny was able to capitalise on its special relationship with the nobility of Western Europe in such a way as to accumulate vast material wealth. In so doing it could build, provide for its own rapid expansion, and contribute economically to the goals of the reform papacy. The laity were increasingly disposed to becoming its patrons, as well as its recruits, while labouring un­der a failing penitential system. Men were drawn toward Cluny as a centre of piety and learning, captivated by the seemingly noble theme of the monk withdrawn from the world entering a disciplined and revitalised monastic house. While the European laity sought a possible answer to the problem of sin, the house of Cluny expanded through the often vigorous individual mis­sions of its disciples. Men such as Ulrich, Anastasius and Morandus did much to further the Cluniac cause. The facade of piety and the stability of the order encouraged people to donate land, and in turn the priories which were subsequently founded frequently resulted in a series of annexations. St Mont, for example, founded in 1050, accumulated 47 dependencies in sixty years.

Patrons of Cluny clamoured to be identified with the monastic house and often wished to be buried on her lands in order to increase the chance of reaching heaven. The spiritual rewards were therefore entirely empty. An al­tar at Cluny was dedicated to St Columba, and the practices of extreme poverty, prayers for the dead, as well as the perception of the monk as a 'sol­dier of Christ' all found their common origins in the Celtic monasticism of the past. The adoration of Mary was another Cluniac practice which resulted from outside contacts, in this case with Byzantium. Together these features widened its appeal to both patron and recruit alike, and the splendour, even solemnity, of its rituals could appeal to contemporary concepts of piety. Perhaps this was nowhere more evident than in the Cluniac ritual which at­tended the moving of the relics of a 'saint' from Cluny to another destination for the provision of 'protection'. The ritual involved a senior monk, two can­dle bearers, a thurifer (incense-bearer), and minister of holy water leading the entire community, while the church bells rang out. On reaching the gate they returned to the chanting of Psalm 119. Such was the impact of Cluny on the local community, and on the senses of the lay observers. What had remained a local phenomenon of Burgundy until c.993, emerged as an international centre under the abbacies of Odilo and Hugh. Thus was popu­larised an unbiblical view of holiness.

New Religious Orders←⤒🔗

The period between the tenth to the twelfth centuries saw a rapid expansion and indeed revival of monasticism. New religious orders appeared in the wake of Cluny. This phenomenon was further stimulated in the aftermath of the First Crusade and the capture of Jerusalem in 1098. The reforming monastic houses sought 'spiritual purity' and a return to the Rule of St Benedict. Such was the inspiration which underlay the monastic foundations at Camaldoli, Fonte Avellana, Vallombrosa and Grand Chartreuse. These witnessed a renewal of emphasis on poverty, simplicity and detachment from the world.

Men such as Peter Damian and Romauld of Ravenna championed the austere way of life and added to the popularity of the monastic theory. Within these orders, institutions developed which combined the isolation of the hermits with the communal existence of monasteries. The most common feature of these movements was that of a search for the simplicity of the early church. What they each arrived at was their own theories of how the apos­tles had lived. They sought to hide themselves away from the world, and achieve the ideal of the 'Vita Apostolica' ('Apostolic Life').

The basis of such new-found monastic virtue was not in any sense based on the authority of the Scriptures. It was in fact based on traditions which looked back as far as the early Desert Fathers, and the emergence of early monasticism in Egypt. When any attempt to justify the concept of monastic piety was made by reference to the Scriptures, they bore little resemblance to sound doctrine. In the work written by contemporary hermits, the Libellus de Diversis Ordinibus, a direct appeal was made to the example of our Lord's temptation in the wilderness, as the justification for leading a monastic life. This finds no support in the teaching of Christ himself. From within the monastic movement there is evidence of a quite different emphasis from anything taught by our Lord. The great eremitic (monastic) leader, Peter Damian, considered the hermit to be a soldier of Christ, withdrawn from the world to engage in 'spiritual warfare'. Such language was to prove popular as military orders, such as the Knights Templar, appeared during the generation of the First Crusade. Earlier, in 1043, when he became the superior at Fonte Avellana, he legislated for the existing community of hermits, and attacked the contemporary sins of simony and intemperance. Against these evils Damian propounded the virtues of 'total poverty'.

The revival and consolidation of monasticism was the achievement of a fellow native of Ravenna, Romauld. Romauld had come into contact with Greek monasticism in Italy, and is known to have studied the works of Cassian and Cyril of Scythopholis, while at Cuxa. To Romauld, monasteries were 'places for the spiritually weak': training grounds for future hermits. The spiritual pride involved in such an assertion should be noted. On founding Camaldoli, he gathered hermits together and organised them into colonies. There he resided with a number of companions in separate cells, leading lives consisting of silence and prayer. Damian himself gives us some idea of the monastic life at Camaldoli:

Who 'would not be astounded at see­ing men previously dressed in silken robes, escorted by cohorts of servants, and accustomed to all the pleasures of affluence, now content with a single cloak, enclosed, barefooted, unkempt, and so parched and wasted by absti­nence?'

In such sentiments, there must be a strong element of will-worship, but surely the reality of what represented itself as piety was in fact spiritual pride vaunting itself, as it so often does, in order to be 'seen of men'.

In the period 1075-1125, the eremitic monastic movement flourished, seeing the beginnings of Grandmont, Grand Chartreuse, Citeaux and in 1121, Premontre. These were made up of men concerned with how the early church put its ideals into practice. The desire for purity and simplicity in the worship of God had a long resonance within western monasticism. The monks and hermits that withdrew from the world to the cloister, believed that monasticism could be transformed into the true 'Vita Apostolica'. In re­ality, these men in the monastery were often as enslaved to sin as those outside of the cloister.

'Having a Form of Godliness, but Denying the Power thereof' (2 Timothy 3:5)←↰⤒🔗

However, the 'form of godliness' advanced by medieval monasticism, had an appeal to more than its own contemporaries, as it still carries a great deal of respect in our own age. The piety which the world acknowledges is an affront to genuine holiness; the latter can only be conveyed by the operation of the Holy Spirit, and not conferred by men. Satan has always sought to mimic the wondrous works of God – never more so than in an area which is so vital to the witness of the Christian church. All Christians are called upon by God to be holy.

But as he that hath called you is holy, so be ye holy in all manner of conversation; because it is written, Be ye holy; for I am holy. 1 Peter 1:14, 15

Holiness, or Christian piety, was never intended to be the preserve of an elite. It pertains to the life of every believer, and cannot be achieved through its pursuit being institutionalised in any age. The dangers involved in depart­ing from biblical standards in this area are underestimated by many.

The apparent virtue of monasticism at its height was misconceived. It demonstrated a high level of spiritual pride, which God hates, and was based on the traditions of men, as well as unwarranted interpretations of the Scrip­tures. The eremitical movement proved crucial in this sphere; their writings alleged that Abel provided the first monastic pattern for leading a withdrawn life. Moses saw the glory of God alone on Sinai, and even our Lord was al­leged to have led an eremitical life. In this, Peter Damian saw 'a hermitage as a garden of heavenly delights', yet the 'scent of virtue' that he commented on, was far removed from the true virtue of biblical holiness.

The Church of Rome has gone to great lengths to spread its false teach­ings in every age through its vigorous propaganda. During the middle ages a spurious form of piety was presented to the world by means of monasteries and hermitages, furthered by men such as Ulrich, Anastasius and Morandus.

Today that propaganda continues to be as active as ever in proclaiming 'another gospel', while the Vatican gives thought to a fast-track canonization of the late Mother Teresa of Calcutta. The tragedy is that external piety with­out regeneration may make a strong appeal to the natural man's mind but it cannot either give peace to the conscience or make us pleasing to God. 'That which is born of the flesh is flesh' (John 3:6). The medieval monastic theory fails where it is most applauded by its friends. It does not make real saints. Blessed be God that the Reformers were raised up to preach justification by faith alone in Christ and regeneration by the unaided power of God!

Medieval monastic piety is no model for men in our modern secular world. Rather, let us cultivate that piety which flows from a renewed heart and a life lived in vital union with Christ. Such piety needs no cloister to grow in.