The wisdom of this great monk as a legislator, and the superiority of his discipline to all that had previously existed, are mainly found in the place which he gives to manual labor. This was the distinctive feature of the new order—hard, healthy, bodily labor. Monasticism had been hitherto almost entirely a life of mere seclusion and contemplation, supported by the charity of the public, or the overawed peasantry in the neighborhood of the monastery. Benedict had seen the evil effects of this idle, dreamy, state of existence, and made ample provision for the occupation of the monks. Idleness he branded as the enemy of both soul and body. They were not only to labor in the way of prayer, worship, reading, and the education of youth; but they were to labor with their hands, as with the ax in the forest, the spade in the fields, and the trowel on the walls. The advantages of this new system were great. The Benedictine abbeys became industrious agricultural settlements. Husbandry, and the arts of civilized life, were introduced into the most barbarous regions, and the wilderness, under the hands of the monks, blossomed with fertility.
Although the order of St. Benedict was in every way contrary both to the letter and spirit of the word of God, it had more of reason and common sense than the idle and languishing systems of the East. "He was one of those who held," says Travers Hill, "that to live in this world a man must do something—that life which consumes, but produces not, is a morbid life, in fact an impossible life—a life that must decay—and therefore, imbued with the importance of this fact, he made labor, continuous and daily labor, the great foundation of his rule." His penetration is also seen in his consideration for the unfriendly climate of the West, and for European constitutions. His laws were milder and more practicable than had been attempted in Eastern countries; the diet rather more generous; and he did not propose any extreme mortification, but permitted his followers to live according to the common habits of their respective countries. In these wise and reasonable considerations lay the whole secret of the wondrous success of the Benedictine order.
But with our modern notions of good living, and of comparatively few religious services in the course of a week, the reader may be disposed to question what we have said of the mildness of the monastic rules, and of the generous nature of the diet. We have spoken of these as compared with the East, where monasticism originated.
At two o'clock in the morning the monks were aroused for vigils, on which occasion twelve psalms were chanted, and certain lessons from the scriptures read or recited. They assembled again at day-break for matins; this service was almost the same as the first, so that in their vigils and matins twenty-four psalms were to be chanted each day, that the psalter might be completed each week. The time for their in-door devotions and their out-door labors was arranged, in summer and winter, as the superior saw fit. But they were obliged to attend at least seven distinct religious services every twenty-four hours, besides seven hours each day for labor. They breakfasted about noon, and dined in the evening. Their usual food consisted of vegetables, grain, and fruit; one pound of bread per day for each monk, and a small quantity of wine. On the public table no meat was allowed; only to the sick was animal food given. Sometimes they had eggs or fish with an evening meal. But every day in Lent they fasted till six in the evening, and were allowed less time for sleep.
The dress of the monks was to be coarse and plain, but variable, according to circumstances. They were allowed the luxury of boots. Their outer garment was to be a loose black gown, with large wide sleeves, and a cowl on their heads, ending in a point behind. Every monk had two coats, two cowls, a table-book, a knife, a needle, and a handkerchief. The furniture of their cells was a mat, a blanket, a rug, and a pillow. Each had a separate bed, and they slept with their clothes on. A dean was to preside over each dormitory, and a 'light was to be kept burning in each. No talking was allowed after they retired. For small faults they were shut out from the meals of the brotherhood, for greater they were excluded from the chapel; incorrigible offenders were excluded from the monastery.
Thus the long and tedious day of the self-doomed monk was spent; from his midnight vigils till his evening vespers, all his observances were merely mechanical. On entering the monastery, he renounced wholly every species of personal liberty. His vow of implicit obedience to his superiors in everything was irrevocable. No one could receive a present of any kind, not even from a parent, nor have any correspondence with persons outside the monastery, except by its passing under the inspection of the abbot. A porter always sat at the gate, which was kept locked day and night, and no stranger was admitted without leave from the abbot, and no monk could go out unless he had permission from his superior.
The garden, the mill, the well, the bakehouse, were all within the walls, so that there might be no necessity for leaving the monastery. The trade or the occupation of every monk was to be determined by the abbot. A monk who once was rich and of high birth was now penniless, and might be appointed cook or waiter, tailor, carpenter, or ditcher, according to the pleasure of the absolute superior; the quality and quantity of his food were prescribed and limited as if he had been the merest child. He was not allowed to speak but at certain times. All conversation was strictly prohibited during meals; some one read aloud the whole time.
Thus was the man—the social man—isolated from society. Woman, whom God gave to man, was to be considered, not only a stranger to his thoughts, but the natural enemy of his lonely perfection. By the subtlety of Satan, self was the supreme object of all monks—of every system of monkery. How forcibly the words of the apostle come into the mind when musing on the liberty of Christ and the slavery of Satan: "But what things were gain to me, those I counted loss for Christ." Mark these truly christian words, "what things were gain to me—gain to me!" If only gain to me, what is the good of them? I want Christ. I have seen Christ in the glory. I want to be like Him. Everything that religious flesh could boast of, which was gain to him, he flung behind his back as the merest dross. "Yea, doubtless," he says, "and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord." What blindness, what perversity, for any one to prefer the order of St. Benedict to Phil. 3—to the love and liberty of Christ! But such was the deceiving power of Satan, that man thought the sure, if not the only, way to heaven was to become a monk.