I’m not that much of an Ascetic
For a few years, MossyMonk86 attracted a curious following—a small flock of investment bankers. (They might have been crypto bros, come to think of it — but they dressed like investment bankers.) It was a spectacle to behold: the wildman, barefoot as always, draped in his moth-eaten and threadbare cowl, his brown robe worn thin by years of wandering. His unkempt beard was tangled with twigs and leaves, his hair a wild halo of gray, where all the birds of the air found a place to lay their young—quite the contrast to the well-coiffed dos of his disciples. Yet there they were, flanking him on either side, a half-dozen alpha males, each strutting, impeccably clad in a different shade of Armani, their polished leather shoes clacking on the cobblestones as they struggled to keep pace with their ragged, untamed guru.
One day, he confessed to them—he did not deny it, but confessed plainly—“I’m not that much of an ascetic.”
The men were dismayed: shocked, bewildered, aghast, each wearing an identical look of horror, which—despite their well-orchestrated racial diversity—seemed eerily uniform, as if they had all been sculpted from the same basic mold of piety and success.
“But Father — how can this be?” one of them stammered, voice tinged with desperation. “We see your sleepless nights and your rigorous fasting. We see your long hours of prayer, how you sleep on the ground in short snatches, to spare time for your tireless meditation on the sacred Scriptures. We see the birds in your beard, and dirt caked under your nails; the thick callouses on your worldweathered feet. Your words have been precious to us — rarer than gold and sweeter than honey. We see how you care nothing for the ways of this world. You, Father, are the Alpha Sigma! Utterly unique, utterly yourself, the absolute paragon of authenticity!”
The old man stopped, and turned around — a wide grin on his weathered face, and a twinkle in his eye. Then he spoke to them, and said:
“The ascetic wrestles with the flesh. I wrestle with God. Don’t you see my limp?
The ascetic is a man of order and discipline. I am a man of chaos and disruption. I have come to set fire to the earth, and to turn all things upside down.
The ascetic lives a life of sacrifice. I live a life of indulgence. You think I am filled with the Holy Spirit? No, it is actually just new wine (though it is, indeed, only 10 in the morning).
The ascetic pours out his life in charity. I pour my life out in eros. I do only what delights me most deeply (but you see, what is most truly delightful has grasped hold of me).
And, of course, the wise man knows he knows nothing. I, on the other hand, know too much, and it’s driving me mad.
You seek to climb the ladder of success. But I tell you: that ladder is lying flat on the ground. You desire to master the art of living. But I tell you: life itself is the master, and we are apprentices fumbling in the dark. You chase after meaning like a dog chasing its tail. Stop, and you might find it’s been chasing you all along.
Your balance sheets are perfect, but your souls are in deficit. The interest compounds, and the debt collector comes at midnight. Your KPIs measure everything except the weight of your soul. How heavy is yours today? Your portfolios may be diversified, but your souls are bankrupt. You trade in futures, but have you considered the cosmic short sell of your existence?
Your strategic plans are written in disappearing ink on the palms of a juggler. You think you’re building empires, but you’re rearranging sand castles before the tide. You say you want to change the world. I say, let the world change you, and watch the universe tremble. You think you’re making history? History is making you, and the cosmic playwright is laughing at the irony.
You see, brothers, here is the problem. You think I love God. I do not love God. I hate him. I resent him. I myself nailed him to the Cross. I am above all men cursed. I am above all to be pitied. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin when it comes to the divine. My hatred for God is more intimate than your tepid love. In nailing Him to the Cross, I have embraced him more fully than your cautious worship ever could. My curse is my blessing, my pitiful state is my exaltation. In hating God, I have found a Belovedness beyond your comprehension.
You think that I love my neighbor. No, I can’t stand him. Why else do you think I spent those many years living in the wilderness? And lo, there is a place being prepared for me, where I can be alone at the heart of things.”
When he finished saying these things, he looked up. His eyes traced the cruel line of steel and glass to the 79th floor of a nearby office building, where a lone light flickered in a distant window.
Then his disciples looked at him. They looked at him, and then they looked at one another. Then, one by one, they went away sad. They had been hoping, each of them, the learn principles for better living, or some ancient wisdom that would bring them business success. But what Mossymonk86 offered them was a labyrinth from which there is no escape.
