"Humble Yourself and Be Exalted"
St. Benedict's Rule and Spiritual Ascension
Confronting my alcoholism was never my problem. I’d been to hundreds of AA meetings, called myself an alcoholic without any hesitation, and had scores of evidence that drinking simply wasn’t an option.
But this certainty actually worked against my sobriety. I continued to drink. While I have benefited and continue to benefit from rational techniques to manage aspects of my addiction, reason alone was far too weak to be able to combat it. For whatever tools I have at the ready in my emergency plan, the reality is that at certain junctures (particularly when I’m in a HALT phase — Hungry, Angry, Lonely, and/or Tired), my cognitive function is not something I can rely on.
This same principle is active in my anxiety and depression, which is clinical, and for which I take medication (prescribed by a doctor, far more effective and helpful than the substance I was using last year to cope). It helps. I wouldn’t go without it without the consultation of a professional.
And in that “consultation of a professional” is a glimpse into the greater existential criterion which has turned my life around and made me excited for the holidays and reasonably hopeful for the forthcoming year — that sense of giving up control.
As I’ve said in other pieces, what changed for me was a fundamental re-orientation to my relationship with the world, the conscious decision to relinquish my control to God, to sacrifice ownership. While this might seem at first glance to evade rationality in favor of an irrational faith in something I can’t define let alone prove the existence of, in fact, giving over my Life to the source and end of all existence (indeed to Being itself, Ipsum Esse Subsistens, the unmoved mover, that beyond which none greater can be imagined) has contextualized my capacity for imagination and intellect in a far more welcoming and participatory cosmos which allows for me to make proper decisions in service to Good, Beauty, and Truth.
The turning point for me came from listening to Father Steve Grunow, who said something to the tune of “We alone cannot fight demons. But Christ can do that for us.” Thinking that I was somehow special in having some particularly advanced theory of addiction, and some advanced or sophisticated way of treating it, was holding me back from the fact that I, too, am a flawed and particularly weak person in a cosmos in which we all suffer. I knew this from Buddhism, but it wasn’t until my Idealism finally began to set in that I could feel the capacity to psychically surrender to this greater intelligence which exceeds me. (This, by the way, is not a statement against Buddhism generally, merely that I, as a mid-Westerner who wasn’t going to learn Sanskrit and doesn’t live in a culture in which I could participate fully in the spiritual wisdom of Buddhism by integrating myself in a culture that promotes it, am personally unavailable to truly understand the full depth of its teachings.)
For decades, fully submitting myself to the One who was, is, and will be was an impossibility. It was the Pride of thinking that I was somehow intelligent enough to figure out the mystery of Being such that I could fully submit and ask, in my heart of hearts, in my solitary appeal to my “Father who is in secret; and your Father, who watches what is secret,” for Grace, Mercy, Forgiveness, and most of all, governance in seeing what it is I need to see in order to move forward, breath by breath, step by step.
In AA, this is the most profound and most important of all of the steps: “Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God.” It is the step that makes the fear of being controlled by the cult-like group think and cliquishness of AA meetings fall away as so much teenage noise clouding out Reason. It is the spiritual foundation that makes all of the other steps, of recognizing your resentments and making amends to others, of living with spiritual principles, possible without paralyzing fear.
But I took this step one move further — I gave up ownership. And that has made all the difference.
The Rule that Transformed Me
For years, I’ve had a small red book on my shelf: The Rule of St. Benedict.
I purchased it in a spark of inspiration which occurred when I was spending a hallowtide weekend alone in spiritual retreat at the New Melleray Abbey in Peosta, Iowa. Being with these monks, hearing them chanting the Psalms in a way that “soothed and emboldened me to accept mystery,” I knew in my bones that the life these men were leading, a life 100% devoted to the worship of God in his Glory, their every activity being regimented and directed toward this aim, brought them profound peace, purpose, and meaning to their lives, and that this way of living was what Thich Nhat Hanh was talking about when he described the Miracle of Mindfulness.
I bought the book, along with a Rosary and a book of Advent meditations, and have owned it ever since. But it wasn’t until this year that I felt the call to actually take it down and let it move and breathe in my experience, in my own spiritual practice and devotion.
The prompt was a sermon by Father Noah Diehm at Immaculate Conception in Gilbertville, IA. The scriptural readings that day had all concerned humility, and it’s worth listing them here for setting:
Sirach 3:17-18: “Humble yourself the more, the greater you are, and you will find favor with God.”
Luke 14:11: “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.”
Matthew 11:29: “Take my yoke upon you, says the Lord, and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart.”
Father Diehm spoke about his own experience at Seminary, and his own spiritual journey about confronting spiritual Pride. He’s a sensible man, friendly and very fully committed to his faith, such that at times he can seem as though he nearly takes it for granted. (A cradle Catholic who grew up in Catholic schools is often like that.) An elder at seminary must’ve caught a whiff of this, and made the recommendation that he read Chapter 7 of the Rule and commit his heart to it.
After Mass, during the greeting, I said to him: “I’m going to get my Rule off the shelf today. Chapter 7.” and shook his hand, receiving his confirmation. That moment, where I myself made a commitment to a man of faith deeper in his education than myself, was itself a first step in the Humility I’d begin to cultivate.
As the Ego Lowers Itself, the Soul Ascends
By breaking down my Prideful self-image, and accepting Salvation as a Greater Good than any social esteem, I ironically empower myself to be a more fully flourishing Human Being (both the words “human” and “humility” come from a source meaning “earth”). Benedict structures Chapter 7 as a ladder with twelve rungs. But unlike every other ladder you’ve encountered, this one requires you to climb DOWN to ascend UP. The deeper you descend in humility, the higher you ascend toward God.
The early steps establish the foundation: Keep the fear of God always before your eyes (Step 1)—not terror, but awareness that you’re living within divine reality. Then comes the crucial second step: “Love not your own will, but fulfill the will of God by your actions.” This is the surrender I’m describing. Not just “I can’t control alcohol” but “my life is not mine to control.” Submit to your superior in all obedience (Step 3)—relinquish the sovereignty you never actually possessed.
The middle steps get more radical. Step 4, which I’ll return to in a moment, concerns embracing suffering patiently. By Step 7, Benedict asks something that sounds impossible: “Believe in your heart that you are inferior to all and of less value, not merely saying this with your lips, but believing it in your inmost heart.” This is where most people—Nietzsche certainly—revolt in disgust. It sounds like self-hatred. But it’s not. It’s accurate assessment of your place in reality: you’re not the center, not the author, not sovereign. One creature among creation, one human among billions.
The final steps (8-12) show how this interior humility manifests in your actual body and behavior—in how you speak, how you stand, how you relate to others. The work descends from heart to flesh.
And at the bottom of all twelve steps? Benedict says you arrive at “that perfect love of God which casts out fear.” The descent IS the ascent. You don’t climb UP to God through achievement or assertion. You climb DOWN through self-emptying. And discover God was at the bottom waiting—or rather, that God IS the bottom, the ground beneath all grounds.
Now, about that fourth step and how it shows up in daily practice:
“The Fourth step of humility is that in this obedience under difficult, unfavorable, or even unjust conditions, his heart quietly embraces suffering and endures it without weakening or seeking escape. For Scripture has it: Anyone who perseveres to the end will be saved (Matthew 10:22), and again, Be brave of heart and rely on the Lord (Psalm 27:14).
In daily practice, especially at work, this manifests thusly: any time I find myself getting angry or upset with someone, I pray silently “Forgive me Lord.” Asking for Mercy in this way has an amazing psychic power — rather than getting caught up in additional cognitive labor requiring bandwidth that I just don’t have, I just accept that I am fallible and need assistance. Asking for help when I feel that I have been less than deserving seems like an impossibility sometimes, so just starting with that plea for forgiveness changes the entire color and intensity of the entire experience without a bunch of additional argument.
The other effect of asking for forgiveness is that it immediately shifts my interior register from being “that guy who thinks he knows the score” to “humble servant doing his best.” And if you’ve ever been around me, particularly during my drinking days, you will know that you like this Aaron much more. As do I.
Have I slipped and neglected to do this? Of course. But I will say that I have noticed the slips and have begun to develop a habit of doing this automatically, and the result has been profound. And the fact that it is so helpful and makes me feel closer to the Lord — that is, more in touch with and centered in the Ground of Reality — that it begins to become its own form of a more resplendent pleasure. Real pleasure — the kind that comes with being aligned with the Good, Beautiful, and True.
And comes with it that resounding, antifragile sense of Purpose and Direction that can withstand “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” Hamlet wasn’t sure whether he was talking to God or to himself. Put God firmly in the center, within you, behind you, and in front of you, to your left and to your right, and that mania goes away. And, like so many cravings for alcohol that I now welcome as opportunities to develop resilience, all obstacles (financial, health, weather, unruly people) become even better opportunities to live wholly, in integrated fullness.
Thanks Be to God.