A Fast Pleasing unto God #
by Bishop Mikhail Semyonov
What is fasting?
Nowadays, we hear objections against fasting more frequently than ever. Why is it necessary? “Not that which goeth into the mouth defileth a man, but that which cometh out of the mouth,” saith the Lord.
Yes, He said it.
He said it—He who fasted forty days and gave the commandment: “When ye fast, be not as the hypocrites.”
But allow me to speak at first not in a churchly manner, but in a worldly one. The question of fasting has been discussed many times in medicine, and its observations reveal much of interest. What does fasting do to the physical body of man? It turns out that its influence is profound, extending not only to the purely animal functions of the body, such as digestion and the like, but also to the activity of the brain and the faculties of the soul.
“By strengthening the will through abstinence, fasting,” writes one physician, “also strengthens the will in another way—by improving the functions of the brain in general; it acts as a clarifying force upon our understanding and perception and makes the sphere of the senses more receptive to all that is good.” And recently, another physician, Guelpa, published an entire book—most fascinating on this subject—wherein he proves that abstinence from food is the best remedy for disease.
The root cause of many illnesses is an excess accumulation in the body of aged and decayed cells, along with various byproducts of combustion and decay. The body continually expels these harmful elements—through the kidneys, through the skin, and so on—but even so, toxins often accumulate and become the cause of disease. One of the harmful elements in the body, among others, is excess fat. The noble tissues of the body, oppressed by fat, lose their ability to defend the body.
What then is to be done? The best means of strengthening the body in its struggle against poisonous elements is fasting—abstinence from food. Through fasting, the body discards aged cells and replaces them with new ones. The result of fasting is an increase in clarity of thought, the eradication of the feebleness of will (abulia), and much more.
These observations of physicians are remarkable in two respects. On the one hand, it is instructive to learn that fasting enhances the activity of thought and will. This means that it strengthens the soul, making it more resolute, more energetic, and more capable of resisting evil. This is affirmed by the physician previously mentioned.
On the other hand, as is well known, Christian fasting has another aspect: it is accompanied by abstinence from passions, by the struggle against sinful inclinations of the will. At the very least, it entails abstinence from sinful deeds. Sins, the wicked inclinations of the will, are also a kind of illness. Here too, there operate certain spiritual toxins; the soul becomes tainted with the poisonous venom of sin.
Abstinence, even an outward one—the mere guarding of oneself from passion, from anger, from fornication, and the like—evidently grants both time and opportunity to purge oneself of the very poison of passion, to overcome the malignant “toxins” of sin, and to emerge victorious.
And yet another illustration comes to mind—an old foreign novel titled The Four (or The Four Devils). It tells the story of four acrobats of astonishing agility and muscular strength. And what was the key to their strength? Abstinence—extreme moderation—fasting, not only in the sense of food. They had to eat little, but even more so, they had to guard themselves against every thought that could weaken them, that could cause their bodies to rebel. It was enough for one of them to surrender in thought to the sin of intemperance—to mental fornication, to sinful amorous fantasies—and his muscles would weaken. The chain of four strong men would break, and their end would be destruction. The acrobats perished because they betrayed the law of abstinence, the fast that had sustained their strength. This, in the physical realm, proves that strength is built upon restraint. Fasting preserves energy, movement, flexibility, and the tension of the muscles.
But we have already seen that fasting is also tied to the strength of the mind. And if that is the case, it is clear how necessary fasting must be for the strength of the spirit in the struggle against sin. We have already spoken of the significance of fasting in destroying the power of sin.
Let us summarize and expand upon this. The muscles of the spirit, if I may put it that way, are closely connected to the muscles of the body. When the body is weakened by wine and excessive food, the spirit likewise becomes feeble. That is the first point. Here, fasting is necessary as abstinence from food.
Next, the power of passion is always linked to habit. Sin lives in the body almost as a physical force. Setting a temporary boundary against sin, breaking its continuity, helps the soul cast out the habit of sin—the microbes of sin that have taken root in the soul and rule over it. For this, fasting is needed as a discipline, a moral endeavor.
“To strive toward any ideal,” writes the physician Peskovsky, “one must learn to conquer those lower desires and passions that hinder its attainment—that is, one must strengthen and temper the will. And this is the very purpose of fasting. Fasting is abstinence from certain foods; and from this very definition, it follows that it is associated with a certain exercise of the will. Just as a muscle weakens through inactivity, so too—only to an even greater extent—does the will weaken if a person does not train it. A life of ease, where every carnal desire and impulse is indulged, usually results in a man who, later on, can barely withstand the various temptations that assail him—his will has become weak. Conversely, need, the constant denial of one’s carnal desires, makes a person stronger and hardens the will. The refusal of certain types of food—fasting in its narrow sense—acts as a similar stimulus.”
Fasting, in and of itself, is necessary for moral perfection. It is the first step toward salvation. The essence of the entire moral struggle in man is to “liberate the spirit” from the enslavement of the physical nature—the flesh. Sin has disrupted the balance between the two halves of human nature. That balance must be restored, and one of the means for doing so is fasting, which prevents the animal life from gaining dominance over the spirit. From this, the commandment of fasting follows logically and necessarily: “He who wishes to escape the bondage of the flesh must accept the law of abstinence.”
Whoever desires to become strong must strengthen himself by fasting. It is no coincidence that holy men prepared for every great deed by fasting. Moses fasted forty days before receiving the Tablets of the Covenant. Even the All-Holy Himself fasted forty-six days before stepping forth into the world with the glad tidings of salvation.
However, let us suppose that abstinence is necessary—what, then, does the type of food have to do with it? If the goal is simply to eat less, then why replace meat with caviar and sweet pastries? It goes without saying that if fasting consists merely in substituting a meat-based diet with another, equally rich and filling one, then it is nothing but a mockery of fasting—a derision of the Lord. For example, how are we to regard the idea that fish is considered non-Lenten while vodka is deemed Lenten? Fish is non-Lenten because it excites the body and is harmful to the chastity of the spirit. But is not everything that negatively affects the soul’s activity also non-Lenten?
“Non-Lenten is anything that leads to sin, and in this sense, a bottle of vodka is an undeniable violation of the fast. That which makes a person drunk, senseless, and drives him toward sin must be considered impermissible during the fast. Is not a drunkard more prone to fornication, quarrels, fights, and even crimes? A great number of crimes are committed in a state of drunkenness.” Therefore, vodka is the most non-Lenten of all beverages.
But a clarification is necessary here. The Old Believers, first of all—thanks be to God—have not, it seems, fallen into that corruption of fasting where meat is simply replaced with an exquisite and lavish non-meat menu, even more flavorful and indulgent. Furthermore, we must remember that meat and fish are called non-Lenten precisely because they have the power to abnormally and sinfully excite the flesh.
It is neither an arbitrary whim nor an invented rule that fasting is not only about reducing food intake but also about abstaining from certain kinds of food. “Meat is more easily and completely transformed into blood, and it more quickly and powerfully increases the energy of the carnal life.” Therefore, “abstinence from meat,” insists V.S. Solovyov unequivocally, “can undoubtedly be upheld as a general moral requirement.” Not to mention that the consumption of animal food is linked to the shedding of blood, even if only of an animal, and this has always been regarded as an imperfection in the order of Christian life.
People often say: “But what is fasting, after all? It is a minor thing. We are so guilty before God in great matters that, in comparison with our sins, this is a mere trifle.” Perhaps—but let us consider: is it not precisely because we permitted ourselves to sin in small things that we have become guilty in great ones? This is exactly how the first man fell. According to St. John Chrysostom, the commandment forbidding the eating of the tree of knowledge was in essence a commandment of fasting. It was given in order to cultivate man’s will. But man broke it, severed his union with God, and declared to the Lord that he did not wish to be with Him, to remain in His will—he considered obedience to Him a mere trifle.
I will recall what I said four years ago. It is significant that it was said exactly four years ago: “Obedience to the Church in all her commandments has immense educational significance: a person accustomed to fulfilling the will of the Church in ‘small things’ is more reliable in great matters, whereas one who is consciously unfaithful in small things is almost always inclined to compromise in greater matters as well.”
“This is something we, Russians, especially ought to remember. It is an undeniable fact that among us, the refusal to observe such commandments of the Church as the commandment of fasting is almost always the beginning of a departure. In essence, no matter how one justifies it, this already constitutes a break with the Tradition of the Church—a schism, a rejection of complete union with the Church in all things. And once a person decides that he may deviate from the Church in this, supposedly minor, matter, what will stop him from considering something greater to be minor the very next day? He has set himself up as his own judge, and a person is always indulgent toward himself.”
“Why did the old Russian people so zealously uphold the letter of tradition under Nikon?"—asks Professor Klyuchevsky. It seems that the main reason was this: they instinctively sensed that abandoning the protection of Tradition would be the first step toward a greater decline, toward the very loss of faith itself. That by transgressing in a small matter, they would inevitably begin to slide further down.
Yet, is it not possible to fast sinfully? Can one not observe a fast, and yet, in doing so, sin rather than accomplish the work of God? Of course, it is possible. The Holy Fathers often speak of such a false fast—a fast undertaken unto sin rather than unto salvation. This happens when a person regards fasting itself not as a means to the healing of the soul, not as a preparation for a moral struggle, but as a self-sufficient feat, a merit before the Lord. Such a view of fasting is false.
Those who insist on the observance of pious ordinances as mere external commandments, considering this to be their spiritual labor without any concern for an inner transformation, are, in the opinion of St. John Cassian, like the scribes—“those who stand under the Law, and not under Grace.”
Fasting is a neutral thing—that is, it has no value in and of itself, but it receives its meaning from its consequences, as a path toward virtue. We set apart the days of fasting; they are marked by a special diet, a particular regimen of eating. But is the essence of fasting to be found in this dietary regimen? Has our spiritual regimen—our way of life—changed along with it?
Yesterday, you allowed yourself to be angry, to be impatient, to speak a harsh word. Have you renounced these things today? Has the moral course of your day changed along with your food? If not, then is your fasting not merely an outward show—an attempt to deceive God?
I know people who have turned fasting and acts of charity into a mockery of holiness. They fasted rigorously, gave tithes from their wealth to the poor, but having done so, they said to themselves: At least before God, I am not empty-handed. I have something to lean on, something to defend myself with. If I transgress in some other way, surely God will forgive me.
And thus, they comfortably forgot the weightier matters of the law: Love, Mercy, and Truth. For them, the commandment of fasting became a sinful curtain behind which they imagined they could hide from the wrath of God—while neglecting the commandment of love and sacrifice. Such a man fasts twice in the week, lights candles, tithes his mint and anise, and rests secure in these small deeds. They become for him a refuge from the reproach of his conscience. He forgets the greater matters of the law—love and service to his neighbor—and yet consoles himself: At least I have some merits before the Lord. I fast. And he truly believes that forty little good deeds will serve as his defense when he is asked at the Judgment: Did you keep love and faith? He clings to fasting as to a last straw, and his restless conscience finds its solace there.
But such a Christianity—one of mere ritualism and bargaining—is deception; a false sense of security in the external commandments of the law is spiritual ruin.
One must always remember, while fasting, the words of none other than St. John Cassian: “Love and mercy must be acquired through fasting.” Fasting should renew the soul. Seeing the Lenten fare upon one’s table should serve as a reminder of spiritual struggle—that it is time to begin “a fast acceptable unto God,” and not as though this were itself the essence of our striving, not as though this were the fulfillment of the true, Church-given “acceptable time and day of salvation.”
And one more word—why forty days? Why so many? It is not many at all.
Israel required forty years wandering in the wilderness, suffering hunger and privation, to be cleansed from their attachment to the flesh-pots of Egypt, from the sinful residue that Egypt had left upon them.
We are in the bondage of sin, and yet we do not merely seek to enter the Promised Land—we seek to go forth to meet the Risen Christ, to partake of His Holy Mysteries.
And is forty days too much a preparation for this?
Even if, by the end of the fast, we have only managed to shake off even a little of the intoxication of sin, to gather our soul together, to break free from the clamor of the world and the enslavement to earthly concerns—then it is already well.
More often than not, forty days proves not to be too much, but too little. By the end of the Forty Days, people find themselves just as unready to meet the Bridegroom who cometh at midnight as they were at the beginning of the fast.”