New Worlds: The Ascetic Life
Sep. 11th, 2026 08:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
swan_towerFasting is one form of asceticism: the renunciation, whether short- or long-term, of material pleasures. But hoo boy is it the thin end of that wedge!
People can adopt an ascetic lifestyle for purely philosophical reasons; Stoicism in the classical era headed in this direction, though I think most of its adherents were more concerned with restraint and moderation than with absolute denial. The overwhelming majority of the time, though, asceticism is linked with religion -- and specifically with transcendental religions, i.e. those which treat the divine as otherworldly and separate from the material world we all live in.
The logic there is pretty easy to follow. The divine is more important than the mortal, so it ought to be the focus of our attention. And if that's the goal you're pursuing, then aren't mortal, material concerns a distraction from what really matters? You should set them aside so you can devote yourself more fully to God and the pursuit of salvation/the Buddha and the pursuit of enlightenment/etc. In some strands of thought, this world gets characterized as fundamentally evil, a trap we have to escape. Ascetism is the way to freedom.
Note that this isn't (necessarily) the same thing as subjecting oneself to pain, or seeking that out for its own sake. A number of religious traditions involve practitioners doing horrible-looking things to themselves in pursuit of triggering a religious experience, but that doesn't mean they think one should eschew pleasures as an ongoing habit. The latter, from what I can tell, seems to have cropped up most frequently as a feature of Christianity, Buddhism, Jainism, and Hinduism: not to say that there haven't been ascetic movements in Islam (e.g. Sufism) and Judaism or other faiths, but they haven't achieved the same idealization and centrality as in those first four. (And yes, I'm aware that Buddhism's "Middle Way" advocates against extremes of asceticism. That doesn't mean lighter versions haven't been very important to a number of Buddhist traditions.)
The basic practices of asceticism often involve disciplining oneself to live with a reduction in material comforts. I led into this essay with the one on fasting because it's extremely common for ascetics to limit what they eat, how much of it they have, when they eat, and so on. Although "Buddhist temple cuisine" in East Asia can rise to the level of high art, in most cases the emphasis will be on plain, monotonous food, discouraging sensual pleasure from the act of dining. The purpose of food is to sustain the body and nothing more.
Next up is sleep. If you're pursuing ascetic ideals, your bed should not be soft, and you shouldn't spend much time in it, either. If you're a normal Christian monk or nun, you might be getting up in the middle of the night to pray; if you're St. Peter of Alcántara, you sleep standing up with a beam of wood for your pillow. As for doing anything in that bed other than sleep . . . you likely won't be surprised to hear that celibacy is hugely common among ascetics. We'll leave that one for the next essay, though, because it deserves to be unpacked at greater length.
What about bathing? While we have the idiom "cleanliness is next to godliness," historically, not everyone has agreed. Quite aside from the obstacles (described in earlier volumes) that used to make regular bathing difficult, some ascetics have held that, since the body is unimportant at best, actively corrupting at worst, attending to it more than absolutely required for survival is mere vanity. So: minimal bathing, or none at all -- and although that sounds horrifying to us now, some people thought of the resulting stench as the "odor of sanctity," proof of the unwashed one's holiness.
Secular entertainments, of course, are off the table. Ascetics aren't supposed to watch plays, or read frivolous literature, or participate in dances. Music and literature are usually limited only to holy matters. Prayer is a far more suitable pastime, perhaps carried out under uncomfortable conditions: for a Catholic that might mean kneeling for a long time on a hard floor, while a Buddhist might stand under a cold waterfall.
Clothing should not only be un-ostentatious but quite possibly uncomfortable. The proverbial garment here is the hair shirt -- in Catholicism, formally known as a cilice -- which is an undergarment of coarse, skin-irritating fabric. Often worn for penance, it was therefore ideal for people wanting a more constant experience of humility. Going without shoes is another option, though "discalced" (shoeless) orders in Christianity may permit sandals: enough to protect the sole of the foot from danger, not enough to keep the rest of it warm.
Enduring cold is a recurrent option in temperate climes. Historical Catholic monasteries often had tight regulations forbidding the lighting of warming fires before a certain date, regardless of what the weather was doing; I wouldn't be surprised if the same is still true today, except it applies to central heating instead. Similar regulations governed when you broke out winter clothes -- which still might be what other people would consider inadequate for the weather! Basically, if it would make you more comfortable, you should limit it to the bare minimum necessary for safety and health.
. . . or you could go further.
Self-mortification can describe any of the above practices, but we often use it to mean the more severe end of the spectrum. In Christianity in general and Catholicism in particular, the mortification on the flesh can be framed as a way to draw closer to Christ, by sharing in his suffering. This can involve everything from adding twigs to your hair shirt to scratch yourself more, to harsher and more extended fasts, to active practices like self-flagellation.
Which, from an outside perspective, sure does invite the label of "self-harm." And the Catholic Church is not unaware of that risk; there's a recurrent thread in its history of trying to discourage the extremes, and making sure that people only go there under the supervision of an appropriate spiritual director. In modern parlance, that person's job is to make sure the behavior in question isn't a manifestation of obsessive-compulsive disorder, anorexia nervosa, or some other mental illness. But Church history is also full of devout people who desperately wanted to mortify themselves more than they were allowed -- especially in pursuit of mystical visions during which they felt themselves to be in God's presence.
Because that's one possible result of ascetic life: spiritual power. Depending on your religious framework, it may purify the body and spirit, burn away karma, concentrate and intensify your personal energy, or enable you to contact and perhaps even compel the attention of the divine -- the Sanskrit epics contain many instances of people practicing austerities (tapas) until the heat generated thereby forces a god to respond. (I recall my Hinduism professor phrasing this informally as "lighting a spiritual fire under their butts.")
We see this occasionally in fiction as a thing the wise old mentor does, but I feel like it's generally less common for protagonists. Not hard to imagine why; we tend to want our characters to partake in the full range of ordinary experience, rather than swearing off three-quarters of it. And since many of us disagree with the basic principle that one ought to subordinate the self and personal desires to the concerns of a higher power, it may be hard to get the reader on board with the idea that doing so is anything other than a tragic tale. But the notion that exercising self-denial is necessary to the generation of spiritual force seems like a fruitful one to me, with plenty of tasty potential for inner conflict!
(originally posted at Swan Tower: https://www.swantower.com/2026/09/11/new-worlds-the-ascetic-life/)
People can adopt an ascetic lifestyle for purely philosophical reasons; Stoicism in the classical era headed in this direction, though I think most of its adherents were more concerned with restraint and moderation than with absolute denial. The overwhelming majority of the time, though, asceticism is linked with religion -- and specifically with transcendental religions, i.e. those which treat the divine as otherworldly and separate from the material world we all live in.
The logic there is pretty easy to follow. The divine is more important than the mortal, so it ought to be the focus of our attention. And if that's the goal you're pursuing, then aren't mortal, material concerns a distraction from what really matters? You should set them aside so you can devote yourself more fully to God and the pursuit of salvation/the Buddha and the pursuit of enlightenment/etc. In some strands of thought, this world gets characterized as fundamentally evil, a trap we have to escape. Ascetism is the way to freedom.
Note that this isn't (necessarily) the same thing as subjecting oneself to pain, or seeking that out for its own sake. A number of religious traditions involve practitioners doing horrible-looking things to themselves in pursuit of triggering a religious experience, but that doesn't mean they think one should eschew pleasures as an ongoing habit. The latter, from what I can tell, seems to have cropped up most frequently as a feature of Christianity, Buddhism, Jainism, and Hinduism: not to say that there haven't been ascetic movements in Islam (e.g. Sufism) and Judaism or other faiths, but they haven't achieved the same idealization and centrality as in those first four. (And yes, I'm aware that Buddhism's "Middle Way" advocates against extremes of asceticism. That doesn't mean lighter versions haven't been very important to a number of Buddhist traditions.)
The basic practices of asceticism often involve disciplining oneself to live with a reduction in material comforts. I led into this essay with the one on fasting because it's extremely common for ascetics to limit what they eat, how much of it they have, when they eat, and so on. Although "Buddhist temple cuisine" in East Asia can rise to the level of high art, in most cases the emphasis will be on plain, monotonous food, discouraging sensual pleasure from the act of dining. The purpose of food is to sustain the body and nothing more.
Next up is sleep. If you're pursuing ascetic ideals, your bed should not be soft, and you shouldn't spend much time in it, either. If you're a normal Christian monk or nun, you might be getting up in the middle of the night to pray; if you're St. Peter of Alcántara, you sleep standing up with a beam of wood for your pillow. As for doing anything in that bed other than sleep . . . you likely won't be surprised to hear that celibacy is hugely common among ascetics. We'll leave that one for the next essay, though, because it deserves to be unpacked at greater length.
What about bathing? While we have the idiom "cleanliness is next to godliness," historically, not everyone has agreed. Quite aside from the obstacles (described in earlier volumes) that used to make regular bathing difficult, some ascetics have held that, since the body is unimportant at best, actively corrupting at worst, attending to it more than absolutely required for survival is mere vanity. So: minimal bathing, or none at all -- and although that sounds horrifying to us now, some people thought of the resulting stench as the "odor of sanctity," proof of the unwashed one's holiness.
Secular entertainments, of course, are off the table. Ascetics aren't supposed to watch plays, or read frivolous literature, or participate in dances. Music and literature are usually limited only to holy matters. Prayer is a far more suitable pastime, perhaps carried out under uncomfortable conditions: for a Catholic that might mean kneeling for a long time on a hard floor, while a Buddhist might stand under a cold waterfall.
Clothing should not only be un-ostentatious but quite possibly uncomfortable. The proverbial garment here is the hair shirt -- in Catholicism, formally known as a cilice -- which is an undergarment of coarse, skin-irritating fabric. Often worn for penance, it was therefore ideal for people wanting a more constant experience of humility. Going without shoes is another option, though "discalced" (shoeless) orders in Christianity may permit sandals: enough to protect the sole of the foot from danger, not enough to keep the rest of it warm.
Enduring cold is a recurrent option in temperate climes. Historical Catholic monasteries often had tight regulations forbidding the lighting of warming fires before a certain date, regardless of what the weather was doing; I wouldn't be surprised if the same is still true today, except it applies to central heating instead. Similar regulations governed when you broke out winter clothes -- which still might be what other people would consider inadequate for the weather! Basically, if it would make you more comfortable, you should limit it to the bare minimum necessary for safety and health.
. . . or you could go further.
Self-mortification can describe any of the above practices, but we often use it to mean the more severe end of the spectrum. In Christianity in general and Catholicism in particular, the mortification on the flesh can be framed as a way to draw closer to Christ, by sharing in his suffering. This can involve everything from adding twigs to your hair shirt to scratch yourself more, to harsher and more extended fasts, to active practices like self-flagellation.
Which, from an outside perspective, sure does invite the label of "self-harm." And the Catholic Church is not unaware of that risk; there's a recurrent thread in its history of trying to discourage the extremes, and making sure that people only go there under the supervision of an appropriate spiritual director. In modern parlance, that person's job is to make sure the behavior in question isn't a manifestation of obsessive-compulsive disorder, anorexia nervosa, or some other mental illness. But Church history is also full of devout people who desperately wanted to mortify themselves more than they were allowed -- especially in pursuit of mystical visions during which they felt themselves to be in God's presence.
Because that's one possible result of ascetic life: spiritual power. Depending on your religious framework, it may purify the body and spirit, burn away karma, concentrate and intensify your personal energy, or enable you to contact and perhaps even compel the attention of the divine -- the Sanskrit epics contain many instances of people practicing austerities (tapas) until the heat generated thereby forces a god to respond. (I recall my Hinduism professor phrasing this informally as "lighting a spiritual fire under their butts.")
We see this occasionally in fiction as a thing the wise old mentor does, but I feel like it's generally less common for protagonists. Not hard to imagine why; we tend to want our characters to partake in the full range of ordinary experience, rather than swearing off three-quarters of it. And since many of us disagree with the basic principle that one ought to subordinate the self and personal desires to the concerns of a higher power, it may be hard to get the reader on board with the idea that doing so is anything other than a tragic tale. But the notion that exercising self-denial is necessary to the generation of spiritual force seems like a fruitful one to me, with plenty of tasty potential for inner conflict!
(originally posted at Swan Tower: https://www.swantower.com/2026/09/11/new-worlds-the-ascetic-life/)
