The Abbey

In the fall of 2022, we had the great good fortune of exploring the Loire Valley in France.  During one of our explorations, we came upon the sprawling Royal Abbey of Fontevraud, about an hour from Angers.  It was founded in the 11th century and served as an experiment in nurturing spiritual life as a self-sufficient “ideal city” whose rules included “simple dress and food, silence and good works.” It housed up to 3000 nuns and was always run by women. It eventually became a hub of intellectual activity and played host to royalty. (This is a whole other topic I’m fascinated by…)  The abbey was very influential for about 700 years, but then in the late 1700’s during the French Revolution, the abbey was ransacked and the remaining nuns were evicted.  Twelve years later Napoleon converted it into a prison, which it remained until 1963.  Known for its harshness, life expectancy after arriving at the prison was about 8 months.  

Walking around the abbey and reading about its history, I was struck by how this building seemed to encapsulate the duality of humankind – on the one hand, the selfless part of us striving for spiritual connection, for doing good, for peace, for kindness, for intellectual enlightenment, though admittedly pretty sheltered from the world.  And on the other hand the selfish part of us that is power hungry, controlling, cruel, animalistic and consumed by the desires of the world.  

We see these extremes still today, don’t we? It’s part of what makes us human – though I assume most of us aspire to nurture the kinder, gentler side of our nature.  But with these two competing impulses at battle within us, how do we as a species counter the selfish, cruel side without losing the selfless, gentle side. Is it possible to hold onto the good without devolving into the bad in order to eradicate the bad? Are we doomed to continue this cycle of tearing down the beautiful, the noble, the enlightened and replacing it with violence and oppression? 
As I walked around the abbey, I was also struck by how empty this place is now.  Though there were a few murals left on the walls, most of the abbey was filled with bare white walls in cavernous halls and empty rooms. At first I had wished that there were more historical artifacts to see, but I soon realized that in the emptiness I could imagine the days of the convent – the singing, the creativity, the community, the prayers.  And in this emptiness I could also imagine the days of the prison – the crying out, the pain, the isolation – and the prayers. And I wondered, did the suffering of the prison erase the hymns of the abbey? 

Perhaps this abbey can serve as a cautionary tale – to protect the beautiful things in our lives, our communities, and our country.  Because once they’re gone, they’re hard to get back.  I pray that in our decisions both large and small, that we chose beauty. I pray that the kinder, gentler side of our nature wins out.

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