Anxieties of Influence
Being Atenean, Being Human
As a student in Ateneo de Naga some ten years ago, I understood quite well the Atenean spirit. For me, it meant wonderful things. For one, it meant resoluteness and humility. While we were taught to excel in academics and sports, we were also taught to “just keep it cool,” i.e. offer our failures and successes to the Lord for, above all, everything we do is Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam—“first the kingdom of God.”
It stood for personal ingenuity, a strong sense of belonging, and service. From reading the world’s much-appreciated masterworks in literature and useful inventions in sciences to developing camaraderie and teamwork in most class endeavors, our young lives were exposed to the real world, while being taught to live simply and conscientiously.
Nothing was more worthwhile than the time we would spend with the eternally vibrant Fr. Johnny Sanz and the very warm Fr. Bel[ardo] taking part in outreach activities where we would share quality time with the orphan, the sick, the imprisoned and even the mentally ill.
I think nothing more substantiates any young man’s [or woman’s] education than these simple acts of kindness taught to us in our youth. Here we were taught the ability and the generosity to counter acts of cruelty we would meet anywhere in the world; here we were virtually apprenticed to the real world before our time.
If one were so engrossed in school activities, he would be familiar with these things. Some of us just took “Ateneo” and “being Atenean” seriously; while others must have taken it rhetorically, others just did not take it at all. Somehow, the Atenean spirit has become a unique personal term for each and every, single, one, individual (my apologies to Fr. Rolly Bonoan—the last six words in the previous sentence are his favorite expression when addressing the Ateneo de Naga community).
This “Atenista” spirit would extend to our devotion [read: love] to the Lady of Peñafrancia, the patroness of the Bicol region. In various activities throughout the school year, we would dearly pay homage to Ina, our efforts no less than those of the great medieval knights in quest of the Holy Grail—our blood, sweat, and tears, so to speak, like those of Ignatius in his conversion.
During my college days, Father Jack Phelan to me was a towering figure in the Ateneo community [both literally and figuratively]. More than six inches tall, Father Jack stood as high as the school’s fifth pillar so that everyone would look up to him—not just admiring his magnanimity but perhaps looking for hints of serenity, diligence and above all, simplicity. Like other Jesuits who served God selflessly, the soldier in Phelan had courageously directed his energies serving the Ateneo till the end of his life.
Being Atenean also carried the privilege of learning lifelong lessons. The virtue of temperance was best clarified to me one morning when Fr. Frank Dolan celebrated the Holy Mass before the ROTC battalion. According to the Jesuit priest, a young man’s urge to do something with his sexual faculties before his proper time can be redirected to doing other productive chores like turning to writing or playing sports. This is truth to me because from that sleepy morning when I have heard them, they have never left my sensibility. Through time, I have come to realize, one by one by one—like a domino effect—that temperance is sacrifice is honor is self-effacement is love. Despite the tedium and exhaustion that day, my will power to stay my post in the Delta platoon must have taught me [all I need to know about] patience that even my married life now requires.
In one way or another, we Ateneans as we were called, were made to excel in anything we would do. In those days, it was less a spirit of genuine excellence than it was the excellence of a genuine spirit.
For people who believe in the Ignatian spirituality and who follow it with much ardor, this is the spirit of Ignatius; among other learning, this is what makes life worth living.
But now, you see, I may esteem “being an Atenean” for various reasons. It is a pity when I seem to value the Atenean spirit because of the glory [pride] it entails, the favorable opportunities it carries, or the “greener pasture” that comes with it. Unfortunately, the entire spirit may be lost if the spirit—or that being an Atenista becomes a mere household jargon for excellence—which can mean my inability to accept defeat or failure in all endeavors, or my insensitivity to the needs [for success] of others. The worst of all is for me to reduce it to a mere status symbol, my source of clout or influence.
I who desire anything that has to do with being Atenean ought to know deeply what it entails; I must also be geared up to face anything it brings, for it would entirely be self-contradictory having the Atenean spirit simply because I want to share the pride [and just the payoffs] it connotes.
Why do I like to be associated with the words “Atenista” or “Ateneo”? What does being Atenean really mean? Do I really understand what it means? Aside from excellence—which I might just construe for that never-ending desire to be recognized or to be great—what else is there in my being Atenean? I wonder why, if at all, I esteem the word or its connotation. I just know that I put the name as my car sticker, cheer for the Blue Eagles for the sake of toppling the Green Archers—or simply am obsessed by the blue thing for no apparent reason at all.
The words “Ateneo” or “Atenean” which sound like “Ignatian,” connote many wonderful things. I esteem this spirit always with deference, because the Jesuits, the company of men founded by Ignatius of Loyola, aside from having achieved for the world many wonderful things, have also been a formidable group of intellectuals and social workers whose lives have been directed to help make some things better in the world.
Ignatius of Loyola was a Basque soldier whose life turned around after a cannonball injury made him reflect on directing all his efforts to God. As is perfectly summed in a text message forwarded to me by a fellow Atenean, “Ignatius never really thought of forming a group of priests and brothers. He had worldly dreams: be famous and powerful. But in battle, his leg was shattered, along with his dreams. The painful fall led him to look into his life. [But] God had other plans for him.”
This dramatic story of conversion—of self-effacement, of rededication of one’s energy and efforts to God—is the genuine spirit that must inspire me who is continually enamored by Ignatius’s example. Through the existence of the Jesuits, spanning almost five hundred years so far, Ignatius’s example has been immortalized because his is a legacy that reads beyond the words “Ateneo” or “Atenean.” His is a legacy that stemmed from man’s deep understanding and sincere appreciation of God’s generosity and love and that blossomed into his humble, selfless share of God’s wonderful plan.
Wonderful.
As a student in Ateneo de Naga some ten years ago, I understood quite well the Atenean spirit. For me, it meant wonderful things. For one, it meant resoluteness and humility. While we were taught to excel in academics and sports, we were also taught to “just keep it cool,” i.e. offer our failures and successes to the Lord for, above all, everything we do is Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam—“first the kingdom of God.”
It stood for personal ingenuity, a strong sense of belonging, and service. From reading the world’s much-appreciated masterworks in literature and useful inventions in sciences to developing camaraderie and teamwork in most class endeavors, our young lives were exposed to the real world, while being taught to live simply and conscientiously.
Nothing was more worthwhile than the time we would spend with the eternally vibrant Fr. Johnny Sanz and the very warm Fr. Bel[ardo] taking part in outreach activities where we would share quality time with the orphan, the sick, the imprisoned and even the mentally ill.
I think nothing more substantiates any young man’s [or woman’s] education than these simple acts of kindness taught to us in our youth. Here we were taught the ability and the generosity to counter acts of cruelty we would meet anywhere in the world; here we were virtually apprenticed to the real world before our time.
If one were so engrossed in school activities, he would be familiar with these things. Some of us just took “Ateneo” and “being Atenean” seriously; while others must have taken it rhetorically, others just did not take it at all. Somehow, the Atenean spirit has become a unique personal term for each and every, single, one, individual (my apologies to Fr. Rolly Bonoan—the last six words in the previous sentence are his favorite expression when addressing the Ateneo de Naga community).
This “Atenista” spirit would extend to our devotion [read: love] to the Lady of Peñafrancia, the patroness of the Bicol region. In various activities throughout the school year, we would dearly pay homage to Ina, our efforts no less than those of the great medieval knights in quest of the Holy Grail—our blood, sweat, and tears, so to speak, like those of Ignatius in his conversion.
During my college days, Father Jack Phelan to me was a towering figure in the Ateneo community [both literally and figuratively]. More than six inches tall, Father Jack stood as high as the school’s fifth pillar so that everyone would look up to him—not just admiring his magnanimity but perhaps looking for hints of serenity, diligence and above all, simplicity. Like other Jesuits who served God selflessly, the soldier in Phelan had courageously directed his energies serving the Ateneo till the end of his life.
Being Atenean also carried the privilege of learning lifelong lessons. The virtue of temperance was best clarified to me one morning when Fr. Frank Dolan celebrated the Holy Mass before the ROTC battalion. According to the Jesuit priest, a young man’s urge to do something with his sexual faculties before his proper time can be redirected to doing other productive chores like turning to writing or playing sports. This is truth to me because from that sleepy morning when I have heard them, they have never left my sensibility. Through time, I have come to realize, one by one by one—like a domino effect—that temperance is sacrifice is honor is self-effacement is love. Despite the tedium and exhaustion that day, my will power to stay my post in the Delta platoon must have taught me [all I need to know about] patience that even my married life now requires.
In one way or another, we Ateneans as we were called, were made to excel in anything we would do. In those days, it was less a spirit of genuine excellence than it was the excellence of a genuine spirit.
For people who believe in the Ignatian spirituality and who follow it with much ardor, this is the spirit of Ignatius; among other learning, this is what makes life worth living.
But now, you see, I may esteem “being an Atenean” for various reasons. It is a pity when I seem to value the Atenean spirit because of the glory [pride] it entails, the favorable opportunities it carries, or the “greener pasture” that comes with it. Unfortunately, the entire spirit may be lost if the spirit—or that being an Atenista becomes a mere household jargon for excellence—which can mean my inability to accept defeat or failure in all endeavors, or my insensitivity to the needs [for success] of others. The worst of all is for me to reduce it to a mere status symbol, my source of clout or influence.
I who desire anything that has to do with being Atenean ought to know deeply what it entails; I must also be geared up to face anything it brings, for it would entirely be self-contradictory having the Atenean spirit simply because I want to share the pride [and just the payoffs] it connotes.
Why do I like to be associated with the words “Atenista” or “Ateneo”? What does being Atenean really mean? Do I really understand what it means? Aside from excellence—which I might just construe for that never-ending desire to be recognized or to be great—what else is there in my being Atenean? I wonder why, if at all, I esteem the word or its connotation. I just know that I put the name as my car sticker, cheer for the Blue Eagles for the sake of toppling the Green Archers—or simply am obsessed by the blue thing for no apparent reason at all.
The words “Ateneo” or “Atenean” which sound like “Ignatian,” connote many wonderful things. I esteem this spirit always with deference, because the Jesuits, the company of men founded by Ignatius of Loyola, aside from having achieved for the world many wonderful things, have also been a formidable group of intellectuals and social workers whose lives have been directed to help make some things better in the world.
Ignatius of Loyola was a Basque soldier whose life turned around after a cannonball injury made him reflect on directing all his efforts to God. As is perfectly summed in a text message forwarded to me by a fellow Atenean, “Ignatius never really thought of forming a group of priests and brothers. He had worldly dreams: be famous and powerful. But in battle, his leg was shattered, along with his dreams. The painful fall led him to look into his life. [But] God had other plans for him.”
This dramatic story of conversion—of self-effacement, of rededication of one’s energy and efforts to God—is the genuine spirit that must inspire me who is continually enamored by Ignatius’s example. Through the existence of the Jesuits, spanning almost five hundred years so far, Ignatius’s example has been immortalized because his is a legacy that reads beyond the words “Ateneo” or “Atenean.” His is a legacy that stemmed from man’s deep understanding and sincere appreciation of God’s generosity and love and that blossomed into his humble, selfless share of God’s wonderful plan.
Wonderful.
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