John Henry Newman on Offences and Scandals in the Church (1850)

[144] And if Satan can so well avail himself even of the gifts and glories of the Church, it is not wonderful that he can be skilful [sic] also in his exhibition and use of those offences and scandals which are his own work in her now or in former times.

My Brethren, she has scandals, she has a reproach, she has a shame: no Catholic will deny it. She has ever had the reproach and shame of being the mother of children unworthy of her. She has good children;—she has many more bad. Such is the will of God, as declared from the beginning. He might have formed a pure Church; but He has expressly predicted that the cockle, sown by the enemy, shall remain with the wheat, even to the harvest at the end of the world. He pronounced that His Church should be like a fisher's net, gathering of every kind, and not examined till the evening. Nay, more than this, He declared that the bad and imperfect should far surpass the good. "Many are called," He said, "but few are chosen"; and His Apostle speaks of "a remnant saved according to the election of grace."

There is ever, then, an abundance of materials in the lives and the histories of Catholics; [145] ready to the use of those opponents who, starting with the notion that the Holy Church is the work of the devil, wish to have some corroboration of their leading idea. Her very prerogative gives special opportunity for it; I mean, that she is the Church of all lands and of all times.

If there was a Judas among the Apostles, and a Nicholas among the deacons, why should we be surprised that in the course of eighteen hundred years, there should be flagrant instances of cruelty, of unfaithfulness, of hypocrisy, or of profligacy, and that not only in the Catholic people, but in high places, in royal palaces, in bishops' households, nay, in the seat of St. Peter itself? Why need it surprise, if in barbarous ages, or in ages of luxury, there have been bishops, or abbots, or priests who have forgotten themselves and their God, and served the world or the flesh, and have perished in that evil service? What triumph is it, though in a long line of between two and three hundred popes, amid martyrs, confessors, doctors, sage rulers, and loving fathers of their people, one, or two, or three are found who fulfil [sic] the Lord's description of the wicked servant, who began "to strike the manservants and maidservants, and to eat and drink and be drunk"? What will come of it, though we grant that at this time or that, here or there, mistakes in policy, or ill-advised measures, or timidity, or vacillation in action, or secular maxims, or inhumanity, or narrowness of mind have seemed to influence the Church's action, or her bearing towards her children? I can only say that, taking man as he is, it would be a miracle were such offences altogether absent from her history. Consider what it is to be left to oneself and one's conscience, without others' [146] judgment on what we do, which at times is the case with all men; consider what it is to have easy opportunities of sinning; and then cast the first stone at churchmen who have abused their freedom from control, or independence of criticism.

My Brethren, with such considerations before me, I do not wonder that these scandals take place; which, of course, are the greater in proportion as the field on which they are found is larger and wider, and the more shocking in proportion as the profession of sanctity, under which they exhibit themselves, is more prominent. What religious body can compare with us in duration or in extent? There are crimes enough to be found in the members of all denominations: if there are passages in our history, the like of which do not occur in the annals of Wesleyanism or of Independency, or the other religions of the day, recollect there have been no Anabaptist pontiffs, no Methodist kings, no Congregational monasteries, no Quaker populations. Let the tenets of Irving or Swedenborg spread, as they never can, through the world, and we should see if, amid the wealth, and power, and station which would accrue to their holders, they would bear their faculties more meekly than Catholics have done.

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(Preached Oct. 27, 1850, in St. Chad's, Birmingham, on occasion of the Installation of Dr. Ullathorne, the first Bishop of the See.)

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Source: John Henry Newman, "Sermon 9. Christ Upon the Waters—Part Two," in Sermons Preached on Various Occasions (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1908), 144–146.

Bp. Athanasius Schneider on the Effects of Ignoring Original Sin

[...] without the acceptance of the truth about original sin and sins in general, one cannot understand properly the redemption of the human race through the sacrifice of Christ at the Cross. If one eliminates the language of sin, one finally also eliminates the true redemption; and one then turns Christianity into a Humanism or into a Pelagianism. Then there is left only the self-redemption or a religion of a naturalistic moral ethic and pedagogy, or a new religion of ecology and of climate change.

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Source: Athanasius Schneider, interview by Maike Hickson, LifeSiteNews, June 8, 2015.

St. Augustine on Sin as Preference for the Private Good

[69] In the way we know all things of which we have knowledge by reason, and yet reason itself is also counted among the things we know by reason. Or did you forget that when we asked what is known by reason, you conceded that reason is also known by reason? [1] So do not be surprised that even if we use other things by free will, we are able to use free will through free will itself. The will that uses other things somehow uses itself, the same way as reason, which knows other things, knows itself too. Memory does not only embrace all the other things we remember. Since we do not forget that we have memory, memory also somehow grasps memory itself in us, and it remembers not only other things but also itself – or, rather, we remember other things as well as memory itself through it.

Thus when the will, which is an intermediate good, holds fast to the unchangeable good as something common rather than private – like the truth, which we have discussed at length without saying anything adequate – a person grasps the happy life. And the happy life, i.e. the [70] attachment of the mind holding fast to the unchangeable good, is the proper and fundamental good for a human being. It also includes all the virtues, which no one can use for evil. Although the virtues are great and fundamental goods in human beings, we thoroughly understand that they are proper to each person, not that they are common. Truth and wisdom, however, are common to all, and people become wise and happy by holding fast to them. Of course, one person does not become happy by the happiness of another. Even if you emulate another in order to be happy, you seek to become happy by means of what you saw made the other person happy, namely through the unchangeable and common truth. Nor does anyone become prudent by another person’s prudence, or is made courageous by another’s courage, or moderate by another’s moderateness, or just by another’s justice. Instead, you conform your mind to those unchangeable rules and beacons of the virtues,[2] which live uncorruptibly in the truth itself and in the wisdom that is common, to which the person furnished with virtues whom you put forward as a model for your emulation has conformed and directed his mind.

Therefore, when the will adheres to the common and unchangeable good, it achieves the great and fundamental goods of a human being, despite being an intermediate good. But the will sins when it is turned away from the unchangeable and common good, towards its private good, or towards something external, or towards something lower. The will is turned to its private good when it wants to be in its own power; it is turned to something external when it is eager to know the personal affairs of other people, or anything that is not its business; it is turned to something lower when it takes delight in bodily pleasures. And thus someone who is made proud or curious or lascivious is captured by another life that, in comparison to the higher life, is death.[3]

Footnotes:

1. See 2.3.9.36.
2. See 2.10.29.116–2.10.29.118.
3. See 1.4.10.30.

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Source: St. Augustine, On the Free Choice of the Will, in On the Free Choice of the Will, On Grace and Free Choice, and Other Writings, ed. by Peter King (New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 2.19.51.194–2.19.53.200, 69–70.

https://philonew.files.wordpress.com/2016/08/augustine-augustine-on-the-free-choice-of-the-will-on-grace-and-free-choice-and-other-writings-2010.pdf

Innocent?

Don't let the fact that Kevin Spacey's character is a psychopath distract you from the disturbing truth that he speaks.

Tolerating People vs. Tolerating Sins

In the story of the woman caught in adultery (John 8:1–11), Jesus tells the woman, "Neither do I condemn you." People usually stop there when recounting the story, but it doesn't end there. Our Lord then tells the woman, "Go and sin no more."

Why do people stop before the last line? Because they usually tell this story as an example of what compassion and tolerance look like. They say, with Pope Francis, "Who am I to judge?" They end up mistaking compassion with blindness, and divesting mercy of truth, they end up with self-congratulation that will lead them all straight into Hell.

Christ made a judgment of this woman's behavior but not her being. Look at His words:

"Neither do I condemn you" in your very being, which is good, created in God's image, and called to a life of union with Him. No matter what you do or fail to do, I love you in your being, being a person, being a creature, called to be a daughter.

"Go and sin no more" because what you are doing and have been doing will lead you only to destruction. If you therefore value your life and what is good, you will do what is good because our actions follow our desire and our values.

Christ tells the woman to stop sinning. By implication, Christ is judging her actions and saying, "You have been sinning." We might say in protest, "Who are you to tell me what to do?" But Christ is truth, and He knows better. Christ doesn't threaten her because He doesn't need to. Why doesn't He need to? Because he made clear the distinction between who we are and what we do. Who we are is good, but what we do is not always good.

Compassion is for people, not for actions. Tolerance is for people, not for actions. Actions and beliefs are open to praise or rejection. People are more than their actions and beliefs, and their value is determined by neither.

St. Thomas Aquinas on Rationalizing Sexual Hedonsim

For know you this and understand: that no fornicator or unclean or covetous person, which is a serving of idols, hath inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God. Let no man deceive you with vain words. For because of these things cometh the anger of God upon the children of despair. Be ye not therefore partakers with them. (Eph. 5:5–7)

The Apostle above forbade carnal sins (5:3); here he threatens them with the penalty of damnation that is inflicted on sinners. [...]

He states For know you this and understand, that is, be actually certain of it and not just habitually. “These things I write to you that you may know that you have eternal life; you who believe in the name of the Son of God” (1 Jn. 5:13). And what does he write? That no fornicator or unclean or covetous person, which is a serving of idols, hath inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God.

Notice that he calls covetousness idolatry, for idolatry happens when the honor due God alone is given to creatures. Now there is a twofold honor due God; we must establish him as the goal of our life and we must put our trust of reaching the goal in him. Hence, whoever places these ‘in creatures is guilty of idolatry. A covetous person commits this when he fixes his end in a created reality as well as putting all his trust in it. “Of their silver and their gold they have made idols to themselves, that they might perish” (Os. 8:4). This happens since, as Proverbs 11 (28) affirms: “He that trusteth in his riches shall fall.” [...]

Notice that only in reference to carnal vices does he teach them to avoid being deceived. For from the beginning men have rationalized to find reasons why fornication and other venereal sins were not really sins so that they might indulge their cupidity without restraint. Hence he states vain words since words that claim these are not sins and do not exclude one from the kingdom of God and of Christ are irrational. “Beware lest any man cheat you by prophecy and vain deceit” (Col. 2:8).”

He demonstrates that such men are deceivers and their words fallacious since, if carnal sins were not sins, they would not be punished by God; God is just and does not impose a penalty where there is no offense. But such acts are punished by God and therefore are sins. He proves the minor when he says For because of these things comes the anger of God, namely, on account of carnal sins, upon the children of despair. This is evident in the flood (Gen. 7), in what happened to the Sodomites (Gen. 19); and again, almost the whole tribe of Benjamin was destroyed on account of this (Jg. 19 & 20).

He says the children of despair because those who sin in this way despair of eternal life. If they acted this way and still hoped for eternal life, it would rather be presumption than hope, which is the certain expectation of obtaining future beatitude meritoriously.

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Source: St. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on St. Paul's Epistle to the Ephesians, trans. by Matthew L. Lamb (Albany, NY: Magis Books, 1966), Dominican House of Studies website, accessed Sept. 23, 2014, http://dhspriory.org/thomas/Eph5.htm#3, 5.3.

Hilaire Belloc on Old Age

It is all due to Old Age, which is, I do assure you, the most horrible lingering (and incurable) disease ever pupped or calved. It's funny that the books lie so horribly about it! To read the books one would think that old age was a lovely interlude between the pleasures of this life and the blaze of Beatitude. The books represent Old Age seated in a fine old comfortable dignified chair, with venerable snowy locks and fine, wise, thoughtful eyes, a gentle but profound smile, and God-knows-what-and-all! But the reality is quite other. Old Age is a tangle of Disappointment, Despair, Doubt, Dereliction, Drooping, Debt, and Damnable Deficiency and everything else that begins with a D.

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Source: Robert Speaight, Letters from Hilaire Belloc (London: Hollis & Carter, 1958), quoted in Joseph Pearce, Old Thunder (Charlotte, NC: TAN Books, 2014), 355.

Cardinal Manning on the Root of All Conflict

One particular phrase of Manning's so impressed the young Belloc that it changed forever the way he viewed the world of human affairs. The cardinal told him that all human conflict was ultimately theological, a "dogmatic assertion of truth," as Belloc described it, which bewildered him at the time but which "came to possess for me a universal meaning so profound that it reached to the very roots of political action."

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Source: Hilaire Belloc, The Cruise of the Nona (London: Constable, 1925), quoted in Joseph Pearce, Old Thunder (Charlotte, NC: TAN Books, 2014), 37.

"Where Are Their Sins?"

I've often heard Catholics ask about the Saints, "Where are their flaws? Where are their sins? They seem so perfect that it's almost inhuman." Seeing these Saints and their lives, rather than being awed and inspired, they are rather turned away because they cannot form any connection. Unfortunately, there is something to be learned from most hagiography, which is this: the lives of the Saints as recorded tend not to focus on the Saints' struggle for holiness as such. The purpose of hagiography isn't so directly didactic; its form, not so framed by the contemporary interest in self-help.

When this point is understood, people will be freed from the illusion of trying to draw out of hagiography what simply isn't there. Every Saint underwent a struggle for holiness because every Saint had to overcome original sin and its consequences. Nevertheless, some Saints were "sped" along this path of purification faster than others because they had a mission to fulfill that may have been more extraordinary than others. Thus, for example, we see people such as St. Paul or St. Francis of Assisi. Other Saints were called to such a high life of union with God that they too underwent their purifications very rapidly although they did not live without intense suffering, such as St. Therese of Lisieux, St. Gemma Galgani, or St. John of the Cross.

Most of us come from the perspective of laity living in the world with daily concerns. It is admittedly difficult to find many examples of lay Saints whose lives we can connect with not only spiritually but practically. The life of the 21st century is radically different than it was even 30 years ago, and this for many reasons.

Nevertheless, we should always understand when reading the lives of the Saints that they too had to undergo intense self-discipline and struggles to be rewarded with the deep holiness that God brought them to. Knowing this, reading hagiography shouldn't discourage us. Perhaps it may even inspire us to make the struggle so that someday someone may write about our lives and provide for future others that example that they may need.

God's Love and "Anything Goes"

Yes, God loves us but not in the way that He therefore accepts everything we do or fail to do. God's love is not a passive acceptance of "who we are," whatever that phrase is twisted around to mean. His love for us extends to our being insofar as we have being, but God cannot love disorder (for disorder is the lack or twisting of being from what it properly should be), and anything disorderly present in our being therefore cannot be the object of God's love. God loves us precisely by showing us what sin is in all of its ugliness (our disorder), calling us out of it, and giving us an abundance of means to do so. God loves us by helping us to take responsibility for our lives.

"In the winds that would blow then"

In a powerful scene from A Man For All Seasons, Thomas More rebukes William Roper for his blind eagerness to cut down all law in order to stop the devil. Roper does not see that in doing so, he would be doing the very work of the devil himself in causing social and moral chaos. Further, Roper doesn't realize his own weakness; he believes that he possesses the internal strength to face the devil directly. More questions:

Oh? And when the last law was down, and the Devil turned ’round on you, where would you hide, Roper, the laws all being flat? This country is planted thick with laws, from coast to coast, Man’s laws, not God’s! And if you cut them down, and you’re just the man to do it, do you really think you could stand upright in the winds that would blow then? Yes, I’d give the Devil benefit of law, for my own safety’s sake!

Consider that there are other winds and other things that we use to protect ourselves from those winds. Consider, for example, the winds of our own weakness, the weakness that Roper was blind to. What have we planted thick with in order to keep ourselves from feeling those winds? Perhaps we're afraid to face them when we know that we should. Perhaps, knowing that we could not stand up to those winds, we fear them and hide behind distractions. What would we do if those distractions were gone? Like the Joker from The Dark Knight, who says, "I'm a dog chasing cars... I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it! I just do things." We wouldn't know what to do with ourselves either if we had to face the truth of sin directly. So we distract ourselves.

Now, realize that someday all of those distractions will end permanently. You will have none of them whether you like it or not. And what winds will be blowing then?

Conceived in Lust

Consider that Mary and our Lord were conceived in the greatest purity. These were mystical moments that transcend our understanding. The effect of such purity was the Blessed Mother and the Lord.

In contrast, a child conceived in lust becomes immediately vulnerable to demonic influence. Why is this so? It has to do with the difference between suffering the guilt of an action and suffering its consequences. Even in the physical realm, a mother who smokes or does drugs or eats unhealthfully while pregnant endangers her child's development. Is it so surprising then that in the spiritual realm, a mother who engages in sinful behavior spiritually endangers her child? But this picture is a bit incomplete, for where there is a child, there is a man. Man and woman together beget a child, and therefore the child is influenced by the spiritual being of the father as much as by the mother. If the father is absent in some way, that certainly has an effect on the child's growth. If the father fosters an abusive or irresponsible atmosphere, that has an effect on the child. The responsibility for the physical and spiritual health of the child falls on both the father and mother equally.

But the consequence of a child suffering from the irresponsibilities of his parents does not mean that the child is guilty of his parents' sins. The child suffers merely from the consequences of those sins. And when a child is conceived in lust, the child is placed almost immediately into the hands of demons because nothing so quickly attracts demons as lust. Just as the Blessed Mother and our Lord were surrounded by holy love and angels in their conceptions, so too is a poor child conceived in lust surrounded by demons. And the fault lies with the parents alone. Nevertheless, the child will grow up having eventually to deal with the consequences of this situation.

And what is the proof? Well, just look around you. See for yourself the children, now growing up, who act as their parents do, blinded by all the same societal evils. Some act even worse. See the unhappiness, the staggering increase in mental disorder, in anxiety, in boredom. I see it every day at work, person after person, and you can even see it in the empty expressions and eyes of certain people who are so spiritually depraved.

Fr. Gabriel of St. Mary Magdalen on the Effects of Imperfections

[133] Because, writes [St. John of the Cross], dryness might very often proceed not from the Night, or purgation of the sensitive part of the soul, but from sins or imperfections, or from lukewarmness, or from some bodily indisposition, I here set down some signs whereby it may be known whether the dryness is owing to the said purgation, or to some other of the causes we have mentioned.

The first sign, he says, is that as the soul feels no pleasure and comfort in the things of God, so neither does it in creatures. This sign allows us to exclude one first cause: sins or recent imperfections. In fact these are often the reason why a soul falls into a sort of spiritual languor.

[134] Let us remember that, when he speaks, the Saint has in mind fervent souls, that is such as have set out eagerly on the spiritual road with a great longing to attain to sanctity. Since he knows that, in order to please God, he must be pure of heart, the novice who has entered religion really desiring to become holy has bravely undertaken the labour of perfect and absolute abnegation. He has definitely renounced certain pleasures, certain distractions, which held his heart in thrall in the world. He now sets himself faithfully to remove from his path everything that might be an obstacle to his spiritual progress. To speak in more concrete language: let us suppose the case of someone who, before entering the monastery, was passionately fond of playing cards. In itself a very innocent thing; in itself, yes, but not always in its consequences and under certain given circumstances. There are persons for whom card-playing is a source of continual imperfections, even sins: impatience, faults against charity, even against justice, are not rare among inveterate card-players. It is no matter for surprise if some soul, anxious to give itself completely to God and having experienced such difficulties, should have decided never to touch cards again. Perhaps he has felt the sacrifice in the early days, but to a spiritual person all these things soon come to appear but foolish trifles and the passion has been lulled to sleep fairly easily. But do not imagine that it is dead!

Since there are certain games not forbidden even to religious, it may happen that, in good company, our novice is invited to take part in a game which, for him, was once upon a time a continual source of failings. Before the urging of others, he gives way. He begins whilst keeping careful watch over himself but, forthwith, he feels that the passion is not dead! He is very quickly drawn into the old faults: impatience, temptations to cheating, anger become perceptible. Moreover, as he afterwards perceives, from beginning to end of the game all spiritual life seems to be forgotten.

When, on the same day, he goes to his prayer, or places himself in the presence of God, he feels that he no longer possesses the same serenity as before. He is a prey to certain agitation. In that hour of silence destined to converse with God, he finds he is pursued by vivid memories of the pleasure [135] felt some hours previously; he is even a little ashamed to perceive that he rather longs for other similar occasions. If the soul is generous, when faced with such an experience it reacts, asks God's forgiveness and renews, more decidedly than ever, its resolution to abstain from games of chance. In that case, it will be able to say: Felix culpa! But it is not always so, however. The first unfaithfulness will be followed by another, and that much more culpable because experience has rendered the subject aware of the consequences. These latter will make themselves felt much more strongly than on the former occasion. The passion will be fully roused and in the silence of prayer the soul will feel it so keenly that it will suffer disturbance and strong distractions from it. How can it hope that it sprayer will not suffer as a result?

"Every time," says the Mystical Doctor, "that the appetite gives way to some imperfection, forthwith it becomes inclined to it, more or less in the measure of the affection wherewith it applied itself to it" (Dark Night, I, c. 9, n. 2).

We have taken as an example at hint very innocent in itself and, already, we see how serious may be the consequences for the good progress of prayer… What will it be when there is a question of consenting to some inclination that is directly sinful, say in a matter of purity or singleness of heart? The religious who allows himself to be caught in the snare of a particular friendship puts a great obstacle in the way of his life of prayer. When we nourish within us a source of continual infidelities, the heart is inevitably drawn away by many inclinations to creatures. Now the more a heart is inclined to creatures the less free it is to occupy itself with the love for God. And as prayer chiefly consists in expressing our love of God, of necessity it will become less intense when there arise within us the evil tendencies aroused by our blameworthy failures. In expressing its love, the soul will speak less energetically; God's company, once its sole desire, will be less relished, will even be found boring, whilst recollection will be rendered difficult thanks to the numerous distractions which will be born spontaneously from the new attraction for creatures. Hence the soul falls into aridity; it no longer [136] finds pleasure and consolation in the things of God. But the same cannot be said with respect to created things. No, it has again taken pleasure in the things of the world and its heart desires to receive consolation from them. In this soul that has fallen into dryness, the first sign mentioned by St. John of the Cross is wanting. 

Many souls, on the other hand, fall into dryness without this having been preceded by any willful imperfection. Unexpectedly they have found themselves transported from a region irradiated by the warm light of the divine Sun into a polar desert; there is no food either for the imagination or for the heart. Yet this heart wants only God and remains faithful to its Beloved. Here distaste for prayer is conjoined with distaste for creatures. The first sign of the Mystical Doctor is verified, but this does not yet suffice to recognize with certainty the aridity sent by God.

"The second sign," St. John goes on, "is that the mind ordinarily turns to God with painful anxiety, the soul fearing lest it is not serving Him but has turned back; seeing that it finds itself with no relish for divine things" (Dark Night, I, c. 9). This sign excludes another cause of dryness: lukewarmness.

Lukewarmness is a cooling-off of the spiritual life, a diminution of the energy wherewith the soul was following after perfection. It is often found in unstable persons, in emotional and changeable temperaments, ruled chiefly by imagination and in whom their actions are the consequences of impressions rather than of real decision of the will. It is not rare to find a soul that at the beginning of the spiritual life seemed fire and flame, but in which all this ardor was seated only in the sensitive part. Its fancy had pictured sanctity as a sort of charm, as a life not without suffering, indeed, but one wherein the divine consolations so far surpassed the trials as to render them all very light. In short, it has imagined the spiritual road to be a path of roses, the perfume of which so consoled the soul as to prevent its feeling the pricks of the thorns. It was urged to the quest of this [137] imagined ideal more under the impulse of some strong emotion than as a result of a serious decision of the will. Now, however, that it has come into contact with the realities of life, and finds from experience how much energy is required in order to go forward, it becomes tired of the continual mortification imposed upon it. It would like to take a holiday and, since this is not granted, it takes it for itself and then … these holidays never end! So it returns to a life more free, less recollected, in search of little human satisfactions and, naturally, all the fair energy of its early days disappears.

Moreover, not only the emotional souls are exposed to lukewarmness. This happens in every soul that, after a period of generous life, grows weary of mortification and allows itself to be recaptured by its self-love. How many young clerics, for instance, lose their devotion by letting themselves be overcome by a passion for study! Instead of considering study as an instrument of the apostolate, they seek therein the natural satisfaction of their intellect, or even, if they are very successful, an occasion of compliments and applause that ministers to their vanity. How can it be expected that the soul that permits itself to be caught again in the snares of its self-love will succeed in saying to God with conviction: "I love Thee with all my heart"? It is simply not true! That heart is divided. Whereas in the early days of conversion, or the entrance not the novitiate, it beat for God alone, now it follows its desires of personal happiness, personal glorification. Naturally such a soul is overtaken by dryness. When love is feeble, prayer is necessarily tepid; and when the soul is cherishing another ideal than that of pleasing God, it loves itself far too well to be able to love God intensely. Prayer will be full of distractions, it will seem too long, it will be easily neglected… We are far from the soul that, amidst aridity, turns its thoughts to God in loving anxiety, fearing lest it should be no longer serving Him.

"Hence there is great difference between purgative aridity and tepidity," writes St. John, "since tepidity implies no [138] little sloth of the will and weakness of soul, without diligent care to serve God; whereas what is simply purgative aridity carries with it ordinary care, together with painful doubt lest the soul is not serving God" (Dark Night, I, c. 9).

A soul that remains full of longing to please God, that suffers at the thought that it is not serving Him as once it did, that notwithstanding all the trials it experiences in prayer goes to it faithfully, as to an appointment with God, and would not shorten even by a moment the time which it has decided to consecrate to His service, that soul may be tranquil; its dryness does not arise from lukewarmness. That soul loves God. Its carefulness, its painful anxiety are unmistakable signs; they are the proper effects of the love that is ever anxious for its object, for the Beloved. Yea, it is a precious anxiety which keeps love awake in the soul amidst aridity. Happy the soul that is aware of it within! It may thereby rest assured that its trial is not unto death but unto salvation.

Besides the two former signs, St. John mentions a third, which has also its special importance. It is: "Inability to meditate and make reflection, and to excite the imagination as before, notwithstanding all the efforts we may make" (Ibid.). 

This inability to meditate is scarcely distinguishable from the actual aridity; rather it seems to constitute an element of the latter. In fact the soul that is suffering from dryness is just precisely a soul that can no longer practice meditation. Therefore, for this to be a sign of the purgative aridity, it must be found conjointly with the two preceding signs; then, however, its value as a "sign" lies especially in the fact that this incapacity for reflection assumes a form that is ever more general, more thoroughgoing and more continuous. There is, indeed, a certain incapacity for meditation which results from temporary physical or psychological conditions. When we have risen very early in the morning, after a very hot summer night during which we have had very little sleep, we find our eyes heavy with sleep and, undoubtedly, this sleepiness will hinder the mental work of meditation.

[139] He who generously fights against sleep need not fear, for that reason, that he is not praying! He is doing even more than expressing his love, he is actually showing it in this trying struggle. We are supposing, however, that he resists the sleep; if he does not, and lets himself give way, he does not pray … he sleeps! The faithful soul knows how to profit by all the circumstances of life, whereas the lukewarm soul is continually losing opportunities. Hence he who is assailed by drowsiness is unable to meditate and suffers from dryness, but when the cooler weather comes and, with it, refreshing sleep at night, the obstacle will disappear and he will be able to return to his meditation. On the contrary, if the inability to meditate arises from the purgative aridity, it will tend rather to become permanent. At first there may be a certain alternation; sometimes the soul will feel inclined to practice meditation and at others will find it quite impossible to do so; finally, however, the distaste for meditation will become permanent.

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Source: Father Gabriel of St. Mary Magdalen, St. John of the Cross: Doctor of Divine Love and Contemplation, trans. Benedictine of Stanbrook Abbey (Cork: Mercier Press, 1947), 133-139.

Distinction: St. Paul, St. Thomas Aquinas on Freedom for Excellence vs. Freedom to Sin

Chapter 6, lecture 3, n. 501: But the one who obeys God is made a slave of this obedience, because through the habit of obeying the mind is inclined more and more to obeying and as a result achieves holiness. Therefore, he says: or of obedience, namely, of the divine precepts, which leads to righteousness: “It is the doers of the law who will be justified” (Rom 2:13). 

Chapter 6, lecture 4, n. 508: In regard to the first it should be noted that man is by nature free because of his reason and will, which cannot be forced but can be inclined by certain things. Therefore, in regard to the freedom of the will man is always free of compulsion, although he is not free of inclinations. For the free judgment is sometimes inclined to the good through the habit of grace 

or righteousness; and then it is in slavery to righteousness but free from sin. But sometimes the free judgment is inclined to evil through the habit of sin; and then it is in slavery to sin and free from righteousness. Now, slavery to sin consists in being drawn to consent to sin against the judgment of reason: “Everyone who commits sin is the slave of sin” (Jn 8:34). 

And in regard to this he says: When you were slaves of sin. Freedom from righteousness, on the other hand, implies that a man rushes headlong into sin without the restraint of righteousness; in regard to this he says: you were free in regard to righteousness. This happens especially in those who sin of set purpose: “Long ago you broke your yoke and burst your bonds; and you said, ‘I will not serve’” (Jer 2:20); “A vain man is lifted up into pride, and thinks himself born free like a wild ass’ colt” (Jb 11:12). 

509. Yet it should be noted that this state involves true slavery and only apparent freedom. For since man should act according to reason, be is truly a slave when he is led away from what is reasonable by something alien. Furthermore, if he is not restrained by the yoke of reason from following concupiscence, he is free only in the opinion of those who suppose that the highest good is to follow one’s concupiscence.

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When we become slaves to sin, we are free from righteousness. But when we are free from sin, we are slaves to righteousness. Hence the arbitrary freedom of hedonism is diametrically opposed to the freedom for excellence although both make use of the will's profound dynamic energy behind habitus, whether virtuous or vicious.

Notice also how St. Thomas identified so clearly the false autonomy that exists in Western society today: "If he is not restrained by the yoke of reason from following concupiscence, he is free only in the opinion of those who suppose that the highest good is to follow one's concupiscence." Hence people say, for example, of a homosexual couple who "love" each other that they should be allowed to marry and follow their "love." The love itself is justification for the act. This is morality for excellence reduced to bestiality, the moral animal to the beasts.

St. Thomas also identifies the psychological indicator of slavery either to sin or righteousness: the predominant inclination to one or the other. Notice St. Thomas also says that we shall never be free of inclination itself, which is desire. If there is a predominant inclination to sin, such that we usually fall into sin by acting on that inclination, then we know we are enslaved to sin. But if the predominant inclination draws us to act righteously, then we know that we are enslaved to righteousness. 

Hence the psychological test that I have given elsewhere to demonstrate one's predominant inclination, namely, can you go at least three months without fixation on some object or action? For example, only recently I was reminded of a song I used to listen to over and over when I was younger. The fact that I haven't thought of that song in such a long time demonstrates to me that I have no attachment to it any longer. I am "free" from that song, not a slave to it. 

Then St. John of the Cross shows us that the way to freedom for excellence is to remove ourselves from that object of inclination and enter the dark nothings by which our desire can refocus on God. St. John of the Cross further shows that in the transforming union, the soul reaches such a state that although it may suffer temptations as God allows them, these are alien to its predominant desire, which is centered on God. Hence these temptations are hardly occasion for sin but rather occasions for further perfection.

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Source: St. Thomas Aquinas, Lectures on the Letter to the Romans, trans. by Fabian Larcher, ed. by Jeremy Holmes, Nova et Vetera, accessed April 23, 2014, http://nvjournal.net/files/Aquinas_on_Romans.pdf.

Simple Confessional Advice

I went to confession today and confessed that I have a hard time trusting God, and I doubt whether I can turn to Him for strength and consolation amidst my daily stress and pain. The priest gave me a lot of existential baloney, saying things like, "Continue in your search for meaning. Continue in your search for God," and something about my doubts being a sign of something good. I couldn't really comprehend what he was saying, and I'm used to reading dense material.

Later, I opened the book that I have been reading for spiritual reading, Fr. Victorino Osende's Fruits of Contemplation, and came across this passage:

It is possible to be of good will and yet feel the greatest rebellion against the idea of belonging wholly to God. A person's good will and sincerity are demonstrated in the firmness with which he maintains his resolution in spite of the combats and resistances he may experience. [...] 

It must be noted that the goodness and sanctity of man reside basically in the will and in the struggle for sanctity a man always retains power over his will—his intense, absolute, and sincere desire to be good. That is why, first and above all, God asks of man his heart, his will, his absolute and sincere desire. But often a man's actions and even his interior natural dispositions are not in his power fully to control. God sees this and does not demand it of him. However, He does demand that when He shall grant a soul this power, he should be grateful and correspond with divine grace to the fullest extent of his capacity. [...]

What matter the numerous falls through human frailty or the arduous battles and conflicts we may experience? What matter if we do not even feel the desire to be good and holy or experience no attraction for God? Of far greater importance than sentiment or feeling is the sincere will which is manifested by our constancy and perseverance in the midst of spiritual dryness and bitterness. It does not matter if by nature we should be inclined to the worst evil and should experience difficulty only in doing good, for what we lack we can ask for and it will be given us. 

If we lack good will, let us ask for it; if we have no desire for God or for things spiritual, let us ask for it; if we are blind and torpid in regard to things spiritual, let us beg God to awaken, illumine, and vivify us. He who infused life and intelligence into the dust of the earth can also illumine that intelligence and give new life to the heart. All our failure and disappointment in the way of sanctity are due to the fact that we do not desire it enough. From the very fact that God gives all to him who asks, and sanctity more readily than anything else, it follows that if there are few saints it is because few really want to be such. [...] 

Do not fear anything; let nothing terrify or frighten you; do not be afraid of the sacrifices or the aridities of the spiritual life; do not fear obscurities or darkness or fluctuation, still less any danger. If God is with you, who is against you (Rom. 8:31)? He will guide and conduct you across all the chasms with greater security than over firm rock. Fear nothing and let yourself be carried in His arms without knowing whither or how; for "in order to arrive at that which thou knowest not, thou must go by a way that thou knowest not" (Ascent of Mount Carmel, 1.13). Do you wish to know more than God? Let yourself be guided without the least resistance and ask nothing. Do you not know that it is God who is leading you? Do not, then, do Him the injury of distrusting or doubting Him, for that is the greatest injury a child can inflict upon so loving a Father. 

On the other hand, if you are a person of ill-will, that is, if your will is vitiated and distorted; if you worship other gods, other idols in your heart; if you seek yourself; if you desire your own glory, your own ambitions and satisfactions outside of God and do not wish to renounce them but prefer them to God; if you do not even dare to ask God sincerely and whole-heartedly to deliver you from such slavery and tyranny, but on the contrary, you desire to be subject to them because their yoke seems to you sweeter than that of Christ; in short, if you do not wish to conquer and renounce yourself for His love, then the peace of Christ will never be yours and you can expect nothing but constant misery. [...] 

Oh precious soul, if up to now you have hesitated to give yourself completely to God, resolve upon it once and for all! Forget self; detach yourself from all things for the sake of God. And if you know not how or do not have the strength to do so, ask God to help you; ask Him constantly, persistently, and never weary of this petition. If you make it earnestly, I assure you that God will not be able to resist it, so much does He love those who love Him! He desires so greatly to be loved by souls that if He were to fail to heed you, He would cease to be what He is: Infinite Love. [...] 

It is not enough that man make this consecration of self only once. He must repeat it as many times as is necessary to make it true and effective, until God shows Himself pleased with our good will. The abandonment of self will be all the more efficacious as it is made with a greater spirit of detachment and self-renunciation and a greater desire for union with God. God wants nothing from us but our heart. We need not be perfect in order to give ourselves totally to God; rather, we should do so in order to become perfect, even though this be the last thing to be attained, for the last thing in execution is the first thing in intention. The reason why there are so few saints is because there are few generous hearts who will give themselves totally to love, for nothing is more opposed to love than restraint and niggardliness. (92-96)

Granted, the priest wouldn't have had time to say all of this to me, but he could have at least been as clear. He could have said the essence of what Fr. Osende wrote above. Or could he have? It's not my place to judge this priest's soul (or any soul), but I can judge what he told me and how he said it, and it just confused me. If only there were more priests like Fr. Osende to tell it as it is.

Sacrifice: Appeasing Zeus vs. a Loving, Merciful God

Someone I know emailed me about a poetry professor who gave a presentation in class and mentioned that he has an "issue with sacrifice." From the email: "particularly Christ's death on the cross. [The professor] seemed to equate Jesus' sacrifice to the Father with sacrificing an animal to Zeus, trying to appease an angry and jealous god instead of one who can [sic] loving and merciful." My friend wanted to know what I had to say about that, how I'd respond and explain the difference, etc. I thought I might as well include my response here.

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The professor's "issue" with sacrifice is probably less theological-philosophical than it is psychological, i.e. there is an "issue" from the past that makes the idea of sacrifice difficult for him. Did he have an "angry and jealous" parent who acted like a Zeus, demanding sacrifice of some kind? Perhaps it was the "Father"? Without further information, who knows? So that's the first thing.

The second matter is the difference between God and Zeus. Zeus is a fiction of the mind, and even if Zeus existed (hard to prove since there aren't many people getting zapped or raped by huge swans, etc.), he would be only a creature, albeit a powerful one. And actually the Greeks believed that their "gods" were physical, so he wouldn't even been that far up in the hierarchy of beings because angels (and hence demons) are above physical beings and far more powerful. God, on the other hand, is the pure, self-sustaining act of existence itself. Big difference, in fact, an infinite difference.

A sacrifice to Zeus is meaningless because Zeus can't do squat, even if he existed. All he could do would be to threaten us, in which case, sacrifice means appeasing him like an abusive parent who has power over a helpless child.

God on the other hand is pure mercy and pure justice. The idea of mercy is meaningless without the idea of justice after all. Just try to define what exactly mercy is without referring in some way to justice. Mercy, after all, is pardoning someone who doesn't DESERVE to be pardoned; that is, it overrides justice.

Here's where it gets interesting. Sin is an offense against God and hence an offense not only against pure justice but also against pure mercy. The degree of evil is determined by the act, the person committing the evil, and the victim of the evil. In this case, God is the "victim" (although God doesn't actually suffer in any way, God deserves honor and respect instead of rejection by the nature of his being). Sin is a rejection of love. So a sin, no matter how small it seems to us, is an infinite offense because it attempts to violate infinite mercy and justice. Hence Cardinal Newman said quite strikingly,

"The Catholic Church holds it better for the sun and moon to drop from heaven, for the earth to fail, and for all the many millions on it to die of starvation in extremest agony, as far as temporal affliction goes, than that one soul, I will not say, should be lost, but should commit one single venial sin, should tell one wilful untruth, or should steal one poor farthing without excuse."

A farthing was one of the smallest units of currency, by the way, like our penny.

And who would deny that pure justice and mercy should be respected, even if those are merely ideals in our heads?

But remember this key: mercy is impossible to conceive without some notion of justice. Hence, without justice, there is no such thing as mercy. Mercy becomes valuable only insofar as the degree of justice to be administered increases. The more that justice demands, the more merciful the pardon.

Now a sin is an infinite offense. Therefore, any pardon of an infinite offense is an infinite act of mercy. And that is the sacrifice that Christ made. An animal couldn't make it because an animal would just be a victim, literally a scapegoat, where we get the idea of scapegoat today. A sin is a personal act, an act of free will. Hence a human has to make reparation who can freely choose God again. But the one offended is God, so that act of reparation must be infinite. But only God can make an act that is infinite. So the human making reparation to God has to in some way be infinite. Hence in Christ the humanity and divinity were united in one person so that justice could be satisfied. And here's the twist: the same act of satisfying the justice of God was the way that God showed us infinite mercy in pardoning us for every past, present, and future sin. In the Crucifixion is infinite justice and mercy at the same time. It satisfies justice, and in so doing, it bestows mercy.

Because, after all, if we commit sin, we're in the pickle of being unable to do anything to satisfy justice. And we certainly don't deserve forgiveness.

But, could God have simply forgiven us without going through the Crucifixion? Yes. But it was more fitting that God become like us, suffer like us, die like us, to show us an example. In our fallen state, when we are so prone to selfishness and revenge rather than justice, hardness of heart rather than mercy, we need a model of what true humanity looks like, how tall it can stand when it is virtuous and noble.

Because—here's the second interesting thing—St. Thomas Aquinas pointed out that to call sin an offense against God is true but incomplete. Sin is wrong not only because it offends God but because it hurts us, it destroys us, it is contrary to what it means to be fully human. A plant needs water, nutrition, air, and sunlight to grow well. A human has specific physical and spiritual needs. On the spiritual level, the human needs virtue. Virtue alone will make us truly human.

Hence God's act of satisfying justice and bestowing mercy was a double act of mercy. If God simply said, "I forgive you," we would still be left in our same darkness, with no guide as to how to live our lives. But God Himself showed us how we are to find our proper fulfillment, and it is through sacrifice.

Victimization, which is suffering without desiring it, is not sacrifice. Sacrifice is accepting all suffering that comes necessarily from doing the right thing, the thing that will make the individual and those around him more human. Hence, sacrifice is the core of love, and sacrificial love is the core of the family. The family is the core of society. Without sacrifice, love is simply attraction rather than mutual consideration. Without love, the family is simply a game of manipulation. Without family, the society is bored, aimless, and selfish. Without society, there can be no civilization, no leisure, and hence no freedom. Christ freely embraced the suffering that would come.

The Gospel is the most powerful story because it is the story of what happens when infinite Love enters our world. We crucify and reject it because in fact we don't want love. We like Frank Sinatra's song "I Did It My Way." That's why the Gospel is the most poignant story and why every good story is good insofar as it resembles the Gospel. Even B-movie entertainment is good because it resembles the Gospel—we like to see people kicking butt and taking names. Christ did that to Satan. We see huge power, tremendous struggles, high stakes. All of that is in the Gospel. At the heart of it is the notion of sacrifice, which is simply—I'm not a rock. I'm not an island. The only way for me to be happy as a human is to be selfless, to help others, to give consideration to others, to "do unto others what I would have them do unto me." That's love.

In fact, mercy is a sacrifice. I sacrifice the demands of justice and my personal satisfaction at seeing justice administered in order to show mercy. A poetry professor who doesn't understand that must be pretty bad at poetry...

Marriage and the Political Battle

1. Is marriage a purely social construct or is it intrinsic to the structured nature of sexual beings and discovered as such?

This is an either/or question. If marriage is discovered as intrinsic to nature, then it has a social construction but is not reducible to such.

If the first part of 1 is affirmed, then:

2.1) By whom is marriage constructed? (A similar question is: by what process does this social construction solidify?)

If part 2 of 1 is affirmed, then:

2.2) What is marriage in its fundamental essence among the animal kingdom? And among the human species?

Once either 2.1 or 2.2 are answered, then we can ask:

3) Who shall be given the power to protect this understanding of marriage?

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The Sacrament of Marriage crystalizes and perfects natural marriage. As a Sacrament, it receives its essence from Christ and is protected by Christ through the Church. Hence, whatever non-Catholics may want to say, marriage in the Church transcends the dialogue (if there is any) about the nature of marriage on the natural level but may contribute to that dialogue because it has the clarity of truth as to what marriage should be.

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Why would one give the State the power to determine and enforce what marriage is? And then, having given that power to the State, how could one in any meaningful way object to the Church's "intrusiveness" into peoples' private sex lives when those very private lives have been handed over on a silver platter to the State, which is far more powerful and omnipresent than the visible Church?

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A secular person answering the above questions will quickly reveal that the only possible reason that Christians could become involved in the political process surrounding the definition of marriage and hence family life would be to protect the family from its disintegration, i.e. to protect the children especially.

Nevertheless, the only real way to protect the family from its disintegration is by living a holy life and fostering holy families, which is not a political action although it has political consequences.

And while there is division among Christians themselves as to what constitutes marriage, to what purpose and effect shall a Christian engage those political processes to "defend" marriage?

It seems the only reasonable option is actually to live a holy life and, if one is married, to foster a holy family through the example of holiness.

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Relatedly, a Christian must ask himself if the urge to uphold the traditional understanding of marriage in the public sphere is actually an unconscious sense of taking responsibility for the actions of others. And further, to what extent is such an urge a manifestation of the desire to be loved by the world, by the Other, and hence also by one's own parents? Finally, if the Christian does not have the sufficient degree of purity to determine his true intentions in such work, then how effective can the Christian really be in the political process?

Let the wicked continue in their wicked ways, the depraved in their depravity! The virtuous must live on in their virtue and the holy ones in their holiness!
“Remember, I am coming soon! I bring with me the reward that will be given to each man as his conduct deserves. . . . Happy are they who wash their robes so as to have free access to the tree of life and enter the city through its gates! Outside are the dogs and sorcerers, the fornicators and murderers, the idol-worshipers and all who love falsehood.” (Revelation 22:11-15)

Original Sin: Affected but Not Guilty?

I remember when I was a freshman in college, my roommate asked me why we should all be held guilty for the original sin that Adam and Eve committed. I couldn't give him a good answer because I didn't know. All I could say was that we are affected by that sin but not guilty for it, but I couldn't explain how that works. It seemed (and seems) like we are being punished by God for something we didn't do. The Church holds that newly-born humans are born into Original Sin; hence the necessity of infant Baptism, which removes the stain of that sin and allows the child, if it were to die, to enter heaven.

But when the Church says that we are born into Original Sin, people tend to think this somehow means we are born into a state where we're just like Adam and Eve—having taken the forbidden fruit ourselves. But this isn't exactly what is meant. There are two aspects to the Original Sin: 1) the original, physical, historical act of the will by which Adam and Eve in pride disobeyed God's command not to eat of the forbidden fruit; and 2) the RESULT of that act. We are born into the RESULT of that first act. The Church has also dogmatically taught that Original Sin is transmitted through generation (i.e. biological conception and succession). This suggests that if Adam and Eve hadn't sinned, their children would be born in a state of grace.

But if we didn't commit the original act, why are we punished for it? After thinking about it for a long time, an analogy has helped me to understand it better. It begins by asking, "Have you ever done something that affected other people negatively?" And the answer is of course. All of us have done actions that had either intentional or unintended consequences on others. A classmate's brother died along with about 7 other people because they died in a vehicle accident while someone was driving drunk. Were all 7 people guilty of drunk driving? No, but they suffered the consequences of it.

Were the victims of 9/11 guilty of the terrorists' acts of destruction? No, but they suffered the consequences of those acts.

Does a child who is born with genetic and physical deformities because of his mother's drinking and smoking while the child was forming in the womb bear the responsibility of his mother's addiction? No, but he suffers the consequences of it.

Did the Japanese Americans who were imprisoned during World War II declare war on the Americans and agree with the bombings at Pearl Harbor? No, but they suffered the consequences of America's paranoia.

The examples can be multiplied.

Adam and Eve committed an act that has repercussions on the entire human race. The primary effects of that act are: 1) the stain of that Original Sin on our souls; 2) the spiritual darkness of ignorance and disordered desire.

Adam and Eve declared on behalf of the human race by their irresponsibility that Man shall be cut off from God. God has offered us a way to come back to Him that respects our freedom and individuality: either through following our conscience with good will; or 2) through Baptism and appropriating faith ourselves as individuals (1 and 2 are not necessarily at odds with each other, but they are distinct ways of coming to God that the Church has upheld).

Hence even though we are not responsible for the original act committed by Adam and Eve, we are responsible for what we choose to do now that we suffer the consequences.

This is like a victim who either remains in a state of victimization or chooses to overcome that pain by facing it and taking responsibility for his life. God gives us grace to take responsibility for our lives and our pain even if we as individuals didn't cause it to be there in the first place.

Fr. Antonio Royo Marin's Commentary on the Hail Mary, pt. 9: "Pray for us sinners"

Pray for Us

Because you are holy and the Mother of God and are to be for us the Queen and Mother of mercy, our life, our sweetness, and our hope, pray for us who are exiled in this valley of tears. You are the powerful Virgin, the clement Virgin, the faithful Virgin, Mother of Christ, Mother of divine grace. Pray for us, O Refuge of sinners, Help of Christians, Queen of the Angels. Pray for us, for you are the universal Mediatrix of all graces, and unless we beg it of you, we can have neither a holy life nor a holy death. Pray for us that God may not punish us as we deserve—for not only have we sinned, but we can sin further and condemn our very selves; for we have to navigate through the stormy sea of life, surrounded by dangers, dangers at all ages, in all states, in all occupations; for we are tempted, dying, poor, persecuted, and afflicted. Pray for us who are captivated by the deceitful things of this world, by honors and pleasures, wealth, and youth.

Sinners

All men are sinners, and even the just man falls seven times a day as Scripture testifies. Often we do not realize this because the devil deceives us. There are many who believe that they are good, but they sin against chastity, against faith, against charity; they steal, breaking the seventh commandment, but they break it in such a way that they believe that what they are doing is lawful when it isn't. 

How many sins we commit! Many venial sins, semi-deliberate, all throughout the day and in almost every single one of our works! Sins against God, by being lukewarm. Sins against our neighbor, by murmuring. Sins against our superiors, by sloppy, sluggish obedience. Sins against ourselves and those under our care, by neglecting the obligations of our state. "Pray for us, sinners," that is, we who seem to have the occupation of violating every commandment and sinning against every virtue, if not gravely, at least venially, and many times with deliberation.

We sin with our eyes, through immodest glances; with our ears, through vain conversations; with our palates, through indulging in delicacies; with our imaginations, through dangerous fantasies; with our minds, through bad thoughts; with our memories, through harmful remembrances; with our hearts, through disordered affections.

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Source: Fr. Antonio Royo Marín, La Virgen María, trans. by R. Grablin (Madrid, Spain: BAC, 1996), 457-458.

Fr. Antonio Royo Marin on Attachments and Discernment

We should consider frequently that the Holy Ghost dwells within us through sanctifying grace. If we were able to detach ourselves completely from all earthly things and withdraw to the silence and recollection of our own interior, we would undoubtedly hear the voice of God speaking within us. This is not a question of an extraordinary grace; it would be something completely normal and ordinary in a Christian life that is lived fully. Why then do we not hear the voice of the Holy Ghost? In the first place, because of our habitual dissipation. God is within us, but we live outside ourselves. The interior man, as Thomas à Kempis says, is recollected very quickly because he never diffuses himself completely to the exterior. The Holy Spirit himself says that he will lead us to solitude and will speak there to our hearts (cf. Hos 2:14).

God could speak to us in the depths of our souls and be heard above the noise of our distractions and attachments, but he does not choose to impose himself nor to take form us our own initiative. Consequently, God is not heard amidst the noise and distractions of a sensate soul. If he finds that a soul is occupied with many other earthly things, he stands at the door and waits. He does not force himself upon the soul; he does not enter if he is not wanted. And even if the soul is in the state of grace and enjoys the indwelling of the Trinity, God's presence is silent and hidden until the soul itself turns to him with love and attention.

Another reason why we do not hear the voice of God within us is our own sensuality [NB: the author here means sensuality literally as our physicality and our giving ourselves to physical things]. We are flesh and bone, and unless we are careful we shall have a taste only for the external and sensate things. The animal man, says St. Paul, does not perceive the things of the Spirit of God (cf. 1 Cor 2:14). For that reason it is absolutely indispensable that we cultivate and preserve a spirit of mortification. The sensate man does not hear the voice of God; indeed, one of the first things that is lost by the person who gives himself over to the things of the world, and especially to sensual delight, is a taste for prayer and the things of God.

The third reason why we do not hear the voice of God is our own disordered affection. So weakened is human nature as a result of original sin that, even in seeking God, a man may deceive himself and actually seek himself. It is not at all unusual to find persons who are externally very pious and observant in their religious duties, but inwardly filled with egoism and self-complacency. The disorderliness of our affection is readily seen when it is a question of the passions of love and the bodily instincts, but we should not forget that the will itself can easily deviate from God and seek self as the object of love. Christ warned his followers several times that it is impossible to love God and a creature on the same level of love; one must necessarily be subordinated to the other. He likewise warned that he did not want a lukewarm and tepid love, but that he would vomit it out of his mouth.

It is easy to see, therefore, why those who seek themselves first, and even subordinate God to themselves, hear only the voice of their own desires, while God remains silent. It follows that we must detach ourselves from every created affection and subordinate all things, including ourselves, to the God who dwells within us.

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Source: Fr. Antonio Royo Marín, The Theology of Christian Perfection, trans. by Jordan Aumann (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2011), 582-584.