Wilfred McClay's article "The Moral Economy of Guilt," notes a curious paradox in our world, the assertion by our therapeutic intellectuals of the unreality of guilt and its simultaneous infinite extensibility. It seems the more we try to suppress the guilt sense, the more it crops up in other guises. The guises McClay mentions are the cult of victimhood wherein we try to dissolve our sense of sin by cloaking ourselves in the innocence of the victim and scapegoating guilty perpetrators.
McClay nowhere mentions names, but his analysis rests on two counter-intellectuals, Philip Rieff and Rene Girard. So to elucidate McClay, it might be useful to consult these background figures.
Rieff coined the term "therapeutic" used by McClay in Rieff's book, The Triumph of the Therapeutic. There he described how the ideas of Freud were turned into quasi-religions by certain intellectuals in order to escape from "guilt," understood by Freud to be, as McClay mentioned, a purely psychological phenomenon, and without judgment as to whether guilty feelings "had any moral justification." p. 26. Guilt, for Freud, was ordained by the superego, which itself was founded in the irrational subconscious, not "the deposit of God's law written on the heart." Ibid. As a result, guilt came to be thought of as meaningless, unreal, and a feeling to be managed away through therapy.
McClay describes the Christian understanding of guilt and its necessary connection to sin. It would be good also to hear Rieff. Guilt, he says, is "shame of conscience." Sacred Order/ Social Order Vol.1, p.89. Of course, conscience is consciousness of sacred order, the knowledge of a law beyond and above our desire, which commands us to obey on pain of death of our very self.
Rieff quotes Nadezda Mandelstam in her book Hope Abandoned: "A sense of guilt is man's greatest asset." Rieff says, "True guilt is inseparable from an offense against interdictory demands called for by highest authority. Deaf to those calls, the self-mover may deny guilt and so lose consciousness of where -- and therefore, what -- he is." Ibid at p.144.
Our faith holds the same belief: "It is by the judgment of his conscience that man perceives and recognizes the prescriptions of the divine law." CCC 1778. "It is important for every person to be sufficiently present to himself in order to hear and follow the voice of his conscience. This requirement of interiority is all the more necessary as life often distracts us from any reflection, self-examination or introspection." Ibid. 1779.
In sum, to attend to and follow the voice of conscience is part of the debt, or guilt, we pay to live in the sacred order, to be properly human. As Rieff says, "Shame occurs to the fully human even at the possibility, let alone the inevitability, of giving offense to sacred order." p.144. Cf. Ps.19:13: "Cleanse me from my unknown faults!"
What happens when we lose a realistic sense of guilt, when guilt becomes unreal?
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Recognizing Christ
"Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them what referred to him in all the scriptures." Luke 24:27.
Just as Christ was present in all the events of the old times, he is present with us in our trials and troubles, our joys and daily actions. As Carroll Stuhlmueller observes, we become "more conscious of Jesus' otherwise hidden presence" in each moment of our lives through a "a profound experience of God at prayer and the reading of Scripture. . . . With renewed faith, we ought to be able to look hopefully and enthusiastically at life all about us."
This was the disciples' experience on the road away from Jerusalem to Emmaus after they recognized Christ. They returned to Jerusalem with "hearts burning."
In our own lives, we "return" when we recognize Christ as a presence in our lives. And that happens often in an experience of repentance, an experience of saying "I am sorry." That experience is a prelude to returning to Christ's presence who is always with us. The prompting of repentance is guilt, by which each one of us recognizes sacred order, and our need to return to it. When we do we experience the joy of Christ's love for us, which is to recognize Jesus fully.
In that way we become fully human, sons and daughters of our divine Father and brothers and sisters in Christ.
Just as Christ was present in all the events of the old times, he is present with us in our trials and troubles, our joys and daily actions. As Carroll Stuhlmueller observes, we become "more conscious of Jesus' otherwise hidden presence" in each moment of our lives through a "a profound experience of God at prayer and the reading of Scripture. . . . With renewed faith, we ought to be able to look hopefully and enthusiastically at life all about us."
This was the disciples' experience on the road away from Jerusalem to Emmaus after they recognized Christ. They returned to Jerusalem with "hearts burning."
In our own lives, we "return" when we recognize Christ as a presence in our lives. And that happens often in an experience of repentance, an experience of saying "I am sorry." That experience is a prelude to returning to Christ's presence who is always with us. The prompting of repentance is guilt, by which each one of us recognizes sacred order, and our need to return to it. When we do we experience the joy of Christ's love for us, which is to recognize Jesus fully.
In that way we become fully human, sons and daughters of our divine Father and brothers and sisters in Christ.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Jesus said to her, "Mary!"
Today's reading from John 20 ties in with the First Things article, "Through Yoga To Christianity." The author found that Yoga did not satisfy her desire for a relational (personal) experience of reality. Whereas Yoga speaks of a Nirvana in which each individual experiences bliss "as a drop of water returning to the ocean," Christianity teaches that "[e]ach of us is unique and unrepeatable, called by God from all eternity to inhabit this body at this particular time." As Jesus did for Mary, who could not recognize Him by herself, so He can do for each of us: call us by name.
But as a commentator (Carroll Stuhlmueller, Biblical Meditations For the Easter Season, at pp. 14-15) noted, "To be found by Jesus, we must accept Jesus on his terms." "To be found by Jesus demands a continuing attitude of obedient faith. Jesus finds us not that we may selfishly possess him, but that we may share this joy with many others."
But as a commentator (Carroll Stuhlmueller, Biblical Meditations For the Easter Season, at pp. 14-15) noted, "To be found by Jesus, we must accept Jesus on his terms." "To be found by Jesus demands a continuing attitude of obedient faith. Jesus finds us not that we may selfishly possess him, but that we may share this joy with many others."
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
The Humble Person is Conscious of Dependence on God
At our meeting on Sat, Matt offered an interesting way of thinking of humility: "Not so much to think less of oneself, but to think of oneself less."
I offer as a reflection on this the following from Luigi Giussani (from his book Morality:Memory and Desire at p. 30): "Human beings are distinguished from other living creatures because they are conscious of how they live." In other words, being conscious of oneself is at the core of being human.
Does that mean that we ought to think of ourselves "more"? Giussani goes on: "But this consciousness is not complete if it does not reach down into the very foundation from which life emerges. The arc of fruitful reflection does not achieve its proper dimension if it does not arrive back at that Point from which the 'I' that does the reflecting ultimately derives its being. The ideal man, the man who would achieve complete self-realization, must continually possess this consciousness of his own dependence."
Our thinking of ourselves -- placing ourselves in the equation, which we do as human beings --properly includes thinking of ourselves always in the context of our dependence on God. In fact, this is part of the definition of prayer. For Augustine prayer is to raise our minds to God, to become conscious of God. As Giussani says (at p.29), "What does it mean to become consicous of God? Fundamentally, it means to recognize our own original and absolute dependence on him."
So humility is not so much thinking less of oneself or thinking of oneself less, but thinking of God more, and of oneself as one truly is: totally dependent on God. The more we think about this the better, for that is entering into prayer. For the high and mighty that will, in fact, require thinking "less" of oneself, and for the selfish, thinking of oneself less. For all of us, to enter into prayer, to be conscious of how we live in truth, will be to recognize our dependance on God.
Practically speaking, how is this done? One way, I think, is in our daily act of contrition. It's purpose is to bring to consciousness those times of the day when we act as though God does not exist, when we think and act as though we are independent of God. This forgetting of God is pride and sin, and what prayer and humility corrects.
I offer as a reflection on this the following from Luigi Giussani (from his book Morality:Memory and Desire at p. 30): "Human beings are distinguished from other living creatures because they are conscious of how they live." In other words, being conscious of oneself is at the core of being human.
Does that mean that we ought to think of ourselves "more"? Giussani goes on: "But this consciousness is not complete if it does not reach down into the very foundation from which life emerges. The arc of fruitful reflection does not achieve its proper dimension if it does not arrive back at that Point from which the 'I' that does the reflecting ultimately derives its being. The ideal man, the man who would achieve complete self-realization, must continually possess this consciousness of his own dependence."
Our thinking of ourselves -- placing ourselves in the equation, which we do as human beings --properly includes thinking of ourselves always in the context of our dependence on God. In fact, this is part of the definition of prayer. For Augustine prayer is to raise our minds to God, to become conscious of God. As Giussani says (at p.29), "What does it mean to become consicous of God? Fundamentally, it means to recognize our own original and absolute dependence on him."
So humility is not so much thinking less of oneself or thinking of oneself less, but thinking of God more, and of oneself as one truly is: totally dependent on God. The more we think about this the better, for that is entering into prayer. For the high and mighty that will, in fact, require thinking "less" of oneself, and for the selfish, thinking of oneself less. For all of us, to enter into prayer, to be conscious of how we live in truth, will be to recognize our dependance on God.
Practically speaking, how is this done? One way, I think, is in our daily act of contrition. It's purpose is to bring to consciousness those times of the day when we act as though God does not exist, when we think and act as though we are independent of God. This forgetting of God is pride and sin, and what prayer and humility corrects.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
How Many Times Do I Have to Say I Love You
When I first read Thomas a Kempis about 15 years ago I was much more affected by him that I was on this second experience of reading the Imitation of Christ. The intense devotion of Thomas was especially appealing to me. I was in that first phase of my conversion, my metanoia that was brought on by aaa reawakened awareness of my faith. The extreme devotion exhibited on the pages of this book was something that I felt I wanted. Not because I felt I was so holy, but because it was a quality I admired. However, I'm a much too worldly person to even come close to the kind of devotion that Thomas had. On that first reading though, the language in the Imitation lifted my thoughts and elevated my level of worship. I felt that he put me in that right relationship between created being and his creator.
Another notion that I liked is that one should have a lowly opinion of oneself. At least it was appealing to me at the time. I strove most of my life to be like everybody else, to be liked by everyone, even to be admired by everyone. I was always very conscious of what others thought of me. In order to reach those goals though, one has to learn to have a high opinion of oneself. I can hardly expect others to like me if I don't like myself. But Thomas consistently warns us that we must not think well of ourselves, and not build ourselves up. This attitude is necessary in order to exhibit the appropriate degree of humility. In recognizing the enormous distance between me and God, freedom can be obtained; freedom from concern about what others might think of me. The important relationship between me and Christ is foremost and all others are considerably less important.
This time around however when reading the Imitation I detected an element of tedium. The writing is repetitive, presenting the same ideas with just some slight changes in wording. At times I got impatient, mentally goading Thomas to speed things up, to move on to the next idea. I don't know where this impatience came from. But on further thought I believe the problem might lie in the fact that The Imitation was not meant to be read like a novel or an informational work of nonfiction. It is essentially a prayer book. It is a book to take a bite out of, slowly chew each morsel, digest each byte spiritually, before helping oneself to another serving.
Another notion that I liked is that one should have a lowly opinion of oneself. At least it was appealing to me at the time. I strove most of my life to be like everybody else, to be liked by everyone, even to be admired by everyone. I was always very conscious of what others thought of me. In order to reach those goals though, one has to learn to have a high opinion of oneself. I can hardly expect others to like me if I don't like myself. But Thomas consistently warns us that we must not think well of ourselves, and not build ourselves up. This attitude is necessary in order to exhibit the appropriate degree of humility. In recognizing the enormous distance between me and God, freedom can be obtained; freedom from concern about what others might think of me. The important relationship between me and Christ is foremost and all others are considerably less important.
This time around however when reading the Imitation I detected an element of tedium. The writing is repetitive, presenting the same ideas with just some slight changes in wording. At times I got impatient, mentally goading Thomas to speed things up, to move on to the next idea. I don't know where this impatience came from. But on further thought I believe the problem might lie in the fact that The Imitation was not meant to be read like a novel or an informational work of nonfiction. It is essentially a prayer book. It is a book to take a bite out of, slowly chew each morsel, digest each byte spiritually, before helping oneself to another serving.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
A Gospel Commentary
At a Mass on Tuesday morning I heard the gospel reading for the day. It had no special effect on me at the time. Maybe my mind wandered as it was being read as it's inclined to do frequently. That evening I wandered over to one of my favorite websites where I get some of my spiritual energy. The site is entitled “Today's Good News” (http://goodnews.ie/index.shtml).
It is a Dominican website out of Ireland. I wandered over to the Gospel Commentary link and read the commentary for this reading. I thought it might be a good way to introduce you to the site if I reproduced a portion of the insights I gained by reading it. Following is some of the commentary. The site has other very different pages to explore. Enjoy.
The Word became flesh: took on our human nature and became one of us. He is fully human and belongs here. Yet in this passage he says, “I am not of this world.” How are we to understand this?
The ‘world’ in John's gospel is not the physical world, but all the forces in human life that oppose the Kingdom of God – in other words, all the forces that originate in the human head. The great enemy of the Gospel is the alternative world we invent for ourselves, in which we ourselves are the centre of everything. The ego is a world-conqueror. Its story, its personal history, takes the place of the history of the world. It cannot be one with anything. When it looks at anything it sees only how alien and different it is. It sees good in things and in people only insofar as they appear to support its claims, or at least to tolerate them. This is what Jesus means by “this world”, not our beloved blue planet but the human ego that closes its eyes to everything but itself.
It is a Dominican website out of Ireland. I wandered over to the Gospel Commentary link and read the commentary for this reading. I thought it might be a good way to introduce you to the site if I reproduced a portion of the insights I gained by reading it. Following is some of the commentary. The site has other very different pages to explore. Enjoy.
The Word became flesh: took on our human nature and became one of us. He is fully human and belongs here. Yet in this passage he says, “I am not of this world.” How are we to understand this?
The ‘world’ in John's gospel is not the physical world, but all the forces in human life that oppose the Kingdom of God – in other words, all the forces that originate in the human head. The great enemy of the Gospel is the alternative world we invent for ourselves, in which we ourselves are the centre of everything. The ego is a world-conqueror. Its story, its personal history, takes the place of the history of the world. It cannot be one with anything. When it looks at anything it sees only how alien and different it is. It sees good in things and in people only insofar as they appear to support its claims, or at least to tolerate them. This is what Jesus means by “this world”, not our beloved blue planet but the human ego that closes its eyes to everything but itself.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Real Presence
Fr. Laurence's talk last night on the Eucharist led me, providentially, to read an article by Luigi Giussani, "Religious Awareness in Modern Man," which you can find here. On page 137 I found an interesting description of what "presence" means.
He quotes Romano Guardini: "In the experience of a great love, everything that happens becomes an event within its sphere." He gives an example: "If God is a fact among us, it is as though I had received a very important guest into my house: the house remains mine, but it is his, because everything rotates around him."
In other words, when love is present, everything experienced fits within love's embrace, takes its cue from love, orients itself according to love, and is valued and finds meaning there.
Giussani cites Jesus' "Presence" that had such a radical impact on his first followers (as related in the first chapter of the Gospel of John):
"The encounter with Jesus was for each of them an event that overturned their lives, filled it with a total demand, eliminating every empty space within them, every plan independent of him. If a God who became one of us, who came to be among us as our life's companion, did not tend to determine our every thought, plan and sentiment, if he were not understood in this all-embracing way, he would simply cease to be God."
We all know that signs and symbols help us to experience the reality of the events and things they signify. The crucifix in our home helps us experience Jesus' suffering and death; the flag, our nation's ideals. Actions and words paint pictures for us of the deeds they enact and depict.
"This is my body. This is my blood. Do this in memory of me." Jesus' words invite us into his stunning sacrifice of love, and gently exhort us to radically transform our lives as we absorb this perturbing fact. Our faithful response brings us into His orbit and eliminates the "empty space" within us, the distance that keeps us out of His presence.
So Christ in the Eucharist invites us into His embrace, His presence, His love, as He offers us Himself in a bit of bread and a sip of wine. Our best response is to enter into that presence.
He quotes Romano Guardini: "In the experience of a great love, everything that happens becomes an event within its sphere." He gives an example: "If God is a fact among us, it is as though I had received a very important guest into my house: the house remains mine, but it is his, because everything rotates around him."
In other words, when love is present, everything experienced fits within love's embrace, takes its cue from love, orients itself according to love, and is valued and finds meaning there.
Giussani cites Jesus' "Presence" that had such a radical impact on his first followers (as related in the first chapter of the Gospel of John):
"The encounter with Jesus was for each of them an event that overturned their lives, filled it with a total demand, eliminating every empty space within them, every plan independent of him. If a God who became one of us, who came to be among us as our life's companion, did not tend to determine our every thought, plan and sentiment, if he were not understood in this all-embracing way, he would simply cease to be God."
We all know that signs and symbols help us to experience the reality of the events and things they signify. The crucifix in our home helps us experience Jesus' suffering and death; the flag, our nation's ideals. Actions and words paint pictures for us of the deeds they enact and depict.
"This is my body. This is my blood. Do this in memory of me." Jesus' words invite us into his stunning sacrifice of love, and gently exhort us to radically transform our lives as we absorb this perturbing fact. Our faithful response brings us into His orbit and eliminates the "empty space" within us, the distance that keeps us out of His presence.
So Christ in the Eucharist invites us into His embrace, His presence, His love, as He offers us Himself in a bit of bread and a sip of wine. Our best response is to enter into that presence.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
The Beauty of the Moral Act
Following is a quote from the magazine, First Things, the April 2011 issue. It is written by Ross McCullough and I hope that we have an opportunity in our Christian spirituality group to discuss the full opinion piece. It is entitled The Beauty of the Ethical.
"[The moral act] has what the Greeks called karios, the right moment the perfect time - and not just the when, but what is done, and why, and where and how it is performed. It is just right.
In that sense moral behavior is a graceful thing, and the saint behaves in something like the way that Astaire danced or sugar Ray boxed or... Capablanca played chess.... There is a beauty to the moral gesture, the moral life, the moral soul; there is a quiet harmony to the parts of the act and to the priorities of the life and to the passions of the mind; and there is from all this a beauty that spreads slowly and subtly but unstoppably out across the sleeping world like the first signs of the sun."
"[The moral act] has what the Greeks called karios, the right moment the perfect time - and not just the when, but what is done, and why, and where and how it is performed. It is just right.
In that sense moral behavior is a graceful thing, and the saint behaves in something like the way that Astaire danced or sugar Ray boxed or... Capablanca played chess.... There is a beauty to the moral gesture, the moral life, the moral soul; there is a quiet harmony to the parts of the act and to the priorities of the life and to the passions of the mind; and there is from all this a beauty that spreads slowly and subtly but unstoppably out across the sleeping world like the first signs of the sun."
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