I’ll preface this post with a warning: I may be wrong. If a
gentle soul can direct me where I’m wrong, I’ll happily repent of my mistakes
and correct them.
Plato identified one of the earliest relativists in his
dialogue named after the relativist himself, Protagoras. The elderly sophist was quoted by Plato as saying “Of
all things, man is the measure.” He enunciates the essence of relativism;
namely, that each person can view reality and make up his own truth about what
he sees. This view is contrary to philosophical realism and the teaching
Church.
A fundamental tenet of relativism is that no external
authority can dictate what someone believes. Catholic spirituality is based
upon the principle that not only can an external authority dictate what we should
believe, but an external authority has dictated what we should believe.
Catholic spirituality is diametrically opposed to relativism.
In an earlier
post, I referenced St. John of the Cross in
his book
The Ascent of Mt. Carmel
saying “Here there is no law, for the just man is a law unto himself.” By this,
I do not mean that there is no external authority by which we should judge
ourselves. Nor do I mean to say that the “law unto himself” is a law that is
self-motivated or derived simply from one’s own mind. St. John was particularly
clear about the need for external direction and his books inculcate a deep
distrust for idle manifestations of the mind.
The whole point of the Christian life is to conform oneself
more closely to the perfect man: Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I believe
(and think) that our goal is the conformity of the mind, heart, and will to become
a perfect image of the Just Man. In no other way can we find perfection.
In the early stages of the spiritual life, attendance to an
external law is the means of
spiritual growth. Aided by grace, of course. Fidelity to the commandments,
frequent meditations on the nature of virtue, exercise of the will in the
practice of the good, and avoiding vices and sin mark these early days. In sin
and in the early days of conversion, the “old man” is still active and dominant
in the penitent’s heart. Such a man uses the precepts of an external law in
order to leave the old man behind.
Some writers called these early days the way of purgation because they are marked
by a deep suspicion of one’s own actions and motives. The great Carmelite
cautions souls who are beginning their spiritual journey to be careful about
their internal motivations and attend to what they have been taught about the
moral law and the life of virtue. Exercise of the will seems to be difficult
and engaging in spiritual things a trial. However, by prayer, the sacraments,
grace, attendance to the moral law, and the practice of a devout life, in time
new habits are formed that are virtues, ordered to the good and not to evil.
As these good habits become part of us, they become, as
Aristotle said, a kind of second nature. Doing good becomes easier and more
natural, almost spontaneous. Not as if there were no direction to their proper
end, but doing good becomes almost easy, a likeness of which is the muscle
memory of an accomplished musician finding the keys of the piano as he plays. He
no longer needs to “think” about where to put his fingers, he just plays.
Another example is a person who plays a sport and finds himself “in the zone”
as we sometimes here. This is, perhaps, what some Eastern writers term the “Zen
moment”.
As I understand it, when the master musician or athlete has
practiced his art long enough, he finds his body responding to the internal
order or harmony of what he is doing. So too the adept in the Christian life,
after conforming his mind and will to the Just Man, no longer needs to “attend”
to the moral law, he simply carries it out. The law no longer is, as such, the
means to his conformity with Christ. This does not dispense with the law, but
such a man no longer needs to think about the law so much.
He is a just man because he has become the Just Man. He has
fulfilled the admonition of St. Paul to “put on the Lord Jesus” and become what
our Loving Father in heaven meant us to be from the beginning.
Our title, then, is no relativist declaration that whatever
I want, I can go after. Rather it is the recognition that, after years of toil
in this valley of tears, I may be freed from slavish attention to the law and
no longer find it a burden. Our Lord even said, “My yoke is easy, my burden
light.”
By quoting Saint John, we articulate the summit of spiritual
perfection, the perfection for which I hope and I strive. When the soul has
been perfected, he no longer needs the external structure placed upon him by
the law, for his actions so closely resemble Christ; no, originate in his union
with Christ, that he truly becomes “a law unto himself.” Virtue and goodness
flow from the soul’s conformity to the Just Man, as a spring of living water.
The amazing thing about this transformation is that once the
highest stages of the spiritual life are reached, there is even greater
attention to the law in all its integrity, but that attention flows from within
the soul (even though it is always guided by the Holy Spirit) and does not come
from outside as it did before.
No relativism is advocated here, just conformity to Our
Blessed Savior, leading us along the royal way of the Cross until we find our
resting place, in Him.
