Our Title Revisited: I don’t think I’m a relativist

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.