Illness of the Spirit

Loving A Hidden God

ILLNESSES OF THE SPIRIT

The Psalmist sings: "My God, as the deer longs for brooks abundant with water, so does my soul thirst for you." (Psalm 42, 2) God is a fountain that shall never be dried up. Let us run to this fountain that is our God with the swiftness of the deer. In the Light that is God is a light that never shall be darkened. But to see this light the inner self must be prepared. To drink of this fountain an inner thirst must first be kindled. We should follow the example of the deer that destroys serpents that hinder its progress. After it kills these poisonous obstacles, its thirst for the refreshing brook-waters becomes even more intense. In our case, the serpents that stand in our way are the vices that sicken our spirit. Only by overcoming these venomous vipers will we begin to long for the Divine Fountain of Truth. When we give in to our vices, indulging the appetites that they create, we have no desire to run to God's fountain. How can we thirst for its waters when we are still filled with the venom of our vices?

Commentary on Psalm 41 (42), 2-3

To continue our journey in search of God, we must first have a thirst for happiness which is (though we may not know it at the time) a thirst for possession of the divine. We are all born with a desire to be happy but, unless nourished, this desire can be dulled or seek fulfillment in wrong ways. Thus, to discover the still hidden God we must first overcome the spiritual illnesses that stand in the way or distract us. Like the deer seeking the refreshing brook-waters described above, if we do not clear out the poisonous "serpents" that stand in our way, we will never be refreshed. We will never achieve the perfect happiness that comes with the vision of God.

What are these "serpents" that can poison our spirit? Augustine lists them as follows:

1. Pride,

2. Despair,

3. Attachment to this world through:

a. concupiscence of the flesh especially in the form of avarice for more and more goods of the earth

b. concupiscence of the eyes

c. earthly ambition

That first of all sins whereby humans freely chose to separate themselves from God has resulted in a series of ailments which make the journey to God difficult and sometimes impossible.

The first of these is pride. This is like a brain disease that causes us to develop the insane conviction that we are gods, that we are in charge of the universe, that we are in control of our lives, that certainly we are more noble than the rest of the human race. This poisoned perception of reality causes us to look at the bed we have created for ourselves in this life and say, "My bed is my kingdom! There is nothing better in the universe!"

Pride is a difficult disease to overcome because we don't even know that we are sick and we are deaf to any suggestion that we are. We pay no attention to the opinion of friends because we don't think they have any worthwhile knowledge to communicate. We pay no attention to divine warnings because we are firmly convinced that we are God or at least as good as God. We are trapped in our own self-created imaginary heaven. We are not aware of being on a journey because we think we have arrived. We have no unsettling urge to move on. Indeed, even if we knew of God's kingdom in the distance, we could never get there because we are too swollen with our own importance to get through the narrow gate. (Sermon 142, 5)

The second illness is a form of heart failure. It is a despair that makes us give up on ourselves and on the grace of God. We are tempted to stay in the bed made for us by earthly fate, not because it is particularly satisfying but because we have no hope that we can ever get up. Why try to move if there is no hope for us in this life or in the next?

The antidote for such despair is a careful listening to the words of the loving Jesus and the encouraging presence of happy, hopeful friends. Of course, the grace of God is the necessary and sufficient remedy for this apathy of spirit, but the workings of internal grace can be strengthened by the external grace of having others who are willing to listen to our sorrows and who try to move us to a happier frame of mind. One of the great effects of the intimate community of family and friends, is the presence of those who take a bright view of life, who do not always look for the down side of every day, who are not always negative about the human race, who (when surrounded by the dung of this world's stables) look happily for the hidden pony rather than complaining about the lack of maintenance. Surrounded by happy people it is easier to be happy ourselves, or at least to wonder why we are still unhappy. Blessed indeed are those who do not live in the midst of "prophets of doom" because it is hard to see light when surrounded by the darkness of others.

The third illness that stands in the way of discovery of self and God is the cancer of malignant earthiness. Its symptom is an overpowering attachment to things of this world, things that will necessarily pass in time. It is like the violent thirst that sometimes comes with physical illness but it is a very strange thirst indeed. It is an avarice for more and more of that which will inevitably become less and less. It causes a lassitude which makes us lie comfortably in the bed we have made for ourselves in this life. We have no wish to ever move. We have no desire to experience anything beyond the peace that we can snatch from our here and now.

Unfortunately, such earthiness carries with it the root of its own destruction. Sleeping in this earthly bed too long causes bed-sores. The things we value in this life rust, wither away, or simply become boring. Sad to say, this world is just too limited to prevent the pallid "sameness" of even our most precious toys from eventually dimming their pleasure. We may not tire of the people we love but they too must someday pass away. Despite all our efforts to keep them with us, it is likely that if we live long enough we will end up alone in the little space and span that is ours. Too attached to the passing tide of people and things in our lives, we shift uneasily in our cherished earthy bed, twisting and turning, looking for something more. We cry out with Augustine:

How mixed up I get, Jesus! And how sad my poor soul becomes when you are not here in my room. My soul still seems convinced that it can be happy without you, and in its solitary room it turns this way and that on its chosen bed ... first on its back and then on its side and then on its stomach ... only to feel more and more uncomfortable. Come Lord Jesus! And bring me peace!

Confessions, 6.16.

Pride, Despair, Worldly Attachment: it is no wonder that our lives are upset. The dictionary describes topsy-turvy as a condition when the top is down and the bottom is up. It is a state of utter disorder and confusion and this is precisely the effect of these three illnesses. When we are proud we put ourselves "on top of" God, convinced that we are more important than anything else and better than everyone. When we despair we put ourselves "under" all creation, convinced that we are less than nothing and worth nothing at all. When we are too attached to earthly things we subordinate eternity to time, spirit to matter. We become topsy-turvy through our ambition, our curiosity, our crass desire for more and more material goods and physical comfort. We are "upside down" and it becomes impossible to do much to make progress.

Concupiscence of the flesh, a passionate desire for the goods of earth, turns the individual upside down internally. That power (the spirit) that should be in charge becomes the slave to any and all desires for the "good" things of earth. This happens most dramatically when bodily pleasure and comfort come to dominate a person's life. The spirit, that power which should be "on top" within the self now becomes the bottom. Augustine, no stranger in his youth to the lusts of the flesh, later warned the people in his church about the disorder of such a life:

How many evils are caused by the desire for pleasures of the flesh? Such wild, unrestrained desire results in adultery, fornication, drunkenness, and everything that unlawfully satisfies sensual needs. It invades the mind, leaving it enslaved by the flesh. It topples the ruler from its throne and subjects the master to the servant. How can humans act externally in an upright fashion when they have been turned upside down internally?

Sermon 313a, 2.

The answer is, or course, "They cannot!"

Concupiscence of the eyes disrupts our lives in a quite different way, consuming us with an unhealthy curiosity about the unusual. We peer into the lives of others hoping to find something strange or untoward, seeking pleasure in their excesses, excesses which of course we would never indulge ourselves but which give us proxy pleasure when observed in others. Through persistent lust of the eyes we lose ourselves in the prurient or vicious games of others. Through our interest we identify with them. We lose ourselves in the frivolity of those around us and become in our imagination those whom we observe pursuing strange lives and performing stranger actions.

Pride of life, earthly ambition, also causes our lives to become topsy-turvy. It does so by subordinating eternity to time, seeking immortality through earthly career and accomplishments. In seeking to gain more and more earthly honors, more and more power over other others, the we begin to lose interest in anything beyond this place and this time. Human nature has as its goal eternal happiness beyond death, but the misdirected ambition of those infected with the "pride of life" is to be happy on earth with all the power and wealth and honor that they are able to achieve. They live topsy-turvy lives because they have made their heaven on earth.

Augustine believed that pride and despair were the most dangerous diseases, but too much attachment to this world (in all its various forms) is probably the most common. All three can prevent us from even beginning a search for God, trapping us in the little sick-beds we have made for ourselves. To make progress we must be like the deer confronting the serpents, stamping out our debilitating maladies as far as we can and being sorry when we allow them to overwhelm us. Having purified ourselves, we can get on with disinfecting the space where we must continue our search for the hidden God.