Monday, June 8, 2015

Sloth

Fifteenth in a Series on Catholic Morality

 by
 Fr. John H. Stapleton

Accidia (Sloth)
Hieronymus Bosch
Not the least, if the last, of capital sins is sloth, and it is very properly placed; for who ever saw the sluggard or victim of this passion anywhere but after all others: last!

Sloth, of course, is a horror of difficulty, an aversion for labor, pain and effort, which must be traced to a great love of one's comfort and ease. Either the lazy fellow does nothing at all - and this is sloth; or he abstains from doing what he should do while otherwise busily occupied - and this too, is sloth; or he does it poorly, negligently, half-heartedly - and this again is sloth. Nature imposes upon us the law of labor. He who shirks in whole or in part is slothful.

Here, in the moral realm, we refer properly to the difficulty we find in the service of God, in fulfilling our obligations as Christians and Catholics, in avoiding evil and doing good; in a word, to the discharge of our spiritual duties. But then all human obligations have a spiritual side, by the fact of their being obligations. Thus, labor is not, like attendance at mass, a spiritual necessity; but to provide for those who are dependent upon us is a moral obligation and to shirk it would be a sin of sloth.

Not that it is necessary, if we would avoid sin, to hate repose naturally and experience no difficulty or repugnance in working out our soul's salvation. Sloth is inbred in our nature. There is no one but would rather avoid than meet difficulties. The service of God is laborious and painful. The kingdom of God suffers violence. It has always been true since the time of our ancestor Adam, that vice is easy, and virtue difficult; that the flesh is weak, and repugnance to effort, natural because of the burden of the flesh. So that, in this general case, sloth is an obstacle to overcome rather than a fault of the will. We may abhor exertion, feel the laziest of mortals; if we effect our purpose in spite of all that, we can do no sin.

Sometimes sloth takes on an acute form known as aridity or barrenness in all things that pertain to God. The most virtuous souls are not always exempt from this. It is a dislike, a distaste that amounts almost to a disgust for prayer especially, a repugnance that threatens to overwhelm the soul. That is simply an absence of sensible fervor, a state of affliction and probation that is as pleasing to God as it is painful to us. After all where would the merit be in the service of God if there were no difficulty?

The type of the spiritually indolent is that fixture known as the half-baked Catholic - some people call him "a poor stick" - who is too lazy to meet his obligations with his Maker. He says no prayers, because he can't; he lies abed Sunday mornings and lets the others go to Mass - he is too tired and needs rest; the effort necessary to prepare for and to go to confession is quite beyond him. In fine, religion is altogether too exacting, requires too much of a man.

And, as if to remove all doubt as to the purely spiritual character of this inactivity, our friend can be seen, without a complaint, struggling every day to earn the dollar. He will not grumble about rising at five to go fishing or cycling. He will, after his hard day's work, sit till twelve at the theatre or dance till two in the morning. He will spend his energy in any direction save in that which leads to God.

Others expect virtue to be as easy as it is beautiful. Religion should conduce to one's comfort. They like incense, but not the smell of brimstone. They would remain forever content on Tabor, but the dark frown of Calvary is insupportable. Beautiful churches, artistic music, eloquent preaching on interesting topics, that is their idea of religion; that is what they intend religion - their religion - shall be, and they proceed to cut out whatever jars their finer feelings. This is fashionable, but it is not Christian: to do anything for God - if it is easy; and if it is hard - well, God does not expect so much of us.

You will see at a glance that this sort of a thing is fatal to the sense of God in the soul; it has for its first, direct and immediate effect to weaken little by little the faith until it finally kills it altogether. Sloth is a microbe. It creeps into the soul, sucks in its substance and causes a spiritual consumption. This is neither an acute nor a violent malady, but it consumes the patient, dries him up, wears him out, till life goes out like a lamp without oil.

Friday, June 5, 2015

The Sacrifice

Thirteenth Conference on the Most Sacred Heart

 by
 Fr. Henry Brinkmeyer

The Blessed Eucharist is not only a Memorial and a Sacrament, it is also a Sacrifice, and in instituting it as such, our Lord gave another proof of His love for man. What is a sacrifice? Instead of offering you the definition commonly given by theologians, let me rather describe it.

Man must acknowledge that God has absolute dominion over all things, that He can give and take life as He in His adorable wisdom sees fit. Moreover, as a sinner, man must acknowledge his iniquities and show himself willing to submit to any punishment the divine justice may inflict. How do we make this solemn, public recognition of our dependence and sinfulness? By means of sacrifice.

We commonly take things which are adapted to represent or sustain the life of man, and offer them in a public manner to our Maker with a real or equivalent destruction. The things which are offered and destroyed are generally precious, and bear some relation to the life of man, for we wish thereby to express our willingness to consecrate our lives to the service of our Maker, nay, surrender them as an atonement for our guilt. Thus, in the Old Law, living creatures such as kine, lambs and birds were offered, or inanimate objects such as wine, wheat and barley, and, in general, the first fruits of the earth. For instance, they slew a lamb, sprinkled its blood over the altar and the people, and burned its flesh.

Among all nations of antiquity, owing to some vestiges of primitive traditions, there were similar oblations, even among idolatrous people, where virgins and babes were sacrificed. At all times the object offered was destroyed, or at least changed, to show that God is Master of life and death, and to acknowledge that He is the Supreme Sovereign of all things, and that we are absolutely dependent upon Him; in other words, to confess and profess that, as He made all creatures out of nothing, so He has power and right to destroy them, and that we ought to be ready at all times to be treated by Him in whatsoever manner He pleases. Every sacrifice is, therefore, a public recognition of God's dominion over us, and of our total dependence upon Him.

Whenever a sensible object is thus offered and destroyed by a priest in his own name and in the name of his people, it is as much as to acknowledge before the whole world that God is our Master, that He can do with us as He wills, that we are in His hands, as clay in the hands of the potter. And this is the very essence of religion, for all religion, true and false, public and private, interior and exterior, has for object the giving to God the honor due Him the recognition of His absolute sovereignty and dominion. A religion which has no Sacrifice as its chief and central act falls short of a perfect religion and cannot be a divine religion, for it would have in it no act which is distinctively divine; its worship could not strictly be called divine worship. Prayer, thanksgiving, praise, homage, all enter into the object of religion, but these can be offered to a creature. A divine religion ought to embrace an act which can be offered to God alone. Such an act is Sacrifice. Therefore Sacrifice belongs necessarily and essentially to every true religion; there can be no divine public worship without it.

We have, then, need of a Sacrifice. Our divine Lord knew this. For, though His bloody Sacrifice on Mount Calvary was all-sufficient to wash away the sins of the world, and was a full and ample satisfaction for every injury done to God, yet we are bound to pray and deny ourselves, we are bound to receive the sacraments, in order that the merits of our Saviour's death may be applied to our souls and that the graces which He acquired may be bestowed according to our wants and dispositions. Though Jesus suffered and died for us, we cannot be saved unless, by good works, prayers and the sacraments, we apply the fruits of His sufferings and death to our souls.

In like manner, though the Sacrifice of the Cross is the source and the only source of all grace, yet a continual Sacrifice is necessary that the merits of the first Sacrifice may be applied to our souls, and that, to the end of time, we may have a means of approaching God, and of publicly offering Him our supreme homage and adoration. Our Lord, with infinite goodness, made provision for our needs: He instituted the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

Now, let us consider how the Mass is a real Sacrifice; by so doing we shall realize more and more the ineffable love of the Sacred Heart for man, and we shall find that words have no power to express our wonder at the goodness and mercy of that ever adorable Heart.

According to the sacred traditions of every country and every race, a sacrifice was considered the more perfect the more fully it embraced the following conditions:
  1. if the victim was real and external;
  2. if the victim was innocent and mild;
  3. if the victim was destroyed or changed;
  4. if the victim was offered by a properly appointed priest;
  5. if some shared in the oblation by partaking of what was sacrificed.

Our Lord, in instituting a Sacrifice, would certainly institute a perfect Sacrifice. The Sacrifice of the Mass can be shown to embrace all these five conditions.

First, is the Victim in the Mass something real and external? Yes, it is our Lord Himself, not only as God, but as man. He is there as truly, as really, as substantially as He was on Mount Calvary. Beneath the thin appearances of bread is the body that hung on the cross, beneath the ruddy flash of seeming wine is the blood that trickled from His wounded side. Many saints have beheld Him in the Host as a smiling babe. Though we have not the privilege of seeing Him thus with our eyes of flesh, we do behold Him with the eyes of Faith: we know He is there.

Secondly, is the Victim of our altar innocent? Oh! He is innocence itself. He never knew sin: He is holy, spotless, undefiled. He is the Son in whom the Father is well pleased. Mary was innocent, but innocent by redemption. Jesus alone is innocent by nature: and He is our sin-offering, He is the Victim of sin. "He was wounded for our iniquities," says Isaias, "He was bruised for our sins: the chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and by His bruises we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray, everyone hath turned aside into his own way: and the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all." And is the Victim of our altar mild? He is mildness and sweetness itself. "Learn of Me, because I am meek and humble of heart." He is the Lamb of God! The priest takes Him in his hand and lays Him on the right, and He remains there. He lays Him on the left and He remains there. He places Him on the tongue of the saint or of the sacrilegious communicant, and like a lamb led to slaughter the Victim opens not His mouth. Behold the Lamb of God!

Thirdly, is the Victim destroyed or changed in the Mass? Yes. He is mystically destroyed by the separate consecration of bread and wine: for the form of bread represents the body, the form of wine represents the blood, and the bread and the wine, being separately consecrated and lying separately on the altar, represent the real separation of Christ's blood from His body: the consecration is, therefore, a mystical destruction of the Victim. The Victim is also really changed, because His body and blood are changed into food, not merely into ordinary food, but changed still more, i.e., from a material food into a spiritual food for the soul. This sacramental state of existence borders on annihilation. In the Incarnation, He clothed Himself with the garment of man's mortal flesh. In His sacrifice on the cross, that garment of His flesh was rent from head to foot. In His sacrifice on the altar, that Body is wrapped in the swaddling clothes of the sacred species; it lies helpless and speechless like a child, nay more, it is as if dead, and the species are, as it were, its shroud; still further, it exists and lives, and yet appears to have not even a corporal existence. What an emptying! What an annihilation of self!

Fourthly, who is the priest in the sacrifice of the Mass? On Calvary, Christ was the priest and the victim. In the Mass also, Christ is the priest and the victim. He is the priest, for it is in His name, and by His power, and because of His institution, that the ministers of the Catholic Church can change bread and wine into His adorable flesh and blood. The priest at the altar does not say, 'This is the body of Christ, This is the blood of Christ,' but: "This is My body," and "This is My blood." Christ is the priest forever.

Fifthly, that which is offered and sacrificed should be participated in and partly, at least, consumed by the priest or the people. In the Old Law, even when the victim, called the holocaust, was completely burned, a cake was offered with the holocaust, in order that man might eat and thus communicate in the sacrifice. You know there is such a participation and communion in every Mass. If the people do not communicate, at least the priest does. He always consumes the flesh and the blood of the adorable Victim before him.

Is not all this wonderful? Is not every one of these five conditions an inexplicable mystery of love? Is it surprising that, through the prophet in the Old Law, God glories in this new, clean oblation? How little we reflect upon this sublime truth! With what awe and love and gratitude should we assist at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass! A certain writer says beautifully, and with his words I shall conclude:
The angels were present at Calvary. Angels also are present at the Mass. If we cannot assist with the seraphic love and rapt attention of the angelic spirits, let us worship at least with the simple devotion of the shepherds of Bethlehem, and the unswerving faith of the Magi.
Let us offer to our God the gift of a heart full of love for Him, full of sorrow for our sins, and full of the incense of adoration, praise and thanksgiving for mercies flowing from that Heart Divine, which having loved its own, loved them unto the end.

Thursday, June 4, 2015

Festum Sanctissimi Corporis Christi


Deus, qui nobis sub Sacramento mirabili Passionis tuae memoriam reliquisti: tribue, quaesumus, ita nos Corporis et Sanguinis tui sacra mysteria venerari, ut redemptionis tuae fructum in nobis iugiter sentiamus.

O God, who under a wonderful Sacrament hast left us a memorial of Thy Passion: grant us, we beseech Thee, so to reverence the sacred mysteries of Thy Body and Blood, that we may ever feel within ourselves the fruit of Thy Redemption.

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Building Your Domestic Church: The Enthronement of the Sacred Heart in the Home

I was recently asked to write an article on a topic which has become central to my own understanding and practice of the Catholic Faith: a family devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus known as the Enthronement. Naturally, I jumped at the opportunity, as I believe the family consecration to the Sacred Heart to be not only a profound expression of the Catholic Faith, but also an indispensable component of winning the war presently being waged against the Catholic family. Bold claim? Not really. It was instituted by Our Lord Himself, and explicitly recommended by at least four Popes of felicitous memory, including Pope St. Pius X, who sent forth Fr. Mateo Crawley-Boevey, the original promoter of the Enthronement, with the following words:
I not only allow, I positively command you to dedicate your life to this undertaking. It is a wonderful work.
Please give it a read and let me know what you think.

Most Sacred Heart of Jesus!
Extend over all hearts the empire of Thy sweet love!

A Novena to the Sacred Heart

Seeing as the Feast of the Sacred Heart falls on June 12th this year, today is the day to start a novena in preparation. Any approved prayer to the Sacred Heart can be used for the novena, but I find the following particularly fitting.



Love of the Heart of Jesus, inflame my heart. 
Charity of the Heart of Jesus, abound in my heart. 
Strength of the Heart of Jesus, uphold my heart. 
Mercy of the Heart of Jesus, forgive my heart. 
Patience of the Heart of Jesus, do not weary of my heart. 
Kingdom of the Heart of Jesus, be established in my heart. 
Wisdom of the Heart of Jesus, teach my heart. 
Will of the Heart of Jesus, dispose of my heart. 
Zeal of the Heart of Jesus, consume my heart.

O Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, pour down Thy blessings abundantly upon Thy holy Church, upon the Supreme Pontiff, and upon all the clergy; give perseverance to the just, convert sinners, enlighten unbelievers, bless our parents, friends, and benefactors, assist the dying, free the souls in purgatory and extend over all hearts the sweet empire of Thy love. Amen.

Immaculate Virgin, pray for us to the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

Adorable Trinity, we thank Thee for all the favors Thou hast conferred on Thy servant, St. Margaret Mary, and through her intercession, we hope to obtain the graces we ask for in this novena.

St. Peter and the Founding of the Church at Rome

Reading N°18 in the History of the Catholic Church

 by
 Fr. Fernand Mourret, S.S.

Saints Peter and Paul
El Greco (1541-1614)
While the hierarchical organization, the Christian life, and the symbol of faith were developing at Jerusalem and Antioch and in the Christian communities dependent upon those two centers, the Apostles and the missioners, under the direction of Peter and Paul, were widening the field of evangelical conquests. Peter, though continuing to watch over the Christian communities of Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia Minor, Bithynia, and Mesopotamia, founded the Church of Rome. Paul, after a journey across Asia Minor, also entered Europe and preached the glad tidings at Philippi, Thessalonica, Berea, Athens, and Corinth.

Of this new spread of Christianity and of all the expansion which followed, Rome was the center and remained such ever after: the capital of Greco-Roman civilization became the capital of the Christian world.

Christianity appeared to the earthly-minded and carnal Jewish world as a scandal; to the haughty and pleasure-loving pagan world it seemed foolish.[1] True, just when Peter was entering Rome, when Paul was addressing the Athenians on the Areopagus, the old pagan religion of Greece and Rome appeared to have received its death-blow. The Empire, under its protective administration, leveled the races it conquered; and at the same time deprived the old official cults, which incarnated the soul of the city and the State, of their chief strength. Pagan philosophy was popularized, and thus lost its prestige. Confidence in Plato was weakened no less than faith in Pallas Athene. In the great and woeful void produced about men's souls, from the Mediterranean shores to the Black Sea, a kind of religious ferment set in. The phrase "weariness of living" (taedium vitae) passed with Ulpian into the stern language of Roman law.[2]

The Roman Isis
Unfortunately, the place left vacant by the old traditional paganism was already taken. The ancient mystical cults of Hellas rose up again. From Egypt and eastern Asia, there came something like an invasion of strange, mysterious, seductive rites. Under Caligula, about A. D. 39, the worship of Isis became naturalized, so to speak, at Rome. After Isis, came Adonis and Aphrodite of Byblus, Elagabal of Emesa, the Baal of Doliche, and the celestial Virgin of Carthage, who drew crowds to their altars. They one and all prepared the way for that great Mithraic worship, that adoration of the sun god (Sol invictus), the last to hold out against the religion of Christ. These new cults had a more powerful sway over men's souls than did the ancient national cults. To a people enamored of festivities, they brought the emotions of their rollicking processions and their secret terrors. To souls homesick for the Infinite, they opened their mysteries, they offered a glimpse, in a blessed beyond, of some sort of intimate fusion with an ineffable divinity, all visible forces being merely its infinitely fertile and varied aspects.

We cannot say that the idea of perfection was entirely absent from this effort toward the purification which the new mysteries presupposed or which their followers were expected to acquire.[3] But this purification was chiefly external ritualistic; it left the heart untouched.[4] Some choice souls found in the legendary myths propagated by these religions an occasion for aspiring to a divine world. In reality, however, these myths were "the strangest and most indecent of all paganism."[5] While the public and secret ceremonies of the new religions, infested with magic and immorality, succeeded in inspiring the popular masses with nothing but the very lowest religious ideas, this great All-Infinite, which lofty minds conceive, yet wherein evil and ugliness have a place as essential as goodness and beauty, suggested to them the notion of a truly moral and supernatural life. In spite of outward similarities, which have been carefully collected and classified in vain,[6] the soul of that pagan world seemed essentially opposed to the spirit of the Gospel. The latter, therefore, did not hesitate to take its stand, knowingly and openly, as the enemy of all these religions; it ascribed their inspiration to the devil, and did not hide its intention of combating them everywhere, as one combats a mortal foe.

A certain clever writer has imagined a conversation between the Apostle Peter, reaching-Rome poor and ill-clad, and one of those idle Romans looking for news who were often to be met with at that time. The Galilean fisherman declares that he has neither gold nor silver, that he has spent a considerable part of his life fishing on a lake of his native country and mending his nets in order to gain a livelihood; that he now comes to preach a God who was put to death on a cross between two thieves; that he intends to introduce the worship of this God in place of the worship of devils and to spread it over the whole earth. The Roman shrugs his shoulders and goes his way, murmuring: "Poor fool."[7] Tacitus' and Suetonius' contemptuous way of speaking about the Christians makes such a dialogue seem not improbable.[8]

Early traditions relate that Peter came to Rome about the year 42, immediately after his miraculous deliverance from prison. These traditions appear likely. A number of very ancient Roman sarcophagi depict the imprisoned Apostle. It may be conjectured that the early Church of Rome wished thereby to represent the relation between St. Peter's imprisonment and his coming to the Eternal City. The Acts of the Apostles says that, after Peter was freed, "he went into another place."[9] Might not this other place be Rome?[10] Another argument has been drawn from a passage of Suetonius. The historian is speaking of Emperor Claudius' expulsion of the Jews from Rome; he says this measure was decided upon following a disturbance stirred up among these Jews by a certain Chrestus.[11] It would seem that he is confusing the founder of Christianity, Christ, whose name is slightly altered, and some important leader whose coming or residence in Rome gave a new impetus to the Christian propaganda. If this is not the Apostle Peter, to which of Christ's Apostles or disciples are we to attribute the honor of being mistaken for the Master?[12]

Upon reaching Rome, Peter must have been welcomed by more than one brother in the faith. Among the strangers in Jerusalem on Pentecost, baptized by St. Peter, St. Luke mentions inhabitants of Rome.[13] These converts, after returning home, no doubt related the wonders they had witnessed, and such of their compatriots as made the same Jerusalem pilgrimage in the following years could but confirm what the first converts had said about the new religion. There is every likelihood that some of these latter were also converted and in turn may have converted some Jews of Rome. In any case, in the Jewish quarters of Porta Capena, Campus Martius, Trastevere, and Subura, where the closely united children of Israel plied a variety of trades - cobblers, retailers of everyday articles, or high-class merchants whose fine shops[14] were frequented by the aristocracy - there must have been talk of the Galilean prophet, His death, His Resurrection, and the strange events that occurred on Pentecost.

It was in one of the poor quarters inhabited by the Jews that the Apostle lodged.[15] Having neither learning nor rank nor high social standing, he was probably not invited to speak in the synagogues, as later on happened to St. Paul, whose title of scribe would bring him this honor. The chief representative of Christ had to win souls one by one through informal conversations, testifying to all that compassion, love of the brotherhood, and indulgent charity accompanied with modesty and humility,[16] which he later recommended to his disciples. His first conquests were made among these poor, lowly people. Therefore, the philosophers of that time looked upon the Christians as "a collection of slaves, common laborers, and old women."[17]

St. Peter Preaching the Gospel in the Catacombs
Jan Styka (1858-1925)

Grouped about these Jews at Rome were a multitude of Orientals - Syrians, Egyptians, people of far-off Asia Minor - who were brought together by community of race and traditions. Among all of them the Messianic hope, more or less deformed, was very much alive. Says Suetonius: "There had spread over all the Orient an old and established belief that it was fated at that time for men coming from Judea to rule the world."[18] Some of these men must have given ear to Peter's words.

In the Roman world itself, the poor at least listened with delight to the words of peace, purity, and deliverance addressed to them by the Apostle. In this number were the slaves, those men without rights, without defense or standing, whom the Roman civil law treated as things. We hear, as it were, the echo of the Apostle's voice in this passage of his letter intended for them:
Servants, be subject to your masters with all fear, not only to the good and gentle, but also to the froward. For this is thankworthy, if for conscience towards God, a man endure sorrows, suffering wrongfully. For what glory is it if, committing sin and being buffeted for it, you endure? But if doing well you suffer patiently, this is thankworthy before God. For unto this are you called: Because Christ also suffered for us, leaving you an example that you should follow His steps. [...] By whose stripes you were healed.[19]
These poor slaves were, in very truth, among those to whom Peter addressed these astonishing words:
You are a chosen generation, a kingly priesthood, a holy nation, a purchased people; that you may declare His virtues, who hath called you out of darkness into His marvelous light.[20]
Little by little, there gathered around the Apostle, besides the poor and the slaves, a number of pagan women of less lowly station. Perhaps they were of the number of those matrons whom the Latin poet shows us coming, athirst for moral purification, to ask in the worship of Isis for numerous ablutions and endless penances, entering the cold waters of the Tiber three times every morning and crawling around the Campus Martius with bleeding knees.[21]

Christianity gradually ascended from the lower ranks of society to the higher. Tacitus relates that, about the year 43, a matron of the highest social rank, Pomponia Graecina, quit the world after the murder of her friend Julia (daughter of Drusus), who was a victim of Messalina's intrigues. "She lived to a great age and in unintermitted sorrow."[22] Finally, her unusual manner of life aroused suspicion. She was accused of "embracing a foreign superstition" and was consigned to the adjudication of her husband Plautius, a man of consular rank, one of the conquerors of Britain. He adjudged her innocent, and, says the Roman historian, her conduct "during the reign of Claudius escaped with impunity and redounded thereafter to her honor."[23] This passage of Tacitus for a long time led to the supposition that this high-born matron had become a follower of Christ. De Rossi's archeological discoveries in the crypts of Lucina - e.g., the inscription of one Pomponios Grekeinos, probably a nephew of this Pomponia Graecina - led him to surmise that the cemetery known as that of Lucina, one of the most ancient of Christian Rome, was the property of Pomponia Graecina herself.[24] The great Roman lady, as wretched in her luxurious surroundings as the slaves in their chains, sought peace in the doctrine preached by the Galilean fisherman.

Emperor Claudius (10BC-54AD)
Conversions of this sort were, however, very rare in the first half of the first century. About the year 51, when the Emperor Claudius, because of a Roman tumult for which a certain Chrestus was held to blame, "commanded all Jews to depart from Rome," as we learn from St. Luke,[25] the Christian community must have been very largely composed of poor Jews. This was not the first time that the civil power dispersed the Roman Jewry. As on previous occasions, the banishment of the Jews did not last long. When the tumult quieted down, they were allowed to return little by little.[26] In a few years, perhaps in a few months, the Roman Jewry was reestablished, and Christianity resumed its continuous spread at Rome.

Footnotes


[1] "Unto the Jews indeed a stumbling block, and unto the Gentiles foolishness." (1 Cor. 1:23).
[2] Justinian, Digest, XXVIII, iii, 6, 7.
[3] Cf. Foucart, Les grands mystères d'Eleusis, p. 110.
[4] Cf. Juvenal, Satires, VI, 519-595; St. Jerome, Ep. ad Laetam, 7.
[5] Boissier, La Religion romaine d'Auguste aux Antonins, II, 384.
[6] On these tactics and claims, see Allo, L'Évangile en face du syncrétisme païen. For our exposition, we have borrowed liberally from this work. On the moral and religious condition of the Greco-Roman world, valuable information will be found in J. P. Kirsch, Kirchengeschichte, Vol. I, Freiburg, 1930, pp. 49 ff.; cf. Döllinger, The Gentile and the Jew.
[7] Gerbert, Esquisse de Rome chrétienne, I, 14-17.
[8] Tacitus, Annals, XV, 44; Suetonius, Claudius, 25.
[9] Acts 12:17.
[10] Marucchi, Eléments d'archéologie chrétienne, I, 11.
[11] "Since the Jews constantly made disturbances at the instigation of Chrestus, he expelled them from Rome." (Suetonius, Claudius., 25). The name "Chrestus" was rather common at Rome among slaves and freedmen. To these two reasons we should add the testimony of ecclesiastical writers who, ever since St. Jerome, unanimously assign to St. Peter's pontificate a duration of twenty-five years, which they call "the years of Peter." It is true that some, as for instance the author of the catalogue of the popes (the Philocalian Calendar), place the beginning of these twenty-five years at Christ's Ascension, whereas others, such as pseudo-Ambrose (in his commentary on St. Paul, P. L., XVII, 45), begin the reckoning, not with St. Peter's coming to Rome, but with the foundation of the Roman community, and still others (e. g., Lactantius) declare that "during twenty-five years, and until the beginning of the reign of the Emperor Nero, they [the Apostles] occupied themselves in laying the foundations of the Church in every province and city. And while Nero reigned, the Apostle Peter came to Rome." (Lactantius, Death of the Persecutors, 2.) "None of these evidences goes back farther than the fourth century. But, since the Philocalian Calendar, insofar as it concerns the list of the popes, depends upon the Chronicle of St. Hippolytus, drawn up at Rome in 235, and as the latter depends upon earlier pontifical lists, we are led to believe that the twenty-five years of St. Peter were already set down in the episcopal lists of Rome toward the end of the second century. It is impossible to go farther back. Thus, early and independent testimonies give us the period of twenty-five years and connect it with St. Peter's apostolate; but this accord in the matter of the number of years ceases when we wish to know exactly to what that number applies." Duchesne, Les Origines chrétiennes, p. 28.
[12] Allard, Histoire des persécutions, I, 15.
[13] Acts 2:10.
[14] Martial, II, 17; V, 23; VI, 66; IX, 60; X, 87, etc.
[15] Probably in one of the lanes where the Jews of Trastevere and Porta Capena lived huddled together. Fouard, St. Peter and the First Years of Christianity, p. 344.
[16] Cf. 1 Pet. 3:8.
[17] Tatian, Address to the Greeks, 33; Minucius Felix, Octavius, 16; Origen, Against Celsus, I, 62.
[18] Suetonius, Vespasian, IV; Tacitus, History, V, 13.
[19] Cf. 1 Pet. 2:18-24.
[20] Ibidem, 2:9.
[21] Juvenal, VI, 522. Cf. Tibullus, I, 3, 23-32.
[22] Tacitus, Annals, XIII, 32.
[23] Ibid.
[24] De Rossi, Roma sotterranea, I, 306-315; Northecote, Roma Sotteranea, I, 124, and Allard, Histoire des persécutions, I, 24-27. Cf. Marucchi, Eléments d'archéologie chrétienne, p. 13.
[25] Acts 18:2.
[26] Allard, Hist. des pers., I, 18-22.


***

Join the discussion at:

Monday, June 1, 2015

Envy

Fourteenth in a Series on Catholic Morality

 by
 Fr. John H. Stapleton

Invidia (Envy)
Hieronymus Bosch
When envy catches a victim, she places an evil eye in his mind, gives him a cud to chew, and then sends him gadding.

If the mind's eye feeds upon one's own excellence for one's own satisfaction, that is pride; if it feeds upon the neighbor's good for one's own displeasure and unhappiness, that is envy. It is not alone this displeasure that makes envy, but the reason of this displeasure, that is, what the evil eye discerns in the neighbor's excellence, namely, a detriment, an obstacle to one's own success. It is not necessary that another's prosperity really work injury to our own; it is sufficient that the evil eye, through its discolored vision, perceive a prejudice therein. "Ah!" says envy, "he is happy, prosperous, esteemed! My chances are spoiled. I am overshadowed. I am nothing, he is everything. I am nothing because he is everything."

Remember that competition, emulation, rivalry are not necessarily envy. I dread to see my rival succeed. I am pained if he does succeed. But the cause of this annoyance and vexation is less his superiority than my inferiority. I regret my failure more than his success. Here is no evil eye; 'tis the sting of defeat that causes me pain. If I regret this or that man's elevation because I fear he will abuse his power, if I become indignant at the success of an unworthy person, I am not envious, because this superiority of another does not appear to me to be a prejudice to my standing. Whatever sin there is, there is no sin of envy.

We may safely assume that a person who would be saddened by the success of another, would not fail to rejoice at that other's misfortune. This is a grievous offense against charity, but it is not, properly speaking, envy, for envy is always sad; it is rather an effect of envy, a natural product thereof and a form of hatred.

This unnatural view of things which we qualify as the evil eye, is not a sin until it reaches the dignity of a sober judgment, for only then does it become a human act. Envy, like pride, anger, and the other vicious inclinations, may and often does crop out in our nature, momentarily, without our incurring guilt, if it is checked before it receives the acquiescence of the will, it is void of wrong, and only serves to remind us that we have a rich fund of malice in our nature capable of an abundant yield of iniquity.

After being born in the mind, envy passes to the feelings where it matures and furnishes that supply of misery which characterizes the vice. Another is happy at our expense; the sensation is a painful one, yet it has a diabolical fascination, and we fondle and caress it. We brood over our affliction to the embittering and souring of our souls. We swallow and regurgitate over and over again our dissatisfaction, and are aptly said to chew the cud of bitterness.

Out of such soil as this naturally springs a rank growth of uncharity and injustice in thought and desire. The mind and heart of envy are untrammeled by all bonds of moral law. It may think all evil of a rival and wish him all evil. He becomes an enemy, and finally he is hated. Envy points directly to hatred.

Lastly, envy is "a gadding passion, it walketh the street and does not keep home." It were better to say that it "talketh." There is nothing like language to relieve one's feelings; it is quieting and soothing, and envy has strong feelings. Hence, evil insinuations, detraction, slander, etc. Justice becomes an empty word and the seamless robe of charity is torn to shreds. As an agent of destruction, envy easily holds the palm of victory, for it commands the two strong passions of pride and anger, and they do its bidding.

People scarcely ever acknowledge themselves envious. It is such a base, unreasonable and unnatural vice. If we cannot rejoice with the neighbor, why be pained at his felicity? And what an insanity it is to imagine that in this wide world one cannot be happy without prejudicing the happiness of another! What a severe shock it would be to the discontented, the morosely sour, the cynic, and other human owls, to be told that they are victims of this green-eyed monster. They would confess to calumny, and hatred; but to envy, never!

Envy can only exist where there is abundant pride. It is a form of pride, a shape which it frequently assumes, because under this disguise it can penetrate everywhere without being as much as noticed. And it is so seldom detected that, wherever it gains entrance, it can hope to remain indefinitely.

Jealousy and envy are often confounded; yet they differ in that the latter looks on what is another's, while the former concerns itself with what is in one's own possession. I envy what is not mine; I am jealous of what is my own. Jealousy has a saddening influence upon us, by reason of a fear, more or less well grounded, that what we have will be taken from us. We foresee an injustice and resent it.

Kept within the limits of sane reason, jealousy is not wrong, for it is founded on the right we have to what is ours. It is in our nature to cling to what belongs to us, to regret being deprived of it, and to guard ourselves against injustice.

But when this fear is without cause, visionary, unreasonable, jealousy partakes of the nature and malice of envy. It is even more malignant a passion, and leads to greater disorders and crimes, for while envy is based on nothing at all, there is here a true foundation in the right of possession, and a motive in right to repel injustice.