Day One
The Theological Virtues: Faith

If you came to Mass on Saturday, you heard me say that I’d like to try an experiment this week.  I edit a newsletter that the Rosary Center sends out six times a year.  Each issue contains a reflection we call “Theology for the Laity.”  I’ve planned to write a series of reflections on the theological and moral virtues, but I’ve discovered that I write by speaking.  So before I turn my thoughts into the 2,000 or so word essays we print, I’d like to share my reflections with you, much as I’ve spoken them to myself.

Since these reflections deal with virtues, we ought to begin with a definition.  St. Thomas Aquinas says that a virtue is

When we were growing up, most of us learned that we live by the Theological Virtues of Faith, Hope, and Charity, as well as by the Moral Virtues: Prudence, Justice, Fortitude, and Temperance.  I suppose we could discuss the virtues in any order, but I’m something of a creature of habit, so this is the order in which I’d like to present these good habits by which God works in us and brings us to everlasting life.

Left to our own devices, we can reach a level of natural happiness by following the dictates of reason, but coming to know God through human skills is no easy matter.  Moreover, Scripture refers to a greater happiness, one we realize when we take part in God’s divine nature

What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him, God has revealed to us through the Spirit (1 Cor. 1:9).

No matter how excellently human reason directs us to act (and no matter how excellent the resulting actions are), full participation in God’s life remains beyond our human reach; we enjoy it only by God’s invitation.  We accept this invitation when we present ourselves for Baptism. 

Most of us cannot recall our Baptism, but the rite by which the sacrament is conferred makes a clear connection between the sacrament and the Faith that is its gift.  Parents who present children for baptism are asked, “What do you ask of God’s Church for your child?”  The reply is, “Faith.”  The parents are next asked, “What does faith offer?”  The answer, “Eternal life.”

Faith is the habit by which we believe in God and what He has revealed.  Because Christ entrusted His teaching authority to the apostles, Faith is also the habit by which we embrace the teachings of the Church.  Faith precedes the other theological virtues because its first act is to allow us to recognize the existence of God, who is the object every virtue seeks to possess. 

Here we can see a parallel to our natural lives.  Until we know some thing exists, we can form no opinion of it.  Likewise, until we know some place exists, we have no reason to plan to visit it.  However, once we become aware of a thing’s existence, we can study it, evaluate it, and decide whether to incorporate this knowledge into the rest of our life.  In a similar way, God reveals Himself to us through Faith, and once we become aware of Him, we can direct and order our lives toward a deeper and more intimate life with Him.

Here I need to say that although the God of Faith is one and unchanging, human capacities differ both in their ability to comprehend the truth, and in the speed, firmness and devotion with which they assent to it. Therefore, one person’s faith may be objectively greater than another’s, but the gift of Faith itself is sufficient for each individual who grasps it.

Here we may draw another comparison between our natural lives and the life of grace.  We say an individual who has greater knowledge or experience in science, grammar, mathematics, or any other object of human study, has two obligations.  The first is to deepen his own knowledge, the second is to teach those who are less informed.  Likewise, those whose faith gives them greater insight into the goodness of God have an obligation not only to share what they know, in order to increase the faith of others, but to study and pray so they may increase their own faith.

This may sound like a task reserved solely for professional theologians, but each of us is called to increase our faith, and to promote the faith of others.  One of the axioms of our Church’s theology states that gifts are never given just to enrich the one who receives them; they are given to be shared with the entire Church.  We are baptized into a community, and we are called to enrich this community by our prayer and example.  We are assisted in this life-long project by grace, the free and loving gift of the God we seek to know.

Our progress in faith involves both our mind and our will.  The more we learn about God, the more we find to love.  The more we love God, the more we want to know Him – and to know about Him.

As soon as we speak of knowledge and love we must consider the relation between the intellect and the will.  Our intellect seeks to know truth; our will to embrace goodness.  These two aspects of our human nature unite to produce the habits we call virtues.  When he considers the virtue of Faith, St. Thomas Aquinas writes “…to believe is an act of the intellect in assenting to the truth at the command of the will” (ST II-II, 4:5).

If we wonder how our Faith manifests itself, St. Thomas Aquinas replies that one of the first effects of Faith is to understand what happens if we turn away from God.   This understanding results in fear – fear of punishment, and fear of separation from God. 

But Faith also purifies our hearts, by turning us more and more toward God and more and more away from sin.  As our reflections progress we will see that the virtues are connected to one another, and the virtue of Charity will appear over and over, as a catalyst that “speeds up” or deepens another good habit.  The goal of human life is loving union with God, the union of Charity.  As we grow in virtue, our love for God (which is itself a reflection of God’s love for us) makes us want to draw closer to the God we apprehend by Faith.  In this way, the virtues work together to perfect one another.

The days of this novena will end with our celebration of a feast to honor the grandmother of Jesus.  We know almost nothing of the childhood of Our Savior; the gospel only tells us that Jesus was obedient to Mary and Joseph, and that “he increased in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man (Lk 2:52).  We must assume, however, that His life resembled the life any of us lives as part of a human family, caring for one another and learning from one another.

Here we can see a natural parallel to our life of Faith.  Baptism makes us part of a supernatural family, the Church.  One of the reasons we call the Church “our Mother” is the Church’s task of teaching us and offering the other aids by which we grow to Christian maturity.  In the course of our growth in Faith we learn many words.  At some point we also learn that we do not believe in the words themselves, but in the realities they represent.  Our Catechism makes a wonderful comparison between the vocation of human mothers and the Church

As a mother who teacher her children to speak and so to understand and communicate, the Church our Mother teaches us the language of faith in order to introduce us to the understanding and the life of faith (171).

As we grow and mature, human gifts enable us to succeed and excel.  The human family of Jesus helped him increase in wisdom and stature, and the Catechism remarks that the Church’s deposit of belief does the same for our life of Faith.  “Believing,” it states, “is an ecclesial act.  The Church’s faith precedes, engenders, supports and nourishes our faith. The Church is the mother of all believers” (181).  The Catechism’s reflection concludes with a somewhat trenchant remark by St. Cyprian, “No one can have God as Father who does not have the Church as Mother.

In the Mass, after we say the Our Father, the celebrant prays, “Lord, Jesus Christ…look not on our sins, but on the Faith of your Church….”  Belief in God is our first act of Faith.  The Church’s faith enables us to build on this initial act, and to grow in what St. Jude, in his letter, calls “our common salvation” (Jude 3).

We cannot speak of the Church as our mother without considering the Mother of Jesus, whom we call “the Mother of the Church.”  Mary stands for us, and wherever  we encounter her in the gospel, the evangelist wants us to find ourselves.  The habit we name the virtue of Faith enables us to surrender to a great deal that we could grasp in no way other than God’s revelation.

This surrender cannot always be easy, but we are not alone in being called to make it.  Mary was there first. We can easily imagine the thousand questions that must have come to mind when Mary heard the angel’s proclamation that she was to become the Mother of God.  We should likewise rejoice in the Faith that allowed her – and teaches us – to say, “behold the handmaid of the Lord.”

Day Two

The Theological Virtues: Hope

God is the source and object of the faith, hope, and love we call the Theological Virtues.  Because God is infinite, we will never be able fully to comprehend the habitual dispositions – or virtues – that lead to Him.  Nevertheless, in the virtue of Hope we find a great deal that speaks to us on a human level, making this virtue one of the more accessible.

The dictionary defines hope as “the feeling that what is wanted can be had, or that events will turn out for the best.”  We might expect this definition to change somewhat as we apply it to our spiritual lives, but St. Thomas Aquinas’ definition of hope remains extremely easy to grasp, “…a future good, difficult but possible to attain…by means of the Divine assistance…on Whose help it leans” (ST II-II, 17.1). 

We cannot – or should not – wish anything other than this happiness, so the virtue of Hope allows us to place in proper order the many good things that surround us.  Once we place our eternal happiness at the top of the list, everything else should fall into place.  Of course, this is not a step we can take all at once; good habits take time to develop.  Nevertheless, as we progress in the spiritual life, and our life with God emerges more clearly as the best thing we can desire (and, therefore, the prize worth the most effort), other goals, which may once have seemed highly desirable – and hard to reach – assume their proper character and seem much easier to achieve. 

We began this reflection by observing a peculiarly human dimension to the virtue of Hope, and here we might reflect that Hope can only exist in beings who have not yet achieved the goal they seek.  It is, thus, always concerned with something in the future.  The angels, and the souls in heaven, have no need of Hope, for they enjoy God’s eternal life as an ever-present reality.  Similarly, the souls of the damned have no Hope, although for a far different – and quite frightening – reason.  Those condemned to Hell are aware their punishment is everlasting.  Because they cannot escape this state to attain happiness of any sort, they have nothing to hope for.

St. Thomas teaches, “the true opinion of the intellect about God is that from Him comes salvation to mankind and pardon to sinners….” (II-II, 20.1).  The habit of Hope leads and encourages us to embrace this truth, and the Letter to the Hebrews reminds us, “Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful”  (Heb. 10:23).

This is a comforting and compelling message, but the freedom of our will always allows us to reject it – to our peril – either by imagining that God refuses pardon to repentant sinners, or to believe that God does not turn sinners to Himself by means of grace.  This error (and here we must remember that theological error is not simply a mistaken notion, but rather a denial of truth) is the sin of despair.  It is an extremely serious sin, because its consequences can prove fatal to our hope of everlasting life. 

Despair denies God’s justice by refusing the believe God will remain faithful to His promises.  It also denies God’s mercy, refusing to acknowledge that God wants us to enjoy everlasting life with Him.  St. Paul offers an antidote to these temptations, encouraging us to surrender to “The Holy Spirit…He poured out upon us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that we might be justified by His grace and become heirs In hope of eternal life” (Titus, 3:6).

Despair consists in denial, but one can also sin against Hope by over-affirmation; this sin we call presumption.  Presumption is the error by which one imagines that eternal life is a goal within his unaided reach or by which he places too little value on God’s justice, imagining God’s mercy to be so great that an individual need not repent of sins he has committed. 

The virtue of Hope enables us to see life with God as a goal possible – if difficult – to attain with God’s help.  We cannot fear the God who is goodness itself.  However, we may reasonably fear the just consequences of our sins against Him, and if our fear is purified through love, we will reasonably fear offending God by sin.  The fear of committing a fault against one we love is called “filial” fear, the fear a child feels at the prospect of offending a loving parent.

Theology, like any science, allows us draw a vast number of theoretical conclusions.  But we must never forget the practical aspect of virtue.  Virtues are the everyday habits by which we strive to attain eternal happiness. Hope is a very practical virtue; it is the disposition of wayfarers: individuals on a pilgrimage that will only end in heaven. 

Here we should observe that we who come to the Shrine of St. Jude call ourselves “pilgrims.”  In our prayer to St. Jude we beg for his intercession as the patron of hopeless cases and of things despaired of.  We may or may not be speaking of theological despair when we say these words, but the fact that we use these terms at all should be a reminder of the special connection between our patron and the virtue of Hope.  It is Hope that allows us to see St. Jude as our intercessor in all our needs.

At some point we may be moved to ask how we manifest the virtue of Hope.  As we look at our lives, we can tell very clearly when we are acting with faith, and we have no problem discerning whether we are acting charitably.  Hope, however, may remain somewhat elusive. 

Our Catechism tells us that prayer is one sign the virtue of Hope is at work in our lives.  Why? Because both prayer and Hope are concerned with the future.  “Prayer is an indispensable condition for being able to obey God’s commandments,” the Catechism teaches, so prayer is an all-important element in our quest for the salvation for which we long.   Prayer enables us to align our will with God’s, so prayer brings us one step closer to the everlasting life that is the goal – possible, but difficult – of the virtue of Hope. 

In the gospel we read, “[we] ought always to pray and not lose heart” (Lk 18:1).  These words assure us that our Hope is not in vain.  And if we look for examples, individuals who demonstrate most clearly what Hope enables us to accomplish, we need look no further than St. Anne, whom we honor in the days of this novena.  An ancient legend says that she and her husband were childless for twenty years.  This resulted, finally, in Joachim’s no longer being allowed to attend certain ceremonies in the Temple. The legend says,  

In the heat of the moment he blamed his wife for all his troubles.  And without any warning to her he went off to the hill country…Like Moses…and Jesus…he fasted forty days and forty nights, praying to God for understanding and mercy and relief….

Meanwhile Anne had remained at home, where the news of her husband’s disgrace and the manner of his departure…was quickly reported to her…He fall was great.  Even her servants and slaves…openly mocked her….

[And then] behold an angel of the Lord came to her and said, “Anne…the Lord has heard your prayer.  You shall conceive and bear, and your offspring shall be spoken of in the whole world.”

We’ve seen this situation before, in the Scripture: an elderly couple with no children, who suddenly learn that their fondest dreams are going to come true.  Here is a perfect example of hope. With nothing more to guide them than the words of a spirit, the goal which has eluded Anne and Joachim for two decades suddenly appeared to be possible.

 These sentences sum up everything we believe about the virtue of Hope: that it is God’s gift, sustained by God’s love. That it is a way of life, built on prayer and practice, and that – although fidelity to the virtue may not always be easy – it leads to an everlasting goal God will enable us to grasp.  The Catechism teaches that our worship of God sets us free.  The virtue of Hope allows us to revel in this freedom, for the possibility of everlasting life in God’s kingdom encourages and enables us to look beyond the lure of the present, and to reject the many idols we encounter each day.

Day Three

Theological Virtues: Charity

Feast of St. Mary Magdalene

One Concordance to the Bible directs us to the word “love” more than two hundred times.  The word “loved” (and other derivatives) occurs another two or three hundred times.  Our vocabulary pays tribute to “love letters,” “love nests,” “love poems,” and “love stories,” evidence that love is an important element in our human life.

 The dictionary defines “love” as “a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person…as for a parent, child, or friend.” We might expect a similar definition for “charity,” which is – or ought to be – a synonym for “love,” but the dictionary defines “charity” in these rather chilly terms: “generous actions or donations to aid the poor, ill, or helpless…something given to a person in need.”

 Scholars, no doubt, can explain how our common idea of charity came to be so, apparently, separated from our notion of love, but we may be grateful that the Church’s theology has always maintained the unity of the two.  Our Catechism teaches, “Charity is the theological virtue by which we love God above all things, for His own sake, and our neighbor as ourselves for the love of God” (1822).

 In St. John’s account of the Last Supper, Jesus tells His disciples He is giving them a “new” commandment, “that you love one another as I have loved you” (Jn 15:12).  The evangelist has earlier told us that Jesus loved His disciples “to the end” (Jn 13.1).  When He offers His life on the cross, on Good Friday, He demonstrates both the “newness” of His commandment, and the extent of the love He expects in return for His love of us. 

 This commandment is new because the Incarnation changes the relationship between God and mankind. Early Christian writers said that the Incarnation was a greater event than the creation because in the beginning God simply called things into existence that had not “been” before.  When God took on our flesh, however, He raised up to His own level the matter He had created, an act, our liturgy tells us, that gave our mortality immortal value.  Jesus describes this changed relationship when He tells His disciples, “I no longer call you slaves, because a slave does not know what his mater is doing.  I have called you friends, because I have told you everything I have heard from my Father” (Jn 15.15).

We may be tempted to discount the gift Jesus describes here.  After all, every day we tell one another things we have heard from others.  But in the First Century world, the exchange of confidences – and especially confidences between superiors and their subjects – was no small matter.  When the crowds want to get Pilate’s attention on Good Friday, they threaten him by saying, “If you release this man, you are no friend of Caesar.”  To be invited to listen, and to be listened to, is a mark of supreme favor. 

The benevolence that creates an equality and invites intimacy between individuals who would otherwise have little or nothing in common is what distinguishes Charity from other forms of attraction.  St. Thomas Aquinas wrote,  

… not every love has the character of friendship, but that love which is together with benevolence, when…we love someone so as to wish good to him…Yet neither does well-wishing suffice for friendship, for a certain mutual love is requisite, since friendship is between friend and friend: and thus well-wishing is founded on some kind of communication (II-II, 23.1). 

These words are certainly encouraging when we consider God’s immense kindness, and especially His everlasting life, the sharing of which is the purpose of His love for us. They may be harder to grasp as we strive to apply them to our love for God.  How, we might ask, can we wish any good to God, who is the source of all goodness?  Obviously, this cannot be a matter of providing God with something He lacks, for He lacks nothing.  However, we can – and do – express benevolence toward God in our prayers, when we say, for example, “Hallowed be Thy name,” and “Thy will be done.”  Likewise, in the Gloria of the Mass we say, “we give you thanks, we praise you for your glory.”  One of the prefaces for weekday Masses says, “…our desire to thank you is itself your gift.  Our prayer of thanksgiving adds nothing to your greatness, but makes us grow in your grace….” In other words, we manifest charity toward God when we thank Him for being God.

 One of the maxims by which Catholics live teaches that “the Church believes as it prays.”  Thus, if we want to know what we believe about something, a good place to begin our study is to examine our prayer.  The Mass preface we considered above is an excellent example.  It says, “…our desire to thank you is itself your gift.”  These words are unequivocal: Charity is not something we possess innately, but rather something we receive from God.  St. John writes, in the first of his letters, “In this is love: not that we have loved God, but that He loved us…we love because He first loved us” (1 Jn. 4:10, 19). 

God’s love for us is absolutely fundamental; it gives us the ability to love Him in return, and it is the source of our capacity to love the world God has created.  After God Himself, the first thing we are invited to love is ourselves.  At first glance, this may seem quite selfish, but we must remember that God commands us to love our neighbor as ourselves (Lev. 19:18).  St. Thomas Aquinas quotes Aristotle, who identified love for ourselves as the benchmark by which we love others, when he observed, “…the origin of friendly relations with other lies in our relation to ourselves.”

Common sense will tell us the difference between the self-love we manifest when we seek only to gratify some personal whim, and the benevolent, respectful love with which we regard ourselves as God’s creatures, chosen for everlasting life in His kingdom.

ur love for God impels us to love others, and at some point this forces us to face the challenge Christ lays down when He says, “Love your enemies” (Matt 5:44).  Here St. Thomas comes to our rescue by reminding us that while we cannot exclude our enemies from the general love we are commanded to show our neighbor, we may have little personal affection for someone we dislike.  Nevertheless, we must appropriately love what is good in such a person, namely, his humanity and worth as one of God’s creatures.  Likewise, we must be ready to include our enemies in the prayers we offer for everyone, and in the assistance we offer – generally – to those in need. 

 All this suggests – rightly – that there is an order in Charity.  We love God first, then we love ourselves.  We love others, and this must include our enemies.  When considering whether we ought to love one neighbor more than another, or which neighbor we ought to love more, St. Thomas wisely taught that the obligation to love another person is proportionate to the place that person holds in our lives.

Our Charity extends, in varying degrees, to all those with whom we hope to share God’s    everlasting life, but – and this will come as good news to animal lovers – a dilute form of Charity includes even irrational creatures, to the extent that we acknowledge their usefulness, see them as signs of God’s goodness, and wish for their preservation. 

Each of us is familiar with St. Paul’s remark, “So faith, hope, and charity abide, these three.  But the greatest of these is charity” (1 Cor. 13:13).  St. Thomas explains this by observing that the theological virtues are greater than the moral virtues (which we will consider in future reflections) because the object they seek is God, the Supreme Good.  He adds that Charity enjoys preeminence among the theological virtues because Faith and Hope seek God as the source of something we desire, namely, truth and everlasting life.  Charity, on the other hand, seeks God for His own sake, and asks nothing more than – in St. Augustine’s words – “to rest” in God. 

This is, unquestionably, a great deal to grasp. The Catechism simplifies the matter by teaching that Charity “articulates and orders [the other virtues] among themselves” (1827), and St. Thomas takes an example from everyday existence to explain the action of Charity, “…since a mother is one who conceives within herself and by another, Charity is called the mother of the other virtues, because by commanding them, it conceives [their] acts….” (II-II, 23.8). 

We see an excellent example of Charity in St. Anne, whom we honor during the days of this novena.  Her loving care of her daughter equipped Mary to become both the Mother of Christ, and our mother, as members of Christ’s body, the Church.

 We see another example in St. Mary Magdalene, whose feast we celebrate today. 

When we encounter her in the gospel she is weeping because she has lost Jesus.  One word transforms that weeping into joy.  More than that, Jesus’ loving invocation transforms Mary Magdalene from a mourner into a hero, the first person to preach the Good News of Jesus’ resurrection.  This passage of the gospel is a condensed course in Charity:  Jesus’ love moves Him to reveal Himself to Mary, Mary responds in love, and that love overflows to others.

The Dominicans who serve you here – members of the Order of preachers – pay special tribute to Mary Magdalene, not only because she is an example of penitence, but because by carrying the gospel to the disciples, she became preacher to the preachers.  She teaches us that God’s love first turns our attention toward God; then it enables us to value ourselves at our true worth.  Finally, it equips us to share with others the love God has shared with us.

Day Four

The Moral Virtues: Prudence

Today we turn from the theological virtues, which govern our relations with God, to the moral virtues, which are the good habits that guide the will in our dealings with ourselves and other.  These virtues enable us to know what to do – and teach us how to do it – and give us practical assistance as we strive to do what is right, and strive to do it well.

In the Old Testament, the Book of Proverbs continually contrasts the actions and fate of the wise and foolish,

            The simpleton believes everything,

                        But the shrewd man measures his steps.

            The wise man is cautious and shuns evil;

                        The fool is reckless and sure of himself.

What separates the wise from the foolish is the wise man’s care, the caution with which he judges his options and chooses actions that avoid extremes.  Our faith calls this practical ability Prudence, which the Catechism defines as “the virtue that disposes practical reason to discern our true good in every circumstance and to choose the right means of achieving it” (1806. 

“Practical” reason is the human capacity by which we choose the paths that will lead us to a particular goal.  It is less concerned with theoretical knowledge than with the here-and-now realities we must deal with in our everyday lives.  St. Thomas Aquinas quotes Aristotle, saying Prudence is “right reason applied to action” (II-II, 47:2).  but St. Augustine defines it simply as “the knowledge of what to seek and what to avoid.”

As we look at these definitions, Prudence, in many ways, seems to be no more than common sense.  What distinguishes Prudence from “street smarts” is what it shares with every other virtue, the capacity to “[make] its possessor good, and his work good likewise” (II-II, 47:5).  Our goal as Christians is to share everlasting life with God.  Prudence helps us achieve this goal by enabling us to apply to concrete situations whatever speculative knowledge we may possess. 

We have said that virtues are “firm attitudes, stable dispositions, habitual perfections of intellect and will that guide our conduct…. (CCC 1803).  Obviously, Prudence is something that develops with practice; it builds on what we heave learned through earlier experience.  Aristotle taught, “…virtue is both originated and fostered by teaching; it therefore demands experience and time.”  Any act – good or bad – becomes habitual, or “second nature,” through repeated practice.  The value of the good habits we call virtues is their capacity to “…make possible ease, self-mastery, and joy in leading a morally good life….” (Ibid.).

At some point we must ask how we acquire Prudence, and here we do well to recall Aristotle’s remark that Prudence is fostered by teaching, and is perfected over time by experience.  Memory is an essential part of this process: we cannot learn from our mistakes or our successes unless we can remember the outcomes our choices lead to. Understanding is also a part of this process, and here we mean not just mental capacity, but rather the capacity to apply knowledge properly.

Lest Prudence seem nothing more than a cynical way of “getting by,” or a mechanical formula to “get ahead,” we must remember that the purpose of the virtues is to enable us to make choices that will lead us to everlasting life.  We should also note that although Prudence dictates moderation when choosing among options, Prudence itself is not something to be embraced half-heartedly.  Aristotle taught the Prudence directs us to be moderate in choosing between extremes, but we cannot be moderate in practicing virtue; we are called – always – to be “fully” prudent.

Day Five

The Moral Virtues: Justice

The second moral virtue to consider is the virtue of Justice.  In the Old Testament book of Leviticus we encounter what often seems like a startling admonition.  “You shall not be partial to the poor or defer to the great, but in righteousness shall you judge your neighbor” (Lev. 19:15).  Refusing to be intimidated by another’s wealth or status makes a great deal of sense – but surely, we imagine, the poor must have a greater claim on our attention. 

While this is certainly the case when we are considering charitable gift-giving, the matter is quite different when we consider the rights of individuals, and the behavior such rights demand of us.  These rights govern our relations with one another, and they arise from the inherent equality that exists among individuals in society.  Justice is the virtue that concerns itself with this equality, and it is defined as “the perpetual and constant will to render to each one his right” (ST II-II: 58.1). 

We have seen that freedom is an essential component to virtue.  For an act to be virtuous, we must freely choose – or will – it.  The “perpetual and constant” qualities contained in the definition remind us that virtues are habitual dispositions, strengthened by repetition.  Justice is our choice to give each person whatever is his or her due. 

In art, Justice is often portrayed as blind-folded.  This is to underscore the equality that Justice seeks always to achieve.  The command from Leviticus to avoid partiality is a command to embrace equality. 

In our everyday life, Justice sheds its blindfold – not in the sense that we allow ourselves to be tyrannized by others’ poverty, wealth, appearance or any other external quality, but in the sense that we look about and freely choose to treat others as our equals.  Justice demands that this be our constant disposition, so we may occasionally find Justice difficult to practice, especially if granting another person his due means giving up something of our own. 

Justice allies to itself a number of noble activities, which we call “parts of Justice.”   Among these is prayer.  Prayer reminds us that we must turn to God for our necessities. Since God knows what we need before do, prayer does nothing for God. On the other hand, it does a great deal for us, preparing us and making us worthy to receive God’s blessings.  Roman Catholics are sometimes accused of idolatry, because they turn to the saints in prayer.  To answer this charge, we must distinguish between a prayer that is offered to a person, a petition to be fulfilled by him, and prayer which seeks something through a person. 

Only God can grant the salvation we need, of course, so we appropriately pray to God alone.  However, our faith assures us that the angels and saints continually beseech God on our behalf – they have nothing else to do – so we may reasonably ask to unite our prayers with theirs.  We may offer one further remark on prayer, by observing the maxim that teaches, “the Church believes as it prays.”  When we offer prayer to one person of the Trinity, or to the Trinity itself, we appropriately ask, “Have mercy on us.”  When we approach St. Anne, St. Jude, or another of the saints, we say, “Pray for us.”

The Mother of God is our model in all things.  In the legends that grew up to describe her birth and childhood, we find Mary’s parents promising to consecrate “her to the Lord from her infancy.”  Such a promise, made to God, carries immense significance, and the legend continues that when Mary was three years old, her parents fulfilled their promise and brought her to the Temple, where she was to be reared and educated.

From her earliest days, then, Mary was aware of the magnitude of Justice, and when she reached maturity – and ran to share the good news of the Incarnation with Elizabeth – Justice is the theme of her great Magnificat, praising the God whose scrutiny of hearts results in overthrowing tyrants and granting equity to the disenfranchised.  This is not only Good News, it’s great news, because it means that when we stand before God, each of us has an equal claim on His Justice.

Day Six

The Moral Virtues: Temperance

The history of a “Temperance Movement” in the United States has conditioned us to think of Temperance in connection with moderating the use of alcohol, or encouraging citizens to forego its use altogether. While moderation regarding drink is certainly a part of the virtue of Temperance, it is far from the only part we must consider if we are to understand this virtue.

Temperance concerns itself with the most basic human needs: the need for food and drink, which guarantee the survival of the individual, and the need to guarantee perpetuation of the human race, by means of sexual relations between men and women.  Since each of these is connected with the sense of touch, and because each is pleasant, St. Thomas Aquinas teaches that “…temperance is about the pleasures of touch” (ST 141.5).  He adds that because taste and smell contribute to the pleasure we enjoy in food, and because appearance is one of the pleasures we enjoy in other people, Temperance also concerns itself with taste, smell, and sight. 

Our sense of the word Temperance is intimately linked to our notion of quantity, “how much” of something we need or plan to use.  Virtue concerns ordering the things of our life to their proper ends, which we understand by reason, so Temperance is the virtue by which we employ the pleasant things of creation only to the extent required by our needs. 

At first glance this might seem a recipe for a very dull life, but we must remember that the purpose of virtue is to make us good and to make our actions good.  By exercising Temperance in our relations to food, drink, and sex, we embrace the mean between the extremes of harmful self-denial and the immoderate self-gratification that can prove equally harmful.  Rather taking the pleasure out of life, Temperance confers a calm control over the things that delight us most, enabling us to enjoy them fully because we enjoy them in their proper measure. 

Temperance is considered a principle virtue because the things it governs are of such importance, either to the individual or to the common good.  However, because Temperance governs only one person’s use of food, drink, and sex, it is less important than the virtue of Justice, which governs our relations with other, and still less important than  the theological virtues, which direct us to eternal life with God.  Nevertheless, as any athlete, any patient recuperating from a serious illness, or any addict recovering from her or his addiction will attest, Temperance is absolutely essential if we are to derive the greatest pleasure from our lives in human society, and if we are to achieve our fullest, personal potential.

No one will be surprised to learn that theologians count Intemperance, which is a lack of moderation in using pleasant things, among the vices opposed to Temperance.  Intemperance manifests itself in Lust, an excessive search for sexual pleasure.  St. Thomas Aquinas remarks that the more necessary a things is, the more its enjoyment must be governed by the use of reason.  Sexual activity is altogether essential if the human race is to continue, therefore the excess of Lust insults the gift of human sexuality and reduces an individual’s participation in the life of reason

Because Temperance governs our use of those things necessary for our own survival, we can immediately see how Gluttony and Drunkenness exceed the mean we ought to embrace in our use of food and drink.  Gluttony’s inordinate (unreasonable) desire for food renders it a dangerous habit; it becomes a serious sin if it blinds an individual by turning him away from the wholesome thoughts of God and everlasting life.

Drunkenness deprives one of the use of reason, so it represents a danger similar to that of Gluttony. 

Equally opposed to Temperance, however, is what theologians call Insensibility, the denial of the goodness in pleasant things, to the extent that an individual rejects what is essential to his health.  We must always remember that virtue seeks the middle course between extreme.  In the case of Temperance, the virtue strives to meditate between overuse of the good things that make human life pleasant and outright rejection of them.

In our study of Prudence, Justice, and Fortitude, we have seen that each of the principle virtues allies or connects to itself a number of secondary virtues.  The secondary virtues that accompany Temperance are Abstinence, which governs our use of food and drink, and Chastity, which directs our use of sex.  These correspond to the actions by which we care for ourselves, and show proper respect for the conjugal acts by which the human race continues. 

St. Thomas Aquinas teaches that the name for the virtue of Chastity is derived from the word “chastise.”  Chastity chastises the will, teaching it to seek moderation in sexual behavior.  Purity is a part of Chastity, moderating the pleasure we take from looking at or touching another person.

Priests and members of religious communities who take vows, promise to give up their use of some of life’s legitimate pleasures. On the surface, such renunciation may resemble Insensibility, but we must take care to distinguish between Insensibility’s scorn for what it pleasant and useful, and the commands of Chastity or Abstinence, by which an individual foregoes use of a legitimate good in an effort to keep her or his mind focused on another good. 

In an often-quoted passage from St. Paul, we read

The unmarried woman and the virgin think on the things of the Lord: that she may be holy in both body and in spirit.  But she that is married thinks on the things of the world, how she may please her husband (1 Cor. 7:34).

The point we must make here is not that the choice of a celibate life is better than the decision to marry, but that the good things that accompany one choice preclude one’s choosing the other. 

Each choice is praiseworthy, and each must be governed by the virtue of Temperance.  The person who marries must remain exclusively faithful to her or his spouse, and considerate of a spouse’s desires.  The person who chooses to renounce marriage must not hoard the time and resources that may accumulate as a result of this decision; rather the resources must be used profitably, for the common good. Temperance operates in individuals’ lives regardless of the life choices the individual makes, and the virtue enables each of us to find a middle course between selfishness and insensitive denial.

The Litany of Loreto praises the Blessed Mother for her prudence, chastity, and wisdom.  The litany makes no mention of Mary’s Temperance, but we must assume that this was among the virtues which adorned her life.  We find one charming illustration of this Temperance in her actions during the Wedding at Cana. 

When the host’s supply of wine ran out, Mary was reasonably concerned to provide more. No one would ever suggest that Mary was advocating drunkenness.  On the other hand, she realized very clearly that a certain amount of wine was necessary if the festivities were to continue.  Her intervention resulted in what was undoubtedly just the proper amount of high-quality wine.

Her actions at Cana reflect Mary’s concern for us, for she gave flesh to Jesus, whose Incarnation takes the watery “stuff” of our humanity and transforms it into something far more precious and delightful.

Day Seven

Feast of St. James

The Moral Virtues: Fortitude

The virtues share several characteristics.  Each is a habitual disposition that makes its possessor good and makes his or her actions good.  Each seeks a middle course between the opposites of excess and defect, and each demands a firmness of mind, so that the virtue may be practiced readily and repeatedly.  This last quality – firmness of purpose – is the quality specific to the virtue of Fortitude, so we can see that Fortitude is a necessary condition to every virtue.

What sets Fortitude apart from the other virtues is the capacity it gives us to face hard tasks, and especially danger. Fortitude strengthens our will to follow the good of reason despite fear of bodily harm or hard work, and it places limits on our will when the will is moved to some rash action.  We must always remember that virtues seek the mean between extremes.  Fortitude, like all the virtues, is a habit of self-mastery. It prods us to lay aside unreasonable fear and directs us to rein in any temptation to unwise behavior through unconsidered or hasty action.

Fortitude is particularly concerned with strengthening our will in the face of death, which is the greatest bodily evil we can suffer.  By helping us to face death without fear, Fortitude necessarily enables us to confront with some degree of calm and assurance all those lesser fears and temptations toward weakness that frequently beset us.  As we look at the saints, our examples in faith, we attribute the greatest Fortitude to the martyrs, those who offered up, or lost, their lives for their belief.  

The account of the martyrdom of Sts. Perpetua and Felicity, who died in Carthage in 203 is a good example.  The document that describes their death is remarkable, and you can find it easily on the Internet.  It is one of the earliest examples of Christian autobiography, and it is the earliest account of Christian life to be written by a woman. 

The account says that once they reached the arena, Perpetua was attacked by a fierce cow.  The force of the attack stunned her, so she momentarily forgot where she was. When she once again realized what was happening, the author says “…she gathered her torn tunic round her, pinning up her hair lest she should seem to be mourning.” 

These are not idle details, nor do they reveal a bizarre and inappropriate vanity. The author wants us to be very clear that this was no funeral, nor were the martyrs unwilling sacrificial victims.   Perpetua wanted the spectators in the arena to know that she was mistress, not victim, of her fate. 

Thus far, in this reflection we have consistently contrasted Fortitude to fear, so let us now consider the fear that is opposed to Fortitude.  To do this we must first distinguish between fear that can (and should) be confronted, and the fear that cannot. 

St. Thomas turns to Aristotle, who wrote, “a man would be insane…if nothing, not even earthquakes nor deluges, inspired him with fear” (ST II-II, 125.1).  He adds, “Reason dictates that we should shun the evils that we cannot withstand” (Ibid, ad 3).  Fortitude does not equip us to face catastrophic acts of nature without flinching; it rather concerns itself primarily with the spirit with which we face dangers and difficult undertaking.  Chief among these is our death, whether from illness, old age, accident, or weakness. 

Human reason teaches that each of us will die.  Fear causes us to shrink before this inevitability, reminding us that when we die we lose something we love; Fortitude commands us to face the fact of our death calmly, and to accept a reality that our reason tells us we cannot avoid.

Fortitude disposes us to face unexpected – and unpleasant – contingencies, but this skill, like that of any virtue, requires repetition and practice.   Thus, the more we school ourselves to face bravely the hard work or dangers we can foresee, the more apt we are to act bravely – by “second nature” – when some unexpected threat presents itself.  Fortitude gives us a certain perspective.  If we can school ourselves to face the fact of our death with calm, the many other, lesser challenges, that confront us will assume their proper dimensions.

In the Sermon on the Mount Our Savior said, “Blessed are they that suffer persecution for the sake of Justice, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 5:10). St. Thomas Aquinas links this beatitude to the virtue of Fortitude, for Fortitude equips us to cling to truth and justice in the face of assault.  St. Thomas, not surprisingly, applies the beatitude particularly to the martyrs who are the heroes of our faith, but our everyday experience reveals many situations in which we are called to face persecution, even if it does not result in our death. 

The Church’s Catechism reminds us that the everlasting happiness we seek through our words, habits, and actions, is our reward for making decisive moral choices.  We must love God above all things. Fortitude commands us use our lives and our resources to foster the common good.  We must dare to be great, without desiring fame and, once reason has determined us on a course, we must follow it without counting the cost.  Fortitude is our guide in the quest for the day to day heroism Christ calls us to demonstrate. 

I’d like to contrast the lives of two saints, both of whom demonstrate what Fortitude is all about.  The first is St. James, whose feast we celebrate today.  In the gospel passage we just heard, James’ and John’s mother tells Jesus she wants her sons to be seated at His right and left in His kingdom.  This is a perfect example of the Vainglory that is opposed to the virtue of Fortitude: doing something solely for the honor attached.

Jesus turns to James and John and asks whether they can share his cup.  They say, “We can,” presumably regardless of the dangers.  This is Fortitude.

The brief life of St. Therese of Lisieux is another example worth considering in this regard.  She committed herself, she said, to doing “small things,” a vocation we completely misunderstand if we imagine this meant she planned to spend – or waste – her time on inconsequential projects.  What St. Therese demonstrates is a determination, in spite of temptations to the contrary, to see Christ in every atom of creation.  “To pick up a pin for love,” she said, “can save a soul.”  The challenge, obviously, lies not in picking up the pin; the effort is to find Christ’s love hiding behind such an insignificant act.  Fortitude prepares us for greatness, and we find the opportunities for greatness wherever we find need. 

The virtues dispose us to behave rightly in specific circumstances, and most of us will not be called either to a life of cloistered heroism (like St. Therese) or to offer our lives in witness to the truth, as were the martyrs.  Nevertheless, Fortitude calls us to be resolute in our faith, and demonstrates that heroism is the tool that equips us to discern opportunities for greatness, however apparently inconsequential they may seem, and to embrace our vocation to face life with care, freedom, and calm.