Spiritual Pelagianism

"There is nothing new under the sun", Ecclesiastes 1:9 tells us, and indeed the heresy of Pelagianism has not only recurred in various forms throughout Christian history, but can be a chronic problem in one's spiritual life as well.

An insightful priest gently recently reminded me of this during Confession: "You must remember", he said, "we can only love God, others, and even ourselves, because God has first loved us." And as he spoke, I had an abrupt realization: I had fallen into the Pelagian trap once again!

To explain what I mean by this reference, a brief excursus may be helpful:

Pelagius was a 5th century monk whose writings denied the doctrine of original sin, and instead spoke of Adam's sin as a "bad example". For Pelagius, Christ's work, his teaching and model of the moral life, countered Adam's bad example. He argued that man, through the exercise of his will and sheer human effort, could be completely virtuous. The missing and absolutely essential element here is grace: Pelagius argued that it was not necessary for the individual to attain eternal life. The Council of Carthage, held in 418, therefore declared Pelagianism to be a heresy, and affirmed the absolute necessity of grace for the salvation of man: without the grace of Christ, man cannot perform the good works He commands.

(Incidentally, it is primarily due to his writings against Pelagius and Pelagianism that St. Augustine is known as the "Doctor of Grace". Paragraph 406 of the Catechism of the Catholic Church contains a mention of Pelagianism, and for more information on this subject, see the article "Pelagius and Pelagianism" in the Catholic Encyclopedia.)

Father's insight caused me to pause and reflect upon my attitudes and actions. Though I am convinced of the priority of grace, the Catholic doctrine that it is only through the Redemption that man may merit a share in the eternal glory of the Trinity, I find it only too easy to slip into a daily default attitude that focuses more on "me". Perhaps it is part of human nature, this independent and assertive tendency exhibited from childhood: "I want to do it myself!". Perhaps it is ingrained in the American psyche, this "pull yourself up by the bootstraps mentality", which affirms that if one just has enough desire and works hard, man can achieve anything. Perhaps it is a symptom of any one of a number of invasive post-Enlightenment philosophies, such as secular humanism, with its pontification that a universally just morality may be gained through reason alone.

Whatever the cultural, historical, philosophical or psychological source, I frequently, and most often unconsciously, concentrate on "what I do" to work towards salvation. The danger in this attitude, if untempered, for me has a two-fold manifestation. If I feel I am doing well in my spiritual life, accomplishing many good works, I can develop a pride that forgets "I do all things through Christ who strengthens me" (Philippians 4:13). On the other hand, my recognition of my many failures can be accompanied by a sense of despondency, which is forgetful of hope in Christ. Either attitude can extend to broader activities as well: in catechesis or evangelization, I sometimes forget, that though I may contribute, moments of conversion, healing or inspiration are ultimately the work of the Holy Spirit, and not my own.

The counter, or antidote, to this "tendency to spiritual Pelagianism", as I see it, is multi-faceted.

The Catholic faith is, as one of my professors once explained, "both/and", never "either/or". Thus, the Church teaches the necessity of both grace and works, the value of both fasting and feasting, the need for both faith and reason…one could go on and on.

Avoiding "spiritual Pelagianism", it would seem, therefore requires an active recognition of the dynamic relationship between the action of God and the cooperation of man in individual sanctification. God's grace is always prior, but through Christ's Redemption and the grace given through the supernatural virtues of faith, hope and charity, man is given the ability to love as God loves (St. Thomas provides an excellent explanation of this relationship in the Secunda Secundae, Question 23, Article 2 "Whether charity is something created in the soul?" of the Summa).

It is not always easy to translate this principle into daily life: living the virtue of charity while simultaneously acknowledging that one's acts of charity are not one's own, but ultimately from God. It requires a constant balance; over-emphasis upon God's action in the spiritual life would make man a mere "puppet" of the Holy Spirit, and would reject or ignore the great dignity God has given man in the gift of human free will. Over-emphasis upon human action, however, can lead to this "spiritual Pelagianism", a neglect of God's essential role in sanctification.

In my experience, this is the beauty of the Catholic faith: it has already provided, or (at the least) points to, three aids to the practice of this "constant balance". First, the sacrament of Confession, a good examination of conscience beforehand, have a way of bringing to light and correcting my over-reliance upon my human abilities, reminding me of my need for God's grace and providing that gratuitous gift. Second, I find that a tendency to "spiritual Pelagianism" most often occurs when I neglect my daily prayer. The silence of prayer, especially the meditation that "is a way of making contact with the heart of God in our mind", as Pope Benedict XVI has observed in his recent catechetical series on prayer, has a way of attuning our hearts and spirits to the priority of God's love, reminding us that "we love him because he first loved us". (1 John 4:19) Finally, the cultivation of that wonderful (if sometimes challenging) virtue of humility, whether it be sought actively through prayer or the result of suffering, enables one to recognize the truth of man's ultimate dependence upon the love and mercy of God.

Father's gentle diagnosis of what I would term "spiritual Pelagianism", was not, I realized, cause for despair. Rather, his correction was an occasion for gratitude, for me to joyfully remember the ineffable love of God, His desire for each individual soul to spend eternity in His glorious presence, and the great magnanimity He shows in enabling each human being to attain this Beatific Vision.

Emotional Detachment in the Search for God's Will

Growth in spiritual maturity is concomitant with a greater conformity of one's will to the Will of God, a detachment from the things of the world and one's own desires in preference for the eternal joy found in personal surrender to the Blessed Trinity. Yet, though the question of what this detachment is and how it may be accomplished is easily discussed, rarely is this detachment as easily achieved. As I, for one, have often found, expressing a desire for God's will to be done is sometimes more of a lip-service than an authentic interior conformity to this "desire". Our emotions can, at the least, conflict with reasoned surrender to Divine Providence. At the worst, poorly ordered emotions may be a source of mis-direction in our spiritual journey.

During a Sunday dinner conversation earlier this month, some friends posed a question to my husband and I on this very subject. We had been reviewing the year-long series of discussions and events leading us to make a "major life decision", and had shared that though we felt blessed to have such peace with the outcome, confident that this was God's will for our family, we felt equally blessed that we had been able to remain (relatively...we're far from sainthood) emotionally detached through the whole process of discernment. Hence the question: how does one remain emotionally detached when seeking God's will?

It was an excellent and insightful question, which gave both of us pause for some reflection before we answered. It is this reflection that I wish to share, and as a disclaimer, it is only based on our very humble experience - we will spend our lifetimes pursuing greater detachment from our will, greater abandonment to the will of God.

This question seems, to me, to be at the heart of the spiritual journey, the journey to sanctity, for it really is a question of how we not only conform our hearts to, but also love, God's will for us. It is a question that approaches the reality of what it is to be human, soul and body, endowed with a rational, intellectual, as well as emotional and affective, nature. Just as the proper integration of reason and emotions is appropriate to the more material matters of life (just because I love and desire that gorgeous pair of designer heels, doesn't mean I can afford, or should indulge myself by buying them), this proper integration is also essential to a healthy spiritual life.

Authentic emotional detachment is not, therefore, a rejection of the emotions, but an affirmation of their appropriate value. Karol Wojtyla's philosophical work (here I am thinking specifically of The Acting Person) is very strong on the necessity of integration of the constitutive elements of the entire person, body and soul. This integration, therefore, requires a proper ordering of the emotions.

With respect to emotional detachment in the search for God's will, this ordering would consist in a detachment from the desired outcome: a knowledge of the various possibilities, and (though an emotional preference may be present) a peace with allowing God to reveal His will in time. In the most perfect sense, it is an imitation of Christ in Gethsemane, "My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet, not as I will, but as you will." (Mt. 26:39).

This attitude of Christ in the hours before His Passion indicates another aspect of how this emotional detachment is achieved. In some cases, it seems as though certain individuals are given a grace to remain detached, to live completely in surrender to the will of God. However, for many, if not most of us (including myself), we learn this detachment through the experience of suffering and sacrifice. The two are closely related. In suffering, whether it be a mundane inconvenience associated with life in family and community or a more difficult struggle or loss, there is a point where we can no longer control the situation through our human abilities. We are faced with fundamental metaphysical reality: the limits of our created, human nature, and our essential dependence upon God. This is a reality we may freely choose to either accept or resist; and the humble acceptance of this reality is the foundation for emotional detachment, and surrender to God's will. The practice of self-denial through sacrifice, for similar reasons likewise possesses inestimable value for us as we seek greater conformity to the Sacred Heart.

In all of this, we remain very human. Sometimes, understanding of God's will precedes and motivates our surrender (especially when we can see that God's will is best for us), sometimes this understanding follows shortly afterwords, and sometimes we will not understand God's providential design until we enjoy the Beatific Vision. As humans, therefore, this is our lifelong challenge: to surrender to God's loving will readily and joyfully both in situations we comprehend and those we do not fully understand.

The question of what it means to conform our will to that of our Creator is thus a mystery, a paradox at once both simple and complex, as uniform as our shared human nature, and as diverse as the all the variety of the personalities of each individual. And the mystery of God's omnipotence far surpasses the vagaries of our human wills and emotions. The love of the Trinity is not coercive: it is an invitation to divine life that we may freely accept in perfect surrender, freely refuse in obstinate disdain, or half-heartedly reciprocate in a lifelong ambivalent struggle. Whatever our spiritual state, we may trust that God works with us, whether our emotions be ordered or disordered, to mysteriously accomplish his ever-perfect will.