Here’s a typical experience in spiritual reading: you’re fascinated by some saint or holy book, you sit down to read them, but you soon experience discouragement, confusion, and perhaps even a bit of disgust at the life they are recommending. If you want a refresher on the experience, click here to read Book 1 c. 13 or c. 11 of Ascent of Mount Carmel or Teresa’s maxims at the end of Conceptions of Divine Love. For a scriptural enactment of the same experience, revisit the story of Christ and the rich young man.
The usual response to the experience is to either soften the teaching or to abandon the book and look for one more inspiring or at least less discouraging. This makes sense of course, and it certainly made sense to the rich young man, but it is hard to overstate how much of a mistake this is. To be blunt, this is to miss christianity altogether. In one sense this is obvious – the rich man misses his chance – but it is easy to take the wrong lesson from the experience.
The basic axiom of christian spiritual reading is 2 Cor. 3: 6 (cf. also John 6:63) the letter killeth, the spirit giveth life. Augustine of course wrote a book-length commentary on the text whose thesis gets a particularly concise expression in c. 32:
If he knows not the way of truth, man’s free-will, indeed, is good for for nothing except to sin; but even after his duty and his proper aim become known to him he neither does his duty, nor sets about it, nor lives rightly unless he also take delight in and feel a love for it. God’s love is shed abroad in our hearts in order that [our duty] may engage our affections,
not through the free-will which arises from ourselves, but through the Holy Ghost, which is given to us.
Notice Augustine describes three states of life: (1) ignorance of sanctity (2) knowledge of what constitutes sanctity without any affection or love for it and (3) The transformation of the heart from disgust at sanctity to love for it, which must be understood as a free gift of God, and not our toughing it out to do something holy we don’t feel like doing. Anyone earnestly doing spiritual reading is certainly not at stage (1) but he will always experience something of stage (2.) That last point is easy to prove since Saint Paul’s sanctity was world-historic, but he still confessed in Romans 7 that
I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. 19 For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. 20 Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it.
So Paul too, for all his sanctity, still knew and experienced all the discouragement or even disgust we feel at reading Ascent of Mount Carmel. He wanted to be a saint too, and could see exactly what it took, but then confessed with a shocking frankness the law is spiritual; but I am unspiritual. The desire to read the saints starts with love and fascination and hopefulness while the actual reading of them starts with discouragement. This is because the letter kills. I read the saints looking for knowledge or some sort of gnostic “secret” but all I find are descriptions of a life which I can see is theirs but which strikes me as nothing but loss. If I’m honest with myself I can’t get very far in the Gospel without feeling much the same thing. Sure, we all love the prodigal son and the pardoning of the adulteress, but we spiritualize or soften the commands to radical poverty and renunciation. Don’t. Christ gave a law, the law is spiritual; but I am unspiritual.
The letter killeth, the spirit gives life is speaks about a letter that is said as much about the Old Testament Law as the New Testament command as the spiritual writings of the saints. We need to read them and know them, but our knowledge will always include an awareness that we need to be transformed within in order to love what they are saying, which of course means we now experience some distaste for the life they are describing. The basic Christian experience is precisely this move from distaste to love, which we are always in danger of taking for granted or forgetting about after it has happened. We find ourselves loving to do all sorts of things that we would have found repugnant or burdensome at earlier stages in our spiritual life, and it’s very easy to assume we’ve always loved doing them.
This is why it’s a great mistake to run from the discouragement. In fact, it’s a mistake not to seek it out. One can’t be christian until he realizes he both wants to be holy and has a strong distaste for what it requires. One doesn’t know what he needs to pray for until he experiences his disgust at the spiritual life and recognizes that this disgust will master him until, by God’s free gift, he is set free by grace from the bondage of death by the love that is shed abroad in the heart by the Holy Ghost.
The point is not to power through disgust, which no one could do for long anyway, and which he would almost certainly compensate for by some carnality or another. The point is to recognize the need for the heart to be transformed by grace to love and enjoy what he cannot now love and enjoy, which we cannot do unless we begin by recognizing exactly what it is in holiness that we find to be distasteful and nothing but loss.
So what about the rich young man? True, he clearly loved holiness but was disgusted by some part of it. He couldn’t follow Christ, and he knew it was wrong to walk away. Every option he had, he knew was wrong! But this is everyone’s spiritual life with respect to some spiritual demand. The rich young man was set free in many ways – it was only by grace that he “followed the commandments from his youth” but for all his spiritual progress he still experienced himself as entirely trapped given the heart that he had. But the heart he had was the same heart everyone will always have, even at the height of sanctity. There will always be something in holiness that is too much given the heart that we have. But grace can transform that too. And the next thing. And the next.