Paralyzed by the Pursuit of the Perfect

Have you ever had an insight, something quite spiritual, that you thought to share, but then bit your tongue? How often do such insights come and, consumed with a concern that we might be wrong, or might be motivated to "impress others" rather than help, do we simply keep what we're given to ourselves.

It often happens in a small group, or in a conversation with friends. We have something, something God has taught us either from Scripture or from our own experience, but then we say nothing... or we say too much... or...

I have often faced this dilemma. Mostly because I'm so keenly aware of how, in my past, I've done things that appeared quite spiritual less for love of neighbor than that I might impress others, that they would praise me! But if aware of such things, I neglect to share what I've been given, have I done well, truly?

It is as though an idea comes to mind and quickly I tell myself: Why do you want to say this? Is it for them, or is it so they will be impressed by your wisdom and holiness?

So, I shut my mouth. I say nothing. And then I pat myself on my back! I exercised restraint! I did not entertain my vanity! Here's a sticker, "Good Job!" to decorate my soul.

Ah, but this is vanity, too! Given a thought, not my own (because I have very little natural brilliance of my own), I keep it to myself, because I'm more concerned with myself than someone for whom I might help.

In this way, a thought about my neighbor's need is replaced by a thought about myself.

The spotlight swings from their soul to mine. I was holding bread, my neighbor was hungry, and I neglected to give it to him lest he find the bread too delightful, lest he compliment me for it.

What a subtle, but wily trap, set by the devil. And it's quite common. It's the kind that the enemy often lays in the path of those who are genuinely pursuing progress, growth in holiness.

Those who care nothing for their motives never fall into it. It is a trap specially baited the sincere.

The scruple sounds humble: My love is mixed with self-love, so I had better not act until it is pure.

But look at what the remedy proposes. It proposes to cure self-preoccupation by preoccupying myself with myself. It is like treating a fever with more fever. Self-love is never its own antidote.

Scripture addresses this. For, if we allow any imperfect motive to thwart love of neighbor, we've done nothing but turn our gaze inward.

Paul, writing from prison, knew that some were preaching "from envy and rivalry" and others "from goodwill." His verdict is startling: "What does it matter? Just this, that Christ is proclaimed in every way, whether out of false motives or true; and in that I rejoice" (Philippians 1:15, 18).

Paul is not excusing envy. He is refusing to let the imperfection of the vessel become a reason to withhold the treasure. He understood that "we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us" (2 Corinthians 4:7).

The jar is cracked. God knew the jar was cracked. He chose to fill it anyway. The point of the jar is not itself. It's what the jar is meant to carry.

Jesus spoke to this matter as well. "No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house" (Matthew 5:15).

Whatever light God has kindled in you, even in your imperfection, was not lit for the closet of your own little heart.

Light that is hoarded does not become purer. It simply fails to realize its potential to illuminate even greater darkness.

We often see our own hearts more clearly in the act of loving than in the act of self-examination. Yes, there is a place for self-examination. The examination of conscience is itself a spiritual discipline. But even here, in such a preoccupation with self examination, we can be tempted to decline virtue.

Turned inward, we find a hall of mirrors. And most of us have a kind of circus for a heart, the reflections shone back at us distorted in various ways. Some of our virtues we exaggerate, some of our vices we diminish. Or, if you turn another corner in the hall of mirrors, you might find the opposite: a virtue we undervalue and see as small and a small vice that is exaggerated out of proportion.

Turned toward a neighbor's need, we find the truth about ourselves reflected far more true to form, and the Lord supplies whatever humbling is required. At least, in my experience, our Lord has never delayed to provide the humiliations I require, those that purify. He will take care of that. I am simply to go about the business He's given me, to let the light shine, to love as I've been loved, without allowing my introspection to turn to self-love.

Now, this does not mean we have license to speak always, and everywhere, on every occasion.

There is a difference between interjecting myself into a conversation where I was not invited, instructing someone from whom I would do better to learn, and offering what I have been given in a moment God has given me.

Discernment is required, and listening is often the greatest act of charity we can provide.

But that discernment should be governed by the other person's good, not by anxiety produced by the accountant who is looking only at the spreadsheets of my soul.

The question is not How do I look? but What does this soul in front of me need?

When the door is open and the need is real, the scruple that says "stay silent for the sake of your purity" is not the voice of the Spirit. It is the very game the devil loves to play with those most devout: turning a sincere desire for spiritual progress or perfection into a refusal to love.

Consider the new measure Jesus gave us.

The Old Law was true and good: "you shall love your neighbor as yourself" (Leviticus 19:18). But the measure in that command is myself. To love one's neighbor, in this scheme, presumes a great love of self, does it not? It is better, even in this command, to turn that self-love outward, indeed. So, the command is good.

Jesus does not abolish this. He repeats it. But he also elevates it: "I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another" (John 13:34).

The measure is no longer my love for myself but His love for me. To love neighbor, then, no longer takes for granted my great love of self. In following Him, and His example, taking up our cross, we die to "self-love" and participate in sacrificial love.

You see how Jesus fulfills this old command? See how He loves you!  Accept it!  Receive His Love!  Now, it's not pure self-love that measures the love of neighbor, it's the Love He's given you!  In this way, the old command is not nullified, it is elevated.  To love one's neighbor as oneself is, if one's love of self is defined by His love for you alone, is no longer self-love at all.  It's His love, turned outward.  

So let's return to that little scruple: until my self-love is absent, I will not love neighbor.

Well, if my love of neighbor must flow from a purified self, I will wait forever. If it flows from His love, I can begin now. "We love because he first loved us" (1 John 4:19).

The order matters. Our love does not become perfect in quarantine. It becomes perfect in communion with perfect love. And He has bidden us to share in His perfect love! He has called us to this holy communion.

Saint Teresa of Avila, who herself often struggled with this scruple, put it this way: "the Lord asks only two things of us: love for His Majesty and love for our neighbour" (Interior Castle, Fifth Mansions, ch. 3).

She would add that we can be far more certain we are loving our neighbor than that we are loving God, since the first is visible and the second is hidden. The scruple inverts this, making us anxious about the invisible and negligent of the visible.

 

Living it out

None of this means you should try to "suppress" that second voice that speaks. The voice that says, "oh, but are you doing this for the wrong reasons, to look good, to feel better about yourself, etc.?" When you find yourself stuck in this interior dialogue, questioning yourself, do not get sucked into the argument. Don't obey the voice either.

Simply acknowledge it: Yes, Lord, there is self-love in me. I offer it to You.

Then turn your attention back to the person in front of you. Make one honest judgment: is this a moment to listen or to speak? If to listen, listen wholly. If to speak, speak simply, without concern about how you appear.

Afterward, resist the urge to repeatedly replay your performance in your head. If you wish to examine your motives, do so briefly, once or twice, no more. Do it not in the hollow room of your obsessive mind, but in God's presence, in prayer, and then move on.

So, you were imperfect in your way of loving. Draw closer to Him. Take up your cross, and keep loving with whatever love He's given you. He will provide the correction you need in His time.

And keep Jesus' new commandment, His new measure of love, always in view: Not as I love myself, but as He has loved me. The remedy for self-love was never more self. It was always Him.