5
True Simplicity
THE Gospel intends us to attain to true simplicity: simplicity in the sense of an inward unity of life.
Simplicity contrasts with disunity
Such a simplicity contrasts, in the first place, with the disunity in the soul of those whose lives are filled, now by one thing, now by another; who lose themselves in the motley variegation of life, who do not seek for an integration of their actions and conduct by one dominant principle. A similar disunity is manifest in lives controlled by diverse and mutually contradictory currents, which develop side by side, each according to its immanent law, without being coordinated or confronted with the other. A person of this kind is said to be split; his life lacks inward unity. Such a deficiency often occurs in those who also lack consciousness and continuity.
Simplicity contrasts with psychological convolutedness
Secondly, true simplicity is opposed to complexity taken in a specific sense. Certain people are prevented by their various psychic complexes and tensions, from giving a plain response to the logos of a situation. Hence, instead of keeping on the straight road that points to the object, they are always compelled to choose bypaths and detours. Everywhere they come to grips with artificial problems and complications. Their inferiority complex, for instance, makes them feel embarrassed by a complaisance which would rejoice a healthier type of person, or makes them reciprocate it with some objectively incongruous act.
They are deformed by their inhibitions and are continually delayed in their reactions by many unnecessary sentiments. Everything becomes thus over-complicated: a huge amount of time is wasted on the simplest things and the most unequivocal tasks are denatured into portentous problems. Their false way of being conscious, in the sense of an ever-present reflectiveness, is often responsible for such people’s lack of simplicity. They are, as Shakespeare says in Hamlet, “sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought.”
Simplicity does not mistake complexity for profundity
Or again, a man may develop a predilection for complicating as many things as possible because he mistakes complexity for profundity. This species of complexity, unlike the aforementioned one, is more or less an appanage of the intellectual. Its lover prefers obscurity to clarity; he is liable to credit oracular stammerings with profundity and to dismiss whatever is unequivocally and tersely enounced as trivial. He thus tends to make everything appear more complicated than it really is and consequently falls short of an adequate knowledge of reality.
For such people are blind to the trait of simplicity associated with the metaphysical wealth and height of being; they overlook the metaphysical law that the higher a thing is the simpler it is, in a sense—in the sense of inner unity, as expressed by the dictum, “simplicity is the seal of verity.” They are insensitive to the value of true simplicity.
Simplicity avoids the cult of the abstruse
This kind of complexity, too, is connected with the false type of consciousness, particularly its second form: what we have called the overdevelopment of the cognitive attitude, and the cult of cognition as a self-contained process. The category of the intellectually interesting takes precedence over the category of truth. The protean vastness of untruth, the maze of arbitrary and extravagant but witty errors and sophistries are considered with great interest—if only because they divert the intellect from platitude and simplicity. The mere fact of their complexity (and often enough, of their abstruseness) confers on these errors—in the eyes of such people—a claim to be taken seriously, indeed, even a glamor outshining the simple dignity of plain truth.
Obviously the realm of concepts in which these minds roam about is a highly complicated and disharmonious world, for the possibilities of error are innumerable, whereas truth is one.
Those infatuated with complexity also enjoy the involved aspects of their own psychic life; more, they purposely complicate it by the reflective attention they pay to their feeling or impulse, no matter whether in the given case there is any legitimate need for self-observation. A person of this type takes pleasure in his emotional detours and blind-alleys which provide him with a sense of being deep and interesting. Jacobsen, the Danish novelist, has succeeded in presenting such states of mind (from which he was not free himself) in a remarkably plastic way; Dostoyevsky has depicted them with superior mastery.
This perverted spirituality hides an inherent impotence to penetrate the world of being, directly and essentially. The mind that wallows in complexity is unable to grasp the logos of what is in a straightforward way, to establish a vital contact therewith. It rambles around objects, without ever communicating with them intimately; its ideas are not inspired by the logos of the reality in question and are therefore devoid of intrinsic necessity. A sterile missing of the mark is the invariable fate of such minds: they are forever a prey to the infinitude of possibilities instead of coming close to the one reality. All intoxication with complexity betrays the hunger of those who feed on stones in place of bread.
Simplicity of primitivity vs. simplicity of inner unity
Before, however, we turn to the subject of true Christian simplicity, the antithesis to all forms of disunity and complexity, we must first treat of a certain type of simplicity which is scarcely less remote from true simplicity than are the attitudes we have just been discussing.
The cosmos of beings reveals a vast hierarchy of degrees in regard to their contents of meaning. In the sphere of lifeless matter, a comparative poverty of meaning seems to predominate. Lifeless matter presents a certain simplicity in the sense of a low measure of metaphysical perfection and depth of meaning—shown by the supremacy, in this province, of mechanical patterns of happening. Everywhere in matter we find a mere contiguity and combination of things rather than creative interpenetration. This sphere, too, is destined to represent symbolically the metaphysical abundance of God; but to fulfill that function it needs the category of quantity, both in the sense of a multiplicity of single units and in the sense of extensive manifoldness. A single material thing taken as such represents the wealth of being, proper to the material sphere as a whole, in a fragmentary and indirect manner only.
It is different with the sphere of organic life. In any single organism much more is “said,” as it were, than in a piece of lifeless matter; at the same time, it manifests afar greater simplicity in that it is all subordinated to one principle. The various component functions in an organism are not merely contiguous to, and combined with, one another; they are coupled together in a kind of mutual interpenetration. All single aspects are united and ruled by a basic principle, as is never the case with any unit or accumulation of lifeless matter. Over and above mere contiguity and multiplicity, there appears a structural trait of mutual penetration and communion. We shall find that quality vastly increased, however, and charged with an entirely new meaning in the superior realm of spiritual personality.
How immensely much is said in a single human being! How much is contained in a being that possesses consciousness and is pervaded by the light of reason, that is endowed with a capacity for love and for knowledge, that is free, and a bearer of moral values; a being which, in contradistinction to all others, is not merely a vestige but an image of God. All multiplicity and grandeur of the material realm, the quantitative vastness of the material cosmos, the immense variety of the objects composing it, the solar systems, even the ineffable manifoldness of living things, fail to represent God in so high a sense as does a single spiritual person.
In the degree in which a thing represents God, by so much does it participate in the divine abundance of being, and so much greater is also the significance of a single unit thereof. In the spiritual person, the principle of mutual interpenetration is far more predominant even than in the living organism as such. And, while the spiritual person has far more substantiality and depth than has the living organism, let alone lifeless matter, by the same token it also possesses much more simplicity. Here, the category of quantity decreases in meaning and is no longer applicable in exactly the same sense. For personal essence is not resolvable into isolated, extensive, measurable, and mechanical components or aspects. Metaphysically speaking, the higher an entity is, the greater its simplicity. The soul is so simple as no longer to admit of a disjunction of form and matter.
Simplicity, thus interpreted, is not akin but antithetical to primitivity and poverty of meaning. The simplicity of an entity increases with its height: it implies, as it were, the expression of a great meaning in one word, the condensation of a great wealth of being in one individual, in one quality, in one act or manifestation.
This character of simplicity (in the sense of a condensation of being) grows along the ascending hierarchy of the cosmos until it culminates in the one eternal Word of God, in quo est omnis plenitudo divinitatis (“in whom is all plenitude of divinity”) that illumines the face of Christ. The absolute simplicity of God precludes the distinction, not only between form and matter but between existence and essence, between actus and potentia. Yet, God is the infinite plenitude of being.
Simplicity of cognition: science compared to philosophy as a form of knowledge
In regard to the modes of cognition, too, we may visualize the increase of simplicity in proportion to the degree of height. Thus, philosophical cognition, intent on grasping the essence of things (intima rei intus legere), is in a fundamental sense simpler than scientific cognition, whose methods, of observation and deduction are linked to an outward approach to the object.
The natural sciences depend on quantity, on an extensive accumulation of data by means of repeated experiments; the knowledge they procure covers its field in breadth. Philosophy, on the contrary, is not essentially dependent on the multitude of single observations, as it may in principle seize the essence of the object by means of one relevant example; nor is it intent on elaborating a knowledge in breadth.
The dimension in which it seeks to unfold is that of depth; moreover, it aims to comprehend the unity of the entire cosmos, and its crowning act is an advance to the ultimate principle of being: being infinite and absolutely simple, in which all abundance of being is contained per eminentiam.
Inner spiritual poverty is not true spiritual simplicity
Analogously to this cosmic hierarchy in reference to the inner plenitude of being, and according to the two opposite kinds of simplicity in general—the simplicity of primitivity and crudity on the one hand, the metaphysical simplicity of inward unity on the other—we also must distinguish between two extremely different types of human simplicity.
In describing people of primitive minds as simple, we refer to their inner poverty and their incapacity to respond to the depth and the qualitative manifoldness of the cosmos.
The attention of such people may be monopolized by elementary concerns, poor in meaning: for instance, the external necessities of life. Thus, a peasant’s thoughts and worries will sometimes be strictly confined to his chattel and his parcel of land. His life is deployed within the boundaries of a low sphere, impoverished in meaning and devoid of spirituality; in fact, a small section of that sphere, his household economy, may swallow up his life.
Moreover, that tiny microcosm itself may bear no interest for him except from certain pragmatically restricted points of view. He is hardly interested in a domestic animal as a living being, in the deep mystery embodied in a living organism as such. With all that he has no concern: he is absorbed by concerns of economic usefulness, The same applies to the objects of his agricultural activities.
Thus, his world is a shrunken one, both in depth and width, and his conception of the world is simple in the sense of lacking content and differentiation. It is uncomplicated; but that freedom from complication is obtained at the cost of a renunciation of metaphysical depth and abundance. Frequently, again, his inner life will reflect that conception of the world. In such a case, he will be simple in the sense of being coarse. A few primitive motifs, always the same, occupy his mental scene in a monotonous rhythm. This type of simplicity, no less than the aberration we have labeled complexity, forms an antithesis to the true Christian simplicity which is always joined to spirituality and depth of meaning.
Stupidity is not spiritual simplicity
Or again, we may call a person simple because he is so poorly equipped intellectually as to be incapable of understanding things of any notable degree of spiritual depth or structural differentiation. As soon as he turns his mind to any higher sphere or even to the manifoldness of contents proper to a more trivial sphere, he seems to lose all faculty of comprehension: everything perplexes him. His mind is only able to grasp quite simple situations or relations, that is to say, such as enclose a very modest content of meaning. His mind is marred by a similar incapacity with regard to values. The motivation of his behavior is equally primitive and undifferentiated, Every task requiring a somewhat deeper insight or more careful discrimination will baffle him. His intellectual deficiency renders him awkward; his clumsy hands are unable, so to speak, to touch anything complicated, differentiated, or refined, without crushing it. His life will rarely be tainted with morbid complexity but that danger is prevented at the expense of depth and wealth of meaning. This organic primitivity again has nothing to do with true simplicity.
There are, furthermore, people whom we call simple owing to their habit of an illegitimate simplification of all things. Here again we must distinguish two varieties.
Reductionist simplicity of platitude is not spiritual simplicity
First, there are those who interpret the entire cosmos after the pattern of its lowest sphere. Without considering the specific logos of the object they are faced with, they apply the categories of mechanism to the province of organic life and even to the realm of spiritual personality and culture. Far from attuning themselves to the element of reality that confronts them or attempting to plumb its depth, they drag down everything into the sphere in which they feel themselves at home. Facility is their watchword; and their complacent pride impels them to treat all things in a cavalier fashion. This type of person is not awkward or clumsy but completely uninitiated. A great many popular philosophies are marked with this shallow simplicity.
But the latter is by no means confined to the theoretical domain of popular philosophizing. There are people thus addicted to illegitimate simplification concerning their private lives, too. In their candid complacency, they will (for instance) lavishly offer advice that is in no wise appropriate to the depth or the intricacy of a given situation; they imagine themselves to be able to solve every problem and to arrange everything according to some simple prescription. Their own lives run smoothly without friction, conflicts or complications because they contrive to master all its aspects by dint of a few schematic notions.
In contradistinction to the forms of false simplicity cited above, these simplifiers really occupy themselves with the higher spheres of being; but in their imaginary superiority, they denature the object of their attention and with a kind of glib dexterity doctor it, as it were, until the problem appears to be solved or, rather, enchanted away. They do not treat things adequately but merely tamper with them, though often with a show of success. They walk through life with a boastful smile, proud of being past all obscure problems and grave difficulties. They believe they see through all things and know everything; nor is there anything for which they would not promptly supply an obvious explanation.
This simplicity of platitude, which would strip the cosmos of all depth and all metaphysical stratification, is perhaps even more radically opposed to true Christian simplicity than is the disease of complexity. For he who denies the dimensions of being, its depth and width, and pretends to flatten out the entire universe, is even farther remote from truth than he who ignores the supreme value of inward unity.
Affected childlikeness is not true simplicity
The second variety of illegitimate simplification consists in passing by all problems in a falsely childlike manner, a kind of deliberate innocence—frisch, froh, fromm, fret (“in a brisk, joyous, candid, free way”) as the Germans sometimes put it. Such a person fails to take account of the distance he must travel in order to rise from a lower mode of being to a higher one; he would skip the indispensable phases of maturing and growth; his life, if we may put it thus, is full of short circuits. He sets much store by his childlike innocence, an attitude in which he is fully at his ease, and mistakes it for true simplicity.
He thus goads himself into a simplified and debased conception of the road to eternal salvation, which in fact is a steep and narrow one. He approaches God without a properly discriminating reverence for the mysterious majesty in which He resides concealed. Misinterpreting the evangelical words, “Unless ye become as children,” he enjoys his pose of being childlike and construes his petty and simplifying conception of the metaphysical situation of man, of the mysteries of salvation, and of our transformation in Christ, as a specifically direct relationship with God.
Frequently, too, he escapes from the difficulties of life into that consciousness of being childlike. He thus hopes to pass over with nimble feet the abysmal rifts in human nature. Whenever he should carry his cross he somehow evades it, mistaking Christ’s transfiguration of all suffering for an elimination of all suffering, and equating his own natural, vitalistic optimism with a blissful consideration of all things in conspectu Dei. He is blind to the mysterious differentiation of aspects in the universe; to the presence of stages which have to be climbed and surpassed not without effort, pain, and distress. He does not suspect that true simplicity refers back to the all-comprehensive height in which those degrees are incorporated, and that for this reason only it encompasses an abundance of things and experiences.
It is not a simple thing to attain true simplicity
All these forms of false simplicity, much as they differ from one another, have this in common: that with them, the advantage derived from the avoidance of complexity is outweighed by a grave defect or aberration. It is purchased at the price, either of a self-confinement to a diminutive section of some inferior sphere of being (viewed from a unilateral angle, at that) or of a distorted vision of the universe according to a pattern taken from an inferior sphere.
The deliberate pose of simplicity (which is present in the last-named case) springs from the illusory belief that simplicity can be promptly attained from below upwards, whereas, in fact it results from the establishment of communion with Him who, by virtue of His incommensurable highness, condenses all in one per eminentiam.
While truth, as contrasted to error, bears the sign of a certain clear simplicity and directness, on the other hand it also implies greater differentiation and profundity; and it is harder to reach than are the varieties of error. Just as in art it is easier to accomplish an impressive work by a motley diversity of details than by sublime classic simplicity (as for instance the Parthenon), so also in general the true simplicity which encloses an abundance of meaning is more difficult to attain than is complexity.
The bask error of all false simplicity lies in the assumption that it is a simple thing to have true simplicity. It may be said, on the contrary, that we can in no way attain to full simplicity by merely natural means; that the key to it is given us by Revelation only.
True simplicity comes only from single-hearted devotion to God
Certainly, in experiencing and responding to the logos of the various sections of reality, we are to take cognizance of the aspect of simplicity that goes with metaphysical height. But, within the limits of the purely natural sphere, we cannot—and must not—aspire to an all-pervasive inward simplicity. Only to God, only to the living God who manifests Himself in Revelation, may we so deliver our whole life as to keep our regard fixed on one thing exclusively: the unum necessarium. He alone (of whom St. Paul says, “For of Him, and by Him, and in Him, are all things; to Him be glory for ever”) may impart to our whole life that ultimate unity and simplicity which, far from diminishing its wealth of substance, permeates it with a new and incomparable abundance of being.
Therefore, all forms of false simplicity, except the one based on a deficiency of intellectual gifts, constitute an insuperable obstacle to the attainment of true simplicity. For they keep us bogged down in the flat regions of our nature, devoid of the heroic readiness to die unto ourselves and to be lifted towards the heights where alone we might receive the gift of true simplicity.
It is not so with those who are primitive owing to their intellectual limitations. In their case, false simplicity is not rooted in a deliberate, guilty attitude; thus, by fully surrendering themselves to Christ they may retrieve abundance and depth of being per eminentiam by virtue of their genuine and direct contact with supreme value, which compensates for their natural shortcomings. No deficiency of natural dispositions can prevent us from transformation, in Christ. He, too, who is simple out of helplessness and is undifferentiated because of his lack of gifts, may attain to true simplicity if transformed by Christ. In confirmation of this statement we may point to certain types of saints, such as a Brother Juniper or the holy Cure d’Ars, In them we see examples, not of false but of true simplicity, which however is not an expression of their lack of intellectual differentiation but a fruit of the full dedication of their lives to Christ. Intellectual plainness as such does not facilitate our progress towards that true simplicity, which was quite compatible with the genius of a St. Paul or a St. Augustine; but neither is it an invincible impediment to such simplicity.
The simplicity proper to the Christian pertains to that order of simplicity which increases with the grade of metaphysical height and is concomitant with a richer content of meaning and differentiation. It is, as we have seen, only possible as the fruit of a life directed towards God, who is the epitome of total simplicity. The more our life is permeated by God, the simpler it becomes. This simplicity is defined by the inward unity which our life assumes because we no longer seek for any but one end: God.
No longer do we judge things from different points of view, from that of our temporal interests, for example, or of the interests of others, or of our consideration for public opinion, and in addition to these, from that of our consideration for God’s will, as though all these points of view were on a level with each other. One supreme point of view governs our entire life and in subordination to that point of view all else is judged and settled. It is the principle of conduct enjoined by these words of the Lord: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his justice, and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matt. 6:33).
The life of a man who, after having found Christ, gives all he has for the one costly pearl (as did the merchant in the Gospel) becomes simple in the highest and most proper sense of the word. It becomes unified instead of being divided in the sense in which St. Paul says of a man who marries, divisus est. Nor, because of that, will his life decrease in its depth of meaning or wealth of substance; rather it will become deep, substantial, and differentiated in a measure inaccessible to those who are lost in the multicolored variety of terrestrial goods, and who, like Faust, again and again engage in fresh pursuits.
This is immediately evident as regards the aspect of depth. For the height of the value we are genuinely experiencing (be it in a direct sense or by implication, as a background to our primary object) determines the depth of our response. A life entirely consecrated to God, the summumbonum, is necessarily deeper than one given over to earthly goods.
True simplicity engenders abundance
But the consonance between simplicity and abundance, too, will become intelligible if we remind ourselves that by simplicity is meant the unity of a life anchored in God, who encloses all plenitude of being. Even within the limits of the natural sphere, a life filled by one high vocation is richer and more differentiated than the life of a person whose energies are frittered away on many peripheral things. A great love not only informs a person’s life in greater depth but lends it a far greater abundance than a multitude of superficial love relationships.
The old wisdom still holds which sets multum (much) higher than multa (many things). How much truer is this of unity centered on God, who not only contains per eminentiam all fullness of being but is the Cause and the End of all created things.
The light of Christ simplifies all things
Yet, in order to establish such an enriching relationship to God a mere formal reference to God as the epitome and fountainhead of being (ens a se) is not by itself sufficient. Such an end requires the integral consecration of our life to that God who reveals Himself to us in Christ, whose living word addresses us from above, and to whom we cannot ascend by our own forces.
More, we must actually throw ourselves open to the radiance of the lumen Christi, without attempting to adapt it to our own nature or to falsify it by our natural categories. We must not humanize and interpret in an easy oversimplified manner that One in whom is all plenitude of divinity (in quo est omnis plenitudo divinitatis), lest we succumb to the pitfall of false simplicity. We must envision that face of Christ which the Liturgy of the Holy Church proposes to our eyes, that is, the true, undistorted, authentic face of Christ, which per eminentiam enfolds all wealth and universality of being and before which all natural measuring rods lose their validity.
If we consider all things in conspectu Dei, every genuine good finds its right place in the cosmic order and discloses its specific value more splendidly than if we attend to it in arbitrary isolation, merely for its own sake. In that light of God, all spurious goods will be inexorably laid bare, while all true goods that convey a message from God will be discerned and appreciated in their deepest, their most proper meaning.
Thus, our exclusive direction towards God should not be confused with that extrinsic and unilateral method of looking upon things which we adopt when we place some created being in the center of our perspective.
On the contrary, by being so directed towards God we shall interpret all things from a legitimately central and comprehensive point of view, which—and which alone—equips us with a key to the proper and particular meaning of every entity or aspect of creation.
We only take true account of a genuine good if we see it in the place where it properly stands in the thought of God. Nor do we fully honor or love a created good of genuine value unless we honor and love God more than that good.
Christ is the principle of true simplicity
In other words, true simplicity ensues from our bringing all things to one denominator which, far from distorting or limiting them as does an approach alien to their essence, leads to the elucidation of their innermost meaning and mystery. We can never decipher them so long as we abandon ourselves exclusively to the specific immanent logos of each of those things as such. That one denominator to which we should bring all things is Christ.
Thus will our life receive its inward unity. We shall no longer be divided owing to our fixation on many equivalent but disparate goods. We are no longer a function of several mutually unconnected currents of life. By the light of true consciousness, all things in our mind and our life are confronted with Christ, and consequently, with one another. Unlike those who are a prey to complexity, we are not hampered by all kinds of irrelevant sentiments nor is our inner freedom disturbed by a multitude of petty or imaginary problems. The lure of what seems interesting can no longer beguile us into wasting our time on the protean pageant of falsehood; there is no longer anything that could divert us to bypaths which lead away from the one supreme Goal. For we have acquired that holy sobriety which renders us unable to bear any but sound doctrine, unlike those who “will not endure sound doctrine; but, according to their own desires, they will heap to themselves teachers, having itching ears: and will indeed turn away their hearing from the truth, but will be turned unto fables” (2 Tim. 4:3-4). On the contrary, all our desire is directed to the “unleavened bread of sincerity and truth” (1 Cor. 5:8).
Plain honesty contributes to true simplicity
In their common antithesis to the egoistic attitude of complexity, we perceive the close interrelation between true simplicity and a certain trait of plain honesty, which contains at least a rudiment of Christian humility. All complexity, on the other hand, stems from a root of evil pride. The man of pride uses the manifoldness of his interests and problems, so to speak, as a retinue subservient to his luxury. He surrounds himself with a court of multiple things. For he has lost the center of all comprehensive unity, God; nor does he take it upon himself to find his way back to that center again. He glories in his unsolved complications and attributes a preposterous emphasis to many unimportant things about him because he fails to give its due weight to the one really important thing, the unum necessarium.
The man of plain honesty and simplicity, on the other hand, abhors that pageant of complications, not because he enjoys his own sweet primitivity (this pose of false simplicity is no less a work of pride than is the attitude of complexity), but because he is entirely concentrated on the unum necessarium. He does not leer around him; still less is he watching himself: his eyes are directed straight to the logos of truth, which he follows without restraint.
Continuity in aspiring to God engenders simplicity
Above all, he never quits his basic attitude: an attitude essentially aspiring towards God, receptive, and steeped in charity. Though he must answer the infinite variety of specific situations with a vast compass of outward reactions and emotional tones, he yet never abandons that one central attitude which is defined and shaped by Christ. He is not at the mercy of disparate principles of behavior, assuming control according to the mood of the moment. Manifestly, simplicity corresponds with continuity. The truly simple man always preserves his basic identity: though his register of tones be designed to meet a vast diversity in types of situations, that register itself always remains the same and is always governed by one unchanging central attitude.
As a rule, we are only too ready, under the impact of everyday life, to slide from the God-seeking central attitude we have adopted in prayer. We are quick to slip out of our festive garment and to relapse into a purely natural, dull, unloving attitude from which to react to the diverse situations of life. There is even a type of people, markedly discontinuous and wanting in consciousness, who show changes so abrupt and radical as to create the impression of a change of personal identity. Such people are apt suddenly to apply standards entirely different from their previous ones; they unexpectedly lose their taste for what fascinated them but a moment before; they show themselves insensitive to an appeal that has until now seemed to carry much weight with them. It might indeed be said of such a person that two souls (or more) live in his breast.
To this type of behavior true simplicity forms a glaring contrast. It implies a basic identity with oneself, meaning, not only a solid preservation of the essential direction towards Christ, once acquired, but a structural trait of continuity. So far as we possess this virtue, we always keep in contact with what we have formerly recognized to be valid. We do not alter our essential attitude even in relation to single persons and things or to single values and truths, unless an objective change should actually arise which may legitimately account for such a modification.
Continuity exclusively toward one natural good may threaten simplicity
A person confined within his natural attitude may not squander his interests on a multitude of trivial irrelevancies: he may concentrate upon an important cause, consecrate himself to a noble vocation, or be overwhelmed with a great love. However, he will then be exhausted, as it were, by that one thing, valuable, maybe, but yet only one among many human concerns. Everything else is obscured, and he cannot afford to pay adequate attention even to a genuine good if it be unconnected with the thing which now engrosses his interest.
True simplicity empowers man
It is not so with true simplicity, involving an exclusive devotion to the unum necessarium alone. With this, new forces spring up in man; an abundance of spiritual intensity arises from his participation in the life of Christ. New torrents are released, of which he knew nothing before; he is now enabled to react adequately, in a far greater measure than in his former life, to human individualities and the manifoldness of situations. It is a state of mind entirely different from the obsession of blind zeal which compels one to talk always about the one thing one is absorbed in, without regard to the situation and without applying the necessary discretion. Rather we become able, in the attitude of true simplicity, patiently to penetrate every situation, lend ear to every person, and attend to every task.
How inexhaustible becomes thereby the capacity for devoting ourselves to our fellow creatures and to their legitimate cares. Only think of the saints: St. Paul, for example, when he says, “Who is weak, and I am not weak? Who is scandalized, and I am not on fire?” (2 Cor. 11:29). This is a measure of love which transcends all natural categories. Or again, what a never relaxing intensity in attending to a variety of high tasks do we find in St. Albert the Great, adding the immensity of his scientific work to his monastic duties and his episcopal functions! With a similar intent we may point to the life of a St. Bernard of Clairvaux.
From the natural standpoint, such a simultaneity of nobly performed duties might well seem impossible. But the saints could achieve such an abundance of life precisely because they were simple and by reason of their simplicity participated in the life of Christ.
God alone must have primacy
Having examined the essence of true simplicity and distinguished it from its false counterpart, we are now faced with the question as to how it can be attained. The answer is: not by pursuing simplicity itself as a supreme goal, but by striving for a just and adequate response to the divine truth. The methods which lead us towards true simplicity, and which we are about to expose, must be looked upon not as devices for the acquisition of true simplicity but as attitudes intrinsically precious and in conformity to the will of God, and thus productive—among other good results—of true simplicity.
In the first place, we shall be on the road towards true simplicity by investing the unum necessarium with an unconditional primacy in our life. We must have the inmost readiness to relinquish anything if God wills it. No creaturely good must possess our heart to the point of setting a limit, of whatever kind, to our total devotion to Christ, in the sense that we should say, as it were, “I would willingly renounce anything else, but not this one thing.” Everything else must be ready to vanish before the call of Christ, sequere me; we must follow Him, relictis omnibus. Nothing must limit our devotion to God, nor make it dependent on certain conditions.
Our full self-donation to Christ, the surrender as Cardinal Newman has called it, the heroic relinquishment of the natural basis and of our natural selves: such is the primal act conducive to simplicity. At this point we become aware of the great task of ridding ourselves of all inordinate attachment to creaturely goods: a task which is the chief object of all ascetical training. Throughout the Gospels, the Lord admonishes us thereto. “He that loveth father or mother more than me . . . and he that loveth son or daughter more than me, is not worthy of me” (Matt. 10:37). Christ does not withhold from our eyes the consequences of our failure so to detach ourselves from all goods, our failure to acquire freedom for the unum necessarium and hence for true simplicity: “And they began all at once to make excuse. The first said to him: I have bought a farm and I must go out and see it: I pray thee, hold me excused. And another said: I have bought five yoke of oxen and I go to try them: I pray thee, hold me excused. And another said: I have married a wife and therefore I cannot come” (Luke 14:18-20).
Yet we must live in the world
Yet, is it not the will of God that we should apply ourselves to the manifold tasks which are inherent in life and which every day carries with it? Even a hermit in the desert cannot wholly eschew a modest diversity of daily tasks; how could we, who are certainly not all elected to live as recluses? Surely, the primacy of the unum necessarium cannot dispense us from our several duties concerning our fellow men, our profession, our daily bread, and so forth? Much as we may recognize that preeminence of the unum necessarium, is not our life essentially subject to the multiform system of great and small agenda, compelling us to divide our attention and our interests?
We must shun sinful or frivolous activities
Certainly, full simplicity will only be possible in eternity, when God will be all in everything, and when we shall behold, condensed in one moment, “what shall be in the end without end” (St. Augustine, De civ. Dei 22.30). Still, even our life in statu viae will glow with a character of simplicity if we put the unum necessarium first, and more, bring everything to the one denominator which is Christ. In view of the fact that all things are controlled and ordered by one principle, and that this principle of unity is objectively identical with the Word ultimately addressed to all being, the manifold concerns and tasks will no longer be apt to despoil our life of simplicity and inward unity.
But how may this process, which we have termed bringing everything to one denominator, be in concreto accomplished? First, by considering and judging all things in the light of their relation to God and to our transformation in Christ. By confronting all things with Christ and keeping in communion with such only as we can cling to before His holy face, we bring into our life a qualitative harmony.
As a first step, we part with everything that is sinful and opposed to God. Beyond that, however, we also discriminate against everything that, without being actually sinful, is out of accord with the world of Christ or apt to divert us from God. Certain things carry about them an unlovely savor of worldliness, although one may deal with them without necessarily lapsing into sin. Such are, for instance, certain illustrated magazines, fashionable beaches, music halls, shows, many cinema pictures, etc.
If we confront these things with Christ, we shall feel them to be incompatible in quality with His world. Owing to the impudent, frivolous, and trivial quality which is rarely absent from them, they (at their best) shrill into the holy world of Christ as a discordant tone; their atmosphere is destined to entice us into levity and irreverence, thus undermining the dikes which we have erected against sin.
Apart from these, there is a further class of things which, though not qualitatively incompatible with Christ and hardly deserving the epithets frivolous and worldly, are yet superficial and ephemeral, and thus calculated to distract our eyes from God, our eternal Goal. Certain shallow pleasures which are meant to gratify our craving for sensations or to bewitch our fantasy belong to this class: thrilling novels, for example, which cannot be qualified as real works of art; or again, certain social gatherings in which there is much idle talk done and much food supplied for wanton (though, perhaps, harmless) curiosity. These things draw us away towards the periphery of being; they make recollection and aliveness to God and eternity, more difficult. They dishabituate the mind from the unum necessarium and so interfere with the progress towards simplicity. The Christian who insists on confronting everything with God will keep away from these things also. He will only take an interest in things which can stand the test before the face of Christ and which do not lead him away from God even in a merely formal sense, by fettering him to peripheral concerns.
We must not even fully abandon ourselves to natural goods
However, even as regards goods or tasks which, being objectively valuable or at worst neutral, can stand the test before the face of Christ, we must never abandon ourselves unqualifiedly to their immanent logic. In spite of the natural value of such objectively good things (such as, for instance, a noble friendship, a work of art, scholarly pursuits, the nursing of the sick, etc.), we are not justified in unconditionally abandoning ourselves to the immanent logic of these goods. Our direct relationship to Christ, and, through Him, to God, should radically inform our relationship to all goods and tasks.
It is not sufficient to confront everything with Christ, and, having decided that a given thing does not contradict Christ, to abandon oneself to that thing without any further qualification. The Christian’s relation to what is naturally valuable, too, is a different one from that of the non-Christian. Our primary devotion and self-consecration to Christ should manifest itself in every phase of our service to some genuine good or in dealing with some noble task, enriching the immanent logic of the theme with a new aspect. That one great theme, Christ, must have the last word, as it were, sounding through all others as a dominant tone. We must accomplish everything on the basis of our relation to Jesus, taking our departure from Him, thus substituting Christ for our original, unbaptized nature as a basic principle of our responses and our actions.
Everything in our life will then receive a sacral character; all our feelings and doings will be hallowed at least in a vicarious sense, and, whatever be our avocations or concerns, we will remain in the world of Christ.
We must “baptize” all of our actions
Therefore, we must also guard against being submerged in the morally indifferent but necessary functions of ordinary life. While we eat, wash, or dress; while we put our things in order or examine our accounts, etc., we must never allow any of these functions to occupy our mind entirely with its brute specificity. We must, on the contrary, expressly baptize all these things in the sense of not being possessed by them but rather we must dominate them by reason of our conscious, direct, and permanent contact with Christ. In constant awareness of our determination to belong to Christ and to perform all our activities as His servants, we must incorporate even the trivial details of our daily routine into the essential meaning and direction of our life. Thus shall we live if we keep in mind the words of St. Paul: “For none of us liveth to himself; and no man dieth to himself. For whether we live, we live unto the Lord; or whether we die, we die unto the Lord. Therefore, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s” (Rom. 14:7-8).
That the goods and tasks with which the texture of our life is interwoven should not contrast with Christ is not enough. Neither is it sufficient for us to avoid being absorbed by the immanent teleology of indifferent concerns and to consider everything in a general perspective centered on Christ. We must advance beyond that minimum and place everything in a direct relationship to Christ, so as to be guided back toward the Alpha and Omega by even the specific meaning of every single thing to which we devote our attention.
This may be achieved in various ways. The institutional and corporate aspects of such a sanctification of life, all-important as they are, do not enter into our present scope and may be referred to in brief. Certainly human things are given a specific connection with God, inasmuch as the Church, by a particular act of consecration or benediction, assigns to them a place in the sacral sphere, as is the case with the sacramentals. That specific connection is restricted, here, to definite provinces of being (notably, material objects), and within these limits, again, to definite exemplars consecrated by a particular act. There is, further, the entirely different and unique case of marriage, a high creaturely good which Christ has erected, genetically, into a Sacrament. What we in these pages are concerned with, however, is that connection of creaturely things with God which every Christian, individually, is able—and called upon—to establish; and which applies to all classes of things in creation.
We must offer everything to God
First, we may expressly offer as a sacrifice to God all our works, our joys and sufferings, whatever goods we are blessed with and whatever evils we have to endure. Everything is thus brought into a direct relationship with God and our mind is again and again reoriented to God. Yet, this relationship is a highly formal one; it is established, so to speak, above the head of the thing in question. It may be of great value, but it cannot actually fill our lives with a truly sacral atmosphere. The good intention which underlies that general sacrifice of our actions and sufferings on the one hand, and our specific contact with the object on the other, are not deeply interrelated. If one prevails, the other must decline and in both cases our life falls short of a full impregnation with the atmosphere of Christ. The good intention by itself is insufficient to baptize all things and to connect their very essence with Christ, to consecrate the world intrinsically. It does not pervade the things which are placed under its sign, but merely directs them externally towards God.
We must thank God for all things
A more profound connection between the genuine goods of the world and God will arise from our consciousness of possessing every such good as a gift from God, of the fact that everything we have is bestowed upon us by His charity. Thus, in a spirit of gratitude, through the medium of creaturely things we again and again hark back to the “Father of all lights”; and by all gifts we are reminded of the Giver: “In all things give thanks” (1 Thess. 5:18). For all the multiformity of our pursuits and cares, we are yet governed by the one great absolute Theme, and our life assumes the habitus of true simplicity.
We must see God reflected in created goods
There is, finally, a third way of instituting a connection between God and all goods, tasks, and activities. It consists in a comprehension of the profound analogies that inhere in the universe of things. In a sense, according to a certain gradation of the modes of being, all that is, is somehow representative of God. In this rich hierarchy of levels, the sharpest distinction is that between vestigium and imago. The created person alone is an image of God; every other created thing is merely a vestige of Him. We may propose to divine the analogy contained in every being, advancing up to the focal point where the inward relation between that thing and the causa exemplaris—the primal idea or exemplar—becomes discernible. Not that we ought to search, in a schematic fashion, after the specific analogy proper to each entity or type of being, taken individually; nor is such a strict allegorical interpretation possible. What we have in mind is rather a general vision of creation as something which has not only been made by God but which somehow reflects God.
The Christian is to discover God in the cosmos, not only as its author (causa prima) but as its primal exemplar or paragon (causa exemplaris). Once he is touched by the lumen Christi, man will see the world with new eyes.
A new light falls on everything, disclosing the secret ties of all reality to the divine essence. Now, against the background of this general vis ion, as a next phase the analogy of being, in the concrete, will reveal its broad lineaments. So far as the inferior (the material, the vital) spheres are concerned, a differential manifestation of analogy according to special objects will scarcely be present except in a vague and accidental manner. In higher spheres of being, marked by a more condensed substantiality, the analogy will tend to take on more characteristic forms in a closer coordination to concrete types or even individual entities. With man, in particular, an entirely new plane of representation is introduced. In this new vision, created being becomes transparent, as it were: reaching beyond its own limits, it points towards God and speaks of Him directly.
However, we can derive that vision not from an empirical contemplation of the universe but from Revelation alone. For the analogy that is meant here is not confined to a representation by concrete reality of absolute being as such, the ens a se in the sense of rational metaphysics, which we might approach from below upwards by the natural light of reason; it is conceived as representing the nexus of created things with God as He reveals Himself to us in the features of Christ.
Guided by analogy so interpreted, we shall be able to sense a reflection of the lumen Christi in the beauty of sunlight and to discern a likeness of God in every eternal, though merely natural, truth.
Thus shall we also grasp the coordination of natural to supernatural concepts and entities, and discern the many images and exemplars in the tissue of natural objects and relationships which refer to the world of the supernatural. The cleansing effect of water will evoke in our minds the redemptive power of Baptism. The deep union of two human beings in marriage will acquire a new meaning in the light of the bond between Christ and His Church, and of the mysterious union, transcending all conceptual understanding, of the three Divine Persons in one Substance.
We must view all things with eyes of Faith
Only when our entire vision of the cosmos is thus intrinsically imbued with the mystery of Faith, can we properly apply the phrase about our consecration of the cosmos to God. Here, unlike the above-discussed case of a mere formal consecration’ achieved by the good intention, there is question of an objectively preexistent connection.
Certainly that connection is not visible except to the eyes of Faith. Vision illumined by the Faith is alone able to fathom these depths, which remain inaccessible to the natural light of reason.
Further, this connection with God is not something superimposed on the object; rather it leads us through its innermost core to God. Therefore, it becomes possible for us to entertain a full contact with the object, to accord an ample response to its specific meaning, and yet at the same time to continue dwelling in the sacral atmosphere. This comprehension of analogy alone, by virtue of which whatever thing we envisage may lift us towards God, will confer on our life a character of perfect simplicity, safeguarding our inward qualitative unity amidst the manifoldness of mundane objects and tasks.
Faith enables us to see the hierarchy of values more clearly
In this perspective, however, we shall also become aware of the vast hierarchy of values in regard to their respective connection with God. With a new clarity and certitude we shall understand that eternal truths—for example, that man is endowed with free will, or that all finite beings require a cause—reflect God more directly than do empirical and accidental truths, such as the true statement that on a certain day it was raining or that hydrogen and oxygen combine into water. By the same token, we will grasp that the sublime beauty of a landscape like the Roman Campagna or a work of art like the Ninth Symphony of Beethoven, conveys to us more from God and draws us more powerfully into His world than does the beauty of a magnificent garb or a jewel. We shall no less clearly grasp the hierarchic distinction that moral values like charity, faithfulness, or veracity, refer to God in a much deeper and much more specific sense than do a man’s vital values, such as healthiness, a lively temperament, etc.
We must conform our life to that hierarchy
This gradation of values is not indifferent, either, from the standpoint of the part we intend to assign to them in our lives. To be sure, we cannot select arbitrarily the goods with which we shall or shall not occupy ourselves. Our profession, for instance, is likely to compel us to divert a great deal of attention to many objects which have comparatively little direct connection with God. Yet, so far as our free preference, our general receptivity, and our basic interests are concerned, we may well adjust these to the hierarchy of objects as determined by their measure of representing God. By keeping in mind the ideal order of values conceived from this point of view, we achieve a step in making our life simpler and bringing it to the one great denominator which is Christ.
The encounter with genuine values simplifies the soul
Every genuine value as such, however, operates towards true simplicity in him who experiences it; and it does so in proportion to its place in the hierarchy of values. Our state of mind always reveals greater simplicity when a genuine value is possessing and shaping us than when we are engrossed with neutral concerns, as are mostly the requirements of workaday life. Certainly, any dealing with creaturely goods, notwithstanding the formal simplifying power of values as such, may interfere with our disposition for simplicity; it will do so with certainty whenever we, in attending to these goods, isolate them from the world of higher values and detach them from their function of a representation of God.
Yet, however real this danger may be, considering the natural proneness of our fallen natures to let outward influences distract them from God, the created goods are also capable, on the other hand, of elevating us towards God in various ways and of apprising us of His charity and His glory. Only if we receive every good (by the methods just described) in mindfulness of God and qua gifts and tokens of God—if in all values we are anxious to discern and to meet God—then the formal simplifying power of every value as such will become operative and conducive to true simplicity.
Values elevate us above a multiplicity of interests
As regards the relation between value and simplicity of soul, the following aspects should be noted. To begin with, every value by reason of its wealth of meaning elevates us above the extensive multiplicity of the interests belonging to lower planes. The higher that value is, the more we find (in a comparative sense) all in one. In our response to that value, our interest will expand in depth rather than in breadth. Yet, depth as such, even apart from the specific height of the value concerned, acts in favor of simplicity, inasmuch as it implies a recollected state of mind and a withdrawal from peripheral interests.
Values unify communities and individuals
Moreover values are characterized by a certain vis unitiva: a faculty of coordination and unification, both in an interpersonal and an intrapersonal sense. Definite values may integrate a number of persons into a community; and again, within a person they tend to effect an integration of divergent emotions and impulses. Counteracting the dispersion and dissipation of energies in our soul, they tend to make us recollected and simple. This effect increases with the height of the value. It is only in our surrender to God, our loving adoration of Him, that we are wholly collected and our whole essence is actualized in one all-comprehensive attitude.
It is our duty, therefore, to recognize the elevating action of the great goods of creation, their mission to liberate us from lower attachments and to guide us towards God, and accordingly to lay ourselves open to their operation. A great enemy of true simplicity is our dependence on peripheral considerations—such as human respect, the pleasure derived from being spoiled, a comfortable life, freedom from cares, this or that cherished habit, and so forth. The more we are captivated by peripheral interests, the less simple our life will be. Some people are so anxious to have the proper utensil, instrument, or contrivance on hand at every occasion and in every possible emergency (nor will that object do unless it is their personal property) that they never have time or energy left for attending to really great and relevant things. They are completely enchained by their concern about a multitude of superficial affairs to which they are fettered by many small ties. The slightest disturbance in their accustomed comfort deprives them of peace.
But imagine our heart being touched and lit up by some high value—the chain is burst; all the marginal preoccupations are swept out of sight and are no longer able to tie us down. Whenever some high good in our life appears threatened—a beloved person, for instance, has fallen gravely ill or our own life is in danger—we at once become aware of the pettiness and futility of all those paltry things to which we have formerly attached so great importance. How willingly would we renounce all of them, if only we could thereby save that one precious good! Or again, suppose that we are initiated into a new realm of beauty, or gain insight into a great central truth—then, too, we rise above all shallow things; we increase in freedom, and so also in simplicity.
This liberating power of a high value or a deep experience is most strikingly manifested whenever a person’s heart is inflamed with a noble passion of love. At one blow, what has been his habitual world breaks down. It is this which finds its plastic expression in the first act of Richard Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde, when, having drunk the philter, Tristan cries out of his “dream ill-omened of Tristan’s honor.” All the world of outward honor and renown suddenly appears so sunk into immateriality that he is no longer able even to recall its meaning. In this sense, again, he refers in the second act to himself and Isolde as being “enveloped by night.”
With the surge of this great love, which lifts them both into a new and higher world, a new principle of value has entered into their lives, in the sight of which all things that peopled their former “day-worlds” are condemned to evanescence. These things do not fit into their new “night-world.” As lovers they have acquired a new simplicity.
We must consciously yield to the elevating power of values
Of such deep experiences we must make the most so as to detach ourselves from transient goods. We must seize the offer of God contained in that gift-like descent upon us of a high value, and, yielding to its attraction, ascend to a new point of vantage, where we shall be past many things which have previously confined us within the zone of the petty. We must not resist this shattering of a more trivial world where we have found a snug and cozy home for our everyday existence. We must evince a perpetual and alert willingness to follow this upward pull instead of fearfully and slothfully barricading our hearts against it. “Today if you shall hear his voice, harden not your hearts” (Ps. 94:8).
It does not suffice to accept that detachment from lower and more irrelevant things as a gift; we must actively cooperate with it, and assent to it once for all. Otherwise, the effect of that deep experience towards making us free and simple will be confined to its actual duration, as of a psychic episode. Above all, whenever a high human good exercises its releasing effect upon us, we must consciously evoke and experience its manifold relations to God, in order that it may lead us before the face of God. That elevation above petty terrestrial goods must take root in our soul as a permanent attitude of sursum corda, of eagerness to let ourselves be borne aloft to God.
If, invoking Jesus’ assistance and imitating His example, we undergo these experiences in a spirit that enables us to penetrate not merely into the specific content of the high goods in question but into the very presence of the “Father of all lights” (a condition for fully comprehending that specific content itself), then all these experiences will become milestones along our path to true simplicity. Every such gift placed in our lives by God entails an obligation for us to change, to soar upwards, to extricate ourselves from certain meshes, and to acquire greater freedom for God.
Heroism is impossible without true simplicity of soul
Without the possession of true simplicity, no true heroism is possible. Such heroism implies that we are ready to sacrifice, without reserve, all lower goods to a higher one; that we gladly sell all we possess in order to buy the land where the treasure is buried. Heroism in a man means that he does not glance sidewards but straight ahead; not hesitating to cast away, with one gesture, all the scrap heap of trifles, amenities, dependencies, and considerations that hamper him whenever he hears the call of a high value, and the more so, when the unum necessarium challenges him with its high demand.
The heroic man is simple, and in his heroic act becomes the simpler. Every heroic act is the victory of a dominant aim over a multitude of petty ties and distractions. All experiences which enlarge our hearts, which expand and embolden our souls, and which render us able to sacrifice inferior things heroically—as does, above all, a great love under Jesus—contribute to our achieving true simplicity. What we must seek is a general readiness to give away lower things for the sake of higher ones, according to the divinely sanctioned legitimate order of values, and in this sense, ultimately, even to abandon any and every high good for the sake of the highest one—that is, Christ.
This pursuit of simplicity makes it imperative for us to lead a collected life. Certainly, recollection—the process of collecting ourselves—is not only a corollary of true simplicity but, more generally, one of the most important elements in our transformation in Christ. Therefore, a more extensive study of this subject follows. But even at first glance its close relationship to simplicity must be perceptible. Like simplicity, recollection implies a process of integration and unification, as contrasted to dispersion and dissipation. The very same words of Our Lord that stress the primacy of contemplation also contain an admonition to true simplicity, which must ever sound in the Christian’s ears: “Martha, Martha, thou art careful, and art troubled about many things; but one thing alone is necessary” (Luke 10:41-42).