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Continuation of Commentaries
On the Maxims on Love of St. John of the Cross
By Fr. Bruno Cocuzzi, ocd
Maxim 61. Secrecy of conscience is considerably
harmed and damaged as often as a person manifests Its fruit to men, for then
he receives as his reward the fruit of fleeting fame.
Reading
over this Maxim (which is really an assertion or statement of fact) several
times raises a few questions. Although
we can take as a given that secrecy of conscience means “keeping
knowledge of the state of one’s soul hidden from others,” we can rightfully ask
ourselves “how, and in what way does secrecy of conscience bear
fruit?” Also, we can ask: “Suppose my conscience is such that I am
aware of a serious sin on my soul?” If
I am to keep this a secret, am I forbidden by this Maxim NOT to confess it in
the Sacrament of Penance? We know of
course that Faith obliges us to manifest a sinful conscience to a priest in
order to obtain absolution. Therefore,
secrecy of conscience has to do with keeping hidden a state of conscience that
is free of sin and pleasing to God. But
it hardly seems necessary for St. John of the Cross, or anyone, to suggest that
we keep to ourselves the truth, if so it is, that we are in the state of
Grace. To make that disclosure even to
one person only would seem to expose one to the danger of falling into a sin of
pride or vainglory. So perhaps there is
a very special meaning to “Secrecy of Conscience” that is different from
merely keeping hidden our own personal knowledge of how we stand in our
relationship to God, namely that we are united as friends, and to what degree.
Another
meaning of conscience is found in expressions such as: a lax
conscience, a rigid, conscience, an erroneous conscience, a doubtful
conscience, a scrupulous conscience, a certain conscience, and
the like. In these expressions conscience
refers to one’s ability to distinguish between right and wrong, between what is
sinful conduct and what is not sinful, between conduct that is morally neutral
and conduct that is morally good or morally evil.
It
may well be that this is what St. John of the Cross has in mind because these
kinds of conscience do indeed produce fruit.
However, not all of them, the fruits, are necessarily good or
delightful. The fruit of a lax
conscience would be the risk of always offending God because of a tendency so
to enlarge and broaden the field of morally permissible conduct that one
includes conduct which, objectively speaking, does offend God or is unjust vis-à-vis
other people. The fruit of a rigid conscience would be the risk of narrowing
the field of morally permissible conduct so much that it excludes conduct that
is morally neutral and even good and laudable. The fruit of an erroneous
conscience is the risk of engaging in conduct that is morally wrong as well as
avoiding conduct that is morally permissible and good. But if an erroneous conscience is at the
same time a certain conscience, namely, that the individual has no
doubts or misgivings as to the objective correctness of his erroneous
conscience, then its fruit is exactly the same as a certain, correct
conscience, namely: a serene peace and
sense of security that one’s daily free choices and subsequent conduct are in
perfect conformity with God’s Will.
There
are felt experiences, also, that are the fruits of a doubtful, and
especially, a scrupulous conscience.
Both give rise to feelings of anxiety and fear whenever one has to
decide which is the conduct pleasing to God in a given situation. However, the fruit of a scrupulous
conscience goes well beyond mere anxiety and fear, it is an anxiety and fear
that is so grievous that it becomes a veritable torment and torture. The fruits of the first two kinds of
conscience mentioned, lax and rigid, which we said were to incur a risk,
do not necessarily result in feelings or emotions, except perhaps that they
cause persons who have such consciences always to be upset and disturbed by the
conduct of folks who do not have the same kind of conscience. For those who have a rigid
conscience, that also could cause them torment and torture of soul.
It
seems, then that we have to exclude this meaning of conscience from this Maxim,
because to keep certain of these kinds of conscience secret would result in
harm to an individual, whereas to disclose them could result in bringing a
benefit. For example, were one to
divulge a lax, rigid, erroneous, doubtful or scrupulous conscience to another,
particularly to a confessor, one would receive the instruction necessary to
form a correct and certain conscience whose fruit is the peace and security
we’ve already mentioned. On the other
hand, if someone with a correct and certain conscience were to keep it secret,
he might fail in his duty to perform certain spiritual works of mercy, such as,
to instruct the ignorant and counsel the doubtful. And that leaves just one meaning of conscience to consider, which
has to be the one St. John of the Cross had in mind when he wrote this Maxim.
That
third meaning is the one we learned about as children when we were told that
our conscience was the voice of God speaking to us and guiding us in the depths
of our soul. We were taught that
through our conscience God not only tells us to avoid evil and do good, in the
first instance, but also tells us what is pleasing to Him and what is not. This kind of conscience, basically, is
knowledge of what God Himself is doing in our souls. Specifically, He is communicating to the soul His very Self and
His very Will under the aspect of truth.
And so it seems to me that the secrecy of conscience referred to
in this Maxim has to do with God’s various communications of Himself or
disclosures of Himself, especially those which give one a felt sense or
awareness of Himself as GOOD, or WISE, or compassionate or powerful or loving,
and so on. The fruit of that would be a
feeling of joy and blessedness generated in the heart and soul of the one who
receives disclosures and communications of God. The resulting psychic states would indeed be fruits because they
are sweet, savory and delightful to the spiritual palate in the same way that
ordinary edible fruits are savory and sweet to the bodily palate. Secrecy of conscience then would
consist in making no mention of those states of soul, those fruits, nor the
nature of the communications of God, which caused them, to anyone. An exception, of course, would be one’s
confessor, as St. Teresa taught by word and example, so as to avoid being led
astray by Satan, or her own imagination.
But since there is the seal of confession, obliging the priest to
maintain secrecy about all he hears in confession, this Maxim would not be
violated thereby.
I
think this is really the meaning intended by St. John of the Cross in this
Maxim because there is an episode in the life of St. Therese that exemplifies
it. You all know how St. Therese was
cured by the smile of the Blessed Virgin from a statue in her sick-room that
appeared to come alive. She then spoke
of the fruit of that experience:
inexpressible joy, peace, and spiritual comfort and consolation. In this instance, though it was not a
communication to her soul of a felt experience of God or one of His attributes,
it still qualifies as something to be kept secret because it was a spiritual
communication to her soul that produced the fruits she spoke of. St. Therese then relates that her sister
Marie suspected that Therese had had an extraordinary spiritual experience and
insisted upon knowing what it was. So
Therese did tell her; and in turn Marie told their sister Pauline (Sr. Agnes)
in Carmel, and then all the Nuns in the Carmel got to know about it. Then it was that the exquisite consolation,
peace and joy that was the fruit of the experience came to an end, and it was
replaced by the exact opposite, anxiety, grief, and fear of having been
deceived about the entire experience.
Then, little by little the admiration and special regard the telling of
it had obtained from the Carmelite nuns died away altogether, and they dealt
with her later on as if that wonderful grace had never been given to her. Actually, she got something even less
desirable than the fleeting fame the Maxim speaks of. She found that the fruit of Our Lady’s smile
had turned to ashes, bitter and repugnant to her spiritual palate.
But
perhaps there is more harm and damage done to secrecy of conscience than the
loss of the delightful fruit of extraordinary graces when these are made known
to others. Perhaps what is also damaged
is the openness of soul to these kinds of manifestations and communications by
God, Our Lady, and other citizens of Heaven.
I say that because St. John of the Cross states that damage occurs as
often as those communications are manifested to others. This Maxim does not talk about motivation,
but we can suppose that the one who has received extraordinary graces, such as
felt experiences of God or of His attributes, and then tells others about them,
is looking for the esteem of others and a reputation for holiness.
We’ve
already mentioned that St. Teresa always revealed her extraordinary experiences
to her confessor to avoid being led astray by the devil or her own
imagination. But this was the result of
her humility. She felt so unworthy in
the presence of the Divine Majesty and Goodness, so unworthy at the mere
thought of God’s transcendent Greatness, that she was astonished to think that
someone as unworthy as herself could receive such favors.
St.
John of the Cross, too, in other of his works, does urge everyone who receives
such favors not only not to speak of them to others, but also to try to forget
them and never to dwell on the memory of them or to desire them. St. John understands, and most confessors do
also, that God our Gracious Father ordinarily grants such extraordinary
revelations and communications as a prelude to, and a preparation for, His
laying some very heavy cross upon that soul.
Any esteem and reverence a confessor might conceive for the one who
reveals such favors would then be tempered by compassion and concern for the
grace of suffering then in store for that same soul.
Maxim 62 - Speak little and do not meddle in
matters about which you are not asked
This
is a true Maxim because it enjoins upon us a very specific kind of
conduct. Coming from a Doctor of the
Church, as well as from Our very Saintly Father in the Order that alone is
reason enough for us to take it to heart and strive to follow this practical
advice. But for the sake of
strengthening our determination to follow it, it may be a great help if we
inquire into WHY the practice of this Maxim is of great profit to our
souls.
It
seems to be that we might discover why it helps us on our spiritual journey by
considering the fact that it follows immediately after Maxim 61. As we just saw, Maxim 61 is about secrecy of
conscience. So the thought occurs to me
that St. John of the Cross wrote this because he knew that speaking little and
not meddling in matters that are not our concern are very effective means of
preserving secrecy of conscience. It is
likely that St. John of the Cross had in mind the statement of Our Lord in the
Gospel: “Out of the abundance of the
heart the mouth speaks.” So, it
seems, that whenever we speak, we are disclosing something of what is in our
hearts. But it is not far-fetched for
us to identify the things that we hold in our hearts with what is in our
conscience. So, speaking little would
be a way of divulging very little of what is in our consciences and thus would
keep those things secret.
But
if speaking little always divulges a little bit of what is in our hearts, why
didn’t St. John say never speak, that is do not speak, just as he says do
not, i.e., never, meddle when not asked to get involved? I think he said speak little rather
than do not speak because he knows that there are times we are obliged
to speak either because duty or the nature of our circumstances obliges us to
speak. And often it is charity that obliges us to speak. What those circumstances are were spoken of
in the reflection on the first of these maxims which advised us in part: “Bridle
your tongue...very much..” Thus,
the less we say even when required to, the more surely we will preserve the
“secrecy” of our consciences.
The
second admonition, “do not meddle” can also be related to secrecy of
conscience. St. John of the Cross
surely knew that whenever we are called upon to assist others in problems or
difficulties they might be having, we always rely upon our own past experiences
as well as education to solve the problem or overcome the difficulty. Thus, we cannot avoid divulging what is in
our conscience, because memory is the means by which we access what is in our consciences,
and thus we are likely to mention things that really should be kept
secret. That is because when we want to
help and encourage others in their difficulties we tell about our own similar
difficulties in the past and how we overcame them. This is especially true when asked to help in spiritual
matters. We talk about our own
spiritual experiences and so cannot help manifesting to some extent the fruits
kept secret in our consciences. So when
we are asked to get involved, to do so is not wrong because not contrary to
this Maxim. Indeed, it may well be that
by doing so we can help people who are in difficulties because of a lax or
rigid, or doubtful, or erroneous conscience, as we mentioned when reflecting
upon Maxim 61.
But
perhaps there are other reasons why this Maxim 62 helps us in our spiritual
life. One of them is given to us by St.
John in another of his sayings, namely: “What profit is there in giving God
one thing, when He asks of you another.”
If others do not ask us then clearly God is not asking us to get
involved. To do so, even out of motives
of compassion is to give Him a work He does not want from us. Of course, this Maxim was intended primarily
for Discalced Carmelite Friars and Nuns.
To these he said in the Precautions (first precaution against the
Devil): “...without the command of obedience.. never take upon yourself any
work apart from the obligations of your state - however good and full of
charity it may seem, whether for yourself or anyone else...By such a practice
you will win merit and security.”
Besides, pride is, or can be, lurking behind all these voluntary
interventions of ours to do good.
Implicit in our stepping unasked is the subconscious attitude: “This unfortunate person is lacking the
resources I have that will overcome the difficulty. The poor thing needs my help.”
Thus a touch of arrogance could easily creep into what, to all intents
and purposes is an act of charity.
As
you must have noticed, I have avoided using the term “to meddle” and have said
instead “to intervene” or “to get involved.”
What I’ve just said about doing “good deeds” that God does not want of
us explains why. The very expression “to
meddle” indicates something reprehensible, and I’m confident no Carmelite
would ever want to meddle in anything, nor would we ever be willing to
meddle. So, apparently, this word is
too strong a translation of the Spanish original.
Other
reasons for speaking only a little are found in Sacred Scripture. Our Lord did say: “For every idle word a man speaks he will have to give an
account before God.” St. John of the
Cross gives a variation of this in Maxim 6:
“... every word spoken without the order of obedience is laid to their
account by God.” By speaking
little, whenever one is obliged by charity or obedience to speak, one minimizes
the danger of speaking idle words.
Another
reason for not intervening in matters when not asked is that God works in the
lives and souls of people in and through the daily events of their lives. His Will is not only revealed to them in the
daily challenges to overcome the obstacles to living good lives and remaining
in His love, but also they are the means by which He shapes them and moulds
them and purifies them and confers increments of virtue and divine gifts in
their souls. When we step into a
person’s life unasked and begin to alter the circumstances of that person we
are actually interfering with God’s work in his/her soul. It is by those same circumstances, then, and
by the events that occur in people’s lives, that God reveals to them the
faults, the defects, the less than holy attitudes and dispositions that need to
be gotten rid of entirely or changed for the better.
Applying
that to ourselves, every time we find ourselves speaking many words, or stepping
into a person’s affairs when not obliged to do so by justice or charity, then
it is that God is revealing to us that we personally have faults and defects
that need attention; and if we examine our motives and objectives on those
occasions, we will begin to see more clearly exactly what those faults and
defects are, and perhaps also what it is we need to do in order to overcome
them.
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