Labor, Sloth, and Depression

The most misunderstood vice of our time is probably sloth. But to correctly understand sloth, one must first understand what a vice is. Quite simply, a vice is a bad habit, trained by repeated sin and inclining one to sin more. But a key element of every vice is a disordered passion. Our passions are good when properly ordered, but they multiply evils when disordered. Thus most vices can be defined according to specific passions. For example, fear is a useful passion that helps us avoid evil, but fear that causes more evil than it avoids means cowardice. Anger is a healthy response to confront evil, but anger that causes more evil than it battles is called wrath. Joy is felt when some good is possessed, but joy in response to evil is a sign of hatred.

It is vitally important to understand this distinction; that vice is a condition which manifests itself in the passions, but sin is a specific action. They are closely connected: Sin comes from vice, and vice is fostered by sin. For example, a man who eats too much does so because he is infected with gluttony; and every time the man eats too much, he becomes more gluttonous. But to say that a man is a glutton is only to say that he is inclined to eat too much. Knowing of his gluttony does not necessarily imply knowledge about his particular sins, past or present.

So then, which disordered passion amounts to sloth? Sorrow. St. Thomas defines sloth for us as follows:

“Sloth, according to Damascene (De Fide Orth. ii, 14) is an oppressive sorrow, which, to wit, so weighs upon man's mind, that he wants to do nothing... Hence sloth implies a certain weariness of work... Accordingly, [sloth] denotes sorrow for spiritual good...” (ST II.II, q. 35, a. 1)

Note that sloth implies a weariness of work, but that is only an effect. The essence of sloth is sorrow, specifically sorrow in response to good. A healthy sorrow is the response to an evil that cannot be avoided, which is the same as the loss of some good. When evil is first encountered, we may react with anger (in an attempt to remove the evil) or fear (in an attempt to escape it). If either fails, we are confronted with an insurmountable or inescapable evil, and we become sorrowful. Because anger or fear usually precedes sadness, both wrath and cowardice can lead to sloth (cf. Evagrios, “Praktikos,” 10).

Sloth is also called “acedia.” Acedia literally means “having no enemy” and the sense behind this meaning should be clear from what we now know. If sloth is an oppressive sorrow for good, then there is nothing left to be done in the face of evil: Neither good nor evil makes a difference. Cowardice reinforces sloth, because it keeps one at a distance from anything that might stir his soul to action. Likewise, wrath, far from being the antipathy to cowardice, is a companion to both cowardice and sloth. Wrath is an overreaction to evil and even mistakes the good for something to be despised and resisted. Often the man who spends much of his effort avoiding difficulty, forgoing many good things as a result, will become overwhelmed with passion if he finds himself cornered by it. Hence the coward may resort to wrath, and the wrathful coward is likely to be slothful, because he is so strongly moved away from anything in which he might find joy.

The effect of sloth is not always weariness for labor. Today, it is often the case that one labors too much rather than laboring too little. Laboring too much is a sign of vice because labor's purpose is to make leisure possible. If we labor to the exclusion of leisure then we are fostering sloth, because we are shrinking away from the good and are not working as we ought.

Because sloth is a disordered sorrow, it is often mistaken for “depression,” a physiological disorder. This confusion is partly due to the fact that vice generally evokes disapproval, whereas sorrow arouses pity; so a vice manifested in disordinate sorrow is unlikely to be considered a vice at all, especially by those without a sound moral formation. One who is misled into thinking that he is “depressed” would do well to make a concerted effort at cultivating the virtues opposed to sloth, and note whether his depression begins to subside.

The opposite of sloth is zeal, which is an intense love and devotion to the good. And zeal is accompanied by courage (the opposite of cowardice) which endures suffering for the sake of the good. He who has true zeal does not labor as much as he can; he labors as much as he needs to serve God and his neighbor. Likewise, courage does not suffer the pains of labor for their own sake, but for the sake of laboring well and attaining the good.

The virtues are not aimed at merely any good that one happens to notice. They are ordered in a heirarchy of goods, and ultimately at God,Who is Goodness itself. Thus all activities must be guarded by virtue according to their proper order: Pleasure and entertainment for the sake of labor, labor for the sake of leisure, and leisure for the glory of God.

Let us pray to God in the words of St. John Cassian, that He may stir up in us a feiry zeal, and that our souls, “which had been occupied by a sorrow that works death, will be taken by a godly sorrow and one full of joy. That which had been wasted by acedia, will at once be tilled by courage.” (Conferences V.23)

The Wages of Sin

Judas Returning the Thirty Pieces of Silver (by Rembrandt)

Every good Christian knows the Ten Commandments (or at least knows of them). If the average Christian cannot number them one to ten, he at least knows the basic gist of what they say.  The Ten Commandments instruct us how to be good; i.e. what God wants us to do.  It seems that most people, even non-Christians or non-practicing Christians, already try to live their lives more or less along those rubrics once written in stone.  Why follow the rules?  To most people, that seems an easy question. If you follow the Ten, you go to heaven. If you disobey, you go to hell.  This is the axiomatic framework of morality for the typical bible-believing Christian, but for Catholics, this is just the beginning.  For Catholics at least, each commandment has sub-categories built into it.  For instance, “Thou shalt honor thy father and mother” does not apply to parental authority alone and “Thou shalt not kill” forbids killing as well as any unwarranted physical harm to others and oneself.  Catholics are also compelled to develop virtues which also have sub-categories.  In its simplest understanding, sin is disobedience to the Commandments whereas vice is a defect in virtue.

Virtue and vice are opposites by nature.  Natural virtue is the habitual tendency towards good, formed in the will through practice and informed by our intellect in accordance with right reason. Simply put, virtue is a good habit.  Vice is nothing more than the habitual tendency (away from virtue) toward the extremes of evil. Where virtue would bring one up to greater nobility, vice pulls one down to brutality.  Every virtue has its opposing vices on either side – Prudence between foolishness and indecision – Justice between disregard and flattery – Temperance between self-neglect and gluttony – Fortitude between cowardice and recklessness.  These are often referred to as “natural” virtues; more commonly called 'Cardinal Virtues'.  But what of sin?  How does this ubiquitous and seemingly compulsive obsession amongst serious believers fit into the framework of Christian morality?

There are several misconceptions of sin which plague Christianity like a disease.  These, dare I say, are primarily of a proto-Protestant origin and are derived simply as products of bad theology which has likewise been affected to error by bad philosophy.  One prevalent misconception is born out of a voluntarist understanding of God.  In voluntarism, God’s will is what matters; his will constitutes the moral law.  The voluntarist sees God as good because the good is what God deems it to be: We must obey him because he wills it, but it does not follow that obedience to his will makes us good.  His will is thus seen as distinct from his nature.  This is an idea closely related to nominalism, which denies the existence of universals and instead sees the world as an assortment of particulars.  It thus deconstructs the universal ‘goodness’ into a quality which is associated to things only in the human mind.  It makes no sense in nominalism to talk about “participation in being” or degrees of goodness.  Nominalism denies the reality of “Goodness” per se.  In this way of thinking, what human beings see as good has nothing to do with morality: We must do what we are told.  These notions are indeed extreme (albeit this is a mild interpretation), but their influence is extensive.

One might not espouse such philosophy outright, but like any disease, though unseen, it is recognized by its symptoms.  The worst symptom is the worship of a false god. Though not intentional, those who misunderstand the moral law misunderstand who God is.  Voluntarism puts an all-powerful arbiter in the clouds which any Scholastic would identify as a resurrected demiurge who forgot that Jesus Christ has long since died and risen.  The oneness of this god is compromised when we isolate his will and his perfection is defiled when we deny him the nature of goodness.  Though pure voluntarism is opposed to most facets of Catholic theology, its symptoms persist among Catholics.  If one does not understand the nature of God (goodness), one does not understand the nature of goodness (God). This is the heart of Christian morality.  This, I hope, is evident.

Another common symptom is neglect for the human person.  Pious Christians sometimes tend to adopt an unhealthy, repressive mindset for the sake of leading a moral life because of an inadequate understanding of the spiritual life.  To save our souls, we follow the Divine Law. Sin tears man asunder, but grace makes him whole.  To merit the grace won for us by Jesus Christ, we must first obey his will.  Some then conclude that the spiritual life is little more than a sort of merit system in which the value of our actions is weighed by a divine judge who decides between heavenly reward and eternal punishment.  The illusion of legality is exaggerated even more for Catholics; throwing into the equation the nuanced theology of baptism, the sacrament of penance, purgatory, indulgences, degrees of punishment in hell and levels in the beatific vision, Marian promises, and the distinction between venial and mortal sin.  The theology is sound (take Her word for it), but a strong legalistic approach to it all is damaging to the spiritual life.  Too simple an understanding of merit and salvation imparts a bland voluntarist flavor to an otherwise rich Catholic theology.  Then of what does morality consist, if not a system of merit and punishment?  What does morality have to do with saving souls?   

To understand salvation, we must understand the soul. The soul possesses three faculties; desire, intellect, and will.  Our desire initiates the will, informed by the intellect.  We cannot will something unless we first desire it and we cannot desire something unless we know it to some extent (e.g. no one will want a breadfruit if he did not first know of such a thing).  The impetus of ethics is that our desires conflict. We know not what is more worthy of our desire, so we try to weigh out the good in those things.  Original sin has damaged all of our faculties and is the reason why we do not recognize the Good outright; though Christians should have it easy when it comes to ethics in general.  We should know what the Good is, how to choose it, and most importantly why to choose it.  But for some, it does not seem so simple. If one is stuck in a legalistic mindset, he loses touch with the heart of the spiritual life.  He becomes haunted by his inordinate desire because he usually desires anything but what is prescribed for him.  He cannot understand God’s justice because, instead of finding God desirable, he obsesses over the rules and finds the proscriptions of God’s law ever beyond his personal abilities.  Most regretfully, his sincere attempts at continual obedience to God’s law result in a kind of spiritual schizophrenia:  He constantly tries to oppose his own will even though his desires are neglected and his intellect ill-formed.

This mindset impedes our relationship with God.  Such a soul is still torn apart by the effects of sin:  He is constantly at odds with himself.  If he does not mature in his spiritual life, he will persist recklessly in disappointment or perhaps even give up on morality all together.  If we are stuck in a legalistic mindset, we are nothing more than criminals and God is our Father insofar as we are obliged to obey him.  We are put at enmity with God because it is our will versus his will:  Moral law serves only as man’s conviction with God as our accuser.

In order to understand morality, we must understand who God is.  St. Thomas Aquinas worthily identified God as none other than ipsum esse subsistens; i.e. the very act-of-being.  God is existing.  Therefore, to live virtuously is to have a greater share in existence.  God is goodness:  To act according to the Natural and Divine Law is to act as Goodness Itself intends.  Thus the better we are, the closer to God we become.  God is truth, so morality is apprehensible by reason. Goodness makes sense because goodness is truth.  In reality, as Thomas pointed out, goodness, truth, and being are all One. 

Morality starts with us and ends with God.  If Aristotle was right in positing that the end of ethics is happiness, then he was but a step away from Christianity.  What is heaven but the promise of eternal happiness? From whence does this happiness come but God alone?  It is crucial to understand that the end and aim of all our actions ought to be God Himself.  This is the sum of Christian morality.  As stated above, we cannot will something unless we first desire it.  This is a great consolation to us when we realize that nothing is more worthy of desire than God himself.  In this we should also note that our desire plays a crucial role in the spiritual life and so it is a sad mistake to try and crush it.  We want to be happy:  This is the beginning of morality!  There is more consolation still in that God wants us to be happy.  How can we can say this with certainty?  Because God wants us to obey Him. 

So now we are back to the matter of obedience. Let us, right here, sweat out the illness that is voluntarism.  God is all-powerful but in His goodness He respects our free will.  He does not force his will upon us.  If our wills were so corrupt that we were unable to choose the good at all then there would be no reason for morality at all, for what good is a law which no one can obey?  If the only way to obey is for God to will our obedience then we are justified regardless of our sad attempts.  The moral law and the “oughts” it instills in us is not the legal system of action and consequence which many unfortunately believe.  There is a moral law, there are “oughts”, and there are consequences, but God is not an arbiter who decides what consequences ought to follow our actions.  God does not chastise us in the way that a man chastises his children.  This is because of the nature of God and the nature of man.  God is the author of human nature.  Being perfect and good, God created man good.  Goodness is thus inherent in human nature, though it is greatly diminished because of sin.  To obey the moral law, therefore, is to reform ourselves back to the state of perfection in which God created us (and ultimately to unite us to Him).  Vice introduces sin and forms sinful habits which increasingly disorder us and rob us of happiness.  We were not created for unhappiness and death, but in sin our will separates us from God, who is life and true happiness.  God does not choose the means to punish us for offending him: Sin is the means by which we punish ourselves.  By sinning we lose control:  We obscure our intellect so that we do not recognize what is truly worthy of our desire and our desires run amok; unchecked by our weakened wills.

Here we come to see the proper meaning of “ought” in this context.  “Ought” is understood in respect to our desire; i.e. every ‘ought’ implies an ‘if’.  When it is said, “you ought to love God,” what is implied is “you ought to love God if you wish to be holy.” When we understand the nature of our relationship with God and our desire for happiness, the “oughts” fall into place.  If we wish to be happy, we ought not to sin.

So what exactly is sin? If God is Being, then sin is nothing.  It is emptiness and the lack of God in our souls.  If God is Goodness, it is the evil of human action.  It is the privatio boni – the privation of good (as St. Augustine called it) – in our souls. If God is Truth, sin is a lie. It is the desire for what is undesirable.  Sin is the corruption of our relationship with God; opposition to Love, to Truth, and to Goodness.

We come, at last, to the “last things”, i.e. death, judgment, heaven and hell.  God, who is Love and Goodness, does not want us to go to Hell.  However, with merciful and benevolent respect to our free will, he allows us to act as we may. If our actions corrupt our relationship with God such that we become blind to Truth, strangers to the Good, and hostile to Love, we are obviously unable to embrace God.  God nevertheless embraces us.  The soul in the state of grace, perfected in virtue and free of sin, is receptive to Truth and (quite literally) in love with Love.  It is no stretch of the imagination that, after death, such a soul experiences the infinite fulfillment of desire; happiness in Goodness Himself.  For the vicious soul rent apart by sin, the presence of God is something utterly intolerable.  In earthly life he grew in hatred for God and disgust at the moral law, immersed himself in lies, and haplessly chased death: Confronted with Goodness, with Truth, with Existence, the extent of his wretchedness becomes apparent and his suffering is complete.  Death merely finalizes what is developed in earthly life.  Hell is created by those who put enmity between themselves and God through sin.  Heaven begins to grow in the soul as soon as one begins to pursue God through virtue.

John the Baptist and Humility

Many of the virtues which are valued in Christianity are not in themselves strictly Christian:  That is, Christianity herself shares and, in a way, “borrows” many of her defined concepts for right action most notably from the great thinkers of ancient Greece.  The cardinal virtues are the best example of this, Aristotle having spoken most extensively on them until Aquinas recognized and further delineated the philosopher’s insights.   There are some Christian virtues, however, which seem particular to Christianity; virtues which would be, without the Christian’s chief telos, absurd and befitting a place in Aristotle’s treatment of vices.  Humility is a striking example of this kind of Christian virtue which is, at best, misunderstood by those who witness it from outside a Christian perspective.  One of the greatest saints in the Christian tradition, John the Baptist, may be seen, in light of the Gospels’ sparse accounts of his life, to be a clear and simple witness to Christ.  St. John, the forerunner to Christ, was enabled to fulfill his God-given mission by the disposition formed through the virtue of humility and, living out this virtue, he helps to give us a true understanding of it and how it enlivens our relationship with Jesus Christ. 

Before attempting to examine a life of humility, let us consider what exactly makes humility so different from the classical virtues.  Aristotle was not utterly incognizant of something akin to humility.  As regards one’s internal disposition to his own worth, he describes the virtue of “high-mindedness"[1] in relation to the contrary vices of pettiness and vanity:

A man is regarded as high-minded when he thinks he deserves great things and actually deserves them…  A man who thinks he deserves great things but does not deserve them is vain… One who underestimates himself is small-minded…[2]

Aristotle speaks here of one’s entitlement to honor, stating that one should regard himself as great according to what he deserves.[3]  At first glance, the virtue of “high-mindedness” (often translated magnanimitas or ‘greatness of soul’) may seem quite different from the Christian concept of humilitas (which translated literally means ‘earthiness’).  The key notion which Aristotle seemed to conceptualize when explaining high-mindedness was that the manner in which one regards himself ought to reflect the truth; that one who deserves great things should also think he deserves great things.  This inward recognition of one’s true worth is in fact essential to the proper understanding of Christian humility.  Where humility and Aristotle’s “high-mindedness” differ is where the Christian can see a deeper truth than Aristotle would have been able to comprehend; that is, our true worth in relation to a personal God.

Of course, when comparing ourselves to an infinitely good and perfect God, we are close to nothing.  This does not mean however that we should regard ourselves as nothing.  Aristotle gives us a suitable means by which to avoid the extremes of pride and false-humility; extremes which may lead one on to presumption or despair.  While Aristotle roots his golden mean in the recognition of truth, St. John the Baptist went further still, living out his life in recognition of the Truth that is Jesus Christ.

The Gospel accounts of the life of St. John have an overarching feature which demonstrates the real fruit of humility:  Every action of St. John directs our attention to Christ.  Indeed, the Baptist never speaks for his own benefit but, in a yet more profound way, he manages to transfer all dialogue to the impending coming and verification of Christ.  He debuted into the Gospel narrative while still in his mother’s womb, “leaping for joy” at the arrival of Mary bearing the Lord.[4]  His early testimony did not draw attention to himself, but initiated Elizabeth’s proclamation “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!”[5] 

John was born and scarcely had he entered the world when his father, Zechariah, announced his earthly mission, “you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways…”[6]  John did not linger but, as we are told, he retreated into the wilderness until he appears again, fulfilling the mission his father announced. 

When we next see John, he has already begun his work, baptizing and announcing the kingdom.  The Jews are interested in his purpose, “[sending] priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, ‘Who are you?’”[7]  John was wise enough to determine what they had in mind and his response was straightforward and direct, “I am not the Christ.”[8]  John, after confessing that he is neither a prophet nor Elijah, never actually identifies himself.  He quotes the prophet Isaiah, which his father Zechariah had echoed to him previously, “Make straight the way of the Lord.”[9]  It is noted by the Fathers that John was already held in high esteem by the Jews, which is made apparent by the fact he is yet of dignified birth, being the son of a priest, and by their choice to send priests and Levites from Jerusalem.[10]  John nonetheless did not attempt to garner credibility by means of his lineage.  He makes it quite clear that men who think themselves noble by birth have best to reconsider, “…do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.”[11]  By these words, it is obvious that John is well aware of his “nearness to the ground”. 

The Baptist, however, did not let the knowledge of his lowly state paralyze him in his mission.  He does not use his noble descent as justification for his work, but rather maintains his purpose in direct relation to God, “No one can receive anything except what is given him from heaven.”[12]  He keeps far from any notion of self-justification, as any true prophet, but also continues to draw our attention away from himself.  He asserts his right to baptize, but immediately compares himself to Christ, “I baptize with water; but among you stands one whom you do not know, even he who comes after me, the thong of whose sandal I am not worthy to untie.”[13]

The Baptist was so determined in his work and intent on his purpose that he reached the point of self-emptying:  He was not one to be self-preoccupied.  John had scarcely seen Jesus coming from afar when he became the first to bear Him public testimony:  “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!”  John is the first to identify Jesus as the Messiah.  He admits that he did not know him prior to their encounter, but testifies at the prompting of the Holy Spirit, “…this is the Son of God.”[14]  John’s lack of self-interest facilitated his selfless ministry and his guileless testimony, which bore visible fruit for those around him.  In the account given us in the Gospel of John, it was the Baptist whose testimony led the first apostles, Simon and Andrew, to Christ’s side.[15]  John’s general message held the greatest concern for the souls of those who listened to him, calling for repentance and leading all of Judea and the surrounding country to confess their sins.[16]

St. John’s ascetical life is attested to in the synoptic Gospels, “John wore a garment of camel’s hair, and a leather girdle around his waist; and his food was locusts and wild honey.”[17]  The Fathers give various observations on the significance of such penitential conduct:  John’s penance speaks of a lack of concern for his own comfort, however not for mere self-disdain, but out of concern for the sins of the human race.[18]  It is noted furthermore that John was fully fit to be a witness to Christ because he had become a witness to himself.[19]  Again, it can be seen that every one of John’s deeds was done for the glorification of Jesus Christ.

The most fitting statement by John in the Gospels which aids in the understanding of humility is given in response to his own disciples.  Confronted with the news that Jesus had begun baptizing, he expresses his joy at hearing of the bridegroom and resigns himself, “He must increase, but I must decrease.”[20]  St. Augustine, commenting on these words, reflects on the comparison between Jesus and John:  “…a man’s confession, a man’s humility, is God’s pity, God’s exaltation.”[21]  He notes the differences even in the manner of their birth and death, if such an interpretation may be permitted, “John was beheaded, Christ was lifted up on the cross.  Then [sic] Christ was born, when the days begin to lengthen; John, when they begin to shorten.”[22]

We can thus see the way in which humility works in one’s life:  It empties us of ourselves, disinterested in our own motives, so that we may be filled with the love of Christ.    Humility is a confrontation and acknowledgment of the truth; that the Truth is always greater.  This acceptance of our lowliness, however, does not paralyze us.  It does not leave us groveling or scraping so much that we dare not approach God.  Instead, it ought to challenge us to live out our lives for His glory.  St. John was certainly respected by those in his time, even by some Jews who did not respect Jesus, but all of his credibility and authority was used to witness that Christ was the Son of God.  John was loud and fierce, a voice which was heard from far and wide:  He shows us that humility is not concerned simply with being quiet.  He rather shows us that, as his calling required, he had to cast off all cares for himself in order to direct others to the Messiah.  Humility drives us to action, not necessarily to close in on and hide ourselves, but simply to pursue Christ without shame.

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[1] megalopsychia

[2] Aristotle Ethica Nicomachea 1123b 1-10

[3] op. cit. 27

[4] Luke 1.41-44

[5] Lk 1.42

[6] Lk 1.76

[7] Jn 1.19

[8] Jn 1.20, Catena Aurea 46

[9] Jn 1.23, Is 40.3

[10] Catena Aurea Jn I.19-23 (Chrys.)

[11] Mt 3.9

[12] Jn 3.27

[13] Jn 1.26-27

[14] Jn 1.34

[15] Jn 1.37

[16] Mt 3.5-6

[17] Mt 3.4

[18] Catena Aurea Mt III.4 (Remig.)

[19] op. cit. (Pseudo-Chrys.)

[20] Jn 3.30

[21] Catena Aurea Jn III.27-30 (Aug.)

[22] ibid.