The Moral Encouragement of Suffering

Socrates said it was better to endure suffering than to produce suffering.

Both are “evil” (as Thomas Aquinas defines it as the absence of good) (Summa of the Summa, ed. Peter Kreeft, p. 208), but, between the two, doing wrong to another harms the soul, whereas suffering does not harm the soul. This is the same reason the famous philosopher Socrates provides for why suffering is better.

Good and evil are not two equal opposing forces in the world (Kreeft, Summa of the Summa, p. 208), as popularized today in many movies, stories, and TV shows with heroes and villains: Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Chronicles of Narnia, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, etc. Even colloquially, we speak about “evil” as a separate substance or entity that exists and prowls amidst the shadows.

But evil is merely the absence of good, which means that apart from “good,” evil does not have any substance in of itself. If there was no good, there would be no evil. “Evil” is merely a distortion of “good.”

Aquinas defines pain and sin as two different types of evil.

(1) First evil. This is the category of pain and suffering.

“The evil we suffer” (Kreeft, p. 211).

This type of evil is a deprivation of good. For instance, “blindness” is the deprivation of sight.

It can also be defined as the “withdrawal of the due operation,” meaning something existing or not existing as it should. For instance, an empty stomach is the pain of a full stomach. Or death or injury instead of life or the fullness of life.

It is good to have sight, to have a full stomach, and life. Therefore, anything less than these goods is a pain or suffering.

(2) Second evil. This is the category of sin.

“Evil we do” (Kreeft, p. 211).

This is any kind of sin that we perform. It is a failure of perfect action (p. 211). At a basic level, these can be defined as:

gluttony

lust

greed

pride

wrath

envy

sloth

In contrast, the seven virtues to combat these seven vices are:

temperance (gluttony)

chastity (lust)

charity (greed)

humility (pride)

patience (wrath)

kindness (envy)

diligence (sloth)

Sin is an action that someone wills or chooses to do, just like virtue is an action that someone can choose to do. Sin only exists because the perfect action or virtue exists, and sin falls short in light of the perfect action, and ultimately fails. And this is the worst evil.

So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.

– James 4:17, ESV

¹² Therefore, just as sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, and in this way death came to all people, because all sinned—

¹³ To be sure, sin was in the world before the law was given, but sin is not charged against anyone’s account where there is no law. ¹⁴ Nevertheless, death reigned from the time of Adam to the time of Moses, even over those who did not sin by breaking a command, as did Adam, who is a pattern of the one to come.

– Romans 5:12-14, NIV

In contrast to the (un)usefulness of sin, one of the usefulnesses of suffering is that God often allows us to be corrected through pain.

Why? Because God knows that to lose our soul is the greater evil than the absence of any and all pain. Peter Kreeft, in his footnote on Summa of the Summa, goes so far as to say that sin is a greater evil than Hell itself (p. 212)! The evil of Hell is not the experience of pain being separated from God, but the sin that originally separated you from God.

It may be difficult to appreciate this truth in the 21st century where comfort and pleasure are seen as the greatest goods. (Which would therefore mean that discomfort and pain are seen as the greatest evils). But it is the reality of evil. This was not a cultural belief that Thomas Aquinas would have been surrounded by in his time of writing Summa Theologica (Summa, p. 208), but it is a cultural belief that is widely accepted today. Which makes understanding Aquinas all the more challenging.

It is better to lose your life, or to endure significant suffering in your life, not having things all go according to your plan; than to have all the goodness this world has to offer you, and have everything go according to plan and lose your soul. Your soul is infinitely more valuable than any price tag, convenience, ease, worldly celebration/recognition, or comfort you can find in this world.

For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.

Matthew 16:25, ESV

To best appreciate and recognize this value as it should be valued, we must change our perspective on suffering. Suffering is often a means to humble ourselves (a virtue!) and recognize our faults and shortcomings. If the greatest evil is sin and hurting other people, then suffering to help us change our evil ways is the most beautiful gift we can be given.

And it can help us save our soul.

Works Cited

Kreeft, Peter, ed. A Summa of the Summa: The Essential Philosophical Passages of St. Thomas Aquinas’ Summa Theologica. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1990.

Really the Will of God?

I continue to struggle with submitting to the will of God in my life. I am so fixated on the perfection of my life, knowing the benefits that would exist if everything worked out perfectly, that I have demonized anything short of my ideal.

The ideal does not seem unreasonable to want—and instead—it would almost be most justified to want, as it benefits myself and others the most.

Anything less of this ideal seems just wrong to desire.

I am humbled by the “failures” of others, the events in one’s life that I would classify as a “failure” if it happened in my life. If things don’t go according to my plan.

But when I hear about others’ “failures” or really just “changes of plan,” they don’t seem like failures to me.

These changes of plan are not failures, but things entirely out of the person’s control, which they did their best to accept and adapt to, without another good option in a crummy situation.

By the way, I’m talking about preparing to give birth.

I think I know what I’ve been missing in my life: accepting what I cannot change. If I can do that, I can spend more time focusing on what I can change.

Mark Manson (2016) in his book and his general philosophy on The subtle art of not giving a f*ck: A counterintuitive approach to living a good life talks about this concept. People can spend so much time caring about things entirely outside of their control, such as wanting to change people in their lives, that they don’t have anything left over to care about the things in their lives they truly want to care about.

That is the tradeoff I face in my life currently.

If I spend so much time thinking about how I want my birth to pan out (let’s say 90%+) and if my birth doesn’t pan out the exact way I want, I’ll focus on resenting and being frustrated at myself and the doctors, which leaves little to any room to actually enjoy spending time with my newborn (less than 10%, if I even give it that).

What I really care about is my child, so I really should allocate more care and attention to that.

There are some things I can and should control about my birth (i.e., healthy diet, exercise, supplements, etc.), but—at the end of the day—complications may ensue that I cannot control or fix no matter how much research or worst-case scenarios I consider ahead of time.

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: ²⁹ yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. ³⁰ But if God doth so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?

~ Matthew 6:28b-30, ASV

Do I have faith that God will provide?

Not only are there concerns with birth, but also parenting. There are a myriad ways of how best to do something, from Instagram to TikTok—so much so that any other option outside of this prescription seems to be demonized.

But, perhaps, in a particular situation, a parent and child need to go against the widely preached ideal. Maybe I will need to go against this ideal.

I have had fears about needing to go against what is best for children and my family based on what the research and science says is best.

But what if I am unable to do these things?

Am I able to live with myself (in peace and contentment) if I am unable to do “all the things”?

Do I have faith?

The concept of “sin” in Scripture is described and allegorical to an archer missing his target’s mark.

But in the midst of these ideals and desired perfections, whose mark am I really missing if I find I cannot be a stay-at-home mother?

If my target is so narrow, or altogether in a different direction than God’s, why am I am aiming at that mark in the first place? How did I get so far off God’s track? What am I choosing to care about?

The answer should be obvious.

My focus on being the perfect parent is not the parent God would have me be, because the my idea of being the perfect parent is built on trending Instagram and YouTube posts. It is not built on prayer, Scripture, or even considering what my family needs me to be.

St. Ignatius of Loyola talks about being content in all circumstances in coming to terms with the will of God.

Specifically in the topics of our lives that we would prefer not to have a different way. He actually encourages the readers of his discernment process to learn to be content if we don’t get what it is that we want.

He calls it being “indifferent” to a plentitude of options. Whatever choice we would choose for ourselves, whether maybe consciously or subconsciously, we must become indifferent to both options.

We become emotionally detached from all alternatives, as we submit ourselves fully to whatever God would will for us.

So much so that we are ready to “fall” into either alternative.

To be rich, or poor.

To be in good health, or poor health.

To be single, or married.

To have a long life, or a short life.

To have children, or not have children.

And so on.

In the same way, I can identify my own attachments — what I would prefer to have in my life. My archer targets.

I must surrender these targets for the sake of yielding to God’s better targets. If I want to hit God’s target, then I must stop putting so much effort in aiming at my targets.

To work full-time, part-time, or not at all.

To have my child in daycare, or to parent full-time.

To have a dirty house, or a clean house.

To have my child with severe health concerns, or minor health concerns.

To have permanent body damage from birth, or minimum body damage.

And so on.

Do I have enough faith to stop aiming at my targets? Do I have enough faith to now aim at God’s targets?

Works Cited

Manson, M. (2016). The subtle art of not giving a f*ck: A counterintuitive approach to living a good life. HarperOne. 

The Will of God?

God doesn’t care about how talented you are (Ligouri, 2006).

It’s not a direct quote, but my summary of St. Alphonsus Ligouri, from his book entitled Uniformity with God’s Will. He was an Italian bishop, “Doctor of the Church,” theologian and musician.

I have lately been struggling with the idea of being talented, or rather, not being talented. I’m at a point in my life where it is hard to be at my A-game. It’s all the more tough because “competitive edge” and striving to “be the best” has marked my life from an early age. And in many different departments: academics, sports, music—you name it.

My identity has always strived to be “success.” Failure is tough for me.

When I feel that I am failing, when I don’t have the intellectual capacity I need to make the decisions I need to make; when my health is not all the best as I’m used to it being; when the bills don’t add up as they should, I feel crushed.

St. Liguori shares a story about this beggar.

A man one day was out and about, and noticed a beautiful song. He followed the sound and found this beggar singing.

Puzzled, he went up and introduced himself to the impoverished singer: “Good day, my friend.”

“Thank you sir, for your kind wishes, but I do not recall ever having a ‘bad’ day.”

“Then God has certainly given you a very happy life.”

“That is very true, sir. I have never been unhappy. In saying this I am not making any rash statement either. This is the reason: When I have nothing to eat, I give thanks to God; when it rains or snows, I bless God’s providence; when someone insults me, drives me away, or otherwise mistreats me, I give glory to God. I said I’ve never had an unhappy day, and it’s the truth, because I am accustomed to will unreservedly what God wills. Whatever happens to me, sweet or bitter, I gladly receive from his hands as what is best for me. Hence my unvarying happiness.”

“Where did you find God?” the inquiring man asked.

“I found Him where I left creatures.”

“Who are you anyway?”

“I am a King.”

“And where is your kingdom?”

“In my soul, where everything is in good order; where the passions obey reason, and reason obeys God.”

“How have you come to such a state of perfection?“

“By silence. I practice silence towards men, while I cultivate the habit of speaking with God. Conversing with God is the way I found and maintain my peace of soul.”

It was convicting for me to hear this story.

Convicting, because as I constantly compare myself to others. But, this happy beggar, who had just about nothing as most people would see it, had resolved to isolate himself from the competition of the world, in order that he could focus on his true identity: submitting to the will of God, and becoming happy with that.

Everything in his life was interpreted as a gift: rain, snow, insults, mistreatment. The things we would typically not count as a gift, but an irritant or at least an inconvenience.

St. Liguori goes on to tell a story of a pastor or bishop who had been quite active in ministry in his parish.

One day he was diagnosed with a sickness, and no longer able to help people and the church as he was used to.

He lamented to God: “I wish I could do your will, but I am sick!”

The man was cured from his sickness, but began to question if the sickness had actually been God’s will instead.

God asked him: “Would you like to be sick or well?”

Thoughtfully, the man answered: “Whatever your will is Lord, that is what I want.”

The next day, the sickness returned. The man knew that it was actually God’s will that he had received that sickness. It didn’t matter how many people he was helping out in the parish, if it was God’s will that he be sick, so be it!

“Sickness is the acid test of spirituality, because it discloses whether our virtue is real or sham. If the soul is not agitated, does not break out in lamentations, is not feverishly restless in seeking a cure, but instead is submissive to the doctors and to superiors, is serene and tranquil, completely resigned to God’s will, it is a sign that that soul is well-grounded in virtue.” St. Alponsus Liguori

I know my challenges aren’t with severe poverty or sickness as these two stories discuss.

But they do remind me that God does not look at man’s outward appearance, but he looks at the heart.

I could have all the smarts, money, and success in the world, but if I am not focused on God’s will, I have nothing. And if I am irritated by every inconvenience, I have not perfectly submitted myself to God’s will.

I am frequently reminded of the depiction of Jesus in The Chosen series (Season 3, Episode 3) (Jenkins, 2017). He plays a game called “Trigon” with his friends and cousins at a family gathering.

He is not a very good player…

God doesn’t care about how talented I am.

Works Cited

Jenkins, D. (Creator). (2017–present). The Chosen [TV series]. Angel Studios.

Liguori, A. M. de. (2006). Uniformity with God’s Will (T. W. Tobin, Trans.). The Catholic Primer. (Original work published 1755).

Worldly Attachments

I just finished listening (on and off) to an audiobook version of The Imitation of Christ by Thomas à Kempis (1908). If I can attempt to summarize such a beautiful book—it’s a repetitive book—continually encouraging the reader (or listener in my case) to let go of worldly attachments and cling to Christ more wholeheartedly.

And honestly, that is what the Christian life is like, is it not?: floating on the spiritual life’s repetitive waves, where we either become more dependent, more fixated on God, and holier, based on our daily choice of attachment to Christ — or further away from these qualities as we pursue the lust, pleasures, and pride of this world.

It’s a simple formula. More commitment to God, equals a life worthy of receiving a good reward in heaven. More commitment to the world, equals a life worthy of receiving more consequence in the afterlife.

Many of the saints have this formula exampled in their lives. At one point they were dedicated to the world and succeeding therein, and then God speaks or convicts them in a significant way which makes them do a one-eighty turn. This experience impacts them so signficantly that they do not substantially deter from this path for the rest of their lives.

But it can also be unnecessarily “seasonal,” predictable, and repetitive for many. And I find myself chief among these. For a time, I can carry out a strong, regular, daily commitment to God through prayer, scriptural and spiritual reading, meditation, etc.—for a season.

Until something comes up and my whole worldview becomes distracted or fixated upon either a significant life’s worry, or all-enthralling success. Then the spiritual habits are broken, and “religion” is just another book I hang back up on the bookshelf of myself.

It is obviously discouraging and frustrating when I realize my overarching attachment to the world. Whether it’s watching Netflix or brain-dead YouTube videos, mindlessly scrolling on my phone, catching up on emails and texts, or planning upcoming to-do’s or events on my calendars.

I realize my attachments are clearly a signficant problem when I can’t stop thinking about them as I try to pray, read spiritual material, contemplate, or examen. I am restless to complete my spiritual devotion, so that I can continue to make progress in my ever-demanding attachments.

But there are a couple of saints that I have found solace in, who experienced this wave-like pattern in their lives.

First is St. Teresa of Ávila.

It’s not a direct correlation, because she was called to a religious vocation unlike myself and many other individuals.

Nonetheless, she did resist the call to the spiritual life, and struggled with prayer for about 18 years. She continued to be distracted in prayer, often having to rely on spiritual books to order her restless mind.

I can relate to Teresa needing spiritual books to focus her mind. I often need to read something before committing to time in prayer or meditation. It is very hard for me to just focus my mind and pray without something first to focus on, and help me transition into prayer.

Second is St. Ignatius of Loyola.

As a soldier, St. Ignatius initially loved reading the secular stories of romance and chivalry. But, upon his injury from a cannonball in battle, he was forced to start reading spiritual books as those were the only books they had available at the home he was recovering in.

Initially, the spiritual books were quite boring compared to the romances he was used to reading. But over time, with only reading spiritual books on the lives of the saints, he started to appreciate feeling a greater inspiration and peace than he ever got from reading his romances.

I learn from St. Ignatius that it takes time to develop a meaningful habit, it does not happen overnight. We must be patient with ourselves as we commit to developing strong spiritual disciplines if we are used to being satisfied on shallow and secular refreshments instead.

For myself, Netflix and YouTube are currently steady diets for myself I am trying to replace with spiritual reading and audiobooks.

But this takes time.

St. Ignatius, knowing that he needed to learn a lot if he was going to serve God as priest, enrolled in a children’s Latin grammar school to master Latin. It probably looked ridiculous to other adults to have a 33-year old ex-soldier learning Latin with kids, but St. Ignatius stayed steadfast and completed the training.

He didn’t want to skip the basics.

In the same way, I have tried to simplify and go back to the basics in my spiritual life. Praying the Rosary is a deeply humbling prayer because the prayers are so simple and repetitive. I currently do not pray the whole Rosary because I would rather say a few words meaningfully than many words without thinking of what I am saying, and who I am saying the words to.

In addition, I read a bit of the Bible and journal in meditation on the passage, and may read about 4 pages of a spiritual book.

That’s it.

Hilarion Alfeyev (2000) wrote the book The spiritual world of Isaac the Syrian which talks about how repetition can instill humility in our spiritual walk. This is something very very important, and something we need to continually pursue because we naturally gravitate towards pride.

In his lifetime, Isaac the Syrian persistently wrote against the pride of the Messalians they had with internal, “freestyle” prayers. I don’t believe these prayers are inherently wrong–I actually believe they are part of a good and balanced diet of religion.

But based on my own experience, saying whatever I want to God has caused tremendous pride within myself if not grounded in some kind of tradition, scripture, or words of my spiritual forefathers and foremothers.

I would rather, in humility, recognize my dependence on God in completing these simple spiritual routines “among the giants” of my faith, than pridefully “freestyling.”

So, like in most things, the answer I have learned in fleeing from worldly attachments is humbling oneself beneath the mighty hand of God.

And how better to humble oneself than to use the words and prayers of others in my own challenges, pains, and supplications.

Works Cited

Alfeyev, H. (2000). The spiritual world of Isaac the Syrian. Cistercian Publications.

à Kempis, T. (1908). The imitation of Christ (W. Benham, Trans.). P.F. Collier & Son. (Original work published ca. 1418–1427)

How Do I Love Thee?

How do I love thee? Let me consider your ways.

Ever present, never shall you leave my side.

In your word, I pray I’ll ever abide.

Still at times I act as a child and run from what you say,

Complaining “You’re gone!” as I walk life’s confusing maze.

Why do you love me when I abandon you –who should be my Divine?

I am naïve, stubborn, and have great pride.

Considering giving up, you shine upon me like brilliant sun’s rays.

And my trance of independence crumbles in your hand.

All at once I am aware and know of my fault,

I am reminded of how I tossed aside your love and commands.

I threw away everything — must I return to the start?

No — you forgive graciously yet knowingly so that I can now stand,

From now ’til we reunite, may you ever direct and watch over my ever-distractible heart.