Staving The Slow Slide

 Incrementalism, as the term is used in the realm of government, is the method of achieving massive changes in public policy by implementing slow changes over time. We often wonder how such obviously outlandish things as allowing biological men to compete in women's sports or use women's locker rooms make their way into law, as anyone with common sense would recognize this an absurd and dangerous proposition. But the trojan horses were brought into courtyard much prior to this, and often by way of this kind of incrementalism (as one example).

There is a parallel term in the field of moral theology, that of gradualism (or gradualness, as used by Pope John Paul II in Familiaris Consortio) as it relates to the pursuit of positive moral virtue. Both terms are really two sides of the same coin in different spheres--not necessarily ill-conceived and holding a degree of neutrality, but the general concept remains in the adage: "if you want to boil a frog, turn up the water slowly." 

While the acquisition of virtue is usually a lifetime endeavor and typically comes slowly over time, the decisions we make sometimes do require the 'stepping over a line' in the temporal life to move from one stage to another--the way one jumps into a pool, being no longer dry on land, but wet while submerged. 

A few days ago the Church celebrated the feast of St. Anthony the Abbot. One of my favorite stories of this great father of monasticism was upon hearing the words of Matthew read in the church, "If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me" (Mt 19:21), he immediately walked out of the church and sold the three hundred acres of land he had inherited from his parents. Not long after (upon hearing the words of our Lord in Mt. 6:34), he set off for the desert to begin his eremitic life. 

I heard a vocation director (I believe) once say that the first thing he asks about with men thinking of leaving the priesthood or formation is, "what is the state of your prayer life?" Putting aside legitimate instances of thoughtful discernment in this direction, in many of the cases of men wanting to leave they had gradually, and over time, stopped praying.

But people don't just stop praying or lose faith overnight typically. In keeping with the theme above, it's usually a gradual introduction of acts of the will contra to the pursuit of virtue (that is, the hard work of virtue) that take it's place, be it worldly and sinful, or simply, absent of positive value. 

Take a practical example: I went to the Y yesterday on my day off to swim. In stepping on the scale in the locker room, I was slightly unnerved to see that I'm coming close to 190 pounds (and I assure you, it is not 'all muscle'). At my fittest, I hover around 175. Have I been fasting? No. Have I been exercising regularly? No. Have I been eating truffles after dinner most every night since my wife brought home a large bag of them? Yes. We don't go from 175 to 190 (or whatever) in a day. 

We recognize this work in the moral law with regards to to the "sins which are not unto death" as recounted in 1 Jn 5:17; that is, venial sin, which weakens the state of the soul and increases the danger of falling into mortal sin. This is why it is good habit to confess venial sins regularly, so that the soul is cleansed of the thin layer of soot that darkens the intellect and makes us more susceptible to sinning more gravely. 

The devil is a master of introducing into the mind and will the gradualness of sin. Remember his ultimate motive: to lead a soul away from God by any means necessary. A missed prayer, a snuck piece of meat or candy during a fast, a laxity in spiritual reading in favor of something more pleasing to the senses, a harboring of a grudge or impure thought. He doesn't want us to wake up and realize how far we have drifted from home like a piece of wood at sea from shore, lest we set off like a prodigal son back to the Father's house. The more gradual, the better. 

The way I have always described concupiscence--our propensity to sin--is by way of natural example: drop a leaf in a flowing creek and it follows the path of the water. To go the other direction in, say, a canoe, you have to paddle, and disproportionate to the force needed were you not working against the current. In other words, it's hard to be good--not because we were made for the Good, or that we were created in God's own image and called "very good," but because of the Fall. We live with those inherited consequences and spend most our lives countering spiritual entropy. This is why the Way is narrow, not wide, and why few find it (Mt 7:14).

Mother Teresa--as it was revealed later in her life--dealt with the darkness of loss of faith for years, but persisted in the exercise of the will to charity despite her loss of consolation, and was made a great saint in her persistence and fidelity to what failed to provide spiritual or material comfort. She did what she was called to do, whether she felt like it or not, and was painfully sanctified as a result. She 'trusted the process,' so to speak.

As we approach the pre-Lenten season of Septuagesima, it is apparent to me how much my personal discipline has drifted--not into 'red-alert' territory, but enough that I need my own personal "Great Reset." The Church in Her wisdom gives us the season of Lent to get back on track, to renew the external disciplines we need to make the work of virtue in cooperation with grace possible. These are tangible, concrete, act and will-driven exercises to stave the slow slide that concupiscence lubricates within ourselves. It makes things harder for us, not easier, because it is not by ease and leisure that we find our ultimate happiness (if in doubt, ask any movie star or celebrity), but in God, whom we grow gradually forgetful of when we replace the pursuit of virtue with the things of the world, which is of enmity with God (Ja 4:4). 

We know the disciplines are working toward their intended purpose when we begin to love virtue for its own sake, rather than hate it for what it demands, just as a runner no longer loathes putting on his shoes and hitting the pavement but becomes accustomed to it and does it as matter of course. As I find time and time again, it's easier to keep disciplines up when we don't fall off by way of the 'little things'--the excuses, the concessions, the rationalizations. I guess this is just human nature. This is why Lent is forty days, not four or fourteen. It can take a little time to hit a stride and correct waywardness of habit, and the season as taskmaster ensures we see it through to the end. It always seems to come at just the right time, too--when it's needed, and as an antidote, to counter the spiritual entropy we find ourselves mired in because our own self-appointed disciplines have become too easy to ignore. Lent is the spiritual medicine prescribed by Holy Mother Church from the outside to stave the slow slide and bring us closer to home, which is where we really, in our heart of hearts, ultimately want to be.