In Go to Heaven, Fulton Sheen makes this incredibly astute observation:
“The more a person discovers himself the way he really is, the more he feels the need of God, and the more God manifests Himself to such a soul. He becomes single hearted, easy to understand. The less a person knows himself, the more complex he is; a mind into which self-analysis has never penetrated has a thousand unrelated motives and concerns. Its complexity is due to a want of inner penetration and the failure to bring all things to a focus in a single human goal.”
What seems on the outside to be simple-mindedness is often the reflection of a good soul. This is true of many saintly people I have met.
Sheen’s observation also explains why the great saints accomplished so much in the spiritual and intellectual realms. St. Alphonsus Liguori, one of the greatest moral theologians who ever lived, strived not to waste even a minute of his life in something other than the service of God. Burdened with physical ailments and the heavy pastoral responsibilities of a bishop, he nevertheless produced hundreds of writings on morals and other topics that have inspired, educated, and elevated people for centuries. Archbishop Sheen himself, a human dynamo, was a model of his own teaching, one of the greatest uncanonized saints we have.
Doubt may be fashionable, but it is often a symptom of a confused mind. Doubters scoff at faithful Christians for being simple-minded, but this is hardly the case. G. K. Chesterton famously said,
“Merely having an open mind is nothing. The object of opening the mind, as of opening the mouth, is to shut it again on something solid.”
A simple purpose in life — devotion to God and getting yourself and others to Heaven — is the foundation of good works, clear thinking, and the conquering of the complex. Chesterton demonstrated this. From his simple, joyful soul poured out a vast river of prose, poetry, fact, fiction, and opinion exploring every topic imaginable, always with a unique and surprising perspective in perfect alignment with his Catholic faith.
And although, or more accurately because, Chesterton was one of the most prolific authors who ever lived, it is the economy of his words that strikes me as perhaps the most amazing thing about him. Meaning is packed into every sentence of Chesterton, every phrase. Pascal said,
“I have only made this letter longer because I have not had the time to make it shorter.”
Yes, it is much easier to blather on and on than consolidate one’s thoughts into a concise piece of writing. And the same is true of thinking. An unfocused soul produces an unfocused mind which produces unfocused thoughts. Chesterton produced tens of thousands of “short letters.”
Chesterton could not have been the writer he was without knowing who he was. He was clear about everything because he was clear about himself. Many are reluctant to learn who they are. Perhaps it’s pride. Perhaps it’s fear. Perhaps it’s laziness. Perhaps it’s simply not knowing how to go about it.
The season of Lent is the perfect time to cast pride, fear, laziness, and uncertainty aside and look within.
Reflection
A bad start can have a good end: after all, to bring one’s life into focus implies that one’s life was previously out of focus. We are designed to learn.
Do I know who I am? Do I know how to find out?
