How We Lost the Distinction Between Nature and Supernature
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In the late 1940s, the famous paleontologist Fr. Teilhard de Chardin gave a talk at Fordham University in New York. As soon as he had delivered his address, the president of Fordham, Fr. Robert Gannon, said: "I have noticed that Professor von Hildebrand has been fidgeting in his seat for quite a while. I am sure that he would like to raise a few questions."
This was true: Brilliant as Fr. Teilhard de Chardin's delivery might have been, one thing was clear: The key Christian notion of person was totally left out of the picture. There ensued a very heated discussion between the two thinkers. At one point, Dietrich von Hildebrand made a reference to St. Augustine. To this the French Jesuit exclaimed: "Don't mention this unfortunate man. He has ruined everything by introducing a distinction between nature and supernature." He had let the cat out of the bag and given his adversary the key to their disagreement; to blur the crucial distinction between nature and grace was to open the door to grievous errors that have gained currency in our confused and confusing world.
In fact, the majority of Roman Catholics today would be hard put to explain what supernature means. Naturalism is the fashionable philosophy. For the last 40 years, faith has no longer been properly taught: Misleading, ambiguous, or plainly erroneous catechisms have been endorsed by somnolent shepherds, with the disastrous results that we know.
The purpose of this essay is to shed some light on what these key words mean, and the role they should play in the lives of the faithful. Avoiding intellectual subtleties, we shall limit ourselves to concrete examples.
Plato's ethics contains some admirable ethical insights. Even though not blessed with divine Revelation, he was so truth-loving that he was able to perceive both the objectivity of moral values and of the natural law. He tells us that "it is better to suffer injustice than to inflict it" (Gorgias, n. 479). He sees clearly that reverence is a key virtue, that we should honor the gods and our parents. He condemns adultery and sexual perversions; he knows that justice should be the very foundation of any state worthy of this name.
St. Augustine, who was convinced that Plato was the greatest of Greek thinkers, nevertheless remarks that true and admirable as his ethical insiqhts are, there are some virtues that could not possibly appear on the screen of a pagan consciousness: namely humility and charity. These virtues are supernatural and need both faith and grace in order to take root in the human soul.
Socrates — one of the moral masterpieces of Greece certainly was a modest man. "I know that I know not." He tells us "to agree with the truth, not with Socrates" (Phaedo, 60:91). He was patient and courteous toward his adversaries. He faced death with a peace that many of us envy. But he could not be called humble. For humility is possible only in a personal confrontation between an infinitely perfect and loving God and man's imperfection and sinfulness. We only need compare Socrates to a St. Francis of Assisi to realize that modesty cannot possibly exhale the divine perfume of humility that we smell in Francis' words. A human goodwill alone cannot produce this luminous virtue: We need faith; we need grace.
The same applies to the supernatural virtue of charity. It is inconceivable that a Confucius would teach that we should love our enemies, do good to those who persecute us, treat them as our brothers, and wish ardently to be united with them in Heaven. On a purely natural plane, this sounds "unjust," against nature. Even though in the Old Testament, the Jews were commanded to love their neighbors as themselves, this is often interpreted to refer to their brothers Jews, the descendants of Abraham, the Chosen People. Moreover, the Talion law said explicitly: "eye for eye; tooth for tooth" (which often is: teeth for tooth) (Exodus 21:24).
Let us imagine the following scenario — alas, a tragic reality. A mother has a young child — the joy of her heart — and this baby is kidnapped, abused, tortured, and then killed by a rapist. The remains of the mangled little one are found and identified by the distraught mother. She relives in her bleeding heart the horror that has taken place: the little one crying "Mommy, Mommy," and she was not there to protect him. These are nightmares that can drive one mad.
She is a Christian and told to forgive the monster who has deprived her of her joy, to do good to him, to hope to be united with him in Heaven. Her nature revolts: The word coming to her lips is: Never. Naturally speaking, it is unthinkable; it is impossible. It is "against nature." And in a sense, it is.
When on the point of death, Maria Goretti uttered a prayer that the man who had tried to rape and then stabbed her might be with her in Heaven, she was supernaturally motivated. Humanly speaking it is impossible. Her prayer was heard: He converted and repented while in jail. This can only be explained by the supernatural.
"This is our victory over the world: our faith." Faith is a supernatural virtue, a gift coming from above that nature cannot explain. Man cannot give it to himself; tragically enough, he can turn it down when offered to him.
Americans are by nature "doers." Efficiency is a top virtue. It is not by accident that the Carthusian Order (which is completely contemplative and used to have hundreds of monasteries in Europe until the Enlightenment) had its very first American house only in the 1960s. To spend one's day praying, meditating, doing penance does not make much sense to efficient people. "What are they doing all day? What are they accomplishing?"
Joseph II, emperor of Austria, infected by the spirit of the Enlightenment, is responsible for the closing of innumerable contemplative monasteries. After all, these monks were not pushing the wheel of human progress.
Contemplative monasteries are always the butt of secularistic attacks: Carmelites, Poor Clares, Carthusians, to name a few, are looked down upon because their lives can be explained only with the golden key of the supernatural.
It is well known that atheists, Freemasons, and their ilk may support Catholic charitable institutions: schools, orphanages, feeding the poor, taking care of the sick. Social work is commendable: It accomplishes something. Their contributions can be seen and measured, but old medieval customs should be buried forever. The Middles Ages were barbarous, and their heritage should be uprooted once and for all. They defy the Zeitgeist.
This view explains why a politician like Cavour, who played a key role in the abolition of the papal states in the 19th century, was friendly toward Don Bosco: After all, this priest was doing "efficient" social work.
The difficulty that "natural" man has in transcending and opening his mind and soul to the supernatural also finds a modest expression in Willa Cather's novel My Antonia. She relates that a very poor Bohemian, a recent immigrant, whose father had committed suicide, gave a priest a few hard-earned dollars to have Masses said for his father's soul. Upon hearing this, a well-intentioned woman could not help but remark that "Antonia [the daughter of the deceased] needed shoes more than Mr. Shimerda needed prayers" (p. 128).
This is the naturalistic view: Human needs should be given priority. They are visible and have a character of urgency.
But in contrast, seeing that prayers are powerful and benefit those for whom we pray calls for a supernatural outlook that faith alone can give.
"Progress" is the golden word of naturalism: Taken by itself, it just means "going forward." But a wise man checks carefully whether this motion will lead us to a better world, or will drive us into an abyss. If used unwisely our mind-boggling technology is capable of destroying the world. For if it is true that man cannot say "Be" and create a new being, he certainly can now say "Be not," and reduce our planet to dust and ashes.
There is an abyss separating secularism from the supernatural. Far from denying the importance of action, activity, and exterior feats — for whatever is ad maiorem Dei gloriam should be encouraged and supported — we should not forget that "unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain" (Psalm 26). Our faith tells us that valuable, important, and desirable as activity is, unless this activity is bathed in silence, prayer, and contemplation, it might make much noise, but will achieve very little. This has been profoundly highlighted in one of the great classics of Catholic literature: The Soul of the Apostolate by Dom Chautard.
Any religious apostolate that is not based on the supernatural will soon collapse like a castle of cards. It is a house founded on sand.
This is something that most "modern men" will reject as meaningless. Whether they have not received the gift of faith, or whether they have rejected it, they are blind to supernatural realities: Science is their substitute god.
As always the Old Testament points to the New, and the New sheds the lumen Christi on the Old. There is an episode in Exodus that enchanted me when, in grammar school, I became acquainted with it. It relates the battle between the Jews and Amalek. While the Jewish people were fighting, Moses was standing on top of a hill, accompanied by Aaron and Hur. He was holding the rod of God in his hands and raising his hands in prayer. As long as he continued to do so, the Chosen People were winning. But when fatigue overcame him, Amalek seemed to be heading for victory. Then, Aaron and Hur held up his hands for him, and victory ensued. Scientifically, it is nonsensical to claim that holding up one's hand can be the cause of a military victory. But there is such a thing as divine causality: God does answer the prayers of those who put their faith in Him.
The teaching is so luminous that it is likely to blind those who cannot read the message that this historical fact relates. Moses was not fighting: He was praying. Much as the courage of the Jewish soldiers was needed, it could not guarantee victory: The latter was God's answer to a supernatural attitude. "Some boast of chariots and some of horses, but we boast of the name of the Lord" (Psalm 20:7).
Heaven will be rich in surprises: One day, we shall find out that some of the greatest accomplishments, some of the most stupendous victories achieved by Christians were in fact a response to prayer and sacrifice. Before every single battle Joan of Arc made sure that her soldiers prayed and received Holy Communion. One of the greatest victories Christians ever achieved was Lepanto in 1571. Militarily speaking they had no chance: The Turks were much more numerous. Yet, the Turks were defeated. This amazing feat weakened considerably the military power of these arch enemies of Christianity; they were aiming at conquering Europe. The general leading this historic battle, Don Juan of Austria, was officially the victor. He was honored, as he deserved to be. But one day, we might find out that important as his courage and talent were, the real victors were simple, humble believers, nuns, priests, peasants, little children who prayed and sacrificed. This is a cardinal Catholic belief.
As we saw, its roots are clearly in the Old Testament, but the supernatural finds its full blossoming in the New: A humble Virgin of Nazareth, a woman, was the chosen instrument that crushed the Serpent's head.
Many of us are rightly concerned over the "exterior" face that our beloved Church shows us today: Heresies are rampant and rarely condemned; sexual scandals are endemic. The faith is either not taught at all or misrepresented. Ecumenism has degenerated into ecumenitis: For the sake of "love," truth is eliminated.
Humanly speaking, the horizon is dark. Human prognostics are bound to discourage us. Discouragement is widespread among the faithful and the cause is that they too are losing sight of the supernatural: Faith, prayer, penance have worked miracles in the history of redemption; they will still do so today: "All things are possible with God."
This item 8118 digitally provided courtesy of CatholicCulture.org
