There is an old and learned priest, presently my confessor, of whom I heard an illustrative story. He heads a college seminary, and once when he was in the confessional a seminarian, writing a thesis on moral theology, came to him to confess. When the boy had finished, Father began his remarks by explaining the difference between a mortal and a venial sin. When the seminarian interposed that he didn’t need the explanation, noting that his thesis was on a related topic, Father shot back, “that’s not relevant here!”

The point, if I may expand, is that in this present darkness we humans can easily reach firm convictions and comprehension in our intellectual considerations that utterly fail to penetrate our lives generally. While this is an old theme, I return to it now because of late there has been some back-channel discussion among this site’s contributors about what does and doesn’t constitute prudent matter for discussion in this forum. I don’t want to address that question directly, though readers may leave their thoughts if they wish. Rather, I think a more interesting question is how a Christian views himself, his intellect, and his work in light of the demands of virtue, living under the shadow of the cross.

For the self-styled orthodox, the “remnant saved by grace,” the traditionally minded fighting the foes of modernity: us, in short — and I, in particular — this is a live and fraught question. What insalubrious effects proceed from knowing oneself to be better informed than the common lot, including the even more puffed up so-called scholars of liberal pseudo-Faith? There is a real danger here of becoming satisfied with one’s own orthodoxy, and a twin danger of being too consciously critical of the smug orthodoxy of your fellows in the foxhole: pride, in short, is not banished by accurate knowledge of theology, history, and pious praxis. “You believe that there is one God? You do well: the devils also believe and tremble.”

The parable of the prodigal son is relevant here. A generally pious and obedient lad, I spent much of my youth sympathizing with the apparently blameless elder brother, wondering at the injustice of showering that good-for-nothing second son with gifts after he’d squandered a fortune! It came then as something of a shock when, upon becoming really conscious, through grace, of the pervasiveness of my own sin during my entry into the Church, I realized that my sympathies had been misdirected all along.

The blockades to accurate self-knowledge are innumerable. One of the most haunting passages I know of is one in CS Lewis’ writing, where he drives home the point that everyone — and thus, necessarily, even I! — have at least sometimes, perhaps often, been that person who is standing in the way of someone’s desire, or plan, or dream, without knowing it. That each sin we have committed, a victory for Satan, has led to some general privation of good far beyond our knowing.

The only answer, then, is of course to return again and again to the cross of Christ, to the font of virtue, to the life of grace. It’s no good to be content with things as they are, or to excuse in ourselves the shortcomings common to those of our type, or position, or our personality. The sainthood that every one of us is called to is not of grandiose proportions; like St. Alphonsus Rodriguez, we may simply be asked to watch a door in plain obedience. We can be sure we are not doing the right thing if it is not painful, because we do love ourselves and our own image of ourselves so very much. But of course, we can always hope, since we similarly know that we would be lost were we doing it alone: but we are not.