Salesian Literature

Chapter 18  :  How charity makes use of natural fear – fear that is servile, mercenary

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Thunder, storm, earthquakes are called the Lord’s voice by the psalmist (cf. Ps. 28:3-8; 76:18-19), who adds that they execute his decree (Ps. 118:8), since they are a prelude to fearing him, agents – as it were – of his justice.  Plato, to be sure, in his Gorgias (522-545) and elsewhere, points to a consciousness of fear on the part of pagans – not alone fear of the punishments which God’s supreme justice deals out in this world, but also fear of what lies in store in the next for those who are incurably sinful … So deeply is it impressed on human nature, the instinct to fear God!

 

Such fear, however, when it is a natural thrill or emotion, wins us neither praise nor blame; it is not of our choosing.  For all that, it is an effect which has an excellent cause, a cause that produces an excellent effect.  It results from our natural God-given knowledge of his providence, bringing home to us our utter dependence on his omnipotence, prompting us to beg his aid.  Such an emotion, in a faithful soul, is productive of many blessings.  If Christians are frightened by thunder, storms, or other natural dangers they utter the holy names of Jesus and Mary, trace the sign of the cross, fall to their knees, make fervent acts of faith, hope and religion.

 

There is yet another fear, which comes to birth in faith.  This warns us of punishments in the next world – fearful for ever, for ever to be feared – awaiting those who offend God in this world and die unreconciled to him.  It warns us of the particular judgement awaiting each soul at the moment of death; it warns of that other accounting, when everyone will rise again to appear in the general judgement at the end of the world.  These Christian truths, Theotimus, strike terror into the hearts of all who ponder them.  Is it possible to picture such horrors of eternity and not shudder, not quake with fear?

 

Now, when these emotions of fear grip our hearts to such an extent that “they drive away and dispel any inclination or determination to commit sin” (to use the Council of Trent’s words[1]), they are most beneficial, that is certain.  Our Lord, who came to bestow upon us the law of love, did not fail to instil this fear into us: Fear him, he urged, who has the power to ruin body and soul in hell (Mt. 10:28).  The Ninevites, when threatened with destruction and damnation, did penance; and their penance was acceptable to God (cf. Jonah 3:10).  For, after all, this fear is included in the gifts of the Holy Spirit – as many of the early Fathers[2] pointed out.

 

 Fear that does not deter us from sinning, that fails to forestall our tendency to do so, is most assuredly bad; it is akin to that which devils know – they often refrain from doing harm for fear of being plagued by exorcism, yet they never refrain from setting their hearts on evil, since it constantly fills their thoughts.

 

Indeed, the man who delights in sin, who would gladly commit it in spite of God’s will, even though he has no intention of doing any such thing simply from fear of damnation – his fear is shocking, hateful.  Although he has no intention of actually committing sin, he has already committed it in intention, since that is what he would do, were not fear holding him back.  It is as though he were being restrained by force.

 

To this fear may be added another – less perverse, indeed, but just as worthless.  It was what the governor Felix knew: when he heard mention of God’s judgement, he was terrified; yet, for all that, he did not call a halt to his avarice (cf. Acts 24:25-27).  Balthasar too, when he saw the mystic hand writing his sentence on the palace wall … so frightened was he that he changed colour, melted his heart within him, and his knees knocked together – yet he did no penance (Dan. 5:5-6).  But what is the use of fearing evil, unless such fear breeds a resolve to avoid it?

 

The fear those people know who keep God’s law like slaves, to avoid hell, is very good.  Much finer, more acceptable, however, is the fear known to mercenary Christians; like hired servants they work conscientiously – not, indeed, out of any special love for their master, but for the wage of the promised reward.

 

Still, such fear would be censurable, were it to exclude charity.  To have no intention of serving God out of love for him, but solely to gain his promised rewards, would be blasphemy – preferring the reward to the Master, the blessing to the benefactor, the inheritance to the Father, one’s own advantage to God almighty.

 

If, after all, our fear of offending God has nothing to do with avoiding the pains of hell or the loss of heaven, but results solely from the fact that God is our good Father, to whom we owe honour, respect, obedience – then our fear is filial.  No good child obeys his father simply because the parent can punish his disobedience, can disinherit him; he obeys because this parent is his father.  So that even were the father aged, incapacitated, poor, the son would serve him no less assiduously, but more carefully, more lovingly than ever.  To fear God with filial affection, therefore, is to be afraid of displeasing him purely and simply because he is the gentlest, kindest, most lovable of fathers.

 

If, however, filial fear turns out to be infused or tempered with a servile fear of eternal damnation, or a mercenary fear of losing heaven, God is still pleased with it.  It is called initial fear – in other words, the fear known by novices, by those who are taking their first steps in the love of God.

 

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[1]  Session 14, On Penance, chapter 4.

[2]  E.g., St. Jerome, St. Augustine, St. Gregory the Great.

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