Salesian Literature

Chapter 21  :  Remorse rarely helps; it is contrary to charity’s function

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When it comes to remorse – of what use can that be to charity, since joy is ranked next to love in the gifts of the Holy Spirit? (cf. Gal. 5:22)  Yet, for all that, St. Paul has this to say: Supernatural remorse leads to an abiding and salutary change of heart, whereas the world’s remorse leads to death (2 Cor. 7:10).

 

So there is a supernatural remorse.  This is the remorse of sinners who repent, of good people who take pity on their neighbours in the sorrows of life, of saints who deplore, lament and pity the spiritual tragedies around them.  There is too a worldly remorse.  This also has three causes.

 

In the first place, it is sometimes the work of the devil.  By hundreds of depressing, dismal, dreary suggestions, he clouds the mind, weakens the will, disturbs the whole soul.  Just as a thick fog chokes head and chest, to make breathing difficult; just as it bewilders the traveller – so Satan, if he fills a man’s mind with depressing thoughts, makes it less easy for that man to set his heart on God, makes life so irksome, so distressing for him that he will despair and be lost.

 

Secondly, remorse is also due at times to natural temperament, if we are prone to depression.  Obviously in itself this is not a vice; however, the devil finds it a great help in framing or plotting scores of temptations in the soul.

 

Thirdly, and lastly, there is remorse induced by the ups and downs of life.  Happiness! Tobias said, little happiness for me; that sit here in the dark, and never see the light of day! (Tobias. 5:12)  So did Jacob grieve on hearing the death of his son Joseph (cf. Gen. 37:34-35); so did David when Absalom died (cf. 2 Kgs. 18:33).  That sort of remorse is common to everyone, good or bad.  In the good, however, it is moderated by their acceptance of, and submission to, God’s will.  You can see it in Tobias: in all the trials that befell him, he returned thanks to God.  You can see it in Job: he blessed the Lord’s name for them (cf. Job 1:21).  You can see it in Daniel: in his sorrows he fell to prayer (cf. Dan. 9).  In the worldly-minded, on the contrary, while remorse is no stranger, it turns to repining, hopelessness and spiritual stupefaction.

 

Most assuredly, the remorse of genuine repentance ought rather to be called displeasure, or the awareness and abhorrence of evil.  It is a remorse that is never irksome, never morose; a remorse that does not dull the mind, but keeps it wide awake, quick, attentive; a remorse that does not dampen the spirits, but uplifts the heart through prayer and hope, to experience impulses of fervour, of devotion; a remorse which, in plumbing the depth of its depression, always strikes the sweetest, the best encouragement.

 

There you have genuine repentance; there you have sound remorse.  There is nothing essentially depressing or gloomy about it; it is merely anxious and eager to lathe and shun sin, to prevent it from casting its shadow over past or future.  For many a time we come across forms of repentance that are over-anxious, disordered, impatient, tearful, bitter, plaintive, restless, extremely peevish and gloomy.  They turn out to be unavailing in the end, with no real amendment to show for them, because the right motive is lacking: self-love and pride are behind them, not the virtue of penance.

 

The world’s remorse leads to death, says the apostle, so we must shun and avoid it as best we may.  If it flows from our natural temperament, we need to repress it by counteracting its impulses, taking steps to give it new direction, consulting a doctor about the sort of life we lead or about taking a tonic.  If it springs from temptation, we really need to make a clean breast of everything to our spiritual director; he will tell us how to get the better of it, as I have indicated it in Part Four[1] of my Introduction to Devotion.  If our remorse results from the ups and downs of life, we are to turn to the teaching of Book Eight[2] in this volume.  That will show us how welcome trials can be to the children of God, how the great expectations we have of life eternal should render of little or no account the fleeting things of time.

 

Not only that: whatever kind of depression overtakes us, we should summon the authority of the higher part of our wills to do all we can for charity’s sake.  Of course some actions are so dependent upon temperament, upon physical constitution, that we are unable to do them at will.  A gloomy man cannot be as gracious or charming in word or appearance as he would were he free of his evil mood.  What he can do, however grudgingly, is to utter gracious, generous, polite words, to submit his natural tendency to the dictates of reason, when it comes to practising charity, gentleness, courtesy, in word or deed.

 

We can be excused for not being always cheerful, for cheerfulness is not ours to summon up at will.  But we have no excuse for not being always kindly, accessible, courteous; that is always within the scope of our will-power.  All we need to do is to make up our minds to rise above our mood, our tendency to do the opposite.

 

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[1]  Chapter 14.

[2]  Chapter 4 and Chapter 5.

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