Faith

Though it seems to me (unless I am gravely mistaken) that I possess the virtue of faith, at least in a minimal degree, I do not fully understand that virtue or my possession of it. And I do not think the situation would be greatly clarified for me if I were to read eighteen massive theological treatises; because faith page 447 is in its essence mysterious, like a spring of water rising up in the centre of the soul, originating not in me but in God Himself. He gives us, as it were, access to His own knowledge of Himself and of the matters that pertain to our salvation.

This type of knowledge may perhaps be best defined by saying what it is not. It is not sensory knowledge. I know that I have just put out a cigarette. The taste of it still lingers in my mouth; and no doubt in a few minutes I will light another one, because I like smoking, and do not like to be dominated by the sense of anxiety engendered by the findings of modern medicine which may save us from lung cancer but cannot save us from despair.

Sensory knowledge is not, of course, absolutely certain. My memory of having just smoked a cigarette might be an illusion. The taste in my mouth might be one kind of hallucination. Nevertheless sensory knowledge is in some ways the most stable and convincing kind of knowledge we possess; and one reason why many people find it hard even to conceive of the possibility of knowledge gained by faith is that such knowledge is non-sensory, and may even seem contradictory to the knowledge of the senses.

When we receive Our Lord in Holy Communion under the appearances of bread and wine most of us have to struggle a little from time to time to retain an untroubled faith that He is truly present. Angels would have no such difficulty; for they do not depend for their knowledge on sensory perception. Thus truly He is called the Bread of Angels, since our knowledge of Him has to depend on wholly non-sensory modes.

I have often sympathised with the cry of the Apostle Thomas that he would not believe till he had thrust his fingers into the marks left by the nails; and it is worth remembering that Our Lord did not refuse that passionate request, even though he rebuked him gently for his lack of faith. Knowledge by faith is not sensory knowledge. Neither is it, in any ordinary meaning of the term, knowledge by means of a judgment based on experience, though experience can in some measure supplement faith. None of us now on earth were present when Our Lord rose from the dead. And I would be bold enough to say (since absolutehonesty is necessaryinany discussion of thevirtue of faith) thatto my own naturallysceptical mind the evidenceof the eye-witnesses has never been wholly convincing. Sincere believers thought that flowers fell from Heaven when Buddha died. Many good men among us have examined the Scriptural evidence and (even with inner sadness) concluded that it was not enough to go on. And the non-Christian may well say: ‘My friend, you have a great need to believe this is true, like that of a child who wishes to believe that his dead mother is still alive. I can sympathise. But I think you have given way, without conclusive evidence, to the deep wish you have that Christ should have been resurrected. Your faith is your weakness, not your strength. . . .’

Indeed I am a sceptic, doubting all things, including the Utopian promises of scientists and politicians, and my own power of reason. I know I am now page 448 about to light another cigarette. But I am not prepared to admit I know much more than that with anything approaching absolute certainty. I do not know whether those people I love most love me in return. They very probably do; for the human race, thank God, is prone to love. But I don’t know for sure; and I never will know in this life, since I can’t see into another person’s soul; and so I have long ceased to fret unduly about the matter. How then do I know that Our Lord is God and that He rose from the dead?

I know because God has implanted in the depths of my soul the virtue of faith. He has given me the power to accept truths not incompatible with human reason but certainly neutral to reason. There was an act of the will on my part. I reached out my hands, as it were, to receive this inestimable gift from His hands. But if He had not given it, I would not possess it; and so my life would not have been radically transformed.

I can even recall the occasion when the virtue of faith was given to me – or rather, the two supplementary occasions. In the first instance in darkness of mind, I wrote a letter and sealed it and addressed it to

Our Lady of Perpetual Succour,
St Gerard’s,
Hawker Street,
Wellington.

I do not remember what that letter contained. Its meaning, however, could be put in three words – ‘Help me, Mother.’ Perhaps even then God had begun obscurely to give me the virtue of faith; since otherwise I do not see why I should have written at all.

I could say that in reply Our Lady gave me the virtue of faith; and that would certainly be true, since all graces come to us through her hands. It seemed to me that she did so. You will understand why I love the Mother of God and place all other matters of my life in her care. Where one has found pure water flowing from the rock, one will return again and again to drink.

But there was also a second occasion. I was studying an article written by a Protestant on the subject of papal infallibility. And on one side of the page I could see the various Protestant findings and opinions set out; and on the other side of the page the Catholic ‘claims’, which necessarily occupied much less space. And suddenly I realised that if I were to live for a thousand years and sift the evidence night and day, I could never come to more than a probable opinion on the matter; I could never reach certainty, since the study of history cannot tell us the entirely true inner meaning of events. The Protestants asked me to accede to a reasoned and possible opinion; or rather, perhaps, to add my own variant of possible opinion to theirs. The Catholics asked me to accept the magisterium of the Church.

More bluntly, the Protestants asked me to have an opinion; the Catholics page 449 asked me to believe. And I could see that the only possible certainty on matters which lay beyond the reach of human reason must come from belief. And in that instant I bowed to the magisterium and I believed.

Now, if I had not bowed to the magisterium, I could not have claimed to believe anything, but only to hold an opinion on theological and scriptural matters; and I do not see that this position is essentially different from that of an atheist who has a cultural interest in comparative religion. My belief is founded on the rock of the magisterium. Either God gave an infallible teaching authority to his Church; or else we have our little private notions about himself and ourselves. I choose to believe that he did give that authority to his Church. Otherwise the world would be a desert and a mockery in which truth cannot be obtained about the things that concern us to the roots of our beings. And human love (here one does encounter the supplementary voice of experience) had already taught me that although the world might seem a desert, it was not quite that. There was already a mystery among us which seemed at times the shadow cast by the Mysterium Tremendum.

It was perhaps love that led me first to Our Lady’s feet. And though love and faith can be temporarily and unnaturally separated, when our souls are in a state of mortal sin – love may return to God, and yet faith be left with us – this is a torment and an alienation, and it is never God’s will that it should be so. He permits it rather out of his infinite mercy to the sinner.

‘All very well,’ my good non-Christian friend may say to me. ‘But what would you do tomorrow if you woke up and found that faith had departed from you? What would you do if you searched and found in your heart no vestige of belief?’

As a captain makes provision even for typhoons and hurricanes before he puts out to sea, though praying they will never come his way, I have thought about this eventuality. And this is what I think I would do. I would go to Confession. And if the priest did not categorically forbid me, I would go to Holy Communion. And I would continue to do precisely that for the rest of my days. For – though the response depends on His own Holy Will – our God cannot forbid us to love Him. And if I had only the shell of belief to offer, I would continue to offer Him that. The woman with the issue of blood who clung to His garment was healed, though He rebuked her. And the first Pope, St Peter, said to Him, in darkness and bewilderment – ‘Where else can we go, Lord? You have the words of truth.’ I would have nowhere else to go.

1967 (476)