Gregory Aldrete’s magnificent documentary series on the Rise of Rome alludes to the fascinating reality that while the expansion of the ancient republic brought fabulous (albeit incredibly unevenly distributed) wealth to Rome, it actually resulted in a vicious cycle where nearly every group of the stratified society was profoundly bitter and unhappy: veteran soldiers who lost their small farms while off in foreign wars, the conquered enslaved peoples who were bought and sold like property, poor Roman citizens jealous of the influx of the eventual freedmen they called the “sons of fortune,” paranoid wealthy aristocrats who resented the power of the generals, disgruntled allies and half-citizens who weren’t granted full rights, and women and children who held so little autonomy that they could be executed at will by the patriarch of their households.
The clashing of these indignant groups eventually led to the republic’s violent collapse in 31 B.C., and paved the way for dictatorial rule.
While I do not want to paint too dire a picture, I can’t help but think that a prospering society made up of people profoundly dissatisfied on all sides does not seem particularly foreign to me. I spent some time contemplating the question and struggled to find one group of Americans who are content with the state of things as they are.
Of course, several successes on a particular front could be something considered worth celebrating (think: greater attention paid to racial injustice for some, the Supreme Court’s originalist turn for others). But by and large, most of these seem Pyrrhic victories, to use another Roman example, of battles won at the cost of overwhelming casualties. The sporadic triumphs seem to be counterbalanced by an overall mood of universal anxiety that no matter what happens in the coming weeks, the ship of civic union roiled by the waves of a toxic culture will not be righted easily. The candidates most culpable for this piteous state are legion, and this is not the appropriate place for me to try to assign blame.
I say this merely as prelude to admit that I find it personally difficult in these moments to return to sources of spiritual solace, and I need to keep reminding myself of the great Christian mystics who teach us that “all manner of things will be well” and that “where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more.” Politicians, media pundits and tech companies have done a remarkable job of ratcheting up grievance, distress, fear and negative psychological emotions to a fevered pitch. It remains a tall theological task to provide soothing balm for the lacerations of a profoundly wounded and distrustful society, both at home and around the globe. I do not claim to have such a salve readily available, if you had hoped to find it here.
But in his recent encyclical “Fratelli Tutti,” Pope Francis has returned again to a cornerstone concept for his vision of the church and world, that of “the joy of the Gospel.”
He writes: “To be sure, ‘it is no easy task to overcome the bitter legacy of injustices, hostility and mistrust left by conflict. It can only be done by overcoming evil with good (cf. Rom 12:21) and by cultivating those virtues which foster reconciliation, solidarity and peace.’ In this way, ‘persons who nourish goodness in their heart find that such goodness leads to a peaceful conscience and to profound joy, even in the midst of difficulties and misunderstandings. Even when affronted, goodness is never weak but rather, shows its strength by refusing to take revenge’” (FT, §243).
In my ongoing examination of conscience, I do not yet find myself to be such a person, though I struggle daily to “nourish goodness in my heart.” But while I have no misgivings that the pope is correct, cultivating the habit to show “the strength of goodness” in the midst of life’s turbulence is one that proves elusive to me at times. It likely cannot be perfectly accomplished on this side of death. But perhaps purgatorial joy, where we see more clearly with eyes that are cleansed by tears — as the pope has put it elsewhere — can in fact be put to good use.
At the heart of our faith lies the euagelion, those “good tidings of great joy” that are addressed to every person, regardless of birthplace or epoch. And while I may not be suitably happy with everything going on around us, to whom shall I go in my hour of need but to God, who does continually give joy to my youth (ad Deum qui laetificat juventum meam)?
We are not the first to live in convulsive times, and we will certainly not be the last. That is what it means to exist before the Eschaton. Like so many others who have gone before us, we can and should strive to find ways to search out and root our lives in “joy that will last,” as the Christmas carol puts it. Only then can we as Christians live in hope for that coming Day, when our troubles really will be miles away.
Originally from Collingswood, Michael M. Canaris, Ph.D., teaches at Loyola University, Chicago.
at the bottom and then tap “Add to Home Screen”
