Why be good? The final answer to that all-important question, of course, is God: our union with Him in Christ is the source and end of all our action. No one is good save God alone—and no good we can seek will remain good except insofar as we refer it to God.
True as this answer is, though, it also has limits—especially under the domain of sin. The lofty and pure vision of loving God for His own sake is for many of us unattainable at the outset of our Christian life: only when we see Him and become like Him will we finally be able to love Him for His own sake, and not for the sake of anything else.
In the meantime, we are stuck with a whole host of natural motivations for acting that are more or less worthy. In the second canto of Dante’s Inferno, he (understandably) develops cold feet about the journey he is about to undertake: “I am not Aeneas, nor am I Paul,” he famously says. He is a man who “unwires what he has willed”; having only the dimmest conception of the good before him, he can only be indecisive about his action.
Virgil’s therapy involves telling Dante the origins of his journey: the Virgin Mary noticed his plight and notified Lucy, who then spoke with Beatrice, who descended into Limbo in order to summon Virgil to Dante’s aid. The architecture behind Dante’s journey is luxurious: it seems simply superfluous to have so many people involved with trying to help Dante out. The multitude, though, is the point: there is no reason for so many people to be concerned with Dante’s plight besides the abundant glory of grace.
Not surprisingly, Dante is heartened by Virgil’s story. “Why are you not more spirited and sure,” Virgil admonishes him, “When three such blessed ladies care for you in Heaven’s court and my words promise so much good?” To put the point crassly, Dante overcomes his cowardice by performing for a group of women—a fairly common phenomenon, shall we say, within the scope of male-female relations. Beatrice’s pity (pieta) for Dante animates him, giving him an ardor for the journey that he otherwise lacks.
We can play with the cliche that Dante is willing to undergo hell for the sake of a woman—undergraduates, I assure you, love it. But we should not shy away from the reality of what Dante depicts: in many cases, the soul’s movement toward sanctification begins with natural reasons. Whether it is women or fame or an interest in preserving Christianity’s cultural inheritance, most human beings begin by being drawn toward goods that are only shadows of God. There is nothing especially wrong with Dante’s motivation at the outset of the Inferno, after all: Dante should want to win the approval of women who are as proximate to God as Mary, Lucy, and Beatrice. Yet many of us still blanch at the idea of admitting how prominent such motivations can be in our spiritual lives.
Dante will not end with that motivation, of course. When he finally meets Beatrice, he is more or less told-off for lusting after her. The fire of the Lord leaves no area untouched: He will, in the end, have us for himself and deny us anyone or anything who might turn us away. And accommodating natural motivations into the Christian life is risky. I once heard Jay Budziszewski say that if you feed wolves to defeat lions, the former will eventually grow so large and so many that they will consume everything (or something to that effect). Honoring our natural motivations is not a strategy for keeping sin at bay.
Even so, I suspect few of us will find the courage we need to press on without allowing our imperfect loves to drive us forward into practices that will sanctify us in ways we cannot imagine. The last temptation is to do the right thing for the wrong reason precisely because the wrong reason will be the final corner of our hearts to be sanctified.
Around the Web
Joe Carter trolls his fellow Gospel Coalition writer Trevin Wax by pointing out how most ‘cultural apologetics’ is instantly dated—and why we should all read Dante instead. He might as well have encouraged people to Quit Netflix.
This is a lovely essay by Joshua Heavin on pastors’ need for holiness.
The Penultimate Word
“Day by day, each morning anew, we are asked to bless the Lord. A great many things cannot be done daily, can they? We cannot work equally well every day or be in good spirits and a pleasant mood. Neither can we, fortunately enough, take life too seriously every day and put on the same sad face. But one thing is a must—every single day, whatever the circumstances, in rain or shine, in cheerful happiness or deepest affliction, in good luck and in bad luck. To bless the Lord, to let him be righteous, is the one great task for each and every day.” — Karl Barth
Thanks for this one, Matt
Not only is this a helpful retort to those who belittle the Comedy based on the actions which set Dante's pilgrimage in motion, this also gives a positive twist to my ongoing examination of why I do the things that I do.
Not every motivation is good. But some motivations truly do set us in the proper direction with the prayer that one day we will be changed from glory into glory, that we will know fully what we now only know in part.