control.” Many of us just call it “contemplation.”
So how do we first see and then practice this “Original Goodness”?
Paul again gives us an answer. He says, “There are only three things that last,
faith, hope, and love” (1 Corinthians 13:13). In Catholic theology we called
these three essential attitudes the “theological virtues,” because they were a
“participation in the very life of God”—given freely by God, or “infused” into us
at our very conception. In this understanding, faith, hope, and love are far more
defining of the human person than the “moral virtues,” the various good
behaviors we learn as we grow older. This is why I cannot abandon an
Orthodox or Catholic worldview. For all of their poor formulations, they still
offer humanity a foundationally positive anthropology (even though many
individuals never learn about it because of poor catechesis!), and not just a
moral worthiness contest, which is always unstable and insecure.
From the very beginning, faith, hope, and love are planted deep within our
nature—indeed they are our very nature (Romans 5:5, 8:14–17). The Christian
life is simply a matter of becoming who we already are (1 John 3:1–2, 2 Peter
1:3–4). But we have to awaken, allow, and advance this core identity by saying a
conscious yes to it and drawing upon it as a reliable and Absolute Source.*4
Again, image must become likeness. And even a good theology will have a hard
time making up for a bad anthropology. If the human person is a “pile of
manure,” even the “snow of Christ” only covers it and does not undo it.
But our saying yes to such implanted faith, hope, and love plays a crucial role
in the divine equation; human freedom matters. Mary’s yes seemed to be
essential to the event of incarnation (Luke 1:38). God does not come uninvited.
God and grace cannot enter without an opening from our side, or we would be
mere robots. God does not want robots, but lovers who freely choose to love in
return for love. And toward that supreme end, God seems quite willing to wait,
cajole, and entice.
In other words, we matter. We do have to choose to trust reality and even our
physicality, which is to finally trust ourselves. Our readiness to not trust
ourselves is surely one of our recurring sins. Yet so many sermons tell us to
never trust ourselves, to only trust God. That is far too dualistic. How can a
person who does not trust himself know how to trust at all? Trust, like love, is
of one piece. (By the way, at this point in history, “trust” is probably a much
more helpful and descriptive word than “faith,” a notion that has become far too
misused, intellectualized, and even banal.)