Fear

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  This same phrase removes a certain obstacle that may stand in the way of our prayer. Some people act as though human affairs were subjected to a deterministic fatalism imposed by the stars, contrary to what is commanded in Jeremiah 10:2: “Be not afraid of the signs of heaven, which the heathens fear.” If this error had its way, it would rob us of the fruit of prayer. For if our lives were subjected to a necessity decreed by the stars, nothing in our course could be changed. In vain we should plead in our prayer for the granting of some good or for deliverance from evil. To prevent this error from undermining confidence in prayer, we say: “who art in heaven,” thus acknowledging that God moves and regulates the heavens. Accordingly the assistance we hope to obtain from God cannot be obstructed by the power of heavenly bodies. In order that prayer may be efficacious at the court of God, man must ask for those benefits which he may worthily expect from God. Of old some petitioners were rebuked: “You ask and receive not, because you ask amiss” (James 4:3). Anything suggested by earthly wisdom rather than by heavenly wisdom, is asked for in the wrong spirit. And so Chrysostom assures us that the words, “who art in heaven,” do not imply that God is confined to that locality, but rather indicate that the mind of him who prays is raised up from the earth and comes to rest in that celestial region [In Matthaeum, hom. XIX, 4]. There is another obstacle to prayer or confidence in God that would deter one from praying. This is the notion that human life is far removed from divine providence. The thought is given expression, in the person of the wicked, in Job 22:14: “The clouds are His cover; He does not consider our things, and He walks about the poles of heaven”; also in Ezekiel 8: 12: “The Lord does not see us, the Lord has forsaken the earth.”

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Whether Servile Fear is Good1. It seems that servile fear is not good. If the use of a thing is evil, the thing itself is evil. Now the use of servile fear is evil, since “ he who does something out of fear does not do well, even though that which is done be good, ” as the gloss says on Rom. ch. 8. It follows that servile fear is not good. 2. Again, that which has its origin in a root of sin is not good. Servile fear has its origin in a root of sin. For on Job 3:11, “ Why died I not from the womb? ” Gregory says: “ when one fears the present punishment for one ’ s sin, and has no love for the countenance of God which one has lost, one ’ s fear is born of pride, not of humility. ” Hence servile fear is evil. 3. Again, servile fear seems to be opposed to chaste fear, just as mercenary love is opposed to the love of charity. Now mercenary love is always evil. Hence servile fear is likewise always evil. On the other hand: nothing which is evil is of the Holy Spirit. But servile fear is of the Holy Spirit. For on Rom. 8:15, “ For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear . . . , ” the gloss (ord. August. Tract. 9 in Joan.) says: “ It is the same Spirit which inspires both fears, ” that is, servile fear and chaste fear. Hence servile fear is not evil.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  24:48, 49, “But and if that evil servant shall say in his heart, My lord delayeth his coming; and shall begin to smite his fellow-servants, and to eat and drink with the drunken, the lord of that servant shall come in a day when he looketh not for him, and in an hour that he is not aware of, and shall cut him asunder, and appoint him his portion with the hypocrites: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” Of the second, S. Luke 12:47, “And that servant which knew his lord’s will, and prepared not himself, neither did according to his will, shall be beaten with many stripes.” Of the third, S. Matt. 25:30, “And cast ye the unprofitable servant into outer darkness: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” There are three things which the Lord requires in His servants—the first, that they should be cleansed from every defilement of sin; the second, that they should be ornamented with every virtue; the third, that they should be decorated with honesty of maners. Of the first, Ps. 101:6, “He that walketh in a perfect way he shall serve Me.” 1 Tim. 3:10 (Vulg.), “Let them minister having no crime.” Of the second, 2 Cor. 6:4, “In all things approving ourselves as the ministers of God.” Of the third, 1 Peter 2:12, “Having your conversation honest among the Gentiles.” Of these three things, Exo. 40:12, 13, “And thou shalt bring Aaron and his sons unto the door of the tabernacle of the congregation and wash them with water;” (40:15), “and thou shalt anoint them as thou didst anoint their father,” &c. 2 Cor. 2:15, “We are unto God a sweet savour of Christ.” But the Lord requires that we should serve Him in three ways—first, by imitating Him; second, by delighting in His service; thirdly, by fearing Him. Of the first, S. John 12:26, “If any man serve Me, let him follow Me.” Of the second, Ps. 100:2, “Serve the Lord with gladness.” Of the third, Ps. 2:11, “Serve the Lord with fear.” The first makes the service acceptable to the Lord; the second makes us ready in serving; the third preserves us in His service. But the Lord promises three rewards to His servants, viz., happiness, dignity, and eternity. Of the first reward, 1 Tim. 3:13, “For they that have used the office of a deacon well purchase to themselves a good degree.” Of the second reward, S. Matt. 25:23, “Well done, good and faithful servant, thou hast been faithful over a few things,” &c. Of the third reward, Rev. 7:15, “And serve Him day and night in His Temple;” and afterwards He “shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters.” Eternity is a fountain of life. As Dionysius says, “Eternity is endless, and at the same time the whole and perfect possession of life.” Of these three attributes, S.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  III. On the third head it is to be noted, that the future judgment is to be feared for three reasons—(1) On account of the equity of the Judge: Ps. 7:12, Vulg., “God is a just Judge, strong and patient: is He angry every day?” (2) Because of the severity of the Judge: Judith 16:20, 21, “In the Day of Judgment He will visit them, for He will give fire and worms into their flesh.” (3) Because of the irrevocability of the sentence: S. Matt. 25:41, “Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the Devil and his angels.” It is called “everlasting fire” because it has no end; from which may we be delivered, &c. HOMILY XI THE GOVERNMENT OF THE TONGUE FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER.—(FROM THE EPISTLE)“If any man among you seem to be religious, and bridleth not his tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, this man’s religion is vain.”—S. Jas. 1:26. S. JAMES in these words exhorts us to the bridling; of the tongue, and there are three reasons which move us so to do. Firstly, because he who does not bridle his tongue, falls into many sins. Secondly, because he incurs many bad punishments. Thirdly, because he who bridles his tongue, acquires many good things. Of the first: Prov. 10:19, “In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin.” Of the second: Ecclus. 20:8, “He that useth many words shall hurt his own soul.” Of the third: Prov. 18:13, “He that answereth a matter before he heareth it, it is folly and shame unto him.”

• From Collected Essays (1998)

  When one considers the lengths to which the South has gone to prevent the Negro from ever becoming, or even feeling like, an equal, it is clear that the Southern states could not have used schools in any other way. This is one of the reasons, deliberate or not, that facilities were never equal. The demoralizing Southern school system also says a great deal about the indifference and irresponsibility of the North. The Negro presidents, principals and teachers would not be nearly so frightened of losing their jobs if the possibility of working in Northern schools were not almost totally closed to them. Richard Haley found a room for me in town and introduced THEY CAN ' T TURN BACK 62 7 me to the Tallahassee Inter-Civic Council, an organization that makes no secret of its intention to remain in business exa ctly as long as segregation does. It was called into existence by a bus boycott in 195 6. The Tallahassee boycott began five months after the boycott in Montgomery, and in a similar way, with the arrest of two Negro coeds who refused in a crowded bus to surrender their seats to whites on the motor man's order. The boycott ran the same course, from cross burning, fury and intransigence on the part of the city and bus officials, along with almost total and unex pected unanim ity among the Negroes, to reprisal, intimidation and near bankruptcy of the bus company, which took its buses otr the streets for a month. The Reverend C. K. Steele, president of the IC C, remem bers that "those were rough days. Every time I drove my car into the garage, I expected a bullet to come whizzing by my head." He was not being fanciful: there are still bullet holes in his living room window. The Reverend Daniel Speed, a heavy, rough-looking man who might be completely terrifYing if he did not love to laugh and who owns a grocery store in Tallahassee, organized the boycott motor pool, with the result that all the windows were blown out of his store. The Speed and Steele children are among the state's troublesome stu dents. And Speed and Steele, along with Haley, are the people whom the students most trust. Speed's support of the students is particularly surprising in view of his extreme vulnerabil ity as a Negro businessman. "There has been," he told me, "m uch reprisal," but he preferred that I remain silent about the details. Haley drove me to the hotel that he had found for me in one of the two Negro sections of Tallahassee. This section seems to be the more disreputable of the two, judging at least from its long, unpaved streets, the gangs of loud, shabby men and women, boys and girls, in front of the barbershops, the poolroom, the Co ffee House, the El Dorado Caf e and the Chicken Shack.

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  Many of these thirty-somethings have been through the hard knock school of relationships. Some have had brief first marriages that ended in failure or they lived with another person or a series of other persons through their twenties. Others had a long run of one-night stands. A few were heartbroken by a lover’s rejection and for years felt too discouraged to try again. But then, in tentative but courageous steps, each of these children of divorce found someone whom they could love, trust, and cherish. It’s too soon, of course, to say how many of these good, later marriages will last. Most have only been in place for a few years and, like all marriages, they are not immune from strife. A few were shaky, and some had already come apart. But in the twenty-five-year interviews, I saw many happy, loving couples who were devoted to each other and who had clearly vanquished the fears that beset them in the early days of their relationships. One of the reasons I selected Karen as a main character for this book is that her story illustrates the troubled path that many follow before achieving a splendid marriage. Her mixed feelings of triumph and disbelief are emblematic of many in her generation. What distinguished these happily married people? After years of trial-and-error, they finally acquired the judgment to choose a mate carefully and wisely. And then they mustered the courage to pursue that person for a long-term commitment. This was a major achievement that reflected their greater maturity and increased self-esteem. As these same men and women entered their twenties, most were terrified of being alone—a feeling directly related to their fear of being abandoned or lost during the turmoil of their parents’ breakup and divorce. But as every young adult needs to learn, the only way to reject an unsuitable lover is to be able to face being alone. This is a hard lesson for everyone, but it’s especially difficult for children of divorce. Several of the women in the study told me candidly about their first breakthrough in therapy: they were finally able to go to a party and return home alone, without panicking. In another milestone, they also managed to loosen their ties to their parents. Instead of running home to help their moms and dads deal with every minor crisis in life, they were at last able to separate emotionally. Only then could they give up the expectation that they were doomed to share their parents’ fate. Only by separating were they free to look forward to a better marriage than their parents had achieved. Of course, it helped that many of these young adults were doing well in their careers and in other areas of their lives.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Reply to Objection 2: The fear which the Apostle inculcates is in accordance with reason, namely that servants should fear lest they be lacking in the service they owe their masters. Reply to Objection 3: Reason dictates that we should shun the evils that we cannot withstand, and the endurance of which profits us nothing. Hence there is no sin in fearing them. Whether the sin of fear is contrary to fortitude?Objection 1: It seems that the sin of fear is not contrary to fortitude: because fortitude is about dangers of death, as stated above ([3317]Q[123], AA[4],5). But the sin of fear is not always connected with dangers of death, for a gloss on Ps. 127:1, “Blessed are all they that fear the Lord,” says that “it is human fear whereby we dread to suffer carnal dangers, or to lose worldly goods.” Again a gloss on Mat. 27:44, “He prayed the third time, saying the selfsame word,” says that “evil fear is threefold, fear of death, fear of pain, and fear of contempt.” Therefore the sin of fear is not contrary to fortitude. Objection 2: Further, the chief reason why a man is commended for fortitude is that he exposes himself to the danger of death. Now sometimes a man exposes himself to death through fear of slavery or shame. Thus Augustine relates (De Civ. Dei i) that Cato, in order not to be Caesar’s slave, gave himself up to death. Therefore the sin of fear bears a certain likeness to fortitude instead of being opposed thereto. Objection 3: Further, all despair arises from fear. But despair is opposed not to fortitude but to hope, as stated above (Q[20], A[1]; [3318]FS, Q[40], A[4]). Neither therefore is the sin of fear opposed to fortitude. On the contrary, The Philosopher (Ethic. ii, 7; iii, 7) states that timidity is opposed to fortitude.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  GREGORY. (Hom. in. Ev. 16.1.) Some doubt what Spirit it was that led Jesus into the desert, for that it is said after, The Devil took him into the holy city. But true and without question agreeable to the context is the received opinion, that it was the Holy Spirit; that His own Spirit should lead Him thither where the evil spirit should find Him to try Him. AUGUSTINE. (de Trin. iv. 13.) Why did He offer Himself to temptation? That He might be our mediator in vanquishing temptation not by aid only, but by example. PSEUDO-CHRYSOSTOM. He was led by the Holy Spirit, not as an inferior at the bidding of a greater. For we say led, not only of him who is constrained by a stronger than he, but also of him who is induced by reasonable persuasion; as Andrew found his brother Simon, and brought him to Jesus. JEROME. Led, not against His will, or as a prisoner, but as by a desire for the conflict. PSEUDO-CHRYSOSTOM. The Devil comes against men to tempt them, but since He could not come against Christ, therefore Christ came against the Devil. GREGORY. (ubi sup.) We should know that there are three modes of temptation; suggestion, delight, and consent; and we when we are tempted commonly fall into delight or consent, because being born of the sin of the flesh, we bear with us whence we afford strength for the contest; but God who incarnate in the Virgin’s womb came into the world without sin, carried within Him nothing of a contrary nature. He could then be tempted by suggestion; but the delight of sin never gnawed His soul, and therefore all that temptation of the Devil was without not within Him. CHRYSOSTOM. The Devil is wont to be most urgent with temptation, when he sees us solitary; thus it was in the beginning he tempted the woman when he found her without the man, and now too the occasion is offered to the Devil, by the Saviour’s being led into the desert. GLOSS. (ap. Anselm.) This desert is that between Jerusalem and Jericho, where the robbers used to resort. It is called Hammaim, i. e. ‘of blood,’ from the bloodshed which these robbers caused there; hence the man was said (in the parable) to have fallen among robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, bearing a figure of Adam, who was overcome by dæmons. It was therefore fit that the place where Christ overcame the Devil, should be the same in which the Devil in the parable overcomes man.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  AMBROSE. Nor does the condition of man in this corruptible body allow of making a tabernacle to God, whether in the soul or in the body, or in any other place; and although he knew not what he said, yet a service was offered which not by any deliberate forwardness, but its premature devotion, receives in abundance the fruits of piety. For his ignorance was part of his condition, his offer of devotion. CHRYSOSTOM. (ubi sup.) Or else Peter heard that it was necessary Christ must die, and on the third day rise again, but he saw around him a very remote and solitary place; he supposed therefore that the place had some great protection. For this reason he said, It is good for us to be here. (Exod. 24:15, 2 Kings 1:12.) Moses, too was present, who entered into the cloud. Elias, who on the mount brought down fire from heaven. The Evangelist then, to indicate the confusion of mind in which he utters this, added, Not knowing what he said. AUGUSTINE. (de Con. Ev. l. ii. c. 56.) Now in what Luke here says of Moses and Elias, And it came to pass as they departed from him, Peter said unto Jesus, Master, it is good for us to be here, he must not be thought contrary to Matthew and Mark, who have so connected Peter’s suggestion of this, as if Moses and Elias were still speaking with our Lord. For they did not expressly state that Peter said it then, but rather were silent about what Luke added, that as they departed, Peter suggested this to our Lord. THEOPHYLACT. But while Peter spake, our Lord builds a tabernacle not made with hands, and enters into it with the Prophets. Hence it is added, While he thus spake there came a cloud and overshadowed them, to shew that He was not inferior to the Father. For as in the Old Testament it was said, the Lord dwelt in the cloud, so now also a cloud received our Lord, not a dark cloud, but bright and shining. BASIL. (in Esai. c. 4. 5.) For the obscurity of the Law had passed away; for as smoke is caused by the fire, so the cloud by light; but because a cloud is the sign of calmness, the rest of the future state is signified by the covering of a cloud. AMBROSE. For it is the overshadowing of the divine Spirit which does not darken, but reveals secret things to the hearts of men. ORIGEN. (in Matt. tom. 12.) Now His disciples being unable to bear this, fell down, humbled under the mighty hand of God, greatly afraid since they knew what was said to Moses, No man shall see my face, and lice. Hence it follows, And they feared as they entered into the cloud.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Whether Servile Fear is substantially the Same as Filial Fear1. It seems that servile fear is substantially the same as filial fear. Filial fear seems to be related to servile fear as formed faith is related to unformed faith, since the one is accompanied by mortal sin, and the other is not. Now formed and unformed faith are substantially the same. Hence servile and filial fear are also substantially the same. 2. Again, habits are differentiated according to their objects. But servile and filial fear have the same object, since they both fear God. They are therefore substantially the same. 3. Again, just as a man hopes to enjoy God, and also to receive benefits from him, so does he fear to be separated from God, and also to be punished by him. Now the hope by which we hope to enjoy God is identical with the hope by which we hope to receive other benefits from him. The filial fear by which we fear to be separated from God is therefore identical with the servile fear by which we fear to be punished by him. On the other hand: Augustine says that there are two kinds of fear, the one servile, the other filial or chaste (Tract. 9 in Joan.). I answer: the proper object of fear is evil. But fears are bound to differ in kind if the evils which they fear are different, since actions and habits are distinguished according to their objects, as we said in 12ae, Q. 54, Art. 2. Now it is clear from what we said in Art. 2 that the evil of punishment, which is feared by servile fear, differs in kind from the evil of guilt, which is feared by filial fear. This makes it obvious that servile and filial fear are not substantially the same, but differ in their specific natures. On the first point: formed and unformed faith do not differ in respect of their object, since they both believe in God, and believe God. They differ solely in what is extrinsic to them, namely, in the presence or absence of charity. Hence they do not differ in their substance. Servile and filial fear, on the other hand, differ in respect of their objects. They are therefore not of the same nature. On the second point: servile and filial fear do not have regard to God in the same way. Servile fear looks upon God as the principal source of punishments. Filial fear does not look upon God as the principal source of guilt, but rather as the term from which it fears to be separated by guilt. These two fears do not then have the same specific nature on account of their object, since even natural movements have different specific natures if they are related to a term in different ways. The movement away from whiteness, for example, is not specifically the same as the movement towards it.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  On the fourth point: as it is said in Ecclesiasticus 10:12: “ the beginning of man ’ s pride is to stand apart from God, ” that is, to refuse to submit to God. This is opposed to filial fear, which reverences God, and is given as a protection from pride because it excludes the beginning of pride. Yet it does not follow that fear is the same as the virtue of humility, but rather that it is the beginning of this virtue. The gifts of the Holy Spirit are indeed the beginnings of the intellectual and moral virtues, as we said in 12ae, Q. 68, Arts. 5 and 8. But the theological virtues are the beginnings of the gifts, as we said in 12ae, Q. 69, Art. 4, ad 3. From this the answer to the fifth point is clear. ARTICLE TEN Whether Fear Diminishes as Charity Increases1. It seems that fear diminishes as charity increases. For Augustine says: “ the more charity increases, the more fear decreases ” {Tract. 9 in Joan.). 2. Again, fear diminishes as hope increases. Now it was said in Q^. 17, Art. 8, that hope increases as charity increases. It follows that fear diminishes as charity increases. 3. Again, love implies union, and fear implies separation. Now separation diminishes as union increases. It follows that fear diminishes as the love of charity increases. On the other hand: Augustine says: “ the fear of God is not only the beginning of the wisdom whereby one loves God above all things and one ’ s neighbour as oneself, but perfects it ” (83 Quaest. Evang. Q. 36). I answer: as we said in Arts. 2 and 4, there are two kinds of fear of God. There is the filial fear by which one fears to offend a father, or to be separated from him. There is also the servile fear by which one fears punishment. Filial fear is bound to increase as charity increases, as an effect increases along with its cause. For the more one loves someone, the more does one fear lest one should offend him, or be separated from him. The servility of servile fear is entirely removed by the advent of charity. Yet the substance of the fear of punishment remains, as we said in Art. 6. This last is diminished as charity increases, most of all in regard to its act. For the more one loves God, the less does one fear punishment: in the first place because one is the less concerned about one ’ s own good, to which punishment is opposed; secondly because one is the more confident of one ’ s reward the more firmly one adheres to God, and consequently has less fear of punishment. On the first point: Augustine is speaking of the fear of punishment.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  THE Apostle lays down three propositions in this Epistle. Firstly, he exhorts the faithful lest they should give place to the devil in their heart: “Neither give place to the devil.” Secondly, he bids them avoid those things which prepare a place for him: “Let him that stole steal no more.” Thirdly, he admonishes them that they ought to do that which may put the devil to flight: “But rather let him labour,” &c. I. On the first head it is to be noted, that for seven reasons we ought not to give place to the devil. (1) Because the serpent desires to poison the soul which receives him with a most deadly poison: “The great dragon was cast out, that old serpent called the devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world,” Rev. 12:9. (2) Because he is a lion seeking to devour souls: “Your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about seeking whom he may devour,” 1 Pet. 5:8. (3) Because he is envious, bringing envy into his dwelling-place: “Nevertheless through envy of the devil came death into the world, and they that do hold of his side do find it,” Wis. 2:24. (4) Because he is an accuser, ever accusing those who receive him: “The accuser of our brethren is cast down, which accuseth them before our God day and night,” Rev. 12:10. (5) Because he is a thief stealing the gifts of grace from those in whom he dwells: “Then cometh the devil and taketh the word out of their heart lest they should believe and be saved,” S. Luke 8:12. (6) Because he is a homicide, entangling those who receive him in perpetual death: “Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him,” S. John 8:44. (7) Because he who gives place to the devil, will share a place with him in hell: “Depart from Me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels,” S. Matt. 25:44. It is manifest, therefore, that in many ways they are very foolish who give place to the devil in their souls, for they receive a serpent, a lion, a thief, and a murderer.

• From Collected Essays (1998)

  It must have been winter because I remember he had a black overcoat on-because his overcoat was open-and he's stum bling past one of those high, iron railings with spikes on top, and he falls and he bumps his head against one of these rail ings, and blood comes down his face, and there are kids be hind him and they're tormenting him and laughing at him. And that's all I remember and I don't know why. But I only throw him in to dramatize this fact, that however solemn we writers, or myself, I, may sometimes sound, or how pontifical I may sometimes seem to be, on that level from which any genuine work of the imagination springs, I'm really, and we all are, absolutely helpless and ignorant. But this figure is important because he's going to appear in my novel. He can't be kept out of it. He occupies too large a place in my imagination. And then, of course, I remember the church people because I was practically born in the church, and I seem to have spent most of the time that I was helpless sitting on someone's lap in the church and being beaten over the head whenever I fell asleep, which was usually. I was frightened of all those broth ers and sisters of the church because they were all powerful, I thought they were. And I had one ally, my brother, who was a very undependable ally because sometimes I got beaten for things he did and sometimes he got beaten for things I did. But we were united in our hatred for the deacons and the deaconesses and the shouting sisters and of our father. And one of the reasons for this is that we were always hungry and he was always inviting those people over to the house on Sunday for an enormous banquet and we sat next to the ice box in the kitchen watching all those hams, and chickens, and biscuits go down those righteous bellies, which had no bottom. Now so far, in this hypothetical sketch of an unwritten and probably unwritablc novel, so good. From what we've already sketched we can begin to anticipate one of those long, warm, toasty novels. You know, those novels in which the novelist is looking back on himself, absolutely infatuated with himself as a child and everything is in sentimentality. But I think we NOTES FOR A HY POTH ETI CAL NOVEL 225 ought to bring ourselves up short because we don't need an other version of A Tree GroJVs in Brooklyn and we can do without another version of The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter. This hypothetical book is aiming at something more implacable than that.

• From Collected Essays (1998)

  I would have to appropriate these white centuries, I would have to make them mine-I would have to accept my special attitude, my special place in this scheme--other wise I would have no place in any scheme. What was the most difficult was the fact that I was fi>rced to admit something I had always hidden from myself, which the American Negro has had to hide from himself as the price of his public progress; that I hated and feared white people. This did not mean that I loved black people; on the contrary, I despised them, possibly because they failed to produce Rembrandt. In effect, I hated and feared the world. And this meant, not only that I thus gave the world an alto gether murderous power over me, but also that in such a self destroying limbo I could never hope to write. One writes out of one thing only-on e's own experience. Everything depends on how relentle ssly one forces from this experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give. This is the only real concern of the artist, to recreate out of the disorder of lif e that order which is art. The difficulty then, tor me, of being a Negro writer was the fact that I was, in effect, prohibited from examining my own experience too closely by the tremendous demands and the very real dangers of my social situation. I don't think the dilemma outlined above is uncommon. I do think, since writers work in the disastrously explicit me dium of language, that it goes a little way towards explaining why, out of the enormous resources of Negro speech and lif e, and despite the example of Negro music, prose written by Negroes has been generally speaking so pallid and so harsh. I have not written about being a Negro at such length because I expect that to be my only subject, but only because it was the gate I had to unlock befi>re I could hope to write about anything else. I don't think that the Negro problem in Amer ica can be even discussed coherently without bearing in mind its context; its context being the history, traditions, customs, the moral assumptions and preoccupations of the country; in short, the general social fabric. Appearances to the contrary, no one in America escapes its effects and everyone in America AUTOBIOGR APH ICAL NOTES 9 bears some responsibility for it. I believe this the more firmly because it is the overwhelming tendency to speak of this problem as though it were a thing apart. But in the work of Faulkner, in the general attitude and certain specific passages in Robert Penn \Varren, and, most significantly, in the advent of Ralph Ellison, one sees the beginnings-at leas t-of a more genuinely penetrating search .

• From Collected Essays (1998)

  Now, anyone who has ever been compelled to think about it-any one, for example, who has ever been in love-knows that the one face which one can never see is one's own face. One's lover-or one's brother, or one's enemy-sees the f.1.ce you wear, and this face can elicit the most extraordinary re actions. We do the things we do, and feel what we feel, es sentially because we must-we are responsible for our actions, but we rarely understand them. It goes without saying, I be lieve, that if we understood ourselves better, we would dam age ourselves less. But the barrier between oneself and one's knowledge of oneself is high indeed. There are so many things one would rather not know! We become social creatures be cause we cannot live any other way. But in order to become social, there are a great many other things which we must not become, and we are frightened, all of us, of those forces within us which perpetually menace our precarious security. Yet, the forces are there, we cannot will them away. All we can do is learn to live with them. And we cannot learn this unless we are willing to tell the truth about ourselves, and the truth about us is always at variance with what we wish to be. The human effort is to bring these two realities into a relationship resembling reconciliation. The human beings whom we re spect the most, after all-and sometimes fear the most-are those who are most deeply involved in this delicate and stren uous effort: for they have the unsha kable authority which comes only from having looked on and endured and survived the worst. That nation is healthiest which has the least neces sity to distrust or ostracize or victimize these people- whom, as I say, we honor, once they are gone, because, somewhere in our hearts, we know that we cannot live without them. The dangers of being an American artist are not greater than those of being an artist anywhere else in the world, but they are very particular. These dangers are produced by our history. They rest on the fact that in order to conquer this continent, the particular aloneness of which I speak-the aloneness in which one discovers that lif e is tragic, and, thn-e fore, unutterably beautiful-could not be permitted. And that OTH ER ES SAYS this prohibition is typical of all emergent nations will be proven, I have no doubt, in many ways during the next fifty years. This continent now is conquered, but our habits and our fears remain. And, in the same way that to become a social human being one modifies and suppresses and, ultimately, without great courage, lies to oneself about all one's interior, uncharted chaos, so have we, as a nation, modified and sup pressed and lied about all the darker forces in our history.

• From Collected Essays (1998)

  The very word "institu tions," from my side of the ocean, where, it seemed to me, we suffered so cruelly from the lack of them, had a pleasant ring, as of safety and order and common sense; one had to come into contact with these institutions in order to under stand that they were also outmoded, exasperating, completely impersonal, and very often cruel. Similarly, the personality which had seemed from a distance to be so large and free had to be dealt with bdc:>re one could see that, if it was large, it was also inflexible and, for the foreigner, full of strange, high, EQ UAL IN l'ARIS 10 3 dusty rooms which could not be inhabited. One had, in short, to come into contact with an alien culture in order to under stand that a culture was not a community basket-weaving project, nor yet an act of God; was something neither desir able nor undesirable in itself , being inevitable, being nothing more or less than the recorded and visible effects on a body of people of the vicissitudes with which they had been forced to deal. And their great men are revealed as simply another of these vicissitudes, even if, quite against their will, the brief battle of their great men with them has lef t them richer. When my American friend left his hotel to move to mine, he took with him, out of pique, a bedsheet belonging to the hotel and put it in his suitcase. When he arrived at my hotel I borrowed the sheet, since my own were filthy and the cham bermaid showed no sign of bringing me any clean ones, and put it on my bed. The sheets belonging to my hotel I put out in the hall, congratulating myself on having thus forced on the attention of the Grand Hotel du Bac the unpleasant state of its linen. Thereafter, since, as it turned out, we kept very different hours-1 got up at noon, when, as I gathered by meeting him on the stairs one day, he was only just getting in-my new-f ound friend and I saw very little of each other.

• From Collected Essays (1998)

  I collapsed, weeping, terrified, and Emile led me out. He walked me up to Herald Square. It was night. He talked to me; he tried to make me sec something-tried to do some thing only a friend can do: and challenged me, thus: Even if what I was preaching was gospel, I had no right to preach it if I no longer believed it. To stay in the church merely because I was afraid of leaving it was unutterably far beneath me, and too despicable a cowardice for him to sup port in any fr iend of his. Therefore, on the coming Sunday, he would buy two tickets to a Broadway matinee and meet me on the steps of the 4 2nd Street Library, at two o'clock in CHAPTER ONE 5 0 3 the afternoon. He knew that I spent all day Sunday in church-the point, precisely, of the challenge. If I were not on the steps of the library (in the bookshelves of which so much of my trouble had begun!) then he would be ashamed of me and never speak to me again, and I would be ashamed of myself. (I cannot resist observing that this still seems to me a quite extraordinary confrontation between two adolescents, one white and one black: but, then, I had never forgotten Bill's quiet statement, when I went down to her house on 12th Street to tell her that I had been "saved" and would not be going to the movies, or the theater anymore-which meant that I would not be seeing her anymore: Fve lost a lot of respect fo r you. Perhaps, in the intervening time, I had lost a lot of respect for myself.) But beneath all this, as under a graveyard pallor, or the noonday sun, lay the fact that the leap demanded that I com mit myself to the clear impossibility of becoming a writer, and attempting to save my family that way. I do not think I said this. I think Emile knew it. I had hoped for a reprieve, hoped, on the marked Sunday, to get away, unnoticed: but I was the "young" Brother Bald win, and I sat in the fr ont row, and the pastor did not begin his sermon until about a quarter past one. Well. At one thirty, 1-tip-toed-out. The further details of my departure do not concern us here: that was how I left the church. I am fairly certain that the matinee, that Sunday, was Native Son (also directed by Orson Welles) at the St. James Theatre. We were in the balcony, and I remember standing up, abruptly and unwisely, when the play ended, and nearly falling headlong fr om the balcony to the pit. I did not know that I had been hit so hard: I will not forget Canada Lee's perfor mance as long as I live.

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  Because children of divorce don’t know how to negotiate conflict well, many reach for the worst solutions when trouble strikes. For example, some will sit on their feelings, not mentioning complaints or differences until their suppressed anger blows sky-high. Others burst into tears and are immobilized or retreat into themselves or into the next room and close the door. But the most common tendency is to run away at the first serious disagreement and wrestle with unconscious demons. This is because from the perspective of the child of divorce any argument can be the first step in an inevitable chain of conflict that will destroy the marriage. It’s easier to run away. One thirty-two-year-old woman left her marriage when she concluded that her husband gave priority to the wishes of his daughter from a previous marriage. She didn’t try to discuss the situation before bolting. Although she was otherwise content with the marriage and fond of the man, she never stopped to consider that the stepchild was an adolescent and would soon be out of the home. When I asked about it, she shrugged. “I’m used to being pushed around. It’s not worth fighting about. I’ll manage.” Then she confessed to me, “I realized when I packed that I had no place to go.” This kind of behavior totally baffles spouses like Gavin who were raised in intact families. The major and minor battles of their parents’ marriages were unpleasant but not terrifying. Fights do not, in their minds, threaten the marriage. They are storms but not hurricanes. The Gavins of this world do not enjoy conflict, but their anxiety is muted by an understanding that marriages just don’t spring into being. Resolving differences and recovering from anger and hurt simply goes with the territory. They’ve been present at family crises and seen their parents struggle with serious issues and survive. They understand that marriage requires dedication and hard work. They expect high points and lows. And they expect that two people who love each other will deal rationally with conflict and resolve it. When their partner who is a child of divorce panics after a minor quarrel like the one Karen described or threatens to leave, their reaction is utter bewilderment. What should people in this situation do? First, couples need to learn to recognize brewing storms and realize that one partner may be badly frightened. The goal is to maintain the relationship, not win the fight. Gavin’s instincts were exactly on target when he came home, saw Karen in a panic, took her in his arms, and told her how much he loved her. It’s useful at such times to back away from the immediate issue and take time out. As I learned from my research on successful marriages, it’s also useful to have rules for handling differences. One very useful rule is never to go to bed angry with each other. This doesn’t mean that the problem will be solved.

• From Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption (2014)

  “There were days when I couldn’t breathe,” Walter recalled later. “I hadn’t ever experienced anything like this before in my life. I was around all these murderers, and yet it felt like sometimes they were the only ones trying to help me. I prayed, I read the Bible, and I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that I was scared, terrified just about every day.” Ralph Myers was faring no better. He had also been charged with capital murder in the death of Ronda Morrison, and his refusal to continue cooperating with law enforcement meant that he was sent to death row, too. He was placed on a different tier to prevent contact with McMillian. Whatever advantage Myers thought he could gain by saying he knew something about the Morrison murder was clearly gone now. He was depressed and sinking deeper into an emotional crisis. From the time he was burned as a child, he had always feared fire, heat, and small spaces. As the prisoners talked more and more about the details of the Evans’s execution and Wayne Ritter’s impending execution, Myers became more and more distraught. On the night of the Ritter execution, Myers was in full crisis, sobbing in his cell. There is a tradition on death row in Alabama that, at the time scheduled for the execution, the condemned prisoners bang on their cell doors with cups in protest. At midnight, while all the other prisoners banged away, Myers curled up on the floor in the corner of his cell, hyperventilating and flinching with each clang he heard. When the stench of burned flesh that many on the row claimed they could smell during the execution wafted into his cell, Myers dissolved. He called Tate the next morning and told him that he would say whatever he wanted if he would get him off death row. Tate initially justified keeping Myers and McMillian on death row for safety reasons. But Tate immediately picked Myers up and brought him back to the county jail the day after the Ritter execution. Tate didn’t appear to discuss with anyone the decision to move Myers off death row. Ordinarily, the Alabama Department of Corrections couldn’t just put people on death row or let them off without court orders or legal filings—and certainly no prison warden could do so on his own. But nothing about the prosecution of Walter McMillian was turning out to be ordinary. Once removed from death row and back in Monroe County, Myers affirmed his initial accusations against McMillian. With Myers back as the primary witness and Bill Hooks ready to say that he saw Walter’s truck at the crime scene, the district attorney believed that he could proceed against McMillian. The case was scheduled for trial in February 1988.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Reply to Objection 3: Hope is opposed to fear on the part of the object, for hope is of good, fear of evil: whereas daring is about the same object, and is opposed to fear by way of approach and withdrawal, as stated above ([3289]FS, Q[45], A[1]). And since fortitude properly regards those temporal evils that withdraw one from virtue, as appears from Tully’s definition quoted in the Second Objection, it follows that fortitude properly is about fear and daring and not about hope, except in so far as it is connected with daring, as stated above ([3290]FS, Q[45], A[2]). Whether fortitude is only about dangers of death?Objection 1: It seems that fortitude is not only about dangers of death. For Augustine says (De Morib. Eccl. xv) that “fortitude is love bearing all things readily for the sake of the object beloved”: and (Music. vi) he says that fortitude is “the love which dreads no hardship, not even death.” Therefore fortitude is not only about danger of death, but also about other afflictions. Objection 2: Further, all the passions of the soul need to be reduced to a mean by some virtue. Now there is no other virtue reducing fears to a mean. Therefore fortitude is not only about fear of death, but also about other fears. Objection 3: Further, no virtue is about extremes. But fear of death is about an extreme, since it is the greatest of fears, as stated in Ethic. iii. Therefore the virtue of fortitude is not about fear of death. On the contrary, Andronicus says that “fortitude is a virtue of the irascible faculty that is not easily deterred by the fear of death.” I answer that, As stated above [3291](A[3]), it belongs to the virtue of fortitude to guard the will against being withdrawn from the good of reason through fear of bodily evil. Now it behooves one to hold firmly the good of reason against every evil whatsoever, since no bodily good is equivalent to the good of the reason. Hence fortitude of soul must be that which binds the will firmly to the good of reason in face of the greatest evils: because he that stands firm against great things, will in consequence stand firm against less things, but not conversely. Moreover it belongs to the notion of virtue that it should regard something extreme: and the most fearful of all bodily evils is death, since it does away all bodily goods. Wherefore Augustine says (De Morib. Eccl. xxii) that “the soul is shaken by its fellow body, with fear of toil and pain, lest the body be stricken and harassed with fear of death lest it be done away and destroyed.” Therefore the virtue of fortitude is about the fear of dangers of death.