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 Great Authors of the Western Literary Tradition (2004)

  448 Lecture 66: Gustave Flaubert The surrounding context sets this lyrical dialogue in a world of reality. We already know that Rodolphe has a mistress in Rouen. Even as we hear Rodolphe’s enchanting words, we also hear the stale rhetoric of the public offi cial. Even as Rodolphe squeezes Emma’s hand, we hear about the hands of a little old woman awarded a medal for 54 years of service: hands so fi lthy they can never be cleaned. We hear many different voices in the chapter—all of which shed some light on Emma’s situation. Like the chapter on the fair, Flaubert’s organization of the novel as a whole allows us to see many different relationships as well as the complexity of the heroine’s situation. Cutting back and forth between one conversation and another, Flaubert anticipates modern fi ction and even cinema. Flaubert used this kind of jump-cutting to combat his own tendencies toward Romantic subjectivity. He thought the author should be like God, omnipresent and invisible. The novel juxtaposes the sacred with the sexual and the profane. At one point, Emma prays to God as if he were her lover. While Leon waits for Emma in church, the church seems to him like a gigantic boudoir. As he gets into a cab with Emma to seduce her, a guide begs them to see the biblical sculptures on the north door, including, ironically, the Last Judgment. Emma’s death reveals the helplessness of doctors and the absence of any assurance of salvation but also—once again—the intermingling of dreams and ordinary life. When Emma poisons herself, not even the best doctor available can cure her. Emma’s death is described with a combination of lyrical poignancy and clinical precision. As Emma dies, she overhears a bawdy song that suggests the grim reaper. The song is sung by a blind man she has seen on the road earlier. She sees The novel juxtaposes the sacred with the sexual and the profane. At one point, Emma prays to God as if he were her lover. While Leon waits for Emma in church, the church seems to him like a gigantic boudoir. 449 the beggar’s face as a fi gure of terror. Her fi nal dream springs not from something fantastic but from her response to the ordinary life around her. Thus, Madame Bovary fuses the Romantic imagination with the commonplace facts of ordinary life. ■ Flaubert, Madame Bovary, translated by Francis Steegmuller. ———, The Temptation of St. Anthony, translated by Lafcadio Hearn. Lottmann, Flaubert: A Biography. Vargas-Llosa, The Perpetual Orgy: Flaubert and Madame Bovary, translated by Helen Lane. 1. What is the relation between Emma’s piety and her adulterous urges? 2. How does her affair with Leon differ from her affair with Rodolphe? Essential Reading Supplementary Reading Questions to Consider

• From Great Authors of the Western Literary Tradition (2004)

  220 Lecture 31: Dante Alighieri—The Divine Comedy “Midway through life’s journey” (that is, at the age of 35—Dante is alluding to Psalm 90: “seventy is the sum of our years”), Dante was wandering in a dark and terrifying forest when he encountered the Roman poet Virgil. Virgil agrees to guide Dante out of the dark forest and far beyond, too. Worried that he is merely brash, Dante asks how he can be worthy: “I am not Aeneas, I am not Paul.” Virgil tells him that he must be, will become, brave, perseverant, and rational. We get a fi rst hint that the poet will destroy his former self. Dante and Virgil approach the mouth of Hell, where they read the inscription: “Abandon hope all you who enter here.” A great irony presents itself: The sinners in Hell—those who died unrepentant—can never leave, but Dante, though a sinner, can amend his ways and escape. Dante also for the fi rst time sees God as a judge, not only as a miracle-worker and creator. Hence, the Comedy will turn on themes of divine justice. Dante and Virgil fi rst encounter those eternally unnamed persons who refused to take chances, to take stands, during their lives. They were never really alive. Then they encounter the righteous pagans—this is the realm where Virgil spends eternity. These people are just in every way except that they do not know God. Dante’s sense of justice is, therefore, absolute. In Canto 5, the intrepid travelers enter Hell and encounter Paolo and Francesca, perhaps the most famous of the denizens of Hell. The Dante protagonist at fi rst is sorrowful at Francesca’s fate, but Virgil steadies him. Francesca’s sin seems small on human terms: Spurred by a French romance, she stole a kiss. But the larger point here is that she subjected reason to passion and degraded the divine spark in her. The Hell of Dante’s imagination is a pit that descends into the earth in a series of concentric circles. Once Dante and Virgil enter Hell proper, the circles represent various kinds of sins. In general, the categories of sins are incontinence, violence, and deception. On a moral scale, Dante encounters those who succumbed to human appetites, then gradually, those who willed evil. Dante’s way of imagining sins is intriguing. Among the violent, we fi nd tyrants, thugs, and brigands but also heretics, blasphemers, sodomites, and

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

  PSEUDO-CHRYSOSTOM. Not Christ only is led into the desert by the Spirit, but also all the sons of God who have the Holy Spirit. For they are not content to sit idle, but the Holy Spirit stirs them to take up some great work, i. e. to go out into the desert where they shall meet with the Devil; for there is no unrighteousness wherewith the Devil is pleased. For all good is without the flesh and the world, because it is not according to the will of the flesh and the world. To such a desert then all the sons of God go out that they may be tempted. For example if you are unmarried, the Holy Spirit has in that led you into the desert, that is, beyond the limits of the flesh and the world, that you may be tempted by lust. But he who is married is unmoved by such temptation. Let us learn that the sons of God are not tempted but when they have gone forth into the desert, but the children of the Devil whose life is in the flesh and the world are then overcome and obey; the good man, having a wife is content; the bad, though he have a wife is not therewith content, and so in all other things. The children of the Devil go not out to the Devil that they may be tempted. For what need that he should seek the strife who desires not victory? But the sons of God having more confidence and desirous of victory, go forth against him beyond the boundaries of the flesh. For this cause then Christ also went out to the Devil, that He might be tempted of him. CHRYSOSTOM. But that you may learn how great a good is fasting, and what a mighty shield against the Devil, and that after baptism you ought to give attention to fasting and not to lusts, therefore Christ fasted, not Himself needing it, but teaching us by His example. PSEUDO-CHRYSOSTOM. And to fix the measure of our quadragesimal fast, he fasted forty days and forty nights. CHRYSOSTOM. But He exceeded not the measure of Moses and Elias, lest it should bring into doubt the reality of His assumption of the flesh.

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

  It is enjoined upon the faithful to pray that the kingdom of God may come, namely, that they subject themselves completely to Him. But it is a terrible thing for sinners, because for them to ask the coming of God’s kingdom is nothing else than to ask that they be subjected to punishment: “Woe to them that desire the day of the Lord!” By this prayer, too, we ask that death be destroyed. Since Christ is life, death cannot exist in His kingdom, because death is the opposite of life: “And the enemy, death, shall be destroyed last.” “He shall cast death down headlong forever.” And this shall take place at the last resurrection: “Who will reform the body of our lowness, made like to the body of His glory.” In a second sense, the kingdom of heaven signifies the glory of paradise. Nor is this to be wondered at, for a kingdom (“regnum”) is nothing other than a government (“regimen”). That will be the best government where nothing is found contrary to the will of the governor. Now, the will of God is the very salvation of men, for He “will have all men to be saved”; and this especially shall come to pass in paradise where there will be nothing contrary to man’s salvation. “They shall gather out of His kingdom all scandals.” In this world, however, there are many things contrary to the salvation of men. Hence, when we pray, “Thy kingdom come,” we pray that we might participate in the heavenly kingdom and in the glory of paradise.

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

  On the third point: one who receives faith from God without receiving charity is not entirely healed of infidelity, since the guilt of his former infidelity is not removed. He is healed partially only, so that he ceases from such sin. For it often happens that a man desists from one act of sin through God causing him to do so, but is prevented from desisting from another by the impulsion of his own iniquity. Thus God sometimes gives a man the gift of faith without the gift of charity, just as he gives to some men the gift of prophecy, or something similar, without charity. QUESTION SEVEN THE EFFECT OF FAITHWe must now consider the effects of faith, concerning which there are two questions, 1. Whether fear is an effect of faith. 2. Whether purification of the heart is an effect of faith. ARTICLE ONE Whether Fear is an Effect of Faith1. It seems that fear is not an effect of faith. For an effect does not precede its cause. But fear precedes faith, since it is said in Ecclesiasticus 2:8: “ Ye that fear God, believe in him. ” Hence fear is not an effect of faith. 2. Again, the same thing is not the cause of contrary effects. Now it was said in 12ae, Q. 23, Art. 2, that fear and hope are contraries, and the gloss on Matt. 1:2, “ Abraham begat Isaac, ” says that “ faith begets hope. ” It follows that faith is not the cause of fear. 3. Again, one contrary is not the cause of another. Now the object of faith is something good, namely, the first truth. But it was said in 12ae, Q. 18, Art. 2, that the object of fear is something evil, while it was also affirmed in the same passage that actions take their species from their objects. It follows that faith is not the cause of fear. On the other hand: it is said in James 2:19: “ the devils also believe, and tremble. ”

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

  2. Again, initial fear fears punishment, which is the object of servile fear. Thus it seems that initial fear is the same as servile fear. But servile fear is other than filial fear. Hence initial fear is substantially other than filial fear. 3. Again, a mean differs equally from both extremes. Now initial fear is a mean between servile fear and filial fear. It therefore differs from both of them. On the other hand: the perfect and the imperfect do not diversify the substance of a thing. Now as Augustine explains (Tract. 9 in Joan.), initial and filial fear differ in respect of the perfection and the imperfection of charity. Hence initial fear does not differ substantially from filial fear. I answer: fear is said to be initial because it is a beginning. Both servile fear and filial fear may in a manner be called initial, since each of them is in a manner the beginning of wisdom. Initial fear is not so called because it is distinct from servile and from filial fear. It is so called because it applies to the state of beginners, in whom filial fear is begun through the beginning of charity, but is not in them perfectly since they have not yet attained to the perfection of charity. Initial fear thus bears the same relation to filial fear as imperfect charity bears to perfect charity. Now perfect and imperfect charity do not differ in their substance, but only in their state. We must therefore say that initial fear, as we here understand it, does not differ substantially from filial fear. On the first point: as Augustine says (Tract. 9 in Joan.), the fear which is the beginning of love is servile fear, which introduces charity, as the bristle introduces the thread. If this refers to initial fear, it means that fear is the beginning of love not absolutely, but in so far as it is the beginning of the state of perfect charity. On the second point: initial fear does not fear punishment as its proper object. It fears punishment because something of servile fear is conjoined with it. When its servility has been removed, the substance of servile fear remains, together with charity. The act of servile fear remains, together with imperfect charity, in one who is moved to do well not only by love of justice, but also by fear of punishment. But this act ceases in one who has perfect charity, since “ perfect love casteth out fear ” (1 John 4:18). On the third point: initial fear is a mean between servile and filial fear as the imperfect is a mean between perfect being and not-being, as it is said in 2 Metaph., text 7, not as a mean between two things of the same genus. Imperfect being is the same in substance with perfect being, but differs altogether from not-being. ARTICLE NINE

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

  (3.) In the third place, that we similarly walk in the midst of three pits. (1) Woman, or luxury: “The mouth of a strange woman is a deep pit: he that is abhorred of the Lord shall fall therein,” Prov. 22:14. Gloss., the “abhorred of the Lord” is the son of wrath. He who embraces the words or kisses of a strange woman knocks as at the door of an abyss, and unless he draws back his feet, restraining his members, he will fall into that penal pit into which none except the son of wrath falls down. (2) Gluttony and drunkenness: “Who falls into pits,” Prov. 23:29, Vulg. “Who hath redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the wine, they that go to seek mixed wine,” Prov. 23. (3) The grief of the hypocrites and evil-doers: “There shall the great owl make her nest” [Vulg. “hole”], Isa. 34:15, Gloss. The owl signifies the double dealers, who hide intentions under the thorns of duplicity. “The foxes have holes,” &c., S. Matt. 8:20. On account of the danger of snares, we ought ever to walk cautiously before the Lord, that He Himself may draw our feet out of the trap. S. Augustine says, “I resist the seducers that my feet may not be entangled by which I walk in Thy way, and I will lift up to Thee the invisible eyes that Thou mayest draw my feet out of the snare. Whence dost Thou draw them, for if they seek Thee Thou ceasest not to lift them up. But I, therefore, run where the snares are scattered abroad.” On account of the danger of robbers we ought to walk cautiously, armed for walking with all spiritual arms. “Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand in the evil day, and having done all to stand,” Ephes. 6:13. On account of the dangers of pitfalls, we ought to walk cautiously, ever walking with gravity and by the light of grace: “Let us walk honestly as in the day,” Rom. 13:13. HOMILY XL THE LORD’S ARMIES AND THEIR WORK TWENTIETH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.—(FROM THE GOSPEL)“He sent forth His armies and destroyed those murderers.”—S. Matt. 22:7. IN these words the Lord speaks in a parable of the perdition of the ungodly which is about to be in the judgment, and marks here three things. Firstly, the great power of God: “He sent forth His armies.” Secondly, His severe justice: “He destroyed His murderers.” Thirdly, the perverse wickedness of the reprobate: “those murderers.”

• From Collected Essays (1998)

  Owing to the way I had been raised, the abrupt dis comfort that all this aroused in me and the fact that I had no idea what my voice or my mind or my body was likely to do next caused me to consider myself one of the most depraved people on earth. Matters were not helped by the fact that these holy girls seemed rather to enjoy my terrified lapses, our grim, guilty, tormented experiments, which were at once as chill and joyless as the Russian steppes and hotter, by far, than all the fires of Hell. Yet there was something deeper than these changes, and less definable, that frightened me. It was real in both the boys and the girls, but it was, somehow, mor e vivid in the boys. In the case of the girls, one watched them turning into matrons before they had become women. They began to manifest a curious and really rather terrifYi ng single-mindedness. It is hard to say exactly how this was conveyed: something im placable in the set of the lips, something farseeing (seeing what?) in the eyes, some new and crushing determination in the walk, something peremptory in the voice. They did not tease us, the boys, any more; they reprimanded us sharply, saying, "You better be thinking about your soul !" For the girls also saw the evidence on the Avenue, knew what the price would be, for them, of one misstep, knew that they had to be protected and that we were the only protection there was. They un derstood that they must act as God's decoys, saving the souls of the boys for Jesus and binding the bodies of the boys in marriage. For this was the beginning of our burning time, and "I t is better," said St. Paul-who elsewhere, with a most unusual and stunning exactness, described himself as a "wretched man"-"to marr y than to burn ." And I began THE FIR E NE XT TIME to feel in the boys a curious, wary, bewildered despair, as though they were now settling in for the long, hard winter of life. I did not know then what it was that I was reacting to; I put it to myself that they were letting them selves go. In the same way that the girls were destined to gain as much weight as their mothers, the boys, it was clear, would rise no higher than their fathers. School began to reveal itself, therefore, as a child's game that one could not win, and boys dropped out of school and went to work.

• From Collected Essays (1998)

  Their silence frightened me. Martin Luther King, Jr., had promised to have a car meet me at the airport. There was no car in sight, but I had the phone number of the Montgomery Improvement Association-if I could find a phone, if I could get past the men at the wire. It was eerie and instructive to realize that, though these were human beings like myself, I could not expect them to respond to any TAKE ME TO THE WATER 401 human request from me. There was nothing but space behind me, and those three men before me: I could do nothing but walk toward them. Three grown men: and what was the point of this pathetic, boys-together, John Wayne stance? Here I was, after all, having got on a plane with the intention of coming here. The plane had landed and here I was-and what did they suppose they could do about it now? short, of course, of murdering every black passenger who arrived, or bombing the airport. But these alternatives, however delectable, could not lightly be undertaken. I walked past them and into the first phone booth I saw, not checking to sec, and not caring whether I had entered the white or the black waiting room. I had resolved to avoid incidents, if possible, but it was already clear that it wouldn't always be possible. By the time I got my number, they watching me all the while, the MI A car drove up. And if the eyes of those men had had the power to pulverize that car, it would have been done, exactly as, in the Bible , the wicked city is leveled-I had never in all my lif e seen such a concentrated, malevolent poverty of spirit. The Montgomery blacks were marching then, remember, and were in the process of bringing the bus company to its knees. What had begun in Montgomery was beginning to happen all over the South . The student sit-in movement has yet to begin. No one has yet heard of Jamcs Foreman or James Bevel. We have only begun to hear of Martin Luther King, Jr. Malcolm X has yet to be taken seriously. No one, except their parents, has ever heard of Hucy Newton or Bobby Scale or Angela Davis.

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

  When he woke up, he was in an upside-down car on the side of the road. He went home that night and never sought medical assistance. His girlfriend later told his family that at first he just seemed a little off. Then he started hallucinating and exhibiting increasingly bizarre and erratic behavior. He stopped sleeping regularly, complained about hearing voices, and on two occasions ran out of the house naked because he thought he was being chased by wasps. Within a week of the accident he had stopped speaking in sentences. Just before his mother, who lived in Montgomery, was summoned to help persuade him to go to a hospital, George boarded a Greyhound bus in the middle of the night. He traveled as far as the money he had in his pocket would take him. Disoriented and uncommunicative, he was forced off the bus in Hurtsboro, Alabama, after unnerving some passengers by talking loudly to himself and gesturing wildly at objects he imagined were flying around him. The bus had gone through Montgomery, where he had family, but he stayed on until he was thrown off, with no money and wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and no shoes in the middle of January. He wandered around Hurtsboro and eventually stopped at a house. He knocked on the door, and when the homeowner opened it, George walked inside without being invited and roamed around until he found the kitchen table, where he sat down. The alarmed homeowner called her son, who came and physically removed George from the house. George went to another home owned by an older woman and did the same thing. She called the police. The officer who responded had a reputation for being aggressive, and he forcefully removed George from the home. George started resisting while being pulled to the police car, and the two men began wrestling and fell to the ground. The officer pulled his weapon and the two were grappling over the gun when it discharged, shooting the officer in the stomach. He died from the gunshot wound. George was arrested and charged with capital murder. While in the Russell County jail, he became acutely psychotic. Officers reported that he wouldn’t leave his cell. He was observed eating his own feces. His mother visited him, but he didn’t recognize her. He couldn’t speak in complete sentences. The two lawyers who were appointed to represent him at his capital trial were primarily concerned that only one of them would be paid the $1,000 for out-of-court time that Alabama provided lawyers appointed in capital cases. They began squabbling with each other, and one filed a civil suit against the other about who could claim the money. Meanwhile, the judge sent George to Bryce Hospital in Tuscaloosa for a competency examination.

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

  On the contrary, It is written in praise of certain men (2 Macc. 15:18): “Nicanor hearing of the valor of Judas’ companions, and the greatness of courage [animi magnitudinem] with which they fought for their country, was afraid to try the matter by the sword.” Now, only deeds of virtue are worthy of praise. Therefore magnanimity which consists in greatness of courage is a virtue. I answer that, The essence of human virtue consists in safeguarding the good of reason in human affairs, for this is man’s proper good. Now among external human things honors take precedence of all others, as stated above [3348](A[1]; [3349]FS, Q[11], A[2], OBJ[3]). Therefore magnanimity, which observes the mode of reason in great honors, is a virtue. Reply to Objection 1: As the Philosopher again says (Ethic. iv, 3), “the magnanimous in point of quantity goes to extremes,” in so far as he tends to what is greatest, “but in the matter of becomingness, he follows the mean,” because he tends to the greatest things according to reason, for “he deems himself worthy in accordance with his worth” (Ethic. iv, 3), since his aims do not surpass his deserts. Reply to Objection 2: The mutual connection of the virtues does not apply to their acts, as though every one were competent to practice the acts of all the virtues. Wherefore the act of magnanimity is not becoming to every virtuous man, but only to great men. on the other hand, as regards the principles of virtue, namely prudence and grace, all virtues are connected together, since their habits reside together in the soul, either in act or by way of a proximate disposition thereto. Thus it is possible for one to whom the act of magnanimity is not competent, to have the habit of magnanimity, whereby he is disposed to practice that act if it were competent to him according to his state. Reply to Objection 3: The movements of the body are differentiated according to the different apprehensions and emotions of the soul. And so it happens that to magnanimity there accrue certain fixed accidents by way of bodily movements. For quickness of movement results from a man being intent on many things which he is in a hurry to accomplish, whereas the magnanimous is intent only on great things; these are few and require great attention, wherefore they call for slow movement. Likewise shrill and rapid speaking is chiefly competent to those who are quick to quarrel about anything, and this becomes not the magnanimous who are busy only about great things. And just as these dispositions of bodily movements are competent to the magnanimous man according to the mode of his emotions, so too in those who are naturally disposed to magnanimity these conditions are found naturally.

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

  Objection 2: Further, whosoever exposes himself to danger sins. But he who renounces all he has and embraces voluntary poverty exposes himself to danger—not only spiritual, according to Prov. 30:9, “Lest perhaps . . . being compelled by poverty, I should steal and forswear the name of my God,” and Ecclus. 27:1, “Through poverty many have sinned”—but also corporal, for it is written (Eccles. 7:13): “As wisdom is a defense, so money is a defense,” and the Philosopher says (Ethic. iv, 1) that “the waste of property appears to be a sort of ruining of one’s self, since thereby man lives.” Therefore it would seem that voluntary poverty is not requisite for the perfection of religious life. Objection 3: Further, “Virtue observes the mean,” as stated in Ethic. ii, 6. But he who renounces all by voluntary poverty seems to go to the extreme rather than to observe the mean. Therefore he does not act virtuously: and so this does not pertain to the perfection of life. Objection 4: Further, the ultimate perfection of man consists in happiness. Now riches conduce to happiness; for it is written (Ecclus. 31:8): “Blessed is the rich man that is found without blemish,” and the Philosopher says (Ethic. i, 8) that “riches contribute instrumentally to happiness.” Therefore voluntary poverty is not requisite for religious perfection. Objection 5: Further, the episcopal state is more perfect than the religious state. But bishops may have property, as stated above ([3791]Q[185], A[6]). Therefore religious may also. Objection 6: Further, almsgiving is a work most acceptable to God, and as Chrysostom says (Hom. ix in Ep. ad Hebr.) “is a most effective remedy in repentance.” Now poverty excludes almsgiving. Therefore it would seem that poverty does not pertain to religious perfection. On the contrary, Gregory says (Moral. viii, 26): “There are some of the righteous who bracing themselves up to lay hold of the very height of perfection, while they aim at higher objects within, abandon all things without.” Now, as stated above, ([3792]AA[1],2), it belongs properly to religious to brace themselves up in order to lay hold of the very height of perfection. Therefore it belongs to them to abandon all outward things by voluntary poverty.

• 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.