Abstract
Near the end of his book on holiness, John Webster writes that “a crucial aspect of holiness is an increase in concentration: the focusing of mind, will and affections on the holy God and his ways with us.” In this article, I briefly explore a few ideas in Thomas Aquinas’ exegetical work (chiefly in his commentaries) that constellate around the idea of holiness as concentration. I suggest that “concentration” offers a fruitful way to speak of a saintly analogy to divine simplicity. Not even saints are simple in the strict sense, but they can be sincere and pure, with their energies gathered together in a unified pursuit of a single, divine object. I then offer a reading of the famous Milanese garden scene in the Confessions, arguing that Augustine's conversion is paradigmatic of concentration, before concluding with an amendment and a commendation.
“The last seven months have revealed to me how demanding the love of the Lord is. I will never be happy unless I am totally, unconditionally committed to him. To be single-minded, to ‘will one thing,’ that is my goal and desire. Then also I can let go of the many pains and confusions that are the result of a divided mind. By allowing the Lord to be in the center, life becomes simpler, more unified, and more focused.” – Henri Nouwen 1
Near the end of his book on holiness, John Webster writes that “a crucial aspect of holiness is an increase in concentration: the focusing of mind, will and affections on the holy God and his ways with us.” 2 In this article, I will briefly explore a few ideas in Thomas Aquinas’ exegetical work (chiefly in his commentaries) that constellate around the idea of holiness as concentration. I will suggest that “concentration” offers a fruitful way to speak of a saintly analogy to divine simplicity. Not even saints are simple in the strict sense, but they can be sincere and pure, with their energies gathered together in a unified pursuit of a single, divine object. I will conclude by reading the famous Milanese garden scene from Augustine's Confessions in light of holiness as concentration; this theme is striking for its ability to make sense of Augustine's perplexing hesitation and his final, sudden embrace of Christ.
Much of what I want to say can be summed up in Thomas’ succinct comment that “our holiness lies in our going to God.” 3 We see here the common destination of the saints’ pilgrimage (we are going somewhere) and the necessity of a unified agency that makes for our “going” to God with alacrity and persistence (we are going somewhere). Both Webster and Thomas recognize that concentration requires a single objection of attention and a correspondingly attentive subject. I turn first to the single objection of attention.
A Single Object of Attention
Commenting on Paul's prayer that the Philippians might be “blameless, and sincere [simplices] children of God” (Phil 2:15), Thomas writes that “a son is like his father. But God is innocent [simplex]; hence we are innocent [simplices] sons of God, when our intention is directed to one object: a double-minded man [vir duplex animo] is unstable in all his ways (Jas 1:8); be as wise as serpents and innocent [simplices] as doves (Matt 10:16).” 4 Note three things about this passage. First, Thomas defines simplicity (with simplices translated here as sincerity or innocence) as intending a single object. God and his children are alike when they seek one, and only one, end. 5 One might wonder whether it matters what that end is; perhaps, so long as one's intention is singular, anything will do. 6 But here we might respond that only one “thing” is capable of infinitely and eternally captivating a person's attention, and that all other things will grow dull and give way to an endless parade of distractions. In any case, note that it is by intending a single object that we show ourselves to be sincere children of God.
Secondly, in glossing “simple,” Thomas appeals to James’ warning about the unstable, double-minded man and Jesus’ admonition to the apostles to be “innocent as doves.” 7 There is some wordplay in the background (simplex-duplex), but the material result brings to the fore the way in which those who persevere in intending a single object possess stability and moral purity. Together, these suggest personal integrity, in the richest sense.
Finally, Thomas discerns a striking family resemblance between God and his children. “A son is like his father,” and we, too, are like our Father when we intend one thing. Early in the first part of the Summa theologiae, Thomas insists that God alone is “altogether simple [omnino simplex].” 8 And yet, in commenting on Philippians 2, he affirms that God's children can imitate him in such a way that they, too, can be “simple.” Where his simplicity is both metaphysical and moral, theirs is only moral. But the very use of the term in his commentary on Philippians without a caveat is striking, given Thomas’ deflationary reminder elsewhere that “[t]he effects of God do not imitate perfectly, but only as far as they are able; and the imitation is here defective, precisely because what is simple and one, can only be represented by diverse things…” 9
Next, consider Thomas’ commentary on 1 Timothy 6:9, which reads: “For those who will to become rich fall into temptation and into the snare of the Devil and into many unprofitable and hurtful desires, which drown men into destruction and perdition.” The love of money leads to dangers from without and within. “The danger from within is threefold,” Thomas writes, “first the desire branches out into
To suggest the possibility of a person becoming “more…one” is also to suggest that she might become “less one.” Thomas concludes this passage by describing the converse of the person whose heart is gathered together as she seeks to dwell in the house of the Lord: “But one who seeks riches acts against this, because his heart is attracted to many things: their heart is divided; now they shall perish (Hos 10:2), the reason being that where your heart is, there is your treasure also (Matt 6:21).” If perfection flows from a whole heart, sin and death flow from a fractured heart. It is not so much that the lover of money loves the wrong thing—though she does. It is that, in loving money, she will quickly and inevitably love many things. She will experience the division of her heart, the diffusion of her energies, and the dissolution of her life.
A brief final note is in order: It may seem that concentration implies a merciless repudiation of all other objects of interest. In The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind, Mark Noll worried that the characteristic form of Evangelical Jesus-piety was world-denying, an ironically impious denigration of God's good creation and a misconstrual of the church's mission in the world. He spotted signs of this disease in Helen Howarth Lemmel's popular hymn: Turn your eyes upon Jesus, Look full in His wonderful face, And the things of earth will grow strangely dim In the light of His glory and grace.
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Of course, there is biblical precedent for—indeed, an injunction to!—heavenly-mindedness. We need look no further than Paul's words in Colossians 3.
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Thomas is in full agreement on this point. In one of his polemical writings, he bluntly comments, “The religion of Christ appears to aim chiefly at diverting the attention of mankind from material things, in order to concentrate their thoughts on the spiritual.”
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Noll's worry is not his, to be sure. Commenting on Colossians 3:2 (“Mind the things that are above, not the things that are upon the earth”) Thomas writes, Here he is affirming one way of life, and rejecting another. A person sets his mind on things that are above, when he governs his life according to heavenly ideas, and judges all things by such ideas: the wisdom from above (Jas 3:15). And a person sets his mind on things that are on earth when he orders and judges all things according to earthly goods, considering them the highest goods…
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To “set one's mind” or “concentrate” on things above need not imply we are oblivious to things below, then. To seek first the kingdom of God need not imply that I seek nothing else. It only need, and must, imply that my search for the kingdom of God orders and rules my other searches. This seems psychologically obvious to me, as life, at least earthly life, is needfully caught up in ambitions and adventures small and large. The question I must ask myself is whether these ambitions and adventures are ruled consistently by one object—and what that object is.
Singleness of Heart
Concentration, Webster writes, requires a “focusing of mind, will and affections on the holy God and his ways with us.” There is a necessary correspondence, then, between the singularity of the object of attention and the coordinated faculties and functions involved in paying attention. Or, to return to Thomas’ comment that “our holiness lies in our going to God,” we can put it this way: It is not enough to establish the telos of our journey; we must ourselves be fit to undertake it. In this second section, I want to consider a few characteristics and concomitants of holy concentration.
First of all, concentration is marked by
Of course, this is all easier said than done. Webster acknowledges that “in the wake of the fall, our intellect is no longer well-directed; it no longer moves swiftly to its goal, but is dissipated.”
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Note the twin problems—a lack of a clear and worthy object, and the diffusion of energy. Webster and Thomas offer the same diagnosis: We double-minded men and women have fallen into the sin of curiositas. Here's Webster: “Curiosity enters when theology neglects the particular object of theology and instead gives itself promiscuously to whatever sources of fascination present themselves, particularly if they are novel; and so, theology becomes restless and unstable.”
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Instead of focusing mind, will, and affections on the holy God and his ways with us, we give ourselves to, well, anything, so long as it enthralls us, and especially if it is new. Note the indiscriminatory way in which we trade “the particular object” of holy love for “whatever sources of fascination present themselves.” It is unsurprising, in light of the frenetic, irrational, and unprincipled flitting from fascinating object to fascinating object, that we become “restless and unstable.”
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Thomas draws an explicit contrast between curiosity and concentration in his commentary on 2 Timothy 3:7 (“Ever learning, and never attaining to the knowledge of the truth”): “For curiosity [curiositas] is ever on the alert for news, and refuses to concentrate [insistere]; hence he says,
Concentration entails Therefore, he who does not give his whole heart to God, but desires to hold some other thing alongside him, loses him. For the bed is straightened, so that one must fall out, and a short covering cannot cover both (Isa 28:20). Therefore, he praises him with his whole heart who will accept nothing contrary to God but directs everything to him in act and habit.
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There is the now-familiar single object of devotion that characterizes concentration. Thomas sharpens that point here with reference to its exclusivity—the wholehearted saint “will accept nothing contrary to God.” This is an enacted exclusivity, with the sign of the saint's wholeheartedness being the coordination and direction of everything he has, is, and does to God “in act and habit.” Thomas makes a similar point in commenting on Psalm 26:4 (“One thing I have asked of the Lord, this will I seek after, that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life. That I may see the delight of the Lord, and may visit his temple”). Reflecting on David's holy desire, Thomas writes that the quality of a desire consists in two things: namely, in its unity and in its intensity. And both belong to the perfection of desire. For the perfection of a desire depends on the perfection of its cause, namely love, which, when it is perfect, first gathers [congregat] all the powers together into one, and moves them towards the beloved. For it is, according to Augustine, the weight of the one who loves. Now, a heavy thing tends to one direction without wavering, but this is not so if the thing is not well-weighted. But the divine love makes the man tend to God without wavering [sine vacillatione].
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There may be some ambiguity in the phrase “divine love”—does it refer to “God's love [that] has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us” (Rom. 5:5), or to the holy love the saints have for God? Regardless, the former brings about the latter, and the saints are quickened in their ability to “move” or “tend” towards their beloved God as their powers are gathered together. 27 Holiness is spiritually efficient, whereas sin is hopelessly inefficient, with the resources of the self scattered and dissipated in such a way that the sinner is never able to make progress in life but ends in dissolution. Thomas argues that a pure heart is required for charity, because “it is impossible for an impure heart to be prompt in regard to charity: because a thing loves that which is in conformity with it. But an impure heart loves that which conforms to it among the passions. Therefore, it needs to be freed of the passions…” 28 In contrast, these wholehearted ones proceed apace on their way to God with a single-minded vigor. 29
Precisely because the saint is oriented to God and ordered in herself, her concentration is
Before turning to the example of Augustine, let me add one further commendation: Concentration dovetails with anthropological holism and so is particularly apt as part of a rearticulation of holiness in our contemporary intellectual climate. In this, it is a broader category than Thomistic contemplation; in fact, concentration straddles the contemplative-active divide. Let me back up: On the one hand, Thomas draws a common distinction between two types of life: “[T]he contemplative life is according to that which is most proper to man, namely his intellect; whereas in the works of the active life the lower powers also, which are common to us and brutes, have their part…” 31 Contemplation is principally intellectual, though it is not purely so. “[A]s regards the essence of the action, [it] pertains to the intellect, but as regards the motive cause of the exercise of that action it belongs to the will, which moves all the other powers, even the intellect, to their actions…” Furthermore, Thomas adds, “the contemplative life terminates in delight, which is seated in the affective power, the result being that love also becomes more intense.” 32 Despite this nuanced account, it is easy to misconstrue contemplation as a purely intellectualist endeavor. Concentration, which speaks to a mental focus as well as the gathering of a diverse complex of psycho-somatic resources, more readily suggests the holistic character of holiness. So, when Thomas writes that, “just as for the contemplation of wisdom a person must take hold of his mind so as to fill his entire house with the contemplation of wisdom, all the more so must he be completely present inside through his concentration [intentionem], namely so that it isn’t drawn off into diversions,” the congeries of questions and answers around mind-body interaction that litter the contemporary intellectual landscape remind us that this being “completely present inside through his concentration” is no mere intellectual endeavor. 33 Instead, “the focusing of mind, will and affections on the holy God and his ways with us” (Webster's definition) requires all of us, body and soul.
The Sanctification of Augustine
As he makes sense of his life over the course of the Confessions, Augustine emerges as the prototypical double-minded man—rudderless, adrift, at the mercy of the elements, inconstant, unstable. 34 His intellectual difficulties were real obstacles to his embrace of the Christian faith, but, as he famously recounts, the root of it all was disordered love. With his intellectual difficulties resolved, he confesses: “And now I had discovered the good pearl. To buy it I had to sell all that I had; and I hesitated (Matt. 13: 46).” 35
Augustine hesitates because he is a splintered self. He has been shattered by sin and scattered to the winds. Augustine repeatedly has recourse to imagery of self-alienation, multiplicity, and scattering to describe his sorry state. He speaks of “the state of disintegration in which I had been fruitlessly divided.” 36 He confesses that “I travelled very far from you, and you did not stop me. I was tossed about and spilt, scattered and boiled dry in my fornications.” 37 Augustine is Israel, vomited out of the land and scattered to the nations. He is the prodigal son, wandering from home and squandering all he has. 38 He is not one, but many, lost in an ever-shifting series of loves. Slightly earlier in the book, Augustine takes stock: “And here I was already thirty, and still mucking about in the same mire in a state of indecision, avid to enjoy present fugitive delights which were dispersing my concentration, while I was saying: ‘Tomorrow I shall find it [i.e., wisdom]; see, it will become perfectly clear, and I shall have no more doubts.’” 39 Precisely because the delights were “fugitive,” they could never be “true.” They could only fascinate, tantalize, and distract. They could only “dispers[e] my concentration.” Augustine's vagrant heart bears all the marks of curiositas.
And so it is no surprise that, even having discovered the good pearl, Augustine hesitates. He just cannot make up his mind. He is of two minds, we would say. Augustine makes the point with reference to the will: The new will, which was beginning to be within me a will to serve you freely and to enjoy you, God, the only sure source of pleasure, was not yet strong enough to conquer my older will, which had the strength of old habit. So my two wills, one old, the other new, one carnal, the other spiritual, were in conflict with one another, and their discord robbed my soul of all concentration.
40
He cannot understand why he does not enter into a covenant with God, “when all my bones (Ps. 34:10) were crying out that I should”. The only thing necessary “was to have the will to go—provided only that the will was strong and unqualified, not the turning and twisting first this way, then that, of a will half-wounded, struggling with one part rising up and the other part falling down.” 42 But of course, that is precisely Augustine's problem: “the self which willed to serve [the Lord] was identical with the self which was unwilling. It was I. I was neither wholly willing nor wholly unwilling. So I was in conflict with myself and was dissociated from myself.” 43
In an iconic moment, Augustine hears a child chanting tolle lege, tolle lege—“pick up and read, pick up and read.” He returns to a book of Paul's letters and reads the first verses his eyes fall on: “Not in riots and drunken parties, not in eroticism and indecencies, not in strife and rivalry, but put on the Lord Jesus Christ and make no provision for the flesh in its lusts.” 44 Suddenly, he is converted. Or, we might say, he is sanctified, set apart from the world and for the Lord Jesus Christ. (It is significant that this moment of full allegiance to Christ and the ensuing baptism mark Augustine's retirement from his career, his commitment to chastity, and his devotion to a monastic form of life.)
The drama of Augustine's spiritual wanderings builds to a fever pitch just before the scene in the Milanese garden, and he narrates it with extraordinary psychological and emotional acuity. It is surprising, then, that he says so little about the moment of transition. A captivated reader wants to know just what happened to Augustine as he read Paul's words and how it is that this unpromising passage could usher Augustine into the kingdom of God. The closest Augustine comes is at the opening of Book IX, and we can read this passage in light of our earlier discussion of concentration: “The nub of the problem was to reject my own will and to desire yours. But where through so many years was my freedom of will? From what deep and hidden recess was it called out in a moment?” 45 A divided will is a bound will. Wanting two things, it can want nothing, in the sense that it is unfree to move in a single direction. Because such a will is not concentrated, but diffuse, it is incoherent and incapable of sustained, principled movement. Those with a divided, bound will are unable to go to God.
Augustine despaired of his condition and his ability to escape it, and this proved to be the divine therapy that prepared him for the decisive step. The proud man finally humbled himself: “Thereby I submitted my neck to your easy yoke and my shoulders to your light burden (Matt. 11:30), O Christ Jesus ‘my helper and redeemer’ (Ps. 18:15).” 46 Augustine seems to have identified this humble submission with the “putting on” of Christ that he read about in the garden. Furthermore, submission to the will of another does not further enslave him, but sets him free to will one thing. “Suddenly it became sweet to me to be without the sweets of folly. What I once feared to lose was now a delight to dismiss. You turned them out and entered to take their place, pleasanter than any pleasure but not to flesh and blood…” 47 Notice many of the characteristics of concentration here. Augustine wholeheartedly delights in Jesus Christ and disdains all else. This may have required an act of exorcism (“you turned them out”)—which suggests something of the difficulty of concentration—but its result is a sudden relish for the things of God. Earlier, Augustine did not have “strength enough to enjoy you.” 48 It might seem counter-intuitive that enjoyment requires strength, as it is a spontaneous affective response. But this is just the point—that Augustine was incapable of such a response, because his delight was diffused in many places and he was unable to unite his affections in God. But once he embraced the mediator between God and humanity, Jesus Christ, Augustine suddenly found God “pleasanter than any pleasure but not to flesh and blood.” Here is clear evidence of Augustine's transformation into a single-minded man, again in an affective register. He is not caught between two loves, but full of joy in the Lord.
Formerly, Augustine had been spiritually promiscuous. The problem was that his “willing was not wholehearted.” 49 But now this single-minded man seeks only one thing. He has become spiritually chaste and no long chases after other lovers. 50 Earlier, Lady Continence had called out to Augustine in the garden, “serene and cheerful without coquetry, enticing me in an honorable manner to come and not to hesitate.” 51 Of course, his disordered sexuality was at issue; but continence speaks, too, to broader questions of self-control, personal integration, and the unity of heart and mind that eluded Augustine. As he later reflects, “By continence we are collected together and brought to the unity from which we disintegrated into multiplicity.” 52 In putting on the Lord Jesus Christ, Augustine's affections were concentrated and he takes quick steps to realize his death to the world and consecration to Christ. He decides to retire from his work as a teacher of rhetoric and devote his time to seeking God. 53 “The effect of your converting me to yourself was that I did not now seek a wife and had no ambition for success in this world. I stood firm upon that rule of faith…” 54 Augustine has died to his two greatest desires—the desire for sexual pleasure and the desire for worldly honor. But, while we ought not minimize the world-denying character of his resolution, it would be a grave error to construe this as mere antipathy. Instead, Augustine has forsaken all other loves for the joy of fidelity to Christ.
Conclusion
In conclusion, I offer a brief amendment and a longer commendation. With regard to the amendment, recall Thomas’ remark that “our holiness lies in our going to God.” 55 I would want to make explicit that our holiness lies in our going with God to God, or our going by God to God. Thomas is no Pelagian, expecting recently reborn Christians to muster up the resources to make the long journey to the heavenly city on their own. But a long and difficult journey it is. I suspect that we cannot remind ourselves often enough of the abiding necessity of the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit along the way. 56
As for the commendation, concentration is a remarkably robust and flexible category by which to understand holiness. It can account for the holiness of the individual Christian and for the holiness of the Christian community (whether we think here of the universal Church, individual churches, or monastic communities). Both the individual and the community are “gathered” in holiness. But this is no mere assembly; it is a harmonious integration of all the members and powers towards a single end, the love and enjoyment of God. Augustine borrows from corporate images and language to describe the way in which an individual, like a community, can be scattered and splintered. It should be obvious at this point that and how an individual might be gathered by the Spirit, such that he is a single-minded man. We ought not miss the way that the Spirit likewise does, and must, gather the people of God if they are to sing of the mercies of the Lord in one voice.
Furthermore, holiness as concentration can account for a variety of vocations. Greg Peters has argued convincingly in The Monkhood of All Believers that monasticism has never been just, or even primarily, about self-denial. The vows have always served the love of God, and “to be a monk is to be one, not divided; to be unified in one's goal of coming into union with God. Though many believers live in a multitudinous manner, a monachos will set herself apart by living simply and singly. A monk is single-minded.” 57 Taking a cue from Luther, Peters concludes on the basis of this historical judgment that “all Christians are”—or at least, we might add, are called to be—“monks.” As Luther himself wrote, “I am still a monk and yet not a monk.” 58 No vocation is exempt from the call to a purity of heart in which a believer loves the Lord her God with all her heart.
Finally, concentration can account for both the new allegiance that marks Christian initiation and the lifelong (and fitful) progress of holiness in the life of the Christian. Late in the Confessions, long after his heart was united initially in the love of God, Augustine acknowledges that there are many respects, in tiny and contemptible matters, where our curiosity is provoked every day…. My life is full of such lapses, and my one hope is in your great mercy. When my heart becomes the receptacle of distractions of this nature and the container for a mass of empty thoughts, then too my prayers are often interrupted and distracted; and in your sight, while I am directing the voice of my heart to your ears, frivolous thoughts somehow rush in and cut short an aspiration of the deepest importance.
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It is fitting to conclude a discussion of holiness with Augustine's realistic confession that “my one hope is in your great mercy.” Even this recognition serves to concentrate the mind and heart on the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. The contrite confession that one has been distracted and divided, wandering from the narrow path that leads to the heavenly city, then erupts into the shout of holiness—a full-throated and passionate “Yes!” to the One who so loved the world that the gave his only-begotten Son.
