The Inner Core

Hopkins, of whom I can never tire because he often says what I want to say but cannot, sets the mood. Personal boundaries protect the inner core of one’s identity: a sustained insight that underlines our inter-relationships. This essential inner core, expressive of values and personal dignity, must be intact as inter-relations are transformed or surpassed (Brett Beasley, Acting Christ: The Christocentric Exemplarism of Gerald Manley Hopkins, Literature and Theology, Vol. 34, Issue 2, June 2020, pp. 228-244). No one bestows nor should anyone plunder this inner core: it is proper to each person. 

It is easily forgotten that dignity is a shared value, not an exclusive possession: honouring personal boundaries also means respecting the boundaries of others. Accordingly, personal formation is identified with wholeness, which includes emotional stability and clear-mindedness. Lacking this understanding, we mimic Lear’s blindness to Goneril’s and Regan’s meaningless flattery and Cordelia’s true love (William Shakespeare, King Lear). Unwilling to examine my boundaries and responsibilities blurred, discipleship becomes an insignificant word, hollow, unable to witness the Magister. 

Reflecting, there is much wisdom in this maxim: “Do to others as you would have them do to you”(Luke 6,31) and, “That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow” (Hillel the Elder, Talmud, Shabbat 31). Applying this principle serves to eliminate held illusions that undermine clear-mindedness. For example, love and justice are easily claimed, but that doesn’t mean that we practice them: racism, anti-Semitism, class-consciousness, abuse and religious bigotry are but examples that disclaim these maxims. Let the disciple be warmed: undermining the dignity of others weakens one’s dignity even when we affirm otherwise. This insight complements the Magister’s affirmation that someone should have a heavy millstone around the neck and be thrown into the sea rather than scandalise (not respecting their dignity) the little ones (Mark 9, 38-48). 

Oddly, many find no difficulty claiming love while sustaining injustice through silence, demonstrating our failure to expose our hearts to the Magister’s gaze even when preaching in His name.  Exposure empowers us to scrutinise our self-understanding and the ability to eliminate masks that hinder our growth. 

Love can be ambiguous. A Yiddish lullaby, ‘A Boy Dreaming of Flying’ (Oyfn veg shteyt a boym), projects a boy who is held up from flying by his ‘momma’: she piles clothes to protect him from winter’s bitterness: her love limited her son’s dream. The boy could only watch other birds fly by as his mother’s love was distorted into a cage. Growing up, his cage got smaller, his dream evaporated. This lullaby attests the need to honestly scrutinise our love: distorted, it transmutes into abuse. Lacking this clear-mindedness inhibits ‘Metanoia’ because its absence sustains our illusion that we love. This insight also challenges our definition of truth, which often proves subjective, or worse, an excuse to impose our arrogance even when it is clothed in sheep’s skins (Mathew 7,15). 

Focusing on the formation of conscience reminds us that our integrity resides in the Magister’s gaze, who is the way to the truth and life (John 4,6). The first step to realise this comprehension is to recognise and admit our fragility. Although this is humbling, it also enriches our understanding of our frailty as we witness the Magister. Hence, discipleship reflects “a treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power of God belongs to God and not to us” (2Corinthians 4,7). A narcissist, for example, finds it hard to realise this Pauline intuition because focusing on oneself limits clear-mindedness and, therefore, sustains irresponsibility when we speak of others. Thus, we are warned: “Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to do it” (Proverbs 3,27). 

Martin


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