Tag Archives: St. Ignatius of Loyola

Discernment of Spirits and Mindfulness

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In a previous essay, I offered an anthropological criticism of what most aptly be described as Catholic Mindfulness as described by Dr. Gregory Bottaro in his book of the same name.  The heart of the problem, as I described it, lies in the fact that mental health will never be restored by turning off our natural mechanism by which we come to know reality.  The error is in our judgment and so we must learn to judge rightly rather than judging at all.  It is akin to stopping overeating by not eating at all rather than training ourselves through the virtue of temperance to eat correctly.  I ended that essay by saying that we were much better off not looking any further East than Rome for help in governing our thoughts.  Now I would like to offer the Catholic alternative to Mindfulness.

This “alternative” is not a baptized version of the Buddhist practice, but instead an approach that is deeply rooted within Ignatian spirituality.  St. Ignatius of Loyola calls this practice Discernment of Spirits.  It is predicated upon the idea that not every thought that each of us has is his own.  We are caught in a cosmic struggle between Good and evil spirits.  Our minds are the battleground upon which this conflict is played out.  The Good Spirit, appealing to our freedom, inspires us to love the Good and move towards its source, God Himself.  The Evil Spirit meanwhile moves us by using confusion, discouragement and darkness away from God and towards “low and earthly things.”  So St. Paul invites us to “hold every thought captive to Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5) to judge whether the thoughts we have are our own or if they are coming from the Good or Evil Spirit.  And St. Ignatius offers us a practice to make this admonition possible.

To Be Aware, to Judge, and to Act

According to St. Ignatius, when a thought or movement in our soul arises, we need to discern its source.  We do that first by making ourselves aware of the thought.  In this way, Discernment of Spirits is similar to Mindfulness.  We should cultivate the habit of examining the movements in our souls.  But this is where the similarities end.  Rather than “paying attention to the present moment without judgment or criticism,” as Dr. Bottaro suggests, we should judge where the thoughts are coming from.  St.  Ignatius gives us rules by which we can judge their source, that is, he gives us rules by which we can train ourselves to judge correctly.

St. Ignatius says that if the thoughts inspire in us an increase in faith and hope, inflame the heart with love for God, increase our commitment to the will of God and to true humility or align our hearts with the Truth, then these thoughts should be acted upon.  St. Ignatius calls these consolations and it is the means by which God forms us and strengthens us.  When those thoughts arise we should act in accord with them. 

On the other hand any thoughts or movements in our souls that draw us away from those things or, as St. Ignatius puts it, those things that stir in us “darkness of soul, disturbance in it, movement to things low and earthly, the unquiet of different agitations and temptations, moving to want of confidence, without hope, without love, when one finds oneself all lazy, tepid, sad, and as if separated from his Creator and Lord” should be acted against. 

Notice that this rule does not say we should ignore or push the thoughts away, but, when faced with desolation we should judge them rightly and act against them.  In fact, according to St. Ignatius, to respond weakly, or not at all, will actually make matters worse.  Like most bullies, the evil spirits flee when they are confronted with strength (see Rule 12).  The best time to resist evil thoughts and temptations is in the beginning before they gain any traction in our hearts. 

It was mentioned above that consolation was the means by which God formed us.  In order to be more accurate we should say that God also forms us by permitting desolation.  It is when “I am weak, that I am strong” so that by exposing us to desolation, God is able to deepen our faith, hope and charity.  In other words, desolation is only permitted when it is for our spiritual good.  So important is this principle that St. Ignatius says that consolation is often given to us in order to strengthen us during times of desolation (Rule 10).  The point though is that in order to benefit from it in the way that God intends, we must actively oppose it.  For this, St. Ignatius gives us three specific rules (Rules 5-7).

Rules for Times of Desolation

St. Ignatius says that when we are in desolation, we should never make a change to a spiritual resolution we made while in consolation (Rule 5).  Because we are drawn towards “low and earthly things” we will be tempted to think our previous resolutions to be too hard or a little “over the top” and want to walk them back. 

Resisting that temptation to change, we should instead insist on changing ourselves (Rule 6).  Rather than merely standing against the temptation, we are advised to fight back “by insisting more on prayer, meditation, on much examination, and by giving ourselves more scope in some suitable way of doing penance.”  There is no better way to resist being drawn away from God than to run back towards Him and rejecting “low things” through penance and mortification. 

It becomes plain to see that what Dr. Bottaro and his mindfulness friends offer is not liberation from our thoughts (as if they were only ours) but a means by which to get further ensnared by them.  We should follow St. Ignatius rules for the Discernment of Spirits and enjoy the freedom that only Christ can give.

The Eucharistic Remnant

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Finding that love for God had greatly cooled in his time, St. Ignatius of Loyola placed the blame squarely upon a lack of devotion to the Eucharist.  This, of course, makes perfect sense for they are one and the same thing—“every one who loves the Father, also loves the Son” (1 John 5:1).  The Eucharist keeps our love for God from becoming abstract and always ensures that it remain fully human.  Returning to Ignatius, he says that

“the early Church members of both sexes received Communion daily as soon as they were old enough. But soon devotion began to cool, and Communion became weekly. Then after a considerable interval of time, as devotion became still more cool, Communion was received on only three of the principal feasts of the year. . . . And finally, because of our weakness and indifference, we have ended with once a year. You would think we are Christian only in name, to see us so calmly accepting the condition to which the greater part of mankind has come.” 

In short, we must return to our roots and receive Our Lord daily in the Eucharist.

Our Lord, on the Cross, gave all that was possible to mankind, emptying Himself of every ounce of blood, the symbol of life.  This sacrifice will always remain distant to us individually until each one of us climbs the Mount of Calvary to receive it.  Each Mass situates us really and truly, even if sacramentally, at the foot of the Cross.  But it is not enough to merely be there, His blood must come upon us so that His life becomes ours.  This is not symbolic, for the Creator of all that is needs no symbols, but real.  “unless you eat the flesh and drink the blood of the Son of Man, you have no life in you” (John 6:53).

Meeting Our Lord’s Desire Head On

It should come as no surprise then that Our Lord so earnestly desired to give the Church the Eucharist (Luke 22:15).  For our part, we should earnestly desire to receive Him.  The Communion rail should be the place where the two desires collide and are consummated, igniting the fire of Divine Love in our souls.  This holy desire should be wholly consuming.  St. Catherine of Siena compares it to a candle that one carries to Communion:

“If you have a light, and the whole world should come to you in order to take light from it — the light itself does not diminish — and yet each person has it all. It is true that everyone participates more or less in this light, according to the substance into which each one receives the fire. I will develop this metaphor further that you may the better understand Me. Suppose that there are many who bring their candles, one weighing an ounce, others two or six ounces, or a pound, or even more, and light them in the flame, in each candle, whether large or small, is the whole light, that is to say, the heat, the color, and the flame; nevertheless you would judge that he whose candle weighs an ounce has less of the light than he whose candle weighs a pound. Now the same thing happens to those who receive this Sacrament. Each one carries his own candle, that is the holy desire, with which he receives this Sacrament, which of itself is without light, and lights it by receiving this Sacrament.”

Receiving Our Lord in the Eucharist is so vital to our existence that it was the first thing He told us to ask for ourselves; “Give us this day, our daily bread.”  The Eucharist is the only “Daily Bread”.  He tells us to ask food because He hungers to give.  His hunger converts our hunger.  As Christ tells St. Augustine, “I am the food of the strong; grow and thou shall feed on Me.  But you shall not convert Me into yourself as the nourishment of your body, but you shall be changed into Me.” (Confessions Book 7 Ch 10).

Pope St. Pius X in his Decree Sacra Tridentina exhorted the Faithful to receive Our Lord daily in the Eucharist.  But in order to do so fruitfully “one should take care that Holy Communion be preceded by careful preparation, and followed by an appropriate thanksgiving, according to each one’s strength, circumstances and duties.”  We must “approach the Sacred Table Holy Table with a right and devout intention” that is animated neither by “custom, vanity or any human reason but with the desire to satisfy the good pleasure of God while growing ever closer to Him in charity.”  We must receive Our Lord in order to quench His desire to give.

Tying together St. Ignatius sentiment with that of St. Catherine Siena helps us to grasp the ecclesiastical importance of fervent and daily Communion.  Both the sign of and the cause of the mass tepidity is a lack of desire for the Eucharist.  But when a Eucharistic remnant emerges that receives with St. Catherine’s holy desire, the love of Our Lord begins to spread like a flame as more and more candles are lit.  The Early Church was filled with Daily Communicants and they set the world on fire with the love of Christ precisely because they were Daily Communicants.  They gave what they received by bringing new converts to meet Our Lord in the Eucharist.  If you want to change the face of the Earth then commit to living a thoroughly Eucharistic life.  Catholics are Eucharistic Christians and thus meet Our Lord face to face every day.