New Lights on Pastoral

Problems
By
PAUL HANLY FURFEY, PH. D.
THE BRUCE PUBLISHING COMPANY
MILWAUKEE
Nihil obstat:
H. B. RIES,
Censor librorum
Imprimatur: + SAMUEL A. STRITCH, Archiepiecopus Milwauchiertais
March 25, 1931

To John Montgomery Cooper whose intelligent and critical interest in the problems of
pastoral theology has been a never-failing inspiration

He uses the term "parataxis," and defines it as "an impulsive drive to react to difficulties
in some particular way . . . that becomes abnormal by virtue of its intensity or
prolongation or bizarre character, and which may be the preliminary stage of a nervous
breakdown."

PREFACE ...................................................................................................................... 2
I. INTRODUCTION....................................................................................................... 2
II. MENTAL DEFECT AND MENTAL ABERRATION ............................................... 4
III. PHYSICAL FACTORS ............................................................................................ 5
IV. THE FLESH AND THE SPIRIT .............................................................................. 7
V. THE NATURAL HISTORY OF CONDUCT ............................................................ 9
VI. THE CONFLICT.....................................................................................................11
VII. THE COMPROMISE.............................................................................................13
VIII. THE UNCONSCIOUS..........................................................................................14
IX. REPRESSION.........................................................................................................16
X. THE PARATAXIS OF CONVERSION....................................................................18
XI. THE PARATAXIS OF RATIONALIZATION ........................................................20
XII. THE PARATAXIS OF PHANTASY FORMATION..............................................21
XIII. THE PARATAXIS OF PROJECTION..................................................................23
XIV. FEELINGS OF INFERIORITY ............................................................................25
XV. THE MEASUREMENT OF INTELLIGENCE ......................................................26
XVI. THE IDIOT AND THE IMBECILE .....................................................................28
XVII. THE MORON .....................................................................................................29
XVIII. THE DULL CHILD AND THE SCHOOL .........................................................31
XIX. THE GIFTED CHILD ..........................................................................................33
XX. INSIGHT ...............................................................................................................35

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 PREFACE
The Holy Father's recent Encyclical 1 has served to emphasize the striking
changes in family life which have occurred during the present century. Increasing
opportunities for employment have lured more and more women out of the home. The
growth of the movies and the popularization of the automobile have successfully
competed with the home during the hours devoted to recreation. The recent growth of
cities has deprived a greater and greater proportion of the population of the opportunities
for wholesome employment which are associated with rural life.
Together with these changes, and largely on account of them, there has been a
great increase in personal maladjustments. The problems of delinquency and crime have
assumed alarming proportions. In the growing complexity of our civilization, the plight
of the mental defective is ever more unfortunate. There has been a large and continued
increase in the population of our mental hospitals.
In the struggle against these pressing social problems, a major part of the
responsibility must fall on the shoulders of the priest. He is the divinely appointed
director and counselor of souls, and Catholics turn to him naturally for aid in the solution
of their personal problems, whether these are directly or only indirectly concerned with
the spiritual life.
This little volume has been written in the hope that it may aid priests and their
helpers among the sisterhoods and laity in this struggle. It is an attempt to combine the
traditional wisdom of the Church with the results of the best modern experience. The
author will feel richly repaid if this book shall prove to be of any aid in this sacred cause.

I. INTRODUCTION
BY THE very nature of his ministry the priest is bound to be interested in conduct
problems. He cannot perform his work properly without understanding human nature.
Sacerdotal zeal makes him a student of humanity.
This is necessary, first of all, for his work in the confessional. The causes of
scruples, of unusual kinds of temptations, of strange obsessions and compulsions, are not
evident on the surface. Only a man with deep insight can be helpful in such cases. Not
only in the confessional, but in the general direction and care of souls, as well as in the
pulpit, the priest is constantly dealing in human psychology. Humanly speaking, he
cannot be successful without a knowledge of this subject.
Particularly where the parish has a parochial school, such problems frequently
arise. Sisters and parents quite naturally ask his advice when the child misbehaves. Here,
again, success comes only to the man who understands human beings through and
through. Besides this, the zealous priest, as a citizen, will be anxious to contribute his
trained experience to the solution of such problems as juvenile deliquency in the
community in which he lives.

1
Casti Conubii, Pope Pius XI, December 31, 1930

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 By dint of long experience the Catholic Church has accumulated a wealth of
knowledge bearing on human nature. The traditional handling of cases by moral
theologians represents a valuable body of psychological knowledge. Equipped with this
lore the priest will have a deep insight into the mysteries of the human personality.
In the past few years science also has built up a valuable mass of knowledge
concerning human behavior. Psychology and neurology have contributed data on the
mechanics of human activity. Psychiatry has carefully studied the behavior of the
mentally deranged and this study has thrown interesting light on the nature of the minor
peculiarities of many persons who would ordinarily be judged sane.
The last two decades have seen the remarkable development of the mental-test
movement. With the aid of these tests it is possible to determine, at least roughly, the
degree of mental ability which a person possesses. The wide use of this method has
resulted in a great deal of interesting material.
Another striking development is the child-guidance clinic. These agencies make
intensive studies of problem children. By examining the child from every angle, a flood
of light has been thrown on the causes of misconduct.
Finally, a number of psychologists, particularly in the United States, have been
investigating the mental life of preschool children. They have verified the traditional
opinion that early years are exceedingly important. By studying conduct in the making,
they have been better able to understand the peculiarities of adult behavior.
Thus, science stands ready to make its contribution to the handling of pastoral
problems. A few good priests, through no fault of their own, but moved by the
sensational statements of pseudoscientists, have looked with suspicion on this newer
knowledge. There is really no reason for apprehension. The newer knowledge of human
nature may rightly be considered as merely an extension of the sane, old, traditional
viewpoint of the Church. In fact, it is rather remarkable to see how closely the newer
concepts approach the ideas of the old ascetical writers. This treatise will attempt to show
that there is no opposition between the traditional viewpoint of the Church and the proved
conclusions of modern science. Instead of being opposed to the new psychology, the
priest should use it extensively in his pastoral work.
In the following chapters we shall attempt to present briefly some of the results of
modern research which may be practically helpful to the priest in the care of souls. We
shall keep constantly in mind the relation of these modern principles to the traditional
principles of ascetic theology. We shall try to avoid all that which has little or no
practical value to the priest. The study of the "psychoses" (the major forms of insanity)
may be extremely interesting to the specialist, but since these cases generally find their
way to a mental hospital, and since they are relatively uncommon in pastoral experience,
we shall omit any discussion of them. Complicated nervous diseases will likewise be
omitted from consideration, for these belong rather to the neurologist than to the priest.
Leaving out such cases as these, there remains the usual run of conduct problems found
even among ordinary sane people and which are frequently met by the priest in his daily
duties. In the following chapters, these cases will be our chief center of interest.

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 II. MENTAL DEFECT AND MENTAL
ABERRATION
EVERYONE realizes that certain individuals are unable to live normal lives. We
call such people "abnormal" and distinguish them from the "normal" persons who are
able to lead more or less successful lives as members of the community. The line between
normal and abnormal is by no means sharp. It is like the dividing line between good and
poor health. All of us are more or less irrational at times, but in most of us this irrational
conduct is not serious enough to interfere with our daily occupations and the management
of our routine affairs.
Abnormal conduct may be due to either of two causes and these two causes are
quite distinct. We must distinguish, therefore, between mental defect and mental
aberration. The former implies a lack of intelligence. The latter implies that, although the
afflicted individual may have normal mental ability, he employs it in abnormal ways.
Among the mentally handicapped we may distinguish two classes—the feeble-
minded (the mental defective properly so called) and the dull. The division between these
two classes, though very convenient, is purely arbitrary. The feeble-minded are those
whose mentality never develops beyond the level of the normal child of about 12 years.
The dull are those whose mental ability is higher than that of the feeble-minded but less
than that of the average person.
Naturally, feeble-mindedness is the more serious of these conditions. Probably 1
or 2 per cent of the entire population should be placed in this category. The lower grade
feeble-minded are, for the most part, confined to institutions. A considerable number of
mental defectives, however, are at large in the community and must be dealt with in the
ordinary course of pastoral practice.
Dullness, as distinguished from feeble-mindedness, owes its importance to the
large number of persons so classified. Roughly speaking, one-fifth of the population
belongs here. Most of these persons are self-respecting citizens who give little cause for
complaint. And yet among them are a considerable number who, owing to their low
intelligence, often get into trouble. They do not need institutional treatment but they do
need a certain amount of supervision.
Mental aberration is to be distinguished sharply from mental defect. It is what is
commonly spoken of as "insanity." A person falling under this classification may have
normal intelligence. In fact, he may have unusually high intelligence; but on account of
queer delusions, uncontrolled impulses, or abnormal emotional reactions he is not able to
control the course of his existence in a rational manner. Few persons realize the
importance of the problem of mental illness. There are almost as many patients in mental
hospitals in the United States at the present moment as there are in all other sorts of
hospitals combined. Seventy-two thousand men were rejected from the draft in the late
war on account of mental illness.
It is not at all simple to classify the various forms of mental aberration. The
classification in common use by experts at the present time is quite complicated. Even so,
it is not entirely satisfactory because many of the different categories overlap.
Mental aberration may be due to some disease of the nervous system. For
example, cerebral arteriosclerosis, by damaging the substance of the brain, may also

4
affect conduct. Other forms of mental disease may be due to poisons taken into the
system. The mental states which follow excessive alcoholism are well-known examples.
Finally, there are mental diseases called "functional." These are not connected with any
injury to the nervous system which is discoverable in the present stage of science. As far
as we can guess at present, they are due to the imperfect functioning of a healthy nervous
system—from which fact they derive their name, functional.
The priest; in his ordinary round of duty, seldom comes in contact with these
major forms of mental disease. When a person is recognizably "insane," his relatives
generally refer him to a specialist, and he usually finds his way to a mental hospital if his
condition is really serious.
Our aim in this book is to consider briefly those forms of mental defect and
mental aberration which the priest is likely to encounter rather frequently in his routine
pastoral work. We shall be concerned with mental defect because of its importance in the
parochial school and because of its relation to behavior difficulties and the question of
moral responsibility.
Under the head of mental aberration we shall, take up the consideration of certain
minor disorders which are very common in everyday life. Dom Thomas Verner Moore, 2
Ph.D., MD., has coined a convenient term for such abnormal emotional adjustments. He
uses the term "parataxis," and defines it as "an impulsive drive to react to difficulties in
some particular way . . . that becomes abnormal by virtue of its intensity or prolongation
or bizarre character, and which may be the preliminary stage of a nervous breakdown."
A parataxis, therefore, is not a form of "insanity" any more than a headache is a
form of brain disease. The parataxis may, however, be serious enough to occasion
considerable mental anguish. It may make the sufferer act in a very irrational manner. It
may interfere very seriously with the self-knowledge, the humility, which is so essential
in the spiritual life. Finally, it may so affect one's emotional balance that temptations are
abnormally hard to resist. Severe cases of scruples, which do not yield to common-sense
arguments, are very often due to paratactic trends. Only the sane person can advance in
the spiritual life. It becomes very important, therefore, for the director of souls to
understand the causes which underlie abnormal behavior.

III. PHYSICAL FACTORS

BODY and mind are so closely united in the human being that we can scarcely be
surprised that what affects one will affect the other as well. Hence it is that certain
physical conditions have an important influence on conduct. It is important to remember
this, since otherwise we might waste our time in following blind leads.
Physical conditions may affect conduct either directly or indirectly. The former is
true of many diseases of the nervous system. The indirect effects of the physical
condition may be apparent as a result of almost any physical ailment.
One of the most striking of the diseases which affect conduct is epilepsy. The
exact cause of this scourge is not known with certainty. It seems to be more or less

2
Moore, Thomas Verner, Dynamic Psychology; An Introduction to Modern Psychological Theory and
Practice, Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Co. (1924), viii, 444 pp.

5
hereditary in nature. The vast majority of epileptics come from epileptic stock. About 2.7
per cent of the admissions to state mental hospitals are epileptics. The disease is rather
common in children. Spratling found that in about three-fourths of the cases the disease
had its beginning before the age of 20, and in more than one-third of the cases, before the
age of 10.
Epilepsy has many forms. The typical variety, in which the sufferer falls down in
a convulsive fit, is known as grand mal. But there are other varieties as well. Neurologists
talk about the "epileptic equivalents," which means that the attack may take some form
which is not easily recognizable. Thus, for example, a sudden attack of violent temper
may be the equivalent of the epileptic seizure in a given individual.
The person afflicted with this dreadful disease can hardly hope for a permanent
cure. A great deal may be done, however, to make his condition more pleasant. By the aid
of special diets and a regimen in which excitement is excluded, the sufferer may remain
quite well and happy most of the time.
In 1918 and 1921 there were epidemics of a disease known popularly as "sleeping
sickness" and among physicians as "encephalitis lethargica." This disease has nothing to
do with the African "sleeping sickness." It is an acute, infectious fever during which the
brain substance is involved. During the height of the disease the patient falls into a
prolonged stupor, whence the disorder derives its name.
From the standpoint of behavior, encephalitis is interesting, because after
recovery the patient frequently shows a very startling change in personality traits. Persons
who have been timid and refined may become suddenly bold and gross. Since the
disorder frequently occurs in childhood, it is well to bear in mind the possibility of
encephalitis in dealing with problem children.
Chorea is another important nervous disorder. This is known popularly as "Saint
Vitus's Dance." Buckley 3 is authority for the statement that "practically all patients
suffering from chorea, of whatever form it may be, present a certain degree of mental
disturbance." As the preceding quotation implies, there are various kinds of chorea. The
most serious of these is Huntington's Chorea, a practically incurable disease of the
nervous system. The moral of this is that any child showing the well-known symptoms of
chorea should be brought to a neurologist at once.
Very frequently a parent will attribute a child's misconduct to some head injury
received in early infancy. Such cases actually occur, but they are very, very rare. Only
about .3 of 1 per cent of the admissions to state mental hospitals are caused by brain
injuries.
Those who deal with children will do well, therefore, to be extremely skeptical
about such explanations, for very frequently it is an excuse by which the mother covers
up her own failure to rear the child properly. Instead of blaming her own stupidity and
lack of wise discipline, she attributes the child's misconduct to an accident out of her
control. Many diseases affecting the brain or the central nervous system will naturally
affect conduct. Brain tumors, senile cortical softening ("softening of the brain") , and
various other pathological brain conditions will help to account for misconduct.

3
Buckley, Albert Coulson, The Basis of Psychiatry (Psychological Medicine) A Guide to the Study of
Mental Disorders for Students and Practitioners, Philadelphia and London: J. B. Lippincott Company
(1920), xii, 44.7 pp.

6
 Among physical causes we should undoubtedly include forms of mental disease
due to abuse of alcohol or other drugs. The symptoms of delirium tremens are more or
less familiar to most people. But this is only one of the several mental disorders due to
alcohol which are known to psychiatrists. Not only alcohol, but other drugs when they are
used to excess may be responsible for abnormal mental states.
We have been talking about peculiarities of behavior due to definite nervous
diseases. But other types of disease, not necessarily limited to the nervous system, may
have their effect upon conduct. We are all conscious of the fact that when we are even
slightly ill we become more irritable. A person who is suffering from some chronic
disease will be liable to this same type of irritability practically all of the time. Due
allowance for this fact should be made. We cannot expect sick persons to act as rationally
as other persons.
Very frequently a person in poor health or a person with some permanent physical
defect will develop feelings of inferiority. The boy with heart disease cannot take part in
the rough, active games of his schoolmates. He is forced to husband his little strength.
His play must be mostly of a very inactive sort. Such a child feeling himself inferior to
others will sometimes be discouraged. He will lack the healthy boy's normal, care-free
outlook upon life, and his conduct may be correspondingly affected.
A long siege of illness may develop a dependent attitude in a child or an adult.
Throughout the long weeks of illness the patient has been waited on by attentive relatives
and nurses. His slightest wish has been anticipated. He has had to do very little for
himself. On recovery, it is very easy to keep the same attitude, continually to seek
sympathy, and to expect others to do things for him—an attitude which is surely not very
desirable from the standpoint of mental health.
We now know that conduct disorders are due to physical causes less frequently
than was formerly believed. After making due allowance for this fact, however, we must
still realize that physical factors cannot be neglected. It is rather naive to take a problem
child to a general practitioner with the expectation that the physician will find the cause
of the child's disorder with a stethoscope. On the other hand, we should bear in mind such
physical factors as have been mentioned in the present chapter; and where a child or adult
behaves in an irrational manner, a thorough physical examination is always in order.

IV. THE FLESH AND THE SPIRIT

IN a well-known passage, St. Paul says, "The good which I will, I do not; but the
evil which I will not, that I do" (Rom. vii. 19) . Besides being a revealed truth, this
passage rings true to all human experience. Every human being is acutely conscious of
the struggle between good and evil going on within him.
Self-control is a distinct achievement. In the absence of this difficult quality we
find ourselves drifting in undesired and undesirable directions. We solemnly decide that
we shall act thus and so, and then we catch ourselves doing quite the opposite.
This struggle is so familiar that we are scarcely aware of its rather amazing
implications. For they are amazing! It would not be difficult to understand if man
occasionally willed to do one thing, then changed his mind and did the contrary. The
thing which makes human conduct so remarkable is the fact that both sets of tendencies
are often operative at once. It is not hard to understand the fact that we sometimes will

7
good and sometimes evil, but it is difficult to understand the fact that we seem to will
both alternatives at once.
It would seem that there are two distinct principles operating within us—one of
which is continually tending toward sensual pleasure while the other strives ever upward
toward higher things. Spiritual writers constantly use language which implies that this is
so. They contrast the two principles as the "old Adam" and the "new man," or as our
"lower nature" and our "rational nature," or as the "flesh" and the "spirit."
One is tempted to ask here how such expressions can be reconciled with the
teaching of the Church that man has but one soul. If man is a unit, how can ascetical
writers use language which sounds so dualistic?
The answer, of course, is that when we talk of our "lower nature" or our "rational
nature" we are not using these terms in a strict philosophical sense; for it is theologically
certain that man has but one nature. But this unitary human being is a composite of body
and soul and he can be conscious at one time of two very different sets of tendencies.
The Schoolmen devoted a great deal of time to an acute psychological analysis of
our inconsistent human nature. They distinguished the "sensitive appetite" (appetitus
sensitivus) from the "rational appetite" (appetitus rationalis). Both these appetites tend
toward the good, but toward good of different orders. The sensitive appetite, being a
material or organic power, is not free and tends always necessarily to its proper object,
the sensible good (bonum sensible). On the other hand, the rational appetite or will has
the same spiritual nature as the intellect. It is free and its adequate object is all good.
Scholastic philosophy describes with characteristic accuracy the contest between
the flesh and the spirit. Each of the two appetites can and does influence the other. The
activity of the sensible appetite overflows, so to speak, into the will, inclining the latter to
perform similar acts. There is an indirect influence also arising from the activity of the
imagination which the sensitive appetite may control and which is not without its
influence on the will. But this influence is reciprocal. The will can also gradually bring
the sensitive appetite under control.
Thus it follows that the appetitive power of man is neither the sensitive appetite
alone nor the will alone, but the two together, and hence it is that the conflict mentioned
by St. Paul can exist within a single human being.
Nearly all of what has been mentioned thus far is discoverable by the light of
reason. Theology, however, adds an interesting and significant fact which reason by its
own efforts could not discover. This lack of harmony in human nature did not exist
originally. It is only as a consequence of original sin that our first parents and all their
descendants lost their supernatural and preternatural gifts, including immunity from
concupiscence. It is thus that revelation explains the constant warfare between the flesh
and the spirit.
Theology adds another fact of very great significance. God does not leave man to
fight out the battle between the flesh and the spirit by his own unaided powers. Divine
grace gives the rational nature of man an overwhelming assistance if man will but take
advantage of this aid. Grace also gives the victories of the spirit supernatural significance.
They merit a heavenly reward.
Prat 4 calls attention to the fact that St. Paul generally used the word "spirit" in
one of three meanings. It may signify the Holy Ghost, or the thinking principle in man, or

4 La theologie de Saint Paul, Paris: Beauchesne & Cie, (1909), Vol. II, pp. 108-110.

8
the thinking principle under the influence of the Holy Ghost. In the present series of
articles we are using the term in the second of these senses. We are using it as
synonymous with "man's rational nature." In other words, we shall be concerned with the
psychology, rather than with the theology, of human conduct. The facts of human
psychology, however, are not without interest to the theologian. For grace does not sweep
aside the laws of human nature. It does not abolish the struggle between reason and the
impulses of the flesh. It simply makes victory surer and more complete and gives it a
supernatural value.
Modern science, of course, is silent on the theological aspects of the struggle
between the flesh and the spirit. It knows nothing of grace and original sin. These are
revealed truths and could never be discovered by the purely natural means which science
uses. Science is, however, aware of the conflict which is so fundamental in human nature,
and on this essential postulate much modern psychotherapy is based.
Thus, faith and science stand on common ground in admitting the existence of the
struggle between flesh and spirit. Starting with this admitted fact we shall endeavor to
show how it is possible to gain a deeper insight into the psychology of human motivation.
We shall show that while science is silent on the supernatural, it does throw light on the
natural phenomena of human conduct. By availing himself of this natural aid, the priest is
able to smooth the way for progress in the supernatural life.

V. THE NATURAL HISTORY OF

CONDUCT
IN THE preceding chapter we called attention to the constant struggle in man be-
tween the "flesh" and the "spirit." The former of these terms denotes his purely animal
appetite while the latter refers to the thinking principle within him, a principle which may
be raised to the supernatural level by the grace of the Holy Ghost.
Let us now call attention to another fact of fundamental importance. The flesh and
the spirit do not begin their activity in man at the same time. In the young infant purely
sensual drives are dominant, while his free will has not yet come into play. It is only after
several years that the spirit is able to take control of man's lower appetites. It is a
handicap race. The flesh has a start of some years.
To appreciate this, consider the activity of the young infant. Within the first few
weeks of life his senses begin to function. He perceives pleasant sensations of warmth
and light and bodily comfort. Physical hunger causes him acute discomfort, and in the
satisfaction of this hunger he finds extreme pleasure. In a word, he is capable of a fair
variety both of pleasant and of unpleasant sensations. Moreover, he shows an impulse to
strive for the pleasant sensations and to avoid the unpleasant ones. This striving is the
work of what the Scholastics called the "sensitive appetite," defined as an organic faculty
of appetition which is controlled by sensible cognition. Whatever the senses present as
pleasant, the sensitive appetite strives to attain. Whatever the senses present as
unpleasant, this faculty strives to avoid. The infant, having the use of his senses,

9
experiences all the force of the sensitive appetite. Since he lacks the use of free will, he is
not able to control this appetite.
Therefore, the young infant is entirely selfish, for his activity is guided by a
faculty which is altogether self-regarding. The flesh never considers the comfort of other
persons. Its desires are never modified by the slightest touch of altruism.
Not only is the flesh entirely selfish but it is selfish in a blind, unreasoning way. It
is incapable even of enlightened selfishness. It is incapable of giving up a present delight
for the sake of a greater delight in the future. It does not strive toward the greatest good
of the individual but only toward such forms of satisfaction as are immediately present to
it.
The desires of the flesh may be quite inconsistent with each other. The young
child characteristically desires to "have his cake and eat it." That is to say, the flesh
strives for diverse forms of satisfaction which cannot possibly exist together. A man lying
in a hammock on a hot summer day desires to enjoy complete muscular relaxation, yet at
the same time he would like to go into the house and get a cooling drink. He would like
to go to a restaurant and buy a satisfying dinner. He would like to enjoy the coolness of a
pleasant swim. His senses call for all these different forms of satisfaction at once, and
whatever his reason may say, his sensitive appetite is quite blind to the inconsistency of
these desires.
The urges of the flesh are all categorical imperatives. They know no compromise,
no hesitation, no uncertainty. They do not say "I would like"; they say "Give me."
It is scarcely necessary to add the fact that the sensitive appetite is entirely
nonmoral not immoral, but nonmoral. Only the free will can perform acts which are
either good or bad. The sensitive appetite can indeed incline the will to immoral acts. But
in itself, as far as its own activity is concerned, it knows nothing of right and wrong.
This entirely nonmoral mode of behavior is characteristic of the young child.
Obviously, it represents a type of activity which is quite essentially different from the
volitional activity of the rational man. The infant is entirely under the sway of blind
impulses. But as he advances in age, a new and entirely different mode of behavior
begins to take control of his actions. At as early an age as 3 years the child begins to
recognize certain acts as "right" or "wrong." By the time he is 6 we feel that his
conscience is developed to such a degree that he may receive the sacrament of penance.
We say that he "has the use of reason."
The growing child is now characterized by rational activity. Instead of blindly
reaching out for that which is immediately pleasureable, he learns to postpone present
satisfaction for the sake of future pleasure. In particular, he learns that it is wise
sometimes to give up the pleasures of this world for the fact of future happiness. He
learns that it is not feasible to gratify all his desires. He must pick and choose and give up
one thing for the sake of another.
The older child and the adult, therefore, are characterized by a rational mode of
activity; but in the present fallen state of human nature the free will will never succeed in
gaining perfect control. The old, irrational desires of the flesh are still active. For years
they have been the child's sole mode of acting and they will not see themselves
superceded without first making a most vigorous protest. Man is a rational animal, but
this does not mean that he always acts in a rational manner. Old habits still assert
themselves; old desires still maintain their potency.

10
 The result of this is that the life of the adult is strangely diverse. At one instant a
man will make a free act of the will characterized by splendid self-sacrifice. The next
instant he will give way to some childish fit of temper—a way of acting which is
absolutely infantile. The desires of the flesh obtrude themselves in the most sacred
moments. His noblest aspirations are queerly mixed with the urges of his self-seeking
flesh.
In the light of these facts it is easy to understand the psychology of St. Paul's self-
confessed inconsistency. It was very, very human. All of us are conscious of the fact that
there are two principles of action within us and that these two are in a constant state of
warfare with each other. At times the conflict is so intense as to be almost unbearable. In
the following chapter we shall consider the nature of the consequences of this never-
ending moral conflict.

VI. THE CONFLICT

THE life of man is a continuous battle between the rational and sensitive appe-
tites—between the flesh and the spirit. The whole personality of the individual is shaped
by the outcome of the conflict.
Let us consider four possible outcomes. The spirit may win a complete victory.
The flesh may win a complete victory. There may be a continuous active battle between
these two powers, with the issue more or less in doubt. Finally, the two warring parties
may conclude a treaty, a sort of compromise which leaves each in comparatively
unmolested possession of a part of the field.
Victory for the spirit means that the free will, the rational appetite, takes full
control. The cravings of the flesh still exist. They still receive satisfaction at times. But
they receive this satisfaction only in such manners, times, and places as the reason
decides are proper and reasonable. Victory for the spirit, therefore, does not mean the
annihilation of the flesh, but its subjugation to reason. Such a victory does not necessarily
imply sanctity; for the reason may itself be in error. In all ages of the world's history there
have been great and good men who have attempted to order their lives by reason. Yet in
many cases, their moral codes were imperfect as judged by Christian standards.
When the reason is aided by the light of revelation, and when the will is
strengthened and supernaturalized by Divine Grace, then the victory of the spirit means
real sanctity. This was the case with the great saints. Although they still had minor human
imperfections, their lives represented a practically complete victory for the spirit.
When the flesh conquers, a very different state of affairs prevails. The reason
steps aside and the flesh has full sway. In the preceding chapter we mentioned some of
the characteristics of the sensitive appetite. If the flesh gains power, these characteristics
assert themselves more and more.
The sensitive appetite is wholly selfish. It is a blind faculty which sees nothing at
all beyond its own immediate satisfaction. Therefore, if the sensual man gives free rein to
the urges of the flesh, he becomes more and more selfish. He thinks nothing of the
welfare of others. In the nature of things he cannot, for his life is being guided by a blind
faculty incapable of unselfish motives.
Since the sensitive appetite is utterly incapable of reason, the sensual man is
bound to act irrationally. He has silenced the voice of reason and has made the blind

11
appetites of the flesh his rule of life. He gradually becomes incapable even of intelligent
selfishness. He surrenders his future for the sake of immediate pleasure, although this
action will inevitably bring him poverty and suffering. He gives way to a wild passion for
drink, although he knows that he will inevitably lose his job in consequence and will
suffer in the long run. We marvel sometimes at such evidently foolish conduct, but there
is no need for surprise. The man is giving way to irrational appetites and these appetites
know no other way of acting.
Complete victory of the flesh is comparatively rare. As was said in the preceding
chapter, it is observable in infants. Before the first glimmerings of reason begin to appear,
the flesh must inevitably be in control. The infant's manner of acting, however, does not
appear to us morally offensive; for we realize that it has not yet attained the use of reason.
Besides, the infant's desires are rather few and simple. Though he seeks them in a selfish
manner, his conduct does not greatly offend our moral sense.
In the adult, however, it is quite otherwise. The man whose powers have fully
developed and whose passions have reached the strength of maturity is a disgusting
spectacle when he gives free rein to the desires of the flesh. In some cases this may
happen through no fault of his own. The adult idiot has never developed the use of reason
and therefore the flesh wins an easy victory through no fault of the individual. But where
a man with a normally developed intellect weakly gives way to the desires of his
sensitive appetite, it represents his degradation to the animal level, and we rightly
consider such conduct to be revolting.
There are few great saints and few complete sinners. With most of us the conflict
results in something between complete victory for either of the contending forces. There
may be a constant open conflict between the flesh and the spirit without a decisive
victory for either.
The two sets of appetites are fairly well balanced in man. It is hard to stifle
altogether the voice of reason. It will protest unceasingly against a frank surrender to the
flesh. Few people are willing to look their fellow men in the eye day by day and read
there constantly the contempt which the normal person must inevitably have for complete
sensuality. The voice of conscience is hard to stifle.
On the other hand, everyone realizes how hard it is to live a completely rational
life. The urges of the flesh have a powerful quality of insistence. They never sleep. We
make good resolutions and fully assure ourselves that hereafter we shall live in
accordance with the dictates of reason. But the sensitive appetite never relaxes its attack,
and sooner or later it wears down our good resolutions by sheer insistence.
As long as this open and recognized struggle goes on, the director of souls has
little to fear. As long as the desires of the flesh assert themselves openly and are
recognized as such, there is small danger of complete moral collapse. A man who knows
his weakness has humility; and anyone with humility is relatively safe.
Thus far we have spoken of three ways in which the conflict between flesh and
spirit may result; namely, victory for the spirit, victory for the flesh, and a continual open
warfare between them. But there is a fourth possibility. Since constant conflict is
extremely unpleasant, there is sooner or later a tendency to reach a compromise. This
represents a fourth way of solving the conflict. By the terms of this compromise the
reason maintains its self-respect by keeping an outward show of virtue. The flesh shows
an exterior deference to the spirit, yet secretly indulges itself in its char acteristic

12
pleasures. The individual thus feels himself to be highly moral and yet is constantly
indulging himself without being aware of it. This conscious righteousness plus
unconscious self-indulgence is a compromise which characterizes a large part of
mankind. It is a strange phenomenon of human psychology. We would scarcely credit it
if it were not so undeniably common. The next chapter will consider it more in detail.

VII. THE COMPROMISE

MR. A is one of the pillars of the Church. He is active in the St. Vincent de Paul
Society and very proud of his righteousness; yet everyone knows that he is unkind to his
wife, and that he is driving his children away from home by his autocratic rule.
Miss B, an unmarried lady of uncertain age, is very proud of her rectitude. Her
sensitive conscience is horrified at the least suggestion of evil. Yet it is well known that
she is the neighborhood gossip and that nobody's character is safe in her hands.
We all know people like Mr. A and Miss B. Often they are faithful members of
the Church, and the inconsistency of their lives tends to bring religion into discredit. Our
first reaction is to call such persons hypocrites. This, however, is not exactly fair.
Hypocrisy implies a conscious effort to deceive the public. Mr. A and Miss B are not
doing this. They are quite fully convinced of their own virtue. They are not trying to
deceive others. They are successfully deceiving themselves.
Cases like these represent a rather strange outcome of the conflict between the
flesh and the spirit. It is not a complete victory for the flesh, for, despite their faults, Mr.
A and Miss B have many real virtues. It is not a victory for the spirit, for these people are
much too full of defects. It is not a constant open warfare—the third alternative of the
preceding chapter—for these good people are very smug and contented. They are not
warring against the flesh. They feel that they have won the battle and now they are
resting on their laurels.
What has actually happened is that they have reached a compromise between the
flesh and the spirit. They have unconsciously ratified a treaty. By the terms of this treaty
the flesh agrees to give up its open rebellion. It concedes a surface victory to the spirit.
The spirit, on the other hand, agrees to look the other way now and then so that the flesh
can have occasional satisfactions.
Miss B, therefore, has the pleasure of preserving her self-respect. Her virginal
mind is quite unperturbed by any prickings of self-accusation. She feels decidedly
superior to the ordinary run of mankind; for is she not a maiden lady whose propriety is
quite beyond question? But while she enjoys this pleasant state of smug content, the
selfish impulses of her flesh are having their inning, too. She is obtaining an unconscious
satisfaction by hearing and recounting luscious bits of neighborhood gossip. She indulges
her pride and her selfish vindictiveness while she recounts the failings of her
acquaintances.
The psychology of Miss B might be compared to the state of the liquor question
in the United States in the year 1931. The self-deluded prohibitionists have the
satisfaction of knowing that the United States is as dry as the Sahara Desert. They meet in
solemn conclave and congratulate themselves on the success of the movement. In the
meantime, the wets are quite happy in their hidden haunts.

13
 On the surface, such a state of affairs seems to be quite satisfactory, both in the
case of Miss B and in the case of Uncle Sam. Both parties appear to be satisfied. Yet this
satisfaction does not go very deep. It has been said that a compromise is an agreement in
which neither party is satisfied. This is certainly true when the conflict between the flesh
and the spirit is resolved in the way just mentioned. On the surface the individual seems
to be happy and self-satisfied. But his satisfaction is not worth the price that he has had to
pay.
First of all, he has had to forfeit his self-knowledge, a very great loss. As long as
the warfare between flesh and spirit is open, as long as man realizes his own defects,
there is every hope of ultimate victory. But when the flesh and the spirit compromise, the
spirit loses the insight which is necessary for effective striving. This is the reason why
Catholic ascetical tradition has always emphasized the importance of humility. The
humble man may have many faults, but he knows them and can struggle against them.
The man who has made the great compromise has deliberately blinded himself.
Not only is progress in the spiritual life impossible under such circumstances, but
successful living in the most worldly sense is also very much handicapped. A man who
does not know his own weakness is the constant dupe of clever crooks with greater
insight into his character.
People like Mr. A and Miss B suffer another very great penalty for the
compromise they have made. The urges of the flesh, though they are apparently
repressed, are by no means dead. They work themselves out in the form of various
neurotic traits. The individual thus becomes nervous, unstable, and discontented. He is
full of vague fears and unlocalized dissatisfactions. He has no peace of mind, yet he does
not know the origin of his mental restlessness. He has paid an exorbitant price for
apparent peace.
Such persons are in very great need of help and guidance. Despite their surface
satisfaction they are unhappy and bewildered. Before we can give them any help,
however, we must realize the psychology which underlies their condition.
It is essential to grasp the fact that their self-indulgence is altogether unconscious.
If we regard them as deliberate hypocrites, we shall never understand them. The salient
fact about the compromise is that it is unconscious. The self-indulgence of these persons
is carried on while they are unaware of it.
This brings us to a fact of the very first importance for the understanding of the
human personality. The individual may act without realizing the real reason for his
action. A large part of all human activity is thus unconsciously motivated. The reason
assigns a perfectly plausible cause for the act, yet its deeper motive is a selfish impulse of
the flesh.
This fact is a commonplace of ascetic theology. For centuries spiritual writers
have reiterated the fact that the average man does not know his own motives. Although
this is a familiar fact, it calls for further analysis.

VIII. THE UNCONSCIOUS

IN THE preceding chapter we noted the fact that man frequently acts from
unconscious motives. For example, a father deals harshly with his children because, as he
says, "they need discipline." His real, though unconscious, motive is a desire to parade

14
his authority. Again, a voter may cast his ballot against a certain, candidate because "he is
a machine politician," whereas the real reason for his vote is the fact that this candidate is
a Catholic.
Examples like this are common enough in everyday life, and they immediately
suggest an interesting question. How can motives be unconscious? We understand what a
conscious motive is. It is the reason why we perform an action. How can we be unaware
of the reason why we act?
To answer this question let us begin with the familiar fact that most of the content
of the mind is not in consciousness at a given instant. For example, probably every reader
knows that Columbus discovered America in 1492. It is a perfectly familiar fact; yet it
was not in the focus of the reader's consciousness five minutes ago. So it is with other
known facts. The most ignorant of us has a vast amount of information learned in school
or gathered by experience. All these memories may be brought into the consciousness at
a moment's notice; then they depart again from the mind. It must, therefore, be true that a
large part of our mental content is "unconscious" at a given moment.
This is a perfectly familiar fact of everyday experience. Before proceeding
further, let us define the "unconscious" as the total content of the mind of which we are
not actively aware at a given instant. The word is frequently used in a somewhat different
sense in modern psychology but the foregoing definition is adequate for our present
purpose. Common experience teaches, as we have just seen, that such an unconscious
exists. Now let us proceed to the consideration of two additional facts which are not so
obvious.
1. The unconscious is not merely a receptacle for facts not remembered at the
moment. It is a seat of mental activity, for remembered facts may be active as well as
passive. For example, consider the man who voted against a Catholic candidate because
he was a Catholic. The real reason for his vote, the candidate's religion, was hidden in the
man's unconscious. He did not admit even to himself that this was the real reason for his
ballot. Examples like this are quite common, and in preceding chapters we have
frequently insisted upon the existence of such motives. Let us once more emphasize the
fact that these are unconscious motives and that they may affect conduct while still
remaining quite unconscious.
2. Now let us add a further fact. Not all memories may be brought up into
consciousness as readily as the date of America's discovery. There are some memories so
charged with emotion that the individual struggles against remembering them. For
example, consider the man who is harsh to his children because he likes to assert his
authority. His love for domination is an unconscious fact. This unconscious fact is
influencing his conduct. Yet it is a fact very difficult to bring into consciousness. If we
could secure the man's good will and were willing to work with him for a long time, we
might make him realize that he is harsh to his children precisely because this display of
authority flatters his selfishness. In other words, we could bring his love of domination
from the unconscious to the conscious level of his mind; but we would do so only after
the expenditure of a great deal of effort.
We have to recognize, therefore, the presence of a quality in the mind called
"resistance." This word simply means the tendency that we have to thrust unpleasant facts
out of consciousness. It is easy enough to remember emotionally neutral facts such as our

15
name, our address, or the name of the President of the United States, but it is extremely
difficult to bring our faults into consciousness.
The fact of the existence of the unconscious makes it possible to understand how
a compromise between the flesh and the spirit can be reached. In the first stage the selfish
and childish impulses of the flesh enter consciousness. We realize our faults, and because
of this a constant struggle between our reason and the demands of the sensitive appetite
ensues. But we may gradually tire of the struggle. We may refuse to face the facts. We
may lose our humility and thrust the consciousness of our faults down into the
unconscious. When this is done, we enjoy the smug satisfaction of conscious virtue. We
have stifled our conscience so that it no longer reproves us. In the meantime, the
unworthy desires of the flesh exist in undiminished vigor in the unconscious. They are no
longer indulged openly; but they influence conduct in unconscious ways. We pride
ourselves on being fine, moral citizens, while we are unconsciously selfish and mean and
sensual. We have made the unhealthy compromise between the flesh and the spirit
previously mentioned.
To some extent in every man, and to a very great extent in some men, this process
goes on. It is a tendency to thrust our faults permanently out of consciousness. It thus
happens that a sort of division takes place within the person. Consciously he is a very fine
fellow. Yet, deep down in the unconscious, there is a festering mass of unwholesome
impulses, unseen and unrecognized, which is constantly influencing conduct.
In this mass of forcefully repressed material will be a great number of childish
desires, quite normal in the young infant but unworthy of the adult. The normal processes
of growth require that these childish impulses should be abandoned. Often, however, the
growing youth has not courage enough to recognize them, and hence they are repressed
into the unconscious from which vantage point they continue to influence behavior.
The result is that the same conflict which was previously carried on in the open is
now carried on unconsciously. The spirit has blinded itself and is now fighting in the
dark. Humility is gone. This process is of such supreme significance in the spiritual life
that it deserves fuller analysis. We shall see that this unconscious compromise involves
certain bizarre ways of acting, and certain abnormal emotional attitudes which Dom.
Moore has called "parataxes." These parataxes will be considered in subsequent chapters
of this book.

IX. REPRESSION
REPRESSION is dangerous. This statement is frequently made and often
misunderstood. As a matter of fact, it is a bit ambiguous; for "repression" may be under-
stood to refer either to the impulse itself or to the consciousness of that impulse.
"Repression is dangerous." If this phrase is understood to mean that we should not
repress the impulses of the flesh, then it is most unequivocally false. The statement has
perhaps been made in this sense by a few members of the younger intellectual set, but all
experience is against them. Unless he represses the impulses of the flesh, man becomes a
mere brute. Not only is this principle condemned by the whole teaching of the Church,
but it is rejected by all decent men everywhere whether they are Catholics, Protestants,
psychoanalysts, or Seventh Day Adventists.

16
 The phrase may be understood in a legitimate and very different sense. It may be
understood to mean that we should not repress the consciousness of our temptations.
Understood in this way it is merely a statement of the great Christian principle of
humility. If a man thrusts out of his mind the knowledge of his weaknesses, he makes
self-knowledge impossible. Catholic asceticism, modern mental hygiene, and plain
common sense are at one on this point.
Here a question may legitimately be raised: What about temptations against
purity? The Catholic tradition has always maintained that we should thrust bad thoughts
out of our mind as quickly as possible. How can this teaching be reconciled with the
statements of the last paragraph concerning repression? The answer s simple. We should
repress immoral thoughts but we should not repress the consciousness of the fact that we
are bothered by such temptations. When the individual tells himself that he is not in the
least troubled by temptations against purity, it is easy to take the next step and say to
himself : "Therefore I need not be on my guard against impurity." The next step is to
indulge in immodest conversation, and so forth, and to justify such practices with the
thought, "It is all right for me to do this because impurity is not a problem with me." The
reader can easily imagine the outcome of such an attitude. The way to fight impurity is to
recognize humbly the existence of temptations and then deliberately to reject them by a
free and conscious act of the will.
Repression shows varying degrees, from a mere unwillingness to think about
unpleasant topics, to a complete amnesia. In pathological instances the latter may involve
a loss of memory, not only concerning the unpleasant fact, but also about all related
events. The case is known of a young lady who nursed her mother through a wasting
illness up to a very painful death. The whole experience was a terrible emotional strain on
the young girl. Instead of facing it courageously she allowed it to drop out of memory,
until a while later she could not remember anything at all which happened during the
whole period of her mother's illness. She remembered the history of her life up to a
certain point and beyond that there was a gap covering the period up to her mother's
death.
Instances of such complete repression are, of course, not very common. In most
cases there is a vague awareness. The repressed matter is constantly betraying its
presence in unexpected ways. An educated man in middle life was troubled by an
overwhelming fear of closed spaces, a fear which is designated in technical language by
the term of "claustrophobia." It was finally discovered that as a child he had been
accidentally locked for a few minutes in a dark, closed passageway with a barking dog.
As the man grew older he gradually repressed the unpleasant memory of his experience,
but the fear of closed spaces remained. In a similar manner the repressed material may be
responsible for all sorts of irrational fears or prejudices. The forgotten material is thus not
completely lost. It comes into consciousness in these indirect ways—a process sometimes
spoken of under the term "symbolization."
The considerations just mentioned would show how important it is that repressed
material be brought up into consciousness and frankly faced. The preceding sentence
might be expressed in another way—humility is the first essential of the spiritual life. A
man is powerless unless he can face his difficulties frankly. A practical question occurs
here. How can the director of souls help the individual to develop self-knowledge?

17
 In dealing with neurotic patients a specialist in mental diseases will sometimes
use what is called "the method of free association." This means that he will encourage the
patient to express aloud a trend of ideas just as it comes to his mind. The result will often
be a series of apparently meaningless phrases following one another in no apparent order.
Some of these ideas will be found to be symbols of repressed material. If the process is
repeated for a long time, and if the patient is encouraged to be perfectly frank, the
repressed ideas will sooner or later find their way into consciousness. The method of
psychoanalysis is a specialized modification of this technique.
In ordinary cases it will not be necessary to use such elaborate methods. An
experienced director can generally grasp the true state of affairs comparatively easily, and
by a little tactful discussion can make the individual see himself as he really is.
In doing this the director must avoid certain mistakes. First of all, he must give
the individual time to state his own case freely. Do not jump at conclusions without really
understanding the case. Only the man who is gifted with unlimited patience will succeed
in work of this sort. Secondly, he must be kind. Any suggestion of reproof or disgust will
only cause further repression. The charity of Christ is necessary for the man who would
have more than a superficial and temporary success in the difficult task of helping his
diriges to self-knowledge. 5

X. THE PARATAXIS OF CONVERSION

MRS. X is a semi-invalid. She will recount her symptoms in great detail to any
willing—or unwilling—listener. She has been to a number of physicians; but, strangely
enough, none of them have been able to assign a name to her disease. One or two of them
were tactless enough to tell her she was a perfectly healthy woman. The more diplomatic
doctors murmured something vague about "nervous trouble."
Unkind acquaintances have remarked that Mrs. X seems to enjoy her troubles
immensely. In fact, she seems to derive a number of definite advantages from them. First
of all, she is excused from any but the lightest housework. Then she has the emotional
satisfaction of receiving a great deal of sympathy from her relatives and acquaintances.
She can pose as a sort of martyr. Finally, she uses her illness as a weapon to keep the rest
of the family under control. If her husband or any of the children venture to differ with
her, she always "feels an attack coming," whereupon the rebel is quickly brought to
terms.
Mrs. X's conduct is a good example of the parataxis of conversion. It is called
"conversion" because certain impulsive urges have been "converted" into physical
symptoms. It is a fairly common way of avoiding difficulties.
The thing works out somewhat as follows. The flesh and the spirit have effected a
compromise. The spirit enjoys a complacent sense of suffering patiently born. Self-love is
flattered by the admiring sympathy of visitors who comment on the sufferer's fortitude.
On the other hand, the unworthy impulses of the flesh have plenty of opportunity for
gratification. For example, Mrs. X can indulge her laziness by lying in bed as much as
she wants, her palate by ordering special invalid's foods, and her passion for domination
by using her illness as a threat.

5
Diriges appears to be from the Latin for to direct, possibly meaning direction here.

18
 It is easy to suspect people like Mrs. X of malingering. But this is not the case.
Such people do not consciously deceive others. Such conscious deception would be a
severe blow to one's self-respect. The very essence of the arrangement lies in the fact that
these selfish delights may be enjoyed without the loss of self-respect.
The parataxis of conversion is fairly common, everyday life. The schoolboy who
does not want to go to school complains of a sudden illness and is sent to bed by a
sympathetic mother. A novice in a religious order has a "nervous breakdown" and leaves
the order in a vague atmosphere of martyrdom instead of simply confessing that the
religious life is not for her. The college student who is constantly failing in his studies
may blame his poor success on an undefined illness instead of on lack of mental ability. It
would be easy to multiply such instances.
Sometimes the parataxis of conversion will lead to very definite physical
symptoms instead of resulting in a rather vague sort of malady as in the case of Mrs. X.
An example of this is furnished by the war neuroses, popularly known among the soldiers
as "shell-shock." A soldier in the front-line trenches, hungry, tired, and faced with the
possibility of a horrible death at any instant, would naturally be anxious to leave the
danger zone. There was no apparent way of doing this consistent with self-respect. He did
not want to show his fear nor be called a coward. He would unconsciously realize,
however, that if he should become sick enough to be unfitted for active service, he would
be sent back to a base hospital.
In such a case the soldier would frequently develop some physical symptom such
as a paralysis of the right arm. As far as his consciousness was concerned, he would feel
quite surprised and bewildered at this sudden symptom. Unconsciously, however, he was
taking a cowardly means of avoiding an unendurable situation.
The correctness of this view was abundantly proved in various ways. The man
with a paralyzed arm would complain of a loss of feeling in certain areas of the arm
which was anatomically impossible. A neurologist can tell exactly what areas of the arm
would be paralyzed by all the various possible injuries. The shell-shocked soldier,
knowing no neurology, would complain of certain impossible combinations of symptoms.
The fact was proved also by the methods of treating such cases. If the psychiatrist
was able to persuade the patient that his illness was due merely to mental causes, the
patient's symptoms would disappear immediately. Some remarkable recoveries were
made when the armistice was signed.
In the treatment of people like Mrs. X, we have one reliable hope on which to
build. No matter how much they may appear to enjoy their sickness, deep down in their
heart of hearts such people are anxious for normal lives. They reach a compromise
because they are not sure of their own ability to fight the good fight. If, therefore, they
can be assured of their ability to pursue a normal, healthy course of existence, they will
be anxious to shake off their dependency and be well persons once again.
A first requisite for success with these cases is to give the sufferer insight. The
facts of the case have been violently repressed into his or her unconscious. They must be
brought to light. When once the actual facts have been brought into consciousness,
recovery is not difficult. If Mrs. X could be brought to realize how she is deceiving
herself, then her self-respect would compel her to put aside her parataxis. As in the case
of other compromises, the parataxis of conversion is only possible when the sufferer does

19
not realize the full implications of his or her illness. Self-knowledge, that is to say,
humility, is a sure cure for the parataxis of conversion.

XI. THE PARATAXIS OF RATIONALIZATION

IT IS very human to make excuses. The defeated baseball team blames the
umpire. The student coming late for school blames the car service. A tiny boy of 5, when
accused of hitting his brother, replied innocently, "I didn't hit him, I just had my hand
sticking out and he ran into it."
Reactions like these are common enough. Some persons seem to have an uncanny
ability to explain away almost any unpleasant fact. Where this merely involves excusing
the trivial faults of everyday occurrence, it may not be of very great importance. Where,
however, it affects the major currents of a person's life, so that his conscience is largely
dominated by fallacious arguments, then the tendency deserves to be called a parataxis.
For example, take Mr. D. He is a successful business man. He has pushed himself
forward until he is now the president of a small manufacturing company. His enemies
speak of him as a grasping, unscrupulous knave, always ready to drive a hard bargain and
never touched by any sentiments of human pity. In his own eyes Mr. D is quite innocent.
He admits that he hews close to the line but then he remarks that "business is business."
His transactions are never illegal, because he takes care to consult his lawyer ahead of
time. Since they are approved by the law, they must be right. He has been merciless
toward his competitors but, he says, "They would do the same to me." By such fallacious
reasoning Mr. D justifies himself. He has reached a compromise in which his conscience
preserves its self-respect while, unknown to him, his unworthy impulses cruelly indulge
themselves.
Rev. E considers himself a fine clergyman. He is prone to criticize the actions of
others. Yet everyone in the parish realizes that he has only a half-hearted interest in the
affairs of his church. He is constantly going away on vacation trips. The work of the
parish is put on the shoulders of his assistant, or is neglected. For this, Rev. E has a ready
excuse. Vacation trips are necessary on account of his health. He must spend a great deal
of time with the newspaper to keep up with the times. He is constantly away visiting his
friends, "to fulfill his social obligations." Finally, if pressed, he will point to the fact that
other ministers of the Gospel work no harder than he.
Miss F is the prize gossip of the neighborhood. She tears people's reputations into
shreds with a fierce vindictiveness. She repeats gossip freely; or, if that is lacking, she
does not hesitate to draw on her imagination. Yet she would resent being called a gossip.
She feels that she is perfectly justified in bearing tales because "the other person would
hear about it sooner or later anyway." She would not spread scandal broadcast, but it is
all right to repeat it to another woman who, she knows, will keep it a secret. Besides, if
people are careless about their own reputations, they surely cannot be offended if she
reveals what they do not try to conceal. She is only doing what everybody else is doing.
Such rationalization is a very convenient form of compromise between the flesh
and the spirit. The flesh indulges in its selfish appetites—avarice, lust, hatred, and all the
rest of the list—while the consciousness, by reasoning away the guilt of such actions,
preserves a pleasant feeling of innocence.

20
 Rationalization is particularly insidious because it bears on its face the semblance
of reason. The person who rationalizes apparently does not repress the consciousness of
his faults. He seems to face them quite frankly and discuss them freely with himself. The
whole process has an air of frankness which is quite easily deceptive. The individual may
even pride himself on his self-knowledge. He may be attempting to lead a very spiritual
life. Yet rationalization is poisoning his virtue at the source.
There is no logical fallacy which does not serve as an aid to the fallacious
reasoning involved in this process. False premises and bad formal logic both play their
part. But all this reasoning inevitably leads to the same conclusion, the one which flatters
the reasoner's self-respect.
It is strange to note how persons entirely reasonable and clear-headed in other
matters can suddenly be guilty of the most puerile fallacies when their own conduct is
involved. Of course, the underlying cause of this is the fact that emotion enters in and
warps the reasoning. A well-meaning professor of moral theology, famous for his clear
and courageous reasoning, may be guilty of childish fallacy when his own conduct is
involved. To reason well, one must be cool-headed and unprejudiced. It is difficult to
preserve such an attitude when we are reasoning about the morality of our own conduct.
There is one sure remedy for the dangerous rationalization, and that one has been
the traditional prescription of the Catholic Church for centuries. The cure consists in
submitting one's conclusions to an impartial outsider. Reasoning which will convince
such an unprejudiced outsider is valid reasoning and not rationalization. For the outsider,
who has no emotional interest in the affair, can preserve the impersonal, unemotional
attitude which the person involved cannot attain.
The wisdom of the confessional is apparent here. We can also understand why the
great saints were always so anxious to submit themselves to the guidance of a skilled
director. They knew only too well the pitfalls which beset the man who would try to
guide his own spiritual life without the skilled advice of his confessor. Nemo judex in
propria causa is an excellent maxim in the spiritual life. 6

XII. THE PARATAXIS OF PHANTASY

FORMATION
THE power of imagination, or phantasy, is an important human ability. Without
it, artistic achievement would be impossible. Even spiritual meditation depends on
imaginative ability. Besides this, the legitimate use of the power affords much innocent
relaxation.
It is a power, however, which can be very much abused. One immediately thinks
of its misuse in the form of unkind and unchaste thoughts. The present chapter is not con-
cerned with this abuse but with another which is more subtle and at least equally
important.
When the struggle between the flesh and the spirit becomes intolerably hard, it is
possible to use the phantasy to effect a compromise between them. The flesh yields itself

6
No man is a judge in his own cause

21
to its selfish impulses but the individual compensates for this by indulging in phantasies
of beautiful and heroic achievement. This imagined sanctity helps to hide the
consciousness of unworthy actions. It is the old story of the compromise between the
spirit and the flesh in which the former preserves its self-respect by shutting its eyes to
the unwholesome activity of the latter.
Take, for example, the case of Mrs. G. She is not a particularly beautiful
character. She is rather lazy and self-indulgent and neglects her household duties. One
would say that she is only indifferently virtuous. Yet in her own mind she is something of
a saint. Her imagination is filled with exploits of heroic virtue. She neglects her
household duties to attend extra services at church. If anyone at home complains about
this, she considers herself a martyr, and enjoys the imagined contemplation of her
sanctity. Hers is a gushing, emotional piety, which deceives none of her friends.
As a matter of fact, Mrs. G has never made a very determined effort to overcome
her laziness, uncharitableness, and sensuality. If she would admit this to herself, then her
self-respect would force her to fight down these impulses of the flesh. But she soothes her
conscience with the consciousness of a piety which actually exists only in her own
imagination. The great masters of the spiritual life have shown a sure wisdom by insisting
that humility is a first requisite for holiness.
Sometimes a person will be so absorbed in his own dream world that he becomes
seriously unfitted for ordinary life. Anton was a rather pathetic instance of this. He was a
quiet, serious-visaged, delicate lad of 12. His teacher said that sometimes "the saddest
expression" would come over his face. He seldom played with other boys but preferred to
go home immediately after school and bury himself in a book or sit playing the piano.
In a long interview Anton enlarged upon some of his troubles. He felt that his
father was a failure in life and that the family was disgraced, that the other boys despised
him, and that his younger brother took a particular pleasure in persecuting him. As a
matter of fact, none of these things was true. Anton was at least as well liked as the
average by his classmates. Yet these imaginary troubles were so real to him that they
made him feel unequal to playing a part in the life of his group. Consequently, he
withdrew from them more and more, to live in a dream world of his own with his books
and music.
It is quite natural that all of us should have phantasies. It is not necessarily
abnormal to build a sort of dream world in which one enjoys pleasures which are denied
in reality. There is such a thing as the innocent play of imagination. But in abnormal
cases this dream world becomes so important to the individual that it gradually
overbalances the real world and unfits him for the business of living. Mrs. G's dream
world, in which she was a saint, became so important for her that she did not bother about
the troublesome task of being virtuous in the real world. Anton's dream life was so
satisfactory that he did not bother about taking a manly part in the world of his fellows.
Many persons go through a romantic phase at adolescence in which phantasy life
plays an important part. The girl imagines herself a beautiful heroine with brave and
suave cavaliers at her feet. The boy imagines himself a dashing hero whose manner
captivates the heart of every woman.
This adolescent romanticism is not gravely harmful in the average case. A few
hard knocks against reality usually dispel the dreams of youth. But in some cases the
dream world is so real to the individual that it can hold its own in contact with reality.

22
Many tragedies result from this. For example, there are obviously ill-matched couples
whose married lives will inevitably lead to sorrow. We wonder how such persons became
attracted to each other in the first place. The answer is that they fell in love, not with each
other but with a creature of their dream world. The girl fell in love, not with plain John
Smith, with his selfishness and his cheap vulgarity, but with an idealized version of him
which existed only in her imagination.
In these various ways an overactive imagination may lead to disaster. The
underlying common factor in all such cases is the overemphasis of imagination at the
expense of reality. No progress in the spiritual life, no success, even in the most worldly
sense, is possible unless we face the facts. When the phantasy life distorts or conceals
these facts, when imaginary delights replace the struggle with hard facts, then real
success or happiness of any kind becomes impossible.
This does not mean that one should never indulge in phantasy. Imagination is an
important human ability and should be used. But when an overactive imagination
becomes so important and interesting that it is more satisfying than reality, then the
danger point has been reached. It is then time to come down to earth and face the facts,
for we live in a real world, and we cannot become virtuous by imagination. Deeds, not
dreams, merit eternal life.

XIII. THE PARATAXIS OF PROJECTION

PROJECTION is the tendency to blame other persons, or even material objects,
for our own faults. This very human trait is quite common in everyday life. A man
awkwardly hits his thumb with a hammer and immediately dashes the hammer to the
floor in a rage as though to punish it. A golfer who has missed a three-foot putt may
throw his club as far as he can send it, or even break it across his knee. He gets a certain
emotional satisfaction from this, as though the club were to blame for his poor playing.
Both these men have "projected" their defects to the instruments they were using. The old
adage says, "A poor workman blames his tools."
The tendency to shift the blame to other persons is common enough. By this we
do not mean the habit of consciously involving others in our own faults, but rather the
unreasoning impulse to maintain our own self-respect by blaming any person or object in
the environment without any regard for the logic of the situation. A man, ill at ease on his
first visit to a fashionable restaurant, may conceal the fact from himself by scolding the
waiter for imagined discourtesies. The motorist who has hit another car and who knows
that he is obviously wrong will conceal his guilt by berating the other motorist with a
flow of abusive language.
The minor forms of projection mentioned in the foregoing do not seriously affect
the efficiency of living. In some cases, however, projection interferes with the more
important affairs of life, and then it becomes serious. Take, for example, the case of Mr.
L. He is a rich magnate who has built up a considerable fortune by paying his employees
starvation wages and allowing them to work under insanitary conditions. Now and then
his conscience troubles him but he easily evades the unpleasant consciousness of guilt by
projecting the blame on the workers themselves.
He will talk at great length about the injustice of labor unions, the imminent
dangers of socialism, and the ingratitude of his workers. He makes banquet speeches

23
about the blessings of modern industry, and will talk at great length about the vice and
weaknesses of the lower classes. He is in favor of birth control.
Thus the phenomenon of projection may be involved in the compromise between
the flesh and the spirit. Mr. L is enabled to indulge his selfish avarice and cruelty while at
the same time he consciously preserves his self-respect by projecting whatever blame he
may feel upon the lower classes. His faults, therefore, remain unconscious to him and his
conscious opinion of himself is quite pleasant.
Projection often underlies prudery. The normal, decent person, of course, is
revolted by downright immodesty, and he does his best to preserve public decency. The
prude, however, sees indecency on every side where the ordinary pure-minded individual
sees nothing wrong. To the prude every change of fashion is a fresh evidence of
immodesty, every new book is another invitation to sin, and the doings of the younger
generation are a constant source of scandal. The ultra pure vice crusader, who spends his
life muckraking and agitating for stricter and stricter legislation, often belongs to this
type.
Psychiatrists sometimes speak of the "old-maid shock reaction." A typical
example of this is furnished by Miss N. Instead of admitting to herself that she is troubled
with temptations against purity and humbly praying for the grace to overcome them, she
considers herself quite beyond blame, and spends much of her time recounting in shocked
tones with evident enjoyment the scandalous goings-on of the younger generation. Yet
she considers herself a model of feminine modesty. Her whole bearing fairly shouts that
she is above reproach.
Miss N feels that she is not like the rest of women. The parataxis of projection
shields from her consciousness the humiliating knowledge that she, too, is a mere weak
woman, subject to the temptations of the flesh. Her mental processes are somewhat as
follows: "I cannot possibly be subjected to temptations against purity. Everybody knows
that I am a model of virtue. I recoil with horror at the least suggestion of vice. The lax
standards of the modern world fill me with disgust. Certainly I would be the last person
in the world to be troubled with temptations. Therefore, I can put my mind at rest and
need not worry about the difficult commandment."
Superficially Miss N's conduct may appear like that of the great saints who were
so careful to preserve the angelic virtue; but the resemblance is only superficial. There is
a distinction which immediately sets them poles apart. The great saints humbly
acknowledged their own weakness. They were quite conscious of the fact that they bore
their treasure in earthen vessels. Miss N, on the contrary, is so sure of her virtue that she
feels no anxiety on this point.
We sometimes wonder why people seem to take such a fierce pleasure in
uncharitable conversation. The parataxis of projection often explains this phenomenon.
By ruthlessly tearing to pieces the reputations of other people, the culprit somehow feels
herself more virtuous. If the tendency to project could be eliminated, nearly all of us
would become more just and kindly.
Self-knowledge is a cure for projection, as it is the cure for the various other
forms of behavior by which we seek to avoid the knowledge of our own faults. Once a
person realizes his own human weaknesses, he will be less ready to blame others. The
man who is courageous enough to shoulder the responsibility for his own errors does not

24
feel the need of justifying himself by blaming others, and he is able to take a more fair
and charitable attitude toward the weakness of human nature.

XIV. FEELINGS OF INFERIORITY

PROBABLY most of us have wondered, at one time or another, at the harsh atti-
tude of spiritual writers toward despair. Judas frankly acknowledged his fault and turned
fiercely upon himself. Why, then, should he be considered the greatest of sinners?
A little consideration shows the justice of the Church's attitude. Despair
immediately makes progress in the spiritual life impossible. As long as the sinner is
willing to keep up the good fight, so long is there hope, but when he hoists the white flag,
then the issue is decided. Despair is really a sort of compromise between the flesh and the
spirit. The spirit proclaims that it is useless to carry on the fight. Since it is useless to
struggle against temptation, the spirit feels justified in giving way to the impulses of the
flesh. The individual practically says, "It is impossible for me to win the fight, therefore I
am perfectly justified in sitting back calmly and giving the flesh free rein. Since the fight
is impossible, I am to be held blameless." The individual thus shifts the blame from
himself to the nature of things.
According to his view he is not responsible for his sin, but rather Almighty God,
Who made him weak. This blasphemous attitude is much different from humility. Peter
and Judas were worlds apart, although both denied their Master and both acknowledged
their fault.
Despair of this sort which renders the spiritual life impossible is not the only sort
of despondency. Minor degrees of discouragement are much more frequent. For example,
there is the child in school who has difficulties with his lessons, and who has so often
been compared unfavorably by his parents with brighter brothers and sisters that he
finally becomes discouraged and feels that it is no longer worth trying.
Many a man fails in business, not through any real lack of ability, but because he
has not the self-confidence which would permit him to strike out for himself and put his
new ideas into practice. Such feelings of inferiority show themselves even in such minor
matters as athletics. Many an athlete is beaten by a man of lesser ability because he lacks
the dogged self-confidence to carry on in the face of minor reverses. It is probably true
that nearly everyone underrates himself in one respect or another despite the well-known
tendency to overrate one's own ability along many lines.
There are particular cases in which an inferiority in one respect carries over and
shows itself in an entirely different way. The newly rich man may be beaten at golf by
one of his new friends because he feels ill at ease in his lately acquired social status. Of
course, social position has nothing to do with ability at golf. But the unconscious sense of
inferiority may deprive his golf game of the assurance and dash which makes for success.
Strange cases sometimes occur in which feelings of inferiority regarding sex
matters will carry over into the other departments of life. Andrew, while a young boy, fell
in with some other youngsters of the neighborhood who talked to him of sex affairs.
Probably Andrew was morally guiltless, or nearly so, because he heard these things
without any deliberate desire on his part. Yet he became much oppressed with his guilty
secret. He knew that he could not talk such things over with his parents. They would
immediately scold him and appear shocked instead of listening sympathetically to his

25
perplexities. He put the guilty secret out of his mind as well as he could. He repressed it
into the unconscious and apparently forgot about it. However, it did not give him peace
of mind. He always felt vaguely restless and guilty. He felt that somehow he was at a
disadvantage when compared with other people.
Sometimes cases like the above will carry over into other forms of conduct.
William was an example of what is known as "pathological stealing." He would take
useless articles for no apparent reason. He would steal even when he was quite sure of
immediate detection. On being interviewed, he readily admitted his stealing but claimed
it was due to a sudden and uncontrollable impulse.
Further questioning revealed that William had learned about sex practices from a
perverted older boy who was also a thief. Stealing and sex thus became associated in
William's mind, and the same morbid pleasure was attached more or less to both of them.
Instead of facing the matter frankly, William thrust his newly acquired sex knowledge
violently out of his mind. It was, however, still unconsciously active, and was responsible
for the morbid and uncontrollable pleasure which was actively associated with theft.
Cases like that of William seem incredible at first glance, but their truth is
abundantly proved by experience. Many otherwise inexplicable reactions of the mental
life can be understood as the result of repressed sex material.
The remedy, of course, is obvious. It consists in better self-knowledge, more
humility. Repressed sex matters bothered William because he had never really denied
them. Instead of making an act of the will against these temptations, he tried to reach a
simple solution by forgetting them. He had merely repressed the consciousness of the
impulse instead of repressing the impulse itself. Such attempts to side-step a moral issue
are doomed to failure. The only way to fight temptation is to acknowledge its existence
and then to deny it by an act of the will. The man who has convinced himself that he has
no temptations, or that it is useless to struggle against them, will never make progress in
the spiritual life.

XV. THE MEASUREMENT OF

INTELLIGENCE
IN THE last few chapters we have been discussing problems of mental aberration
—problems, that is to say, which arise from queer, unconscious ways of avoiding
difficulties. But there is another sort of mental abnormality. It results from lack of
intelligence.
The study of the mental defective has been greatly helped in the past fifteen years
or so by the development of intelligence tests. By means of such tests it is possible to
measure an individual's brightness with relative accuracy. The word "relative" needs to
be emphasized. No test can measure intelligence with the accuracy of a foot rule.
However, although modern intelligence tests are still imperfect, they are vastly superior
to the old method of judging intelligence from mere random impressions.
The real beginning of the modern test movement goes back to the work of two
French scientists, Drs. Binet and Simon. The school authorities of the city of Paris had
decided to make special provisions for the education of defective children. They were
impressed by the fact that there was no recognized method of estimating mental ability.

26
They called upon these two scientists and the result was the famous Binet-Simon Scale.
The assumption underlying this scale is that a certain degree of intelligence is
characteristic of children of each chronological age, and that this may be roughly judged
by the child's ability to answer questions. For example, in Binet's final revision of his test,
published in 1911, a 3-year old child was expected to give his family name and answer
other simple questions. At 6, a child should be able to count to 13, and copy a diamond,
while at 12 he should resist suggestion, compose a sentence containing three given
words, and define certain abstract terms.
A child who was able to answer all the 3 year-old questions but none of the 4-
year-old questions was said to have a "mental age" of 3. The child's real or
"chronological" age might be 4, in which case he would be retarded one year. Similarly, a
6-year-old child with a mental age of 7 would be brighter than might be expected in view
of his age and was said to be accelerated one year.
The Binet-Simon Scale was, of course, published in French. Therefore it was not
immediately suitable for use with American children. Translations by Kuhlmann,
Goddard, and others, soon appeared. But even so, the test was not satisfactory. Dr. Lewis
M. Terman, of Stanford University, undertook to revise it, and in 1916 there appeared
what is known as the "Stanford Revision of the Binet Simon Scale." After fourteen years,
this intelligence test is still the standard in America.
Terman introduced the use of the "intelligence quotient" (I. Q.). This term is
defined as the quotient obtained by dividing the mental age by the chronological age and
multiplying by 100. For example, a bright boy whose real, or chronological, age is 10
while his mental age is 12 years is said to have an I. Q. of 120. An exactly average child
of 10 will have a mental age of 10 and his I. Q. will be 100. A dull 10 year-old whose
mental age is only 8 will have an I. Q. of 80.
The particular value of the intelligence quotient is that it remains fairly constant
during childhood. That is to say, a 5-year-old child with a mental age of 4 will have a
mental age of about 8 when he is 10 and a mental age of about 12 when he is 15. In each
case his I. Q. will be 80. Of course, this principle does not hold with mathematical
accuracy because the whole test method is itself far from having such precision. But
actual practice has shown that the I. Q. is fairly constant. It therefore gives us a
convenient way of stating the individual's brightness independently of his chronological
age. The Stanford-Binet, as it is usually called, is an excellent test but it has certain
disadvantages. It takes a trained examiner to give it properly and the test itself usually
occupies nearly an hour. It would be a very awkward test to use in a school where several
hundred children were to be tested.
To overcome this defect a number of "group intelligence tests" have been
developed. These group tests generally consist of small booklets of eight or ten pages
containing questions to be answered or exercises to be solved. The child taking the test is
allowed a certain number of minutes to work and then the test booklets are collected and
corrected. The great advantage of the group test is that it may be given to a whole
classroom in the time a single child could be tested by an individual test. Again, the
group test does not require a trained examiner. It may be given by any intelligent person
who can read and follow the directions; for example, by the classroom teacher.
A third type of test is the so-called "construction test." Such tests exist in large
variety. They generally consist of some sort of puzzle which the child works out by hand.

27
The construction test is particularly useful in testing deaf persons or those who cannot
speak and understand English, because such a test can be given with little or no use of
language.
Group tests are much less accurate than the Stanford-Binet, and construction tests
are much less accurate than group tests. Yet tests of all types have been found extremely
useful in recent years in dealing with problem children, as well as with mentally deficient
adults. Their use makes it possible to determine with relative ease whether a misbehaving
child is handicapped by mental defect or whether another child has latent abilities of
which he is not taking advantage. It makes it possible to classify individuals into various
intelligence classes and to consider separately the conduct problems which are
characteristic of each group.

XVI. THE IDIOT AND THE IMBECILE

ONE advantage of the modern intelligence test is that it makes possible a simple
definition of feeble-mindedness. Before the invention of such tests the feeble-minded
could only be defined in general terms as persons who from birth or any early age were
unable to compete on an equal footing with their fellows and to manage their affairs with
ordinary prudence. Obviously, such loose definitions left a great deal of room for
subjective judgment and were not very satisfactory from the scientific standpoint. It is
now customary to define as feeble-minded all those with an I. Q. of less than 70. This
definition is fairly well accepted. The feeble-minded themselves are divided into three
classes. The lowest class are the idiots. They have I. Q's of less than 20 or 25. The next
class is made up of imbeciles who have I. Q's running up to 50. Finally, the morons form
the highest class of the feebleminded, and their I. Q's range from 50 to 70.
It should be emphasized that all these classifications are purely arbitrary. There is
no reason in the nature of things for selecting an I. Q. below 70 as the criterion of feeble-
mindedness. It might just as well have been 65 or 75. It is simply a convenient dividing
point. The same may be said for the other classifications previously mentioned. Their
value is simply one of convenience.
As has been said already, the lowest degree of feeble-mindedness is idiocy. At
best, the idiot has no greater intelligence than that of the normal 4-year-old child. Most
idiots have much less. The lowest grade of them have no more mentality than a young
infant. They can neither walk nor talk and need constant care and supervision. The
higher-grade idiots can walk and talk and amuse themselves with simple play. It need
scarcely be added that nearly all idiots spend their lives in institutions for the feeble-
minded. Very few private families are equipped to give one of their children the constant
care which the idiot needs.
The imbecile is a little more fortunate than the idiot. In adult life his mentality
would be roughly equivalent to that of the average child between four and eight. Even the
lower-grade imbeciles can walk and talk and guard themselves against common physical
dangers. The higher grades can lead a harmless existence even in a private family.
With few exceptions the imbecile is incapable of holding a job. One scarcely
realizes how much brains are required by even the simplest occupations until one has
witnessed the pathetic efforts of an imbecile to earn a living. Even the men who dig
ditches and sweep our streets must be capable of understanding and remembering simple

28
directions and of finding their way home after work. They must have an elementary
brightness which will prevent them from being victims to the most obvious forms of
dishonesty. Since these qualities are generally lacking in the imbecile, he can scarcely
hold a job except under ideal conditions.
On account of his low intelligence the idiot must be held morally irresponsible for
nearly all of his acts. His intelligence places him in the same category, from the moral
standpoint, as the young, preschool child. He may have the best of intentions. In the sight
of God he may be quite blameless. Yet he is always committing acts which would be
sinful in a normal person. These observations apply in a lesser degree to the imbecile. We
need not be surprised, therefore, when the low-grade mental defectives are guilty of
childish faults. They may give way to temper tantrums, or may lie, steal, and disobey
with the moral ignorance of a 2-year-old child.
Although the behavior of the low-grade defective may be blameless in many cases
from a theological standpoint, it is decidedly inconvenient for other members of his
family. The result has been the growth of special institutions for the feeble-minded where
they can receive the specialized care which their condition demands. It is almost never
possible to raise the intelligence quotient of a real mental defective. Once an idiot, always
an idiot. However, modern methods of institutional care can train many mental defectives
in elementary habits of conduct and personal hygiene, and can make their institutional
lives comparatively happy ones.
There are two principles which should decide the question of whether or not a
particular defective needs permanent institutional care. The first principle is that all those
with a very low I. Q. should be institutionalized. The adult who cannot walk or talk and
who needs constant care is really as much in need of hospital treatment as the man dying
from tuberculosis. For him the institution is the only place. The second type which needs
institutional treatment is the feeble-minded person, who, although able to take care of
himself without much assistance, nevertheless has certain undesirable behavior traits. A
husky six-footer with imbecile mentality, who has the habit of breaking things up in a
childish tantrum, is scarcely to be left at large in the community.
The care of the low-grade feeble-minded is a work of Christian charity which
ought to appeal to Catholics. We have many first-class institutions to deal with orphans
and dependent children, with delinquents, and with the deaf. The need of good Catholic
institutions for the feeble-minded is at least equally great. Two or three such institutions
do exist, but there is need for many more. The feebleminded child will never make a
great success in the world but he has an immortal soul and hence he ought to appeal to
our charity.

XVII. THE MORON

AS WAS stated in a previous chapter, the word "moron" designates the highest of
three classes of feeble-mindedness. Moron intelligence ranges between 50 and 70 I. Q.
The adult moron will, therefore, have an intelligence comparable to that of the normal
child between 8 and about 12. Morons probably make up 1 or 2 per cent of the whole
population. The feeble-minded child with this degree of intelligence can profit somewhat
from education in the ordinary elementary school. He is the child who, after being held
back several times, finally leaves school without finishing. Before leaving, however, he

29
has perhaps absorbed enough of the three R's to read and write a little. Reading, however,
is too difficult a task for him to enjoy very much as a recreation.
Ordinarily the moron can hold a job. Many of our unskilled laborers belong in this
class. They are our hewers of wood and our drawers of water. Not only so, but they may
actually succeed better in these monotonous tasks than persons of normal intelligence.
The moron girl may be quite satisfied in a factory with a job of pasting labels on bottles
day after day and week after week while her normal sister would be driven to distraction.
The moron contributes a disproportionately large number to the ranks of the
delinquent and criminal. This statement does not necessarily reflect on his moral
character. In the sight of High Heaven he may be no more blameworthy than his normal
brothers; but with equally good intentions he gets into trouble more frequently. This may
come about in two ways.
First of all, although the moron is able to distinguish between right and wrong, he
does not make the fine moral distinctions. Take, for example, the case of Sam. During a
mission in the parish he observed the sale of mission goods in the back of the church.
This gave him a bright idea. In the sacristy was a large collection of lost rosaries which
had been found in the pews. He appropriated these and sold them to his schoolmates for
one cent each. When a teacher discovered what he was doing and began to scold him, he
seemed genuinely surprised. He said they were "old rosaries that nobody wanted" and
seemed to feel that he was using them for a very innocent purpose. Sam would certainly
realize the wrongness of stealing money but the more subtle evil of the rosary escapade
quite eluded him.
Secondly, the moron does not grasp the force of the motives which should help
him to be good. Sin is a stupid, childish way of acting. It never pays in the long run. The
normal child realizes the force of these facts and is apt to act accordingly. The sluggish
brain of the moron perceives them only in a vague sort of way. In regard to the subtleties
of moral theology, he lives in a continual state of ignorance.
Caleb will serve as an example of a more or less typical moron. His I. Q. was 56.
There were no serious physical defects. His home life was not altogether happy. His
father was quite bigoted and his mother and sister had to practice their religion by stealth
or else cause serious outbursts of temper from him.
Caleb was in the third grade of school at the age of 15. He never read for pleasure
but he often went to the movies. He liked athletic sports but would rather watch than
play. Once he had a paper route but was forced to give it up because he could not make
change.
Evidently Caleb's school life was an impossible one. The average child in his
room was seven years younger than he. He was, therefore, transferred to a special class
for backward children. Unfortunately there was no such class in the parochial-school
system of the city; so he was sent to the public school. He found the work there
interesting and stimulating until, at the end of the year, he left and became a messenger
boy. When last seen he was very well dressed and evidently proud of the fact that he had
a real job. Without intelligent treatment, a boy like Caleb might easily have become a
discouraged and discontented loafer.
It was noted in Caleb's case that he was very much out of place in his grade in
school. This almost inevitably happens with the moron. He is repeatedly held back while
younger and brighter children advance. Finally, he finds himself the only big boy in a

30
class of children much younger and smaller than he. Worse yet, these younger and
smaller children succeed where he fails. Under such circumstances the moron often
becomes discouraged and humiliated. Often he tries to compensate for his failures in the
classroom by success of a questionable nature outside. If he cannot be a star pupil like
little Johnny Jones, at least he can steal rides on freight cars, which Johnny is afraid to do.
A few years ago, social scientists were inclined to be pessimistic about the
problem of feeble-mindedness. Laws were passed for the sterilization of certain mental
defectives. It was felt that their case was hopeless, and that feeble-mindedness must be
wiped out at any cost.
The modern view is more hopeful and closer to Catholic tradition. Authorities on
this subject now feel that with a little interest and supervision the moron can be made a
useful, though humble, member of the community. A great help in making the necessary
adjustments is the special class for retarded children. Such classes exist in nearly all large
public-school systems. It is to be regretted that such classes are still very uncommon in
our Catholic schools. It would seem that the arguments in favor of Catholic education are
stronger in the case of the moron than in the case of the normal child. The moron is easily
led. He needs more careful and thorough moral instruction. The principles of right and
wrong have to be drilled into him by painstaking iteration. It is to be hoped that Catholic
school systems will soon realize the importance of this problem and make proper
provisions for the feeble-minded.

XVIII. THE DULL CHILD AND THE

SCHOOL
THE lot of the dull, or border-line, child is often a hard one in existing school sys-
tems. His I. Q. of from 70 to 90 places him definitely outside the category of the feeble-
minded. In consequence, he does not benefit from the elaborately organized special
classes and excellent institutions which have been arranged for the downright mental
defective. On the other hand, he is too dull to profit from the usual school classes—at
least after a certain point. All too frequently, no special attention is given to his
characteristic problems.
Our present school system seems to be founded on the tacit assumption that all
children are practically equal in mental ability. At least this is implied by the fact that we
expect all children to enter the first grade at the age of 6 or thereabouts and to advance in
lock step with their classmates, one grade per year, until graduation. If all children really
were equal, this would be an ideal system; but the whole test movement plus the
experience of years, proves that they actually are not. The result is an enormous human
waste.
Take, for example, the case of Charles. He was a neat, quiet little fellow whose I.
Q. of 78 placed him definitely in the category of the dull which we are considering.
Physically he was somewhat under par. He was exceptionally short and light for his age
and had had more than his fair share of illnesses. His lungs showed a pretuberculous
condition, and his nose and throat needed a specialist's care.
In school Charles did not meet with much success—as one might expect in view
of his low intelligence. He was a rather tense, nervous child. Acutely self-conscious

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during recitations, he would often make some ludicrous response in his overanxiety to
answer quickly. He became the butt of a good deal of ridicule from his classmates. Even
the teacher sometimes lost her patience and did not handle him with the requisite tact.
Finally, after several setbacks, he received his grammar-school diploma at the age of 17.
It seems unfortunate that the organization of the present school systems—
parochial and public alike—should so often cause minor tragedies as in the case of
Charles. The boy was not altogether without promise. He had considerable skill in
handling tools and some artistic ability. Instead of giving him opportunity to develop
such abilities, the school set Charles at tasks which were too difficult for him and
penalized him with ridicule and retardation when he failed.
One unfortunate aspect of such maladjustments is the fact that the discouraged
child, dissatisfied and humiliated in school, will seek less desirable avenues of self-
expression. The case of Edmund will illustrate this fact. Edmund was a large, healthy lad
whose I. Q. of 76 placed him in the same category as Charles. At the age of 16 he was
doing very poor work in the seventh grade of a parochial school. His teacher took a very
intelligent and sympathetic view of his case and did everything she could to help him
toward success in his studies; but it was an impossible task. In desperation, his mother
transferred him to a public school, where the same story of failure was repeated. He
finally left school without being graduated.
In the meanwhile, Edmund began to feel himself more and more out of place
among the small boys in his grade. He sought excitement elsewhere and spent much of
his time with a neighborhood group of boys whose conduct left much to be desired. On
several occasions he was discovered stealing from a parish boys' club and had to be
expelled in consequence. When last heard from, he was a surly, discontented loafer. One
cannot help feeling that, if the school had been able to offer work which would have held
Edmund's interest, he would not have developed his undesirable traits.
More and more, progressive educators are beginning to realize that the school,
parochial or public, has a duty toward pupils whose degree of intelligence is like that of
Charles or Edmund. There is no inherent reason why the curriculum should be planned
with the average boy in mind rather than the dull boy. The former is more easily taught;
but the latter, too, has a human soul. The dull child, as well as the bright one, is
discouraged when he meets with failure. He has as much right as his brighter brother to
demand an education which is suited to his capacities.
Something may be done for the dull child in the ordinary classroom. For example,
the class may be divided into two or three sections. The dullest section will attempt to
cover the bare essentials of the curriculum. 'While his brighter classmates are studying a
variety of subjects, the dull child will gradually master the three R's. A tactful teacher
will be able to make these divisions within her class without attaching any opprobrium to
the membership in the dull section. She will avoid any suggestion of contempt or disdain
in her treatment of the less bright members of her class.
As the dull child advances through the grades the disparity between him and his
normal classmates shows itself more and more. It becomes increasingly difficult to
handle him in the ordinary classroom. It, therefore, becomes desirable to give him not
only special forms of instruction within the ordinary curriculum, but a curriculum of his
own. Where the junior high school exists, this becomes easy. As the bright child begins to
study foreign languages and algebra the duller pupil can take up technical subjects—

32
mechanical drawing, shop practice, and the like. Among these concrete things he feels at
home, and is spared the humiliation which is his when he tries unwillingly to grapple
with abstract subjects.
Parents often manifest a certain shame and resentment when they realize for the
first time that their child is less gifted mentally than the average child. For those who
count success in exclusively worldly terms there is some excuse for this attitude. The dull
child is handicapped—though not hopelessly—in the battle of life. But those of us who
count success sub specie aeternitatis 7 will see no reason for undue discouragement. All
the mentally handicapped, except the lowest grades of the feebleminded, can distinguish
between right and wrong. They can learn the simple, necessary truths of religion. They
can approach the sacraments. If they achieve only minor success as this world reckons,
who shall say that this will be a handicap when the soul meets its Maker?

XIX. THE GIFTED CHILD

THE traditional conception of the exceptionally bright child pictures him as an
undersized and underdeveloped child. If he is a boy, he is supposed to be rather
effeminate, with no natural boyish interests and no skill in masculine sports. If she is a
girl, she is supposed to be homely, unpopular, and lacking in the graces of social life.
Modern research has dealt a severe blow to this traditional picture. The boys and girls
who secure unusually high scores on intelligence tests are not, as a rule, abnormal in
other respects.
The intelligence-test movement has made it possible to study the gifted child with
greater precision than was previously possible. The most comprehensive effort to study
the subject was Terman's California study. 8 In this survey, a school population of about a
quarter of a million was covered. The most promising children were given group
intelligence tests and those who showed promise were given individual tests. Defining a
"gifted child" arbitrarily as a child whose I. Q. is 140 or more, 618 gifted children were
found in this population; that is to say, about one child in four hundred has an intelligence
quotient as high as 140.
It was found that such gifted children generally came from superior homes—
homes characterized by the culture and intelligence of the parents. They were not
necessarily rich homes. In fact, the average family income was only a little over three
thousand dollars a year. Other studies have confirmed these facts.
Contrary to the general impression, Terman found that the gifted children were by
no means unhealthy. Careful examination by specialists revealed about normal health.
The gifted children were found to be distinctly less nervous than others. A number of
studies have shown that there is a slight tendency for gifted children to be taller and
heavier than the average.
A very interesting question concerns the character traits of the superior child. By
the use of a very elaborate and complicated series of tests, Terman demonstrated that the

7
in light of eternity a very loose translation
8
Terman, Lewis Madison and others, Genetic Studies of Genius, Vol. I; Mental and Physical Traits of a
Thousand Gifted Children. Stanford University Press (1925), xv, 648 pp.

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extremely bright children are somewhat more honest than average children. Gifted boys
are not less masculine in their interests than others.
They are somewhat less interested in active games, somewhat more interested in
intellectual recreations, and greatly superior in all sorts of play information.
We might reasonably expect to find bright children somewhat conscious of their
superiority. Several writers on the subject have found this to be the case. Others say that
intellectually superior children are not inclined to be overbearing; or, if they are, it is easy
to show them that this is not a proper attitude.
A more common fault among the gifted is laziness. The very bright child finds the
ordinary grammar-school curriculum extremely easy. He gets good marks with little
exertion. There is nothing to stimulate him to hard work, consequently he gradually falls
into habits of sloth.
It may seem surprising to many to hear that the gifted child constitutes a real
problem. The bright child seldom troubles his teacher. His lessons are always perfect and
he never delays the progress of the class by his stupidity. Despite appearances, however,
the intellectually superior child may be an acute school problem. This is so because the
ordinary school curriculum is not difficult enough to stimulate him. The question which
faces the school, therefore, is how to provide him with enough work to call out his full
intellectual capacities.
Take, for example, the case of Eustace. At the age of 13 this child received a
score of 174 on Army Alpha. When we add that the average man in the army received a
score of between 65 and 70 on this test and the average officer or professional man about
130, it will be seen how extraordinary this boy's performance was.
Despite the very unusual ability which Eustace manifested in the parochial school
he had attended, he had advanced with his class only one grade at a time. Even when it
was pointed out that the lad could easily skip a year or two, such extra promotions were
never granted in the grammar school nor in the high school which he afterwards attended.
As a result, the boy's work in school was largely a waste of time for him. He became
rather contemptuous toward his teachers and seemed to show by his attitude that little
remained for him to learn. He was not given the opportunity for enough contact with
intellectual things to realize his own ignorance.
The priest in charge of a parochial school has two alternatives in dealing with
unusually bright children. One is the use of extra promotions. A child whose success is
due to great ability and not merely to unusually hard work can be safely given an extra
promotion. He should, not, however, be given so many extra promotions that he will be
lost in a classroom of very much older children.
The second alternative is the enrichment of the curriculum. The gifted pupil can
very quickly master the required work for a grade. Having done so, he is given special
assignments by his teacher. He can read advanced textbooks in history while his
classmates are struggling through an elementary textbook. He can be reading some of the
masterpieces of English literature while the other pupils are fighting their way through
the Sixth Reader.
These two methods, extra promotion and enrichment of the curriculum, will
provide sufficient intellectual work for most gifted pupils. By using these means
intelligently the unusually bright child can be given work commensurate with his ability
without upsetting the organization of the school.

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 XX. INSIGHT
TRULY, there is nothing new under the sun. The necessity of thorough self-
knowledge has been one of the most important messages of the new mental-hygiene
movement. The experience of numerous clinics where mental maladjustments are treated
shows that a large proportion of these mental ills would have been forestalled had the
patients but realized their own condition more clearly. Much suffering would be averted
if men dared to face the facts of life frankly.
Yet this same view about the necessity of insight into one's own character has
been eloquently proclaimed for centuries by spiritual writers. The rules of most religious
orders reflect the same point of view when they set aside periods for self-examination.
One of the chief objectives of the retreat movement is to bring the retreatants face to face
with themselves. Finally, confession and spiritual direction are both exceedingly
important aids to self-knowledge.
"Humility" is the traditional name which ascetical writers have used to describe
this insight into one's own condition which is so emphasized by Catholic practice.
Humility, of course, does not imply an undervaluation of one's good points. It implies a
courageous willingness to face the facts of one's character. The humble man is he who
knows himself.
The prime necessity of humility will be evident from the well-known facts which
have been mentioned in this book. There is a fundamental human decency which protests
against evil. Whenever man yields to an unworthy impulse of the flesh, the voice of
conscience is raised in protest. As long as a man knows his own weaknesses, therefore, so
long will he be likely to continue to make at least some effort to strive against them. But
when he blinds himself to his own condition—in other words, when he loses humility—
then he may proceed in complacent but deceptive security. The loss of humility makes
progress in the spiritual life almost impossible because it blinds man to his own
condition. The man without humility is fighting in the dark.
Modern mental hygiene and Catholic tradition agree in proclaiming the necessity
of self-knowledge. They differ, however, in certain important respects. Mental hygiene
has for its goal successful living in this world. Ascetic theology values these natural
means but adds other and supernatural aids. Finally, our religion teaches us that our moral
conflict is raised to the supernatural plane by grace—a fact wholly unknown to human
science.
The fact that ascetic theology thus transcends the field covered by modern
psychology does not mean that the former cannot be aided by the latter. The zealous
priest will be anxious to use natural means for what they are worth. Modern psychology
can thus actually shed new light on pastoral problems.
If insight is necessary in the regulation of one's own life, certainly it is equally
necessary in attempting to influence the lives of others, as the priest must do constantly in
his ministry. In the modern "guidance clinic," whither children with conduct difficulties
are brought, each individual case is carefully studied by a corps of experts. Whatever
success such clinics have attained is due to the thoroughness of this investigation.
Similarly, the priest must carefully study the individual in his work in the
confessional, in the parochial school, and in the direction of souls. In doing this, he will

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not be merely imitating the practice of the modern clinic; he will be following a safe and
sure tradition going back to Christ Himself.
St. John gives us an interesting illustration of this in the eighth chapter of his
gospel. A group of Jewish criminologists came to consult our Blessed Lord about a case.
A woman had been apprehended in adultery. They asked, therefore, "Moses in the law
commanded us to stone such a one. But what sayest thou?"
They did not ask this question because they really desired information. The case
was extremely clear in their narrow minds. The woman had sinned; therefore, she must
die. The words of the law were clear and unequivocal. Her guilt was undisputed. To their
minds there was no room for argument in the case.
But our Lord saw deeper. He recognized the justice of the Mosaic law; for it was
a law of God. But He never lost sight of the individual. In ninety-nine cases out of a
hundred, perhaps, adultery should be punished. But, looking into her eyes, He realized
that here was the one exceptional case. His divine insight told Him that this woman was
promising material for reform. So He secured her pardon in the infinitely kind and tactful
manner which characterized all His actions.
When the Pharisees faced Jesus Christ that day, two contrasting theories of
punishment met. The Pharisees represented the legalistic attitude, an attitude which does
not consider the individual. As soon as the fact of sin was established, punishment should
follow automatically.
But our Lord was more concerned with the individual than with the law. He saw
the sinning woman not as a legal "case," but as a living and breathing human being with
her own particular elements of strength and weakness. His treatment was dictated not by
some abstract legal principle, but by the needs of the one particular individual whom He
saw before Him.
So, too, the good priest, in his dealing with souls, will be less concerned with
generalizations than with individuals. There are, of course, certain unchanging principles
of right and wrong which are taught in moral theology. But the application of these
unchanging principles to the particular case is modified by a thousand circumstances, a
thousand co-ordinate facts. The director of souls will do well, therefore, to follow the
example of Christ and study the individual.
If some of the data of modern psychology can afford him a natural aid in this
supernatural task, then he can accept them readily. The modern intelligence-test
movement will aid him in dealing with persons abnormally dull or abnormally bright.
The experience of the psychiatrist will aid him to understand some of the devious
workings of the human mind by which it avoids the consciousness of guilt. For this let us
be grateful! For insight is a prime requisite in the spiritual life—insight into one's own
life, which we call "humility," plus that insight into the lives of others which
distinguishes the successful director of souls.

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