Others may clearly see our strengths and innate qualities; some may accurately discern the direction in which our path should lead, but we are the only ones who can discover where we are to go, and when, and how, and why. It is part of finding out who we really are, and of becoming the persons God has made us to be.
In writing this I am conscious of the numbers of university students who change courses, take years out, or drop out altogether in their struggles to find their direction in life. I urge these, as well as all others who are wavering in some way, changing course, burning bridges, giving up, or picking themselves up to begin again, to dismiss all feelings of failure, particularly where such embers are urged back into life by others. In the only ways that are ultimately of value, you have not failed. You are being prevented from wasting too much time. You are not just wanted but are needed to be on the right path, and your turmoil is the result of your own unsatisfied yearnings. Without yet knowing it, you yourselves need to be on the right path; the path for which you have been made.
Any mention of paths, right and wrong, cannot be separated from the fundamental attractions of right and wrong which constantly play havoc with our lives. The tug-of-war between the forces and satisfactions of good and evil is never-ending, and is made known to us by the voice of God within us: a voice of which John Henry Newman has spoken in his sermon, ‘Dispositions for Faith’: -
'Whether a man has heard the name of the Saviour of the world or not... he has within his breast a certain commanding dictate, not a mere sentiment, nor a mere opinion, or impression, or view of things, but a law, an authoritative voice, bidding him do certain things and avoid others. I do not say that its particular injunctions are always clear, or that they are always consistent with each other; but what I am insisting on here is this, that it commands - that it praises, it blames, it promises, it threatens, it implies a future, and it witnesses of the unseen. It is more than a man's own self. The man himself has not power over it, or only with extreme difficulty; he did not make it, he cannot destroy it... This is Conscience; and from the nature of the case, its very existence carries on our minds to a Being exterior to ourselves; for else whence did it come? and to a Being superior to ourselves; else whence its strange troublesome peremptoriness? I say, without going on to the question what it says, and whether its particular dictates are always as clear and consistent as they might be, its very existence throws us out of ourselves, to go and seek for him in the height and depth, whose Voice it is. .......... .... This word within us not only instructs us up to a certain point, but necessarily raises our minds to the idea of a Teacher, an unseen Teacher: and in proportion as we listen to that word, and use it, not only do we learn more from it, not only do its dictates become clearer, and its lessons broader, and its principles more consistent, but its very tone is louder and more authoritative and constraining. And thus it is, that to those who use what they have, more is given; for, beginning with obedience, they go on to the intimate perception and belief of one God. His voice within them witnesses to him, and they believe his own witness about himself. They believe in his existence, not because others say it, not on the word of man merely, but with a personal apprehension of its truth.'
And so, conscience, having already matured within us, takes its place, as it were, before us; recognised, acknowledged, and, as likely as not, a source of niggles and worries rather than something to be listened to. It is an immense power for good, but if my own experience is anything to go by, it can be a long time before we understand this, preferring to let the years slip by without being unduly troubled by it, or, at least, without allowing ourselves to be confronted by its accusing finger.
Without stopping to face it head on, that is how we experience it: that is how it seems to be. No sooner do we sense it than we turn away from it; the very awareness of its presence rising within us troubles us too much. We already know what it is going to say to us, and have no wish to be made to recognise our own wrongdoing, - especially if it speaks to us before we have actually gone wrong.
And yet, it is all so false. Our holding it at bay in that way tells us from the start that we have recognised it for what it is. It is unavoidable, and it has the power to make our choosing of the right course of action so simple. And yet we repeatedly manage to brush it aside while fully understanding what we are doing, and all the time longing to follow the opposite course, -the one towards which it was directing us.
In writing this I am conscious of the numbers of university students who change courses, take years out, or drop out altogether in their struggles to find their direction in life. I urge these, as well as all others who are wavering in some way, changing course, burning bridges, giving up, or picking themselves up to begin again, to dismiss all feelings of failure, particularly where such embers are urged back into life by others. In the only ways that are ultimately of value, you have not failed. You are being prevented from wasting too much time. You are not just wanted but are needed to be on the right path, and your turmoil is the result of your own unsatisfied yearnings. Without yet knowing it, you yourselves need to be on the right path; the path for which you have been made.
Any mention of paths, right and wrong, cannot be separated from the fundamental attractions of right and wrong which constantly play havoc with our lives. The tug-of-war between the forces and satisfactions of good and evil is never-ending, and is made known to us by the voice of God within us: a voice of which John Henry Newman has spoken in his sermon, ‘Dispositions for Faith’: -
'Whether a man has heard the name of the Saviour of the world or not... he has within his breast a certain commanding dictate, not a mere sentiment, nor a mere opinion, or impression, or view of things, but a law, an authoritative voice, bidding him do certain things and avoid others. I do not say that its particular injunctions are always clear, or that they are always consistent with each other; but what I am insisting on here is this, that it commands - that it praises, it blames, it promises, it threatens, it implies a future, and it witnesses of the unseen. It is more than a man's own self. The man himself has not power over it, or only with extreme difficulty; he did not make it, he cannot destroy it... This is Conscience; and from the nature of the case, its very existence carries on our minds to a Being exterior to ourselves; for else whence did it come? and to a Being superior to ourselves; else whence its strange troublesome peremptoriness? I say, without going on to the question what it says, and whether its particular dictates are always as clear and consistent as they might be, its very existence throws us out of ourselves, to go and seek for him in the height and depth, whose Voice it is. .......... .... This word within us not only instructs us up to a certain point, but necessarily raises our minds to the idea of a Teacher, an unseen Teacher: and in proportion as we listen to that word, and use it, not only do we learn more from it, not only do its dictates become clearer, and its lessons broader, and its principles more consistent, but its very tone is louder and more authoritative and constraining. And thus it is, that to those who use what they have, more is given; for, beginning with obedience, they go on to the intimate perception and belief of one God. His voice within them witnesses to him, and they believe his own witness about himself. They believe in his existence, not because others say it, not on the word of man merely, but with a personal apprehension of its truth.'
And so, conscience, having already matured within us, takes its place, as it were, before us; recognised, acknowledged, and, as likely as not, a source of niggles and worries rather than something to be listened to. It is an immense power for good, but if my own experience is anything to go by, it can be a long time before we understand this, preferring to let the years slip by without being unduly troubled by it, or, at least, without allowing ourselves to be confronted by its accusing finger.
Without stopping to face it head on, that is how we experience it: that is how it seems to be. No sooner do we sense it than we turn away from it; the very awareness of its presence rising within us troubles us too much. We already know what it is going to say to us, and have no wish to be made to recognise our own wrongdoing, - especially if it speaks to us before we have actually gone wrong.
And yet, it is all so false. Our holding it at bay in that way tells us from the start that we have recognised it for what it is. It is unavoidable, and it has the power to make our choosing of the right course of action so simple. And yet we repeatedly manage to brush it aside while fully understanding what we are doing, and all the time longing to follow the opposite course, -the one towards which it was directing us.
'I do not understand my own behaviour; I do not act as I mean to, but I do things that I hate.
...though the will to do what is good is in me, the power to do it is not:
the good thing I want to do, I never do; the evil thing which I do not want - that is what I do.'
(Romans 7:15,18-19.)
So says St Paul, and surely, so would say any good and honest man or woman who has ever lived.
In the same way that our conscience will guide us through every right and wrong moment, every action, every thought, if we will but let it, it is constantly trying to steer us in the overall direction best suited to our nature and our particular skills. It is not in preventing, accusing, and reprimanding that it has its reason for being. It strives to match our giftedness with the areas of need which cry out for it; and this striving is not so much in the assessment and recognition of our calling, as in the implementation, which requires our consent and ongoing commitment. It is in trying to awaken us to ourselves and to our calling that our conscience never sleeps.
Our experience and understanding of feelings of contentment, happiness, joy, peace, hope, regret, sorrow, fear, and so on, is dependent upon the degree to which we follow its guidance in our daily lives and its calling in the longer term. Our response to the awakening of our conscience plays an essential part in our perception of all the basic and underlying emotions from which our lives are drawn.
Aristotle has summed it up in these few words: -
In the same way that our conscience will guide us through every right and wrong moment, every action, every thought, if we will but let it, it is constantly trying to steer us in the overall direction best suited to our nature and our particular skills. It is not in preventing, accusing, and reprimanding that it has its reason for being. It strives to match our giftedness with the areas of need which cry out for it; and this striving is not so much in the assessment and recognition of our calling, as in the implementation, which requires our consent and ongoing commitment. It is in trying to awaken us to ourselves and to our calling that our conscience never sleeps.
Our experience and understanding of feelings of contentment, happiness, joy, peace, hope, regret, sorrow, fear, and so on, is dependent upon the degree to which we follow its guidance in our daily lives and its calling in the longer term. Our response to the awakening of our conscience plays an essential part in our perception of all the basic and underlying emotions from which our lives are drawn.
Aristotle has summed it up in these few words: -
'Where your talents and the needs of the world cross, there lies your vocation.'
.
