A Little Hatred Might Yet Save Us

We do not want a church that will move with the world. We want a church that will move the world. ~ G.K. Chesterton: The Catholic Church and Conversion, 1926

From Crisis

By Philip Primeau

We are always asking the question, “What went wrong with the Church?” There is an answer too rarely considered: we abandoned hatred of the world.

“Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.” (Colossians 3:2) 

We are always asking the question, “What went wrong with the Church?” There is an answer too rarely considered: we abandoned hatred of the world.  

Hatred of the world? Likely, we have heard the phrase before. It reminds us of a musty, bygone moment when nuns thrashed their students with rulers and glum pewsitters put pebbles in their shoes during Lent. In other words, it is a semi-mythical figment, an embarrassing bit of deviance that crept around Catholicism until 1962, roughly. 

But suppose it is something else entirely. Suppose it is the very substance of the Christian life, as declared by the apostolic and evangelical men upon whose testimony our Faith purports to rest. If so, we can only hope for ecclesial (and personal) renewal to the extent that we recover this lost habit of soul.

Here, of course, the term “world” does not indicate creation per se—which naturally reflects the goodness of God—but, rather, creation as afflicted by violence and decay and beset by wickedness and ignorance due to the fall of rational beings and the consequences of that primeval tragedy. In this sense, the “world” is reality dominated by malignant intelligences and poisoned by errant yearning, replete with empty diversions and vain seductions: “The desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life” (1 John 2:16).

For Scripture plainly teaches that the cosmos languishes under a kind of curse or penalty, having been “subjected to futility” and plunged into “bondage to corruption” (Romans 8:20-21), and that man in particular has incurred divine indignation (Romans 1:18, John 3:36). Because of the apostasy portrayed in Genesis 3, we live among the ruins of the divine handiwork described in Genesis 1-2. This scene of destruction—full of manifold physical and moral evil—is precisely the “present form of [the] world” that is already “passing away” (1 Corinthians 7:31) and will be consumed by the glory of Christ’s revelation.  

Someone, rankled by such gloomy talk, will point out all that is splendid and noble within and around us, gesturing broadly at the countless boons that God daily supplies. True it is that sin cannot utterly spoil what God has made. Moreover, being not only just but merciful, the Lord continues to lavish blessings upon His creatures, even the wayward (Matthew 5:45, Romans 5:8).   

Yet, we cannot trust our estimation of affairs, since we are prone to self-flattery and self-justification and vexed by the mere suggestion of punishment, however well deserved. Rather, we must measure all things by divine revelation. Only in the light of the Word do we clearly perceive our plight—indeed, the plight of the universe, for “the heavens and earth that now exist are stored up for fire, being kept until the day of judgment and destruction of the ungodly” (2 Peter 3:7).  

So dismal is the situation that St. Paul speaks of the “present evil age” (Galatians 1:4), which is the object of divine wrath (1 Thessalonians 1:10). And even after Christ’s triumph over the malevolent principalities and powers (Colossians 2:15), the apostle bitterly identifies Satan as the world’s “god” (2 Corinthians 4:4). How solemn and exact the verdict of St. John Chrysostom: “A deep night oppresses the whole world” (Homily IV on 1 Corinthians 11).

Therefore, it is fitting that we should cultivate contempt for the wasteland in which we wander, “strangers and exiles on earth” (Hebrews 11:13). In fact, the Word of God compels us: “Do not love the world or anything in the world” (1 John 2:15). He who neglects this admonition invariably finds himself at odds with His Creator: “Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God?” (James 4:4). And we have also the Lord’s grave warning: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26).
It goes without saying that this disposition can be taken to bizarre extremes that cripple rather than liberate the soul, such that it shoots downward instead of upward. Prudence here, as everywhere. Appropriately understood, hatred of the world—hatred of its compromises and conveniences, its pomp and pleasures, its snares and tyrannies—frees us to love God and all things for God’s sake. Unblemished and unburdened, the soul is elevated, clarified. “Shine as lights in the world” (Philippians 2:15). 

Exaggerations notwithstanding, the basic proposition is unassailable: the world is under a pall of darkness, and we belong not to the mundane shadow but to the supernal light, toward which we must tend without a backward look, lest we suffer like Lot’s wife (Luke 17:32). “Our citizenship is in heaven” (Philippians 3:20). The world, ironically, knows this truth, and hates us accordingly (John 15:19). We need only—to speak boldly—trade hate for hate. Not, we add, the sensual and vulgar hatred of this age but, instead, the “perfect hatred” of blessed David (Psalms 139:22). 

So many malefactions, negligences, and indiscretions have conspired to bring about the Church’s sad condition. But maybe they are united by the choice—taken with some deliberation—to renounce “otherworldliness” (now a pejorative!) and reconcile ourselves to this age. We have not only glanced over our shoulder; we have returned to that city whence we were graciously drawn and delivered. And therein we sit, wondering at the falling flames.  

It could be that a little hatred, rightly grasped and practiced, might save us yet.