The graceless gods of good intentions

Prime Day and theology

On Prime Day this year, I scrolled through the deals with a sense of self-disgust and dread. I needed new Pyrex measuring jugs, and there was a set with a good reduction. My husband found some water pistols on offer to replace the broken ones that the kids like to play with on the terrace. Wheat fibre plates to replace the janky plastic IKEA ones the kids use? Sure, not on the list, but why not. An evolutionary high chair for the baby to start using in a couple of months when we wean him - yes, that one we really needed.

But I couldn’t feel good about any of these purchases, because of the hum of voices from the gods of good intentions who decry the evils of Amazon, always playing at the back of my mind. Capitalism! Consumerism! Destroying small businesses! Bad for the environment! Etc. etc. I should buy these items elsewhere. I probably shouldn’t buy them at all.

I started to think about all the things that make us feel guilty these days. The food we eat is bad for the environment and full of terrible things that will cause us to drop dead at any moment. The clothes we wear are propping up the continuation of slavery on a mass scale, not to mention that, again, they are terrible for the environment. We all spend too much time in front of screens, which is bad for our physical and mental health, and provoking a deterioration of real human relationships. We travel too much, by car and by plane, polluting our planet and impinging on other cultures. We are over-medicated. We are disconnected from the natural world. It feels like almost everything we do is indicative of a disregard for the wellbeing of the planet, of other humans, and of ourselves.

It occurred to me that this sense of guilt, of shame, of disgust with ourselves, of never being able to be or do enough, is reminiscent of the mental state induced by the angry, wrathful God communicated by the Church throughout her history (and that persists in the experiences of many). Yet the accusation that religion induces a constant, gnawing sense of inadequacy and depravity can, it seems to me, be equally levelled against the gods of good intentions. Just like religious institutions, they purport to herald the path to goodness, rightness, and the opportunity to shed our wicked ways; yet receivers of the message often end up feeling worse about themselves than they did before, painfully aware of their inability to meet the mark.

Now, don’t misunderstand me. I believe that the climate crisis is real, and that we should do what we can to reduce the environmental damage we inflict (although I would wager that excessive emphasis on the responsibility of individuals is a helpful distraction from the actual main contributors to climate change). I think it’s disgusting that our fast fashion industry is built on the backs of exploited women, men, and children. I would much prefer to eat a diet that consisted primarily of fresh, local produce, without the addition of ingredients that no one can recognise.

Equally, I acknowledge the reality of sin, and the grip it has on each of us. I would love to disentangle myself from its snares, and I should absolutely strive to root it out where possible. But the fact is, it is not possible. Even saints were sinners, but a key difference between them and us is that they were keenly aware of their dependence on grace to grow in virtue. They understood that humans are extremely limited in their capacity to counter the wages of evil, and that attempting to do so without God will lead to despair, loss of hope, and a lack of faith in your own worthiness of love.

Aquinas wrote “gratia non tollit naturam, sed perficit” (thanks Wiki), which means something like “grace does not destroy nature, but perfects it.” I remind myself of this often when I’m discouraged that my efforts to do something good - improve relationships, improve my prayer life, grow in virtue - are not getting me very far. My nature, my inclinations, are good, but without grace, my efforts will be frustrated.

We are certainly not absconded from putting in the effort; we cannot simply shrug our shoulders and let God resolve our BS. Our natural inclination towards good is perfected by the grace of God. This doesn’t mean that we will be perfect if we apply just the right amount of human effort, prayer, and sacraments, but it does mean that whatever efforts we make for good will veer us further into the light of God’s love, truth, and beauty if we do them in the light of grace.

The problem is that the gods of good intentions are devoid of grace. They tell you that you have to keep trying to do better, makes more changes, do more of this or less of that, in order to become better. It’s all on you. Even when there’s an acknowledgement that you cannot do everything, the message is clear that whatever you are doing is not enough. In an objective sense, of course this is true. From a human point of view, this can lead only to despair or apathy.

Accepting our limitations in the light of grace is liberating; confronting our limitations to fulfil the wishes of the gods of good intentions is depressing and hopeless. In neither case are we free to wash our hands any effort or inconvenience towards the goal of a greater good, but grace inherently recognises that none of us, individually or collectively, have the power to thwart evil and darkness. Instead, we do our best, and place our hope in a God that infuses each of our lives with grace, allowing love and beauty to flourish in unexpected places.

I still think I should look for alternatives to Amazon where possible, to eat less meat, to buy second hand, to minimise air travel. I think it is my duty both as a Christian and as a member of the human family to do so. Grace will not reverse climate change or end modern day slavery, but it does mean that there is hope and goodness in the apparent hellscape we live in. Where the gods of good intentions tell us that human limitations will destroy us in the end, grace says otherwise. Grace says that our limitations will not have the final say.