It’s easy to see why we might not have heard of this one. Like “human respect” the sin of presumption probably doesn’t get much play in the Church these days, and this is mostly because we now more or less consider it a virtue.

Surprised? Well, how often have you heard “God loves me just the way I am.” Or, more pertinently to our ongoing discussions, something like, “God’s mercy is unconditional.”

Er… yeah, no. It really isn’t. Sorry, but this is perhaps the most pernicious lie of this pontificate. God does indeed offer His mercy ceaselessly, but that is not the same thing. He is constantly, one might even dare to say “desperately” calling us to repent of our sins – the ones we know about – and to come to a greater understanding of our failings so we can start repenting of the ones we currently don’t notice as much. But all this presumes that we understand that our sins are the reason we need mercy to begin with, and that our ability to receive the benefit of God’s mercy (that we call “salvation” and “eternal life”) is wholly and entirely dependent upon our willingness to repent.

The Catholic Encyclopaedia helpfully helps with:

_(Latin praesumere, “to take before”, “to take for granted”).

Presumption is here considered as a vice opposed to the theological virtue of hope [which means it is the close cousin of despair, HJMW]. It may also be regarded as a product of pride. It may be defined as the condition of a soul which, because of a badly regulated reliance on God’s mercy and power, hopes for salvation without doing anything to deserve it, or for pardon of his sins without repenting of them.

Presumption is said to offend against hope by excess, as despair by defect. It will be obvious, however, to one who ponders what is meant by hope, that this statement is not exact. There is only a certain analogy which justifies it. As a matter of fact we could not hope too much, assuming that it is really the supernatural habit which is in question. Suarez (“De spe”, disp. 2a, sect. 3, n. 2) enumerates five ways in which one may be guilty of presumption, as follows:

1. by hoping to obtain by one’s natural powers, unaided, what is definitely supernatural, viz. eternal bliss or the recovery of God’s friendship after grievous sin (this would involve a Pelagian frame of mind);

2. a person might look to have his sins forgiven without adequate penance (this, likewise, if it were based on a seriously entertained conviction, would seem to carry with it the taint of heresy);

3. a man might expect some special assistance from Almighty God for the perpetration of crime (this would be blasphemous as well as presumptuous);

4. one might aspire to certain extraordinary supernatural excellencies, but without any conformity to the determinations of God’s providence. Thus one might aspire to equal in blessedness the Mother of God;

5. finally, there is the transgression of those who, whilst they continue to lead a life of sin, are as confident of a happy issue as if they had not lost their baptismal innocence. The root-malice of presumption is that it denies the supernatural order, as in the first instance, or travesties the conception of the Divine attributes, as in the others.

Oo hoo! doesn’t it sound familiar!

What does repentance consist of? Mainly two things back to back, like the sides of a coin: repugnance for the sin and determination never (yes, never) to commit the sin again. Ever. Like, ever. This repugnance is talked about a lot by the saints and mystics. St. Catherine of Sienna once described her experience meeting a famous courtesan in Avignon who was attached somehow to the Papal court. She said she was surprised to learn that she had been the only one to have noticed the putrid smell that came off the well-dressed and admittedly beautiful woman.

What do our sins make us really like?

Well, Oscar Wilde (who was smarter than he perhaps realized and was in a position to know a lot about this) once wrote a very memorable novel about it. That was back in the day when most people more or less understood what sin was, that it was bad, and that we should try to fight it.

This was the real meaning of his famous quip that the Catholic Church was “for saints and sinners alone – for respectable people, the Anglican Church will do.” Since we must now explain all jokes until they are no longer funny, it is simply that the Anglican Church had, even by then, become so morally corrupt in its teaching (or lack of it) on morals, that those who wanted to remain in their sins but remain respectable in the World should remain Anglican. Those who wanted to actually change and end in heaven – those who believed in God and sin and redemption, in other words, must become Catholic, since it was known then that the Church was offering the only real way out.

How times have changed, eh-wot?

And of course, Wilde’s own story provides a salutary lesson for us. He knew full well that his sins were as scarlet, and that to die in them would mean eternity in hell. Some of his close friends abandoned the debauched lifestyle that he was caught in, like a sticky slime-pit, and became Catholics. Of course, having realized the deadly peril their friend was in, they urged Oscar to follow suit. He flirted with the idea a little, and then retreated back into his sins, daunted, perhaps, by the magnitude of the change that would be required, and by what probably seemed to him an impossible requirement to stop, forever. (He was wrong, of course, but addicts will keep going back to their drug until they die, knowing that it means death.)

Of course, as everyone knows, he won the prize in the end, after he had squeezed out the last drops of poison; after prison, after his wife deserted him, after he had lost all his friends and prestige and every worldly thing, and was at the door of death.

But say to a man like that, “God loves you just the way you are,” and “His mercy is unconditional,” and stand back for the blast of scorn your comment deserves.

 

~

Update: Hah! looks like me and Mike had the same thought at the same time.

Prolly doesn’t mean anything.

~