Our oldest daughter, Andrea, was finally marrying her Josh, and the wedding countdown was on. Only four months left till July, when 225 guests would be arriving at our place for the nuptial ceremony and feast. Thank heavens I was done with teaching! How else could I handle all that needed to be done?
"Such as?" Mike asked warily.
"Such as . . . well, we need to get a real meadow going out there in the horse pasture. You know, sweet peas and wildflowers and poppies? And we need to finally landscape the backyard, and paint the house, inside and out, and put on a new roof, and . . ."
"A new roof?"
"Well, we need to do it anyway, don't we? We might as well get it done in time for the wedding."
This phrase was uttered in a hushed, awestruck tone. Our daughter was getting married; the whole upcoming event had taken on the air of the sacrosanct as far as I was concerned.
Mike looked dubious, then thoughtful. So I added, "How about green shingles this time, like the ones on the barn? His eyes brightened; he was as big a sucker as his wife for creative projects. And hardly ever did we count the physical and mental cost ahead of time.
At the two month mark, the shingles and new paint were on, and the sweet peas were struggling manfully against major climatic odds. We'd made some progress, but everywhere I looked I saw more things that needed to be done. And we were running rapidly out of time. How, I thought, had this happened?
However, though I was too tired right then to face up to it, I knew very well what had happened. We were once again caught up in the creative mania that got us every time. We were doing what we'd always done: we were flying high on the creative energy of eros.
Eros is a longing desire that can't be assuaged. Though we often think of eros as just another name for sexual desire, the erotic force within us is far greater than sex. Eros is what fuels human creativity, intellectual discovery, and even religious seeking. What eros wants, however, can never be found in its entirety. And despite its creative potential, the energy generated by eros requires restraint or it lays us open to spiritual forces we can't resist. As British Romantic Mary Shelley so brilliantly demonstrates in her famous story of Dr. Victor Frankenstein, creative mania can lead to madness, mayhem, and even death.
What is the alternative? It is the practice of temperance. According to philosopher Josef Pieper, the purpose of temperance is integrative: it "dispose[s] various parts into one unified and ordered whole." St. Thomas Aquinas equates temperance with a "serenity of the spirit" that flows from inner order. No one part of us is allowed to overwhelm and rule the rest.
This notion of inner order seems diametrically opposed, however, to much contemporary thought about what constitutes the good life. We tend to see temperance as being about self-protection, caution, or even cowardice. We admire instead extreme athletes, rock stars who go out in a blaze of drug-induced glory, and movie stars who marry and divorce at will. These people, we think, aren't afraid to live.
Yet creative mania ultimately stunts, rather than enhances, our lives. In contrast, temperance serves as a silent watchman, protecting what is unified and holy within. It shields us from the gale force winds of raw energy, winds that can tear us apart. It forces us to think realistically about ourselves and our human limits.
More, with temperance, we can begin to understand and respond to these words of Peter: "Therefore, prepare your minds for action; be self-controlled; set your hope fully on the grace to be given you when Jesus Christ is revealed. As obedient children, do not conform to the evil desire you had when you lived in ignorance. But just as he who called you is holy, so be holy in all you do. . . .'" (1 Peter 13-16).
(Excerpted from By Way of Grace by permission of Loyola Press, 2007.)
