Disability, the Healing of Infirmity, and the Theological Virtue of Hope: a Thomistic Approach

Journal of Moral Theology, Vol. 6, Special Issue 2 (2017): 70-111 Disability, the Healing of Infirmity, and the Theological Virtue of Hope: A Thomistic Approach Paul Gondreau HEN ONE STEPS INTO THE FOURTEENTH-century cathedral of Orvieto, Italy, and ventures into the side chapel near the right of the sanctuary, one beholds a W masterpiece of the early High Renaissance: frescoes dedicated to the Final Judgment, painted by Luca Signorelli between 1500 and 1503. Having received instruction from unnamed theologians (the contract for these frescoes, still on record in the archives of the cathedral, stipulates that Signorelli should consult the “Masters of the Sacred Page” before commencing his painting), Signorelli succeeded in infusing his frescoes with evident theological depth and insight. Divided into several panels corresponding to the various events that, according to traditional Christian belief, will occur at the eschaton, Signorelli’s Final Judgment chapel offers one panel in particular that, to my mind, holds special relevance for a theological account of disability, as, indeed, of the corruptibility of the human body in general: that of the Resurrection of the Flesh. Here Signorelli’s mastery of the human form, realized in the dynamic action of various nude bodies whose flesh is being placed back on their bones, comes to the fore. More to the point of this essay, Signorelli’s Resurrection of the Flesh panel places before its onlooker one of the “secondary goods” that are integral to the proper object of the theological virtue of hope (the visio Dei): the glorified reunion of body and soul in virtue of the body’s resurrection. To put it in the words of the Nicene- Constantinopolitan Creed, Christians “look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.” Recall, in this connection, the biblical foundation of this credal profession. The Old Testament promises that the “dead shall live, their bodies shall rise” (Isaiah 26:19), and offers a vision of “dry bones” having “sinews,” “flesh” and “skin” placed back on them, followed by “breath” put in them, “and [they] shall live” (Ezekiel 37:1-14). For the New Testament, the words of St. Paul are especially sonorous: “We shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound and the dead will be raised Disability, the Healing of Infirmity, the Virtue of Hope 71 imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable nature must put on the imperishable, and this mortal nature must put on immortality” (1 Corinthians 15:51-53; see also 1 Thessalonians 4:14- 18). As if elaborating on this change attested to by St. Paul, the Book of Revelation sees in the eschatological “new heavens and new earth” a time when God “will wipe away every tear from their eyes,” and where “death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain any more, for the former things [will] have passed away” (Revelation 21:1-4). The precise nature of this “passing away” of former things and “change” from a perishable, mortal nature to an imperishable and immortal one, that is, to a glorified nature, for all persons with corruptible bodies, but especially for those with disabilities, marks the chief consideration of this essay. The relevance that this change bears in regard to hope hinges strictly upon our gaining a proper understanding of what it involves. For his part, Signorelli attempts to depict this change by placing in his fresco only the fully mature human form—neither elderly or middle-aged bodies on the “back” (degenerating) side of the attainment of full physical maturity nor prepubescent or adolescent bodies on the “front” (developing) side—devoid of any and all impairments or infirmities. He paints only bodies in the prime of life and in full vigor and which are quite visibly sound, youthful, integral, whole, robust, perfectly proportional. At the same time, the artistic and theological magnificence of Signorelli’s Resurrection of the Flesh panel notwithstanding, we might ask whether his fresco omits for our consideration another aspect of the resurrected body. For an indication of this other aspect, we can turn to an additional fresco, this one in the city of Rome itself. In the Basilica of San Clemente, within eyeshot of the Coliseum, there exists a little-known fresco on the right-hand clerestory just after one enters the main doors of the church building. The fresco shows a certain St. Servulus lying on a cot while listening to the Scriptures being read to him. A sixth-century saint who had a severe case of cerebral palsy, by which he was unable to stand, sit upright, put his hand to his mouth, or turn from one side to the other, Servulus was cared for by his mother and brothers and would spend his days praising God while begging for alms in the portico of this same church, San Clemente. (His body is buried beneath the fresco.) In a homily, Pope St. Gregory the Great, who speaks as if he knew Servulus personally, holds up this man with a severe disability as an example of heroic forbearance and gratitude and as a rebuke to the able bodied who complain about the slightest hardship they have to endure. “His bed of 72 Paul Gondreau pain was a pulpit of preaching, from which he converted souls,” exclaims Gregory of Servulus in a marvelous phrase. 1 So, yes, in the final resurrection, the human body will enjoy a perfection, a vigor, a beauty, and thus—especially pertinent for people with disabilities—a healing that, commensurate with the imperishable and immortal condition of that state, cannot be attained in this life. Yet, considering the role of physical disability in the life not just of St. Servulus but of countless other saints as well and how inextricably linked their disability is to their holiness, what exactly shall become of physical disability in the healing that accompanies the glorified condition of the resurrected body?2 Shall the wiping away of every tear and the passing away of former things attested to in Revelation 21:4 include the wiping away of every form of disability, or shall the marks of disability in some way remain, much like how the marks of Christ’s crucifixion remain? Is there, in other words, a fuller way of conceiving the perfection and beauty of the resurrected body than what we find depicted in Signorelli’s Resurrection of the Flesh panel, one that is inclusive of disability and which the “beauty” revealed in Christ’s Cross demands? 1 Gregory the Great, Homilia 15 (Homiliae xl in Evangelia), on Lk 8:4-15 (PL 76.1491 [cols. 1133-4]). Gregory says much the same thing of Servulus in his Dialogues, Bk 4.14. 2 The May 2015 issue of Magnificat showcased on each day of the month a particular saint who suffered from a physical disability: St. Rafqa Pietra Choboq Ar-Rayès (†1914), a Lebanese saint who suffered from a paralysis that confined her to her bed; St. Miguel Febres Cordero (†1910), a Spanish saint who was born with club feet and who could neither walk nor stand on his own; St. Joan of France (†1505), a French saint who was hunchbacked and pockmarked; St. Sabinus of Canosa (†566), an Italian saint known to us also through Pope St. Gregory the Great’s Dialogues and who suffered total blindness in his old age; St. Gilbert of Sempringham (†1189), an English saint who suffered some sort of physical deformity; St. Gerald of Sauve-Majeure (†1095), a French saint who suffered from severe shingles; the well-known Italian St. Charles Borromeo (†1584), who suffered from a speech defect (probably a chronic stammer); St. Mellitus (†624), a Roman saint and missionary to England who became crippled with gout; St. John of Dukla (†1484), a Polish saint who became blind in his later years; St. Pacificus of San Severino (†1721), an Italian saint who suffered from ulcers on his legs that made walking difficult and who also lost his eyesight and hearing; St. Joseph Cafasso (†1860), an Italian saint who was born with a twisted spine; St. Bernard Tolomei (†1348), an Italian saint who suffered from blindness; St. Odilia (†c. 720), a Frankish saint who was born blind and rejected by her father; St. Jaime Hilario (†1937), a Spanish saint who suffered from deafness; St. Rafael Arnáiz Barón (†1938), a Spanish saint who was troubled with fever and pleurisy and who suffered from diabetes mellitus; St. Fina (†1254), an Italian saint who was struck by a severe disease that made her become disfigured and paralyzed; St. Mary Joseph Rossello (†1880), an Italian saint who suffered from heart trouble and who lost the use of her legs; St. Hervé († 6th century), a French saint who was born blind; St. Aleydis (†1250), a Belgian saint who suffered from leprosy and who lost her eyesight near the end of her life; St. Gemma Galgani (†1903), an Italian saint who suffered from tuberculosis of the spine, which twisted her body and caused excruciating headaches. Disability, the Healing of Infirmity, the Virtue of Hope 73 In this connection, Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger (the future Pope Benedict XVI), in a little-known address, observes how beauty itself is transformed and given “new depth and new realism” in the scandal of Christ’s Cross.3 He draws this conclusion from the paradoxical fact that, while there was “no beauty, no majesty to draw our eyes, no grace to make us delight in him” (Isaiah 53:2) when he hung upon the Cross, Christ remained all the same and in that very moment on the Cross “the fairest of the children of men” (Psalm 45:2).

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