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‘You follow me,’ not the vice of curiosity

Curiosity is often considered a trait to be encouraged in children and cultivated into adulthood. We equate curiosity with inquisitiveness and intelligence. Wondering “how” has led to many advances in science. Asking “why” has driven philosophy for centuries. Imagining “what if” has inspired great works of art.

Given that curiosity has been the driving force behind advances in knowledge of the arts and sciences, we may be surprised to learn that St. Thomas Aquinas speaks of curiosity as a vice in the “Summa Theologica.” How can curiosity be a bad thing?

The “angelic doctor” explains that while knowledge of truth is itself good, it is possible to pursue knowledge wrongly. It is possible, for example, to desire knowledge out of a sense of pride, or to seek knowledge that is not proper to us, wondering about things we have no business knowing or that distract us from more worthy pursuits. St. Thomas uses the example of a priest who neglects his study of the Gospel to study “stage-plays,” and “the love songs of pastoral idylls.” Unchecked curiosity can also lead us to seek knowledge by evil means. St. Thomas warns against attempting to obtain hidden knowledge by consulting oracles or demons.

The idea that knowledge, while good in itself, can be pursued in wrong ways is woven into the very fabric of our faith. In the beginning, the serpent tempted Eve with the fruit of the tree of knowledge: “Eve saw that it was good and so she ate of it” (Gen 3:1-7). You know the rest of the story.

Ever since that fateful day, people have been curious why God would put the tree of knowledge in the garden if He didn’t want our first parents to eat its fruit. The answer is that they were meant to eat it, in the proper way and at the proper time. But instead of waiting to be given the fruit of knowledge, they grasped after it themselves. It was a curiosity fueled by pride and mistrust, rather than innocent inquisitiveness, that led to the Fall. The vice of curiosity also rears its ugly head whenever we are tempted to be more concerned with other people’s business than our own.

This is especially true when it comes to the spiritual life, which is mostly hidden. While concern for another’s soul is virtuous and admonishing the sinner is a work of mercy, we have to be careful not to point out the splinter in our brother’s eye while ignoring the log in our own (Lk 6:41-46).

In C.S. Lewis’ novel “The Horse and His Boy” (part of his classic children’s saga, “The Chronicles of Narnia”), the two human protagonists, Shasta and Aravis, each struggle with the vice of curiosity. When Shasta learns that the various lions they encountered on their journey, which they took to be wild lions, were all really Aslan (the Christ-figure in the books) guiding them along the way, he becomes curious as to why one of the lions wounded Aravis. “Child,” Aslan chides him, “I am telling you your story, not hers. No one is told any story but their own.” When Aslan later reveals to Aravis that the wounds he gave her matched the wounds inflicted upon the back of her servant who was whipped as a result of actions Aravis had taken earlier in the book, Aravis (now filled with regret) wonders about the wellbeing of her servant. Aslan offers her only the same words: “I am telling you your story, not hers.” In our long journey to heaven, each of us is only told our own story, or more accurately, our part in the Great Story. Only at the Final Judgment will everyone’s part in that Story be revealed to us.

Lewis was no doubt inspired by the ending of John’s gospel. After the Resurrected Christ asks Peter three times “Do you love me?” (countering Peter’s threefold denial during the Passion), He gives Peter the charge to “follow me” and foretells the kind of death Peter will suffer as His witness (Jn 21:15-19). Peter’s response is to look over to John and ask, “Lord, what about him?” (Jn 21:21).

Jesus answers, “What if I want him to remain until I come? What concern is it of yours? You follow me” (Jn 21:22). Because Jesus said this, some in the early Church thought that John would never die (and, indeed, he was the only Apostle not to suffer martyrdom). But they miss the point. Jesus was not telling Peter John’s story. He was speaking to Peter about Peter. Jesus had plans for John. What Peter needed to focus on was his own mandate from Christ: “You follow me.” That’s what each of us needs to focus on, as well: our own walk with the Lord. It can be easy to cast our gaze on another, whether in derision or concern, and ask, “Lord, what about him?” But we are not told anyone else’s story. We don’t need to know what God’s specific plan is for any individual to trust that God cares for them and is at work in their life just as He is in our own. We should be ready and willing to assist others in their pursuit of holiness as opportunities arise and circumstances allow, but that should never become a distraction from our own pursuit of holiness.

“You follow me” was Jesus’ command to Peter. This mandate is for each of us. May we remember it any time our curiosity about another’s affairs tempts us to neglect our own duties toward the Lord.

DEACON MATTHEW NEWSOME, the Catholic campus minister at Western Carolina University and regional faith formation coordinator for the Smoky Mountain Vicariate, is the author of “The Devout Life: A Modern Guide to Practical Holiness with St. Francis de Sales,” available from Sophia Institute Press.