The Cerdagna plateau in the Catalan Pyrenees has villages with Romanesque churches that are as solid and dark as a mother’s womb. Often they are decorated with beautiful, ornate Baroque retablos, with high, golden, twisted columns and filled with statues of saints from different eras and various states of life. There, on the altarpiece of Saint-Martin d’Hix, one can contemplate not only the patron saint and Our Lady, but also Isidore the farmer, Francis Xavier, Anthony the Abbot, Saint Roque and some anonymous saints.
Those who celebrate baptism there can easily link the sacrament of faith with the universal vocation to holiness affirmed by the Second Vatican Council’s Lumen Gentium. Holiness is imagined as that “ordinary horizon” Pope Francis often highlights: “We are frequently tempted to think that holiness is only for those who can withdraw from ordinary affairs to spend much time in prayer. That is not the case. We are all called to be holy by living our lives with love and by bearing witness in everything we do, wherever we find ourselves.”
Thus, from generation to generation, a “middle class of holiness” is formed. The sculptors of the retablos anticipated with their imagination what, three centuries later, the Magisterium of the Church would express in words. It is not uncommon in the history of faith and the Church, in fact, for images to precede writings, just as biblical metaphors and liturgical celebrations often poetically foretell the necessary precision of canonical dogmatic formulas.
John Henry Newman was canonized by Pope Francis last October 13. He is the first Englishman since those living in the 17th century to be recognized as a saint by the Catholic Church. It has been the concern of Saint Paul VI and, even more intensely, Saint John Paul II, and then their successors to manifest the universal vocation to holiness through the canonization of a large number of women and men from every country, including from more recent times. Thus they went beyond the usual circles of pre-modern religious, clerics and monarchs to recognize as saints many ordinary members of the “middle class of holiness.” They clarified how so many lay people – modern or postmodern, young or old, martyrs or confessors – have committed themselves to sanctifying the world and themselves following in the footsteps of Christ.
At first sight it might seem that Cardinal Newman, a priest and bachelor, belongs to the circle of the “usual suspects” among the clergy and religious who are promoted to the glory of the altars. But his nationality, his time, his passage from the Thames to the Tiber, the circumstances of his burial and exhumation, the lack of miracles for more than 100 years and many other details have actually made him a special case. On further consideration, Newman’s holiness calls for a “broadening of the mind,” a use of the imagination that is also truly Christian. It requires being imaginative. Newman’s holiness therefore comes into contact with our imagination at various levels. This article will try to briefly show some of them, to awaken today our faith in Christ.
There are now many theological works that seek to connect faith and imagination. Among the pioneers is William Lynch, an American Jesuit and aphoristic thinker. Then we have, in their undoubtedly more systematic way, Karl Rahner and Hans Urs von Balthasar; and from the point of view of moral theology, William Spohn. From a broader cultural perspective, there was the Jesuit theologian and literature professor Michael Paul Gallagher.
In various articles published in La Civiltà Cattolica, the latter indicated the organic links between faith, culture and imagination. In particular, in an article that appeared on the occasion of the beatification of Newman in 2010, he showed that the new blessed had been one of the first Christian thinkers to have explicitly investigated the link between faith, life, reality, heart, conscience and imagination.
However, it should be pointed out immediately that Newman had always carried out this investigation from an eschatological perspective. After all, he always focused on the holiness and blessedness that await those who, helped by grace, prepare their hearts and consciences to welcome God and to listen to his voice. Now, with Newman, we will try to highlight the link between faith, holiness and imagination.
Imagine today a credible evangelical holiness
One of the most important fruits of the Second Vatican Council was the broadening of the horizons with regard to canonizations against the background of the universal vocation to holiness. This is testified by the many faces of the saints who are depicted several times a year in the tapestries hanging on the facade of St. Peter’s Basilica on the occasion of the Masses of canonization. These faces concretely broaden our theological and eschatological horizons. For those who live in Rome, and also for those who watch the canonization liturgies in the media, it is truly a “next door” holiness.
We often ask ourselves how we can proclaim the Gospel in a credible way today. It is no secret to anyone that the Church has currently, for so many reasons, tragically lost much of its credibility. At least we should apply the rules – old, but always true – of Aristotle’s Rhetoric. Thus, anyone who seeks to bring out the truth about contingent historical facts for a wide audience must be recognized by them as credible by their being a virtuous person. Aristotle demanded it for lawyers and politicians. This also applies to us who proclaim Jesus Christ, a singular man, the Word of God incarnated in a specific time and place, at the crossroads between the concrete history of Israel and that of its Greek neighbors, then under the Roman yoke. For us Christians, however, there is more: we cannot credibly preach the Gospel if we are not saints.
And it is here, in the midst of “a huge number, impossible for anyone to count, of people from every nation, race, tribe and language” (Rev 7:9), that Newman with his life and writings helps us to understand what credible holiness is today. Rather than a clichéd, 19th-century romantic heroic holiness, the beautiful but troubled life path of Newman shows us that holiness can and must be re-imagined today in the light of Easter. Only in this way will the world be able to return to listen to the Gospel of Christ.
Let us take our cue from a famous dictum of Saint Paul VI: “People listen more willingly to witnesses than to teachers, or if they listen to teachers they do so because they are witnesses.” The pope continues in Evangelii Nuntiandi: “It is therefore primarily by her conduct and by her life that the Church will evangelize the world, in other words, by her living witness of fidelity to the Lord Jesus, the witness of poverty and detachment, of freedom in the face of the powers of this world, in short, the witness of sanctity” (EN 41).
We quoted this statement by Pope Montini for three reasons. The first is that Paul VI was very fond of John Henry Newman. The second is in reference to our thesis: today we evangelize well when we encourage the believer to convert sub specie imaginationis to follow Christ, through stories that reflect the beautiful but troubled reality of human existence. The third reason is that Newman offers us an interesting model of holiness of life and words. Thanks to his imagination, he makes the face and Gospel of Christ credible today. He does so with his own life, but also with his own writings, in which, as we shall see, he manifests an evangelical, imaginative holiness.
A holiness that must be imagined
The French philosopher Gaston Bachelard wrote an interesting aphorism about the profoundly human and universal character of imagination. The original French contains a play on words: L’homme est un être à imaginer. It could be translated by breaking the expression open: “The human person is a being capable of imagining and must be imagined.” Now, analogically, this can be applied to holiness: “Christian holiness is capable of imagining and must be imagined.” This is the case with Newman.
From his first sermons as a young parish priest, he was attracted to holiness. The sermon that opens the eight volumes of his Parochial and Plain Sermons has the title “Holiness Necessary for Future Blessedness.” Newman gave it in August 1826 at the age of 25 during his first year of Anglican priesthood. Chronologically, this was not his first sermon, but the editorial choice – taken in agreement with the preacher himself – is striking: this impressive collection of sermons begins with a sermon dedicated precisely to holiness and future blessedness. Newman would later return several times to preach on holiness, both as an Anglican and as a Roman Catholic.
The sermon “Holiness Necessary for Future Blessedness” begins with an quotation from Hebrews 12:14: “Holiness, without which no one can ever see the Lord.” Newman rhetorically asks his listeners why the New Testament can make such a statement, and responds with some definitions of holiness. According to Scripture, says the young preacher, holiness is a set of things: “to love, fear, and obey God, to be just, honest, meek, pure in heart, forgiving, heavenly-minded, self-denying, humble, and resigned… to be so religious, so unearthly… to become ‘a new creature’… to be separate from sin, to hate the works of the world, the flesh, and the devil; to take pleasure in keeping God’s commandments; to do things as He would have us do them; to live habitually as in the sight of the world to come, as if we had broken the ties of this life, and were dead already.” The young preacher then poses an urgent, existential question: “Why cannot we be saved without possessing such a frame and temper of mind?”
It is therefore clear that holiness, according to Newman, does not concern first of all the good works completed, but an inner disposition, a series of virtues that arise from a fundamental vision (Weltanschauung) or, to put it in Thomas Kuhn’s words, from a certain imaginative paradigm. The holiness that Newman outlines is a way of imagining God, oneself, others and the cosmos.
Therefore, “even supposing a man of unholy life were suffered to enter heaven, he would not be happy there; so that it would be no mercy to permit him to enter.” It is not that God prevents the wicked from having eternal happiness: it is that they do not have a mind accustomed to heavenly things, and therefore they would be bored in heaven just as they are bored down here in church. Newman states in an ironic tone: “A careless, a sensual, an unbelieving mind, a mind destitute of the love and fear of God, with narrow views and earthly aims, a low standard of duty, and a benighted conscience, a mind contented with itself, and unresigned to God’s will, would feel as little pleasure, at the last day, at the words, ‘Enter into the joy of thy Lord,’ as it does now at the words, ‘Let us pray.’”
However, the ungodly would not want to go to hell. The thing is simple; the place is one, but the scholastic adage applies: Quidquid recipitur ad modum recipientis recipitur. So, Newman continues, “if we wished to imagine a punishment for an unholy, reprobate soul, we perhaps could not fancy a greater than to summon it to heaven.” It is no coincidence here that the two English verbs “to imagine” and “to fancy” are used. Newman really makes his listeners imagine the right punishment of a damned man. But why imagine rather than conceptualize? Because impiety and holiness are so high, but also so real, that they must be represented with an embodied imagination, rather than conceptualized with a disembodied intellect. Of course, neither concepts nor dogmas are excluded in the case of the Four Last Things. But here, in the homiletic context of the kerygma, that is, of a direct proclamation that focuses on the essence of the Gospel, it is much more convenient to resort to imagination. This use of imagination has a purely cognitive purpose.
But, in addition to the cognitive value, imagining the Four Last Things also has an ethical value, linked to action. Usually, we do not act on ideas, we act on mental images. It is true that many people do not trust their imagination, because they think that it consists in fantasizing, in giving life to unreal things. When you say someone is “imaginative,” you are almost comparing him or her to a careless artist. But if Newman appreciated imagination so much, it is because he was convinced that “life is made for action” rather than abstract speculation. And if life is made for action, then we must have a living imagination.
How does one apply to the Christian life the link between imagining and acting? Here, Newman detects some kind of virtuous circle. On the one hand, a mind that sees things as God sees them leads to good works, which gradually lead to heaven. On the other hand, good works build a holy and imaginative mind: “If a certain character of mind, a certain state of the heart and affections, be necessary for entering heaven, our actions will avail for our salvation, chiefly as they tend to produce or evidence this frame of mind. Good works … are the means, under God’s grace, of strengthening and showing forth that holy principle which God implants in the heart, and without which … we cannot see Him.” Now, to achieve this goal, one cannot prescind from imagination. Mere conceptualization, in fact, does not allow fruitful exchange between good works and a holy disposition of the heart. However, let us make it clear at once that this is not about any kind of imagination: evangelical holiness requires from us, as we shall see, an imagination shaped by Christ, by his parables, by his life, death and resurrection.
The severe tone of Newman’s first parish sermon may surprise you. It certainly presents some Calvinist accents, including traces of the personal conversion experienced by the preacher 10 years earlier when he was in secondary school. Instead, in many of his subsequent sermons on holiness we find a more calm and mature tone, the fruit of his experiences. In some of them, the preacher uses his imagination to describe the life of some real saints, apostles and evangelists, or of great figures of religious life, such as Saint Peter, Saint Matthew, Saint Benedict, Saint Dominic and Saint Ignatius of Loyola.
To the imaginative portrait of holiness that emerged from Newman’s preaching should be added what is manifested in his novels and poems. Even there, holiness is something to be imagined. But through these literary works we can explore a second link between holiness and imagination: holiness that is itself capable of imagining.
A holiness capable of imagining
In 1855, at the request of Cardinal Archbishop Wiseman of Westminster, Newman wrote a historical novel, Callista. It is an imaginative account of some Christian saints and martyrs of the third century in North Africa. At a first level, one could say that it is Newman’s own holiness – that is, his fidelity to Christ, to the Church and to the individual believer – which gives him the ability and inspiration to write a novel that arouses among its readers a desire for holiness. But on a second level, Newman offers us a profound insight into how holiness is in itself a new way of imagining the world.
Callista is a beautiful young Greek girl who has emigrated to the land that today corresponds to Tunisia. She works there with her brother as a sculptor of statues of pagan gods. But her pagan beliefs leave her unsatisfied. At a certain point she was in prison because she refused to offer incense to the gods, even though she was not yet a Christian. That was her situation when she decided to read a manuscript of the Gospel offered her by the presbyter Caecilius, who in reality is Saint Cyprian, bishop of Carthage.
Newman describes the intimate impressions of the girl who discovers the Gospel and faith with the aid of vision, images and imagination: “it was simply a gift from an unseen world. It opened a view of a new state and community of beings, which only seemed too beautiful to be possible. But not into a new state of things alone, but into the presence of One who was simply distinct and removed from anything that she had, in her most imaginative moments, ever depicted to her mind as ideal perfection. Here was that to which her intellect tended, though that intellect could not frame it. It could approve and acknowledge, when set before it, what it could not originate. Here was He who spoke to her in her conscience; whose Voice she heard, whose Person she was seeking for. Here was He who kindled a warmth on the cheek of both Chione and Agellius. That image sank deep into her; she felt it to be a reality. She said to herself, ‘This is no poet’s dream; it is the delineation of a real individual. There is too much truth and nature, and life and exactness about it, to be anything else.’ Yet she shrank from it; it made her feel her own difference from it, and a feeling of humiliation came upon her mind, such as she never had had before. She began to despise herself more thoroughly day by day; yet she recollected various passages in the history which reassured her amid her self-abasement, especially that of His tenderness and love for the poor girl at the feast, who would anoint His feet; and the full tears stood in her eyes, and she fancied she was that sinful child, and that He did not repel her.”
Again it clearly appears that, for Newman, faith that leads to holiness is a new way of looking at oneself and around oneself. It is a new perception, a new imagination. But it is not the mere result of an artistic imagination exercised. On her own, Callista, even as a classical Greek artist, had never been able to portray something so beautiful. This vision brings her a grace that specialists in mysticism call “double knowledge,” that is, the awareness both of one’s own misery and of God’s mercy toward sinners. Soon, in the name of this faith, Callista became a martyr under the emperor Decius, and in this way she obtained holiness. But on that occasion her personal faith in Christ was born from the new world that she imagined when she read Holy Scripture and discovered there the figure of Christ merciful to sinners. For Newman, therefore, it is clear that faith, holiness and imagination are closely linked.
The Christian faith according to Newman: imagining the real to sanctify oneself
In 1854 Newman was called by the Irish Catholic bishops to be rector of a new university in Dublin. He takes this opportunity to continue a reflection already begun in the past on university education. In 1858 he wrote a new volume, The Idea of a University, which included a collection of speeches.
In the sixth speech of this volume, “Knowledge Viewed in Relation to Learning,” he explains that the principle that perfects and gives virtue to the intellect does not have a precise name in English. One could therefore call it “philosophy, philosophical knowledge, enlargement of the mind.” Now, such an “enlargement of the mind” is not merely a noetic or theoretical thing, nor is it a vain accumulation of fragmentary and disconnected academic knowledge. On the contrary, according to Newman: “That only is true enlargement of mind which is the power of viewing many things at once as one whole, … It makes every thing in some sort lead to every thing else; it would communicate the image of the whole to every separate portion, till that whole becomes in imagination like a spirit, every where pervading and penetrating its component parts, and giving them one definite meaning.”
Now, this faculty of synthesis, according to several other writings of Newman, such as his Grammar of Assent, is nothing other than imagination. Applied to the intellect, it forms an imaginative paradigm that does not make things systematic and rigid, but articulates them to make them a living organism, where the Holy Spirit lives and blows with the grace of God. According to Newman, this cognitive organism, strengthened by a continuous and holy desire for the mind to expand, is by no means extraneous to the virtue that Tradition and Sacred Scripture call “faith.” This is the last step we want to propose here.
But first we must return briefly to the kind of imagination we have talked about in relation to holiness. At this point you might think that Newman has always been an unconditional enthusiast for the imagination in all its forms. Nothing could be further from the truth. Of course, he always had an active imagination, but he always knew and recognized both the positive and the negative sides of it.
Thus, in Apologia Pro Vita Sua, written as self-defense in 1865, he cites some of his autobiographical notes written when he was 19 years old. He was severe when he judged his childhood: “I used to wish the Arabian Tales were true: my imagination ran on unknown influences, on magical powers, and talismans … I thought life might be a dream, or I an Angel, and all this world a deception.” Nineteen-year-old Newman is therefore already well aware of the deceptions of a certain type of romantic imagination. In this he reveals himself to be very different from many of his contemporaries who are overly enthusiastic about the imagination. In the second half of the 19th century, their enthusiasm caused an epistemological suspicion of the imagination, which still lasts today. A virtue of holiness that the Church has recently recognized in Newman could be the fact that philosophers and theologians re-evaluate the contributions that imagination can bring to knowledge and action.
Thirty years later, in 1849, as a Catholic preacher, Newman criticized the novelists and poets who appeared to be Christian but who did not believe in Christ after all. He states severely that it is not the same thing to write poetically about a holy martyr and to be a true Catholic. In fact, he believes that imagination in itself is nothing, indeed that it can be a deception, if it is not directed toward Christ and his Church. In a brief memo of July 23, 1857, he even wrote that “imagination, not reason, is the great enemy to faith.” In fact, if our imagination is fixed on something – for example, a fierce skepticism regarding the Christian faith – then its persuasive force is such that it cannot be converted by rational arguments. This is a fact that Newman noticed among the students at the university; and it is a fact that he deplored all his life in the case of his two brothers: one openly atheist and miserable, and the other a preacher of fanciful theology. Imagination must be fought on its own soil, with stories, images, tales and art. In essence, all Sacred Scripture does nothing more than this when it fights against idolatry, which is the mortal sin of the imagination.
In order to be able to serve faith in Christ, our imagination must therefore nourish itself with “good things”: the evangelical parables that present the Kingdom to us; Christian art and literature; the Spiritual Exercises, like those of Saint Ignatius of Loyola; but also everything that, starting from beauty, truth and the good, leads us toward our Creator and Redeemer. Faith is like imagination, provided that it is put at the service of the Gospel of Christ.
Christ is not only the eternal Word of the Father, incarnated in the world, as John poetically writes in the prologue to his Gospel. Saint Paul teaches us that Christ is also “the image of the unseen God” (Col 1:15). Newman is convinced that all Christian Revelation is concentrated in an image, an “idea,” a form: that of Christ who comes to reshape our sick and fixed imaginations so that they may be transformed into faithful and creative imaginations, animated by the Holy Spirit, free because of – not despite – obedience to God and the Church.
Newman wrote that “the heart is commonly reached, not through the reason, but through the imagination.” His motto as a cardinal, cor ad cor loquitur, takes us from the Heart of Christ to our heart, and from one human heart to another. If our hearts allow themselves to be touched and wounded by the Heart of Christ and by the hearts of others, as happened with Newman, we will set out into the Church toward an imaginative holiness. With Newman, and in many ways, we can affirm that “holiness is the most attractive face of the Church.”
DOI: La Civiltà Cattolica, En. Ed. Vol. 3, no. 12 art. 5, 2019: 10.32009/22072446.1912.5
. Francis, Apostolic Exhortation Gaudete et Exsultate [GE], No. 14.
. Pope Francis often refers to this beautiful literary expression, coined by the French novelist Joseph Malègue: for example, in GE 7, footnote 4.
. Here is some biographical data concerning Card. Newman taken from an article by Fr. Michael Paul Gallagher: “John Henry Newman was born in London on February 21, 1801; his life spanned almost the entire 19th century. Growing up in an Anglican family, he experienced religious conversion in 1816 when, under the influence of an evangelical minister, he discovered the reality of a personal God and the centrality of his own conscience. After studying at Oxford, at the age of 21 he became a Fellow of Oriel College and remained linked to Oxford University for more than 20 years, as an academic and as a minister of the Church of England. His field of study was in particular the Church of the first centuries.
Following a trip to Italy, where he risked dying of a serious illness contracted in Sicily, on his return to England he became famous as a writer, preacher and leader of the Oxford Movement, which aimed to bring the Anglican Communion back to greater harmony with the ancient spiritual and sacramental traditions. Little by little, his study of the history of the Church and of theology gave rise in him to some doubts about the validity of the “via media,” by virtue of which Anglicanism considered itself a wise compromise between the “extreme” positions of Roman Catholicism and those of Protestantism. On October 9, 1845, after years of discernment, Newman asked to be received into the Catholic Church. After a year of theological studies at the Propaganda College in Rome, he was ordained a priest, joined the Congregation of the Oratory and returned home to found an Oratory in Birmingham, which remained his residence for the rest of his life. At the beginning of the 1850s, he was invited to become rector of a new Catholic University in Dublin, where he gave some famous lectures on the nature of a university. However, the new institution was not successful and he resigned in 1858.
Although he never questioned his decision to become a Catholic, Newman lived through some difficult years, feeling useless and being criticized for some of his writings. Then, in 1863, he found new energy in defending himself against the accusation of dishonesty in Apologia Pro Vita Sua, a book that was a huge success and re-established his reputation among both Anglicans and Catholics. In 1870 Newman published his most important book in defense of the certainty of faith: An Essay in Support of a Grammar of Assent. His orthodoxy was partly questioned, since he had expressed a certain hesitation about the timing of and procedure behind the definition of papal infallibility during the First Vatican Council (he had no doubt about the content of the dogma). But in 1879 his long life of service to the Church was recognized when Pope Leo XIII appointed him cardinal. He lived another decade of serene old age, in contact with many people, and died on August 11, 1890” (M. P. Gallagher, “Il beato Newman, ‘defensor fidei’” in Civ. Catt. 2010 IV 8, footnote 1).
. For an overview of the role and the theological place of imagination according to these and other authors, see N. Steeves, Grazie all’immaginazione. Integrare l’immaginazione in teologia fondamentale, Brescia, Queriniana, 2018.
. Cf. M. P. Gallagher, “Il beato Newman ‘defensor fidei’” in op. cit.
. GE 7.
. Cf. G. N. Steeves, E io ti dico, immagina! L’arte difficile della predicazione, Rome, Città Nuova, 2017, 82-86.
. Paul VI, Address to the members of the “Consilium de Laicis” October 2, 1974, quoted in the Apostolic Exhortation Evangelii Nuntiandi (EN), No. 41.
. G. Bachelard, La poétique de la rêverie, Paris, PUF, 1968, 70.
. J. H. Newman, Parochial and Plain Sermons, London – Oxford – Cambridge, Rivington, 1869, I, 1, 2-3. Various translations are available at www.newmanfriendsinternational.org
. Cf. T. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 19702.
. J. H. Newman, Parochial and Plain Sermons, , I, 1, 3.
. I, I, 1, 6.
. Cf., for example, Thomas Aquinas, Sum. Theol. I, q. 75, a. 5, resp.
. J. H. Newman, Discussions and Arguments, IV, 6, 295; quoted in Id., Grammar of Assent, I, 4, § 3, 95.
. Id., Parochial and Plain Sermons, op. cit., I, 1, 8-9.
. Cf. Id, “Evangelical Sanctity the Completion of Natural Virtue” in Oxford University Sermons, London, Longmans, 1902, III; “Saintliness not Forfeited by the Penitent” in Sermons on Subjects of the Day, London, Longmans, 1902, II; “Saintliness the Standard of Christian Principle” in Discourses addressed to Mixed Congregations, London, Longmans, 1906, V; “Nature and Grace” in ibid., VIII; “Illuminating Grace” in ibid., IX.
. Id., Callista. A Tale of the Third Century, London – New York – Bombay, Longmans, 1901, XXIX, 325f.
. Id., The Idea of a University, ibid., 1907, VI, 1, 114.
. J. H. Newman, The Idea of a University, op. cit., VI, 1, 136f.
. Cf. Id., Grammar of Assent, op. cit., I, 4, in particular § 3.
. Id., Apologia pro vita sua, London, Oxford University Press, 1913, I, 2.
. For a recent and in-depth study of Newman’s thinking about imagination, see B. Dive, John Henry Newman and the Imagination, London, T&T Clark, 2018.
. Cf. J. H. Newman, Discourses to Mixed Congregations, op. cit., VIII, 156f.
. H. M. de Achaval – J. D. Holmes, The Theological Papers of John Henry Newman on Faith and Certainty, Oxford, Clarendon, 1976, 47.
. Cf. J. H. Newman, The Via Media of the Anglican Church, London, Longmans, 1901, Pref., xvii; Id., An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine, I, 1, 4, 36; Id., Oxford University Sermons, cit., XV, § 11, 322; Id., An Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent, op. cit., II, 10, § 2, 464.
. Id., Discussions and Arguments, op. cit., IV, 6, 293; quoted in An Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent, I, 4, § 3, 92.
. Francis, Apostolic Exhortation Gaudete et Exsultate, No. 9.