The Vibration of Reason
A dialogue with Julián Carrón
Costantino: I would like to start with a question. Starting again from the tenth chapter of Community School 1, which I was rereading this morning before the Angelus.
How many times have we worked on it and how many times you have mentioned it again; but I don't think we really understood it; it is the point of reason, it is the path of reason that is the tenth chapter.
It is the realization of the reasonableness of one's being in the world. Particularly when Giussani says, “An individual who had experienced little impact with reality, because, for example, he had very little effort to make, will have little sense of his own consciousness, will perceive less of the energy and vibration of his reason. ” 2
My straightforward question is this: can you tell us what this “vibration of reason” means to you? It isn’t merely an explanation or a theory, but rather a particular way of being in the world. You’ve mentioned for a while that this period is exhilarating—can you explain how it is exhilarating?
Julián: Hello everyone. It’s exhilarating precisely because of the struggle we often face in this world—just as we heard in the song³, where someone tries to express themselves through the piano or guitar and then, by the end of the day, wonders if anyone is truly listening. What is this girl saying? What inner vibration makes her shout like that? Is it simply sentimentality, or does it come from a more radical and deeper urgency—something even more “hers” than reason?
I don’t know how anyone can cope if they remain halfway—simply enduring the situation—without fully experiencing the urgency of their own impatience and discomfort. How can you endure yourself without using reason in its true nature, which is simply recognizing the One who makes us? Each person should look at their own experience of themselves. Forget everything else; those are just distractions. The real question is: what experience does each person have of themselves?
And as Marracash says, don’t think you can get away with playing the victim. Listen to the latest record he just released⁴, where he rebukes those who believe they can escape responsibility by playing the victim⁵. What does “playing the victim” mean? It means blaming others for one’s situation. That, I would argue, is simply a convenient justification for a purely rationalistic use of reason. Nothing stops us—like this girl, whatever her circumstances—from using reason in its true nature. Indeed, as Giussani says in Chapter Nine⁶, it is experience itself that leads us to discover the nature of reason.
Presently, it is exhilarating precisely because our impatience—despite all the distractions we might use to get by—makes it difficult, if not impossible (just read the newspapers!), to be at peace with ourselves. The more this impatience surfaces, the more we understand what “self-awareness” really means. We realize our own irreducibility: it’s not enough merely to be with ourselves in order to bear ourselves. I’m not even talking about fully embracing ourselves. Each of us must come to terms with his or her own experience. Despite attempts to reduce us to antecedent factors, particular situations, circumstances, or the influence of others—enough!—the self is in direct relationship with the Mystery.
For me, this is the only true revelation. If I do it, it’s so I can be with myself. And if you don’t, each person should examine whether what they do is merely for the sake of getting by.
Anything less than this fails to meet our need. It also falls short of true friendship. In fact, we’re all complicit in this situation. When Jesus began responding to the crowd’s need by multiplying the loaves—and in doing so, they recognized He was taking their need seriously—they returned, exalted, wanting to make Him king. Yet Jesus was not satisfied with the kind of relationship they were seeking to establish with Him.⁷
So He “raised the bar.” What does that mean? Look: do not think that the bread you have just eaten is enough to live on. “Man does not live by bread alone,” nor is it enough simply to remain still. Because He thought they still didn’t understand, He challenged them further: “Beware that unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you cannot have life.”⁸ Life! He raised the bar, even at the risk of standing alone. Such was Jesus’ passion for these people.
Eventually, He challenged even His disciples: “Do you also want to go away?”⁹ He implied, “You can go, too. But if I challenged you to anything less, I wouldn’t be credible. You might be more comfortable, but I would have lost all credibility as one who can truly respond to your need.”
That’s where you see true authority: He doesn’t give in. Instead, He gives people time to find their own path. Some respond immediately, others leave, and that’s fine. But everyone has to come to terms with the challenge He presents.
As Marracash powerfully says, “Keep silent about your humanity, that’s why they like you unanimously.”¹⁰ Each person decides whether to hide their humanity to please the crowd or to uphold their humanity—even if unanimity disapproves. This is exhilarating, more so than ever before, because in the past we simply heard these things as “sound doctrine” and repeated them to ourselves. Now, our experience is so demanding that there are no saints among us!
This is why only those who accept this challenge—those who eat and drink from the sole life-giving source—truly don’t care about unanimity. Possessing this life within them, they are free. Conversely, others surrender to unanimity because “it’s cold outside.” Everyone must choose how to live. But let’s not blame others; let’s at least be honest about that.
If I decide to settle, I have to reconcile that with my own experience—and not pretend otherwise, because I know it’s false. No one, whatever their situation, is merely the product of psychological, sociological, historical, or circumstantial factors. Power takes hold only of those who have diminished their humanity and submitted to unanimity, which is why freedom is such a rare commodity.
This isn’t just a matter of order. As Marracash says again, “They think it is enough to fill the void with order.”¹¹ If that helps you, then take heart!
Question: I had a well-prepared commentary in mind, but now I’m responding to what you’ve just said. I’m here because of a series of circumstances: my friendship with Costa, my first encounter with the Movement in 1995, and even Don Giussani’s mother’s quilt. Two weeks ago, Don Eugenio Nembrini began working on There Is Hope¹². Perhaps it’s because this period has been so tiring, but I found myself thinking, “Don Eugenio, maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t started this at all.”
As I listened to his lecture, he kept obsessively repeating, “this restlessness becomes the criterion of judgment to intercept what his heart is made for.”¹³ That core judgment remained, but the phrase itself lodged in my mind. Later, I picked up the text at home and wondered, “Where was I when we read this before?” It all seemed new and illuminating—to the line you once cited in Rome: “the details that leave us with a strange uneasiness are decisive.”
So I read through everything again, fully devoted to the Movement.
Then it impacts certain people—or maybe even you—and you truly reclaim life from deep within. I don’t know whether it’s moralism or devotion, but what does the Movement have to do with this? And what about me, who for twenty-five…
Julián: I don’t care about anything! You decide…
Q: But I didn’t meet you accidentally, Julián.
Julián: Right now, whatever explanations we might give—I accept them all—you still have to decide for yourself: why did you bring up that sentence here? Did you feel it truly expressed who you are, or not?
Q: Very true.
Julián: Period. It’s not because X, Y, or Z said it. X, Y, or Z simply reminded you of who you are. Now, in light of that reminder—this awareness that, by grace, someone else has awakened in you—what on earth are you going to do with yourself? No one is stopping you from anything, and no one is forcing you to do anything.
That’s why I say it’s exhilarating: because you can’t dump your humanity on anyone else, blame anyone else, or play victim to any circumstance. Either you embrace and take responsibility for your humanity—become its protagonist—and ask, “What do I really want out of life?” or you don’t. Period. Everything else is a distraction. That’s why it’s exhilarating. After so much time spent saying or not saying things, or merely offering commentary, we finally arrive at this point. One hears something, and it lodges in the mind as the truest expression of the self—true self-awareness.
Perhaps the struggle you’re experiencing—as so many are—is a real opportunity to understand yourself and see the “vibration” of your reason, not as a mere definition but as the lived experience described in Chapter Ten of The Religious Sense. We can go through Chapter Ten without allowing even its first sentence to truly affect us, and ultimately, we remain skeptical for the rest of our lives. We may finish reading everything, yet our lives remain unchanged by a single inch. Real love for our humanity means not letting that happen.
I say this with absolute passion for your humanity. Lowering the bar would be easier—it would have been easier for Jesus to lower His demands. But His passion for the humanity of those before Him was too great. He couldn’t just brush them off or make a mockery of them.
Understand? If you truly care about yourself—even if you end up standing alone—you must face your own humanity. As we studied in Chapter Eight of The Religious Sense,¹⁴ freedom is our direct relationship with Mystery; the self is a direct relationship with Mystery.¹⁵ That’s what makes it free. Giussani saw us with this very same grandeur, refusing to let us diminish ourselves to anything less than that irreducibility. Every time he spoke, he spoke at this level—just as Jesus did with His own followers. From the very first encounter to the last, he made no distinctions: “people-people.” No roles, no hierarchy—none of that. Just people, like you and me, who care about the problem of their humanity.
If you want to water down this relationship, look elsewhere—many places will lower this demand. Who’s stopping you? No one! I always recall a girl who was preparing for her baccalaureate and said, “I want to go to medical school, but I don’t want to waste my summer studying.” I told her, “Who’s stopping you? Go to the beach! You think I’m going to convince you to study for med school? Then go to the beach!” And she replied, “But I want to go to medical school!” So I said, “Perfect—then do it.”
Q: There’s something you said this year that really made me think: “Christianity is only for the bold.”
Julián: You see? Do you know why it’s for the bold?
D: Because it’s for those who won’t give up on the claims they feel alive within themselves.
Julián: These aren’t just pretensions; they’re part of our very nature.
Q: From there, I found myself carving out a path in how I approached everything. The most significant change in my life was becoming aware of myself—in every circumstance, in what I was doing, in what I saw—starting from my own humanity and taking my discomforts seriously. For example, at work, I caught myself thinking in the same shallow way as everyone else. Then, when I realized this, I’d get stuck in the pain—this sense of having reduced myself.
That’s why I started doing what you suggest: applying reason by asking, “Is this all there is? Am I really just this?” I often found myself wallowing in the pain of my mistakes. Yet, I realized that the more I felt that pain, the more the question of Him arose within me—until I noticed that He is my origin.
I discovered this in meeting all kinds of clients, who come to me for the most diverse reasons: from the lonely person who just wants someone to talk to the one who drops by for a coffee or the person who lashes out over a trivial matter because there’s something deeper going on. Or take my colleague, who constantly worries about being right because, in her family, a woman’s role is secondary. Encountering each person’s humanity made me aware of my own, so much so that I realized I’m never alone—He is there, keeping me company. I sense His merciful gaze on me, especially on days like today, when the correspondence with my heart is so strong that I can finally breathe.
Being able to breathe through both the small and large storms of the day is a real achievement for me. And I have to thank you—because I saw you doing this, and I tried it myself.
Julián: I haven’t said anything else my entire life, which is what made me live. I’m not responsible for anything beyond that, understand? I’ve said it from day one to the very last. Thank you! Because when we make a mistake, the situation is the same: if we just stand there regretting it or licking our wounds instead of reflecting on Peter’s “Yes,”¹⁶, then go ahead—make do! No one else has the tools we have to face whatever comes our way.
Tell me, with whatever pain you bear or any mistake you’ve made, can you really stay the same if you read Peter’s “Yes”? I challenge you. And if you don’t do it, or don’t mean it, tell me—how do you manage? When I do it, it isn’t because I’m chasing some higher holiness—I couldn’t care less about that. It’s simply so I can live with myself. Don’t you want that, too? Show a minimum of tenderness for yourself.
Q: I’d like to return to something you’ve said more than once: “The self is a direct relationship with the Mystery.” I could imagine myself—somewhat theatrically—standing before an image, thinking I have a relationship with the Mystery. But that would be nonsense, of course.
Q: Yes, but they need a “where” to respond.
Julián: All right, but I’m saying this: if we who are here find any excuse not to respond to our fellow human beings’ needs because we don’t know “where,” that’s on us!
You know, I’m speaking to you. We’re talking among friends, all of whom have experienced what we have. Other people will have to see for themselves: when anyone meets someone capable of living at this height, they’ll have to decide, just as those Jesus addressed had to decide.
For those who heard Jesus at the multiplication of the loaves, what was their “where”? Their “where” was simply the person standing before them, looking at their humanity the way only that man did. So each one had to decide in front of that gaze, from that person who was living with them. The Samaritan woman, for instance—where had she sought fulfillment? She had five husbands, and the one she was with was not her own. Then she encountered Someone who asked her, “Is this good enough for you? Does it satisfy your thirst?”¹⁷ Where does one perceive this “where”?
JC: Try to see! Let each one see, if he reduces the relationship to an image, that is a reductive use of reason in which one stops where he thinks it is Mystery, if he then gets away with looking at himself.
D: Protestants also say that they have a direct relationship with the Mystery.
JC: All right, and Protestants see what problem they have with themselves.
D: I give a practical example to understand better. A colleague has an accident at work and comes back after a long medically induced coma; I ask him, how are you? “Very well, I can't wait to go back to work,” instead of asking the company for money. I understand that he, too, cannot live without meaning.
But me, how do I stand in the face of these things? I don't think I can answer well yet on the “how.” I can answer about the “where,” perhaps.
I can say that I have learned to read the real, and to learn from the real, because I have been immersed in a place. In the face of this relationship to the self for me, this immersion in the “where,” and I mean here, is also essential. For me this constraint is essential, and it is not secondary to not end up talking to an image. You know what I mean?
JC: Sure. But the issue is that not every “where” is up to the need of the “I.
D: Well, sure: Marracash and Lovato sing like that, but they don't have a “where.”
JC: But they recognize the drama.
Q: Yes, but they need a “where” to respond.
JC: All right, but here’s the thing: if we, who are present now, justify ourselves in any way for not responding to our human need because we don’t know this “where,” then it’s our own fault!
I’m speaking to you. We’re here among friends who’ve all experienced what we’ve experienced. Others will see for themselves: when they encounter someone who truly lives at this level, they’ll have to decide, just as those who heard Jesus had to decide.
For those who witnessed the multiplication of the loaves, what was their “where”? They had only one possibility: the man standing before them, who gazed on their humanity in that extraordinary way. Each person had to make a choice when confronted with His gaze and how He lived among them.
Consider the Samaritan woman. Where had she sought her fulfillment? She’d had five husbands, and the one she was with wasn’t hers. Until she encountered Someone who asked, “Is this enough for you? Does it quench your thirst?”¹⁷
Where does a person detect the “where”? The “where” is what truly addresses your need. If it doesn’t satisfy your need, you’re left worse off—more skeptical. So, to discover this “where”—as Giussani always said, “there is no answer to a question not asked”—you have to decide how seriously you want to face your own human need.
If you don’t, then any “where” will do, and you’ll choose arbitrarily. The real question is: which “where” is truly up to the task? Maybe you don’t yet know the “where,” but you do know you can’t stand yourself as you are.
That’s why our struggle is valuable: it shows us what life’s real issue is. Self-awareness is the vibration arising from reason’s demand. Only those who were open actually recognized the “where.” It’s not that they had a “disease” first and then happened to meet Jesus. No—it was precisely those who were needy and sick who found in Jesus the answer to their pain: “I came not for the healthy but for the sick, for those in need.”¹⁸
When Jesus insists, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst, for they alone will be satisfied,” He’s saying exactly this. The self, in direct relationship with the Mystery, truly discovers the “where” by never lowering the bar of its need.
Then, each person decides whether they’ll settle for any old “where” or if they want the one that actually meets their need—while others may well choose to walk away.
Jesus made the same proposal to everyone; in the end, only twelve remained.
What was the “where”? It was right there in front of them. “But this is crazy, too demanding, too radical,”¹⁹ they kept saying—the same objections repeated.
Eventually, each person has to decide what that demand truly is. When someone is seriously ill, not just any surgeon will do. Recognizing the gravity of the illness—that it’s more than a simple flu—one looks for a “where” that matches the nature of the problem.
That’s why I say this situation is exhilarating: the more we aren’t spared the struggle, the more we perceive our own consciousness, our need, the very vibration of reason. And that is our self. So, when the woman with five husbands meets the One who says, “There is a water,” she responds, “Give me this water!”²⁰
Likewise, when the twelve who remained after the multiplication of the loaves heard Jesus ask, “Do you also want to leave?” they answered, “Where shall we go?”²¹ We can either connect these two examples, or each person can craft his own picture of himself and his own “where.”
But I can’t reduce myself to just an image of me, nor can I decide the image of “where.” Both are irreducible. And when my drama is irreducible, any “where” just isn’t good enough. Each of us must see whom we find as a companion to our destiny. Which destiny is that? You decide what destiny you want!
Q: Sorry, maybe I should go back a bit. I was really struck by your mention of impatience in the “Christmas 22” intervention.
I pressed “play” to listen to it—just two minutes after unloading all my complaints on my primary caregiver about my recent hospital stay. Then, when I finally hit “play” and heard…
JC: Wait a moment—before you hit “play,” when you were talking to your primary caregiver, did you let loose?
D: No.
JC: Good. Let’s not gloss over our real experiences! If you’re just dumping your impatience on your primary, you don’t need Christ. You could just as well dump all your impatience on the first random person on the street. But ask yourself: does offloading your impatience onto someone else actually free you? Our first question should be: Does the way we respond to our impatience measure up to our need for righteousness? If that satisfies you, then you don’t need anything else.
The problem is, this issue was already there before you ever pressed “play.” We can’t skip that part. Otherwise, whatever you hear when you hit “play” will just be processed the same way you dealt with your earlier impatience. Just like unloading blame on the primary caregiver—then after listening, you might shift the blame onto someone else.
Do you see? This is about staying faithful to what our experience shows us. We need to help one another avoid dodging it. Our problem is that we brush aside every signal experience sends us—like ignoring all the warning lights on a car’s dashboard. As Lewis²³ says, “Experience never fools us.” If you don’t grasp that, you’ll just run into the next hurdle. So what about “play”? Fine, let’s talk about it now, but with an awareness of everything we’ve just discussed.
Q: In the “play,” I realized that I could interpret what had already happened to me—which I hadn’t considered at all for months—as my “elemental experience.” I used to think that my impatience was just the things that weren’t going well, rather than recognizing it as my fundamental nature spilling out in every direction. And when you say in that intervention, “We don’t know how to read this restlessness…”
JC: It’s actually Giussani who says this—be careful! Giussani’s genius is that twenty years before our current situation, he already pinpointed this issue. Because we don’t read our experience adequately, we don’t read our need adequately—we’re always reducing it. That’s why I stopped you earlier: if we skip this step, we can’t read the rest of the “play” in the right way, because we’ve already reduced it to our own image.
And just as you reduce yourself to your own image, you’ll reduce what you hear to that same limited view, because “it is what it is.” Giussani’s great genius—and our philosopher friend can correct me if I’m wrong—is that he identifies the condition of possibility for understanding. What is required for me to understand something? According to Giussani, I need to have a similar experience to what the speaker is describing. Let me read a passage, because it’s striking:
Someone once asked him how the experience he was sharing with a group of college students in the 1990s actually took shape in his own life. Giussani replied, “How it happens in my life I cannot tell you, my friend. Except insofar as already, in your life, something like that appears,”²⁴ meaning you have to experience it.
If you’re not already experiencing what I’m trying to communicate, you won’t understand any of it! Just imagine explaining what it means to fall in love to someone who’s never felt that way—what a confusing mess for them! They might see the person right in front of them, but they’ll reduce that person to what they already know. We only understand that which, in some way, corresponds to something we’re already experiencing.
This is the necessary condition for understanding the “play.” If I don’t pause and ask you to consider your experience before the play, you’ll reduce what you hear to the image you’ve already formed of yourself—and so you won’t truly understand, even if you claim you do.
I’m sorry; it’s not out of malice but out of inability. To grasp another person’s message or proposal, there has to be something within you that resonates with what they’re saying. That part is often overlooked. Some might say, “I’m giving you sound doctrine. By hearing it, you should understand it,” but that’s simply not the case.
This shortcoming has been evident since the Enlightenment. We reduce Christianity to a set of values, believing we can just repeat the doctrine or ethics of Christianity and then, by virtue of repetition, make it our own. Supposedly, all it takes is a place that keeps repeating these ideas, and they become ours. Fine—then we can check who’s filling the churches.
In reality, for us to understand another person’s proposal, it must find “attunement” in what we’ve already experienced; otherwise, we don’t truly comprehend it. As Giussani says, “If the listener lacks something within that brings him closer to the other’s experience, he may misrepresent the meaning of his words.”²⁵
And if we think we understand, it’s only because we grasp a small fraction of what we’ve been told, reducing it in the same way we reduce our own human experience. In most cases, we haven’t truly understood. But that was Giussani’s genius.
If we fail to understand this, we’ll pay the price in our own lives. Not that it is relevant for our eternal destiny—we’ll all reach heaven by God’s mercy. But the real issue is our life right now. The question isn’t whether God will have mercy on me—I already know that. It’s whether I can live at peace with myself now.
It wasn’t that Jesus denied the Samaritan woman’s past. He didn’t erase the fact that she had five husbands. Rather, He recognized that the core issue in life is our hunger and thirst. If Christ doesn’t respond to that hunger and thirst, she—and we—will look elsewhere for fulfillment.
Our hunger and thirst for fulfillment are irreducible. If we don’t find satisfaction within ourselves, we’ll try to satisfy it by unloading our impatience on someone else—like the primary caregiver. But let’s be honest: does dumping our impatience on another really bring us peace? Let’s be loyal to ourselves, even just for a moment.
Costantino: By way of illustration, I’d like to share something I’ll never forget. Many years ago, I visited you at home. As I greeted you at the door, I rather presumptuously said, “I’m someone who understands things, but my problem is putting them into practice.” And you responded, “No, you don’t really understand them.” But you were right! On one level, I did understand them; yet if they didn’t resonate deep within me, I always got stuck and couldn’t take the next step.
JC: You see what I mean? Sometimes we don’t even realize what we’re saying. Thank you.
Q: I want to share something that really struck me. I went to China on a business trip I didn’t want to take. I tried to get through the days as quickly as possible so I could go home. During my visit, they took me to see the largest Buddhist monastery in the country.
My Chinese escort asked if I was Catholic, and I said yes. Then I asked if she was Buddhist. She replied, “No, traditionally I’m Buddhist, but actually I’m an atheist—everyone from my generation is.”
Still, she spoke wistfully about her grandmother, who lives in a remote valley where the people invented a god, built a temple, and worship it. A hundred kilometers away in a neighboring valley, another group made up a different god of their own.
I was moved by the thought that these people, working in the fields and going about their daily lives, felt such a powerful need for meaning that they expressed it by creating a god. At the temple of the Reclining Buddha, I felt uncomfortable during the ritual of praying to Buddha.
My escort noticed and whispered, “Just give thanks for what you believe.” So I said a prayer to Our Lady. In that moment, everything I needed was present. I was wholly there—no longer eager to rush home. I recognized Jesus right there, without needing anyone else to confirm it. That girl was suddenly my friend, and I knew Jesus was there for me.
I realize I need people who help me live in the moment—without worrying about the future or dwelling on the past. In the present, everything is already given.
Julián: It’s striking that we can try imposing atheism at every stage of a person’s upbringing, yet something always reemerges—because the self’s nature inevitably resurfaces. The example you shared, of people building their own temple, shows their need to start from the experience they have of themselves. They may do it tentatively, through images they invent. Still, even after they work hard to suppress any religious sentiment, it rises again. Then, they don’t know how to interpret it, or they interpret it only partially—just like every form of religiosity before the Word became flesh. All these attempts are provisional, but the underlying need is there.
To wipe it out altogether, no ideological strategy is enough; you’d have to destroy human nature itself so that this fundamental need does not reemerge. And in that sense, no power—no matter how organized—can fully silence it. That’s what we observe. On one hand, there’s China, where they’ve tried everything. On the other hand, in the West, we see the same irreducibility showing itself in different forms of idolatry—just a different context in which everyone makes their own “temple.” But in both cases, the fundamental issue is the same: the nature of the person. The more a person struggles, for one reason or another, the more self-awareness he or she gains, along with this “vibration” of reason. Then, for someone like you, standing before that reality, you naturally think of Christ.
Yet it’s not that the other person “brings Christ” to you. Rather, that person rekindles within you what you’ve already received—even if they don’t know Christ. In other words, any situation can prompt you to recall what you carry inside. Any experience, hardship, or circumstance awakens this memory; it doesn’t come from the other person but from the faith you already have. All of this reveals that the irreducibility we notice in other people—and that belongs to ourselves—can never be erased; we must confront it. We can postpone it or handle it in all sorts of ways—each of us can build our own temple, and that’s fine. But each one must then test whether the temple they’ve built actually works. How do we do that—by taking revenge on a leader? Everyone has to figure out for themselves what that verification looks like.
This point is crucial. The fact that every attempt we make comes up against our own irreducibility means we already possess all the factors needed to judge that attempt. We don’t need anyone else to tell us if a doctor’s treatment is effective; we see the results in our own health. It’s objective and infallible. There’s no use arguing: “Doctor, I’m sorry, but I’m still unwell.” I might be clueless about everything else, yet I know I’m not okay. Can I say that or not? Do I still have the freedom to say it? Each person must come to terms with that.
If you’re all right with what the doctor says, fine—but ask yourself: are you accepting it just to align with everyone else, or because it genuinely addresses your need? That’s your decision. That’s why this moment is exhilarating: it holds no exemptions—whether you’re in China or in some remote valley, or here in the West. More exhilarating than anything, however, is this irreducibility of the person.
Q: I’m also facing life’s challenges these days, thank God. A few months ago, we took in a foster child, which disrupted our family dynamic both emotionally and physically—it’s been quite demanding. After a month of wonderful cohabitation, something completely unexpected happened: during a supervised meeting with the biological mother, the child was kidnapped and taken to a place unknown to us.
What followed were eight days of genuine nightmare—an experience I wouldn’t wish on anyone. It was unlike anything else, even more overwhelming than a death might be, because it was so utterly mysterious, like living in a film. Yet, in those very days, through some miracle, we felt the profound companionship of the Mystery, along with the support of those who tried to stand by us.
Being forced to entrust ourselves entirely ended up purifying our relationship with the child and made our relationship with reality more radical. In those days, it wasn’t just a pious “Thy will be done”—nothing else would have been enough.
Julián: What does “pietistic” mean? Simply that it wasn’t adequate to the requirement of reason.
Q: The only thing that truly sufficed was for Him to show up.
JC: You see? Why don’t you settle for anything less? Saying “He must reveal Himself” means you’re using your reason all the way to that point—to the point of needing Him to show Himself. That is the only thing that brings you peace.
D: Exactly.
JC: Everything else falls short of satisfying your reason—of meeting its deepest “vibration.” Because reason, as you see it (and as you wouldn’t wish on anyone), is not about sentimental piety. It’s about the full drama of living—so overwhelming that you’d never want anyone else to experience it. That’s the “vibration of reason.” You see your human need rise to the surface only when confronted by a reality that provokes you to the limit—like the kidnapping of a child. That’s what brings out the entirety of your reason, all your need, and makes you realize that anything less than a complete answer—“that He must show Himself”—is not enough. And you call the lesser attempts “pietism.”
But that’s not real religiosity. Real religiosity means living intensely within reality. When you reduce everything to pietism, you’re suffocating yourself with rationalism at the same time. Experience activates all the warning signals. So what do we do next?
Q: Then paradoxically, this “constraining” reality…
JC: You see, we don’t even realize it sometimes, folks! When we start talking about our experience, we use words and phrases that seem almost extreme.
“Constraining”: it compels you! It’s so demanding, so deeply yours that it compels you. But it compels you in the sense that it pushes you, and you have to decide—do you say “yes” and go along with it, or “no, it’s too much!”?
Let’s see what each person does when confronted with this compulsion. We’re not animals where a stimulus automatically leads to a response. There’s always freedom involved. So “constraint” is in quotes because it’s more like a powerful provocation; you can’t remain neutral. You’re forced to make a decision. And then?
Q: Yes, I meant “facilitating.”
JC: Precisely, “facilitating.” Many times, we think using these terms negates our freedom. But someone else, facing the exact same circumstance, might say, “Enough! I don’t want to know. I’ll just distract myself. I want out of here. I don’t care about any of it!”
Do you see? This is so important. We often imagine we’re either forced into one thing or forced into another. Not at all! We’re “forced” only in that our need—so powerfully awakened—demands we decide. But we’re not spared the decision itself. So, what do we do next?
Q: During these intense days, it was a constant challenge, as you said. Either we told ourselves, “You’re giving me this circumstance so I can be completely myself and truly a child before You,” or we were in darkness. We went through it all trusting that He is Father—that He was speaking to us even in this situation.
And all the signs that came, even the darkest ones—when it seemed like we might never find the child again—didn’t shake our hope, not even our hope of finding him, but our hope that a good destiny was in store for us.
JC: Exactly—and for him too!
Q: And for him, absolutely. We thought, “Wonderful—this is something we’ll keep forever!” A miracle happened; the child was found and has been living with us since September 1. Our new life has begun, which is quite complicated after the trauma. He’s a difficult child to manage. In one of his extreme fits of rage, he physically attacked me.
The impact of reality for me is very much a physical impact.
JC: You’ll need to train yourself!
Q: Indeed! After a devastating day, when we were physically drained, we were suddenly filled with tenderness for ourselves and the baby. We saw him in his crib and thought, “Wow, this child wasn’t here—now he is here; he might not have been here, but he is here.”
And we can either decide to focus on everything that’s going wrong, or we can start again from what’s been given. That’s why, for me, Chapter Ten isn’t just an abstract idea—it’s my life. This child: the little room was empty, and at some point, it filled up again. I can focus on what’s wrong, which we’re dealing with anyway, or I can see him as a gift and begin from there.
JC: And with that, how is your experience different from before?
Q: It’s liberating.
JC: The fact that he’s there in the crib—compared to the fact that he was taken—is what really matters, not all the other potential complications or illnesses. Seeing the child simply there gives you a totally different experience. If instead you keep your eyes on everything else, you’ll have a different kind of experience altogether.
Q: And that’s what we do, every day—it’s a constant crossroads.
Q: Listening to Demi Lovato’s song earlier, I realized I wasn’t facing the discomfort and struggles I have. I’m dealing with a lot at home—my father’s not well, there are family issues. But because I more or less managed to cope, I felt that was enough. I didn’t want to confront the fact that my father isn’t getting better, or that I’ll have to face an even harder struggle down the line. Until tonight, I’d been hiding this difficulty from myself, maybe because I refuse to accept it. But in front of you…
JC: …I won’t lower the bar for you.
Q: Even that wouldn’t be enough on its own. But especially seeing you so fired up by all this—I can’t accept anything less.
JC: Perfect! That’s the point: whether we’ll accept less or not. If you look the other way, would that be decisive? Like taking it out on the boss?
Q: It might seem so, because in the end, we just muddle through…
JC: That’s reality, and it’s all I’m interested in—each person choosing, when they’re ready, to accept what’s happening honestly. If we hadn’t met tonight, you might have continued living just as before.
Q: This was no small thing for me. It’s crazy, isn’t it?
C: I understand you. But in a way, that situation helped you recognize what you’d been censoring. Now you can’t censor it any longer.
Q: Exactly.
JC: That’s fine. Since your father’s illness continues, sooner or later you were bound to face that reality and become aware of it. There’s no escaping it. So, here’s the question: could the Mystery possibly use, with each person, the method He’s chosen—the effort Constantine mentioned earlier—to help us discover our need and the “vibration” of our reason?
When we reach that point, we can’t just try not to look, like you couldn’t tonight. And this is the liberation that comes from having someone else enter our lives: we’re no longer forced to censor anything. We can let everything stand, without erasing or suppressing it, just as Giussani always said.
We know we’re living up to our humanity when we have nothing to hide from, nothing to run away from. Otherwise, it’s an illusion. You might pretend for a few moments during the day that something doesn’t exist, but it only takes a small disturbance—your father’s condition, a family member needing help, the whole “mess”—to bring you right back to that awareness.
And at that moment, when the situation finds you as disarmed and helpless as you feel tonight, you have to decide: “Do I want to face this, or do I want to pretend I still don’t see it?”
D: So this can happen at home, too?
JC: It can happen as soon as tomorrow morning.
Q: Maybe!
JC: But that’s how it is for me. Maybe, for you, it feels like a burden—a “ball and chain”—but for me it’s the opportunity through which the Mystery is calling me. We’re not forced to live by running away from ourselves or by seeking answers that don’t match our humanity and the “vibration” of our reason. It’s a decision, and it’s entirely ours. Understand?
Q: Tonight it certainly feels that way.
JC: Exactly. This is our self, in direct relationship with the Mystery. Not because we can handle it on our own, but because—despite the circumstances, and with all the signals the Mystery gives us—we can choose to be loyal or not. Clear?
Q: Speaking of exhilarating challenges, my kids asked me to have dinner with some friends I clashed with two years ago. I was really hurt then by their harsh, ideological views. In the end, I agreed to go for my children’s sake, but with a certain freedom—no big expectations. Then the unexpected happened: these friends repeated the same things they’d said two years ago, and as I listened, I was stunned to think, “Why did it upset me so much before?”
JC: Amazing. And how do you explain that?
D: Because over these two years, I’ve endured severe personal struggles—a real “trial by fire.” It’s been painful, but it freed me in the midst of all that suffering. Now I’m not dependent on what others think of me, even if they reduce me to their biases. Two years ago, I kept wondering, “What’s wrong with them?” But at that dinner, I found myself thinking, “What was my problem?”
JC: Perfect. Do you see the difference? It’s the same situation—the same “where”—but the change is in the path you have taken. Who decides on that path? Each of us does. If you hadn’t done it, you’d still be offloading your frustrations onto them, living in impatience. Now you’re free of that intolerance, even though your friends might still be where they were. I’m rooting for their freedom—that they’ll make their own journey without being forced. But aren’t you glad you made yours, so that you can be free in the face of the same situation? No one can stop you from doing that, but no one can spare you the effort, either. That’s the drama we experience in every circumstance. Thank you. Last question!
Q: Over the last four weeks, my husband’s mother passed away after 20 years of illness. In this context of extreme suffering—my husband himself has been ill for 30 years, and his sister died of cancer at age 40—my husband’s only brother, who is healthy, became furious with what he sees as an unjust God dealing with his family.
I felt uncomfortable. I was grieving—and I still am, as the funeral was on Saturday—but I was also very calm and confident. My discomfort came from the fact that this attitude of mine was noticeable. Friends and relatives could see it, and even the ICU staff remarked, “Ma’am, when you come in, it’s different—your face is different.”
I kept shifting back and forth in my mind: first hoping she’d recover, then praying she would pass quickly. But the most helpful perspective was staying in that dialogue you spoke about earlier with the Mystery—suspended, but not in a void, suspended to see what was there for me in that situation.
I realized that, despite many years of weariness with my husband’s illness—which I actually call a “preference,” because it forces me never to take anything for granted, day after day—I’ve experienced something you once said: you can face death if there is something in life, first, that enables you to face death. Without that, no argument can hold up when you’re confronted by mortality.
I’m grateful for this continuous discovery of my innate need to be happy, to be cherished. When reality is tough, I realize that I need to come here—I traveled 800 kilometers and will leave again tomorrow—because I need to look at friends who, in the face of life’s drama, live according to this desire, remaining irreducible before everything.
JC: Because what’s the alternative? We see it in your brother-in-law: being angry for 30 years. Same circumstances—yours might even be worse since your husband is also ill. When someone is faced with a situation like this, they can either choose anger and see if that helps them handle the problem any better, or they can accept being suspended in that daily uncertainty, tethered to whatever the circumstances bring.
Ultimately, that decision belongs to each person. You reminded me of a conversation I had with Violante,²⁶ where he framed the problem brilliantly: “We can’t really look these things in the face because we don’t have a life that lets us face them.” I told him I entirely agreed. For me, St. Paul expresses the essence of reconciling life and death: “For me, living is Christ, and dying is gain.”²⁷
Someone who recognizes that Christ is life itself doesn’t fear death or avoid confronting it. The rest is in the hands of Another. Imagine the certainty St. Paul must have had to capture the real heart of the matter so succinctly.
Everything else is just a distraction because when the issue of death arises, we all face the ultimate test of how we’ve lived—and how we’re living right now. There’s no way around it. So, the way we’ve been living is laid bare when circumstances like these arise, revealing the journey each of us has taken.
That’s why we come together: we want to live up to this “vibration” of reason, to be protagonists before life and before death.
Constantino: I just wanted to explain why I asked that initial question.
For two or three years, I’ve heard you talk about this “exaltation.” At first, I thought, “I’m so envious—I wish I could live like that.” But that wasn’t enough. Then you kept mentioning it, and I began to think, “Well, maybe this is a bit overblown. Reality’s challenges are one thing, but to call it exaltation…”
Eventually, because of a particular situation—even within the Movement (though the specifics don’t really matter)—I said to myself, “All right, I want to take this seriously.” And I realized it was an opportunity to free myself. Tonight, in my opinion, we’ve reached dizzying heights—right to the very core of our self. It’s the best birthday present I could have asked for. Thank you!
Julián: Thank you. All the best!
The author has not reviewed the text and its translation.
The School of Community in Communion and Liberation is a weekly educational gathering where participants discuss texts, reflect on personal experiences, and explore the relationship between faith and daily life. Assemblies are open, diverse group meetings focused on encountering Christ through shared experiences.
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1 Luigi Giussani, “Il Senso Religioso,” BUR (2023), pp. 139-151.
2 Ibid, p. 139.
3 “Anyone” by Demy Lovato, Bibi Bourelly, Eyelar Mirzazadeh, Jay Moon, Sam Roman, Dayyon Alexander; from “Dancing with the Devil... the Art of Starting Over,” Island Records (2021).
4 Marracash, “Is the Peace Over,” Universal Music Italia (2024).
5 Ivi, “Victim” by Fabio Rizzo (Marracash), Stefano Tognini (producer), Alessandro Pulga (producer).
6 Luigi Giussani, op. cit. pp. 129-137.
7 Cf. Mat 14:13-21; Mar 6:34-44; Lu 9:11-17; Joh 6:1-15.
8 Cf. Joh 6:53.
9 Cf. Jn 6:57.
10 Marracash, op. cit., “È finita la pace” by Fabio Rizzo (Marracash), Ivan Graziani, Stefano Tognini (producer), Alessandro Pulga (producer).
11 Marracash, ivi, “Crash” by Fabio Rizzo (Marracash), Stefano Tognini (producer), Alessandro Pulga (producer), Alessandro Civitelli (producer).
12 Cycle of meetings held by Fr. Eugenio Nembrini, which began on November 14, 2024 in Bergamo, on the text “There is Hope” by Julián Carrón: https://youtu.be/WLI6y4e-a1M?si=qJyCbWaZFccYZbTW
13 Julián Carrón, “Is There Hope? The Fascination of Discovery,” New World Publishing (2021)
14 Luigi Giussani, op. cit. pp. 109-128.
15 Luigi Giussani, ibid, p. 124: “in only one case is this image of a free man explicable: if one supposes that [...] it is direct relation to the infinite, direct relation to the origin of the whole flow of the world.”
16 Luigi Giussani, “Il Sì di Pietro come impeto di ogni giorno,” Litterae Communionis - Tracce, Milan (1995).
17 Cf. Joh 4:5-42.
18 Cf. Mat 9:12; Lu 5:31-32, Mar 2:17. 19 Cf. Joh 6:60.
20 Cf. Jn 4:15.
21 Cf. Jn 6:67-68.
22 Speech by Fr Julián Carrón at the Convention of the St. Michael the Archangel Foundation entitled: “All Circumstances are Essential Factor in our Vocation,” Dec. 19, 2024, https://youtu.be/Jte2YVimHrM?si=4M1TJ1b0GAG6Ylcd
23 “What I like about the experience is that it is such an honest thing. You may make a lot of wrong turns; but keep your eyes open and you will not be allowed to go too far before the right sign appears. You may have fooled yourself, but experience is not trying to fool you. The universe answers the truth when you question it honestly.” From C.S. Lewis, “Surprised by Joy,” Ed. Jaca Book (2021), p. 131.
24 Luigi Giussani, “Through the Human,” Meeting with the Community of Communion and Liberation of Science (State University of Milan), May 22, 1995. In: Luigi Giussani, “Advent of Freedom, conversations with young university students,” Marietti 1820 (2002).
25 L. Giussani, At the Origin of the Christian Claim, Volume Two of PerCorso. Milan: Rizzoli, 2011, 102.
26 Luciano Violante and Julián Carrón, meeting sponsored by the Fondazione San Benedetto on “Between Life and Death, the True Battle” to present Luciano Violante's book “But I Have Always Saved You,” ed. Bollati Boringhieri (2024), November 15, 2024, Brescia, Brescia, https://youtu.be/-ywCBAWMnTw?si=0JTHInx--2kVVuQ8
27 Phil 1:21
