A dear priest friend and I are wading through Treatise on the Love of God, one of St. Francis de Sales’ lesser-known yet magnificent works—magnificent not only in scope but in depth. Among its many treasures, his treatment of repentance stands out. It is a theme suitable for all times, but especially for Lent, that sacred season when the Church calls her children to return to God with contrite hearts.
But a natural question arises: Is repentance a distinctly Christian virtue? Or was it understood, in some form, by the pagans before the Gospel illuminated the world?
If repentance is woven into the very fabric of human nature, we can better understand why the Church, in her wisdom, devotes an entire liturgical season to it. If, however, it belongs uniquely to Christianity, then its presence in our faith becomes all the more precious, something to be embraced with greater devotion. In either case, we will see that the Christian understanding of repentance is part of the wisdom of the Church, distinguishing her teaching from others, not merely in intensity but in its very fundamental understanding.
Did the Pagans Recognize the Need for Repentance?
One might expect that the greatest minds of the ancient world—Plato, Socrates, Aristotle—would have arrived at something like the Christian notion of repentance. And indeed, many of them did, though only partially, imperfectly. Their understanding of sorrow for sin was often moral (rooted in a sense of justice) or, at best, religious (acknowledging an offense against the gods). But did they ever grasp repentance as a movement of love—one that seeks not only to atone but to reunite with the Beloved?
Repentance from the Pagan World
There are striking instances where great figures of antiquity expressed something akin to repentance:
- Alexander the Great—According to Cicero, upon realizing he had slain his dear friend Clitus in a fit of rage, he resolved to starve himself to death, overcome with grief.
- Alcibiades—St. Augustine tells us that after Socrates convinced him he was neither wise nor the man he should have been, Alcibiades wept bitterly.
- Aristotle—In the Nicomachean Ethics, he acknowledges that the intemperate man, enslaved by pleasure, cannot be freed unless he repents.
- Seneca—Speaks of the torment interior remorse excites in the soul.
- Epictetus—Urges men to reproach themselves with a rigor that could scarcely be better expressed—even suggesting that, on his deathbed, a man should lift up his hands and say: For my part, I have not dishonored Thee.
Most poignantly, Pythagoras offers a striking exhortation:
"If thou hast ill done, chide thyself bitterly. If thou hast well done, rest thee contentedly."
A Feeble Repentance
At first glance, these seem to echo Christian repentance. But St. Francis de Sales finds their sorrow lacking:
"Although religious penitence may have been in some sort recognized by some of the philosophers, yet this has been so rarely and feebly, that those who were reputed the most virtuous amongst them, to wit the Stoics, maintained that the wise man was never grieved."
Here lies the fatal flaw: the Stoics, those paragons of self-sufficiency, denied sorrow itself. If virtue meant impassibility, then to grieve was weakness. Thus, they closed the door to true repentance before it could even be opened.
For this reason, St. Francis de Sales concludes:
"Penitence is a virtue wholly Christian."
Repentance: A Wholly Christian Virtue
Christianity, unlike pagan philosophy, proclaims an inescapable truth: man is fallen.
To deny sin is madness; to ignore repentance is despair. “Whosoever expects without penitence to redress his sin is mad.”
Thus, repentance is at the heart of the Gospel—so much so that the first words of Our Lord’s public ministry are not Rejoice, nor Believe, but "Do penance."
Two Motives for Penance
St. Francis de Sales identifies two fundamental reasons for repentance:
- Love of self—We recognize that sin has wounded us and robbed us of interior beauty and peace. We repent to restore ourselves.
- Love of God—We grieve not merely for our own loss but because we have offended the One who is infinitely good.
The first is good but imperfect. The second is true repentance—a sorrow mingled with love.
Without love, even the most severe penance profits nothing:
"Though our penitence should cause our eyes to dissolve in tears, and our hearts to break with sorrow, yet if we have not the holy love of God, all this would profit nothing for eternal life."
Thus, repentance finds its perfection when it is infused with love for God. The sorrow of the saints was not merely for the loss of grace but for having offended Divine Love itself.
Union Through Sorrow
Why is true repentance bound up with love? Because love seeks union. Sin separates, but sorrow—if it is sorrow for love’s sake—reunites.
De Sales explains:
"God's goodness is the motive of perfect repentance, which it displeases us to have offended: now this motive is a motive only because it stirs us and gives us movement. But the movement which the divine goodness gives unto the heart can be no other than the movement of love, that is, of union."
In other words, to repent is to run back into the arms of the Beloved. Christians are called to be lovesick.
St. Mary Magdalene: Sorrow That Holds
The saints show us what this love-laden sorrow looks like. Of St. Mary Magdalene, Our Lord said, “Many sins are forgiven her because she has loved much.”
Before the Resurrection: She weeps, crying, "They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him." After the Resurrection: She clings to Him, crying, "Rabboni!"
At first, she sought Him; then, through sorrow and love, she held Him.
Adam: Heartsick for God
Saint Silouan, in his poem Adam’s Lament, tells us that Adam, after the Fall, was not tormented by the loss of Eden’s beauty but by the loss of God Himself.
"His soul was racked as he thought: ‘I have grieved my beloved Lord.’ He sorrowed less after paradise and the beauty thereof – he sorrowed that he was bereft of the love of God, which insatiably, at every instant, draws the soul to Him.”
It is the cry of every heart that has loved, lost, and longed to return.
“My soul wearies for the Lord, and I seek Him in tears. How should I not seek Him? When I was with Him, my soul was glad and at rest. But now the spirit of evil has gained power over me… Nor can my soul take comfort in anything but longs once more to see the Lord.”
The soul that has once known God through grace experiences immense torment upon losing it. This is why Adam’s sorrow was so profound.
A Call to Union
To repent is to acknowledge: "I have grieved my Beloved."
To repent with love is to cry: "Let me return to Him."
It is a great mystery to desire union with the beloved and, at the same time, contribute to the separation of that very union. Such is the unintelligibility of sin.
Still, it is within the power of love to unite such great desire, such great sorrow, and such great hatred. Love unites contraries. The greater the love, the greater the hatred toward those things that cause separation.
Even hatred is motivated by love. By love, we hate our sins; we hate our separation from God.
Yet, contrition for sin can give us confidence. The Lord is drawn to the contrite heart. As the Psalmist proclaims: "A broken and contrite heart, O God, You will not despise." (Ps. 51:17)
In the spirit of lex orandi, lex credendi, we observe that the Church encourages worship with a holy mingling of love and sadness. The Church begins her greatest prayers with the words of David’s penitential Psalm.
- At Mass: “Cleanse me with hyssop, and I shall be clean.” (Ps. 51:7)
- At the Divine Office: “Open my lips, Lord, and my mouth shall declare Your praise.” (Ps. 51:15)
Penance cleanses. Penance opens the lips. Penance draws the soul into the song of praise.
True Repentance: A Love That Longs for Reunion
Repentance, then, is no mere moral regret nor even a sterile resolve to “do better.” It is a movement of love—a sorrow that does not end in despair but longs for reunion.
The pagans sensed its shadow; the saints knew its fullness.
To repent well is to weep as Magdalene wept, to ache as Adam ached, and to love as Christ loved—even unto sorrow.
And in that love, the heart finds its rest. In bittersweetness, the saint finds happiness in this life.
