There are many ways of looking at the same reality. A photographer studies light, proportion and colour, while a hungry person may see only the food arranged before him. We glance rapidly at a newspaper headline, but we linger over a sunset. These differences arise not only from what we are looking at or from the circumstances of the moment. They reveal something deeper about the way we relate to the world. Our eyes do not function as neutral instruments. The habits and desires of the heart shape what we notice, what we overlook and what we seek to possess.

St. Josemaría constantly encouraged Christians to become contemplative souls in the middle of the world. This requires us to learn a new way of looking at reality. A contemplative gaze does not reduce things to their usefulness or see them merely as possible objects of possession. It is receptive and generous, able to recognise that created realities have a meaning that goes beyond the immediate satisfaction they may provide. When we learn to see in this way, the world begins to disclose its deeper truth. We discover the divine splendour hidden within ordinary things and understand more fully that in God we live, move and have our being.

This way of seeing is closely connected with temperance. St. Josemaría once recommended external mortification, especially of the sight, together with interior mortification in the form of restraint of curiosity. Both belong to the effort to bring order to our desire to know. The word temperance often suggests nothing more than limitation, as though the virtue consisted chiefly in suppressing our desires. Yet Joseph Pieper points out that the Latin root of the word refers to bringing different elements into a unified and harmonious whole. Temperance does not impoverish our relationship with reality. It frees us from a scattered or possessive way of looking so that we can know things more deeply.

Our desire to know is good and belongs to human nature. We are made to seek truth, learn from the world and delight in the richness of creation. This desire becomes disordered, however, when we seek knowledge only for the passing pleasure of novelty, for self-importance or for the satisfaction of possessing information. Temperance gives our desire the right measure. It enables us to move beyond superficial impressions and accept the effort that genuine understanding requires. Instead of grasping rapidly at fragments, we become capable of attention, reflection and wonder. Then the world begins to speak to us.

One disordered way of looking resembles a butterfly moving restlessly from one flower to another. The eye remains on each object only long enough to satisfy a momentary curiosity before turning towards the next novelty. The person does not seek to understand the full richness of what is present but wants the small pleasure that comes from a new image, fact or sensation. St. John refers to this disorder as the concupiscence of the eyes, while St. Thomas Aquinas calls it curiositas. Its opposite is studiositas, the disciplined and well-ordered desire to know.

Studiousness does not mean simply placing rigid limits upon knowledge. It removes the obstacles that prevent us from seeing reality in depth. True knowledge requires patience, effort and the willingness to remain with a subject after the first attraction has passed. The curious person moves rapidly because he wants the pleasure of knowing something new; the studious person stays long enough to understand. One gathers fragments, while the other seeks wisdom.

The disorder may appear insignificant. We might ask what harm there can be in keeping our eyes open to everything the world offers. Yet Christ tells us that the eye is the lamp of the body and that when the eye is sound the whole person is filled with light. Our way of looking reaches the heart and gradually shapes it. An intemperate gaze can become deeply rooted without our noticing what has happened. We grow accustomed to moving restlessly from one stimulus to another and lose the capacity to remain attentive to anything for long.

The way many people use the internet and social media makes this particularly clear. We may begin with no definite purpose and pass from one page, image or video to another without knowing what we are seeking. The hand continues scrolling even after interest has faded. Behind this wandering gaze there is often a deeper restlessness. Our thoughts become fragmented, our speech less reflective and our interior life increasingly difficult to enter. What looks like harmless distraction may reveal that we have lost the ability to remain at peace within ourselves.

When we sense emptiness or unease, we often turn outward in search of further stimulation. Yet this can carry us farther from the One who alone can satisfy the deepest desires of the heart. St. Augustine describes his own experience in words that remain strikingly relevant. God was within him, but he was outside himself, searching among created things. The beauty of those things attracted him, yet they distracted him from the Creator because he did not perceive them in their proper relation to Him. Created realities did not cease to be good; the problem lay in the disordered way he approached them.

We need, therefore, to open the door to our interior life and recover the habit of discernment. This often requires us to slow down, resist haste and consider what we are about to do. Before starting another video, series or stream of content, we can ask whether this is truly how we wish to use our time and attention. The question is not whether every form of entertainment is harmful. It is whether this particular choice serves our real good or merely responds to an impulse we have stopped examining.

A temperate person can forego something that would harm the soul, but he can also decline what is harmless in itself when it prevents him from growing or fulfilling a more important duty. Such renunciation can initially seem like a loss. In reality, it frees us from forms of dependence that diminish our capacity for love, work and prayer. St. Josemaría observed that sacrifice is often more apparent than real, because those who live with a spirit of sacrifice are liberated from many kinds of slavery and discover more deeply the fullness of God’s love.

This freedom requires a strong interior life. St. Josemaría once responded to a person who said he needed a change by advising him, in effect, to close his eyes to the ceaseless flow of external impressions and rediscover the richer world within. He was not suggesting withdrawal from creation. He taught consistently that the world is a place of encounter with God. His point was that our outward gaze and our inner world are inseparable. What we repeatedly choose to look at enters us and contributes to the person we become.

The images, stories and information we absorb are not always forgotten when the screen is turned off. They shape imagination, memory and desire. This is especially obvious with material that is degrading, violent or impure, but it is also true of content that is merely trivial and consumed without measure. The mind can become crowded with impressions that leave little room for recollection. We may then find prayer difficult not because God is distant, but because we have filled our interior world with noise.

Temperance in our look is therefore not based upon fear of creation. It is grounded in respect for the dignity of the human person and for the power of sight. We guard our eyes because we want to preserve the freedom of the heart. A clean gaze allows us to look upon the world without immediately converting everything into an object of appetite. It protects our ability to see things as they truly are and to recognise the presence of God within them.

There is another disordered way of seeing that is less restless but equally damaging. It is the self-interested or possessive gaze that looks at the world as an animal might look upon its prey. Sacred Scripture warns that a greedy eye is an evil thing. This gaze does not move rapidly from object to object for the sake of novelty. Instead, it fixes upon things in relation to the advantage, pleasure or status they may provide. Everything is evaluated according to its usefulness to the self.

When this habit becomes deeply rooted, we lose the ability to perceive the full richness of reality. We see only one aspect of things, the aspect related to our own desires. The heart remains fixed upon itself and interprets the world from that narrow position. Our decisions then become distorted because sound judgment depends upon seeing things as they are. A person who views everything through appetite or ambition cannot evaluate goods according to their true worth.

The glutton looking at a banquet illustrates this limitation. He may see only the opportunity for excessive pleasure. The beauty of the presentation, the skill involved in preparing the meal and the possibility of conversation and friendship disappear from view. Paradoxically, his desire for enjoyment makes him less capable of genuine enjoyment. Because he grasps at one pleasure without proportion, he misses the wider human good of the occasion.

This principle applies far beyond food. The possessive gaze can shape our response to money, clothing, homes, travel, technology and countless other goods. We cease to receive them gratefully and begin to measure ourselves by what we own or hope to acquire. A beautiful object is no longer appreciated simply for its beauty. It becomes a sign of status or a means of affirming ourselves before others. We may then feel dissatisfied even while surrounded by abundance, because possession never gives the security or importance we expected from it.

More seriously, a self-interested gaze can distort our relationships with people. Instead of looking another person in the eye and asking who he is, what he needs or how we might serve him, we consider what benefit he may bring us. Friendships become transactional. We are attentive when someone can advance our plans and indifferent when he cannot. We may value another person for his influence, attractiveness, intelligence or usefulness while failing to recognise the unique dignity that comes from being created and loved by God.

This is a form of spiritual blindness. The divine image in others becomes obscured because our gaze is shaped by self-interest. Pope Francis has warned against allowing the capacity to love and be loved to be debased by using others for selfish ends. Human beings can never be treated merely as instruments. Even when we legitimately depend upon one another and exchange services, the person always possesses a worth that surpasses his usefulness to us.

The temptation to use others can be subtle. We may listen only because we expect to be heard in return, offer help in order to create an obligation or maintain a relationship chiefly because it enhances our social position. Temperance purifies these motives by loosening the grip of self-interest. It enables us to receive people as gifts and to be present to them without constantly calculating what we will gain.

A temperate gaze produces many positive fruits. The first is a greater interior peace. When the heart is not pulled continually towards new stimuli or possible acquisitions, it becomes more ordered. We are less vulnerable to whatever happens to attract our attention and more capable of directing our faculties towards what truly matters. This tranquility does not mean inactivity or dullness. It is the stable freedom that allows us to act with purpose rather than impulse.

Temperance also awakens sincere interest in reality. We become less governed by first appearances and hasty judgments. Instead of deciding immediately that a person is uninteresting, an activity is useless or a work of art is incomprehensible, we become willing to look again. Reality often reveals its riches slowly. The person who possesses attention can discover qualities that remain hidden from the hurried or self-centred observer.

Artists and poets often help us recover this capacity. They perceive colours, forms, relationships and meanings that most people overlook. A conversation with someone who understands a painting, a piece of music or a landscape can change the way we see it. He does not create the beauty but draws our attention to what was already there. In a similar way, temperance purifies our sight so that reality can impress itself upon us rather than being reduced to our immediate use.

This attentiveness applies above all to people. When we are not absorbed in ourselves, we notice changes in expression, tone and behaviour that may indicate a hidden burden. We become more capable of listening because we are not impatiently waiting to speak. A clean gaze allows us to see the charm, vulnerability and complexity of another person without reducing him to a label or a function. Such attention is one of the most concrete forms of charity.

Temperance also strengthens concentration. Resisting the unnecessary impulse to check the phone or browse the internet may appear to be a very small sacrifice, yet these decisions have a cumulative effect. Each time we say no to something that disperses us, we say yes to the task, person or prayer before us. We recover the power to give ourselves wholly rather than living in a state of divided attention.

The ability to concentrate is not merely a useful skill for study or professional work. It affects the whole spiritual life. Prayer requires us to remain before God even when another thought or stimulus seems more attractive. Friendship requires us to attend to the person who is speaking. Service requires us to notice what needs to be done. Constant distraction weakens all these capacities, while the small mortifications of sight help restore them.

Over time, we begin to recognise how much of what once occupied us was superficial. We see more clearly that many forms of content or consumption take our time without giving anything proportionate in return. This recognition is not accompanied by bitterness. It produces freedom. Life recovers shades and tones that intemperance had blurred, and energy becomes available for relationships, service and worthwhile projects.

A person who is no longer consumed by distraction or self-affirmation can devote himself more generously to great causes. He is able to share his possessions because he is less attached to them and can give his time because he no longer feels compelled to fill every free moment with entertainment. Temperance therefore supports generosity. It does not close the person in upon himself but releases him for love.

The clean and detached gaze also allows us to enjoy creation more fully. Temperance is sometimes misunderstood as an enemy of pleasure, but its purpose is to protect and deepen our capacity for enjoyment. The person who is not anxiously seeking pleasure can receive it with gratitude. He can savour food without excess, admire beauty without needing to possess it and enjoy recreation without becoming dependent upon it. Moderation does not make life grey. It restores the distinctions that intemperance tends to erase.

When we are constantly overstimulated, subtle pleasures lose their power. We need stronger impressions because we have dulled our sensitivity. A simpler and more disciplined life can renew our ability to delight in ordinary things: a conversation, a walk, music, a meal or the beauty of nature. Because we no longer demand that every experience overwhelm us, we become receptive to the quieter richness of creation.

A clean gaze is particularly important in the area of sexuality. Another person’s body is not an object offered for our consumption. Chastity teaches us to see the whole person and to respect the mystery of his or her dignity. The struggle to guard our eyes is not an expression of shame towards the body. It is a refusal to separate the body from the person and use it for an isolated pleasure.

This struggle has become more demanding in a culture saturated with sexualised images. We may encounter them without seeking them, and it is not always possible to avoid the first impression. What remains within our freedom is whether we continue looking, welcome the image into the imagination or deliberately seek more. A temperate response is simple and undramatic. We turn our attention elsewhere, ask for help if needed and continue with what we should be doing.

The same restraint applies to curiosity about the private lives, failings or misfortunes of others. Not everything we can know is something we ought to know. Gossip, sensational news and online speculation appeal to the desire for hidden information while often damaging charity. We may justify our interest as concern, but sincere concern normally leads us to pray, help or remain silent rather than consume another person’s difficulties as entertainment.

Temperance in the desire to know requires us to ask not only whether information is true but whether seeking or sharing it serves a good purpose. A fact can be accurate and still be none of our business. The disciplined mind respects the boundaries that protect the dignity of others. It does not demand access to everything or treat privacy as an obstacle to curiosity.

This form of restraint also improves our intellectual life. An unlimited flow of information is not the same as knowledge, and knowledge is not the same as wisdom. We can follow constant updates, opinions and controversies while understanding very little. The scattered mind collects facts but does not integrate them. Studiosity helps us choose what is worth learning and remain with it long enough to form sound judgment.

There are times when our work or responsibilities require us to move rapidly among different sources. The problem is not variety itself but the absence of order. Temperance enables us to distinguish between purposeful research and aimless consumption. It helps us set limits, protect time for deeper reading and resist the fear that we must keep up with everything.

The fear of missing out often reveals a lack of trust. We imagine that something important is always happening elsewhere and that our lives will be diminished if we do not see it immediately. This prevents us from inhabiting the place and task God has given us. A person can be physically present at a meal, meeting or prayer while mentally absent, drawn towards the possibility of another message or event. Temperance calls us back to the present.

The present moment is where God meets us. We cannot love an abstract future or serve people who exist only on a screen while neglecting those beside us. Technology can connect us with distant persons and provide real opportunities for knowledge and service, but it should remain an instrument. When it governs our attention, it weakens our contact with the concrete reality through which most of our vocation is lived.

We need not respond with fear or reject modern technology. What is required is freedom. We can decide when to use a device and when to put it aside. We can choose what to watch and stop when the purpose has been fulfilled. We can recognise that boredom is not an emergency and that an unoccupied moment may become an opportunity for thought, prayer or attention to our surroundings.

This freedom is acquired through practice. A single decision will not undo habits built over years. We may begin by establishing times or places where the phone is not used unnecessarily. We can avoid bringing it into prayer, keep it away during conversation and resist checking it whenever a task becomes difficult. These small acts strengthen the will and make deeper recollection possible.

The goal, however, is not merely self-control. We are learning to look as Christ looks. Jesus was fully attentive to the people before Him. He noticed Zacchaeus in the tree, the widow who placed two coins in the treasury and the faith of those who carried the paralytic. He saw the hunger of the crowds and the sorrow of the widow of Nain. His gaze never reduced people to their appearance, usefulness or sin. It revealed the truth of their dignity and called them towards the life God desired for them.

To acquire this gaze, we need prayer. Christ purifies our sight when we allow Him to show us the desires and attachments that shape it. In His presence we can examine the way we use images, information and entertainment without anxiety or defensiveness. He does not seek to deprive us of the world but to give it back to us in its truth.

The sacraments also heal our way of seeing. Sin turns the heart inward and clouds our judgment, while grace restores freedom. In Confession, we acknowledge not only obvious acts but the habits of curiosity, possessiveness or impurity that have weakened us. In the Eucharist, we receive Christ Himself and learn from His complete gift of self. His presence draws us away from consumption and towards communion.

Our Lady offers the clearest example of a contemplative gaze. She received the world as a gift from God and pondered events in her heart. At Nazareth she saw divine meaning in ordinary duties, and at Cana she noticed the need of the young couple before others did. Her attention was not scattered because her heart was centred upon God. Nor was her gaze self-interested; she looked upon others with the concern of a mother.

We can ask Mary to teach us to see in this way. Under her guidance, the ordinary world becomes richer. We notice beauty without grasping at it, enjoy created goods without becoming enslaved and recognise the divine image in those around us. Our eyes become more capable of serving love.

Temperance in our look finally leads to contemplation. The person who is free from restless curiosity and possessive desire begins to perceive the deepest truth of creation. Things are no longer mute objects arranged around the self. They reveal their origin and purpose. Beauty points beyond itself, human dignity reflects the Creator, and ordinary events become occasions of encounter with providence.

Joseph Pieper observed that only the person with a clean heart can truly perceive beauty. This is because beauty must be received rather than seized. The possessive gaze asks how something can be used, while the contemplative gaze allows it to be what it is. In that generous attention, reality discloses more of itself.

The clean heart is also capable of genuine laughter and joy. It is not weighed down by the constant need to acquire, compare or be stimulated. It can delight freely because it has ceased demanding that everything serve the ego. Temperance creates room for gratitude, and gratitude allows the world to appear as gift.

We may then discover beauty in places we once overlooked. An ordinary street, a familiar room or a person we thought we knew completely can reveal new depth. The world has not changed; our gaze has. Freed from haste and self-interest, we become capable of seeing the charm that was present all along.

This transformation does not occur all at once. We will still become distracted, look needlessly and seek things for ourselves. What matters is that we begin again and keep asking what kind of gaze we are forming. Each small act of restraint can become an act of love: love for God, whose presence we wish to recognise; love for others, whose dignity we want to respect; and rightly ordered love for ourselves, because we refuse to surrender our freedom to every passing stimulus.

Temperance does not ask us to close our eyes to the world. It teaches us to open them properly. We learn to look without grasping, to know without scattering ourselves and to enjoy without becoming enslaved. Our senses are not diminished but integrated into the unity of the person and placed at the service of truth and love.

As this virtue grows, we become more recollected in prayer, more attentive in work and more present in friendship. We recover the capacity to wonder and to recognise the hand of God in the ordinary circumstances of life. The world no longer overwhelms us with competing demands upon our attention. It begins instead to speak to us of its Creator.

Then we can understand more deeply the aspiration of St. Josemaría: “Dear Lord, I find beauty and charm in everything I see.” Such words do not arise from indiscriminate appetite but from a purified heart. The temperate person sees more, not less. Because he no longer looks merely for novelty, pleasure or advantage, he reaches the truth of things and receives them as gifts. In this way, temperance in our look becomes a path to freedom, contemplation and joy.

*By the Via Virtutis team
Photo by Shane Hauser on Unsplash