Amatus lived in the sixth and seventh centuries in present-day France. The priesthood seemed an inevitability for him from an early age, and he applied himself wholeheartedly both to virtuous living and sacred studies. In time, Amatus became a priest and then a bishop. He was a smart man with great integrity.

Alas, the world is not always a welcoming place for persons with intelligence and integrity. As Amatus’ reputation as an articulate and beloved pastor spread, certain political leaders became fearful of his influence and, frankly, of the obvious contrast between him and them. Amatus ended up exiled, based upon false and trumped-up charges, did great good in the land where he was exiled, and before his life was over was fully exonerated. Subsequently, Amatus was made a saint.

What fascinates me in particular is how Butler, utilizing the devil as culprit, describes what happened to Amatus at the hands of his haters:

[Amatus] had governed his diocess [sic] almost five years, when the devil, jealous of the victories which the holy pastor daily gained over his [the devil’s] empire, stirred up against him certain wicked instruments, who could not bear in others that virtue which they had not the courage to practice themselves.

That phrase to describe the haters–those “who could not bear in others that virtue which they had not the courage to practice themselves”–has a ring of truth and a sense almost of universality about it. So often, people deeply resent the choices others make with their lives when they themselves do not have their own courage to freely choose for themselves.

Granted, Butler concerns himself with a very narrow construction of virtue. Yet I have found time and again that people resent those who choose freedom, who choose authenticity–who choose not to be a drone or a toady or a dutiful hausfrau or a tee-totaling abstainer or a sexually repressed and gnarled stump or a treadmill-treading breadwinner or an utterly submerged and identity-less parent–are often attacked in some of the most hateful ways by those who themselves believe that they have no choice outside of or beyond their own unhappy stasis.

Let me be clear: people absolutely do authentically embrace work or abstinence or parenthood. And what a difference it makes when they do so! They do not end up filled with resentment toward others (they are way too busy living their own lives for that) and find meaning in their choices! But many people end up working, doing without, doing for others, and following a script–because that is what is expected (sometimes demanded) of them. In such cases, not only are they miserable (in both the unhappy and the miser-ly sense of the word) in their lives, but can also be astoundingly vicious toward people who are simply leading their own, unchained lives, and even appear to believe that their viciousness is a proclamation of righteousness!

“How dare you?!” is the shrill cry levied at those who choose to live lives that are consonant with who they are and have been created to be. Amatus was fortunate enough to have been born in a time when the power of the haters led only to exile and not execution. What makes Amatus a saint is not that he was a virtuous priest or a bishop, nor that he was unjustly accused; rather, what makes him a saint is his trust in God’s design for his life (rather than in what others would pre-determine for him and call “God’s” design). Amatus’ Secret Saint SuperPower was his ability to, in the words of Taylor Swift, “Shake It Off”!