Whenever Ateneans talk about the cura personalis (personal care) of their teachers, a whole life outside the classroom comes to mind.   I would like to talk about the cura personalis of three Philosophy professors who also happened to be, one after the other, my spiritual directors.

  

Fr. Rudolph H. Visker was a Dutchman assigned to San Jose Seminary in exchange for Fr. Jose Blanco’s being sent to Indonesia.  When the San Jose philosophy faculty integrated with the Ateneo de Manila, Fr. Visker joined the Philosophy Department while residing in Loyola House of Studies.  He taught Philosophy of Man, Plato, St. Augustine, and Methods of Research.  He was a soft-spoken man, tall and thin, impeccable in his perennial polo barong, khaki trousers and sandals.  His very ascetical look belied a love for puns and a wry sense of humor.  He had the habit of writing aphorisms on a blackboard at the Department office, inviting commentary or rejoinder. When I decided to get some help concerning my growth in prayer life, I approached him because he had a reputation for being a holy person.  We would talk at the corridor outside the Department on the third floor of Kotska Hall facing the golden shower tree.  It was a quieter campus then and even the college quadrangle was quiet by early evening.  It was a good time for getting spiritual direction from a quiet man.   He was characteristically undramatic, a few questions here and there, a precise suggestion made once in a while.  He made prayer appear simple and prodded me on to discover the immense significance of God’s simplicity.  Later on, I found out about his medical difficulties (obliging him to subsist mostly on soup and crackers) and his phobia for thunder and lightning.  He eventually went back to Holland where he passed away in the mid-1990’s. 

 

Fr. Francis E. Reilly was also an “immigrant” from San Jose Seminary; like Fr. Visker, he also finished his doctorate in the University of St. Louis in Missouri.  He was also tall, thin and pale.  They both reminded me of the title of a Katherine Ann Porter collection of short stories, Pale Horse, Pale Rider.  Both resided in Loyola House of Studies and both had a reputation for holiness.  When Fr. Visker left for Holland, Fr. Reilly consented to take the relay and help me on my journey.  He was my teacher in four courses (undergraduate and graduate Metaphysics and Epistemology) and my lack of enthusiasm then for the thought of St. Thomas Aquinas must have disappointed him.  When I told him that I was beginning to appreciate the Metaphysics of St. Thomas, thanks to the ideas of Emerich Coreth, he sadly shook his head and said, “Too many concessions to Kant.”  When I told him about my interest in John Rawls’ Theory of Justice, he dismissed it with a “Too secular!”  His own philosophical preferences did not, however, prevent him from allowing his students to explore other possibilities of thought.  It was the same in the ways of prayer.  He couldn’t figure out why I was looking for a more “contemplative” (for want of a better term) way of prayer or even why—horror of horrors!—I was considering a monastic vocation.  But he never got in the way, exemplifying St. Ignatius’ directive that the spiritual director “allow the Creator to act immediately with the creature, and the creature with its Creator and Lord.”

 

	Fr. Ferriols sends a text message. (Photo courtesy of Errol Nebrao, SJ)

When Fr. Reilly went on sabbatical leave for a year in the U.S.A., I finally gathered enough courage to ask my teacher, Fr. Roque J. Ferriols, to guide me.  He had taught me the entire Philosophy core curriculum and also a course on Kierkegaard.  He was the one who tilted the balance in favor of Philosophy when I was still wavering between Philosophy and Literature.  He was my acknowledged master in the life of the mind; could he be my guide in the life of the soul?  It was easy to see Fr. Reilly for direction because he lived on campus.  Fr. Ferriols at that time resided in La Ignaciana in Sta. Ana.  I had to catch him during his breaks at the parlor of the Jesuit Residence or what was then called the Faculty House.  Fr. Ferriols may be an image of the mysterium tremendum in class, but in spiritual direction he was more an image of the mysterium fascinans et consolans.  He was never daunted by any fault or shortcoming, even by any infidelity; the mercy of God knew no limits, and that is why His demands also knew no limits.  God gives everything; God demands everything.  When I once made a retreat with Fr. Ferriols, he began the first points by quoting from one of the last chapters of Don Quixote: “Hoy no es hora para burlar.”  (I tried to hunt down the exact quotation and found out that he was quoting, or rather reformulating, from memory.)  Spiritual life was a serious matter and a retreat was not a time for joking or idle talk.  He also introduced me to St. Therese of the Child Jesus by quoting one of the last lines from Georges Bernanos’ Diary of A Country Priest: “Tout est grâce.”  (He told me that Bernanos stole that line from one of the last conversations of St. Therese.)  His parents were Carmelite tertiaries and he was at home with Carmelite spirituality; he shared that “at home-ness” with me and it has been a lifetime pabaon.  

 

Cura personalis is a fundamental characteristic of Jesuit education.  With Fr. Rudolph H. Visker, Fr. Francis E. Reilly and Fr. Roque J. Ferriols, this also involved cura animarum or the care of souls.  They led their students not only to wisdom but to the very source of wisdom. 

 

- Eduardo Jose Calasanz

After studying under many Jesuit teachers, Mr. Calasanz became a teacher himself.

He is currently a Philosophy professor in the Ateneo de Manila University.

 

 

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This article first appeared in The Windhover, the Philippine Jesuit Magazine. For subscription information, e-mail:  This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it    Or download this document for more details: SUBSCRIBE TO THE WINDHOVER