CHRISTIAN COUNSEL,
ON DIVERS MATTERS PERTAINING TO
THE INNER LIFE.
BY FENELON.
"I counsel thee to buy of me gold tried in the fire,
that thou mayest be
rich; and white raiment that thou
mayest be clothed, and that the shame of
thy nakedness do
not appear; and anoint thine eyes with eye-salve,
that
thou mayest see."--Rev. iii. 18.
OF THE LITTLE KNOWLEDGE OF GOD THERE IS IN THE WORLD
What men stand most in need of, is the
knowledge of God. They know, to be sure, by dint of reading, that history gives
an account of a certain series of miracles and marked providences; they have
reflected seriously on the corruption and instability of worldly things; they
are even, perhaps, convinced that the reformation of their lives on certain
principles of morality is desirable in order to their salvation; but the whole
of the edifice is destitute of foundation; this pious and Christian exterior
possesses no soul. The living principle which animates every true believer,
God, the all and in all, the author and the sovereign of all, is wanting. He
is, in all things, infinite--in wisdom power and love,--and what wonder, if
everything that comes from his hand should partake of the same infinite
character and set at nought the efforts of human reason. When He works, his
ways and his thoughts are declared by the prophet to be as far above our ways
and our thoughts as the heavens are above the earth (Isaiah iv. 9). He makes no
effort when He would execute what He has decreed; for to Him all things are
equally easy; He speaks and causes the heavens and the earth to be created out
of nothing, with as little difficulty as he causes water to descend or a stone
to fall to the ground. His power is co-extensive with his will; when He wills,
the thing is already accomplished. When the Scriptures represent Him as
speaking in the creation of the world, it is not to be understood as signifying
that it was necessary that the word of command should issue from Him, in order
that the universe he was about to create should hear and obey his will; that
word was simple and interior, neither more nor less than the thought which he
conceived of what He was about to do and the will to do it. The thought was
fertile, and without being rendered exterior, begat from Him as the fountain of
all life, the sum of the things that are. His mercy, too, is but his pure will;
He loved us before the creation of the world; He saw and knew us, and prepared
his blessings for us; He loved and chose us from all Eternity. Every new
blessing we receive is derived from this Eternal origin; He forms no new will
respecting us; it is not He that changes, but we. When we are righteous and
good, we are conformable to his will and agreeable to Him; when we depart from
well doing and cease to be good, we cease to be conformable to Him and to
please Him. This is the immutable standard which the changeable creature is
continually approaching and leaving. His justice against the wicked and his
love towards the righteous are the same thing; it is the same quality that
unites Him to everything that is good, and is incompatible with everything that
is evil. Mercy is the goodness of God, beholding our wickedness and striving to
make us good; perceived by us in time, it has its source in the eternal love of
God for his creature. From Him alone proceeds true goodness; alas! for that
presumptuous soul that seeks it in itself! It is God's love towards us that
gives us everything; but the richest of his gifts is that we may love Him with
that love which is his due. When He is able by his love to produce that love in
us, He reigns within; He constitutes there our life, our peace, our happiness,
and we then already begin to taste that blissful existence which He enjoys. His
love towards us is stamped with his own character of infinity: it is not like
ours, bounded and constrained; when He loves, all the measures of his love are
infinite. He comes down from Heaven to earth to seek the creature of clay whom
he loves; He becomes creature and clay with him; He gives him his flesh to eat.
These are the prodigies of Divine love in which the Infinite outstrips all the
affection we can manifest. He loves like a God, with a love utterly
incomprehensible. It is the height of folly to seek to measure infinite love by
human wisdom. Far from losing any element of its greatness in these excesses,
He impresses upon his love the stamp of his own grandeur, while He manifests a
delight in us bounded only by the infinite. O! how great and lovely is He in
his mysteries! But we want eyes to see them, and have no desire to behold God
in everything.
OF THE NECESSITY OF KNOWING AND LOVING GOD.
It is not astonishing that men do so little
for God and that the little which they do costs them so much. They do not know
Him; scarcely do they believe that He exists; and the impression they have is
rather a blind deference for general opinion than a lively and distinct
conviction of the Divinity. They suppose it is so, because they do not dare to
examine, and because they are indifferent in the matter, their souls being
distracted by the inclination of their affections and passions for other
objects; but their only idea of Him is of something wonderful, far off and
unconnected with us. They think of Him as a stern and powerful Being, ever
making requisitions upon us, thwarting our inclinations, threatening us with
great evils, and against whose terrible judgment it behooves every one to be on
his guard. Such is the inward thought of those who think seriously about
religion, and their number even is small enough. "He is one who fears God," say
they; and in truth such an one fears only, but does not love; as the child is
in awe of the master who punishes him, or as the servant is in dread of the
blows of one whom he serves from fear, and of whose interests is he utterly
regardless. Would he like to be treated by a son or a servant as he treats God?
It is because God is not known; if He were known, He would be loved. God is
love, says the apostle John (1 John iv. 8, 16); he who loves Him not, does
not know Him, for how could we know love without loving it? It is plain, then,
that all those who have hitherto only feared God, have not known Him.
But who shall know Thee, O! my God? He who shall
seek with his whole heart to know Thee, who shall know himself with approbation
no longer, and to whom all that is not Thou shall be as though it were not! The
world cannot receive this saying because it is full of self, and vanity, and
lies, and is empty of God; but I trust that there will always be souls
hungering for God, who will relish the truth which I am about to set forth.
O my God! before Thou madest the Heavens and the
earth, there was none other but Thee. Thou wert, because of thy years there was
no beginning; but Thou wert alone. Out of Thee there was nothing, and Thou
did'st rejoice in this blessed solitude; Thou are all sufficient in Thyself,
and thou hadst no need of anything out of Thyself, for none can give unto Thee,
and it is Thou that givest to all by thine all-powerful word, that is, by thy
simple will. To it, nothing is difficult, and it doeth whatsoever it will from
its own labor. Thou didst cause that this world, which was not as yet, should
begin to be; not as the workmen of the earth, who find the materials for their
work ready made to their hands, and whose art consists in bringing them
together, and arranging them by slow degrees in the requisite order; Thou didst
find nothing ready made, but didst create all the materials for thy work. It
was to nothing that Thou didst say, "Let the world be," and it was. Thou didst
only speak and it was done.
But why didst Thou create all these things? They
were all made for man and man was made for Thee. This is the order which is of
thine appointment, and woe to him who inverts it, who would that all should be
for him and shuts himself in self! He breaks the fundamental law of
creation.
No! Lord, Thou canst not yield the essential
prerogatives of a creator; it would degrade Thee. Thou canst pardon the guilty
soul that has warred against Thee, because Thou canst fill it with thy pure
love; but thou canst not cease to be at variance with the soul which refers all
thy gifts to itself, and refuses to embrace Thee as its Creator with a sincere
and disinterested affection. To have no feeling but fear, is not to refer to
itself to Thee, but on the contrary, to think of Thee solely with reference to
self. To love Thee with a single eye to the good Thou canst bestow, is not to
lose one's self in Thee, but to lose Thee in self! What then must be done in
order that we may be lost in Thee? We must renounce, forget and forever lose
sight of self, take part with Thee and shine, O God, against ourselves and
ours; have no longer any will, glory or peace, but thine only; in a word, we
must love Thee without loving self except in and for Thee.
God who made us out of nothing, re-creates us, as
it were, every moment. It does not follow that because we were yesterday, we
shall of course be to-day; we should cease to exist and return into the
nothingness out of which He formed us, did not the same all-powerful hand
prevent. Of ourselves we are nothing; we are but what God has made us, and for
so long time only as He pleases. He has but to withdraw the hand that sustains
us and we plunge into the abyss of annihilation, as a stone held in the air
falls by its own weight when its support is removed. Existence and life, then,
are only ours because they are conferred by God.
There are blessings, however, of a purer and
higher order than these; a well-ordered life is better than life; virtue is of
higher price than health; uprightness of heart and the love of God are as far
above temporal goods as the heavens are above the earth. If then these lower
and baser gifts are held only through the mercy and at the pleasure of God,
with how much more reason must it be true of the sublime gift of his love!
They know Thee not, then, O my God, who regard
Thee as an all-powerful Being, separate from themselves, giving laws to all
nature, and creator of everything which we behold; they know Thee but in part!
they know not that which is most marvelous and which most nearly concerns thy
rational creatures! To know that Thou art the God of my heart, that Thou there
doest what pleaseth Thee, this it is that elevates and affects me! When I am
good, it is because Thou renderest me so; not only dost Thou turn my heart as
pleaseth Thee, but Thou givest me one like thine own! It is Thyself that Thou
lovest in me; Thou art the life of my soul as my soul is the life of my body;
Thou art more intimately present to me than I am to myself; this I, to which I
am so attached and which I have so ardently loved, ought to be strange to me in
comparison with Thee; Thou art the bestower of it; without Thee it never would
have been; therefore it is that Thou desirest that I should love Thee better
than it.
O incomprehensible power of my Creator! O rights
of the Creator over the creature which the creature will never sufficiently
comprehend! O prodigy of love which God alone could perform! God interposes
himself as it were, between me and myself; He separates me from myself; He
desires to be nearer to me by his pure love than I am to myself. He would have
me look upon this "me" as a stranger; He would have me escape from its walls,
sacrifice it whole to Him, returning it absolutely and unconditionally to Him
from whom I received it. What I am ought certainly to be less precious to me
than He by whom I am. He made me for himself and not to be my own; that is, to
love Him and to will what He wills, and not to seek my own will. Does any one
feel his heart revolt at this total sacrifice of self to Him who has created
us? I weep for his blindness; I compassionate his bondage to self, and pray God
to deliver him from it, by teaching him to love Him above every other
object.
O my God! in these souls, offended at thy pure
love, I behold the darkness and rebellion resulting from the fall! Thou didst
not make man's heart will this monstrous passion of appropriation. The
uprightness wherein the scriptures teach us he was originally created consisted
in this, that he had no claim upon himself but acknowledged that he belonged to
his Creator. O Father! thy children are sadly changed, and no longer bear thine
image! They are enraged, they are discouraged when they are told they should
belong to Thee as Thou belongest to Thyself! They desire to reverse this holy
order, and would madly raise themselves into Gods; they desire to be their own,
to do everything for self, or at least, to surrender themselves with certain
reservations and conditions, and for their own advantage. O monstrous
usurpation! O unknown rights of God! O the ingratitude and insolence of the
creature! Miserable nothing! what hast thou to keep for thyself! What hast thou
which belongs to thee? What hast thou which did not come from on high, and
ought not to return thither? Everything, yea, even this I which would divide
with God his gifts, is a gift of God, and was only made for Him; everything
within thee cries out against thee and for thy Creator. Be still, then, thou
who, having been created, wouldst deny thy Creator, and surrender thyself
wholly to Him.
But alas! O my God! what a consolation is it to
know that everything within as well as without me, is the work of thy hand!
Thou art ever with me. When I do wrong, Thou are within me, reproaching me with
the evil which I do, raising within me regrets for the good which I abandon,
and opening to me thine arms of mercy. When I do good, Thou inspirest the
desire, and doest it in me and with me; it is Thou who lovest good and hatest
evil in my heart, who sufferest and prayest, who doest good to the neighbor and
givest alms: I do all these things but by thy means; Thou causest me to do
them; it is Thou who puttest them in me. These good works, which are thy gifts,
become my works; but they do not cease to be thy gifts; and they cease to be
good works if I look at them for a moment as emanating from myself, or if I
forget that they are good only because they come from Thee.
Thou, then, (it is my delight to believe it!) art
incessantly working within me; there Thou laborest invisibly like a miner in
the bowels of the earth. Thou doest everything and yet the world beholds Thee
not, attributes nothing to Thee; and even I myself wandered everywhere vainly
searching for Thee outside of myself; I ran over all the wonders of nature that
I might form some conception of thy greatness; I asked thy creatures of Thee
and not once thought of finding Thee in the depths of my heart where Thou hadst
never ceased to dwell. No, O my God! it is not necessary to descent into the
depths nor to pass beyond the seas; it is not necessary to ascend into the
heavens to find Thee; Thou art nearer to us than we are to ourselves.
O my God! who art at once so great and so
condescending, so high above the heavens and so accommodating to the misery of
the creature, so infinite and so intimately enclosed in the depths of my heart,
so terrible and so lovely, so jealous and so easy to be entreated of those who
converse with Thee with the familiarity of pure love, when will thy children
cease to be ignorant of Thee? Where shall I find a voice loud enough to
reproach the whole world with its blindness, and to tell it with authority all
that Thou art? When we bid men look for Thee in their own hearts, it is as
though we bade them search for Thee in the remotest and most unknown lands!
What territory is more distant or more unknown to the greater part of them,
vain and dissipated as they are, than the ground of their own hearts? Do they
ever know what it is to enter within themselves? Have they ever endeavored to
find the way? Can they even form the most distant conception of the nature of
that interior sanctuary, that impenetrable depth of the soul where Thou
desirest to be worshipped in spirit and in truth? They are ever outside of
themselves in the objects of their ambition or of their pleasure. Alas! how can
they understand heavenly truths, since, as our Lord says, they cannot even
comprehend those which are earthly? (John iii. 12.) They cannot conceive what
it is to enter within themselves by serious reflexion; what would they say if
they were told bid to come out of themselves that they might be lost in God?
As for me, my Creator, I shut my eyes to all
exterior things, which are but vanity and vexation of spirit, (Eccles. i. 14,)
that I may enjoy in the deepest recesses of my heart an intimate companionship
with Thee through Jesus Christ thy Son, who is thy Wisdom and Eternal
Understanding. He became a child that by his childhood and the folly of his
cross, he might put to shame our vain and lying wisdom. Cost what it may, and
in spite of my fears and speculations, I desire to become lowly and a fool,
still more despicable in my own eyes than in those of the wise in their own
conceit. Like the apostles, I would become drunk with the Holy Spirit, and be
content with them to become the sport of the world.
I find Thee everywhere within. It is Thou that
doest every good thing which I seem to do. I have a thousand times experienced
that I could not of myself govern my temper, overcome my habits, subdue my
pride, follow my reason nor will again the good which I had once willed. It is
Thou that must both bestow the will and preserve it pure; without Thee I am but
a reed shaken by the wind. Thou art the author of all the courage, the
uprightness and the truth which I possess; Thou has given me a new heart which
longs after thy righteousness, and which is athirst for thine eternal truth;
Thou has taken away the old man full of filth and corruption, and which was
jealous, vain, ambitious, restless, unrighteous and devoted to its own
pleasure. In what a state of misery did I live. Ah! could I ever have believed
that I should be enabled thus to turn to Thee, and shake off the yoke of my
tyrannical passions?
But, behold a marvel that eclipses all the rest!
Who but Thee could ever have snatched me from myself, and turned all my hatred
and contempt against mine own bosom? I have not done this; for it is not by our
own power that we depart from self; no! Thou, O Lord, didst shine with thine
own light into the depth of my heart which could not be reached by any other,
and didst there reveal the whole of my foulness. I know that, even after
beholding, I have not changed it; that I am still filthy in thy sight, that my
eyes have not been able to discover the extent of my pollution; but I have, at
least, seen a part, and I desire to behold the whole. I am despised in my own
sight, but the hope that I have in Thee causes me to live in peace; for I will
neither flatter my defects nor suffer them to discourage me. I take thy side, O
God, against myself; it is only by thy strength that I am able to do this.
Behold what hath God wrought within me! and Thou continuest thy work from day
to day in cleansing me from the old Adam and in building up the new. This is
the new creation which is gradually going on.
I leave myself, Father, in thy hands; make and
re-make this clay, shape it or grind it to atoms; it is thine own, it has
nought to say; only let it always be subservient to thine ever-blessed designs,
and let nothing in me oppose thy good pleasure for which I was created.
Require, command, forbid; what wouldst Thou have me do? what not do? Exalted,
or abased, rejoicing or suffering, doing thy work or laid aside, I will always
praise Thee alike, ever yielding up all my own will to Thine! Nothing remains
for me but to adopt the language of Mary: "Be it unto me according to thy
words," (Luke i. 38.)
Let me, O my God, stifle forever in my heart,
every thought that would tempt me to doubt thy goodness. I know that Thou canst
not but be good. O merciful Father! let me no longer reason about grace, but
silently abandon myself to its operation. Grace performs everything in us, but
does it with and through us; it is by it, therefore, that I act, that I
forbear, that I suffer, that I wait, that I resist, that I believe, that I
hope, and that I love, all in co-operation with grace. Following its guidance,
it will do all things in me, and I shall do all things through it; it moves the
heart, but the heart must move; there is no salvation without man's action. I
must work, then, without losing a moment, that I may put no hinderance in the
way of that grace which is incessantly working within me. All the good is of
grace, all the evil is of self; when I do right, it is grace that does it; when
I do wrong, it is because I resist grace. I pray God that I may not seek to
know more than this; all else will but serve to nourish a presumptuous
curiosity. O my God! keep me ever in the number of those babes to whom Thou
revealest thy mysteries, while Thou concealest them from the wise and
prudent!
Thou causest me clearly to understand that Thou
makest use of the evils and imperfections of the creature to do the good which
thou hast determined beforehand. Thou concealest thyself under the importunate
visitor, who intrudes upon the occupation of thy impatient child, that he may
learn not to be impatient, and that he may die to the gratification of being
free to study or work as he pleases. Thou availest thyself of slanderous
tongues to destroy the reputation of thine innocent children, that, beside
their innocence, they may offer Thee the sacrifice of their too
highly-cherished reputation. By the cunning artifices of the envious, Thou
layest low the fortunes of those whose were too much set upon their prosperity.
It is thy hand that sends death upon him to whom life is a constant source of
danger, and the tomb a harbor of refuge. It is Thou that makest his death a
remedy, bitter enough, it is true, but effectual, for those who were too fondly
attached to him, and thus, while saving one, by removing him from life, Thou
preparest the others, by that very act, for a happy death. Thus Thou mercifully
strewest bitterness over everything that is not Thyself, to the end that our
hearts, formed to love Thee and to exist upon thy love, may be, as it were,
constrained to return to Thee by a want of satisfaction in everything else.
And this is because Thou art all Love, and
consequently all Jealousy. O jealous God! (for thus art thou called!) a divided
heart displeases Thee; a wandering one excites thy pity. Thou art infinite in
all things, in love as well as in wisdom and power. Thou lovest like an
infinite God when thou lovest; Thou movest heaven and earth to save thy loved
ones; Thou becomest man, a babe, the vilest of men, covered with reproaches,
dying with infamy and under the pangs of the cross; all this is not too much
for an infinite love. Our finite love and limited wisdom cannot understand it;
how should the finite comprehend the Infinite? it has neither eyes to see it
nor a heart to take it in; the debased and narrowed soul of man and his vain
wisdom are offended, and can perceive no trace of God in this excess of love.
But for myself, it is by this very character of infinity that I recognize it:
this is the love that does all things; that brings to pass even the evils we
suffer, so shaping them that they are but the instruments of preparing the good
which, as yet, has not arrived.
But ah! when shall we return love for Love? When
shall we seek Him who seeks us and constantly carries us in his arms? When He
bears us along in his tender and paternal bosom, then it is that we forget Him;
in the sweetness of his gifts, we forget the Giver; his ceaseless blessings,
instead of melting us into love, distract our attention and turn it away from
Him.
ON PURE LOVE.
The Lord hath made all things for Himself
(Prov. xvi. 4), says the Scripture; everything belongs to Him, and He will
never release his right to anything. Free and intelligent creatures are his as
much as those which are otherwise. He refers every unintelligent thing totally
and absolutely to Himself, and He desires that his intelligent creatures should
voluntarily make the same disposition of themselves. It is true that He desires
our happiness, but that is neither the chief end of his work, nor an end to be
compared with that of his glory. It is for his glory only that He wills our
happiness; the latter is a subordinate consideration, which He refers to the
final and essential end of his glory.
That we may enter into his designs in this
respect, we must prefer God before ourselves, and endeavor to will our own
happiness for his glory; in any other case, we invert the order of things. And
we must not desire his glory on account of our own salvation, but, on the other
hand, the desire for his glory should impel us to seek our own happiness as a
thing which He has been pleased to make a part of his glory. It is true that
all holy souls are not capable of exercising this explicit preference for God
over themselves, but there must at least be an implicit preference; the former,
which is more perfect, is reserved for those whom God has endowed with light
and strength to prefer Him to themselves, to such a degree as to desire their
own happiness simply because it adds to his glory.
Men have a great repugnance to this truth, and
consider it to be a very hard saying, because they are lovers of self from
self-interest. They understand, in a general and superficial way, that they
must love God more than all his creatures, but they have no conception of
loving God more than themselves, and loving themselves only for Him. They can
utter these great words without difficulty, because they do not enter into
their meaning, but they shudder when it is explained to them, that God and his
glory are to be preferred before ourselves and everything else to such a degree
that we must love his glory more than our own happiness, and must refer the
latter to the former, as a subordinate means to an end.
ON PRAYER AND THE PRINCIPAL EXERCISES OF PIETY.
1. True prayer is only another name for the
love of God. Its excellence does not consist in the multitude of our words; for
our Father knoweth what things we have need of before we ask Him. The true
prayer is that of the heart, and the heart prays only for what it desires.
To pray, then is to desire--but to desire what God would have us
desire. He who asks what he does not from the bottom of his heart desire, is
mistaken in thinking that he prays. Let him spend days in reciting prayers, in
meditation or in inciting himself to pious exercises, he prays not once truly,
if he really desire not the things he pretends to ask.
2. O! how few there are who pray! for how few are
they who desire what is truly good! Crosses, external and internal humiliation,
renouncement of our own wills, the death of self and the establishment of God's
throne upon the ruins of self love, these are indeed good; not to desire these,
is not to pray; to desire them seriously, soberly, constantly, and with
reference to all the details of life, this is true prayer; not to desire them,
and yet to suppose we pray, is an illusion like that of the wretched who dream
themselves happy. Alas! how many souls full of self, and of an imaginary desire
for perfection in the midst of hosts of voluntary imperfections, have never yet
uttered this true prayer of the heart! It is in reference to this that St.
Augustine says: He that loveth little, prayeth little; he that loveth much,
prayeth much.
3. On the other hand, that heart in which the
true love of God and true desire exist, never ceases to pray. Love, hid in the
bottom of the soul, prays without ceasing, even when the mind is drawn another
way. God continually beholds the desire which He has himself implanted in the
soul, though it may at times be unconscious of its existence; his heart is
touched by it; it ceaselessly attracts his mercies; it is that Spirit which,
according to St. Paul, helpeth our infirmities and maketh intercession for us
with groanings which cannot be uttered. (Rom. viii. 26.)
4. Love desires of God that he would give us what
we need, and that He would have less regard to our frailty than to the purity
of our intentions. It even covers over our trifling defects, and purifies us
like a consuming fire; "He maketh intercession for the Saints, according to
the will of God. (Rom. viii. 27.) For "we know not what we should pray
for as we ought," and, in our ignorance, frequently request what would be
injurious; we should like fervor of devotion, distinct sensible joys and
apparent perfections, which would serve to nourish within us the life of self
and a confidence in our own strength; but love leads us on, abandons us to all
the operations of grace, puts us entirely at the disposal of God's will, and
thus prepares us for all his secret designs.
5. Then we will all things and yet nothing. What
God gives, is precisely what we should have desired to ask; for we will
whatever He wills and only that. Thus, this state contains all prayer: it is a
work of the heart which includes all desire. The Spirit prays within us for
those very things which the Spirit himself wills to give us. Even when we are
occupied with outward things, and our thoughts drawn off by the providential
engagements of our position, we still carry within us a constantly burning
fire, which not only cannot be extinguished, but nourishes a secret prayer, and
is like a lamp continually lighted before the throne of God, "I sleep but my
heart waketh." (Sol. Song v. 2.) "Blessed are those servants, whom the
Lord when he cometh, shall find watching." (Luke xii. 37.)
6. There are two principal points of attention
necessary for the preservation of this constant spirit of prayer which unites
us with God: we must continually seek to cherish it, and we must avoid
everything that tends to make us lose it.
In order to cherish it, we should pursue a
regulated course of reading; we must have appointed seasons of secret prayer,
and frequent states of recollection during the day; we should make use of
retirement when we feel the need of it, or when it is advised by those of
greater experience, and unite in the ordinances appropriate to our
condition.
We should greatly fear and be exceedingly
cautious to avoid all things that have a tendency to make us lose this state of
prayer. Thus we should decline those worldly occupations and associates which
dissipate the mind, pleasures which excite the passions, and everything
calculated to awaken the love of the world and those old inclinations that have
caused us so much trouble.
There is an infinity of detail in these two
heads; general directions only can be given, because each individual case
presents features peculiar to itself.
7. We should choose those works for reading which
instruct us in our duty and in our faults; which, while they point out the
greatness of God, teach us what is our duty to Him, and how very far we are
from performing it; not those barren productions which melt and sentimentalize
the heart; the tree must bear fruit; we can only judge of the life of
the root by its fecundity.
8. The first effect of a sincere love is an
earnest desire to know all that we ought to do to gratify the object of our
affection. Any other desire is a proof that we love ourselves under a pretence
of loving God; that we are seeking an empty and deceitful consolation in Him;
that we would use God as an instrument for our pleasure, instead of sacrificing
that for his glory. God forbid that his children should so love Him! Cost what
it may, we must both know and do without reservation what he requires of us.
9. Seasons of secret prayer must be regulated by
the leisure, the disposition, the condition, and the inward impulse of each
individual.
Meditation is not prayer, but it is its necessary
foundation; it brings to mind the truths which God has revealed. We should be
conversant not only with all the mysteries of Jesus Christ, and the truths of
his Gospel, but also with everything they ought to operate in us for our
regeneration; we should be colored and penetrated by them as wool is by the
dye.
10. So familiar should they become to us, that,
in consequence of seeing them at all times and ever near to us, we may acquire
the habit of forming no judgment except in their light; that they may be to us
our only guide in matters of practice, as the rays of the sun are our only
light in matters of perception.
When these truths are once, as it were,
incorporated in us, then it is that our praying begins to be real and fruitful.
Up to that point it was but the shadow; we thought we had penetrated to the
inmost recesses of the gospel, when we had barely set foot upon the
vestibule--all our most tender and lively feelings, all our firmest
resolutions, all our clearest and farthest views, were but the rough and
shapeless mass from which God would hew in us his likeness.
11. When his celestial rays begin to shine within
us, then we see in the true light; then there is no truth to which we do not
instantaneously assent, as we admit, without any process of reasoning, the
splendor of the sun, the moment we behold his rising beams. Our union with God
must be the result of our faithfulness in doing and suffering all his will.
12. Our meditations should become every day
deeper and more interior. I say deeper, because by frequent and
humble meditation upon God's truth, we penetrate farther and farther in search
of new treasures; and more interior, because as we sink more and more to
enter into these truths, they also descend to penetrate the very substance of
our souls. Then it is that a simple word goes farther than whole sermons.
13. The very things which had been, fruitlessly
and coldly, heard a hundred times before, now nourish the soul with a hidden
manna, having an infinite variety of flavors for days in succession. Let us
beware, too, of ceasing to meditate upon truths which have heretofore been
blessed to us, so long as there remains any nourishment in them, so long as
they yet yield us anything; it is a certain sign that we still need their
ministration; we derive instruction from them without receiving any precise or
distinct impression; there is an indescribable something in them, which helps
us more than all our reasonings. We behold a truth, we love it and repose upon
it; it strengthens the soul and detaches us from ourselves; let us dwell upon
it in peace as long as possible.
14. As to the manner of meditating, it should not
be subtle, nor composed of long reasonings; simple and natural reflections
derived immediately from the subject of our thoughts are all that is
required.
We need take a few truths; meditate upon these
without hurry, without effort, and without seeking for far-fetched
reflections.
Every truth should be considered with reference
to its practical bearing. To receive it without employing all means to put it
faithfully in practice at whatever cost, is to desire "to hold the truth in
unrighteousness" (Rom. i. 18); it is a resistance to the truth impressed
upon us, and of course, to the Holy Spirit. This is the most terrible of all
unfaithfulness.
15. As to a method in prayer, each one must be
guided by his own experience. Those who find themselves profited in using a
strict method, need not depart from it, while those who cannot so confine
themselves, may make use of their own mode, without ceasing to respect that
which has been useful to many, and which so many pious and experienced persons
have highly recommended. A method is intended to assist; if it be found to
embarrass, instead of assisting, the sooner it is discarded the better.
16. The most natural mode, at first, is to take a
book, and to cease reading whenever we feel so inclined by the passage upon
which we are engaged, and, whenever that no longer ministers to our interior
nourishment, to begin again. As a general rule, those truths which we highly
relish, and which shed a degree of practical light upon the things which we are
required to give up for God, are leadings of Divine Grace, which we should
follow without hesitation. The Spirit bloweth where it listeth, (John
iii. 8,) and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty. (2 Cor.
iii. 17.)
In the course of time the proportion of
reflections and reasonings will diminish, and that of tender feelings,
affecting views and desires, will increase as we become sufficiently instructed
and convinced by the Holy Spirit. The heart is satisfied, nourished, warmed,
set on fire; a word only will give it employment for a long time.
17. Finally, increase of prayer is indicated by
an increase of simplicity and steadiness in our views, a great multitude of
objects and considerations being no longer necessary. Our intercourse with God
resembles that with a friend; at first, there are a thousand things to be told,
and as many to be asked; but after a time, these diminish, while the pleasure
of being together does not. Everything has been said, but the satisfaction of
seeing each other, of feeling that one is near the other, or reposing in the
enjoyment of a pure and sweet friendship, can be felt without conversation; the
silence is eloquent and mutually understood. Each feels that the other is in
perfect sympathy with him, and that their two hearts are incessantly poured one
into the other, and constitute but one.
18. Thus it is that in prayer, our communion with
God becomes a simple and familiar union, far beyond the need of words. But let
it be remembered that God himself must alone institute this prayer within us;
nothing would be more rash nor more dangerous, than to dare to attempt it of
ourselves. We must suffer ourselves to be led step by step, by some one
conversant with the ways of God, who may lay the immovable foundations of
correct teaching, and of the complete death of self in everything.
19. As regards retirement and attending upon
ordinances, we must be governed by the advice of some one in whom we have
confidence. Our own necessities, the effect produced upon us, and many other
circumstances, are to be taken into consideration.
20. Our leisure and our needs must regulate our
retirements; our needs, because it is with the soul as with the body;
when we can no longer work without nourishment, we must take it; we shall
otherwise be in danger of fainting. Our leisure, because, this absolute
necessity of food excepted, we must attend to duty before we seek enjoyment in
spiritual exercises. The man who has public duties and spends the time
appropriate to them in meditating in retirement, would miss of God while he was
seeking to be united to Him. True union with God is to do his will without
ceasing, in spite of all our natural disinclination and in every duty of life,
however disagreeable or mortifying.
21. As precautions against wanderings we must
avoid close and intimate intercourse with those who are not pious, especially
when we have been before led astray by their infectious maxims. They will open
our wounds afresh: they have a secret correspondence deep in our souls; there
is there a soft and insinuating counsellor who is always ready to blind and
deceive us.
22. Would you judge of a man? says the Holy
Spirit. (Prov. xiii. 20.) Observe who are his companions. How can he who loves
God, and who loves nothing except in and for God, enjoy the intimate
companionship of those who neither love, nor know God, and who look upon love
to Him as a weakness? Can a heart full of God and sensible of its own frailty,
ever rest, and be at ease with those who have no feelings in common with it,
but are ever seeking to rob it of its treasure? Their delights, and the
pleasures of which Faith is the source, are incompatible.
23. I am well aware that we cannot, nay, that we
ought not to break with those friends to whom we are bound by esteem of their
natural amiability, by their services, by the tie of sincere friendship, or by
the regard consequent upon mutual good offices. Friends whom we have treated
with a certain familiarity and confidence, would be wounded to the quick, were
we to separate from them entirely; we must gently and imperceptibly diminish
our intercourse with them, without abruptly declaring our alteration of
sentiment; we may see them in private, distinguish them from our less intimate
friends, and confide to them those matters in which their integrity and
friendship enable them to give us good advice, and to think with us, although
our reasons for so thinking are more pure and elevated than theirs. In short,
we may continue to serve them, and to manifest all the attentions of a cordial
friendship, without suffering our hearts to be embarrassed by them.
24. How perilous is our state without this
precaution! If we do not, from the first, boldly adopt all measures to render
our piety entirely free and independent of our unregenerate friends, it is
threatened with a speedy downfall. If a man surrounded by such companions be of
a yielding disposition and inflammable passions, it is certain that his
friends, even the best-intentioned ones, will lead him astray. They may be
good, honest, faithful, and possessed of all those qualities which render
friendship perfect in the eye of the world; but, for him, they are infected,
and their amiability only increases the danger. Those who have not this
estimable character, should be sacrificed at once; blessed are we, when a
sacrifice that ought to cost us so little, may avail to give us so precious a
security for our eternal salvation!
25. Not only, then, should we be exceedingly
careful whom we will see, but we must also reserve the necessary time that we
may see God alone in prayer. Those who have stations of importance to fill,
have generally so many indispensable duties to perform, that without the
greatest care in the management of their time, none will be left to be alone
with God. If they have ever so little inclination for dissipation, the hours
that belong to God and their neighbor disappear altogether.
We must be firm in observing our rules. This
strictness seems excessive, but without it everything falls into confusion; we
become dissipated, relaxed and lose strength; we insensibly separate from God,
surrender ourselves to all our pleasures, and only then begin to perceive that
we have wandered, when it is almost hopeless to think of endeavoring to
return.
Prayer, prayer! this is our only safety.
"Blessed be God which hath not turned away my prayer, nor his mercy from
me." (Ps. 116:20.) And to be faithful in prayer it is indispensable that we
should dispose all the employments of the day, with a regularity nothing can
disturb.
ON CONFORMITY TO THE LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST.
We must imitate Jesus; live as He lived,
think as He thought, and be conformed to his image, which is the seal of our
sanctification.
What a contrast! Nothingness strives to be
something, and the Omnipotent becomes nothing! I will be nothing with Thee, my
Lord! I offer Thee the pride and vanity which have possessed me hitherto. Help
Thou my will; remove from me occasions of my stumbling; turn away mine eyes
from beholding vanity (Psalm cxviii. 37); let me behold nothing but Thee
and myself in thy presence, that I may understand what I am and what Thou
art.
Jesus Christ was born in a stable; he was obliged
to fly into Egypt; thirty years of his life were spent in a workshop; he
suffered hunger, thirst, and weariness; he was poor, despised and miserable; he
taught the doctrines of Heaven, and no one would listen. The great and the wise
persecuted and took him, subjected him to frightful torments, treated him as a
slave and put him to death between two malefactors, having preferred to give
liberty to a robber, rather than to suffer him to escape. Such was the life
which our Lord chose; while we are horrified at any kind of humiliation, and
cannot bear the slightest appearance of contempt.
Let us compare our lives with that of Jesus
Christ, reflecting that he was the Master and that we are the servants; that He
was all-powerful, and that we are but weakness; that he was abased and that we
are exalted. Let us so constantly bear our wretchedness in mind, that we may
have nothing but contempt for ourselves. With what face can we despise others,
and dwell upon their faults, when we ourselves are filled with nothing else?
Let us begin to walk in the path which our Saviour has marked out, for it is
the only one that can lead us to Him.
And how can we expect to find Jesus if we do not
seek Him in the states of his earthly life, in loneliness and silence, in
poverty and suffering, in persecution and contempt, in annihilation and the
cross? The saints find him in heaven, in the splendors of glory and in
unspeakable pleasures; but it is only after having dwelt with Him on earth in
reproaches, in pain and in humiliation. To be a Christian is to be an imitator
of Jesus Christ. In what can we imitate Him if not in his humiliation? Nothing
else can bring us near to Him. We may adore him as Omnipotent, fear him as
just, love him with all our heart as good and merciful,--but we can only
imitate him as humble, submissive, poor and despised.
Let us not imagine that we can do this by our own
efforts; everything that is written is opposed to it; but we may rejoice in the
presence of God. Jesus has chosen to be made partaker of all our weaknesses; He
is a compassionate high-priest who has voluntarily submitted to be tempted in
all points like as we are; let us, then, have all our strength in Him who
became weak that he might strengthen us; let us enrich ourselves out of his
poverty, confidently exclaiming, I can do all things through Christ which
strengtheneth me. (Philip. iv. 13.)
Let me follow in thy footsteps, O Jesus! I would
imitate Thee, but cannot without the aid of thy grace! O humble and lowly
Saviour, grant me the knowledge of the true Christian, and that I may willingly
despise myself; let me learn the lesson, so incomprehensible to the mind of
man, that I must die to myself by an abandonment that shall produce true
humility.
Let us earnestly engage in this work, and change
this hard heart, so rebellious to the heart of Jesus Christ. Let us make some
approaches toward the holy soul of Jesus; let Him animate our souls and destroy
all our repugnances. O lovely Jesus! who hast suffered so many injuries and
reproaches for my sake, let me esteem and love them for thine, and let me
desire to share thy life of humiliation!
ON HUMILITY.
What a mercy is humiliation to a soul that
receives it with a steadfast faith! There are a thousand blessings in it for
ourselves and for others; for our Lord bestows his grace upon the humble.
Humility renders us charitable towards our neighbor; nothing will make us so
tender and indulgent to the faults of others as a view of our own.
Two things produce humility when combined; the
first is a sight of the abyss of wretchedness from which the all-powerful hand
of God has snatched us, and over which he still holds us, as it were, suspected
in the air, and the other is the presence of that God who is ALL.
Our faults, even those most difficult to bear,
will all be of service to us, if we make use of them for our humiliation,
without relaxing our efforts to correct them. It does no good to be
discouraged; it is the result of a disappointed and despairing self-love. The
true method of profiting by the humiliation of our faults, is to behold them in
all their deformity, without losing our hope in God, and without having any
confidence in ourselves.
We must bear with ourselves without either
flattery or discouragement, a mean seldom attained; for we either expect great
things of ourselves and of our good intentions, or wholly despair. We must hope
nothing for self, but wait for everything from God. Utter despair of ourselves,
in consequence of a conviction of our helplessness, and unbounded confidence in
God, are the true foundations of the spiritual edifice.
That is a false humility, which, acknowledging
itself unworthy of the gifts of God, dares not confidently expect them; true
humility consists in a deep view of our utter unworthiness, and in an absolute
abandonment to God, without the slightest doubt that He will do the greatest
things in us.
Those who are truly humble, will be surprised to
hear anything exalted of themselves. They are mild and peaceful, of a contrite
and humble heart, merciful and compassionate; they are quiet, cheerful,
obedient, watchful, fervent in spirit and incapable of strife; they always take
the lowest place, rejoice when they are despised, and consider every one
superior to themselves; they are lenient to the faults of others in view of
their own, and very far from preferring themselves before any one. We may judge
of our advancement in humility, by the delight we have in humiliations and
contempt.
ON PRAYER
Many are tempted to believe that they no
longer pray, when they cease to enjoy a certain pleasure in the act of prayer.
But, if they will reflect that perfect prayer is only another name for love to
God, they will be undeceived.
Prayer, then, does not consist in sweet feelings,
nor in the charms of an excited imagination, nor in that illumination of the
intellect that traces with ease the sublimest truths in God; nor even in a
certain consolation in the view of God: all these things are external gifts
from his hand, in the absence of which, love may exist even more purely, as the
soul may then attach itself immediately and solely to God, instead of to his
mercies.
This is that love by naked faith which is
the death of nature, because it leaves it no support; and when we are convinced
that all is lost, that very conviction is the evidence that all is gained.
Pure love is in the will alone; it is no
sentimental love, for the imagination has no part in it; it loves, if we may so
express it, without feeling, as faith believes without seeing. We need not fear
that this love is an imaginary thing--nothing can be less so than the mere will
separate from all imagination: the more purely intellectual and spiritual are
the operations of our minds, the nearer are they, not only to reality but to
the perfection which God requires of us: their working is more perfect; faith
is in full exercise while humility is preserved.
Such love is chaste: for it is the love of God in
and for God; we are attached to Him, but not for the pleasure which he bestows
on us; we follow Him, but not for the loaves and fishes.
What! some may say, can it be that a simple will
to be united with God, is the whole of piety? How can we be assured that this
will is not a mere idea, a trick of the imagination, instead of a true willing
of the soul?
I should indeed believe that it was a deception,
if it were not the parent of faithfulness on all proper occasions; for a good
tree bringeth forth good fruit; and a true will makes us truly earnest and
diligent in doing the will of God; but it is still compatible in this life with
little failings which are permitted by God that the soul may be humbled. If,
then, we experience only these little daily frailties, let us not be
discouraged, but extract from them their proper fruit, humility.
True virtue and pure love reside in the will
alone. Is it not a great matter always to desire the Supreme Good whenever He
is seen; to keep the mind steadily turned towards Him, and to bring it back
whenever it is perceived to wander; to will nothing advisedly but according to
his order; in short, in the absence of all sensible enjoyment, still to remain
the same in the spirit of a submissive, irreclaimable burnt-offering? Think you
it is nothing to repress all the uneasy reflections of self-love; to press
forward continually without knowing whither we go, and yet without stopping; to
cease from self-satisfied thoughts of self, or at least, to think of ourselves
as we would of another; to fulfill the indications of Providence for the
moment, and no further? Is not this more likely to be the death of the Old Adam
than fine sentiments, in which we are, in fact, thinking only of self, or
external acts, in the performance of which we congratulate self on our
advancement?
It is a sort of infidelity to simple faith when
we desire to be continually assured that we are doing well; it is, in fact, to
desire to know what we are doing, which we shall never know, and of which it is
the will of God that we should be ignorant. It is trifling by the way in order
to reason about the way. The safest and shortest course is to renounce, forget
and abandon self, and through faithfulness to God to think no more of it. This
is the whole of religion--to get out of self and of self-love in order to get
into God.
As to involuntary wanderings, they are no
hinderance to love, inasmuch as love is in the will, and the will only wanders
when it wills to wander. As soon as we perceive that they have occurred, we
drop them instantly and return to God, and thus, while the external senses of
the spouse are asleep, the heart is watching; its love knows no intermission. A
tender parent does not always bear his son distinctly in mind; he thinks and
imagines a thousand things disconnected with him, but they do not interfere
with the paternal affection; the moment that his thoughts rest again upon his
child, he loves, and feels in the depths of his soul that though he has ceased
to think of him he has not for an instant failed to love him. Such should be
our love to our Heavenly Father; a love simple, trustful, confident and without
anxiety.
If our imagination take wing and our thoughts
wander, let us not be perplexed; all these things are not that "hidden man
of the heart in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and
quiet spirit," of which St. Peter speaks. (1 Pet. iii. 4.) Let us only turn
our thoughts, whenever we can, towards the face of the Well-beloved without
being troubled at our wanderings. When He shall see fit to enable us to
preserve a more constant sense of his presence with us, He will do so.
He sometimes removes it for our advancement; it
amuses us with too many reflections which are true distractions, diverting the
mind from a simple and direct look toward God and withdrawing us from the
shades of naked faith.
We often seek in these reflections a
resting-place for our self-love and consolation in the testimony we endeavor to
extract from them for self; and thus the warmth of our feelings causes us to
wander. On the contrary, we never pray so purely as when we are tempted to
believe that we do not pray at all; we fear that we pray ill, but we should
only fear being left to the desolation of sinful nature, to a philosophical
infidelity, seeking perpetually a demonstration of its own operations in faith;
in short, to impatient desires for consolation in sight and feeling.
There is no more bitter penance than this state
of pure faith without sensible support; and hence it seems to me the most
effective, the most crucifying, and the least illusive. Strange temptation! We
look impatiently for sensible consolation from the fear of not being penitent
enough! Ah! why do we not consider the renouncement of that consolation which
we are so strongly tempted to seek, as a proof of our penitence? Remember our
Lord abandoned by his Father on the cross: all feeling, all reflection
withdrawn that his God might be hidden from him; this was indeed the last blow
that fell upon the man of sorrows, the consummation of the sacrifice!
Never should we so abandon ourselves to God as
when He seems to abandon us. Let us enjoy light and consolation when it is his
pleasure to give it to us, but let us not attach ourselves to his gifts, but to
Him; and when He plunges us into the night of Pure Faith, let us still press on
through the agonizing darkness.
Moments are worth days in this tribulation; the
soul is troubled and yet at peace; not only is God hidden from it, but it is
hidden from itself, that all may be of faith; it is discouraged, but
feels nevertheless an immovable will to bear all that God may choose to
inflict; it wills all, accepts all, even the troubles that try its faith, and
thus in the very height of the tempest, the waters beneath are secretly calm
and at peace, because its Will is one with God's. Blessed be the Lord who
performeth such great things in us, notwithstanding our unworthiness!
ON MEDITATION.
When the solid foundations of a perfect
conversion of heart, a scrupulous repentance and a serious meditation of all
the Christian virtues have been laid, both theoretically and practically, we
become gradually so accustomed to these truths, that we regard them at last
with a simple and steady look, without the necessity of going back to examine
and convince ourselves of each of them in detail. They are then all embraced in
a certain enjoyment of God, so pure and so intimate, that we find everything in
Him. It is no longer the intellect that examines and reasons; it is the will
which loves and plunges into the infinite Good.
But this is not your state. You must walk for a
long while in the way of the sinners who are beginning to seek God; ordinary
meditation is your lot, too happy that God condescends to admit you to it.
Walk then in the spirit, like Abraham, without
knowing whither you go; be content with your daily bread, and remember that in
the desert the manna of to-day could not be preserved until to-morrow without
corrupting. The children of God must be shut up to the grace of the present
moment, without desiring to foresee the designs of Providence concerning
them.
Meditate, then, since now is your opportunity,
upon all the mysteries of Jesus Christ and upon all the Gospel truths which you
have for so long a time ignored and rejected. When God shall have entirely
effaced from your mind the impression of all your worldly maxims, and the
Spirit shall have left there no trace of your old prejudices, then it will be
necessary to ascertain the direction in which you are attracted by grace, and
to follow step by step without anticipating.
In the meantime, dwell in peace in the bosom of
God, like a little child on the breast of its mother; be satisfied with
thinking on your chosen subject simply and easily; suffer yourself to be led
gently to the truths which affect you, and which you find to nourish your
heart. Avoid all exertions that excite the intellect, which often tempt us to
believe that there is more piety in a dangerous vivacity of the imagination,
than in a pure and upright intention of abandonment to God. Avoid likewise all
refined speculation; confine yourself to simple reflections, and recur to them
frequently. Those who pass too rapidly from one truth to another, feed their
curiosity and restlessness; they even distract their intellect by too great a
multiplicity of views.
Give every truth time to send down deep roots
into the heart; the main point is--to love. Nothing gives rise to such severe
fits of indigestion as eating too much and too hastily. Digest every truth
leisurely, if you would extract the essence of it for your nourishment, but let
there be no restless self-reflective acts. Be sure that your exercise will not
be acceptable unless performed without agitation or tumult.
I am well aware that you will have distractions
enough; bear them without impatience, dismiss them and recur quietly to your
subject as soon as you perceive that your imagination has wandered. In this way
these involuntary distractions will produce no injurious effects, and the
patience with which you bear them without being discouraged, will advance you
farther than a more continuous meditation, in which you might take more
self-satisfaction. The true method of conquering wandering thoughts, is never
to attack them directly with bitterness, and never to be discouraged by their
frequency or duration.
Suffer yourself, then, to be quietly occupied by
the subject you have chosen; only let the exercise be as holy as you can make
it, to which end take the following directions:
Do not encumber yourself with a great number of
thoughts upon a subject; but dwell upon each sufficiently long to allow it to
afford its proper nourishment to the heart. You will gradually become
accustomed to regard each truth steadily by itself, without flitting from one
to another; this habit will serve to fix them deeply in your soul. You will
thus, also, acquire a habit of dwelling upon your themes with pleasure and
peaceful acquiescence, instead of considering them rapidly and intellectually
as most persons do. Thus the foundations will be firmly laid for all that God
intends to do in you; he will thus mortify the natural activity of the mind,
that ever inclines it to seek novelties, instead of deeply imprinting the
truths already in some degree familiar. You must not, however, forcibly
restrain your mind to a subject which no longer seems to afford any
nourishment; I would advise only that you should not abandon it so long as it
still ministers food.
As to your affections, retain all which the view
of your subject naturally and quietly induces; but do not attempt to stir
yourself up to great efforts, for they will exhaust and agitate you, and even
cause aridities; they will occupy you too much with your own exertions, and
implant a dangerous confidence in your own power; in short, they will attach
you too firmly to sensible pleasures, and will thus prepare you great trouble
in a time of dryness. Be content, then, to follow with simplicity, and without
too many reflections, the emotions which God shall excite in view of your
subject, or of any other truth. As for higher things, have no thoughts of them;
there is a time for everything, and it is of the greatest importance that
nothing should be precipitated.
One of the cardinal rules of the spiritual life
is, that we are to live exclusively in the present moment, without casting a
look beyond. You remember that the Israelites in the desert followed the pillar
of fire, or of cloud, without knowing whither it was leading them; they had a
supply of manna but for one day; all above that became useless. There is no
necessity now for moving rapidly; think only of laying a solid foundation; see
that it is deep and broad by an absolute renunciation of self, and by an
abandonment without reserve to the requirements of God. Let God, then, raise
upon this foundation such a building as He pleases. Shut your eyes and commit
yourself to Him. How wonderful is this walking with Abraham in pure faith, not
knowing whither we go! and how full of blessings is the path!
God will then be your guide; He himself will
travel with you, as we are told He did with the Israelites, to bring them step
by step across the desert to the promised land. Ah! what will be your
blessedness if you will but surrender yourself into the hands of God,
permitting him to do whatever He will, not according to your desires, but
according to His own good pleasure!
ON MORTIFICATION.
God calls us hourly and momentarily to the
exercise of mortification; but nothing can be more false than the maxim that we
should always choose that which mortifies us the most. Such a plan would soon
destroy our health, our reputation, our business, our intercourse with our
relatives and friends, and the good works which Providence requires of us. I
have no hesitation in saying that we ought to avoid certain things which
experience has shown us to injure our health, such as certain kinds of food,
etc. This course will, no doubt, spare us some suffering; but it does not tend
to pamper the body nor require the employment of expensive or delicious
substitutes; on the contrary, it conduces to a sober, and, therefore, in many
respects, mortified life.
Failures in regimen are owing to a want of
mortification; they are not due either to courage in enduring pain, or to
indifference to life, but to a weak hankering for pleasure, and impatience of
anything that annoys. Submitting to regimen for the purpose of preserving
health, is a great constraint; we would much rather suffer and be sick, than be
constantly restraining our appetites; we love liberty and pleasure more than
health. But God arranges all that in the heart which is devoted to Him; He
causes us to fall in quietly with every regulation, and takes away a certain
want of pliability in the will, and a dangerous confidence in ourselves; He
blunts the desires, cools the passions, and detaches the man, not only from
exterior things, but from self, renders him mild, amiable, simple, lowly, ready
to will or not, according to His good pleasure. Let it be so with us; God
desires it, and is ready to effect it; let us not resist his will. The
mortification which comes in the order of God, is more serviceable than any
enjoyment in devotion which should result from our own affection and choice.
In regard to austerities, every one must regard
his attraction, his state, his need and his temperament. A simple
mortification, consisting in nothing more than an unshaken fidelity in
providential crosses, is often far more valuable than severe austerities which
render the life more marked, and tempt to a vain self-complacency. Whoever will
refuse nothing which comes in the order of God, and seek nothing out of that
order, need never fear to finish his day's work without partaking of the cross
of Jesus Christ. There is an indispensable Providence for crosses as well as
for the necessities of life; they are a part of our daily bread; God never will
suffer it to fail. It is sometimes a very useful mortification to certain
fervent souls, to give up their own plans of mortification, and adopt with
cheerfulness those which are momentarily revealed in the order of God.
When a soul is not faithful in providential
mortifications, there is reason to fear some illusion in those which are sought
through the fervor of devotion; such warmth is often deceitful, and it seems to
me that a soul in this case would do well to examine its faithfulness under the
daily crosses allotted by Providence.
ON SELF-ABANDONMENT.
If you would fully comprehend the meaning of
self-abandonment,[1] recall the interior
difficulty which you felt, and which you very naturally testified when I
directed you always to count as nothing this self which is so dear to
us. To abandon one's self is to count one's self as nought; and he who
has perceived the difficulty of doing it, has already learned what that
renunciation is, which so revolts our nature. Since you have felt the blow, it
is evident that it has fallen upon the sore spot in your heart; let the
all-powerful hand of God work in you as he well knows how, to tear you from
yourself.
The origin of our trouble is, that we love
ourselves with a blind passion that amounts to idolatry. If we love anything
beyond, it is only for our own sakes. We must be undeceived respecting all
those generous friendships, in which it appears as though we so far forgot
ourselves as to think only of the interests of our friend. If the motive of our
friendship be not low and gross, it is nevertheless still selfish; and the more
delicate, the more concealed, and the more proper in the eyes of the world it
is, the more dangerous does it become, and the more likely to poison us by
feeding our self-love.
In those friendships which appear, both to
ourselves and to the world, so generous and disinterested, we seek, in short,
the pleasure of loving without recompense, and by the indulgence of so noble a
sentiment, of raising ourselves above the weak and sordid of our race. Besides
the tribute which we pay to our own pride, we seek from the world the
reputation of disinterestedness and generosity; we desire to be loved by our
friends, although we do not desire to be served by them; we hope that they will
be charmed with what we do for them without any expectation of return; and in
this way we get that very return which we seem to despise: for what is more
delicious to a delicate self-love, than to hear itself applauded for not being
self-love?
You may have seen some one who seemed to think of
every one but himself, who was the delight of good people, who was well
disciplined, and seemed entirely forgetful of self. The self-oblivion is so
great that self-love even would imitate it, and finds no glory equal to that of
seeming to seek none at all. This moderation and self-renunciation which, if
genuine, would be the death of nature, become, on the other hand, the most
subtle and imperceptible food of a pride which despises all ordinary forms of
glory, and desires only that which is to be secured by trampling under foot all
the gross objects of ambition which captivate ordinary minds.
But it is not a difficult matter to unmask this
modest arrogance--this pride which seems no pride at all, so much does it
appear to have renounced all the ordinary objects of desire. Condemn it and it
cannot bear to be found fault with; let those whom it loves fail to repay it
with friendship, esteem, and confidence, and it is stung to the quick. It is
easy to see that it is not disinterested, though it tries so hard to seem so:
it does not indeed accept payment in as gross coin as others; it does not
desire insipid praise, or money, or that good fortune which consists in office
and dignities. It must be paid, nevertheless; it is greedy of the esteem of
good people; it loves that it may be loved again and be admired for its
disinterestedness; it seems to forget self, that, by that means, it may draw
the attention of the whole world upon self alone.
It does not, indeed, make all these reflections
in full detail; it does not say in so many words, I will deceive the whole
world with my generosity, in order that the world may love and admire me; no,
it would not dare to address such a gross and unworthy language to itself; it
deceives itself with the rest of the world; it admires itself in its
generosity, as a belle admires her beauty in a mirror; it is affected by
perceiving that it is more generous and more disinterested than the rest of
mankind; the illusion it prepares for others extends to itself; it passes with
itself for what it passes itself upon others, that is, for generosity, and this
is what pleases it more than anything else.
However little we may have looked within to study
the occasions of our pleasure and our grief, we shall have no difficulty in
admitting that pride, as it is more or less delicate, has various tastes. But
give it what taste you will, it is still pride; and that which appears the most
restrained and the most reasonable is the most devilish; in esteeming itself,
it despises others; it pities those who are pleased with foolish vanities; it
recognizes the emptiness of greatness and rank; it cannot abide those who are
intoxicated with good fortune; it would, by its moderation, be above fortune,
and thus raise itself to a new height, by putting under foot all the false
glory of men; like Lucifer, it would become like to the Most High. It would be
a sort of divinity, above all human passions and interests, and it does not
perceive that it seeks to place itself above men by this deceitful pride which
blinds it.
We may be sure, then, that it is the love of God
only that can make us come out of self. If his powerful hand did not sustain
us, we should not know how to take the first step in that direction.
There is no middle course; we must refer
everything either to God or to self; if to self, we have no other God than
self; if to God, we are then in order, and regarding ourselves only as one
among the other creatures of God, without selfish interests, and with a single
eye to accomplish his will, we enter into that self-abandonment which you
desire so earnestly to understand.
But let me say again, that nothing will so shut
your heart against the grace of abandonment, as that philosophic pride and self
love in the disguise of worldly generosity, of which you should be especially
in fear, on account of your natural disposition towards it. The greater our
inherent endowment of frankness, disinteredness, pleasure in doing good,
delicacy of feeling, love of honor, and generous friendship, the more lively
should be our distrust of self, and our fear lest we take complacency in these
gifts of nature.
The reason why no creature can draw us out of
ourselves is, that there is none that deserves to be preferred before
ourselves. There is none which has the right so to detach us, nor the
perfection which would be necessary to unite us to them without reference to
ourselves, nor the power to satisfy the soul in such an attachment. Hence it is
that we love nothing out of ourselves, except for the reference it has to self;
we choose under the direction of our coarse and brutal passions, if we are low
and boorish, or under the guidance of a refined desire for glory, if we are so
delicate as not to be satisfied with what is gross and vulgar.
But God does two things, which He only has the
power to do. He reveals himself to us, with all his rights over the creature,
and in all the charms of his goodness. Then we feel that, not having made
ourselves, we are not made for ourselves; that we are created for the glory of
Him whom it has pleased to form us; that He is too great to make anything
except for Himself, and that thus all our perfection and our happiness should
be to be lost in Him.
This is what no created thing, dazzling though it
may be, can make us realize in respect to itself. Far from finding in them that
infinity which so fills and transports us in God, we discover only a void, a
powerlessness to fill our hearts, an imperfection that continually drives us
into ourselves.
The second miracle which God works is, to operate
in our hearts that which He pleases, after having enlightened our
understanding. He is not satisfied with having displayed his own charms; He
makes us love Him by producing, by his grace, his love in our hearts; and He
thus himself performs within us, what He makes us see we owe to Him.
You desire, perhaps, to know more in detail in
what this self-abandonment consists. I will endeavor to satisfy you.
There is little difficulty in comprehending that
we must reject criminal pleasures, unjust gains, and gross vanities, because
the renouncement of these things consists in a contempt which repudiates them
absolutely, and forbids our deriving any enjoyment from them; but it is not so
easy to understand that we must abandon property honestly acquired, the
pleasures of a modest and well-spent life, and the honors derivable from a good
reputation, and a virtue which elevates us above the reach of envy.
The reason why we do not understand that these
things must be given up, is, that we are not required to discard them with
dislike, but, on the contrary, to preserve them to be used according to the
station in which the Divine Providence places us.
We have need of the consolation of a mild and
peaceful life, to console us under its troubles; in respect to honors, we must
regard "that which is convenient," and we must keep the property we possess to
supply our wants. How then are we to renounce these things at the very moment
when we are occupied in the care of preserving them? We are, moderately and
without inordinate emotion, to do what is in our power to retain them, in order
to make a sober use of them, without desiring to enjoy them or placing our
hearts upon them.
I say, a sober use of them, because, when
we are not attached to a thing for the purposes of self-enjoyment and of
seeking our happiness in it, we use only so much of it as we are necessarily
obliged to; as you may see a wise and faithful steward study to appropriate
only so much of his master's property as is precisely requisite to meet his
necessary wants.
The abandonment of evil things then, consists in
refusing them with horror; of good things, in using them with moderation for
our necessities, continually studying to retrench all those imaginary wants
with which greedy nature would flatter herself.
Remember that we must not only renounce evil, but
also good things; for Jesus has said, "Whatsoever he be of you that
forsaketh not all he hath, he cannot be my disciple." (Luke xiv. 33.)
It follows, then, that the Christian must abandon
everything that he has, however innocent; for, if he do not renounce it, it
ceases to be innocent.
He must abandon those things which it is his duty
to guard with the greatest possible care, such as the good of his family, or
his own reputation, for he must have his heart on none of these things; he must
preserve them for a sober and moderate use; in short, he must be ready to give
them all up whenever it is the will of Providence to deprive him of them.
He must give up those whom he loves best, and
whom it is his duty to love; and his renouncement of them consists in this,
that he is to love them for God only; to make use of the consolation of their
friendship soberly, and for the supply of his wants; to be ready to part with
them whenever God wills it, and never to seek in them the true repose of his
heart. This is that chastity of true Christian friendship which seeks in the
mortal and earthly friend, only the heavenly spouse. It is thus that we use the
world and the creature as not abusing them, according to Saint Paul. (1 Cor.
vii. 31.) We do not desire to take pleasure in them; we only use what God gives
us, what he wills that we should love, and what we accept with the reserve of a
heart, receiving it only for necessity's sake, and keeping itself for a more
worthy object.
It is in this sense that Christ would have us
leave father and mother, brothers and sisters, and friends, and that he is come
to bring a sword upon earth.
God is a jealous God; if, in the recesses of your
soul, you are attached to any creature, your heart is not worthy of Him: He
must reject it as a spouse that divides her affections between her bridegroom
and a stranger.
Having abandoned everything exterior, and which
is not self, it remains to complete the sacrifice by renouncing everything
interior, including self.
The renouncement of the body is frightful to most
delicate and worldly-minded persons. They know nothing, so to speak, that is
more themselves than this body, which they flatter and adorn with so much care;
and even when deprived of its graces, they often retain a love for its life
amounting to a shameful cowardice, so that the very name of death makes them
shudder.
Your natural courage raises you above these
fears, and I think I hear you say, I desire neither to flatter my body, nor to
hesitate in consenting to its destruction, whenever it shall be the will of God
to waste and consume it to ashes.
You may thus renounce the body, and yet there may
remain great obstacles in the way of your renouncing the spirit. The more we
are able, by the aid of our natural courage, to despise the clay tenement, the
more apt are we to set a higher value upon that which it contains, by the aid
of which we are enabled to look down upon it.
We feel towards our understanding, our wisdom,
and our virtue, as a young and worldly woman feels towards her beauty. We take
pleasure in them; it gives us a satisfaction to feel that we are wise,
moderate, and preserved from the excitement which we see in others; we are
intoxicated with the pleasure of not being intoxicated with pleasure; we
renounce with courageous moderation the most flattering temptations of the
world, and content us with the satisfaction derived from a conviction of our
self-control.
What a dangerous state! What a subtle poison! How
recreant are you to God, if you yield your heart to this refinement of
self-love! You must renounce all satisfaction and all natural complacency in
your own wisdom and virtue.
Remember, the purer and more excellent the gifts
of God, the more jealous He is of them.
He showed mercy to the first human rebel, and
denied it to the angels. Both sinned by the love of self, but as the angel was
perfect, and regarded as a sort of divinity, God punished his unfaithfulness
with a fiercer jealousy than He did man's disobedience. We may infer from this,
that God is more jealous of his most excellent gifts than He is of the more
common ones; He would have us attached to nothing but Himself, and to regard
his gifts, however excellent, as only the means of uniting us more easily and
intimately to Him. Whoever contemplates the grace of God with a satisfaction
and sort of pleasure of ownership, turns it into poison.
Never appropriate exterior things to yourself
then, such as favor or talents, nor even things the most interior. Your good
will is no less a gift of God's mercy, than the life and being which you
receive direct from his hands. Live, as it were, on trust; all that is in you,
and all that you are, is only loaned you; make use of it according to the will
of Him who lends it, but never regard it for a moment as your own.
Herein consists true self-abandonment; it is this
spirit of self-divesting, this use of ourselves and of ours with a
single eye to the movements of God, who alone is the true proprietor of his
creatures.
You will desire to know, probably, what should be
the practice of this renouncement in detail. But I answer that the feeling is
no sooner established in the interior of the soul, than God himself will take
you by the hand, that you may be exercised in self-renunciation in every event
of every day.
Self-abandonment is not accomplished by means of
painful reflections and continual struggles; it is only by refraining from
self-contemplation, and from desiring to master ourselves in our own way, that
we lose ourselves in God.
ON TEMPTATIONS.
I know of but two resources against
temptations. One is, faithfully to follow the interior light in sternly and
immediately cutting off everything we are at liberty to dismiss, and which may
excite or strengthen the temptation. I say everything which we are at liberty
to dismiss, because we are not always permitted to avoid the occasions of evil.
Such as are unavoidable connected with the particular position in which
Providence has placed us, are not considered to be within our power.
The other expedient consists in turning towards
God in every temptation, without being disturbed or anxious to know if we have
not already yielded a sort of half consent, and without interrupting our
immediate recourse to God. By examining too closely whether we have not been
guilty of some unfaithfulness, we incur the risk of being again entangled in
the temptation. The shortest and surest way is to act like a little child at
the breast; when we show it a frightful monster, it shrinks back and buries its
face in its mother's bosom, that it may no longer behold it.
The sovereign remedy is the habit of dwelling
continually in the presence of God. He sustains, consoles, and calms us.
We must never be astonished at temptations, be
they never so outrageous. On this earth all is temptation. Crosses tempt us by
irritating our pride, and prosperity by flattering it. Our life is a continual
combat, but one in which Jesus Christ fights for us. We must pass on unmoved,
while temptations rage around us, as the traveller, overtaken by a storm,
simply wraps his cloak more closely about him, and pushes on more vigorously
towards his destined home.
If the thought of former sins and wretchedness
should be permitted to come before us, we must remain confounded and abashed
before God, quietly enduring in his adorable presence all the shame and
ignominy of our transgressions. We must not, however, seek to entertain or to
call up so dangerous a recollection.
In conclusion, it may be said that in doing what
God wills, there is very little to be done by us; and yet there is a wonderful
work to be accomplished, no less than that of reserving nothing, and making no
resistance for a moment, to that jealous love, which searches inexorably into
the most secret recesses of the soul for the smallest trace of self, for the
slightest intimations of an affection of which itself is not the author. So, on
the other hand, true progress does not consist in a multitude of views, nor in
austerities, trouble and strife; it is simply willing nothing and everything,
without reservation and without choice, cheerfully performing each day's
journey as Providence appoints it for us; seeking nothing, refusing nothing;
finding everything in the present moment, and suffering God, who does
everything, to do his pleasure in and by us, without the slightest resistance.
O how happy is he who has attained to this state! and how full of good things
is his soul, when it appears emptied of everything!
Let us pray the Lord to open to us the whole
infinitude of his paternal heart, that our own may be there submerged and lost,
so that it may make but one with His! Such was the desire of Paul for the
faithful, when he longed for them in the bowels of Jesus Christ.
ON WANDERING THOUGHTS AND DEJECTION.
1. Two things trouble you; one is, how you
may avoid wandering thoughts; the other, how you may be sustained against
dejection. As to the former, you will never cure them by set reflections; you
must not expect to do the work of grace by the resources and activity of
nature. Be simply content to yield your will to God without reservation; and
whenever any state of suffering is brought before you, accept it as his will,
in an absolute abandonment to his guidance.
Do not go out in search of these crucifixions,
but when God permits them to reach you without your having sought them, they
need never pass without your deriving profit from them.
Receive everything that God presents to your
mind, notwithstanding the shrinking of nature, as a trial by which He would
exercise and strengthen your faith. Never trouble yourself to inquire whether
you will have strength to endure what is presented, if it should actually come
upon you, for the moment of trial will have its appointed and sufficient grace;
that of the present moment is to behold the afflictions presented tranquilly,
and to feel willing to receive them whenever it should be the will of God to
bestow them.
Go on cheerfully and confidently in this trust.
If this state of the will should not change in consequence of a voluntary
attachment to something out of the will of God, it will continue forever.
Your imagination will doubtless wander to a
thousand matters of vanity; it will be subject to more or less agitation,
according to your situation and the character of the objects presented to its
regard. But what matter? The imagination, as St. Theresa declares, is the fool
of the household; it is constantly busy in making some bustle or other, to
distract the mind which cannot avoid beholding the images which it exhibits.
The attention is inevitable, and is a true distraction, but, so long as it is
involuntary, it does not separate us from God; nothing can do that but some
distraction of the will.
You will never have wandering thoughts if you
never will to have them, and may then say with truth that you have prayed
without ceasing. Whenever you perceive that you have involuntarily strayed
away, return without effort, and you will tranquilly find God again without any
disturbance of soul. As long as you are not aware of it, it is no wandering of
the heart; when it is made manifest, look to God at once with fidelity, and you
will find that this simple faithfulness to Him will be the occasion of blessing
you with his more constant and more familiar indwelling.
A frequent and easy recollection is one of the
fruits of this faithful readiness to leave all wanderings as soon as they are
perceived; but it must not be supposed that it can be accomplished by our own
labors. Such efforts would produce trouble, scrupulosity, and restlessness in
all those matters in which you have most occasion to be free. You will be
constantly dreading lest you should lose the presence of God and continually
endeavoring to recover it; you will surround yourself with the creations of
your own imagination, and thus, the presence of God, which ought, by its
sweetness and illumination, to assist us in everything which comes before us in
his providence, will have the effect of keeping us always in a tumult, and
render us incapable of performing the exterior duties of our condition.
Be never troubled, then, at the loss of the
sensible presence of God; but, above all, beware of seeking to retain Him by a
multitude of argumentative and reflective acts. Be satisfied during the day,
and while about the details of your daily duties, with a general and interior
view of God, so that if asked, at any moment, whither your heart is tending,
you may answer with truth that it is toward God, though the attention of your
mind may then be engrossed by something else. Be not troubled by the wanderings
of your imagination which you cannot restrain; how often do we wander through
the fear of wandering and the regret that we have done so! What would you say
of a traveller who, instead of constantly advancing in his journey, should
employ his time in anticipating the falls which he might suffer, or in weeping
over the place where one had happened? On! on! you would say to him, on!
without looking behind or stopping. We must proceed, as the Apostle bids us,
that we may abound more and more. (1 Thess. iv. 1.) The abundance of the love
of God will be of more service in correcting us than all our restlessness and
selfish reflections.
This rule is simple enough; but nature,
accustomed to the intricacies of reasoning and reflection, considers it as
altogether too simple. We want to help ourselves, and to communicate more
impulse to our progress; but it is the very excellency of the precept that it
confines us to a state of naked faith, sustained by God alone in our absolute
abandonment to Him, and leads us to the death of self by stifling all remains
of it whatever. In this way we shall not be led to increase the external
devotional practices of such as are exceedingly occupied, or are feeble in
body, but shall be contented with turning them all into simple love; thus, we
shall only act as constrained by love, and shall never be overburdened, for we
shall only do what we love to do.
2. Dejection often arises from the fact that, in
seeking God, we have not so found Him as to content us. The desire to find Him,
is not the desire to possess Him: it is simply a selfish anxiety to be assured,
for our own consolation, that we do possess Him. Poor Nature, depressed and
discouraged, is impatient of the restraints of naked faith, where every support
is withdrawn; it is grieved to be travelling, as it were, in the air, where it
cannot behold its own progress towards perfection. Its pride is irritated by a
view of its defects, and this sentiment is mistaken for humility. It longs,
from self-love, to behold itself perfect; it is vexed that it is not so
already; it is impatient, haughty, and out of temper with itself and everybody
else. Sad state! As though the work of God could be accomplished by our
ill-humor! As though the peace of God could be attained by means of such
interior restlessness!
Martha, Martha! why art thou troubled and anxious
about many things? One thing is needful, to love Him and to sit attentively at
his feet!
When we are truly abandoned to God, all things
are accomplished without the performance of useless labor; we suffer ourselves
to be guided in perfect trust; for the future, we will whatever God wills, and
shut our eyes to everything else; for the present, we give ourselves up to the
fulfillment of his designs.
Sufficient for every day is the good and the evil
thereof. This daily doing of the will of God is the coming of his kingdom
within us, and at the same time our daily bread. We should be faithless indeed,
and guilty of heathen distrust, did we desire to penetrate the future, which
God has hidden from us; leave it to Him: let Him make it short or long, bitter
or sweet; let Him do with it even as it shall please Himself.
The most perfect preparation for this future,
whatever it may be, is to die to every will of our own, and yield ourselves
wholly up to his; we shall in this frame of mind, be ready to receive all the
grace suitable to whatever state it shall be the will of God to develop in and
around us.
3. When we are thus prepared for every event, we
begin to feel the Rock under our feet at the very bottom of the abyss; we are
ready to suppose every imaginable evil of ourselves, but we throw ourselves
blindly into the arms of God, forgetting and losing everything else. This
forgetfulness of self is the most perfect renouncement of self and acceptance
of God; it is the sacrifice of self-love; it would be a thousand times more
agreeable to accuse and condemn ourselves, to torment body and mind, rather
than to forget.
Such an abandonment is an annihilation of
self-love, in which it no longer finds any nourishment. Then the heart begins
to expand; we begin to feel lighter for having thrown off the burden of self,
which we formerly carried; we are astounded to behold the simplicity and
straightness of the way. We thought there was a need of strife and constant
exertion, but we now perceive that there is little to do; that it is sufficient
to look to God with confidence, without reasoning either upon the past or the
future, regarding Him as a loving Father, who leads us every moment by the
hand. If some distraction or other should hide Him for a moment, without
stopping to look at it, we simply turn again to Him from whom we had departed.
If we commit faults, we repent with a repentance wholly of love, and, returning
to God, he makes us feel whatever we ought. Sin seems hideous, but we love the
humiliation of which it is the cause, and for which God permitted it.
As the reflections of our pride upon our defects
are bitter, disheartening and vexatious, so the return of the soul towards God
is recollected, peaceful and sustained by confidence. You will find by
experience how much more your progress will be aided by this simple, peaceful
turning to God, than by all your chagrin and spite at the faults that exist in
you. Only be faithful in turning quietly towards God alone, the moment you
perceive what you have done; do not stop to argue with yourself; you can gain
nothing from that quarter; when you accuse yourself of your misery, I see but
you and yourself in consultation; poor wisdom that will issue from where God is
not!
Whose hand is it that must pluck you out of the
mire? Your own? Alas! you are buried deeper than thought, and cannot help
yourself; and more, this very slough is nothing but self; the whole of your
trouble consists in the inability to leave yourself, and do you expect to
increase your chances by dwelling constantly upon your defects, and feeding
your sensitiveness by a view of your folly? You will in this way only increase
your difficulties, while the gentlest look towards God would calm your heart.
It is his presence that causes us to go forth from self, and when He has
accomplished that, we are in peace. But how are we to go forth? Simply by
turning gently towards God, and gradually forming the habit of so doing, by a
faithful persistence in it, whenever we perceive that we have wandered from
Him.
As to that natural dejection which arises from a
melancholic temperament, it belongs purely to the body, and is the province of
the physician. It is true that it is constantly recurring, but let it be borne
in peace, as we receive from his hands a fever or any other bodily ailment.
The question is not, what is the state of our
feelings, but what is the condition of our will. Let us will to have what is
the condition of our will. Let us will to have whatever we have, and not to
have whatever we have not. We would not even be delivered from our sufferings,
for it is God's place to apportion to us our crosses and our joys. In the midst
of affliction we rejoice, as did the Apostle; but it is not joy of the
feelings, but of the will. The wicked are wretched in the midst of their
pleasures, because they are never content with their state; they are always
desiring to remove some thorn, or to add some flower to their present
condition. The faithful soul, on the other hand, has a will which is perfectly
free; it accepts, without questioning, whatever bitter blessings God develops,
wills them, from them, and embraces them; it would not be freed from them, if
it could be accomplished by a simple wish; for such a wish would be an act
originating in self, and contrary to its abandonment to Providence, and it is
desirous that this abandonment should be absolutely perfect.
If there be anything capable of setting a soul in
a large place, it is this absolute abandonment to God. It diffuses in the soul
a peace which flows as a river, and a righteousness which is as the waves of
the sea. (Isaiah xlviii. 18.) If there be anything that can render the soul
calm, dissipate its scruples and dispel its fears, sweeten its sufferings by
the anointing of love, impart strength to it in all its actions, and spread
abroad the joy of the Holy Spirit in its countenance and words, it is this
simple, free, and child-like repose in the arms of God.
ON CONFIDENCE IN GOD.
The best rule we can ever adopt, is to
receive equally, and with the same submission, everything that God sends us
during the day, both within and without.
Without, there are things disagreeable that must
be met with courage, and things pleasant that must not be suffered to arrest
our affections. We resist the temptations of the former by accepting them at
once, and of the latter by refusing to admit them into our hearts. The same
curse is necessary in regard to the interior life; whatever is bitter serves to
crucify us, and works all its benefit in the soul, if we receive it simply,
with a willingness that knows no bounds, and a readiness that seeks no
alleviation.
Pleasant gifts, which are intended to support our
weakness by giving us a sensible consolation in our external acts, must be
accepted with equal satisfaction, but in a different way. They must be
received, because God sends them, and not because they are agreeable to our own
feelings; they are to be used, like any other medicine, without
self-complacency, without attachment to them, and without appropriation. We
must accept them, but not hold on to them; so that when God sees fit to
withdraw them, we may neither be dejected nor discouraged.
The source presumption lies in attachment to
these transitory and sensible gifts. We imagine we have no regard to anything
but the gift of God, while we are really looking to self, appropriating his
mercy and mistaking it for Him. And thus we become discouraged whenever we find
that we have been deceived in ourselves; the soul, however, that is sustained
upon God, is not surprised at its own misery; it is delighted to find new proof
that it can do nothing of itself, and that God must do everything. I am never
in the least troubled at being poor, when I know that my Father has infinite
treasures which He will give me. We shall soon become independent of trust in
ourselves, if we suffer our hearts to feed upon absolute confidence in God.
We must count less upon sensible delights and the
measures of wisdom which devise for our own perfection, than upon simplicity,
lowliness, renunciation of our own efforts, and perfect pliability to all the
designs of grace. Everything else tends to emblazon our virtues, and thus
inspire a secret reliance upon our own resources.
Let us pray God that he would root out of our
hearts everything of our own planting, and set out there, with his own hands,
the tree of life, bearing all manner of fruits.
IN WHAT MANNER WE ARE TO WATCH OURSELVES.
The following seem to me to be useful
practical directions as to the manner in which we ought to watch ourselves,
without being too much occupied with the duty.
The wise and diligent traveller watches all his
steps, and keeps his eyes always directed to that part of the road which is
immediately before him; but he does not incessantly look backwards to count his
steps and examine his footmarks,--he would lose time and hinder his progress by
so doing.
The soul which God truly leads by the hand (for I
do not now speak of those who are learning to walk, and who are yet looking for
the road), ought to watch its path, but with a simple, tranquil vigilance
confined to the present moment, and without restlessness from love of self. Its
attention should be continually directed to the will of God, in order to
fulfill it every instant, and not be engaged in reflex acts upon itself in
order to be assured of its state, when God prefers it should be uncertain. Thus
the Psalmist exclaims, Mine eyes are ever toward the Lord; for he shall
pluck my feet out of the net. (Ps. xxv. 15.)
Observe how, in order to keep his feet in safety
in a way sown with snares, instead of fixing his eyes upon the ground to
scrutinize every step, he raises them to the Lord. We never watch so diligently
over ourselves as when we walk in the presence of God, as He commanded Abraham.
And, in fact, what should be the end of all our vigilance? To follow step by
step the will of God. He who conforms to that in all things, watches over
himself and sanctifies himself in everything.
If, then, we never lost sight of the presence of
God, we should never cease to watch, and always with a simple, lovely, quiet
and disinterested vigilance; while, on the other hand, the watchfulness which
is the result of a desire to be assured of our state, is harsh, restless, and
full of self. We must walk not by our own light, but by that of God. We cannot
behold the holiness of God without feeling horror at the smallest of our
transgressions.
In addition to the presence of God and a state of
recollection, we may add, the examination of conscience according to our need,
but conducted in a way that grows more and more simple, easy, and destitute of
restless self-contemplations. We examine ourselves not for our own
satisfaction, but to conform to the advice we receive, and to accomplish the
will of God.
In short, we abandon ourselves into the hands of
God, and are just as happy in knowing ourselves there, as we should be
miserable if we were in our own. We desire to see nothing of what it pleases
Him to conceal. As we love Him infinitely more than we do ourselves, we make an
unconditional sacrifice of ourselves to his good pleasure; desiring only to
love Him and to forget ourselves. He who thus generously loses his soul, shall
find it again with eternal life.
ON THE INWARD TEACHING OF THE SPIRIT OF GOD.
It is certain from the Holy Scriptures (Rom.
viii.; John xiv.,) that the Spirit of God dwells within us, acts there, prays
without ceasing, groans, desires, asks for us what we know not how to ask for
ourselves, urges us on, animates us, speaks to us when we are silent, suggests
to us all truth, and so unites us to Him that we become one spirit. (1 Cor. vi.
17.) This is the teaching of faith, and even those instructors who are farthest
removed from the interior life, cannot avoid acknowledging so much. Still,
notwithstanding these theoretical principles, they always strive to maintain
that in practice the external law, or at least a certain light of learning and
reason, illuminates us within, and that then our understanding acts of itself
from that instruction. They do not rely sufficiently upon the interior teacher,
the Holy Spirit, who does everything in us. He is the soul of our soul; we
could not form a thought or a desire without Him. Alas! what blindness is ours!
We reckon ourselves alone in the interior sanctuary, when God is much more
intimately present there than we are ourselves.
What, then! you will say, are we all inspired?
Yes, doubtless; but not as were the prophets and apostles. Without the actual
inspiration of the Spirit of grace, we could neither do, nor will, nor believe
any good thing. We are, then, always inspired, but we incessantly stifle the
inspiration. God does not cease to speak, but the noise of the creatures
without, and of our passions within, confines us and prevents our hearing. We
must silence every creature, including self, that in the deep stillness of the
soul we may perceive the ineffable voice of the Bridegroom. We must lend an
attentive ear, for his voice is soft and still, and is only heard of those who
hear nothing else!
Ah, how rare is it to find a soul still enough to
hear God speak! The slightest murmur of our vain desires, or of a love fixed
upon self, confounds all the words of the Spirit of God. We hear well enough
that he is speaking, and that he is asking for something, but we cannot
distinguish what is said, and are often glad enough that we cannot. The least
reserve, the slightest self-reflective act, the most imperceptible fear of
hearing too clearly what God demands, interferes with the interior voice. Need
we be astonished, then, if so many people, pious indeed, but full of
amusements, vain desires, false wisdom, and confidence in their own virtues,
cannot hear it, and consider its existence as a dream of fanatics? Alas! what
would they with their proud reasonings? Of what efficacy would be the exterior
word of pastors, or even of the Scriptures themselves, if we had not within,
the word of the Holy Spirit giving to the others all their vitality? The
outward word, even of the Gospel, without the fecundating, vivifying, interior
word would be but an empty sound. It is the letter that alone killeth (2
Cor. iii. 6), and the Spirit alone can give us life.
O! eternal and omnipotent word of the Father, it
is thou that speakest in the depth of our souls! The word that proceeded from
the mouth of the Saviour, during the days of his mortal life, has only had
energy to produce such wonderous fruits, because it has been animated by that
Spirit of life which is The Word itself. Hence it is that St. Peter says:
Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life. (John
vi. 68.)
It is not, then, the outward law of the Gospel
alone which God shows us internally, by the light of reason and faith; it is
his Spirit that speaks, touches, operates in and animates us; so that it is the
Spirit which does in us and with us whatever we do that is good, as it is our
soul that gives life to our body, and regulates all its movements.
It is, then, true, that we are continually
inspired, and that we do not lead a gracious life, except so far as we act
under this interior inspiration. But O God! how few Christians feel it! how few
are they, who do not annihilate it by their voluntary distractions, or by their
resistance!
Let us recognize, then, the fact that God is
incessantly speaking in us.[2] He speaks in the
impenitent also, but, stunned by the noise of the world and their passions,
they cannot hear Him; the interior voice is to them a fable. He speaks in
awakened sinners; they are sensible of remorse of conscience, which is the
voice of God reproaching them inwardly for their sins. When they are deeply
moved, they have no difficulty in understanding about this interior voice, for
it is it that pierces them so sharply. It is in them that two-edged sword
of which Paul speaks as piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul
and spirit. (Heb. iv. 12.) God causes himself to be perceived, enjoyed,
followed; they hear that sweet voice that buries a reproach in the bottom of
the heart, and causes it to be torn in pieces. Such is true and pure
contrition.
God speaks, too, in wise and enlightened persons,
whose life, outwardly correct, seems adorned with many virtues; but such are
often too full of themselves and their lights, to listen to God. Everything is
turned into reasoning; they substitute the principles of natural wisdom and the
plans of human prudence, for what would come infinitely better through the
channel of simplicity and docility to the word of God. They seem good,
sometimes better than others; they are so, perhaps, up to a certain point, but
it is a mixed goodness. They are still in possession of themselves, and desire
always to be so, according to the measure of their reason; they love to be in
the hands of their own counsel, and to be strong and great in their own
eyes.
I thank thee, O my God with Jesus Christ, that
Thou hast hid thine ineffable secrets from these great and wise ones, whilst
Thou takest pleasure in revealing them to feeble and humble souls! It is with
babes alone that Thou art wholly unreserved; the others Thou treatest in their
own way; they desire knowledge and great virtues, and Thou givest them dazzling
illuminations, and convertest them into heroes. But this is not the better
part; there is something more hidden for thy dearest children; they lie with
John on thy breast. As for these great ones who are constantly afraid of
stooping and becoming lowly, Thou leavest them in all their greatness; they
shall never share thy caresses and thy familiarity, for to deserve these, they
must become as little children, and play upon thy knees.
I have often observed that a rude, ignorant
sinner, just beginning to be touched by a lively sense of the love of God, is
much more disposed to listen to this inward language of the Spirit of Grace,
than those enlightened and learned persons who have grown old in their own
wisdom. God, whose sole desire is to communicate Himself, cannot, so to speak,
find where to set his foot in souls so full of themselves, who have grown fat
upon their own wisdom and virtues; but, as says the Scripture, "his secret
is with the simple." (Prov. iii. 32. vulg.)
But where are they? I do not find them; God sees
them and loves to dwell in them; "My Father and I," says Jesus Christ,
"will come unto him and make our abode with him." (John xiv. 23.) Ah! a
soul delivered from self, and abandoned to grace, counting itself as nothing,
and walking, without thought, at the will of that pure love which is its
perfect guide, has an experience which the wise can neither receive nor
understand!
I was once as wise as any; thinking I saw
everything, I saw nothing; I crept along feeling my way by a succession of
reasonings, but there was no ray to enlighten my darkness; I was content to
reason. But when we have silenced everything within, that we may listen to God,
we know all things without knowing anything, and then perceive that, until
then, we were utterly ignorant of all that we thought we understood. We lose
all that we once had, and care not for it; we have then no more that belongs to
self; all things are lost, and we with them. There is something within that
joins with the spouse in the Canticles in saying; "Let me see thy
countenance, let he hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice and thy countenance
is comely." (Sol. Song, ii. 14.) Ah! how sweet is that voice, it makes me
all tremulous within! Speak, O beloved, and let none other dare to speak but
Thee! Be still, my soul; speak, Love!
Then it is that we know all things without
knowing anything. Not that we have the presumption to suppose that we
possess in ourselves all truth. No! on the contrary, we feel that we see
nothing, can do nothing, and are nothing: we feel it and are delighted at it.
But in this unreserved abandonment, we find everything we need from moment to
moment, in the infinity of God. There we find the daily bread of knowledge, as
of everything else, without lying up; then the unction from above teaches us
all truth, while it takes away our own wisdom, glory, interest, yea, our own
will; it makes us content with our powerlessness, and with a position below
every creature; we are ready to yield to the merest worms of the dust, and to
confess our most secret miseries before the whole world, fearing unfaithfulness
more than punishment and confusion of face.
Here it is, I say, that the Spirit teaches us all
truth; for all truth is eminently contained in this sacrifice of love, where
the soul strips itself of everything to present it to God.
ON DAILY FAULTS AND THE TOLERATION OF OURSELVES.
You understand that many of our faults are
voluntary in different degrees, though they may not be committed with a
deliberate purpose of failing in our allegiance to God. One friend sometimes
reproaches another for a fault not expressly intended to be offensive, and yet
committed with the knowledge that it would be so. In the same way, God lays
this sort of faults to our charge. They are voluntary, for although not done
with an express intention, they are still committed freely and against a
certain interior light of conscience, which should have caused us to hesitate
and wait.
Of these offences, pious souls are often guilty;
as to those of deliberate purpose, it would be strange indeed if a soul
consecrated to God should fall into such.
Little faults become great, and even monstrous in
our eyes, in proportion as the pure light of God increases in us; just as the
sun in rising, reveals the true dimensions of objects which were dimly and
confusedly discovered during the night. Be sure that, with the increase of the
inward light, the imperfections which you have hitherto seen, will be beheld as
far greater and more deadly in their foundations, than you now conceive them,
and that you will witness, in addition, the development of a crowd of others,
of the existence of which you have not now the slightest suspicion. You will
there find the weaknesses necessary to deprive you of all confidence in your
own strength; but this discovery, far from discouraging, will serve to destroy
your self-reliance, and to raze to the ground the edifice of pride. Nothing
marks so decidedly the solid progress of a soul, as that it is enabled to view
its own depravity without being disturbed or discouraged.
It is an important precept to abstain from doing
a wrong thing whenever we perceive it in time, and when we do not, to bear the
humiliation of the fault courageously.
If a fault is perceived before it is committed,
we must see to it that we do not resist and quench the Spirit of God, advising
us of it inwardly. The Spirit is easily offended, and very jealous; He desires
to be listened to and obeyed; He retires if He be displeased; the slightest
resistance to Him is a wrong, for everything must yield to Him, the moment He
is perceived. Faults of haste and frailty are nothing in comparison with those
where we shut our ears to the voice of the Holy Spirit beginning to speak in
the depths of the heart.
Restlessness and an injured self-love will never
mend those faults which are not perceived until after they are committed; on
the contrary, such feelings are simply the impatience of wounded pride at
beholding what confounds it. We must quietly humble ourselves in peace; I say
in peace, for it is no humiliation to do it in a vexed and spiteful way.
We must condemn our faults, mourn over them, repent of them, without seeking
the slightest shadow of consolation in any excuse, and behold ourselves covered
with confusion in the presence of God; and all this without being bitter
against ourselves or discouraged; but peacefully reaping the profit of our
humiliation. Thus from the serpent itself we draw the antidote to his venom.
It often happens that what we offer to God, is
not what he most desires to have of us; that we are frequently the most
unwilling to give, and the most fearful He will ask. He desires the sacrifice
of the Isaac, the well-beloved son; all the rest is as nothing in his
eyes, and he permits it to be offered in a painful unprofitable manner, because
He has no blessings for a divided soul. He will have everything, and until then
there is no rest. Who hath hardened himself against Him and hath prospered?
(Job ix. 4.) Would you prosper, and secure the blessing of God upon your
labors? Reserve nothing, cut to the quick and burn, spare nothing, and the God
of peace will be with you. What consolation, what liberty, what strength, what
enlargedness of heart, what increase of grace, will follow when there remains
nothing between God and the soul, and when the last sacrifices have been
offered up without hesitation!
We must neither be astonished nor disheartened.
We are not more wicked than we were; we are really less so; but while our evil
diminishes, our light increases, and we are struck with horror at its extent.
But let us remember, for our consolation, that the perception of our disease is
the first step to a cure; when we have no sense of our need, we have no
curative principle within; it is a state of blindness, presumption and
insensibility, in which we are delivered over to our own counsel, and commit
ourselves to the current, the fatal rapidity of which we do not realize, until
we are called to struggle against it.
We must not be discouraged either by experience
of our weakness, or by dislike of the constant activity which may be
inseparable from our condition in life. Discouragement is not a fruit of
humility, but of pride; nothing can be worse. Suppose we have stumbled, or even
fallen, let us rise and run again; all our falls are useful, if they strip us
of a disastrous confidence in ourselves, while they do not take away a humble
and salutary trust in God.
The repugnances which we feel towards our duties,
come, no doubt, of imperfections; if we were perfect, we should love everything
in the order of God, but since we are born corrupt, and with a nature revolting
against his laws, let us praise Him that He knows how to evolve good from evil,
and can make use even of our repugnances as a source of virtue. The work of
grace does not always advance as regularly as that of nature, says St.
Theresa.
Carefully purify your conscience, then, from
daily faults; suffer no sin to dwell in your heart; small as it may seem, it
obscures the light of grace, weighs down the soul, and hinders that constant
communion with Jesus Christ which it should be your pleasure to cultivate; you
will become lukewarm, forget God, and find yourself growing in attachment to
the creature. A pure soul, on the other hand, which is humiliated, and rises
promptly after its smallest faults, is always fervent and always upright.
God never makes us sensible of our weakness
except to give us of His strength; we must not be disturbed by what is
involuntary. The great point is, never to act in opposition to the inward
light, and to be willing to go as far as God would have us.
ON FIDELITY IN SMALL MATTERS.
St. Francis of Sales says that great virtues
and fidelity in small things are like sugar and salt; sugar is more delicious,
but of less frequent use, while salt enters into every article of our food.
Great virtues are rare; they are seldom needed, and when the occasion comes, we
are prepared for it by everything which has preceded, excited by the greatness
of the sacrifice, and sustained either by the brilliancy of the action in the
eyes of others, or by self-complacency in our ability to do such wonderful
things. Small occasions, however, are unforeseen; they recur every moment, and
place us incessantly in conflict with our pride, our sloth, our self-esteem,
and our passions; they are calculated thoroughly to subdue our wills, and leave
us no retreat. If we are faithful in them, nature will have no time to breathe,
and must die to all her inclinations. It would please us much better to make
some great sacrifices, however painful and violent, on condition of obtaining
liberty to follow our own pleasure, and retain our old habits in little things.
But it is only by this fidelity in small matters that the grace of true love is
sustained and distinguished from the transitory excitements of nature.
It is with piety as it is with our temporal
goods; there is more danger from little expenses than from larger
disbursements, and he who understands how to take care of what is
insignificant, will soon accumulate a large fortune. Everything great owes its
greatness to the small elements of which it is composed; he that loses nothing,
will soon be rich.
Consider, on the other hand, that God does not so
much regard our actions, as the motive of love from which they spring, and the
pliability of our wills to his. Men judge our deeds by their outward
appearance; with God, that which is most dazzling in the eyes of man, is of no
account. What he desires is a pure intention, a will ready for anything, and
ever pliable in his hands, and an honest abandonment of self; and all this can
be much more frequently manifested on small than on extraordinary occasions;
there will also be much less danger from pride, and the trial will be far more
searching. Indeed, it sometimes happens, that we find it harder to part with a
trifle than with an important interest; it may be more of a cross to abandon a
vain amusement, than to bestow a large sum in charity.
We are the more easily deceived about these small
matters, in proportion as we imagine them to be innocent, and ourselves
indifferent to them. Nevertheless, when God takes them away, we may easily
recognize, in the pain of the deprivation, how excessive and inexcusable were
both the use and the attachment. If we are in the habit of neglecting little
things, we shall be constantly offending our families, our domestics, and the
public. No one can well believe that our piety is sincere, when our behavior is
loose and irregular in its little details. What ground have we for believing
that we are ready to make the greatest sacrifices, when we daily fail in
offering the least?
But the greatest danger of all consists in this,
that by neglecting small matters, the soul becomes accustomed to
unfaithfulness. We grieve the Holy Spirit, we return to ourselves, we think it
a little thing to be wanting towards God. On the other hand, true love can see
nothing small; everything that can either please or displease God, seems to be
great; not that true love disturbs the soul with scruples, but it puts no
limits to its faithfulness. It acts simply with God; and as it does not concern
itself about those things which God does not require from it, so it never
hesitates an instant about those which He does, be they great or small.
Thus it is not by incessant care that we become
faithful and exact in the smallest things, but simply by a love which is free
from the reflections and fears of restless and scrupulous souls. We are, as it
were, drawn along by the love of God; we have no desire to do anything but what
we do, and no will in respect to anything which we do not do. At the very
moment when God is following the soul, relentlessly pursuing it into the
smallest details, and seemingly depriving it of all its liberty, it finds
itself in a large place, and enjoys a perfect peace in Him. Happy soul!
Those persons who are by nature less strict in
small matters, should lay down and preserve inviolate the most rigid laws in
respect to them. They are tempted to despise them; they habitually think little
of them, and do not sufficiently estimate their importance; they do not
consider the insensible progress of our passions, and even forget their own sad
experience on the subject. They prefer rather to be deluded by the promise of
an imaginary firmness, and to trust to their own courage that has so often
deceived them, than to subject themselves to a never-ceasing fidelity. It is a
small matter, say they; true, but it is of amazing consequence to you; it is a
matter that you love well enough to refuse to give it up to God; a matter which
you sneer at in words, that you may have a pretence to retain it; a small
matter, but one that you withhold from your Maker, and which will prove your
ruin.
It is no nobility of soul that despises small
things; on the contrary, it is a contracted spirit that regards as unimportant,
what it cannot trace to its necessary and overwhelming results. The more
trouble it occasions us to be on our guard against small matters, the more need
have we to fear negligence, to distrust our strength, and to interpose
impregnable barriers between ourselves and the least remissness.
Finally, judge by your own feelings. What would
you think of a friend who owed everything to you, and who was willing from a
sense of duty to serve you on those rare occasions which are called great, but
who should manifest neither affection nor the least regard for your wishes in
the common intercourse of life?
Do not be frightened at this minute attention to
small matters. It needs courage at first; but this is a penance which you
deserve, which you need, and which will work out for you peace and security;
without it, all is trouble and relapse. God will gradually make it pleasant and
easy to you, for true love is obedient without constraint, and without strife
or effort.
ON TRANSITORY EMOTIONS, FIDELITY, AND SIMPLICITY.
We must not be surprised if we frequently
perceive in ourselves emotions of pride, of self-complacency, of confidence in
ourselves, of desire to follow our own inclination contrary to right, of
impatience at the weakness of others, or at the annoyances of our own state. In
such cases we must instantly let them drop like a stone to the bottom of the
sea, recollect ourselves in God, and wait, before acting, until we are in such
a frame as our recollection should induce in us. If the distraction of
business, or of vivacity of imagination, should hinder us from calmly and
easily entering into such a state, we must at least endeavor to be quiet by the
rectitude of the will, and by the desire for recollection. In such a case, the
will to be recollected, answers to deprive the soul of its own will, and to
render it docile in the hands of God.
If perchance in your excitement, some emotion too
nearly allied to depraved nature, should have escaped you, be not discouraged;
go straight on; quietly bear the humiliation of your fault before God, without
being delayed by the smarting of self-love at the betrayal of its weakness.
Proceed confidently, without being troubled by the anguish of a wounded pride
that cannot bear to see itself imperfect. Your fault will be of service in
causing you to die to self, and to become nothing before Him.
The true method of curing this defect is to
become dead to the sensitiveness of self-love, without hindering the course of
grace, which had been a little interrupted by this transitory
unfaithfulness.
The great point is to renounce your own wisdom by
simplicity of walk, and to be ready to give up the favor, esteem, and
approbation of every one, whenever the path in which God leads you passes that
way. We are not to meddle with things which God does not lay upon us, nor
uselessly utter hard sayings which those about us are not able to bear.
We must follow after God, never precede Him; when
He gives the signal, we must leave all and follow Him. If, after an absolute
consecration to Him, and a conviction in conscience that he requires something
of us, we hesitate, delay, lose courage, dilute what He would have us do,
indulge fears for our own comfort or safety, desire to shield ourselves from
suffering and obloquy, or seek to find some excuse for not performing a
difficult and painful duty, we are truly guilty in his sight. God keep you from
such unfaithfulness! Nothing is more dreadful than this inward resistance to
Him; it is that sin against the Holy Ghost of which our Lord assures us that
it shall not be forgiven, neither in this world, neither in the world to
come. (Matt. xii. 32.)
Other faults committed in the simplicity of your
good intentions, will be of service if they produce humility, and render you of
less account in your own eyes. But resistance to the Spirit of God through
pride and a pusillanimous worldly wisdom, tender of its own comfort in
performing the work of God, is a fault which will insensibly quench the Spirit
of Grace in your heart. God, jealous and rejected after so much mercy, will
depart and leave you to your own resources; you will then turn round in a kind
of circle instead of advancing with rapid strides along the King's highway;
your inward life will grow dim and dimmer, without your being able to detect
the sure and deep-seated source of your disease.
God would behold in you a simplicity which will
contain so much the more of his wisdom as it contains less of your own; He
desires to see you lowly in your own eyes, and as docile in his hands as a
babe. He desires to create in your heart that child-like disposition so
distasteful to the spirit of man, but so agreeable to the spirit of the Gospel,
in spite of the infection of a scornful and contemptuous world.
By this very simplicity and lowliness He will
heal all the remains of haughty and self-confident wisdom in you, and you shall
say with David, And I will yet be more vile than this, and will be base in
mine own sight, (Sam. vi. 22,) from the moment that you give yourself to
the Lord.
ON THE ADVANTAGES OF SILENCE AND RECOLLECTION.
You must endeavor to be as silent as the
proprieties of human intercourse will permit. This grace cherishes the presence
of God, saves us many proud and rude expressions, and suppresses a great
multitude of idle words and dangerous judgments of our neighbor. Silence
humbles our spirit, and gradually detaches it from the world; it constitutes in
the heart a sort of solitude like that you so much long after, and will supply
all your wants in the many perplexities that surround you. If we never
unnecessarily open our mouths, we may enjoy many moments of communion even when
unavoidably detained in society.
You desire to be at liberty, that you may pray to
God; and God, who knows so much better than we do, what we really want, sends
perplexity and restraint, that you may become mortified. This trial from the
hand of God, will be far more serviceable to you, than the self-sought
sweetness of prayer. You know very well that constant retirement is not
necessary, in order to love God. When He gives you the time, take it and profit
by it, but until then, wait in faith, well persuaded that what He orders is
best.
Frequently raise your heart to Him in abstraction
from the world; speak only when obliged to; bear with patience whatever happens
to cross you. You are already acquainted with religion, and God treats you
according to your necessity; you have more need of mortification than of
illumination. The only thing I fear for you in this state, is wanderings, and
you may avoid those by silence. Only be faithful in keeping silence, when it is
not necessary to speak, and God will send grace to preserve you from
dissipation when it is.
When you are not permitted to enjoy long seasons
of leisure, economize the short ones; ten minutes thus faithfully employed
before God, in the midst of your distractions, will be as valuable to you as
whole hours devoted to Him, in your more unoccupied moments. Farther, these
little odds and ends of time, will amount to quite a sum in the course of the
day, and present this advantage, that God will very likely have been more in
mind than if you had given it to Him all at once. Love, silence, suffering,
yielding our own pleasure to the will of God, and to the love of our neighbor,
such is our portion; too happy in bearing the burden which God himself lays
upon us in the order of his Providence!
The crosses which originate with ourselves, are
not near as efficient in eradicating self-love, as those which come in the
daily allotments of God. These latter contribute no ailment for the nourishment
of our own wills, and as they proceed immediately from a merciful Providence,
they are accompanied by grace sufficient for all our needs. We have nothing to
do, then, but to surrender ourselves to God each day, without looking farther;
He will carry is in his arms as a tender mother bears her child. Let us
believe, hope, and love with all the simplicity of babes; in every necessity
turning a loving and trusting look towards our Heavenly Father. For what says
the Scripture, "Can a woman forget her sucking child that she should not
have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not
forget thee!" (Isaiah xlix. 15.)
PRIVATION AND ANNIHILATION, A TERROR EVEN TO THE SPIRITUALLY-MINDED.
There is scarce any one who desires to serve
God, but does so for selfish reasons; we expect gain and not loss, consolation
and not suffering, riches and not poverty, increase and not diminution. But the
whole interior work is of an opposite character; to be lost, sacrificed, made
less than nothing, and despoiled of an excessive delight, even in the gifts of
God, that we may be forced to cling to Him alone.
We are like a patient eagerly desiring returning
health, who feels his own pulse forty times a day, and requires his physician
to prescribe frequent doses of various remedies, and to give him a daily
assurance that he is getting better. Such is almost the only use we make of our
spiritual conductors. We travel in a little round of every-day virtues, never
gathering sufficient courage to pass generously beyond it, and our guides, like
the doctor, flatter, console, encourage and strengthen our selfish
sensitiveness, and administer pleasant remedies, to the effects of which we
soon become insensible.
The moment we find ourselves deprived of the
delights of grace, that milk for babes, we are at once in despair; a manifest
proof that we were looking to the means, instead of to the end, and solely for
selfish gratification.
Privations are meat for men; by them the soul is
rendered hardy, is separated from self, and offered in a pure sacrifice to God;
but we give up all, the moment they commence. We cannot but think that
everything is going to ruin, when, in fact, the foundations are just beginning
to be solidly laid. Nothing would give us more delight than that God should do
all his pleasure with us, provided it should always be to magnify and perfect
us in our own eyes. But if we are not willing to be destroyed and annihilated,
we shall never become that whole burnt offering, which is entirely
consumed in the blaze of God's love.
We desire to enter into a state of pure faith,
and retain our own wisdom! To be a babe, and great in our own eyes! Ah! what a
sad delusion!
ON THE PROPER USE OF CROSSES.
We are hardly to be persuaded of the goodness
of God in loading those whom He loves with crosses. Why, we say, should He take
pleasure in causing us to suffer? Could he not render us good without making us
miserable? Yes, doubtless, He could, for all things are possible with God. He
holds in his omnipotent hands the hearts of men, and turns them as He will; as
the skill of the workman can give direction to the stream on the summit of a
hill. But able as He was to save us without crosses, He has not chosen to do
it; as he has not seen fit to create men at once in the full vigor of manhood,
but has suffered them to grow up by degrees amid all the perils and weaknesses
of infancy and youth. In this matter, He is the Master; we have only to adore
in silence the depths of His wisdom, without comprehending it. Nevertheless, we
see clearly that we never could become wholly good without becoming humble,
unselfish, and disposed to refer everything to God, without any restless
self-reflective acts.
The work of grace, in detaching us from self and
destroying our self-love, could not be otherwise than painful, without a
miracle. Neither in his gracious nor providential dealings does God work a
miracle lightly. It would be as great a wonder to see a person full of self
become in a moment dead to all self-interest and all sensitiveness, as it would
be to see a slumbering infant wake in the morning a fully-developed man. God
works in a mysterious was in grace as well as in nature, concealing his
operations under an imperceptible succession of events, and thus keeps us
always in the darkness of faith. He not only accomplishes his designs
gradually, but by means that seem the most simple, and the most competent to
the end, in order that human wisdom may attribute the success to the means, and
thus his own working be less manifest; otherwise every act of God would seem to
be a miracle, and the state of faith, wherein it is the will of God that we
should live, would come to an end.
This state of faith is necessary, not only to
stimulate the good, causing them to sacrifice their reason in a life so full of
darkness, but also to blind those who, by their presumption, deserve such a
sentence. They behold the works of God, but do not understand them; they can
see nothing in them but the effects of material laws; they are destitute of
true knowledge, for that is only open to those who distrust their own
abilities; proud human wisdom is unworthy to be taken into the counsels of
God.
God renders the working of grace slow and
obscure, then, that he may keep us in the darkness of faith. He makes use of
the inconstancy and ingratitude of the creature, and of the disappointments and
surfeits which accompany prosperity, to detach us from them both; He frees us
from self by revealing to us our weaknesses, and our corruptions, in a
multitude of backslidings. All this dealing appears perfectly natural, and it
is by this succession of natural means that we are burnt as by a slow fire. We
should like to be consumed at once by the flames of pure love, but such an end
would scarce cost us anything; it is only an excessive self-love that desires
thus to become perfect in a moment and at so cheap a rate.
Why do we rebel against the length of the way?
Because we are wrapt up in self; and God must destroy an infatuation which is a
constant hinderance to his work. Of what, then, can we complain? Our trouble
is, that we are attached to creatures, and still more to self; God prepares a
series of events which gradually detaches us from creatures, and separates us
from self. The operation is painful, but is rendered necessary by our
corruption, and the same cause makes it distressing; if our flesh were sound,
the surgeon would use no knife; he only cuts in proportion to the depth of the
wound, and the diseased condition of the parts; if we suffer greatly, it is
because the evil is great; is the surgeon cruel because he cuts to the quick?
Nay, on the contrary, it is both love and skill; he would treat in the same way
his only and well-beloved son.
It is the same with God. He never afflicts us, if
we may so say, except against his own inclination; his paternal heart is not
gratified by the sight of our misery, but he cuts to the quick, that He may
heal the disease in our souls. He must snatch away from us whatever we cling to
too fondly, and all that we love irregularly and to the prejudice of his
rights. He acts in this as we do by children; they cry because we take away the
knife, which was their amusement, but might have been their death. We weep, we
become discouraged, we cry aloud; we are ready to murmur against God, as
children get angry with their mothers. But God lets us weep, and secures our
salvation; He afflicts only to amend; even when He seems to overwhelm, He means
nothing but good; it is only to spare us the evils we were preparing for
ourselves. The things we now lament for a little space, would have caused us to
mourn forever; what we think lost, was indeed lost when we seemed to have it,
but now God has laid it aside for us, that we may inherit it in the eternity so
near at hand. He only deprives us of what we cherish, to teach us how to love
it purely, solidly, and moderately, and to secure to us its eternal enjoyment
in his own bosom; to do us a thousand times more good than we could ask or
think of ourselves.
With the exception of sin, nothing happens, in
this world, out of the will of God. It is He who is the author, ruler, and
bestower of all; He has numbered the hairs of our head, the leaves of every
tree, the sand upon the sea-shore, and the drops of the ocean. When He made the
universe, his wisdom weighed and measured every atom. It is he that breathes
into us the breath of life, and renews it every moment; He it is that knows the
number of our days, and that holds in his all-powerful hand, the keys of the
tomb to open or to shut.
What we admire, is as nothing in the eyes of God:
a little more or less of life, is a difference that disappears in the light of
eternity. What matter whether this fragile vessel, this clay tabernacle, be
broken and reduced to ashes, a little sooner or later?
Ah! what short-sighted and deceitful views are
ours! We are thrown into consternation at the death of a man in the prime of
life. What a dreadful loss! exclaims the world. Who has lost anything? The
dead? He has lost some years of vanity, illusion, and danger to his immortal
soul; God has snatched him from the midst of his iniquities, and separated him
from a corrupt world and his own weakness. The friends whom he has left? They
are deprived of the poison of worldly felicity; they lose a perpetual
intoxication; they get rid of the forgetfulness of God and themselves, in which
they lay sunk--say, rather, they gain the bliss of detachment from the world,
through the virtue of the cross. The same blow that saves the dying, prepares
the survivors, by their suffering, to labor courageously for their own
salvation. O! is it not true that God is good, tender, compassionate towards
our misery, even when He seems to launch his thunders at us, and we are
open-mouthed in our complaints of his severity!
What difference can we discover between two
persons who lived a century ago? The one died twenty years before the other,
but now they are both gone; the separation which then seemed so abrupt and so
long, appears as nothing to us, and was, in fact, but short. Those things which
are severed, shall soon be reunited, and no trace of the separation will be
visible. We look upon ourselves as immortal, or at least as having a duration
of ages. O folly and madness! those who die from day to day, tread upon the
heels of those that are already dead; life flows like a torrent; that which is
gone is but a dream, and even while we contemplate that which now is, it
vanishes and is lost in the abyss of the past. So will it be with the future;
days, months, and years, glide like the billows of a torrent, each hurrying
along the other. A few moments more, and all is over! Alas! how short will that
existence then appear, which now wearies us with its sad and tedious length!
The disgust of life is the result of the weakness
of our self-love. The sick man thinks the night will never end, because he
sleeps not, but it is no longer than others; we exaggerate all our sufferings
by our cowardice; they are great, it is true, but they are magnified by
timidity. The way to lessen them is to abandon ourselves courageously into the
hands of God; we must suffer, but the end of our pain is to purify our souls,
and make us worthy of Him.
ON THE INTERIOR OPERATIONS OF GOD TO BRING MAN TO THE TRUE END OF HIS
CREATION.
In the beginning God attacked us in
externals; little by little he withdrew such of his creatures as we loved too
much, and contrary to his law. But this outward work, though essential in
laying the foundation of the building, goes but a little way towards the
completion of the whole edifice. The interior operation, although invisible, is
beyond comparison, greater, more difficult, and more wonderful!
There comes a time, when God, having completely
stripped us, having mortified the flesh as to the creatures to which it clung,
commences an interior work for the purpose of forcing from us our hold upon
Self. External objects are now no longer the subjects of his spoliations: he
would tear from us the I, which is the centre of our self-love. It was
only for the sake of this I that we loved all the rest; and He now
pursues it relentlessly and without cessation. To deprive a man of his
clothing, would be harsh treatment enough; but that is nothing in comparison
with the discipline which should strip off his skin and muscles, and reduce him
to a skeleton of bones. Trim up the branches of a tree, and far from killing
it, you even add to its vigor, and it shoots out again on every side; but
attack the trunk, wither the root, and it fades, languishes and dies. It is the
good will of God towards us, thus to make us die to self.
As to the external mortification of the senses,
He causes us to accomplish it be certain courageous efforts against ourselves.
The more the senses are destroyed by the courage of the soul, the more highly
does the soul estimate its own virtue, and live by its own labor. But in
process of time, God reserves for his own hand the work of attacking the soul
in its depths, and depriving it finally of the last vestige of the life of
Self. It is no longer the strength of the soul that is then employed against
the things without, but its weakness that is turned against itself. It looks at
self; it is shocked at what it sees: it remains faithful, but it no longer
beholds its own fidelity. Every defect in its previous history rises up to
view, and often new faults, of which it had never before even suspected the
existence. It no longer finds those supports of fervor and courage which
formerly nourished it. It faints; like Jesus, it is heavy even unto death. All
is taken away but the will to retain nothing, and to let God work without
reservation.
It has not even the consolation of perceiving
that it has such a will. It is no longer a perceptible, designed will, but
simple, without reflex acts, and so much the more hidden, as it is deeper and
more intimate in the soul. In such a state, God sees to everything that is
necessary to detach the soul from self. He strips it little by little, removing
one after another all the investments in which is was wrapped.
The last operations, though not always the
greatest, are, nevertheless, the most severe. Though the outside garments may
be more costly than those within, yet the removal of the latter is more painful
than that of the former. During the first, we are consoled by reflecting upon
what is left us; during the last, nought remains but bitterness, nakedness, and
confusion.
I shall perhaps be asked, in what these
deprivations consist; but I cannot say. They are as various as the characters
of men. Each man suffers according to his necessity, and the designs of God.
How is it possible to know what will be taken off from us, when we do not know
what we have on? We cling to an infinity of things which we should never
suspect; we only feel that they are a part of us when they are snatched away,
as I am only conscious that I have hairs when they are pulled from my head. God
develops to us, little by little, what is within us, of which we are, until
then, entirely ignorant, and we are astonished at discovering in our very
virtues, defects of which we should never have believed ourselves capable. It
is like a grotto which appears perfectly dry, but in which the water suddenly
sprout out from every point, even from those that were least suspended.
These spoliations are not commonly such as could
have been anticipated. That which we expect, finds us prepared, and is scarce
proper to hasten the death of self. God surprises us in the most unlooked-for
quarters. They are nothings, but nothings which desolate us and crucify
self-love. Great and striking virtues are no longer appropriate; they would
nourish pride, and communicate a certain degree of strength and interior
assurance contrary to the design of God, which is, to make us lose ground. Then
it is a simple, single way; everything is commonplace. Others see nothing
great, and the person himself discovers within, only what seems natural, weak,
and feeble; but he would rather a hundred times, fast all his life on bread and
water, and practice the greatest austerities, than suffer what is going on
within him. Not because he enjoys a certain taste of fervor in austerities; not
at all, that delight is gone; but he finds in the pliability which God requires
in an infinity of little things, more of self-abandonment and death than there
would be in great sacrifices.
Nevertheless, God never leaves the soul until He
has rendered it supple and pliable, by twisting it all manner of ways. At one
time the person must speak frankly; at another be still; he must be praised,
then blamed, then forgotten, and then examined anew; he must be low, he must be
high, he must suffer condemnation without uttering a word in self-defence, and
again he must speak well of himself. He must be willing to find himself weak,
restless, and irresolute in the merest trifles; manifesting the waywardness of
a little child; shocking his friends by his coldness; becoming jealous and
suspicious without reason; even relating his most foolish jealousies to those
in regard to whom he feel them; speaking with patience and labor to persons,
contrary to their desire and his own, and without fruit; appearing artificial
and faithless; in short, to find himself arid, languishing, weary of God,
dissipated in mind, and so far separated from every gracious thought as to be
tempted to despair. Such are examples of some of the spoliations which now
desolate myself; but there is an infinity of others which God apportions to
each one according to his own wise purposes.
Let no one tell me that these are only empty
imaginations. Can we doubt that God acts immediately in the soul? that He so
acts as to make it die to self? that, after having subdued the grosser
passions, He attacks all the subtle resources of self-love within, especially
in those souls who have generously and without reserve delivered themselves up
to the operations of his grace? The more He would purify them, the more He
exercises them interiorly. The world has neither eyes to see nor ears to hear
these trials; but the world is blind; its wisdom is dead; it cannot coexist
with the Spirit of truth. "The things of God," says the Apostle,
"knoweth no man but the Spirit of God;" "the Spirit searcheth the deep
things of God." (1 Cor. ii. 10,11.)
We are not, at first, accustomed to this interior
supervision, which thus tends to raze us to the foundation. We are willing to
be silent and recollected; to suffer all things; to be at the disposal of
Providence, like a man passively trusting himself to the current of a river;
but we dare not yet risk listening to the interior voice, calling us to the
sacrifices which God is preparing. We are like the child Samuel, who did not
yet know the Lord; when the Lord called, he thought it was Eli, but he was told
that he had been dreaming, and that no one spoke to him. Just so, we are
uncertain whether it may not be some imagination which would carry us too far.
Often the high-priest Eli, that is, our spiritual advisers, tell us that we
have been dreaming, and bid us lie down again. But God does not leave us, and
continues to wake us, until we lend an ear to what He has to say.
If it were a matter of visions, apparitions,
revelations, extraordinary illuminations, miracles, things contrary to true
teaching, we should be right in not being detained by them. But when God has
led us to a certain point of abandonment, and we subsequently have an interior
conviction that He still desires us to give up certain innocent things, the
tendency of all which is only to make us more simple and more profoundly dead
to self, can it be an illusion to yield to such drawings? Probably no one
follows them without good counsel. The repugnance which our wisdom and
self-love manifest to them, is a sufficient evidence that they are of grace;
for we see that we are only hindered from following them by selfish
considerations. The more we fear to do these things, the more we have need to
do them; for it is a fear which arises only from delicacy, want of pliability
and attachment either to our pleasures or our views. We must die to all the
sentiments of the natural life. Thus every pretext for retreat is cut off by
the conviction in the depths of the soul, that the sacrifices required will
assist in causing us to die.
Ease and promptness in yielding to these
movements, are the means by which souls make the greatest advances. Those who
are ingenuous enough never to hesitate, soon make incredible progress. Others
argue, and never fail to find a sufficient reason for not following the
interior monitor. They are willing and not willing; they want to wait for
certainties; they search about for advisers, who will bid them not do what they
are afraid of doing; they stop at every step, and look back; then languish in
irresolution, and insensibly estrange the Spirit of God. At first they grieve
Him by their hesitation; then they irritate Him by formal resistance, and
finally quench his operations by repeated opposition.
While they thus resist, they find pretexts both
to conceal and justify the resistance; but they insensibly grow dry; they lose
their simplicity, and, make what effort they may to deceive themselves, they
are not at peace; there is always at the bottom of the conscience, a feeling of
reproach that they have been wanting toward God. But as God becomes more
distant, because they are departing from Him, the soul becomes hardened by
degrees. It is no longer peaceful; but it no longer seeks true peace; on the
contrary, it wanders farther and farther from it, by seeking it where it is
not; like a dislocated bone, a continual source of pain, and out of its natural
position, yet, it manifests no tendency to resume its place, but, on the
contrary, binds itself fast in its false relations.
Ah! how much to be pitied is that soul which is
just beginning to reject the secret invitations of God, when he demands that it
shall die to all! At first, it is but an atom; but the atom becomes a mountain,
and soon forms a sort of chaos between it and God. We play deaf when God
demands a lowly simplicity; we are afraid to listen; we should be glad enough
to be able to convince ourselves that we had not heard; we say so, but are not
persuaded. We get into a tumult; we doubt all our past experience; and the
graces which had served the most effectually to make us humble and simple
before God, begin to look like illusions. We seek without, for spiritual
advisers who may calm the trouble within; we readily find them, for there are
so many, gifted even with much knowledge and piety, who have yet but little
experience.
In this condition, the more we strive to recover,
the sicker we get. We are like the wounded deer, bearing in his side the fatal
arrow; the more he struggles through the woods to be delivered of his enemy,
the more deeply he buries it in his body. Alas! "Who hath hardened himself
against Him and hath prospered." (Job ix. 4.) Can God, who is Himself the
true Peace, leave that heart peaceful which opposes itself to his designs? Such
a person is like one with an unknown disorder. Physicians employ their art in
vain to give him any solace. You behold him sad, depressed, languishing; no
food, no remedy can avail to do him good; he dies day by day. Can we wonder
that, wandering from the true way, we should ceaselessly continue to stray
farther and farther from the right course?
But, as you will say, the commencement of these
things is a small matter; true, but the end is deplorable. In the sacrifice
which we made when we devoted ourselves wholly to God, we reserved nothing and
felt happy in so doing, while we were looking at things with a general view and
at a distance; but when God takes us at our word and accepts our offer in
detail, we are made aware of a thousand repugnances, the existence of which we
had not so much as suspected before. Our courage fails; frivolous excuses are
suggested to flatter our feeble and tempted souls; then we hesitate and doubt
whether it is our duty to obey; we do only the half of what God requires of us,
and we mix with the divine influence a something of self, trying still to
secure some nutriment for that corrupt interior which wills not to die. A
jealous God retires: the soul begins to shut its eyes, that it may not see that
it has no longer the courage to act, and God leaves it to its weakness and
corruption, because it will be so left. But think of the magnitude of its
error!
The more we have received of God, the more ought
we to render. We have received prevenient love and singular grace: we have
received the gift of pure and unselfish love, which so many pious souls have
never tasted; God has spared nothing to possess us wholly; He has become the
interior Bridegroom; He has taken pains to do everything for his bride--but He
is infinitely jealous. Do not wonder at the exacting nature of his jealousy!
What is its object? Is it talents, illuminations, the regular practice of
external virtues? Not at all; He is easy and condescending in such matters.
Love is only jealous about love; the whole of his scrutiny falls upon the state
of the will. He cannot share the heart of the spouse with any other; still less
can He tolerate the excuses by which she would convince herself that her heart
is justly divided; this it is that lights the devouring fires of his jealousy.
As long, O spouse! as pure and disinterested love shall guide thee, so long the
Bridegroom will bear with inexhaustible patience all thy wrong doing through
weakness or inadvertence, without prejudice to the purity of thy love; but from
the moment that thou shalt refuse anything that God asks, and begin to deceive
thyself in the refusal, from that moment He will regard thee as a faithless
spouse, and one seeking to conceal her infidelity!
How many souls, after having made great
sacrifices, fall into these ways! False wisdom is the source of the whole
difficulty; it is not so much through defect of courage as through excess of
reason, that we are arrested at this point. It is true that when God has called
souls to this state of absolute sacrifice, he treats them in accordance with
the gifts He has lavished upon them; He is insatiable for deaths, losses,
renunciation; He is jealous of his own gifts even, because the excellence of
the blessings secretly breeds within us a sort of self-condfidence. All must be
destroyed, every vestige must perish! We have abandoned everything--and He
comes now to take everything, leaving us absolutely nothing. If there be the
smallest thing to which we cling, however good it may appear, there He comes
sword in hand, and cuts into the remotest corner of the soul. If we are still
fearful in any recess, to that spot He comes, for He always attacks us in our
weakest points. He pushes hard, without giving us time to breathe. Do you
wonder? Can we be dead while we yet breathe? We desire that God would give us
the death-stroke; but we long to die without pain; we would die to our own will
by the power of the will itself; we want to lose all and still hold all. Ah!
what agony, what distress, when God has brought us to the end of our strength!
We faint like a patient under a painful surgical operation. But the comparison
is nought, for the object of the surgeon is to give us life--that of God to
make us die.
Poor souls! weak in spirit! how these last blows
overwhelm you! The very apprehension of them makes you tremble and fall back!
How few are there who make out to cross the frightful desert! Scarcely shall
two or three behold the promised land! Woe to those from whom God had reason to
expect everything, and who do not accept the grace! Woe to him who resists the
interior guidance! strange sin, that against the Holy Spirit! Unpardonable
either in this world or in the next, what is it but resistance to the divine
monitor within? He who resists the Spirit, striving for his conversion shall be
punished in this world by affliction, and in the next by the pains of hell.
Happy is he who never hesitates; who fears only that he follows with too little
readiness; who would rather do too much against self than too little! Blessed
is he who, when asked for a sample, boldly presents his entire stock, and
suffers God to cut from the whole cloth! happy he who, esteeming himself as
nothing, puts God to no necessity of sparing him! Thrice happy he whom all this
does not affright!
It is thought that this state is a painful one;
it is a mistake; here is peace and liberty; here the heart, detached from
everything, is immeasurably enlarged, so as to become illimitable; nothing
cramps it; and in accordance with the promise, it becomes, in a certain sense,
one with God himself.
Thou only O my God! canst give the peace which is
then enjoyed! The less timid the soul is in the sacrifice of itself, the
greater liberty does it acquire! At length, when it no longer hesitates to lose
all and forget self, it possesses all. It is true that it is not a conscious
possession, so that the soul addressed itself as happy, for that would be to
return to self after having quitted it forever; but it is an image of the
condition of the blessed, who will be always ravished by the contemplation of
God, without having a moment, during the whole of eternity, to think of
themselves and their felicity. They are so satisfied in these transports, that
they will be eternally rejoicing, without once saying to themselves that they
are happy.
Thou grantest to those souls who never resist
thee, O bridegroom of souls! even in this life, a foretaste of this felicity.
They will all things and nothing. As it is things created which hem up the
heart, these souls, being restrained by no attachment to the creature, and no
reflections of self, enter as it were into thine immensity! Nothing stops them;
they become continually more and more lost; but though their capacity should
increase to an infinite extent, Thou wouldst fill it; they are always
satisfied. They do not say that they are happy, but feel that they are so; they
do not posses happiness, but their happiness possesses them. Let any one ask
them at any moment, Do you will to suffer what you suffer? Would you have what
you have not? They will answer without hesitation and without reflection, I
will to suffer what I suffer, and to want that which I have not; I will
everything which God wills; I will nothing else.
Such, my God, is true and pure worship in spirit
and in truth. Thou seekest such to worship Thee, but scarce findest them! There
are few but seek self in thy gifts, instead of seeking Thee alone in the cross
and in spoliation. Most seek to guide Thee instead of being guided by Thee.
They give themselves up to Thee, that they may become great, but withdraw when
they are required to become little. They say they are attached to nothing, and
are overwhelmed by the smallest losses. They desire to possess Thee, but are
not willing to lose self, that they may be possessed by Thee. This is not
loving Thee; it is desiring to be loved by Thee. O God, the creature knows not
to what end Thou hast made him; teach him, and write in the depths of his soul,
that the clay must suffer itself to be shaped at the will of the potter!
ON CHRISTIAN PERFECTION.
Christian Perfection is not that rigorous,
tedious, cramping thing that many imagine. It demands only an entire surrender
of everything to God from the depths of the soul, and the moment this takes
place, whatever is done for Him becomes easy. They who are God's without
reserve, are in every state content; for they will only what He wills, and
desire to do for Him whatever he desires them to do; they strip themselves of
everything, and in this nakedness find all things restored an hundred fold.
Peace of conscience, liberty of spirit, the sweet abandonment of themselves and
theirs into the hand of God, the joy of perceiving the light always increasing
in their hearts, and finally the freedom of their souls from the bondage of the
fears and desires of this world, these things constitute that return of
happiness which the true children of God receive an hundred fold in the midst
of their crosses, while they remain faithful.
They are sacrificed, it is true, but it is to
that which they love best; they suffer, but they will to endure all that they
do receive, and prefer that anguish to all the false joys of the world; their
bodies are subject to excruciating pain; their imaginations are troubled; their
minds become languid and weak, but the will is firm and peacefully quiet in the
interior of the soul, and responds a joyful Amen! to every stroke from
the hand that would perfect the sacrifice.
What God requires of us, is a will which is no
longer divided between Him and any creature; a simple, pliable state of will
which desires what He desires, rejects nothing but what He rejects, and wills
without reserve what He wills, and under no pretext wills what He does not. In
this state of mind, all things are proper for us; our amusements, even, are
acceptable in his sight.
Blessed is he who thus give himself to God! He is
delivered from his passions, from the opinions of men, from their malice, from
the tyranny of their maxims, from their cold and miserable raillery, from the
misfortunes which the world attributes to chance, from the infidelity and
fickleness of friends, from the artifices and snares of enemies, from the
wretchedness and shortness of life, from the horrors of an ungodly death, from
the cruel remorse that follows sinful pleasures, and finally from the
everlasting condemnation of God!
The true Christian is delivered from this
innumerable multitude of evils, because, putting his will into the hands of
God, he wills only what He wills, and thus finds comfort in the midst of all
his suffering in the way of faith, and its attendant hope.
What weakness it is, then, to be fearful of
consecrating ourselves to God, and of getting too far into so desirable a
state!
Happy those who throw themselves, as it were,
headlong, and with their eyes shut, into the arms of "the Father of mercies,
and the God of all comfort!" (2 Cor. i. 3.) Their whole desire then, is to
know what is the will of God respecting them; and they fear nothing so much as
not perceiving the whole of his requirements. So soon as they behold a new
light in his law, they are transported with joy, like a miser at the finding of
a treasure.
No matter what cross may overwhelm the true child
of God, he wills everything that happens, and would not have anything removed
which his Father appoints; the more he loves God, the more is he filled with
content; and the most stringent perfection, far from being a burthen, only
renders his yoke the lighter.
What folly to fear to be too devoted to God! to
fear to be happy! to fear to love the will of God in all things! to fear to
have too much courage under inevitable crosses, too much consolation in the
love of God, and too great a detachment from the passions which make us
miserable!
Let us refuse, then, to set our affections upon
things of the earth that we may set them exclusively upon God. I do not say,
that we must abandon them entirely; for if our lives be already moral and well
ordered, we have only to change the secret motive of our actions into Love, and
we may continue almost the same course of life. God does not overturn our
conditions nor the duties attached to them, but we may go on doing that now for
the service of God which we did formerly to satisfy the world, and to please
ourselves. There will only be this difference: instead of being harassed by
pride, by overbearing passion, and by the malicious censures of the world, we
shall act with liberty, with courage, and with hope in God. We shall be
animated with confidence; the expectation of things eternal, which advance as
things temporal recede from us, will support us in the midst of suffering; the
love of God, who will cause us to perceive how great is his love toward us,
will lend us wings to fly in his ways, and to raise us above all our miseries.
Is this hard to believe? Experience will convince us. "O taste and see that
the Lord is good!" says the Psalmist. (Ps. xxxiv. 8.)
The Son of God says to every Christian without
exception, "If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up
his cross and follow me." (Matt. xix. 24.) The broad way leadeth unto
destruction; we must walk in the strait way, though there be few that travel
therein. It is only the violent who take the Kingdom by force. We must be born
again, renounce and hate ourselves, become children, be poor in spirit, mourn
that we may be comforted, and not be of this world, which is cursed because of
offences.
Many are affrighted at these truths, and their
fear arises from this: that while they know the exacting nature of religion,
they are ignorant of its gifts, and of the spirit of love which renders
everything easy. They are not aware that religion leads to the highest
perfection, while bestowing peace through a principle of love that smooths
every rough place.
They who are in truth and indeed wholly
consecrated to God, are ever happy. They prove that the yoke of our Redeemer is
easy and his burden light; that in Him is the peace of the soul, and that He
gives rest to them that are weary and heavy laden, according to his own blessed
promise. But how unhappy are those poor, weak souls, who are divided between
God and the world! They will and they do not will; they are lacerated at once
by their passions and their remorse; they are afraid of the judgments of God
and of the opinions of men; they dislike the evil, but are ashamed of the good;
they suffer the pains of virtue, without enjoying its consolations. Ah! could
they but have a little courage,--just enough to despise the vain conversation,
the cold sneers, and the rash judgments of men,--what peace would they not
enjoy in the bosom of God!
It is dangerous to our salvation, unworthy of God
and of ourselves, and destructive even of our peace of mind, to desire to
remain always in our present position. Our whole life is only given us that we
may advance with rapid strides towards our heavenly country. The world recedes
like a deceptive shadow, and eternity already approaches to receive us. Why do
we linger and look behind, while the light of the Father of Mercies is shining
upon us from before? Let us make haste to reach the Kingdom of God.
All the vain pretexts which are used to cover our
reservations toward God are instantly dissipated by the first commandment of
the law: "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all
thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind." (Luke x. 27.)
Notice how many expressions are here brought together by the Holy Spirit, to
forestall all the reservations the soul might make to the prejudice of this
jealous Love; not only with the whole extent and strength of the soul, but with
all the intensity of the intellect. How then can we conclude that we love Him
if we cannot make up our minds to receive his law, and to apply ourselves at
once to fulfil all his blessed will?
They who fear that they shall discover too
clearly what this love demands, are very far indeed from possessing the active
and incessant affection required by this commandment.
There is but one way in which God should be
loved, and that is to take no step except with Him and for Him, and to follow,
with a generous self-abandonment, everything which He requires.
They who live in some self-denial, but have still
a wish to enjoy a little of the world, think that this is a small matter; but
they run the risk of being included in the number of those lukewarm ones whom
God will spue out of his mouth. (Rev. iii. 16.)
God is not pleased with the souls that say, "thus
far will I go and no farther." Should the creature prescribe laws to the
Creator? What would a master say of his servants, or a king of his subjects,
who should be willing to serve him, but only after their own fashion? who
should be afraid of becoming too much interested in his service and his
interests, and who should be ashamed publicly to acknowledge themselves
attached to him? Or rather, what will the King of kings say to us if we serve
Him in this wicked manner?
The time is not far distant; it is near, it is
even at hand; let us hasten to anticipate it; let us love that eternal beauty
which never grows old, and which preserves in endless youth those who love
nought but it; let us despise this miserable world which is already falling to
pieces on every side! Have we not beheld for years, that they, who to-day are
high in honor and in the esteem of men, to-morrow, surprised by death, are laid
side by side in the tomb? This poor world, the object of so much insane
attachment, we are daily about to leave; it is but misery, vanity and folly; a
phantom,--the very fashion of which passeth away! (1 Cor. vii. 31.)
THE WAY OF NAKED FAITH AND PURE LOVE IS BETTER AND MORE CERTAIN THAN THAT OF
ILLUMINATIONS AND SENSIBLE DELIGHTS.
Those who are attached to God, only so far as
they enjoy pleasure and consolation, resemble those who followed the Lord, not
to hear his teaching, but because they did eat of the loaves and were filled.
(John vi. 26.) They are ready to say with Peter, "Master, it is good for us
to be here; and let us make three tabernacles; (Mark ix. 5); but they know
not what they say. After being intoxicated with the joys of the mountain they
deny the Son of God and refuse to follow him to Calvary. Not only do they
desire delights, but they seek illuminations also; the mind is curious to
behold, while the heart requires to be filled with soft and flattering
emotions. Is this dying to self? Is this the way in which the just shall live
by faith? (Heb. x. 38.)
They desire to have extraordinary revelations,
which may be regarded as supernatural gifts, and a mark of the special favor of
God. Nothing is so flattering to self-love; all the greatness of the world at
once could not so inflate the heart; these supernatural gifts nourish in secret
the life of nature. It is an ambition of the most refined character, as it is
wholly spiritual; but it is merely ambition; a desire to feel, to enjoy, to
posses God and his gifts, to behold his light, to discern spirits, to prophesy,
in short, to be an extraordinarily gifted person; for the enjoyment of
illuminations and delights, leads the soul little by little towards a secret
coveting of all these things.
Yet the apostle shows us a more excellent way,
(1 Cor. xii. 31,) for which he inspires us with a holy emulation; it is the
way of charity which seeketh not her own, (1 Cor. xiii. 5,) and desires
not to be clothed upon, if we may adopt the apostle's language, but suffers
herself to be unclothed. She is less in search of pleasure than of God, whose
will she longs to fulfil. If she finds pleasure in devotion, she does not rest
in it, but makes it serve to strengthen her weakness, as a convalescent uses a
staff to aid in walking, but throws it aside on his restoration. In the same
way the tender and child-like soul that God fed with milk in the beginning,
suffers itself to be weaned when He sees it is time that it should be nourished
upon strong meat.
We must not be ever children, always hanging upon
the breast of heavenly consolations; we must put away childish things with St.
Paul. (1 Cor. xiii. 11.) Our early joys were excellent to attract us, to detach
us from gross and worldly pleasures by others of a purer kind, and to lead us
into a life of prayer and recollection; but to be constantly in a state of
enjoyment that takes away the feeling of the cross, and to live in a fervor of
devotion, that continually keeps paradise open, this is not dying upon the
cross and becoming nothing.
This life of illumination and sensible delights,
is a very dangerous snare, if we become so attached to it as to desire nothing
farther; for he who has no other attraction to prayer, will quit both it and
God, whenever this source of his gratification is dried up. St. Theresa says,
you know, that a vast number of souls leave off praying at the very moment when
their devotion is beginning to be real. How many are there who, in consequence
of too tender rearing in Jesus Christ, and too great fondness for the milk of
his word, go back and abandon the interior life as soon as God undertakes to
wean them! We need not be astonished at this, for they mistake the portico of
the temple for the very sanctuary itself; they desire the death of their gross
external passions, that they may lead a delicious life of self-satisfaction
within. Hence so much infidelity and disappointment, even among those who
appeared the most fervent and the most devoted; those who have talked the
loudest of abandonment, of death to self, of the darkness of faith and of
desolation, are often the most surprised and discouraged, when they really
experience these things, and their consolation is taken away. O how excellent
is the way pointed out by John of the Cross, who would have us believe without
seeing, and love without desiring to feel!
This attachment to sensible delights, is the
fruitful source of all our illusions; souls are earthly in desiring something
tangible, as it were, before they can feel firm. But this is all wrong; it is
these very things of sense that produce vacillation; we think, while the
pleasure lasts, that we shall never desert God; we say in our prosperity, that
we shall never be moved (Ps. xxx. 6.); but the moment our intoxication is over,
we give up all for lost, thus substituting our own pleasure and imagination in
place of God. Naked faith, alone, is a sure guard against illusion. When our
foundation is not upon any imagination, feeling, pleasure, or extraordinary
illumination; when we rest upon God only in pure and naked faith, in the
simplicity of the gospel receiving the consolations which He sends, but
dwelling in none; abstaining from judging, and ever obedient; believing that it
is easy to be deceived, and that others may be able to set us right; in short,
acting every moment with simplicity and an upright intention, following the
light of the faith of the present moment; then we are indeed in a way that is
but little subject to illusion.
Experience will demonstrate, better than anything
else, how much more certain this path is than that of illuminations and
sensible delights. Whoever will try it, will soon find that this way of naked
faith, rigidly followed, is the profoundest and most complete death of self.
Interior delights and revelations indemnify our self-love for all its external
sacrifices, and cherish a secret and refined life of nature; but to suffer
ourselves to be stripped within and without at once, without by Providence, and
within by the night of pure faith, this is a total sacrifice, and a state the
farthest possible from self-deception.
Those, then, who seek to guard against being
deceived by a constant succession of emotions and certainties, are by that very
course exposing themselves most surely to such a result. On the other hand,
those who follow the leadings of the love that strips them and the faith that
walks in darkness, without seeking any other support, avoid all the sources of
error and illusion. The author of the Imitation of Christ (book iii.)
tells you, that if God takes away your inward delights, it should be your
pleasure to remain pleasureless. O how beloved of God is a soul thus crucified,
that rests calmly upon the cross, and desires only to expire with Jesus! It is
not true to say that we are afraid of having lost God, on being deprived of
feeling; it is impatience under the trial, the restlessness of a pampered and
dainty nature, a search for some support for self-love, a weariness of
abandonment, and a secret return to self, after our consecration to God. O God,
where are they who stop not in the road to death? If they persevere unto the
end, they shall receive a crown of life.
ON THE PRESENCE OF GOD.
The true source of all our perfection is
contained in the command of God in Abraham, "Walk before me, and be thou
perfect." (Gen. xvii. 1.)
The presence of God calms the soul, and gives it
quiet and repose even during the day, and in the midst of occupation--but we
must be given up to God without reserve.
When we have once found God, we have nothing to
seek among men; we must make the sacrifice of our dearest friendships; the best
of friends has entered into our hearts, that jealous Bridegroom who requires
the whole of it for himself.
It takes no great time to love God, to be
refreshed by his presence, to elevate our hearts to Him, or to worship Him in
the depths of our soul, to offer to Him all we do and all we suffer; this is
the true kingdom of God within us, which cannot be disturbed.
When the distraction of the senses and the
vivacity of the imagination hinder the soul from a sweet and peaceful state of
recollection, we should at least be calm as to the state of the will: in that
case, the will to be recollected is a sufficient state of recollection for the
time being. We must return toward God, and do everything which He would have us
do with a right intention.
We must endeavor to awake within ourselves, from
time to time, the desire of being devoted to God in all the extent of our
powers; in our intellect, to know him and think on him, and in our will, to
love him. We must desire too, that our outward senses may be consecrated to him
in all their operations.
Let us be careful how we voluntarily engage,
either externally or internally, in matters which cause such distraction of the
will and intellect, and so draw them out of themselves that they find
difficulty in re-entering and finding God.
The moment we discover that anything causes
excessive pleasure or joy within us, let us separate our heart from it, and, to
prevent it from seeking its repose in the creature, let us present it to God,
the true object of love, the sovereign good. If we are faithful in breaking up
all attachment to the creature, that is, if we prevent its entering into those
depths of the soul which our Lord reserves for Himself, to dwell there and to
be there respected, adored, and loved, we shall soon experience that pure joy
which He never fails to give to a soul freed and detached from all human
affections.[3]
Whenever we perceive within us anxious desires
for anything, whatever it may be, and find that nature is hurrying us with too
much haste to do what is to be done, whether it be to say something, see
something, or to do something, let us stop short, and repress the precipitancy
of our thoughts and the agitation of our actions--for God has said, that his
Spirit does not dwell in disquiet.
Be careful not to take too much interest in what
is going on around you, nor to be much engaged in it--it is a fruitful source
of distraction. As soon as we have found what it is that God requires of us in
anything that comes up, let us stop there and separate ourselves from all the
rest. By that means we shall always preserve the depths of the soul free and
equable, and rid ourselves of many things that embarrass our hearts, and
prevent them from turning easily toward God.
An excellent means of preserving our interior
solitude and liberty of soul, is to make it a rule to put an end, at the close
of every action, to all reflections upon it, all reflex acts of self-love,
whether of a vain joy or sorrow. Happy is he whose mind contains only what is
necessary, and who thinks of nothing except when it is time to think of it! so
that it is God who excites the impression, by calling us to perform his will as
soon as it is exhibited, rather than the mind laboriously foreseeing and
seeking it. In short, let us be accustomed to recollect ourselves during the
day and in the midst of our occupations, by a simple view of God. Let us
silence by that means all the movements of our hearts, when they appear in the
least agitated. Let us separate ourselves from all that does not come from God.
Let us suppress our superfluous thoughts and reveries. Let us utter no useless
word. Let us seek God within us, and we shall find Him without fail, and with
Him, joy and peace.
While outwardly busy, let us be more occupied
with God than with everything else. To be rightly engaged, we must be in his
presence and employed for Him. At the sight of the Majesty of God, our interior
ought to become calm and remain tranquil. Once a single word of the Saviour
suddenly calmed a furiously agitated sea: one look of his at us, and of ours
toward Him, ought always to perform the same miracle within us.
We must often raise our hearts to God. He will
purify, enlighten, and direct them. Such was the daily practice of the sacred
Psalmist: "I have set the Lord always before me." (Ps. xvi. 8.) Let us
often employ the beautiful words of the same holy prophet, "Whom have I in
heaven but thee? And there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee! God is
the strength of my heart and my portion forever!" (Ps. lxxiii. 25.)
We must not wait for a leisure hour, when we can
bar our doors; the moment that is employed in regretting that we have no
opportunity to be recollected, might be profitably spent in recollection. Let
us turn our hearts toward God in a simple, familiar spirit, full of confidence
in him. The most interrupted moments, even while eating or listening to others,
are valuable. Tiresome and idle talk in our presence, instead of annoying, will
afford us the delight of employing the interval in seeking God. Thus all things
work together for good to them that love God.
We must read according to our necessity and
desire, but with frequent interruptions, for the purpose of recollection. A
word or two, simple and full of the Spirit of God, will be to us as hidden
manna. We forget the words, but the effect remains; they operate in secret, and
the soul is fed and enriched.
ON CONFORMITY TO THE WILL OF GOD.
The essence of virtue consists in the
attitude of the will. This is what the Lord would teach us when he said,
"The kingdom of God is within you." (Luke xvii. 21.) It is not a
question of extensive knowledge, of splendid talents, nor even of great deeds;
it is a simple matter of having a heart and loving. Outward works are the
fruits and consequences of loving, and the spring of all good things is at the
bottom of the soul.
There are some virtues which are appropriate to
certain conditions, and not to others; some are good at one time, and some at
another; but an upright will is profitable for all times and all places. That
kingdom of God which is within us, consists in our willing whatever God wills,
always, in everything, and without reservation; and thus his kingdom comes; for
his will is then done as it is in Heaven, since we will nothing but what is
dictated by his sovereign pleasure.
Blessed are the poor in spirit! Blessed are they
who are stripped of everything, even of their own wills, that they may no
longer belong to themselves! How poor in spirit does he become who has given up
all things to God! But how is it that our will becomes right, when it
unreservedly conforms to that of God? We will whatever He wills; what He does
not will, we do not; we attach our feeble wills to that all-powerful one that
regulates everything. Thus nothing can ever come to pass against our wishes;
for nothing can happen contrary to the will of God, and we find in his good
pleasure an inexhaustible source of peace and consolation.
The interior life is the beginning of the blessed
peace of the saints, who eternally cry, Amen, Amen! We adore, we praise, we
bless God in everything; we see Him incessantly, and in all things his paternal
hand is the sole object of our contemplation. There are no longer any evils;
for even the most terrible that come upon us, work together for good, as St.
Paul says, to those that love God. (Rom. viii. 28.) Can the suffering that God
destines to purify and make us worthy of himself, be called an evil?
Let us cast all our cares, then, into the bosom
of so good a Father, and suffer Him to do as He pleases. Let us be content to
adopt his will in all points, and to abandon our own absolutely and forever.
How can we retain anything of our own, when we do not even belong to ourselves?
The slave has nothing; how much less, then, should we own anything, who in
ourselves are but nothingness and sin, and who are indebted for everything to
pure grace! God has only bestowed upon us a will, free and capable of
self-possession, that we may the more generously recompense the gift by
returning it to its rightful owner.
We have nothing but our wills only; all the rest
belongs elsewhere. Disease removes life and health; riches make to themselves
wings; intellectual talents depend upon the state of the body. The only thing
that really belongs to us is our will, and it is of this, therefore, that God
is especially jealous, for He gave it to us, not that we should retain it, but
that we should return it to Him, whole as we received it, and without the
slightest reservation.
If the least desire remain, or the smallest
hesitation, it is robbing God, contrary to the order of creation; for all
things come from Him, and to Him they are all due.
Alas! how many souls there are full of self, and
desirous of doing good and serving God, but in such a way as to suit
themselves; who desire to impose rules upon God as to his manner of drawing
them to Himself. They want to serve and possess Him, but they are not willing
to abandon themselves to Him, and be possessed by Him.
What a resistance they offer to Him, even when
they appear so full of zeal and fervor! It is certain that in one sense, their
spiritual abundance becomes an obstacle to their progress; for they hold it
all, even their virtues, in appropriation, and constantly seek self, even in
good. O how superior to such fervid and illuminated souls, walking always in
virtue, in a road of their own choice, is that humble heart that renounces its
own life, and every selfish movement, and dismisses all will except such as God
gives from moment to moment, in accordance with his Gospel and Providence!
Herein lies the meaning of those words of the
Lord; "If any man will come after me, let him deny himself and take up his
cross and follow me." (Matt. xvi. 24; Luke xiv. 33.) We must follow Jesus
Christ, step by step, and not open up a path for ourselves. We can only follow
Him by denying ourselves; and what is this but unreservedly abandoning every
right over ourselves? And so St. Paul tells us; "Ye are not your own (1
Cor. vi. 19): no, not a thing remains that belongs to us! Alas for him that
resumes possession of anything after once abandoning it!
To desire to serve God in one place rather than
in another, in this way rather than in that, is not this desiring to serve Him
in our own way rather than in his? But to be equally ready for all things, to
will everything and nothing, to leave ourselves in his hands, like a toy in the
hands of a child, to set no bounds to our abandonment, inasmuch as the perfect
reign of God cannot abide them, this is really denying ourselves; this is
treating Him like a God, and ourselves like creatures made solely for his
use.
GENERAL DIRECTIONS FOR ATTAINING INWARD PEACE.
There is no peace to them that resist God: if
there be joy in the world, it is reserved for a pure conscience; the whole
earth is full of tribulation and anguish to those who do not possess it.
How different is the peace of God from that of
the world! It calms the passions, preserves the purity of the conscience, is
inseparable from righteousness, unites us to God and strengthens us against
temptations. The peace of the soul consists in an absolute resignation to the
will of God.
"Martha, Martha, thou are careful and troubled
about many things; but one thing is needful." (Luke x. 41.) The pain we
suffer from so many occurrences, arises from the fact that we are not entirely
abandoned to God in everything that happens.
Let us put all things, then, into his hands, and
offer them to Him in our hearts, as a sacrifice beforehand. From the moment
that you cease to desire anything according to your own judgment, and begin to
will everything just as God wills it, you will be free from your former
tormenting reflections and anxieties about your own concerns; you will no
longer have anything to conceal or take care of.
Until then, you will be troubled, vacillating in
your views and enjoyments, easily dissatisfied with others and but little
satisfied with yourself, and full of reserve and distrust. Your good
intentions, until they become truly humble and simple, will only torment you;
your piety, however sincere, will be the occasion of more internal reproach
then of support or consolation. But if you will abandon your whole heart to
God, you will be full of peace and joy in the Holy Ghost.
Alas for you, if you will regard man in the work
of God! In our choice of a guide, men must be counted as nothing; the slightest
respect for their opinion dries up the stream of grace, and increases our
indecision. We suffer and we displease God besides.
How can we refuse to bestow all our love upon
God, who first loved us with the tender love of a Father, pitying our frailty,
and well knowing the mire from which we have been dragged? When a soul is
filled with this love, it enjoys peace of conscience, it is content and happy,
it requires neither greatness nor reputation, nor pleasure, nor any of the
perishing gifts of time; it desires only the will of God, and watches
incessantly in the joyful expectation of its Spouse.
PURE LOVE ONLY CAN SUFFER ARIGHT AND LOVE ITS SUFFERINGS.
We know that we must suffer, and that we
deserve it; nevertheless, we are always surprised at affliction, as if we
thought we neither merited nor had need of it. It is only true and pure love
that delights to endure, for nothing else is perfectly abandoned. Resignation
induces us to bear pain, but there is a something in it which is afflicted in
suffering, and resists. The resignation that measures out its abandonment to
God with selfish reflection, is willing to suffer, but is constantly examining
to ascertain whether it suffers acceptably. In fact, the resigned soul is
composed as it were of two persons; one keeping the other in subjection, and
watching lest it should revolt.
In pure love, unselfish and abandoned, the soul
is fed in silence on the cross, and on union with the crucified Saviour,
without any reflections on the severity of its sufferings. There exists but a
single, simple will, which permits God to see it just as it is, without
endeavoring to behold itself. It says nothing, does nothing. What then does it
do? It suffers. And is this all? Yea, all; it has nothing else to do but to
suffer. Love can be heard easily enough, without speech or thought. It does all
that it is required to do, which is, to have no will when it is stripped of all
consolation. The purest of all loves is a will so filled with that of God, that
there remains nothing else.
What a consolation is it to think that we are
then rid of so many anxieties about our exercise of patience and the other
virtues in the sight of those about us? It is enough to be humbled and
abandoned in the midst of suffering. This is not courage; it is something both
more and less; less in the eyes of the ordinary class of Christians, more in
the eyes of pure faith. It is a humiliation which raises the soul into all the
greatness of God; a weakness which strips it of every resource, to bestow upon
it his omnipotence. "When I am weak," says St. Paul, "then I am
strong; I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me." (2 Cor.
xii. 10; Phil. iv. 13.)
It suffices then, to feed upon some short
sentences suited to our state and our taste, with frequent interruptions to
quiet the senses and make room for the inward spirit of recollection. We
sometimes suffer, scarcely knowing that we are in distress; at other times we
suffer, and know that we bear it ill, but we carry this second and heavier
cross without impatience. True love goes ever straightforward, not in its own
strength, but esteeming itself as nothing. Then indeed we are truly happy. The
cross is no longer a cross when there is no self to suffer under it, and to
appropriate its good and evil.
INTERESTED AND DISINTERESTED LOVE HAVE EACH ITS APPROPRIATE SEASON.
Why do the gifts of God confer more pleasure
when they exist in ourselves than when they are conferred upon our neighbor, if
we are not attached to self? If we prefer to see them in our possession rather
than in that of those about us, we shall certainly be afflicted when we see
them more perfect in them than they are in ourselves; and this constitutes
envy. What is our duty then? We must rejoice that the will of God is done in
us, and that it reigns there not for our happiness and perfection, but for his
own good pleasure and glory.
Now, take notice of two matters. The first is,
that this distinction is not an empty subtlety; for God, in his desire to
desolate the soul for its own perfection, causes it really to pass through
these trials of self, and never lets it alone until He has deprived its love of
selfish reflection and support. There is nothing so jealous, so exacting, and
so searching as this principle of pure love; it cannot abide a thousand things
that were imperceptible in our previous state; and what pious persons would
call an unprofitable nicety, seems an essential point to the soul that is
desirous of destroying self. As with gold in the furnace, the fire consumes all
that is not gold, so it seems necessary that the heart should be melted with
fervent heat, that the love of God may be rendered pure.
The second remark is, that God does not pursue
every soul in this way in the present life. There is an infinite number of
truly pious persons whom He leaves in some degree under the dominion of
self-love; these remains of self help to support them in the practice of
virtue, and serve to purify them to a certain point.
Scarce anything would be more injudicious or more
dangerous than to deprive them of the contemplation of the grace of God in them
as tending to their own personal perfection. The first class exercise
disinterested gratitude; they are thankful to God for whatever He does in them,
solely because He does it for his own glory; the second are also grateful, but
partly because their own perfection is secured at the same time. If the former
should endeavor to deprive the latter of this mixed motive and this interior
comfort in self, in reference to grace, they would cause them as much injury as
they would an infant by weaning it before it was able to eat; to take away the
breast, would be to destroy it. We must never seek to deprive a soul of the
food which still contains nutriment for it, and which God suffers to remain as
a stay to its weakness. To forestall grace is to destroy it. Neither must the
latter condemn the former because they do not see them as much concerned as
themselves about their own perfection in the grace ministered unto them. God
works in every one as he pleases; the wind bloweth where it listeth,
(John iii. 8,) and as it listeth. The forgetfulness of self in the pure
contemplation of God, is a state in which God can do in our souls whatever most
pleases Himself. The important point is, that those who are still in a measure
supported by self, should not be too anxious about the state of such as are in
pure love, nor should these latter endeavor to make the former pass through the
trials peculiar to a higher state of grace before God calls them to it.
ON TRUE LIBERTY.
When we are no longer embarrassed by the
restless reflections of self, we begin to enjoy true liberty.
False wisdom, on the other hand, always on the
watch, ever occupied with self, constantly jealous of its own perfection,
suffers severely whenever it is permitted to perceive the smallest speck of
imperfection.
Not that the man who is simple minded and
detached from self, fails to labor toward the attainment of perfection; he is
the more successful in proportion as he forgets himself, and never dreams of
virtue in any other light than as something which accomplishes the will of
God.
The source of all our defects is the love of
self; we refer everything to that, instead of to the love of God. Whoever,
then, will labor to get rid of self, to deny him-self, according to the
instructions of Christ, strikes at once at the root of every evil, and finds,
in this simple abandonment of self, the germ of every good.
Then those words of Scripture are heard within
and understood, "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty." (2
Cor. iii. 17.) We neglect nothing to cause the kingdom of God to come both
within and without; but in the midst of our frailties we are at peace. We would
rather die than commit the slightest voluntary sin, but we have no fear for our
reputation from the judgment of man. We court the reproach of Christ Jesus, and
dwell in peace though surrounded by uncertainties; the judgments of God do not
affright us, for we abandon ourselves to them, imploring his mercy according to
our attainments in confidence, sacrifice, and absolute surrender. The greater
the abandonments, the more flowing the peace; and in such a large place does it
set us, that we are prepared for everything; we will everything and nothing; we
are as guileless as babes.
Our illumination from God discovers the lightest
transgressions, but never discourages. We walk before Him; but if we stumble,
we hasten to resume our way, and have no watchword but Onward!
If we would find God, we must destroy the remains
of the old Adam within. The Lord held a little child in his arms, when He
declared, "of such is the kingdom of Heaven." The sum of the principal
directions is this: do not reason too much, always have an upright purpose in
the smallest matters, and pay no attention to the thousand reflections by which
we wrap and bury ourselves in self, under pretence of correcting our faults.
ON THE EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
I understand perfectly well that you do not
ask at my hands any proof that it is incumbent upon us to employ all our time
to good purpose; grace has long since convinced you of this. It is a pleasant
thing to come in contact with those who can meet us half way; but,
notwithstanding this, much remains to be done, and there is a wonderful
distance between the conviction of the intellect, even combined with the good
intention of the heart, and a faithful and exact obedience.
Nothing has been more common in ancient, as well
as in modern times, then to meet souls who were perfect and holy,
theoretically. (Matt. vii. 16,) "Ye shall know them by their fruits,"
says the Saviour. And this is the only rule that never deceives, when it is
properly understood; it is that by which we must judge ourselves.
There is a time for everything in our lives; but
the maxim that governs every moment, is, that there should be none useless;
that they should all enter into the order and sequence of our salvation; that
they are all accompanied by duties which God has allotted with his own hand,
and of which He will demand an account; for from the first instant of our
existence to the last, He has never assigned us a barren moment, nor one which
we can consider as given up to our own discretion. The great thing is to
recognize his will in relation to them. This is to be effected, not by an eager
and restless seeking, which is much more likely to spoil everything, than to
enlighten us as to our duty, but by a true submission to those whom God has set
over us, and a pure and upright heart which seeks God in its simplicity, and
heartily opposes all the duplicity and false wisdom of self, as fast as it is
revealed. For we misemploy our time, not only when we do wrong or do nothing,
but also when we do something else than what was incumbent on us at the moment,
even though it may be the means of good. We are strangely ingenious in
perpetually seeking our own interest; and what the world does nakedly and
without shame, those who desire to be devoted to God do also, but in a refined
manner, under favor of some pretext which serves as a veil to hide from them
the deformity of their conduct.
The best general means to ensure the profitable
employment of our time, is to accustom ourselves to living in continual
dependence upon the Spirit of God and his law, receiving, every instant,
whatever He is pleased to bestow; consulting Him in every emergency requiring
instant action, and having recourse to Him in our weaker moments, when virtue
seems to fail; invoking his aid, and rising our hearts to Him whenever we are
solicited by sensible objects, and find ourselves surprised and estranged from
God, and far from the true road.
Happy is the soul that commits itself, by a
sincere self-abandonment, into the hands of its Creator, ready to do all his
will, and continually crying, "Lord, what wouldst Thou have me to do? Teach
me to do thy will, for Thou art my God!" (Acts. ix. 6; Psalm cxliii.
10.)
During our necessary occupations, we need only
pay a simple attention to the leadings of Divine Providence. As they are all
prepared for us, and presented by Him, our only care should be to receive them
with a child-like spirit, and submit everything absolutely to Him; our temper,
our own will, our scruples, our restlessness, our self-reflections, our
overflowing emotions of hurry, vain joy, or other passions which assault us
according as we are pleased or displeased with the different events of the day.
Let us be careful, however, not to suffer ourselves to be overwhelmed by the
multiplicity of our exterior occupations, be they what they may.
Let us endeavor to commence every enterprise with
a pure view to the glory of God, continue it without distraction, and finish it
without impatience.
The intervals of relaxation and amusement are the
most dangerous seasons for us, and perhaps the most useful for others; we must,
then, be on our guard, that we be as faithful as possible to the presence of
God. We must make use of all that Christian vigilance so much recommended by
our Lord; raise our hearts to God in the simple view of faith, and dwell in
sweet and peaceful dependence upon the Spirit of grace, as the only means of
our safety and strength. This is especially necessary for such as are looked up
to as in authority, and whose words may be the cause of so much good or
evil.
Our leisure hours are ordinarily the sweetest and
pleasantest for ourselves; we can never employ them better than in refreshing
our spiritual strength, by a secret and intimate communion with God. Prayer is
so necessary, and the source of so many blessings, that he who has discovered
the treasure cannot be prevented from having recourse to it, whenever he has an
opportunity.
I could add much more concerning these matters,
and I may perhaps do so, if my present views do not escape me; but, if they do,
it is of little consequence. God gives others when He pleases; if He does not,
it is a proof that they are not necessary; and if so, we should be well
satisfied with their loss.
[1] The terms abandonment, annihilation and
death of itself, and the correlative expressions, union with God, oneness, and
others of similar import, are frequently used by writers on the higher life, as
a most concise and convenient form of designating a state of experience
indicated throughout the New Testament, by such texts as the following:
"Wherefore, if ye be dead with Christ," etc. (Col. ii. 20.) "If ye
then be risen with Christ, etc. (Col. iii. 1.) "For ye are dead and your
life is hid with Christ in God." (Col. iii. 3.) "And they that are
Christ's have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts." Gal. v.
24.) "For it is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of his good
pleasure." Phil. ii. 13.) "That they all may be one: as Thou, Father,
art one in me and I in Thee, that they also may be one in us." (John xvii.
21.)
It has been objected by some, that this abnegation of self, recommended in
such glowing terms by these pious authors, involved two exceedingly dangerous
errors. That on the one hand it necessarily implied an abandonment and loss of
our identity, by a sort of Pagan transfusion into God, and on the other , that
it bordered upon, if it did not constitute, a very pernicious form of
perfectionism, in that it made God the author of all our willing and doing
whatever their moral character.
It can scarcely be necessary to say to any one who has made himself familiar
with the subject, that such doctrines would be a melancholy perversion of the
teachings of the writers in question. By the death of self, and annihilation of
the will, they simply mean to express, in the strongest manner possible, that
the soul, on every occasion, and under all circumstances, wills only what God
wills, retaining perfectly its identity, and of course, its power to will. By
union with, or absorption into God, they intend to convey the idea of the state
of Oneness referred to by Christ, wherein the soul is made partaker of the
perfect Holiness of God; but none are more earnest in insisting that the
smallest appearance of evil is unanswerable evidence that such an attainment is
still at a distance. By their fruits ye shall know them, is constantly
asserted to be the inexorable standard of judgment for this, as for all other
states of experience.-Editor.
[2] Imitation of Jesus Christ, book iii. c. iii.
83.
[3] The reader will not understand by this, that
the soul, in a state of true abandonment, does not exhibit affection for those
about it. As, by that process, it commences to see God as He is, it also begins
to be like Him, and is all love. Its whole existence, like that of God, may be
summed up in the single word "Love." But its love is divine, not human; its
affection for all creatures of God, in their respective relations, is higher,
and deeper, and holier than it ever was before.--Editor.
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