SPIRITUAL MAXIMS
JOHN NICHOLAS GROU S.J.
[translated by a monk of Parkminster]

SPIRITUAL MAXIMS
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
FIRST MAXIM : THE KNOWLEDGE OF GOD, AND THE KNOWLEDGE OF SELF
SECOND MAXIM : CHRISTIAN LIBERTY, AND THE ACTIVE AND PASSIVE WAYS
THIRD MAXIM : GOOD DIRECTION
FOURTH MAXIM : THE PRACTICE OF THE PRESENCE OF GOD
FIFTH MAXIM : DEVOTION TO OUR LORD
SIXTH MAXIM : THE SACRAMENTS OF PENANCE, AND THE HOLY EUCHARIST
SEVENTH MAXIM : PURITY OF INTENTION, SIMPLICITY AND UPRIGHTNESS
EIGHTH MAXIM : THE NATURAL SPIRIT, AND THE SPIRIT OF CHRIST
NINTH MAXIM : THE OUTWARD AND INWARD MAN
TENTH MAXIM : RECOLLECTION, ACTIVE AND PASSIVE
ELEVENTH MAXIM : A CHILDLIKE SPIRIT
TWELFTH MAXIM : FIDELITY
THIRTEENTH MAXIM : MORTIFICATION
FOURTEENTH MAXIM : CONTEMPLATIVE PRAYER
FIFTEENTH MAXIM : DIFFICULTIES IN PRAYER
SIXTEENTH MAXIM : TEMPTATIONS
SEVENTEENTH MAXIM : SELF-LOVE
EIGHTEENTH MAXIM : A RETIRED LIFE
NINETEENTH MAXIM : DISCRETION
TWENTIETH MAXIM : SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS
TWENTY-FIRST MAXIM : PROGRESS
TWENTY-SECOND MAXIM : DEPENDENCE UPON GRACE
TWENTY-THIRD : MAXIM PURE LOVE AND HOPE
TWENTY-FOURTH MAXIM : CONCLUSION

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

ACCORDING to the French Jesuit Cadres, the Caracteres de la vraie
devotion of Pere Grou - a work which ran into no less than forty-
four editions - was first published in Paris in the year 1788.
This was quickly followed by a further work on the same subject,
but treated from a somewhat different and more practical angle,
the Maximes Spirituelles avec des explications, published in the
following year. In his Preface to the original edition, reproduced
here in its place, the author says: 'At the end of the little work
which I wrote on the Marks of true devotion, I promised to write
another under the title of Spiritual Maxims, in which I would
explain in more detail the means for practising that devotion. The
following work is the result'. The former book defined what true
devotion is: its motives, its object and the means for acquiring
it; the second outlined in greater detail, as he says, the means
for practising that devotion, always bearing in mind that, in Pere
Grou's use of the word, devotion stands for the interior life or
the life of the spirit.

The author's own life, being sufficiently known from his other
works published in the Orchard Series it is hardly necessary to
repeat all those details here. After the suppression of the
Society of Jesus in France in the year 1763, and subsequently in
Lorraine on the death of Duke Stanislaus in 1766, Pere Grou
returned to Paris at the invitation of Mgr. de Beaumont, the
Archbishop of Paris, and lived in seclusion and real poverty,
under the name of Le Clerc, in a garret in the Rue de Sevres,
occupying himself with study and writing, and with the direction
of a community of Benedictine nuns nearby. It was at this time,
roughly about the year 1767, that occurred what he always
described as his 'conversion', through the instrumentality of a
Visitation nun in the convent of the Rue du Bac, which was to have
a profound influence on him for the rest of his life. For reasons
which are not too clear, and for a period which is also uncertain,
he appears to have passed some time in Holland, returning again to
Paris, where he resumed the same life of simplicity, poverty and
retirement as before, devoting himself almost exclusively to his
personal sanctification and to the writing of books on the
spiritual life. In the words of Pere Bernard, the writer of the
article on Pere Grou in the Dictionnaire de Theologie Catholique,
'then commenced the series of magnificent treatises of a
spirituality at once gentle and firm, penetrating and lofty, which
place Pere Grou among the most eminent and best-beloved masters of
the interior life'. I Of the works he produced at this time, the
Maxims are, in the opinion of some, among his best. A contemporary
critic says of this work: 'Few spiritual works contain more
illuminating and profound rules for the guidance of the conscience
and of the interior life'.

The title of this work recalls - perhaps intentionally the equally
famous work of Fenelon, the Explications des Maximes des Saints,
published in 1697 and condemned, after a fierce and not very
edifying controversy with Bossuet, by Pope Innocent XII two years
later. It is this unfortunate incident Pere Grou is referring to
in his twenty-third Maxim; and, although the controversy did in
fact die down, there is no doubt that there remained a certain
element of uneasiness which lasted some time, and which was
calculated for some considerable period to discredit even the true
teaching of spiritual writers on the subject of prayer, and
especially interior prayer. It was with this in mind that our
author wrote (p. 252): 'As this subject, which is the highest of
all relating to the interior life, caused much public comment at
the end of the seventeenth century, and in consequence of a just
condemnation many persons became prejudiced against a subject
understood by very few, I have thought fit to explain the matter
briefly, in order to correct certain false impressions, and to
dispel prejudice'. So vivid, however, was the memory of Quietism
and its condemnation that even Pere Grou, writing the best part of
a century later, was not without his critics at the time. He
himself admits that these matters are 'extremely delicate and very
difficult to explain, or even to understand with perfect
precision' (p. 251).

Pere Grou's great theme in the Spiritual Maxims is his insistence
on the following of the spirit of Christ as opposed to what he
calls the natural spirit, or the spirit of private judgment.
Prayer for him is contemplative prayer, or the prayer of the
interior way. Not that he despised formal meditation by any means,
but he regarded it always as a stepping-stone towards a higher
form of prayer, the intimate prayer of the spirit. His great aim
and desire was to urge and encourage souls not to be afraid, but
to persevere in a wholehearted gift of themselves to God, and in a
faithful surrender to the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

The question has been asked: for whom is Pere Grou primarily
writing, or whom had he in mind when he wrote his treatises on
prayer, and especially the Spiritual Maxims? He himself says (p.
211) he is writing for beginners. This may be true of certain
points, but in general one is inclined to think that some progress
will need to have been made in the way of interior prayer if one
is to appreciate, and profit by, his wise guidance. Still, there
is something for more than one class of persons, we venture to
think. Fr. Clarke, S.J., in his short Introduction to Pere Grou's
How to Pray, expresses the belief that these writings (and one may
apply the remark to the present work as well) should be a source
of comfort and encouragement to many a disconsolate soul that has
long struggled against aridity and desolation in prayer, and
enable many whose prayers have hitherto been imperfect and ill-
directed, to pray better. The influence of this book, in spite of
the fact that it has only once been translated into English,
persists to the present day. It is significant that Pere Grou was
among the favourite spiritual writers of the late Abbot Chapman,
and the Maxims was the only book, apart from his breviary, that he
took with him to the nursing home where he died.

We have said that the Spiritual Maxims have only once been
translated into English. This translation was issued from St.
Margaret's Convent, East Grinstead, in the year 1874, and was
published by J.T. Hayes of Eaton Square and Covent Garden, London.
It ran into several editions, the sixth (by Thomas Baker, then of
Newman Street, London) being published in 1924. This sixth
edition--the one probably known to most readers of Grou--is
identical in every way, even to the type, with the first edition,
and is in fact a reprint of it.

It has generally been assumed that this translation was the work
of the famous Anglican translator of hymns, the Rev. Dr. J.M.
Neale, but this is at least extremely doubtful. Apart from the
fact that Dr. Neale died in 1866, there is no reference to it
among his works mentioned in the Dictionary of National Biography,
nor is it recognized as his at the Convent itself. From an
examination of the style, moreover, it would appear to be uneven,
suggesting that it may well have been the work of more than one
hand. However that may be, with the permission of Mr. Baker, it
has been utilized to a certain extent by the present translator,
although it soon became evident that a new and revised
translation, following much more closely the original text, was
needed. Even so, occasionally the over-long sentences favoured at
the time have been curtailed, without, we hope, losing anything of
the author's meaning; whilst much that was omitted in the 1874
translation has, with profit, been restored.

The paragraph on frequent communion in the sixth Maxim (p. 74) has
been brought into line with the more recent directives on the
subject by Pope St Pius X. Some obvious errors in the French text
have been corrected; occasionally a few words have been added or
omitted or even modified on account of certain obscurities in the
original text, which could be misconstrued, contrary, we feel
sure, to the author's intention. A list of all such corrections
and amendments is given in the Notes at the end of this volume. At
the request of the publishers, an article on Pere Grou from the
pen of Baron Friedrich von Huegel, which appeared in The Tablet in
December 1889, and which is well worth preserving in a more
permanent form, has been added as an Appendix. Finally, a list, as
complete as we have been able to make it, of the works of Pere
Grou in French and in English translations, is given at the end.

St Hugh's Charterhouse,
Parkminster,

AUTHOR'S PREFACE

AT the end of the little work which I wrote on the Marks of true
devotion, I promised to write another under the title of Spiritual
Maxims, in which I would explain in more detail the means for
practising that devotion. The following work is the result.

I have put these Maxims in the form of verse in order that they
may be more readily grasped and retained. To the Maxims I have
added explanations which develop their meaning and show their
importance and solidity, and enable me to enter into certain
elucidations which I have judged necessary. These explanations
will be short, considering the vast extent of these questions
which embrace almost the whole of the spiritual life; but I have
endeavoured to make them clear and adequate. It has not been my
intention to write a big book, but one which would be easily
accessible to all, and not so long as to discourage the reader.

For the sake of those who have not the other work, in the second
Maxim I give a brief summary of the nature of devotion. But
although I present it as fundamentally the same, yet it is under
another aspect, so that it will appear new even to those who have
read the former book.

If I am obliged sometimes to say things that perhaps will not be
understood by everybody, let them be assured that by putting these
principles into practice they will in time arrive at an
understanding of them. The great master of the interior life is
experience. To know the interior way well, one must walk in it.
One's understanding grows in proportion to the progress made.

Let no one be frightened by the name the interior way. All
Christians must be interior. The kingdom of God is within you,
said Our Lord. Anyone in whom God has not established this
interior kingdom cannot be but an imperfect Christian.

Finally, let me protest that my intentions are altogether in
accordance with the Church's teaching. Indeed, I have no wish but
to teach what Our Lord himself taught and practised. In speaking,
although with caution, of the passive way and of certain states
out of the ordinary, it is possible that I may not have explained
myself with sufficient clarity and precision. But who can hope to
explain matters of such delicacy in a way that leaves nothing to
be desired? I trust I will be believed when I say that I abhor all
kinds of Quietism, and anything that might lead to it.

[Note: For obvious reasons, we have not attempted to translate
literally the verse in which our author has expressed his Maxims.
We may add that the chapter-headings briefly summarize the subject
matter treated in the explanations which follow. They are not in
the original.]

FIRST MAXIM : THE KNOWLEDGE OF GOD, AND THE KNOWLEDGE OF SELF

By the ladder of sanctity, men ascend and descend at the same time

ALL Christian sanctity is contained in two things: the knowledge
of God, and the knowledge of self. 'Lord, that I may know Thee'
cried St. Augustine, 'and that I may know myself'. A short prayer,
but one opening out on to an infinite horizon. The knowledge of
God elevates the soul; knowledge of self keeps it humble. The
former raises the soul to contemplate something of the depths of
the divine perfections, the latter lowers it to the abyss of its
own nothingness and sin. [1] The amazing thing is that the very
knowledge of God which raises man up, at the same time humbles him
by the comparison of himself with God. Similarly self-knowledge,
while it humbles him, lifts him up by the very necessity of
approaching God in order to find solace in his misery.

Marvellous ladder of sanctity, whereon men descend even as they
ascend. For the true elevation of man is inseparable from his true
humiliation. The one without the other is pride, while the latter
without the former is to be unhappy without hope. Of what use
would be the most sublime knowledge of God to us, if the knowledge
of ourselves did not keep us little in our own eyes? Similarly,
would we not fall into terrible despair, if the knowledge of our
exceeding meanness and misery were not counterbalanced by our
knowledge of God? But this two-fold knowledge serves to sanctify
us. To be a saint, we must know and admit that we are nothing of
ourselves, that we receive all things from God in the order of
nature and grace, and that we expect all things from Him in the
order of glory.

By the knowledge of God, I do not mean abstract and purely ideal
knowledge such as was possessed by pagan philosophers, who lost
their way in vain and barren speculations, the only effect of
which was to increase their pride. For the Christian, the
knowledge of God is not an endless course of reasoning as to His
essence and perfections, such as that of a mathematician concerned
with the properties of a triangle or circle. There have been many
philosophers and even theologians who held fine and noble ideas of
God, but were none the more virtuous or holy as a result of it.
The knowledge we must have is what God Himself has revealed
concerning the Blessed Trinity; the work of each of the Persons in
creating, redeeming and sanctifying us. We must know the scope of
His power, His providence, His holiness, His justice and His love.
We must know the extent and multitude of His mercies, the
marvellous economy of His grace, the magnificence of His promises
and rewards, the terror of His warnings and the rigour of His
chastisements; the worship He requires, the precepts He imposes,
the virtues He makes known as our duty, and the motives by which
He incites us to their practice. In a word, we must know what He
is to us, and what He wills that we should be to Him.

This is the true and profitable knowledge of God taught in every
page of Holy Scripture, and necessary for all Christians. It
cannot be too deeply studied, and without it none can become holy,
for the substance of it is indispensably necessary to salvation.
This should be the great object of our reflection and meditation,
and of our constant prayer for light. Let no one fancy that he can
ever know enough, or enter sufficiently into so rich a subject. It
is in every sense inexhaustible. The more we discover in it, the
more we see there is yet to be discovered. It is an ever-deepening
ocean for the navigator, an unattainable mountain height for the
traveller, whose scope of vision increases with every upward step.
The knowledge of God grows in us together with our own holiness:
both are capable of extending continually, and we must set no
bounds to either.

Now this knowledge is not merely intellectual knowledge: it goes
straight to the heart. It touches it, penetrates it, reforms and
ennobles it, enkindling it with a love for all the virtues. Anyone
who really knows God cannot fail to possess a lively faith, a firm
hope, an ardent love, filial fear, a complete trust in Him in
times of trial, and an entire submission to His holy will. He
fears no difficulty in avoiding evil, nor in doing good. He
complains of no rigour in God's law, but wonders at its mildness,
and loves and embraces it in all its fulness. To the precepts he
adds the counsels. He contemns earthly things, deeming them
unworthy of his attention. He uses the things of this world as
though he used them not. [2] He looks not at the things that are
seen and are temporal, but presses forward towards those that are
eternal. [3] The pleasures of this world do not tempt him, nor its
dangers imperil him; neither do its terrors alarm him. His body is
on earth, but his soul, in thought and desire, is already in
heaven.

It is from the sacred Scriptures, rightly studied, that such
knowledge is drawn, but many read them without understanding them,
or understand them only according to the letter and not the
spirit. The sacred writings are the principal source of all that
God has pleased to reveal to us of His essence and perfections,
His natural and supernatural works, His designs regarding man, the
end He wills him to attain, and the means conducive to that end.
Therein we see that God is the beginning of all things; that He
governs all and intends all for His glory, and has accomplished
all things for Himself, there being no other end possible for Him.
We see the plan, the economy and sequence of religion, and the
intimate connection of the rise and fall of empires with that
supreme end. In a word, all that man needs to know concerning his
salvation and that can fill his soul with fear, veneration and the
love of God, is to be found in the tradition of the Church and
Holy Writ, and there alone.

True, this knowledge is to be found in the writings of the saints
also, and in other pious works. These are, however, but a
development of what is contained in tradition and Scripture, and
are good in the measure in which they express their meaning more
clearly, and explain them more fully.

But, above all, this knowledge is to be found in immediate
intercourse with God by prayer and meditation. Come ye to Him and
be enlightened, sayst he Psalmist. [4] God is Light, and in Him
there is no darkness whatever. His presence casts out darkness in
him who prays. Indeed, the soul comes away from prayer better
instructed concerning divine things, than learned men are by all
their study. Many a simple and unlettered soul, taught in the
school of divine Love, speaks of God more fittingly and nobly,
more fluently and fervently, than the ablest doctors who, unless
they are men of prayer, speak and write of heavenly things in a
dry and uninspiring manner, devoid of grandeur, warmth and
fervour.

But besides this knowledge, which may be called illuminative since
it appertains to the mind, there is another kind of knowledge
which consists in sensitiveness and is the portion of the heart.
This is sweeter, stronger and deeper. It is a kind of experimental
knowledge given by God of Himself and of His presence. He seems to
say to the soul: O taste and see that the Lord is sweet. [5] The
advantage of this knowledge beyond the other is that it binds the
will to Godmuch more strongly. Here the soul no longer acts of
itself; it is God Who acts in it, and sets it aglow with a spark
of His own bliss.

St. Antony knew God after this manner, when he complained that the
sun rose too early and put an end to his prayer. So did St.
Francis of Assisi, when he spent whole nights repeating with
wonderful gladness the words: My God and my All. This sense of
God, this experimental knowledge, has been the desire of all the
saints, and the fruit of their union with Him. But if God is to
give Himself thus to us, we must give ourselves wholly to Him;
for, as a rule, He bestows this great grace on none but His best
beloved. When, like St. Francis, we have given up all things; when
God becomes for us, as for him, our sole good, then we may as
truly and as earnestly say: My God and my All.

To explain this experimental knowledge of God is impossible. What
is solely the heart's concern presents no idea to the mind, and is
not to be expressed in words. How can we expect words to express
supernatural things, when they are inadequate to represent mere
natural affections and feelings? But for one who has not
experienced them to call such things dreams and fancies, is the
same as to deny the effect of natural love on the heart, because
one has not experienced it. What is certain is that this sense of
God elevates the soul to a greater height than any illuminative
knowledge can do, and renders it capable of heroic designs and of
the greatest sacrifices.

The knowledge of ourselves is no less precious and no less
necessary to sanctity than the knowledge of God. To know ourselves
is to render ourselves justice. It is to know ourselves exactly as
we are; to see ourselves as God sees us. What does God see in us?
Sin and nothingness: no more. That is all we can call ours; all
the rest comes from God, and must be attributed to Him. When we
know ourselves thus, what must be our humility, our contempt and
hatred of self?

I am absolutely nothing. From all eternity, I was not, and there
was no reason why I should exist, nor why I should be what I am.
My existence is the simple effect of God's will: He bestowed it on
me as it pleased Him, and it is He Who keeps me in being. Were He
to withdraw His all-powerful hand for one instant, I would fall
back into nothingness. My soul and body and the good qualities of
both, everything that is estimable or pleasing in me, comes from
God. On that foundation my education has done its work, and, seen
in its proper light, that very education is more the gift of God
than the fruit of my own industry or application.

Not only what I am, but what I possess, what I enjoy, all that
surrounds me, whatever I meet with wherever I go--all comes from
God, and is for my use. I am nothing; and, apart from God, all
else is nothing. What, then, is there to love and esteem in myself
or in others? Nothing but what God has freely given. Whence it
follows that in all that is of itself nothing, and exists only by
the will of God, I must only love and esteem God and His gifts.
And this is a strong foundation for humility and the contempt of
self and created things.

But this is not all. I am sin, by my own will, by the abuse of my
most excellent gift of liberty. When I say 'I am sin', what do
these words mean? In the first place, they mean that in the depths
of my nature, and even by my having been brought out of
nothingness, I have the unhappy power of offending God, of
becoming His enemy, of transgressing His law, of failing in my
most essential duties, and of falling short for ever of my true
end. And this power is so inherent in me as a creature that
nothing can separate me from it. Since the Fall, the power of
sinning has become a tendency, a strong inclination, to sin.
Through Adam's fault, I lack the perfect equilibrium of liberty in
which I would otherwise have been created.

In the second place. After having arrived at the age of reason, I
have actually sinned and have been guilty of a great number of
offences more or less grievous. There are very few, indeed, who
have retained their baptismal innocence. As for venial sins, which
are always serious, the greatest of saints --Our Lady excepted--
have not been exempt from them.

Thirdly, there is no sin, however great, that I am not capable of
committing, if I am not always on my guard, and if God does not
preserve me from it. It needs only an opportunity, a temptation,
an act of unfaithfulness, to induce the most fearful train of
consequences. The greatest saints believed this of themselves, and
we would do well to have the same holy fear.

Then, having fallen, I am absolutely incapable of rising up again
by my own strength, or of truly repenting of my sin. If God does
not open my eyes and move my will, and extend to me a helping
hand, all is over with me. I shall add sin to sin, shun amendment,
and harden my heart and die impenitent, a frightful evil which I
must always fear, no matter to what degree of virtue I have
attained.

But still this is not all. To my wretched inclination to evil is
added an equal distaste for what is good. All law is irksome to me
and would seem to threaten my liberty. Every duty is unpleasant,
every virtuous act costs an effort. Besides, in myself, I am
incapable of any supernatural act, even of thinking of or planning
any. I am in constant need of special grace, to inspire good
actions and to help me in carrying them out.

In such a state, which is that of my whole life, how can I think
well of myself? Of what can I boast? Is there anything of which I
have not reason to be ashamed and confounded?

This is the self-knowledge imparted by faith, and borne witness to
by my own feelings and experience. The purest and sanest of
philosophers would never have taught me half as much. Man has ever
been the chief object of the study and consideration of
philosophers; but the most eminent genius, with all its
penetration and researches, has never been able to arrive at a
real knowledge of self. That, to my mind, is a most humiliating
thing. If faith does not enlighten me, it is greatly to be feared
that reason alone will never tell me that I came from nothing, and
that God is my Creator. It is very doubtful if it ever told any of
the ancient philosophers that truth. They were all ignorant, it
would seem, of this primary relationship between man and God,
which is the foundation of all the rest. And how strangely at a
loss they were in consequence of their ignorance regarding the
origin of man. What curious absurdities they uttered on the
subject. And our modern unbelievers, refusing the light of
revelation, have not fared much better.

As concerns our tendency to evil and repugnance for good, the
inherent frailty of creatures, the nature of sin considered with
regard to God, and the necessity of grace, the most religious
philosophies had only a faint glimmering on some points and clear
notions on none. Generally speaking, they were involved in
complete darkness.

What did they know about the matter, then? What no one can be
ignorant of: namely the miseries of life, the weakness of
childhood, the infirmity of age, the natural defects of mind and
body, the passions and their tyranny and disorder, the
inevitableness of death but without any certainty of a future
state. This was a wretched, miserable sort of knowledge, and made
most philosophers bitterly revile nature, and accuse her of
treating man like an unjust and unnatural stepmother. For the
little they knew, they were right, of course, and the destiny of
man must have appeared to them the more deplorable, since they
could find no remedy for their troubles, either in their own vain
systems or in the false religion of the people.

Yet they were offended rather than humbled by this knowledge,
distressing as it was, because it was, in reality, too imperfect.
For while unable to fathom the depth of our misery, it offered
nothing to counterbalance the little it was able to perceive.

It is otherwise with our own holy faith. Whilst making man little
in his own eyes, deeply humbling him and reducing him to a state
of nothingness, and even of less than nothingness, at the same
time it supports and comforts him and gives him hope; showing him
what great reason he has to trust in God. More, it inspires him
with a noble idea of himself, since it reveals to him his true
greatness, the nobility of his faculties, his closeness to God,
the sublimity of his destiny, the fatherly care of Divine
Providence, the inestimable grace of redemption, and the price
paid for his soul by the incarnate God. It also teaches him to
respect his body as the temple of God, destined to share one day,
by a glorious resurrection, in the soul's eternal happiness.

This is the knowledge that religion gives us concerning our human
nature, and this light is sure, for it derives from an abiding
revelation. It is bright and penetrating, and is constantly
increased by the study and practice of the faith. It crushes our
human pride, when we think of what we are in ourselves, and
elevates the soul when we contemplate God's plans in our regard.

But in addition to the motives for humility furnished by the study
of the Gospels and the practice of the moral law, God has other
ways of deeply humbling those whom He destines for a high degree
of sanctity. He makes them feel that their light is darkness, and
their will weakness; that their firmest resolutions count for
nothing, and that they are incapable themselves of meritoriously
correcting the smallest fault, or of performing the tiniest act of
supernatural virtue. He allows them to feel the greatest
repugnance for their duties; their pious exercises are painful and
almost intolerable because of the dryness, listlessness and
weariness with which they are assailed. The passions they fancied
dead come to life again and cause them strange conflicts. The
devil tempts them in countless ways, and they seem abandoned to
the wickedness and corruption of their own hearts, so that they
see in themselves nothing but sin and a violent inclination to
sin.

In the light of His infinite holiness, God shows them the impurity
of their motives and the selfishness of their aims, the stain of
self-love on their good actions, and its poison in their virtues.
He reproaches them with their negligences and cowardice, with
their faithlessness and self-seeking, with the desire for
approbation and human respect. He brings them to hate and despise
themselves for their ungrateful abuse of His many graces.

For their yet greater self-abasement, He appears to turn His face
from them, and deprives them of all sensible gifts and graces,
leaving them in miserable nakedness, from the sight of which they
shrink, yet to which they cannot close their eyes. He seems to be
angry with them and to forsake them. On the other hand, He allows
men to suspect their piety and call it hypocrisy, to disturb them
with calumny and persecution. And this, not only on the part of
wicked men and ordinary Christians, but also on the part of
persons of good understanding and exemplary life who, whilst
decrying and ill-treating these servants of God, fancy that they
are honouring their Master. Our Lord Himself, the Saint of saints,
willed to bear all these miseries and contumely, and greater yet
than these, because He made Himself the Victim for sin. And upon
His own beloved friends He bestows a precious draught from the
same bitter cup. Thus, perfecting them in humility, He perfects
them in sanctity, making them proof against all temptations.

Let us ascend, then, and descend by this wonderful ladder of the
knowledge of God and the knowledge of ourselves. With the help of
grace, ascend as high as you can, and descend as low as you can;
and, when you have done all in your power, ask our divine Lord to
use all the means, known only to Himself, to raise you and lower
you still further.

Strange paradox! The more we ascend, the less are we conscious of
ascending; and the more we descend, the less we feel like having
done so. Yet it is true. The more one advances in the knowledge of
God, the more inadequate will our concepts of what He is and what
He merits appear to be. So, too, the deeper we penetrate in our
knowledge of ourselves, the more convinced are we that we do not
despise or hate ourselves enough. Only thus shall we become both
exalted and humble, and all unconsciously sanctified.

SECOND MAXIM : CHRISTIAN LIBERTY, AND THE ACTIVE AND PASSIVE WAYS

Yield your liberty to God, and have no will but His

IN order the better to comprehend what I have now to say, it would
be as well in the first place to establish certain principles, on
which all will, I think, agree.

When we were created God bestowed on us reason and understanding
in order that we might know and love Him. It was His mind that we
should enjoy this knowledge and love eternally, and that such
enjoyment should be our reward; accordingly, we must merit that
reward. And so God placed us on earth for a certain space of time,
known only to Himself, and gifted us with liberty, that is, with
command over our actions so that, being performed by our own will,
they might merit praise or blame, reward or punishment. Merit,
praise and reward are thus attached to the free fulfilment of the
duties imposed upon us by God; and blame and punishment follow the
wilful violation of those duties.

Liberty, in the abstract, has no essential power of doing good or
evil; otherwise God, Who possesses supreme liberty, would not be
free, because He can never will, or do, evil. Therefore, our power
of doing wrong does not proceed from our liberty, but from two
other causes.

The first of these is that, being necessarily dependent upon God
by a moral dependence, our actions should follow the rule of His
will, so that they are morally good if they conform to that rule
and morally bad if they do not. The second is that, being
defective in our very nature, we are always liable to deviate from
this rule. From these two causes, combined with the free will
which makes us masters of our actions, arises that fatal power of
sinning, which it would be unjust and blasphemous to reproach God
for having given us. It did, indeed, depend upon Him to prevent
its effect, but no reason obliged Him to do so, and His supreme
wisdom deemed it fitter to permit that consequence, since it could
not be prejudicial to His glory.

Unquestionably, the most perfect liberty is that possessed by God,
Who can only will what is good. Therefore, the more our liberty
resembles His, the nearer it approaches perfection; whilst the
more unlike it is, the more imperfect it becomes. The will to sin
is thus a defect and an abuse of liberty, and the stronger and
more habitual it is, the greater will be the defect.

It is obvious that we ought to desire never to abuse our liberty,
but by our love of good and hatred of evil bring it into the
closest resemblance to God's will. The more we are morally
necessitated to good, the more shall we be free like God, Who is
necessarily so by nature. And the more we are morally necessitated
to evil, the more will our liberty be fettered. That is why St.
Paul says that when the will yields to evil, it becomes the
servant of sin; but being freed from sin becomes the servant of
justice: [6] a two-fold servitude, of which the first degrades
liberty, whilst the second exalts and perfects it.

For God Himself, if one may say so, is the servant of justice, and
that infinitely more than we can ever be; and it is in this
servitude that His perfect liberty consists. And if the word
'servitude' seems extravagant when applied to God, it is because
He is Himself His rule, and can know no other rule than His own
will. The words the apostle used, Our Lord had already used when
He said to the Jews: Whosoever committeth sin is the servant of
sin; but He added: if the Son of man shall make you free, you
shall be free indeed. [7]

Now grace alone can deliver us from the bondage of sin, and assure
us true liberty. Whence it follows that the more our wills are
subject to grace, and the more they endeavour to depend fully and
constantly upon it, the freer they will become. Our perfect
deliverance is reserved for heaven, where we shall once and for
all be established in grace. But in this world, however completely
we may have submitted ourselves to the dominion of grace, we are
always liable to throw off the yoke, and must be always on our
guard against this peril.

This peril will be more or less imminent, according as the soul
continues to be its own master, or gives itself up freely to be
dealt with as God wills. And so, all it has to do is to place
itself in His hands, using its activity only in order to become
more dependent on Him, allowing grace to act in its regard freely
and fully in all circumstances, reserving no power to itself save
to correspond with entire fidelity to grace.

These principles conceded, it is clear that the surrender of our
liberty is the same thing as true devotion to God; because
devotion, or devotedness, is only another word for forsaking our
own will for the will of God. This gift of our liberty is made in
two ways, one of which stresses what therein depends on ourselves,
the other what depends upon God. It depends on ourselves to retain
the exercise of our liberty, but to be determined that it shall be
subject to the inspirations of grace, and to hold bravely to this
resolution. It depends upon God to make Himself master of our
liberty, once we have made it over to Him, governing it Himself
directly, yet without doing violence to it, holding it captive in
His hand. Hence the two ways of serving God, of which the one is
called active and the other passive. Both are good; both are
agreeable to God; both are interior and lead to sanctity.

Following the first way, the Christian makes due use of the
faculties God has bestowed upon him, his memory, his understanding
and will: these he exercises himself. Although acting under the
inspiration of grace and fully determined to follow its direction,
yet he preserves his liberty; deliberating, judging, choosing and
determining his choice in all that pertains to his salvation. By
meditation, he saturates himself with the truths of the Gospel;
stirs his affection by acts of the will; applies these truths and
draws conclusions from them as a guide to his conduct, and forms
resolutions which he endeavours toput into practice; in general,
putting to good use whatever the Holy Spirit may suggest to him in
the way of personal devotion, or that he may find in the lives of
the saints or in other spiritual works. Thus, by continual thought
and perseverance, together with the aid of prayer, counsel and the
use of the sacraments, he succeeds in correcting his faults and in
acquiring the Christian virtues.

Most persons who have their salvation seriously at heart follow
this way, which is the most common and that taught by most popular
writers on the spiritual life. That is why we have so many
methods, so many exercises and practices for learning to meditate,
for hearing Mass, for confession and communion and so on. This is
the usual way of beginning, and it must always be persevered in
unless God Himself calls us from it. This point must never be lost
sight of, and is of the greatest importance, as it destroys many
illusions and saps the very roots of any kind of Quietism.

We enter the passive way when we feel ourselves drawn by the
strong and sweet workings of grace which, in order to gain space
for its action, as it were, leads us to suspend our own; when we
are inwardly moved to yield up our heart and liberty and our
natural self-government into God's hands, in order that He may
govern them by His adorable will. Then God takes possession of the
powers of the soul, acting upon them, and making them act
according to His designs. Man only follows, though always freely,
in the path marked out for him. He holds himself prepared to do at
any moment what God requires of him. And God, by a secret
inspiration, makes known to him what He requires; yet this
inspiration never involves disobedience to the Church, to her
rules, or to all lawful authority. On the contrary, there are no
souls more docile or more submissive than those who walk in this
way.

Here, then, all exercise of natural liberty with regard to
interior things (for of such only am I speaking) consists in
seconding--never in forestalling--the movements of grace. As soon
as these movements are forestalled or resisted, the human spirit
is plainly at work. In the state of which I am speaking, the
Christian lies under the hand of God like an instrument on which
and by means of which He works: not, however, a purely passive
instrument but one which consents and cooperates by its own act,
often with extreme repugnance, and with violence to itself. Its
state may well be compared to that of a child writing under its
master's guiding hand.

Now it is easy to see why this way is called passive, and wherein
it differs from the active way. In the latter, the powers of the
soul, aided always by grace, act, as it were, of themselves and by
their own effort. It is like a child, writing from his master's
copy, under his inspection and obedient to his teaching. We choose
our subject for meditation, apply our mind to it, form our
reasonings, make acts of love, and by the ordinary methods arrive
at our conclusions. All this, as is obvious, is active.

The passive way is not without its action, but it is God's action
which motivates ours. The soul remains freely attentive, pliant
and docile under the divine inspiration, just as the child places
his hand in that of his master, intending to follow all its
movements. But just as the child, though able to write, waits
until the master shall guide his hand, so the powers of the soul,
held and suspended, only exert themselves on the object to which
God applies them, and to the extent to which He applies them. This
work is thus more simple and hidden, and for that reason less
apparent, so that the soul often thinks that it is doing nothing,
when the very opposite is the case.

The soul is naturally active and restless, but when subdued by the
divine action which invites it to be still, dwells in habitual
calm. In prayer, no distinct object presents itself to the mind,
and as a rule it perceives things in an obscure and indistinct
manner. The sense of God's presence is a peaceful and abiding
feeling, which does not take the form of expressed affections. The
heart is satisfied, but without any effort on its part. St.
Teresa, and later St. Francis of Sales, used the comparison of a
child at its mother's breast. When the soul is in the passive
state, the lips speak and the hand writes of divine things,
without premeditation. God Himself provides all that is necessary,
and the very memory of it passes away. There is no studying to
root out one's faults, or to acquire virtues by different means.
By His continual action on the soul, by the practices He suggest,
no less than by the interior trials with which He visits it, God
insensibly purifies the soul of its faults, impressing on it the
various virtues which He causes it to exercise on occasion,
without so much as reflecting on them, or even knowing that it
possesses them.

There is more of what is infused in the passive way, and more of
what is acquired in the active. And yet what is infused is, in a
manner, acquired also, because it costs something to preserve it
and to cause it to grow.

Here I am only speaking of the ordinary passive way, otherwise
called the way of pure faith. Of extraordinary states, rare in any
case, in which are to be found ecstasies and so on, and in which
the devil troubles body and mind alike with vexations and divers
torments, I propose to say nothing, since they ought to be neither
sought nor feared. Nor is it right to indulge in any kind of
curiosity concerning these states, nor to read books about them,
except when it is necessary to do so for the guidance of others.

Such in the main is the difference between the active and passive
ways. All men can and ought to follow the first with the help of
ordinary grace; only God can introduce us into the second. Yet it
is not to be denied that many, through their own fault, either do
not enter it, or fail to persevere in it. But it is also true
that, in God's intention, the first should very often dispose
souls to the second, if they responded more faithfully to grace,
and were more generous, brave and simple; and if they could only
make up their minds to get rid of their self-love, and the
entrance were not barred by their many mistaken notions.

Now as this way is far more conducive to our sanctification, since
it is God Who then undertakes it and works at it Himself, it is
most important that we should put away all such mistaken notions,
and neglect nothing that may open it to us, for I am persuaded
that God calls more souls by that way than is generally supposed.
The important thing is to recognize the signs of His invitation,
and to follow them with docility.

Some persons are invited to it from their earliest years by an
inward attraction, as we learn from the lives of many of the
saints. If this attraction were followed, if good parents and
instructors of youth, instead of discouraging it, would favour it
and carefully put aside all that was adverse to it; if confessors
would take pains to cultivate the first seeds of grace and to
develop this germ of the interior life, the number of souls led by
the Holy Spirit would be much greater, especially among women, who
with their quiet education and natural disposition are more
inclined to be led by this way. The innocence of childhood, when
the soul is simple, tractable and unprejudiced, is unquestionably
the most favourable to true devotion, and if children were early
guided in that direction, by lessons suited to their age, and with
the necessary tact, skill and patience, wonderful results would
follow.

Others, later in life, after following for a long or shorter time
the common way, find that they can no longer fix their minds in
meditation, nor produce the same affections as hitherto. They even
feel a kind of disgust for the methods they have so far followed.
Something which they cannot explain leads them to suspend all
action when at prayer -- it is God Himself Who is inducing them to
it, by the peace and calm which He allows them to taste. When this
state is not a temporary one, but persists in spite of repeated
endeavours to return to one's former practice, it is an infallible
sign that God wants to take possession of such souls and bring
them into the passive way.

Others are prepared for it by distress, anxieties, temptations and
set-backs, which they can neither understand nor explain. God,
wanting to raise a new edifice in their hearts, demolishes the
former one completely, destroying it to its very foundations. It
is the work of an experienced confessor to discover God's designs
in all this, and to encourage those who are in this painful state
to make a generous sacrifice of themselves, and yield themselves
without reserve once and for all to the divine will. The sacrifice
made, all agitation ceases, and the soul experiences a peace
hitherto unknown, and enters into a new world.

There are some persons who, though leading pious lives, are
dissatisfied with themselves and with their state. They feel that
God is calling them to something else, without, however, being
able to express what it is they are looking for. An opportunity
furnished by Divine Providence at last leads them to someone who,
though unacquainted with them, and without very well knowing why,
speaks to them immediately of the interior life. At once, their
uneasiness ceases, and they are calmed and satisfied, and when
least expecting it find what they have sought so long.

Not only good men but sinners, and great sinners too, are called
by God to the passive way. Some, at the moment of their
conversion, are suddenly transformed by grace, and become new
creatures, like St. Mary Magdalen, St. Paul, St. Mary the Egyptian
and St. Augustine. Others, after spending many years in exercises
of penitence, are gradually raised to a state of sublime
contemplation. It is difficult to believe, but it is nevertheless
true, that the sudden and wonderful change wrought by divine mercy
in sinners, is usually more perfect and solid than that wrought in
the just. Full of a sense of their own wretchedness and of God's
overwhelming goodness, they give themselves to Him more
generously, are more deeply humbled by His favours, and bear His
purifying trials more bravely.

But all, whether just men or sinners, who have walked in the
passive way, have entered it in no other manner than by giving up
their liberty to God, entirely and absolutely, saying with St.
Paul: Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do? [8] ... 'I am no longer
mine but Thine'. They could not enter it in any other way, for God
only takes what is offered Him. The violence He does to the soul
at such times is always very gentle, and He awaits the consent of
the heart whereof He would be the Master.

And what reason is there for fear in thus yielding ourselves to
God? His tender invitations, His earnest solicitations, have no
other object than our good, our true good, which He understands
infinitely better than we do, and which He desires more keenly and
alone can procure. Is not our salvation incomparably safer in His
hands than in our own? If we trust Him unreservedly with our
dearest interests, do we not preserve them from all those dangers
to which the devil and our own hearts would expose them? Is any
power strong enough to wrest our souls from God, once He has
accepted them, unless we ourselves are cowardly and faithless
enough to draw back? Can we more strongly induce God to take care
of us than by surrendering ourselves to Him?

And in reality, what can we do in the matter of our salvation
apart from what God enables us to do? Whom have we to fear or
mistrust most, God or ourselves? Surely, our liberty is the means
to our eternal happiness or loss. But so long as we cling to the
use of our free will, we run the risk of misusing it: a risk which
entirely disappears when we commit our liberty to God, asking Him
to hold it captive by the gracious chains of His grace. Are we
afraid that He will use our liberty in spite of ourselves; and
that what He desires of us He will not know how to urge us to
desire too? And if we do desire it with all our hearts, how can we
fear a Master Who will not ask anything of us but what we are most
willing to give?

And what better use -- what more glorious for Him and more
conformable to the eternal ideas His love has for us -- can we
make of our liberty than to become His willing servants, placing
ourselves under His yoke, and inviting Him to exercise in our
regard all the plenitude of the power which belongs to Him by
right? What heroic acts of homage, faith, love, trust and
abandonment are not combined in this one sacrifice? And, given
that God will continue to the end the work He has begun; that the
victim having once offered himself as a holocaust to the good
pleasure of God will allow himself to be uncomplainingly
immolated, what purpose can that immolation have other than to
procure the greatest glory for God and at the same time assure our
own eternal reward? And to give to God our liberty, what is it but
to do in this life what the blessed do in heaven?

There is no doubt that our self-love rebels with all its strength
against such a sacrifice. It shudders at the mere idea of
abandoning itself without reserve to God. What! Never shall I be
able to dispose of myself again in anything; never be master of a
single thought, a single glance, a single word. Submit to being
led by the obscure paths of faith, by ways beset with danger,
knowing not where to place my feet, and believing all along that I
am being led to certain death! Consent to face the most delicate
and dangerous temptations, to submit to rough trials and suffer
terrible loneliness on God's part; and, on the part of men,
violent contradictions, calumnies, humiliations, persecutions! In
a word, lay myself down on the cross, permit myself to be bound to
it, and suffer its pains until I draw my last breath! For such can
be the result of the gift of one's liberty to God: such the
meaning of the gift of self. And whether one actually has to
suffer these things or not, one must be prepared for them, since
the devotion I speak of knows of no exceptions.

Self-love revolts against the mere thought of these things. But
what is self-love? A love blind, and no true friend of ours; the
unhappy fruit of sin, an enemy of God and of our own happiness,
that the Gospel bids us fight and pursue to the bitter end; that
closes heaven's gate to us until it is utterly vanquished, and of
which the soul must be completely purified, either here or
hereafter in Purgatory, before we can enjoy the possession of God.

That being the case, it would seem that the more self-love opposes
this sacrifice, the more reason have we to endure it. For not only
does our self-love not know its true interests, but it is
absolutely hostile to them. We need not be surprised, therefore,
that it should set itself up against what threatens it with
complete annihilation. Since the love of God and the love of self
dispute the possession of our heart (which must belong to one or
the other), ought we not to seize with joy the surest means of
delivering ourselves from this dread enemy, since it is God
Himself Who is undertaking to do that for us? Is it not better to
be consumed in this world by the fires of charity, with the
incomparable glory that it gives to God and untold merit for
ourselves, than to be consumed by the divine justice in Purgatory,
where God will receive glory from our loving sufferings, but
without any increase of merit on our part? Suffering for
suffering, which is the greater? In this life, it is less a matter
of justice than of real mercy; in Purgatory, it is rather
inexorable justice, which must be completely satisfied. Here, our
miseries do have their intervals of rest and consolation; there,
nothing relieves the suffering, and there is no rest. Here, grace
sustains us on the cross, and infuses a sweet unction unknown in
Purgatory. If we have any faith, therefore; if we have one spark
of love for God or any true love for ourselves, in whatever light
we consider the matter, how can we hesitate in our choice?

I say, if we have any true love for ourselves. For what is such
love? It is the desire and endeavour to obtain our most perfect
well-being: in other words, it is the love of God and His glory,
and the love of His interests, with which our own are so closely
bound. There is no doubt that we shall love ourselves in heaven:
but how? With the same love with which we shall love God; we shall
be unable to have any other love than that. Could we form a
separate act of love for ourselves, we should at once forfeit our
beatitude.

Let us, then, even in this life, commence to love ourselves thus,
by giving ourselves to God in order to love Him alone. This love,
which will consummate our happiness in heaven, will give us even
now a foretaste of that happiness. I would add one last
consideration: it is that should we die, having made this generous
act of consecration, God will take it as though we had passed a
long life in the continual exercise of this devotion, since the
will to do so was ours, though the execution of it was not in our
power.

It may be objected that the passive way is not open to any and
every person who would like to walk in it; and that, according to
our own showing, no one can enter it unless God calls them. All
this is true: but I say that there are certain states of mind
which prepare us for such a call, and that these are within our
power. And I say further: even if this call should never come, we
shall have had the merit of preparing ourselves for it.

The first of these dispositions is to conceive a real desire (but
always quiet and patient) to live under the influence of grace,
and to offer ourselves repeatedly to God, in order that He may be
pleased to reign in our hearts. The second is to perform all our
good works with a view to obtaining this grace. And, finally, to
be extremely faithful in all our relationships with God,
corresponding with all His inspirations according to our present
state. With that intention, we could not do better than make our
own the prayer of that great saint who was so devoted to the
greater glory of God:

Receive, O Lord, all my liberty. Accept my memory, my
understanding and my whole will. All that I have and possess, Thou
hast given me: to Thee do I restore it all, and deliver it up
wholly to Thee that Thou mayest dispose of it. Grant me only Thy
love and Thy grace, and I am rich enough: nor do I seek aught
beside. [9]
THIRD MAXIM : GOOD DIRECTION

Pray for a wise guide whom, when you have found, trust, revere and
obey

THE main reason which should lead a Christian to give himself to
God is that He is the chief and, strictly speaking, the only
director of souls. Christ is not only the Way, which He reveals to
us by His doctrine and example, He is also the inward Guide, the
Shepherd Who provides good pasture and, by secret inspirations and
suggestions, leads His sheep to find it. Nevertheless, according
to the order of His providence, He makes use of the ministry of
priests for the direction of souls. To that ministry He attaches
His grace, and through it He gives needful advice and instruction.
He is the inner Master; He and He alone can speak to the heart.
But He speaks to it most certainly when His ministers in the
exercise of their functions speak to the outward ear. He wills
that they be heard and obeyed, as His representatives.

Since, therefore, priests are the principal and usual means that
God uses for the direction of souls and by them introduces us to
the way of perfection, whoever aspires to that perfection (and all
ought to do so according to their state) should, if they are free
to choose, ask God to enlighten them in their choice in order that
they may be rightly guided. Their prayer will surely be granted,
if they ask with real faith.

In no matter, however, should one be more on one's guard against
being influenced in one's choice by human motives, or by human
prudence. We must beware of listening to the suggestions of self-
love or nature, which seek ever to be flattered and spared, or to
inspirations which are clearly not from God, and which will
inevitably lead to deceptions most difficult to retrieve. There is
no point concerning which we are more easily blinded, or more apt
to be prejudiced. We must place the matter in God's hands, simply
and honestly, and resolve to take whoever He indicates, in spite
of prejudice or aversion, or of any human feeling whatsoever.

The same caution must be observed when it is a question of
changing one's director. Such a change may be right and desirable
in certain cases; as, for example, when the director is unskilled
or careless, wanting in firmness or gentleness, unspiritual in his
direction, or for any other reasons which would seem to make him
unsuitable. Having thoroughly weighed the matter in God's
presence, we must then act firmly but impartially, putting aside
all irrelevant considerations.

And the choice is all the more difficult in that good directors
are very rare, and the external signs by which we may recognize
them most deceptive. St. Francis of Sales used to say that
scarcely could one find one in a thousand, if that! No doubt, the
expression is a little exaggerated, but none the less they are
scarce. Just think of the combination of qualities which go to
form a good director. He must be a man of an interior spirit,
experienced in spiritual things, utterly dead to himself and
intimately united to God; devoid of self-will, desiring neither to
rule nor dominate those whom he guides. He must seek in nothing
his own glory or interests but solely the glory and interests of
the Master he represents. He must be susceptible of no attachment
save that inspired by charity, exercising his ministry with
perfect independence; above all method and system, infinitely
pliable to the inspirations of grace, able to follow different
approaches to meet the different needs of souls and God's designs
in their regard. He must know when to give milk to the young, more
solid food to those more advanced in virtue, adapting himself to
each age and state of the spiritual life. He must be wise with
divine wisdom, gentle without softness, compassionate without
weakness, firm without rigidity, zealous without precipitation.
With the apostle, he must be all things to all men, [10]
condescending in a certain degree to human misery, prejudice and
frailty; ready to exercise unfailing patience and equity of mind;
reproving, consoling, urging, restraining, yielding or resisting,
as circumstances require; sustaining, encouraging, humiliating,
revealing the patient's progress or withholding the knowledge,
according to the soul's need. In a word, he must be a man who, in
directing souls, does nothing of himself but wholly seconds the
work of grace, neither hurrying nor retarding it. He follows grace
step by step, going as far, but no farther, than it leads. Are
such men common today? Were they even in the time of St. Francis
of Sales, when the interior life was more known and practised?

We cannot, therefore, ask God too earnestly to send us such a
director, for it is one of the greatest graces He can give us, one
which will be the source of many others. Rightly used it will
surely lead us to perfection. Would it not be intolerably
presumptuous to make such a choice ourselves, and would it not be
most dangerous to look upon it in any but the highest light?

The foregoing applies specially to religious communities, who need
nothing less than a saint to direct them, whether it is a question
of inciting them to fervour or maintaining them in it. Generally
speaking, it is as well for the whole community to have the same
confessor, who can maintain the same spirit throughout; but for
this, especially in the matter of regularity, union and charity,
he will need all the qualities I have enumerated above.

I am well aware that not everybody can choose his own confessor,
and that it often happens that those who decide the matter for us
may not always carry out God's intention for us. There is no doubt
that it is very unfortunate to fall, whether one knows it or not,
into the hands of a director who has not all the requisite
qualities. Nevertheless, even in this case, God supplies what is
lacking in His minister; He takes upon Himself to lead us in His
ways, and never will He fail us if we do not fail Him. It was thus
He directed St. Paul and St. Mary the Egyptian in the desert, and
thus He directs those in heathen lands who are deprived of almost
all human help. So, in country places, where priests are perhaps
less zealous, the Holy Spirit Himself will always guide holy
souls, and teach them the secrets of the interior life.

However that may be, once we have reason to believe that we have
found the director God intends for us, we must not fail to give
him our complete confidence. When we feel that his words enlighten
our darkness, disperse our doubts, awaken us from languor, warm
our heart and lead us to serve God more worthily; when we feel by
experience that such a man is the instrument of God, really
following up the secret operations of grace; above all if he leads
us in the way of recollection and prayer and interior
mortification (for that is the touchstone of true direction), we
must no longer hesitate to place ourselves entirely in his hands,
hiding nothing from him, so that he may search out and develop
what is hidden even from ourselves.

Generally speaking, God inspires us with the will to begin by
making a general confession, so as to inform the priest, not only
of our past faults, but of the graces we have received, the
dangers from which we have been preserved, the secret attractions
we have neglected or followed, and the vices and temptations to
which we are most subject. By this means, he becomes acquainted
with our whole life and character, the habitual dispositions of
our soul, the various tentatives of grace, the obstacles we meet,
and the precise point where we stand. He is thus better able to
see what God expects from us, and how he is to cooperate with His
designs.


We can never be too open with our director in all that concerns
our interior life, and, through the whole of his direction,
nothing should be kept back, whether as to the lights given us by
God, the desires and aversions felt by nature, or the suggestions
of the devil, whose artifices we shall never unravel unaided.
Anything which secret pride or the temptation of the devil leads
us to hide or disguise, is just the very thing we should mention;
however humiliating, it must never be concealed.

It is also necessary to be on our guard against suspicions or
prejudices concerning our director, and the thousand and one
imaginations that flit across our mind, or which the devil inserts
there in order to lessen our confidence and trust. For this is the
one thing he wants to do. As soon as he sees that a director is
working hard for our spiritual advancement, he seldom fails to
inspire us with feelings of distrust and repugnance. One cannot be
too watchful on this point. Almost always, the danger arises from
our allowing ourselves to be too critical of the direction given
us. 'Why has he forbidden me to do this? Why does he treat me like
this?' And so we argue with ourselves; we make judgments and
indulge in feelings of resentment, and generally our confidence is
undermined, our obedience weakened, and we think of the man
instead of seeing God in him.

Here I may remark that one of the most certain signs of a
disposition to the interior life is that candour and delightful
openness which leads us to hide nothing, neither our defects, our
faults or our motives from our director; never to make excuses,
speaking plainly even though it means that we shall be humiliated
and be thought less of. How rare, and yet how precious in God's
sight, is this humble ingenuousness.

But it is not enough to be open with our confessor. We must
receive his advice and decisions as reverently as if they came
from the lips of Our Lord Himself. There must be no arguing with
him, nor must we even mentally dispute whatever happens to be
contrary to our own ideas. In all that touches our conscience, we
must submit our way of thinking to his, believe the good or evil
he tells us of ourselves, never justify what he condemns, nor by
false humility condemn what he approves. We pretend that we have
not made ourselves clear; that he does not understand us; that he
does not see what passes within us, as well as we do. But these
are poor excuses, by which we assume the right of private
judgment. The confessor judges us better than we can judge
ourselves. Let us hide nothing knowingly, then, from him, and be
at peace.

Apart from the fact that we are blind in all that concerns
ourselves, we know very well that God wills to lead us by the way
of faith and obedience; and that we are acting in a manner
directly contrary to His intention when we make ourselves not only
our own judges but judges of those who are guiding us. The devil
tries to ruin us, through presumption or despair, by representing
us to ourselves as better or worse than we really are. These
indocile and unsubmissive judgments are always dictated by self-
love. They lead the conscience into error and its consequent
blindness. They are the beginning of scruples, anxieties and all
those miseries born of the imagination. They expose the soul to
the most subtle snares of Satan, and to the most dangerous of
illusions.

The spiritual life has its dangers, and great dangers too, if it
is misunderstood. Erroneous ideas of it are not uncommon. This
evil must inevitably befall anyone who professes to judge of the
workings of God or of our enemy Satan, and to distinguish by his
own lights as to what proceeds from nature or from grace.
Therefore, when we have clearly and honestly manifested our
internal state to our director, we must humbly and quietly submit
to his decision. Should he be mistaken -- which could be the case,
for he is not infallible -- no harm will accrue to us from his
error. God will always bless submission and obedience, and hinder
or repair the effects of the mistake. He has bound Himself to do
so by His providence, because it is His will that we should see
Him in the minister who takes His place. This principle is the
sure foundation and only basis of all spiritual direction.

I allow that it requires great faith always to see God in a man,
who, after all, is subject to error and not exempt from faults;
and that it is no little sacrifice to give up our own ideas and
convictions in the very matters which concern us most deeply. But
without this sacrifice there can be no submission of judgment, and
without such submission there is no real direction.

Finally, we must faithfully and without delay perform all that the
director bids us do. If, through weakness or indolence, or for any
other reason, we have failed to do so, we must tell him so. By
this fidelity alone shall we advance. He will often prescribe
things that are very painful to nature; practices which will
humiliate us in the eyes of others; practices sometimes so
apparently petty and insignificant, that our pride will disdain
them; practices opposed to our minds, our tempers, our dearest
inclinations. But if he has the spirit of God he must act thus,
because the design of God, of which he is the interpreter, is
precisely our death to self. We must be determined, therefore, to
obey him in all things wherein we do not perceive manifest sin.
And if we think it right to offer any remonstrance, it must always
be subject to his decision.

It would be wrong to put before him such difficulties and
impossibilities as are often imaginary, or the effect of strong
prejudice or temptation. At any rate, after stating them simply,
if he pays no attention to them, we must submit and resolve to
obey. This will be easier than it seems, for nothing is impossible
to grace and obedience. And if the victory over self calls for
great efforts, it will be all the more glorious and meritorious.
Virtues are the gift of God, and He almost always bestows them as
a reward for some signal effort. Then what was formerly difficult
becomes easy. Any number of proofs of this are to be seen in the
lives of the saints.

FOURTH MAXIM : THE PRACTICE OF THE PRESENCE OF GOD

Be always mindful of the God Who is present everywhere, and Who
dwells in the hearts of the just

No spiritual practice is more to be recommended than that of the
presence of God; none is more useful, none more profitable for
advancement in virtue.

It is indispensable. How is it possible to grow holy and attain to
union with God, if we do not habitually think of His presence? It
is most efficacious. With God always before our eyes, how can we
help but try to please Him in all we do, and to avoid displeasing
Him? It is most simple. In its simplicity, it embraces all other
means of sanctification. God present within the soul, our duties
become clear to us from moment to moment. It is most delectable.
What can be dearer than the continual remembrance of God, what
sweeter to one who desires to love Him and to be wholly His?
Lastly, it is a practice which the willing soul cannot find
otherwise than easy.

God spoke to Abraham saying . Walk before Me, and be thou perfect.
[11] He mentioned that one point only, because it contains all.
David says of himself, that he set God always before him. Why? For
He is at my right hand, that I be not moved. [12] Had he continued
faithful to his word, the sight of a woman would not have led him
to adultery, and from adultery to homicide. All saints, under both
the Old and the New Law, have held to this more than to any other
rule. Indeed, it is so well known that I need not press it, nor
need I dwell on its advantages, for they are known to all, saint
and sinner alike. I shall confine myself, therefore, to two
points: one, to explain well what is meant by walking in the
presence of God; the second, to indicate the means that will most
avail us.

The presence of God may be considered under different aspects. God
is necessarily present in all men, good and bad alike; in the
souls of the lost as in those of the blessed; in all creatures
animate and inanimate.

God is also present to all things by His providence. He sees all
things, not only our actions but even our most secret thoughts. He
sees the good, and approves and rewards it; He sees evil, and
condemns and punishes it. He rules all, directs all, according to
His eternal designs, and in spite of all obstacles makes all
things work together for His glory. [13]

In the souls of the just God is present in a special manner: that
is, by sanctifying grace. The heart of the just is His dwelling-
place, says St. Gregory. This presence is a presence of good-will,
of charity and of union. It is the source of our merits, making us
children of God, pleasing in His sight, and worthy of possessing
Him eternally hereafter. It is given to us in baptism, and
restored by penance. It is habitual, and continues as long as we
preserve the grace to which it is attached. Although no just man
can answer for it within him (since no one knows whether he is
worthy of love or hatred [14] ), yet, when he has fulfilled the
rules laid down for procuring it, he may reasonably believe that
God has graciously bestowed it on him, and he must do all he can
to retain it.

God is also present to the soul by actual grace, which enlightens
the mind and attracts the will. This presence is not necessarily
continuous for, although grace is always being offered to us, it
does not always act, because its action presupposes certain
dispositions on our part. This presence acts more or less on
sinners, inspiring them with a sense of sin, and calling them to
repent. Some are ceaselessly pursued by it; they cannot allow
themselves a moment for thought without hearing the voice of God,
bidding them turn from their evil ways. Much more does it act on
the souls of the just, to turn them from evil, excite them to
holiness, and sanctify all their works. It is more felt and more
efficacious, according as our attention and fidelity are more or
less perfect.

Lastly, there is a presence of God which consists of an habitual
infused peace. This presence first makes itself known by its
sweetness, which as St. Paul bears witness, surpasses all
understanding. [15] Afterwards, it is only perceived, without
being strongly felt, and finally, it is enjoyed, like health,
without being noticed. God does not thus bless with His presence
all the just, but mostly those of whom He takes special
possession, and whom He desires to place in the passive state.
Others generally only experience its transitory effects.

The different kinds of God's presence being thus explained, it is
easy to understand what is meant by walking in the presence of
God. It is not merely just thinking about God, as a philosopher
might do when he meditates on divine things, without applying them
to himself. It is rather thinking of God, as affecting our habits
and conduct; it is a deduction from that thought of the moral
consequences in so far as they imply a rule of life. Thus, in the
practice of the presence of God, it is a straightforward and
devout will which must direct the understanding, and the heart
will always have the chief share.

It is a mistake to think that this practice consists of violent
efforts to force the mind to be always thinking of God. That is
not possible, even in the most perfect solitude and detachment
from earthly things. How much less so, then, in the case of
persons living in the world, distracted by the cares of life, by
business and domestic worries, and by a crowd of similar things.
Are such people to be excused from attempting this practice? They
would be, if the presence of God meant banishing every thought
from the mind. But this is not the case: no Christian is exempt
from this exercise on account of the circumstances of his state;
indeed, it is compatible with the busiest life.

He walks, then, in the presence of God who, when he is free to do
so, systematically arranges his time so that he can recall the
presence of God at different times of the day --by meditation, for
instance, or prayer, by assisting at Mass and similar devotions,
by visits to the Blessed Sacrament, vocal prayer and so on; who,
as in the sight of God, employs his time usefully and well,
avoiding idleness, and in general keeping a curb on his
imagination.

He walks therein who, apart from his morning and evening prayers
(which no Christian should omit), in a day filled by necessary
occupations, offers his principal actions to God, thanking Him for
the food He sends, recalling Him from time to time, and making
frequent use of short ejaculatory prayers during the day.

He also walks therein who, like Job, takes heed to all his ways,
watches over his thoughts and words and works, in order to say and
do nothing to wound his conscience and displease God. This
practice is no constraint for one who fears God, still less for
one who loves Him, and it is thus that all good Christians should
act. It is nothing but a faithful preservation of sanctifying
grace and of God's favour, which is the primary duty of every
Christian.

He walks therein more entirely who, like David, keeps the issues
of his heart, in order always to hearken to what the Lord shall
say to him, and to the secret warnings He may give him; who
studies to correspond to every inspiration of the Holy Spirit, and
to perform every action under the influence of grace. All interior
persons follow this method, which is the most apt for leading them
to perfection.

Lastly, he walks therein still more perfectly who, having been
favoured with the infused peace of which I have spoken, diligently
endeavours not to part with it, dwelling always, as it were,
within his own heart, in order to realize it; carefully avoiding
anything that might disturb it or cause him to lose it, and
eagerly embracing all that will help to preserve and increase it.
This peace, as I have said, is purely the gift of God. It does not
depend on ourselves to obtain it, but having been given it, we
must do all in our power to preserve

As to the means which facilitate the exercise of the presence of
God, some are general and some are particular. The first thing is
to remove all obstacles. Once these are out of the way, the
presence of God becomes as familiar to us, as free and as easy, in
a way, as the act of breathing. We must mortify, therefore, our
desire to see, hear and know things which are useless and which do
not concern us. We must avoid all curiosity, for curiosity draws
us out of ourselves, as it were, into the things themselves. The
practice of the presence of God, on the contrary, recalls the soul
to dwell within itself. We must keep a strong hand on the natural
restlessness which incites us to come and go, ever changing our
place, our object, our occupation. This restlessness is really the
effect of that uneasiness which overwhelms us when we look within
ourselves, and fail to find God there. All this inordinate
eagerness and vehemence in our desires must be brought under
control.

The imagination must be curbed, until it becomes accustomed to be
at rest. If, in spite of our efforts, it runs away with itself, it
must be led back gently, and gradually weaned from what it feeds
on, what affects it vividly and strongly, such as vain shows,
exciting books, and a too great application to the imaginative
arts. Nothing is more dangerous or more incompatible with the
practice of the presence of God, than to give the imagination too
free a rein. It is true that we are not wholly masters of that
faculty, the wanderings of which are the torment of religious
souls. This is a great humiliation, and a fertile source of
scruples for those who are unable to despise them. But what is in
our power is to refuse the imagination the objects it seeks with
such avidity, and to which it clings with such tenacity. Avoid
everything, therefore, that can serve it as pasture, which
dissipates it, excites it, and calls for its too great indulgence.
Keep, too, a great liberty of mind and heart, dwelling on neither
the past nor the future. Remember that the present moment alone is
at our disposal. Put aside all useless thoughts, for it is equally
contrary to the presence of God to think too much or too little.
Do not meddle with other people's affairs. Set your own in order,
without undue anxiety as to the result; be reasonably careful over
them, and leave the rest to God. Do not take too much upon
yourself, but reserve some time for rest and recollection. It is
quite right to render services to others, and to undertake works
of mercy. But these things have their measure, and cease to be
right when they do harm to the soul. So much for liberty of mind.

As to liberty of heart, let nothing enter therein which will
affect it too sensibly, or agitate and disturb it, or excite
excessive desire, fear, joy or grief: nothing, in fact, which is
likely to captivate it or turn it aside from its one true object.
As this exercise is one of love, the distraction of the heart is
far more harmful to it than that of the mind. The more the mind
and heart are free, the more shall we be disposed to remain in
God's presence, for God is always the first object that offers
itself to either, when they are emptied of all else.

The particular means to this end are the frequent use of such
things as may remind us of God: as, for instance, the crucifix,
religious prints or pictures, texts from the Scriptures or
Fathers, the sign of the cross (as was the habit of the early
Christians, who, according to Tertullian, were accustomed to begin
all their actions by making that sign). The mind is drawn by the
meaning behind these things, and nothing is more apt for steadying
or recalling the imagination. It is good, also, to know by heart a
certain number of aspirations drawn from the Psalms or from other
parts of Scripture, and to use them often. After a little
practice, these habits will become easy and pleasant. If daily
meditation is practised, some thought or affection that appeals to
one will be enough to nourish the soul during the day. It is for
everyone to choose for himself the method that suits him best, and
follow it or change it according to the benefit he receives.

But the best way of all to acquire the practice of the habitual
presence of God is to meditate often on Our Lord Himself and on
His mysteries, especially His Passion. The various representations
of Our Lord's sufferings strike vividly the imagination; the mind
finds in them endless matter for solid and holy reflection; the
heart is touched and moved, and the feelings stirred which nourish
devotion. I shall speak of this, however, at greater length, in
the following chapter.

As for those are in the passive way, there is no need to teach
them any particular method of remaining in the presence of God.
The Holy Spirit will lead them to the use of all suitable methods,
and they have only to submit themselves to His guidance. In the
beginning, they will feel too much happiness in their secret
intercourse with God ever to be tempted by anything that might
interrupt it: even the thought of such a thing is repugnant to
them. Later on, however, when God withdraws His sensible presence
and drives them, so to say, out of themselves, so that they may
not notice the work He is doing within them, they may seek in
creatures the consolation they no longer find in God. This is
fatal, for God punishes with jealous severity any unfaithfulness
in this matter, and should they persist in their infidelity, they
will inevitably lose all that they have gained. Without committing
themselves, however, to any particular line of conduct, they must
be very faithful to the inspirations of grace, omitting no
accustomed practice voluntarily, but persevering in exterior and
interior mortification, believing that as God had given more to
them than to others, so He will require more at their hands.

The habit of the presence of God, like all other habits, is
difficult to acquire, but once acquired, is easy and pleasant to
preserve. The sweet thought of God, so nourishing to the soul and
so essential at all stages of the spiritual life, makes all other
thoughts intolerable and vain. As the soul progresses, it sees God
more dearly in everything. The very sight of created things
recalls the thought of their Creator, while the perfection of His
works fills it with delight. In all that happens, whether in the
world or in the Church, whether temporal or spiritual, great or
small, adverse or prosperous, the faithful soul perceives its
Lord, Who manifests Himself equally in all things. It sees itself
only in God; its interests only in God's interests; its glory in
His glory; its happiness in His happiness. The things of earth
fade into the distance, and the soul becomes a stranger to them.
Already it feels itself transported into heaven, and judges of
everything as it will one day judge of them in eternity. Such are
some of the admirable effects of the practice of the presence of
God.

FIFTH MAXIM : DEVOTION TO OUR LORD

Keep close to Our Lord in His mysteries, and draw the purest love
from His salutary wounds

CHRIST is the centre, not only of our religion, but of our
spiritual life. By whatever path the soul may be led, active,
passive, ordinary or extraordinary, He is the one guide and
pattern, the chief subject of its meditation and contemplation,
the object of its affection, the goal of its course. He is its
physician, shepherd, and king; He is its food and delight. And
there is no other Name under heaven given to men, whereby they may
be saved, [16] or come to perfection.

Therefore, it is both absurd and impious to imagine that there can
be any prayer from which the humanity of Our Lord may or ought to
be excluded, as an object not sufficiently sublime. Such an idea
can be nothing but an illusion of the devil. Contemplate the
perfections of God, if you are drawn to do so: lose yourself, if
you will, in the Divine Essence; nothing is more licit or
praiseworthy, provided grace gives wings to the flight and
humility is the companion of that sublime contemplation. But never
fancy that it is a lower course to look and gaze upon the Saviour,
whenever He presents Himself to your mind. Such an error is the
effect of a false spirituality and of a refined pride, and whether
we are aware of it or not leads directly to disorders of the
flesh, by which intellectual pride is almost invariably punished.

Know, then, that as long as the soul has free use of its
faculties, whether in meditation or in simple contemplation, it is
primarily to Our Lord that we must turn. Pure contemplation, in
which the understanding alone is exercised upon an entirely
spiritual subject, is too high for weak minds like ours,
encumbered with a weight of flesh, and subjected in many ways to
material things. For some, it is less a prayer than an
intellectual speculation. With others, it is a matter of the
imagination, in which they lose sight both of God and of
themselves. Why, the very seraphim cover themselves with their
wings in the presence of the Divine Majesty, and we would dare to
raise our eyes and gaze thereon!

Besides, this contemplation is too bare and dry for the heart,
which finds no nourishment therein. The abstract consideration of
infinite perfection contains nothing to stimulate us to virtue, or
sustain and encourage us when low. The repose obtained by this
supposed prayer is a false one, and dangerously near to Quietism.
It leaves the soul dry, cold, full of self-esteem, disdain for
others, distaste and contempt for vocal prayer (which in our
weakness we need), and for the common practices of piety, charity
and humility, and indifferent even to the most august and holy of
the sacraments.

If the powers of the soul are bound in time of prayer, then it is
possible that we may not be able to think of Our Lord, or of any
other subject. God, desiring to humble the mind, to subdue our
natural activity and root out from our heart its immoderate love
of sensible consolations, sometimes leaves the soul for years in a
void, during which neither Our Lord nor any other distinct object
is presented to it.

However, in the first place, this is not the act of the soul
itself, but a sort of martyrdom in which it acquiesces because
such is the will of God. And when, during this fearful nudity, Our
Lord occasionally reveals Himself, with what joy does not the soul
welcome Him and converse with Him, during the brief moments of His
stay!

How happy when I find at last,
How joyous when I hold Him fast!

But equally, what anguish does not the soul experience, when it is
plunged once more into the night of its own nothingness.

In the second place, the soul thus treated endeavours to make up
during the day for the loss from which it suffers in time of
prayer. It thirsts to be joined in Holy Communion to Him Who, in
these seasons of dearth, is its only stay, its only food. It
spends itself in holy ejaculations; it invents divers practices
whereby to invoke and adore Him throughout the day in His various
mysteries. It seeks Him in spiritual reading, visits Him in His
holy House, turns to Him for grace, and has recourse to Him in
temptation. There is no soul, really and truly interior, whether
passive or not, but strives to live in Him and by Him and for Him,
and to have for Him a deep and continuous love.

How could it be otherwise? God the Father gave Him to us for this
very purpose. He became man in order to unite us with Himself. Sin
had separated God and man too widely; Christ assumed our nature in
order to repair that separation. No man cometh to the Father, but
by Me, He said. [17] No man abideth in the Father, but by Him. To
forget for one instant that sacred humanity would be to sever our
sole link with the adorable Trinity. How can one conceive that the
Father, Who draws us to His incarnate Son, could ever wish to see
us in a state of prayer in which it would be an imperfection to
think of that Son, or wherein it would be necessary to separate
His humanity from His divinity, and neglect the one in order to
occupy oneself with the other. The mere thought of such a thing
would be both absurd and blasphemous.

St. Paul was not only an interior man, but in the passive state:
bound, as he himself says, by the Holy Spirit, [18] Who in a
sovereign manner was the guide of all his thoughts, his feelings,
his words, and of all he wrote; indeed, of the whole course of his
apostolic work. Can one doubt that he was in the passive way to an
extraordinary degree, in view of what he tells us of the greatness
of his revelations, the humiliating temptations to which he was
subject in order to keep him humble, and of the gifts of the Holy
Spirit which he possessed in such plenitude? [19] Yet his epistles
are full of Christ; he speaks of nothing else, and with what
transports of gratitude and love! The mere mention of the divine
Name is enough to send him into such raptures that his words
cannot contain his thoughts, and pile up their images in the
liveliest disorder and embarrassment, in their endeavour to
express the sublimity of his supernatural enthusiasm. Again and
again, he urges the faithful to study Christ, to imitate Christ,
to 'put on' Christ, [20] to do all and suffer all in the name of
Christ. [21]

He invites the faithful to be followers of him as he is of Christ.
[22] He affirms that he fills up in his person what is wanting in
the sufferings of Christ; [23] that is, by his labours and
sufferings, he applies to himself the merits of the Passion of his
divine Master. He assures us that he carries the marks of Jesus in
his body; [24] and, finally, as though unable to say more, he
declares that he no longer lives, but that Christ lives in him.
[25]

And what am I to say of St. John, the beloved disciple who, as the
eagle dares to gaze with open eyes upon the sun, contemplated the
eternal generation of the Word in the bosom of the Father? Not
only literally, as at the Last Supper, but continuously throughout
his life, he leant upon the bosom of the Saviour. And who ever
reached a higher state of contemplation, or led a more interior
life? And what is his Gospel but the most sublime and touching
exposition in its simplicity of Jesus in His divine nature, of all
that He longs to be to us and wants us to be to Him; as well as of
the most intimate desires of His Sacred Heart, both for the glory
of the Father and the salvation of men? What are his epistles but
a tender exhortation for all men to love Christ, and to love one
another even as He has loved us? [26] What is the Apocalypse but a
prophetic description of Christ, here below in His Church, and
hereafter in the elect, washed and purified in His blood, [27] and
of His temporal and eternal triumph over His enemies? The apostle
was drawing near the end of his life and was consummated in the
most perfect union with his Master, when the Holy Spirit dictated
to him these divine words. Dare one, in view of this, say that
there is a kind of prayer so high that the sacred Humanity has no
place in it? With what horror would not St. John have received and
rejected so detestable a proposition.

Among the saints, men and women, ancient and modern, were
assuredly a great number of contemplatives, who followed either
the active or passive way. But where will one find any to whom
Christ and His mysteries were not at once the centre and
foundation of their prayer; and who in their writings have not
urged Our Lord as the unique Way that leads to perfection? There
are none; there never have been, and there never will be.

You, then, who aspire to the interior life, that is to a life of
genuine piety, enter, as the author of the Imitation counsels,
into the hidden life of Jesus. Study to know Him well, to make His
most intimate thoughts your thoughts. Let this knowledge be the
constant subject of your prayers, your reading and meditation;
refer everything to it as to its centre and term. You will never
exhaust it: you will not even fathom its depths. The saints have
ever discovered new treasures in the measure in which they
advanced, and all have admitted that the little they knew was
nothing to what they longed to know.

But it is not enough to study Christ: we must stir our hearts to
love him, for the love of God and the love of God made man are one
and the same thing. Let this love be the food of your soul; let it
be the object of all your spiritual exercises, in order that you
may grow in that love from day to day. If any man love not Our
Lord Jesus Christ, says St. Paul, let him be anathema. [28] To
love Him in a half-hearted manner is to be but a poor Christian.
The true Christian longs and strives to love Him more and more,
knowing that He can never be loved as He deserves to be loved, or
in the measure of His love for us.

But to love Him without imitating Him would be both vain and
sterile. Therefore, be imitators of Christ. He is our model,
perfect in every detail: a model for all states and for all
conditions. To all men, in every conceivable circumstance, Christ
in His mysteries, His virtues and in His doctrine, gives us the
examples and lessons He proposes for our imitation. His teaching
furnishes us with the most powerful motives, whilst His grace and
the sacraments provide us with the most efficacious means.

But above all, meditate on His Passion; cling to His Passion.
Reproduce in your own life those virtues of which His Passion
presents the most living picture.

Seek in your prayers to draw love from His salutary wounds, above
all from His pierced Heart. Remember that His sacred Passion is
the foundation of the whole of our faith: that He came on earth to
die upon the Cross; that it was by this sacrifice He made
satisfaction to the Father and expiation for our sins; opened
heaven to us and merited all the graces that will bring us there.
Remember that the sublime sacrifice of our altars, which is the
central act of our faith, is but the memorial, the renewal and
extension of the sacrifice of Calvary. Remember, too, that it was
He Himself Who committed to priests and laity the duty to offer
His Body and receive It as food, in memory of His crucified love
for men.

The crucifix is, and always will be, the dearest book of devout
souls. It speaks to the senses, to the mind and to the heart. No
other language is so eloquent or so touching. It is within the
understanding of the most simple and ignorant, yet is, at the same
time, above the comprehension of the greatest intellect and the
highest learning. It says all, teaches all, answers all. It
provokes the greatest efforts, consoles and sustains in times of
the most bitter sorrow, and changes the very bitterness into
sweetness.

The crucifix invites sinners to do penance, causing them to
realize all the malice and enormity of their crimes. It reproaches
them with as much gentleness as force; offers them the remedy,
assures them of pardon, and excites in their hearts feelings of
contrition as loving as they are sincere. It encourages the just,
making the way to virtue easy. It persuades them to renounce and
fight their passions, rendering them deaf to the cries of self-
love, which dreads poverty, suffering and the afflictions that
mortify the mind and flesh. Above all, it humiliates and destroys
human pride, the source of all vice and sin.

The crucifix draws us to a state of recollection and prayer, to
the interior life. It speaks to us of gentleness, patience, pardon
for injuries done to us, love for our enemies, charity towards our
brethren, even to the offering of our lives for them. It provokes
us to love God by revealing to us the extent of His love for us,
and how truly He merits to be loved in return. It impels us to
submission and to the perfect conformity of our will with the
divine will, whatever the cost, and to confidence and abandonment
in times of the greatest desolation. In a word, it engages us to
the practice of virtue and the avoidance of vice, in a way so
gentle and persuasive that it is impossible to refuse.

Devout soul, do you desire to attain to union with God, to receive
the precious gift of His continual presence which makes all labour
light? Then spend some time every day before the crucifix. Take no
other subject for your meditation. Gaze at it, hold it in your
hands, pray to Jesus hanging on the Cross, and ask Him to be your
master and director. Bid your mind be silent in His presence; let
your heart alone speak. Tenderly kiss His hands and feet, press
your lips to the wound in His sacred side. Your soul will be
moved, and torrents of grace will flow into it, and with joy you
will draw waters out of the wells of salvation. [29] You will run
in the way of the commandments, [30] for the Cross contains them
all.

Say not that the sight of the crucifix does you no good; that it
leaves your heart cold and insensible; that, however much you try
to express your love, you have no words wherewith to do so. If you
cannot speak, you can listen. Stay silently and humbly at your
Saviour's feet. If you persevere, He will not fail to instruct,
nourish and fortify you. And if you feel nothing of this at the
time, you will perceive it in your conduct, in the gradual change
in your disposition. We are impatient, and our senses cry out to
be satisfied, and, for this reason, we abandon the most profitable
practices just because they do not succeed immediately. Persevere,
I say. You have greatly abused the love of Jesus, let Him now try
yours a little. He will crown your perseverance with success, and
the gift of prayer will be your reward.

Our Lord's Passion has always been the particular devotion of
those saints who have been renowned for their hidden life. Such
were St. Bernard, St. Francis of Assisi, St. John of the Cross,
St. Catherine of Siena, St. Gertrude, St. Teresa and many others.
And any numbers have written on the subject. Yet if these great
mystics tell us that there are states in which one loses sight of
Our Lord, they will always add that these experiences are the
expression of stages in Christ's own life, and that it is He Who
impresses on the soul His own dispositions as He grew from
childhood to His death. Step by step Jesus leads us to pass
through these various stages, commencing with sensible joys, and
passing to exterior and inner sufferings both of body and soul;
humiliations, contradictions, calumnies and persecutions on the
part of others; temptations on the part of the devil, and trials
and interior aridity on the part of God.

During these trials, we do not see that it is Our Lord Who is
crucifying us, for that would be too great a consolation. For our
own good, it is essential that we should be unaware of His part in
all this, if we are to exercise our faith and trust and so reap
the full benefit of our sacrifice. When Jesus thus hides Himself
from us, we suffer more, it is true, but we merit more. And should
we have to pass the whole of our life in darkness and aridity, our
trust and obedience will grow all the stronger.

Thus we are never more truly and intimately united with Our Lord
than when there seems to be a thick veil between Him and our soul,
which we would like to lift but cannot. It is in this sense solely
that we must understand all approved spiritual writers who have
treated of this matter, and it would be a grave injustice to
accuse them of any kind of Quietism.

What I have written regarding Our Lord applies also to Our Lady
and the saints. All devotion to the saints has its source in the
love of Christ, sole author of their sanctity, and always brings
us back to Him, no matter at what degree of sanctity we have
arrived. To want to do away with such devotion, even temporarily,
under whatever pretext, would be gravely wrong.

And who would dream of suggesting that there is any way of prayer,
in which we can afford to do without Mary; wherein the thought of
her virtues and greatness would be a hindrance? Is it not through
her that we approach the Son, even as it is through the Son that
we go to the Father? Is she not most intimately connected with the
three Persons of the most adorable Trinity? Do not all aspects of
our faith lead us to be in touch with her? Is she not the channel
of graces, and is not hers the most powerful mediation that one
could employ with her Son?

If, then, in times of darkness, trouble and desolation, we are
deprived of the consciousness of Mary's most powerful aid in time
of prayer, it is for the same reason that we are deprived of the
sense of Our Lord's own closeness. But just as it is then that
Jesus, all unknown to us, draws ever closer to us, so it is then
that He communicates to us a deeper and more tender love for His
Mother. And in any case, the deprivation I speak of does not
prevent us in our morning and evening prayers, and during the
course of the day, addressing our devotions to Mary, and honouring
her in various ways.

And so it is with the other saints, with whom as with the angels
we ought to hold a holy commerce. We should always have the
intention of honouring them and praying to them, whatever our
state. Indeed, the higher our state, the greater our love for them
will grow, although we may not always be free to think of them or
invoke them. Yet, short of a special suspension of our faculties
on God's part, I doubt if a day passes, when we are not able to
pay them at least something of the devotion due to them.

SIXTH MAXIM : THE SACRAMENTS OF PENANCE, AND THE HOLY EUCHARIST

Make good use of the two sacraments, whereof one brings cleansing,
and the other life

WE all know that, after baptism which regenerates but can only be
supplied once, the two chief springs of grace are the sacraments
of Penance and the Holy Eucharist, which may be renewed as often
as the soul stands in need of them. The former cleanses it from
sin and renders it pure in God's sight; the latter maintains its
spiritual life by uniting it with the very Author of that life.
Therefore the right use of these two sacraments greatly tends to
sanctification, and his salvation is assured who does his best to
receive them worthily, and profit by them fully.

It would lead me too far were I to treat of this matter at length,
and my subject does not require it of me. I am not now writing for
those who only go to confession and communion in order to obey the
precept of the Church. This I will say, in case my book falls into
their hands. As long as they do only so much as is absolutely of
obligation, they run a great risk of not being rightly disposed
for the reception of these sacraments. If they have any bad
habits, it is most unlikely that they will overcome them, so long
as they go to confession and receive communion only once a year,
and their salvation, to say the least of it, will be imperilled.

Nor am I writing for those who are accustomed to confess and
communicate only on the great festivals. It may well be that their
lives will be exempt from grave sins, but they are surely wanting
in zeal for their sanctification, and respond neither to the
desires of the Church nor to Our Lord's intention in instituting
these two sacraments. I would advise them to consult some good
book on the advantages of frequent confession and communion; to
obey the pressing invitation of the Church, and to listen humbly
to the advice of their confessor.

I write only for those who, being resolved to lead a holy life
and, knowing that frequent participation in the sacraments is one
of the most effectual means to sanctification, have formed the
good habit of going to confession and communion weekly and even
oftener, as their occupations permit and their confessor
recommends. I write also for those who have given themselves to
God, such as priests and religious, who by their rule of life are
encouraged to frequent confession and communion.

In addressing, therefore, such persons I must confine myself only
to what is absolutely essential, if I am not to make this work too
long. In any case, the general rules in regard to frequent
confession and communion are sufficiently well known.

Now in the ancient Church, confession was much rarer, communion
much more frequent. The bishop was then the only, or almost the
only, confessor; and if the early Christians, who communicated
whenever they assisted at the Holy Sacrifice (not to mention the
times they communicated in their own homes), had gone to
confession as often as devout folk do now, the bishop, it is
obvious, would have had no time to hear them. As holy as their
lives were, nevertheless some small faults escaped them daily,
which they did not deem necessary to confess. If they had aught
against their brethren, they sought reconciliation before offering
their gifts; [31] and as for venial sins, they believed, as St.
Augustine teaches, that these were wholly remitted by the
recitation of the Lord's Prayer. They only applied to the bishop
or to someone deputed by him, for sins of some little magnitude or
concerning which they were in doubt; and we may well believe that
their consciences were at least as delicate as those of devout
persons of the present day.

As time wore on, and the number of confessors increased, the
facility with which one could apply to them made confession much
more frequent, whilst the holy custom of communicating whenever
present at Mass being lost, the idea began to take root that it
was necessary to receive the advice or permission of the confessor
before going to communion, and this led to much more frequent and
regular confessions; so much so, that people began to think that
they had to go to confession always before communicating.

Now such continual confessions, when made a matter of routine or
obligation, are subject to abuse. They give rise to anxiety and
scruples. The penitent worries himself to find something to say.
He dwells upon thoughts that had better be despised, and exposes
himself to be wanting in contrition. Often there is no matter for
absolution, and yet it would be distressing if the confessor gave
none. The worst of it is that, without confession, such persons
will not go to communion, when they could and should do. No one
knows what it costs sensible confessors to bring such souls to
reasonable practice in this matter. They take fright and are
scandalized. Very often, nothing can be done with them, and the
confessor is obliged to yield to their contumacy.

Another abuse, still greater and more common, is that of believing
that all perfection consists in the frequent participation of the
sacraments. Many think themselves saints because they communicate
weekly or daily, who yet never dream of correcting their faults;
who perhaps do not even know them, so blinded are they by self-
love. They are impatient, harsh, censorious, full of self-esteem
and contempt of their neighbour, proud of the multitude of their
external observances, and without the slightest idea of interior
mortification. All the profit they derive from their communions
and other pious exercises consists in spiritual vanity, secret
pride, and all the subtle vices engendered by devotion grafted on
to self-love.

A third abuse is that of treating confession and communion as
matters of routine. Those who fall into this error come to the
sacraments without any, or with only superficial, examination of
conscience. It may be that they are afraid of breaking their rule
and of attracting attention; or their director may have given them
certain orders. And so these most holy actions are performed as
perfunctorily as if they were the most ordinary affairs.

Let us consider each sacrament separately. The thing most to be
feared in the matter of frequent confession is that, either the
examination of conscience is insufficient, or else it is
exaggerated and scrupulous. Persons of a light or thoughtless
nature, or whose devotion is cold and indifferent, are liable to
the first fault. Some only consider their external acts, and
scarcely give a thought to what passes within them. Others have
their pet sins, of which they seem quite unconscious, or they go
through a regular form of examination which they repeat by heart
to the confessor, nearly always in the same order and in the same
words. There are others also who, being habitually subject to
venial sins, such as breaking certain rules, and with no idea of
correcting themselves, presume to leave them out of their
examination and confession altogether. In general, their
examination is badly done, either from ignorance or for want of
watchfulness in the intervals between their confessions, or
because they are not sincere in their desire for perfection.

On the other hand, very timid souls, who have lively imaginations
or are narrow-minded, are apt to examine themselves too severely
or too anxiously. They see faults in everything, and these faults,
which are often nothing at all, they exaggerate and turn into
immense affairs. They confuse thought with consent, first
involuntary movements with determined acts . They worry themselves
looking for trouble, and hours are not sufficient for them when it
comes to their examination, and they go through torments every
time they go to confession. Their examination not only wearies
them at the time of confession, but all day long. They are
perpetually searching their conscience, and do nothing but fret
and dissect themselves.

I admit that it is not easy to keep to the happy medium. For those
who lead a regular life, with little contact with the outside
world, whose occupations vary little, and who are in the habit of
making their examination of conscience daily, I would say that the
immediate preparation before confession should not take long: a
glance should be sufficient to remind them of what they have done
during the week. Persons otherwise circumstanced require more
time, but such time has its limits. A quarter of an hour more than
suffices for a weekly confession, and it is better to run the risk
of forgetting some slight fault than to torture oneself in order
to omit none.

The examination should be made simply, quietly and honestly, after
having asked the Holy Ghost for that light on which you ought to
rely rather than on your own research. Instead of making painful
efforts to recall everything, beg the Holy Spirit to show you
those faults which most displease God, which offend your
neighbour, and hinder your own progress. Then think of those only
which come to your mind. Pay more attention to habitual than to
occasional faults, to those which are in any way deliberate than
to such as are simply inadvertent.

But it is much more important to feel real contrition for sin, and
to make an earnest resolution of amendment. Such souls as I have
here in mind do not find this difficult as regards great sins,
which I would imagine they hold in habitual abhorrence. But that
is not the case with regard to lesser sins of omission or
commission connected with propensities which they treat rather
lightly, and against which they have not the courage to fight
resolutely. Such are sins of vanity, curiosity, laziness, self-
indulgence, censoriousness and so forth. Such sins are always
cropping up, and it is not easy to conceive real sorrow for them,
or to make up one's mind never to commit them again, so long as
the root is left unattacked. What happens is that the branches are
lopped off, but they grow again at once, because the root is
spared. Contrition for venial faults, habitually and deliberately
committed, is as suspect as that for mortal sins of the same
nature. We would like to amend, but deep down our will is not so
sure. Grace demands correction, but nature refuses.

It is true that we can only hope for moral certainty of our
contrition, but if there is any way of quieting our minds on this
point it is by forming an earnest resolution never to commit a
fault deliberately and intentionally, and to keep to that
resolution. Then nothing remains but faults of impulse, of
inadvertence or simple frailty, to which the will only half
consents. A firm resolution never to sin wilfully readily obtains
from God the grace of sorrow for those sins into which we fall.
For the work of repentance is not our own but the gift of God; and
He only promises it to those who make good use of His other
graces.

Doubt, then, O Christian soul, of the sincerity of your
contrition until you have fully made up your mind to avoid every
deliberate sin; but once this is your habitual disposition, then
have no further uneasiness in the matter. You must not judge your
contrition by the feelings that you endeavour to excite at the
time of confession, nor by the acts you then make, but by your
habitual hatred of sin, your degree of watchfulness against it,
and your efforts to overcome evil propensities and habits. There
is no rule but this, and this rule is safe.

You are alarmed sometimes, because you feel no sorrow for sin, and
your heart seems frozen; your act of contrition appears to be a
mere formal set of words. You used to feel really grieved; love
constrained your heart, and you were even moved to tears. Look
well within yourself. See if you do truly detest the sins you are
going to confess. If so, be at ease, and seek no further
assurance. Your state of mind is probably better than when you
were touched with sensible grief. Do not hesitate, therefore, to
cast aside all fears and doubts and scruples on this subject: and,
having taken the advice of your confessor, if necessary, then
dismiss the matter entirely from your mind.

Besides, we do not excite contrition, as some suppose, by
squeezing feelings out of our hearts, or moving ourselves to
tears, but by humbly asking God to inspire our souls with true
repentance, and then simply and quietly making our act of
contrition. It is enough to do so once before confession,
repeating it while the priest is giving the absolution. Then as
regards the accusation. This is very often defective. We either
say too much, or too little, by reason of self-love or shame. Any
defects which result from ignorance or natural stupidity, will be
remedied by the confessor asking such questions as he deems fit.

The accusation should be short and simple. No useless details,
which often implicate other people; no circumlocution. If you have
to say that you were impatient, or wanting in charity, do not make
a long story of it. Some people think they would make a bad
confession, if they did not repeat exactly all that was said to
them, and all that they said in reply.

It must be clear and precise. No indistinctness, ambiguity, or
disguise. Let the confessor understand the thing as you do
yourself. None of those vague accusations, which merely take up
time, and to which those are prone who like to make long
confessions. You accuse yourself of self-love and pride. But these
are vicious habits; they are not sins. Of slackness in God's
service: the exact way in which you are slack should be mentioned.
You make lukewarm communions: what does that mean?

It must be thorough. No essential details should be suppressed.
Together with the fault, mention the motive which induced it, and
which is sometimes more sinful than the act itself. Be absolutely
sincere. If any fault is particularly humiliating, or if you fear
reproof for it, do not leave it to the last: really humble souls
begin with these. It is good also to mention one's temptations,
and explain in what they consist, even if you have reason to
believe that you have not given way to them. Shame sometimes leads
us to conceal certain temptations. There is danger in this. It is
a device of the devil to render a fall easier, and it generally
succeeds.

Lastly, the accusation must be strictly true. Do not exaggerate,
diminish or excuse your faults. Call that certain which you
believe to be certain; doubtful what you consider doubtful.
Scrupulous persons and those who suffer from temptations are apt
to accuse themselves of having consented when they have not done
so. When the confessor knows his penitents well, he should be on
his guard and not take them always at their word; otherwise, he
may well drive them to despair. Others think they should say more
rather than less: they should, if possible, say neither more nor
less. Those who are possessed of a strong and lively imagination
should be on their guard against it in their confessions.

Early instruction on the subject of confession is exceedingly
important because, at a certain age, it is almost impossible to
correct the erroneous customs contracted by long habit.

Except in cases of violent temptation and serious trouble, souls
in the passive way examine themselves very quietly. They see the
state of their conscience very clearly. They are neither
scrupulous nor do they slur over anything, for God never fails to
show them the least fault they commit. They are not uneasy in the
matter of their contrition. They accuse themselves with childlike
simplicity and candour. Their confessions are usually short and to
the point. Unless obliged by rule, they only confess when they
feel the need. When they do so by rule, they state quite simply
that they have nothing on their minds, if that is the case. By
these signs it is easy to know whether persons are in this way, or
are disposed to enter it.

Some may ask whether it is advisable to make use of those
exercises for confession and communion, which are to be found in
most manuals of devotion. I consider them useful and even
necessary for those who seldom approach the sacraments. They are
suitable also for young people, who are trying to be good and find
great difficulty in collecting their thoughts. Acts, well
repeated, inspire devotion where it previously did not exist, and
in general recall the mind from wandering. But I think that those
who enjoy the blessing of frequent communion should acquire the
habit of dispensing with these aids. For one thing, familiarity
lessens their effect, and they are only striking when they are
new. An exercise grows wearisome when we know it by heart, and it
leaves us cold and dry. And so we go from one thing to another,
without finding any real satisfaction.

Another great objection is that, when we find ready made acts in
books, we make no effort to excite our hearts to make them ours,
but having borrowed the sentiments of the writers fancy that we
have expressed our own. And these feelings which are not our own
leave very little behind them. Those, on the other hand, which
come spontaneously from within us, with the help of grace, nourish
the soul and develop it, giving rise to profitable dispositions
and, by being frequently renewed, form a habit of interior
recollection.

And there can be no doubt that the expression of our own feelings
is much more pleasing to God, being the kind of prayer which comes
straight from the heart. What can all these methodical and
prearranged acts mean to God? The thoughts that really please Him
are those which He Himself breathes into the soul, not those that
we seek elsewhere. Provided they are not needed to make up for our
indigence or fix our attention, it is better to do without them
and leave the heart free to express itself to God in its own way.
Free and spontaneous acts are much more natural and alive, and
also more effective.

Therefore I would suggest that you try gradually to dispense with
books, both before and after communion. Let your preparation and
thanksgiving be made quietly, without any straining of the mind,
and with the help of God alone, Who is never so near to us as in
these holiest of acts. And while acknowledging the insufficiency
of your own attempts to receive Jesus worthily, and worthily to
thank Him for this inestimable benefit, I would wish you
trustfully to ask Him to dispose your heart aright, and then
firmly believe and fully expect Him to do so. Then remain quietly
recollected and interiorly silent, giving Him complete liberty
over your heart, both as to the preparation for His reception and
to His taking entire possession of it.

This divine method in which Christ would give us of His fulness,
and we would give Him our simplicity, humility, faith, love and
trust, is much better than our bustle and activity, and the
shakings we give our soul in order to produce a little sensible
fervour. And what an intimate peace it brings; what sweet
suspension of the powers of the soul; what loving expectation of
Our Lord's coming and of the unspeakable blessedness of His
presence. Our self-love is always wanting to have a finger in the
business, and so spoils everything. It seems to fear that God
cannot do as well as it can itself. Whenever self-love interferes,
therefore, God does little or nothing.

I allow that this method is only suitable for souls that have made
some progress. But there are pure, young hearts, and indeed
wonderful penitents, whom God Himself calls to it, attracting them
to an interior silence, and kindling in them a sweet, powerful
love at the time of communion. These souls need fear nothing. At
such times, let them leave aside not only books, but also their
own acts, and yield to God's own action. The confessor need have
no anxiety on this point.

It is true that sensible sweetness at communion lasts only a
certain time, but it is also true that it should not be sought or
clung to. Nor, when God withdraws it, should it be regretted.
There is much spiritual sensuality in this: it is loving Our Lord,
not for His own sake but for His consolations. When the privation
of these consolations is not the result of any fault of ours, our
communion is none the worse, although it may be devoid of comfort.
Its peace is imparted, whether it be felt or no, and our heart is
filled, however empty it may feel. Our state at communion
generally corresponds to our state in prayer; and the further we
advance in the mortification of self, the more are we weaned from
all sweetness. If the heavenly food is then less pleasing to our
taste, it is all the more strengthening. In its trials, it is
strength that the soul needs, not consolations; and this strength
is abundantly bestowed in those communions in which nothing seems
to be imparted.

A communion is not to be judged by its immediate but by its
subsequent effects. God soon leads strong and generous souls
beyond sweetness, in order that He may give them what is more
substantial. A communion is excellent when it results in a
generous determination to correct our faults, to deny ourselves,
to bear the internal and external crosses sent by God, and to give
Him, according to our present state, the proofs He seeks of our
love, faithfulness and abandonment. Communions which do not
produce this effect bear very little fruit. Natural sensibility,
the imagination (not to say the devil) may often have the chief
share in the pleasure then enjoyed, which only serves to lull vain
and timid souls into dangerous illusions.

Now as to frequent communion, the confessor should give his advice
with holy discretion. It is the present mind of the Church that
the practice of frequent and even daily communion should be
encouraged for all Christians who are in a state of grace, and are
led by a right and pious intention, namely by a sincere desire to
advance in the spiritual life, and not by any human motive such as
habit or vanity. As soon as a Christian sets himself diligently to
work out his own salvation, he should be exhorted to communicate
often, without waiting until he is entirely rid of his former
habits, or rather in order that he may get rid of them more
easily. And there may be reasons, such as occasions of strong
temptations or difficult duties, which render frequent communion
still more desirable.

Greater profit will, of course, accrue to those who are not
attached to any venial sins, but are resolved to commit no
intentional fault and to obey the will of God in all things; who,
moreover, devote themselves to inward mortification and mental
prayer, so far as their condition allows, in order to acquire
strength in the practice of virtue, bravely fighting themselves
and avoiding all that might in any way draw them away from their
interior recollection and union with God. As the spiritual life
has its normal rate of progress, it is always easy for an
experienced director to see whether a soul is advancing or not,
and he will advise the frequency of communion according to the
needs of the penitent.

As for priests, secular or regular, who daily offer the Holy
Sacrifice, they must never think any perfection too high for them.
On the contrary, the priesthood is of itself an engagement to what
is most perfect in the Christian life. This is all the more so,
when it is joined to the vows of religion. If one is obliged by
one's office to say Mass, one is obviously obliged to say it
worthily, and to draw from it all the spiritual fruits attached to
it. It seems to me that by reason of their state, the functions
they fulfil, and the example they should set, it is a law for
them, not only to equal but to surpass in sanctity other
Christians who live an interior life. But let each examine and
judge himself in this matter.

SEVENTH MAXIM : PURITY OF INTENTION, SIMPLICITY AND UPRIGHTNESS

Let your intention be pure, and your devotion simple and upright

IF thy eye be single, thy whole body shall be lightsome. [32] All
the Fathers explain these words to refer to purity of intention,
and understand them to signify that, if our aim be pure, our
actions will be just. As the eye guides, and in some sense
enlightens, the body, so the intention enlightens the soul. It
guides its actions, and imparts to them their value for good or
evil. Therefore, as the holiness of our actions depends on the
purity of our intention, it is of the utmost importance that we
should make sure of our intention; yet nothing is more difficult.

Intention lies in the deepest part of the human heart, so that, to
discover it as fully as is possible, we must be practised in the
science of reflecting on our own soul, examining its hidden
motives, and penetrating its deepest recesses. This is what few
persons do, and in what concerns supernatural matters it can only
be satisfactorily performed by the help of divine light, which
must unceasingly be sought by diligent prayer.

Our self-love endeavours studiously to hide our intentions from
ourselves. It does so with a view to its own interests, and
succeeds only too well. We deceive ourselves in a multitude of
things, and although we do so simply because we want to, it is all
so subtle that we are hardly aware of it. There are very few
persons who are completely honest with themselves, and self should
be the very first thing we mistrust. We must always, therefore, be
on our guard against the devices of self-love, which are more
subtle in religious matters than in anything else. Yet how few are
really watchful in this matter; how few are proof--I do not say
always, but for the most part--against being taken off their
guard.

If we are to know ourselves really, we must discern the true
motive of our actions, and that is not an easy matter, seeing how
twisted our nature is, and how blind we are to it. True knowledge
of self is very rare.

The truth is, of course, that only God knows us through and
through; above all in the most essential thing, namely whether we
are worthy in His eyes of love or hatred. [33] We cannot be
absolutely certain that any of our actions are pleasing to Him,
and this uncertainty will remain with us all our life; we will
never be able to pronounce with certitude on the purity of our
intentions. For if we were sure on this point, we would be equally
sure that our actions were holy, and consequently that we were in
a state of grace. For this reason, we must always say with David:
From my secret sins, cleanse me, O Lord. [34] And who knows fully
his own frailty? The truth is in itself very painful, and
particularly grievous to self-love, which is always seeking for
assurance. According to God's designs, however, it should humble
us, but not drive us to despair. If in this matter we cannot
arrive at absolute certitude, yet by learning to know ourselves
and by humbly asking it of God, we can obtain sufficient moral
certitude to give us peace. But we must do all that lies in our
power.

What, then, is purity of intention? Purity of intention is having
God alone as our object, free from all self-interest. Yet our
intention, although not absolutely pure, may not be fundamentally
bad. It often happens that our primary intention is good, but it
is spoilt by a secondary intention which is not good. Thus a
priest in his apostolic work seeks in general the glory of God,
but at the same time takes pleasure in the approbation of men. In
God's eyes, therefore, which are infinitely pure, the total
intention and the acts consequent on it, are not perfectly holy
and beyond reproach.

Imperfect Christians that we are, we can judge by this example of
the hidden imperfections which insinuate themselves into all we
do. If only we were fully persuaded of this truth, how reluctant
we would be to indulge in any self-complacency; and this is just
what God wants, for He only saves us by humility, certainly not by
confidence in our own merit. The saints knew this only too well,
and like Job [35] trembled at the thought of their actions. And
even St. Augustine cried, when he thought of Monica his mother: 'O
my God, who can stand in Thy sight, if Thou searchest without
mercy?'

What must we do to acquire this precious purity of intention? We
must continually watch our motives, in order to eschew not only
those that are obviously bad, but even those that are imperfect.
But we only discern our imperfections as we advance, and as our
spiritual light increases. God increases this light progressively,
according to the use we make of His gift. He adapts it to our
present needs, and to the degree of purity He expects of us at the
time. It is by this light that we gradually discover those
imperfections in our intention which at first were not apparent,
and which God Himself actually hid from us. For what beginner,
with how ever good a will, could bear the sight of those actions
which he believes to be his best, if God showed them to him as
they are in His sight? It would be enough to reduce him to the
depths of despondency. God has done so in the case of certain
saints, but not everyone can stand such favours!

To make myself better understood, I will give an example of this
imperfect knowledge of ourselves. The entrance to the spiritual
life is often strewn by God with flowers. He fills the soul with
sweetness and consolation in order to detach it from all that is
not Himself, and to facilitate the exercises of an interior life,
which otherwise would prove too difficult. The soul, which never
before knew anything so delightful, clings impetuously to these
new pleasures, and in order to enjoy them gives up everything
else. It yields itself to prayer and mortification, and is only
happy when alone with God. It cannot bear any interruption in its
communion with Him. If God hides Himself for a time, it is
wretched, and cries to Him to return. It seeks Him restlessly, and
knows no rest until He is found again.

Much imperfection unquestionably exists here. The motive is good:
God is the object sought; but the intention is not pure, because
spiritual sweetness and sensible enjoyment are sought as well. The
soul does not see this imperfection at the time; God Himself hides
it, and it would be imprudent in a spiritual director to reveal
it. But when the soul has for some time been fed on this milk, and
begins to grow strong, the times of God's absence will grow
longer, and will become habitual. Then a light will be given to
show the previous imperfection in the intention, and the soul will
gradually learn to serve God for Himself, and not for His gifts.
This light would have done harm at first, but will be profitable
when it is given. And at every new step fresh light is received,
which reveals the imperfections of the preceding state. Therefore,
instead of over-wearying ourselves by scrutinizing our intentions,
we need only make good use of the light given us by God. Yet we
must faithfully consult that light, and at once reject every
imperfection which it makes known to us. And thus we gradually
attain to a purity of intention which is more or less perfect,
according to God's will concerning us. For purity of intention is
the measure of holiness, and is proportionate to the degree of
light communicated by God, and to the fidelity with which we
correspond to it. God indeed considers, not our actions in
themselves, but our motives. That is why the slightest action of
Our Lady was of greater value in God's sight than the noblest
works of other saints, because her intention was incomparably
pure.

Simplicity is identical with purity of intention. Thus Our Lord
said: If thy eye be single: [36] that is, if your gaze is directed
to one object only, namely God. I could, therefore, be silent
concerning simplicity, and content myself with what I have said
concerning purity of intention. But it is desirable to show that
simplicity, which so few persons rightly understand, is the root
and essence of all perfection. To this intent, we must raise our
minds to God Himself, and in the first place consider simplicity
as it is revealed in Him.

Now only what is infinite is perfectly simple, and only what is
perfectly simple is infinite. All things finite are manifold and
complex, and all things complex are finite. There is no exception
to this rule. Therefore, perfect simplicity can be postulated only
of God, and that accounts for the infinity of His perfections. The
being of God is infinite, because it is simple and all in all,
without division or extension. His eternity is infinite, because
it is simple, having neither beginning, middle nor end, and
excludes the very idea of duration expressed by a succession of
moments. His power is infinite, because it is simple, extending to
all things possible, and exercised without contradiction or
effort, by a pure act of will. His knowledge is infinite, because
it is simple, and consists in one single idea, which is the idea
of God Himself, in which He sees all that has been, is and will
be, and all that is in the realm of mere possibility. The very
essence of God is infinite, because it is simple. In Him essence
is existence; His attributes are one with themselves and with His
essence, being only distinguishable by the definitions we conceive
of them, according to our own feeble imagination. In Him, finally,
power means act, and faculty means exercise; divine intelligence
an eternal understanding, and divine will an eternal volition.

So, too, in regard to His moral attributes. Although finite when
viewed in their effects on us, they are infinite in themselves, by
virtue of their simplicity. Such are His holiness, His wisdom,
goodness, justice and mercy. The end of all His works is likewise
infinite, being simple: it is to His glory that they must all
concur. Minds accustomed to reflection will be able to follow the
sublime theory which I here merely indicate.

Simplicity, then, being the chief characteristic of the
perfections, designs and operations of God, we cannot wonder that
it is the chief constituent of perfection in the case of rational
creatures. Being finite, they are incapable of physical
simplicity, but not of moral simplicity, and this they are bound
to make their one aim.

In the case of the creature, simplicity is reduced to one point,
namely that God alone is to be the standard of his ideas and
judgments, the aim of his desires, and the end of his actions and
sufferings. Everything is to be referred to God; His good pleasure
is to be preferred in all things, His holy will alone to be
envisaged, sought and pursued. This summary is short, but its
content deep.

The soul is truly simple, when it has attained to this single view
of God, and is perfected in unity. An ineffable unity, which in
some sort deifies us by a most perfect moral union with Him Who is
supremely and absolutely One. One to One was the continual saying
of a great contemplative: a short expression, but full of meaning.
It contains all the truth and perfection of holiness, all the
blessedness of which it is the source. God is One by a unity which
befits Him, and Him alone. He is One, and necessarily draws all
things into His own unity. He is One, and sanctifies all things by
participation in His unity. He is One, and all creatures capable
of being happy are so only by sharing in His unity. Therefore, in
order to be holy or happy, the soul must be one by its cleaving of
mind and heart to Him alone, for Him alone, without any turning
back towards self. If, besides looking to God, the soul gazes upon
itself, in any way whatsoever distinguishing itself from God, with
a sense of ownership which separates its interests from God's
interests, then that soul is no longer one or simple, but double,
having two objects. And as long as it is in this state, it cannot
possibly be immediately united to God, neither in this world by
faith, nor hereafter until it has been purified of all its
multiplicity.

Therefore, if you would aspire to holiness and happiness, aspire
to simplicity and unity. Study to simplify your desires, reducing
them to God alone. Forget yourself, think of Him; have no will nor
interest but His. Seek only His glory, and find your happiness in
His. This is the state of the blessed in heaven, and we shall only
be admitted to the beatific vision with all its beatitude when we
have arrived at that consummation. Why not, then, begin on earth,
so far as we can?

But how are we to acquire this simplicity, the mere idea of which
transcends all our conceptions? First, we must pray to the Being
Who alone is infinitely holy, and ask Him to undertake the work of
our simplification. Let this be our great, our sole aim. All our
efforts will never rid us of our multiplicity. But the more God
acts in us, and the more we yield to the operations of grace, the
more shall we increase in simplicity, without seeing, or even
wanting to see, the progress we are making.

In what are we to seek simplicity? In our mind: from which God
will banish much prejudice and uncertainty, many doubts and false
judgments, substituting in their place the simple truth, and from
which in turn He will drive away all undue worrying, misgivings,
want of trust and cares for the future, which are the consequences
of a false prudence. Thus will He gradually reduce our multifold
reasonings to the prayer of simple regard.

Simplicity in our will, which will henceforth own but one desire,
one fear, one love, one hatred, and one sole object of its
affection, drawing us ever nearer to that object, with an
inviolable rectitude and an unconquerable strength.

Simplicity in virtues, which will all meet and fuse in charity, so
far as the state of this present life permits. Simplicity in
prayer, which will be, so to speak, one only act containing all
acts in itself. And lastly, simplicity in conduct, which will be
consistently even, uniform, straight and true, emanating from one
principle and culminating in one end.

Uprightness is but another name for purity of intention and
simplicity. Of this I would speak but briefly.

The Sacred Word, speaking of Job, found no higher praise than to
call him simple and upright. [37] A man is upright, when he
follows a simple rule pointing always in one direction, and aiming
always at a centre. For the soul, this centre is God; and God has
given it an innate tendency towards Himself. So long as it
preserves and obeys this tendency, it will retain its innocence
and peace; departing from it, it cannot fail to fall back into sin
and distress. It does this when it turns back on itself, assuming
another direction and another centre, thereby losing its primitive
rectitude. It was given an original impulse, but has chosen
another and in an opposite direction, which in devious ways draws
it away from God and towards self.

Again, Scripture tells us: God made man upright: [38] that is,
turned towards Himself alone, with an inward yearning for
closeness to and union with Him. But owing to his radical
imperfection man had the power of turning towards himself, and he
was tempted and fell. Thence arose original sin and its
consequences, which gave a prodigious impetus to this tendency
towards self, and to which, without God's recalling grace, we
cannot but yield.

I am aware that as long as man retains sanctifying grace, he does
not lose that essential uprightness which is necessary and
sufficient for salvation. But every act of self-love, of self-
complacency, of seeking one's own interest unsubordinated to the
interest of God, is a deflection from that uprightness which,
however slight, may entail the most grievous consequences. The
danger of the least error of this kind is twofold. First, we can
never, by our own strength, regain our former uprightness, however
slightly we may have diverged from it. Secondly, we have no power
of stopping, nor of carrying our deflection to a given point and
no further. These two considerations ought to weigh with us so
deeply as to prevent our ever taking one deliberate step out of
the right way.

Try to preserve, then, as far as you can, that rectitude which God
has restored to you. Fear its loss, even in the smallest degree.
Keep a watch over your natural tendencies, which would draw you
away from God. In this, we are our worst enemies, loving ourselves
but in a wrong way, with a secret inclination to make self our
centre, towards which we try to make everything, even God Himself
subservient. This love of self is extremely dangerous, because its
devices are so subtle that often enough we are not aware of them,
so deeply embedded are they in our nature. Life to self is death
to the soul, since it is taking us always farther from God.

Wise will we be if we examine well the nature of our devotion, to
see if it be pure, simple and straight. And as it is possible that
we are blind to ourselves, we should pray about it, seek counsel,
and profit by the light God gives us. The good use we make of the
little we have will draw down still greater graces, and insensibly
we shall acquire that purity of intention and simplicity and
uprightness of heart which are, and always have been, so rare
among those who profess to be devout.

EIGHTH MAXIM : THE NATURAL SPIRIT, AND THE SPIRIT OF CHRIST

Follow the enlightening spirit of Christ: mistrust the blindness
and treachery of the natural mind

MOST devout persons are religious after their . own fashion and
according to their own ideas, and character. The number of those
who, denying themselves thoroughly, seek to follow no light but
that of grace, and willingly deny themselves their own light that
they may be enlightened by eternal wisdom, is very small indeed.
The practical application of this maxim, on which depends almost
all progress in the interior life, is much more difficult for men
than for women, because men trust more to their own judgment. If
you were to suggest to a man full of confidence in his own reason
and good sense, that he should give up his private judgment in
order to enter into the ways of God, he would not understand you,
nor would he see the necessity of what you propose. He cannot
conceive that God's thoughts are higher than our thoughts, and His
ways other than our ways. [39] He believes that he has the right
to guide himself, and the power to guide others.

What is the result? He will never be thoroughly subjected to the
divine spirit. He will contradict it, fight against it, both in
himself and in those for whom he may be responsible. He will form
false judgments concerning spiritual things and persons. He will
obstinately reject what is good, and approve what is harmful, or
else vacillate between one and the other; so that there is nothing
fixed or consecutive either in his principles or direction.

What, then, is the natural spirit, or the spirit of private
judgment? It is human reason in so far as it professes to judge of
the things of God by its own light, without recourse to the light
of grace. It is natural prudence, which conceives itself all
sufficient, and is ready to propose maxims and rules of conduct,
both for itself and for others, without consulting God or those
who stand in His place.

Now in order to grasp this fully, we must lay down as a first
principle that we do not really know the secrets of the interior
life, nor all that pertains to the operations of grace except by a
supernatural light: that our ideas on these things are only
correct in so far as God impresses them on our souls, and that by
this means alone do we rightly understand what is written
concerning them in Holy Scripture, and in books treating of such
matters. Without that light, it is impossible to distinguish, in
ourselves or in others, between what comes from God and what
emanates from other sources. Hence it follows that, if we are to
form right judgments in these matters, our reason must be in
continual dependence on the spirit of God, and fully persuaded of
its own insufficiency and complete incompetence. It must have
constant recourse to prayer; or, rather, it must be in a state of
continual prayer.

It also follows that a true acquaintance with the secrets of the
interior life can never be acquired merely by reading books,
however exact and profound they may be; nor by the kind of
meditation in which one simply relies on one's own reflections. We
must have light from above, and this is only possible by humble
prayer. Otherwise, we will understand nothing of what we read; or,
if by presumption we imagine we understand something, it will be
all wrong. In general, anyone who is not leading an interior life
will not really understand spiritual things, or be able to make a
profitable use of what he understands. And even those who are in
the interior way will only appreciate in books what they have
learnt from experience. Anything beyond that will be
unintelligible to them, unless God gives them the light. And since
God wants to lead us by the obscure way of faith, He generally
does not give us this light for ourselves, but rather to those who
are our guides in this matter.

Now this knowledge, being infused, is only to be retained by
humility, by faithful correspondence with grace, and by a
continual care to advance in holiness. It is lost if pride
appropriates it to itself; if prayer and other salutary exercises
are neglected; if too much play is allowed to reasoning and
curiosity; if a curb is not kept on the activity of the mind. The
mind must be passive if it is to receive what God has to give.
Nothing is more delicate than the spirit of God. It is infinitely
pure, and will brook no interference from the purely natural
spirit. Nothing is more difficult than to receive and preserve it
in all its purity, so inclined are we to insinuate something of
our own into it. Nothing requires more attention, more
watchfulness, more distrust of self. Self-love and the devil make
it their one business to abuse and ruin it in our hearts, to turn
us away from it, and deprive us of it by secret and imperceptible
devices.

A whole volume would be necessary to describe fully this spirit of
private judgment: to define its distinctive characteristics, and
to tell of its fatal consequences, both for ourselves and for
others. It is the oldest malady of the soul, and was the first
step in original sin in the case of our first parents. They would
not have sinned, had they not called in question God's
commandment; had they not searched for the motive of His
prohibition, and listened to the tempter's suggestion. The purely
natural spirit taught them to scrutinize, and led them to disobey.
To it they owed the loss of their original rectitude, simplicity
and happy innocence, and their fatal acquaintance with evil,
hitherto unknown to them.

Now this malady is the most universal, the most deeply-seated and
inveterate, and the most difficult of all to cure. It is a subtle
poison, corrupting the whole substance of the soul, and infecting
even its good qualities and virtues. It is the enemy of God and of
His grace. It forbids entrance to His gifts, or robs men of them.
All sins committed are either its effect or its punishment.
Ordinary grace is not enough for its cure: it resists the most
violent remedies, and calls for very special grace. Its cure
demands long and acute trials, and so long as life lasts we cannot
be sure that it is eradicated. One glance at self may be
sufficient to revive it in the noblest of souls; death alone frees
us from it for ever.

Self-will is another misery which, according to St. Bernard,
opened hell, and follows on the heels of the purely natural
spirit. It is, so to say, its offspring, for our judgments precede
and determine our affections. If the heart clings to objects from
which the mind warns it to turn, or if it feels an aversion for
what the mind indicates that it should love, it is because then
the mind is being guided, not by private judgment, but by an
enlightened reason or by supernatural grace, both of which come
from God. So the fact remains that, not only deliberate sins but
sins of frailty or surprise are all children of the purely natural
spirit, from which we see how dangerous the latter is, and how
very much on our guard we must be in regard to it.

The marks by which it is known would be easily recognized if seen
by other eyes than our own. We have no difficulty in perceiving
them in others, and are only too ready to do so. But the signs we
notice in others we are blind to in ourselves.

This private spirit is self-confident, presumptuous,
argumentative, over-bold and quick to judge. It is stubborn and
unwilling to give way, so imbued is it with a sense of its own
importance. It wants to see, and is loath to bend itself under the
yoke of authority, which would have it believe. It is curious and
must know everything. It does not perceive its own limits, and,
presuming all things to be within its own depth, ventures to
fathom all. It dare not claim to be infallible, but acts as if it
were. To admit itself in the wrong is its greatest humiliation.
The more one seeks to convince it, the more opinionated it
becomes. And even when it is proved to be in the wrong, it refuses
to yield. Through sheer obstinacy it shuts its eyes to what is
known to be true.

And yet its sight is imperfect. It does not accepl things as they
are, but views them in the light most flattering to itself. It is
deceitful, false, perverse, haughty, censorious and contemptuous.
It fears humiliation as it loves praise, and is continually adding
secretly to the adulation it receives. It is mistrustful,
suspicious, ready to believe evil and to doubt good, and to give a
bad interpretation to the most innocent things. It is self-
satisfied, never pleased with others unless praised by them,
always holding them to be in the wrong as soon as they begin to
contradict or blame.

Such, and still more horrible, are the characteristics of the
purely natural spirit. It would be shocked, could it see itself as
it is. But the crowning point of its misery lies in that it is
blind, and its wilful blindness increases by reason of its
deformity. If you endeavour to open its eyes, you irritate and
excite it; it rebels against you, and all you say in order to
undeceive it merely confirms it in its self-complacency.

The reason is that, blind as it is, it fancies itself clear-
sighted. The more it is mistaken with regard to itself, the more
certain it feels that it does itself a justice which is refused it
by others. Its blindness arises from the fact that it sees itself
only in the false glare of pride, vanity and presumption, which
not only hides its vices and defects, but gives them the
appearance of virtues. If it should consult objective reason, and
still more grace, it would know itself truly by means of this dual
light. But it never does, and inasmuch as it is a purely natural
spirit, it is incapable of doing so.

In speaking thus, I depict almost all men, even those who profess
to be pious and good, not excepting even a great number of those
who think themselves interior and spiritual souls. This spirit of
private pride, as regards religion, is exactly the same thing as
the spirit of the Pharisees, of which Our Lord drew so striking a
picture in the Gospels, which He attacked so strenuously in His
discourses, and condemned so openly by His example. He even
consented to be its victim, in order the more thoroughly to deter
His disciples from it.

And yet, unfortunately, this Pharisaism is very common among pious
folk of all conditions. There are those who, in the exercise of
their calling seek for temporal advantages and the good opinion of
men. They welcome the rich and great of this world with open arms
and flattering words, while they will have nothing to do with the
lowly and poor, or treat them harshly. They exercise despotic rule
over men's consciences, make a show of the utmost rigour and
severity, exaggerate and condemn, and see sin in everything. They
are slaves to external practices, and recognize only the letter
and nothing of the spirit. They have a set routine of prayers, and
make artificial bounds for themselves, which they would not dream
of overstepping. They criticize others, setting themselves up as
living examples to be followed. Blind to their own faults, they
are for ever looking for defects in others.

There are also those who, knowing only their own dry form of
meditation, despise simple and humble prayer which, they say, is a
waste of time and dangerously like laziness. Others again feign a
kind of stiff out-of-the-way spirituality, full of affectation,
the seat of which is certainly not in the heart but in a proud
mind and a deluded imagination.

At the bottom of all this is the fact that these people have
substituted their own private spirit for the spirit of God; or, at
least, it is all so involved that they will never make any real
progress. What is more, they bring discredit on true piety, and
scandalize worldly folk who are thus disgusted with religion,
holding it responsible for a jumble which in fact it utterly
condemns.

The first thing to be resolved by anyone who sets out to lead a
truly Christian life and to discard from his devotions all the
faults I have just mentioned is, not only to mistrust his private
spirit but to study how to rid himself of it. He must fight
against it and pursue it relentlessly. This spiritual combat forms
the main part of that denial of self which Our Lord enjoins on all
who seek to follow Him. [40]

But the private spirit cannot fight against itself, because it
does not know itself. Reason, unless enlightened by faith and
aided by grace, is but a feeble weapon. We know of no case of any
philosopher, who by his own deliberations ever succeeded in
ridding himself of his private spirit. The slight conquests won in
that way, far from weakening it, only supply it with fresh vigour
by reason of the vain complacency it derives from its triumphs.
The only way to master it is to engage it with the arms of grace,
and to beg God to take the matter into His own all-powerful hands.
It must be handed over to God as His mortal enemy, protesting that
its utter destruction will be hailed as the greatest of blessings.
If this prayer is sincere and often repeated, God will certainly
take over the battle, while instructing us how to fulfil our part.
He will endow us with His own spirit, and we shall quickly be
aware of its presence. His spirit will gradually undermine and
regulate our own activity. It will cause its deliberations to
cease, quieten its agitations, correct its wrong notions, lessen
its malignity, crush its pride, and overcome its egoistic bent.
Then it will not be long before we can say with St. Paul: I live,
now not I, but (the spirit of) Christ liveth in me. [41]

How is all this to be brought about? That is God's secret, so
utterly inexplicable that the human spirit cannot penetrate it,
and will never die if it attempts to do so. It can only die in so
far as it allows itself to be deprived in turn of every private
judgment, of every private act, of every private feeling. What I
can say is that we soon begin to perceive the effects of the work
of grace. We feel ourselves to be a totally different person, and
we know that the cause of the change is the interior spirit
communicated to us by God. But what that interior spirit is, and
how it works, we do not know.

The change at once produced by it in our ideas and affections is
such that it has to be experienced to be understood. Holy
Scripture speaks of it as the birth of the new man: an inward,
spiritual man who, by his gradual development, imperceptibly
destroys the old man and, arrived at his full strength, slays him
utterly. The food of this new man is prayer, infused prayer,
continued almost unceasingly so long as reason retains its sway,
and resumed on waking after the night's sleep. It is prayer,
interior, yet, so to speak, without our own act; which, once it
becomes habitual, maintains itself.

This is the unobtrusive weapon we are to bring to bear upon the
purely private spirit. Its work is furthered by temptations,
trials, contradictions and humiliations. God employs all these
means to quell so formidable an enemy, even the prejudices and
wickedness of men, the malice of Satan, and the threatening arms
of His own justice. So Job says: The terrors of the Lord war
against me. [42] The soul seconds God in this war by yielding
itself to His crucifying operations, adding to these its own
practices of interior mortification.

It will readily be allowed that the natural or private spirit is
as I have described it: blind, deceitful and treacherous, and that
we must follow the spirit of Jesus, which alone prevents us from
walking in darkness and gives us the light of life. No doubt all
who would faithfully serve God intend to follow His spirit, but
why, it will be asked, do so few do so in reality?

I would suggest that the number of those who sincerely desire to
serve God is not so great as is commonly supposed. Not because we
are hypocrites, or that we want to deceive others, but because we
deceive ourselves. If we were really honest, would we flatter
ourselves, spare ourselves, withhold from God so many things that
we know He is asking of us? Would we turn a deaf ear to grace and
complain of its importunity; use every device to deafen our
conscience and try to fit God's interests in with our own? Do we
not know that God requires of every Christian that he deny himself
in all things and always? [43] And yet, do we do so? What does the
voice of conscience say to us in this matter; or rather what does
it say to God?

And so I aver that the intention men entertain of the following of
Christ is for the most part vague and speculative and not really
deep. It is indeterminate, it does not spring from the depths of
the will, and is rarely maintained in practice. Yet if we are to
follow the spirit of Christ we must know that spirit. It must be
studied, and that means entering into the mind of Christ,
searching out, as the Imitation says, the sentiments and
dispositions of His soul. Who are those who make the interior of
Jesus their habitual dwelling place? And still more, who are those
who put into practice what they learn there, and recognize no half
measures in their determination to conform themselves to the mind
of Christ? [44] Such Christians are indeed rare.

Most persons have not even the slightest idea of the spirit of
Jesus. Others are afraid of knowing too much about it, because
they know they would have to conform their lives to it. Others are
willing to imitate (but how imperfectly) some of its features, but
will not walk with Him the whole way.

What really was the mind of Christ; the spirit which gives us
light, and guides us in the way of salvation? It was a perfectly
interior spirit, by which He was constantly united to the Father,
entirely devoted to His glory and to His good pleasure. It was a
spirit lifted infinitely beyond all perishable pleasures, riches
and honours, leading Him to choose and embrace poverty and
obscurity, toil and suffering, humiliations and opprobrium in the
extreme. [45] It was a spirit detached from all natural affections
and feelings, always and in all things dependent upon grace, and
so submissive to its workings as never to think or will or desire
or do anything apart from it. It was a spirit over which the
divinity, to which His humanity was hypostatically united,
exercised perfect sway, boundless authority, and a constant
influence. It was a spirit which never permitted Him to think of
His own interests, His own glory. It attributed nothing to
Himself, and never permitted Him one glance of self-complacency to
the unique and infinite dignity to which He was raised by the
hypostatic union, but which He maintained in a state of perfect
devotedness to His Father's interests, [46] of unreserved
sacrifice to the claims of divine justice, of utter humility, and
continual self-effacement.

This is the spirit of Christ which, as Christians, we are bound to
make our own. [47] It is in this respect, above all, that as head
of the elect Jesus is given to us as our model. God wanted to show
us in Him what we ought to be. It was as our example that the
eternal Word deigned to assume our nature, and if we would be His
disciples we must follow in His steps. [48] Some persons excuse
themselves by saying that Jesus was God. But it is not as God but
as man that He offers Himself for our imitation. We shall never
attain to the perfections of the divine original: we know that,
and it would be impiously absurd to try to do so. But all must
endeavour to respond to the graces given them, just as Jesus
responded to His. That is all God asks; but He also asks no less.

It may also be suggested that because Jesus was God everything was
easy to Him, that it cost Him nothing. It is true that He could
not sin, nor could He resist grace. It is also true that He found
no obstacle within Him to any virtue whatsoever. But it is also
true that He habitually endured sufferings infinitely more
distressing than those of all the martyrs and saints put together,
and this because His human nature was overwhelmed and crushed
under the terrible weight of the divine justice. As God-man He
certainly felt and suffered all that a God-man could feel and
suffer. God does nothing in vain, and in the great design of the
Incarnation and the redemption of mankind, all was ruled and
measured by infinite wisdom and justice. What the Father required
of the Son was proportioned to the grace and strength given Him.

Yet if the sight of so perfect a pattern terrifies us in our
cowardice, let us turn our eyes on mere men. On St. Paul, for
instance, who called on Christians to be followers of him as he
was of Christ. [49] Study the mind of the apostle in his epistles,
and seek to make it a model for your own conduct. You will tell me
that he was a man converted by an extraordinary grace, a chosen
vessel, concerning whom God had special designs, and on whom He
lavished His gifts. I would answer that St. Paul was sanctified
neither by his apostleship nor by his election. He was sanctified
by his correspondence with God's grace, and it is in this, and
this only, that you are asked to imitate him. What is there to
hinder you? Was not St. Paul a blasphemer and a persecutor when
God threw him to the ground? When grace, then, calls to you, say
as he said: Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do? [50] And then do
the bidding of grace as faithfully as he did.

Would you have patterns more within your reach? Then read the
lives of the saints, of all ages, of all ranks, and of all
conditions. Many retained their baptismal innocence; other had
been great sinners, subject to the same passions, the same habits,
the same temptations as ourselves, and often greater. They had as
many or more obstacles to surmount, and it is remarkable that the
Church never won more saints than in those early ages when to
profess Christianity was a pledge of martyrdom.

But you will complain that they were saints. What other models
would you have? What are you called to, except to sanctity such as
theirs? They were sanctified only because they were true disciples
of Jesus Christ, and by following the spirit, the teaching and the
example of their Master.

But whence do these vain objections come? From our purely natural
spirit, and nothing reveals more clearly how blind it is. In all
the imitative arts, it is always the best models that are sought,
studied with the greatest care, and painstakingly copied. Why
should we complain, then, in this most important of all the arts
that our models are too perfect when what is at stake is the right
conduct of our lives, and our well-being in God's eyes, which is
to make us worthy of His eternal possession? What a contradiction!
We refuse to put on the spirit of Christ, because it means putting
off our own. But so long as men will not give up their purely
natural spirit or the spirit of private judgment they must give up
the idea of being true Christians. For there is no genuine and
practical Christianity except that which consists in thinking and
acting in conformity with the spirit of Christ.

NINTH MAXIM : THE OUTWARD AND INWARD MAN

Take no account of external things: seek strenuously after those
blessings which are to be found within

THE natural man, the old or fallen man, is called the outward man
on account of his natural bias towards objects of sense. The
spiritual man, the new man, or the man according to grace, is
called the inward man because, dwelling apart in himself with God,
he cleaves only to things that are invisible and supernatural.

Sensible objects hold an extraordinary sway over man. Their power
begins in childhood, when pleasures and pain take their rise from
these sources alone. It develops with age. The soul is keenly
affected by all that strikes it from without; admiration and envy
are excited by those accidents which raise some persons above
their fellows, such as nobility, office, honours and wealth. Men
look on these things as truly good, they bestow esteem and love
upon them, seek only to enjoy them, and believe that happiness
lies in the possession, and misery in the absence, of these
advantages.

The work of sense and of corrupt nature is already far advanced,
when grace comes forward to destroy it, and raise a very different
structure upon its ruins. Grace teaches us that we are true
Christians only in so far as we despise sensible things and turn
to those of the spirit, by ceasing to be outward and becoming
wholly inward men.

It follows, then, that the Christian who lives an interior life at
intervals and, as it were, by fits and starts, is not perfect,
while the perfect Christian is so in all things and at all times.
To aim at an interior life and at Christian perfection are one and
the same thing.

This is a hard lesson for nature to learn. Some refuse to accept
it at all, others listen impatiently and resist as long as they
can and, when they do put it into practice, do so grudgingly and
with great repugnances Only a few learn this wisdom, and even
these pass through long and painful struggles in acquiring it.
This heavenly wisdom is utterly different from that of the world;
indeed, it costs a great deal to rise to so noble a view of life.

The Christian is, in this respect, a being of another world;
intended, not only for immortality but for eternal happiness in
God; a happiness which surpasses all his thoughts, all his
aspirations and hopes, even the very exigence of his nature. It is
the pure gift of God, promised by revelation, and known only by
faith.

We are prepared for this end by other blessings of the same order,
which we call graces. The chief of these is habitual and is called
sanctifying grace. The others are actual, and tend either to
regain sanctifying grace if it is lost, or to preserve and
increase it. The object of these graces is to raise to the
supernatural order, both the state of the Christian and his free
acts by which alone he can merit the possession of God.

The Christian is born into this world, and dwells herein for a
certain time. But he is not of the world: it is not his; he is a
stranger and a sojourner in it. Present and sensible objects are
not his object. He may use them, as St. Augustine says, but not
enjoy them. That is, God grants them to him for the necessities of
his animal life, but his heart must not cling to them nor rest in
them as in its final end. The true riches of the Christian on
earth are grace, close communion with God, and all that fosters
the supernatural life within him. Those things only are real evils
which weaken that life, or deprive him of it.

External good and evil, therefore, are to him, properly speaking,
neither really good nor really bad. But things called good may
become evil, and the reverse, according to the use he makes of
them. It is not so with interior good and evil. These are
essentially connected with his supernatural state: that is, with
his state as a Christian, and his eternal happiness or the
contrary.

Consequently he ought to be indifferent to sensible good and evil,
because in themselves they are indifferent things, which are
profitable or harmful according to his interior dispositions. On
the other hand, the whole strength of his mind and will must be
devoted to the acquirement of such good and the avoidance of such
evil things in the supernatural order, which can never be
indifferent to him because of their intimate connection with his
last end.

All Christians are much of one mind touching this great truth, so
far as theory is concerned; but almost all follow other principles
in practice. I am not here alluding to those who crave
passionately for wealth, honours and pleasures, and who consider
all means as lawful whereby their desires can be satisfied. These
are Christians only in name, and so long as they continue in such
a frame of mind, they can have no claim to being so in deed.

But among the rest, are there not many who are proud of their
condition in life; who, having it in their power to aspire to
honours and dignities, hanker after them, do all they can to
procure them, feel delighted when their plans succeed, and
miserable when they fail? And so with many other things.

Take riches alone. I pass over the countless numbers in all ranks
of life who amass them by means which probity, to say nothing of
our faith, condemn, and concerning which there is so much deceit.
But I ask: are there many Christians who, having all they need to
support their families in decency and sufficiency, wish for
nothing more? Are they not always fancying that they have not
enough? And is it not true that where you have opulence you will
find pride, and with an increase of wealth an increase of self-
esteem?

Then as regards pleasures, even those that are lawful (for I speak
not of others): is there not much sensuality, solicitude and
fastidiousness to be found even among Christians? Are not these
pleasures eagerly sought, and jealously enjoyed? Are they not even
invented, varied and multiplied with consummate skill? How careful
men are to surround themselves with comforts, to avoid all that is
disagreeable. How they flatter their body, and bestow on it all
the gratification for which it is so ravenous. People think that
they are very good Christians if, in these matters, they keep
within the letter of the law, and run into no excess. But that is
very different from the attitude of a perfect Christian.

The perfect Christian stifles the slightest germ of ambition in
his heart. Not only does he not desire honours, but he fears them,
abhors and shuns them, remembering the words of the Gospel: For
that which is high to men is an abomination before God. [51] He
sees in positions of dignity nothing but a burden for his
conscience, heavy duties to be fulfilled, and grave
responsibilities to be answered for. Should birth or Divine
Providence call him to such posts, he appears in the simple garb
of modesty and humility. He is ever watchful over himself and
against the snares that are prepared for him on all sides. He
continually examines his conduct with the most scrupulous
attention, deeming himself answerable for all the good he fails to
do, as for the evil he does not hinder. If he is of low estate, he
thanks God and rejoices in it as being a state more conformable to
the Gospel, happier and more innocent and more conducive to his
salvation, and makes no attempt to change it. Not only does he
hate honours but he seeks humiliations, for he knows and
appreciates their value. If they befall him, he receives them as
favours from heaven, and considers himself happy if he is
despised, opposed, slandered and persecuted like his Master.

Then again, the true Christian, taught by the Gospel, looks upon
riches as thorns and encumbrances which turn him away, in spite of
himself, from more important cares. He possesses them without
clinging to them, uses them with extreme moderation, shares them
with the poor, whose steward he regards himself. He cuts down his
expenses as much as possible in their favour, convinced that his
excess is their need, and that all that he can spare belongs to
them. If he is poor, he rejoices in his poverty, is glad to feel
its effects, and even to want sometimes for necessities. Nor would
he change his position even if he could. He esteems it too great a
privilege thus to bear some resemblance to his Lord, Who chose to
be born, and to live and die, poor.

The holy severity of the Gospel is his rule of conduct in the
matter of pleasures. He seeks none for their own sake, and passes
through natural and necessary gratifications as through fire. In
no respect will he indulge the flesh, but mortifies it
ingeniously, giving no quarter to predilections and overcoming
repugnances, but all with holy liberty, unaffectedly and with
discretion. No saint, that is no true Christian, ever indulged his
body, and most have sought to bring it into subjection by
fastings, vigils and mortifications generally, which today would
terrify our self-indulgence and cowardice. They all considered it
an essential duty to bear about them, in their body, the
mortification of Jesus. [52]

Such, with regard to this world's goods, have perfect Christians
always been, even when living in the world; for I do not restrict
what I have said to those who have embraced voluntary poverty and
chastity, and have left the world to live in solitude and in
monasteries. In whatever state they were born, and wherever God
placed them, they applied themselves to die to their body, and to
refuse it even the most innocent satisfaction. Being faithful to
grace, they set no bounds to their generosity.

Let not those be alarmed at this picture who, as St. Bernard says,
see only the cross they have to bear and not the unction it
brings. Let them not fancy that a true Christian's life is one of
perpetual torture and restraint. The licentious and impious love
to depict it under these frightening colours, to justify their
having turned their backs on it; but they blaspheme what they know
not, and deceive themselves of set purpose, and want to deceive
others too.

No. The true Christian, in following the moral law, is not
disturbed or worried. He does, indeed, do violence to his nature,
but not to his mind or heart. He is perfectly convinced that he
ought to do what he does, and he is glad to do it. If he despises,
hates and shuns the delights and false pleasures on which he has
turned his back, it is from a supernatural motive. God has raised
him above all that. He has shown him the true nature of such
things, and that knowledge prevents him from seeing in them
anything but vanity and vexation of spirit. [53] In the school,
first of wisdom then of experience, the Christian learns that to
serve God is to reign; that to possess virtue is wealth, and that
true joy consists in peace of mind.

It is by turning our thoughts inwards to our soul, and by learning
from our past errors; it is in the silence of meditation and
prayer, that we make the wonderful discovery that true happiness
is not to be found in the things of the world. It is there we
perceive the nothingness of earthly things, and realize that they
are capable, indeed, of exciting our passions but never of
satisfying our heart. There a deep secret touch of grace tells us
that our true happiness lies in God alone: that in order to enjoy
and possess Him we must give up all other joys, or at least our
clinging to them. Henceforth, all things seem insipid except
prayer and communion with God. The world is crucified to us, and
we to the world. [54] We are drawn to God alone. We have sought
Him and found Him in the sanctuary of our own soul. [55]

How shall we express our delight at having found within ourselves
what we have vainly sought elsewhere? How shall we tell of our joy
at discovering the real, infinite and inexhaustible treasure,
which alone is capable of filling the immense capacity of our
heart, or rather for which the heart is too small, and wherein it
plunges and loses itself? After having experienced this happiness,
how is it possible to think of leaving God and returning to
created things, forsaking the Fountain of living waters for broken
cisterns that can hold no water; [56] to hover between God Who is
all and things that are naught; to prefer the bitter waters to the
sweet; to risk the loss of the substance of our true happiness for
the vain shadow?

It is not possible. At least, it is only possible if, with
unheard-of infidelity, we little by little leave the interior way
upon which we had entered. We may continue to make our
meditations, and even to make them well, all the time keeping up
some connection with the senses and with the things that please
them. What we cannot do is to give ourselves to contemplative
prayer without severing, so for as we can, our intercourse with
created things; for the essence of such prayer is to concentrate
all our affections on God, allowing no love but what is through
Him, in Him and for Him.

Make the attempt, O Christian soul, and you will see that I speak
truly. If you tell me that it is not within your power to enter
upon this way of prayer, I answer in God's Name that He is ready
to second your good will, and that He will introduce you into it,
if you will do your part. Have at least the good will; and, since
we cannot be sure even of that, ask it of God earnestly. That
prayer alone is a good beginning; and how can God refuse you what
He inspires you to ask? If few possess it, it is because few
desire it; and those who do ask, ask often in fear of being heard!
God reads the heart, and He sees whether we respond to His
advances, and He never fails to cooperate when we do; but not
otherwise. We may reproach Him with turning a deaf ear to our
prayers. We protest that we have prayed in vain, that it is
useless that we ask for a good will: He does not give it. The day
will come, however, when God will make it clear to us that we have
only ourselves to blame, if this is so. I do repeat: a soul that
cooperates to the best of its ability to present grace must
infallibly receive still greater graces according to its
increasing needs; and if it perseveres, it will arrive at the
degree of sanctity that God intends for it.

TENTH MAXIM : RECOLLECTION, ACTIVE AND PASSIVE

Listen to Him Who teaches the heart without sound of words.
Receive His peace, and guard it faithfully

THE delights of God are to be with the children of men.l He loves
to speak to the heart of man. Hence the secret of the spiritual
life consists in knowing how to retire into one's own heart, and
dwell therein with God. How does God convert sinners? By calling
them to enter into their own hearts, where, their sins appearing
before their eyes, they experience the greatest remorse, salutary
thoughts arise in their minds, and they are filled with good
intentions. If they do not shrink from dwelling within themselves,
if they do not flee from themselves and seek relief or diversion
in external objects, a change will soon take place in their lives.

If a soul is well meaning but unsettled, frivolous, prone to many
faults, clinging to certain venial sins; or, if having once been
fervent it has fallen into lax ways, God makes use of these same
means to draw it away from its imperfections, and restore it to
its former zeal. He calls it into itself. There it hears His
reproaches and realizes that they are just and severe, yet gentle.
If it listens with a docile spirit, it will make progress, and if
it continues thus dwelling within itself with God, it will
infallibly advance from virtue to virtue. [57]

This turning within to listen to the voice of grace is called
recollection. This term expresses the act whereby the soul gathers
and collects into itself those powers of attention hitherto
scattered and divided among many objects. There are two kinds of
recollection: the one which is active and is the work of the will
aided by grace, and the other which is passive and is the gift of
God. The latter is usually the reward of the former, after it has
been faithfully practised over a period of time.

The first object of active recollection is the custody of the
senses, especially of sight and hearing, which are, as it were,
the windows through which the soul looks out and busies itself
with passing things. When the soul is thus for the most part
attentive to all that is going on outside itself, it cannot keep
watch within, nor give heed to the interior Master, Who seeks to
instruct and correct it: it cannot so much as hear His words.

Therefore it is necessary to accustom oneself to exercise great
restraint over one's eyes, so as to acquire the power of turning
them, not only from dangerous but from distracting and diverting
objects. By restraining the restless mobility of the eyes, we at
the same time quieten the levity and moderate the vivacity of the
imagination. Passion is checked at its source, and the soul is
wonderfully disposed to meditation, and still more to silent
prayer. Eagerness to hear and know everything is no less fatal to
solid piety, and cannot be too assiduously repressed. Through the
ears, the soul finds itself occupied with any number of things,
which afterwards distract and fill it, in spite of itself, even in
the time of prayer. We should, therefore, choose some quiet place
for our meditations, and especially for prayer, away from the
tumult and noise of men. Curiosity, also, should be watched,
otherwise it will lead to visits here and there, long and
profitless conversations, indiscreet questionings, suspicions and
conjectures, rash judgments, and endless conversations on public
and private matters. In these things God is often offended, and
they are incompatible with a spirit of prayer and true devotion.

Thus he who would embark on the interior life must renounce
everything that excites his curiosity: all, that is, which affects
the senses too vividly and conspires to agitate false excitements
and dangerous passions. He should avoid concerning himself with
the affairs of others, with public or private news, unless he is
obliged to do so by virtue of his position or from personal
interest. Not that one may not casually and occasionally see and
hear such things, where there is no danger, but they should not be
sought or desired or clung to, or their memory will loom too large
in the mind.

Intellectual curiosity is equally dangerous, and if we would
foster the habit of recollection we must learn to keep it within
bounds. By intellectual curiosity I mean that immoderate desire to
acquire knowledge, which causes people to study avidly the various
sciences, and nearly always superficially. They devour every book
as it comes out, more to show off than to improve their minds. I
do not see how recollection can be compatible with such a
disposition, which generally indicates a shallow mind.

Beware, then, of this defect. Or, if you are prone to it, do all
you can to overcome it. Be content with such learning as is
necessary to, or befits, your state. Confine your reading to such
books, even religious ones, as are highly esteemed, and do not
imitate those who flit from one book to another, and finish none.
This is not the place to explain how such books should be read: I
would merely state that in this matter one cannot guard oneself
too carefully against idle curiosity.

There is another kind of temperament, which at first sight would
seem to be favourable to recollection, but which is actually the
reverse. It is that of persons of a romantic nature, whose
imagination takes a firm hold of things and creates a happy
hunting ground, based on memories of the past and dreams of the
future. Such natures build castles in the air, complete with all
due circumstance of person, place and action. These romantic
imaginations enable their possessors to live in a state of great
excitement, so much so that from their room they entertain the
world. They love solitude, but for the wrong reason. They appear
to be recollected, but are in fact merely preoccupied. They find
the greatest difficulty in acquiring an habitual sense of the
presence of God.

The practice of ejaculatory prayer is an excellent aid to
recollection, because it tends to recall us often to ourselves and
to God. It is a very good thing to form this habit, but we must be
careful not to let it become a mere matter of routine. Such
prayers must rise from the heart rather than from the lips, and
are all the better when they consist of a simple turning of the
soul towards God, unaccompanied by any words expressed or
understood. We cannot take too much pains to acquire this method
of prayer, and if by daily practice it becomes more frequent and
grows into a habit, it will dispose the mind until we 'pray
without ceasing' as the apostle commands us to do. [58]

Whether we are reading or meditating, or repeating vocal prayers,
it is good to pause from time to time and let the soul quite
suspend its own action to give place to the action of the Holy
Spirit. If we feel at all touched by grace at such moments, we
cannot do better than give way to it, and quietly rest in the
feelings God gives us. When that impression has passed, we can
resume our book or our prayers.

These transitory touches are but the beginning of infused prayer,
and we ought to correspond to them with great fidelity. They are
momentary visits, wherein God communicates Himself to the soul.
Short though they are, they do us more good than any of the
thoughts and affections of our own making. Why do we read or pray,
except to attain to union with God? When, therefore, He comes and
bestows on us a certain secret sense of His presence, we have what
we desire. We should, therefore, yield to this sense as long as it
lasts. It would be irreverent to go on with our previous
occupation. By so doing, we would deprive ourselves of the effect
of His visits, and cause them to be less frequent. St. Francis of
Sales insisted very much on thispoint.

Passive recollection is not a passing visit from God, but an
habitual sense of His presence in the soul. We feel that presence
within us, and its effects are so deep and gracious that we feel
no doubt that they can only come from God. The soul is filled and
strengthened by an indefinable calm and peace, and a suspension of
its natural powers, with which no natural pleasure of any kind is
to be compared. It is not only in times of prayer that the soul
experiences this peace, but in almost all it does. No matter what
our occupation or company may be, we have only to enter into
ourselves to experience God's presence in our soul as a faithful
Friend.

And do not let those who have never experienced this peace, and
cannot imagine it, pass it off as a fond dream. All the saints
would rise up against them and tell them that they are wrong. And
not only the saints, but all who follow the way of interior
prayer. Nor is it a delusion of the devil. That could not be in
the case of an habitual presence of God, in which imagination
plays no part.

The chief effect of this prayer of recollection is to turn our
vision inward, detaching us from external things and deadening
their effect, so that, occupied with all that is passing within
us, we cease to be moved by outward impressions. By that I do not
mean what we are oblivious of them as happens in the case of
ecstasy, where one is deprived of ordinary sensation. We feel, but
we do not pause or reflect on the fact, since we are held by an
inward delight more powerful than anything that could attract us
from without. God thus withdraws the soul from communion with
creatures, and binds it wholly to Himself, so that it feels itself
alone with Him and pays no attention to anything else. This state
of recollection is, properly speaking, the entrance to the
interior life, and is the surest sign that a soul is in the
passive state.

This presence is at first such as may be felt, because the sense
of it is necessary in order to detach the soul from conversation
with created things, and to inspire it with supreme contempt for
the pleasure that is derivable from them. Once this effect is
produced, the recollectedness leaves the surface of the soul and
sinks deeper. The presence of God is no longer felt; we are merely
aware of it, since for a time we retain the habit of reflecting on
it. But at last we cease to perceive it, because, as we advance,
we go out of ourselves and enter into God, and are less taken up
with what passes within us.

As this habitual presence of God is the foundation of all the
graces which He subsequently bestows on the soul, we cannot be too
faithful in preserving it The love which the soul feels towards
God in these early days leads it to constancy in prayer and to
other devout exercises, to frequenting the sacraments and to the
practice of bodily mortification. But good as these things are, we
must pass further and withdraw altogether from created things,
resorting to them only when absolutely necessary. As far as may
be, we must put aside most of the good works which would draw us
to external interests. For the one thing essential in this state
is an entire yielding of oneself to God's action, and this
requires retirement, silence, and withdrawal from all affairs
except such as are called for by the duties of our state. These,
needless to say, take precedence over everything else. Later on,
we can resume these good works, and indeed add to them, when God
gives the signal, and they no longer involve the risk of
distracting the mind. Meanwhile, no liberty must be allowed to the
senses, no curiosity indulged in, all idle thoughts must be
rejected, and the heart kept free from all attachments. In a word,
nothing must come between the soul and God.

Let it not be supposed that all this is necessarily painful. As
long as sensible recollection persists, nothing is difficult. God
asks of us what He wants in a manner so gracious and persuasive
that it is almost impossible to refuse Him anything. We receive so
many graces from Him that we feel that we shall never be able to
do enough for Him in return. In short, we are in the first fervour
of our love, and more than eager to prove our love to Him. The
practices that, on account of their constant repetition, seem and
are hard to one in the active way, are nothing to one in a state
of passive recollection. Hours of prayer pass like minutes. The
pleasures of the world cease to have any attraction, contacts with
others that are unavoidable become wearisome, while one's friends
that formerly seemed so delightful lose their charm. Even the
demands of nature are yielded to with regret. What has brought
about so remarkable a change? A faint foretaste of the joys of
heaven. If this is the beginning of the spiritual life, what will
be its consummation?

One word more. You want to be instructed concerning the things of
God. You consult men, and thewritings of men; yet you do not apply
to Him Who in one moment can give light to the humble soul,
teaching it without sound of words, and imparting more in one
single prayer of contemplation than could be obtained in years
from the most spiritual of men. You weary your mind in order to be
recollected in prayer, and no more is necessary than a good will
and the use of such measures as shall prepare your soul aright.
For it is absurd to expect to be recollected in time of prayer, if
the mind is distracted at other times. You seek to make your
prayer by your own efforts. God makes it within the soul so soon
as, convinced of our powerlessness, we cease from action on our
own part, and yield to His. He Himself calls us to this surrender,
when He intends to act in us. You wish to enjoy peace, and you
agitate and distress yourself to obtain it. You grieve at not
feeling it, while you are doing everything that is calculated to
drive it away. You forget that the God of peace dwells not in
agitation nor in turmoil, but causes Himself to be felt like a
soft wind [59], which is produced by and maintains a state of
calm. You seek self when you think you are seeking God, and so you
do not find Him.

Oh how astonished some persons would be if they knew how little
labour is required for the attainment of simple recollection. But
man is jealous of his own powers of action, and loves to attribute
all things to himself. God is infinitely more jealous of His
powers, and will have all attributed to Him. This is the cause of
all the false ideas men have of the interior life, and of their
poor attempts at it. God does nothing in anyone who fancies
himself, and who wants to do everything. But He acts, well-
pleased, in a soul that dwells quietly and humbly in His presence,
drawing Him gently by its desires, expecting nothing from its own
efforts, but all from His loving-kindness. In the moral world, as
in the physical, God brings all things out of nothing. If only we
will be humble and abase ourselves before Him, He will soon reveal
His power.

ELEVENTH MAXIM : A CHILDLIKE SPIRIT

Treat God as a child treats his Father

IT would seem that nothing should be easier or more common for
Christians than to look upon God as their Father, and act towards
Him with simplicity, confidence and abandonment. It is the very
spirit of the New Law, and is what distinguishes it from the Old.
One of the fundamental dogmas of our faith is that God the Father
has adopted us in His Son Jesus Christ, and raised us up to the
supernatural state of His children, whereby we are made heirs,
indeed, of God and joint heirs with Christ; [60] an inheritance
which gives us a right to heaven as our home and to the eternal
possession of God. This title, child of God, presupposes and
recalls to our minds the chief objects of our faith, is the
foundation of our hope, and the paramount motive of our love.

Yet nothing is rarer among Christians than this filial disposition
towards God; almost all are more inclined to fear than to love
Him. They find it exceedingly difficult to have a complete trust
in Him, to the extent of abandoning themselves totally to His
divine Providence. What is so little known, and even less
practised in the spiritual life and most difficult to human
nature, is the casting of all our care upon Him, in the firm faith
that nothing can be ordained by His Providence that will not work
for our good, unless we ourselves place some obstacle in the way.
[61]

This all comes from self-love which would persuade us that our
interests are only safe so long as we have the control of them in
our own hands. We cannot make up our minds to entrust them to God,
and, in all that concerns us, to look upon Him as a Father, no
matter how much our love is put to the test. We are ready to trust
Him when He indulges us, sends us consolations and gives us all we
ask. But when, to teach us to love and serve Him for His sake and
not for our own, as such a Father deserves to be loved, He
withdraws the comforts we have abused, refuses what would harm us,
and offers us what is for our good but which we do not want, then
we no longer think of Him as a Father but as a harsh task-master.
His demands are distasteful to us and we are ready at any moment
to quit His service. Even our spiritual director has the greatest
difficulty to restrain us when he takes God's part against us.

Yet it is nevertheless true that God never shows Himself more
truly a Father than in the trials He sends us. His crosses are the
most precious favours He could bestow on us in this life, and the
heavier the burden He lays upon those who have given themselves to
Him, the more is it a proof of the love He bears them. Was not Our
Lord the well-beloved Son, in Whom the Father was well pleased?
[62] Yet how did He treat Him, from His birth to His last sigh
upon the Cross? Was He less His Father when He gave Him up into
the hands of wicked men; when to all appearances He forsook Him on
the Cross, and suffered Him to die tortured and in shame? Surely
not! And it may truly be said that if Calvary was the scene of
Christ's love for His Father, it was no less the clearest
demonstration of the Father's love for His Son. Judge by the
consequences. All the glory and power and blessing which Our Lord
possesses as man, He owes to the Cross. Did He not Himself say:
Ought not Christ to have suffered these things, and so to enter
into His glory? I His Father required that temporary proof of
obedience at His hands, that He in turn might give Him an eternal
proof of the magnificence of His reward.

With the example of Our Lord, then, before our eyes, never let us
think that God is not acting as our Father when He asks sacrifices
of us that are painful to nature; when, having asked and received
our consent, He takes us at our word, and exacts the fulfilment of
our promise. It is true that the Face He turns to us then may seem
severe, and it is His justice rather than His love that we see;
but never was He more our Father, never were the marks of His love
more apparent to the eyes of faith.

Consider also the upbringing of a child. While weak and tender, he
is nursed, carried, petted, indulged and soothed. But as he grows
older, he is placed under a rule; he is obliged to do things which
are unpleasant, and of which he does not as yet see the use. He is
broken in to obedience and habituated to control his desiresand
follow the guidance of reason. When necessary, he is treated
severely and chastised. Why? Solely in order to draw out his
powers, to make a man of him, and to prepare him for a useful and
happy life in the future, according to his state in life.

In the same manner does God act towards His children. He intends
them for citizens of the heavenly Jerusalem. When they begin to
give themselves up to Him, He makes the greatest allowances for
their weakness. He lavishes sweetness and consolations upon them,
in order to win their hearts. He makes all things easy to them. He
removes temptations, pleases them and, as it were, makes Himself a
child with them. But as they grow stronger and are capable of
receiving solid lessons in the interior life, He adopts another
plan. He attacks nature, pursues all its defects and vicious
propensities, sparing none. He prescribes difficult duties, and
requires their fulfilment with extreme severity. The language of
grace is no longer tender and persuasive: it is strong, imperious,
even threatening; the least resistance is rigourously punished. He
proportions the exercises, the trials and temptations that He
sends, to their strength and state. The more He has endowed them
with powers natural and supernatural, the more He demands of them,
until they are moulded to all the virtues, and have passed through
all the degrees of holiness. When they have reached that point of
perfection to which He desires to bring them, when they have
become worthy of Him, then their spiritual education is complete,
and He removes them to His kingdom, where He crowns their
struggles and their obedience, making them everlastingly partakers
of His glory and bliss.

Thus the interior life throughout its whole course is nothing
other than an education divine and paternal, inspired and ruled by
love. God, on His side, fulfils perfectly the role of a Father,
Whose desire is to make us happy. Let us, then, on our part, do
all He expects of us as His children.

Once again, let us take children as our pattern. What are the
feelings that a well-disposed child entertains for his father? In
the first place, great simplicity, ingenuousness and candour. A
child has no notion of concealing or dissimulating with his
father. He opens his heart to him, tells him all he feels, and
that is how we should act towards God. In fear, joy or sorrow, we
should go to Him with the candour and simplicity of children. He
knows better than we do what is passing in us, but He likes us to
speak to Him about it. He wants to be our confidant and friend. Do
not be afraid, then, to address Him sometimes with loving
reproaches: such holy liberty pleases Him; nothing displeases Him
more than cold reserve.

The next thing noticeable in a child is his trust. Timid and
distrustful where others are concerned, in his father he places
unbounded confidence. He knows that his father loves him; that he
cares for him, toils for him, plans for him, and has no other aim
but his happiness. And so he neither cares nor troubles himself
about his own welfare, but leaves all to his father, who provides
for his wants, even for his innocent pleasures, forestalls his
slightest wishes, and reads them in his eyes. He is persuaded that
the advice, the lessons, the corrections of his father, the
various tasks he imposes, the severity he uses towards him, even
what seems to be hurtful, have no other object than his true
happiness. He knows this, not by reasoning, but by instinct and
experience.

If only we had the same confidence in our heavenly Father, Who is
worthy of it infinitely more than any earthly father! If only we
would make over to His Divine Providence the care of our spiritual
interests; confide to His grace far more than to our own efforts
our spiritual welfare and perfection. If only we were deeply
convinced that God does all things and ordains all things for our
good; that His precepts which act as a curb to our passions, the
duties that seem so painful, the evils and afflictions He permits,
the hidden dispositions by which He disturbs our plans and cuts
across our undertakings, the very faults and falls He refuses to
prevent in order that we may be humble and mistrust ourselves, are
permitted solely with a view to our eternal good--if, I say, we
believed these things, how God would be glorified by our trust,
and what intimate care, what loving attentions would not our
confidence draw down upon us.

St. Paul lays it down as an axiom of the spiritual life that all
things--without exception -- work together unto good to them that
love God. [63] What does loving God mean, save looking upon Him as
a Father, speaking to Him, relying upon Him for everything, acting
and cooperating with His grace, and, having done on our part all
that He expects of us, trusting solely to His love and mercy? O
filial trust! What anxiety you would spare Christians who
sincerely desire their salvation, and how you would assure it much
better than all the sufferings of mind that self-love brings in
its train! Leave to your heavenly Father the direction of your
inner life, follow quietly the attraction of grace, consult His
holy will in all things, oppose it in nothing. For the rest, pay
no heed to your foolish questionings, calm your imagination, and
despise the vain fears that would weaken your trust in Him. This
is the way to heaven, and if you meet with difficulties on the
way, they come from you, not from God.

Obedience is another characteristic of a child's disposition: an
obedience altogether founded on love, not arising from fear as is
the servile obedience of slaves, nor dictated by a mercenary self-
interest. An obedience which embraces without reserve its Father's
will, not considering whether the carrying out of that will is
easy or difficult, pleasant or otherwise. An obedience generous,
prompt and courageous, neither complaining nor excusing itself,
finding its reward in the joy of having done its duty in pleasing
a Father it loves and respects. Is it thus that most Christians
obey God? I doubt it: and why?

It is because for the most part they forget that God is their
Father. They look upon Him in quite another light. Some fear
damnation more than they desire their salvation. They are moved
more by the thought of the pains of hell than by that of the joys
of heaven. Fear is at the root of their obedience. They regard God
as a harsh master, and a severe judge.

Now fear has the power to keep us from evil, but not to lead us to
good. It is a curb, not a spur. It is the beginning, but only the
beginning, of wisdom. [64] God does not mean us to stop there.
From fear we ought to pass on to love; indeed, we are not fearing
God when we only fear His chastisements, and we do not obey Him
according to His will when we yield only to His warnings. So that
this obedience is equally imperfect in its motive. It permits the
whole weight of the yoke to be felt, but does not remove from the
heart a secret longing to be rid of it. It limits itself to the
letter of the law, and, as men naturally interpret the law in
their own favour, its obligations are often imperfectly fulfilled

Others do, indeed, consider God as their rewarder. They serve Him
from a motive of hope, but they care less for Himself than for the
good things He promises. They hope, that is, for the possession of
God, but less for His sake than for their own happiness. In other
words, self is uppermost in their minds and they barely pay
attention to anything else.

This motive is not bad, since it incites to well doing, but it is
not pure enough, and if their obedience has no other stay, it will
be weak and hesitating, and often fretful. True faith, which is
evidenced by love, has very little influence on their conduct. The
present good and evil counts with them as much as the good to
come. And that is why they find it so difficult to practise
virtue, which consists principally in mistrusting the pleasant
things of this world, and accepting the unpleasant. We may indeed
fear for them when certain temptations come upon them, which only
the love of God can enable them to overcome.

It is not in fear, then, nor in self-interest, but in love that we
shall find the deep principle of the obedience which is due to
God, and nothing will inspire us with that love more than the role
of Father which God has deigned to assume for our sakes. When,
having meditated on this Name so tender and on the dispositions it
presupposes in God in my regard, I consider that from all eternity
He has loved me, not merely as His creature but as His child; that
He has gone so far as to tell us in the Sacred Word that, even if
a mother should forget the child of her womb, yet will He never
forget us; [65] when I realize that He has raised us to be His
sons by adoption, [66] destined to be associated with His divine
Son in His heavenly inheritance and to share in His eternal
beatitude; when I consider, above all, the marvellous plan of His
paternal love and what it cost the Son to raise me to that divine
adoption, and the inestimable graces which accompanied and have
followed that amazing gift: what, I say, can I refuse to such a
Father, Whose only motive in all He asks of me is the love He
bears me, and the good He wills to bestow upon me?

What can I see in His law but the loveliest and most just of
duties, namely to love Him; for in this consists the whole of His
law. [67] How can I regard this as a yoke or a burden? Sweet,
indeed, is His yoke and His burden light; [68] and never will I
regret having taken them upon me. My endeavour, then, shall be to
love this kindest of Fathers in gratitude for His love for me; and
to prove my love for Him by an obedience which I shall regard as
my greatest joy. So, too, my greatest sorrow would be not to love
Him, and to disobey Him in the least thing.

Nor will I limit myself to the performance of those things which
He commands under pain of His displeasure. I shall study to do
what pleases Him. The least sign He gives me shall be a law to me,
and I will try to refuse Him nothing, complain of nothing, and
submit with joy to all, even to the most painful dispensations of
His Providence. For His name of Father always bids me look upon
them as marks of His love, and trials of mine. Thus Job felt, when
in the depth of his afflictions he cried: If we have received good
things at the hand of God, why should we not receive evil? [69]
And: Although He should kill me, yet will I trust Him. [70] And
again: May this be my comfort, that afflicting me with sorrow, He
spare not: nor I contradict the words of the Holy One. [71] So far
should a Christian carry his confidence and submission towards
such a Father.

How weak is human respect when it attacks a heart full of filial
love. The attractions and seductions of the world do not interest
the true child of God. He neither fears its threats nor its
ridicule. He holds up his head and boldly declares his mind, when
His Father's honour is at stake. If he hides himself from the
sight of men, he does so through humility, never through weakness.
He does nothing to draw attention to himself, and cares not
whether he is seen or not seen, praised or blamed, esteemed or
contemned. To him the world is as though it were not. In company
or alone, his eyes are always fixed on his Father, and his
concerns are with Him alone. How should he trouble himself about
pleasing the world, when he does not wish to please even himself?
He dreads nothing so much as having to think of himself; he does
all he can to forget himself, and would shrink from diminishing
his Father's glory by anything approaching self-complacency. And
if by chance he should do so from time to time, he deeply regrets
it as a real fault.

The delicacy of his love goes further still. Content to please
God, he is in no way eager for his love to be recognized. He
neglects nothing whereby he may be acceptable in God's sight, but
asks for no sign of assurance that he is so. He knows that self-
love would rest satisfied with such an assurance, and his love for
God would suffer accordingly.

TWELFTH MAXIM : FIDELITY

Beware of resisting the leadings of grace: be thoroughly generous
in great things and in small

It is proper to grace to strive against nature. Therefore, we must
expect that it will frequently, orrather continually, demand of us
such things as are contrary to our vicious or imperfect
tendencies, and that consequently nature will offer a violent
resistance, and will not yield until the last moment. The will,
however, must always be on the side of grace. By the word 'will',
I do not mean certain ineffective desires, certain repugnances or
aversions which are not free, but a firm and determined
resolution--not I would, but I will, triumphant equally over likes
and dislikes.

Such a generous intention, firmly resolved to respond in
everything to God's designs, is not often met with, even among
those who think they have given themselves entirely to Him. At
certain times of sensible fervour, we declare ourselves ready and
willing for everything, and we fancy that our protestations spring
from the depths of our will. But it is not so; they are only the
effect of the glow of grace.

When that glow has abated and the soul is restored to itself and
to ordinary grace, we are surprised to see that all our good
intentions have vanished. Or else, like St. Peter, we presume on
our strength and, so long as danger is afar off, we fancy
ourselves ready to confront everything. But when the opportunity
presents itself we yield, as the apostle did, to the slightest
temptation. There is a great difference, said a holy man who spoke
from experience, between sacrificing one's life to God in a
transport of fervour, and doing the same thing at the foot of the
gallows. The true disposition of the will is to be judged at the
actual moment ofthe sacrifice, when the temporary effect of the
heavenly warmth is withdrawn, and the soul has cooled down and
returned to a state of ordinary grace.

Therefore we ought not lightly to imagine that we have this good
will: rather we should always fear that we have it not. We are
not, indeed, to be pusillanimous, but we are bound to mistrust
ourselves always and rely solely on help from heaven, confident
that it will never fail us in time of need. We are so weak that we
cannot be sure of victory beforehand. The slightest presumption
renders us unworthy of it, and often the enemy snatches the
victory from our hands, just when we think it is ours.

Do you want to be sure of never resisting God? Then remember
always Our Lord's own words: The spirit indeed is willing, but the
flesh is weak. [72] We must watch and pray, as He bids us, that we
enter not into temptation. Watch, so as not to expose ourselves or
give advantage to the enemy; pray, in order that we may obtain
from God the strength we need. Abiding, thus, in the salutary fear
of being unfaithful to grace, God will preserve us from all evil.
Or, if He permits us from time to time to realize our weakness, it
will never be by a deadly fall: He will interpose His own hand
between us and the blow, to prevent it from doing us harm. He will
quickly raise us up again, and we shall be all the stronger
afterwards.

The fear of resisting grace may be looked upon in yet another
light. Such resistance is the greatest evil we have to dread. When
God intends to take possession of a soul and direct it himself He
gives it much instruction relative to its perfection. He watches
with extreme care over its thoughts, words, acts and motives. He
overlooks nothing, examines every action, and keenly rebukes the
slightest unfaithfulness.

Now the soul cannot be too attentive to the light it thus receives
from God, and His secret reproaches: it is of the greatest
importance to pay them every regard. For in the first place, if we
resist God's will, we at once arrest the progress of our own
perfection. We place a stumbling-block in our own way, and make no
advance until we have surmounted it. Not only shall we not
advance, but we shall fall back; for it is an axiom of the
spiritual life that we must either go forward or fall back. In the
second place, one grace rightly used attracts a second, the second
brings a third, and so on, for graces are linked together; they
form a chain which ends in holiness and final perseverance. In the
same way, a grace rejected deprives us of the next, and therefore
of those which should follow. And this may be carried so far as to
prove fatal in the long run.

Therefore it is always extremely dangerous to break this chain,
and as it is certain that we shall undoubtedly arrive at that
perfection that God expects of us if we advance faithfully from
grace to grace, so it is equally certain that we run a grave risk
in the matter of our salvation if we break the chain of graces in
any way whatsoever.

This is especially true of certain principal graces which form, as
it were, the master links in the chain, upon which so much
depends. Such are the grace of one's vocation, an attraction to
interior prayer, and others of like nature. They are a kind of
starting point from which God is going to lead us to our final
haven. If we respond faithfully and assiduously, we will have
nothing to fear, but if we reject His overtures at the outset we
can never be sure of having a second opportunity.

But I should warn timid souls that the chain is not broken by
faults of inadvertence and impulse or even of imprudence and
indiscretion: in other words, by sins of frailty. It is only
broken by sins knowingly, wilfully and repeatedly committed. For
God does not leave us just for one fault; He returns again and
again, and is as patient as the end He has in view is great. Even
when He sees that we are determined to have nothing to do with
Him, He does not withdraw altogether.

He acts in a similar manner when He is asking certain sacrifices
of us. Sometimes He pursues a soul for years before He wearies,
especially if the sacrifice is important and the soul feels a
great repugnance for it. The moment when His pursuit ceases is
known to Him alone. Should the soul want to withdraw itself from
the order of supernatural Providence, it is to be feared that it
may never re-enter it, and even its eternal salvation may be
endangered. God showed St. Teresa the place she would have had in
hell, had she lost that which was prepared for her in heaven. For
her there was no middle course, it was one thing or the other; and
there are many souls in a like state without knowing it.

This is one of the principal reasons why masters of the spiritual
life so strongly urge the duty of recollectedness and
correspondence with grace. The soul cannot attend too carefully to
the warnings that God does not cease to give, constraining it to
do good and avoid evil. The soul should observe the greatest
fidelity in following these inspirations of grace. This attention
and docility Our Lord Himself made the distinctive marks of His
disciples: My sheep, He said, follow Me, because they know My
voice. [73] And it may be affirmed that the whole system of true
direction consists in moulding souls to such a disposition.

Finally, we ought to question God's will in nothing, great or
small. It is not our place to decide on the greater or less
importance of the things God requires of us, and we can so easily
fall into error on such points. Besides, if God signifies His will
concerning any matter, however small, that intimation at once
invests it with importance, and, more than all else, we are bound
to consider the intention and good pleasure of so great a Master.
What, in itself, was the eating or abstaining from a certain
fruit? And yet the happiness of the human race depended upon the
observance of so apparently trifling a command. God is the
absolute arbiter ofthe graces He bestows upon us, and also of the
conditions He attaches to them. On our fidelity in a seemingly
trivial matter may depend many graces which He has in store for
us.

Opportunities for doing great things for God are rare, but those
for doing little things for Him are continually arising, and it is
precisely in these little things that the refinement of love shows
itself. Nothing proves the depth of our love for God and our
desire to please Him more than the conviction that nothing is
little where His service is concerned. And how, indeed, can we
expect to be faithful to Him in big things if we are careless in
obeying Him in small? It is just these that are more within our
reach and more adapted to our weakness. The bigger things, on the
other hand, call for great efforts, which are often beyond our
strength, and of which it would be presumptuous to deem ourselves
capable. Great acts of virtue are God's work rather than ours, and
if the smaller ones seem to belong to us, none the less God's
action plays the greater part in them also.

Our fidelity, then, is not perfect unless it embraces everything,
without exception. We ought to judge of the service due to God by
that which we ourselves expect of others. We look for exactness,
promptness, and thoroughness, and would be offended if our orders
were not carried out, just because they were not gravely
important. Is it too much, then, to serve God as we desire to be
served ourselves?

Faithfulness in little things keeps us humble, and shields us from
vanity, and is of inestimable value in God's sight if it proceeds
from a high motive. By it we acquire that extreme purity of
conscience which brings us very close to God. The special
characteristic of His own holiness was precisely His utter
incompatibility with the least stain of sin. So it is with the
saints, allowing for due proportion in the comparison.

How mistaken are those souls who try to keep anything back from
God. Who, so to speak, bargain with Him, who consent to give Him
certain things but obstinately refuse Him others; who keep a watch
on themselves in certain directions but are negligent in others;
who set bounds to their perfection and say within themselves: I
will go so far and no farther. Can they not see that the very
thing that they withhold from God is just what He is particularly
asking of them, and of which He reproaches them so frequently and
insistently? If He presses His demand, it is not for His sake but
for ours. Not only does He see more clearly than we do, but He
alone knows what is best for us, indeed what is necessary for our
advancement. And His very insistence is a sure sign that what He
asks is more important than we think.

Here, then, is a subject for our examination of conscience. We
must overlook nothing, spare nothing, search the innermost corners
of our heart, lest there be some hidden reservation, some rapine
in the holocaust. And, having made a thorough search, let us beg
God to bring His own light to bear on the dark corners of our
soul, making our interior dispositions clear to us, constraining
us to refuse Him nothing, and using all His authority to take from
us what we have not the courage to give Him.

THIRTEENTH MAXIM : MORTIFICATION

Never cease to struggle with the enemy that lives within the soul

WHAT is that old man that St. Paul bids us crucify, and which
Christ in His own person bound to the Tree of the Cross, to teach
us what it deserves and how we must treat it? It is the flesh or,
in other words, it is everything within us that is opposed to the
spirit of God. This is the meaning of the apostle who, under the
name of the flesh, comprised those vices which have the body for
their object, as well as those which originate in the mind. All
the former pertain to sensuality, the latter to pride or
inordinate self-esteem.

In order to understand the real nature of the war with themselves
to which all Christians are bound, and of their two natures,
spiritual and animal, whose inclinations are so diametrically
opposed to each other and tend to their mutual destruction, we
must go right back to original sin and to the two great wounds it
inflicted on us. Only thus shall we obtain a true conception of
Christian mortification, of its necessity, its extent and
continuity.

When Adam came from the hands of the Creator, his spirit was
humble and subject to God, his body obedient and subject to the
spirit. Everything within was in order, and all he had to do was
to remain in that state. Sin destroyed that order, when Adam
rebelled against God. His revolt arose from a principle of pride,
and in an absurd hope of becoming like God by eating the forbidden
fruit. The rebellion of his flesh was meant to humble his pride by
making him realize that anyone who, abusing his reason, aspires to
equality with God, deserves as a punishment to be reduced to the
level of the beast, and subject like them to the empire of the
senses.

Therefore, the first thing he perceived after his sin was this
rebellion of the flesh. It was the indubitable sign and witness of
his degradation, and, had he not been blinded by sin, that
disorder, which he was ashamed to look upon, would have taught him
how much more disgraceful and odious was the rebellion of his
spirit against God. God had to open his eyes and enable him to
judge of the exceeding disorder of his spirit by the shame which
he felt in consequence of the disorder of his flesh.

We, unhappy children of Adam, are all born with a fatal tendency
to this twofold disorder. The flesh disobeys the spirit, its
appetites and motions forestall the will. The will is only too
ready, first to consent, then to excite the appetites and finally
to become their slave. Reason has the power to regulate the
necessary appetites, such as eating and drinking, and should have
absolute command over the rest. But it is weak enough to give way
to them, and not only gratifies them, frequently beyond necessity
and contrary to the Creator's will, but degrades itself so low as
to seek only the pleasure attached to the satisfaction of the
senses, resting therein as in its final end, using its ingenuity
and powers to procure refined voluptuousness of every kind, even
to the over-stepping of the immutable bounds of nature, and
yielding to excesses which nature itself abhors. It is a most
humiliating state of affairs, which degrades man much lower than
the beasts, and which yet he feels so little that he counts it a
merit and a glory.

The disobedience of the spirit towards God goes, if possible,
further still. We affect an absolute independence. We consider our
liberty to consist in doing whatever we please, without exception,
and we look on this unlimited liberty as a right which cannot be
justly disputed. We are annoyed by the dominion God exercises over
us, necessary, mild and moderate though it be, and favourable to
our present well-being, and having no other end in view than our
eternal happiness. Lawful, reasonable and wise as it is, we are
continually trying to shake off, or at least to weaken, His yoke.
Every law He lays down for us seems a blow aimed at our rights;
every commandment a burden to us, every prohibition a source of
irritation. It only requires for a thing to be forbidden us to
make us want it all the more. This strange disposition, which
every one will find in himself if he will take the trouble to look
deep enough, arises from a collosal pride which recognizes no
master, a mad idea of our own excellence, and an utter blindness
to all that concerns our own good.

These are the disorders that the Gospel would have us recognize,
and teaches us to cure. The whole of the Christian moral law is
nothing else than a remedy for these two fundamental disorders,
and for that purpose proposes for our use two kinds of
mortification, as reasonable as they are indispensable. The aim of
the first is to subjugate the body to the mind; that of the second
to submit the mind to God, and so restore the original order in
which man was created, and repair the evil caused by sin. These
two methods are called respectively exterior and interior.

The first stage in exterior mortification, which is absolutely
binding on all Christians, is to abstain from all pleasures
forbidden by the divine law; to observe moderation in the use of
those that are lawful, using them not as ends in themselves, but
as means, as the Creator intended them to be used, and generally
to observe the precepts of the Church.

The second stage goes further. It refuses all unnecessary
indulgence to the senses. It allows food only to hunger, drink to
thirst, sleep to fatigue, clothes and shelter to necessity,
suffering nothing to gratify taste or encourage effeminacy. All
excessive pampering of the body foments its rebellion against the
spirit, and we know only too well from experience that it is
always ready to abuse anything in the way of excess. A mortified
Christian leads an ordinary life, in no way singular but simple,
sober and even, and strictly according to the rules of temperance
and moderation. He looks upon his body as a bad servant that
grudgingly obeys, and is always endeavouring to throw off the
yoke. That is why he keeps it in strict dependence, and so
subjects it to the spirit that not only does it not hinder but it
actually assists the spirit's operations. Such is the divine law,
as reason alone tells us. The Gospel does no more than urge its
observance and help us to carry it out.

The advantage of this moderate but steady mortification is that it
allows no room for pride, is hardly noticed, and shields us from
the excesses of an indiscreet fervour. Moreover, the flesh is
already sufficiently subdued when it finds itself reduced to the
bare necessities, and deprived of all that is superfluous.

However (and this is the third degree of mortification), God
sometimes inspires pious souls to perform voluntary penances.
These may be necessary, either for the expiation of sin, for the
subduing of pride, or to help in resisting violent temptations.
Nothing of this nature, however, should be undertaken without the
advice of a confessor, and even the confessor should act in such
cases with the utmost discretion.

Because we read in the lives of some saints that they practised
extraordinary austerities, our imagination is forthwith fired, and
we set out to imitate them, thinking that we cannot grow holy
otherwise, and that then we shall infallibly do so. In this we are
doubly mistaken, for unless God asks these austerities of us they
are not necessary to our sanctity; and, indeed, unless inspired
and directed by grace, may take away from instead of adding to it.
We may admire the acts of the saints, humble ourselves because we
have neither their courage nor their love of God, and be ashamed
that we do so little in comparison with them. But to copy them in
this particular respect is unwise in the extreme, unless God makes
known to us (as He did to them) His will concerning it, and until
that will is confirmed by the one who stands in God's place to us.

Mortification of the spirit brings the flesh into subjection much
more efficaciously than any bodily austerity, for obvious reasons.
The rebellion of the flesh against the spirit is, as I said
before, the consequence and punishment of the rebellion of the
spirit against God. Therefore, when we bring all our strength to
bear on subjecting our spirit to God, we immediately attack the
principle of the body's disorder. And God, seeing that the spirit
is in submission to Him, causes the trouble due to its pride to
cease, and Himself reduces the flesh to a state of obedience. The
more humble we are, the less exposed shall we be to rebellion on
the part of the flesh.

That is why interior mortification is incomparably more necessary,
because it goes to the root and source of the trouble. But what
are we to mortify in the soul? Everything, without exception. Sin
has infected with its poison the passions, the mind, the will,
even the very depth of the soul. Such is the war of man against
himself, of grace against nature. And in this war, we may never
lay down our arms, for so long as we live the enemy is never
wholly overcome. Cast down he may be, but the slightest negligence
on our part will cause him to rise up again.

Let us begin with the passions. In themselves, they are not evil:
they are only a quick movement of the soul by which it tends to
seek good and repel evil. Such they were in the beginning, and so
God intended them to be. But since the Fall, the soul does not
know its true good, nor its real evil. It no longer looks on these
things from God's point of view, but from its own. It calls that
good which flatters its pride and self-love, all that procures it
some passing pleasure. And it calls that evil which humiliates and
thwarts it, and disturbs the repose it finds, not in God but in
created things. The passions, now the offspring of a blind will,
and guided by a reason which no longer sees clearly, are thus
mistaken in their object, which they proceed to pursue with
excessive ardour. And because its falsity renders it unsatisfying,
their craving increases in proportion. Always dissatisfied, they
continue to seek an ever elusive happiness. Disappointed in one
object, they turn blindly to another of the same kind, only to
find themselves as starved as before. And so, unless it is
enlightened by the light of grace, the soul continues in its
error, until death puts an end to all deception.

Thus the primary duty of a Christian is to deprive the passions of
all that feeds them, to check their impetuosity, quench their
ardour, and prevent even their first emotions. To this end he must
bring under control the senses which suggest to the passions their
object. He must bridle the imagination which depicts it in
seductive colours and thus kindles desire, and he must keep a curb
on every inordinate inclination. It is not enough to forbid
indulgence in what is manifestly sinful: those things must be cut
off which are dangerous and doubtful or in any way apparently
evil. The passions must even be deprived of things which are
lawful and innocent in themselves, as soon as there is a danger of
one's becoming too attached to them, since all inordinate
attachment is liable to be harmful.

But such a war is not ended in a day. It must be waged
remorselessly. There can be no question of any truce or peace,
where such dangerous enemies are concerned. At times, the passions
will appear to be dead, but they are only lulled. They revive as
soon as our vigilance relaxes, and they rekindle in the heart a
new conflagration, much more difficult to extinguish. Nor must we
confine ourselves to the passions: we must attack also those
affections which are purely natural; inclinations, repugnances,
everything that fet- ters the heart and prevents it from being
utterly free. Much more is involved than we think, once we are
determined to know ourselves thoroughly, and to con- tend against
every single thing within us that opposes the kingdom of grace.
For grace purposes nothing less than the death of the purely
natural spirit, in order that it may be reborn in the supernatural
order. All men must act by reason, but the Christian must go
further and be guided by a supernatural principle. St. Paul even
applied this to our ordinary animal actions. Whatever you do, he
says, whether you eat or drink, do all to the glory of God. [74]
You can judge by this how far we must carry our interior
mortification.

It is not enough to stop at our natural affections. We must not
spare our sensitiveness, that excessive touch- iness which reduces
us to tears at the slightest word or the least contradiction, at
the mere appcarance, I do not say of contempt but of inattention
or indifference or coolness on the part of others. There are very
few Christians who have brought their sensitiveness com- pletely
under control, who in the course of their ordinary day ask for
nothing, take exception to nothing and are indifferent to praise
or blame. Alas! people complain, and not without reason, that
pious folk are actually more sensitive, more difficult to get on
with, take umbrage more quickly, than others. Do not give cause
for this reproach, both for your own sake and for the honour of
religion. Extreme sensitiveness is an unfailing source of
distress. Our peace of mind is destroyed, we become suspicious of
our neighbours, we look upon everything with a jaundiced eye,
charity is lessened, and we run the risk of giving a fatal form to
our feeling of resentment.

And that is not all. Even in the good you have in view, moderate
the vivacity of your impulses, your eagerness, your activity. Try
to keep yourself always in hand, [75] rise superior to your
impatience, do not stop merely at its external signs but stifle
its hidden movements as soon as they arise, and the moment you
perceive them prevent them from gaining the least sway over you.
The complete possession of oneself, which is the work of grace, is
one of the greatest blessings in life; it makes for inward peace,
spiritual joy, and evenness of soul. It edifies and wins over our
neighbour, dries up the source of many faults, and leaves us the
free exercise of all our powers to perceive and perform successive
duties as they present themselves.

So much for the passions. As regards the mind, how many things
there are to be mortified! From the first dawn of reason, the mind
is filled with prejudices contrary to the Gospel in all that
concerns honour, riches, pleasures and the habits of the world.
Who does not regard high birth as something desirable, which
raises one above one's neighbours, and yet what is it in God's
sight? It is nothing. What is it according to the standard of the
Gospel? An obstacle to humility. Until ourmind on this point is
the mind of Christ, [76] we cannot call ourselves His disciples.
Again, who is not ashamed of low birth, and sensitive to the
thoughts and remarks of others on the subject? Reason tells us
that this is folly, but will never convince us. As against these
ideas, the Gospel sets before us Our Lord's own choice. He
appeared on earth in the lowliest of conditions, and though due to
be born of the seed of David, the man after God's own heart,
waited until the royal family had sunk so low that an artisan was
counted for His father. Yet how hard we find it to conform our
mind in this respect to the mind of Christ.

Some, of course, are called to fill high positions in Church and
State, but power of this kind should always be feared rather than
coveted. Yet many hanker after the authority that power brings,
instead of dreading it as the Gospel bids. They are loath to obey
but quick to command, slow to serve but eager to be served. It is
the same with regard to poverty and wealth. The rich esteem
themselves superior to the poor, and yet Our Lord chose poverty
for Himself, and showed a special love for the poor. Indeed, we
are told that He had not where to lay His head. [77] And yet how
quick we are to prefer a life of ease and comfort to one of toil
and suffering.

Was it thus that the early Christians lived? Did they not rather
dwell together as brethren, having but one heart and one mind,
holding their love feasts together, with honour, as St. Paul says,
preferring one another. [78] What an immense forest of
preconceptions must be hewn down before we attain to the literal
practice of the Christian moral law, or can hope to see things in
the same light as Our Lord views them.

But it is not enough merely to demolish these prejudices, we must
strike at the root which is within ourselves. It is there that
mortification must bring its fire and sword! Where will you find
the man who does not esteem himself above his deserts; who does
not presume on his gifts and talents, and rely on his own
judgments? Who is not envious of the success of others professing
the same calling, unwilling that they should be preferred to
himself? Who does not dread the shadow of contempt more than
death, and is not acutely sensitive to the slightest whisper
against his good name?

Is this the mind of Jesus? Did He not in all His teaching and by
His example preach humility, contempt and hatred of oneself? Did
He not will to be despised and rejected of men, to be crushed like
a worm of the earth, to suffer humiliations, scorn and infamy,
even to the shameful death of the Cross? [79] He suffered the
sacrifice of His reputation, and yet, according to our notions,
how necessary it was for Him to preserve it, seeing that He came
to be the Lawgiver, the Example, the Saviour of mankind. But it
was by that sacrifice that man was saved. How then can we think
highly of ourselves, believe in our own worth, strive to raise
ourselves in the good opinion of others, or deceive ourselves so
far as to believe that the preservation of our reputation is
necessary for the glory ofGod? Shall we never think upon the truth
that what Our Lord was He was in our stead, to teach us what we
should be?

Now do you begin to perceive the full extent to which interior
mortification must reach, and the series of long and painful
struggles to which we are committed if we would be like our divine
Master? Be not weary of learning your duties, nor terrified at
their number and difficulty; grace is all-powerful and by its aid
you will reach your goal.

It is against the will that the heaviest blows must be dealt. This
is the dominant faculty of the soul and the most corrupt, for in
it sin takes its rise and attains its growth. The understanding is
often enlightened and convinced, while the will resists and
refuses to surrender. Attack it then, and determine on curbing its
intractability. Deal with it so that it may grow yielding and
obedient to God and to man. On no account allow it the freedom of
which it is so jealous, but bend it with all your strength to the
dispositions of Divine Providence, and to the will of others.
Allow it no choice, accustom it to be indifferent, and let its
rule be cheerfully to accept all vicissitudes great or small as
they arise.

The will must die to its own likes and dislikes. It must resist
its inclinations and do violence to its aversions. It must study
to go against itself in all things, and to repress its own
desires. It must be willing to see its hopes disappointed, its
schemes brought to naught, its projects laid on one side or
resisted. It must allow itself no self-interest, and must consider
itself in nothing. It may enjoy divine consolations, but it must
not depend upon them, and must be content to see them withdrawn
without regret. It must receive crosses, and all manner of
crosses, at first uncomplainingly, then submissively, and finally
with joy. It must go so far as to desire never to be separated
from the cross, nor by so much as a single word to take any steps
to be freed from it. It must rest in the hands of God, and of
those who represent Him, as wax receives the figure impressed upon
it, or as water, having no form of its own, assumes that of the
vessel in which it is placed. Its life, its movement, its activity
must exist solely for the glory and good pleasure of God.

O death of the will, how difficult and rare it is! What Christian,
nay what saint, exists who seeks nothing in and for himself? That
is the height of perfection, but few there are who attain it;
indeed, who even profess to desire it.

The value of this death is in proportion to its difficulty and
rarity. What an inestimable advantage it is to be raised above all
the events and happenings of life, above health and sickness,
riches and poverty, esteem and contempt, honours and humiliations,
good report and evil; above natural friendship or aversion, above
all attachment, all inclination, all repugnance: amid all the ups
and downs of the spiritual life, in consolation or trials, to
cling solely to the will of God; loving, trusting and resting in
it alone, and partaking thus of its sanctity and changelessness.

I will say nothing of what I have called the mortification of the
real depths of the soul. This is beyond our scope, and indeed
beyond that of ordinary grace. It is the work of God alone, and is
reserved solely for those whom He proposes to bring through the
terrible trials that lead to this death. Such is the lot of very
few, and those who are not called to it would attempt in vain to
understand its nature.

Have I opened a sufficiently wide field for the Christian combat?
Have I given some idea of the relentless war to be waged against
self? Of the courage, patience and endurance necessary in order to
enter upon it, persevere in it, and arrive at a full and final
victory? Do you now realise what that old man is, on whose fall
the new man is to rise? Have I with good reason shown you that he
is the cause of all our miseries, of all our misfortunes, now and
to come? One thing is certain: whether we undertake this spiritual
combat or no, he will cost us many a tear.

FOURTEENTH MAXIM : CONTEMPLATIVE PRAYER

When God bids you be still in prayer, humble yourself silently
before His Majesty

IT is well known that there are two kinds of mental prayer:
meditation and contemplation. Meditation is to contemplation what
active recollection is to passive. In meditation, all the powers
of the soul, the memory, understanding and will, and even the
imagination, have full scope, and from each is drawn what is most
suitable to the end in view. A distinct subject is presented
before the mind, on which reflections are made, and affections and
resolutions formed. There are many good books on the subject, and
I shall say little here respecting it.

In contemplation, or prayer properly so called, the soul neither
reflects nor forms affections and resolutions. Yet neither are the
understanding and will idle. For if the contemplation be distinct,
the understanding sees, though without reasoning, the object
presented to it by God. If it be confused, and offers to the soul
no special object, the understanding holds itself in the presence
of God, humbles itself before His supreme Majesty, and listens
silently to the instruction given without sound or distinctness of
words (which is the manner in which God's instruction is usually
given). This attention is itself an act of the understanding,
unperceived because so simple, but not therefore less real. The
confused, general and indistinct object, which is then presented
to the soul, is God Himself, but hidden in a cloud of faith;
whereas in distinct contemplation, God unfolds one of His
perfections or some particular mystery of religion.

We may form some idea of these two kinds of contemplation, if we
remember the different ways in which we look at things about us,
sometimes fixing our eyes on a certain point, at other times
regarding vaguely without noticing anything in particular.

Nor is the repose of the will in contemplation to be considered as
inaction. In the first place, its freedom is being continually
exercised, since we are at prayer because we choose to be so, and
frequently have to resist the temptation to give it up on account
of distractions, dryness, or even evil thoughts which assail us at
such times. Secondly, the will is either in a state of union, or
in a constant tendency to union, with God, since it is only with
that purpose that it perseveres in this kind of prayer. In the
third place, it receives a sense of divine sweetness which gives
place to joy and peace. Lastly, if the soul experiences nothing,
and the time of prayer is spent in suffering, the will is then in
a state of sacrifice, which it accepts in submission to God's good
pleasure. Moreover, in that true repose which God bestows on the
soul, as in the false repose which is the result of delusion,
there is always some action on the part of the understanding and
will.

The difference between the real and false repose is, not that the
soul acts in true prayer and is silent in false, but that in the
former God is the agent, whereas the second is due either to the
imagination or the devil. However it may be--and I do not wish to
press the matter here--it would be wrong to call the holy repose
in which God holds the soul during contemplation idleness, and no
one should feel obliged to give it up on that account. But what
one should do is this. One should examine by the rules laid down
by the saints whether or not this repose comes from God. If it
does, who would be rash enough to dare to disturb the peace of a
soul in which God's action is taking place? If it does not, then
the soul must be undeceived and set right.

These rules are as follows. In the first place, so long as we have
the free use of our powers and can meditate with ease, we ought
not to leave off. But it is the advice of spiritual writers that
when we have sufficiently absorbed the truths we have been
meditating on, and have considered them under every aspect, we
should either wholly or in part cease from acts of the
understanding and pass on to those of the will, which are much
more essential, and lead us to love the truths we have already
learned. For the aim of meditation is to move the will, and rouse
it to shun vice and practise virtue.

Secondly, after meditation has been practised for some time, and
the proper fruit has been derived therefrom, one begins to be
aware that God is drawing the will to a particular state of rest.
The will now produces no distinct affections or, if it wants to do
so through long habit, it is gently checked and drawn to enjoy
rather than to act. It is then that the soul is entering into the
passive way. God Himself is leading it, and it would be harmful to
the soul's advancement if it offered any resistance.

Thirdly, it is sometimes the case that a person truly devoted to
God finds his efforts to meditate all in vain. If, after many
attempts to do so, he finds himself unable to succeed, whether by
reason of the simplicity of his mind which takes things in at a
glance, or because of the bouyancy and vivacity of his
imagination, or from any other cause, he would do well, on the
advice of his confessor, to try simply to remain quiet in the
presence of God, entreating the Holy Spirit to teach him to pray;
or, like Samuel and David, listening to whatever God has to say to
him in his heart. If this method suits him, if he feels calm and
at peace, and comes away from such times of prayer more devoted to
God's service and more determined to overcome himself, then he may
take it that his prayer is good, and that God is acting in it. The
effects will be the guarantee, and these are always peace,
spiritual joy, the love of God, and an effectual desire to advance
in virtue, which are always the fruits of the Holy Spirit. [80]

Fourthly, it may occur that when we betake ourselves to prayer, we
feel the powers of the soul fettered, so that we cannot bring them
to bear on the subject on which we proposed to meditate. For
instance, we take up a book such as the Imitation, or one of
similar character, but we have no sooner laid it down that we lose
all recollection of what he have been reading, and the mind
remains as it were in a vacuum. Now if this inability to think is
accompanied by a sweet peace, which fully occupies the soul, it is
one of the most assured signs that God is placing the soul in a
state of passive prayer, and we must beware of making any effort
to withdraw from that way. Even if this inability to meditate is
accompanied by perplexity, darkness and temptation, yet if the
soul is true and stands firm against these storms, they will soon
pass and be followed by a great calm, and may be regarded as a
preparation for the most signal favours of God.

In the last place, the usual proof that our prayer is good is the
generous and continued practice of interior mortification. There
is no cause for apprehension concerning the prayer of a person who
is singlehearted, straightforward, docile, humble, capable of
great selfcontrol, endowed with good will, ready to undertake
cheerfully all the means suggested to it for overcoming faults,
acknowledging them frankly and taking rebukes all in good part. If
the spirit of God guides the rest of his conduct, we can hardly
imagine that it will forsake him in the time of prayer.

But the application of these rules is a matter for the director.
We should not judge ourselves, else we shall run the risk of
deceiving ourselves. Humility and obedience are the two cardinal
points on which the interior life turns. Therefore, when we
believe it to be God's will that we should leave the ordinary way,
we should in all simplicity represent our state to our spiritual
guide, and thus enable him to decide. This is all the more
necessary, since without his advice we cannot maintain ourselves
in the different states of prayer. We ought also to keep him
informed of all that takes place in our souls, in order that he
may shield us from delusion, and strengthen us against temptations
and trials.If, through lack of knowledge or prejudice against
contemplative prayer, the director should mistakenly decide
regarding our state, we must at once acquiesce in his decision,
and do as he wishes. Thus St. Teresa abstained for a whole year
from contemplative prayer by order of her confessor. Nevertheless,
should we feel a certain discomfort, an inward constraint, which
seems to us a sure sign that the director was taking us out of our
proper sphere and making us go against God's action, then we might
consult other confessors more enlightened and follow their advice.
Thus St. Teresa, condemned as we have said by the doctors of
Alcala, was reassured by St. Peter of Alcantara and St. Francis
Borgia. God always blesses obedience and submission of the
judgment. He will either, in His own way, cause the confessor to
see our state in its true light, or else direct us to some other
person.

I have said that God alone can, and may, bid the reason be silent
in time of prayer. He has endowed the soul with powers, in order
that they may be used so long as He grants them liberty. It was
the false and heretical doctrine of Molinos that man ought to
annihilate them himself: that is to say, reduce them to inaction.
But any such inaction, voluntarily produced, would render us a
prey to every freak of the imagination and every delusion of the
heart.

Besides, according to the principles of true philosophy, the soul
cannot of itself fetter its powers. This requires a superior
agent, distinct from itself, and acting upon it with irresistible
force. When God binds the soul in this way, it is amazed by the
power brought to bear upon it, and perceives clearly that it comes
from without. Sometimes it attempts with all its own strength to
resist it, but all to no purpose. Anyone who knows this state and
speaks of it, will tell you that one can do nothing: neither use
one's memory, make any reflection, or excite any emotion. I am
become as a beast (of burden) before Thee [81] says the Psalmist,
and that is perfectly true; we become like a log of wood, waiting
for God to kindle it.

These are the usual expressions on the part of persons who have
experienced this state. They do not place themselves in it, for
that would be a contradiction. Moreover, when sensible tokens of
grace are withdrawn, which frequently happens, this state is far
from giving pleasure to the soul; it is, on the contrary, very
painful, being absolutely contrary to nature. We can only continue
in this condition by sheer fidelity, because we cannot doubt that
it is God's will. If we listened to our own promptings, we should
renounce it altogether.

A confessor who is not on his guard may be deceived, and may lend
an ear to the description of fictitious states of the soul. But if
he knows what contemplation is, and if nothing is kept back from
him, he cannot possibly confound real inability to pray with that
state of inaction for which one is oneself responsible.

Let it not be supposed that true contemplation is an act which,
being once entered upon, continues naturally and needs no renewal.
This error, if taught by any mystic, lapses into the heresy of
Molinos. I say, if taught, for it may well have happened that
those who opposed it were mistaken, and took for contemplation the
act by which the soul gives itself to God, and consecrates itself
to His service in order to fulfil His will in all things. This
latter act has no need of renewal, so long as we are faithful and
do not go back on it, for it always subsists in intention and in
fact. That does not mean to say that it is a continuous act, which
is never suspended nor interrupted. It is an act, transitory in
itself but abiding in its effects, so long as it not annulled by a
contrary act. It is as though I formed the intention of making a
journey and set out on the road. There is no need for me to be
continually renewing my intention: I just carry on towards my
journey's end, without stopping on the way or turning aside from
it.

FIFTEENTH MAXIM : DIFFICULTIES IN PRAYER

Cling not to sensible sweetness: suffer dryness with a good heart

THIS maxim refers to contemplative prayer, and to the manner in
which those who practise it should act. As a rule, in the
beginning, this kind of prayer is most attractive. God gives the
soul a certain consciousness of His presence. [82] Having
introduced it into His banqueting hall, He inundates it with
favours. Here is a paradise of delights of which it had no
conception. Here it breathes a different atmosphere, and delights
in a liberty hitherto unknown; the heart is too narrow to contain
the blessings lavished on it. But when it feels itself abandoned,
sighs and tears are intermingled with exclamations of joy. This
state may last some time. The Bridegroom does, indeed, hide
Himself from time to time, but only so that the soul may long for
Him more intensely. Then the soul hastens to recall Him, seeks Him
anxiously, and derives fresh comfort when He returns.

In thus giving it a foretaste of those pure and deep joys of which
He is the source, God intends the soul to feel an aversion and
contempt for the false pleasures incident to the enjoyment of
created things. Experience is a better teacher than theory, for
the latter onlyappeals to the mind. But what happens then? The
wretched self-love which we all have within us makes ill use of
God's favours. Hardly has it tasted them than it seeks them
eagerly, gloats over them with a complacency which it refuses to
acknowledge, and persuades the soul to make them the motive and
end of its prayers, of its good works, even of the struggles it
has with itself and of the penances it undertakes. So much is this
the case that it seeks heavenly delights as ardently as the
voluptuary seeks those of this world. By reason of a mercenary and
selfish spirit, God is loved solely for the sensible pledges of
His love.

And all the time the soul thinks it is loving God for His own
sake, with a really disinterested love, whilst deep down it is
self and its own satisfaction that is the object of its love. This
is proved by the fact that, as soon as God withdraws these
sensible joys, the soul becomes unsettled, troubled, despondent
and even despairing, and often gives up the struggle, reproaching
God for having forsaken it in the first place.

But that is not how God wants to be loved and served. In order to
draw and win the soul, He will deign to give it some slight
foretastes of its promised happiness, but He will not allow the
soul to cling to them or to make them its motive and aim. Most
certainly, man is made for happiness, but his real happiness is
reserved for the next life. This life is a time of trial, wherein
we merit our future happiness. Here below God prepares crosses for
His friends, and it is to dispose them to receive them from His
hand that He begins by rendering that hand dear to them on account
of the favours it bestows. The more delightful and absorbing these
favours, the more must we expect the crosses that follow to be
heavy and overwhelming.

Let such souls, then, receive gratefully these first favours, and
not fear to enjoy them simply. They are milk for babes, food
adapted to their frailty. A director who sought to deprive such
souls of them, or ordered them to be given up, would be taking
away the necessary support and heavenly dew which the soul needs
in its present state. But he would be wise to profit by the
temporary absences of the heavenly Lover to encourage them to bear
such privations calmly. Whilst assuring them that the Bridegroom
will return, he must teach them to await patiently His time, and
not try to force things to suit their impatience. Let him open
their eyes little by little to the meanness of selflove, inspire
them with a generous disinterestedness, and lead them to realize
that God is infinitely more precious than His gifts; that He must
be loved for His own sake, and that in serving Him it is His will
alone that the soul seeks. Thus a spirit of detachment will
gradually be formed in the soul, so that it will be prepared to
accept without fear or danger the time of weaning from sensible
sweetness, when God is about to give it more substantial
nourishment in the exercise of pure faith.

By pure faith I mean that state in which one serves God without
any pledge or assurance of being pleasing to Him. This state is
extremely painful to self-love, and so it must be since it is
meant to undermine it imperceptibly, and in the end to destroy it
so far as is possible in this life. If we were to enter suddenly
and without preparation a state so crucifying to nature, we would
not be able to bear it, and we would soon be repelled and give up
all idea of leading an interior life. And so God, with infinite
wisdom, arranges for this transitional stage, and the soul is not
weaned until it has achieved a certain growth. And although God
may afterwards keep it in an habitual state of privation, yet He
tempers its rigours by frequent tokens of His love. The soul, on
its part, long remembers the first graces God bestowed upon it,
and this remembrance serves as a support in times of desolation.
Besides, this state of pure faith has its degrees, and one only
arrives at the final stage after many years.

Yet, in spite of this wise economy of grace, few overcome these
initial difficulties. Most souls are so soft, sensual and self-
centred, that they cannot resolve to give up the consolations of
their spiritual childhood. They do their utmost to hold on to
them, and when deprived of them for any length of time imagine all
is lost. But God takes no notice of their fears. Once He has
withdrawn these delights, He restores them only for short periods
and at long intervals. He even appears the less disposed to grant
them in proportion to the eagerness with which they are sought.

Most persons, therefore, seeing that these privations last longer
than they like, lose hope and give up the practice of
contemplative prayer, under the plea that the attempt is a waste
of time. They relax their vigilance, allow their minds to become
distracted, and, despising their Creator, turn back to created
things. It is something if they do not fall below what they were
when God took them in hand, and merely resume the former practices
which they relinquished to follow the leadings of grace.
Frequently enough, they become worse than they were before, as a
punishment which God allows as a result of their secret despite,
pride and despair. They not only give up the interior life, but
often enough pious exercises altogether. The senses and passions
resume their sway, since they have less strength to resist them.
Those who knew them in the time of their first fervour are amazed
and scandalized by these falls, which they unjustly attribute to
the practice of contemplative prayer, as if it were responsible
for the errors consequent upon their having given it up. There are
few Christians who run so grave a risk as those who have lapsed
from their fervour.

Therefore it is important that those who are called by God to the
interior life should know that pure faith is, strictly speaking,
the essence of that life, and that the pleasurable state in which
they are first placed is only the prelude to and preparation for
it. This pure faith glorifies God most, because He is thereby
served in a manner worthy of Him, which yields no gratification to
self-love, and no opportunity for self-seeking. On the contrary,
the soul forgets itself, sacrifices itself, abandons itself to
bear whatever rigours it may please a merciful justice to exercise
in its regard. If, as St. Paul teaches, the elect are those whom
God has predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son; [83]
if their holiness increases in proportion to that conformity; if
the interior life is that which most resembles the divine pattern:
then those who, by God's special favour, are intended for this
life must expect that, while on earth, God will treat them as He
treated His only Son, having regard to the greatness of His plans
and the glory He wishes to receive through them, as well as the
glory wherewith He wills to crown them.

Therefore, the sweet peace of the prayer of delight will be
followed by long periods of disgust, dryness and weariness, which
will render the exercise of prayer as painful as it was formerly
pleasant. Perplexity, darkness, anguish and even terror will take
the place of light, joy and confidence. We shall feel ourselves
the sport of temptations in the matter of purity, faith and hope.
We shall continually fancy that we have consented, and nothing
will persuade us to the contrary. But we must go on blindly, maybe
for a long time, led by obedience, hoping against all hope, loving
God without knowing that we love Him or are loved by Him, feeling
ourselves rather the object of His displeasure. Not till we have
passed through utter darkness shall we find ourselves born again
to a new life, which will be the precious pledge of our eternal
happiness.

Not all interior souls pass through trials of the same length, or
involving equal suffering. God regulates the measure for each as
He wills, but all must pass through some form of trial, and indeed
are pledged to do so. Their longing for suffering is even greater
than their fear; for fear is part of our nature, whereas desire is
in the will. The love of the cross is one of the first things God
implants in the soul, and that love goes on ever increasing.

You, then, who are entering on the state of pure faith, gird
yourself to endure bravely the first absences of your Beloved, and
thus merit His support when He visits you with His crosses. Rest
assured that if you are faithful, He will lead you as far as you
are able to go and He will lay more crosses on you than you will
ask for. He tries severely those who love Him, in order that they
may love Him more. At the same time, He communicates to them an
unseen strength. And it is certain, though it sounds incredible,
that the more they suffer, the more these souls enjoy a peace
which, as St. Paul says, surpasses all understanding. [84] Besides
supporting them, God inspires them with words which have the power
to support others weaker than themselves. St. Paul bore witness to
this in his own case, when he said: Who comforteth us in all our
tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them who are in
distress. [85]

But do not let what I have said frighten you: it is but a picture
of the purgatory of love. What would it be like if I traced for
you a picture of the purgatory of justice, which all must pass
through after death, if they have not been purified before? One
must be purified in one or the other, and we cannot thank God
enough if we are able in this life to arrive at that degree of
purity which the soul must acquire before it can see God.

You dread trials. But they are absolutely unavoidable if you are
to enter heaven; and the willing acceptance of them will make them
sweet. You do not appreciate the all-powerful work of grace, and
the wondrous changes it brings to pass in the mind and heart.
Yield yourself up to it, have no fear for your own weakness: you
will be weak only in so far as you rely on yourself. If you place
your whole trust in God alone, you will be able to say with St.
Paul: I can do all things in Him Who strengtheneth me. [86]

You will ask me: why must we suffer so many interior and exterior
trials? Can we not be saints at a lesser price? The answer is No.
The Gospel affirms that sanctity is only to be attained through
suffering; or at least, by the will to suffer. It consists in the
readiness to embrace all the crosses that it may please God to
send us. God does not require that we should forestall crosses,
but it is His will that we should expect them with a firm heart,
and accept them bravely when they come.

At such a cost, then, you will say, I would rather not be a saint,
provided I can be saved. Foolish soul! You dwell on the fleeting
evils of this life, and are blind to the exceeding weight of glory
and happiness awaiting you. [87] Niggardly in what concerns your
best interests, you would barter heaven for what costs you little,
afraid to bid too highly for it. Base and sordid soul! You only
consider yourself, and will do nothing for God. Do you realize
what your salvation cost Our Lord? And yet you complain of what it
will cost you! You are content to be saved, but will you, if you
refuse to be a saint? Are you sure that you will do enough, and
only just enough, to ensure your salvation? Ought you not rather
to fear doing too little than too much?

Besides, supposing you do manage to be saved, does that mean that
you will escape suffering? Is there no Purgatory; and who is it
meant for if not for you? Can you enter heaven without the
purification of that fire, which must consume all that remains of
your self-love? I cannot insist too much on this point, which to
the eye of faith is conclusive.

To return to the subject of dryness, I would only add this. Those
who suffer from it are very subject to distractions. But these are
inevitable, and torture many good souls who fancy them wilful, and
cannot get rid of them, no matter what they do.

For the comfort of such persons, I would beg them to remember that
no distraction is sinful unless it arises in the will, and is
fostered in the heart. It is not a real distraction if, contrary
to our will, the mind wanders on to another subject than that on
which it intended to dwell. I go to my prayer fully intending to
adore God and to unite myself to Him. Without any warning, my
imagination goes off at a tangent, and is occupied with a thousand
different things. If I do not want these distractions, and they
distress me; if, as soon as I am aware of them, I recall my
thoughts gently to the subject of my meditation or, better still,
remain quietly in the presence of God, then they are not
voluntary, because my intention to adore God and be united to Him
has never changed. Even if the whole time of my prayer passes in
this way, my prayer is none the less pleasing in God's sight.

We are not responsible for the thoughts that enter our minds, but
it does depend upon our will whether we entertain them or not, and
also on the general disposition of our mind at other times. If we
allow too much freedom to the senses and imagination, or let the
mind get excited by all sorts of subjects, and dissipate our
energies by the exercise of foolish curiosity, or by frivolous
conversations and idle thoughts; if we are not careful to keep our
heart free from all desires and undue attachments, we must not be
surprised if in time of prayer we find it difficult to be
recollected, and that all these thoughts come back to us. For such
distractions we are responsible, even if at the moment we yield no
consent to them, because we have caused them knowingly.

But if, in the course of the day, we keep a curb on our senses and
imagination, if we attend carefully to the duties of our state, if
we suffer nothing to divert us from the sense of God's presence,
which is what should occupy our hearts, then we may disregard all
distractions that intrude on our time of prayer, provided we do
not consent to them. Moreover, it may be assumed that we do not
consent to them, if we live in a state of habitual recollection.
These rules are simple and adapted to cure any scruples with
regard to attention at prayer, whether vocal or mental.

Usually we bring to our prayer the same state of mind in which we
are accustomed to live. God will not work a miracle to keep us
recollected, and we will in vain endeavour to be so if at other
times we suffer our mind and heart to wander as they please.

I must add a word for those who have been raised by God to passive
prayer, and are in a state of dryness. First, it is impossible in
this state to be absolutely free from the wanderings of the
imagination. If God inspires no holy thought in the mind and
kindles no warmth in the heart, we are bound to feel, as it were,
lost, with the result that the imagination has a free field. But
if we watch, we will notice that these thoughts are vague and
inconsequent, and do not affect the will, and leave no trace
behind them. Afterwards, we find it difficult to recall them,
which is a sure sign that they were involuntary.

In the second place, these distractions, far from being harmful,
can be profitable to the soul, since they try it and encourage it,
both to feel its own misery and to bear with it patiently. It is
very painful for a devout soul to feel that it has become the
sport of the imagination, to lose its recollectedness, and to be
given over to all sorts of vain thoughts during prayer. But these
things keep us humble, by showing us what we are, and making us
realize that of our own endeavours we cannot obtain one good
thought or feeling. Involuntary and habitual distractions are a
proof of this, and prevent us from taking any credit to ourselves,
when we experience a little relief.

Self-love creeps in everywhere. If we feel any sensible emotions
during prayer and communion, we are apt to grow self-complacent;
to take pleasure in them, and so spoil the purity of our
intention. In a state of dryness, self-love has no support, and is
therefore wounded and perturbed. But we must take no notice of its
complaints and grumblings, and the false reasonings whereby it
endeavours to perplex us. Let it cry out against an interior state
where all is for God, and nothing for itself. The proof that this
aridity is profitable to our spiritual advancement is that, under
its action, nature suffers and is gradually exhausted and
destroyed, while the life of grace increases and gains strength.

In the third place, these distractions form part of God's plan.
He makes use of them to hide His action in the soul, which is thus
deterred from looking at itself, and seeing what is going on. When
it enjoys any sensible peace, and all its powers are held in a
deep calm, it is sure to dwell upon its state with feelings of too
strong attachment and pleasure. This is not what God wants. And
that is why He gradually removes all that induces this condition,
and allows the soul to become apparently a prey to distractions,
while He works within it secretly, without the soul being aware of
its progress.

Beware, then, of losing patience or hope when the imagination thus
runs wild. Do not suppose that your prayer is worse or less
pleasing to God. Do not listen to yourself or to the devil, who
would like to induce you to give it up as a waste of time. Do not
take up a book for the purpose of occupying your mind. Directors
should never recommend such a practice to souls in this state.
That would be to want to lead them back to meditation from which
God has already called them. Neither should you strain yourself or
weary your mind or body in order to drive away these distractions.
Such efforts are useless. Far from calming the imagination, they
only irritate and excite it all the more, just as flies
perpetually driven away only return all the more persistently.
Despise these things, let them drop of themselves, and do not let
them disturb your peace. Be content with mentioning them to your
confessor, but not as sins. Above all, do not worry yourself as to
whether you have given your consent to them or not.

If you keep your mind thus at rest in the midst of your ordinary
distractions, you will be given the grace to remain at peace when
you are assailed by sterner temptations, which God may permit, for
your greater good, in the time of prayer, which is the time the
devil usually chooses for his worst attacks. If you act as I have
advised (for the rules are more or less the same for temptations
as for distractions), you will have nothing to fear. The devil
will be put to rout, and all his attempts to make you give up will
only cause you to hold on all the more firmly, and advance more
surely.

But this question of temptations calls for a maxim and explanation
of its own.

SIXTEENTH MAXIM : TEMPTATIONS

The tempter combines cunning with violence: we must meet him with
prayer and vigilance

THE devil has little hold on souls that are given to prayer and
mortification. The most common temptations hardly affect them,
since they forbid them entrance. Should they be occasionally taken
by surprise, it is because they are momentarily off their guard;
and as a rule there are no grave consequences. And it is not the
devil who is the principal instrument in such cases, for every
man, says St. James, is tempted by his own concupiscence, being
drawn away and allured. [88] Such souls are thus only usually
exposed to these temptations in so far as God permits them in
order to purify their conscience, exercise their patience, deepen
their humility, increase their merit, and add brightness to their
crown. It is of such temptations that I now propose to speak.

In the first place, I think we are unnecessarily afraid of them.
It would be presumptuous to defy the devil, but it is a sign of
weakness to be afraid of him. As St. Augustine says, he is a
chained dog, who can bark and worry, but he cannot bite if we keep
out of his reach. Such lively apprehension may arise from
different causes. The imagination has a lot to do with it. We are
struck by what we have read in the lives of certain saints, and
fancy we are going to pass through the same experiences, and be
driven, as they were, to the last extremity. Take courage, timid
soul! Great temptations are only for brave hearts; do not be so
vain as to suppose that God is going to treat you as He treated
such chosen souls, who are very few in number.

This fear may also arise from a craven spirit. Such hearts are
narrow, wanting in generosity, and incapable of great sacrifices.
They tremble at the least danger; all they ask for is a sweet and
untroubled piety, sheltered from the storms and blasts. No sooner
do the winds blow, the skies darken, and the thunders roll, than
they imagine the whole of their spiritual edifice is about to
totter. Faint-hearted soldiers, indeed! You would like to conquer,
but you do not want to fight. The mere sight of the enemy puts you
to flight. Complete victory is reserved only for those who resist
unto blood.

This fear also arises from a want of trust in God. If we trusted
absolutely to His strength, we would have nothing to fear; for
what have we to be afraid of, if God the all-powerful is on our
side? The Lord is my light and my salvation, says the Psalmist,
whom shall I fear? The Lord is the protector of my life, of whom
shall I be afraid? ... If armies in camp should stand together
against me, my heart shall not fear. If a battle should rise up
against me, in this will I be confident. [89]

But instead of keeping our eyes on Our Lord, we look only at
ourselves. We measure our strength against that of our tempter
and, being only too conscious of our weakness, we lay down our
arms and turn our back before the battle has even begun. We
pretend that this is humility and a prudent distrust of self, but
it is not. It is self-love and presumption, which attributes
success to our courage, instead of expecting it from God alone. In
our blindness, we do not reflect that God's time for helping us is
when the testing comes. Before that, it would be useless and
dangerous to deem ourselves strong, as St. Peter did. But when the
moment arrives, God will help us, and will do so the more, the
more we put our trust in Him.

And why should we fear temptations? Do we not know that they are
necessary for us, since without them we can make no progress in
the way of perfection? Of course they are necessary to strengthen
us in the very virtues which they assail. We will never reach a
high degree of purity, faith, hope, or love for God or our
neighbour, unless we are strongly exercised in these virtues. Our
Lord taught that it is the storm that proves the stability of a
house; [90] that if the house be built on a rock, far from being
overthrown, it will be all the stronger. The temptations by which
the devil seeks to rob us of our virtues, render those virtues all
the dearer to us. We make greater efforts to retain them, and
quicken and multiply our prayers that God may be pleased to
preserve us from their loss.

Temptations, moreover, are necessary in order that we may know
ourselves as we really are. What doth he know that hath not been
tried, says the son of Sirach. [91] We must have faced the enemy,
and that more than once; have experienced the force of his
stratagems and of his onslaughts; have been tempted again and
again to give in, before we can appreciate that we can do nothing
without God, and all things with Him. [92] Before the battle, we
are either cowardly or presumptuous; it is only in the thick of it
that we learn really to know ourselves. Should we be overcome,
defeat brings with it humility. If, despite all resistance and
foresight, we feel ourselves on the point of giving in, we realize
better the greater need to call upon God for help. If, just when
we think we are irrevocably lost, God suddenly delivers us from
our peril, the very risk we have run forces us to realize that it
is to Him we owe the victory.

Temptations are necessary in order that we may learn not to trust
in our own strength. When the violence of the temptation is
extreme; when our strength is exhausted through long resistance;
when we see no way of escape and nothing seems left to us but to
surrender: then, seeing no hope in ourselves and having no further
defence, we must needs throw ourselves into the arms of God. This
is just the moment God has been waiting for, and never more than
now shall we receive His help. He has forced the issue, precisely
to show us that He alone can save us from destruction, even though
it seems inevitable. He loves to bring us back from the very gates
of death. The Lord killeth and maketh alive, it is written, He
bringeth down to hell, and bringeth back again. [93]

Finally, temptations are necessary to bring us into closer union
with God. When do we call upon Him with greater fervour than when
'our feet are almost gone, and our steps have well-nigh slipped'?
When do we hide in His bosom, if not when the enemy threatens to
deprive us of the life of grace? When all seems well, we forget to
think about God. It is only when temptation recalls us to Him that
we cling to Him, and will not let Him go.

As for those whom God has destined for the guidance of others,
temptations are essential for them, since there is no better
teacher than experience. They are able to feel more compassion for
those who are tempted, and are more patient with them. They
understand the tactics of the devil, they dread neither his
deceits nor his open attacks. They know with what weapons to
oppose him, and how to prevent and frustrate his plans. They are
in a position to encourage others, and to give them salutary
advice. A director who has not passed through similar trials has
not the same advantage. He is timid, hesitating, uncertain how to
decide. He bewilders those who apply to him or, what is worse, he
misunderstands their state, judges them culpable and treats them
harshly; he repels them, and drives them almost to despair.

You fear temptations? But God is faithful, Who will not suffer you
to be tempted above that which you are able; but will make also
with temptation issue, that you may be able to bear it. [94] Let
us ponder a moment on these words of St. Paul.

God is faithful. That is to say, He always does what He promises.
He wills that the love of His children should be put to the test,
and so allows the devil to tempt them. At the same time, He has
promised to come to our aid. And what can all the efforts of hell
avail if God is with us? [95] If we turn to Him with confidence in
our hour of need, and do not abandon Him He will never abandon us.
The devil wants to harm us and turn us away from God; God's
intention is to strengthen us, and make us advance in virtue, by
the very things in which we are tempted. The devil can do nothing
of himself, and can only tempt us with God's permission and within
its limits. Moreover, as St. Paul reminds us, God will not allow
us to be tempted beyond our strength. His justice, His
faithfulness, His lovingkindness are all opposed to such a thing.
Therefore, before allowing us to be tempted, He waits until we
have attained a certain degree of strength. He does not bring us
face to face with the enemy right at the beginning of our course,
while our efforts are still weak and hesitating, and the least
rebuff might be too much for us. He prepares us from afar for the
combat; He forms and inures us before confronting us with the
enemy.

Besides this, He gives us the help we need at the time: He is at
our side. Not only does He inspire us with courage, but He fights
with us. The grace He gives us then is always sufficient to assure
us the victory, and even make us always superior to the enemy,
unless, by our presumption or want of trust, by our negligence or
infidelity, we are ourselves the cause that it becomes a
sufficient help and no more, with which God foresees that we shall
fall.

For God is always faithful. And even when we refuse the special
grace of which we have shown ourselves unworthy and with which we
would have been victorious, He gives us an ordinary grace, but one
strong enough to save us from a fall, although in fact it does not
do so through our own fault.

When, therefore, we are faithful on our part; when we have not
done anything to deprive ourselves of His special help, God will
always see to it that the temptation serves for our advance, the
struggle being followed by victory. This is what God wants, and He
will, on His side, do all that is necessary to assure our victory,
provided we place no obstacle in His way.

Let me add that the goodness of God is so great, as well as His
power, that He wills to, and can, make our very reverses turn to
our spiritual advantage, if we turn to Him with a sincere and
loving repentance, to which He invites us with the strongest
advances and the most pressing motives. Thus even the falls of
David and St. Peter, being turned to good account, contributed to
their sanctification.

Why then, need you fear temptations, if your trust in God is all
that it should be? You complain that these temptations beset you
during your time of prayer and at Holy Communion; that the devil
chooses precisely these times to attack you. Say rather, that God
permits you to be tempted just when you are best prepared to
resist evil; when your immediate intention is to unite yourself to
Him; when Jesus present in your heart will Himself repel the
assaults of the devil.

But, you say, this deprives me of peace in prayer. Very probably
your soul may then be agitated and troubled on the surface, but it
depends on yourself whether its depths are calm. It is not in the
devil's power to touch the depths of the soul, which is the true
seat of peace. You may lose the sense of calm, but that does you
no harm. It is for you to hold on to the reality.

But, again you will say, it keeps me from going to communion. Why
should it? You have only a more pressing reason for going. The
devil insinuates the feeling which would keep you away, only
because he knows what strength you obtain from it, and how certain
is his defeat if you meet him in that strength. Indeed, the most
violent temptations subside and fade away the moment we receive
the adorable Body of Christ. I do not know that it ever happened
that immediately after receiving Holy Communion anyone, no matter
how tormented by the most frightful thoughts beforehand, did not
find himself relieved from them

Again you say: the devil suggests images, thoughts; desires, that
fill my mind with horror. So much the better, if his suggestions
do fill your mind with horror, for then it is a manifest proof
that you reject them, and that God rejects them in you. Do you not
recall that Our Lord said: From the heart come forth evil
thoughts? [96] That means that our thoughts are only evil when the
heart conceives, encourages and takes pleasure in them. How, then,
can your thoughts be evil when your heart abhors them? Sin lies,
not in having an object present to the mind or impressed upon it,
but in the consent given by the will; and nothing is more opposed
to this consent than such a state of mind as yours.

'But I seem to have no strength whatever to resist such
temptations'. Since they fill you with horror, and you would
rather die than take the least pleasure in them, you do resist,
and that with all the strength of your will. You may not realize
it, but your will is in spite of everything, most active. Judge
for yourself by the result. God has reasons for not letting you
know that you are resisting, as you are in fact doing, because He
does not want you to attribute the victory to your own efforts,
and grow vain and self-complacent on the strength of it. He does
not want you to say: 'I was tempted, and I resisted' but 'it was
not I who fought, but God, Who fought and gained the victory for
me'. Are you not glad that the honour should be given where it is
due, and that God has placed you in the happy position of being
unable to deny it?

'Yet it seems to me that I have given my consent'. On what
grounds? 'Because the temptation lasted so long'. That is not a
reason. It merely proves that it was a long testing time for you.
Or is it because you thought you took pleasure in it? There is
such a thing as involuntary pleasure, an impression on the senses,
which is the natural effect of certain temptations. A heated
imagination may be the cause, or it may be the devil. But the
pleasure felt and the impression made are not the same thing as
consent. However, decide nothing on your own. You are in no state
to make any decision while you are disturbed. And once the
temptation has passed, do not think about it any more. It is very
dangerous to go over the whole thing again, and masters ofthe
spiritual life are unanimous in forbidding it. Refer the matter to
your confessor, and once he has given a general decision, and if
necessary repeated it, be perfectly at peace.

The Christian's arms against the devil are watchfulness and
prayer. Watch ye, and pray that ye enter not into temptation. [97]
Our Lord does not say: in order that you may be kept from
temptation, but in order that it may not enter your heart, and
that you may not succumb to it. Vigilance is necessary against an
enemy who is as clever as he is violent; who, as a roaring lion
goeth about seeking whom he may devour. [98] Vigilance is
necessary for everyone, no matter how holy. Anyone not on his
guard, therefore, is for that very reason in danger from
temptation, and the danger is greater for a good man who presumes
on his strength than for a sinner who dreads the consequences of
his weakness. Remember Our Lord's words when He recommended
vigilance to the apostles: What I say to you, I say to all: Watch!
[99] Vigilance is necessary always. The enemy is ever lying in
ambush, and never sleeps. He awaits the moment to take us off our
guard, and he is as quick to do so as he is clever to know the
moment.

This vigilance consists in the first place in avoiding occasions
of temptation. One must never wilfully expose oneself to
temptation, under any pretext whatsoever. In ancient times, the
bishops were not at all anxious for Christians to expose
themselves to martyrdom, nor even to declare themselves without
necessity.

Several were known to have renounced their faith when under
torment, having thus declared themselves through an indiscreet
zeal. If, therefore, holy prudence did not allow them to seek
martyrdom, even more so were even the most holy among them
forbidden to venture on any deed fraught with peril, without being
assured that it was God's will. And even when it was clearly God's
will, they had to place all their trust in Him, so that the fear
of danger might not weaken their resolution.

In the second place, vigilance consists in a humble distrust of
oneself. The Lord is the keeper of the little ones, says David: I
was humbled and He delivered me. [100] He who is lowly in his own
eyes, and relies on God alone, will as surely not fail, as he who
trusts in his own strength is bound to be discomfited. To the
latter, even victory would be harmful, because of the presumption
to which it would give rise, and it might even lead eventually to
an irretrievable fall. No man shall prevail by his own strength,
we read in the Book of Kings. [101] If God, then, is our strength,
equally must our trust be in Him.

But do not confound, as many do, mistrust of self with faint-
heartedness. A faint-hearted man looks only at himself and,
comparing his danger with his weakness, turns his back on it, when
what he should do is to face it. The true Christian distrust of
self, while being aware of its own frailty, looks to God for its
strength, and when God calls it to battle fears naught. Indeed, on
the contrary, the more it feels its own incapacity for resisting,
the more certain is it that the divinestrength will sustain it.
When I am weak, says the apostle, then am I powerful. [102] And
again: I can do all things in Him Who strengtheneth me. [103]

Vigilance consists, moreover, in a constant fidelity. Never give
up the practice of interior prayer and mortification. Follow
exactly the guidance God has given you in this matter, even in the
smallest things. Observe in every particular the rule laid down
for you, or that you have embraced. Allow yourself no wilful
breach of it, and the devil will have no power over you. His very
assaults will turn to his own confusion.

Above all, try always to remain calm in time of temptation. Do not
let your mind dwell on what is passing within you, and never argue
with the devil. You will only be entangled with your own thoughts
if you do, and you will be caught in his snares. Keep close to God
and let the storm pass. Your anxiety and arguing will only
increase the tempest and make it last longer. And when it has
passed, quietly continue on your way, without scrutinizing
yourself to see if you have taken any pleasure in it, or given
your consent.

To vigilance Our Lord would have you join prayer; and both must be
continuous. We ought always to pray and not to faint, says St.
Luke. [104] This continual prayer is, as has been said elsewhere,
but the directing of the heart towards God, and the heart's secret
cry for help. The devil cannot harm a soul thus disposed, and ever
shielded by the buckler of prayer.

Besides the general attitude of prayer, however, which should be
the soul's habitual state, it is a good practice, in times of
temptation, to take refuge if possible in your oratory, or in the
presence of the Blessed Sacrament. If that is not possible, then
at least have recourse to ejaculatory prayers, which are as so
many arrows wherewith to wound the foe. And let these prayers be
calm and submissive, and full of trust. Do not ask impatiently for
the temptation to pass, for such a request may come from self-
love. You are humiliated at being subjected to such horrible
thoughts, and you would like to shake off the feeling. But
humiliation is one of the best effects of temptations, and that is
why God permits them. Yield yourself up wholly, therefore, to God,
and bear with the temptations as long as God wants you to. He
alone knows what good is wrought by them. He has a fixed time for
relieving you of them, and that will take place as soon as you
have profited by them as fully as it is His will that you should.
Three times St. Paul asked to be delivered from an annoying
temptation, which God permitted in order that he might not fall
into the sin of vainglory, because of the greatness of the
revelations given him. And what was Our Lord's answer? My grace is
sufficient for thee; for power is thus made perfect in infirmity.
[105]

For temptations are the counterpoise of graces received, and our
graces are always in exact proportion to our temptations.2 We
delight in graces that raise us up, and we fear temptations that
humiliate us. But such humiliation is itself a grace, indeed a
greater grace than that which we previously enjoyed, for it
shields us against those dangers to which we might otherwise be
exposed. That is why God allows us to be tempted, and His infinite
power is all the more apparent by reason of our weakness.

Now however horrible and humiliating our temptations, we must
never hide them from our spiritual guide. We must open our heart
to him, and keep nothing back. God will bless such frankness,
which is in itself a great act of humility to which many graces
are attached. It will also inspire the director to strengthen and
encourage us as he sees fit. The devil will do all he can to
silence those he tempts, confident that he will succeed if only he
can persuade them to say nothing about the matter.

Be faithful, then, and from your guide you will receive peace and
light and strength. His decisions will calm you, his counsels
bring you light, and his exhortations give you fresh courage.
Having explained your case to him in all simplicity, abide by his
advice with complete confidence. Do not allow yourself to judge
otherwise than he has decided, not even in thought. Do not say: I
did not make my case clear; or, he did not understand me. There is
no end to that kind of argument. Acquiesce and submit. Moreover,
be strictly faithful in observing all he tells you, whether it be
to help you to avoid temptations, or to weaken or overcome them
altogether.

SEVENTEENTH MAXIM : SELF-LOVE

Beware of self-love, the rival of the love of God

NOTHING indicates better the nature of self-love, or should make
it more hateful to us, than the idea that it is the rival of the
love of God. Homines sunt voluntates, says St. Augustine: men are
their wills. We can bestow our whole love on but one only of two
objects: God or self. If we put God first and refer all things to
Him, then His love will make us good and pleasing in His sight,
imparting a supernatural value to all our actions, and perfecting
us as we grow in purity and simplicity. If, on the other hand, we
refer everything to ourselves, our self-love will upset God's
order in us, rendering us most displeasing to Him, vitiating
actions otherwise holy, and lowering us in proportion to the sway
it exercises in our hearts.

These two loves are entirely opposed to one another. They are not
only rivals but enemies, disputing the possession of our heart. No
compact or truce is possible between them; they hate one another,
attack and persecute each other to the death. The total extinction
of self-love, either in this world or in the next, opens heaven to
us and ensures our eternal happiness; whilst the extinction of the
love of God in our heart, when we pass out of this life, is hell
and constitutes our eternal misery.

When a Christian really gives himself to God and to His service,
divine love takes possession of his heart, sets up its throne
therein and at once proceeds to drive out self-love, the latter
resisting with all its strength Attacked and driven from one place
to another, it takes refuge wherever it can, retreating from hold
to hold until it hides in the innermost recesses of the soul. This
is its last refuge, from which it is extremely difficult to
dislodge it. There is no device by which it does not endeavour to
harm and weaken its assailant, and to lessen, if it cannot
prevent, its ultimate victory. It is always dangerous, even after
defeat; and often, when we think we have crushed it, it will arise
more formidable than ever.

Such is the enemy we have to fight, with the help of grace: an
enemy born with us, and in some way part of our very self. Age,
passions, habits, thoughts--all, even our good qualities and
occasionally our virtues, contribute to strengthen its hold upon
us, and drive it deeper. It is so involved with ourselves that it
seems almost impossible to distinguish it, and to attempt to
destroy it is to jeopardize our very existence.

How powerless we are in the presence of an enemy so much a part of
ourselves, and that has such power over us. What is worse is that
it blinds us, and deprives us of the very means of recognizing it.
It is only in the light of grace that we can discern it, and
become aware of its wiles. That light alone enables us to foresee
its blows, teaches us how to ward them off, and strengthens us to
do battle with it. If we pay no heed to this light, or lose it
through our own fault, we are left wholly defenceless, unable not
only to conquer but even to resist; unable to see our enemy or to
regard him as such. Indeed, we are so deceived as to look upon him
as our greatest friend.

This wretched blindness is common to all men, even to the devout.
It is the more baneful since it is unperceived and unsuspected.
This is so much the case, that we have the greatest difficulty in
convincing ourselves of its existence and presence. We are all
more or less in the condition of the Pharisees who, with regard to
Our Lord, were blinded by arrogant self-love, and yet fancied
themselves clear-sighted. Our Lord told them: You say that you
see, and therefore your sin remaineth. [106] By their wilfulness
they filled up the measure of the iniquity which they should have
abhored.

We may assume as a fact, without fear of contradiction, that we
are blind on many points concerning our perfection, and perhaps
our salvation. We should pray continuously for God to enlighten
us, either directly by His Holy Spirit, or indirectly by the
advice of our friends or by the reproaches of our enemies. In
whatever way light may come, it is always a blessing sent by God,
and we should welcome and receive it gratefully, encouraging
others to offer it, and neglecting nothing that may lead us to
profit by it. This is a disposition that we can never pray for
enough, and one to which most of our natural tendencies are
opposed. We must be on our guard, I will not say against flattery
(I presume our director or spiritual friends would hardly be
guilty of such a thing), but even against marks of consideration
and respect, especially if our rank, age or temperament would seem
to warrant them. We should take it for granted that our faults are
glossed over or made light of, out of discretion or kindness; that
if we are praised, it is not for the good we do, but in order to
encourage us to do better. If we are blamed, we may well add to
the faults others find in us; and if we are praised, we should at
least discredit much of the praise. It is only in this way that we
shall keep a check on ourselves, and on the deadly enemy within
us.

But now let us examine a little more closely the various devices
that self-love employs in order to corrupt or lessen true
devotion. Its subtlest aim is to appropriate to itself the work of
grace; to rob God of the glory of our good actions, or at least to
claim some share in them, and deprive us of the merit which
derives from humility. 'Beware of me as of a big thief' St. Philip
Neri used to say to Our Lord. Self-love is jealous of God's
claims, and will do anything to rob Him of them. These claims are
concerned for the glory that belongs to Him alone, and which He
can concede to no one. He allows us the use of His gifts, but the
glory must revert to Him in its entirety. And it is just this
glory that self-love covets. Self-love wants us to glory in
ourselves, against the express command of the apostle: He that
glorieth, let him glory in the Lord. [107]

But thinking to enrich us at the expense of God, in actual fact
self-love does the very opposite. For there is no merit, no
reward, no blessing, save for those who, recognizing their
spiritual poverty, attribute nothing and appropriate nothing to
themselves, but give thanks to God for all the good that is in
them, referring it all to Him Who gave it. God is jealous, and the
chief effect of His jealousy is that, as every good gift proceeds
from Him, so it is His will that man should render Him homage for
it, and acknowledge that he holds all from the hand of God. And,
indeed, it is only right that a pauper who owes everything to God
should never forget that he is poor by nature, and possesses
nothing that has not come to him through the liberality of his
benefactor. If he becomes proud, and asserts that he has a right
to everything, then he deserves to lose all.

Self-love is mercenary. In the service of God, it looks to its own
interests without rising to higher considerations. A soul tainted
with this poison, desires holiness as an embellishing ornament and
a distinguishing perfection. It desires to be pure, but only in
order to contemplate its own purity. It fears sin, less as an
offence against God than as a disfigurement of the brilliancy of
its own beauty. It is more astonished than abashed by its faults,
scarcely conceiving how it was possible for it to fall. Its
repentance savours more of vexation than of regret, and what it
believes to be an act of contrition and love of God is merely an
act of inordinate self-love.

Self-love is greedy for consolations. It seeks them from God and
from men. It enjoys them with clinging eagerness, regrets them
bitterly when deprived of them, and if the privation lasts too
long for its fancy relaxes its fidelity, complains and murmurs and
threatens to give up altogether, as if God merited to be served
only for His gifts. And all the time, it is clever enough to
persuade us that we are generous, disinterested and actuated by
the purest love of God.

Self-love is vain and presumptuous in times of spiritual abundance
and prosperity. At such times, it presumes on its strength and
thinks itself capable of anything. It makes much of its promises
and protestations to God, in spite of the fact that they all end
in empty words, which it produces as solid proofs of its devotion!
But let want and adversity come, and immediately it is cast down
and in despair, and incapable of the slightest effort. Before the
combat, it is valiant enough; it defies its enemies and overcomes
them, but all in its own fancy. When actually engaged in battle,
it is timid and trembles, and flees at the first appearance of
danger.

It loves the sort of holiness that is quiet and comfortable, easy-
going and involving suffering to neither mind nor body, and where
there are few obstacles to overcome: the kind of holiness that can
be acquired quickly and at little cost or for the mere wishing.
(St. Francis of Sales used to liken it to a cloak which one slips
on lightly). But this is all only a dream. Selflove would like to
be holy, but will do nothing to become so. It is soft, indolent,
lazy, full of indeterminate desires, impatient, put off by the
least difficulty, weary and exhausted at the slightest effort. Do
not talk to it about climbing steep ascents: the path it likes is
an easy gradient. So long as there is no real effort to be made,
all is well; but if the struggle calls for the least contradiction
to a favourite tendency, the overcoming of a repugnance, the
resisting of a temptation, it loses courage, stops short and turns
back.

Self-love will have nothing to do with virtue which is humble,
hidden and unnoticed by others; still less, when it is despised,
calumniated and persecuted. Good deeds done in secret and with no
sounding of trumpets are not to its liking. It loves to appear in
full daylight. It seeks display, recognition, esteem and applause,
which it obtains craftily, invites deprecatingly, receives
hypocritically, and enjoys immensely, all the time pretending to
reject these things, knowing very well that if the world refuses
them, it will make up for it itself in secret.

It hates simplicity and ordinary everyday life. It affects
singularity, and defines sanctity not as the faithful performance
of one's normal duties but as something out of the ordinary. There
is nothing regular, sustained or constant in its habits; all is
fanciful, capricious and inconsequent. It is always wanting to
make sure that it has done well, that its conduct is approved by
God, and still more by the director. Hence arise ever repeated
introspections, restless and scrupulous testings of motives and
intentions, an unceasing exaction of approbation, from one's own
conscience, from God in prayer, and from the director in the
confessional and elsewhere. All this, so it asserts, in order to
gain firmness, support and encouragement: a vain pretext! It is
all done with the purpose of finding occasion for self-
gratulation, food for vanity, or at least an assurance of progress
made, and the comfort of some light on the weary darkness of a way
which provides no visible support.

Self-love is ever occupied with making comparisons. It exults in
superiority, is vexed and annoyed if forced to yield to others. It
censures everybody's conduct except its own. Its own way of prayer
must be the best. Or else it envies souls which it supposes to be
more advanced and more favoured by God. It notes the faults in
others, criticizes their actions, judges and condemns motives, and
is always whispering to itself 'I would not have acted thus; I
would not have spoken thus in the same circumstances!' Its most
terrible characteristic is the spiritual jealousy which gnaws and
tortures it. Persons thus affected think that their director never
pays them sufficient attention. They regard themselves as
neglected, while every notice is lavished on others. They watch to
see how often the director speaks to them, how often he writes to
them, visits them, how long he stays with them. There is no end to
their complaints on this score, and if they receive, or think they
receive, no satisfaction, their irritation knows no bounds. They
even extend the effects of their miserable jealousy to God
Himself, sometimes accusing Him of treating others better than He
treats them. They proclaim their innocence, how commendable their
conduct is and their austerities, and, like the prodigal son's
elder brother in the Gospel, reproach the Father for having shown
favour to those who have not served Him half so faithfully as they
have done.

Self-love accustoms the soul to claim as its own those gifts and
graces with which God endows it, telling the soul that it has a
right to them. And so when God appears to withdraw them, it
becomes most impatient and does all it can to hold on to them. But
God does not really despoil the soul of these gifts; He always
leaves in the soul the roots of virtue (but in such wise that the
soul is no longer aware of them), in order that it may cease to
look upon them as its own. To this end He allows temptations
contrary to these virtues, feelings of distaste and strong
repugnance in exercising them, upheavals of passion in one's lower
nature. To these the soul does not really consent, although it may
think it does. For God withdraws all power of selfappreciation,
even the recognition of such acts as are really virtuous.

Lastly, self-love robs God of His right to be the soul's centre, a
right which it would take to itself. This appropriation is a deep-
seated and radical vice, which has become so much a part of man's
nature that he has great difficulty in recognizing it, in
appreciating its mischievous character, and in consenting that God
should deliver him from it. However advanced a soul may be, it
could never give up this secret reference to self, which leads it
to consider both its perfection and its happiness from a selfish
point of view and not subordinate (as it should be) to the will
and glory of God: it would never make this renunciation, I say, if
God, in order to force its consent, did not exercise that absolute
control which the soul has given Him over its free-will. That is
self-love's last stronghold, and its deepest hiding place. It is
of this that St. Francis of Sales said that we are fortunate if
this vice dies a quarter of an hour before we do.

Self-love is the one source of all the illusions of the spiritual
life. By its means the devil exercises his deceits, leads souls
astray, drags them sometimes to hell by the very road that seems
to lead them to heaven. We long eagerly for spiritual delights;
the devil provides false ones, which encourage vanity and
sensuality. We desire ardently extraordinary favours; the devil
transforms himself into a angel of light, and counterfeits the
divine operations. We question God, curious to find out our own
state and that of others, and about secret and future events; the
devil causes us to hear an inward voice, which we take for an
answer from heaven. We fancy ourselves recipients of special
lights, and grow wilful, obstinate and deaf to good advice. We
throw off the yoke of authority, and under the deceitful guise of
sanctity conceal the pride of Lucifer.

I have only stated the abuses and disorders introduced by self-
love into devotion. I shall not enter into the specious reasonings
with which self-love skilfully conceals itself. It is much too
wary to appear in its true colours, for then it would be
manifestly too despicable and odious, and one would be ashamed to
pay any attention to it. It assumes the fairest of hues, and the
most seductive disguises. Its motive is always zeal for God's
glory, its aim the perfection of one's own soul, or the spiritual
welfare of others. Its real purpose lies hidden in the depths of
the heart. It professes other objects which are good and holy, and
by adroitly intermingling them is able to pass them off on us.

The remedy for so great an evil is to become, in our devotion,
attached to nothing that appeals to the senses, but to rise above
all things and cleave to God alone and His good pleasure. We are
always safe, provided we look at things from God's point of view,
not ours. That is why the way of pure faith wherein we walk, as it
were, blindly and without anything to reassure us, shields us from
all illusions. That also is why God hides His work from us so
carefully, and forbids us to pry into it. Self-love would like to
have a finger in it all, to see everything, so that it can find
something to feed on. So God, for the very opposite reason, hides
all He is doing from it.

Cease, then, from all disquieting reflections on yourself, and
never examine yourself from motives of curiosity, complacency or
self-interest. Forget yourself and rest wholly in God, and
endeavour to put into practice what Our Lord said one day to St.
Catherine of Siena: My daughter, think of Me, and I will think of
you: a short phrase but a profound one, in which is comprised all
perfection. In other words, God will concern Himself with our true
interests, if we will occupy ourselves with His. Oh how pure and
happy that soul would be if, taking no thought for itself and lost
in God, it had no other object than His glory and the
accomplishment of His will. All the faults that we commit in the
interior life, all that retards our progress, the obstacles we
meet, all the anxiety, the torments that try us, derive from the
fact that we look at ourselves instead of looking at God, and
trusting in all things in His goodness, His wisdom and His love.

I am aware that perfect forgetfulness of self is only to be
attained by slow degrees. But it must be our continual aim and we
must exercise ourselves in acts of that virtue at every
opportunity. Such opportunities are not rare, since we have
ourselves with us always. 'Wherever you find yourself, there leave
yourself' says the Imitation. The practical application of this
precept is almost limitless. It is very grievous to self-love, and
therefore most profitable to the soul. It embraces everything, and
excepts nothing. 'Wherever you find yourself' it says. Measure
your progress, therefore, by your fidelity to this rule; or,
better still, if you can, be faithful to it without consciously
reverting to it.

'Love to be unknown and esteemed as nothing' is another excellent
counsel from the same source. Selflove dreads nothing so much as
being unnoticed. It loves to be seen, to be known and to be
thought well of. Do not allege your duty to God and men: be
content to remain hidden. God will know how to find you and use
you, when it is necessary for His glory and for the salvation of
souls. As far as you are free to choose, avoid such positions as
are likely to induce publicity and bring you to the notice of
others. Then any notice will not harm you, since you are exposed
to it in spite of yourself. God will make use of you, even if it
means your being noticed, when you no longer run any risk, and a
reputation for sanctity will not be a danger for you.

Be glad that God should appear to treat you as unknown to Him, and
as of no account. Rejoice when you see others receive His
consolations and favours, and you yourself only knocks and
loneliness. After all, what are you: what do you deserve? And what
ought you to want other than that God should deal justly with you
in this world by treating you as a sinner--in fact as nothing at
all!

Finally: know well that you will advance only in the measure in
which you do violence to yourself. Allow no quarter, no arguing
with self-love. He is a criminal, and you must hound him to death,
imploring his destruction at the hands of God. 'Burn me, prune me
here below' cried St. Augustine, 'if only Thou grant me mercy in
eternity'. This seems terrible and frightening to nature, but in
practice, it is not so bad as wethink; and it is the only way to
peace and happiness. The more self-love is brought under control,
the greater will be our freedom, our independence and serenity.

Let us go boldly to battle, then, against this enemy of our peace
and sanctity. Let us carry our attacks to the bitter end, asking
of God as a great grace that He will Himself strike the final
blow. We can do a great deal to hasten the end, but only God can
achieve complete victory.

EIGHTEENTH MAXIM : A RETIRED LIFE

Stay quietly at home: regulate your day, and waste no time

LOVE of retirement and solitude disposes the soul in a special
manner for the practice of the interior life. I will lead her into
the wilderness, and speak to her heart. [108] When a man is alone
with his own soul, undisturbed by the excitement of external
things, his thoughts, unless he is beset by some violent passion,
will naturally turn first to himself and then lead him back to
God.

I do not mean that persons living in the world should lead a life
of retirement such as is practised in convents and hermitages.
Living at home, going out merely as duty requires, is living in
retirement. Having no dealings with the world but such as are
required by necessity or charity, is living in solitude. He who
loves to be alone with God and, amid the turmoil of business,
longs for the time when he may hold free converse with Him, has
already, or soon will have, entered upon the interior way.

Take advantage, then, of all the leisure your affairs allow you,
and reserve some part of every day for the consideration of
eternal things. These are most precious moments which, if rightly
used, will enable you to sanctify the remainder of your day.
Another excellent practice, which draws down many graces is to put
aside a week every year as a time of retreat, preferably in a
religious house, spent in undisturbed meditation on the truths
pertaining to salvation, in a serious examination of the state of
your soul, and in a thorough and earnest preparation for the
future.

Silence is one of the first-fruits of such a retreat. It is the
friend of recollection and prayer, and cannot be too highly
recommended. The interior spirit reigns, or soon will do, in
religious houses where silence is studiously observed. Fidelity to
that rule is the safeguard of all the rest; laxity and even
disorder inevitably follow its neglect.

In the world, it is not so easy to have fixed times for silence,
because occasions for speaking present themselves when least
expected. But we observe the spirit of silence when we speak only
when necessity demands, and to the point. When, in the presence of
others, without affecting an ill-timed taciturnity, we prefer to
listen rather than to speak; and when we have to talk keep our
conversation within bounds, and observe such reticence as the Holy
Spirit suggests. This reticence was one of the marks by which,
according to the prophet Isaias, Our Lord was to be known. He
shall not cry, nor have respect to person: neither shall his voice
be heard abroad. [109] Even among devout persons, those who lead
an interior life are easily recognized by this same sign. Their
conversation is not less natural for that; actually it is more
agreeable and interesting, and, though tempered by a certain
reserve, is neither dull, cold nor constrained.

When the soul is in its first religious fervour it needs no
exhortation to solitude and silence: it is naturally inclined to
seek them. The loss of spiritual delights is then too much
dreaded, the secret pleasure taken in them is too sweet to allow
any desire for distractions from without. Intercourse with worldly
persons is burdensome; it seems all a terrible void and is
shunned, perhaps too much so to meet the demands of one's
position, and those of Christian charity.

But there is a fault to which one is liable at this stage, and
that is the tendency to share indiscreetly our innermost thoughts
with those with whom we are intimate; to pour out our feelings too
freely when with them, telling them of our own happiness in the
hope of winning them to God. We feel unable to contain the grace
that fills us, and find comfort in sharing our secret with others.
But we would do better to keep it to ourselves, and mention these
things only to our confessor. The inner workings of grace are not
such as should be divulged. We should keep them hidden, and not
aim at being apostles when we are as yet but weak beginners.

When, however, the spring-time is past, and dryness has succeeded
to delight, there is reason to fear that we will give up our life
of retirement and seek consolation in created things. This natural
inclination must be resisted as a most dangerous temptation, which
exposes the rising structure of our perfection to imminent ruin.
Though we then no longer feel God's sensible presence, He is
present with us in a deeper and more ineffable way, which we can
easily lose if we are not extremely careful to preserve it. All
voluntary distractions aim a real blow at this genuine, if
unperceived, recollection. They leave impressions on the mind
which are revived when we are at prayer, all the more so since the
soul in times of dryness is empty of ideas and feelings. Prayer
thus becomes a continual distraction, which is culpable at least
in principle. And as already we have found contemplative prayer
difficult, since it seemed as though God had abandoned us, we soon
give it up, and with it, the interior life as well.

It is not enough, however, to stay quietly at home, keeping
silence: we must also arrange our time and distribute the duties
of the day, so that each duty has its appointed hour, and every
hour its duty. We shall thus avoid boredom, with the inevitable
temptations which follow in its train. The chief thing is to have
definite hours for rising and retiring, for on that all the rest
depends. Then we must distribute our devotional exercises during
the day--mental prayer, Holy Mass, reading, vocal prayer, visits
to the Blessed Sacrament-in such wise that some are spread over
the morning, others in the evening, and there is no time of the
day which is not given to God. Whatever time remains at our free
disposition will be devoted to work and the duties of our state.
It is as well to have our confessor's approval for all we do, but
once our time-table is approved, it should be adhered to strictly.

However, as God does not want us to be slaves except to His love
and holy will, which are above all external rules, and as any
number of unforeseen things may cause our routine to be upset, we
must adapt ourselves always to the dispositions of Divine
Providence, and not reproach ourselves with exceptions for which
we are not responsible. We are always faithful, if we are as
faithful as we are able to be. Exactness with regard to God lies
less in the fulfilling of the letter than in the disposition of
the will. To break the rules of charity, propriety and courtesy in
order to observe our rule of time, would be a want of fidelity to
God. True piety is in no wise opposed to the fulfilment of our
social duties. On the contrary, it sanctifies our relations with
our neighbour, even when these seem most trifling, and are only
dependent upon custom and politeness. We are not required to
renounce them; indeed, we are not even allowed to neglect them

Therefore, in the first place, we must so arrange our rule that we
may be able to observe it habitually, not overburdening it with
practices nor multiplying them excessively, so as to fetter the
spirit and enslave the soul. We must consider our health, our
position, occupations, and the persons on whom we depend, and to
whom we owe the greatest deference. Next, when interrupted, such
as by unforeseen business, letters or visits to be paid or
received, we must not scruple to forgo the devotional exercise
assigned to the time thus taken up, but resume it later on, if
possible. Nor must we make ourselves odious or ridiculous by
mistimed exactitude, nor show by our manner and bearing that we
are disturbed and have other things to do, but gracefully lend
ourselves not only to friends, but to troublesome and importunate
persons. God permits these little crosses in order to break our
will, give us a free and pliable spirit, like that of St. Francis
of Sales, and lead us to the practice of many virtues which we
would have no opportunity of practising, except under such
conditions.

Finally, in order to prevent all scruples, we should carefully
distinguish as to what does and does not depend upon ourselves;
what we are free to do, and what would annoy those whom we are
bound to consider. We must distinguish such practices as preserve
our liberty of spirit without in anyway straining our fidelity,
from such as encourage constraint, pettiness and an exaggerated
rigidity. If we are honest with ourselves and with God, we can
always readily decide whether we are to blame or not for having
omitted some particular devotion.

Such arrangement of one's day as I have suggested, I realize of
course can only be observed by those who are more or less masters
of their own time. Those who are not free to dispose of their day,
if they are truly desirous of advancing in virtue, will make use
of all their free moments, and carefully husband the time they may
call their own, in order to employ it in prayer and holy reading.
They must not complain, however, of the hardship of their
position, since it is in the order of Divine Providence, and will
in no way hinder their progress, if they are genuinely drawn to
the interior life. God Himself will more than make up to them for
their want of ordinary means, and it may be that their condition,
busy and hampered as it is, will tend more to their sanctification
than a state of greater leisure and independence. There are no
obstacles for those who are determined to love God. Everything
will become a means to loving Him, provided they have God's glory
always in view, and bless His loving bounty in all He sends.

There are many reasons why a Christian should thus regulate his
day, if he is able to do so. The first is that it is the bounden
duty of everyone to sanctify his actions. It is already a
beginning if we are able to arrange our day so that we may
reasonably presume it to be in accordance with God's will, and,
with that end in view, to do everything at the proper time, as
though God Himself were calling us to it.

Secondly, when our devotions are thus regulated, they are less
easily forgotten, and the sooner become habitual. The hour itself
reminds us of the duty attached to it, and very often calls for
some act of selfdenial, since we may have to lay aside what we are
doing in order to do what God is asking of us.

Again, we thus avoid idleness, a temptation to which those whose
time is at their disposal are always exposed. We are all naturally
inclined to indolence and laziness, and unless we have a clear and
definite object in view, are bound to be a prey to disquietude and
inconstancy in our thoughts. We commence any number of things and
finish none: in short, we do not know what to do with our time,
and often for want of occupation indulge in vain and even
dangerous amusements. But idleness has no fears for those whose
days are fully occupied. They are not left wondering what they
shall do next: every hour has its appointed task, and the various
duties which succeed one another do not allow the spirits to flag.

Finally, one is thereby relieved from boredom, which is
undoubtedly the scourge most to be feared, and the inevitable
portion of all who have no definite aim in life. It is to escape
the pursuit of so inexorable an enemy that worldly folk multiply
and vary indefinitely their pleasures. One would think that they
sought these pleasures for the satisfaction they find in them, but
it is not so. They simply use them as a remedy for their boredom,
but without the least success. They are constrained to flee from
it ceaselessly, but find it everywhere, and it is in vain that
they make the attempt. They will always find it, for boredom
pursues them relentlessly, following them wherever they take
refuge. The only way to put oneself out of the reach of this
torment of the so-called fortunate ones of this world is to lead a
serious and planned life, in which the mind has always something
definite to occupy it, and where the very variety of one's
occupations serves as a relaxation.

When thus protected from idleness and boredom, how many
temptations are prevented from entering the soul; how many
occasions of sin avoided . From there two sources (that is,
idleness and boredom) arise almost all the evils that beset
society. They make men evilly inclined and unhappy. Be always
occupied in conformity with the will of God and the duties of your
state, and neither the passions nor the devil will have any hold
over you, and you will be as virtuous and happy as it is possible
to be in this life.

What I have said refers to all Christians in general, according as
their circumstances permit. As to those who lead an interior life,
they are more inclined to regulate their time than others, and
they keep to their rules more faithfully. The spirit of God, in
Whom they live and by Whom they are led, allows them no indefinite
way of life, and demands a strict account of all their time. But
it is not to be expected that they will always follow the one
rule: they may have to vary it according to the stages through
which they are passing. Practices which were useful in the
beginning are not necessarily suitable later on. The spirit of God
sometimes forbids what at other times it demands. Exercises proper
to a retired life should occupy the early years; afterwards, God
may leave them more liberty to mix in external affairs for the
sake of others. There will be times when it will be necessary for
them to retire within themselves; at others, they will have to
yield to whatever draws them out of themselves, and helps them to
forget themselves. Thus, for example during times of great
distress, the director may wisely allow them such innocent
pleasures or amusements as will assist them, which at another he
would undoubtedly forbid. I say no more on this point, because I
am not writing for advanced souls, but for beginners.

NINETEENTH MAXIM : DISCRETION

Let charity and piety begin at home

NEGLECT of business and domestic duties under pretext of piety is
a fairly common fault. Devotees, especially of the female sex,
often fall into this error, and so give scandal even to sensible
and really religious people. Yet it is not piety that is to blame,
but rather their self-will which is followed instead of the spirit
of God.

Many have no sooner taken up the practices of religion than they
start neglecting their homes, their children, and those dependent
upon them. They spend the day going to church, in running after
popular preachers, attending every religious service and special
festival, and in undertaking all manner of good works. They are to
be found everywhere except at home, which they leave as early, and
return to as late, as possible.

Meanwhile, all is disorder in the household; everyone does as he
pleases in the absence of the mistress. Children are left to the
doubtful care of those who themselves want looking after; or they
are dragged about, especially if girls, from service to service,
until they are wearied out and disgusted, and soon begin to tire
of religion. The husband very rightly complains, but his word is
not heeded, and he is secretly accused of not being sufficiently
devout.

And thus it is, too, with many men. They are active, bustling
busybodies; meddling in everything under the pretext of serving
God; fancying that the Church depends on them. They concern
themselves with the affairs of others, and neglect their own. Even
some priests are not entirely exempt from these and similar
faults. They are zealous, but, as St. Paul says, not according to
knowledge. [110] They allow their natural activity full rein, and
because their ministry is spread over many objects insinuate
themselves into everything and imagine that all good works must
pass through their hands, otherwise they will not succeed. They
are for ever coming and going, and the day is not long enough for
all they have to do. They even borrow from the night, and leave
themselves barely time to say their office.

I am not saying this in a spirit of criticism: nothing is further
from my wish. But how can I do otherwise than lament over such an
evil as this, which is so harmful to the cause of religion? I am
not calling into question the intention: that I well believe to be
right and good. Nor do I blame the objects in view, which are also
good, since they concern the worship of God and the welfare of
men. But how can one rejoice to see the order of duty reversed,
and works of supererogation take precedence over duties of
obligation? Who can excuse that mistaken piety which looks merely
to externals, counts the inner spirit as nothing, and neglects
God's primary laws?

The spirit of the inner life follows quite another course, and
inspires ideas the very opposite of what I have been describing.
It teaches all who yield to its guidance that their first duty is
the sanctification of their own souls, and that Christian sanctity
consists primarily in the fulfilment of the duties of one's state.
These are indispensable. The very end of devotion is the obtaining
of such graces as are necessary for their fulfilment, and it can
never, therefore, be a reason for neglecting them. On the
contrary, true piety allows such time only for prayer as can
lawfully be spared from duties of obligation. In all religious
exercises not of strict obligation, it bids us accommodate
ourselves to the wishes and frailties of those whom we are bound
to consider, and, for the sake of peace, to sacrifice our own
tastes, be they never so pious.

The inward spirit also reminds us that we must only undertake good
works such as are left to our discretion, in so far as they do not
encroach on our spirit of recollection. Should they even begin to
make inroads thereon and dissipate us ever so little, we must
absolutely give them up, or put them off until another time when
we shall not run the same risk. In all such circumstances, it is
best not to act on our own but take sound advice before acting, or
wait until God sends the occasion. We must also be on our guard
against our natural activity and ardour, and all indiscreet zeal
which would have us take on far more than we can manage, so that
there remains no time for prayer, and for the duties of our state,
which are always the first of all good works.

The true interior spirit also teaches those who are charged with
the sacred ministry that the care of souls should be limited to
spiritual matters, and only extended to temporal things when
charity requires it of them, and then with much reserve and
circumspection, lest these should prove harmful to themselves or
lessen in the minds of others the reverence due to their sacred
office.

Such has ever been the mind of the Church from earliest times. The
apostles were the first to set an example in this matter by
appointing deacons to see to the needs of the poor, reserving to
themselves the duty of prayer and the ministry of the word. [111]
In whatever time remains over from the administration of the
sacraments, from preaching, the direction of souls, visiting the
sick and other similar duties, the primary duty of priests should
be prayer, the reading of sacred books and other studies proper to
their state. They ought to concern themselves in temporal affairs
only in so far as they are a matter of conscience, by pointing out
the rules which should be followed so as not to offend against
justice or charity, and to maintain or reestablish unity and
peace. In the matter of good works or works of mercy, they should,
if possible, confine themselves to directing affairs, committing
the carrying out of them to those well qualified to do so.
Otherwise, apart from losing time, they will lay themselves open
to complaints, murmurings, and sometimes unworthy suspicions. The
closer they live in intimate union with God, the better will they
serve the cause of religion and procure the salvation of souls,
the greater authority and consideration will they possess, and
their reputation will remain intact and their good name respected.

All this would be taught by the spirit of the interior life, if
men sought its guidance with a pure intention. Thus it taught St.
Ambrose, St. Augustine, St. John Chrysostom, St. Charles Borromeo,
St. Francis of Sales, and every other saint and doctor of the
Church throughout the ages, and those most zealous for the greater
glory of God and the good of souls.

TWENTIETH MAXIM : SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS

Be cordial and kind, gentle and lowly; considerate towards others,
severe upon yourself

WHAT a number of precepts, what a wealth of detail is contained in
this maxim.

To begin with, virtue is not virtue unless it is lovable: where it
is not, it is imperfect. And its imperfection is due to self-love
and self-esteem. When humility has dried up these two sources of
all our shortcomings and evil habits, then virtue reveals itself
in all its loveliness, and men cannot help but pay it homage, even
though they may not show it. For virtue causes us to render to
others the feelings we entertain for ourselves, so that what would
be unwarrantable self-love in our own case becomes praiseworthy
charity when directed towards others. It leads us to do to others
as we would be done by; to think and speak, and even suffer from
them, as we would have them act in our regard. Certainly no one
could refuse the tribute of his love for such a virtue when he
sees it in others, and all men would love one another if they were
virtuous.

True piety, therefore, will inspire in the true servant of God all
that will make him lovable, and its first sign is gentleness. If
he is austere, it is only towards himself, and even then only in
the measure of a holy discretion. Towards others, he is kind, easy
and accommodating, in so far as his conscience permits. Ifat times
he is obliged to be severe, charity is always the principle of his
severity. He is never forbidding or rude, but always approachable
and friendly. When we decide to live devoutly in the world, it
would be a mistake to break off all social intercourse and lead
too secluded a life, in order to give ourselves up wholly to pious
exercises. Because we have given ourselves to God, that does, mean
that we are to have no more friends (assuming, of course, that
such friendships are not dangerous or will not dissipate us in any
way). There is no need to deprive ourselves of the pleasure of
their society. Visits of courtesy--even those which would appear
to be purposeless and tiresome--need not be a burden to us. What
would the world think of a pious person who shut himself up in his
home and refused to see anybody; or, if he must see them,
presented a cold and forbidding countenance? By withdrawing thus
from all social intercourse, he would render piety odious, and
give the impression that it was most unreasonable. It would also
deprive him of many opportunities for practising virtue, and he
would contract the very faults and form a habit of mind which true
religion condemns.

Undoubtedly it is good to have a fixed time for one's religious
duties and, so far as possible, to discharge them faithfully. But
we should not multiply them to such an extent that they effect our
whole day, and leave us no time to give to our fellow creatures.
Besides, charity always knows how to adapt and even sacrifice
itself in the matter of devotions, in accordance with the
consideration it owes to others.

True piety, further, evinces much gentleness in the exercise of
authority, especially towards children and other dependents. It is
never rigid, unyielding and exacting. When it rebukes, it does so
without undue severity. It readily forgives, and does not search
for every tiny fault. Threats are never on its lips, nor
chastisement in its hand. Above all, it avoids outbursts of
impatience and temper, hard words and reproaches, all that
mortifies and hurts without helping to correct. It ever seeks to
make others good, but not in a harsh way, and it does not expect
perfection to be reached in a day. It waits patiently, and returns
again and again to the same point. It consoles, encourages, has a
good word for good will, and praises the smallest efforts in order
to induce greater.

But the especial fault which it is the object of true piety to
correct in us is irritability or moodiness. Everyone understands
the term, but it is not easy to define it. It is laid to the
charge of devout persons more than to any others. Mistaken piety
often gives occasions for its display. The cross humour to which I
allude does not arise from malice; it is not a failing of bad
people, but on the contrary of the frank and straightforward. But
it causes many heart-aches of which one is veritably ashamed when
the fit has passed, and it is intolerable in the presence of
others. Politeness teaches us to check it amongst strangers and
those we respect, but we are not so quick to repress it among
friends or at home. And those who give way to it are the first to
suffer from its effects.

Nothing is more difficult to extirpate than this moodiness,
because it is not excited for any particular reason, nor by any
recognized moral cause; it depends in great measure on physical
causes. What is more, it forestalls any kind of reflection on our
part, and its fits come on when least expected. What hold can the
will have on such a complaint, once middle-age has been reached? I
know of but one remedy and that is the practice of the presence of
God and of contemplative prayer. The first warns us of any
stirrings of bad temper and checks them; the second gradually
establishes the soul in a state of calm, keeps the imagination
within bounds, modifies sensitiveness, and puts to flight low
spirits, which are, I should say, the chief source of ill humour.

But the gentleness inspired by virtue must not be confused with
that mildness which is purely natural. Those who are meek by
nature are often weak, soft, indifferent, apathetic and unduly
indulgent. Those, on the contrary, whose gentleness is an acquired
virtue, are strong and firm. Their feelings run deep and are
affected equally by good and evil. They are indulgent when it is
advisable to be so, but never if it involves breaking the rules of
duty. Those who are naturally meek are afraid to reprove lest they
become excited and upset, while those who are virtuously gentle
reprove strongly and even vigorously, but always with
selfpossession. The former dissemble through timidity, the others
speak according to the promptings of charity. The former often run
the risk of failing in their duty on some point, the latter will
always fulfil their duty faithfully, without human respect. The
former spare others in order to spare themselves, the latter only
for God's greater glory, and as a duty of the highest order. As to
that gentleness which is merely scheming, it is a vice which all
agree in condemning.

Cordiality is another outcome of true piety. It was long ago
banished from ordinary social intercourse, and its place taken by
politeness, which resembles it externally, but dissimulates its
feelings, affecting those it does not possess and hiding those it
does. These demonstrations are received and paid back in the same
coin, but in reality no reliance is to be placed on them, and they
deceive no one with the least experience. The first lesson taught
by the world to its votaries is to appear candid, but never to be
cordial. And the word itself is almost as little used in modern-
day speech as the thing itself is rare in society. Polite
intercourse is reduced to vain and frequently contemptuous
compliments, to offers of service the acceptance of which would be
annoying, unmeaning promises easily to be evaded at the time of
fulfilment, assurances of good will which always end in
declarations of regret, and demonstrations of interest in other's
concerns that appear to be genuine but are in reality often cold
and completely false.

How different is this outward affectation from real Christian
cordiality. Charity never fails in the requirements of true
courtesy, but with them combines frankness and candour. It
expresses only what it feels, and that simply, unaffectedly and
persuasively. There is no evasion, no reticence, no affectation,
all comes from the heart. It is love that prompts speech,
discretion that holds it in check. Sweet and safe and satisfactory
are the relations with minds inspired by charity. The first
Christians, we are told, had but one heart and one soul, [112] for
they looked upon themselves as members of one body joined to one
Head.

This is the divine unity that Our Lord asked of His Father on the
night of His Passion. Father, He prayed, that they all may be one,
as Thou in Me and I in Thee; that they also may be one in Us; that
the world may believe that Thou hast sent Me. [113] By that sign
Our Lord wills that the divine origin of His religion should be
known. If only that unity reigned on earth, happiness would reign
likewise. It was Our Lord's mind that it should begin in this
world and be consummated eternally in heaven. But where is it
today? In the hearts of a very small number of Christians, far
fewer than is generally supposed. The hearts of the rest are
crossed by a thousand petty views of self-interest and
selfseeking, which, though they may not kill it, render charity
cold and constrained.

Kindliness adds to cordiality a certain disposition which takes
all in good part, puts the best construction on things, is not
quick to take offence, and is neither captious nor suspicious: a
quality not usually found among devout persons. These are so apt
to judge others severely, because they are able to recognize good
and evil, and have greater lights by which they discern these
things in others.

Another fault which is fairly common in such persons is that of
esteeming oneself better than everyone else. Self-esteem and
spiritual vanity are among the most dangerous snares which beset
anyone new to the interior life. No sooner have we given ourselves
to God and think we perceive a noticeable improvement in our
behaviour, than we begin to make comparisons. How superior we are
and, thank God, how free from the defects we notice in others! And
so it goes on, and before we know where we are, we repeat the
words of the Pharisee in the Gospel: O God, I give Thee thanks
that I am not as the rest of men. [114]

These feelings are generally enhanced if one has felt a certain
sensible sweetness at communion. If emotion has wrung from us a
few tears, at once the soul fancies that it is lifted up right
above this world and given eagles' wings for the loftiest of
flights. This is a subtle temptation which it is difficult
altogether to avoid, unless God gives a helping hand or withdraws
His misused consolations. Spiritual pride is unquestionably more
to be feared than any other, since its objects are so much more
excellent. Wherefore, God allows those who yield to it to be
visited with still greater blindness, and its victims are exposed
to the danger of their eternal loss.

Those directors who have not the spirit of God are equally apt to
presume on their gifts, and fancy themselves more enlightened than
others. They persuade themselves that they have a special gift for
the guidance of souls, and that others know nothing about it. They
are proud of the number and quality of their penitents, and use
secret devices to increase their number. If they are not
continually boasting of their own powers, that work is done for
them by other lips. They express pity for those who apply to other
priests and imply that it is a matter for regret that persons so
well disposed should not have fallen into better hands. Their
first business, therefore, when someone submits to their
direction, is to destroy the work that has been done by others and
to suggest new methods, insisting that their penitents should
adopt an altogether different way of life. Directors of this kind
have an intensely domineering spirit, and exercise despotic sway
over souls. They do not bring them into subjection to grace but to
their own notions. They never tell them to listen to the voice of
God speaking in their hearts: no, God is supposed to speak through
their instrumentality alone, and any inward inspiration not in
accordance with their views is treated as an illusion. I pray you,
devout souls, avoid these despots, and seek such as will watch the
work of grace in your soul, and conform their advice to the
guidance of the Holy Spirit. Their one lesson will be to teach you
to be attentive and docile to the voice of the Good Shepherd.

To overlook the faults of others is a fundamental rule of
Christian charity; severity with our own the first principle of
interior mortification. But many who profess to be interior souls
assume just the opposite. There has always been, and always will
be, ground for complaint on this score.

How easy is that devotion which consists in blaming and
criticizing other people, sometimes with intolerable harshness,
sometimes with an affectation of pity. Where is the charity in a
person who will not bear with others, but turns to ridicule all
that he disapproves, either with or without reason; who makes no
allowance for anything, not even for human frailty? We are not
obliged to flatter our neighbour in spite of his reprehensible
characteristics, but we should bear with him, and not let him see
that his company is not agreeable to us. With whom are we to live
if we only live with those who are faultless? By what rule of
equity would you have others, not only put up with you but take
pleasure in your company and adapt themselves to your
peculiarities, when you are not prepared to bear their burdens,
which are quite as heavy as your own? Are you yourself faultless?
And yet you feel that others should make allowances for you. At
least, then, be indulgent towards them. Of all defects,
intolerance towards others is the most disgraceful. Bear ye one
another's burdens, and so you shall fulfil the law of Christ.
[115] So says St. Paul, and he comes back to the same thing in
almost all his epistles. It is, indeed, a most important factor in
life, most necessary for the common good, and it helps to make
things run smoothly. The natural law has even endowed it with the
force of a precept, so essential is it in its eyes. An ancient
poet insisted that, just as love is blind to the defects in the
object of its affections, so should we be to the shortcomings of
our friends; that we should disguise them under favourable terms,
even as a father hides the corporal blemishes of his son. The
apostle would have Christians love one another with the same kind
of love, and encourage the same kind of union, as members of a
body. [116] The members of the human body, he seems to say, do
more than support one another. They come to one another's aid as
need arises, and watch with assiduous care in the conservation of
the whole, the stronger coming to the aid of the weaker members.
So St. Paul would have us act in like manner, one towards another,
as members of one body.

Take the example of Our Lord Himself, and consider how He lived
with His apostles. He was holiness itself, they coarse and far
from perfect. What could He see in them that provoked His love;
and what did He not see that did not repel it? It would seem that
the holier He was, the more painful it must have been to live with
them; He might have been excused if He had had less indulgence
towards them, and yet it was just the contrary. Never was a master
more compassionate, more condescending. With what kindness He
taught them, adapting His teaching to their lack of understanding,
repeating His lessons, emphasizing them, explaining in private
what He had said in public. With what gentleness He reprimanded
them for their jealousy, their ambition, for their quarrels
amongst themselves. Their failure to grasp the heavenly meaning of
all He said, their Jewish prejudices, their misguided opinion of
His Person--none of these things shocked Him. Indeed, He preferred
their ignorant simplicity to the knowledge of the doctors, and to
the proud justice of the Pharisees, who found no greater fault in
Him than that He associated with the lowly, especially with
sinners. See how wonderfully He spoke to the disciples in His
discourse after the Last Supper.

And St. Paul, the perfect imitator of Christ, made himself all
things to all men, in order that he might win the world to Christ.
Not that he sought to please men; his thoughts were far higher
than that. But he bent down to them so that he might raise them up
to him. He made their miseries his own, so touched was he by their
need. He tells Christians that they must rejoice with those that
rejoice, and weep with those that weep. [117] Who is weak, he
said, and I am not weak; who is scandalized, and I am not on fire?
[118] He wanted the strong to help the weak; that they should not
seek their own pleasure, but be to one another what Jesus was to
them.

St. John, the beloved disciple, would seem to reduce the whole of
his teaching to the love of one's neighbour, and to that charity
which endures all. In his extreme old age, no longer able to
preach long discourses, he contented himself with repeating the
simple words: Little children, love one another. [119] And when it
was complained that he always said the same thing, he replied in
effect that such was the commandment of the Lord, and it alone was
enough, provided one fulfilled it.

Now of all the duties contained in this precept the most essential
is the patient endurance of one's neighbour, because it calls for
sustained effort and its results are of the greatest consequence,
whether the commandment be kept or no. It is also the most
difficult, since it demands continuous vigilance, and unremitting
efforts to overcome ourselves. To bear all from others, giving
them no occasion to bear anything from us, is a sign of very great
virtue.

But to arrive at this state, what a deadly war must be waged with
our personal defects, with that self-love which is at the root of
them. Say what we will, the true reason that makes us so
fastidious in regard to others is our own excessive self-love and
self-esteem. The more we spare ourselves, the less do we consider
others. The blinder we are to our own imperfections, the clearer
do we perceive the defects of others. The great and only way to
become charitable is to give oneself wholeheartedly to the
practice of interior mortification, to apply the knife and cautery
to our own wounds, and to uproot down to the tiniest fibre our
secret self-complacency. Rest assured that in the measure in which
selflove dies in us, will the love of our neighbour grow.

But that is just what men will not listen to. Of all the forms of
mortification, interior mortification is the most distasteful to
nature. Men will willingly overburden themselves with austerities,
regretting those they cannot undertake; they will fast beyond
their strength, undertake all manner of devotional practices,
spend hours of the day in prayer: but break their will, repress
their bad temper, try to overcome their sensitiveness, check their
unfounded suspicions, their malicious curiosity, their rash
judgments and unjust prejudices; in a word, make war on all the
vices of the heart and mind--this few are prepared to do, so
painful is it to nature. And fewer still have the courage to carry
it to a successful issue.

TWENTY-FIRST MAXIM : PROGRESS

Go straight on: never stop or look back. Grieve for sin, but never
lose courage

IT is not enough to enter upon the ways of God: we must walk in
them, and ever press forward. To refuse to go on is to consent to
fall back, for in this matter it is impossible to stand still for
long. In the interior way to which God introduces us, it is He
also Who regulates our speed, causing some to advance more
rapidly, others more slowly. Our part is never to resist the hand
that is urging us on, and to do nothing to retard our progress.

Now this progress is retarded, or arrested altogether, in various
ways and for various reasons, which it would be as well to
explain. It is retarded by cowardice, faint-heartedness,
infidelity, inconstancy, and by a great number of tiny faults into
which we fall, either for want of vigilance over ourselves, or of
attention to what God is telling us in the depths of our heart.

Our progress is arrested when, like a careless traveller, we look
to right and left, and stop to examine the things we see. Note, I
do not say that we go out of our way to seek these objects: that
would be far graver, especially if, in order to enjoy them, we
gave up altogether. I am assuming we keep to the path and intend
to do so; but, fascinated by the beauty and novelty of all that is
around us, we slacken pace, or stop to enjoy it at our leisure.
For to look at these things in a vague and superficial manner need
not hold us up, provided the attraction does not become too
strong.

We do much the same when we are perpetually looking to see where
to put our feet, always trying to choose the best places, and
making any number of detours to avoid awkward spots, instead of
walking straight on and risking getting our feet wet! Nothing is
more common in following the interior way than these precautions,
hesitations and deliberations. We want to be quite sure before
risking a false step. We want to see where we are going. We are
afraid of over-tiring ourselves, and so turn aside from difficult
and slippery places, or where there is the slightest appearance of
danger. But grace tells us not to be afraid, to go straight ahead.
Otherwise the way will only be all the longer, and we may never
reach the end. Any kind of oversensitiveness, faint-heartedness,
an exaggerated fear of falling or of soiling, ever so little, our
conscience (which can be a form of pride): all this is a hindrance
to grace, and prevents us from pressing on unhesitatingly with
full confidence in God, without watching our every step and making
long detours.

In a path so rough and uneven, with difficult places everywhere
and precipices on either side, why should we be so afraid of falls
and of the danger of sullying ourselves, when we ought to walk
blindly under the safe conduct of faith; when such falls can only
be slight and involuntary and only have the effect of keeping us
humble; when God's hand is always ready toraise us up again? The
fear of death or of wounds never made a good soldier. We have a
Physician Who can and will heal us and give us new life. Why,
then, need we so greatly fear to expose ourselves by His orders,
and under His all-powerful protection?

Again, we stop when, having accidentally fallen, instead of
getting up again immediately and continuing with renewed energy,
we lie on the ground distressed, miserable and despondent, and
make no effort to get up. Or, if we do get up, we stop to
investigate the cause of our fall, under the pretext of guarding
against a similar accident in future. All this kind of conduct
implies much self-love, false discretion, and self-confidence.

He who walks rapidly--or, better still, he who runs --is not so
careful to see where he sets his feet. He overcomes all obstacles,
and presses on steadily whether his path be impeded with ruts or
mire, or is overflowing with water. What does it matter to him, if
he is splashed, muddy and wet, provided he is making progress? He
is willing to expose himself to a few falls, in spite of which he
leaves others far behind. These accidents, which he neither seeks
nor fears, and are only caused by the eagerness of his efforts,
have no bad consequences. On the contrary, they increase his
ardour. He gets up again promptly and thinks no more about it.
God, towards Whom he is making his way, and union with Whom he is
so eagerly seeking, is too merciful and just to lay to his account
those faults, which are occasioned by an excess of confidence in
Him, of abandonment and of love.

All this, however, is to be understood only of those souls that
are truly interior, of whom God has taken full possession, who are
acted upon and led by His Spirit, according to the expression of
St. Paul. [120] Who have a horror of the tiniest deliberate fault,
and of the least resistance to grace; who, moreover, have great
courage and are determined to spare no sacrifice. But it would be
wrong to apply this doctrine to ordinary souls who, aided by
grace, advance more by their own efforts in the path of virtue.
These must always use prudent, though not anxious, circumspection;
watch carefully their steps, and be on their guard against all
falls, the more so because their falls are generally wilful,
either in fact or in principle.

But, it will be said, how can we be sure that we are advancing?
The answer is that we must look for no such assurance. It is
enough to know that we are not halting on the way, and this we
know by the witness of a quiet conscience, or from an habitual
though not necessarily conscious peace. In times of perplexity and
darkness, this assurance is conveyed to us by our spiritual
director, who tells us that all is well; who soothes us and bids
us plod on steadily, relying solely on faith and obedience.

I allow that faith is dark, and obedience blind: that the
assurance derived from them does not do away with the contrary
impressions produced by the imagination and feeling. I grant that
this assurance is to a certain extent obscure, and that it brings
with it no comforting conviction on which the soul can rest. But
it is the kind of assurance that suits the trial, and so long as
the trial lasts no other must be expected, unless occasionally and
momentarily.

What difficulty would there be in this way if the soul were always
certain that it was pleasing in God's sight? Where would be the
sacrifice? What proof would the soul give of its trust and self-
abandonment? Had Abraham known beforehand that God's command to
immolate Isaac was only a test, and that an angel would stay his
arm at the very moment it was about to strike, where would have
been the merit, and what glory would he have given to God? And the
same with Isaac: if, as he lay bound for the sacrifice, he had
known that he was not going to die? Such an immolation would only
have been a feigned one.

So, then, continual progress means that we must go straight ahead,
urged on by grace and directed by obedience, knowing neither the
road we tread nor the end to which it is leading us; unconscious
whether our actions are pleasing to God and will meet with reward
or no. We must wilfully think of none of these things, but simply
be absorbed by the consideration of God's good pleasure and will,
which we are sure of fulfilling provided we do not fulfil our own.

But what is to be done when, instead of advancing we seem to be
falling back? In this matter, we must not be guided by our own
judgment, because there comes a time in the spiritual life when
the soul does not know its own state, and must not know it. This
is the time when we imagine we are yielding to temptation. We
think we are cast off by God by reason of our sins; we imagine we
see sin in all we do. Are we therefore falling back? Far from it:
we were never advancing more surely. It is then we act with
greater purity of intention, seeing that we are seeking self in
nothing, nor our interests, either in creatures or from God. It is
then that self-love, reduced to its last resources, receives its
fatal blows, and it is then that we give God the sacrifice that
glorifies Him most.

That does not mean, however, that we are aware of our progress.
Every step seems to warn us that we are heading for the loss of
everything. And in a sense we do lose ourselves, but only to find
ourselves eternally in God. Oh infinitely happy loss, which could
never take place if we knew beforehand how it would all end. And
so the experienced director is careful not to give the soul any
assurance of its safety merely to console it. He emboldens it to
continue sacrificing itself, but he does not unveil the mystery of
what that sacrifice is leading to, nor reveal the exceeding
happiness which will ensue for the faithful soul. Were he to act
otherwise, he would hinder the work of God, and the consummation
of the holocaust.

That is also why, when this point is reached, God takes every
precaution so that nothing shall spoil His work. Maybe He will
withdraw the director and send another, who understands nothing of
the state of that soul. Or, if He keeps him, He will seal his lips
completely, and prevent him from giving any illtimed consolation.
He may even permit him to turn against the soul, be prejudiced
against it, and condemn it, and thus himself immolate the victim.
These ineffable secrets of grace are known only to those who have
experienced them, or are enlightened by God for the direction of
others.

But let us return to our maxim. It forbids us to look back. We
look back, when we regret what we have left behind for God's sake,
even as the Israelites in the desert regretted the flesh-pots of
Egypt, and loathed the manna which fell from heaven. It was in
this sense that Our Lord declared that no man putting his hand to
the plough and looking back is fit for the kingdom of God. [121]
Even among men, regret for or the resumption of a gift once given
is looked upon as contemptible, and at the most is forgiven only
in a child, that does not know what it is doing.

We look back when we retrace our steps in thought and recall the
past, in order out of curiosity to discern the course of our
religious life and the workings of grace. This is what St. Paul
condemned when, speaking of himself, he said: One thing I do:
forgetting the things that are behind and stretching forth myself
to those that are before, I press towards the mark, to the prize
of the supernal vocation of God in Christ Jesus. [122]

We look back, when we are so attached to the various means of
perfection that we cling to them obstinately, or regret them
inordinately when it pleases God to deprive us of them; when we
cast longing eyes on some past state, preferring it to our present
condition, in which nature has more to endure.

Again we look back, when we are continually turning our head to
see whether we are making any progress, and how much. For, as we
cannot see the goal ahead of us, the only way in which we can
judge of our progress is by looking back to our starting-point. It
is self-love that inspires this curiosity, but it does not really
tell us anything, and it is nearly always followed by vain
complacency, or else by despondency. The only effect of these
judgments and retrospections is to slacken our pace and sometimes
to hold up our progress, if indeed they do not cause us to turn
back altogether.

Many souls are subject to this fault. They want their director to
tell them again and again that they are going on well, and that he
is pleased with the progress they are making. It is to fortify
them, they say, and to urge them on to yet greater efforts: but it
is all an illusion. Let them leave it to their director to
enlighten them when he sees fit; for there are times when he
should do so, in order to keep up their courage. But, generally
speaking, they would do better to remain at peace, and take it
that all is well unless they are told to the contrary.

Another fault, no less common and equally connected with self-
love, is to be anxious and distressed at the slightest fault that
escapes us, or at the least sign of our wretchedness and frailty.
It is a great secret in the spiritual life to know how to meet the
everyday faults that one commits, and how to turn them to good
account. Let us consider this for a moment.

First of all, I assume that one has taken a firm resolution never
to commit a deliberate sin, however small. Anything short of this
appears to me completely incompatible with sincere devotion. By
deliberate sins, I mean those one commits habitually, with full
knowledge and consent, with no intention of correcting them, no
contrition for them, and stifling any remorse that grace excites
in the soul. I am speaking now of venial sins or simple
infidelities to grace. Now the first thing God puts into the
hearts of those He calls to the interior life, is a firm
determination to follow in all things the inspirations of grace,
and never wilfully to act against one's conscience. Thus these
souls very rarely commit such faults, for if they did so
frequently, they would soon fall from the state in which God has
placed them.

The faults, then, to which they are subject are passing things,
savouring of faint-heartedness, human respect, vanity or
curiosity. Or else they are faults due to a lively nature; faults
of inadvertence, indiscretion, peevishness or impulse--all
imperfections of nature rather than definite faults.

The first counsel given on this subject by masters of the
spiritual life is never to lose courage, whatever fault may have
been committed, because discouragement arises solely from self-
love. We are surprised at having fallen. We did not think we were
capable of such a thing. As if a human being who is nothing but
corruption, weakness and wickedness, ought to be surprised at his
own lapses. Astonishment implies a hidden vexation, despondency,
and a temptation to give up everything. Saints are humbled by
their faults, but never discouraged; they are not surprised! They
rather wonder that they commit no worse, knowing themselves to be
what they are, and they are continually thanking God that His
goodness has preserved them so far.

We partly cause this discouragement ourselves by allowing our
imagination to brood over the fault committed. We magnify and
exaggerate it, and make mountains out of molehills. The devil also
intervenes in order to break down our courage and induce us to
miss our communions, and generally cause us to worry.

To obviate the work of the imagination and its consequences, the
second counsel is to be sorry immediately on becoming aware of a
fault, and then to think no more about it, until (if necessary)
the time of confession. There are some persons who imagine that
they should be always thinking of their sins; they carry them
about with them, and have them constantly before their eyes. Such
continual remembrance of our faults is only calculated to weaken
and sadden us, and prevent us from carrying out our duties. We
grow scrupulous, and are always worrying our confessor.

The third counsel--and it is that of St. Francis of Sales--is to
grieve for our faults for God's sake, for it is He Who is offended
by them, and to rejoice over them for our own, because of the
humiliation they cause us. To practise this counsel, which is one
of great perfection, is to draw from our falls all the profit
which God had in view in permitting them. In God's plan our daily
faults are, so to speak, one of the elements which go to make up
our sanctity. When He wishes, God knows how to employ for that end
the greatest crimes and disorders, as He did in the case of David,
Mary Magdalen, Mary the Egyptian, and many other well-known
penitents. And why should not our daily faults, if only we will
use them to increase our self-knowledge (the most necessary next
to the knowledge of God), produce the same results? But we will
discuss this somewhat more fully in our next chapter.

TWENTY-SECOND MAXIM : DEPENDENCE UPON GRACE

When we know our own helplessness, we learn to appreciate the
value and efficacy of grace

GOD'S first aim in our sanctification is His own glory. Although
He commands us to do all that depends on us, He would have us
acknowledge that we can do nothing of ourselves; that our efforts
are vain and our best resolutions profitless, except His grace
precedes and follows all our good works; that it is useless to
attempt to build the temple of our sanctity unless He begins,
continues and completes the work, with our cooperation. Moreover-
and this is St. Paul's express teaching--we cannot produce a
single good thought or entertain a single good desire of
ourselves.1 We do not even know what sanctity is, or how to attain
it. These are the truths of faith so clearly set out in Scripture
and confirmed by Holy Church, and so well defended by St Augustine
against the Pelagians.

God is jealous of His glory, and He is resolved that all sincere
Christians shall learn these truths from their own experience. By
these means they acquire humility, the mother of all the other
virtues, without which those very virtues, being infected with
pride, would but add to their condemnation. I say these things are
to be learned by experience, for what would it avail us from a
practical point of view, to know that they are truths of faith, if
we had not that intimate assurance which only experience can give?
And what would humility be, were it not rooted in a deep
conviction of the soul, arising from a continual consciousness of
its own spiritual misery?

God's dealings in this respect assume a more specially defined
form with regard to those who are in the passive state. Of these,
He takes particular care, and is the more jealous for them, since
they belong to Him by their unreserved donation and consecration.
As He leads them by the direct inspiration of His Spirit, and
Himself assumes the task of their sanctification, bestowing
greater graces on them than on others, so He takes all the more
care to convince them that they are nothing and can do nothing,
and that it is He Who provides for everything, and is responsible
for all the good in them, and that all He requires of them is
their abandonment and obedience.

But how does He lead them to that sense of absolute and total
powerlessness and that perfect dependence upon grace? In the first
place, He takes possession of their faculties, and does not allow
them their free use in spiritual matters. They feel, as it were,
bound and unable to exercise their memory, understanding and will
on any particular subject. He allows them to make no plans, and
should they conceive any designs otherwise than through His
inspiration, He may upset them in part or altogether. He takes
from them every method and practice of their own choosing. He
withdraws them from ordinary efforts and from the usual means of
acquiring any particular virtue. Instead, He Himself takes over
the task of directing and sanctifying them according to His plan,
prescribing in due measure what they are to do and what they are
to avoid, infusing into their souls the habit of the virtues, so
that they cannot flatter themselves that they have in any way
acquired them through their own efforts. They do not even know
that they possess such virtues, though in fact they practise them
in such circumstances and by such means as He pleases. This state
is excessively painful and humiliating to nature, most mortifying
to self-love, and demands on the part of those who pass through it
such fidelity as can only be maintained by great love and
unremitting courage.

Secondly, He humbles them by the faults into which He allows them
to fall, particularly when He sees them relying on themselves or
when they have made good resolutions on which they depend. These
faults, indeed, are merely faults of frailty, but it is precisely
their own weakness that He wants to make them conscious of. He
acts like a mother who purposely leaves her child to himself and
lets him fall without harming himself, so that he may understand
his need of her, and learn to cling closely to her, since he
cannot take a step alone without falling, nor rise again alone
after a fall.

These faults of pure frailty become more frequent, and apparently
more grave, in proportion to the progress made. Some particular
fault, which appeared to have been cured, now seems more imperious
than ever. Passions which one thought had been mastered and
brought under control, become more rebellious. The good which I
will I do not, but the evil which I will not, that I do... For I
am delighted with the law of God according to the inward man; but
I see another law in my members, fighting against the law of my
mind, and captivating me in the law of sin. [123] After so many
favours received from God, after so many protestations made to
Him, this condition arouses deep shame in the soul that finds
itself a prey to such misery, and it despairs of ever being able
to conquer or correct itself.

In this sharp internal war between the old and the new man, in
which the latter is apparently worsted, the soul is fain to cry:
Unhappy man that I am: who shall deliver me from the body of this
death? [124] By 'this death' the soul understands this present
life, which causes it a torture worse than death, and which it
takes to be continually threatening the life of grace. All the
violence I have used against myself, all my prayers, fastings,
vigils and austerities, have proved of no avail against my enemy.
I can do nothing more. Who, then, will deliver me? The grace of
God by Jesus Christ, Our Lord, answers St. Paul. [125] Grace alone
can work so great a miracle.

To this confession of the power of grace and the helplessness of
the human will, it is God's intention to reduce the soul. It is
His will that our deliverance by Him shall be acknowledged as a
free gift, with which the soul has nothing to do except await it
patiently. Thus God glorifies Himself in such a soul, leaving it
no support from its own strength, and, by the consciousness of its
sufferings and its vain attempts to rid itself of them, obliges it
to acknowledge that its cure is due solely to the heavenly
Physician.

Let us enter, then, into God's plans for us, so that our faults,
our temptations, and the sense of our wretchedness, may all turn
to His glory, by the humiliation they bring us, by the recognition
of our powerlessness, and by an entire confidence in His divine
goodness. We will grieve but not despond. Sorrow comes from God,
despondency from selflove. We will humble ourselves patiently,
quietly and gently. We will despair of ourselves, but expect
everything from God. He will come and help us, but not until,
weary, exhausted and convinced of the futility of all else, we
turn to Him.

The ordinary run of Christians appreciate the value of grace, but
as they add to it their own endeavours and God blesses their
efforts, they do not realize its full value. In like manner, when
they commit any fault, they are humbled. At the same time, they
are aware that it was in their power to resist; they remind
themselves that they did put up a fight before giving in.
Therefore their falls are really voluntary, and they see that it
depends upon themselves to rise, and that grace urges them to do
so. They see also that they do not heed, because they will not
heed; consequently, they have not a perfect knowledge of their own
weakness. How should they, when they are always conscious of their
strength, even in their very falls which they know they could have
avoided. Such are those who have the free use of their faculties.

It is not so, however, with interior souls when they have entered
the passive way. These are just like children, and God allows them
no feeling save that of their own weakness. They are strong, but
only in His strength. It must be remembered however, that this
stage is only reached after their own strength has been spent in
all manner of exercises, interior and exterior; for it would be a
great illusion to imagine that God shows the slightest favour to
laziness, indolence or want of effort. In this state of childhood,
if they do any good, grace so acts in them that they are not
conscious of any effort on their part, for they are deprived of
all natural activity. They do cooperate, but with a cooperation
which is barely perceptible, and which lies in their having given
up their free will to God, to dispose of as He wishes. They are
borne onwards in the way of perfection as a child is carried in
its mother's arms, but not till they have of their own will thrown
themselves into the arms of God, and refuse to leave them.
According to the simile used by St. Teresa, they do not use sails
and oars as others do; they trust to the wind to fill their sails,
and it is the wind which drives them on. Now when we row, we
contribute appreciably to our progress and have the right to take
some credit to ourselves; but when we are carried on by the wind,
we have no doubt where the strength comes from. So, in the passive
state, the full value and efficacy of grace is more truly
appreciated.

Souls in this state have likewise a keener and deeper
consciousness of their weakness through the faults to which they
give way, since it is because of their weakness that they fall.
They do not want to commit suchfaults. Indeed, they make the most
earnest resolutions against them; they multiply their prayers and
austerities, and yet they fall. But God only allows this to
happen, in order to keep them humble and make them realize their
own nothingness. Let me repeat: I am not speaking of big faults. A
soul would have to have already withdrawn itself from the grace of
the passive state to fall into such sins. So long as they strive
faithfully to abandon themselves to God's guiding Providence; so
long as they do not intentionally permit themselves the slightest
imperfection and relax no exercise of piety, their falls will not
be considerable in themselves. They are exterior and apparent
only, for the will has no share in them. Like St. Paul, they will
be able to say: It is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth
in me. [126] And that root of sin, which they endeavour
unsuccessfully to destroy, fills them with shame and with a holy
horror of self, especially as they imagine that they are
consenting to what is going on within them, although in fact they
are far from doing so. But God does not place them in a state so
humiliating and crucifying to nature until they are far advanced,
and their will is, so to speak, confirmed in well-doing by long
practice.

Among interior persons, nothing is more real and more common than
this state, which is a very mysterious one. And if their director
does not understand it, he is liable to make great mistakes, which
may cause many of his penitents to despond. These certainly do not
wish to sin, and they do all they can notto sin. Yet things escape
them which appear to be sinful. They accordingly reproach and
accuse themselves of these things as of so many sins; and if their
confessor imprudently agrees with them and declares that they have
sinned, he would cause them much distress, and they might easily
run great risks.

How, then, should the confessor act? He must enter into God's
plans, for God wants to destroy self-love in these souls. The
confessor must allow them to find no help in themselves, either in
the matter of doing good or of avoiding evil. The penitents may
insist that they consented, but the confessor must not be too
quick to take them at their word. For some time, he will tell them
that they have not given their consent; then he may tell them
simply to say that they were tried by temptations, without saying
they have sinned. He must train them to submit their judgment to
his, and to go to Holy Communion in spite of all their repugnances
and fears. Such souls are never so pure as when they believe
themselves to be covered with sins. Never have they been so
humble, so obedient, more dead to their own will and less
confident in themselves, as when they are in this state. There are
so many marks of God's guidance in their regard that the confessor
would have to be very poorly enlightened to doubt them, or unduly
timid and irresolute not to recognize them. In such a case, one
would be well advised to change one's confessor.

TWENTY-THIRD : MAXIM PURE LOVE AND HOPE

Love is our law: God is our portion; here by faith, in heaven by
sight

THE Christian law is a law of love. It is all comprised in the
love of God. We are bound to love Him for Himself, ourselves in
Him, and our neighbours for Him. God is the one principle, from
Whom everything flows, and towards Whom everything must tend. He
is the centre in Whom all things find their unity. Love, says St.
Augustine, is the only worship God exacts, and which alone is
pleasing to Him. Faith alone does not honour God-the devils
believe and tremble. [127] Hope without love is not enough,
because it stops short at God's promises without going on to
Himself. Charity alone reaches Him, is united to Him, and rests in
Him as in the supreme Good. What avails the practice of exterior
works, if they are not animated and quickened by the heart? Men
only pay attention to outward demonstrations, and they judge the
heart by them, for they cannot see any deeper. But God looks upon
the heart. [128] According to the state of the heart, He appraises
all else.

Love is the only thing that makes Our Lord's yoke easy and His
burden light. [129] Fear causes us to feel the whole weight of the
law; hope lightens it but in part; love alone removes the whole
burden of it. According to St. Augustine, the lover feels nothing
burdensome to him, or if it be a burden, he loves it. The lover
counts what he does as nothing, fears lest he does not enough, and
longs ever to do more. Love knows no bounds, and is always able to
grow stronger, above all if its object be infinitely lovable. To
love such an object is at once a motive and a means to love it
more. The more it is loved, the better is it known; and the better
it is known, the more one longs to love it. In this way, knowledge
and love serve to increase one another indefinitely.

The soul enjoys the true liberty of the children of God, [130]
only in so far as it loves. 'Love' says St. Augustine, 'and do
what you will'. You would not wish to do anything contrary to
love, nor therefore to a law which is itself wholly founded on
love. In the same way, St. Paul says that the law is not made for
the just. [131] Why does the just man need an external law; he
finds all the precepts written in his heart? And not only does he
find there the law, but the perfection of the law. Love would not
have him stop short at what God commands: it urges him to pass on
to those things which please Him, to what He counsels without
expressly commanding. Love is his rule, his whole desire, his
whole strength. That is why he is perfectly free, for freedom
consists in doing what we will, and in willing what we do.

Such love is all the purer, as the heart becomes detached from its
own interests and tends towards the object loved, without looking
back on itself. This degree of purity is the state to which God is
continually striving to raise the soul that has given itself to
Him. All the favours which He has bestowed on it, the trials
through which He has caused it to pass, the sacrifices He exacts
of it, all combine to purify its love, and to separate all alloy
from it. Thus may the interior way be defined, not as a state of
pure love, but as a constant tending towards it.

It may be said that the tending towards pure love is also the aim
of the ordinary Christian, and I agree: but with a distinction.
If, in the normal way, retaining our liberty, we mingle our own
activity with the workings of grace, this will hinder those
workings from producing their full effect. In the passive way,
however, having given to God all right over our own will, God acts
upon us more powerfully; nothing hinders or restrains His work,
and therefore it achieves its full effect. It is difficult, not to
say impossible, for this difference to be understood by those who
are not in the passive way, however perfect they may be otherwise.
But it is none the less real, and it would be presumptuous to
doubt the word of those saints who have spoken on the matter from
their own experience.

However, we are not to take fright at the mention of pure love, as
though it were contrary to Christian hope. Those who have so
written as to give this impression either expressed themselves
badly or were misunderstood. In this life, charity does not, and
never can, exclude hope. So long as we do not possess the thing we
love, we must desire to do so. And not only desire it, but hope
for it, in virtue of God's promises. And we count it a duty to
hope for it, by reason of the express command which He lays upon
all His children.

The love of God is not such as to exclude hope, no matter to what
degree it has arrived, but is the actual possession of God or the
assurance of possessing Him. The actual possession only takes
place in heaven, the assurance in Purgatory. Here on earth, where
the enjoyment of God is neither perfect nor assured, and where,
apart from a special revelation, one cannot even be sure of one's
salvation or that one is in a state of grace, [132] how is it
possible for charity to banish hope from the Christian heart? To
do so would be to enter on a state of despair absolutely
incompatible with love.

In this life, charity always implies the other two theological
virtues; and, far from destroying them, perfects them in
perfecting itself. Anything that could destroy faith and hope in
us would all the more destroy charity. It is absurd, then, to
think that the trials that are sent to purify our love can in any
way lessen the virtue of hope. It is equally absurd to imagine
that there can be such a thing as a state, or even an act, of pure
love, which would involve a renouncement of hope. Even if hope may
not be the motive for the love, nevertheless it exists at the
bottom of the heart. In the words of St. Paul: there remain faith,
hope and charity. [133] This is the case even with the greatest
saints, so long as they are still pilgrims in via. It is only at
the end of their pilgrimage that faith ceases, because one no
longer believes, but sees clearly. Similarly hope comes to an end,
because one either possesses or is assured of possessing. So
charity reigns alone, since in heaven there is scope only for
charity. Such is St. Paul's teaching; a doctrine, incidentally,
based on the very essence and definition of the three theological
virtues.

The fact that God urges certain souls to sacrifices in their most
severe trials, proves nothing to the contrary of what I have been
saying. God's intention is not to purify love at the expense of
hope (for that would be acting contrary to Himself), but, while
purifying love to purify hope at the same time, and so lead the
soul to place God's glory and will above all selfinterest. This
does not require the soul to renounce its happiness, but to
subordinate it, as it must be subordinated, to God's good
pleasure, which must always be its motive.

It might perhaps have been better not to have touched on these
matters, which are extremely delicate and very difficult to
explain, or even to understand with perfect precision. It is not
necessary that souls should know about these things in advance,
because those whom God calls to such a great sacrifice are few and
far between; and when they are in this state, their perplexity and
darkness are such that they could not make use of their previous
knowledge, even if they wanted to. As for the directors of such
souls, God never fails, provided they consult Him in prayer, to
give them the necessary light to guide their penitents, and the
best books would be useless to them, if they did not seek that
light in their own union with God. But as this subject, which is
the highest of all relating to the interior life, caused much
public comment at the end of the seventeenth century, and in
consequence of a just condemnation many persons became prejudiced
against a subject understood by very few, I have thought fit to
explain the matter briefly, in order to correct certain false
impressions, and to dispel prejudice.

The great and inestimable advantage of love is that it leads to
the eternal possession of God: this is the privilege of love
alone. Faith and hope cannot open the gate to heaven, unless
charity be joined to them. [134] Even during this life, love
enables us to possess God to a certain degree, for loving Him is
the beginning of possession. We may love any other object without
possessing it, or possess it without loving it. But God, Who is
the supreme Good, has this peculiar to Himself alone: His love
cannot be separated from the possession of Him, nor the possession
of Him from His love.

Of course such possession is imperfect on earth, because it is
enjoyed beneath the veil of faith. The heart delights in God, and
is filled with Him and contemns everything else. If it have yet
any desire left, it can only be for a fuller and more assured
enjoyment of that love. Yes: when the love of God reaches a
certain point, it stills all the agitations of the human heart,
even in this life. It brings a peace, which cannot be troubled, so
long as the love subsists which gave it birth.

But who are those in whom love rises to such a height as to give
them, even in this land of exile, a foretaste of the happiness of
their heavenly home? They are souls who may justly be termed
children of God, because they are led by His Spirit. [135] As
sons, they already share in their Father's inheritance. Others
partake of His gifts and graces; these enter already into an
anticipated possession of Himself. Having given themselves to God,
God gives Himself wholly to them. He unites them with Himself,
communicating to them something of that changelessness of peace
and rest which He Himself enjoys.

And the proof of this is that no earthly happenings of any kind
cause them either joy or sorrow. They accept all things with an
even mind, and though some slight agitation may take place on the
surface of their souls, the depths of the soul are undisturbed. I
have only to appeal to the experience of the saints. Were there
ever souls more calm and still? One has only to look at their
serenity in the midst of the most painful tortures. Was it the
effect of their own reflections or efforts at self-control, made
at such moments? Indeed no: they owed it to their possession of
God, Who so filled their hearts that there was no room left for
any other feeling or thought of self.

TWENTY-FOURTH MAXIM : CONCLUSION

Let us pray that these Maxims may redound to the greater glory of
God, and the happiness of our own souls

THE words which serve as a heading to this chapter are not in the
form of a maxim, but they contain three great truths, with the
explanation of which I will close this little work.

The first is that by prayer we may be counted among the number of
interior souls; the second, that such souls glorify God more than
others; the third, that they are by far the happiest.

I suppose myself addressing one who, having read or heard somewhat
concerning the interior life, feels a keen desire to live that
divine life. This desire manifestly comes from God, and is itself
a beginning of that which it seeks. I would say, then, keep the
spark alight by fervent and assiduous prayer. Offer yourself
sincerely to God, not just once in a way but every day, and many
times a day. Beg Him to open for you the way to the promised land.
With that end in view, communicate often, occupy yourself with
good works, fulfil the duties of your state, bear bravely with the
worries attendant on them, and you will undoubtedly obtain the
grace you are asking for. For God does not plant such a desire in
a soul, without intending to satisfy it. Should you be eager in
the pursuit of this great blessing, know that it is God Who is
inspiring you. If you do all that is in your power to obtain it,
again it is God Who is the author of your zeal, and is animating
and sustaining it. If you persevere in asking for it and do not
allow yourself to become discouraged, you will certainly obtain
what you seek. For how could God refuse such a request from a soul
that longs to be His entirely, and will He not grant it in the
measure of the desire He Himself has given?

But you must be careful not to excite your imagination, or become
impatient or over-anxious in your quest. Pray quietly, and await
quietly the answer to your prayer. God has His own time for
answering it: seek not to hurry His work. On the other hand,
beware of tepidity, indifference or negligence in your prayer, for
that would be a sign that you do not know nor want the grace you
are asking for.

If, however, you pray as you should do, God will in due time take
possession of your soul, either all at once or by degrees. If the
former, you will feel immediately a perfect assurance of it, from
the sudden change which will take place in you. If it happens
gradually, then follow the workings of grace step by step, and be
extremely faithful. Everything depends upon your fidelity. Once
introduced into the interior way, you have but to walk in it,
directed interiorly by the Holy Spirit, and exteriorly by your
spiritual guide.

There are few Christians who do not receive some insight into the
interior way. Either they receive it while remaining faithful to
the grace of their baptism, or God gives it to them when they
sincerely return to Him after wandering away from Him, it may be
far and for long periods. If only souls wanted and knew how to
cultivate that tiny seed; if directors, themselves interior souls,
would take the necessary pains to develop it, the effect of their
combined efforts would soon be apparent, and the early steps in
the way would not present much difficulty. Most of the trouble
arises from the false or imperfect notions we at once begin
forming when we enter the interior way, on the strength of which
we introduce all sorts of practices, methods and activities, in
which there is a great deal of self and self-will. Difficulties
also arise through having one's own fixed idea of how God wants to
be served, and this hinders the work of grace, a habit which it is
almost impossible to throw off once one has arrived at a certain
age. They arise also from prejudices one has conceived against the
interior life, esteeming it to be dangerous and out of the
ordinary, and subject to a thousand illusions. Lastly,
difficulties often come from the directors themselves, who for
similar reasons, or because they do not want to take the trouble
or are afraid to risk their reputation, close the entrance to the
interior life to those under their care.

If both penitent and director were actuated by zeal for God's
interests, how very differently they would think. For it is
certain that we cannot glorify God more than by dedicating
ourselves entirely to Him, so that He may lead us as He will.
Indeed, it is God Who then glorifies Himself in the soul wherein
He finds no resistance. And can we doubt that He glorifies Himself
in the best way, according to the whole scope of His designs, when
the creature offers no opposition? The will and the means are both
within His power: nothing but man's free will can impede the
workings of His grace, and the impediment ceases to exist when
that liberty is freely yielded up into God's hands.

Moreover, God's glory lies in the free submission of our will to
His. If that submission is absolute, extending to everything
without exception; if it is continuous and never rescinded, the
glory that God derives from it is as great as is possible, for the
creature can offer Him nothing greater.

What glorifies God is our sanctification, and the more God acts in
a soul by grace, the more that soul is sanctified. In what soul
does God act more freely, more efficaciously and more
independently, than in one that has constituted Him master of its
faculties; that keeps these continuously submissive to His will,
only reserving for itself a constant attention to His guidance,
and an exact fidelity in following it? If it perseveres to the end
in this disposition, is it not clear that God will raise it to
that degree of sanctity which He intends for it, and that He will
derive all the glory He expects from it?

What glorifies God more is when we see Him alone in everything;
when we refer all to Him, look only to His interests and consider
ours as subordinate to His; when, like Job, we receive good and
evil at His hands with an even mind, and bless His name in all
things. But that is just what an interior soul does. Its eye-that
is, its intention--is single and pure, ever turned towards God; no
lower view or created interest defiles it. Such a soul is in a
state of holy indifference respecting what befalls it. All that it
receives from God is welcome, because sent by Him. It is as
contented to bear all manner of crosses and trials, as it is to be
loaded with good things, for its true and only good is God's good
pleasure.

Last of all, the glory that God derives from these souls in heaven
is proportionate to that which they have given Him on earth. Then,
perfected in love, rapt in the vision of Him to Whom they gave
themselves when as yet they knew Him only by faith, they will
offer Him eternally a tribute of adoration, thanksgiving, praise
and love, which is beyond all human conception. As their holocaust
of themselves bore a direct resemblance to that of Our Lord, so
the Father will receive from them a special glory of the same kind
as He receives from the sacred humanity of His only-begotten Son.
But the glory rendered by the creature to its Creator is the rule
and measure of its own happiness. Judge, then, if it be possible,
what will be the happiness of such souls in heaven. All I can say
is that God will give Himself to them as they gave themselves to
Him. They gave themselves to Him without reserve, with the whole
of their heart; so, too, God will not be sparing in the reward He
gives them. They gave themselves to Him, weak, poor, imperfect
creatures; He will give Himself to them as God, infinitely great,
infinitely powerful, infinitely rich, generous and glorious. They
loved Him as mere creatures, according to the narrow capacity of
their hearts; He will love them as God, with a love as far beyond
their own as the Uncreated Essence is beyond the being formed out
of nothingness. If I may dare to say so, He will be as devoted and
consecrated to them as they were to Him. In a word, He will render
them all for all; but an All boundless and infinite in return for
an all limited and finite. They gave without measure, they will
receive without measure; a pure, generous and utterly lavish love
will recompense them. Such profusion would, indeed, exhaust the
riches of God, were they not inexhaustible. [136] Such is the
happiness awaiting these souls in heaven.

That these souls, whilst yet on earth, are happy, so far as the
conditions of this life allow, who can doubt? What is happiness
but the love and possession of the sovereign Good? These souls
love the sovereign Good: even in this life they possess Him
according to the full capacity of their heart. God fills the
heart, leaving no room for any other desire. Nothing draws them;
nothing that the world can offer them in the way of honours,
wealth or pleasure attracts them; they are in possession of a
happiness that makes them despise all else. And this blessing,
does it consist in the gifts and favours and consolations of God?
By no means. They receive these things gratefully when it pleases
God to send them, but they do not desire them, nor cling to them;
nor do they fret when they are deprived of them. The real blessing
they possess is God Himself, and He is infinitely greater than all
His gifts.

Again, what is happiness? Happiness is peace of heart, and that
peace never leaves them: a peace intense, changeless, unaffected
by feelings, independent of vicissitudes, both of the natural and
supernatural order; abiding in the depth of the heart, despite all
trials and temptations, bound up with the very crosses they bear,
and without which they would not wish to live. All this is
incomprehensible, but it is true.

Would you know whether these souls are happy? Ask them if there is
anything in the world that would induce them to wish themselves
otherwise situated, to desire any alleviation of their sufferings,
to withdraw themselves from the rule of the divine will. Ask them
if they even wish God to relieve them and end their pain. They
answer No. They will tell you that they are more than content;
that all their desires are fulfilled, so long as God is glorified
in them as He would wish to be. Show me any other happiness on
earth to be compared to theirs--there is none. The happiness of
innocence is great; that of penitence also. But the happiness of
souls that God sanctifies Himself by the interior way of
abandonment and pure faith is greater than them all. One needs to
be in it to believe this; but when one has advanced somewhat on
the way, there is no longer any doubt.

ENDNOTES

1 cf, Ps. xli. 8: Abyssus abyssum invocat... Deep calleth on deep
2 Cf. I Cor. vii. 31
3 Cf. Sic transeamus per bona temporalia, ut non amittamus
aeterna: Collect for third Sunday after Pentecost
4 Ps. xxxiii. 6.
5 Ps. xxxiii. 9.
6 Cf. Rom. vi. 17, 18
7 John viii. 34, 36.
8 Acts ix. 6
9 Prayer of St. Ignatius, in the 4th week of the Spiritual
Exercises
10 I Cor. ix. 22
11 Gen xvii. 1
12 Ps. xv. 8
13 Cf. Rom. viii. 28.
14 Cf. Eccles. ix. 1
15 Phil. iv. 7
16 Cf. Acts iv. 12
17 John xiv
18 Acts xx. 22
19 Cor. xii. 2 ff
20 Rom. xiii. 14
21 Col. iii. 17
22 I Cor. iv. 17 and xi. 1
23 Col. i. 24
24 Gal. vi. 17
25 Gal. ii. 20
26 I John iv. 11
27 Apoc i. 5
28 I Cor. xvi. 22
29 cf Isaias xii. 3.
30 Cf. Ps. cxviii. 32
31 Cf. Matt. v. 24
32 Matt. vi. 22
33 Cf. Eccles. IX,!
34 Ps. xviii. 13
35 Cf. Job xxxvii, 1
36 Matt. vi. 22
37 Job 1:1
38 Eccles. vii:30
39 Isaias lv. 8
40 cf Luke ix:23
41 Gal. ii.20
42 Job vi. 4
43 Cf. Matt. xvi. 24
44 Cf. Phil. ii. 5
45 Cf. Phil. ii. 8
46 Cf. John xiv. 31
47 Cf. Phil. ii. 5
48 I Peter ii. 21
49 I Cor. xi. 1
50 Acts ix. 6
51 Luke xvi. 15
52 cf 2 Cor. iv. 10
53 Cf. Eccles. I. 14
54 Cf. Gal. vi. 14
55 Cf. Cant. iii. 4
56J er. ii. 13
57 Ps. lxxxiii. 8.
58 I Thess. v. 17
59 Cf. 3 Kings xix. 12
60 Rom. viii. 17
61 Cf. Ps. liv. 23
62 Matt. iii. 17
63 Cf. Rom. viii. 28
64 Cf. Ecclus. I. 16
65 Cf. Isaias xlix. 15
66 Cf. Rom. xiii. 10
67 cf Gal. iv. 5
68 Cf. Matt. xi. 30
69 Job. ii. 10
70 Job. xiii. 15
71 Job vi. 10
72 Matt. xxvi . 41
73 Cf. John x. 4
74 I Cor. x. 31
75 Cf. Ps. cxviii. 109
76 Cf. Phil. ii. 5
77 Matt. viii. 20
78 Rom. xii. 10
79 Cf. Phil. ii. 8
80 cf Gal. v. 22
81 Ps. lxxii. 23
82 Cf. Ps. xxxiii. 9
83 Rom. viii. 29
84 Phil. iv.
85 Cf. 2 Cor. I. 4
86 Phil. iv. 13
87 Cf. 2 Cor. iv. 17
88 James I. 14
89 Ps. xxvi. 1-3
90 Cf. Matt. vii. 24-25
91 Ecclus. xxxiv. 9
92 2. cf. John xv. 5 and Phil. iv. 13
93 I Kings ii. 6.
94 I Cor. x. 13
95 Cf. Rom. viii. 31
96 Matt. xv. 19
97 Matt. xxvi. 41
98 I Peter v. 8
99 Mark xiii. 37
100 Ps. cxiv. 6
101 I Kings ii. 9
102 2 Cor. xii. 10
103 Phil. iv. 13
104 Luke xviii. 1
105 2 Cor. xii. 9
106 Cf. John ix. 41
107 2 Cor. x. 17
108 Osee ii. 14
109 Isaias xlii. 2
110 Cf. Rom. x. 2
111 Acts vi. 2-4
112 Acts iv. 32
113 John xvii. 21
114 Luke xviii. 11
115 Gal. vi. 2
116 Cf. I Cor. xii. 27
117 Rom. xii. 15
118 2 Cor. xi. 29
119 Cf. I John iv. 7
120 Rom. viii. 14
121 Luke ix. 62
122 Phil. iii. 13-14.
123 Rom. vii. 19. 22, 23
124 Rom. vii. 24
125 Rom. vii. 25
126 Rom. vii. 17
127 James ii. 19
128 I Kings xvi. 7
129 Cf. Matt. xi. 30
130 Cf. Rom. viii. 21
131 I Tim. i. 9
132 Cf. Eccles. ix. 1
133 I Cor. xiii. 13
134 Cf. I Cor. xiii. 2
135 Cf. Rom. viii. 14
136 Cf. Rom. xi. 33

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