James Mudge

It is fitting that we conclude this sketch of FÉnelon with some account of his writings, because it is so largely through them that he lives today. The most complete collection of his works, issued from Paris between 1820 and 1830, is in thirty-four volumes, 8vo, of which eleven volumes are given to the correspondence. Many of these literary labors have been translated into English; for instance, the treatise on the “Education of Daughters,” the “Dialogues on Eloquence,” the “Demonstration of the Existence of God,” and the “Spiritual Letters.” The last has by far the greatest importance at the present time, has indeed an importance for all time. But before taking it up, a few words concerning some of his other productions will be in place.

While he was superior at the institution for the New Catholics, in 1687 or 1688, he wrote a treatise on the authority of the priesthood or the dogma of the Apostolical Succession, of course defending it; which established his reputation as a writer, and attracted the notice of the king. Much more important was his work on the “Education of Girls;” this has been sufficiently dwelt upon in the first chapter. A treatise on the “Existence of God” was begun in these earlier years, but leisure did not seem to be found for its full development. Even the first part was not published till 1712, and the second did not see the light until three years after his death. It is of little value now, but it made a strong impression on the metaphysical philosophers of the eighteenth century, and is especially praised by Thomas Reid. His “Dialogues on Eloquence,” with special reference to that of the pulpit (an admirable treatise on oratory), was not published at all until after his death; neither was his “Refutation of Malebranche,” his “Letters to the King,” treatise on the “Authority of the Sovereign Pontiff,” “Questions for Self-Examination on the Duties of a King,” “Letters on Religion” to the Duke of Orleans, “Plans of Government,” and “Letter to the Academy.” The latter, written a few months before his death, constitutes his answer to the chief literary questions of his age, and treats more especially of the controversy between the Classic and Romantic Schools. He was a thoroughgoing Classicist, an Ancient of the Ancients, insisting on the study of Greek as a panacea for most literary diseases. He has also in the letter a chapter on the “Art of Writing History,” making symmetry the first requirement, and impartiality next. In his eyes a history was a work of art, with something in it of the epic poem. He suggested, furthermore, that the Academy should devote itself to a detailed examination of the standard works in the French language, and prepare popular editions with notes.

All FÉnelon’s writings, it may be said, show much grandeur and delicacy of sentiment, great fertility of genius, a correct taste, and excited sensibility. A poetical character appears in them all. By assiduous study the works of the best writers of antiquity were familiar to him, and his intimate acquaintance with their productions furnished him a resource in every vicissitude of life; they were his ornament in prosperity, his comfort in adversity. The charm of his manner in society is largely communicated to the products of his pen. They abound in passages of splendor and pathos, but their chief excellence is in their tender simplicity, by which the reader’s heart is irresistibly drawn to the writer.

Of much higher rank in a literary point of view than any of those previously mentioned was his “Adventures of Telemachus; or, The Education of a Prince.” It is a fabulous narrative in the form of a heroic poem, in which he sets down the truths most necessary to be known by one about to reign; and the faults that cling most closely to sovereign power are also fully described. It was composed by FÉnelon while he was preceptor to the royal dukes, and designed exclusively for their instruction; “written at chance moments, hurriedly, and piece by piece,” says the author, “sent to the press by an unfaithful copyist, and never intended for the world.” He insisted that he did not borrow from real persons, or sketch in the characters of his own time. This was undoubtedly true; but no human power could convince Louis XIV that it was so, and the unauthorized publication of it in 1698, just when the Quietist controversy was at its height, was extremely unfortunate for FÉnelon, and filled the king’s cup of wrath to overflowing. He had been more than sufficiently embittered before, but after this there was not the slightest hope of reconciliation; for the book is an idealistic portrayal of a commonwealth where virtue has its own again, where there is no tyranny, where the king is the father of all his people and the chief servant of the State, where duty is lifted far above rights, and justice is supreme. Since nothing could be more opposite to all this than the character and conduct of King Louis, it is no wonder that he took it as a personal insult and a deliberate satire. In every part of it disrespectful mention is made of ambition, of extensive conquests, of military fame, of magnificence, and of almost everything else which Louis considered as the glory of his reign. While the author must be acquitted of any intention to affront the monarch, which would have been most ungrateful and most ridiculous, it is evident that he must have had unconsciously in mind the principal actors in the scenes around him, was wholly out of sympathy with them, and was training the young princes on a totally different model. The book, suppressed, of course, in Paris, was brought out at once in Holland, and became everywhere the rage, immensely popular all over Europe, and, even to the present day, much read. It has stood the test of two centuries of existence, has been translated into many languages, and has made his name familiar to those whom he could not otherwise have touched. Nevertheless, the effect of its publication on his fortunes at that time was exceedingly disastrous, and his enemies made the utmost use of it against him.

“The Explanation of the Maxims of the Saints on the Interior Life,” and the great part it played in FÉnelon’s career has been already referred to in a previous chapter. The reader will enjoy getting a little fuller idea of its contents. Dr. T. C. Upham devoted forty-five pages to summarizing, in a free translation, the forty-five articles constituting the book, and the following extracts are taken from his work, now out of print:

“Pure love is mixed love carried to its true result. When this result is attained, the motive of God’s glory so expands itself, and so fills the mind, that the other motive, that of our own happiness, becomes so small and so recedes from our inward notice as to be practically annihilated. It is then that God becomes what He ever ought to be,—the center of the soul, to which all its affections tend; the great moral sun of the soul, from which all its light and all its warmth proceed. It is then that a man thinks no more of himself. He has become the man of a single eye. His own happiness and all that regards himself are entirely lost sight of, in his simple and fixed look to God’s will and God’s glory.”

“When the sun shines the stars disappear. When God is in the soul, who can think of himself? So that we love God and God alone; and all other things in and for God.”

“The second state, which follows that of holy resignation, is that of holy indifference. Such a soul not only desires and wills in submission, but absolutely ceases either to desire or to will, except in co-operation with the Divine leading. Its desires for itself, as it has greater light, are more completely and permanently merged in the one higher and more absorbing desire of God’s glory, and the fulfillment of His will. It desires and wills, therefore, only what God desires and wills.”

“Holy indifference is not inactivity. It is the furthest possible from it. It is indifference to anything and everything out of God’s will; but it is the highest life and activity to everything in that will.”

“One of the principles in the doctrine of holy living is, that we should not be premature in drawing the conclusion that the process of inward crucifixion is complete, and that our abandonment to God is without any reservation whatever. The act of consecration, which is a sort of incipient step, may be sincere; but the reality of the consecration in the full extent to which we suppose it to exist, and which may properly be described as abandonment or entire self-renunciation, can be known only when God has applied the appropriate tests. We can not know whether we have renounced ourselves, except by being tried on those very points to which our self-renunciation relates. The trial will show whether or not we are wholly the Lord’s. Those who prematurely draw the conclusion that they are so, expose themselves to great illusion and injury.”

“Those in the highest state of religious experience desire nothing except that God may be glorified in them by the accomplishment of His holy will.”

“Their continual life of love, which refers everything to God, and identifies everything with His will, is essentially a life of continual prayer.”

“The will of God is their ultimate and only rule of action.”

“The most advanced souls are those which are most possessed with the thoughts and the presence of Christ.”

“The soul in the state of pure love acts in simplicity. Its inward rule of action is found in the decisions of a sanctified judgment. These decisions, based upon judgments that are free from self-interest, may not always be absolutely right, because our views and judgments, being limited, can extend only to things in part; but they may be said to be relatively right; they conform to things so far as we are permitted to see them and understand them, and convey to the soul a moral assurance that, when we act in accordance with them, we are doing as God would have us do.”

We come now to the “Spiritual Letters,” which have been called, not unadvisedly, “the most perfect things of their kind anywhere to be found.” They were written to a very large number of correspondents, both men and women, on the impulse of the moment, and without the least thought of publication. Hence they become all the more the most authentic revelation of his inmost mind, a necessary and integral part of his character. He wrote as he would have spoken, suiting himself to the knowledge of his hearers, aiming at simplicity rather than ornament, but not disdaining homely similes so far as they will make his meaning plain. He draws freely and constantly upon his own experience, so that the letters are a reflection of himself, as well as a storehouse of practical religion. Helpful counsel may be found in them for nearly all situations in life and on nearly all topics that are most closely connected with Christian living. For though the persons to whom he wrote were usually in the higher circles—dukes, counts, lords, ladies, soldiers, courtiers, and priests—nevertheless, they were always men and women, wives and mothers, with human hearts and much the same temptations to combat that come to common people in the present age. The letters were written to meet the individual needs of very real persons, written out of a warm heart and by a mind stored with the lore of the Church on these subjects, as well as gifted with unusual powers of discernment. FÉnelon was a consummate director of consciences; he moved through life heavily incumbered with the wants of others, carrying many burdens and taxing all his great powers to meet the ever-recurring needs of a multitude of perplexed and hungering spirits.

Those who peruse the epistles will readily perceive that they present a very high ideal, yet we do not think they can fairly be pronounced harsh. He does not speak in a tone of asperity. He saw far into the human heart, looked with a piercing eye through the disguises of sin, could follow with unexampled clearness the turnings and twistings and lurkings of selfishness. Though the severest of censors, he is at the same time the most pitying. He regards human error with indulgent tenderness, and weeps over it as Jesus wept over Jerusalem. Echoes of the Stoic philosophers—Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, Seneca—will undoubtedly be found in these letters. Indeed, a very considerable and rather curious parallel has been drawn between FÉnelon and Seneca; which only shows the permanence of the principles that regulate the union between God and the soul under all skies and creeds. There is a close similarity between these letters and those of Francis of Sales, who wrote on the same themes; for the two saw eye to eye. The effusions of either Francis, although adapted primarily to a different communion and time, can be recommended almost unqualifiedly to-day to that small class—it will always be a small class—who set themselves, with an aroused intelligence, a high appreciation of the nature of the task before them, and an intense determination, to realize, through all available and appointed means, the closest possible approximation to perfect union with the Divine.

Our criticisms of FÉnelon’s letters are but few, and yet a little note of warning should undoubtedly be sounded. No one should read them who is not prepared to think for himself, to use a vigorous common-sense, and to select for entire observance only those precepts which commend themselves to his mind as being in complete accord with the Scripture and with the most judicious of other spiritual advisers. Almost everything he finds will, we believe, thus commend itself. But there will be an occasional use of language before which he will pause and make a note of question or dissent. There will be unguarded expressions which need explanation. Perhaps the chief words which he will find cause to challenge will be those of most frequent occurrence—self and self-love. FÉnelon does not use these terms quite accurately, and whoever takes them literally will be led into trouble. Where he says self-love he almost always means selfishness, which, in our modern nomenclature, is quite a different thing, being the inordinate, excessive, or forbidden love of self, such a regard for the interests and rights of self as disregards the interests and rights of other people. This latter is always wrong, of course. But self-love, strictly speaking, is in itself right, perfectly innocent, and of great importance to retain. It is essential to our preservation and prosperity, one of the most vital ingredients in our constitution. FÉnelon, we think, never recognizes this meaning of the word, never seems to know that we have very important, imperative duties to self, as well as to our neighbor and to God. Either he was not familiar with these distinctions so common in ethics now, or he was so profoundly impressed with the danger of overdoing self-love that he did not deem it well to recognize this duty at all. But that surely is a mistake, and with some minds tends to become a very harmful one, leading straight on to fanaticism.

He is never tired of insisting on the absolute necessity for the death of self, the destruction of self. But this phrase will not stand critical examination. The peril which always lurks in figures of speech, and the tendency to exaggerate which so frequently besets devotional writers of the intense mystic type, is very manifest here. Such writers put forward their extreme statements with a laudable desire to make a deep impression on the callous sensibilities of the average reader, and with the idea, perhaps, that large deduction will be made in the practical application of their precepts. But many find in this an excuse for throwing the whole subject impatiently aside. We are convinced that it is better in such things to state the exact truth with all carefulness and with as few misleading figures of speech as possible. There is certainly an ethical limit to our right of self-abnegation and self-impartation. Benevolence has its moral bounds in holiness. A man’s life finds its largest fulfillment, not in weakly assimilating itself to the wishes of those around it, but in giving forth some new and characteristic expression of the life of God. The notions, or even the needs, of one’s neighbors are not the highest standard of right living. Every man holds himself in trust for his Creator, and must do his best to manifest that Creator, not necessarily according to the conception most prevalent in his immediate circle, but according to the mandate which has been laid on him. It is this thought which gives the profoundest value to his existence and lifts him above too great dependence on popular standards. And it is this thought, properly carried out, which shows how much of unreason there is in the declaration that self must be totally forgotten, renounced, annihilated.

No person is justified in doing anything of this sort. Self-preservation and self-protection, self-respect and self-esteem, self-defense and self-development are manifest duties. It may readily be granted that they are not in any great danger of neglect from the ordinary or average individual. But the extraordinary individual, if wrongly instructed, filled with a zeal not according to knowledge, keenly conscientious, morbidly scrupulous, keyed up to an unnatural pitch and straining after an impossible ideal, may do himself much harm and go far astray. To overdo is often as bad as to underdo, and causes undoing.

Denunciations of selfishness are always in order, but its boundaries are not so easily defined. Self-love—the instinctive desire or tendency that leads one to seek to promote his own well-being, a due care for one’s own happiness, essential to high endeavor and perfectly compatible with justice, generosity, and benevolence—is a component part of our nature, and must be carefully safeguarded. To talk about its annihilation or eradication is to talk foolishness; and to attempt such eradication is to fly in the face of nature; that is, of God. The whole question, then, between selfishness and self-love is one of degree and adjustment and relative rights. No absolute hard-and-fast line can be drawn. One must use his best judgment, enlightened from all possible sources, as to what in any given case duty to self and duty to others demands. And that judgment he must follow, even when it materially differs from the opinion of those who may criticise his conduct. There is no virtue in wasting one’s self on impossible tasks. Self-sacrifice is never ethical if it be a willful spending of self to no purpose. One may do a serious wrong to himself, and confer no real good on any one else, by following the lead of generous, uncalculating, unthinking impulses. The exhortation never to think about one’s self is thoroughly mischievous, and can only lead to fanaticism and discouragement.

Self-control, not self-annihilation or extirpation, is the duty of the Christian. A man has perfect self-control when his highest powers hold the lower in subjection with perfect ease, and are themselves in complete harmony with the will of God. He is perfectly free from selfishness who gives to self only that degree of attention and care which is due, and in no way infringes on any of the rights of others. And he who is keenly desirous of doing this, bearing in mind his natural bias the wrong way, will deem it the safer course to go a little beyond what may seem the due limit. But it is not selfish to be manly, or to insist on being permitted to work out one’s calling according to the clear, conscious summons from on high. Self-will so much inveighed against is right, since it is a necessary component part of selfhood. Without self-will and self-consciousness there can be no self; in other words, we cease to be, and are non-existent. Masterfulness should be distinguished from willfulness; the former is not sinful, but a most desirable thing in this world where leadership is so essential to progress. A selfish will, one at any point divergent from the will of God, so far as we know or can ascertain, is always wrong. To tell where egoism ends and altruism begins in our relations with our fellow-men is far from easy; but it is ever blessed to become absorbed in a great cause, and supremely noble to have as the highest object in life the glory of God.

Some exceptions must be taken to a few other extreme statements of FÉnelon, in which he follows other mistaken writers. The language of such teachers on humility is overstrained and really false, likely to do harm. FÉnelon says, for example, “Those who are truly humble always take the lowest place, rejoicing when they are despised, and considering every one superior to themselves. We may judge of the advancement we have in humility by the delight we have in humiliation and contempt.” His motto was, “Ama nesciri”—Love to be unknown. Kempis wrote much of this same sort. And John Fletcher of Madeley was constantly offering up the prayer which we have in Charles Wesley’s couplet,

“Make me little and unknown,

Loved and prized by God alone.”

To desire to be despised, thought meanly of, accounted as naught, we can not recognize as a fruit of grace in a healthy mind rightly apprehensive of the vast importance to usefulness of a good reputation. To think of ourselves more highly than we ought to think is wrong, but so is it wrong to think of ourselves less highly than we ought. The truth above all things, facts at any cost whether to ourselves or other people, is the better attitude. No gain can come from falsity on the one side, any more than on the other. To delight unspeakably in the will of God, even when it involves contempt from those who misunderstand our position, is not the same as delighting in contempt itself. To insist on the lowest place when our recognized and lawful place is higher, would be neither wise nor edifying. FÉnelon himself took his proper place as archbishop in the cathedral and palace and elsewhere, without diminution from his humility. He showed the latter in his hospital work, and in his familiar relations with those of lower rank.

A little too much is made in some places of the importance of silence. There is not sufficient recognition of the fact that some are in great danger of speaking too little, that there are idle silences as well as idle words. The stress laid upon listening to the interior voice is also carried somewhat beyond bounds, and needs counterbalancing by the warning that it is very easy to mistake the utterances of our own spirits for those of the Spirit of God, the products of a vain imagination for the products of Divine direction. Many have been sadly misled at this point. We need not perhaps specify other strained and unbalanced remarks. There are not many of them, and it would be unjust to make too much of them; but it is also unsafe to ignore them altogether. The letters are all the better in that they demand reflection from the reader, and are not to be taken up in a wooden way as though they were infallible. Properly perused, with prayer and meditation, they can not fail to be of immense service to the inquiring mind and the devotional spirit. There is nothing better as a stimulus to those with lofty aspirations seeking for guidance as to how best they may reach the heights.

A few extracts from the letters, all that our space permits, are furnished, that the reader’s appetite may be whetted for the feast to be found in larger volumes. And we can not better close this unpretentious, but we hope useful, little book than with some of the glowing paragraphs that have already done so much good in the world, and are destined to do so much more as the centuries roll:

Easy Ways of Divine Love.

Christian perfection is not that rigorous, tedious, cramping thing that many imagine. It demands only an entire surrender of everything to God, from the depths of the soul; and the moment this takes place, whatever is done for Him becomes easy. They who are God’s without reserve are in every state content; for they will only what He wills, and desire to do for Him whatever He desires them to do. They strip themselves of everything, and in this nakedness find all things a hundred-fold. Peace of conscience, liberty of spirit, the sweet abandonment of themselves and theirs into the hands of God, the joy of perceiving the light always increasing in their hearts, and, finally, the freedom of their souls from the bondage of the fears and desires of this world,—these things constitute that return of happiness which the true children of God receive a hundred-fold in the midst of their crosses while they remain faithful.

What God requires of us is a will which is no longer divided between Him and any creature; a simple pliable state of will, which desires what He desires, rejects nothing but what He rejects, wills without reserve what He wills, and under no pretext wills what He does not. In this state of mind all things are proper for us; our amusements, even, are acceptable in His sight.

No matter what crosses may overwhelm the true child of God, he wills everything that happens, and would not have anything removed that his Father appoints; the more he loves God, the more is he filled with content; and the most stringent perfection, far from being a burden, only renders his yoke the lighter.

The Divine Presence.

The true source of all our perfection is contained in the command of God to Abraham, “Walk before me and be thou perfect.” (Gen. xvii, 1.) The presence of God calms the soul, and gives it quiet and repose, even during the day and in the midst of occupation; but we must be given up to God without reserve.

Whenever we perceive within us anxious desires for anything, whatever it may be, and find that nature is hurrying us with too much haste to do whatever is to be done, whether it be to say something, see something, or do something, let us stop short and repress the precipitancy of our thoughts and the agitation of our actions; for God has said that His Spirit does not dwell in disquiet.

An excellent means of preserving our interior solitude and liberty of soul is to make it a rule to put an end at the close of every action to all reflections upon it, all reflex acts of self-love, whether of a vain joy or sorrow.

Let us be accustomed to recollect ourselves, during the day and in the midst of our occupations, by a simple view of God. Let us silence by that means all the movements of our heart, when they appear in the least agitated. Let us separate ourselves from all that does not come from God. Let us suppress our superfluous thoughts and reveries. Let us utter no useless word. Let us seek God within us, and we shall find Him without fail, and with Him joy and peace.

Let us be careful not to suffer ourselves to be overwhelmed by the multiplicity of our exterior operations, be they what they may. Let us endeavor to commence every enterprise with a pure view to the glory of God, continue it without distraction, and finish it without impatience. The intervals of relaxation and amusement are the most dangerous for us, and perhaps the most useful for others; we must then be on our guard that we be as faithful as possible to the presence of God. We can never employ our leisure hours better than in refreshing our spiritual strength by a secret and intimate communion with God. Prayer is so necessary and the source of so many blessings, that he who has discovered the treasure can not be prevented from having recourse to it whenever he has an opportunity.

Independence.

Do not suffer yourself to get excited by what is said about you. Let the world talk. Do you strive to do the will of God; as for that of men, you would never succeed in doing it to their satisfaction, and it is not worth the pains.

Let the water flow beneath the bridge. Let men be men; that is to say, weak, vain, inconsistent, unjust, false, and presumptuous. Let the world be the world still; you can not prevent it. Let every one follow his own inclination and habits: you can not recast them, and the best course is to let them be as they are and bear with them. Do not think it strange when you witness unreasonableness and injustice; rest in peace in the bosom of God: He sees it all more clearly than you do, and yet permits it. Be content to do quietly and gently what it becomes you to do, and let everything else be to you as though it were not.

As long as the world is anything to us, so long our freedom is but a word, and we are as easily captured as a bird whose leg is fastened by a thread. He seems to be free; the string is not visible, but he can fly only its length, and he is a prisoner.

Do not be vexed at what people say. Let them speak while you endeavor to do the will of God. A little silence, peace, and communion with God will compensate you for all the injustice of men. We must love our fellow-beings without depending on their friendship. They leave us, they return, and they go from us again. Let them go or come; it is the feather blown about by the wind. Fix your attention upon God alone in your connection with them. It is He alone who, through them, consoles or afflicts you.

Possess your soul in patience. Renew often within you the feeling of the presence of God, that you may learn moderation. There is nothing truly great but lowliness, charity, fear of ourselves, and detachment from the dominion of sense. Accustom yourself gradually to carry prayer into your daily occupations. Speak, move, act in peace as if you were in prayer. Do everything without eagerness as if by the Spirit of God. As soon as you perceive your natural impetuosity impelling you, retire into the sanctuary where dwells the Father of spirits; listen to what you hear there; and then neither say nor do anything but what He dictates in your heart. You will find that you will become more tranquil, that your words will be fewer and more to the purpose, and that with less effort you will accomplish more good. When the heart is fixed on God it can easily accustom itself to suspend the natural movements of ardent feeling, and to wait for the favorable moment when the voice within may speak. This is the continual sacrifice of self, and the life of faith.

The Faults of Others.

Perfection is easily tolerant of the imperfections of others; it becomes all things to all men. We must not be surprised at the greatest defects in good souls, and must quietly let them alone until God gives the signal of gradual removal; otherwise we shall pull up the wheat with the tares.

They who correct others ought to watch the moment when God touches their hearts; we must bear a fault with patience till we perceive His Spirit reproaching them within. We must imitate Him who gently reproves, so that they feel that it is less God that condemns them than their own hearts. When we blame with impatience, because we are displeased with the fault, it is a human censure and not the disapprobation of God. It is a sensitive self-love that can not forgive the self-love of others. The more self-love we have, the more severe our censures. There is nothing so vexatious as the collisions between one excessive self-love and another still more violent and excessive. The passions of others are infinitely ridiculous to those who are under the dominion of their own. The ways of God are very different. He is ever full of kindness for us; He gives us strength; He regards us with pity and condescension; He remembers our weakness; He waits for us.

I am very sorry for the imperfections you find in human beings, but you must learn to expect but little from them; this is the only security against disappointment. We must receive from them what they are able to give us, as from trees the fruits that they yield. God bears with imperfect beings even when they resist His goodness. We ought to imitate this merciful patience and endurance. It is only imperfection that complains of what is imperfect. The more perfect we are, the more gentle and quiet we become toward the defects of others.

The defects of our neighbors interfere with our own; our vanity is wounded by that of another; our own haughtiness finds our neighbor’s ridiculous and insupportable; our restlessness is rebuked by the sluggishness and indolence of this person; our gloom is disturbed by the gayety and frivolity of that person; and our heedlessness by the shrewdness and address of another. If we were faultless we should not be so much annoyed by the defects of those with whom we associate. If we were to acknowledge honestly that we have not virtue enough to bear patiently with our neighbor’s weaknesses, we should show our own imperfection, and this alarms our vanity. We therefore make our weakness pass for strength, elevate it to a virtue, and call it zeal. For it is not surprising to see how tranquil we are about the errors of others when they do not trouble us, and how soon this wonderful zeal kindles against those who excite our jealousy or weary our patience.

Not Perfect in a Moment.

Neither in His gracious nor providential dealings does God work a miracle lightly. It would be as great a wonder to see a person full of self become in a moment dead to all self-interest and all sensitiveness as it would be to see a slumbering infant wake in the morning a fully developed man. God works in a mysterious way in grace as well as in nature, concealing His operations under an imperceptible succession of events, and thus keeps us always in the darkness of faith.

He makes use of the inconstancy and ingratitude of the creature, and of the disappointments and surfeits which accompany prosperity, to detach us from them both. All this dealing appears perfectly natural, and it is by this succession of natural means that we are burnt as by a slow fire. We should like to be consumed at once by the flames of pure love; but such an end would cost us scarce anything. It is only an excessive self-love that desires thus to become perfect in a moment, and at so cheap a rate.

We cling to an infinity of things which we never suspect; we only feel that they are a part of us when they are snatched away, as I am only conscious that I have hairs when they are pulled from my head. God develops to us little by little what is within us, of which we are until then entirely ignorant, and we are astonished at discovering in our very virtues defects of which we should never have believed ourselves capable.

God spares us by discovering our weakness to us in proportion as our strength to support the view of it increases. We discover our imperfections one by one as we are able to cure them. Without this merciful preparation that adapts our strength to the light within, we should be in despair.

To the sincere desire to do the will of God we must add a cheerful spirit that is not overcome when it has failed, but tries again and again to do better; hoping always to the very end to be able to do it; bearing with its own involuntary weakness as God bears with it; waiting with patience for the moment when it shall be delivered from it; going straight on in singleness of heart according to the strength that it can command; losing no time by looking back, nor making useless reflections when it falls, which can only embarrass and retard its progress. The first sight of our little failings should humble us, but we must press on; not judging ourselves with a Judaical rigor; not regarding God as a spy watching for our least offense, or as an enemy who places snares in our path, but as a Father who loves and wishes to save us; trusting in His goodness, invoking His blessing, and doubting all other support. This is true liberty.

Humility.

The foundation of peace with all men is humility. Pride is incompatible with pride; hence arise divisions in the world. We must stifle all rising jealousies; all little contrivances to promote our own glory; vain desires to please or to succeed, or to be praised; the fear of seeing others preferred to ourselves; the anxiety to have our plans carried into effect; the natural love of dominion and desire to influence others. These rules are soon given, but it is not so easy to observe them. With some people, not only pride and hauteur render these duties very difficult, but great natural sensitiveness makes the practice of them nearly impossible, and, instead of respecting their neighbor with a true feeling of humility, all their charity amounts only to a sort of compassionate toleration that nearly resembles contempt.

Humility is the source of all true greatness; pride is ever impatient, ready to be offended. He who thinks nothing is due to him never thinks himself ill-treated; true meekness is not mere temperament, for this is only softness or weakness.

There is no true and constant gentleness without humility; while we are so fond of ourselves we are easily offended with others. Let us be persuaded that nothing is due to us, and then nothing will disturb us. Let us often think of our own infirmities, and we shall become indulgent toward those of others.

Daily Faults.

Little faults become great in our eyes in proportion as the pure light of God increases in us, just as the sun in rising reveals the true dimensions of objects which were dimly and confusedly discovered during the night. Be sure that, with the increase of the inward light, the imperfections which you have hitherto seen will be beheld as far greater and more deadly in their foundations than you now conceive them, and that you will witness, in addition, the development of a crowd of others, of the existence of which you have not now the slightest suspicion. You will find the weaknesses necessary to deprive you of all confidence in your own strength; but this discovery, far from discouraging, will but serve to destroy your self-reliance, and raze to the ground the edifice of pride.

Our faults, even those most difficult to bear, will all be of service to us if we make use of them for our humiliation without relaxing our efforts to correct them. We must bear with ourselves without either flattery or discouragement, a mean seldom attained. Utter despair of ourselves, in consequence of a conviction of our helplessness and unbounded confidence in God, is the true foundation of the spiritual edifice.

Discouragement is not a fruit of humility, but of pride; nothing can be worse. Suppose we have stumbled, or even fallen, let us rise and run again; all our falls are useful if they strip us of a disastrous confidence in ourselves, while they do not take away a humble and salutary trust in God.

Carefully purify your conscience from daily faults; suffer no sin to dwell in your heart; small as it may seem, it obscures the light of grace, weighs down the soul, and hinders that constant communion with Jesus Christ which it should be your pleasure to cultivate; you will become lukewarm, forget God, and find yourself growing in attachment to the creature. The great point is never to act in opposition to the inward light, but be willing to go as far as God would have us.

Motives.

God does not so much regard our actions as the motives of love from which they spring, and the pliability of our wills to His. Men judge our deeds by their outward appearance; with God, that which is most dazzling in the eyes of men is of no account. What He desires is a pure intention, a will ready for anything and ever pliable in His hands, and an honest abandonment of self; and all this can be much more frequently manifested on small than on extraordinary occasions; there will also be much less danger from pride, and the trial will be far more searching. Indeed, it sometimes happens that we find it harder to part with a trifle than with an important interest; it may be more of a cross to abandon a vain amusement than to bestow a large sum in charity.

The greatest danger of all consists in this, that by neglecting small matters the soul becomes accustomed to unfaithfulness. We grieve the Holy Spirit, we return to ourselves, we think it a little thing to be wanting toward God. On the other hand, true love can see nothing small; everything that can either please or displease God seems to be great. Not that true love disturbs the soul with scruples, but it puts no limit to its faithfulness; it acts simply with God; and as it does not concern itself about those things which God does not require from it, so it never hesitates an instant about those which He does, be they great or small.

True Prayer.

True prayer is only another name for the love of God. To pray is to desire—but to desire what God would have us desire. He who asks what he does not from the bottom of his heart desire, is mistaken in thinking that he prays. O how few there are who pray; for how few are they who desire what is truly good! Crosses, external and internal humiliation, renouncement of our own wills, the death of self, and the establishment of God’s throne upon the ruins of self-love,—these are indeed good. Not to desire these is not to pray; to desire them seriously, soberly, constantly, and with reference to all the details of life,—this is true prayer. Alas! how many souls full of self and of an imaginary desire for perfection in the midst of hosts of voluntary imperfections, have never yet uttered this true prayer of the heart! It is in reference to this that St. Augustine says, “He that loveth little, prayeth little; he that loveth much, prayeth much.”

Our intercourse with God resembles that with a friend; at first there are a thousand things to be told and as many to be asked; but after a time these diminish, while the pleasure of being together does not. Everything has been said, but the satisfaction of seeing each other, of feeling that one is near the other, of reposing in the enjoyment of a pure and sweet friendship, can be felt without conversation; the silence is eloquent and mutually understood. Each feels that the other is in perfect sympathy with him, and that their two hearts are incessantly poured out into each other, and constitute but one.

Those who have stations of importance to fill have generally so many indispensable duties to perform that, without the greatest care in the management of their time, none will be left to be alone with God. If they have ever so little inclination to dissipation, the hours that belong to God and their neighbor disappear altogether. We must be firm in observing our rules. This strictness seems excessive, but without it everything falls into confusion; we become dissipated, relaxed, and lose strength; we insensibly separate from God, surrender ourselves to all our pleasures, and only then begin to perceive that we have wandered when it is almost hopeless to think of endeavoring to return.

The Human Will.

True virtue and pure love reside in the will alone. The question is not, What is the state of our feelings? But, What is the condition of our will? Let us will to have whatever we have, and not to have whatever we have not. We would not even be delivered from our sufferings, for it is God’s place to apportion to us our crosses and our joys. In the midst of affliction we rejoice, as did the apostles; but it is not joy of the feelings, joy of the will. The faithful soul has a will which is perfectly free; it accepts without questioning whatever bitter blessings God develops, wills them, loves them, and embraces them; it would not be freed from them if it could be accomplished by a simple wish; for such a wish would be an act originating in self and contrary to its abandonment to Providence; and it is desirous that this abandonment should be absolutely perfect.

The important question is, not how much you enjoy religion, but whether you will whatever God wills. The essence of virtue consists in the attitude of the will. That kingdom of God which is within us consists in our willing whatever God wills, always, in everything, without reservation. Thus nothing can ever come to pass against our wishes; for nothing can happen contrary to the will of God. The interior life is the beginning of the blessed peace of the saints, who eternally cry, Amen, Alleluia! We adore, we praise, we bless God in everything; we see Him incessantly, and in all things His paternal hand is the sole object of our contemplation. There are no longer any evils; for even the most terrible that can come upon us work together for our good. Can the suffering that God designs to purify us and make us worthy of Himself be called an evil?

Happy is he who never hesitates; who fears only that he follows with too little readiness; who would rather do too much against self than too little. Blessed is he who, when asked for a sample, boldly presents his entire stock and suffers God to cut from the whole cloth. It is thought that this state is a painful one. It is a mistake; here is peace and liberty; here the heart, detached from everything, is immeasurably enlarged, so as to become illimitable; nothing cramps it; and, in accordance with the promise, it becomes, in a certain sense, one with God Himself.

True progress does not consist in a multitude of views, nor in austerities, trouble, and strife; it is simply willing nothing and everything, without reservation and choice, cheerfully performing each day’s journey as Providence appoints it for us: seeking nothing, refusing nothing, finding everything in the present moment, and suffering God, who does everything, to do His pleasure in and by us without the slightest resistance.

Various Advices.

You may be exercised in self-renunciation in every event of every day.

Peace in this life springs from acquiescence even in disagreeable things, not in an exemption from suffering.

Whoever will refuse nothing which comes in the order of God, and seek nothing out of that order, need never fear to finish his day’s work without partaking of the cross of Jesus Christ. There is an indispensable providence for crosses as well as for the necessaries of life; they are a part of our daily bread; God will never suffer it to fail.

A life of faith produces two things: First, it enables us to see God in everything; secondly, it holds the mind in a state of readiness for whatever may be His will. This continual, unceasing dependence on God, this state of entire peace and acquiescence of the soul in whatever may happen, is the true silent martyrdom of self.

With the exception of sin, nothing happens in this world out of the will of God. It is He who is the author, ruler, and bestower of all; He has numbered the hairs of our head, the leaves of every tree, the sand upon the seashore, and the drops of the ocean.

This is the whole of religion: to get out of self in order to get into God.

To be a Christian is to be an imitator of Jesus Christ. In what can we imitate Him if not in his humiliation? Nothing else can bring us near to Him. We may adore Him as omnipotent, fear Him as just, love Him with all our heart as good and merciful, but we can only imitate Him as humble, submissive, poor, and despised.

What men stand most in need of is the knowledge of God. It is not astonishing that men do so little for God, and that the little which they do costs them so much. They do not know Him; scarcely do they believe that He exists. If He were known He would be loved.

Thou causest me clearly to understand that Thou makest use of the evils and imperfections of the creature to do the good which Thou hast determined beforehand. Thou concealest Thyself under the importunate visitor who intrudes upon the occupation of Thy impatient child, that he may learn not to be impatient, and that he may die to the gratification of being free to study or work as he pleases. Thou availest Thyself of slanderous tongues to destroy the reputation of Thine innocent children, that, besides their innocence, they may offer Thee the sacrifice of their too highly cherished reputation. By the cunning artifices of the envious Thou layest low the fortunes of those whose hearts were too much set upon their prosperity. Thus Thou mercifully strewest bitterness over everything that is not Thyself, to the end that our hearts, formed to love Thee and to exist upon Thy love, may be, as it were, constrained to return to Thee by a want of satisfaction in everything else.