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 m