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Cling not to sensible sweetness: suffer dryness with a good
heart
This maxim refers to contemplative prayer, and to the manner in
which those who practise it should act. As a rule, in the
beginning, this kind of prayer is most attractive. God gives the
soul a certain consciousness of His presence. [82] Having
introduced it into His banqueting hall, He inundates it with
favours. Here is a paradise of delights of which it had no
conception. Here it breathes a different atmosphere, and delights
in a liberty hitherto unknown; the heart is too narrow to contain
the blessings lavished on it. But when it feels itself abandoned,
sighs and tears are intermingled with exclamations of joy. This
state may last some time. The Bridegroom does, indeed, hide
Himself from time to time, but only so that the soul may long for
Him more intensely. Then the soul hastens to recall Him, seeks Him
anxiously, and derives fresh comfort when He returns.
In thus giving it a foretaste of those pure and deep joys of which
He is the source, God intends the soul to feel an aversion and
contempt for the false pleasures incident to the enjoyment of
created things. Experience is a better teacher than theory, for
the latter onlyappeals to the mind. But what happens then? The
wretched self-love which we all have within us makes ill use of
God's favours. Hardly has it tasted them than it seeks them
eagerly, gloats over them with a complacency which it refuses to
acknowledge, and persuades the soul to make them the motive and
end of its prayers, of its good works, even of the struggles it
has with itself and of the penances it undertakes. So much is this
the case that it seeks heavenly delights as ardently as the
voluptuary seeks those of this world. By reason of a mercenary and
selfish spirit, God is loved solely for the sensible pledges of
His love.
And all the time the soul thinks it is loving God for His own
sake, with a really disinterested love, whilst deep down it is
self and its own satisfaction that is the object of its love. This
is proved by the fact that, as soon as God withdraws these
sensible joys, the soul becomes unsettled, troubled, despondent
and even despairing, and often gives up the struggle, reproaching
God for having forsaken it in the first place.
But that is not how God wants to be loved and served. In order to
draw and win the soul, He will deign to give it some slight
foretastes of its promised happiness, but He will not allow the
soul to cling to them or to make them its motive and aim. Most
certainly, man is made for happiness, but his real happiness is
reserved for the next life. This life is a time of trial, wherein
we merit our future happiness. Here below God prepares crosses for
His friends, and it is to dispose them to receive them from His
hand that He begins by rendering that hand dear to them on account
of the favours it bestows. The more delightful and absorbing these
favours, the more must we expect the crosses that follow to be
heavy and overwhelming.
Let such souls, then, receive gratefully these first favours, and
not fear to enjoy them simply. They are milk for babes, food
adapted to their frailty. A director who sought to deprive such
souls of them, or ordered them to be given up, would be taking
away the necessary support and heavenly dew which the soul needs
in its present state. But he would be wise to profit by the
temporary absences of the heavenly Lover to encourage them to bear
such privations calmly. Whilst assuring them that the Bridegroom
will return, he must teach them to await patiently His time, and
not try to force things to suit their impatience. Let him open
their eyes little by little to the meanness of selflove, inspire
them with a generous disinterestedness, and lead them to realize
that God is infinitely more precious than His gifts; that He must
be loved for His own sake, and that in serving Him it is His will
alone that the soul seeks. Thus a spirit of detachment will
gradually be formed in the soul, so that it will be prepared to
accept without fear or danger the time of weaning from sensible
sweetness, when God is about to give it more substantial
nourishment in the exercise of pure faith.
By pure faith I mean that state in which one serves God without
any pledge or assurance of being pleasing to Him. This state is
extremely painful to self-love, and so it must be since it is
meant to undermine it imperceptibly, and in the end to destroy it
so far as is possible in this life. If we were to enter suddenly
and without preparation a state so crucifying to nature, we would
not be able to bear it, and we would soon be repelled and give up
all idea of leading an interior life. And so God, with infinite
wisdom, arranges for this transitional stage, and the soul is not
weaned until it has achieved a certain growth. And although God
may afterwards keep it in an habitual state of privation, yet He
tempers its rigours by frequent tokens of His love. The soul, on
its part, long remembers the first graces God bestowed upon it,
and this remembrance serves as a support in times of desolation.
Besides, this state of pure faith has its degrees, and one only
arrives at the final stage after many years.
Yet, in spite of this wise economy of grace, few overcome these
initial difficulties. Most souls are so soft, sensual and self-
centred, that they cannot resolve to give up the consolations of
their spiritual childhood. They do their utmost to hold on to
them, and when deprived of them for any length of time imagine all
is lost. But God takes no notice of their fears. Once He has
withdrawn these delights, He restores them only for short periods
and at long intervals. He even appears the less disposed to grant
them in proportion to the eagerness with which they are sought.
Most persons, therefore, seeing that these privations last longer
than they like, lose hope and give up the practice of
contemplative prayer, under the plea that the attempt is a waste
of time. They relax their vigilance, allow their minds to become
distracted, and, despising their Creator, turn back to created
things. It is something if they do not fall below what they were
when God took them in hand, and merely resume the former practices
which they relinquished to follow the leadings of grace.
Frequently enough, they become worse than they were before, as a
punishment which God allows as a result of their secret despite,
pride and despair. They not only give up the interior life, but
often enough pious exercises altogether. The senses and passions
resume their sway, since they have less strength to resist them.
Those who knew them in the time of their first fervour are amazed
and scandalized by these falls, which they unjustly attribute to
the practice of contemplative prayer, as if it were responsible
for the errors consequent upon their having given it up. There are
few Christians who run so grave a risk as those who have lapsed
from their fervour.
Therefore it is important that those who are called by God to the
interior life should know that pure faith is, strictly speaking,
the essence of that life, and that the pleasurable state in which
they are first placed is only the prelude to and preparation for
it. This pure faith glorifies God most, because He is thereby
served in a manner worthy of Him, which yields no gratification to
self-love, and no opportunity for self-seeking. On the contrary,
the soul forgets itself, sacrifices itself, abandons itself to
bear whatever rigours it may please a merciful justice to exercise
in its regard. If, as St. Paul teaches, the elect are those whom
God has predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son; [83]
if their holiness increases in proportion to that conformity; if
the interior life is that which most resembles the divine pattern:
then those who, by God's special favour, are intended for this
life must expect that, while on earth, God will treat them as He
treated His only Son, having regard to the greatness of His plans
and the glory He wishes to receive through them, as well as the
glory wherewith He wills to crown them.
Therefore, the sweet peace of the prayer of delight will be
followed by long periods of disgust, dryness and weariness, which
will render the exercise of prayer as painful as it was formerly
pleasant. Perplexity, darkness, anguish and even terror will take
the place of light, joy and confidence. We shall feel ourselves
the sport of temptations in the matter of purity, faith and hope.
We shall continually fancy that we have consented, and nothing
will persuade us to the contrary. But we must go on blindly, maybe
for a long time, led by obedience, hoping against all hope, loving
God without knowing that we love Him or are loved by Him, feeling
ourselves rather the object of His displeasure. Not till we have
passed through utter darkness shall we find ourselves born again
to a new life, which will be the precious pledge of our eternal
happiness.
Not all interior souls pass through trials of the same length, or
involving equal suffering. God regulates the measure for each as
He wills, but all must pass through some form of trial, and indeed
are pledged to do so. Their longing for suffering is even greater
than their fear; for fear is part of our nature, whereas desire is
in the will. The love of the cross is one of the first things God
implants in the soul, and that love goes on ever increasing.
You, then, who are entering on the state of pure faith, gird
yourself to endure bravely the first absences of your Beloved, and
thus merit His support when He visits you with His crosses. Rest
assured that if you are faithful, He will lead you as far as you
are able to go and He will lay more crosses on you than you will
ask for. He tries severely those who love Him, in order that they
may love Him more. At the same time, He communicates to them an
unseen strength. And it is certain, though it sounds incredible,
that the more they suffer, the more these souls enjoy a peace
which, as St. Paul says, surpasses all understanding. [84] Besides
supporting them, God inspires them with words which have the power
to support others weaker than themselves. St. Paul bore witness to
this in his own case, when he said: Who comforteth us in all our
tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them who are in
distress. [85]
But do not let what I have said frighten you: it is but a picture
of the purgatory of love. What would it be like if I traced for
you a picture of the purgatory of justice, which all must pass
through after death, if they have not been purified before? One
must be purified in one or the other, and we cannot thank God
enough if we are able in this life to arrive at that degree of
purity which the soul must acquire before it can see God.
You dread trials. But they are absolutely unavoidable if you are
to enter heaven; and the willing acceptance of them will make them
sweet. You do not appreciate the all-powerful work of grace, and
the wondrous changes it brings to pass in the mind and heart.
Yield yourself up to it, have no fear for your own weakness: you
will be weak only in so far as you rely on yourself. If you place
your whole trust in God alone, you will be able to say with St.
Paul: I can do all things in Him Who strengtheneth me. [86]
You will ask me: why must we suffer so many interior and exterior
trials? Can we not be saints at a lesser price? The answer is No.
The Gospel affirms that sanctity is only to be attained through
suffering; or at least, by the will to suffer. It consists in the
readiness to embrace all the crosses that it may please God to
send us. God does not require that we should forestall crosses,
but it is His will that we should expect them with a firm heart,
and accept them bravely when they come.
At such a cost, then, you will say, I would rather not be a saint,
provided I can be saved. Foolish soul! You dwell on the fleeting
evils of this life, and are blind to the exceeding weight of glory
and happiness awaiting you. [87] Niggardly in what concerns your
best interests, you would barter heaven for what costs you little,
afraid to bid too highly for it. Base and sordid soul! You only
consider yourself, and will do nothing for God. Do you realize
what your salvation cost Our Lord? And yet you complain of what it
will cost you! You are content to be saved, but will you, if you
refuse to be a saint? Are you sure that you will do enough, and
only just enough, to ensure your salvation? Ought you not rather
to fear doing too little than too much?
Besides, supposing you do manage to be saved, does that mean that
you will escape suffering? Is there no Purgatory; and who is it
meant for if not for you? Can you enter heaven without the
purification of that fire, which must consume all that remains of
your self-love? I cannot insist too much on this point, which to
the eye of faith is conclusive.
To return to the subject of dryness, I would only add this. Those
who suffer from it are very subject to distractions. But these are
inevitable, and torture many good souls who fancy them wilful, and
cannot get rid of them, no matter what they do.
For the comfort of such persons, I would beg them to remember that
no distraction is sinful unless it arises in the will, and is
fostered in the heart. It is not a real distraction if, contrary
to our will, the mind wanders on to another subject than that on
which it intended to dwell. I go to my prayer fully intending to
adore God and to unite myself to Him. Without any warning, my
imagination goes off at a tangent, and is occupied with a thousand
different things. If I do not want these distractions, and they
distress me; if, as soon as I am aware of them, I recall my
thoughts gently to the subject of my meditation or, better still,
remain quietly in the presence of God, then they are not
voluntary, because my intention to adore God and be united to Him
has never changed. Even if the whole time of my prayer passes in
this way, my prayer is none the less pleasing in God's sight.
We are not responsible for the thoughts that enter our minds, but
it does depend upon our will whether we entertain them or not, and
also on the general disposition of our mind at other times. If we
allow too much freedom to the senses and imagination, or let the
mind get excited by all sorts of subjects, and dissipate our
energies by the exercise of foolish curiosity, or by frivolous
conversations and idle thoughts; if we are not careful to keep our
heart free from all desires and undue attachments, we must not be
surprised if in time of prayer we find it difficult to be
recollected, and that all these thoughts come back to us. For such
distractions we are responsible, even if at the moment we yield no
consent to them, because we have caused them knowingly.
But if, in the course of the day, we keep a curb on our senses and
imagination, if we attend carefully to the duties of our state, if
we suffer nothing to divert us from the sense of God's presence,
which is what should occupy our hearts, then we may disregard all
distractions that intrude on our time of prayer, provided we do
not consent to them. Moreover, it may be assumed that we do not
consent to them, if we live in a state of habitual recollection.
These rules are simple and adapted to cure any scruples with
regard to attention at prayer, whether vocal or mental.
Usually we bring to our prayer the same state of mind in which we
are accustomed to live. God will not work a miracle to keep us
recollected, and we will in vain endeavour to be so if at other
times we suffer our mind and heart to wander as they please.
I must add a word for those who have been raised by God to passive
prayer, and are in a state of dryness. First, it is impossible in
this state to be absolutely free from the wanderings of the
imagination. If God inspires no holy thought in the mind and
kindles no warmth in the heart, we are bound to feel, as it were,
lost, with the result that the imagination has a free field. But
if we watch, we will notice that these thoughts are vague and
inconsequent, and do not affect the will, and leave no trace
behind them. Afterwards, we find it difficult to recall them,
which is a sure sign that they were involuntary.
In the second place, these distractions, far from being harmful,
can be profitable to the soul, since they try it and encourage it,
both to feel its own misery and to bear with it patiently. It is
very painful for a devout soul to feel that it has become the
sport of the imagination, to lose its recollectedness, and to be
given over to all sorts of vain thoughts during prayer. But these
things keep us humble, by showing us what we are, and making us
realize that of our own endeavours we cannot obtain one good
thought or feeling. Involuntary and habitual distractions are a
proof of this, and prevent us from taking any credit to ourselves,
when we experience a little relief.
Self-love creeps in everywhere. If we feel any sensible emotions
during prayer and communion, we are apt to grow self-complacent;
to take pleasure in them, and so spoil the purity of our
intention. In a state of dryness, self-love has no support, and is
therefore wounded and perturbed. But we must take no notice of its
complaints and grumblings, and the false reasonings whereby it
endeavours to perplex us. Let it cry out against an interior state
where all is for God, and nothing for itself. The proof that this
aridity is profitable to our spiritual advancement is that, under
its action, nature suffers and is gradually exhausted and
destroyed, while the life of grace increases and gains strength.
In the third place, these distractions form part of God's plan.
He makes use of them to hide His action in the soul, which is thus
deterred from looking at itself, and seeing what is going on. When
it enjoys any sensible peace, and all its powers are held in a
deep calm, it is sure to dwell upon its state with feelings of too
strong attachment and pleasure. This is not what God wants. And
that is why He gradually removes all that induces this condition,
and allows the soul to become apparently a prey to distractions,
while He works within it secretly, without the soul being aware of
its progress.
Beware, then, of losing patience or hope when the imagination thus
runs wild. Do not suppose that your prayer is worse or less
pleasing to God. Do not listen to yourself or to the devil, who
would like to induce you to give it up as a waste of time. Do not
take up a book for the purpose of occupying your mind. Directors
should never recommend such a practice to souls in this state.
That would be to want to lead them back to meditation from which
God has already called them. Neither should you strain yourself or
weary your mind or body in order to drive away these distractions.
Such efforts are useless. Far from calming the imagination, they
only irritate and excite it all the more, just as flies
perpetually driven away only return all the more persistently.
Despise these things, let them drop of themselves, and do not let
them disturb your peace. Be content with mentioning them to your
confessor, but not as sins. Above all, do not worry yourself as to
whether you have given your consent to them or not.
If you keep your mind thus at rest in the midst of your ordinary
distractions, you will be given the grace to remain at peace when
you are assailed by sterner temptations, which God may permit, for
your greater good, in the time of prayer, which is the time the
devil usually chooses for his worst attacks. If you act as I have
advised (for the rules are more or less the same for temptations
as for distractions), you will have nothing to fear. The devil
will be put to rout, and all his attempts to make you give up will
only cause you to hold on all the more firmly, and advance more
surely.
But this question of temptations calls for a maxim and explanation
of its own.
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