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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:4444
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]
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