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Go straight on: never stop or look back. Grieve for sin, but never
lose courage
It is not enough to enter upon the ways of God: we must walk in
them, and ever press forward. To refuse to go on is to consent to
fall back, for in this matter it is impossible to stand still for
long. In the interior way to which God introduces us, it is He
also Who regulates our speed, causing some to advance more
rapidly, others more slowly. Our part is never to resist the hand
that is urging us on, and to do nothing to retard our progress.
Now this progress is retarded, or arrested altogether, in various
ways and for various reasons, which it would be as well to
explain. It is retarded by cowardice, faint-heartedness,
infidelity, inconstancy, and by a great number of tiny faults into
which we fall, either for want of vigilance over ourselves, or of
attention to what God is telling us in the depths of our heart.
Our progress is arrested when, like a careless traveller, we look
to right and left, and stop to examine the things we see. Note, I
do not say that we go out of our way to seek these objects: that
would be far graver, especially if, in order to enjoy them, we
gave up altogether. I am assuming we keep to the path and intend
to do so; but, fascinated by the beauty and novelty of all that is
around us, we slacken pace, or stop to enjoy it at our leisure.
For to look at these things in a vague and superficial manner need
not hold us up, provided the attraction does not become too
strong.
We do much the same when we are perpetually looking to see where
to put our feet, always trying to choose the best places, and
making any number of detours to avoid awkward spots, instead of
walking straight on and risking getting our feet wet! Nothing is
more common in following the interior way than these precautions,
hesitations and deliberations. We want to be quite sure before
risking a false step. We want to see where we are going. We are
afraid of over-tiring ourselves, and so turn aside from difficult
and slippery places, or where there is the slightest appearance of
danger. But grace tells us not to be afraid, to go straight ahead.
Otherwise the way will only be all the longer, and we may never
reach the end. Any kind of oversensitiveness, faint-heartedness,
an exaggerated fear of falling or of soiling, ever so little, our
conscience (which can be a form of pride): all this is a hindrance
to grace, and prevents us from pressing on unhesitatingly with
full confidence in God, without watching our every step and making
long detours.
In a path so rough and uneven, with difficult places everywhere
and precipices on either side, why should we be so afraid of falls
and of the danger of sullying ourselves, when we ought to walk
blindly under the safe conduct of faith; when such falls can only
be slight and involuntary and only have the effect of keeping us
humble; when God's hand is always ready toraise us up again? The
fear of death or of wounds never made a good soldier. We have a
Physician Who can and will heal us and give us new life. Why,
then, need we so greatly fear to expose ourselves by His orders,
and under His all-powerful protection?
Again, we stop when, having accidentally fallen, instead of
getting up again immediately and continuing with renewed energy,
we lie on the ground distressed, miserable and despondent, and
make no effort to get up. Or, if we do get up, we stop to
investigate the cause of our fall, under the pretext of guarding
against a similar accident in future. All this kind of conduct
implies much self-love, false discretion, and self-confidence.
He who walks rapidly--or, better still, he who runs --is not so
careful to see where he sets his feet. He overcomes all obstacles,
and presses on steadily whether his path be impeded with ruts or
mire, or is overflowing with water. What does it matter to him, if
he is splashed, muddy and wet, provided he is making progress? He
is willing to expose himself to a few falls, in spite of which he
leaves others far behind. These accidents, which he neither seeks
nor fears, and are only caused by the eagerness of his efforts,
have no bad consequences. On the contrary, they increase his
ardour. He gets up again promptly and thinks no more about it.
God, towards Whom he is making his way, and union with Whom he is
so eagerly seeking, is too merciful and just to lay to his account
those faults, which are occasioned by an excess of confidence in
Him, of abandonment and of love.
All this, however, is to be understood only of those souls that
are truly interior, of whom God has taken full possession, who are
acted upon and led by His Spirit, according to the expression of
St. Paul. [120] Who have a horror of the tiniest deliberate fault,
and of the least resistance to grace; who, moreover, have great
courage and are determined to spare no sacrifice. But it would be
wrong to apply this doctrine to ordinary souls who, aided by
grace, advance more by their own efforts in the path of virtue.
These must always use prudent, though not anxious, circumspection;
watch carefully their steps, and be on their guard against all
falls, the more so because their falls are generally wilful,
either in fact or in principle.
But, it will be said, how can we be sure that we are advancing?
The answer is that we must look for no such assurance. It is
enough to know that we are not halting on the way, and this we
know by the witness of a quiet conscience, or from an habitual
though not necessarily conscious peace. In times of perplexity and
darkness, this assurance is conveyed to us by our spiritual
director, who tells us that all is well; who soothes us and bids
us plod on steadily, relying solely on faith and obedience.
I allow that faith is dark, and obedience blind: that the
assurance derived from them does not do away with the contrary
impressions produced by the imagination and feeling. I grant that
this assurance is to a certain extent obscure, and that it brings
with it no comforting conviction on which the soul can rest. But
it is the kind of assurance that suits the trial, and so long as
the trial lasts no other must be expected, unless occasionally and
momentarily.
What difficulty would there be in this way if the soul were always
certain that it was pleasing in God's sight? Where would be the
sacrifice? What proof would the soul give of its trust and self-
abandonment? Had Abraham known beforehand that God's command to
immolate Isaac was only a test, and that an angel would stay his
arm at the very moment it was about to strike, where would have
been the merit, and what glory would he have given to God? And the
same with Isaac: if, as he lay bound for the sacrifice, he had
known that he was not going to die? Such an immolation would only
have been a feigned one.
So, then, continual progress means that we must go straight ahead,
urged on by grace and directed by obedience, knowing neither the
road we tread nor the end to which it is leading us; unconscious
whether our actions are pleasing to God and will meet with reward
or no. We must wilfully think of none of these things, but simply
be absorbed by the consideration of God's good pleasure and will,
which we are sure of fulfilling provided we do not fulfil our own.
But what is to be done when, instead of advancing we seem to be
falling back? In this matter, we must not be guided by our own
judgment, because there comes a time in the spiritual life when
the soul does not know its own state, and must not know it. This
is the time when we imagine we are yielding to temptation. We
think we are cast off by God by reason of our sins; we imagine we
see sin in all we do. Are we therefore falling back? Far from it:
we were never advancing more surely. It is then we act with
greater purity of intention, seeing that we are seeking self in
nothing, nor our interests, either in creatures or from God. It is
then that self-love, reduced to its last resources, receives its
fatal blows, and it is then that we give God the sacrifice that
glorifies Him most.
That does not mean, however, that we are aware of our progress.
Every step seems to warn us that we are heading for the loss of
everything. And in a sense we do lose ourselves, but only to find
ourselves eternally in God. Oh infinitely happy loss, which could
never take place if we knew beforehand how it would all end. And
so the experienced director is careful not to give the soul any
assurance of its safety merely to console it. He emboldens it to
continue sacrificing itself, but he does not unveil the mystery of
what that sacrifice is leading to, nor reveal the exceeding
happiness which will ensue for the faithful soul. Were he to act
otherwise, he would hinder the work of God, and the consummation
of the holocaust.
That is also why, when this point is reached, God takes every
precaution so that nothing shall spoil His work. Maybe He will
withdraw the director and send another, who understands nothing of
the state of that soul. Or, if He keeps him, He will seal his lips
completely, and prevent him from giving any illtimed consolation.
He may even permit him to turn against the soul, be prejudiced
against it, and condemn it, and thus himself immolate the victim.
These ineffable secrets of grace are known only to those who have
experienced them, or are enlightened by God for the direction of
others.
But let us return to our maxim. It forbids us to look back. We
look back, when we regret what we have left behind for God's sake,
even as the Israelites in the desert regretted the flesh-pots of
Egypt, and loathed the manna which fell from heaven. It was in
this sense that Our Lord declared that no man putting his hand to
the plough and looking back is fit for the kingdom of God. [121]
Even among men, regret for or the resumption of a gift once given
is looked upon as contemptible, and at the most is forgiven only
in a child, that does not know what it is doing.
We look back when we retrace our steps in thought and recall the
past, in order out of curiosity to discern the course of our
religious life and the workings of grace. This is what St. Paul
condemned when, speaking of himself, he said: One thing I do:
forgetting the things that are behind and stretching forth myself
to those that are before, I press towards the mark, to the prize
of the supernal vocation of God in Christ Jesus. [122]
We look back, when we are so attached to the various means of
perfection that we cling to them obstinately, or regret them
inordinately when it pleases God to deprive us of them; when we
cast longing eyes on some past state, preferring it to our present
condition, in which nature has more to endure.
Again we look back, when we are continually turning our head to
see whether we are making any progress, and how much. For, as we
cannot see the goal ahead of us, the only way in which we can
judge of our progress is by looking back to our starting-point. It
is self-love that inspires this curiosity, but it does not really
tell us anything, and it is nearly always followed by vain
complacency, or else by despondency. The only effect of these
judgments and retrospections is to slacken our pace and sometimes
to hold up our progress, if indeed they do not cause us to turn
back altogether.
Many souls are subject to this fault. They want their director to
tell them again and again that they are going on well, and that he
is pleased with the progress they are making. It is to fortify
them, they say, and to urge them on to yet greater efforts: but it
is all an illusion. Let them leave it to their director to
enlighten them when he sees fit; for there are times when he
should do so, in order to keep up their courage. But, generally
speaking, they would do better to remain at peace, and take it
that all is well unless they are told to the contrary.
Another fault, no less common and equally connected with self-
love, is to be anxious and distressed at the slightest fault that
escapes us, or at the least sign of our wretchedness and frailty.
It is a great secret in the spiritual life to know how to meet the
everyday faults that one commits, and how to turn them to good
account. Let us consider this for a moment.
First of all, I assume that one has taken a firm resolution never
to commit a deliberate sin, however small. Anything short of this
appears to me completely incompatible with sincere devotion. By
deliberate sins, I mean those one commits habitually, with full
knowledge and consent, with no intention of correcting them, no
contrition for them, and stifling any remorse that grace excites
in the soul. I am speaking now of venial sins or simple
infidelities to grace. Now the first thing God puts into the
hearts of those He calls to the interior life, is a firm
determination to follow in all things the inspirations of grace,
and never wilfully to act against one's conscience. Thus these
souls very rarely commit such faults, for if they did so
frequently, they would soon fall from the state in which God has
placed them.
The faults, then, to which they are subject are passing things,
savouring of faint-heartedness, human respect, vanity or
curiosity. Or else they are faults due to a lively nature; faults
of inadvertence, indiscretion, peevishness or impulse--all
imperfections of nature rather than definite faults.
The first counsel given on this subject by masters of the
spiritual life is never to lose courage, whatever fault may have
been committed, because discouragement arises solely from self-
love. We are surprised at having fallen. We did not think we were
capable of such a thing. As if a human being who is nothing but
corruption, weakness and wickedness, ought to be surprised at his
own lapses. Astonishment implies a hidden vexation, despondency,
and a temptation to give up everything. Saints are humbled by
their faults, but never discouraged; they are not surprised! They
rather wonder that they commit no worse, knowing themselves to be
what they are, and they are continually thanking God that His
goodness has preserved them so far.
We partly cause this discouragement ourselves by allowing our
imagination to brood over the fault committed. We magnify and
exaggerate it, and make mountains out of molehills. The devil also
intervenes in order to break down our courage and induce us to
miss our communions, and generally cause us to worry.
To obviate the work of the imagination and its consequences, the
second counsel is to be sorry immediately on becoming aware of a
fault, and then to think no more about it, until (if necessary)
the time of confession. There are some persons who imagine that
they should be always thinking of their sins; they carry them
about with them, and have them constantly before their eyes. Such
continual remembrance of our faults is only calculated to weaken
and sadden us, and prevent us from carrying out our duties. We
grow scrupulous, and are always worrying our confessor.
The third counsel--and it is that of St. Francis of Sales--is to
grieve for our faults for God's sake, for it is He Who is offended
by them, and to rejoice over them for our own, because of the
humiliation they cause us. To practise this counsel, which is one
of great perfection, is to draw from our falls all the profit
which God had in view in permitting them. In God's plan our daily
faults are, so to speak, one of the elements which go to make up
our sanctity. When He wishes, God knows how to employ for that end
the greatest crimes and disorders, as He did in the case of David,
Mary Magdalen, Mary the Egyptian, and many other well-known
penitents. And why should not our daily faults, if only we will
use them to increase our self-knowledge (the most necessary next
to the knowledge of God), produce the same results? But we will
discuss this somewhat more fully in our next chapter.
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