THE SPIRITUAL LETTERS.
It is fitting that we conclude this sketch of Fénelon with some account
of his writings, because it is so largely through them that he lives
today. The most complete collection of his works, issued from Paris
between 1820 and 1830, is in thirty-four volumes, 8vo, of which eleven
volumes are given to the correspondence. Many of these literary labors
have been translated into English; for instance, the treatise on the
"Education of Daughters," the "Dialogues on Eloquence," the
"Demonstration of the Existence of God," and the "Spiritual Letters."
The last has by far the greatest importance at the present time, has
indeed an importance for all time. But before taking it up, a few words
concerning some of his other productions will be in place.
While he was superior at the institution for the New Catholics, in 1687
or 1688, he wrote a treatise on the authority of the priesthood or the
dogma of the Apostolical Succession, of course defending it; which
established his reputation as a writer, and attracted the notice of the
king. Much more important was his work on the "Education of Girls;" this
has been sufficiently dwelt upon in the first chapter. A treatise on the
"Existence of God" was begun in these earlier years, but leisure did not
seem to be found for its full development. Even the first part was not
published till 1712, and the second did not see the light until three
years after his death. It is of little value now, but it made a strong
impression on the metaphysical philosophers of the eighteenth century,
and is especially praised by Thomas Reid. His "Dialogues on Eloquence,"
with special reference to that of the pulpit (an admirable treatise on
oratory), was not published at all until after his death; neither was
his "Refutation of Malebranche," his "Letters to the King," treatise on
the "Authority of the Sovereign Pontiff," "Questions for
Self-Examination on the Duties of a King," "Letters on Religion" to the
Duke of Orleans, "Plans of Government," and "Letter to the Academy." The
latter, written a few months before his death, constitutes his answer to
the chief literary questions of his age, and treats more especially of
the controversy between the Classic and Romantic Schools. He was a
thoroughgoing Classicist, an Ancient of the Ancients, insisting on the
study of Greek as a panacea for most literary diseases. He has also in
the letter a chapter on the "Art of Writing History," making symmetry
the first requirement, and impartiality next. In his eyes a history was
a work of art, with something in it of the epic poem. He suggested,
furthermore, that the Academy should devote itself to a detailed
examination of the standard works in the French language, and prepare
popular editions with notes.
All Fénelon's writings, it may be said, show much grandeur and delicacy
of sentiment, great fertility of genius, a correct taste, and excited
sensibility. A poetical character appears in them all. By assiduous
study the works of the best writers of antiquity were familiar to him,
and his intimate acquaintance with their productions furnished him a
resource in every vicissitude of life; they were his ornament in
prosperity, his comfort in adversity. The charm of his manner in society
is largely communicated to the products of his pen. They abound in
passages of splendor and pathos, but their chief excellence is in their
tender simplicity, by which the reader's heart is irresistibly drawn to
the writer.
Of much higher rank in a literary point of view than any of those
previously mentioned was his "Adventures of Telemachus; or, The
Education of a Prince." It is a fabulous narrative in the form of a
heroic poem, in which he sets down the truths most necessary to be known
by one about to reign; and the faults that cling most closely to
sovereign power are also fully described. It was composed by Fénelon
while he was preceptor to the royal dukes, and designed exclusively for
their instruction; "written at chance moments, hurriedly, and piece by
piece," says the author, "sent to the press by an unfaithful copyist,
and never intended for the world." He insisted that he did not borrow
from real persons, or sketch in the characters of his own time. This was
undoubtedly true; but no human power could convince Louis XIV that it
was so, and the unauthorized publication of it in 1698, just when the
Quietist controversy was at its height, was extremely unfortunate for
Fénelon, and filled the king's cup of wrath to overflowing. He had been
more than sufficiently embittered before, but after this there was not
the slightest hope of reconciliation; for the book is an idealistic
portrayal of a commonwealth where virtue has its own again, where there
is no tyranny, where the king is the father of all his people and the
chief servant of the State, where duty is lifted far above rights, and
justice is supreme. Since nothing could be more opposite to all this
than the character and conduct of King Louis, it is no wonder that he
took it as a personal insult and a deliberate satire. In every part of
it disrespectful mention is made of ambition, of extensive conquests, of
military fame, of magnificence, and of almost everything else which
Louis considered as the glory of his reign. While the author must be
acquitted of any intention to affront the monarch, which would have been
most ungrateful and most ridiculous, it is evident that he must have had
unconsciously in mind the principal actors in the scenes around him, was
wholly out of sympathy with them, and was training the young princes on
a totally different model. The book, suppressed, of course, in Paris,
was brought out at once in Holland, and became everywhere the rage,
immensely popular all over Europe, and, even to the present day, much
read. It has stood the test of two centuries of existence, has been
translated into many languages, and has made his name familiar to those
whom he could not otherwise have touched. Nevertheless, the effect of
its publication on his fortunes at that time was exceedingly disastrous,
and his enemies made the utmost use of it against him.
"The Explanation of the Maxims of the Saints on the Interior Life," and
the great part it played in Fénelon's career has been already referred
to in a previous chapter. The reader will enjoy getting a little fuller
idea of its contents. Dr. T. C. Upham devoted forty-five pages to
summarizing, in a free translation, the forty-five articles constituting
the book, and the following extracts are taken from his work, now out of
print:
"Pure love is mixed love carried to its true result. When this result is
attained, the motive of God's glory so expands itself, and so fills the
mind, that the other motive, that of our own happiness, becomes so small
and so recedes from our inward notice as to be _practically_
annihilated. It is then that God becomes what He ever ought to be,--the
center of the soul, to which all its affections tend; the great moral
sun of the soul, from which all its light and all its warmth proceed. It
is then that a man thinks no more of himself. He has become the man of a
single eye. His own happiness and all that regards himself are entirely
lost sight of, in his simple and fixed look to God's will and God's
glory."
"When the sun shines the stars disappear. When God is in the soul, who
can think of himself? So that we love God and God alone; and all other
things _in_ and _for_ God."
"The second state, which follows that of holy resignation, is that of
holy _indifference_. Such a soul not only desires and wills in
submission, but absolutely ceases either to desire or to will, except in
co-operation with the Divine leading. Its desires for itself, as it has
greater light, are more completely and permanently merged in the one
higher and more absorbing desire of God's glory, and the fulfillment of
His will. It desires and wills, therefore, only what God desires and
wills."
"Holy indifference is not inactivity. It is the furthest possible from
it. It is indifference to anything and everything out of God's will; but
it is the highest life and activity to everything in that will."
"One of the principles in the doctrine of holy living is, that we should
not be premature in drawing the conclusion that the process of inward
crucifixion is complete, and that our abandonment to God is without any
reservation whatever. The act of consecration, which is a sort of
incipient step, may be sincere; but the reality of the consecration in
the full extent to which we suppose it to exist, and which may properly
be described as abandonment or entire self-renunciation, can be known
only when God has applied the appropriate tests. We can not know whether
we have renounced ourselves, except by being tried on those very points
to which our self-renunciation relates. The trial will show whether or
not we are wholly the Lord's. Those who prematurely draw the conclusion
that they are so, expose themselves to great illusion and injury."
"Those in the highest state of religious experience desire nothing
except that God may be glorified in them by the accomplishment of His
holy will."
"Their continual life of love, which refers everything to God, and
identifies everything with His will, is essentially a life of continual
prayer."
"The will of God is their ultimate and only rule of action."
"The most advanced souls are those which are most possessed with the
thoughts and the presence of Christ."
"The soul in the state of pure love acts in simplicity. Its inward rule
of action is found in the decisions of a sanctified judgment. These
decisions, based upon judgments that are free from self-interest, may
not always be _absolutely_ right, because our views and judgments, being
limited, can extend only to things in part; but they may be said to be
_relatively_ right; they conform to things so far as we are permitted to
see them and understand them, and convey to the soul a moral assurance
that, when we act in accordance with them, we are doing as God would
have us do."
We come now to the "Spiritual Letters," which have been called, not
unadvisedly, "the most perfect things of their kind anywhere to be
found." They were written to a very large number of correspondents, both
men and women, on the impulse of the moment, and without the least
thought of publication. Hence they become all the more the most
authentic revelation of his inmost mind, a necessary and integral part
of his character. He wrote as he would have spoken, suiting himself to
the knowledge of his hearers, aiming at simplicity rather than ornament,
but not disdaining homely similes so far as they will make his meaning
plain. He draws freely and constantly upon his own experience, so that
the letters are a reflection of himself, as well as a storehouse of
practical religion. Helpful counsel may be found in them for nearly all
situations in life and on nearly all topics that are most closely
connected with Christian living. For though the persons to whom he wrote
were usually in the higher circles--dukes, counts, lords, ladies,
soldiers, courtiers, and priests--nevertheless, they were always men and
women, wives and mothers, with human hearts and much the same
temptations to combat that come to common people in the present age. The
letters were written to meet the individual needs of very real persons,
written out of a warm heart and by a mind stored with the lore of the
Church on these subjects, as well as gifted with unusual powers of
discernment. Fénelon was a consummate director of consciences; he moved
through life heavily incumbered with the wants of others, carrying many
burdens and taxing all his great powers to meet the ever-recurring needs
of a multitude of perplexed and hungering spirits.
Those who peruse the epistles will readily perceive that they present a
very high ideal, yet we do not think they can fairly be pronounced
harsh. He does not speak in a tone of asperity. He saw far into the
human heart, looked with a piercing eye through the disguises of sin,
could follow with unexampled clearness the turnings and twistings and
lurkings of selfishness. Though the severest of censors, he is at the
same time the most pitying. He regards human error with indulgent
tenderness, and weeps over it as Jesus wept over Jerusalem. Echoes of
the Stoic philosophers--Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, Seneca--will
undoubtedly be found in these letters. Indeed, a very considerable and
rather curious parallel has been drawn between Fénelon and Seneca; which
only shows the permanence of the principles that regulate the union
between God and the soul under all skies and creeds. There is a close
similarity between these letters and those of Francis of Sales, who
wrote on the same themes; for the two saw eye to eye. The effusions of
either Francis, although adapted primarily to a different communion and
time, can be recommended almost unqualifiedly to-day to that small
class--it will always be a small class--who set themselves, with an
aroused intelligence, a high appreciation of the nature of the task
before them, and an intense determination, to realize, through all
available and appointed means, the closest possible approximation to
perfect union with the Divine.
Our criticisms of Fénelon's letters are but few, and yet a little note
of warning should undoubtedly be sounded. No one should read them who is
not prepared to think for himself, to use a vigorous common-sense, and
to select for entire observance only those precepts which commend
themselves to his mind as being in complete accord with the Scripture
and with the most judicious of other spiritual advisers. Almost
everything he finds will, we believe, thus commend itself. But there
will be an occasional use of language before which he will pause and
make a note of question or dissent. There will be unguarded expressions
which need explanation. Perhaps the chief words which he will find cause
to challenge will be those of most frequent occurrence--self and
self-love. Fénelon does not use these terms quite accurately, and
whoever takes them literally will be led into trouble. Where he says
self-love he almost always means selfishness, which, in our modern
nomenclature, is quite a different thing, being the inordinate,
excessive, or forbidden love of self, such a regard for the interests
and rights of self as disregards the interests and rights of other
people. This latter is always wrong, of course. But self-love, strictly
speaking, is in itself right, perfectly innocent, and of great
importance to retain. It is essential to our preservation and
prosperity, one of the most vital ingredients in our constitution.
Fénelon, we think, never recognizes this meaning of the word, never
seems to know that we have very important, imperative duties to self, as
well as to our neighbor and to God. Either he was not familiar with
these distinctions so common in ethics now, or he was so profoundly
impressed with the danger of overdoing self-love that he did not deem it
well to recognize this duty at all. But that surely is a mistake, and
with some minds tends to become a very harmful one, leading straight on
to fanaticism.
He is never tired of insisting on the absolute necessity for the death
of self, the destruction of self. But this phrase will not stand
critical examination. The peril which always lurks in figures of speech,
and the tendency to exaggerate which so frequently besets devotional
writers of the intense mystic type, is very manifest here. Such writers
put forward their extreme statements with a laudable desire to make a
deep impression on the callous sensibilities of the average reader, and
with the idea, perhaps, that large deduction will be made in the
practical application of their precepts. But many find in this an excuse
for throwing the whole subject impatiently aside. We are convinced that
it is better in such things to state the exact truth with all
carefulness and with as few misleading figures of speech as possible.
There is certainly an ethical limit to our right of self-abnegation and
self-impartation. Benevolence has its moral bounds in holiness. A man's
life finds its largest fulfillment, not in weakly assimilating itself to
the wishes of those around it, but in giving forth some new and
characteristic expression of the life of God. The notions, or even the
needs, of one's neighbors are not the highest standard of right living.
Every man holds himself in trust for his Creator, and must do his best
to manifest that Creator, not necessarily according to the conception
most prevalent in his immediate circle, but according to the mandate
which has been laid on him. It is this thought which gives the
profoundest value to his existence and lifts him above too great
dependence on popular standards. And it is this thought, properly
carried out, which shows how much of unreason there is in the
declaration that self must be totally forgotten, renounced, annihilated.
No person is justified in doing anything of this sort. Self-preservation
and self-protection, self-respect and self-esteem, self-defense and
self-development are manifest duties. It may readily be granted that
they are not in any great danger of neglect from the ordinary or average
individual. But the extraordinary individual, if wrongly instructed,
filled with a zeal not according to knowledge, keenly conscientious,
morbidly scrupulous, keyed up to an unnatural pitch and straining after
an impossible ideal, may do himself much harm and go far astray. To
overdo is often as bad as to underdo, and causes undoing.
Denunciations of selfishness are always in order, but its boundaries are
not so easily defined. Self-love--the instinctive desire or tendency
that leads one to seek to promote his own well-being, a due care for
one's own happiness, essential to high endeavor and perfectly compatible
with justice, generosity, and benevolence--is a component part of our
nature, and must be carefully safeguarded. To talk about its
annihilation or eradication is to talk foolishness; and to attempt such
eradication is to fly in the face of nature; that is, of God. The whole
question, then, between selfishness and self-love is one of degree and
adjustment and relative rights. No absolute hard-and-fast line can be
drawn. One must use his best judgment, enlightened from all possible
sources, as to what in any given case duty to self and duty to others
demands. And that judgment he must follow, even when it materially
differs from the opinion of those who may criticise his conduct. There
is no virtue in wasting one's self on impossible tasks. Self-sacrifice
is never ethical if it be a willful spending of self to no purpose. One
may do a serious wrong to himself, and confer no real good on any one
else, by following the lead of generous, uncalculating, unthinking
impulses. The exhortation never to think about one's self is thoroughly
mischievous, and can only lead to fanaticism and discouragement.
Self-control, not self-annihilation or extirpation, is the duty of the
Christian. A man has perfect self-control when his highest powers hold
the lower in subjection with perfect ease, and are themselves in
complete harmony with the will of God. He is perfectly free from
selfishness who gives to self only that degree of attention and care
which is due, and in no way infringes on any of the rights of others.
And he who is keenly desirous of doing this, bearing in mind his natural
bias the wrong way, will deem it the safer course to go a little beyond
what may seem the due limit. But it is not selfish to be manly, or to
insist on being permitted to work out one's calling according to the
clear, conscious summons from on high. Self-will so much inveighed
against is right, since it is a necessary component part of selfhood.
Without self-will and self-consciousness there can be no self; in other
words, we cease to be, and are non-existent. Masterfulness should be
distinguished from willfulness; the former is not sinful, but a most
desirable thing in this world where leadership is so essential to
progress. A selfish will, one at any point divergent from the will of
God, so far as we know or can ascertain, is always wrong. To tell where
egoism ends and altruism begins in our relations with our fellow-men is
far from easy; but it is ever blessed to become absorbed in a great
cause, and supremely noble to have as the highest object in life the
glory of God.
Some exceptions must be taken to a few other extreme statements of
Fénelon, in which he follows other mistaken writers. The language of
such teachers on humility is overstrained and really false, likely to do
harm. Fénelon says, for example, "Those who are truly humble always take
the lowest place, rejoicing when they are despised, and considering
every one superior to themselves. We may judge of the advancement we
have in humility by the delight we have in humiliation and contempt."
His motto was, "Ama nesciri"--Love to be unknown. Kempis wrote much of
this same sort. And John Fletcher of Madeley was constantly offering up
the prayer which we have in Charles Wesley's couplet,
"Make me little and unknown,
Loved and prized by God alone."
To desire to be despised, thought meanly of, accounted as naught, we can
not recognize as a fruit of grace in a healthy mind rightly apprehensive
of the vast importance to usefulness of a good reputation. To think of
ourselves more highly than we ought to think is wrong, but so is it
wrong to think of ourselves less highly than we ought. The truth above
all things, facts at any cost whether to ourselves or other people, is
the better attitude. No gain can come from falsity on the one side, any
more than on the other. To delight unspeakably in the will of God, even
when it involves contempt from those who misunderstand our position, is
not the same as delighting in contempt itself. To insist on the lowest
place when our recognized and lawful place is higher, would be neither
wise nor edifying. Fénelon himself took his proper place as archbishop
in the cathedral and palace and elsewhere, without diminution from his
humility. He showed the latter in his hospital work, and in his familiar
relations with those of lower rank.
A little too much is made in some places of the importance of silence.
There is not sufficient recognition of the fact that some are in great
danger of speaking too little, that there are idle silences as well as
idle words. The stress laid upon listening to the interior voice is also
carried somewhat beyond bounds, and needs counterbalancing by the
warning that it is very easy to mistake the utterances of our own
spirits for those of the Spirit of God, the products of a vain
imagination for the products of Divine direction. Many have been sadly
misled at this point. We need not perhaps specify other strained and
unbalanced remarks. There are not many of them, and it would be unjust
to make too much of them; but it is also unsafe to ignore them
altogether. The letters are all the better in that they demand
reflection from the reader, and are not to be taken up in a wooden way
as though they were infallible. Properly perused, with prayer and
meditation, they can not fail to be of immense service to the inquiring
mind and the devotional spirit. There is nothing better as a stimulus to
those with lofty aspirations seeking for guidance as to how best they
may reach the heights.
A few extracts from the letters, all that our space permits, are
furnished, that the reader's appetite may be whetted for the feast to be
found in larger volumes. And we can not better close this unpretentious,
but we hope useful, little book than with some of the glowing paragraphs
that have already done so much good in the world, and are destined to do
so much more as the centuries roll:
Easy Ways of Divine Love.
Christian perfection is not that rigorous, tedious, cramping thing that
many imagine. It demands only an entire surrender of everything to God,
from the depths of the soul; and the moment this takes place, whatever
is done for Him becomes easy. They who are God's without reserve are in
every state content; for they will only what He wills, and desire to do
for Him whatever He desires them to do. They strip themselves of
everything, and in this nakedness find all things a hundred-fold. Peace
of conscience, liberty of spirit, the sweet abandonment of themselves
and theirs into the hands of God, the joy of perceiving the light always
increasing in their hearts, and, finally, the freedom of their souls
from the bondage of the fears and desires of this world,--these things
constitute that return of happiness which the true children of God
receive a hundred-fold in the midst of their crosses while they remain
faithful.
What God requires of us is a will which is no longer divided between Him
and any creature; a simple pliable state of will, which desires what He
desires, rejects nothing but what He rejects, wills without reserve what
He wills, and under no pretext wills what He does not. In this state of
mind all things are proper for us; our amusements, even, are acceptable
in His sight.
No matter what crosses may overwhelm the true child of God, he wills
everything that happens, and would not have anything removed that his
Father appoints; the more he loves God, the more is he filled with
content; and the most stringent perfection, far from being a burden,
only renders his yoke the lighter.
The Divine Presence.
The true source of all our perfection is contained in the command of God
to Abraham, "Walk before me and be thou perfect." (Gen. xvii, 1.) The
presence of God calms the soul, and gives it quiet and repose, even
during the day and in the midst of occupation; but we must be given up
to God without reserve.
Whenever we perceive within us anxious desires for anything, whatever it
may be, and find that nature is hurrying us with too much haste to do
whatever is to be done, whether it be to say something, see something,
or do something, let us stop short and repress the precipitancy of our
thoughts and the agitation of our actions; for God has said that His
Spirit does not dwell in disquiet.
An excellent means of preserving our interior solitude and liberty of
soul is to make it a rule to put an end at the close of every action to
all reflections upon it, all reflex acts of self-love, whether of a vain
joy or sorrow.
Let us be accustomed to recollect ourselves, during the day and in the
midst of our occupations, by a simple view of God. Let us silence by
that means all the movements of our heart, when they appear in the least
agitated. Let us separate ourselves from all that does not come from
God. Let us suppress our superfluous thoughts and reveries. Let us utter
no useless word. Let us seek God within us, and we shall find Him
without fail, and with Him joy and peace.
Let us be careful not to suffer ourselves to be overwhelmed by the
multiplicity of our exterior operations, be they what they may. Let us
endeavor to commence every enterprise with a pure view to the glory of
God, continue it without distraction, and finish it without impatience.
The intervals of relaxation and amusement are the most dangerous for us,
and perhaps the most useful for others; we must then be on our guard
that we be as faithful as possible to the presence of God. We can never
employ our leisure hours better than in refreshing our spiritual
strength by a secret and intimate communion with God. Prayer is so
necessary and the source of so many blessings, that he who has
discovered the treasure can not be prevented from having recourse to it
whenever he has an opportunity.
Independence.
Do not suffer yourself to get excited by what is said about you. Let the
world talk. Do you strive to do the will of God; as for that of men, you
would never succeed in doing it to their satisfaction, and it is not
worth the pains.
Let the water flow beneath the bridge. Let men be men; that is to say,
weak, vain, inconsistent, unjust, false, and presumptuous. Let the world
be the world still; you can not prevent it. Let every one follow his own
inclination and habits: you can not recast them, and the best course is
to let them be as they are and bear with them. Do not think it strange
when you witness unreasonableness and injustice; rest in peace in the
bosom of God: He sees it all more clearly than you do, and yet permits
it. Be content to do quietly and gently what it becomes you to do, and
let everything else be to you as though it were not.
As long as the world is anything to us, so long our freedom is but a
word, and we are as easily captured as a bird whose leg is fastened by a
thread. He seems to be free; the string is not visible, but he can fly
only its length, and he is a prisoner.
Do not be vexed at what people say. Let them speak while you endeavor to
do the will of God. A little silence, peace, and communion with God will
compensate you for all the injustice of men. We must love our
fellow-beings without depending on their friendship. They leave us, they
return, and they go from us again. Let them go or come; it is the
feather blown about by the wind. Fix your attention upon God alone in
your connection with them. It is He alone who, through them, consoles or
afflicts you.
Possess your soul in patience. Renew often within you the feeling of the
presence of God, that you may learn moderation. There is nothing truly
great but lowliness, charity, fear of ourselves, and detachment from the
dominion of sense. Accustom yourself gradually to carry prayer into your
daily occupations. Speak, move, act in peace as if you were in prayer.
Do everything without eagerness as if by the Spirit of God. As soon as
you perceive your natural impetuosity impelling you, retire into the
sanctuary where dwells the Father of spirits; listen to what you hear
there; and then neither say nor do anything but what He dictates in your
heart. You will find that you will become more tranquil, that your words
will be fewer and more to the purpose, and that with less effort you
will accomplish more good. When the heart is fixed on God it can easily
accustom itself to suspend the natural movements of ardent feeling, and
to wait for the favorable moment when the voice within may speak. This
is the continual sacrifice of self, and the life of faith.
The Faults of Others.
Perfection is easily tolerant of the imperfections of others; it becomes
all things to all men. We must not be surprised at the greatest defects
in good souls, and must quietly let them alone until God gives the
signal of gradual removal; otherwise we shall pull up the wheat with the
tares.
They who correct others ought to watch the moment when God touches their
hearts; we must bear a fault with patience till we perceive His Spirit
reproaching them within. We must imitate Him who gently reproves, so
that they feel that it is less God that condemns them than their own
hearts. When we blame with impatience, because we are displeased with
the fault, it is a human censure and not the disapprobation of God. It
is a sensitive self-love that can not forgive the self-love of others.
The more self-love we have, the more severe our censures. There is
nothing so vexatious as the collisions between one excessive self-love
and another still more violent and excessive. The passions of others are
infinitely ridiculous to those who are under the dominion of their own.
The ways of God are very different. He is ever full of kindness for us;
He gives us strength; He regards us with pity and condescension; He
remembers our weakness; He waits for us.
I am very sorry for the imperfections you find in human beings, but you
must learn to expect but little from them; this is the only security
against disappointment. We must receive from them what they are able to
give us, as from trees the fruits that they yield. God bears with
imperfect beings even when they resist His goodness. We ought to imitate
this merciful patience and endurance. It is only imperfection that
complains of what is imperfect. The more perfect we are, the more gentle
and quiet we become toward the defects of others.
The defects of our neighbors interfere with our own; our vanity is
wounded by that of another; our own haughtiness finds our neighbor's
ridiculous and insupportable; our restlessness is rebuked by the
sluggishness and indolence of this person; our gloom is disturbed by the
gayety and frivolity of that person; and our heedlessness by the
shrewdness and address of another. If we were faultless we should not be
so much annoyed by the defects of those with whom we associate. If we
were to acknowledge honestly that we have not virtue enough to bear
patiently with our neighbor's weaknesses, we should show our own
imperfection, and this alarms our vanity. We therefore make our weakness
pass for strength, elevate it to a virtue, and call it zeal. For it is
not surprising to see how tranquil we are about the errors of others
when they do not trouble us, and how soon this wonderful zeal kindles
against those who excite our jealousy or weary our patience.
Not Perfect in a Moment.
Neither in His gracious nor providential dealings does God work a
miracle lightly. It would be as great a wonder to see a person full of
self become in a moment dead to all self-interest and all sensitiveness
as it would be to see a slumbering infant wake in the morning a fully
developed man. God works in a mysterious way in grace as well as in
nature, concealing His operations under an imperceptible succession of
events, and thus keeps us always in the darkness of faith.
He makes use of the inconstancy and ingratitude of the creature, and of
the disappointments and surfeits which accompany prosperity, to detach
us from them both. All this dealing appears perfectly natural, and it is
by this succession of natural means that we are burnt as by a slow fire.
We should like to be consumed at once by the flames of pure love; but
such an end would cost us scarce anything. It is only an excessive
self-love that desires thus to become perfect in a moment, and at so
cheap a rate.
We cling to an infinity of things which we never suspect; we only feel
that they are a part of us when they are snatched away, as I am only
conscious that I have hairs when they are pulled from my head. God
develops to us little by little what is within us, of which we are until
then entirely ignorant, and we are astonished at discovering in our very
virtues defects of which we should never have believed ourselves
capable.
God spares us by discovering our weakness to us in proportion as our
strength to support the view of it increases. We discover our
imperfections one by one as we are able to cure them. Without this
merciful preparation that adapts our strength to the light within, we
should be in despair.
To the sincere desire to do the will of God we must add a cheerful
spirit that is not overcome when it has failed, but tries again and
again to do better; hoping always to the very end to be able to do it;
bearing with its own involuntary weakness as God bears with it; waiting
with patience for the moment when it shall be delivered from it; going
straight on in singleness of heart according to the strength that it can
command; losing no time by looking back, nor making useless reflections
when it falls, which can only embarrass and retard its progress. The
first sight of our little failings should humble us, but we must press
on; not judging ourselves with a Judaical rigor; not regarding God as a
spy watching for our least offense, or as an enemy who places snares in
our path, but as a Father who loves and wishes to save us; trusting in
His goodness, invoking His blessing, and doubting all other support.
This is true liberty.
Humility.
The foundation of peace with all men is humility. Pride is incompatible
with pride; hence arise divisions in the world. We must stifle all
rising jealousies; all little contrivances to promote our own glory;
vain desires to please or to succeed, or to be praised; the fear of
seeing others preferred to ourselves; the anxiety to have our plans
carried into effect; the natural love of dominion and desire to
influence others. These rules are soon given, but it is not so easy to
observe them. With some people, not only pride and hauteur render these
duties very difficult, but great natural sensitiveness makes the
practice of them nearly impossible, and, instead of respecting their
neighbor with a true feeling of humility, all their charity amounts only
to a sort of compassionate toleration that nearly resembles contempt.
Humility is the source of all true greatness; pride is ever impatient,
ready to be offended. He who thinks nothing is due to him never thinks
himself ill-treated; true meekness is not mere temperament, for this is
only softness or weakness.
There is no true and constant gentleness without humility; while we are
so fond of ourselves we are easily offended with others. Let us be
persuaded that nothing is due to us, and then nothing will disturb us.
Let us often think of our own infirmities, and we shall become indulgent
toward those of others.
Daily Faults.
Little faults become great in our eyes in proportion as the pure light
of God increases in us, just as the sun in rising reveals the true
dimensions of objects which were dimly and confusedly discovered during
the night. Be sure that, with the increase of the inward light, the
imperfections which you have hitherto seen will be beheld as far greater
and more deadly in their foundations than you now conceive them, and
that you will witness, in addition, the development of a crowd of
others, of the existence of which you have not now the slightest
suspicion. You will find the weaknesses necessary to deprive you of all
confidence in your own strength; but this discovery, far from
discouraging, will but serve to destroy your self-reliance, and raze to
the ground the edifice of pride.
Our faults, even those most difficult to bear, will all be of service to
us if we make use of them for our humiliation without relaxing our
efforts to correct them. We must bear with ourselves without either
flattery or discouragement, a mean seldom attained. Utter despair of
ourselves, in consequence of a conviction of our helplessness and
unbounded confidence in God, is the true foundation of the spiritual
edifice.
Discouragement is not a fruit of humility, but of pride; nothing can be
worse. Suppose we have stumbled, or even fallen, let us rise and run
again; all our falls are useful if they strip us of a disastrous
confidence in ourselves, while they do not take away a humble and
salutary trust in God.
Carefully purify your conscience from daily faults; suffer no sin to
dwell in your heart; small as it may seem, it obscures the light of
grace, weighs down the soul, and hinders that constant communion with
Jesus Christ which it should be your pleasure to cultivate; you will
become lukewarm, forget God, and find yourself growing in attachment to
the creature. The great point is never to act in opposition to the
inward light, but be willing to go as far as God would have us.
Motives.
God does not so much regard our actions as the motives of love from
which they spring, and the pliability of our wills to His. Men judge our
deeds by their outward appearance; with God, that which is most dazzling
in the eyes of men is of no account. What He desires is a pure
intention, a will ready for anything and ever pliable in His hands, and
an honest abandonment of self; and all this can be much more frequently
manifested on small than on extraordinary occasions; there will also be
much less danger from pride, and the trial will be far more searching.
Indeed, it sometimes happens that we find it harder to part with a
trifle than with an important interest; it may be more of a cross to
abandon a vain amusement than to bestow a large sum in charity.
The greatest danger of all consists in this, that by neglecting small
matters the soul becomes accustomed to unfaithfulness. We grieve the
Holy Spirit, we return to ourselves, we think it a little thing to be
wanting toward God. On the other hand, true love can see nothing small;
everything that can either please or displease God seems to be great.
Not that true love disturbs the soul with scruples, but it puts no limit
to its faithfulness; it acts simply with God; and as it does not concern
itself about those things which God does not require from it, so it
never hesitates an instant about those which He does, be they great or
small.
True Prayer.
True prayer is only another name for the love of God. To pray is to
desire--but to desire what God would have us desire. He who asks what he
does not from the bottom of his heart desire, is mistaken in thinking
that he prays. O how few there are who pray; for how few are they who
desire what is truly good! Crosses, external and internal humiliation,
renouncement of our own wills, the death of self, and the establishment
of God's throne upon the ruins of self-love,--these are indeed good. Not
to desire these is not to pray; to desire them seriously, soberly,
constantly, and with reference to all the details of life,--this is true
prayer. Alas! how many souls full of self and of an imaginary desire for
perfection in the midst of hosts of voluntary imperfections, have never
yet uttered this true prayer of the heart! It is in reference to this
that St. Augustine says, "He that loveth little, prayeth little; he that
loveth much, prayeth much."
Our intercourse with God resembles that with a friend; at first there
are a thousand things to be told and as many to be asked; but after a
time these diminish, while the pleasure of being together does not.
Everything has been said, but the satisfaction of seeing each other, of
feeling that one is near the other, of reposing in the enjoyment of a
pure and sweet friendship, can be felt without conversation; the silence
is eloquent and mutually understood. Each feels that the other is in
perfect sympathy with him, and that their two hearts are incessantly
poured out into each other, and constitute but one.
Those who have stations of importance to fill have generally so many
indispensable duties to perform that, without the greatest care in the
management of their time, none will be left to be alone with God. If
they have ever so little inclination to dissipation, the hours that
belong to God and their neighbor disappear altogether. We must be firm
in observing our rules. This strictness seems excessive, but without it
everything falls into confusion; we become dissipated, relaxed, and lose
strength; we insensibly separate from God, surrender ourselves to all
our pleasures, and only then begin to perceive that we have wandered
when it is almost hopeless to think of endeavoring to return.
The Human Will.
True virtue and pure love reside in the will alone. The question is not,
What is the state of our feelings? But, What is the condition of our
will? Let us will to have whatever we have, and not to have whatever we
have not. We would not even be delivered from our sufferings, for it is
God's place to apportion to us our crosses and our joys. In the midst of
affliction we rejoice, as did the apostles; but it is not joy of the
feelings, joy of the will. The faithful soul has a will which is
perfectly free; it accepts without questioning whatever bitter blessings
God develops, wills them, loves them, and embraces them; it would not be
freed from them if it could be accomplished by a simple wish; for such a
wish would be an act originating in self and contrary to its abandonment
to Providence; and it is desirous that this abandonment should be
absolutely perfect.
The important question is, not how much you enjoy religion, but whether
you will whatever God wills. The essence of virtue consists in the
attitude of the will. That kingdom of God which is within us consists in
our willing whatever God wills, always, in everything, without
reservation. Thus nothing can ever come to pass against our wishes; for
nothing can happen contrary to the will of God. The interior life is the
beginning of the blessed peace of the saints, who eternally cry, Amen,
Alleluia! We adore, we praise, we bless God in everything; we see Him
incessantly, and in all things His paternal hand is the sole object of
our contemplation. There are no longer any evils; for even the most
terrible that can come upon us work together for our good. Can the
suffering that God designs to purify us and make us worthy of Himself be
called an evil?
Happy is he who never hesitates; who fears only that he follows with too
little readiness; who would rather do too much against self than too
little. Blessed is he who, when asked for a sample, boldly presents his
entire stock and suffers God to cut from the whole cloth. It is thought
that this state is a painful one. It is a mistake; here is peace and
liberty; here the heart, detached from everything, is immeasurably
enlarged, so as to become illimitable; nothing cramps it; and, in
accordance with the promise, it becomes, in a certain sense, one with
God Himself.
True progress does not consist in a multitude of views, nor in
austerities, trouble, and strife; it is simply willing nothing and
everything, without reservation and choice, cheerfully performing each
day's journey as Providence appoints it for us: seeking nothing,
refusing nothing, finding everything in the present moment, and
suffering God, who does everything, to do His pleasure in and by us
without the slightest resistance.
Various Advices.
You may be exercised in self-renunciation in every event of every day.
Peace in this life springs from acquiescence even in disagreeable
things, not in an exemption from suffering.
Whoever will refuse nothing which comes in the order of God, and seek
nothing out of that order, need never fear to finish his day's work
without partaking of the cross of Jesus Christ. There is an
indispensable providence for crosses as well as for the necessaries of
life; they are a part of our daily bread; God will never suffer it to
fail.
A life of faith produces two things: First, it enables us to see God in
everything; secondly, it holds the mind in a state of readiness for
whatever may be His will. This continual, unceasing dependence on God,
this state of entire peace and acquiescence of the soul in whatever may
happen, is the true silent martyrdom of self.
With the exception of sin, nothing happens in this world out of the will
of God. It is He who is the author, ruler, and bestower of all; He has
numbered the hairs of our head, the leaves of every tree, the sand upon
the seashore, and the drops of the ocean.
This is the whole of religion: to get out of self in order to get into
God.
To be a Christian is to be an imitator of Jesus Christ. In what can we
imitate Him if not in his humiliation? Nothing else can bring us near to
Him. We may adore Him as omnipotent, fear Him as just, love Him with all
our heart as good and merciful, but we can only imitate Him as humble,
submissive, poor, and despised.
What men stand most in need of is the knowledge of God. It is not
astonishing that men do so little for God, and that the little which
they do costs them so much. They do not know Him; scarcely do they
believe that He exists. If He were known He would be loved.
Thou causest me clearly to understand that Thou makest use of the evils
and imperfections of the creature to do the good which Thou hast
determined beforehand. Thou concealest Thyself under the importunate
visitor who intrudes upon the occupation of Thy impatient child, that he
may learn not to be impatient, and that he may die to the gratification
of being free to study or work as he pleases. Thou availest Thyself of
slanderous tongues to destroy the reputation of Thine innocent children,
that, besides their innocence, they may offer Thee the sacrifice of
their too highly cherished reputation. By the cunning artifices of the
envious Thou layest low the fortunes of those whose hearts were too much
set upon their prosperity. Thus Thou mercifully strewest bitterness over
everything that is not Thyself, to the end that our hearts, formed to
love Thee and to exist upon Thy love, may be, as it were, constrained to
return to Thee by a want of satisfaction in everything else.
"O 'tis enough whate'er befall,
To know that God is all in all.
'Tis this which makes my treasure,
'Tis this which brings my gain;
Converting woe to pleasure,
And reaping joy from pain."
_Madame Guyon._
"There are in the loud-stunning tide
Of human care and crime,
With whom the melodies abide
Of the everlasting chime,
Who carry music in their heart
Through dusky lane and wrangling mart;
Plying their daily task with busier feet,
Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat."
_Keble._
Footnotes
[1]This edition of the "Letters," edited by H. L. Sidney Lear, is also
published by the Longmans of London. There is an abridged edition,
in paper, for fifteen cents, for sale by George W. McCalls,
Philadelphia, who also publishes Fénelon's "Christian Counsel,"
"Spiritual Letters" of Madame Guyon, "Life of Dr. John Tauler," and
other similar books. The five most important Lives of Fénelon are by
E. K. Sanders, Longmans, London, 1901; by Viscount St. Cyres,
Methuen & Co., London, 1901; by H. L. Sidney Lear, Rivingtons,
London, 1877; by Dr. T. C. Upham, Harpers, New York, 1846; and by
Charles Butler, Esq., John Murray, London, 1819.
[2]Quoted in _The American Presbyterian and Theological Review_ for
October, 1863, page 674, and also in McClintock and Strong's
Cyclopedia, Vol. III, page 529.
[3]The celebrated historian of the Reformation, J. H. Merle d'Aubigne,
who died at Geneva in 1872, was descended from the same family.
[4]The principal sources of information on this important subject of
Mysticism, from which we have drawn and to which we would refer such
readers as wish to investigate the question further, are the
following: "Christian Mysticism," by William Ralph Inge, being the
Bampton Lectures for 1899; Vaughan's "Hours With the Mystics;"
articles in the Encyclopedia Britannica; Schaff-Herzog Cyclopedia;
McClintock and Strong's Cyclopedia; articles in the _Methodist
Quarterly Review_ for January, 1860, January, 1869, and July, 1878;
various Church Histories, and Histories of Doctrine, together with
the Lives and Writings of the main Mystics mentioned in the present
chapter and the chapter which follows.
[5]Even Spinoza said, "He that would love God aright must not seek to be
loved in return;" and Goethe confessed himself haunted by this
wonderful saying. It is fully in accord with the fact that the most
chivalrous and generous friendship is never concerned about payment
in kind, about what it shall get in return; it only asks the
privilege of loving and of pouring itself out unstintedly for its
beloved. Disinterestedness should not probably be pressed as a
requirement upon minds not capable of such heights, but it has a
grandeur that appeals sometimes to nearly all. This was especially
the case in an age when Jesuit cheapjacks were accustomed to haggle
with God for the price of the soul, and discuss whether it was
necessary to love Him once in a week or once in a year, or whether
salvation might not be purchased still more cheaply at the price of
one act of love in a lifetime.
[6]Inge says: "Fiery energy and unresting industry characterized St.
John of the Cross. No one ever climbed the rugged peaks of Mt.
Carmel with more heroic courage and patience. His life shows what
tremendous moral force is generated by complete self-surrender to
God. His reward was fellowship with Christ in suffering."
[7]See "Honey from Many Hives," gathered by Rev. James Mudge, New York,
Eaton and Mains, 1899. Large quotations also from Francis of Sales
are given in this volume, and from many other Mystical writers.
[8]Fénelon, on sending the manuscript to the Archbishop of Paris used
these words: "I have done what I believed to be my duty, and I leave
the rest to God. I do not care about my work. I am not even anxious
about truth, God will care for it."
Transcriber's Notes
--Retained publication information from the printed edition: this eBook
is public-domain in the country of publication.
--Created cover and spine images based on elements in the book.
--Silently corrected a few palpable typos.
--In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by
_underscores_.