Chapter III
Of the Hope of the Goods That Are to Be Obtained by the Practice of Solid Virtue
Article III
Of the vice opposed to hope which causes us to despair of perfection
We admit that solid virtue raises us to the summit of happiness both in life and at death. But the road which conducts thereto seems to us too narrow and difficult, too rugged and steep: we are afraid to enter it.
We resemble the spies sent by Moses into the country which God had promised to the Israelites, and who, having returned, declared that the land which they had traversed produced an abundant supply of delicious fruits, that it abounded in rich harvests, that it was quite true ‘that milk and honey flowed there,’ but that ‘it devoured its inhabitants,’ that ‘it was’ covered ‘with large and fortified cities;’ that ‘they had seen monstrous men of the race of giants;’ whence they drew this hopeless conclusion: ‘Never could we subjugate this country.’ These pusillanimous spies image to us the cowardice of those souls who acknowledge that virtue secures a happy life and a peaceful death to its votaries; but who persuade themselves that the paths of justice are infested with monsters, or rather encompassed with insurmountable obstacles, which hinder their reaching this blessed goal.
Three kinds of excuses are usually alleged in justification of our sloth and diffidence, when we cease to labour for our perfection; these pretexts are: our disposition, our state of life, and the arduousness of the work. We shall endeavour to make known the falsity of these motives, and to prove that if the path of virtue is strewn with thorns, these thorns do not inflict intolerable wounds; that if it is narrow, it is not so intricate and painful that we cannot pass through it and clear away the obstacles it presents; that the monsters with which our imagination has invested it are but delusive phantoms and the inventions of self-love.
1. Our Disposition
There is nothing more common than this vain excuse: happy they who, like Solomon, have received a ‘soul disposed to good,’139 or, like Sadoc, ‘an excellent disposition’140 to virtue. For it is easy for them to ‘take the wings of the eagle,’ to run in the way of perfection, ‘and never faint.’141 But for me, ‘whose imaginations and thoughts are prone to evil from my youth;’142 me ‘a captive under the law of sin that is in my members;’143 me, ‘who do the evil which I will not, unhappy man that I am;’144 oh! how can I ascend above the earth and fix my thoughts on heaven? Yes, says another; all sorts of soil are not suitable to every description of vegetation: all kinds of flowers do not receive the same amount of cultivation: every man is not fitted to make a saint. There are some whose nature, character, and inclinations are great impediments to virtue. How is it possible that he whose blood effervesces, and who seems to possess the impetuosity of the lion, shall be able to transform himself into a lamb? that he whose nerves quiver as though mercury flowed in his veins, should retire from the world ‘like the owl of the wilderness or the sparrow alone on the housetop?’145 that he over whom melancholy predominates, who seems to have received sadness as an inheritance, should support adversity with a calm and serene brow? or that he who is of a phlegmatic temperament or of a dull, indolent disposition, should burn with charity, and nimble ‘as the roe leaping over the mountains and skipping over the hills,’146 elevate himself to the summit of sanctity? who could expect such a miracle from so sluggish a disposition? ‘Can the Ethiopian change his skin or the leopard its colours?’147 Can we with more facility rid ourselves of a vice which is identified with our nature, and assume the habit of the opposite virtue?
I do not admit all these sophisms; but I maintain that every man, whatever may be his disposition, fiery or phlegmatic, sanguine or bilious, provided he is faithful to grace, shall find in his temperament itself not an obstacle, but an actual help to sanctity. The Holy Ghost seems to insinuate this truth by the vision shown to Ezechiel, of the four animals, one of which had the appearance of a man, another that of a lion, the third that of an eagle, and the fourth that of an ox. These animals, according to some interpreters, are symbolic of the different humours which contribute to diversify the temperaments of men. Each of them ‘went straight forward, whither the impulse of the spirit was to go;’148 that is, they followed so faithfully the impulse they received from the spirit, that they neither turned to the right nor to the left, teaching us by this complete dependence that our character and our dispositions, whatever they may be, are no impediment to the acquisition of virtue. For had we a temperament choleric as that of the lion, impulsive as that of the eagle, sluggish as that of the ox, volatile as that of man, ‘who never continueth in the same state,’149 still, if we follow the direction of grace with docility, we shall indubitably attain perfection without ever deviating from the paths of justice. Let us give some examples of this. Who ever possessed a more ferocious disposition than Paul? was more enamoured of profane pleasures than Magdalen? more avaricious of riches than Matthew and Zaccheus? And, nevertheless, these great sinners, resisting their depraved and rebellious propensities, have attained to an eminent holiness. Paul ‘breathed out threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord;’ Magdalen was a public ‘sinner in her city;’ Matthew ‘was sitting at the receipt of customs,’ receiving money with avaricious cupidity; Zaccheus was ‘one of the princes of the publicans,’ of these men who enrich themselves by illicit usury. But in an instant Paul becomes ‘a vessel of election,’ ‘many sins are forgiven’ Magdalen, Matthew is chosen for an ‘apostle,’ and Zaccheus is numbered amongst the true ‘children of Abraham.’ Who then can justly allege the obstacles which temperament or disposition oppose to our sanctification? For though these extraordinary conversions be miracles of grace, still such prodigies are not of such rare occurrence that we may not hope to see them proportionately renewed in us. Let us read the history of the Church, let us glance over the lives of the saints, and we shall find in every page the verification of the prophecy of Isaias: ‘The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the lion and the sheep, the calf and the bear;’ that is, that the most heroic virtues have in all ages been associated with all temperaments, and that the sanguine and bilious, the melancholy and the phlegmatic, have practised them alike.
What striking instances of this are afforded us by St. Augustine, St. Gualbert, St. William, and countless others whom the Church now honours among the friends of God, despite the perversity of the inclinations they had to combat. ‘Let us’ say, then, with St. Ambrose, ‘that the saints were not of a different nature from us, but that they were more faithful than we.’ Amongst the multitude of the Israelites whom Moses led into the desert, assuredly there were many whose dispositions and temperament opposed as many, nay more obstacles to virtue than ours do, who were as prone to levity, anger, sadness, sloth, as we are, yet the Lord addressing Himself to Moses, says: ‘Speak to the whole assembly of the children of Israel, and say to them: Be holy, because I the Lord your God am holy.’150
Now, it is not possible that God, who is infinitely just, should command an impossibility, and yet on this entire people, without one exception, does He who knows our dust impose the obligation of sanctity and perfection, and that notwithstanding the diversity of character which exists amongst them. Perfection, therefore, being possible to the most depraved amongst the Israelites, how can it be impracticable for us? consequently the bilious man, with his propensity to anger, the sanguine with his ardour for pleasures, and the phlegmatic and the melancholy with their sloth and sadness, may become saints. It is then a vain and idle pretext to seek excuses in our temperament. As the natural asperity, bitterness, and other bad qualities of the wild olive are counteracted by having a free branch engrafted on it, cannot divine grace effect a like change in us?
What! shall the power of Jesus Christ possess less efficacy on us than the free branch grafted on a wild tree? The branch can change the nature of the fruit of the tree on the stem of which it is grafted, and Jesus Christ will not be able to change ours? Who will presume to place such narrow limits to His grace? rather let us have confidence; provided we allow it to act without restraining its operations, we shall soon experience its influence diffusing itself into the faculties of our soul, to enrich with its beauty and its value and transform it into a soul altogether new. As the natural bitterness and other bad qualities of the wild olive are counteracted by the free branch, so divine grace, in communicating itself to us, softens the asperity of our dispositions and corrects the evil tendencies of our inclinations. Hence it is that St. Basil concludes, that no one, ‘however vicious he may be, should despair of himself, knowing that if cultivation can change the nature of plants,’ self-vigilance may also correct the bad habits of the soul.
What do I say? not alone is our temperament, whatever it may be, no impediment to the acquisition of virtue, but it may even, according to the use we make of it, prove a powerful help in the work of our perfection. Our predominant passion itself, which is so closely allied to the humour which preponderates in our constitution, if we know how to direct it properly, shall become the step by which we may ascend to sublime sanctity.
Of this we may judge by the example of the saints already quoted. Magdalen sought not to curb the tendency to love, which so strikingly characterised her; but she denied herself all profane affection to consecrate every fibre of her heart to God. St. Paul after his conversion preserved his intrepid, ardent and zealous disposition; he only applied it differently, directing the zeal with which he had persecuted the Church to the promulgation of the Gospel; St. Matthew substituted a love of souls for his thirst for gain; St. Ignatius, instead of that avidity for military glory which consumed him, was no longer sensible of any glory save that of his divine Master. Thus it is that the saints have happily contrived to convert dispositions apparently the most difficult to subject to grace, into instruments of spiritual advancement.
‘The devil,’ says St. Leo, ‘studies our habits, scrutinises our cares, examines our affections, and seeks the opportunity of injuring us in those things with which he sees us most preoccupied.’ Why should we not employ the same weapons for our spiritual advancement which are so successful when wielded by our adversary for our destruction? This is a pious artifice, the efficacy of which Aristotle had recognised when he wrote that ‘we should examine those things towards which we find ourselves most strongly attached, and afterwards direct this inclination towards a laudable object.’
It is even in some manner more desirable to possess a choleric than a mild disposition, to which nothing seems to cost anything. For there are some virtues which have, so to speak, so great an affinity to the temperament of some persons, that one may easily deceive himself by this semblance of sanctity, and attribute to piety what is purely natural. Thus we erroneously style meekness and mansuetude, what is sometimes only an excess of a phlegmatic humour; prudence and gravity, an apathetic melancholy; charity to the neighbour, worldly politeness; nevertheless, such works are neither supernatural nor meritorious, and we shall find at the hour of death that what we regarded as precious stones were but worthless glass. The more difficult it is to subdue our character, the more certain we are of escaping so fatal a delusion; so that the ardour and violence of our dispositions, far from being a hindrance to the acquisition of virtue, shall, on the contrary, if properly directed, be a powerful means of attaining perfection. No one, therefore, can reasonably despair of becoming holy on account of the obstacles opposed thereto by his inclinations.
2. Our state of life
There are some persons in the world who persuade themselves that perfection is not obligatory on all states and ages. They regard it as an exotic fruit which cannot attain maturity save in the deserts of anchorites or the monasteries of religious. They imagine that the possession of virtue is a treasure which it is bootless to seek in the stormy ocean of the world. They pretend that it is impossible for them to walk constantly in the paths of perfection, owing to the hurry of business, the anxieties of life, and family cares. In fine, they allege that the young man, on account of the delicacy of his age, and the old man owing to the decay of his strength, are incapable of ascending sanctity’s rugged heights. Whence they conclude that perfection is not obligatory on all classes.
Reassured by this fancied impotency, they neglect their sanctification. The young defer it to old age; the old regret having neglected it in their youth; the poor envy the rich the facilities they enjoy for sanctifying themselves; the rich, on the contrary, lament the many obstacles which impede their heavenward course. The prince alleges the court, the judge the palace, the soldier war, the learned man his studies, the artisan his work, the farmer his tillage: all have excuses to adduce which have long prevented their becoming saints and working miracles. All deceive their conscience and waste their time in futile desires. Frequently they exclaim with a sigh: ‘Oh, that I were in another place, another state of life! Oh, did I but occupy another office, did I but possess a more opulent fortune! how much more perfectly I would live! Oh, that those years, those opportunities, those graces, would but return! Oh, how much more faithfully would I correspond with them!’ Thus it is that with equal fallacy and imprudence we throw the blame of our faults and tepidity on our occupation, our age, our place of abode, or the persons with whom we live. Nevertheless, it is not our condition, but the apathy of our will, which is the sole cause of this evil. Every page of the annals of the saints refutes these mendacious pretexts. For example: Henry on the throne, Radegonde amid the honours of a court, Eustace in a camp, Ives at the bar, Crepin in his workshop, Isadore following his plough, Wandelin tending his flocks, have obtained a brilliant crown of sanctity. Stanislaus in boyhood, Louis of Gonzaga in youth, Ignatius in manhood, Augustine in old age, became saints. Patricius in travelling, Thomas of Aquinas in studying, Herman in illness, Blandina in service, have attained to high perfection. These are proofs that neither age, nor condition, nor any of the other circumstances of life are a real obstacle to our sanctification.
Who was ever more overwhelmed with business than Moses, Josue, and Samuel? Who was more engaged in family cares than Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob? Who had to suffer more injuries than Job, David, and Jeremias? And yet all these illustrious personages, now associated with the blessed, shine and shall shine ‘as stars for all eternity.’151 These great men, despite the imperfection of the Old Law, have been able to attain the most exalted virtue; why shall not we be capable of doing so who live under the Law of Grace, in which the divine aids are incomparably more abundant and efficacious?
But even without referring to those examples, reason itself can demonstrate what is possible on this point. Because true piety consists in the faithful accomplishment of the obligations which God imposes on us, and in the perfection of our daily actions; it consists in doing or omitting what the divine law commands or prohibits. Now, we have already proved in the second part of this work, Chapter I., that it is possible for each one of us, whatever may be our temperament, state, or condition, to perform all our ordinary actions faithfully: hence it follows that in all places and circumstances every one can become perfect.
Were sanctity to be found only in sublime contemplation, were it necessary to seek it in unbroken solitude, beneath the ensanguined thorns of mortification, amid the remote islands of a different hemisphere, then that courtier, that magistrate, that young man, that decrepit old man, might plausibly plead for an exemption. But what great difficulty is there in performing well those actions which we are obliged to do, and accomplishing for the love of God what so many others do with a view to temporal interest? To be as solicitous in the service of God as others are in that of the world? In fine, not to offend, at least with full deliberation, not to displease and irritate Him who is infinitely amiable? Where is the Christian so pusillanimous as to deem this impracticable? It is, therefore, beyond dispute that our condition, our state of life, whatever it may be, is not an impediment to perfection, since all conditions have given eminent saints to the Church, thus proving irrefragably that sanctity is compatible with every situation in which divine providence may place us.
‘But,’ you say, ‘how can one inhale the pure air of sanctity amid the turmoil of the world, the anxiety of family cares, and the burden of business?’ I reply that, even under these circumstances, it is not so difficult as is supposed to attain perfection. A penitential life is the shortest road to it. Now, who have so many opportunities of suffering as men of the world, who, day and night, at home and abroad, are perpetually meeting crosses? They are obliged to bear patiently either the ill-temper of a wife, the obstinate disobedience of their children, the intractability of their servants; or to endure in heroic silence the loss of their property, the insolence of debtors, the insincerity of friends. But to suffer those and a thousand similar trials with perfect submission, sanctified by faith, is assuredly to advance with rapid strides in the paths of justice. Who is more frequently obliged to renounce his own will, submit his judgment, practise obedience and repress his desires, than a man of the world? If he do it for the love of God it will suffice to make him a great saint. Should an artisan ennoble his labour by a pure and upright intention, his humble workshop would become a noble arena, wherein to exercise himself in virtue. But if we observe a different mode of action, we live wretched amid all the austerities of penance, and die without having acquired the merit of it. One might have been a martyr of God, and he is the martyr of satan; from all these miseries, labours and trials he reaps thorns instead of roses, and far from ensuring for himself a recompense from God, he only accumulates his debts to the divine justice. You say you cannot effect much good, at least bear patiently the misfortunes which befall you. If you cannot perform great things, at least do not neglect little ones, for fidelity in small things is the surest road to high sanctity; if you cannot relieve your neighbour by alms, edify him by good example. If you cannot renounce your riches, at least divest yourself of all affection for them: if you occupy an exalted position, recall to mind your baseness and nothingness, and humble yourself beneath the feet of all. Thus it is that you will acquire solid piety. An additional proof this, that there is no state or condition which, far from impeding, may not aid us to attain perfection.
3. The difficulty of the labour
To destroy the third pretext which our sloth alleges to dispense itself from virtue, and demonstrate its fallacy and illusion, it suffices to cast a glance at what takes place in the world. Where is the state, condition, or kind of life here below which does not superabound in obstacles a thousand times more serious and important than those which the practice of piety presents? What courtier, warrior, or merchant has not more weariness to endure, more sufferings to bear, more anxieties and fears to surmount than the peaceful anchorite? The magistrate, the lawyer, the artisan, each one complains of the difficulties of his state and envies the repose of the religious. But above all, what monarch, what potentate does not experience the acuteness of the thorns which lurk beneath his crown?
And yet it is rare to see these men of the world abandon the career on which they have entered, renounce their crown, the profession of arms, or their merchandise, or even relinquish the hope of success. The difficulties of the labours inseparable from their condition do not disgust them with these occupations and temporal goods; why then should they divert you from the practice of virtue? Since men of the world pursue perseveringly the route they have entered on, why should you renounce your hold of the plough and look back? But, besides, it would be necessary to quit this world if we are so pusillanimous as to cede to the least opposition, since labour and suffering are as the two pivots on which our life is doomed to turn incessantly. How vain and false, therefore, is the excuse founded on the trials and difficulties of virtue!
Let us be more just in our judgments, and we shall perceive that the path of virtue is not so painful as our self-love, deluded by the artifices of the devil, takes pleasure in representing it to us. To be holy, it suffices that we shun sin with the same horror as we would avoid a dreadful dragon; that we reject temptation with the same promptitude as we would shake off a spark which had fallen on our hand: that we bring as much attention to prayer as to play; to assisting at the sacred mysteries as to study. No more diligence is required of us in the examination of our conscience than in the examination of our accounts; no more attention to the purity of our heart than to the neatness of our apparel; nor more solicitude in guarding our senses than in preserving our riches. Finally, nothing more is exacted of us than that we do not take less care of our soul than of our health; that we do not entertain more esteem for our body than for our mind, not less zeal to profit our soul than to procure our livelihood. Shall we deem this commandment too irksome, too difficult? Shall the same thing appear impossible when demanded by God, and easy when exacted by the world?
Oh, heavens! is it then so difficult to recall occasionally the remembrance of Him who never for one moment forgets us? Is it so painful to love Him with our whole heart who is infinitely good in Himself, owing to the plenitude of His perfections, and infinitely good to us on account of the numberless benefits with which He has loaded and continues to load us? Is it an impossibility to despoil ourselves of self in order to clothe ourselves with Jesus Christ? to renounce human glory in order to obtain grace? to despise dross in order to gain heaven? to detach ourselves from all created affection in order to possess the Creator? Where is the man of sense who would not blush to act otherwise? Were it necessary, in order to attain perfection, to accumulate riches, to obtain new dignities, to possess worldly pleasures, to avoid all adversity, then our apology would be well-founded. But since, on the contrary, one of the conditions of sanctity is to renounce riches, despise dignities, fly pleasures, seek afflictions; since we know that, clothed with Jesus Christ, we, as well as St. Paul, can do all things in Him who strengthens us, is it not evident that the pretext of the difficulty of the labour is void and illusory?
The yoke of the world is far more severe than that of Jesus Christ: the burden of the flesh far heavier than that of the cross, since virtue does not impose so many privations on its votaries as vanity does on its slaves. Study the man who is desirous of realising a fortune: what injuries he will have to dissemble, what remorse to stifle, what insults to endure. There are no flatteries so fulsome, no services so humiliating, no labours so painful, to which he will not be obliged to stoop, notwithstanding his pride.
What anxiety has not the father of a family to undergo in order to provide for his children? What annoyances does not a client put up with rather than forfeit the favour of his patron? What fatigues does not a debtor endure to amass wherewith to satisfy his creditors? But when one has at length obtained an honourable position and a respectable competency, has he not still to suffer cold and heat, fatigues and solicitudes, in order to avoid the loss of such perishable goods, to guard against the freaks of fortune, to prevent contempt from succeeding to honours, indigence to affluence? So that we can say, even of the favourites of fortune, what St. John says of the damned: ‘Neither have they rest day nor night.’152
And the wonder is, that notwithstanding all this, they devote all their energies to the pursuit of the course on which they have entered, undeterred in their enterprise by any of the difficulties that present themselves. Though a shower of arrows rain upon them, though javelins be darted against them, they follow unflinchingly wherever the desire of a perishable object leads them. And as for us, oh, the shame! the mere shadow of suffering scares and turns us away from perfection.
‘Would to God! my brethren,’ says St. Bernard, ‘would to God that we were as desirous of grace as seculars are eager for temporal goods! Would to God that we tended to virtue with the same persistency that they seek for honours! Then we should be truly happy. But, oh, the grief! filled with confusion we see them desire evil more ardently than we do that which is useful.’
Consequently, St. Laurence Justinian admonishes us that we shall be one day unsparingly accused by ‘those worldlings who now, to attain their ends, deliberately expose their body to dangers of all sorts, and their soul to perdition; they will arise,’ says this saint, ‘these men will arise in judgment against us, and they will have a right to condemn us who have abandoned the paths of virtue for so frivolous a cause. They will adduce against us their daily toils, mental sufferings, frustrated hopes, the continual labours endured to procure a subsistence, some trifling gain: while we, disheartened at the mere appearance of labour, and reckless of heavenly things, have slothfully crossed our arms. To avoid so great a confusion,’ adds the same Pontiff, ‘let us make haste to awaken our heart from this lethargy, to direct the thoughts of our soul to the Lord our God, let us humbly implore His clemency that He deign to stimulate the sloth which predominates over us, that he dissipate the deceitful pretexts of temperament,’ state of life, and the labour attending perfection, so that, instead of despairing of it, ‘we may advance daily from virtue to virtue’ till it be granted us to see ‘the God of gods in Sion,’153 and eternally enjoy the happiness of this ineffable vision.
