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LONDON BOOK CO
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GlendaJe, Caiif. 91204
^'^one: CI 4-0828
Sni/raird by O Tdim
SELECTIONS
FROM THE
WRITINGS OF FENELON
A MEMOIR OF HIS LIFE.
BY MRS. FOLLEN.
FIFTH EDITION. REVISED AND ENLARGED.
BOSTON :
SAMUEL G. SIMPKINS.
1844.
Entered according to Act of Congrrss, in the year 1841,
BY SAMUEL G. SIMPKINS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
I. R. BUTTS, PRINTER,
BCBOOI. STREET.
PREFACE
TO THE FIRST EDITION.
BY HENRY D. SEDGWICK.
No apology is necessary for giving anything to
the public from the pen of Fenelon, Such were
the elevation and liberality of his spirit, that it
soared above party, to difiuse itself over all the in-
terests of humanity.
He was in spirit and in truth a Christian ; a lover
of God and man. His pure and expansive thoughts
could not in their nature be confined to any sect
or country.
It is true that he was not above all the prejudices
and influences of education. Who is ? But his
was one of those pure and beneficent spirits, which
from their natures belong to the whole of mankind.
It is not contended that he has done as much as
some others to enlarge the limits of human science.
PREFACE.
His political maxims were just and pure, and they
were fearlessly promulgated at the expense of his
highest temporal interests ; and it is scarcely worth
consideration, whether he were as well acquainted
with all the rules of political economy, as others,
whose residence and situation gave them greater
advantages in that respect. It is not as a politician,
but as a Christian and a man, that we regard his
character.
Fenelon was born and brought up a Roman
Catholic. It was not possible that his thoughts
and feelings should not be affected by this circum-
stance. What we have to wonder and rejoice at,
is, that his pure and expansive affections burst all
exclusive bands. His heart belonged to no creed,
no country, but embraced the earth, and soared to
heaven. He loved all that was lovely on earth,
and his aspirations were to all that is elevated
above it.
This putting forth of the affections from and
above himself, was the ennobling and distinctive
trait in the character of Fenelon, He loved men,
not because they were of the same race as himselfj
but because they were susceptible of virtue and
happiness. He loved God, not merely as his ben-
PREFACE. Vll
efactor, but as the great source of felicity to all sen-
tient existence.
Fenelon was pious, — pious in the highest sense
of the term. He did not submit to commands, be-
cause the lawgiver was powerful and dould punish
disobedience ; nor yet simply because he was just
and his commands equitable ; but his spirit volun-
tarily went forth to co-operate in all the designs of
goodness. His efforts were never retarded or inter-
rupted. He threw off, if he ever felt them, the
bonds of indolence ; and the mists of selfishness
never impaired his vision. The pure and holy in-
fluences of such a spirit should surely be diffused
as widely as possible, and this is the design of the
present volume.
The direct influence of such a mind ought not
to be confined to those who have acquired a foreign
language, and can afford to purchase books exten-
sively. It is not invidious to say, that there is no
existing translation of Fenelon 's works which ren-
ders this volume unnecessary. To render the work
as cheap and easily attainable as possible, it is con-
fined to a few selections. The translation is a free
one ; but sedulous care has been taken never to
depart from the spirit of the author, nor to intro-
VIU PREFACE.
duce any but his ideas. As the productions of a
Roman Catholic, and one zealously attached to
his church, his writings necessarily contain many
things that could not be acceptable to Christians of
all denominations. These have been uniformly
omitted. The translator has no other ambition
than to render the rich treasures of the mind and
heart of Fenelon accessible to those of another age
and country, nor any other wish than that the
reader may imbibe something of the spirit of the
author.
Boston, 1828.
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS
FOURTH EDITION
I HAVE been requested by the translator to prefix
a few lines to the present edition of her '' Selections
from Fenelon ] " and though aware that her labors
need no recommendation of mine, I cannot deny
this expression of sympathy and friendship. To
many of the readers of this little work, the name
of the translator, given now for the first time, will
bring back the memory of that excellent man,*
who, were he living, would perform the office to
which I am now called. Before he was taken
from us, he wished that a new edition of the " Se-
lections " should appear ; and it gives me pleasure
to associate myself, by this brief introduction, with
a friend, who rendered me the highest service man
* Charles Follen.
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS.
can render man, by exalting my conception of per-
fection, and my aspirations after it. What he was,
and how much we have lost in him, will be better
understood by a collection of his works, with a
memoir, now passing through the press.
It would be presumptuous to think of recom-
mending Fenelon to the public at this day. In
truth he never needed patronage. By a singular
coincidence of circumstances, his rare excellence
was revealed at the very beginning of his career.
It is the peculiarity of his reputation, that it is as
great among Protestants as among Catholics. He
belongs to no sect. He is felt to express in his
writings and life the universal spirit of Christianity ;
and this impression was as strong in his life as at
the present moment. He was persecuted and vir-
tually banished ; but his fame grew by what was
meant to obscure it. He fell under the censure of
the church ; but it was remarked at the time, that
his whole fault lay " in loving God too much ;"
and Catholicism received glory from his unsullied
fame at the moment she condemned him.
These lines are not written to recommend Fen-
elon ; but a word may be said on the subject of
the following "Selections." Tiiey consist of por-
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. XI
tions of his writings, which, whilst they do justice
to his spirit and modes of thought, are least liable
to objection. Fenelon is sometimes open to objec-
tion. He was distinguished by genius, devotion,
and his thirst for perfection, rather than by logical
accuracy of thought and expression. He utters
great truths, but often without due qualification or
restraint ; and accordingly his writings may mis-
lead readers of much sensibility and little reflection.
The idea of God shone within him so brightly, that
sometimes all others seemed to fade before it. The
great duty on which he insists, is the absorption
of the human will in the Divine. Nothing would
satisfy him but entire self-immolation. To promote
''pure love," perfect simplicity of soul, entire free-
dom from by-ends and from subtle references to
self, this was his aim. He not only assailed the
grosser forms of the selfish principle, but its most
minute and delicate workings, its jealousies and
anxieties, its exaggerations of the good and its ex-
tenuations of the evil within us, its shrinkings from
the cross, its impatience under the consciousness of
defects, its yearnings for perfection without the
slow processes of mortification, its slowness to sur-
render everything to the will of God, He even
XU INTKODUCTOKY EEWAEKS.
feared that the pleasures of piety might become a
snare, might feed the self-pleasing spirit, and might
thus war against the single, all-sacrificing love of
God.
In all these modes of thought, there is a grand
essential truth. He had rare glimpses of the per-
fection of the soul. Yet it may be doubted
whether he has sufficiently guarded himself against
misapprehension. His philosophy belonged more
to the heart than the head, and his language cannot
always stand the test of rigid criticism. He is
charged, and not without reason, with branding as
sins, those references to our own good, which are
not only innocent, but necessary to our preserva-
tion, and with condemning that respect to future
rewards, which the Scriptures not only allow, but
enjoin. On these and other points a false philoso-
phy of human nature obscured his perceptions.
He looked with secret distrust on its various senti-
ments and faculties, and dared not give them due
play. In his most spiritual Avorks which are most
read, the power of recognizing God is set forth, not
only as the supreme power of the soul, but almost
as the only one to be brought into free action.
Tlujs, however highly we may reverence Fenelon,
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. XIU
his writings are not to be exclusively studied, if
we would avoid a partial development of our na-
ture. Still, in his own province of thought and
feeling, he is grand. His simple words, (and who
is so simple?) penetrate to the depths of the soul.
He exposes, as hardly any one else does, the great
enemy within us, and leads and incites us to those
secret conflicts with the profound workings of
selfishness, which alone guide to the pnre love
of God.
There is one consideration which adds inex-
pressibly to the worth of Fenelon's writings. They
came from his heart. They were transcripts of
his own experience. It will not do to call them
the works of a visionary. He did not dream them ;
he lived them. All our biographies of him, and
we have not a few, agree in testifying to the an- ^
gelic sweetness and purity of his spirit. His char-
acter was so single ; there was such a harmony in
its features, such a unity in the manifestations of
his soul ; his light, though so mild and tender, was
still so clear, and pure, and penetrating, that he
left on all around him one and the same impression ;
and the voice of his generation has come down to
us uncontradicted, undivided, in attestation of his
B*
XIV INTRODUCTORY REMARKS.
rare sanctity and goodness. This great soul breath-
ed itself out with child-like simplicity in his writ-
ings. In reading these, we commune not with his
intellect alone, but with his whole spirit, not with
an author, but with Fenelon, as he spoke and lived
in his common walks, and among the men of his
own age.
Wm. E. Channing.
Boston, March 27th, 1841.
CONTENTS.
Memoir of Fenelon, . 3
On the Existence of God, ..... 29
On the Knowledge and Love of God, ... 75
On Piety, 84
On Prayer, 100
The Spirit of God teaches Within, . . . 117
Upon the Use of Crosses, 120
Upon Daily Faults, 126
Upon the Amusements, that belong to our Con-
dition, 129
Against Temptations, ...... 133
Upon Fidelity in Little Things, .... 135
On Simplicity, ....... 138
Directions for the Conscience of a King . . 146
On the Education of Girls, .... 151
Letters, ......... 177
Reflections for every Day in the Month, . 273
Meditations, ........ 309
General Prayer, ....... 324
Evening Prayer, 326
Prayer to God, 327
MEMOIE OF FENELON.
PocHE menti vegg' io ricohe di lume ;
E quelle poche oscura orgoglio altero :
Luminoso intelletto, e uniil pensiero
Di star concord! insiem non han costume.
Sallo per sue dolor 1' Angiol primiero,
Che SI fulgido usci di man del Name ;
Ah! spiegherebbe in ciel le aurate piume,
Se non toroea superbia il lor sentiero.
Quindi in quest' Angiol novo io non ammiro
L' ampio saper, che folgorando ascende
Per le vie della terra e dell' erapiro ;
Allor 1' ammiro, quando in sfe diseende,
E quel che gli orna il crin fulgido giro
A se Io toglie, e al Donator Io rende.
A mind full fraught with intellectual light,
Is rarely found ; and oft ivhon found, its beams,
Obscured by pride, emit but shadowy gleams ;
Humility scarce dwells witli genius bright.
The first and brightest of the angel host.
Son of the Morning ! still in heaven he might
On golden pinions bear his upward flight,
Had not his glorious state by pride been lost.
Hence this new Angel, my admiring eye
Follows with far loss rapture when he soars.
In intellectual greatness rising high.
And, like the lightning, heaven and earth explores.
Than when from his own brow ho takes the golden crown.
And at his feet, who gave it, humbly lays it down.
Nai. Gaz.
MEMOIR OF FENELON.*
Francis de Salignac de la Mothe Fenelon was
born at the castle of Fenelon, in Perigord, on the sixth
day of August, 1651. His family has derived more lus-
tre from the single name of the Archbishop of Cambrai,
than from a long series of ancestors, who filled the most
distinguished stations in the cabinet, in the field, and in
the church.
Fenelon was brought up under the paternal roof until
his twelfth year, for his constitution was very weak and
delicate. This circumstance, added to his amiable dis-
position, made him an object of peculiar tenderness to his
father. There was nothing remarkable attending his
early education ; it was entrusted to a preceptor, who
appears to have possessed the principles of sound litera-
ture, and who knew how to render it acceptable to his
* This Memoir is intended to contain all the interesting facts
relating to the life of Fenelon. It has been compiled from vari-
ous authors, whose own words have been retained wherever it
seemed expedient.
4 MEMOIR OF FENELON.
pupil. He gave him in a few years a more extensive
knowledge of the Greek and Latin languages, than is
usually obtained at so early an age. When he was twelve
years old, he was sent to the University of Cahors, not
far removed from the residence of his family. He there
completed his philosophical and his philological studies,
and he even took the degrees which were afterwards of
sufficient efficacy when he was elevated to ecclesiastical
dignities. The Marquis Antoine de Fenelon, his uncle,
interested by what he heard of his young nephew, sent
for him to Paris and placed him at the college of Plessis,
there to continue his philosophical studies, where he also
commenced those of theology. It was here he formed a
friendship with the young Abbe de Noailles, afterwards
cardinal and archbishop of Paris.
The young Abbe de Fenelon distinguished himself so
much at the college of Plessis, that they suffered him to
preach at the age of fifteen ; his sermon had an extra-
ordinary success. A similar circumstance is related of
Bossuet, who at the same age preached before the most
brilliant assembly in Paris with the same applause. It is
curious to remark this coincidence of opinion, so prema-
turely formed of two men, who were both destined to be
the instructers of princes, and to become the ornament
and glory of the French church.
The Marquis de Fenelon was rather alarmed than grati-
fied by the encomiums bestowed upon his nephew. Some
idea of the frankness and austerity of his character, may
be formed from what he said to M. do Harlay upon his
nomination to the archbishopric of Paris. " There is,
sir," said he, " a great difference between the day when
such a nomination procures you the compliments of all
France, and the day of your death, when you will appear
MEMOIR OF FENELON. O
before God, to render him an account of your office."
He had lost his only son at the siege of Candia, and had
found in religion the only support that could uphold his
courage under so severe an affliction.
Such was the man who' acted as the father and guide
of Fenelon, in the path of virtue and honor. Providence
treasured up for the Marquis de Fenelon the most lenient
of all consolations in replacing the son he had lost, by a
nephew, who became the object of his tenderest care and
affection. This nephew the Marquis hastened to secure
from the snares of a deceitful world, by placing him at
the seminary of St. Sulpice, under the direction of M.
Tronson, there to acquire a just knowledge of himself.
It was from the erudition, the example, the tender and
affectionate piety of this excellent man, that the youthful
Fenelon derived his relish for virtue and religion, which
made him so perfect a model of excellence, in all those
various employments with which he was entrusted, and of
those elevated functions which he discharged. It was
about this time that Fenelon is supposed to have contem-
plated devoting himself to the mission of Canada, as the
congregation of St. Sulpice had a considerable establish-
ment at Montreal ; but his uncle was justly alarmed at
the project, which was incompatible with the delicate
constitution of his nephew, and he refused his permission.
He accordingly, after having been ordained at St. Sulpice,
devoted himself to the functions of his holy office, in the
same parish.
It was during the exercise of this ministry, that Fene-
lon, by mixing with all ranks and conditions, by associa-
ting with the unfortunate and the sorrowful, by assisting
the weak, and by that union of mildness, of energy, and
of benevolence, which adapts itself to every character,
1*
6 MEMOIR OF FENELON.
and to every situation, acquired the knowledge of tlie
moral and physical ills which afflict human nature. It
-was by this habitual and immediate communication with
all classes of society, that he obtained the melancholy
conviction of the miseries which distress the greater part
of mankind ; and to the profound impression of this truth
through his whole life, we must ascribe that tender com-
miseration for the unfortunate, which he manifests in all
his writings, and which he displayed still more powerfully
in all his actions.
He devoted himself for three years to the ecclesiastical
ministry; and at the end of that time, he was appointed,
by the curate of the parish of St. Sulpice, to explain the
Sacred Writings to the people on Sundays and on festival
days ; an office which first introduced him to public no-
tice, and from which he derived the greatest personal
advantages.
Fenelon resumed, in 1674, his project of becoming a
missionary ; but being convinced that his health would
not sustain the rigor of a Canadian climate, he directed
his thoughts to the Levant. We have a proof of this
intention in a letter written by him, dated at Sarlat, the
residence of his uncle, where he was upon a visit. It is
so remarkable, that we have thought it worthy of tran-
scription.
" Several trifling events have hitherto prevented my re-
turn to Paris ; but I shall at length set out, sir, and! shall
almost fly thither. But compared to this journey, I medi-
tate a nnich greater one. The whole of Greece opens
before me, and the Sultan flies in terror ; the Peloponnesus
breathes again in liberty, and the church of Corinth shall
flourish once more ; the voice of the Apostle shall be
MEMOIR OF FENELON. 7
heard there again. I seem to be transported among
those enchanting places, and those precious ruins, where,
while I collect the most curious relics of antiquity, I
imbibe also its spirit. I seek for the Areopagus, where
St. Paul declared to the sages of the world, the unknown
God! But next to what is sacred, I am delighted with
what is profane ; and I disdain not to descend to the
Piraeus, where Socrates drew up the plan of his Repub-
lic. I reach the double summit of Parnassus ; I pluck
the laurels of Delphi ; I revel in the charms of Tempe.
" When will the blood of the Turks mingle with that
of the Persians on the plains of Marathon, and leave the
whole of Greece to religion, to philosophy, and the fine
arts, who regard her as their country.
' Arva, beata,
Petamus arva, divites et insulas.'
" Nor will I forget thee, oh thou happy island, conse-
crated by the celestial visions of the well beloved disciple.
Oh happy Patmos ! I will kneel upon the earth and kiss
the steps of the apostle, and I shall believe that the
heavens open on my sight. I behold the downfall of
schism, and the union of the East and West, and the
day-spring again dawning in Asia, after a night of such
long darkness. I behold the land which has been sancti-
fied by the steps of Jesus, and watered by his blood, de-
livered from its profanation and clothed anew in glory ;
and I behold also the children of Abraham, scattered
over the fiice of the globe, and more numerous than the
stars of heaven, assembled from the four quarters of the
earth, coming to acknowledge Christ whom they pierced,
and to show the resurrection to the end of time.
a BIEMOIR OF FENELON.
" This is enough, sir, and you will probably be glad to
learn, that this is my last letter, and the end of my
enthusiasm, which has perhaps wearied you. Excuse
the eagerness which prompts me to discourse with you at
a distance, while waiting till I can do it in person.
" Francis de Fenelon."
We perceive from the tone and style of this letter, that
it was written during that youthful period of life, when
the untamed imagination delights to decorate what it
contemplates, and to scatter forth its brightest hues. It
was probably addressed to Bossuet. Fenelon, it appears,
succeeded in obtaining the consent of his uncle to his
going as a missionary to the Levant, who could not allege
the same objection as against his going to Canada. There
is no doubt, however, that the fear of afflicting pain upon
his uncle, and subsequent reflection, made him suspend
the execution of his project, and soon after, his friends
succeeded in giving his zeal another direction ; he was
nominated by the archbishop of Paris, Superior to the
society of Nouvelles Catholiques. It had been instituted
in 1631 ; its object was to strengthen the faith of newly
converted females, and to instruct persons of the same
sex, who showed any desire of conversion, in the doc-
trines of the church. Fenelon entered upon this path
with pleasure, as it had some similarity with his earliest
wish of becoming a missionary. It was at this time that
he formed an intiniacy with Bossuet, for whom he seems
to have had a filial veneration.
To enable him to live in Paris, the Bishop of Sarlat,
liis uncle, resigned to liim the priory of Carenac. This
benefice, which was worth about three or four thousand
livrcs a year, was the oidy one which Fenelon had ujitil
MEMOIR OF TENELON. 9
his forty-third year. For ten years he devoted himself to
the simple direction of a community of women. There
may not be wanting those who would say that such an
employment, at his time of life, must have circumscribed
his mind, by fixing it upon uninteresting details and use-
less studies. It was, however, at this period that he wrote
his first works, the " Treatise on the Education of Girls,"
and the " Treatise on the Mission of the Clergy." The
first of these was not composed for the public, but for his
friend the Duchess of Beauvilliers. Thus, a work which
was originally intended for the use of a single family, has
become an elementary book, equally adapted to every
family, and to all times and all places.
Fenelon was called at this time to mourn the death of
his uncle, who had directed his first steps in the path of
life, and who had been still more useful to him by turning
his heart towards the sublime idea of christian perfection.
It was under his eyes, it was in his house, and in the in-
timacy of that tender confidence which a father delights
to show towards a fa-vorite child, that Fenelon imbibed
his unshaken conviction of the duties and of the great-
ness of his ministry.
The next event in the life of Fenelon, was the choice
of him by Louis the Fourteenth, as a missionary to con-
vert the Protestants of the provinces of Poitou and Saint-
onge. Fenelon, in an interview with the king before he
set out upon his mission, refused a military escort ; and
when the king represented the danger he might be ex-
posed to, he answered, " Sire, ought a missionary to fear
danger ? If you hope for an apostolical harvest, we must
go in the true character of Apostles. I would rather per-
ish by the hands of my mistaken brethren, than see one
of them exposed to the inevitable violence of the mili-
10 MEMOIR OF FENELON.
tary." In a letter to a Duke, he said, " The work of
God is not effected in the heart by force ; that is not the
true spirit of the Gospel."
An officer in the army consulted him to know what
course he should adopt with such of his soldiers as were
Hugonots. Fenelon answered, " Tormenting and teas-
ing heretic soldiers into conversion, will answer no end ;
it will not succeed, it will only produce hypocrites. The
converts so made will desert in crowds." And long
afterwards, when he was archbishop of Cambrai, hearing
that some peasants in Hainaut who were descended from
Protestants, and who held still the same opinions, had
received the sacrament from a minister of their own per-
suasion, but that when they were discovered, they dis-
guised their sentiments and even went to mass ; he said
to the reformed minister, " Brother, you see what has
happened. It is full time that these good people should
have some fixed religion ; go, and obtain their names and
those of all their families ; I give you my word, that in
less that six months they shall all have passports." This
same clergyman, whose name was Brunice, he received
at his table as a brother, and treated him with great
kindness.
This was the spirit that animated Fenelon in his mis-
sion to the Protestants. Those who were not converted
by him, were charmed with his character ; while they
refused to yield to his pathetic exhortations, they never
refused him their esteem and their admiration, and we
may even say their love and confidence.
The reputation which Fenelon acquired by his exer-
tions in Poitou, made him an object of public attention,
and it was not long after that he was appointed preceptor
to the Duke of Burgundy, the heir apparent to the king-
MEMOIR OF FENELON. 11
dom. This he owed to the friendship and esteem of the
Duke de Beauvilliers, who had been appointed by the
king to be the governor to the young prince, and who
immediately named Fenelon for his preceptor. The
choice of the new governor and preceptor was no sooner
made public, than all France resounded with applause.
The character of the Duke of Burgundy is described
as violent and difficult to manage ; he is said to have
given indications in his earliest years, of everything that
was to be feared in temper and disposition. " The Duke
of Burgundy," says St. Simon, " was unfeeling and irri-
table to the last degree, even against inanimate objects.
•Passionately addicted to every kind of pleasure, he was
often ferocious, naturally cruel, and inordinately proud;
he looked upon men only as atoms, with whom he had
no sort of similarity whatever. Even his brothers scarce-
ly seemed, in his estimation, to form an intermediate link
between him and the rest of mankind. But the brilliancy
of his mind, and his penetration, were at all times evi-
dent, and even in his moments of greatest violence, he
shewed proofs of genius. The extent and vigor of his
mind were prodigious, and prevented him from steady
and direct application."
Such was the prince confided to Fenelon. There was
everything to be feared, and everything to be hoped from
a soul possessing such energy. From the combined
efforts of those engaged in his instruction, but principal-
ly^ as it seems, from the influence of the religious prin-
ciple, as employed by Fenelon, the unruly and violent
prince became affable, mild, humane, moderate, patient,
modest, humble, and severe only towards himself; wholly
occupied with his future obligations in life, which he felt
to be great, and thinking only of uniting the duties of the
12 MEMOIR OF FENELON.
son and the subject, with those which he saw himself
destined afterwards to fulfil. But what incessant vigi-
lance, what art, what industry, what skill, what variety in
the means adopted, and what delicacy of observation
must have concurred to produce such an extraordinary
alteration in the character of a child, a prince, and the
heir to a throne.
Fenelon composed his " Fables," the " Dialogues of
the Dead," and " Telemachus," for the use of the Prince ;
but as we have before mentioned, it was by keeping alive
the feeling of accountability to the King of kings, that he
acquired such an influence over the mind of the high-
spirited Duke, and succeeded in subduing his passions.
He was ever presenting to him that awful day when he
was to appear before the Judge of all. He strove by
every means to awaken and cherish in the soul of his
pupil, sentiments that were truly religious, and to make
him feel the solemn truth, that he was ever speaking and
acting in the presence of God. This was the secret of
the almost miraculous effect produced upon the character
of the pupil of Fenelon.
During five years, Fenelon received no mark of favor
from Louis the Fourteenth, and the small living bestowed
upon him by his uncle, was but a scanty means of sup-
port to hiin. He is described as being obliged to prac-
tice the most rigid economy. At last, at the age of forty-
three, he was nominated to the Abbey of St. Valery. The
king informed him of this in person, and apologized for
so tardy an acknowledgment of his gratitude.
His success in the education of the Prince, his excel-
lent character, his conciliating manners, had produced
him the love and esteem of all who knew him ; and a
year after this time, he was elevated to the dignity of
MEMOIR OF FENELON. 13
Archbishop of Cambrai. Fenelon showed his disinter-
estedness, by immediately resigning the Abbey of St.
Valery. Louis at first refused to receive his resignation,
but Fenelon insisted, saying the resources of the arch-
bishopric of Cambrai were such as made a plurality of
livings against the canons of the church.
A short time previous to his nomination to the arch-
bishopric of Cambrai, his acquaintance commenced with
Madame Guyon, which was the cause of his unhappy
controversy with his friend Bossuet. The doctrine of dis-
interested love, or that God is to be loved for his own per-
fections, without any view to the future rewards or punish-
ments, which was the doctrine of Fenelon, appears to have
been the radical point of controversy. They who sup-
posed that they had attained this habitual state of divine
love, were called Q,uietists, from the perfect freedom from
hope or fear that it produced. They thought that God
was to be worshipped in the entire silence and stillness of
the soul ; in a perfect renunciation of self to him.
Fenelon who was one of four ecclesiastics appointed to
examine this doctrine of Madame Guyon, could find noth-
ing in it to condemn, and he even defended her as far as
he could against her persecutors, who thus were made en-
emies to himself When he was accused of holding doc-
trines contrary to the true faith, and was called upon to
make his defence by a declaration of his true sentiments,
he published his " Explication des Maximes des Saints sur
la Vie Interieure." Bossuet, who was entirely opposed to
Fenelon upon the doctrine of disinterested love to God,
used this book as a weapon against him ; he accused Fene-
lon to the king of fanaticism. As Louis in his heart had
never liked a man whose whole life and character were a
tacit reproach upon his own, he readily believed all that
2
14 MEMOIR OF FENELON.
was said against him. He was forbidden to remain in
Paris, and soon after, the king, with his own hand, struck
out his name as preceptor of the Duke of Burgundy.
The controversy, which was carried on with great
warmth by Bossuet, and supported on the part of Fenelon
with great ability, but with unfailing meekness, was finally
submitted to the Pope and his Cardinals. The pontiff
disapproved of some propositions which were advanced
by Fenelon, and the archbishop acquiesced. The Pope
is related to have made a remark respecting the contro-
versy, which could not have been very pleasing to the op-
ponents of Fenelon. " Fenelon," he said, " was in fault
for too great love of God; and his enemies were in fault
for too little love of their neighbor." As a specimen of
Fenelon's style and manner of vindicating himself against
the writings of Bossuet, we give the following passage : —
" How painful is it to me, to carry on against you this
combat of words ; and that, to defend myself against your
terrible charges, it should be necessary for me to point
out your misrepresentations of my doctrine. I am the
writer so dear to you, whom you always carry in your
heart ; yet you endeavor to plunge me, as another Moli-
nos, into the gulf of duietism. Everywhere you weep
over my misfortunes, and while you weep, you tear me in
pieces ! What can be thought of tears, to which you
have recourse only for the purpose of crimination ! You
weep on my account, and you suppress what is essential
in my writings. You join together sentences in them
which are wide asunder. Your own exaggerated conse-
quences, formerly contradicted in my text, you hold out
as my jtriiiciples. What is most pure in my doctrine,
becom(!s hlasplioiny in your representation of it. Believe
me, we have been too long a spectacle to the world, an
MEMOIR OF FENELON. 15
object of derision to the ungodly, of compassion to the
good.
" That other men should be men, is not surprising ;
but that the ministers of Jesus Christ, the angels of the
church, should exhibit such scenes to the profane, to the
unbeliever, calls for tears of blood. How much more
fortunate would have been our lot, if, instead of thus con-
suming our time in interminable disputes, we had been
employed in our dioceses in teaching the catechism, in
instructing the villager to fear God, and bless his holy
name."
The enemies of Fenelon finally succeeded in obtaining
the condemnation of his book, " Les Maximes." It was
with great reluctance that the Pope yielded at last to his
enemies ; and in the manner in which he issued the de-
cree, he discovers the greatest tenderness and respect for
Fenelon.
This truly great man was informed that his book was
condemned by the Pope, just at the very moment when
he was about to ascend the pulpit to preach. Deeply as
he must have been affected by a decision so unexpected,
yet his religion held such perfect empire over his mind,
that he meditated a few moments only, and then, chang-
ing the entire plan of his sermon, he delivered one upon
perfect submission to the authority of superiors. The
news of the condemnation of Fenelon had spread rapidly
through the whole congregation ; and this admirable
presence of mind, this pious submission, this sublime
tranquillity, drew tears of tenderness, of grief, of love,
and of admiration from every eye. He immediately pre-
pared his public declaration of submission to the decree
of the Pope. It was simple, entire, and without any re-
serve. We extract from it the following passages : —
16 3IEM0IK OF FEXELOX.
" We shall find consolation, my dearest brethren, in
what humbles us, provided that the ministry of the word,
which we have received for your sanctification, be not
enfeebled, and that, notwithstanding the humiliation of
the Pastor, the flock shall increase in grace before God."
" Heaven forbid that we should ever be spoken of, except
to remember that a Pastor thought it his duty to be more
docile than the meanest sheep of his flock ; and that his
submission was unlimited."
The submission of Fenelon was neither a respectful
silence, nor a measure of .policy, or any compromise with
truth, but, as he himself said to a friend, " An inward
act of obedience rendered to God alone, according to the
principles of Catholicism. I regarded," says Fenelon,
" the decision of my superiors as an echo of the Supreme
Will ; I forgot all the passions, prejudices, and disputes
which had preceded my condemnation ; I heard God
speak to me as he did to Job ; I accepted my condemna-
tion in its most extensive sense." He very justly dis-
criminated between the meaning he intended to convey
in his book, and the actual sense of the text, of which
he considered the Pope the infallible judge. While he
still solemnly asserted that it had never been his intention
to advocate those errors for which his book was con-
demned, the Pope's condemnation was sufficient to con-
vince him that these errors were there expressed. And
in his answer to an unknown friend who wished to i^Tite
in defence of his book, he would not consent to have
even his own personal attention vindicated from the errors
imputed to him, lest it should appear as an indirect vin-
dication of liis book, and a want of sincerity in his sub-
mission to the Pope. " In tlie name of God," he says,
" speak to me only of God, and leave men to judge of
MEMOIR OF FENELON. 17
me as they like. As to myself, I shall seek only peace
and silence."
Fenelon seems not to have regarded his banishment to
his diocese as any calamity, except from a fear that it
might lessen his usefulness ; he loved the country and
rural pleasures. He was particularly fond of walking.
He writes to a friend, " I amuse myself, I walk, and I
find myself peaceful, in silence before God. O ! bliss-
ful communion ! in his presence we are never alone ; as
to men, we are alone when we do not wish to be with
them."
In the course of his walks, he would often join the
peasants, sit down with them on the grass, talk with them,
and console them. He visited them in their cottages,
seated himself at table with them, and partook of their
humble meals. By such kindness and familiarity, he won
their affections, and gained access to their minds. As
they loved him as a father and friend, they delighted to
listen to his instructions, and to submit to his guidance.
Long after his death, the old people who had the happi-
ness of seeing him on these occasions, spoke of him with
the most tender reverence. " There," they would say,
" is the chair in which our good archbishop used to sit in
the midst of us ; we shall see him no more," and then
their tears would flow.
The diocese of Cambrai was often the theatre of war,
and experienced the cruel ravages of retreating and con-
quering armies. But an extraordinary respect was paid
to Fenelon by the invaders of France. The English, the
Germans, and the Dutch, rivalled the inhabitants of Cam-
brai in their veneration for the Archbishop. All distinc-
tions of religion and sect, all feelings of hatred and
jealousy that divided the nations, seemed to disappear in
2*
18 MEMOIR OF FENELON.
the presence of Fenelon. Military escorts were offered
him, for his personal security ; but these he declined, and
traversed the countries desolated by war, to visit his
flock, trusting in the protection of God. In these visits,
his way was marked by alms and benefactions. While
he was among them, the people seemed to enjoy peace in
the midst of war.
He brought together into his palace, the wretched in-
habitants of the country, whom the war had driven from
their homes, and took care of them, and fed them at his
own table. Seeing, one day, that one of these peasants
ate nothing, he asked him the reason of his abstinence.
" Alas ! my lord," said the poor man, " in making my
escape from my cottage, I had not time to bring off my
cow, which was the support of my family. The enemy
will drive her away, and I shall never find another so
good." Fenelon, availing himself of his privilege of safe
conduct, immediately set out, accompanied by a single
servant, and drove the cow back himself to the peasant-
" This," said Cardinal Maury, " is perhaps the finest
act of Fenelon's life." He adds, " Alas ! for the man
who reads it without being affected." Another anecdote,
showing his tenderness to the poor, is thus related of him.
A literary man, whose library was destroyed by fire, has
been deservedly admired for saying, " I should have
profited but little by my books, if they had not taught me
how to bear the loss of them." The remark of Fenelon,
who lost his in a similar way, is still more simple and
touching. " I would much rather they were burnt than
the cottage of a poor peasant."
The virtues of Fenelon give his history the air of
romance ; but his name will never die. Transports of
joy were heard at Cambrai when his ashes were discovered,
MEMOIR OF FENELON. 19
which, it was thought, had been scattered by the tempest
of the Revolution ; and to this moment the Flemings call
him " the good Archbishop."
The kindness and humanity of Fenelon to the sufferers
in the war, endeared him to the whole nation. His char-
ity embraced the rich and the poor, his friends and his
enemies. " It is impossible," says his biographer, "to
conceive how much he was the idol of the military, and
how Versailles, in spite of her stern master, resounded
with his name. His charity and polite attentions extended
equally to the prisoners of war, as to his own countrymen.
Virtue herself became more beautiful from Fenelon's
manner of being virtuous."
One of the curates of his diocese complained to him
that he was unable to put a stop to dances on the feast
days. " Mr. Curate," said Fenelon to him, " let us abstain
from amusement ourselves, but let us permit these poor
people to dance. Why prevent them from forgetting for
a moment their poverty and wretchedness?"
The simplicity of Fenelon's character obtained for him
a triumph on one occasion, which must have been most
gratifying to his feelings, if it were only as a testimony
in favor of the irresistible charm and power of virtue. His
enemies (for to the reproach of human nature, Fenelon had
his enemies) were mean enough to practise the shameful
artifice, of placing about him an ecclesiastic of high birth,
whom he considered only as his grand vicar, but who was
to act as a spy upon him. This man, who had consented
to undertake so base an office, had, however, the mag-
nanimity to punish himself for it. Subdued by the purity
and gentleness of spirit that he witnessed in Fenelon, he
threw himself at his feet, confessed the unworthy part he
had been led to act, and withdrew from the world, to con-
ceal, in retirement, his grief and his shame.
20 MEMOIR OF FENELON.
Fenelon, so indulgent to others, required no indulgence
to be exercised to himself. Not only was he willing to
have his failings treated with severity, he was even grate-
ful for it.
Father Seraphin, a Capuchin missionary, of more zeal
than eloquence, preached at Versailles before Louis the
Fourteenth. The Abbe Fenelon, at that time the king's
chaplain, being present, fell asleep. Father Seraphin
perceived it, and stopping iri the midst of his discourse,
" Wake that Abbe," said he, " who is asleep, and who
seems to be present here only to pay his court to the
king." Fenelon was fond of relating this anecdote.
With the truest satisfaction, he praised the preacher, who
was not deterred from exercising such apostolic liberty,
and the king who approved of it by his silence.
So tender and so delicate, if the expression may be
allowed, was Fenelon's love of virtue, that he considered
nothing as innocent that could wound it in the slightest
degree. He censured Moliere for having represented it in
" The Misanthrope," with an austerity that exposed it to
odium and ridicule. The criticism may not be just, but
we must respect the feeling which dictated it, and more
especially as the gentle and indulgent virtue of Fenelon
was far from bearing any resemblance to the savage and
inflexible virtue of " The Misanthrope." On the con-
trary, Fenelon relished highly " The Hypocrite," by the
same author ; for the more he loved genuine virtue, the
more he detested the aftectation of it (which he com-
plained of meeting so often at Versailles,) and the more
he commended those who endeavored to expose it. He
did not, like Baillct, make it a crime in Moliere, to have
usurped the right of the clergy to reprove hypocrites.
Fenelon was persuaded that they who complain of en-
MEMOIR OF FENELON. 21
croachments on this right, which, after all, is only the
right of every good man, are commonly slow to make use
of it themselves, and are even afraid to have others exer-
cise it for them. He dared to blame Bourdaloue, whose
talents and virtues he otherwise respected, for having at-
tacked, in one of his sermons, that excellent comedy, where
the contrast between true and false piety is so well paint-
ed. " Bourdaloue," said he, with his usual candor, " is
not a hypocrite ; but his enemies will say that he is a
Jesuit."
Fenelon showed his magnanimity as well as his chari-
ty during the war. He was then an exile in his own dio-
cese, and in disgrace with the king ; but the enemy had
been his protectors and friends, and while all France was
suffering from famine, his magazines were filled with grain.
He distributed it among the soldiers of his unjust master,
and refused to receive any pay for it, saying, " The king
owes me nothing, and in times of calamity it is my duty,
as a citizen and a bishop, to give back to the state what I
have received from it." It was thus he avenged himself
for his disgrace.
His mind, dead to vanity, was in conversation entirely
given up to the person with whom he conversed. Men
of every profession, proficients in every branch of knowl-
edge, were at ease in his company. He directed every
one first to the subject he best understood, and then he
disappeared at once, thus giving them an opportunity to
produce, out of their own stock, the materials they were
most able to furnish. Thus every one parted from him
well pleased with himself.
The different writings in philosophy, theology and
belles-lettres, that came from the pen of Fenelon, have
made his name immortal. The most powerful charm of
22 MEBIOIR OF FENELON.
his writings, is that feeling of quiet and tranquillity which
they excite in the reader. It is a friend, who approaches
you and pours his soul into yours. You feel that you are
holding an intimate communion with a pure and highly
gifted mind. He moderates, ^and suspends, at least for a
while, your worldly cares and your sorrows ; you enter
for a time into that spirit of self-sacrifice and self-oblivion
which seems to be the key-note of all his writings. Your
whole heart seems to expand with the christian love that
inspired him. We are ready to forgive human nature so
many men who make us hate it, on account of Fenelon,
who makes us love it.
In the authors whom he quotes in his Dialogue upon
Eloquence and Letter to the French Academy, and cites
as models, those touches of feeling which go to the soul,
are those upon which he loves to repose. He there seems,
if we may so speak, to breathe sweetly his native air, and
to find himself in the midst of what is most dear to him.
His sermons were always the outpourings of his heart ; it
was not his object to be brilliant ; he retired to his orato-
ry, and there in the presence of God, he called up to his
mind all those pure conceptions and affectionate senti-
ments with which his discourses were filled. Like Moses,
the friend of God, he went to the holy mountain, and re-
turned to the people to communicate to them what he had
learned iu that ineffable communion. He would begin
by instructing bis flock njion the reasons of our faith, and
of our liojie, and then hasten to inculcate that charity
which produces and perfects all the virtues.
Wlien the question was discussed before the Queen of
Poland, which of the two champions, Bossuet or Fenelon,
had rendered the greatest services to religion, " The one,"
said that Princess, " has proved its truth, the other has
MEMOIR OF FEx\ELON. 23
made it to be loved." Although the spirit of love is man-
ifest in all his writings, it is most deeply impressed on
those that were composed for his pupil. He seems, in
writing them, to have ever repeated to himself, " What I
am going to say to this child, will be the occasion of hap-
piness or misery to twenty millions of people." He said,
that, not having been able to procure for the Duke of Bur-
gundy the privilege of actually travelling himself, he had
made him travel over the world with Mentor and Telem-
achus; "If he ever travel," added he, "I should wish
that it might be without an equipage. The less retinue
he had, the easier would truth be able to approach him.
He would be able to see good and evil, so as to adopt the
one, and avoid the other, much better abroad than at
home ; and, delivered for a while from the cares and anx-
ieties of being a prince,' he would taste the pleasure of
being a man."
Let us not forget the most interesting fact relative to
the education of this Prince, and which bound him by the
strongest tie of affection to his instructer. When Fene-
lon had committed any fault, even the slightest, in the ex-
ecution of this trust, he never failed to accuse himself of
it to his pupil. What an authority, founded in love and
confidence, must he have acquired over him by this in-
genuous frankness ! What a lesson of uprightness must
it have taught him ; — openness and ingenuousness even
at the expense of his self-love, indulgence towards the
faults of others, readiness to confess his own, the courage
even to accuse himself, the noble ambition of knowing,
and the still more noble ambition of conquering himself
" If you wish," said a philosopher, " to have your son
listen to stern, unbending truth, begin by speaking it to
him when it is against yourself"
24 MEMOIR OF FENELON.
The enemies of Fenelon have insinuated, most falsely,
that he took side in the controversy against Jansenism,
only because the Cardinal de Noailles had declared him-
self against Quietism. But his noble and ingenuous soul
was incapable of such a motive. The sweetness of his
disposition, and the idea which he had formed to himself
of the goodness of God, made him averse to the doctrine
of Quesnel, which he considered as leading to despair.
He consulted his own heart for arguments against it.
" God," said he, " is to them only a terrible being ; to
me he is a being good and just. I cannot consent to
make him a tyrant who binds us with fetters, and then
commands us to walk, and punishes us if we do not."
But in proscribing principles, which seemed to him too
harsh, and the consequences of which were disavowed by
those who held them, he would not permit them to be
persecuted. "Let us be to them," said he, " what they
are unwilling that God should be to man, full of compas-
sion and indulgence." He was told that the Jansenists
were his declared enemies, and that they left nothing un-
done to bring him and his doctrine into discredit. " That
is one farther reason" said he, " for me to suffer and for-
give them."
Thus passed Fenelon's life till the melancholy death of
the Duke of Burgundy, in 1712. His death was a sad
blight upon the fairest hopes of the nation. Fenelon's
highest wishes seemed to be realized in him ; the eyes
and hopes of all were upon him. His veneration and
love for his preceptor had continued, and when he was
allowed, he did not fail to express it. When Fenelon
heard the afllicting intelligence of his death, he exclaim-
ed, " All my tics arc broken ; nothing now remains to
bind me to the earth." Shortly after, the Duke de
MEMOIR OF FENELON. 25
Chevreuse, his intimate friend, died, and this was also a
great sorrow to him. He writes thus to a friend, when
he was deeply oppressed by these calamities. "Real
friends are our greatest joy and our greatest sorrow. It
were almost to be w ished that all true and faithful friends
should expire on the same day." All his letters written
during this period, show how deeply he suffered.
Fenelon had one more severe trial to endure. The
Duke de Beauvilliers, to whom he was tenderly attached,
and who, being governor to the Duke of Burgundy, was
not permitted to see him after his banishment, died in
1714. Fenelon survived him but four months. The
death of the Duke de Beauvilliers was the severe blow
that finally subdued the tender heart of Fenelon. His
frame was feeble; a severe shock, that he received from
the upsetting of his carriage, induced a fever, and he died
on the first of January, 1715. In the last letter he wrote
with his own hand, which was to the Duchess of Beau-
villiers, he says to her, " We shall soon find again that
which we have not lost ; we daily approach it with rapid
strides ; yet a little while and there will be no more
cause for tears." He was taken sick and died three days
after, aged sixty-five. In his last sickness, he displayed
the most admirable fortitude and submission. There Wiis
the same sweetness of temper, composure of mind, lo\ e
for his fellow-creatures, and confidence in God, which
became the Christian and the friend of God and man,
and which had distinguished his whole life.
The death of Fenelon was deeply lamented by all tlie
inhabitants of the Low Countries. So extensive had been
his charities, and yet so well balanced his worldly affairs,
that he died without money and without a debt. Tiie
following portrait of this celebrated prelate, is given by
3
2G MEMOIR OF FENELON.
the Duke de St. Simon in his Memoirs. " He was a tfill,
lean, well made man, with a large nose, eyes full of fire
and intelligence ; a physiognomy resembling none which
I have elsewhere seen, and which could not be forgotten
after it had been once beheld. There was such a sub-
lime simplicity in his appearance, that it required an
eftbrt to cease to look at him. His manners correspond-
ed to his face and person. They were marked with that
ease which makes others easy ; there was an inexpressi-
ble air of good taste and refinement in them. He pos-
sessed a natural eloquence, a ready, clear, and agreeable
elocution, and a power of making himself understood up-
on the most perplexed and abstract subjects. With all
this, he never wished to appear wiser or wittier than
those with whom he conversed, but descended to every
one's level with a manner so free and so captivating, that
it was scarcely possible to leave him."
When we speak of the death of Fenelon, we realize
the truth of what we all acknowledge, though few feel,
that the good man never dies ; that, to use the words of
one of our eloquent divines, " death was but a circum-
stance in his being." We may say, as we read his
writings, that we are conscious of his immortality : he is
with us ; his spirit is around us ; it enters into and takes
possession of our souls. He is at this time, as he was
when living in his diocese, the fiimiliar friend of the
poor and the sorrowful, the bold reprover of vice, and the
gentle guide of the wanderer ; he still says to all, in the
words of his Divine Master, " Come to me, all ye that
are heavy laden, and T will give you rest."
In the houses of the unh-arued, where the names of
Louis the Fourteenth -.md Bossuet have never entered,
except as connected with Fenclon's, where not a word of
BIEMOIR OF FENELON. 27
liis native tongue would be understood, his spirit has
entered as a minister of love and wisdom, and a well-worn
translation of his Reflections, with a short Memoir of his
life, is laid upon the precious word of God. What has
thus immortalized Fenelon ? For wliat is he thus cher-
ished in our hearts? Is it his learning? his celebrity?
his eloquence ? No. It is the spirit of christian love,
the spirit of the Saviour of mankind that is poured forth
frcmi all his writings; of that love that conquers self, that
binds us to our neighbor, that raises us to God. This is
Fenelon's power, it is this that touches our souls. We
feel that he has entered into the fall meaning of that
sublime passage in St. John, and made it the motto of his
life : " Beloved, let us love one another ; for love is of
God ; and every one that loveth, is born of God, and
knoweth God. He that loveth not, knoweth not God ;
for God is love."
SELECTIONS FROM FENELON.
UPON THE PROOFS OF THE EXISTENCE OF GOD, DRAWN
FROM A VIEW OF NATURE, AND OF THE MIND OF MAN.
I CANNOT open my eyes without admiring the
skill that evei-ything in nature displays. A single
glance enables me to perceive the hand that has
made all things. Men accustomed to meditate upon
abstract truths, and recur to first principles, recog-
nise the Divinity by the idea of him they find in
their minds. But the more direct this road is, the
more is it untrodden and neglected by common
men, who follow their own imagination. It is so
simple a demonstration, that from this very cause^
it escapes those minds that are incapable of a pure-
ly intellectual operation. And the more perfect this
way of discovering the Supreme Being is, the fewer
are the mnids that can folloAV it. But there is an-
other method less perfect, and which is adapted to
30 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
the capacity of all. Those who exercise their rea-
son the least, those who are the most affected by
their senses, may at a single glance discover Him
who is represented in all his works. The wisdom
and power that God has manifested in every thing
that he has made, reflects the name, as in a mirror,
of him, whom they have not been able to discover
in their own minds. This is a popular philosophy,
addressed to the senses, which every one without
prejudice or passion is capable of acquiring.
A man whose whole heart is engaged in some
grand concern, might pass many days in a room at-
tending to his affairs, without seeing either the pro-
portions of the room, the ornaments on the chim-
ney, or the j^ictures that surrounded him. All these
objects would be before his eyes, but he would not
see them, and they would make no impression up-
on him. Thus it is that men live. Everything
presents God to them, but they do not see him.
He was in the world, and the world was made by
him ; and nevertheless the world has not known
him. They pass their lives without perceiviug
this representation of the Deity ; so completely do
the fascinations of life obscure their vision.
Saint Augustin says that the wonders of the uni-
verse are lowered in our estimation by their repeti-
tion. Cicero says the same thing. '' Forced to
witness the same things every day, the mind as
well as the eye is accustomed to them. It does not
admire, or take any pains, to discover, the cause of
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
31
events that it always observes to take place in just
the same way ; as if it were the novelty rather
than the grandeur of a thing that should lead us
to tliis investigation."
But all nature shows the infinite skill of its Au-
thor. I maintain that accident, that is to say, a
blind and fortuitous succession of events, could
never have produced all that we see. It is well to
adduce here one of the celebrated comparisons of
the ancients.
Who would believe that the Iliad of Homer was
not composed by the effort of a great poet ; but
that the characters of the alphabet being thrown
confusedly together, an accidental stroke had placed
all the letters precisely in such relative situations,
as to produce verses so full of harmony and vari-
ety ; painting each object with all that was most
noble, most graceful, and most touching in its fea-
tures ; in fine, making each person speak in charac-
ter, and with such spirit and nature ? Let any
one reason with as much subtilty as he may, he
would persuade no man in his senses that the Iliad
had no author but accident. Why then should a
man, possessing his reason, believe with regard to
the universe, a work unquestionably more wonder-
ful than the Iliad, what his good sense will not
allow him to believe of this poem ? But let us
take another comparison, which is from Gregory
Nazianzen.
If we heard in a room behind a curtain, a sweet
32 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
and harmonious instrument, could we believe that
accident produced it ? Who would doubt serious-
ly whether some skilful hand did not touch it?
Were any one to find in a desert island, a beauti-
ful statue of marble, he would say. Surely men
have been here. I recognise the hand of the
sculptor ; I admire the delicacy with which he
has proportioned the body, making it instinct with
beauty, grace, majesty, tenderness, and life. What
would this man reply, if any one were to say to
him, No, a sculptor did not make this statue. It
is made, it is true, in the most exquisite taste, and
according to the most perfect rules of symmetry ;
but it is accident that has produced it. Among all
the pieces of marble, one has happened to take this
form of itself. The rains and the wind detached
it from the mountain ; a violent storm placed it
upright upon this pedestal, that was already pre-
pared and placed here of itself. It is an Apollo as
perfect as that of Belvidere ; it is a Venus equal to
that of the Medicis ; it is a Hercules which re-
sembles that of Farnese. You may believe, it is
true, that this figure walks, that it lives, that it
thinks, that it is going to speak. But it owes
nothing to art, it is only a blind stroke of chance
that has formed it so well, and placed it here.
What should we say to a man who should pride
himself upon superior knowledge and philosophy,
and who, entering a house, should maintain that it
was made by chance, and that art and industry
ON THE KXISTENCE OF GOD. 33
had done nothing to render it a commodious habi-
tation for men ; and wlio should give as a reason,
that there were caverns that resembled it, which
tlie art of man had not made ?
We should sliow to him who reasoned in this
way, all the dilferent parts of the house and their
uses. It must be, we should say to this philoso-
pher, that this work has been conducted by some
able architect ; for all parts of it are agreeable,
pleasing to the eye, well proportioned, convenient ;
he must also have employed excellent workmen.
Not at all, this philosopher would say ; you are
ingenious in self-deception. It is true that the
house is pleasant, well proportioned, and commo-
dious , but it is self-formed, with all its ingenious
contrivances. Chance has collected and arranged
these stones in this beautiful order. It has raised
these walls, pierced these windows, placed the
stair-cases. Do not believe that the hand of man
had any thing to do with it. Men have only occu-
pied it when they found it finished. They imag-
ine it is made for them, because they find in it
things that they can turn to their accommodation ;
but all that they attribute to the design of an archi-
tect, is only the effect of their inventions after-
wards. This house, so regular and so well arrang-
ed, was made just as caverns are made ; and find-
ing it convenient, they have occupied it just as they
would a cave that they should happen to find under
a rock, during a storm, in the midst of a desert.
34
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
What would you think of this whimsical philos-
opher, if he were to persist in it seriously, that
this house did not discover any art ? When we
read the fable of Amphion, who by a miraculous
harmony raised the stones one upon another, in
order and symmetry, to form the walls of Thebes,
we smile at the fiction of the poet ; but this fiction
is not so incredible as that which this philosopher
maintains. But why do we smile less at hearing
that the world is a work of chance, than we do
that this fabulous house is. We do not compare
the world to the cavern which we suppose made
by accident, but we may to a house in which is
displayed the most perfect architecture. The
smallest animal has a construction that is more ad-
mirable than that of the most perfect house.
A traveller entering Sa de, which is the place
that was once ancient Thebes, with its hundred
gates, and which is now a desert, would find there
columns, pyramids, obelisks, and inscriptions in
unknown characters. Would he say. Men have
never inhabited this place ; the hand of man has
never been employed here ; it is chance that has
formed these columns, and placed them upon their
pedestals, and crowned them with capitals in such
beautiful proportions ; it is chance that has hewn
these obelisks out of single stones, and that has
engraved upon them all these hieroglyphics?
Would he not, on the contrary, say with all the
certainty of which the mind of man is capable,
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 0<J
These magnificent ruins are the remains of a majes-
tic architecture that flourished in ancient Egypt ?
This is Avhat our reason would pronounce at the
first glance. It is the same thing when we first
contemplate the universe. People perplex them-
selves with sophistry, and obscure their view of
the simplest truths. But a glance is sufficient ;
such a work as this world, could not have been
made by chance.
The bones, the tendons, the veins, the arteries,
the nerves, the muscles, which compose the body
of a single man, display more art and proportion
than all the architecture of the ancient Greeks and
Egyptians. The eye of the meanest animal
surpasses the skill of all the artisans in the world.
But let us, before we proceed to the details of
nature, fix our attention for a while upon the gen-
eral structure of the universe. Cast your eyes
upon the earth that supports us ; raise them then
to this immense vault of the heavens that sur-
rounds us ; these fathomless abysses of air and
water, and these countless stars that give us light.
Who is it that has suspended this globe of earth ?
who has laid its foundations ? If it were harder,
its bosom could not be laid open by man for cul-
tivation ; if it were less firm, it could not support
the weight of his footsteps. From it proceed the
most precious things ; this earth, so mean and
unformed, is transformed into thousands of beauti-
ful objects, that delight our eyes ; in the course of
36 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
one year, it becomes branches, buds, leaves, flow-
ers, fruits, and seeds ; thus renewing its bountiful
favors to man. Nothing exhausts it. After yield-
ing for so many ages its treasures, it experiences no
decay, it does not grow old, it still pours forth
riches from its bosom. Generations of men have
grown old and passed away, while every spring
the earth has renewed its youth. If it were culti-
vated, it would nourish a hundred fold more than
it now does.
The inequalities of the earth add to its beauty
and utility. " The mountains have risen, and the
valleys descended, in the places where the Lord
has appointed." In the deep valleys grows the
fresh herbage for cattle. Rich harvests wave in
the champaign country. Here, ranges of little
hills rise like an amphitheatre, and are crowned
with vineyards and fruit trees ; there, high moun-
tains lift their snow-crowned heads among the
clouds. The torrents that pour from their sides,
are the sources of the rivers. The rocks, marking
their steep heights, support the earth of the moun-
tains, just as the bones of the human body support
the flesh. Tiiis variety makes the charm of rural
scenery, while it is also the means of satisfying all
the different wants of men.
Everything tliat the earth produces, is decom-
posed and returns again to its bosom, and becomes
the germ of a new production. Everything that
springs from it returns to it, and nothing is lost.
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 37
All the seeds that we sow in it, return ninlliplicd
to us. It produces stone and marble, of which we
make our superb edifices. It teems with minerals,
precious or useful to man. Look at the plants
that spring from it. Their species and their vir-
tues are innumerable. Contemplate these vast
forests, as ancient as the world ; those trees whose
roots strike into the earth, as their branches spread
out towards the heavens. T'heir roots support
them against the winds, and are like subterranean
pipes, whose office is to collect the nourishment
necessary for the support of the stem ; the stem is
covered with a thick bark, which protects the
tender wood from the air ; the branches distribute,
in different canals, the sap which the roots have
collected in the trunk. In summer, they protect
us with their shade from the rays of the sun; in
winter, they feed the flame that keeps us warm.
Their wood is not only useful for fuel, but it is of
a substance, although solid and durable, to which
the hand of man can give every form that he
pleases, for the purposes of architecture and navi-
gation. Fruit trees, as they bow their brandies
towards the earth, seem to invite us to receive
their treasures. The feeblest plant contains within
itself the germ of all that we admire in the grand-
est tree. The earth, that does not change itself,
produces all these changes in its offspring.
Let us notice what we call water; it is a litpiid,
clear, and transparent body. Now it escapes from
4
38
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
our grasp, and now it takes the form of whatever
surrounds it, having none of its own. If the water
were a httle more rarefied, it would become a spe-
cies of air ; the whole face of nature would be dry
and sterile. He who has given us this fluid body,
has distributed it with care through the earth.
The waters flow from the mountains. They
assemble in streams in the valleys, and they flow
on in rivers, winding their way through the open
country, that they may more effectually water it.
At last they empty themselves into the sea, to feed
this centre of the commerce of nations. This
ocean, that seems an eternal separation of countries,
is, on the contrary, the great rendezvous of all na-
tions. It is over this pathless way, across this
profound abyss, that the old world has put forth
its hand to the new, and that the new supplies the
old with its treasures.
The waters circulate through the earth, as the
blood does through the human body. Besides this
perpetual circulation, there is the ebbing and flow-
ing of the sea. We need not know the cause of
this mysterious effect. This we are certain of
only, that the sea goes and returns to the same
places at certain hours. Who has commanded it
to ebb and flow with such regularity ? A little
more or a little less motion in the waters would de-
range all nature. Who is it that controls this im-
mense body, with such irresistible power? Who is
it that always avoids the too much and the too little ?
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 39
what unerring finger has marked the boundaries
for the sea, that through countless ages it has re-
spected, and has said to it, "Here shall thy proud
waves be stayed ?"
If I look up to the heavens, I perceive clouds
flying as upon the wings of the wind ; bodies of
water suspended over our heads, to temper the air
and water the thirsty earth. If they were to fall
all at once, they would overwhelm and destroy
everything in the place where they fell. What
hand suspends them in their reservoirs, and bids
them fall drap by drop as from a watering-pot ?
We have considered the waters ; let us notice
other bodies of still greater extent. The air is so
subtile, so transparent, that the stars at an almost
infinite distance pierce through it with their light.
We live immersed in the abysses of air, as fishes
do in the depths of the waters. As the waters, if
they were rarefied, would become a species of air,
that would destroy them ; so the air would destroy
us, if it were more dense and humid. Who is it
that has composed the air so exactly for our respi-
ration ? What power unseen excites, and stills, so
suddenly the tempests of this vast fluid body ?
From what store-house are the winds drawn that
purify the air, that temper the seasons, and that
change the face of the heavens in an instant ;
wafting the clouds on the wings of the wind, from
one edge of the horizon to the other ?
Let us fix our attention upon the flame that
40 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
lights up the stars, and spreads its light over the
universe. The mountains vomit the fire that the
earth has held in its bosom. This same fire
remains unseen in the veins of the flint, and waits
for the blow that shall excite it and make it kindle
mountains. Mankind have learned the way to
obtain it, and subject it to their use, to make it
bend the hardest metals, to feed and cherish it in
cold climates, and make it take the place of the
absent sun. Fire penetrates all seeds ; it is as the
soul of everything that lives; it consumes all that
is impure, and renews what it has first purified.
The ancients worshipped fire ; they believed that it
was a celestial treasure that mankind had stolen
from the gods.
But it is time to raise our eyes to the heavens.
Who has stretched over our heads this vast and
glorious vault ? What sublime objects are there !
An all powerful hand has presented this grand
spectacle to our vision. It is, says Cicero, in order
that we may admire the heavens, that God has
formed man differently from other animals. He is
made upright, and lifts his head that he may con-
template that which is above him.
What does the regular succession of day and
night teach us? The sun has never omitted, for
so many ages, to shed his blessing upon us. Aurora
never fails lo aimonncc the day ; she appears at
the apj)ointod time, and in the fixed place, and the
sun. says the Holy Book, knows its going down.
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 41
Thus it enlightens alternately both sides of the
world, and sheds it rays on all. Day is the time for
society and employment. Night folds the world in
darkness, finishes our labors, and softens our trou-
bles. It suspends, it calms everything. It sheds
round us silence and sleep ; it rests our bodies, it
revives our spirits. Then day returns, and recalls
man to labor, and reanimates all nature.
Besides the constant course of the sun that pro-
duces day and night, during six months it approaches
one pole, and during the other six, the opposite
one. By this beautiful order, one sun answers for
the whole world. If the sun at the same distance
were larger, it would light the whole world, but it
would consume it with its heat. If it were smaller,
the earth would be all ice, and could not be inhab-
ited by men. What compass has been stretched
from heaven to earth, and taken such just measure-
ments ? The changes of the sun make the variety
of the seasons, which we find so delightful. The
spring checks the cold winds, wakens the flowers,
and gives the promise of fruits. The summer
brings the riches of the harvest. The autumn dis-
plays the fruits that spring has promised. Winter,
which is the night of the year, treasures up all its
riches, only in order that the following spring may
bring them forth again with new beauty. Thus
nature, so variously adorned, presents alternately
her beautiful changes, that man may never cease
to admire.
4*
42 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
Let us look up again at this immense concave
above us, where sparkle the countless stars. If it
be solid, who is the architect ? Who is it that has
fastened in it, at regular distances, such grand and
luminous bodies ? Who makes this vaulted sky to
turn around us so regularly ? If, on the contrary,
the heavens are only immense spaces, filled with
fluid bodies, like the air that surrounds us, how is
it that so many solid bodies float in it, without in-
terfering one with another ? After so many ages
that men have been making astronomical observa-
tions, they have discovered no derangement in the
heavens. Can a fluid body give such a constant
and regular order to the substances that float on its
bosom ? But what is this almost countless multi-
tude of stars for? God has sown them in the
heavens, as a magnificent prince would adorn his
garments with precious stones.
But some one may say. These are all worlds like
the earth we inhabit. Suppose it be so, how wise
and powerful must He be, who has made worlds
as innumerable as the grains of sand on the sea-
shore, and who has led on in order, for so many
ages, all these moving worlds, as a shepherd leads
his flocks. The motion of the stars, it is said, is
regulated by immutable laws. I suppose the fact,
but it is this very fact that will prove what I wish
to establish. Who is it that has given laws to all
nature .so constant and so salutary ? laws so simple,
that people arc tempted to believe, that they estab-
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 43
lisli themselves : so full of utility, that we cannot help
recognising in them a miraculous skill. Whence
comes the power that conducts this admirable ma-
chine of the universe, that is ever moving for us with-
out our thinking of it ? To whom shall we attribute
this assemblage of so many means, so wonderful
and so well arranged ; so many bodies, great and
small, visible and invisible ? If the least atom of
this machine were to become deranged, it would
disorganise the universe. What is this design, so
unlimited, so admi ally pursued, so beautiful, so
beneficent ? The necessity of these laws, far from
preventing me f om seeking the author, only
increases my curiosity and my admiration. The
hand that guides this glorious work must be as
skilful as it is powerful, to have made it so sim-
ple, yet so effectual ; so constant and so beneficent.
I am ready to exclaim, in the language of Scripture,
" Every star makes haste to go where God com-
mands it," and when he speaks, they answer with
trembling, " We are here."
But let us turn our attention to the animals, still
more worthy of our admiration than the heavens
and the stars. Their species cU'e innumerable.
The wings of birds, and the fins of fishes are like
oars, with which they cleave the waves of air or
water, and which conduct the floating body of the
bird or fish, that is formed like a boat. But the
wings of birds have feathers, that are covered with
a soft down, that expands in the air, and would
44 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
grow heavy in the water ; but the fins of the fishes
are of dry and hard pointed bones, that cut the
water without imbibing it, and do not become
heavier from being wet. Some birds that swim,
as the swan, hft up their wings and all their phim-
age, for fear of wetting it, and make use of it as
sails. They have the art of turning it towards the
wind, and tacking like a vessel when it is not
favorable.
Among animals, ferocious beasts, such as lions,
have the largest muscles in the shoulders, thighs and
legs. These animals are also very supple, nervous,
agile, and quick to spring. Their jaw-bones are im-
mense, compared to the rest of the body. They
have teeth and tusks, which serve them as terrible
arms against their prey. Some animals, like the tor-
toise, carry about with them the house in which they
were born ; others build theirs, like the birds, upon
the high branches of trees, to preserve their little
ones from being injured by animals without wings.
They place their nests amidst the thickest foliage,
to hide them from their enemies. The beaver
builds for himself an asylum from the very bottom
of the water, and raises dikes to secure it from inun-
dation. The fox makes his burrow with two open-
ings, that he may, if surprised, escape the snares of
the hunter. Birds, says Cicero, that have very long
legs, have also long necks, in proportion, so that
they can reach the bottom and take their food.
The elephant, whose neck would be too heavy, if it
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 45
were as long as the camel's, is provided with a long
trunk, which is a succession of nerves and muscles,
that it can stretch out and contract, that it can fold
up and turn in any way it pleases, to seize any-
thing, or to lift or repulse any object. The Ro-
mans called it a hand.
Certain animals seem made for man. The dog
seems born for his caresses and his service. The
horse seems born to carry his burdens, to support
him in his weakness, and to obey his will. The
ox has the strength and patience that is wanted to
drag the plough. The cow refreshes him with her
milk. The sheep lias a superfluous clothing which
is continually renewed, as if to invite man to accept
it. Even goats have a sort of long hair, which is
useless to them, and of which men make stuffs to
wear. The skins of animals, in cold countries,
supply the inhabitants with the most beautiful furs.
Thus the Author of nature has clothed the brute
creation according to their necessities, and their
apparel serves for the use of man.
If any animals appear useless to us, we ought to
consider, that whatever makes a part of this grand
spectacle of nature, is not without its use in the
eyes of those who think and attend to it. What is
there more magnificent than those various republics
of animals, all so well governed and difl'erent from
each other ? Everything demonstrates to us, how far
the skill of the Avorkman surpasses the vile material
that he employs. Everything astonishes me, eveil
46 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
the structure of the smallest fly. We find in the
most insignificant worm, as in an elephant or in a
whale, perfectly organized members. We see in it
a head and body ; limbs as in the greatest animals ;
there are, in each part of these living atoms, mus-
cles, nerves, veins, arteries, blood ; in this blood,
component parts and humors ; in these humors,
particles, containing in themselves different sub-
stances ; and we know not where to stop in the infi-
nite process. The microscope discovers to us in
every object, a thousand things that have escaped
our observation. Within these, how many wonders
are there, that the microscope cannot discover to
us. What should we not see, if we could contin-
ually improve the instruments, which we use in
aid of our feeble vision. But let our imagination
be a sort of microscope, by which Ave may see, in
every atom, thousands of new and invisible worlds ;
it could only present to us new discoveries in the
smallest bodies ; we should be wearied, and at last
we should leave, in the smallest organ, a thousand
imknown wonders.
Let us dwell for a while upon the animal ma-
chine. Animals have what we call instinct, that
enables them to pursue what is useful, and avoid
what is hurtful. We need not seek to know what
this instinct is ; let us be contented with the sim-
ple fiict, without reasoning about it. The lamb
knows its mother at a distance. The sheep is
conscious of the approach of the wolf before she can
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 47
see him. There is in all animals a contingent
power, that enables them to collect their faculties
in an instant, that braces their nerves, and renders
their joints supple, and that gives them, in sudden
danger, an almost miraculous agility, strength,
and adroitness in escaping from their enemy. It
is instinct, it is said that guides animals. I grant
it. It is in truth an instinct ; but this instinct is
a most admirable sagacity and dexterity, not in the
animals, who have not the power at the time to
reason, but in that superior wisdom that directs
them.
This instinct, or this wisdom, that thinks and
watches over animals in unexpected circumstances,
when they could not reason, or protect themselves
even if they had our reason, can only be the wis-
dom of the workman who has made the machine.
Let us then no longer speak of instinct or nature ;
these are only empty sounds in the mouths of those
who repeat them. There is, in what we call na-
ture and instinct, an art, an admirable skill, of which
human invention is only the image. This is in-
dubitable : there are in animals an immense num-
ber of movements entirely unpremeditated, that
are performed according to the most perfect rules
of mechanics. It is the machine obeying its laws.
This is the fact, independent of all philosophy,
and the fact is enough. What should we think of
a watch, that should be able to defend itself, or
escape when any one desired to break it ? Should
48 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
we not admire the skill of the workman ? Could
we believe that this watch could be formed, pro-
portioned, and arranged by mere chance ? Should
we think that these operations were satisfactorily
explained, by saying, It is nature or instinct that
makes this watch tell its master the hours, and
escape from those who wish to hurt it ?
What can be more perfect than a machine that
ever renews and repairs itself? As the animal is
limited in its strength, it is soon exhausted by
labor ; but the more it is used, the more it is
prompted to compensate its losses by an abundant
nourishment. Food restores the waste of every
day. A foreign substance enters the body, and,
by a strange metamorphosis, becomes a part of it.
First it is ground up and is changed into a liquid ;
then it is purified, as if it were passed through a
sieve in order to separate the parts of it that are
too gross. Then it passes to the centre, Avhere it
goes through a process, by which it is refined and
turned into blood, and at last it flows through in-
numerable channels, and waters all the members,
and insinuates itself throngh the whole frame ; it
is filtrated by the flesh' as it passes, and finally it
becomes flesh itself. So many different solids and
liquids become all the same substance. The food
whirh was only an inanimate body, becomes a
liviii-j; rui)iii;il. What was not long since a horse,
is now only a vapor or air. What was only hay
or oats, has become that noble, high-spirited animal.
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
49
He passes for the same animal, notwithstanding this
insensible ofiange in his substance.
To nourishment is added sleep. All external
motions cease, and even all the interior operations
that might agitate and dissipate the spirits ; nothing
remains but digestion and respiration ; that is to
say, everything is suspended that requires effort,
and everything necessary for renovation is active
and free. This repose, which seems a sort of en-
chantment, returns every night, while the darkness
interrupts labor. Who has contrived this suspen-
sion ? Who is it that has so well chosen the ope-
rations of this machine that ought to proceed, and
stop])ed so wisely those that should be at rest ?
The next morning all its fatigues have passed away.
The animal labors as if he had never labored before,
and there is a vivacity and spirit in him that invite
to new exertion, in consequence of the renovation.
Let us stop no longer at the inferior animals. It
is time to study the structure of the human frame ;
of man, that we may discover Him in whose image
he is made. I see in all nature but two kinds of
beings ; those who have knowledge, and those who
have none. Man unites in his nature these two
forms of being. He has a body like the most
inanimate beings ; he has a soul, that is, a power
of thought, by which he knows himself and per-
ceives all that is around him. If it be true, that
there is a Being who has drawn everything from
nothing, man is his true image ; for he unites in
5
50 Oi\ THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
his nature, the perfection of those two forms of
being. But the image is only an image : it can
only be a shadow of the truly perfect Being.
Let us begin with the body of man : it is mould-
ed of clay, but let us admire the hand that has
fashioned it. The stamp of the workman is
imprinted on his work : it seems to have been his
pleasure to make of such worthless materials a per-
fect work. Observe the bones that support the
flesh which surrounds them ; the nerves, that give it
strength ; the muscles, that, by being expanded or
lengthened, produce the most certain and regular
motions. The bones are separated at certain dis-
tances, and are fitted one to another, and fastened
by nerves and tendons. Cicero admired, with
good reason, the beautiful contrivance that unites
the bones. What can be more supple and adapted
to difterent motions ; but what is there more firm
and durable ? Thus, this machine is erect or bent,
stifl" or flexible, as we wish it.
From the brain, which is the source of all the
nerves, flows the vital principle. It is too subtile to
be discerned, but nevertheless real, and so active,
that it produces all the motions and all the strength
of the machine. It flies in an instant to the farthest
extremity of the body. Now it moves gently and
with uniformity ; now with a violent impetuosity;
it varies unceasingly, with the dilferent situations
of the body.
The flesh is covered in certain parts with a thin
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 51
and delicate skin for the ornament of the body. In
some parts, this skin is harder and thicker than in
Others, that it may resist the wear upon it ; for in-
stance, how much thicker the skin is on the sole
of the foot, than the face ; on the back part, than
on the front of the head. This skin is pierced
everywhere like a sieve, with small holes ; these
are called pores ; while the prespiration is insensibly
exhaled through them, and the blood never escapes.
The skin has all the delicacy necessary to make it
transparent, and give to the countenance an anima-
ted and beautiful color. Who has tempered and
mingled these colors, so as to produce this brilliant
carnation that painters admire and vainly endeavor
to imitate ?
We find in the human body innumerable chan-
nels. Some carry the blood from the centre to the
extremities, and are called arteries ; others return
it from the extremities to the centre, and are called
veins. Through all these various canals, the blood
flows ; it is a soft, unctuous liquid, calculated from
this quality to preserve the most delicate substances,
as we preserve essences in gums. This blood wa-
ters the flesh, as rivers water the earth. After be-
ing filtered by what it has passed through, it returns
to its source slowly; and divested of the vital jjrin-
ciple ; but it renews and refreshes itself again, and
so circulates perpetually.
Who can explain the delicacy of the organs by
which we discover the taste of such a variety of
52 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
bodies ? How is it that so many voices strike my
ear at the same time, and produce no confusion,
and that after they are gone, these sounds leave
with me such lively and distinct resemblances of
what they were ? With what care has He, who
made our bodies, provided our eyes with a moist
and moving envelope, to close them with. And
why has he left our ears always open? Who is it
that paints on my eye in an instant, the heavens,
the ocean, the earth ? How is it that on such a
little organ, faithful images of every object in na-
ture, from the sun to the motes in his beams, are
depicted and clearly defined ?
This substance of the brain that preserves in
order these lively representations of the glorious
objects that we see in the universe, is it not a most
wonderful thing ? We admire with reason the
invention of books, in which are preserved the his-
tories of so many facts, and which are the deposi-
taries of so many thoughts. But what comparison
is there between the most delightful book, and the
brain of a learned man ? There can be no doubt
that this brain is a far more precious collection, and
a much more beautiful invention, than any book.
In this little reservoir, you can find at any moment
every image that you desire. You call them, they
come. You send them away, they hide them-
selves, we know not where, and others appear in
their place. We open and shut our imaginations
as we open and shut a book ; as one may say, we
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 53
turn over its leaves, we pass suddenly from one
end of it to the other. We have even tablets in
the memory, to indicate the places where certain
images may be found. These innumerable charac-
ters which the mind can read so rapidly, leave no
traces on the brain. If you examine it, you see
only a soft substance, a sort of cluster of fine, ten-
der, and twisted threads. What hand has hidden in
this apparently shapeless matter, such precious ima-
ges, and arranged them there in such beautiful order?
But the body of man, that seems the chef-d^ amvi'e
of nature, is not comparable to his soul. Whence
comes it that beings so unlike are united in his
composition ? Whence comes it that the move-
ments of the body give so infallibly and so promptly
certain thoughts to the soul ? How is it that the
thoughts of the soul produce certain movements of
the body ? Whence comes it that this harmonious
connexion exists without interruption for seventy
or eighty years ? Whence comes it that two be-
ings possessing such different operations, make a
whole so perfect, that some are tempted to believe
that they are one and indivisible ?
What hand has united these two extremes ?
Matter could not make an agreement with spirit.
The spirit has no recollection of making any com-
pact with matter. Nevertheless, it is certain, that
it is dependent on the body, and that it cannot
be freed from its power unless it destroys it by a
violent death. This dependence ,is reciprocal.
5*
54 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
Nothing is more absolute than the empire of the
soul over the body. The spirit wills, and every
member of the body is instantly moved, as if it
were impelled by some powerful machine. What
hand, holding an equal power over both these na-
tures, has imposed this yoke upon them, and held
them captive in a connexion so nice and so invio-
lable ? Can any one say. Chance ? If they do,
can they understand what they say themselves,
and make others comprehend it ? Has chance
linked together by a concourse of atoms the par-
ticles of body with soul ?
My alternative is this ; if the soul and the body
are only a composition of matter, whence is it that
this matter, which did not think yesterday, begins
to think to-day ? Who is it that has given it what
it did not before possess, and what is incomparably
more noble than itself, when it was without
thought ? Does not that which bestows thought,
possess it ? Suppose even that thought resulted
from a certain configuration and arrangement and
motion of matter; what workman has discovered
these just and nice combinations, so as to make a
thinking machine ? If, on the contrary, the soul
and the body are two distinct substances, what
power, superior to both those different natures has
bound them together ? Who is it, with a supreme
empire over both, has sent forth his command that
they siiould be; linlccd togf^lher, by a correspondence
and in a civil subjection that is incomprehensible ?
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 55
The empire of my mind over my body is des-
potic to a certain extent, since my simple will,
without elfort or preparation, can move every
member of my body by mechanical rules. As the
Scriptures represent God, in the creation, to have
said, "Let there be light, and there was light,*' so
the voice of my soul speaks, and my body obeys.
This is the power which men, who believe in God,
attribute to him over the universe.
This power of the soul over the body which is
so absolute, is at the same time a blind one. The
most ignorant man moves his body as well as the
best instructed anatomist. The player on the lute,
who perfectly understands all the chords of his in-
strument, who sees it with his eyes and touches it
with his fingers, often makes mistakes. But the
soul that governs the machine of the human body,
can move every spring without seeing it, without
seeing or understanding its figure, or situation, or
strength, and never mistakes. How wonderful is
this ! My soul commands what it does Jiot know,
what it cannot see, and Avhat it is itself incapable
of knowing ; and it is infallibly obeyed. How
great its ignorance, and how great its power ! The
blindness is ours; but the power, whence is it ?
To whom shall we attribute it, if not to Him, who
sees what man cannot see, and who gives him the
power to perform what surpasses his own conijirc-
hension ?
The truth is, we cannot admire too much this
56 ON THE EXISTEA'CE OF GOD.
absolute empire of the soul over the corporeal
organs, that it does not understand, and the con-
tinual use that it makes of it. This is principally
shown in recalling images traced on the brain. I
am acquainted with all the objects of the universe,
that have impressed my senses for a great number
of years ; I have distinct images of them, so that
I can think I see them when they are no more.
My brain is a cabinet of pictures, every one of
which is brought forward or removed, according to
the taste of the master of the mansion. By the
portraits which I have in my head, I judge whether
the artist's picture is a faithful representation. It
is by consulting them, that I ascertain where are
his defects. Such wonders astonish me. I remem-
ber distinctly having known that which I no longer
know. I recall the face of every person in every
age of life, in which I have known them. The
same person passes in dilferent forms through my
mind. First, I see him a child, then a man, and
at last old. I place the wrinkles upon the same
face in which I have seen the tender and lovely
traits of childhood. I join that which is no more,
with what now exists, witliout confounding their
outlines. I preserve in this storehouse a something
which has been successively everything I have
known since I was born. From this treasure spring
all the perfumes, all the harmony, all the tastes, all
the degrees of light, all the bright colors, and all
their shades ; in short, all the forms that have been
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 57
presented to my senses, and which they have con-
veyed to my brain.
I recall, when I please, the joy that I experienced
thirty years since. It returns, but it is not the
same. It appears, but it does not rejoice me. I
remember that I was glad, but I am not so at the
remembrance. On the other hand, I bring back
departed sorrows. They are present witli me ; for
I perceive them just as they were at the time.
Nothing escapes me of their bitterness, and of the
acuteness of the feeling. But they are not tbe same
thing. They trouble me no longer ; they are
softened. I see all their severity without feeling
it, or if I feel it, it is only as a representation : it is
like a scene of a play ; the images of past griefs
give us pleasure. It is the same with our pleasures.
A virtuous heart is afflicted at the recollection of
its unworthy pleasures. They are present to us,
but they are no longer themselves ; such joys re-
turn only to bid us weep.
Chance surely never created this wonderful book ;
all the art of man is unequal to such perfection.
What hand has made it ?
Let us conclude these remarks by some reflec-
tions upon the nature of the mind of man. I find
in it an incomprehensible mixture of greatness and
weakness. Its grandeur is real. It connects, with-
out confusion, the past with the present, and it
penetrates into the future ; it has an idea of matter
and of spirit ; it has within it the idea even of
53 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
infinity, for it will deny all that does not belong to
it, and affirm all that does. Say that infinity is
triangular, and it will instantly answer, that what
has no limits cannot have any form. Ask it to
name the first unit of an infinite number, and it
will readily answer, that there can be neither be-
ginning, nor end, nor number, in infinity. It is
through, the infinite that it comes to the knowledge
of the finite.
How glorious is the spirit that is in man ; it
bears within itself what is far beyond its own com-
prehension. Its ideas are universal, eternal, and
immutable. They are universal : because, Avhen
I say, — It is impossible to be and not to be ; The
whole is greater than a part ; A perfectly circular line
has no straight parts ; Between two given points,
the straightest line is the shortest ; The centre of
a circle is equally distant from all the points in its
circumference ; — none of these truths can be con-
troverted, there can be no line or circle that does
not obey these laws. These truths are of all time
or rather before all time, and will continue beyond
it through an incomprehensible duration.
Let the universe be overthrown and annihilated,
let there be no minds to reason upon these truths,
they will still remain equally true; as the rays of
the sun would be no less real, if men should be
blind and not see them. In feeling assured, says
St. Augustin, that two and two make four, we are
not only certain tliat we say what is true, but we
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 59
have no doubt that this proposition has been always,
and will continue to be eternally true.
These fundamental ideas have no limits, and can-
not be changed. What I have advanced of one
circle, we acknowledge to be necessarily true of
all circles, to infinity. These ideas, that are illimit-
able, can never change, or be effaced, or impaired ;
they are the foundations of our reason. It is im-
possible, whatever power we may exert over our
minds, to make ourselves seriously doubt anything
that these ideas represent to us. The idea of in-
finity is within us in like manner. Change the
ideas, and you overthrow reason. Let us learn the
greatness of our natures from this immutable idea
of infinity, that is imprinted within us, and that
can never be effaced. But, lest our real greatness
should dazzle our eyes, and flatter us to our injury,
let us hasten to contemplate our weakness.
The same mind that dwells upon the infinite,
and through it sees the finite, is ignorant of all that
surrounds it. It does not know itself. It gropes
its way through an abyss of darkness. It knows
not what it is itself ; it does not comprehend how
it is chained to this body, nor how it has such an
empire over it. It is ignorant of its own thoughts
and its own desires ; it does not know with cer-
tainty what it believes or what it desires. It often
deceives itself and its highest attainment is to un-
derstand itself It joins errors in opinion to a per-
verted will ; and it is often reduced to groan and
weep at the experience of its own corruption.
60 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
Such is the spirit of man, weak, uncertain, lim-
ited, full of imperfections. Who has giv^en the
idea of infinity, that is, of perfection, to a being
SO short-sighted, so full of imperfection ? Has he
given to himself this thought, so high, so pure,
which is in itself an image of the infinite? Let
us suppose that the spirit of man is like a mirror,
in which the images of all the surrounding objects
are reflected ; whence is this image of the infinite
that we there trace ? How can the image of an
unreal object be reflected there ? The infinite is
there represented, not by a confused mass of infinite
objects, which the mind mistakes for the infi-
nite ; it is the true infinite that is presented to our
thoughts. We understand it well ; we recognise it,
and distinguish it from all that is not. No sub-
tilty can put any other object in its place. Whence
com.es this glorious image ? Do we draw it out
of nothing? Can the finite and limited being in-
vent and imagine the infinite, if it does not exist?
External objects cannot give us this image ; for
they can only give us the images of themselves,
and they are all limited and imperfect. Whence
do we draw this distinct representation of the
infinite, unlike all that we know and all that
exists without us ? Whence comes it ? Where is
this infinite that we cannot comprehend, and yet
cannot mistake ? Where does it dwell ? If it did
not exist, could it be so engraven in the depths of
our souls ? But besides this idea of infinity, I have
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 61
general and immutable ideas which are the rule of
all my judgments : I cannot decide upon anything
without consulting them, and it is out of my power
to decide against what they represent to me. My
thoughts, far from being able to correct or form this
rule, are themselves corrected, in spite of myself,
by this superior power, and are irresistibly subjected
to its decisions.
I cannot, as I before said, doubt that two and
two make four, and so of other mathematical truths.
I am not free to deny them. This fixed and im-
mutable law is so inwrought, that it seems like
my identity ; but it is above me, since it corrects,
rectifies, and guides me, teaching me my own weak-
ness and imperfection. It is a something, that will
ever inspire me, if I listen to it ; and I always err
when I do not attend to it.
This principle will guide me right, if I am docile ;
for this inspiration of the Almighty will enable me
to judge of the things that are around me, and on
which I am called to decide. And of all other
things, it will teach me not to judge, a no less im-
portant lesson than the first. This interior guide
is what I call my reason ; but I speak of my reason,
without comprehending the full import of the term,
as I speak of nature and instinct, without compre-
hending what these things are. This law is per-
fect and immutable. I am changing and imperfect :
I deceive myself, while this never loses its recti-
tude. When I am undeceived, it is not my reason
6
62 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
that changes and returns to the right view, but it
is this, which has never departed from it, recaUing
and forcing me to return to it. It is a controlling
power within me, that silences or bids me speak ;
that makes me believe or makes me doubt ; bids
me confess my errors or confirms my decisions.
In listening to it, I am instructed ; in listening to
myself, I go astray. This sovereign power is found
everywhere ; its voice is heard from one end of the
universe to the other, by all mankind as it is by me.
Two men who have never seen each other, who
have never heard each other spoken of, and who
have had no communication with any other man
that could give them common notions, would speak,
at the two extremities of the world, of certain truths
in perfect unison. We know perfectly well before-
hand in one hemisphere, what answer would be
returned in the other, on certain truths. Men of
all countries and of all times, whatever education
they may have received, necessarily think and
speak of some things in the same manner. It is
the great Master that has taught us all, who thus
bids us speak. Thus, when we think most of our
own powers, of ourselves, that is, of our reason, this
is what the least belongs to us, this is most truly a
borrowed good.
We are every moment of our lives receiving a
reason far superior to ourselves, just as we inhale
the air from without, or as wc sec objects around
us by the light of the sun that does not belong to
I
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 63
our vision. It is this noble reason that reigns witli
an absolute dominion, to a certain point, over ra-
tional beings. It is this that makes a Canadian
savage think many things that Greek and Roman
philosophers have thought. It is this that led the
Chinese geometricians to the discovery of the same
truths that the Europeans, who knew nothing of
them, have become acquainted with. It is this
that makes men think upon various subjects, just
as they thought a thousand years ago. It is this
power that gives a uniformity to the opinions of
men, the most opposed to each other in their natures.
It is by this that men of all ages and countries are
bound to an immovable centre, to which they are
held by certain invariable laws, which we call first
principles ; notwithstanding the infinite variety of
opinions that are created by their passions, their
distractions, their caprices upon all other less cle&r
truths. It is this power that has kept men, de-
praved as they are, from daring to call virtue vice,
and that has obliged them to put on the appear-
ance, at least, of sincerity, moderation, and benefi-
cence, when they would attract esteem.
They cannot esteem or despise anything accord-
ing to their own arbitrary wills ; they cannot force
the eternal barriers of truth and justice. The law
of the soul, which we call reason, reigns with an
absolute sway ; its reproaches are ever uttered and
repeated at what is wrong ; it sets bounds to the
folly of the most audacious.
64 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
After vice has enjoyed so many ages of unre-
strained sway, virtue is still called virtue ; and it
cannot be dispossessed of its name by its boldest and
most brutal enemies. From thence it is that vice,
although triumphant in the world, is still forced to
disguise itself under the mask of hypocrisy, that
it may secure a regard that it does not hope for
when it is known as it is. Thus it renders, in
spite of itself, homage to virtue, by adorning itself
with her charms, that it may receive the honors
that are rendered to them. Men cavil, it is true, at
the virtuous, and they are, in truth, always liable
to censure, for they are still imperfect ; but the
most vicious men cannot succeed in effacing en-
tirely the idea of virtue. No man has ever suc-
ceeded in persuading others, or himself, that it is
more estimable to be deceitful, than to be sincere ;
to be violent and malignant, than to be gentle and
to do good. This inward and universal teacher
declares the same truths, at all times and places.
It is true that we often contradict it, and speak with
a louder voice ; but then we deceive ourselves, we
go astray, we fear that we shall discover that we
arc wrong, and we shut our ears, lest we should be
humbled by its corrections. Where is this wisdom,
where is this oracle that ever speaks, and against
which the prejudices of mankind can never pre-
vail ? Where is this noble reason which we are
bound to consult, and which of itself inspires us
witli a desire to hear its voice ? Where dwells this
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 65
pure and gentle light, that not only enlightens eyes
that are open to receive it, but uncloses those eyes
that were shut, cures those that were diseased, gives
vision to the blind ; in short, inspires a desire for
the light it can bestow, and makes itself beloved
even by those who fear it ?
Every eye has it ; it would see nothing without
it ; it is by its pure rays alone that it can see any-
thing. As the visible sun enlightens all material
bodies, so the sun of intelligence illuminates all
minds.
There is a spiritual sun that enlightens the soul
more fully than the material sun does the body.
This sun of truth leaves no shadow, and it shines
upon both hemispheres. It is as brilliant in the
night as in the day-time ; it is not without that it
sheds its rays, it dwells within each one of us.
One man cannot hide its rays from another : what-
ever corner of the earth we may go to, there it is.
We never need say to another. Stand back that I
may see it ; you hide its rays from me ; you de-
prive me of the portion that is my due. This glo-
rious sun never sets ; no clouds intercept its rays,
but those formed by our passions. It is one bright
day. It sheds light upon the savage in the darkest
caverns. There are no eyes so weak that they
cannot bear its light ; and there is no man so blind
and miserable, that does not walk by the feeble
light from this source, that he still retains in his
conscience.
6*
66 - ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
We believe the instructions of men just in pro-
portion to the conformity we find between them
and this inward teacher. Afterthey have exhaust-
ed all their reasonings, we still return to this, and
listen to the decision it makes. If any one tells me
that a part is equal to the whole, I cannot help
laughing ; such a one cannot persuade me : it is
within myself, by consulting this inward teacher,
that I must ascertain the truth of a proposition.
Far from pronouncing judgment upon this teacher,
we are in all cases judged by it. It is disinterested
and superior to us. We may refuse to listen to it,
and go astray from it ; but if we do listen, we can-
not contradict it. There seem to be two kinds of
reason within me ; one is self, the other superior to
it. T'hat which is self, is very imperfect ; preju-
diced, rash, apt to wander, changing, obstinate,
ignorant, and limited ; it possesses nothing that is
not borrowed. The other, while it is common to
all men, is yet superior to them ; it is perfect, eter-
nal immutable, always ready to be communicated,
and to reclaim the erring; — given freely to all,
inexhaustible and indivisible. Where is this all-
perfect reason, so near me, yet so dtflercnt from
me ? where is it ? where dwells this supreme reason ?
Is it not God himself?
I find still further traces of the Divinity within
me. I have within me a clear idea of a perfect
unity, far su))crior to what I can discover in my
own soul ; this is oflen divided between two opin-»
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 67
ions, between two inclinations, between two oppo-
site habits. This division that I find within me,
proves a composition of parts and something more
than one. My soul has at least a succession of
thoughts, one very different from another. My
idea of unity is, if I may use the expression, infi-
nitely more one. I have a conception of a Being
who never changes his thought, who has all
thoughts at the same instant, who has no succession
of ideas. It is doubtless this idea of a perfect and
supreme unity in my own mind, that makes me
desirous to find a unity in the soul and even in
matter. This idea, ever present to my spirit, must
have been born with me. It is the perfect model,
of which I am ever seeking the imperfect copy.
This idea of what is simply and indivisibly one,
can only be the idea of God. I then know God
with such certainty, that by this knowledge I seek
in every outward thing, and in myself, some re-
semblance to his unity.
Another mystery that I bear within me, and that
renders me incomprehensible to myself, is, that on
the one hand I am free, and on the other, dependent.
I must be dependent. Independence is the supreme
perfection. The Creator must be the cause of all
the modifications of his creation. The being who
is dependent for his nature, must be so for all its
operations. Thus God is the real cause of all the
combinations and movements of everything in the
universe. It is he who has created all that is.
68 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
But I am free, and I cannot doubt it ; I have an
intimate and immovable conviction that I am free
to will, or not to will. There is within me a power
of election, not only to will or not, bnt to decide
between different objects. This is in itself a proof
of the immateriality of my soul. What is material,
corporeal, cannot choose, it is, on the contrary,
governed by fixed laws, that are called physical,
that are necessary, invincible, and contrary to
what I call liberty. In saying, then, that I am
free, I say that my will is fuJly in my power, and
that God leaves it to me to use it as I am disposed j
that I am not determined by a law, like other be-
ings, but I will of myself I conceive, that if
the Supreme Being were beforehand to insph'e me
with a will to do right, I have the power to reject /
the inspiration, however great it might be, to frus-
trate its effect, and to refuse my consent. I con-
ceive, also, that when I reject his inspiration to do
right, I have actually the power not to reject it,
just as I have the power to open or shut my eyes.
Outward things may solicit me by all that is
most captivating, the most powerful and affecting
arguments may be presented to influence me, the
Supreme Being may touch my heart with the most
persuasive inspirations ; but I still remain free to
will or not to will. It is this exemption from all
restraint and from all necessity, this empire over
my own actions, that makes me inexcusable when
1 will what is evil, and praiseworthy when I will
what is good.
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 69
This is the foundation of all merit or demerit ;
it is this that makes the justice of reward or punish-
ment. Hence it is that we exhort, reprove, menace,
or promise. This is the foundation of all govern-
ment, of all instruction, and of all rules of conduct.
Everything in human life brings us to this conclu-
sion, that there is nothing over which we have such
entire control, as our own wills ; and that we have
this free will, this power of election, between two
things equally in our reach. It is this truth that
the shepherds sing among the mountains, that mer-
chants and artisans take for granted in their nego-
tiations, that the actor represents on the stage ; the
magistrate recognises it in his decisions, and learned
doctors teach it in their schools ; it is what no man
of sense can seriously doubt. This truth, imprint-
ed on our hearts, is acknowledged in the practice
of those philosophers who attempt to dverthrow it
by their chimerical speculations. The internal evi-
dence of this truth, is like that we have of these first
principles, which have no need of demonstration,
and by which we prove other truths less certain.
Let us view together these equally undoubted
truths. I am dependent upon the Supreme Being
even for my will ; nevertheless I am free. What
is this dependent liberty ? How can we compre-
hend a Avill that is free, and that is yet given by
the Supreme Being ? I am free in my will, as God
is in his. It is in this, principally, that I am in his
image, and resemble him. This is a grandeur that
70 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
belongs to the Infinite Being, a trait of his celestial
nature. It is a divine power that I possess over
my will, but I am only a faint image of his all-
powerful will.
My liberty is only a shadow of that of the Su-
preme Being, from whom I exist, and from whom
I act. On the other hand, the power I have of
willing evil, is not so much true power, as the
weakness and frailty of my will. It is a power to
destroy, to degrade myself, to lessen my own per-
fection and being. On the other hand, the power
I have of willing what is right, is not an indepen-
dent power, as I do not possess it in myself. A bor-
rowed power can only confer a dependent liberty.
How then is such a being free ? What a deep
mystery ! Man's liberty, of which I cannot doubt,
proves his perfection ; his dependence shows the
nothingness whence he has been draAvn. " For
as the heavens are higher than the earth," says God
in the scriptures, " so are my ways higher than your
ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts."
We have thus followed the traces of the Divinity
through what are called the works of nature. We
may observe, at the first glance, an all-powerful
hand that is the first mover of everything, in every
part of the universe. The heavens, the earth, the
stars; })lants, animals; our bodies, our spirits, —
all discover an order, a nice arrangement, a skill, a
wisdom, far superior to our own, which is the soul
of the whole world, and which conducts everything
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 71
to its destined end, with a gentle and insensible,
but all-powerful sway. We have seen, if we may
so speak, the architecture of the universe, the just
proportions of all its parts ; and one look is enough
to discover to us, in an insect yet more than in the
sun, a wisdom and a power that shine forth in its
meanest works.
These are views that would strike the most igno-
rant. What would be our impressions, if we could
enter the secrets of the material world ; if we could
dissect the internal parts of animals, and observe
their perfect mechanism ! Everything, then, in the
universe, bears the marks of the Divinity, and man
more than all the rest. Everything discovers de-
sign to us, and a connexion of second causes,
directed by a first cause. We have no ground to
cavil at this great work ; the defects that we dis-
cover in it, are produced by the ill-regulated, but
free will of man.
It often happens, that what appears like a defect
to our limited vision, viewed separately from the
whole, gives a beauty to the general design, for the
perception of which we do not possess that enlarge-
ment and simplicity of mind, by which alone we
could comprehend the perfection of the whole.
Does it not often happen, that we hastily condemn
parts of the works of men, because we have not
sufficiently penetrated into the whole extent of
their designs ? If the characters of the Holy
Scriptures were of such immense size, that each
72 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
letter, looked at near, would nearly fill our vision,
we could only see one at a time, and we could not
read, that is to say, collect the letters, and discover
the sense of the whole. It is the same with the
great features of the providence of God, delineated
in the government of the world for so many ages.
It is only the whole that can be intelligible, and the
whole is too vast for a near view. Every event is
a particular character, which is too great for the
smallness of our organs, and which means nothing
if it is separated from the others.
When we shall see God as he is, and see all the
events of human life from the first to the last day,
in all their proportions and their relations to the
designs of God, then shall we exclaim, ! Lord,
thou alone art good and wise. We judge of the
works of men only by examining the whole.
Every part ought not to have all perfection, but
only that which belongs to it in the order and in
the proportion which pervade the whole. In the
human body, it would not be well that all the
organs should be eyes ; feet and hands are also
necessary. In the universe, we want the sun for
the day, but we also want the moon for the night.
It is thus we ought to judge of every part, by its
relation to the whole ; every other view is narrow
and false. But how insignificant are the designs
of men, when wc compare them with the creation
and government of the universe !
Let man, then, admire what he understands; and
ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
73
let him be silent when he cannot comprehend.
There is nothing in the universe that does not
equally bear these two opposite characters, — the
stamp of the Creator, and the marks of nothingness
from whence it is drawn, and into which it may at
any moment be resolved. It is an incomprehensi-
ble mixture of meanness and glory, of the frailty of
the material, and of skill in its conformation. The
hand of God is displayed everywhere, even in the
worm ; and weakness and nothingness are discover-
able everywhere, even in the most sublime geniuses.
All but God himself must be limited and imperfect ;
it may have more or less of imperfection, but it
still must be ever imperfect ; we must still be able
to point out something in it, of which we may say,
This is what should not be, or this it does not
possess.
Let us study this visible creation as we will ;
take the anatomy of the meanest animal ; look at
the smallest grain of corn that is planted in the
earth,, and the manner in which its germ produces
and multiplies ; observe attentively the rose-bud,
how carefully it opens to the sun, and closes at his
setting ; and we shall see more skill and design
than in all the works of man. What we call
human art, is only a feeble imitation of the
great art that we call the laws of nature, and
that impiety has not been ashamed to call blind
chance.
Can we be astonished that poets have animated
74 ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.
all nature ; that they have given wings to the
winds, and darts to the sun ; that they have painted
rivers hastening to precipitate themselves into the
sea ; and trees that reach the clouds, to overcome
the rays of the sun by the thickness of their foHage ?
These figures have been adopted even in common
conversation ; so natural is it for man to feel the
power and skill with which the universe is filled.
Poetry has only attributed to inanimate things,
the design of the Creator. The language of the
poets gave rise to the theology of the pagans ; their
theologians were poets. They imagined a power,
a wisdom in objects the most entirely destitute of
intelligence. With them the rivers were Gods,
and the fountains were Naiads. The woods and
the mountains had their particular divinities : the
flowers were subject to Flora, and the fruits to
Pomona. The more enlarged our minds are when
we contemplate nature, the more we discover of
that inexhaustible wisdom which is the soul of the
universe. Then do we see the Infinite Creator
represented in all his works, as in a mirror, to the
contemplation of his intelligent offspring. But some
men have bewildered themselves with their own
thoughts ; everything with them turns into vanity.
Through sophistical arguments they lose sight of
that truth, which nature and simplicity would teach
them without tlic aid of philosophy. Others, in-
toxicated by their ])assions, live unconscious of the
presence of God. To perceive him in his works,
ON THE KNOWLEDGE AND LOVE OF GOD. 75
we at least ought to be attentive. Passion not only
blinds the savage, but those who are surrounded by
the light of religion.
It is thus we see men living in the world, think-
ing only of what gratifies passion and vanity, their
souls so laden with the weight of earth, that they
cannot raise them to any spiritual object. What-
ever is not palpable, cannot be seen, or heard, or
touched, or counted, is unreal and chimerical to
them. This weakness of the mind at last becomes
incredulity, and appears to them strength ; and their
vanity leads them to applaud themselves for being
able to resist arguments that influence the rest of
the world. It is as if a monster should boast of
not being formed in the fashion of other men ; or,
as if a blind man were to triumph at his incredulity
about colors that other men perceive.
ON THE KNOWLEDGE AND LOVE OF GOD.
It is not strange that men do so little for the ser-
vice of God, and that the little they do costs such
an effort ; they do not know him ; they hardly be-
lieve in his existence ; the belief which they have
in him, is rather a blind deference to the authority
of public sentiment, than a living, distinct convic-
tion of Deity. They take it for granted that he
76 ON THE KNOWLEDGE AND LOVE OF GOD.
is, because they dare not examine for themselves.
There is upon this subject a vagueness of thought,
an indifference which grows out of the strength of
their passions for other objects. They know God
only as a something mysterious, unintelligible, and
far removed from us ; they regard him as a power-
ful and austere being, who exacts much from us,
who opposes our inclinations, who threatens us
with great evils, and against whose terrible judg-
ments we ought to be upon our guard. These are
the views of people who think seriously upon re-
ligion, but even this is a small number. They say
of such a person, He is one who fears God. Truly
he only fears him ; he does not love him ; just as
a child fears a master who chastises him, or as a
servant who dreads the blows of him whom he
serves only from fear. Would you desire the ser-
vice of a son or that of a menial, which is the ser-
vice rendered to God ?
It is because they do not know God ; if they
knew him they would love him. God is love ; he
who does not love him, does not know him ; for
how can we know love without loving. We must
believe then that he who only fears God does not
know him. In order to understand this subject
better, we should set before our minds the truth
that God who has made all things, in fact creates
us anew every moment. It did not follow neces-
sarily that because we were yesterday, we should
exist to-day ; we might cease to be, we might re-
ON THE KNOWLEDGE AND LOVE OF COD. 77
lapse into the nothingness from whence we came,
if the same all-powerful hand who called us from
it did not still sustain us. We are nothing in our-
selves ; we are only what God has made us to
be, and that only while it pleases him. He has
only to withdraw the hand which supports us in
order to replunge us into the abyss of our nothing-
ness, as a stone which one holds in the air falls from
its own weight, as soon as the hand is unclosed
which supported it. Thus do we hold existence
only as the continual gift of God.
Besides this there are other blessings far purer
and of a higher order. A good life is better than
life itself, virtue is worth more than health ; upright-
ness of heart and the love of God are more above
temporal blessings than the heavens are above the
earth. If then we are incapable of retaining for a
single moment gross and worthless things without
the help of God, with how much more reason must
it be true that we depend upon Him for the other
sublime gifts of his love.
It is not to know thee, oh God, to regard thee
only as an all-powerful being who gives laws to all
nature, and who has created everything which we
see, it is only to know a part of thy being, it is
not to know that which is most wonderful and most
afiecting to thy rational offspring. That which
transports and melts my soul is to know that thou
art the God of my heart. Thou doest there thy
good pleasure.
7*
78 ON THE KNOWLEDGE AND LOVE OF GOD.
Thou art ever with me. When I do wro»g, re-
proaching me Math the evil which I commit, in-
spiring me with regret for the good which I have
forsaken, and with outstretched arms offering me
pardon. The good works which I do, they are thy
gifts, and they cease to be good works as soon as
I regard them as mine, and lose sight of thy bounty
which gives them their true value,
I call to my mind all the wonders of nature that
I may form some image of thy glory. I ask for
knowledge of thee from thy creatures, and I forget
to seek for thee in the depths of my own soul,
where thou ever art. We need not descend into
the centre of the earth nor go beyond the seas, we
need not ascend to heaven to find thee, thou art
nearer to us than we are to ourselves.
Oh God, so glorious and yet so intimately with
us, so high above these heavens and yet stooping
to the lowliness of thy creatures, so immense and
yet dwelling in the bottom of my heart, so awful
and yet so worthy of love ! When will thy child-
ren cease to be ignorant of thee? Oh, for a voice
loud enough to reproach the world with its blind-
ness, and to declare with power all that thou art.
When we bid men to seek thee in their own hearts,
it is as if wo were to propose to them to seek for
thee in some undiscovered parts of tlio earth. What
is there to a vain and soisual man, more foreign,
more remote tlian tlie bottom of his own heart ?
Does he know what it is to enter into himself?
ON THE KNOWLEDGE AND LOVE OF GOD. 79
Has he ever sought the way ? Can he even imagine
what is this inward sanctuary, these impenetrable
depths of the soul, where thou would be worshipped
in spirit and in truth. For me, my Creator, closing
my eyes upon outward things which are only vanity
and vexation of spirit, I would enjoy in the recesses
of my heart, an intimacy with thee through Jesus
Christ thy son.
Oh God ! man does not know thee, he knows
not who thou art. " The light shines in the midst
of the darkness, but the darkness comprehendeth
it not." It is through thee that we live, that we
think, that we enjoy the pleasures of life, and we
forget Him from whom we receive all these things.
Universal Light ! it is through thee alone that
we see anything. Sun of the soul, who dost shine
more brightly than the material sun ! seeing noth-
ing except through thee, we see not thee thyself.
It is thou who givest all things, to the stars their
light, to the fountains their waters and their courses,
to the earth its plants, to the fruits their flavor, to
all nature its riches and its beauty, to man, health,
reason, virtue, thou givest all, thou doest all, thou
rulest over all ; I see only thee, all other things
vanish as a shadow before him who has once seen
thee. But alas ! he who has not seen thee, has
seen nothing, he has passed his life in the ilhision
of a dream ; he is as if he were not, more unhappy
still, for as we learn from thy word, it were better
for him if he had not been born.
80 ON THE KNOWLEDGE AND LOVE OF GOD.
For myself I ever find thee within me. It is
thou who workest with me in all the good I do.
I have felt a thousand times that I could not of
myself conquer my passions, overcome my habits,
subdue my pride, follow my reason, or continue to
will what I have once Avilled. It is thou who
gavest me this will, who preservest it pure ; with-
out thee I am like a reed agitated by the wind.
Thou hast given me courage, uprightness, and all
the good emotions which I experience. Thou hast
created within me a new heart which desires thy
justice, and thirsts for thy eternal truth, I leave
myself in thy hands ; it is enough for me to fulfil
thy all-beneficent designs, and in nothing to resist
thy good pleasure, for which I was created. Com-
mand, forbid, what wiliest thou that I should do?
What that I should not do ? Lifted up, cast down,
comforted, left to suffer, employed in thy service, or
useless to every one, I still adore thee, ever yield-
ing my will, I say with Maiy, "Be it unto me
according to thy word,"
I discover every where in the smallest things,
that omnipotent hand which supports the heavens
and the cartli, and which seems as it were in
sport while it conducts the universe. All which
troubles me is that I cannot comprehend why thou
permittost so much evil to mingle with the good.
Thou canst not do evil, all that thou docst is good.
Whence comes it then that the earth is covered
with crimes and with misery? Evil seems to pre-
ON THE KNOWLEDGE AND LOVE OF GOD. 81
vail over good. Thou hast made the world for thy
glory, and one is tempted to believe that it has
turned to thy dishonor. The number of the wicked
infinitely surpasses the number of the good, even
within thy church. Nearly all flesh has corrupted
its way ; the good are good only in part, and give
me almost as much pain as the wicked ; all suffer,
all are in a state of violence, and the misery is equal
to the corruption. Why delayest thou, oh Lord, to
separate the good from the evil ? Hasten to glorify
thy name ; teach them who blaspheme thee how
great thou art. But oh, my God, how deep are thy
judgments ! Thy ways are higher than our ways,
as the heavens are higher than the earth. We are
impatient because our whole life is but a moment ;
but thy long patience rests on thy eternity, before
which a thousand years are but as yesterday when
it is passed. I would, oh God, check all reasonings
which tempt me to doubt of thy goodness. I know
that thou art always good. I know that thou hast
made thy creatures in thine own image, upright, just,
and good as thou art thyself; but thou hast not
willed to deprive them of the power of choosing
between good and evil. Thou oflerest to them
what is good ; this is enough ; I am sure of it
although I do not comprehend how it is; but the
immutable and perfect idea I have of thee forbids
me to doubt of it. Oh, my God, may I ever be
one of those little ones to whom thou revealest thy
mysteries whilst thou hidest them from the wise
and prudent of the world.
82 ON THE KNOWLEDGE AND LOVE OF GOD.
Everything wliich happens to us comes from
thee, oh God. It is thou who hast done it ; and
who hast done it for our eternal welfare. In the
light of eternity we shall see that what we desired
would have been fatal to us, and that what we
would have avoided was essential to our well being ;
it is thou who doest all things ; it is thou who
during every moment of our lives art the life of our
hearts, the hght of our eyes, the intelligence of our
minds, the soul of our souls ; all that we are, life,
action, thought, will, we are through thy power,
thy spirit, and thy eternal will.
It is thou who hurriest to the tomb those to
whom life is a continual snare, and to whom death,
which has put them in safety, was a mercy. It is
thou who hast made this death a bitter but salutary
retnedy to the friends who were bound to them by
a too ardent, a too tender love ; thus the same stroke
which is intended to save the one by death, detaches
the other from life, who is thus prepared for death
by him who had been the dearest in life to him.
Thou dost thus most mercifully, oh God, mingle
bitterness with all which is not from thyself, that
our hearts formed to love thee, and live in thy love
may be constrained to return to thee, feeling that
all other support fails us.
It is, my God, because thou art all love, that thou
art a jealous God ; a divided heart displeases thee,
a wandering heart excites thy pity. Thou art infi-
nite in all things, in love as in wisdom and power;
ON THE KNOWLEDGE AND LOVE OF GOD. 83
an imperfect love, and a limited wisdom cannot
know thee. Can the finite comprehend the Infi-
nite ? It is this love which ordains all things, even
the evils which we endure ; it is through suffering
that we are prepared for true happiness.
When shall we return love for love ? When
shall we turn toward him who is ever seeking us ?
and whose arms are ever around us. It is while
resting on his paternal bosom that we forget him.
The sweetness of his gifts makes us forget the giver.
Blessings which we daily receive, instead of soften-
ing our hearts turn them away from him who gave
them. He is the source of all true pleasures. His
creatures are only the gross channels through which
they flow to us, and the stream has made us forget
the Fountain Head. This infinite love follows us
everywhere, and we are ever trying to escape from
it ; it is in all places and we see it nowhere. We
call ourselves alone when we have only God with
us ; He does all things and we trust in him for
nothing. We think our hopes are desperate when
we have no other resource than his Providence,
as if infinite and all powerful love could not do all
things.
84
ON PIETY.
ON piety-
How unspeakable are the blessings that piety
bestows ; pure, disinterested piety, piety that never
fails, that does good in secret ! It enables us to con-
quer our passions and our bad habits ; it destroys our
love of the polluting pleasures of the world ; it
touches our hearts with the salutary truths of reli-
gion. It protects us from the fatal snares that are
around us. Shall we be ungrateful for so many
benefits ? Shall we not have the courage to sacri-
fice to piety all our irregular desires, however it
may wound our self-love ?
Let us examine ourselves, as in the presence of
God, and see if such be our piety, and let us view
the subject as it relates to God, to ourselves, and to
our neighbor. These three relations will guide us
in the following discourse.
I. Are we willing to suffer for God ? Does our
desire to be with him destroy our fear of death ?
Do we love to think of God? Do we give our-
selves up to him ? It is by asking ourselves these
questions, that we shall ascertain the true state of
our souls.
1. Arc we wiUing to suffer for God ? I do not
speak of a certain vague love of suflcring, that
shows itself in words and fails in actions ; of a
willingness to suffer, that consists only in a habit
ON PIETY. 85
of talking magnificently and eloquently of the use
of crosses, and that shrinks from the slightest per-
sonal inconvenience, and indulges in all the seduc-
tive pleasures of a sensual life. .Neither do I mean
a certain fanciful spirituality, that is ever meditating
upon resignation, patience, and the joy of tribula-
tion, while the whole life discovers a jealous self-
love, unwilling to suffer anything. True piety is
not satisfied with offering to God a sterile faith ; it
would add the sacrifice of an humble heart, glad to
suffer for him.
In vain will you attempt to follow Jesus, if you
do not bear his cross. Dare you, can you complain
when you have his example to support you ? Will
not the faithful soul rejoice to suffer in imitation of
Jesus, and to show his love for him, with the hope
of meriting the blessing that he has promised to
those who weep? If I were seriously persuaded
that the life of a Christian is a life of patience and
self-denial, if in sincerit}^ and truth I loved Jesus
Christ, who suffered and humbled himself for me,
should I be contented with talking of trials when I
am called upon to bear them, with giving lessons
to my neighbor and not applying them to myself?
Should I be so impatient with the infirmities of
others, so discouraged by obstacles, so disquieted by
little troubles, so sensitive about human friendship,
so jealous and intractable towards those whom I
ought to conciliate, so severe towards the faults of
others, so lenient and so backward in mending my
8
86 ON PIETY.
own ? Should I be so ready to murmur at the trials
by which God would prove my virtue ?
It is a scandal that might make the pious weep,
to see men, who profess to be followers of Christ
crucified, shrinking from sufferings and trials ; men,
who would serve God with all possible convenience,
who pretend to sigh after another life, while they
are clinging to all the delights of this, who de-
claim with zeal against self-love, while they take all
imaginable precautions to save their own from the
least mortification.
2. Are we willing to die to be with Christ ? St.
Augustin says, that holiness of life and willingness
to die are inseparable dispositions. " The love of
this life and of another," says he, " cause an inces-
sant conflict in the imperfect soul. Let not such
persons say they wish to live, in order to repair the
past : if they examine their hearts, they will find
that they cling to life, because they are not suffi-
ciently virtuous to desire the pure joys of heaven."
If we only feared the judgments of God upon our
entrance into eternity, tliis fear would be calm and
holy. The perfection of our love to God consists
in our feeling an entire confidence in him. If we
loved jiim as our father, should we fear him as our
judge? Should we fly from his presence, should
we tremble thus, when sickness warns us of the
approach of death ?
But there is a secret infidelity at the bottom of
our hearts, that stifles all these sentiments. We
ON PIETY. 87
weep at the death of those we love, and we trem-
ble at onr own, as they who have no hope. Judging
from our anxiety about this life, who would believe
that we anticipated a happy futurity ? How can
they to whom religion has opened the path to
another life, they whose hope is full of immortality,
how can they reconcile such substantial and glori-
ous hopes with the vain enjoyments that fill their
hearts in this world ? Our piety must be weak and
imperfect, if it do not conquer our fear of death.
We must take a very confused and superficial view
of the eternal resources of the Christian at the hour
of death, and of all that he hopes for beyond this
transient life, if our hearts do not kindle with joy
at the contemplation of the moment when our sor-
rows shall pass away and our felicity begin.
Let us each ask himself, Am I ready to die?
Let me not deceive myself by a false courage.
Does the ardor of my love for God overcome my
fear of death ? Do I use this world as not abusing
it ? Do I regard it as a passing shadow ? Am I
unwilling to be subjected to its vanities ? Is there
nothing here that flatters my self-love and enslaves
my affections, making me almost forget eternity ?
In fine, am I every day preparing for death ? Is it
by this thought that I regulate my life ? And when
the last hour shall arrive, shall I be prepared for
the fatal stroke ? Shall I not shrink from its ap-
proach ? What will become of my courage when
I shall feel myself between this world that is fast
88 ON PIETV.
vanishing from my sight, and eternity that is open-
ing to receive me ? Whence is it that those who
profess not to be lovers of Ufe do not fear death
less than others ?
3. Do we enjoy the contemplation of God ? Do
we feel a sincere joy when we pray to him, and
when we meditate upon his presence ? Prayer,
says St. Augustin, is the measure of love. He
who loves much, prays much. He whose heart is
closely united to God, has no sweeter consolation
than in communion with him. He finds a positive
happiness in being able to love him, to speak to
him, to meditate upon his attributes, to adore his
majesty, to admire his power, to dwell on his good-
ness, and to yield himself up to his providence.
In this intercourse he pours out, as into the bosom
of a tender father, all the sorrows of his overflowing
heart ; this is his resource under every affliction ;
he finds strength and consolation in spreading out
all his weaknesses and all his desires ; and as our
whole lives are full of imperfections, as we are
never free from sin, we should always, in the ex-
ercise of prayer, ask pardon of God for our ingrati-
tude and thank him for his mercy.
Let us pray then, but let us pray with all our
duties before us. Do not let us make eloquent and
abstract prayers that have no connexion with the
practice of virtue, but let us pray to become more
liumble, more docile, more patient, more charitable,
more modest, more pure, more disinterested in the
ON PIETY.
89
performance of our duties. Without this, our prayer
will be ail ilhision to ourselves, and a scaudal to
our neighbor : an ilhision to ourselves, for how
often do we see a devotion that only nourishes
pride and misleads the imagination ; and a scandal
to our neighbor, for there can be none greater than
to see a person who prays unceasingly without
correcting his faults, who comes from his orisons
neither less frivolous, nor less discontented and
anxious, nor less selfish than he was before.
4. Are we resolved to give ourselves up without
reserve to God ?
Do we consider his protecting providence our
best resource, or have we concerning our own
affairs a timid anxiety, that renders us unworthy
of his care ?
The disposition essential to the soul that con-
secrates itself to God, is to desire nothing but in
reference to his will. Whence comes it that so
many good people undertake good Avorks without
any success ? It is because they commence them
without any sincere trust in God, and without a
complete renunciation of self. The thought of
self is never entirely excluded.
They do not prefer the interest of the work
which is God's to their own ill-regulated ill incli-
nations and perverse fancies, to a weak jealousy of
authority and a desire of consideration that con-
taminates the best things. In fine, it is because
they wish to serve God, Avith a security of benefiting
8*
90 ON PIETY.
themselves ; they are not willing to risk their own
glory, and they would be very unhappy if they
were exposed to any misapprehension through their
love for him. Can we expect from these cowardly
and mercenary souls, the magnanimity and the
strength that is requisite to promote the designs of
Providence ? He who distrusts God, is not worthy
to be his instrument. God, as St. Paul says, " over
all is rich," but it is unto all who call upon him
and trust in him.
But we will proceed to the second part of this
discourse : What are our dispositions with regard
to ourselves ?
II. Let us examine ourselves upon these four
questions. Whether our zeal be not imprudence
under the pretext of religion ? Our prudence, is it
not earthly-mindedness ? Our devotion, is it not
the effect of natural temperament ? Our charity,
is it not an amusement ?
1. Is not our zeal imprudence ? Let every root
of bitterness, said St. Paul, be put away from you.
There is a violent zeal that we must correct ; it
thinks it can change the whole world, it would
reform everything, it would subject every one to
its laws. Tiie origin of this zeal is disgraceful.
The defects of our neighbor interfere with our
own ; our vanity is wounded by that of another ;
our own haughtiness fmds our neighbor's ridiculous
and insui)])ortal)lc ; our restlessness is rebuked by
the sluggishness and indolence of this person ,\oiiir
ON PIETY.
91
gloom is disturbed by the gayety and frivolities of
that person, and our heedlessness by the shrewd-
ness 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 ; an imaginary
and often hypocritical zeal. For is it 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 ?
If our zeal be true, it will be regulated by
Christianity, it will begin with ourselves ; it will be
so occupied with our own defects, our own wants,
that it will find but little time to think of those of
others : and when conscience obliges us to correct
our neighbor, we shall be very cautious with re-
gard to ourselves, following the advice of the apos-
tle, " Rebuke thy brother in the spirit of meekness,
considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted."
Whatever is said or done with passion will not make
our neighbor better.
Where do we see any good elTects from harsh
reproof? We must gain the heart when we Avould
recommend religion; and hearts are won only by
92 ON PIETY.
love and condescension. It is not enough to be
right, it is dishonoring reason to defend it with vio-
lence and haughtiness. It is by gentleness, by pa-
tience, by love, that we insensibly lead the mind
to truth, undermine old prejudices, inspire confi-
dence, and encourage one to conquer bad habits.
When he who receives correction perceives that
reproof is given with ill humor, his own is not
subdued by it, and his self-love revolts at the mor-
tifying lesson. For " the wrath of man worketh
not the righteousness of God."
2. Our prudence — is it not an earthly policy, a
blind prudence which the apostle says, "is death,"
and is not subject to the law of God ? There is an
absolute incompatibility between this sort of worldly
wisdom and that of the true children of God. How
many good works do we see arrested by considera-
tions of mere earthly prudence ! How many sacred
duties are yielded to the imaginary claims of polite-
ness ! Formerly, Christians despised the undeserved
contempt of the world ; now, they fear its judg-
ments and seek for its favor, they regulate their
conduct by its whimsical prejudices, they consult
it even on subjects the most holy ; not merely that
they may avoid scandal, which is right, but they
try to accommodate themselves to its vain maxims,
and allow their good works to depend upon its
decision.
What pains do avc take to acquire consideration
and confidence, what anxiety, what eagerness for
ON PIETV. 93
reputation ! When we serve God thus, we serve
him feebly. Our hearts are divided between him
and a thousand objects unworthy of being remem-
bered before liim. We seek the glory of God, we
really desire it, but it is upon certain conditions
which destroy our best purposes. '' We carry,"
says St. Augustin, "a languid will to the practice
of virtue, and thus our minds are flattered, while
our hearts are not changed."
Who is there among us who desires perfection
as it ought to be desired, more than pleasure, more
than reputation? Who is willing to sacrifice to it
all that is incompatible with it ? Henceforward,
let our prudence be regulated by the spirit of God :
let it not be an earthly-minded prudence ; let us
be prudent that we may do good ; let us be full of
charity towards our neighbor, but of distrust con-
cerning ourselves. Let us be prudent, but let our
prudence tend to promote the glory of God, to show
the true dignity of religion, and to make us forget
ourselves.
3. Our devotion — is it not the effect of tem-
perament ? The apostle, predicting the misfortunes
with which religion was menaced, said, " men shall
be lovers of their own selves." This is what we
see every day; men quit the amusements of social
life, live in retirement and with strict regularity, but
it is because their temperament is harsh, and they
prefer solitude. Others are modest and gentle, but
this is the effect of weakness and indolence rather
94 ON PIETY.
than virtue. There is but one gospel, yet each
one adapts it to his own peculiar inclinations. We
are commanded to do violence to our inclinations,
instead of which we see people forcing religion to
their own interests. I know that the grace of God
takes various forms in different minds ; but, after
all, the essentials of religion are the same, and
although there are many ways of going to God,
they all meet at one point, they all bind us to the
obedience of the same law, and hold us in an en-
tire union of sentiment and practice.
Yet where do we see this admirable conformity ;
Everywhere we see men who disfigure religion by
vain attempts to make it accord with their own
caprices. One is fervent in prayer, but he is in-
sensible to the miseries and weaknesses of his
neighbor. Another talks much of the love of God,
and of self-sacrifice, whilst he is not willing to
suffer the least contradiction. Another deprives
himself of allowed pleasures, that he may indulge
himself in those that are forbidden.
This woman is fervent and scrupulous in works
of supererogation, but faithless in the most com-
mon and positive duties ; she fasts and prays, but
she docs not restrain her pride or the violence of
her temper. Thus we see people who think, be-
cause they do what they are not commanded to do,
that they may dispense with what is required.
Far better is that simple obedience that finds
the rule of life in the gospel, and follows it, with-
ON PIETY. 95
out any of those extravagances that disturb its calm
and celestial features. Place each virtue in its
proper' rank. Practise, according to the measure
of your gifts, the most difficult virtues ; but do not
practise them at the expense of others. Charity
and justice are the first of the virtues ; why cherish
one at the expense of the other ? Be strict, even
austere, if you will ; but be humble. Be very
zealous for the reformation of abuses ; but be gen-
tle, charitable', and compassionate. Do, for the
glory of God, all that your love for him prompts,
but begin with the performance of all the duties
of the situation in which you are placed. With-
out this your virtues are only whims and fancies,
and instead of glorifying God, you are a subject
for the scandal of the world.
4. Our charity — is it not an amusement ? Our
friendships — are they not vain and ill-regulated ?
Is not St. Chrysostom right in saying, that we are
more faithless to God in our friendships than even
in our enmities ? For, says he, there is a terrible
law against him who hates his neighbor, and when
we discover in ourselves the feelings of hatred and
vengeance, we are shocked and make haste to be
reconciled to our brother. But it is not so with
our friendships. It seems so innocent, so natural,
so conformable to charity, to love our brethren,
that religion seems to authorize it, and thus we are
not enough on our guard in forming our friendships,
and they arc often the result of whim or a blind
prejudice.
96 ON PIETY,
Let us give everything its proper place in our
hearts. Are our friendships regulated by religion ?
Do we love more than others, those friends, whom
we can carry in onr thoughts to God, and who can
themselves lead us to him ? Do we seek such with
a real pleasure ? Alas, how frivolous are our
friendships ! What loss of time in expressing feel-
ings that often do not exist ! How many useless
or dangerous confessions ! How many unjust pre-
ferences destroying the confiding affection and
harmony of families !
I know that we are permitted to love those with
more tenderness who possess distiuguished excel-
lence, and those who are bound to us by the ties
of nature and sympathy ; but we must be sober
and moderate even in these friendships ; let them
dwell in the very bottom of our hearts, but there
let them be controlled by a calm discretion, and be
ever kept in subjection by the general law of charity.
Let them be outwardly expressed only so far as is
necessary to show esteem, and the cordiality and
gratitude that we ought to manifest. We never
should allow those movements of tenderness to
escape us, or indulge in those familiar caresses and
expressions of partiality, which may wound others.
The most holy friendships should be restrained
within these bounds.
HI. In the regulation of our conduct towards our
neighbor, we are called upon to be gentle and hum-
ble, to act and to sulfer.
ON PIETY. 97
1. To be gentle and humble. The foundation
of peace with all men is humility. God resists the
proud, but gives grace to the humble. It is essen-
tial to men in their mutual intercourse to cultivate
humility ; pride is incompatible with pride ; hence
arise divisions in the world.
Humility is still more necessary where we would
promote the designs of God, which are to be sup-
ported only by the same spirit which the son of God
has himself chosen for the execution of his great
work, the establishment of religion. We must be
ready to perform the most menial offices ; we should
not desire any distinction ; we should be sincerely
contented with obscurity, and be willing to be
forgotten by the world. We should esteem such a
situation as a happy asylum. We should renounce
in our hearts all desire of reputation for understand-
ing, or for virtue, which might awaken a secret
self-complacency, and be a low and unworthy
recompense for any sacrifices we may have made
to the will of God. We should be able to say
from our retreat what the Prophet King said in
the midst of his triumph, " I will humble myself
yet more in my own eyes, that I may please thee,
O my God! "
We must stifle all rising jealousies, all little con-
trivances 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
9
98 ON PIETY.
of dominion, and desire to influence others. These
rules are soon given, but it is not so easy to observe
them. Our natures must be subdued by the grace
of God in our hearts, before we can at all times act
with such simplicity and humility. 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.
2. We must act. During the short and precious
time that is allowed us on earth, let us hasten to
employ ourselves. While it remains to us, let us
not fail to consecrate it to good works. For when
everything else shall have vanished forever, the
Avorks of the just will follow them, even beyond
this life ; for it is certain, according to the beautiful
language of St. Paul, " we have been created in
Jesus Christ unto good works, that we should walk
in them ;" that is to say, pass our whole lives in
this happy employment.
Let us then do good, according to the means
which God has given us, with discretion, with
courage, and with perseverance. With discretion ;
because, while charity extends its efi'orts for the
glory of God, it also regulates its exertions by the
nature of the work, and l)y tlic condition of him
who undertakes it ; it avoids disproportionate de-
ON PIETV. 99
signs. With courage ; for St. Paul exhorts us
not to become weary in well doing. With perse-
verance ; for we often see weak and yielding spirits,
who very soon begin to turn back in their course.
We shall find occasions to do good everywhere ;
they surround us ; it is the will that is needed.
The deepest solitudes, when we seem to have the
least communication with others, will furnish us
with means of doing good to our fellow-beings,
and of glorifying Him who is their master and ours.
Finally, we must suffer ] and I shall finish this
discourse with one of the most important truths
with which T commenced it. Yes, we must suffer
not only in submission to the will of Providence,
for the purification of our souls, and the perfection
of our virtues, but often for the success of those
designs of which God has made us the instruments.
Whoever desires to do good must be willing and
must expect to suffer. You must arm yourselves
with courage and patience. You must be willing
to endure tribulations and trials of all sorts, which
would overwhelm you if you were not supported
by well-established faith and charity.
The world will blame, will tempt you ; your
friends and your enemies may appear to combine
against your good designs. Those even with
whom you are united to promote a good work may
be a snare to you. Opposite humors and temper-
aments, different views, contrary habits, may cause
you great suffering from those upon whom you have
100 ON PRAYER.
depended for support and consolation. Their defects
and yours will perpetually clash in your intercourse
with them. If true charity does not soften these
difficulties, if a more than common virtue does not
sustain you under these bitter trials ; if an unfailing
and fervent piety does not render this yoke easy to
you, you will sink under it.
ON PRAYER.
Of all the duties enjoined by Christianity, none
is more essential, and yet more neglected, than
prayer. Most people consider this exercise a fatigu-
ing ceremony, which they are justified in abridging
as much as possible. Even those, whose profession
or fears lead them to pray, pray with such languor
and wandering of mind, that their prayers, far from
drawing down blessings, only increase their con-
demnation. I wish to demonstrate, in this discourse,
first, the general necessity of prayer ; secondly, the
peculiar duty of prayer ; thirdly, the manner in
which we ought to pray.
Pirst. God alone can instruct us in our duty.
The teachings of men, however wise and well dis-
posed they may be, are still ineffectual, if God do
not shed on the soul that light which opens the
mind to truth. The imperfections of our fellow-
ON PRAYER. 101
creatures cast a shade over the truths that we learn
from them. Such is our weakness, that we do not
receive, with sufficient docility, the instructions of
those who are as imperfect as ourselves. A thousand
suspicions, jealousies, fears, and prejudices prevent
us from profiting, as we might, by what we hear
from men ; and though they announce the most
serious truths, yet what they do weakens the effect
of what they say. In a word, it is God alone who
can perfectly teach us.
St. Bernard said, in writing to a pious friend, —
If you are seeking less to satisfy a vain curiosity
than to get true wisdom, you will sooner find it in
deserts than in books. The silence of the rocks
and the pathless forests will teach you better than
the eloquence of the most gifted men. "All," says
St. Augustin, " that we possess of truth and wisdom,
is a borrowed good, flowing from that fountain, for
which we ought to thirst in the fearful desert of
this world, that, being refreshed and invigorated by
these dews from heaven, we may not faint upon
the road that conducts us to a better country. Ev-
ery attempt to satisfy the cravings of our hearts at
other sources, only increases the void. You will
be always poor, if you do not possess the only true
riches." All light that does not proceed from God,
is false ; it only dazzles us ; it sheds no illumina-
tion upon the difficult paths in which we must walk,
along the precipices that are about us.
Our experience and our reflections cannot, on all
9*
102 ON PKAYKR.
occasions, give us just and certain rules of conduct.
The advice of our wisest and most sincere friends
is not always sufficient ; many things escape their
observation, and many that do not are too painful
to be spoken. They suppress much from delicacy,
or sometimes from a fear of transgressing the bounds
that our friendship and confidence in them will
allow. The animadversions of our enemies, how-
ever severe or vigilant they may be, fail to en-
lighten us with regard to ourselves. Their malig-
nity furnishes our self-love with a pretext for the
indulgence of the greatest faults. The blindness
of our self-love is so great, that we find reasons for
being satisfied with ourselves while all the world
condemn us. What must we learn from all this
darkness ? That it is God alone who can dissipate
it ; that it is he alone whom we can never doubt ;
that he alone is true, and knoweth all things ; that
if we go to him in sincerity, he will teach us what
men dare not tell us, what books cannot, all that is
essential for us to know.
Be assured that the greatest obstacle to true wis-
dom is the presumption inspired by that which
is false. The first step towards this precious
knowledge is earnestly to desire it, to feel the want
of it, and to be convinced that they Avho seek it
must address themselves to the Father of lights,
who freely gives to him who asks in faith. But
if it be true that CJod alone can enlighten us, it is
not the less true that he will do this only in answer
ON PRAYER. 103
to our prayers. Are we not too happy in being
able to obtain so great a blessing by only asking
for it ? No part of the effort that we make to ac-
quire the transient enjoyments of this life, is neces-
sary to obtain these heavenly blessings. What
will we not do, what are we not willing to suffer,
to possess dangerous and contemptible things, and
often without any success. It is not thus with
heavenly things. God is always ready to grant
them to those who make the request in sincerity
and truth. The Christian life is a long and con-
tinual tendency of our hearts towards that eternal
goodness which we desire on earth. All our hap-
piness consists in thirsting for it. Now this thirst
is prayer. Ever desire to approach your Creator,
and you will never cease to pray.
Do not think that it is necessary to pronounce
many words. To pray is to say. Let thy will be
done ; it is to form a good purpose ; it is to raise
your heart to God ; it is to lament your weakness ;
it is to sigh at the recollection of your frequent
disobedience. This prayer demands neither method,
nor science, nor reasoning ; it is not necessary to
quit one's employment ; it is a simple movement
of the heart towards its Creator, and a desire, that
whatever you are doing, you may do it to his glory.
The best of all prayers is to act with a pure inten-
tion and with a continual reference to the will
of God. It depends upon ourselves whether our
prayers be efficacious. It is not by a miracle, but
104 ON PRAYER.
by a change of heart, that we are benefited, by a
sph'it of submission. Let us believe, let us trust,
let us hope, and God never will reject our prayer.
Yet how many Christians do we see, strangers to
the privilege, aliens from God, who seldom think
of him, who never open their hearts to him ; who
seek elsewhere the counsels of a false wisdom, and
vain and dangerous consolations ; who cannot re-
solve to seek, in humble, fervent prayer to God, a
remedy for their griefs, and a true knowledge of
their defects, the necessary power to conquer their
vicious and perverse inclinations, and the consola-
tions and assistance they require, that they may
not be discouraged in a virtuous life.
But some will say, I have no interest in prayer ;
it wearies me ; my imagination is excited by sen-
sible and more agreeable objects, and wanders in
spite of me.
If neither your reverence for the great truths of
religion, nor the majesty of the ever-present Deity,
nor the interest of your eternal salvation, have
power to arrest your mind, and engage it in prayer ;
at least mourn with me for your infidelity ; be
ashamed of your weakness, and Avish that your
thoughts were more under your control, and desire
to become less frivolous and inconstant. Make an
effort to subject your mind to this discipline. You
will gradually acquire habit and facility. What is
now tedious will become delightful ; and you will
then feel, with a peace that the world cannot give
ON PRAYER. 105
nor take away, that God is good. Make a courageous
eflfort to overcome yourself. There can be no oc-
casion that calls for it more imperiously.
Secondly. The peculiar obligation of prayer.
Were I to give all the proofs that the subject af-
fords, I should describe every condition of life, that
I might point out its dangers, and the necessity of
recourse to God in prayer. But I will simply state,
that under all circumstances we have need of prayer.
There is no situation in which we can be placed,
where we have not many virtues to acquire, and
many faults to correct. We find in our tempera-
ment, or in our habits, or in the peculiar character
of our minds, qualities that do not suit our occupa-
tions, and that oppose our duties. One person is
connected by marriage with another, whose temper
is so unequal, that life becomes a perpetual warfare.
Some, who are exposed to the contagious atmo-
sphere of the world, find themselves so susceptible
of the vanity, which they inhale, that all their pure
desires vanish. Others have solemnly promised to
renounce their resentments, to conquer their aver-
sions, to suffer with patience certain crosses, and
to repress their eagerness for wealth; but nature
prevails, and they are vindictive, violent, impatient,
and avaricious.
Whence comes it, that these resolutions are so
frail ? That all these people desire to improve, that
they wish to perform their duty towards God and
man better, and yet fail ; it is that our own strength
106 ON PRAYER.
and wisdom alone are not enough. We undertake
to do everything without God ; therefore we do
not succeed. It is at the foot of the altar, that we
must seek for counsel which will aid us. It is
with God, that we must lay our plan of virtue and
usefulness ; it is he alone that can render them
successful. Without him, all our designs, however
good they may appear, are only temerity and de-
lusion. Let us then pray, that we may learn what
we are, and what we ought to be. By this means,
we shall not only learn the number and the bad
eflects of our peculiar faults, but we shall also learn
to what virtues we are called, and the way to prac-
tice them. The rays of that pure and heavenly
light that visits the humble soul, will beam on us ;
and we shall feel and understand that everything is
possible to those Avho put their whole trust in Go^.-
Thus, not only to those who live in retirement,
but to those who are exposed to the agitations of
the world and the excitements of business, it is
peculiarly necessary, by contemplation and fervent
prayer, to restore their souls to that serenity, which
the dissipations of life, and commerce with men,
have disturbed. To those who are engaged in bu-
siness, contemplation and prayer are much more
difficult than to those who live in retirement ; but
it is far more necessary for them to have frequent
recourse to God in fervent prayer. In the most
holy occupation a certain degree of precaution is
necessary.
ON PRAYEK. 107
Do not devote all your time to action, but reserve
a certain portion of it for meditation upon eternity.
We see Jesus Christ inviting his disciples to go
apart, in a desert place, and rest awhile, after their
return from the cities, where they had been to an-
nounce his religion. How much more necessary
is it for us to approach the source of all virtue, that
we may revive our failing faith and charity, when
we return from the busy scenes of life, where men
speak and act as if they had never known that there
is a God. We should look upon prayer as the
remedy for our weaknesses, the rectifier of our
faults. He who was without sin, prayed constant-
ly ; how much more ought we, who are sinners,
to be faithful in prayer !
Even the exercise of charity is often a snare to
us ; it calls us to certain occupations that dissipate
the mind, and that may degenerate into mere
amusement. It is for this reason that St. Chrysos-
tom says, that nothing is so important as to keep
an exact proportion between the interior source of
virtue and the external practice of it ; else, like the
foolish virgins, we shall find that the oil in our
lamps is exhausted when the bridegroom comes.
The necessity we feel that God should bless our
labors, is another powerful motive to prayer. It
often happens, that all human help is vain. It is
God alone that can aid us, and it does not require
much faith to believe, that it is less our exertions,
our foresight, and our industry, than the blessing
of the Almighty, that can give success to our wishes.
108 ON PRAYEH.
Thirdly. Of the manner in which we ought to
pray. We must pray with attention. God listens
to the voice of the heart, not to that of the lips.
Our whole heart must be engaged in prayer. It
must fasten upon what it prays for ; and every hu-
man object must disappear from our minds. To
whom must we speak with attention, if not to God ?
Can he demand less of us, than that we should
think of what we say to him ? Dare we hope that
he will listen to us, and think of us, when we for-
get ourselves in the midst of our prayers ? This
attention to prayer, which it is so just to exact from
Christians, may be practised with less difficulty
than we imagine. It is true, that the most faithful
souls suffer from occasional, involuntary distractions.
They cannot always control their imaginations,
and, in the silence of their spirits, enter into the
presence of God, But these unbidden wanderings
of the mind ought not to trouble us ; and they may
conduct to our perfection even more than the most
sublime and affecting prayers, if we earnestly strive
to overcome them, and submit with humility to
this experience of our infirmity. But to dwell
willingly on frivolous and worldly things, during
prayer, to make no effort to check the vain thoughts
that intrude upon this sacred employment and come
between us and the Father of our spirits, — is not
this choosing to live the sport of our senses, and
separated from God ?
We must also ask with faith ; a faith so firm that
ON PRAYLR. 109
it never hesitates. He who prays without confi-
dence, cannot hope that his prayer will be granted.
Will not God love the heart that trusts in him?
Will he reject those who bring all their treasures
to him, and repose everything upon his goodness ?
When we pray to God, says St. Cyprian, with
entire assurance, it is himself who has given us the
spirit of our prayer. Then it is the Father listening
to the words of his child ; it is he who dwells in
the depth of our hearts, teaching us to pray. But
must we not confess, that this filial confidence is
wanting in all our prayers? Is not prayer our
resource only after all others have failed us ? If
we look into our hearts, shall we not find, that \ve
ask of God as if we had never before received
benefits from him ? Shall Ave not discover there a
secret infidelity, that renders us unworthy of his
goodness ? Let us tremble, lest, when Jesus Christ
shall judge us, he pronounces the same reproach
that he did to Peter, " O thou of little faith, where-
fore didst thou doubt?"
We must join humility with trust. Great God,
said Daniel, when we prostrate ourselves at thy
feet, we do not place our hopes, for the success of
our prayers, upon our righteousness, but upon thy
mercy. Without this disposition in our hearts, all
others, however pious they may be, cannot please
God. Saint Augustin observes, that the failure of
Peter should not be attributed to insincerity in his
zeal for Jesus Christ. He loved his master in good
10
110 ON PRAYER.
faith ; in good faith he would rather have died than
have forsaken him ; but his fault lay in trusting to
his own strength to do what his own heart dictated.
It is not enough to possess a right spirit, an ex-
act knowledge of duty, a sincere desire to perform
it. We must continually renew this desire, and
enkindle this flame within us, at the fountain of
pure and eternal light.
It is the humble and contrite heart that God will
not despise. Remark the difference which the
Evangelist has pointed out between the prayer of
the proud and presumptuous Pharisee and the
humble and penitent Publican. The one relates
his virtues, the other deplores his sins ; the good
works of the one shall be set aside, while the peni-
tence of the other shall be accepted. It will be
thus with many Christians. Sinners, vile in their
own eyes, will be objects of the mercy of God ;
while some, who have made professions of piety,
will be condemned on account of the pride and
arrogance that have contaminated their good works.
It will be so, because these have said in their hearts,
Lord, I thank thee that I am not as other men are.
They imagine themselves privileged souls ; they
pretend that they alone have penetrated the mys-
teries of the kingdom of God ; they have a language
and science of their own ; they believe that their
zeal can accomplish everything. Their regular
lives favor their vanity; but in truth they are inca-
pable of self-sacrifice, and they go to their devotions,
ON PRAYER. Ill
with their hearts full of pride and presumption.
Unhappy are those who pray in this manner. Un-
happy are they whose prayers do not render them
more humble, more submissive, more vigilant over
their faults, and more willing to live in obscurity.
We must pray with love. It is love, says St.
Augustin, that asks, that seeks, tliat knocks, that
finds, and that is faithful to what it finds. We
cease to pray to God, as soon as we cease to love
him, as soon as we cease to thirst for his perfec-
tions. The coldness of our love is the silence of
our hearts towards God. Without this, we may
pronounce prayers, but we do not pray ; for what
shall lead us to meditate upon the laws of God, if
it be not the love of him who has made these laws.
Let our hearts be full of love then, and they will
pray. Happy are they who think seriously of the
truths of religion, but far more happy are they who
feel and love them. We must ardently desire, that
God will grant us spiritual blessings ; and the ardor
of our wishes must render us worthy of the bless-
ings. For if we pray only from custom, from fear,
in the time of tribulation ; if we honor God only
with our lips, whilst our hearts are far from him ;
if we do not feel a strong desire for the success of
our prayers ; if we feel a chilling indifference, in
approaching him who is a consuming fire ; if we
have no zeal for his glory ; if we do not feel hatred
for sin, and a thirst for perfection ; we cannot hope
for a blessing upon such heartless prayers.
112 ON PRAYEE.
We must pray with perseverance. The perfect
heart is never weary of seeking God. Ought we
to complain, if God sometimes leaves us to obscurity,
and doubt, and temptation ? Trials purify humble
souls, and they serve to expiate the faults of the
unfaithful ; they confound those who, even in their
prayers, have flattered their cowardice and pride.
If an innocent soul, devoted to God, suffer from
any secret disturbance, it should be humble, adore
the designs of God, and redouble its prayers and
its fervor. How often do we hear those, who
every day have to reproach themselves with un-
faithfulness towards God, complain that he refuses
to answer their prayers ! Ought they not to ac-
knowledge, that it is their sins which have formed
a thick cloud between Heaven and them, and that
God has justly hidden himself from them ? How
often has he recalled us from our wanderings !
How often, ungrateful as we are, have we been
deaf to his voice, and insensible to his goodness !
He would make us feel, that we are blind and mis-
erable when we forsake him ; he would teach us,
by privation, the value of the blessings that we
have slighted ; and shall we not bear our punish-
ment with patience ? Who can boast of having
done all that he ought to have done, of having
repaired all his past errors, of having purified his
heart, so that he may claim as a right that God
should listen to his prayer? Alas! all our pride,
great as it is, would not be sufficient to inspire such
ON PRAYER. 113
presumption. If, then, the Ahniglity do not grant
our petitions, let us adore his justice, let ns be silent,
let us humble ourselves, and let us pray without
ceasing. This humble perseverance will obtain
from him what we should never obtain by our own
merit. It will make us pass happily from darkness
to light ; for know, says St. Augustin, that God is
near to us even when he appears far from us.
Lastly. We should pray with a pure intention.
We should not mingle, in our prayers, what is false
with what is real, what is perishable with what is
eternal, low and temporal interests with that which
concerns oiu' salvation. Do not seek to render God
the protector of your self-love and ambition, but
the promoter of your good desires. You ask for
the gratification of your passions, or to be delivered
from the cross, of which he knows you have need ;
carry not to the foot of the altar irregular desires
and indiscreet prayers ; sigh not there for vain and
fleeting pleasures. Open your heart to your Father
in heaven, that his spirit may enable you to ask for
the true riches. How can he grant you, says St.
Augustin, what you do not yourself desire to re-
ceive ? You pray every day that his will may be
done, and that his kingdom may come. How can
you utter this prayer with sincerity, when you pre-
fer your own will to his, and make his law yield
to the vain pretexts with which your self-love socks
to elude it ? Can you make this prayer, you who
disturb his reign in your heart by so many impure
10*
114 ON PRAYER,
and vain desires, you, in fine, who fear the arrival
of his reign, and do not desire that God should
grant what you seem to pray for ? No. If he at
this moment were to offer to give you a new heart,
and render you humble, and meek, and self-deny-
ing, and willing to bear the cross, your pride would
revolt, and you would not accept the offer, or you
would make a reservation in favor of your ruling
passion, and try to accommodate your piety to your
humor and fancies.
Methods and forms of prayer, received from
pious and experienced Christians, should be treated
with respect ; but we must not neglect the essen-
tial of prayer, which is an earnest desire that God,
who knows our wants better than we do ourselves,
will supply them. His Holy Spirit will teach us
to pray, and will guide us when we are in need of
its aid. But what is most important is the persua-
sion, that the simplest, most humble mode of prayer
is the best, and the most acceptable, and the most
conformable to the words of 'the Son of God and
the apostles. In such prayers we find light and
strength to fulfil our duty with meekness and hu-
mility, in whatever condition we may be placed.
Without this liclj) we shall form good resolutions
in vain ; deprived of this interior support, we shall
be without strength in all the difliculties and temp-
tations of life.
ON PRAYER AND PIETY. 115
ADVICE UPON THE EXERCISES OF PRAYER AND PIETY.
Perfect prayer must be the love of God. The
exceHence of this prayer does not consist in the
number of words that we pronounce, for God sees
our hearts, and knows all that we want. The
heart asks only what God wills that we should
have. He who does not desire with his whole
heart, makes a deceitful prayer. How few are
there who pray ! for how few really wish the true
riches, humility, renunciation of their own will,
the reign of God upon the ruins of their self-love.
We must desire these blessings sincerely, and in
connexion with all the details of life ; else prayer
is only an illusion, like a pleasant dream to a
wretched sufferer, who thinks he i:)0ssesses a fe-
licity that is far from him. Still we must not
cease to pray, even when we cannot feel this true
love and sincere desire : God looks into the soul,
and will see the desire to love him.
When we are engaged even in the works of God,
we may feel an inevitable distraction of mind ; but
we carry within us a flame which is not extin-
guished, but, on the contrary, nourishes a secret
prayer, that is like a lamp, ever burning before the
throne of the Supreme.
When the divine light begins to illuminate us,
then we have a clear vision of truth, and wo im-
mediately recognise it. We need not reason to prove
116 ON PRAYER AND PIETY.
the splendor of the sun ; it rises, and we see it.
This union with God in prayer must be the result
of faithful obedience to his will ; by this alone must
we measure our love to him ; our meditations ought
to become every day more profound and intimate ;
divine truths should enter the substance of our
soul, and nourish and grow with it. We ought to
meditate upon truth, and meditate at leisure, in
singleness of heart, without seeking ingenious and
abstract thoughts.
Let us do good, according to the means that God
has given us, with discernment, with courage, and
with perseverance. With discernment ; for charity,
while it seeks to promote the glory of God by impart-
ing to man, has reference to the nature, the work,
and the condition of him who undertakes it ; it
avoids disproportionate designs. With courage ;
St. Paul exhorts us not to be weary in well doing ;
that is, let us not be wanting in true zeal and faith.
With perseverance ; for we see weak spirits, light
and inconstant minds, soon looking back in the
career of virtue. We shall always find occasions to
do good ; tliey present themselves everywhere ; it
is the will to do good that is wanting. Even soli-
tude, where we seem to have no means of action,
even the solitude that allows the least action, and
affords the least communication with our fellow-
beings, still presents opjiortunitics of glorifying him
who is their Master and ours.
THE SPIRIT OF GOD TEACHES AVITHIN. 117
THE SPIRIT OF GOD TEACHES WITHIN.
It is certain, that the scriptures declare that " the
Spirit of God dwells within us," that it animates
us, speaks to us in silence, suggests all truth to us,
and that we are so united to it, that we are joined
unto the Lord in one spirit. This is what the
christian religion teaches us. Those learned men,
who have been most opposed to the idea of an in-
terior life, are obliged to acknowledge it. Not-
withstanding this, they suppose that the external
law, or rather the light from certain doctrines and
reasonings, enlightens our minds, and that after-
wards it is our reason that acts by itself from these
instructions. Tliey do not attach sufficient import-
ance to the teacher within us, which is the Spirit
of God. This is the soul of our soul, and without
it we could form no thought or desire, Alas !
then, of what blindness we are guilty, if we sup-
pose that we are alone in this interior sanctuary,
while, on the contrary, God is there even more in-
timately than we are ourselves.
You will say, perhaps. Are we then inspired ?
Yes, doubtless, but not as the prophets and the
apostles were. Without the actual inspiration of
the Almighty, we could neither do, nor will, nor
think anything. We are then always inspired j
but we are ever stifling this inspiration. God
never ceases to speak to us ; but the noise of the
118 THE SPIRIT OF GOU TEACHES WITHIN.
world without, and the tumult of our passions
within, bewilder us, and prevent us from listening
to him. All must be silent around us, and all must
be still within us, when we should listen with our
whole souls to this voice. It is a still small voice,
and is only heard by those who listen to no other.
Alas ! how seldom is it that the soul is so still, that
it can hear when God speaks to it. Our vain de-
sires and our self-love confuse the voice within us.
We know that it speaks to us, that it demands
something of us ; but we cannot hear what it says,
and we are often glad that it is unintelligible.
Ought we to wonder that so many, even religious
persons, who are engrossed Avith amusements, full
of vain desires, false wisdom, and self-confidence,
cannot understand it, and regard this interior word
of God as a chimera ?
This inspiration must not make us think that we
are like prophets. The inspiration of the prophets
was full of certainty upon those things that God
commanded them to declare or to do ; they were
called upon to reveal what related to the future, or
to perform a miracle, or to act with the divine
authority. This inspiration, on the contrary, is
without light and without certainty ; it limits itself
to teaching us obedience, patience, meekness, hu-
mility, and all otlier christian virtues. It is not a
divine monition to ])rcdict, to change the laws of
nature, or to command men with an authority from
God. It is a simple invitation from the depths of
THE SPIRIT OF GOD TEACHES WITHIN. 119
the soul, to obey, and to resign ourselves even to
death, if it be the will of God. This inspiration,
regarded thus, and within these bounds, and in its
true simplicity, contains only the common doctrine
of the christian church. It has not in itself, if the
imaginations of men add nothing to it, any tempta-
tion to presumption or illusion ; on the contrary, it
places us in the hands of God, trusting all to his
Spirit, without either violating our liberty, or leav-
ing anything to our pride and fancies.
If this truth be admitted, that God always speaks
within us, he speaks to impenitent sinners ; but
they are deafened and stunned by the tumult of
their passions, and cannot hear his voice ; his word
to them is a fable. He speaks in the souls of sin-
ners who are converted ; these feel the remorse of
conscience, and this remorse is the voice of God
within them, reproaching them for their vices.
When sinners are truly touched, they find no diffi-
culty in comprehending this secret voice ; for it is
that which penetrates their souls ; it is in them the
two edged sword of which St. Paul speaks. God
makes himself felt, understood and followed. They
hear this voice of mercy, entering the very recesses
of the heart, in accents of tender reproach, and the
soul is torn with agony. This is true contrition.
God speaks in the hearts of the wise and learned,
of them whose regular lives appear adorned with
many virtues ; but such persons are often too full
of their own wisdom ; they listen too much to them-
120 UPON THE USE OF CROSSES.
selves to listen much to God, They turn every-
thing to reasoning ; they form principles from
natural wisdom and by worldly prudence, that
they would have arrived at much sooner by single-
ness of heart and a docility to the will of God.
They often appear much better than they are ;
theirs is a mixed excellence ; they are too wise and
great in their own eyes ; and I have often remarked,
tha.t an ignorant sinner who is beginning in his con-
version to be touched with the true love of God,
is more disposed to understand this interior word
of the Spirit, than certain enlightened and wise
people who have grown old in their own wisdom.
God, who seeks to communicate himself, cannot
be received by these souls, so full of themselves
and their own virtue and wisdom ; but his presence
is with the simple. Where are these simple souls ?
I see but few of them. God sees them, and it is
with them that he is pleased to dwell. My Father
and I, says Jesus Christ, will come unto him, and
make our abode with him.
UPON THE USE OF CROSSES.
We find it difiicult to believe in that almighty
goodness that inflicls trials on those whom it loves.
Why, we say should it please God to make us suf-
UPON THE USE OF CROSSES.' 121
fer ? Why could he not make us good without
making us miserable ? Doubtless he could, for he
is all powerful ; the hearts of men are in his hands,
and he can turn them as he will. But he, who
could save us from sorrow, has not chosen to do it ;
just as he has willed that men should slowly grow
from infancy to manhood, instead of creating them
at once in maturity. We have only to be silent,
and adore his profound wisdom without compre-
hending it. Thus we see clearly, that we cannot
be virtuous but ni proportion as we become humble,
disinterested, trusting everything to God, without
any unquiet concern about ourselves. We have
need of all our crosses. When we suffer much, it
is because we have strong ties that it is necessary
to loosen. We resist, and we thus retard the divine
operation ; we repulse the heavenly hand, and it
must come again : it would be wiser to yield our-
selves at once to God. That the operation of his
providence, which overthrows our self-love, should
not be painful to us, would require the intervention
of a miracle. Would it be less miraculous, that a
soul, absorbed in its own concerns, should, m a
moment, become dead to self, than that a child
should go to sleep a child, and wake up a man ?
The work of God in the heart, as upon the body,
is invisible : it is by a train of almost insensible
events. He not only produces these effects gradu-
ally, but by ways that seem so simple, and so
calculated to succeed, that human wisdom attributes
11
122 UFON THE USE OF CROSSES.
the success to these natural causes, and thus the
finger of God is overlooked. Formerly every work
of God was by a miracle, and this precluded that
exercise of faith which he now demands of us. It
is to try our faith, that God renders this operation
so slow and sorrowful.
The ingratitude and inconstancy of our fellow-
creatures, the misapprehensions and disgust we
meet with in prosperity, detach us from life and its
deceitful enjoyments. God destroys the delusions
of self-love by the experience which he gives us of
our shifulness and numberless errors. All this
appears natural to us ; and thus our self-love is
consumed by a slow fire, while he would have it
annihilated at once, in the overpowering flame of
a pure and devoted love to God ; but tliis would
cost us but little pain. It is an excess of self-love
that would become perfect in a moment, rather
than by slow degrees. What is it that makes us
complain of the length of our trials ? It is still this
attachment to self; and this is what God would
destroy. Why should we complain ? The love of
the beings and things of this world is our evil, and
still more the love of ourselves. Our Father in
heaven orders a scries of events that gradually de-
tach us from the earth, and finally from self. This
operation is painful ; but it is the disease of our
soul that renders it necessary, and that causes the
pain wc feel. Is it cruelty in the surgeon to cut to
the quick ? No ; on the contrary, it is affection, it
is skill; he would so treat his only son.
UPON THE USE OF CROSSES. 123
And thus it is with God ; his parental heart does
not wish to grieve us : he must wound us to the
very heart, that he may cure its malady. He must
take from us what is most dear, lest we love it too
much, lest we love it to the prejudice of our love
for him. We weep, we despair, we groan in our
spirits, and we murmur against God ; but he leaves
us to our sorrow, and we are saved ; our present
grief saves us from an eternal sorrow. He has
placed the friends whom he has taken from us in
safety, to restore them to us in eternity. He has
deprived us of them, that he may teach us to love
them with a pure love, a love that we may enjoy
in his presence forever ; he confers a greater bless-
ing than we were capable of desiring.
There happens nothing, even to the sinner, that
God has not willed. It is he who does all, who
rules, who gives to all whatever they receive. He
has numbered the very hairs of our head, the leaves
of the trees, the sands on the sea-shore, and the
drops of the ocean. In creating the universe, his
wisdom has weighed and measured the least atom.
It is he who, every moment, produces and renews
the breath of life within us. It is he who has
numbered our days. That which most astonishes
us, is nothing in the sight of God. Of what con-
sequence is it whether this frail house of clay
crumble into dust a little sooner, or a little later ?
What do they lose, who are deprived of those whom
they love ? Perhaps they lose only a perpetual
124 rPON THE USE OF CROSSES.
delirium ; they lose their forgetfulness of God and
of themselves, in which they were plunged ; or
rather they gain, by the efficacy of this trial, the
felicity of detachment from the world : the sarrie
stroke that saves the person who dies, prepares
others, by suffering, to labor for their own salvation.
Is it not then true, that God is good, that he is
tender and compassionate towards our real sorrows,
even when he strikes us to the heart, and we are
tempted to complain of his severity ?
Very soon they who are separated will be re-
united, and there will appear no trace of the sepa-
ration. They, who are about to set out upon a
journey, ought not to feel themselves far distant
from those who have gone to the same comitry, a
few days before. Life is like a torrent ; the past
is but a dream ; the present, while we are thinking
of it, escapes us, and is precipitated in the same
abyss that has swallowed up the past ; the future will
not be of a different nature, it will pass as rapidly.
A few moments, and a few more, and all will be
ended ; what has appeared long and tedious, will
seem short, when it is finished.
It is this unquiet self-love that renders us so sen-
sitive. The sick man, who sleeps ill, thinks the
night long. We exaggerate, from coAvardice, all
the evils which we encounter : they are great but
our sensibility increases them. The true way to
bear them is to yield ourselves up Avith confidence
to God. We suffer, indeed, but God wills this suf-
UPON THE USE OF CROSSES. 126
fering, that it may purify us, and render us worthy
of him. The world forgets us, slights us, is un-
grateful to us, places us in the rank of those who
have passed away ; true, and is it astonishing that
the world should be unjust, treacherous, and deceit-
ful ? It is nevertheless the same world that you
have not been ashamed to love so dearly, and that
perhaps you still love ; and this is the source of
your sorrow.
Almighty God ! thou, who alone canst see the
whole extent of our misery, canst alone cure it.
Give us, we implore thee, the faith, the hope, the
love, the christian courage that we need. Enable
us ever to raise our eyes to thee, the all-powerful,
who will give to thy children only what is for
their everlasting good, and to Jesus Christ thy Son,
who is our example in sutfering. Raise our hearts,
O, our Father ; make them like his, that they may
be self-denying, and may fear only thy displeasure
and eternal sorrow. O Lord, thou seest the weak-
ness and desolation of the creature of thy hands.
It has no resource in itself; it wants everything,
and seeks in thee with confidence the good it can-
not find elsewhere.
11*
126 UPON DAILY FAULTS.
UPON DAILY FAULTS.
There are many faults that are voluntary to a
certain degree, though they are not committed with
a deliberate purpose of disobedience to God. We
often reproach a friend for a fault that he knows
gives us pain, and that he still repeats with this
knowledge, although not with the design to offend
us. We sometimes commit such faults towards
God. They are in truth voluntary, because,
though we do not reflect at the moment, yet we
have an interior light in our consciences, that should
be suflicient at least to make us hesitate before we
act. These are often the faults of very good peo-
ple. Small offences become great in our eyes, as
the light from God increases within us, just as
the sun, when rising, reveals to us the magnitude
of objects, of M'hicli we had only a confused idea
in the night. As this light rises within us, we
must expect that the imperfections which we now
discover, will a])pear greater and more sinful, and
that we shall see, springing up from our hearts,
numerous defects that we never suspected were '
there. We shall there find weakness enough to
destroy our self-love, and to demolish to the very
foundation the fabric of human pride. Nothing
proves more certainly the real advancement of the
soul, than the power to see these imperfections
without being discouraged by them. When we
UPON DAILY FAULTS. 127
perceive an inclination to do wrong before we have
committed a fault, we must abstain from it ; but
after we have committed it, we must courageously
endure the humiliation that follows. When we
perceive the fault before we commit it, we must
beware of resisting the Spirit of God. that is warn-
ing us of danger, and that may, if Ave neglect it,
be silenced within us, and that will in time leave
us, if we do not yield to it. The faults of precipi-
tation or of frailty, are nothing in comparison with
those which render us deaf to this voice of the
Holy Spirit, that is beginning to speak in the
bottom of our hearts.
Those faults that we do not perceive till after
they are committed, will not be cured by inquietude
and vexation with ourselves ; on the contrary, this
fretfulness is only the impatience of pride at the
view of its own downfall. The only use, then, to
be made of such errors, is, to submit quietly to the
humiliation they bring, for it is not being humble
to resist humility. We must condemn our faults,
lament them, repent of them, without seeking any
palliation "or excuse, viewing ourselves as in the
presence of God, with all our imperfections upon
our heads, and without any feeling of bitterness or
discouragement, meekly improving our disgrace.
Thus may we draw from the serpent a cure for the
venom of his wound. *
Very often what we would offer to God, is not
what he calls upon us to relinquish. What he de-
128 UPON DAILY FAULTS.
mands of us is often what we most cherish ; it is
this Isaac of our hearts, this only son, this well be-
loved, that he commands us to resign ; it is his will
that we should yield up all that is most dear, and
short of this obedience we have no repose. '• Who
is he that has resisted the Almighty and been at
peace ?," Do you desire the blessing of God upon
your efforts ? Give up everything to him, and the
God of peace will be with you. What consolation,
what liberty, what strength, what enlargement of
heart, what growth in grace, when the love of our-
selves is no longer between us and our Creator,
and we have made without hesitation the last
sacrifice !
Never let us be discouraged with ourselves ; it is
not when we are conscious of our faults that we
are the most wicked ; on the contrary, we are less
so. We see by a brighter light ; and let us re-
member for our consolation, that we never perceive
our sins till we begin to cure them. We must
neither flatter, nor be impatient with ourselves, in
the correction of our faults. Despondency is not
a state of humility ; on the contrary, it is the vexa-
tion and despair of a cowardly pride, — nothing is
worse ; whether we stumble or whether we fall,
we must only think of rising again, and going on
in our course. Our faults may be useful to us, if
they cure us of a vain confidence in ourselves, and
do not (lr|)riv(' us of an humble and salutary con-
fidence in God. Let us bless God with as true
UPON AMUSEMENTS. 129
thankfLilness, if he have enabled us to make any
progress in virtue, as if we had made it through
our own strength, and let us not be troubled with
the weak agitations of self-love ; let them pass, do
not think of them. God never makes us feel our
weaknesses but that we may be led to seek strength
from him. What is involuntary should not trouble
us ; but the great thing is, never to act against the
light within us, and to desire to follow where God
would lead us.
UPON THE AMUSEMENTS THAT BELONG TO OUR
CONDITION.
We should not, it appears to me, be troubled
about those amusements in which we cannot avoid
taking a part. There are some people who think
that they should be always mourning, that they
should put a continual constraint upon themselves,
and feel a disgust for those amusements to which
they are obliged to submit. For my own part,
I confess that I know not how to conform my-
self to these rigid notions. I prefer something
more simple, which I also think would be more
pleasing to God. When diversions are innocent in
themselves, and we enter upon them with a due
regard to the condition in which we are placed by
Providence, then I think that we may enjoy them
130 UPON AMUSEMENTS.
with moderation and in the sight of God. Manners
more reserved and harsh, less complaisant and frank,
only serve to give a false idea of piety to the peo-
ple of the world, who are already but too much
prejudiced against it, and who believe that we can-
not serve God but by a melancholy and austere
life. Let us go on our way in the simplicity of
our hearts, with the peace and joy that are the
fruits of the Holy Spirit. Whoever walks as in
the presence of God in the most indifterent things,
does not cease to do his will, although he may ap-
pear to do nothing of much importance. I believe
that we are conforming to the divine order and the
will of Providence, when we are doing even indif-
ferent things that belong to our condition.
Most persons, when they wish to be converted
or to reform, think more of performing some diffi-
cult and extraordinary actions, than of purifying
their intentions, and sacrificing their inclinations
in the most common duties of their situation in
life ; in which they are deceived. It would be
better to make less change in the action, and a
deeper change in the disposition with which it is
performed. When we are already pursuing an
honest and regular life, it is necessary to make a
change within, rather tlian without, if we would
become Christians. God is not satisfied with the
motion of tlie li])S, nor tlie posture of the body,
nor outward ceremonies. It is our undivided love
that he demands; it is an acquiescence, Avithout
UPON AM[JSEI\IENTS. 131
aiiy reserve, in his will. Let us cai'ry this sub-
missive temper, this will, inspired by the will of
God, wherever his providence conducts us. Let us
seek the Father of our spirits in those times that
seem so vacant, and they will be full of his presence.
The most useless amusements may be converted
into good works, if we enter into them with proper
decorum and in conformity to the will of God.
What enlargement of heart do we experience
when we act with this simplicity ; we walk like
little children led by a tender parent, not fearing
whither we may go, and with the same freedom and
joy. When piety has its foundation entirely in the
will of God, regarding neither fancy nor tempera-
ment, nor induced by an excessive zeal, how simple,
and graceful, and lovely, are all its movements!
They who possess this piety appear much like
others ; they are without affectation, without aus-
terity ; they are social and easy, but still live in per-
petual subjection to all their duties, and in an unceas-
ing renunciation of everything that does not in some
way belong to the divine order which always
governs. In short, they live in the pure vision of
God, sacrificing to him every irregular movement
of nature. This is the adoration in spirit and in
truth that Jesus Christ has taught. All the rest is
the mere ceremony of religion ; the shadow rather
than the substance of Christianity.
You ask by what means we can retain this purity
of intention in our intercourse with the world, and
132 UPON AMUSEMENTS.
while thus partaking of its pleasures. We find it
difficult, you will say, to defend ourselves against
the torrent of evil passions and bad examples among
men, even when we place a continual guard upon
ourselves. How then shall we hope to resist, if
we expose ourselves so readily to its pleasures,
which may contaminate, and must dissipate even
the mind of the Christian?
I acknowledge the danger, and I believe it even
greater than it is said to be, and I admit the neces-
sity of great precaution against these snares ; and
these are the safeguards that I would recommend,
reading, prayer, and meditation upon the great
truths of religion. Fix your thoughts upon some
action or instruction of Jesus Christ ; and when
you feel . convinced of the truth which you have
been considering, make a serious and particular
application of it for the amendment of your defects.
If you are faithful to retire, morning and evening,
for the practice of this duty, you will find that it
will serve as a counterpoise to the dangers that sur-
round you. I say morning and evening, because
the soul, like the body, must refresh itself at stated
times, lest it faint and become exhausted in its
commerce with the world. Rut wc must be firm
against temptations from without and from within,
if we would observe those periods. We never
need be so engrossed by external things, however
good they may be, as to forget the wants of the
soul. I am persuaded, that, in following these sim-
AGAINST TEMPTATIONS. 133
pie rules, we shall ensure an abundant blessing ; we
shall be in the midst of pleasures, moderate, dis-
creet, and self-possessed, without constraint, with-
out affectation, and without the severity that gives
pain to others. We shall be in the midst of these
things as not being there ; and still preserving a
cheerful and complaisant disposition, we shall thus
be all things to all men.
Should we feel at times disheartened and dis-
couraged, a confiding thought, a simple movement
of heart towards God will renew our powers. What-
ever he may demand of us, he will give us at the
moment the strength and the courage that we need.
This is the daily bread for which we continually
pray, and which will never be denied us ; for our
Father, far from forsaking us, waits only for our
hearts to be opened, to pour into them the stream
of his unfailing love.
AGAINST TEMPTATIONS.
There are but two things that we can do against
temptations. The first is to be faithful to the light
within us, in avoiding all exposure to temptation,
which we are at liberty to avoid. I say, all that
we are at liberty to avoid, because it does not
always depend upon ourselves, whether we shall
12
134 AGAINST TEMPTATIONS.
escape occasions of sin. Those that belong to the
situation in life in which Providence has placed us,
are not under our control. The other is to turn
our eyes to God in the moment of temptation, to
throw ourselves immediately upon the protection
of heaven, as a child, when in danger, flies to the
arms of its parent.
The habitual conviction of the presence of God
is the sovereign remedy ; it supports, it consoles, it
calms us. We must not be surprised that we are
tempted. We are placed here to be proved by temp-
tations. Everything is temptation to us. Crosses
irritate our pride, and prosperity flatters it ; our life
is a continual warfare, but Jesus Christ combats
with us. We must let temptations, like a tempest,
beat upon our heads, and still move on ; like a
traveller surprised on the way by a storm, who
wraps his cloak about him, and goes on his journey
in spite of the opposing elements.
In a certain sense, there is little to do in doing
the will of God. Still it is true that it is a great
work, because it must be without any reserve.
His spirit enters the secret foldings of our hearts,
and even the most upright aftections, and the most
necessary attachments, must be regulated by his
will ; but it is not the multitude of hard duties, it
is not constraint and contention that advances us
in our Christian course. On the contrary, it is the
yielding of our wills without restriction and with-
out choice, to tread cheerfully every day in the
UPON FIDELITY IN LITTLE THINGS. 135
path in which Providence leads us, to seek nothing,
to be discouraged by nothing, to see our duty in
the present moment, to trust all else without reserve
to the will and power of God. Let us pray to our
heavenly Father that our wills may be swallowed
up in his.
UPON FIDELITY IN LITTLE THINGS.
Great virtues are rare ; the occasions for them
are very rare ; and when they do occur, we are
prepared for them, we are excited by the grandeur
of the sacrifice, we are supported either by the
splendor of the deed in the eyes of the world, or
by the self-complacency that we experience from
the performance of an uncommon action. Little
things are unforeseen ; they return every moment ;
they come in contact with our pride, our indolence,
our haughtiness, our readiness to take offence ; they
contradict our inclinations perpetually. We would
much rather make certain great sacrifices to God,
however violent and painful they might be, upon
condition that we should be rewarded by liberty to
follow onr own desires and habits in the details of
life. It is, however, only by fidelity in little things,
that a true and constant love to God can be distin-
guished from a passing fervor of spirit.
All great things are only a great number of small
136 UPON FIDELITY IN LITTLE THINGS.
things that have been carefully collected together.
He who loses nothing will soon grow rich. Be-
sides, let us remember, that God looks in onr actions
only for the motive. The world judges us by ap-
pearance ; God counts for nothing what is most
dazzling to men. What he desires is a pure inten-
tion, true docility, and a sincere self-renunciation.
All this is exercised more frequently, and in a way
that tries us more severely, on common than on
great occasions. Sometimes we cling more tena-
ciously to a trifle than to a great interest. It would
give us more pain to relinquish an amusement than
to bestow a great sum in charity. We are more
easily led away by little things, because we believe
them more innocent, and imagine that we are less
attached to them ; nevertheless, when God deprives
us of them, we soon discover, from the pain of pri-
vation, how excessive and inexcusable was our
attachment to them. The sincerity of our piety is
also impeached by the neglect of minor duties.
What probability is there, that we should not
hesitate to make great sacrifices; when we shrink
from slight ones ?
But what is most dangerous to the mind, is the
habit it acquires of unfaithfulness. True love to
God thinks nothing small. All that can please or
displease him is great. It does not produce con-
straint and weak scruples, but it places no limits
to its fidelity ; it acts with simplicity, and as it is
not embarrassed with things that God has not com-
UPON FIDELITY IN LITTLE THINGS. 137
mancled, it never hesitates a moment about what
he does command, whether it be great or small.
Those persons who are naturally less exact, ought
to make an inviolable law with themselves about tri-
fles. They are tempted to despise them ; they have
a habit of thinking them of no consequence ; they
are not aware of the insensible growth of the pas-
sions ; they forget even their own most fatal expe-
rience. They trust to a delusive courage, though
it has before failed them, for the support of their
fidelity.
" It is a trifle," they say, " it is nothing." True ;
but it is a nothing that will be everything to you,
a trifle that you prefer to the will of God, a trifle
that will be your ruin. There is no real elevation
of mind in a contempt of little things ; it is, on the
contrary, from too narrow views, that we consider
those things of little importance, which have in
fact such extensive consequences. The more apt
we are to neglect small things, the more we ought
to fear the eff'ects of this negligence, be watchful
over ourselves, and place around us, if possible,
some insurmountable barrier to this remissness. Do
not let us be troubled at this constant attention to
trifles ; at first it will require courage to maintain it.
but it is a penance that we have need of, and that
will at last bring us peace and serenity. God will
gradually render this state pleasant and easy to us.
12*
138 ON SIMPLICITY.
ON SIMPLICITY.
There is a simplicity that is a defect, and a
simplicity that is a great virtue. Simplicity may
be a want of discernment. When we speak of a
person as simple, we may mean that he is credu-
lous, and perhaps vulgar. The simplicity that is a
virtue, 'is something sublime ; every one loves and
admires it ; but it is difficult to say exactly what
this virtue is.
' Simplicity is an uprightness of soul that has no
reference to self; it is different from sincerity, and
it is a still higher virtue. We see many people
Avho are sincere, without being simple ; they only
wish to pass for what they are, and they are unwill-
ing to appear what they are not ; they are always
thinking of themselves, measuring their Avords, and
recalling their thoughts, and revieAving their actions,
from the fear that they have done too much or too
little. These persons are sincere, but they are not
simple ; they arc not at ease with others, and oth-
ers arc not at case with them ; they are not free,
ingenuous, natural ; we prefer people who are less
correct, less perfect, and who are less artificial.
This is the decision of man, and it is the judg-
ment of God, who would not have us so occupied
with ourselves, and thus, as it were, always arrang-
ing our features in a mirror.
To be Avholly occupied with others, never to
ON SIMPLICITY.
139
look within, is the state of blindness of those who
are entirely engrossed by what is present and ad-
dressed to their senses : this is the very reverse of
simplicity. To be absorbed in self in whatever
engages us, whether we are laboring for our fellow-
beings, or for God, to be wise in our own eyes, re-
served, and full of ourselves, troubled at the least
thing that disturbs our self-complacency, is the
opposite extreme. This is false Avisdom, which,
with all its glory, is but little less absurd than that
folly Avhich pursues only pleasure. The one is
intoxicated with all that it sees around it ; the other
with all that it imagines it has within ; but it is
delirium in both. To be absorbed in the contem-
plation of our own minds, is really Avorse than to
be engrossed by out\A"ard things, because it appears
like Avisdom, and yet is not ; Ave do not think of
curing it ; Ave pride ourselv^es upon it; Ave approve
of it ; it gives us an unnatural strength ; it is a sort
of frenzy ; Ave are not conscious of it ; Ave are dying,
and Ave think ourselves in health.
Simplicity consists in a just medium, in AA'^hich
Ave are neither too much excited, nor too composed.
The soul is not carried aAvay by outward things,
so that it cannot make all necessary reflections ;
neither does it make those continual references to
self, that a jealous sense of its OAvn excellence mul-
tiplies to infinity. That freedom of the soul,
Avhich looks straight ouAvard in its path, losing no
time to reason upon its steps, to study them, or to
140 ON SIMPLICITY.
contemplate those that it has ah'eady taken, is true
simplicity".
The first step in the progress of the soul is dis-
engagement from outward things, that it may en-
ter into itself, and contemplate its true interests :
this is a wise self-love. The second is, to join to
this the idea of God whom it fears : this is the
feeble beginning of true wisdom ; but the soul is
still fixed upon itself: it is afraid that it does not
fear God enough : it is still thinking of itself.
These anxieties about ourselves are far removed
from that peace and liberty, which a true and sim-
ple love inspires ; but it is not yet time for this ;
the soul must pass through this trouble ; this opera-
tion of the Spirit of God in our hearts comes to us
gradually ; we approach step by step to this sim-
l^licity. In the third and last state, we begin to
think of God more frequently, we think of our-
selves less, and insensibly we lose ourselves in him.
The more gentle and docile the soul is, the more
it advances in this simplicity. It does not become
blind to its own defects, and unconscious of its
imperfections ; it is more than ever sensible of
them ; it feels a horror of the slightest sin ; it sees
more clearly its own corruption ; but this sensibility
does not arise from dwelling upon itself, but by the
liglit from tlic presence of God we see how far
removed we are from infinite purity.
Thus simplicity is free in its course, since it
makes no preparation ; but it can only belong to
ON SIMPLICITY.
141
the soul that is purified by a true penitence. It
must be the fruit of a perfect renunciation of self,
and an unreserved love of God. But though they,
who become penitents, and tear themselves from
the vanities of the world, make self the object of
thought, yet they must avoid an excessive and un-
quiet occupation with themselves, such as would
trouble, and embarrass, and retard them in their
progress. Dwelling too much upon self, produces
in weak minds useless scruples and superstition,
and in stronger minds a presumptuous wisdom.
Both are contrary to true simplicity, which is free
and direct, and gives itself up, without reserve and
with a generous self-forgetfulness, to the Father
of spirits. How free, how intrepid are the motions,
how glorious the progress that the soul makes,
when delivered from all low, and interested, and
unquiet cares.
If Ave desire that our friends be simple and free
Avith us, disencumbered of self in their intimacy
with us, will it not please God, who is our truest
friend, that we should surrender our souls to him,
without fear or reserve, in that holy and SAveet
communion Avith himself Avhich he alloAvs us? It
is this simplicity, Avhich is the perfection of the
true children of God. This is the end that we
must have in vicAV, and to which Ave must be con-
tinually advancing.
This deliverance of the soul from all useless, and
selfish, and unquiet cares, brings to it a peace and
142 ON SIMPLICITV.
freedom that are unspeakahle ; this is true sim-
phcity. It is easy to perceive, at the first glance,
how glorious it is ; but experience alone can make
us comprehend the enlargement of heart that it
joroduces. We are then like a child in the arms
of its parent ; we wish nothing more, we fear
nothing, we yield ourselves up to this pure attach-
ment, we are not anxious about what others think
of us, all our motions are free, graceful and happy.
We do not judge ourselves, and we do not fear to
be judged. Let us strive after this lovely sim-
plicity ; let us seek the path that leads to it. The
farther we are from it, the more we must hasten
our steps towards it. Very far from being simple,
most Christians are not even sincere. They are
not only disingenuous, but they are false, and they
dissemble with their neighbor, with God, and with
themselves. They practise a thousand little arts
that indirectly distort the truth. Alas ! every man
is a liar ; those even who are naturally upright,
sincere, and ingenuous, and who are what is called
simple and Jiatural, still have this jealous and sen-
sitive reference to self in everything, which secretly
nourishes pride, and prevents that true simplicity,
which is the renunciation and perfect oblivion of
self.
But it will be said, How can I help being occu-
pied with myself? A crowd of selfish fears trouble
me, and tyrannize over my mind, and excite a lively
Bcnsibility. The principal means to cure this is to
ON SIMPLICITY.
143
yield yourself up sincerely taGod, to place all your
interests, pleasures, and reputation in his hands, to
receive all the sufferings that he may inflict upon
you in this scene of humiliation, as trials and tests
of your love to him, neither to fear the scrutiny,
nor to avoid the censure of mankind. This state
of willing acquiescence produces true liberty, and
this liberty brings perfect simplicity. A soul that
is liberated from the little earthly interests of self-
love, becomes confiding, and moves straight onward,
and its views expand even to infinity, just in pro-
portion as its forgetfuhiess of self increases, and its
peace is profound even in the midst of trouble.
I have already said, that the opinion of the world
conforms to the judgment of God, upon this noble
simplicity. The world admires, even in its vota-
ries, the free and easy manners of a person who
has lost sight of self. But the simplicity, which is
produced by a devotion to external things, still
more vain than self, is not the true simplicity ; it
is only an image of it, and cannot represent its
greatness. They who cannot find the substance,
pursue the shadow ; and shadow as it is, it has a
charm, for it has some resemblance to the reality
that they have lost. A person full of defects, who
does not attempt to hide them, who does not seek
to dazzle, who does not affect either talents or vir-
tue, who does not appear to think of himself more
than of others, but to have lost sight of this self
of which we are so jealous, pleases greatly in spite
144 - ON SIMPLICITY.
of his defects. This false simplicity is taken for
the true. On the contrary, a person full of talents,
of virtues, and of exterior graces, if he appear arti-
ficial, if he be thinking of himself, if he affect the
very best things, is a tedious and wearisome com-
panion that no one likes.
Nothing, then, we grant, is more lovely and
grand than simplicity. But some will say. Must
we never think of self? We need not practise this
constraint ; in trying to be simple we may lose sim-
plicity. What then must we do ? Make no rule
about it, but be satisfied that you affect nothing.
When you are disposed to speak of yourself from
vanity, you can only repress this strong desire, by
thinking of God, or of what you are called upon
by him to do. Simj^licity does not consist in false
shame or false modesty, any more than in pride or
vain-glory. When vanity would lead to egotism,
we have only to turn from self; when, on the con-
trary, there is a necessity of speaking of ourselves,
we must not reason too much about it, Ave must
look straight at the end. But what will they think
of me ? They will think I am boasting ; I shall
be suspected in speaking so freely of my own con-
cerns. None of these unquiet reflections should
trouble us for one moment. Let us speak freely,
ingenuously, and simply of ourselves, when we are
called upon to speak. It is thus that St. Paul spoke
often in liis epistles. What true greatness there is
in speaking with simplicity of one's self. Vain
ON SIM^LICIT\^
145
glory is sometimes hidden under an air of modesty
and reserve. People do not wish to proclaim their
own merit, but they would be very glad that others
should discover it. They would have the reputa-
tion botli of virtue and of the desire to hide it.
As to the matter of speaking against ourselves,
I do not either blame or recommend it. When it
arises from true simplicity, and that hatred with
which God inspires us of our sins, it is admirable,
and thus I regard it in many holy men. Ent usu-
ally the surest and most simple way is not to speak
unnecessarily of one's self, either good or evil.
Self-love often prefers abuse to oblivion and silence ;
and when we have often spoken ill of ourselves,
we are quite ready to be reconciled, just like angry
lovers, who, after a quarrel, redouble their blind
devotion to each other.
This simplicity is manifested in the exterior.
As the mind is freed from this idea of self, we act
more naturally, all art ceases, we act rightly, with-
out thinking of what we are doing, by a sort of
directness of purpose, that is inexplicable to those
who have no experience of it. To some we may
appear less simple than those who have a more
grave and practised manner ; but these are people
of bad taste, who take the affectation of modesty
for modesty itself, and who have no knowledge of
true simplicity. This true simplicity has some-
times a careless and irregular appearance, but it
has the charm of truth and candor, and sheds
13
146 DIRECTIONS FOR THE
around it, I know not what of pure and innocent,
of cheerful and peaceful ; a loveliness that wins
us when we see it intimately and with pure eyes.
How desirable is this simplicity ! who will give
it to me ? I will quit all else ; it is the pearl of
great price.
FROM THE DIRECTIONS FOR THE CONSCIENCE
OF A KING.
COMPOSED FOR THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY.
It is commonly said, that the private vices of
kings are less injurious than the mistakes they
make as rulers. For my own part, I boldly assert
the contrary ; and I insist, that all their defects as
men, are of infinite importance to the community.
Examine your actions, then, in detail. Subjects
are servile imitators of their rulers, especially when
the passions are concerned. Have you then set
any example of a criminal love ? If you have,
your authority has given distinction to infamy;
you have broken down the barriers of honor and
decency ; you liave afforded a triumph to vice and
impudence ; you have taught your subjects not to
blush at what is disgraceful. Fatal lesson, that
they will never forget! It would be better, said
CONSCIENCE OF A KING. 147
Jesns Christ, to be thrown with a mill-stone round
your neck into the depth of the sea, than to cause
one of these little ones to offend.
Vice is in itself a contagious poison. Human
nature is always liable to the contamination : it is
ever ready to break the yoke of modesty. A spark
causes a flame. A single action of a king may
produce an increase and succession of crimes through
many nations, and through distant ages. Have you
not given any of these fatal examples ? Can you
think that your irregularity will be secret ? O no !
the crimes of rulers are never secret. Their good
actions may be hidden ; people are slow to believe
them ; but evil is believed upon the slightest sus-
picion. Have you discountenanced irreligion in
its lightest expression ? Have you manifested your
indignation at impiety ? Have you made it felt,
and left no one to doubt your sentiments ? Have
you never been influenced by a false shame, that
has made you blush for the gospel ? Have you
shown, by your conversation and actions, your sin-
cere faith and zeal for Christianity ? Have you
used your authority to silence impiety ? Have you
shrunk with horror from immodest levity, equivocal
expressions, and all other marks of licentiousness?
Have you committed no injustice towards foreign
nations? The poor- wretch, who, from extreme
necessity, steals a purse upon the highway, is
hanged ; while the man who unjustly subjugates
a neighboring state, is called a hero. The unlaw-
148 DIRECTIONS FOR THE
ful seizure of a meadow or a vineyard, is regarded
as an offence against God ; but no account is made
of taking possession of cities and provinces. To
take a field from an individual, is a great sin ; to
taJce a country from a nation, is an innocent and
glorious action. Whence are these ideas of jus-
tice ? Will God judge thus ? Ought we to be less
just in great, than in little things? Is not justice
still justice, when great interests are at stake ?
Should we not have some scruples about commit-
ting a crime against a million of men, against a
whole country, when we dare not injure an indi-
vidual ? All, then, that is taken by mere conquest,
is taken unjustly, and ought to be restored. A
treaty of peace, that is made from necessity, be-
cause one party is the stronger, is like that which
is made with a robber, who has his pistol at your
head. Your enemy is your brother ; you cannot
forget this, without forgetting all humanity. You
have no right to do him any harm when you can
avoid it. You have no right to take up arms
against him, but in extreme necessity. And in
making a treaty with him, it is no longer a ques-
tion of war, of arms, but of peace, justice, humanity,
and good faith. And it is more infamous to de-
ceive in a treaty of peace with a nation, than in a
private contract with an individual.
CONSCIENCE OF A KING. 149
FROM A LETTER TO THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY, UPON THE
SAME SUBJECT.
Never let your high rank prevent the exercise
of kindness to the most insignificant. Put your-
self in their place ; and this condescension will not
lessen your authority or their respect. Study men
always ; learn how to make use of them without
familiarity. Seek merit, though it should be in the
most obscure corner of the world : it is usually
modest and retired. Virtue cannot penetrate the
crowd ; it has neither eagerness nor presumption :
it allows itself to be forgotten.
Do not be subdued by the artful and by flatterers.
Let them feel that you do not love either their
praises or their meanness. Put trust only in those,
who have the courage to contradict 3^ou with re-
spect, and who value your character more than
your favor. Let all the world see, that you think
and feel as a prince should think and feel. It is
important, that the good love you, that the wicked
fear you, and that all esteem you. Make haste
then to correct yourself, that you may labor suc-
cessfully to improve others.
True piety has in it nothing weak, nothing sad,
nothing constrained. It enlarges the heart ,• it is
simple, free, and attractive. The kingdom of God
does not consist in a scrupulous observance of tri-
fling formalities; it is in each individual the per-
13*
150 ADVICE.
formance of the duties that belong to his condition.
A great prince ought not to serve God in the same
manner as a hermit, or a private individual.
Feeling as affectioniite an interest in the happiness of tlie whole
human race as in his own nation in particular, and being as true
an enemy to persecution as he was a sincere friend to justice and
equity, the following was the wise advice that Fenelon gave to
the Chevalier St. George, when he visited him at Cambrai, in
1709—10.
Above all things never compel your subjects to
change their religion. No human poorer can force
the impenetrable intrenchments of liberty in the
human heart. Force can never persuade men : it
can only make hypocrites. When kings interfere
with religion, instead of protecting it, they enslave
it. Grant to all religions a political toleration ; not
equally approving of all, as if your were inditferent,
but patiently allowing all that God allows, and en-
deavoring to lead men by gentle persuasion.
Study the advantages of the peculiar form of gov-
ernment of your own country, and the sentiments
you ought to cherish towards your senate. This
tribunal can do nothing without you. Have you
not tlicn suflicicnt power? You can do nothing
without their consent. Are you not happy that
you are at liberty to do good, and not free to do
on THE EDUCATION OF GIKLS. 151
evil ? Every wise prince should rejoice to be only
the executor of the laws, and to have a supreme
council who can moderate his authority. The
paternal relation is the true model for govern-
ments ; and every good father acts in concert with
his wdsest and most experienced children.
ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS.
Nothing is more neglected than the education of
girls. Custom and the caprice of mothers deter-
mine it altogether, A careful education of boys is
thought necessary for the public good ; though it
is frequently as defective as that of girls. Women
in general have feebler minds than men ; the weaker
the mind is, the more important it is to fortify it.
They have not only duties to fulfil, but duties
which form the basis of social life. Is it not wo-
men, who are the blessing or the ruin of families ;
who regulate the detail of domestic affairs ; and
who, of course, govern what most nearly relates to
man ? Thus they have a decided influence on the
happiness or unhappiness of those wiio are con-
nected wnth them. A judicious, industrious, reli-
gious woman is the soul of her family. Men, who
exercise authority in public, cannot by their delib-
erations affect the general good, if women do not
152 ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS.
aid them. The occupations of women are not less
important to the pubUc than those of men : they
have famiUes to govern, husbands to make happy,
and children to educate.
It is ignorance which renders women frivolous.
When they have arrived at a certain age, without
habits of application, they cannot acquire a taste
for it ; whatever is serious appear to them sad ;
whatever demands continued attention fatigues
them. The inclination for amusement, which is
strong in youth, and the example of persons of the
same age, who are devoted to pleasure, have in-
spired them with a dread of an orderly and laborious
life. At an early age, they want that experience
and authority that would make them useful at
home. They do not understand the importance of
domestic occupations, unless their mothers have
taken pains to instruct them. In this state of use-
lessness, a girl abandons herself to indolence, which
is a languor of the soul, an inexhaustible source
of ennui. She accustoms herself to sleep a third
more than is necessary for the preservation of health :
too much sleep enfeebles her, renders her delicate j
whereas moderate sleep, accompanied by regular
exercise, wonld produce gayety and strength, form-
ing the true perfection of the body, to say nothing of
its influence on the mind. Idleness and weakness
thus being united to ignorance, there arises from
this union a pernicious taste for amusements.
Girls brought up in this idle way have an ill regu-
ON THE EDUCATION OF GIULS. 153
lated imagination. Their curiosity, not being di-
rected to substantial things, is turned towards vain
and dangerous objects. They read books which
nourish their vanity, and become passionately fond
of romances, comedies, and fanciful adventures.
Their minds become visionary ; they accustom
themselves to the extravagant language of the hero-
ines of romance, and are spoiled for common life.
To remedy all these evils, it is necessary to be-
gin the education of girls with their earliest infan-
cy. At that tender age, when they are left to the
care of weak and often of unprincipled women,
the deepest impressions are sometimes made ; im-
pressions, which have an influence during life.
Before children can speak, we may instruct them.
They are learning a language, which they will
soon speak with more correctness, than scholars
acquire in the use of languages which they have
studied, at a more mature age. For what is learn-
ing a language ? It is not merely crowding the
memory with words ; it is observing the sense of
each particular word. The child, in the midst of
its cries and plays, notices of what object each
word is the sign. It makes this observation some-
times in considering the.natural movements of bod-
ies which it touches or sees. It is true that the
minds of children'have an admirable facility to re-
ceive impressions from images. Thus you may
give them, by the assistance of tones and gestures,
an inclination to be with honest and virtuous per-
154 ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS.
sons ; and by the different expressions of the coun-
tenance and the tone of the voice, inspire a dread
of those whom they have seen angry. I speak of
these little things as important, for there can be no
doubt that deep impressions can thus be made on
the minds of children. It is desirable that instruc-
tion should not be forced on children ; that every-
thing should be avoided that tends to excite the
passions ; that they should gently be deprived of
whatever they desire with too much ardor. If the
disposition of a child is good, we may thus render it
docile, patient, firm, gay, and tranquil; whereas, if
this early period is neglected, it will become impet-
uous and irritable through life. Its habits are
forming ; and its soul, which has no bias towards
any particular object, easily turns to evil. At a
more advanced age, when reason is developing it-
self, every word we say should tend to inspire a
love of truth, and a contempt for every kind of dis-
simulation,
Wc should never coax children ; if we do, we
teach them to disguise the truth, and they never
forget it. We must lead them by reason as much
as possible. They observe everything. We must
acustom them to speak little. The pleasure we
derive from ])layfal children often spoils them. We
teach them to say everything that comes into their
minds ; to speak of things, of which they have no
distinct idea. This habit of judging with precipi-
tation, of speaking of things without understand-
ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 155
ing them, remains during the rest of their lives,
and forms a very defective order of mind.
We must take care of children, without letting
them perceive that we think of them ; let them see,
that it is your love and their helplessness, that
makes you attend to them, and not their merits.
Content yourself with forming them by little and
little ; even when you can advance the mind of a
child very far, without forcing it, you ought to fear
to do it ; for the danger of vanity and presumption
always outweighs the advantage of that premature
education, which makes so much noise. We must
content ourselves with following and aiding nature.
Children, being ignorant, have many questions to
ask : we must answer them correctly, and some-
times add little comparisons, in order to illustrate
our meaning. If they judge of anything, without
understanding it well, we must try them by diffi-
cult questions, in order to make them feel their
ignorance, without discouraging them ; and at the
same time we must make them perceive, not by
vague praises, but by some decided mark of esteem,
that we approve of them, if, when they are in
doubt, they ask an explanation of what they do
not understand, and then decide after reflection.
In this manner we may gently teach them to be
truly modest. From the time that their reason be-
gins to develop itself, we must guard them against
presumption. You see, you will say, that you are
better able to exercise your reason now, than you
156 ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS.
were last year ; in a year more, you will know
things which you are not capable of understanding
now. If last year you had attempted to judge of
things which you know now, but of which you
were then ignorant, you would not have judged
correctly. We commit a great error Avhen we pre-
tend to know what is beyond our comprehension.
The curiosity of children is an inclination of na-
ture, which anticipates instruction. We must not
fail to profit by it. For example, in the country
they see a mill, and they wish to know what it is :
we must show them how it is that corn is thus pre-
pared for man. Tiiey perceive reapers : we must
explain to them what they do ; how corn is sowed
and multiplied in the earth. If you are in the city,
surrounded by shops where several arts are exer-
cised, and ditferent kinds of merchandise are sold,
you must not be impatient at their questions ; they
are so many openings that nature offers you to fa-
cilitate instruction. Listen to them with pleasure ;
by this means you will insensibly teach them how
all those things are made, Avhich man uses. Thus,
gradually, without a particular study, they will
learn the best manner of doing things, and the just
value of each. Such knowledge should not be de-
spised, since every one ought to be secure against
imposition in his expenses. I think it is desirable
to use indirect teaching, to awaken the attention of
children. Lot us mingle instruction with their
plays ; let Wisdom show herself to them, but at
ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 157
intervals, and with a smiling face. Beware of fa-
tiguing them by ill-judged exactness. If virtue
offer itself to a child under a melancholy and con-
strained aspect, if liberty and license present them-
selves under an agreeable form, all is lost, your la-
bor is in vain.
Never permit a child to be flattered by its attend-
ants : we adopt the manners and the sentiments
of those whom we love. The pleasure they find
in the society of ill-bred people, gradually induces
them to tolerate what they should despise. In or-
der to render good men agreeable to children, we
should lead them to remark what is amiable in
them, their sincerity, modesty, fidelity, and discre-
tion, but above all, their piety, which is the source
of all the rest. If they have anything in their man.
ners unpleasant, say to them, Piety does not pro-
duce faults ; when it is perfect, it cures them. But
after all, we must not obstinately endeavor to make
them like good people, whose manners are disa-
greeable. It is important for teachers to know
their own faults ; ask your friends to point them
out to you. Children are very nice observers, and
they will often perceive your slightest defects. In
general, those who govern children forgive nothing
in them, but everything in themselves. This ex-
cites in children a spirit of criticism and malignity,
so that when they discover a fault they are de-
lighted. You must guard against this evil. Do
not be afraid of speaking of faults which you have
14
158 ON THE EDUCATION OF GIKLS,
committed before a child. If you see it capable of
reasoning on the subject, say, that you wish to set
it the example of correcting its faults, by correcting
your own ; your imperfections will thus be the
means of instructing and benefiting your child, and
you will avoid the contempt you would otherwise
awaken.
At the same time, you will seek every means to
render agreeable all that you exact. If you have
anything tiresome to propose, show its utility.
We must always present to children the attainment
of an agreeable or useful object, and never attempt
to govern them by harsh and absolute authority.
As their reason strengthens, we should reason with
them. An austere and imperious air must be
avoided, except in cases of extreme necessity, for
children are generally timid and bashful. Make
them love you ; let them be free with you ; let
them not hide their faults from you ; be indulgent to
those who conceal nothing from you. Do not be
astonished at their failings ; but, on the contrary,
pity their weaknesses. It is true, that this treat-
ment will impose less the restraint of fear, but it
will produce confidence and sincerity. We must
always commence with a conduct open, gay, and
familiar, without trifling. By this means we learn
to understand children, and know their real charac-
ters; whereas, if we subject them to obedience
merely to aiUhority, we govern by fatiguing forms,
we produce a disgust of virtue, the love of which
ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 159
it should be our first object to inspire in them, A
child of lively imagination dislikes virtue and study,
because it dislikes the person who speaks of it to
them ; and this severe education makes it retain
through life painful ideas of religion. We must
often tolerate things which we wish to correct, and
wait for the moment when the mind of the child
will be in a state to profit by instruction. Never
correct it in anger ; if you do, it will be perceived,
and you will lose your authority. Watch for the
best moment to correct it. Do not tell it of its
fault, without leaving it the hope of improvement.
We ought to consider that children are weak ; that
their age renders them extremely sensible to pleas-
ure ; and that we have no right to require from
them more than they can give. When we speak
to them of words and things that they do not
understand, we often leave a dangerous impression
of ennui and sadness on their minds.
Though we cannot, at all times, avoid employ-
ing fear in the government of unruly children, we
must never have recourse to it, until we have tried
every other method. We should always make
children understand why we make use of fear ; for
joy and confidence ought to be habitually cherished
in them, otherwise their minds will become dull,
and thus will lose courage. If they are gay, they
will be irritated ; if timid, they will be rendered
stupid. Like all violent remedies, fear should
never be employed but in desperate cases. When
160 ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS,
we punish them, the suffering should be as light
as possible, but accompanied by every circumstance
which can inspire the child with shame and re-
morse. Show it how gladly you would have
avoided coming to this extremity ; show that you
suffer also ; speak before the child to others of the
misfortune of being so deficient in reason and sen-
sibility as to require chastisement. Omit your ac-
customed marks of affection, until you see that the
child requires consolation ; make its punishment
public or private, as you shall judge will be most
salutary.
We ought to adapt general rules to particular
circumstances. Neither men nor children always
resemble themselves. What is good to-day is dan-
gerous to-morrow. A plan of conduct that never
varies, cannot be useful. Forms should be used
as little as possible, in their lessons. We may im-
part instruction more useful than their lessons con-
vey, by our conversation. I have known several
children; who have learned to read as a play ;
amusing stories have been read to them ; they have
gradually learnt their letters ; after this, they have
been anxious themselves to go to the source whence
they have derived so much pleasure. The greatest
defect of common education is, that we are in the
habit of putting pleasure all on one side, and weari-
ness on the other ; all weariness in study, all pleasure
in idleness. Let us try to change this association ;
let us render studies agreeable ; let us present it
ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 161
under the aspect of liberty and pleasure ; let us
sometimes permit study to be interrupted by little
sallies of gayety. These interruptions are neces-
sary to relax the mind.
We must acknowledge, that of all the difficulties
in education, none are comparable to that of edu-
cating children who are deficient in sensibility.
Children of lively sensibility are liable to terrible
faults; passion and presumption lead them astray;
but they possess great resources, and often return
from afar. Instruction is in them a hidden germ,
which springs up and yields fruit, when experience
comes to the assistance of reason. At all events,
we can render them attentive, awaken their curi-
osity, and make them interested in our instructions.
We can stimulate them by a principle of honor.
Whereas on indolent minds we have no hold. AU
their thoughts are w^andering; they are never where
they ought to be. We cannot touch them to the
quick, even by correction ; they hear all, and they
feel nothing. The best education will be thrown
away, if we do not begin at an early age to remedy
this evil.
It is necessary to observe, that in some children
we are very much deceived at first. They appear
charming, because the early graces of infancy throw
a lustre over all their conduct. Every trait of in-
telligence that we see in them, surprises us, because
we did not expect it at that age ; every fault of
judgment is permitted, and in our eyes has the
14*
162 ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS.
charm of ingenuousness : we mistake animal spirits
for intelligence. Hence it is that promising child-
ren, who are celebrated at five years of age, fall
into neglect and are forgotten as they grow older.
Of all the faculties of children, reason is the only
one on which we can depend ; if we cultivate it
carefully, it always grows with them. The graces
of childhood pass away ; vivacity vanishes ; even
tenderness of heart is often lost ; for the passions
and the society of men insensibly harden the young,
in their intercourse with the world. Try then to
discover, through the graces of childhood, whether
the character you have to form be wanting in curi-
osity, and insensible to virtuous ambition. In this
case it is almost impossible for those who have the
care of the child, not to be disheartened by a labor
that affords so little interest. We must hasten to
touch all the springs of the soul, that we may
awaken it from this slumber. Be careful not to
fatigue it, not to overload memory ; endeavor to
animate it ; do not fear to show it all of which
it is capable. Be contented with little progress ;
notice its slightest success ; excite its ambition ; let
it see the error of distrusting its own powers.
Lead the child to laugh freely with you, at its
timidity ; point out those, whose natural character
is as timid as its own, but who have conquered
their temperament ; teach it, by direct instruction,
th;it timidity and idleness paralyze the intellect,
that men who have these faults, whatever talents
ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 1C3
they possess, are imbecile, and degrade themselves.
But be careful not to give these instructions in an
austere and impatient tone ; for nothing sends the
feelings back to the heart of a timid child like harsh-
ness. On the contrary, redouble your efforts to
awaken the necessary zeal, by pleasures suited to
its age and character. We must endeavor to give
to children of this class a taste for improvement ;
we must let them pursue whatever may cure them
of their disgust to study, must permit some in-
fringement of rules, taking care that they do not
go to excess. It is more difficult to create taste in
those who have none, than to regulate an incorrect
taste. There is another sort of sensibility more
difhcult to awaken, that of friendship. From the
time a child is capable of affection, it is desirable
to turn its heart towards those persons who do it
good. By its affections we can lead it to do what-
ever we wish : we have a certain influence over it ;
if we know how to use it, we have only to fear
for the choice it makes of its friends.
There is another class of children, who are nat-
urally indifferent, reserved, and calculating. They
deceive their parents ; they only pretend to love
them ; they study their inclinations in order to con-
form to them ; they appear more docile than other
children of the same age, Avho act without disguise,
according to their humor; their docility, which is
a concealed selfishness, appears to be genuine, and
their dissimulation is not discovered until it is too
164 ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS.
late to correct it. If there is any fault of a child
which education cannot cure, it is without doubt
this ; and yet it is much more common than we have
an idea of. Parents cannot resolve to believe that
their children want feeling ; and as no one dares to
tell them of it, the evil increases. The chief remedy,
is, to permit children from the earliest age, to dis-
cover their inclinations, that we may know what
they are ; they are naturally simple and confiding,
but the slightest restraint will be likely to inspire
them with a wish to disguise, and they will never
recover their simplicity.
It is true that God alone gives goodness and ten-
derness of heart ; we can only try to excite it by
generous examples, by liberal sentiments, by disin-
terestedness, and by disapprobation of those who
love themselves too well. Before children have
lost their native ingenuousness, we must make them
taste the pleasure of cordial and reciprocal friend-
ship ; those who surround them, therefore, should
be amiable, sincere, frank, and disinterested ; the
persons who have the care of them had better have
other faults, than be at all wanting in these virtues.
Parents should be at all times atTcctionate and
disinterested in their manners towards each other ;
it is from their parents that children often learn to
love self. We must also, in their presence, avoid
all feigned demonstrations of friendship, that are
often substituted for a love that ought to be real.
But we more frequently sec children enthusiastic
ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 165
than indifferent. They never see two persons dis-
agree, without taking a lively interest on one or
the other side ; they are always full of affections
and aversions without foundation ; they see no fault
in those they like, no good in those they dislike.
We must gradually teach them that we are ac-
quainted with all the good qualities of the persons
they love, and all the faults there are in those they
dislike. Do not press the matter ; they will grad-
ually see the truth. Then lead them to think of
their own mistakes, and show them how unreason-
able they are disposed to be. Relate to them errors
like these, that have happened in your own youth ;
above all, point out to them the mixture of good
and evil, that is to be found in human nature, to
check the extravagance of their friendships, and the
violence of their aversions.
Never promise children, as a reward for their
good conduct, either dress or sweet-meats ; by do-
ing this you create in them two faults ; in the first
place, you teach them to estimate highly what they
ought to despise ; and in the second, you deprive
yourself of the means of establishing recompenses,
which facilitate your labor. Be cautious how you
ever force them to study. You must have as few
rules as possible, and for those few, must have a
good reason. Though we should fear to excite the
vanity of children by flattery, judicious praise is
very necessary. St. Paul often employed it to en-
encourage the weak. We may also recompense
166 ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS.
children by innocent plays, by walks, conversations,
little presents of pictures, or geographical charts.
Children are extremely fond of stories : we see
them transported with joy, or shedding tears, at
their recital. Choose some fable at once innocent
and ingenious ; show them the serious intention of
■the author ; when you have related one fable, wait
until the child asks for another ; when their curios-
ity is excited, recount certain select passages of his-
tory ; leave off in an interesting part ; postpone the
rest for the next day, leaving them impatient to
hear the end ; animate your recital by a familiar
tone of voice ; make your characters speak for them-
selves. This delights a child, particularly if he con-
siders it as a reward. If the child has facility of
language, he will, of his own accord, wish to re-
peat it to another person ; you can choose one of
his attendants who will be anxious to hear the
story ; he will delight to tell it : do not appear to
remark his mistakes, but when he has repeated
several, give him some general advice upon the
manner of relating a story, which is, to render it
simple, short, and correct, by a choice of circum-
stances which shall best represent the whole.
We must endeavor to give them a taste for Sacred
History, rather than any other ; not by telling them
that it is more interesting, but by making them
feel that it so. Lead them to remark the important
events that are to be found in it, such as the Crea-
tion, the Deluge, the sacrifice of Isaac, the birth
ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 167
and flight of Moses. By this means, we shall not
only awaken the curiosity of children, but we shall
lay the foundation of religious knowledge, which
consists of a tissue of wonderful facts. Recount
to them, in detail, the history of Jesus Christ ;
select the most striking parts of the Gospel, his
preaching in the temple at twelve years of age, his
retreat to the desert, his temptation, the multiplica-
tion of bread, Lazarus resuscitated, the entrance
into Jerusalem ; describe his death, and his rising
from the tomb. All these events, managed with
discretion, will fill the imagination and affectionate
heart of a child with lively images of all the re-
markable events which have happened since the
creation of the world ; it will see the hand of God
forever raised to confound the impious and protect
the just. But we must select, among these histo-
ries, only such as afford pleasing or magnificent
images, so as to render religion beautiful, lovely,
and sublime.
We should never laugh at any thing which is in
any way associated with religion, before children.
We sometimes indulge ourselves in ridiculing the
devotion of a simple mind, but we commit a great
fault in so doing. We should speak of God with
seriousness and reverence, and never trifle upon sa-
cred subjects. In matters of propriety, we must be
careful before children.
As women are in danger of superstition, we must
try to enlighten and strengthen their minds. We
168 ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS.
must accustom them not to admit things without
authority. Nothing is so painful as to see people
of intellect and piety, shudder at the thoughts of
death ; a woman ought to know how to resist weak
fears, to be firm in danger, and to feel that a Chris-
tian, of either sex, should never be a coward ; the
soul of Christianity, if we may so call it, lies in the
disregard of this life, and the love of another.
There are several faults which are common to
girls brought up in indolence and timidity ; they
are incapable of a firm and steady conduct ; there
is a good deal of affectation in those ill-founded
alarms, and those tears that they shed so easily.
We must begin by treating them with indifference ;
we must repress our too tender love, little flatteries,
and compliments. We must teach them to speak
in a concise manner. Genuine good taste consists
in saying much in a few words, in choosing among
our thoughts, in having some order and arrange-
ment in what we relate, in speaking with com-
posure ; whereas, women in general are enthusias-
tic in their language. Little can be expected from
a woman, who does not know how to express her
thoughts with correctness and how to be silent.
Girls are timid and full of false shame, which is
a source of dissimulation. To correct this, we
must lead them to discover their thoughts without
disguise ; when they are tired, to say so ; and not
oblige them to appear to enjoy books or society,
while fatigued by them. When they have unfor-
ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 169
tunately acquired the habit of disguising their feel-
ings, we must show them by examples, that it is
possible to be discreet and prudent, without being
deceitful ; and tell them that prudence consists in
saying little, and distrusting ourselves more than
Others, not in dissembling speeches. Simplicity
and truth excite more confidence, and succeed bet-
ter, even in this world, than dissimulation.
What is there more delightful than to be sincere,
tranquil, in harmony with our conscience, having
nothing to fear and nothing to pretend ; whereas
she who dissembles is always agitated, and under
the necessity of hiding one deception by a hundred
others, and yet, with all these eftbrts, she never
fails to be discovered ; sooner or later, she passes
for what she is.
If the world is deceived respecting some soli-
tary action, it is not so respecting the whole life.
Truth always peeps out at some place ; they are
often the dupes even of those they wish to deceive,
for people pretend to believe them, and they think
themselves esteemed when they are despised ; at
least they cannot prevent suspicions, and what can
be more painful to a wise self-love, than to inspire
doubt and distrust.
Teach girls to say but little, and that little ac-
cording to the occasion and the person they address ;
let them be reminded that finesse always belongs
to a mean heart and a weak mind ; people are art-
ful because they have something to conceal, and do
15
170 ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS,
not dare to appear what they are. Take notice of
the evil of certain little artiiices that are committed,
and the contempt which falls upon those who are
guilty of them. From time to time deprive them
of what they have gained by art, and tell them
they shall have whatever they want when they
ask for it openly. Pity their little infirmities, in
order to induce them to discover them ; false shame
is the most dangerous of all defects, and the first to
be corrected, for it will render all others incurable.
Guard children against the subtlety that leads
another into a deception, while they appear not to
have been the cause of the deceit themselves ; teach
them that there is more baseness in such refine-
ments, than in common art ; say to a child that
God is truth itself, that it is trifling with God to
trifle with truth, and that he has given us language
to be used in speaking with precision and simplicity,
that we may say nothing but what is just and true.
We must, above all things, avoid praising children
when they discover art in trifling ; far from appear-
ing to think such things pretty and amusing, we
should correct them severely. When we praise
children for such faults, we teach them that to de-
ceive, is to be ingenious.
The education of women, like that of men,
should tend to prepare them for their duties; the
difference of their employments will of course ren-
der their studies dilfcrcnt. It is the duty of a
woman to educate her children, the boys until a
ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 171
certain age, and girls until they are married. How
much wisdom is requisite to manage the mind and
disposition of each child, so as to guide their intel-
lects, manage their humors, to anticipate the effects
of their growing passions, and to rectify their errors.
How much prudence should a mother have in order
to maintain her authority over them, without losing
their friendship and their confidence. Surely the
mother of a family ought to possess a religious,
mature, firm mind, acquainted with the human
heart. St. Paul attaches such importance to the
education of children, that he says, it is by " moth-
ers the souls of children are saved."
I shall not attempt to specify all that they ought
to know, in order to educate their children well.
To do this, it would be necessary to enter into an
entire detail of their studies ; but we must not
omit the subject of economy. Women in general
are apt to neglect it, and think it proper only for
the lower classes ; those women, especially, who
are brought up in idleness and indolence, disdain
the detail of domestic life. It is nevertheless from
ignorance that the science of economy is despised.
The polished Greeks and Romans took care to in-
struct themselves in this art. That mind is of a
low order, which can only speak well, and cannot
act well ; we often meet with women, who utter
wise maxims, yet, nevertheless, are very frivolous
in their conduct. It is well to accustom girls from
their childhood to have the care of something ; to
172 ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS.
make out accounts, to understand the value of
things, and their uses ; but we must be careful not
to let economy lead to avarice. A reasonable mind
desires, by a frugal and industrious life, to avoid
the shame and injustice that is produced by extrav-
agance. We ought to retrench in superfluous
expenses, only that we may have more to be-
stow in charity and friendship ; it is good order,
and not sordid savings, that enlarges our means.
Do not fail to represent the foolish economy of
those women who save a lamp, while they are
careless in their general expenses.
Attend as much to neatness as you do to econo-
my. Accustom girls never to suffer anything about
them to be unclean or in disorder ; lead them to
notice the slightest derangement in a house; say
to them that nothing contributes more to economy
and neatness, than keeping things in their proper
place. This may seem trifling, yet it leads to very
important consequences. For then when anything
is wanted, there will be no difficulty in finding it ;
and when it is done with, it will be retained to
the place it was taken from. This exact order
forms the most essential part of neatness ; for in-
stance, a dish will not be soiled or broken, if it is
put in its proper place as soon as it has been used ;
the carefulness which makes us place things in or-
der, makes us keep them clean. Joined to all these
advantages, is that of giving to domestics a habit
ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 173
of neatness and activity, by obliging them to place
things in order, and keep them clean.
At the same time we must avoid fastidiousness ;
neatness, when it is moderate, is a virtue ; but
when it is carried to an extreme, it narrows the
mind. Teach children that it is a weakness to be
troubled because a dish is not properly seasoned,
or a chair is put in the wrong place. This fastid-
iousness, if it be not repressed, becomes one of the
most dangerous faults ; common folks are disagree-
able and wearisome to them. We should teach
them early that we are not to judge of any one
merely by his manners ; and point out to them
people whose manners are unpleasant, but who,
nevertheless, having a good heart and a correct
mind, are a thousand times more estimable than
they, who, under an accomplished address, conceal
a bad heart, capable of all kinds of baseness and
dissimulation. Say to them, that those who are
apt to feel a disgust at everything, are usually
weak. There is no man from whose conversation
we may not draw some good, and though we should
choose the best when we have the freedom of choice,
yet we may be consoled when we have not : wo
may lead people to speak of those subjects with
which they are acquainted, and thus derive some
instruction from the most ignorant.
The science of teaching others to serve us, is not
a slight one ; we must choose servants who have
principle and religion ; we must understand their
15*
174 ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS.
different duties, the time and the labor which ought
to be given to each thing ; the manner of doing it
well, and what is necessary to do it with. For in-
stance, you might blame a servant for not having
cooked a dish sooner than it was possible to do it ;
or you would be in danger of being cheated by
your servant from your ignorance of the quantity
necessary to use in doing a thing. We must learn
to understand the temper, and to manage the minds
of our domestics. It is certainly necessary that
we should have authority ; for the less reasonable
men are, so much the more necessary is it that fear
should restrain them ; but we must remember that
they are our brethren in Jesus Christ, and that we
should not use authority until persuasion has failed.
Endeavor to make your servants love you, without
being familiar with them ; do not enter into con-
versation with them, but speak to them often with
sympathy and affection, of their wants ; let them
be certain of your advice and your compassion ; do
not reprove them harshly for their faults ; do not
appear offended or astonished at them, Avhile there
is any hope that they can be corrected ; speak to
them with gentleness and with reason ; submit to
some neglects of service, in order to convince them
that you do not find fault from impatience or
temper.
In regard to reading, I should permit a girl to
read books of history, and select works of eloquence
and poetry, provided her judgment was sufficiently
ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 175
formed to bear the latter. In the education of a
young girl, we should consult her condition, and
the place where she is to pass her life ; do not per-
mit her to indulge hopes above her situation or her
fortune ; expecting too much has been the cause of
much sorrow. If a girl is to live in the country,
her mind should be formed for the pleasures of the
country, and she should not be permitted to imbibe
a taste for the city. If she is in a middling condi-
tion in the city, do not permit her to associate with
those of a higher rank than herself. With respect
to dress, we must endeavor to inspire girls with
moderation. True wisdom consists in our never
displaying in our dress, or our equipage, anything
remarkable ; let there be nothing in their dress like
affectation. We must endeavor to inspire them
with compassion for the poor ; and show them the
sin of those who live only for themselves, and re-
fuse to give to those who suffer.
But the most important thing, is to gain the
heart of your daughter ; seek for her companions
who will not injure her ; furnish her with amuse-
ments that will not disgust her with the serious
employments that occupy her the rest of the day.
Endeavor to make her love God ; do not let her
regard him as an inexorable judge, who is watch-
ing to censure her ; let her learn to think of him
as a tender and compassionate Father ; do not let
her regard prayer as a fatiguing constraint of the
mind, but teach her to turn her thoughts inward to
176 ON THE EDUCATION OF GIRLS.
find God there. His kingdom is within us. Teach
her to confess her fauhs to God, to represent her
wants to him, and to acquire the habit of acting
always as in his presence, and of being animated in
the performance of duty by the spirit of love, and
to place all her confidence in Him.
LETTERS OF FENELON
[These letters are numbered merely for convenience ; the sub-
jects will enable any one who wishes to refer to them, to find them
in the original.]
[FROM THE "SPIRITUAL LETTERS."]
LETTER I.
ADVICE TO A MAN OF THE WORLD, WHO DESIRED TO BECOME
RELIGIOUS.
I AM greatly pleased at the kindness of heart with
which you received the letter I had the honor to
write to you. It must be the spirit of God that
has given you this thirst for truth, and desire of
assistance in your great work. I shall be most
happy to aid you.
The more you seek for God, the nearer he will
be to you ; every step that you take towards him
will bring you peace and consolation.
Christian perfection, that jieople have a sort of
dread of, from the idea that it imposes gloom and
constraint, is not perfection, but inasmuch as it in-
creases benevolence. We do not consider it con-
straint to do those things which we love to do.
178 LETTERS.
We find a pleasure in sacrificing ourselves to any
one that we truly love. Thus, the more we ad-
vance in perfection, the more willing we are to
follow its Author. What do we desire better than
to be always satisfied, and to be as well contented
with crosses as with their opposite pleasures ? This
is a contentment that you will never find in yield-
ing yourself up to your passions, and which will
never fail you if you give yourself up to God. It
is true that this is not a contentment that flatters
and excites like profane pleasures ; but it is never-
theless genuine contentment, and far superior to
what the world can give ; for sinners are ever de-
siring what they cannot obtain. It is a quiet and
sober peace, but the soul prefers it to the intoxica-
tion of passion. It is a peace in which we are in
harmony with ourselves, a peace that is never dis-
turbed but by our own unfaithfulness. As the
world cannot give it, it cannot deprive us of it.
If you doubt it, try it ; " Oh, taste and see that the
Lord is go;d."
You will do well to regulate your time, that you
may have every day a little leisure for reading,
meditation, and prayer, to review your defects, to
study your duties, and to hold communion with
God, You will be happy when a true love to Him
shall make this duty easy. When we love God,
we do not ask what we shall say to him. We have
no difficulty in conversing with a friend. Our
hearts are ever open to him. We do not think
179
what we shall say to him, but we say it without
reflection. We cannot be reserved. When even
we have nothing to say to him, we are satisfied
with being with him. Oh ! how much better are
we sustained by love than by fear. Fear enslaves,
constrains, and troubles us ; but love persuades,
consoles, animates us ; possesses our whole souls,
and makes us desire goodness for its own sake.
It is true that the fear of the judgments of God
is necessary to keep the passions under restraint ;
but if we must begin by fear that makes the flesh
tremble, let us hasten to that love that consoles the
spirit. Oh ! how kind and faithful a friend will
God be to those, who enter into a sincere and con-
stant friendship with him !
The most important thing, if you really wish to
be a religious man, is to distrust yourself, after so
many proofs of your weakness, and to renounce
immediately those companions that might lead you
from the right path.
If you wish to love God, why should you wish
to pass your life in friendship with those who do
not love him, and who slight his love ? Why are
you not satisfied with the society of those who
will confirm and strengthen your love for him ?
I do not wish that you should break off entirely
your connexions with all those persons with whom
politeness requires you to associate, and still less
do I wish you to neglect any of the duties of your
station. But I refer to those connexions that are
180 LETTERS.
voluntary, and that may contaminate the heart, and
insensibly weaken our best resolutions ; intimacies
with the vain and foolish, and the company of
those who despise piety and tempt you to a dan-
gerous dissipation. These things are dangerous
for the most confirmed in virtue, and of course still
more pernicious for those who have taken only the
first steps in the right path, from which it is so
natural for them to turn aside.
I acknowledge that you ought not to present be-
fore the public a scene of ostentatious conversion,
which might produce ill-natured remarks. True
piety never demands these demonstrations. Two
things only are necessary ; one is, not to set a bad
example, that we may never have to blush for the
religion of Jesus ; the other is, to do without aflfec-
tation and without eclat, whatever a sincere love
to God demands.
LETTER II.
TO ONE WHO WAS UNDECIDED ABOUT A RELIGIOUS LIFE.
You may think me forward, but I cannot be re-
served with you, although I have not the honor of
an acquaintance with you. The knowledge that
has been communicated to me of the situation of
your heart, affects me so deeply, that it leads me to
set aside forms.
181
Your friends, who are also mine, have assured
you of the sincerity of my interest in you. I can
hardly realize a more perfect joy, than to have you
with me for some days.
In the meantime, I cannot avoid saying to you,
that we ought to yield ourselves up to God, when
he thus invites- us to himself. Do we deliberate
so long, when the world presents to us the seduc-
tions of pleasure and of passion ? Have we thus
hesitated ? Have we resisted evil as we resist
good ? Is it a question whether we shall be de-
luded, corrupted, and lost ; whether we shall act
against the most sacred convictions of the heart
and the understanding ? In seeking vanities and
the pleasures of sense, we are not afraid of going
too far. We decide immediately, we yield our-
selves up Avithout reserve.
But is it a question whether we shall believe
that an all-v\ase and all-powerful hand has made
us, since we have not made ourselves ? Is it a
question whether we shall acknowledge that we
owe all to him from whom we have received every-
thing, and who has made us for himself? We be-
gin to hesitate, to deliberate, and to find subtile
doubts upon the simplest and clearest things ; we
are even ashamed of being grateful to him. and we
dare not let the world see that we are willing to
serve him. In a word, we are as timid, as irreso-
lute, and as scrupulous in the cause of virtue, as we
are unhesitating, bold, and decided in that of vice.
16
182
LETTERS.
I ask but one thing of you, which is, to follow
in simplicity, the bent of yonr own mind for good-
ness, as you have formerly followed your earthly
passions in the pursuit of evil.
Whenever you examine the proofs of our religion
you will find that no solid arguments can be op-
posed to it ; and that those who contend against it,
only do it that they may be free from its restraints.
Thus they refuse to obey God, that they may be
devoted to self. Is this, in good faith, wise or just ?
Are so many deliberations necessary to conclude
that he has not made us for ourselves, but for him ?
In serving him, what do we risk ?
We shall do, as before, all that is really honest
and innocent. We shall have, perhaps, the same
duties to fulfil, and the same sorrow to endure pa-
tiently. But we shall have the infi.nite consolation
of loving him, who is the sovereign good. We
shall labor and we shall suffer for him, who is our
true and perfect friend, and who will recompense
us a hundred fold in this life, even by the peace
wliich he will shed upon our souls. And we shall
add to this the anticipation of a life of eternal fe-
licity, compared with which this life is a slow death.
Believe, then, your own heart, to which God,
whom it has so long forgotten, is now speaking in
love, notwithstanding its ingratitude. Consult the
good, those whom you know to be sincere ; ask
them what is th(! suffering from serving God ; learn
from them whether they repent of their choice, if
LETTERS. 183
they think they were rash and credulous in their
conversion. They have been in the world as you
have ; ask them if they regret quitting it, and if
the drunkenness of Babylon is sweeter than the
peace of Zion. No ; whatever we may endure m
the christian life, we can never lose that peace of
mind, which reconciles us to all we suffer, and
makes us cease to desire what we are deprived of.
Does the world bestow as much ? You are ac-
quainted with it. Are those, who are devoted to
it, satisfied with what they have, and not desirous
of what they have not ? Do they do everything
from love and from their hearts ? What do you
fear? To quit what you will leave very soon, and
what is leaving you every moment, and what can
never fill your heart, that turns away from it with
a mortal languor : your heart, that contains within
itself a melancholy void, a secret reproach of con-
science, and a sense of the nothingness of that by
which we have been deluded ?
Oh ! what do you fear ? To find a virtue too
pure to imitate, a God too good to love, an attrac-
tion in goodness that shall not leave you free to
follow earthly vanities ? What do you fear ? To
become too humble, too much detached from self,
too pure, too just, too reasonable, too grateful to
your Father in heaven ? Oh ! fear nothing so much
as this unjust fear, and this foolish wisdom of the
world, which deliberates between God and self,
between virtue and vice, between gratitude and in-
gratitude, between life and death.
184 LETTERS.
All that the most extravagant lovers have said
in the delirium of passion, is in one sense true.
Not to love is not to live. The wildest passions
that have transported mankind, have been only the
true love misplaced, and wandering from that centre
to which it naturally tends. God has made us for
himself. He has kindled a flame in the bottom of
our hearts, that should ever burn like a lamp for
Him who lighted it ; and all other life is like death.
We ought then to love.
But what shall we love ? That which we can-
not love sincerely, that which is not lovely, that
which vanishes as we would grasp it ? What shall
we love in the world ? Men, who are as great
hypocrites in honesty as they accuse religious men
of being in devotion ; an honorable name, that per-
haps we cannot keep, and that would not satisfy
our hearts if we could; the esteem of ignorant
persons, whom we perhaps individually despise ?
What will you love ? This mortal body, which
debases your mind, and subjects your heart to the
pains of its own diseases and to death ? What will
you do then ? Will you not love anything ? Will
you live without the soul of existence ? Will you
not love God, who desires that you should love
him, and who wishes you to give yourself to him
that he may restore you to himself? Do you fear,
with this treasure, that you can want anything ?
Can you think that the infinite Creator cannot fill
and satisfy your soul ? Distrust yourseir and all
LETTERS. 185
created beings ; they are all nothing, and cannot
satisfy the heart of man, that was made for the love
of pod. But never doubt Him who is the sole
good, and who mercifully fills your heart with dis-
satisfaction towards all other things, that it may be
constrained to return to him.
LETTER III.
TO THE SAME PERSON.
Although I have not heard from you, I cannot
forget you, nor relinquish the privilege you have
given me. Suffer me, then, I beg you, to repre-
sent to you how culpable you will be, if yon resist
the truths and the strong feelings that God has
awakened in your heart. It would be resisting his
Holy Spirit. You cannot doubt the worthlessness
of the world, nor its insufficiency to make you
happy, nor the illusive nature of its flatteries. You
acknowledge the rights of the Creator over the
creature ; and how much more inexcusable is in-
gratitude to him than to man. You recognise the
truth that there is a God, in the wisdom that shines
in all his works, and in the virtues with which he
inspires those who love him. What can you op-
pose to such touching truths ? Is it not a real in-
docility of heart which produces this irresolution ?
16*
186 LETTERS.
We are afraid of the yoke ; this is the true leaven
of unbelief. We try to persuade ourselves that we
do not believe enough, and that, being in this state
of doubt, we cannot take any steps in a religious
life, but with precaution, and as if there were dan-
ger of soon retracting. What have you in reality
to oppose to the truths of religion ? Nothing but
a fear of constraint, and of being obliged to lead a
serious life ; a fear of being led farther than you
wish in the road to perfection. It is because you
see the sacrifices that it demands, that you are
afraid of religion.
But permit me to say that you know not all its
delights. You perceive what it deprives you of,
bat you do not see what it bestows. You exag-
gerate its sacrifices, without looking at its c()nsola-
tions. It leaves no void in the heart. If it con-
strain your inclinations, the love with Avhich it will
inspire you, will give you a relish for truth and
virtue, far superior to all your ill-regulated tastes.
What do you expect from it ? that it will perform
a miracle to convert you? Even a miracle could
not take from you this irresolution of self-love that
fears a sacrifice. What will you gain by reason-
ings without end, while your conscience declares
the right that God has over you ? Arguments will
not cure the wound in your heart ; you do not rea-
son for the sake of conviction and action, but that
you may find doubts, that you may find excuses,
and retain your self-love.
LETTERS. 187
You deserve that God should leave you to your-
self, as a punishment for so long a resistance. But
he loves you more than you know how to love
yourself; he follows you with his mercy, he troubles
your heart to subdue it : yield yourself to him, and
finish this dangerous irresolution. This hesitation
between two courses is in fact a choice ; it is the
secret, lurking desire of the heart in the illnsion of
self-love, fearing to yield itself up, and ready to
fly from the restraints that religion imposes.
Pardon the liberties I take ; but I cannot mod-
erate the zeal with which your confidence has
inspired me.
LETTER IV.
TO THE DUKE DE CHEVERUSE, ON THE OPERATIONS OF
THE DIVINE SPIRIT IN THE SOUL.
I HAVE given my attention to the difficulty you
state, of discriminating between the operations of
the spirit of God, and our own natural understand-
ing. We cannot have a precise and certain rule
upon this subject within us. We only have an
exterior guide for our actions, which is conformity
to the precepts, counsels, and graces of Christianity.
If we had, in addition to this, the means of distin-
guishing with certainty the Divine influence from
the operation of our natural powers, we should then
188 LETTERS.
be endowed with a sort of sanctity and infallibility,
that would amount to inspiration. This is exactly
oppos d to the uncertainty of faith and to a state
of pilgrimage.
We ought not to seek what our present condi-
tion does not permit us to obtain ; I mean a certain
rule to decide when we are moved by a Divine
influence, and when it is our nature, which may
imitate it.
On the other hand, it is of the utmost importance
in our conduct, as a protection against illusion, to
discern this difference, and to have a certain rule
for judging. We must, it is said, obey the Divine
influence ; not to do it, is to resist God, is to con-
strain the Holy Spirit, is to turn away from that
perfection to which we are called.
But how shall we follow this Divine guide, if
we have no certain rule by which to distinguish it
from the operations of our own minds ? A want
of certainty upon this subject leaves us in continual
danger of acting contrarily to what we really de-
sire ; of being influenced by natural inclination,
when we desire to be guided by the spirit of God.
This is the difficulty ; let us seek the remedy.
These doubts can never relate, as I have before
observed, to those things that are forbidden by the
precepts, the commands, the charities of our re-
ligion. This holy influence not only can never lead
us to violate the direct instructions, but can never
teach us to neglect any of the minor duties recom-
LETTERS. 189
mended in the Gospel. Thus we see that there is
no question about an entire purity and perfection
of manners in the case. The question must be
between two right actions, to know which is the
prompting of this inward teacher.
It is true, that in this choice, we have no cer-
tainty of internal evidence. We have only exter-
nal rules of christian prudence to enable us to judge
by circumstances, and to decide which is the more
expedient. And we have not within us any cer-
tain rule to discern whether a decided preference
for one right action, over another, is from a Divine
influence or from our own nature. And it would
not suit our condition here to have this certainty ;
it is the will of God that we shall remain in this
uncertainty, and that we shall not be able to dis-
tinguish between them. It is necessary, then, that
this Divine influence be adapted to our condition,
and that it should operate always without our con-
sciousness.
The danger of illusion as to venial acts, is not
astonishing in a state in which we are liable to far
more perilous mistakes, which lead us to take the
motions of self-love, that are the death of the souh
for its true life. What shall we do in this state of
darkness? All that depends upon us to do, and
with this be satisfied. Fidelity in duty, united to
peaceful trust, in such a state of uncertainty, is the
greatest self-sacrifice to those spirits that are eager
to understand the ways of God.
190 LETTERS.
It is true that notwithstanding the obscurity that
rests upon this pilgrimage, there are appearances,
though without absolute certainty, that serve to
cherish in the heart an humble confidence, that the
spirit of God guides it. There are gleams of this
light in the darkness of the most uncertain faith,
making it visible occasionally, that we are led on
to perfection by the Divine love. God mingles
light and darkness thus, that the soul may not be
lost in uncertainty, yet not have a full assurance,
and may not find here, in either state, a sufficient
support.
The best proof that we are influenced by the
spirit of God, is, first, when the action itself is pure
and conformable to the perfection of his laws.
Secondly, when we perform it simply, tranquilly,
without eagerness to do it, contented if it is neces-
sary to relinquish it. Thirdly, when, after the
work is done, we do not seek by unquiet reflections
to justify the action even to ourselves, but are will-
ing it should be condemned, or to condemn it our-
selves, if any superior light discovers it to be wrong ;
and when, in fine, we do not appropriate the ac-
tion lo ourselves, but refer it to the will of God.
Fourthly, when this work leaves the soul in its
simplicity, in its peace, in its own uprightness, in
humility, and in self-forgetfulness.
All these things, it is true, are very delicate in
their operation upon the mind ; and all we can say
still gives little knowledge of them. But though
LETTERS. • 191
there is so much obscurity in a state of faith, it is
nevertheless true, that God, without teaching us
by positive rules how to know his voice, accus-
toms the mind to understand it, to recognise it, and
to obey it, although it cannot give an account, by
any philosophical principle or precise rule, how it
may be discerned. He gives to the soul, when it
needs it, a momentary certainty ; and then it is
withdrawn, leaving no vestige behind. The greatest
danger is from interrupting this influence by the
inquietude with which we would escape from this
state, and insist upon seeing clearly, when we are
thus surrounded by darkness.
One thing that it appears to me desirable to ob-
serve, is, that we can often more easily distinguish
that which is nature, than that which is a Divine
influence. Let us relinquish our own peculiar de-
sires, whether they lead us to repose or to action ;
those that are induced by a refined intellectual
taste, as entirely as those that grow out of the
pleasures of sense ; and in this peace of the soul,
let us, in simplicity and truth, and in the presence
of God, do all we can to die to ourselves and to
please him.
But we must guard against useless scruples,
against a mental constraint, and an anxiety to be
assured that we perform all our actions under the
influence of the spirit of God. We may extinguish
this light in the endeavor to ascertain that we are
following it. We may return, under a pretext of
192 LETTERS.
safety, into all the windings of that self-love that
we pretend to avoid. We are in danger of losing
the reality of this influence in onr eff'ort to obtain a
certainty with regard to it, which it is not the will
of God that we should possess. Thus we might
pass our lives in reasoning upon the operation of
the spirit of God, without daring to yield ourselves
up to its influence.
Were I to propose anything personal and peculiar
to yourself, my good Duke, it would be to remind
you that the bent of your mind, and the temptation
to fllusion in you, arise, not from any gross disorders,
but from the intemperance of wisdom and the ex-
cess of reasoning. Even wisdom ought to be sober
and temperate. Sobriety and simplicity of mind
are the same thing. The practice of true love to
God dissipates doubts, and disgusts us with specu-
lative reasonings.
LETTER V.
TO A PERSON IN AFFLICTION.
It is. Madam, but a sad consolation, to say to
you that I feel your sorrow. This, however, is
all tliat human weakness can do : and when we
would do more wc must turn to God. It is to him
thai I go, the consoler of the afllictcd, the protector
of the weak. I pray to him, not that he may take
193
away your grief from yon, but that he may make
it a blessing to you ; that he may give you strength
to support it, and that he may not let you sink un-
der it. These great sorrows are the remedies for
the diseases of our minds. It is through great suf-
fering that the mystery of Christianity is accom-
plished, I mean the crucifixion of self. It is then
that the grace of God is unfolded to us, and that
we understand its intimate operation upon us, and
that we are taught to sacrifice self. We must turn
our thoughts away from ourselves, before we can
give them to God ; and that we may be constrained
to do this, it is necessary that our hearts be so
deeply wounded, that all created things be turned
into bitterness to us. Thus touched in the ten-
derest part, troubled in its sweetest and purest
affections, the heart feels that it cannot support
itself, and escapes from its weakness and goes to
God.
These, Madam, are violent remedies, but sin has
made them necessary. This is the true support of
the Christian in affliction. God lays his hand upon
two beings united in a holy affection. He confers
a blessing upon both ; he places one in glory, and
makes his removal the means of salvation to the one
that remains. This is what God has done for you.
May his Holy Spirit awaken all your faith, that
you may penetrate these truths. I will pray for it
contiimally ; and as I have nuich faith in the prayers
of the afflicted, I beg of you to remember me in
17
194 LETTEHS.
your prayers. Your charity will teach you what
I have need of, and will give earnestness to your
petitions.
LETTER VI.
ON THE DEATH OF A PIOUS FRIEND.
God has taken what was his own ; has he not
done right ? It was time that F rested from
all his sufferings : they were great, and he thought
little of them himself; his only inquiry was con-
cerning the will of Him in whose hands he was.
Crosses are of no use to us, but inasmuch as we
yield ourselves up to them, and forget ourselves.
Forget yourself, then, my friend ; otherwise this
sorrow will not be a blessing to you. God does
not make us suffer for the sake of suffering, but to
teach us to forget ourselves in that state, in which
this self-forgetfulness is the most difficult, a state
of great sorrow.
I feel for the grief of the good Abbe F .
I know how truly they were united, and I have
been rejoiced at it. Such a death as this has noth-
ing but joy in it. He is nearer to us than he was
before. There is no longer any curtain between
us. Even the veil of faitli is raised to those whose
hearts are full of pure and disinterested love.
I
LETTERS. 195
LETTER VII.
TO A FRIEND.
[Hearts united by religion meet, although separated by distance.]
I AM always united in heart to you and your
dear family; never doubt it. We are near together,
though we do not see each other ; whilst many
people are far apart, though they live in the same
room. God unites all, and annihilates distance to
those whose hearts unite in him. He is the com-
mon centre, where hearts meet from all parts of the
world. I cannot help feeling the privation of not
seeing you. But we must submit to this with
patience, while it pleases God that it shall be so,
even if it should be till death. Content yourself
with the performance of your own duties. For
the rest, be composed and self-collected, diligent
in regulating your own affairs, and patient under
domestic trials.
As for Madam , I pray God that she may
not regard those things that are behind, but press
forward in the right path. I pray that God may
bless all your family, and that they may belong to
him.
196 LETTERS.
LETTER VIII.
ON THE DANGERS OF MENTAL DISSIPATION.
No one could be more affected than I was, by
the excellent letter that you wrote me. I saw
your heart in it, and I approve of it. I pray that
God may preserve you amidst the contagion of the
age. Your security will be to distrust your quick-
ness and natural activity. You have more than
common taste for mental dissipation, and as soon
as you are dissipated you are weakened. As your
strength can come only from God, you must not
be astonished if you are weak as soon as you turn
from him. God supports us only when we trust
in him. Ought he not to allow us to fall, when
we rashly separate ourselves from him ? We can
only hope for a resource against our weakness in
meditation and prayer.
You are peculiarly in want of this support. You
have an excitable disposition, that is easily inter-
ested ; your passions are soon awakened, your vi-
vacity and your natural activity expose you. Be-
sides, you have an open, frank manner, that pleases
and prejudices the world in your favor. Nothing
is more dangerous than this power of pleasing.
Self-love is delighted with it, and the heart is pois-
oned by it. At first its victims are amused, then
flattered, then dissipated ; their good resolutions
LETTERS. 197
are weakened ; and at last they are intoxicated with
self, and with the world, that is to say, with plea-
sure and vanity. Then they feel that they are sep-
arated from God, and they have no courage to return.
Your only security will lie, in guarding yourself
against this dissipation. I implore you to devote
a quarter of an hour every morning to reading
some religious book, and to meditate upon it Avith
freedom, simplicity, and affection ; and employ a
few moments more in the same way in the evening.
And occasionally, during the day, recall to your
mind the presence of God, and your intention of
acting according to his will. Contemplate with
humility your faults, and strive in earnest to correct
them ; be patient with yourself, without flattering
your faults, just as you would be with another per-
son ; observe the ordinances of your religion. J
will pray with my whole heart for you.
LETTER IX.
TO A PERSON LIVING IN SOLITUDE.
I WILL never forsake any one whom God has
committed to my care, until I fail in my duty to
God himself; therefore do not fear lest I should
forget you. But if I were to do so, God would
effect by his immediate influence what his un-
17*
198 LETTERS.
worthy instrument had neglected. " Be not afraid,
O thou of little faith." Remain exactly in your
usual state. Retain your confidence in N ,
who knows the very bottom of your heart, and
who alone can give you consolation in your trials.
It will be given to him to aid you in your need.
No convent will be suitable for you. Everything
would be constraint to you, and would prove a
dangerous temptation. Remain free in solitude,
and let your heart in simplicity be occupied Avith
God and yourself. Every day is a feast-day to
those who endeavor to live only in the will of God.
Place no limits to your devotion to him. Never
interrupt the operation of his spirit.
There is a great difference between pain and
trouble. Simple pain is a state of purification,
trouble a state of punishment. Pain, if we are not
unfaithful, is sweet and tranquil, from the entire
acquiescence of the soul in the will of God. But
trouble is the rebellion of the heart against him,
and an opposition of the will to itself, and the
spirit is rent by the division. But pain only puri-
fies the soul ; to be willing to sufler, is to be in
peace. It is the blessed germ of Paradise in our
state of probation. When we resist God, we lose
the influence of his spirit, and in losing this, we
depart from peace, and from that experience of
him, which is to us what the pillar of fire by night
and the cloud ])y day were to the Israelites in the
desert.
LETTERS, 199
LETTER X.
TO A MARRIED WOMAN-
The day of St. Francis cle Sales is a great feast
for me, Madam. You see by his letters and by
his life, that he had risen above the world. He
received with the same peace, and the same self-
forgetfulness, its greatest honors and its severest
contradictions. His natural style discovers an amia-
ble simplicit}'', far above the charms of the spirit of
this world. You see a man possessed of a profound
penetration, and of exquisite judgment of things,
and knowledge of the human heart, seeking only,
as a simple man, to comfort, to solace, to enlighten,
to perfect his neighbor. No one had a keener sense
of the highest perfection, but he brings himself
down to the meanest and lowest ; he makes him-
self all things, not that he may please, but that he
may gain all : and gain them not for himself, but
for Jesus Christ. This is the spirit of the saint
that I wish to impart to you. To think of the
world, without either contempt or hatred, — this is
a life of faith. Be not intoxicated with its flatte-
ries, nor discouraged by its contradictions, but main-
tain an equal mind between these two states, and
walk in the presence of God with a peaceful con-
stancy, looking, in the various appearances and
actions of men, to God alone, who thus sometimes
200 LETTERS.
supports our weaknesses by consolations, and some-
times kindly exercises our faith by trials. This is
the true life of the children of God.
You will be happy if you can say from the very
bottom of your heart, " Wo to the world." Its
conversation and its pleasures have yet too much
power over you. They do not deserve so much
of your attention. The less you desire to please
it, the more you will be above it. What is called
spirit, is only a vain refinement that the world
teaches. There is no true spirit, but simple and
upright reason ; and among the children of Adam,
there is no right reason, if it be not purified and
corrected by the spirit of God, that can teach us
all truth.
If you wish to be directed by the spirit of God,
listen no longer to the world. Listen not to your
own inclinations, for they are of the world. Desire
no spirit but the spirit of the Gospel, no refinements
but those of the spirit of faith, that is conscious of
the slightest imperfection in virtue. In seeking to
be perfect in this way, with humility and simplicity,
you will be compassionate towards the infirmities
of others, and you will have a true refinement of
mind, without disgust or contempt for things that
appear low. and mean, and in bad taste. Oh ! how
really low and vulgar is the refinement in which
the world glories, when com])ared to that which I
desire for you with my whole heart.
201
LETTER XL
TO THE SAME.
Do not think, Madam, that I am wanting in zeal
to do you good. I perceive your upright inten-
tions, and the thirst with which God has inspired
you, for all those truths that will prepare you for
his service. I should rather die than be wanting
in my duty to the souls that are confided to me,
and more especially to yours, which is very dear
to me in our Lord,
Your piety is too anxious and unquiet. Do not
distrust God ; if you are sincere, he will not fail
you in your need. Either his providence will fur-
nish you with assistance from without, or he will
supply you with the power you want within your-
self. Believe him faithful in all his promises, and
he will reward you according to the measure of
your faith. Were you abandoned by all mankind
in an inaccessible desert, he would send manna
from heaven, he would cause the water to flow
from the rocks.
Fear only lest you fail in your duty to him, and
do not fear even this so as to be troubled. Support
yourself as you would support your neighbor, with-
out flattering his faults. Be simple with him who
dwells with the simple.
202
LETTEKS.
LETTER XII.
TO THE SAME.
You are right in thinking that it is not enough
to change the object of ardent feeling, and that
there is an unquiet excitement, which we should
moderate even in the service of God, and in the
correction of our own defects.
This view should assist you in acquiring calm-
ness, without leading you to relax your efforts.
The ardor with which you enter into the best
things is an evil ; it produces an agitation that be-
comes still more opposed to the peace of the spirit
of God, so that from a sense of politeness you are
induced to control the expression of it. A little
simplicity would enable you to practise the virtue
with more success and less etfort.
With regard to your apparel, it appears to me
that you should be guided by the taste of your
husband ; it is for him to decide upon these little
proprieties. If he wishes to practise economy in
these things, you ought to retrench as far as may
be agreeable to him. If he desires that you make
a certain appearance, do, out of complaisance to
him, whatever you think will please him, and yield
to him yoiu" own taste and judgment.
If he does not regard these things, and leaves
you to yourself, a medium is the best. You are
LETTERS. 203
fond of extremes ; entire magnificence alone can
satisfy your refined and lofty taste. A severe sim-
plicity is another refinement of self-love, for we
then renounce grandeur in a striking manner. It
is mediocrity that is insupportable to pride. There
is the appearance of a want of taste, in being dress-
ed like a citizen. I am told that you once dressed
like a nun. This was too much in appearance, and
too little in reality. A moderate appearance would
cost you a greater sacrifice. You can be truly
simple, only by keeping a true medium. All ex-
tremes, even in right, have in them a refined affec-
tation.
The mediocrity that excites no attention, fur-
nishes no aliment to self-love. It is the love of
God only that does not suffer from these severe
rules. Your plain duty is, to speak without reserve
to your husband, and to do without hesitation what-
ever you shall see will please him.
LETTER XIII.
WE MUST NOT SUFFER FROM THE FEAR OF TJIE DEATH OF
THOSE WHOM WE LOVE.
I PARTAKE of the grief that you feel at the dan-
gerous illness of N . The uncertainty which
204 _ LETTERS.
you have endured these two days past, is a severe
suffering. Nothing is a greater trial to human na-
ture, than this suspense between a weak hope and
a great fear. But we must have faith in our grief.
Our sensibility leads ns to think that our afflictions
will be greater than we can bear, but we -know
not the strength of our own hearts, nor the power
of God. He knows all. He knows every folding
of the heart that is the work of his hand, and the
extent of the sorrow that he inflicts, and he will
proportion the one to the other. Let him do then
his pleasure, and let us be willing to suffer. It is
cowardice and sensitiveness, that thinks that to be
impossible which in trutli is not. What we think
will overwhelm us entirely, only subdues and con-
quers our pride, that cannot be too much humbled ;
and the renewed spirit rises from its subjection
with a celestial strength and celestial consolations.
Commit your friend to God. What would be the
sacrifice ? the short and suffering life of a being
who must endure pain on earth, and who finds his
safety in death. You will see him again soon, not
under this sun that shines upon vanity and afflic-
tion of spirit, but in the pure light of eternal truth,
which will make the felicity of all those who be-
hold it.
The more pure and excellent your friend is, the
more worthy is he of being set free from this
world. It is true that there are few sincere friends,
and that it is hard to lose them. But we do not
LETTERS. 205
lose them ; the danger is only for ourselves, lest
we should be lost in not following those whom we
mourn.
As for your prayers, have no fears ; there can be
no illusion in encouraging the consciousness of the
presence of God, and letting your mind dwell upon
his perfection.
While you think only of God and truly love
him, and remembering his presence devote yourself
to him without presumption, and without neglect-
ing any duty, you will be in no danger ; follow
then your inclinations.
LETTER XIV.
ON THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE WILLINGNESS TO SUFFER,
WHICH GOD INSPIRES, AND THE COURAGE OF THE MEN OF
THE WORLD.
I ABi touched with the sufferings of your sick
friend, but I rejoice that he supports them so well.
You are right in making a distinction between
willingness to suffer, and courage. Courage is a
certain elevation and strength of mind, with which
people overcome everything. Those minds that
are guided by the spirit of God, and that are con-
scious of their own weakness, do what is necessary
to be done, without being aware of their own
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206 LETTETiS,
Strength, and without any assurance of success.
They endure and overcome by an mexplicable
power, that is within them without their knowing
it, that comes to them as occasion requires, as if it
were borrowed, and that they do not think of appro-
priating to themselves. They are not thinking of
suffering well, but insensibly they are able to bear
every trial to the end, in peace and simplicity, with-
out any other desire, than that the will of God be
fulfilled.
There is nothing brilliant, nothing grand, noth-
ing striking in the eyes of others, and still less in
their own eyes, in this. If you tell them that they
have suffered nobly, they will not understand you.
They do not know themselves how all this comes
to pass ; they scarcely know what is in their own
hearts, and they do not seek to know. Tf they
endeavored to know, they would lose something
of their simplicity. This is what we call perfect
good will, that makes less show, but is far greater
than what is called courage. It is like Avater, the
less taste or color it has, the purer it is : and it is
its purity that makes it transparent. This good
will, which is only a love of the will of God, be-
comes, upon every occasion, just what it should be,
that it may conform itself to him. Happy are those
who have the beginning, the seeds within them,
of this unspeakable good !
LETTERS. 207
LETTER XV.
UPON BEAKING WITH OURSELVES WITH CHARITY ; AND
ENDEAVORING QUIETLY TO CORRECT OUR FAULTS.
People avIio love themselves as they love their
neighbor, will endure their own failings, as they
do their neighbor's, with charity. They will see
the defects to be corrected in themselves as they see
those of others : and tliey will manage themselves
as they wonld another, whom they would lead
to God. They are patient with themselves, and
only insist upon those things that may be accom-
plished nnder present circnmstances. They are
not discouraged because they cannot be perfect in
one day. They condemn, without any qualifica-
tion, the slightest imperfection ; — they see it in all
its deformity, they endure the consciousness of it
in all humility and sorrow, and they neglect noth-
ing to cure themselves ; but they are not fretful in
the performance of this duty. They do not listen
to those murmurings of their pride and self-love,
which would mingle their complaints with the
deep but quiet emotions, which the spirit of God
inspires within us for the correction of our faults.
These useless murnnirs only serve to discourage
the soul, and to occupy it with all the refinements
of self-love, and to separate it from God ; to lead it
to seek for consolations contrary to his will ,• to
208 LETTERS.
weary, distract, and exhaust it ; and to prepare for
it a sort of disgust and despair of being able to hold
on its course.
Nothing retards the progress of the mind more
than troubles of this nature, when we voluntarily
seek them ; but when we only endure them, with-
out producing them by reflections induced by self-
love, then they will, like our trials, become sources
of virtue, they will be ranked among the other
tests of our virtue, which God sees are necessary
for our purification ; and we must submit to them
as we should to a fit of sickness.
Nevertheless, we must pursue our labor within,
and our outward acts of duty as far as we are at
liberty to do it. Prayer will not be less a privilege
in this state, nor less enjoyed ; our love will not
be less animated and true ; the presence of God
will not be less distinct nor less consoling, our duties
will not be less faithfully fulfilled. But our con-
stancy is certainly greater when maintained under
such painful circumstances. It is a greater force
that carries a row-boat against wind and tide a quar-
ter of a league, than impels it a whole league when
it has them both in its favor.
We must treat these complainings of our self-
love, as some people treat the vapors. They take
no notice of them, and act as if they did not feel
them.
LETTERS. 209
LETTER XVI.
UPON AVOIDING ANXIETY ABOUT THE FUTURE, AND LIVING
A LIFE OF FAITH AND TRUST IN GOD.
Do not dwell upon remote events ; this anxiety
about the future is contrary to a religious state of
mind. When God bestows any blessing upon you,
look only to him in the comfort that you receive,
and take every day of the manna tliat he sends you,
as the Israelites did, without making yourself any
provision for the morrow.
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. We must trust to God for what-
ever depends upon him, and only think of being
faithful ourselves in the performance of our duties.
This continual, unceasing dependence, this state of
entire peace and acquiescence of the soul in what-
ever may happen, is the true, silent martyrdom of
self. It is so slow, and gradual, and internal, that
they who experience it, are hardly conscious of it.
When God deprives you of any blessing, he can
replace it, either by other instruments, or by him-
self. The very stones can in his hands become the
children of Abraham. Sufficient for the day is the
evil thereof; the morrow Avill take care of itself.
He who has fed you to-day, will take care of you
to-morrow.
18*
210 LETTERS.
We shall sooner see the manna fall from heaven
in the desert, than the children of God shall want
support.
LETTER XVII.
ON THE PROPER CONTEMPLATION OF OUR DEFECTS.
There is a very subtle illusion in your disqui-
etude ; for you appear to be occupied with what
is due to God and his glory, but at the bottom you
are really full of yourself. You wish that God
should be glorified, but it is by your own perfec-
tion ; and by this means, you enter into all the re-
finement and sinuosities of self-love. This is merely
an ingenious contrivance for thinking of yourself.
The true use to be made of all the imperfections,
of which you are conscious, is neither to justify
nor to condemn them, but to present them before
God, conforming your will to his, and remaining
in peace ; for peace is the divine order, in whatever
state we may be.
LETTER XVIII.
TRUE FRIENDSHIP IS FOI'ND BY DRAWING NEAR TO GOD,
AND SU15DUING SELF.
We ought to receive, without any desire to choose
for ourselves, whatever God gives us. It is just that
LETTERS. 211
his will and not ours should be done, and that
without any reserve it should become ours ; and
then this world would be like heaven. This is a
far greater happiness than to see and converse with
our friends, or to receive the consolations that they
can afford.
How intimately are we united, when we truly
meet in the love and presence of God. How well
do we speak, when our wills and our thoughts are
full of him, who is all in all. Do you then de-
sire true friends ? Seek them only at the source of
eternal friendships. Do you wish to hold inter-
course with them ? Listen in silence to Him who
is the word, the life and the soul of all those who
speak the truth and who live in uprightness. You
will find in God, not only all that you want, but
all that is so imperfectly manifested by those in.
whom you trust.
You cannot do too much to correct your natural
impetuosity and habit of following your love of
activity. To be silent, to suffer, to judge no one
without actual necessity, and to listen to the voice
of God within you, — this will be like a continual
prayer and sacrifice of self
212 LETTERS.
LETTER XIX.
ON THE ADVANTAGE OF BEING BROUGHT NEAR TO DEATH.
It is good for ns to approach the gates of death.
We become familiar with what Ave must very soon
know. We ought to know oiu'selves better, when
we have come so near to the judgment of God,
and the rays of eternal truth. How great, how
overwhehiiing is the thought of God when we are
so near to him, when the veil that has hidden him
is so near being lifted up ! Improve this grace of
God towards you, by detaching yourself from the
world, and still more from yourself, for this cling-
ing to others is in truth for the sake of self.
Love God, then, and renounce self in your love
for him. Love neither your spirit, nor your courage.
Cherish no self-complacency on account of the gifts
of God to you, such as disinterestedness, equity,
sincerity, generosity. All these are from him ; but
they may be turned into poison, if they inflate self-
love. We must be little in our own eyes, and
ever act in this spirit.
LETTERS. 213
t
LETTER XX.
UPON YIELDING WHAT IS DUE TO OTHERS, AND STILL DE-
VOTING TIME TO RELIGIOUS MEDITATION.
I PITY you ; but we must suffer. We are placed
in this world that we may be purified by sacrificing
our own inclinations and dying to self. You are
called upon for this sacrifice ; shrink not from it.
I acknowledge that you should not relinquish your
rules for the regulation of your time ; but you may
gain in detail what you use in the mass. You
must manage a little. You must proceed with
caution, be guided by circumstances, yield in little
things; and in those that you think essential, you
must exercise all your firmness. But remember
that true firmness is gentle, humble, and tranquil.
All violent, haughty, and unquiet firmness is un-
worthy the cause of religion. When you are led
to act with harshness, acknowledge it hiunbly ;
but adhere to your principle; and while you con-
fess the fault in your manners, maintain your rule.
With these restrictions, you cannot be too com-
plaisant, too kind, too affectionate ; there is no book,
no prayer, that can improve you so much as this
continual self-subjection, provided you make a
proper use of it in your hours of retirement, and
the dissipations of business do not exhaust the foun-
tain of your affections. In fine, devote as much
214 LETTERS.
H
time as you can to religious meditation, and give the
rest of your life to charity, which never faints, which
suffers long, and which thinks not of itself.
LETTER XXI.
ON CALMLY ENDURING THE IRREGULARITIES OF OTHERS.
A HEATED imagination, violent feelings, hosts of
reasons, and volleys of words, effect nothing. The
right way is to act as in the presence of God, di-
vested of self, doing according to the light we have
what we are able to do, and satisfied with what suc-
cess he may grant us. This is a joyful state of
self-oblivion, that few persons understand. A word
uttered in this simplicity and peace produces a
greater effect, even in external affairs, than all the
most violent and eager efforts. As it is the spirit
of God that speaks, it speaks with his power and
authority ; it enlightens, it persuades, it touches, it
edifies. We seem to have said nothing, but we
have done everything. On the contrary, when we
are guided by our own natural impulses, we think
we cannot say enough. We make a thousand vain
and superfluous reflections ; we are always afraid
that wc shall not do or say enough. We are ex-
cited, wc exhaust ourselves, we grow angry, we
depart from the o])jcct, and no good is done.
X.ETTERS. 215
Your temperament requires many of these les-
sons. Let the waters flow on in their conrse. Let
men be men ; that is to say, be vain, inconstant,
unjust, false, and presumptuous. Let the world be
the world ; you cannot help it. Let each one fol-
low his own bent, and his own ways; you cannot
form him over again. It is wiser to leave men to
themselves, and to endure them. Accustom your-
self to unreasonableness and injustice. Remain at
peace in the presence of God, who knows all your
trials and permits them. Be satisfied with doing
with calmness, what depends upon yourself, and
let the rest be as if it were not.
LETTER XXn.
UPON SUFFERING ILL-TREATMENT WITH HUMILITY AND
IN SILENCE.
I AM touched, as I ought to be, with all your
sorrows ; but I can only pity you, and pray God to
console you. You greatly need his spirit to sup-
port you in your trial, and to temper your natural
excitabiUty on an occasion so calculated to awaken
it. When God would teach us to die to ourselves,
he touches us in the tenderest part ; our weakness
is the measure of our trial. Be humble. Silence
and peace, in a state of humiliation, are the true
216 LETTERS.
t
health of the soul. We are tempted to speak hum-
bly, aud we find a thousand excuses for it ; it is
still better to be silent, for the humility that speaks
may be suspected. Self-love consoles itself a little
by speaking.
Do not be vexed at what people say. Let them
speak, while you endeavor to do the will of God.
You will never succeed in pleasing men, and it
would not be worth the trouble if you could. 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
upon 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 connexion
with them. It is he alone, who through them con-
soles or afflicts you.
All your firmness is required in the situation in
which you are placed; but your impetuosity must
meet with trials and obstacles. Possess your soul
in patience. Renew often within you the feeling
of the presence of God, that you may learn mod-
eration. There is nothing truly great, but lowli-
ness, charity, fear of ourselves, and detachment
from the dominion of sense.
LETTERS. 217
#
LETTER XXIII.
UPON CARRYING THE SPIRIT OF PRAYER INTO ALL OUR
ACTIONS.
Do not be discouraged at your faults ; bear with
yourself in correcting them, as you would with
your neighbor. Lay aside this ardor of mind,
which exhausts your body, and leads you to com-
mit errors. Accustom yourself gradually to carry
prayer into your daily occupations. Speak, move,
act in i^eace, as if you were in prayer. In truth,
this is prayer.
Do everything without eagerness, as if by the
spirit of God. As soon as you perceive your nat-
ural impetuosity impelling you, retire, into the
sanctuary, where dwells the Father of Spirits :
listen to what you there hear ; and then neither
say nor do anything but what he dictates in your
heart.
You VvTill find that you will become more tran-
quil ; that your words will be fewer and more to
the purpose, and that with less eifort you will ac-
complish more good. I do not recommend here a
perpetual struggle of the understanding after some-
thing impracticable, but a habit of quietness and
peace, in which you may take counsel of God with
regard to duty. This you will fmd a simpler and
shorter consultation than the eager and tumulutous
19
218 LETTERS.
debates which you usually hold with self, when
you yield to your natural impetuosity.
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 mo-
ment when the voice within may speak. This is
the continual sacrifice of self and the life of faith.
This death of self is a blessed life ; for the grace
that brings peace succeeds to the passions that pro-
duce trouble. Endeavor to acquire a habit of look-
ing to this light within you ; then all your life will
gradually become a prayer. You may suffer, but
you will find peace in suffering.
LETTER XXIV.
UPON OUR DUTY IN A STATE OF PEACE AND HAPPINESS.
I AM rejoiced that you are so pleased with your
retreat, and that God gives you so much peace
within and without. I pray that he who has com-
menced this good work, may finish it. It is for
you to profit by it. You must improve this time
of peace by reflection. You must send up from
your heart that continual Amen, and that unceas-
ing ITallcluiah, which resound through the heav-
enly Jerusalem. This is a perfect acquiescence in
the will of God, and a sacrifice without any reserve
of our will to his.
LETTERS.
219
We must at the same time listen to the voice of
God, with our hearts free from all flattering partiali-
ties of self-love, and faithfully receive and attend
to this light Avhen it shows us our faults, and cor-
rect them. What it points out as wrong, we must
relinquish, however great be the sacrifice. When
we thus yield ourselves up to the spirit of God with
a perfect renunciation of self, we discover imper-
fections in our best Avorks, and find within us an
inexhaustible fund of faults before imperceptible.
Then we say that God alone is good. We strive
to correct ourselves in a quiet and simple manner ;
but our eff'orts are continual, equal, efficacious, and
deep and earnest in proportion as the heart is fixed
and undivided.
While all our trust is in help from God, we do
not relax our own exertions. We know that he
will never fail us, and that it is only we that are
unfaithful to him. We condemn ourselves without
being discouraged, and we correct our faults while
we retain our strength.
LETTER XXV.
THE EXPERIENCE OF OUR FAULTS, AND THE DIFFICULTY OF
CURING THEM, SHOULD TEACH US HUMILITY.
I ACKNOWLEDGE that I am glad to see you op-
pressed with a sense of your defects and your in-
220
LETTERS.
ability to correct them. This despair of nature
that leads us to trust only in God, is what he him-
self wills. It is then that he srives us the aid that
° it
we need.
It is true that you have a hasty and severe dis-
position, and a fretful character, that is too sensi-
tive to the faults of others, and that renders it diffi-
cult to efface impressions wiiich you receive. But
it is not your natural temperament that God con-
demns ; for this you have not chosen, and are not
able to change. It may be the means of your sal-
vation, if you bear it rightly as a trial. But what
God requires of you, is, that you actually perform
those duties for which his grace gives you ability.
What is required, is, if you cannot be gentle in
your exterior, to be humble in your heart ; to re-
strain your natural haughtiness as soon as you per-
ceive it ; to repair the evil you have done, by your
humility. The duty you are called to practise, is
a real, genuine lowliness of heart upon all occa-
sions, a sincere renunciation of self.
It is not surprising that the high opinion enter-
tained by many persons of your decisions for so
many years, has insensibly encouraged in you a
secret confidence in yourself, and a ]icnUcur of
which you are not aware. The hasty expressions
into which your temper sometimes betrays you,
may perhaps reveal to you the haughtiness, that,
without this natural frankness, you would not dis-
cover. But the source of the evil is within ; it is
LETTERS. 221
this high opinion of yourself, that has lain hidden
so long under some specious name. Be then as
humble in the contemplation of your own defects
as you have been elevated by your office in judging
the defects of others. Accustom yourself to see
others neglect your opinion, and give up judging
them. At least, if you say anything, let it be said
in simplicity, not to decide or correct, but merely
to propose a question and to seek for information.
In a word, the object is to place yourself upon
a level with the lowest and most imperfect ; to
encourage in them a freedom, which must make
it easy for them to open their hearts to you. If
you have anything to bestow upon them, let it be
consolation and support rather than correction.
LETTER XXVI.
WE MUST ENDURE THE FAULTS OF OTHERS, AND BE WILL-
ING OURSELVES TO RECEIVE BLAME.
It appears to me that your heart wants enlarge-
ment with regard to the faults of others. I grant
that you cannot help seeing them when they are
presented to your notice, and cannot avoid the
opinions produced in your mind by the principles
on which some people apparently proceed. You
cannot even avoid a degree of pain which these
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222 LETTERS.
things must occasion. It is enough if you are
willing to bear with some faults : form no judg-
ment in doubtful cases, and do not cherish that
degree of pain that would separate you from those
who are imperfect. Perfection easily supports the
imperfections of others. It makes itself all things
to all. We must familiarize ourselves to the greatest
defects of good men, and quietly leave them till
the time when God shall indicate the moment for
undertaking their cure ; otherwise we may destroy
the good grain with the chaff.
Such persons must strive according to their
strength for their own improvement, and we must
bear with their weaknesses. You ought to remem-
ber, from your own experience, how bitter is this
correction ; and this should lead you to soften it to
others. I ask of you with more earnestness than
ever, that you will not spare me with regard to my
faults. If your opinion of my defects gives me
pain, this sensibility will prove that you have
touched me in a tender part. Thus you will have
done me a great good, in exercising my humility,
and accustoming me to be blamed. I ought to be
more lowly in my mind, as I am more elevated
from my situation, and as God demands of me a
greater sacrifice of myself. I stand in need of this
simplicity, and I hope it will strengthen the union
between us.
LETTERS. 223
LETTER XXVII.
UPON THE CIRCUMSPECTION THAT IS NECESSARY IN COR-
RECTING OTHERS, AND IN JUDGING OF WHAT IS WRONG.
While we are so iiiiperfect, we can understand
only in part. The same self-love that causes our
defects, injuriously hides them from ourselves and
from others. Self-love cannot bear the view of it-
self. It finds some hiding-place, it places itself in
some flattering light to soften its ugliness. Thus
there is always some illusion in us, while we are
so imperfect and have so much love of ourselves.
Self-love must be uprooted, and the love of God
take its place in our hearts, before we can see our-
selves as we are. Then the same principle that
enables us to see our imperfections will destroy
them. When the light of truth has risen within
us, then we see clearly what is there. Then we
love ourselves without partiality, without flattery,
as we love our neighbor. In the mean time, God
spares us, by discovering our weakness to us, just
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.
They who correct others ouglit to watch the
moment when God touches their hearts ; we must
224 LETTERS.
bear a fault with patience, till we perceive his
spirit rej)roaching them within. We must imitate
him who gently reproves, so that they feel that it
is less God than their own hearts, that condemns
them. When we blame with impatience because
we are displeased with the fault, it is a human cen-
sure, and not the disapprobation of God. It is a
sensitive self-love that cannot forgive the self-love
of others. The more self-love we have, the more
severe our censures. There is nothing so vexa-
tious as the collisions between one excessive self-
love, and another still more violent and sensitive.
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 re-
gards us with pity and condescension, he remem-
bers our weakness, he waits for us. The less we
love ourselves, the more considerate we are of
others. We wait even years to give salutary ad-
vice. We wait for Providence to give the occasion,
and grace to open their hearts to receive it. If
you would gather the fruit before its time, you lose
it entirely.
Onr imperfect friends can know us only imper-
fectly ; the same self-love that hides their defects,
magnifies ours. They sec in us what we cannot
see, and they arc acquainted with what Ave our-
selves know. They are quick to discover what is
disagreeable to them, but they do not perceive the
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225
defects that lie deep within, and that snlly onr vir-
tues and displease God alone. Thus their best
judgments are superficial.
My conclusion is, that we must listen to the
voice of God in the silence of our souls, and pro-
noimce for or against ourselves, whatever this pure
light may reveal to us at the moment when we
thus endeavor to know ourselves. We must often
silently listen to this teacher within, Avho will make
known all truth to us, and who, if we are foithful
in attending to him, will often lead us to silence.
When we hear this secret small voice within, which
is the soul of our soul, it is a proof that self is silent,
that it may listen to it. This voice is not a stranger
there. God is in our souls, as our souls are in our
bodies. It is something that we cannot distinguish
exactly, but it is what upholds and guides us.
This is not a miraculous inspiration, which exposes
us to illusion and fanaticism. It is only a profound
peace of the soul, that yields itself up to the spirit
of God, believing his revealed word, and practising
his commands as declared in the Gospel.
LETTER XXVIII.
A LETTER OF CONSOLATION.
I THINK much of you and your sufferings. God
will send his consolations into the depths of your
226
soul. The wound is terrible, but his hand is all-
powerful to heal. It is only the senses and the
imagination that have lost their object. He whom
we do not see, is more truly with us than he ever
was. We shall meet him in our common centre.
Although I have not seen him for many years, yet
I have felt as if I conversed with him ; I have
opened my heart to him, and believed that we have
met in the presence of God ; and although I have
wept bitterly at his death, I cannot think that I
have lost him. Oh ! the reality of this intimate
and invisible communion which the children of
God enjoy !
I am anxious about your health ; when the heart
is sick, the whole body suffers. I fear lest every
object should awaken your grief We must enter
into the designs of God, and try to receive the
comforts that he bestows. We shall soon find him
whom we seem to have lost ; we approach him
with rapid strides. Yet a little while, and we shall
shed no more tears. We shall die ourselves. He
whom we love lives, and will never die. This is
what Ave believe : if we believe it rightly, we shall
feel in respect to our friends as Jesus Christ wished
that his disciples should feel with regard to him
when he rose to heaven. " If you loved me,"
said he, '• you would rejoice " in my glory. But
we wee]) for ourselves.* For a true friend of God,
who has been faithful and humble, we can only
rejoice at liis happiness, and at tiie blessing that
LETTERS. 227
he has left upon those who belonged to him on
earth. Let your grief, then, be soothed by the
hand of Him who has afflicted you.
LETTER XXIX.
ON THE EFFECTS OF EFFEMINACY AND RULES OF CONDUCT
BY WHICH IT MAY BE OVERCOME.
Your greatest danger is from effeminacy and
love of pleasure. These two defects may put the
soul in dreadful disorder, even where it has resolved
to practise virtue, and feels a great horror of vice.
Effeminacy is a languor of the mind, that paralyzes
and destroys its better life ; it hides Avitliin it a
treacherous flame, that evil passions are ever ready
to kindle, and that will consume all before it.
We must cherish, then, a manly, vigorous faith,
that, without even listening to this weakness, can
conquer it. As soon as we listen to, or make any
terms with it, we are lost. It injures us as much
in our connexion with the world as with God. An
effeminate man devoted to amusemenrs, will ever
be a poor man, and if he ever gets into an important
place, he will dishonor it. Such a one is not a
man, he is half a woman. A love of ease will lead
him away from his true interest. He can neither
cultivate his talents, nor acquire the knowledge
228 LETTERS.
necessary for his profession, nor submit to the labor
of a difficult office, nor endure the constraint that
is necessary to please others, nor can he apply him-
self courageously to the correction of his faults.
What shall such a man do ? He is good for
nothing ; he is incapable of any good thing, but he
may fall into great evils. Pleasure will betray him.
It is not for nothing that the senses are flattered.
After appearing indolent and insensible, they will
become furious and ungovernable ; and this con-
suming fire will not be perceived, till it can no
longer be quelled.
Even your religious sentiments, if they are
mingled with this effeminate spirit, while they may
lead you to a life of seriousness and exterior de-
cency, will have nothing real in them. You think
much of relinquishing the follies of youth ; religion
is only a pretext for abandoning them. The truth
is, that they are irksome to you. You have lost
your relish for them, and it is a matter of taste
with you, to lead a serious and sober life ; but this
seriousness, I fear, is as vacant and as dangerous as
the folly and gayety of pleasure. A serious sen-
sualist, whose passions reign amidst gloom and re-
tirement, leads an obscure, cowardly, and corrupt
life, at which the world, earthly-minded as it is,
shudders with horror. You may (piit the Avorld,
not for C>od, but to b<l* devoted to your passions ;
or at least for a life of indolence, which is offensive
to God, and which in the eyes of men is more con-
LETTERS.
229
temptible than the more depraved passions. You
may rehnquish great objects, to be absorbed with
toys and amusements, so trifling that any but
children should blush to regard them.
Again, I repeat to you what I said at first, effem-
inacy enervates and contaminates all who yield to
it. It takes from every virtue, and from every
power of the soul, its strength and marrow, even
in the opinion of the world. Its victims are weak
and inefficient in everything. God rejects them,
the w^orld spurns them. Such a man is a nonentity,
he is as if he were not. He is not a man. Fear
this defect which will be the source of many others.
Pray, watch ; against yourself. Rouse yourself as
you would rouse a man m a lethargy. Make your
friends stimulate you and awaken you from sleep.
Have recourse to the ordinances of religion. Do
not forget that, in this instance, the rewards of the
world and of heaven are to be won in the same
way. Both of these kingdoms are to be taken by
violence.
LETTER XXX.
ADVICE RELATIVE TO EXTERNAL CONDUCT AND TO THE MAN-
AGEMENT OF OUJl MINDS.
I AM not astonished at the disgust yon feel at
seeing so much that is opposed to the will of God ;
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230 LETTERS.
it is the natural effect of your change of heart.
You now enjoy a certain cahii in which you may
be entirely occupied with what is so interesting to
you, and be freed from all that would again open
the wounds of your heart. Bat this is not the will
of God. Bear this cross then in peace, as an ex-
piation of your offences, and wait till he shall lib-
erate you from it. He will do it in his own time,
and not in yours.
In the mean time, set apart certain hours to think
of God and your relation to him. You must read,
pray, distrust your inclinations and habits ; reniem-
ber that you carry the gift of God in an earthen
vessel ; and above all, let your soul be nourished
with the love of God. However you may have
departed from him, do not fear to return to him
with an humble and childlike love. Speak to him
in your prayers of all your wretchedness, of all
your wants, of all your sufferings ; speak even
of the disrelish you sometimes feel for his ser-
vice. You cannot speak too freely nor with too
much confidence. He loves the simple and the
lowly ; it is with them that he converses. If you
are of this number, open your whole heart, and
say all to him. After you have thus spoken to
God, be silent and listen to him. Let your heart
be in such a state of preparation, tliat his spirit may
impress upon you such virtues as will please him.
Let all within you listen to him. This silence of
all outward and earthly affections, and of human
LETTERS. 231
thoughts within us, is essential, if we would hear
this voice, that calls upon us to deny ourselves and
to worship God in spirit and in truth.
Yon have great helps in the knowledge you have
acquired ; you have read many good books, you
are acquainted with the true foundations of religion,
and with the weakness of all that is opposed to it.
But all these means, which might conduct you to
God, will finally arrest your progress, if you value
too highly your own wisdom.
The best and highest use of your mind, is to
learn to distrust yourself, to renounce your own
will, and to submit to the will of God, to become
as a little child. It is not of doing difficult things
that I speak, but of performing the most common
actions with your heart fixed on God, and as one
who is accomplishing the end of his being. You
will act as others do, except that you will never
sin. You will be a faithful friend, polite, atten-
tive, complaisant, and cheerful, at those times when
it is becoming in a true Christian to be so. You
will be moderate at table, moderate in speaking,
moderate in expense, moderate in judging, mod-
erate in your diversions ; temperate even in your
wisdom and foresight. It is this universal sobriety
in the use of the best things, that is taught us by
the true love of God. We are neither austere, nor
fretful, nor scrupulous, but have within ourselves
a principle of love that enlarges the heart, and sheds
a gentle influence upon everything ; that, without
LETTERS.
constraint or effort, inspires a delicate apprehension,
lest we should displease God ; and that arrests us
if we are tempted to do wrong.
In this state we sutler, as other people do, from
fatigue, embarrassments, misfortunes, bodily infirm-
ities, trials from ourselves, and trials from others,
temptations, disgusts, and sometimes discourage-
ments. But if our crosses are the same with those
of the rest of the world, our motives for supporting
them are very different. We have learnt from Je-
sus Christ how to endure. This can purify, this
can detach us from self, and renew the spirit of
our minds. We see God in every thing, but we
have the clearest vision of him in suffering and in
humiliation.
Live, my friend, without any exterior change,
but what may be necessary, either that you may
avoid evil, or may be protected against your weak-
ness, or that you may not discredit the Gospel.
Beyond this, let not your left hand know what
your right hand doth ; endeavor to be cheerful and
tranquil.
Regulate your expenses and yojn- business. Be
honorable and modest, simple and free. Serve
your country from duty, not from ambition or vain
hopes. This will be serving your country, your
king, and the King of kings, before whom all visi-
ble glories are but shadows.
Let your conduct be single, moderate, and with-
out affectation of citlier good or evil, but be really
LETTERS. 233
firm in the cause of virtue, and so decided that no
one can hope to lead you astray. When it is evi-
dent that you are devoted in good faith to the
cause of rehgion, no one will make the attempt to
turn you from your course.
Put your trust, not in your resolutions, or your
own strength, but in the goodness of God, who has
loved you when you thought not of him, and be-
fore you could love him.
LETTER XXXI.
CONSOLATION UPON THE DEATH OF A SON.
Your grief is present to me. I cannot forget the
great loss you have met with ; but God has taken
what was his own, and not ours. Who shall say
to him, What doest thou ? You are far from saying
it. His good pleasure is the supreme reason. Be-
sides, amidst the most severe sorrows, we can see
his paternal hand, and a secret design of mercy.
In another life we shall see and understand the
wonders of his goodness that have escaped us in
this, and we shall rejoice at what has made us
weep on earth. Alas ! in our present darkness, we
cannot see either our true good or evil. If God
were to gratify our desires, it would be our ruin.
He saves us by breaking the ties that bind us to
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234 LETTERS.
earth. We complain, because God loves us better
than we know how to love ourselves. We weep
because he has taken those, whom we love, away
from temptation and sin. We would possess all
that delights and flatters our self-love, though it
might lead us to forget that we are exiles^ in a
strange land. God takes the poisonous cup from
our hands, and we weep as a child weeps when its
mother takes away the shining weapon, with which
it would pierce its own breast.
Your son succeeded in the world ; it is this suc-
cess that makes you weep, but it was this that, in
the counsels of the Almighty, perhaps, was the
cause of his removal, in mercy both to him and to
his friends. We must be silent and adore. Prayer
alone can console you : it is only in prayer that we
are truly in the presence of God.
As soon as we are with God in faith and in love,
we are in j)rayer. And the most holy occupation
that docs not bring us in this way into his presence,
may be a study, but is not prayer. God is our only
consoler. Remain in silence in his presence ; he
will comfort you. We shall find all that we have
lost in him. Happy they who desire no other con-
solation. This is pure and inexhaustible.
LETTERS. 235
LETTER XXXII.
UPON THE NECESSITY OF JOINING FREEDOM TO EXACTNESS.
It appears to me that great freedom and great
exactness should be united. Exactness makes us
faithful, and freedom makes us courageous. If you
are very strict without being free, you will become
servile and scrupulous. If you are free without
being strict, you will become negligent and care-
less. Those who have little experience of the
ways of God, think they caimot unite these two
virtues. They understand, by being exact, living
in constraint, in sorrow, in a timid and scrupulous
unquietness that destroys the repose of the soul ;
that finds sin in every thing, and is so narrow-
minded that it questions about the merest trifles,
and dares hardly to breathe. They define being
free, having an easy conscience, not regarding small
things ; being contented with avoiding great faults,
and not considering any but gross crimes as faults ;
and with the exception of these, allowing what-
ever flatters self-love, and any license to the pas-
sions, that does not produce what they call great evil.
It was not thus that St. Paul understood things,
when he said to those whom he endeavored to
make Christians, Be free, but with the liberty that
Jesus Christ has given you ; be free, for the Saviour
has called you to liberty, but let not this liberty
be an occasion or pretext for evil.
236 LETTERS.
It appears to me that true fidelity consists in
obeying God in everything, and following the light
that points out our duty, and his spirit that prompts
us to do it ; having the desire to please him, with-
out debating about great or little sins, about imper-
fections or unfaithfulness ; for though there may
be a difference in fact, to the soul that is deter-
mined to do all his Avill, there is none. It is in
this sense that the Apostle says, The law is not for
the upright ; the law constrains, menaces, if I may
so speak, tyrannizes over us, enslaves -us. But
there is a superior law that raises us above all this,
and introduces us into the true liberty of the child-
ren of God. It is this ; that we ever desire to do
all that we can to please our Father in heaven,
according to the excellent instruction of St. Au-
gustin. Love God, and then do all you wish.
To this sincere desire to do the will of God, we
must add a cheerful spirit, that is not overcome when
it has failed, but begins 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 mo-
ment 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 upon
its falls, which can only embarrass and retard its
progress. The first sight of our little failures should
humble us ; but then wo must press on, not judg-
LETTEUS. 237
ing ourselves with a Jadaical rigor, not regarding
God as a spy, watching for our least offence, or as
an enemy who places snares in our path, but as a
father wiio loves and wishes to save us : trusting
in his goodness, invoking his blessing, and doubting
all other support ; tliis is true liberty.
I advise you to aspire after it. Fidelity and
freedom should go hand in hand ; but I fear with
you there is more danger of your wanting confi-
dence in Godj and openness of heart to him. I do
not hesitate to advise you to yield yourself up en-
tirely to that grace, with which he calls you to
himself.
LETTER XXXIII.
UPON SUBMISSION TO OCCASIONAL INDIFFERENCE AND DIS-
RELISH FOR RELIGION.
I AM not astonished at this lukewarniness in you.
We cannot always be in raptures. It is good for
us, by these occasional inequalities, to learn that it
is a gift of God. If we were always in rapture,
we should be insensible to suffering, and to our
own weakness ; temptations would no louger be
real temptations to us. ^Ve must be tried by this
rebellion of our hearts, that thus our love of God
may be purified. We are never more faithful than
when we cling to our Creator, not by the joy of
238 LETTERS.
our hearts, but in the entire choice and acquiescence
of our wills. Outward sufferings Avould not be
really painful, if we were exempt from those within.
Submit to your indifference, then, with patience ;
it will be more useful to you, than enjoyment that
is accompanied with confidence in yourself This
trial, provided your will is faithful, is useful ; it
may be a great good to you ; it may teach you hu-
mility and distrust of yourself; it may, by making
you conscious of your weakness, lead you to put
your whole trust in God. This sensible pleasure
that you desire, is neither the love of God nor the
spirit of prayer.
Enjoy this pleasure when God bestows it, and
when he does not grant it, still love him, and pray
to him, as if you felt it. God would prove you by
the privation of this immediate pleasure in religion,
you must enter into his designs of mercy towards
you, and humbly submit to it. It will serve to
destroy your self-love, and this is the will of God.
Your sufierings spring altogether from yourself;
they are your own creation. It is a sensitiveness
of self-love, that you cherish in the bottom of your
heart ; instead of performing your duties and help-
ing others to support their burdens, and consoling
those whom God has committed to your charge?
you are ever recurring to self, and thinking of your
own discouragements.
Hope in God ; he will support you and enable
you to be useful to others, if you trust in him and
not neglect your duty.
LETTERS. 239
LETTER XXXIV.
UPON TURNING THE EXPERIENCE OF OUR OWN WEAKNESS TO
ADVANTAGE.
I WAS quite grieved yesterday to see your mind
so much disordered. It appears to me, that there
are two things you ought to do. One is, never
voluntarily to yield to your self-love ; the other,
never to be discouraged at discovering in your
heart these unreasonable discontents. Would you
do well ? Pray God to make you patient with
others and with yourself.
If you had only the defects of others to bear
with, if you found weakness only in them, you
would be strongly tempted to think yourself supe-
rior to your neighbor. God compels yon, by a
continual experience of your own defects, to ac-
knowledge how just it is that you should bear with
gentleness the faults of others.
Turn these weaknesses to your advantage, by
submitting to them, and ingenuously confessing
them, and accustoming yourself not to depend upon
your own strength. The spirit of God will aid
you in the correction of your faults. Be patient
with yourself, be humble, resign yourself to your
own imperfections, not neglecting to cure them, but
drawing from them a lesson of self-distrust, as we
draw the most powerful remedies even from poisons.
240 LETTERS.
God makes you feel your weaknesses, that you may
put your trust iu him. He will gradually deliver
you from them. Happy indeed will be this de-
liverance !
LETTER XXXV.
UPON THE CAUSES OF TRUE DISCRETION, AND THE CONTRARY
DEFECTS.
With regard to discretion, I do not wish you to
labor to acquire it by continual efforts and reflec-
tions upon your own conduct ; this would produce
too much constraint ; it is better to be silent, and
find discretion in simplicity. We ought not, how-
ever, to be so silent, as to be deficient in frankness
and complaisance in our moments of relaxation and
amusement ; but then we may speak of indifferent
things, and suppress whatever may do harm.
In our recreations, we ought to have a sort of
joyousness, that will induce us to please others, and
be pleased with trifles. You will become prudent,
when you yield yourself to the spirit of God. He
is the source of true prudence ; ours gives us only
a false dignity, a dazzling appearance, a factitious
power. When we arc truly simple, and humble,
and stripped of our own wisdom, we are clothed
with that of God. which cannot do wrong.
It is not the childlike simplicity of the Christian
LETTERS. 241
which produces our daily indiscretions ; on the
contrary, we commit more faults, because we are
thinking so much of our own wisdom, and are
afraid to give ourselves up to the guidance of the
spirit of God. This spirit would lead us to speak
or be silent, according to the call of the moment,
without making any unquiet reflections upon our-
selves, or having that great desire to succeed, that
spoils the best things.
LETTER XXXVI.
UPON THE ARTIFICES OF A REFINED SELF-LOVE,
I COMMIT you to God, and I wish that you would
commit yourself to him. You hope for repose else-
where than in God. You shut your heart to him,
and you try to repulse his merciful hand. " Who
is it that has resisted God, and been at peace ? "
Return to him ; give yourself up to him ; hasten
to him. Every moment of delay is a new infidel-
ity. My heart is stricken for you ; I hoped to find
real consolation in you.
Oh ! my dear daughter, be subdued by his spirit.
Allow me to place before you, what it seems to
me it is his will that I should present to your view.
From your earliest infancy you have unconsciously
cherished in your heart an immoderate self-love
under the disguise of delicacy, and a taste for ro-
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242 LETTERS.
mance, of which no one has shown you the illu-
sion. You display it in the world, and you mani-
fest it in your most pious actions.
I perceive in you always a taste for what you
call esprit, for what you think graceful, and for lit-
tle refinements, that alarms me. This habit will
make you find annoyances in every situation.
With a mind really upright and powerful, this will
render you inferior to many who have less mind
than yourself. You give good advice to others,
but you are overcome by the veriest trifle yourself
Everything troubles you. You are in continual
fear of committing a fault, or you are vexed that
you have been guilty of one. You magnify faults
by your lively imagination, and there is always
some nothing that reduces you to despair. In one
person you see nothing but defects, while in another
you imagine perfections of which they have not
even the shadow. Your refinement and generosity
on one side, and your jealousies and distrusts on
the other, are without measure or reason.
You are willing to give yourself up to others,
but this makes you an idol to yourself and to them.
Here is the origin of this refined idolatry of self,
that God would overthrow in your heart. The
operation is violent, but necessary. Go to the end
of the world for consolation to your self-love, and
you will only find the disease increase. You must
either oflcr it up as a sacrifice to God, or you must
be continually supplying it with new aliment. If
LETTERS. 243
you had no one to minister to your self-love, you
would seek, under some pretext or other, for some
one who would, and you would at last descend to the
meanest and vilest subjects to gratify its cravings.
There is only one remedy for you, and it is the
very one from which you fly. The sufferings that
you complain of spring from yourself. You re-
pulse the hand of God ; you listen only to your
self-love ; you bear this venom in your heart ; go
where you will, you cannot escape God's displeasure.
Yield yourself up to him, learn to see yourself
as you are, vain and ambitious of the admiration
of others ; seeking to become their idol to gratify
your own idolatry of self; jealous and suspicious
beyond measure, and fast sinking into an abyss.
You must make yourself familiar with these dread-
ful thoughts : it is only in this way that you can
dissolve the charm that enslaves you. You may
drive away thought for a time ; you may cherish a
vain and deceitful strength, such as a fever gives
to a sick man, but it is still delirium.
There is no peace except in the destruction of
our self-love. You may make some convulsive
movements of strength and gayety, but it is agony
that prompts them. If you would make the same
effort for the peace of God, as you make against it,
how unspeakable would be your happiness. I will
pray God to give you strength to subdue yourself;
I will pray him to take pity upon your weakness,
and to do you good in spite of your resistance to
him. For myself, I will not forsake you.
244 LETTERS.
LETTER XXXVII.
WE MUST NOT BE DISCOURAGED AT THE IMPERFECTIONS OF
OUR FELLOW CREATURES.
I AM very sorry for the imperfections you find
in human beings ; but we 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 imi-
tate this merciful patience and endurance. It is
only imperfection that complains of what is imper-
fect. The more perfect we are, the more gentle
and quiet we become towards the defects of others.
Do not attend to those, who under the dominion
of prejudice, erect themselves into a tribunal of
justice. If anything can cure them, it is to leave
them to themselves, and to go on in your own path,
with the simplicity and meekness of a child.
LETTER XXXVin.
OUR EFFORTS FOR OURSELVES SHOULD BE WITHIN, AND NOT
IN EXTERNALS.
You arc virtuous. You wish to be still more
so, and you expend much effort on the details.
LETTERS. 245
But I fear you attend a little too much to exter-
nals. Think less of outward things, and more of
those within. Be willing to sacrifice to God the
most powerful affections ] your natural haughtiness,
your worldly wisdom, your taste for show in your
house ; your fear of losing the consideration of the
world ; your severity against what is irregular.
Your temper is what I am least concerned
about. You are aware of it, you fear it. Notwith-
standing your resolutions, it overcomes you, and
this teaches you humility, and will help you to
correct more dangerous faults,
■ Place your greatest dependence upon prayer ;
merely human strength and attention to precise
forms will never cure you. But accustom your-
self, from a' consideration of your own incurable
weaknesses, to view those of others "v^ith charity
and compassion. Prayer will soften your heart,
and render you gentle, docile, accessible, and ac-
commodating. Could you bear that God should be
as strict with you as you are with your neighbor ?
We are very severe about externals, and do not
look within. While we are scruimlous about a
superficial display of virtue, we do not regard the
coldness of our secret hearts towards God. We
fear him more than we love him. We would pay
our duty to him with actions, and think we have
settled our account with him, instead of giving him,
without any calculation, all our love. If we looked
carefully into ourselves, we should find some secret
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246 LETTEKS.
place where we hide what we think we are not
obliged to sacrifice to God. We try not to see it,
lest we should reproach ourselves for retaining it.
We guard it as we would the apple of the eye. If
any one should force this entrenchment, he would
touch us to the quick, and we should be inexhausti-
ble in reasons to justify our attachment. The
more we dread to renounce it, the more reason
there is for believing that this is our duty. Our
thoughts hover around ourselves, and we cannot
forget ourselves in God. Whence comes it that
the vessel does not sail ? Is it that there is no
wind ? No, the breath of heaven never fails, but
the vessel is held fast by anchors that we do not
perceive ; they are at the bottom of the deep.
The fault is our own, and not our Creator's.
We have only to seek for them, and we shall find
these hidden chains that bind us and arrest our
progress ; and there, where we the least suspect, is
the place where we should feel the most distrust.
Let us make no bargain with God, as if we feared
our service to him should cost us too much. Do
not let us be satisfied with prayer, morning and
evening, but let the whole day be one continual
prayer.
LETTERS. 247
LETTER XXXIX.
UPON THE DEATH OF THE ABBE DE LANGERON, HIS EARLIEST
AND MOST FAITHFUL FRIEND.
I HAVE not the strength that you impute to me.
I have felt my irreparable loss with a despondency,
that proves that my heart is very weak. Now I am
more calm, and all that remains is a sort of bitter-
ness and languor of soul. But this humbles me as
much as my more violent grief. All that I have felt
in both these states, was self-love, I acknowledge
that I have wept for myself, in mourning for a
friend who made the delight of my life, and whose
loss I feel continually. I find an elevation in the
lassitude of grief, and my imagination, that was
excited by a blow so unexpected, has become ac-
customed to the thought, and is now calm.
But, alas ! everything is vain, except an entire
yielding up of our hearts to the spirit of God. As
for our friend, his death was so calm and peaceful,
that it would have made you happy to witness it.
Even when he was delirious, his thoughts were all
on God. I never witnessed anything more edify-
ing or lovely. I relate this to you, because I ought
not to speak of my great suffering, without also
acknowledging this joy of faith of which St. Au-
gustin speaks, and which God has granted me upon
this occasion. He has done his will, he has pre-
248 LETTERS.
ferred the happiness of my friend to my comfo rt.
I should be wanting in my love to God, and to my
friend, if I did not acquiesce in his will.
In my deepest grief I have offered him, whom I
so dreaded to lose, to God. I cannot help being
touched at the tenderness with which you feel for
me. I pray that He whose love inspires you, may
reward you a hundred fold.
LETTER XL.
TO THE DUKE OF BURGUNDT.
THAT THE LOVE OF GOD OUGHT TO BE OUR PRINCIPLE OF AC-
TION, OUR END^ AND OUR RULE IN EVERYTHING.
The true way to love our neighbor, is found in
the love of God. We must love other beings in
him and for him. Mankind do not understand
the love of God ; therefore they fear it, and sep-
arate themselves from it. It is from this fear that
they cannot realize this filial and intimate com-
munion of children with a beneficent parent. They
tliink only of a powerful and severe master. They
are ever constrained and troubled in their intercourse
with him. They perform good actions with un-
willingness, that they may avoid punishment ; they
would do evil if they dared, and if they could hope
to do it with impunity. The love of God is an
LETTERS. 249
oppressive debt, that they think they must pay ;
they try to ehide it by the perform u;ce of certain
ceremonies and an external homage, which they
would substitute for a sincere and practical love of
God. They practise arts with their Creator, in
hopes to escape by giving the least they possibly can
to Him. Oh ! if men did but know what the love
of God is, they Avould not desire any other felicity.
The love of God demands of us only innocent
and right conduct. It bids us do for his sake what
reason dictates to be done. It calls upon us to do
from love for Him, what men of the world do from
a sense of honor, or from self-love. It forbids
nothing that the right exercise of reason does not
forbid. Let us place everything in the order in
which God has established it in the world. Let
us do the same right things, but let us do them for
the sake of Him who created us, and to whom we
owe everything.
This love of God does not demand of Christians
those austerities practised by hermits. It seldom
requires brilliant and heroic actions, or the renun-
ciation of any rightful possessions ; it only com-
mands us not to make them our idols, but to enjoy
them in the divine order, and with our Iiearts fixed
on the G iver. The love of God does not increase the
nmnber of our trials ; we find these already thickly
scattered over every condition of life. They spring
from the infirmities of our bodies, and from our
passions J they arise from our imperfectionSj and
250 LETTERS.
from those of others with whom we are obliged to
hve. It is not the love of God that causes these
sufterings ; on the contrary, it is this alone that can
soften them by the consolations it yields. It di-
minishes them, for it moderates our ardent passions
and unreasonable sensibilities, which are the causes
of all our real evils. If the love of God were gen-
uine in our hearts, it would cure our griefs and fill
us with a peaceful joy.
Mankind are great enemies to themselves, in re-
sisting and fearing this pure sentiment. It renders
all other precepts light and easy. What we do
from fear is always wearisome, hard, painful, op-
pressive. But all that we do from love, from per-
suasion, from a free and willing mind, however it
may oppose the pleasures of sense, becomes agree-
able to us. The desire of pleasing God makes us
willing to suffer, if it is his will that we should.
The sorrow in which we acquiesce, is no longer a
sorrow.
The love of God never disturbs the order of
things that he has established. It leaves the great
in their grandeur, and makes them little, only in
his sight who has made them great. It leaves those
whose condition is low in their lowliness, and makes
them contented with being nothing, except in his
sight. This willingness to be in the lowest place,
has nothing of debasement in it ; it is true greatness.
The true love of God regulates and inspires all
our attachments. We never love our neighbor so
LETTERS. 251
truly, as when onr love for him is prompted by the
love of God. All other foundations for our affec-
tions have reference to self It is ourselves that
we love in our friends, and this is an imperfect
love. It is more like self-love than real friendship.
How, then, must we love our friends ? We must
love them in the way that God has ordained. We
must love God in them. We must love the good
things with which God has endowed them, and we
must, for his sake, submit to the privation of those
things which he has denied them. When we love
them with reference to self, our self-love makes us
impatient, sensitive, and jealous, demanding much,
and deserving little ; ever distrusting ourselves and
our friends. It soon becomes wearied and disgusted ;
it very soon sees the termination of what it be-
lieved was inexhaustible ; it meets everywhere with
disappointment ; it looks for what is perfect, and
finds it nowhere ; it becomes dissatisfied, changes,
and has no repose : while the friendship, that is
regulated by the love of God, is patient with defects,
and does not insist upon finding in our friends what
God has not placed there. It thinks of God and of
what he has given ; it thinks that all is good, pro-
vided it is from Him, and it can support that which
God suffers to be, and to which it is his will that
we should submit, by conforming ourselves to his
designs.
The love of God never looks for perfection in
created beings. It knows that it dwells with him
252 LETTERS.
alone. As it never expects perfection, it is never
disappointed. It loves God and all his gifts to
every living thing, according to their respective
value. It loves less what is less excellent, and
more what is nearer to perfection. It loves all,
for there is no one that is not endowed w^ilh some
good which is the gift of God, and it remembers
that the vilest may become good, and receive that
grace which they now want. He who loves God,
loves all his works — all that he has commanded
us to love. He loves more those whom God has
pleased to render more dear to him. He sees in
an earthly parent the love of his heavenly Father.
In a relative, in a friend, he acknowledges those
tender ties that God has ordained. The more
strictly these bonds are in the order of his provi-
dence, the more the love of God sanctions them,
and renders them strong and intimate.
Can we love God without loving those beings
whom he has commanded us to love ? It is He
that inspires this love ; it is his will that we
should love them; shall we not obey Him?
This love can endure all things, suffer all things,
hope all things, for our neighbor. It can conquer
all difficnltics ; it flows from the heart, and sheds
a charm upon the manners. It is melted at the
sorrows of others, and thinks nothing of its own;
it gives consolation where it is needed ; it is gen-
tle ; it adapts itself to otiicrs ; it weeps with those
who wcc]), it rejoices with those who rejoice ; it is
LETTERS. 253
all things to all men, not in a forced appearance
and in cold demonstrations, but from a full and
overflowing heart, in which the love of God is a
living spring of the tenderest, the deepest, and the
truest feeling. Nothing is so sterile, so cold, so
senseless, as a heart that loves only itself in all
things ; while nothing can exceed the frankness,
the tenderness, the gentle loveliness of a heart,
filled and animated by the divine love.
LETTER XLI.
[FROM THE "LETTERS ON RELIGION."]
THE SOUL OF MAN IS IMMORTAL.
This question is not a difficult one, when it is
reduced to its just limits. It is true that the soul
of man is not a being by itself, possessing a neces-
sary existence. There is but One who derives his
existence solely from himself, and who can never
lose it, and who imparts it to others according to
his pleasure.
God need not exercise a direct power to annihi-
late the soul of man. He would only have to
withdraw that which has continued his being every
moment from his birth, to replunge him into the
nothing aess whence he originally drew him ; as a
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254 LETTERS.
man would merely open his hand to let a stone
fall that he had held in the air.
The question, that may reasonably be asked, is
not, whether the soul of man may be annihilated,
if it were the will of God ; it is manifest that it
might be ; but what is his will with regard to it,
is the inquiry.
Does, then, the soul contain within itself the
seeds of destruction, which must, after a time,
terminate its existence ? or, can we prove, philo-
sophically, that it does not ? The following is a
negative proof.
When we think of the essential distinctions be-
tween the body and the soul, we are astonished at
their union ; and it is only by the operation of the
power of God, that we can comprehend how they
can be so united and made to act in concert, when
composed of such different elements. The body
does not think. The soul is indivisible, has no
extent, no form, is invested with none of the prop-
erties of the body. Ask any one if his thoughts
are round or square, white or yellow, cold or hot,
divisible into six or twelve pieces ; and instead of
answering you, he will laugh at the question. Ask
him if the atoms, of which his body is composed,
are wise or foolish ; if they know themselves, if
they are virtuous ; whether the round atoms have
more sense and goodness than the square ; he would
still only j-augh, and could hardly believe you were
in earnest.
LETTERS. 255
Go a little further, and suppose the atoms of
whatever form you please ; make them as impalpa-
ble as possible, and ask if it can be, that a moment
will come when these atoms, from being without
any consciousness, will begin all at once to know
themselves, to understand all that is around them,
and to say to themselves, I believe this, and I do
not believe that ; I love this thing, and I hate
another. The person of whom you would ask
these questions, would call it child's play.
The absurdity of these questions proves, that
none of the ideas that we have of the nature of
bodies, enter into our conceptions of mind ; that
we do not connect the thinking being with the
body, or the being of space. As the distinction is
so radical, the natures of these two beings so op-
posed, it is not astonishing that their union should
be dissolved without either of them ceasing to
exist. We ought, on the contrary, to be surprised,
that two natures so unlike can continue their ope-
rations in harmony for so long a time. What, then,
shall we conclude ? that one of these beings shall
be annihilated as soon as their unnatural union
shall cease ? Suppose two bodies of exactly the
same nature ; separate them, you destroy neither.
As the one is not the other, it may exist or be an-
nihilated without reference to the other. Their
separation produces their mutual independence.
But if we may reason thus of two bodies, really of
the same nature, with how much more reason may
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LETTERS.
we use this argument in relation to the soul and
the body, whose union seems unnatural, so unlike
are they in everything. On the other hand, the
cessation of this transient union of these two na-
tures, cannot be to either the cause of its destruc-
tion; the annihilation of one would not be, on any
ground, the cause of the annihilation of the other.
A being that has not been the cause of the existence
of another, cannot be the cause of its annihilation.
It then is clear as day, that the disunion of the
body from the soul cannot cause the annihilation
of either, and that even the destruction of the body
cannot put an end to the existence of the soul.
The union of the body and the soul consists only
in a mutual concert or relationship between the
thoughts of the one and the movements of the
other ; it is easy to see what the cessation of their
connexion would produce. It is a forced union
between two beings entirely dissimilar and inde-
pendent. God alone could, by his all-powerful
will, subject two beings so different in their nature
and operations to this mutual dependence. Let
this arbitrary and determined will of God cease to
act, this forced union would immediately terminate ;
just as stone would fall to the ground when it was
no longer held up in the air. Each party would
recover its natural independence of the operations
of the other. In this case, the soul, far from being
annihilated by this disunion, which only restores it
to its original state, becomes free to think inde-
LETTERS. 367
pendently of the body ; just as I am free and at
liberty to walk alone, and according to my inclina-
tions, as soon as they have set me free from another,
to whom a superior power has bound me.
The end of this union is only disencumbrance
and pure liberty, just as the union itself was only
thraldom and subjection. It is then that the soul
can think independently of all the movements of
the body, as we, of the Christian faith, suppose that
angels, who have never been confined to bodies,
think in heaven. Why then should we fear this
disunion which can alone effect the entire freedom
of the thoughts ?
But the body itself is not annihilated, not one
atom of it perishes. All that takes place in what
we call death, is a simple derangement of the or-
gans ; its most minute corpuscles exhale, the whole
machine is dissolved and decomposed. In what-
ever spot dissolution may take place, wherever ac-
cident may carry the remains of the body, not one
particle ever ceases to exist. Why then should we
fear that this other substance, so much more noble,
this thinking being that we call the soul, should be
annihilated ? How can we believe that the body,
that cannot annihilate itself, has the power to de-
stroy the soul that is so superior to it, which is a
stranger to it, and absolutely independent of it ?
The disunion of these two beings cannot produce
the destruction of either.
We readily believe that no particle of the body
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258 LETTERS.
is lost at this separation. Why are we so eager to
find reasons for believing that the soul, which is
incomparably more perfect, is annihilated ? It is
true that God might destroy it, if he pleased, at
any time; but there is no more reason for believ-
ing that he would annihilate it at the moment of
its disunion with the body, than during its union.
What we call death being only a simple derange-
ment of the corpuscles that form the organs, we
have no right to say that this occurs in the soul,
precisely as in the body. The soul, which is a
thinking being, has none of the properties of the
body ; it has neither different parts, nor figure, nor
relative proportions and movements, nor change of
situation. Thus no derangement like that of the
body can take place.
The soul, this thinking and willing self, is a
simple being, one by itself and indivisible. There
never are, in the same man, two selves, nor two
halves of the same self Objects are presented by
different organs, producing different sensations ;
but all these different canals pour themselves into
a common centre, where they all unite. It is this
self, which is so truly one, that by it alone each
man has a true identity, and is not many instead
of one man. We cannot see it, nor hear it, nor
touch it. Wc conceive of the soul from its power
of thought and will, of the body from its extent
and form. As soon as we think of the real dis-
tinction of the soul from the body, we must ac-
LETTERS. 259
knowledge that it does not possess either divisibility,
or form, or arrangement. The body that has or-
gans may lose the arrangement of its parts, and
change its form, and be decomposed, but the soul
cannot lose an arrangement of parts that it has
never possessed, and that does not belong to it.
It may be said that the soul, being created only
to be united to the body, is so connected with it,
that its borrowed existence ceases as soon as its
association with the body terminates. But it is
speaking without proof, and at random, to say, that
the soul is created with an existence limited to the
time of its connexion with the body. Whence do
they draw this unreasonable conclusion, and with
what right do they take it for granted instead of
proving it ? The body is certainly less perfect than
the soul, as it is more perfect to think than not to
think ; we see, nevertheless, that the existence of
the body is not confined to its union with the soul.
After death has interrupted this connexion, the -body
still exists in minute particles. We observe only
two things ; one is, that the body crumbles to dust,
and is decomposed ; this cannot happen to the soul,
for it is simple, indivisible, and without arrange-
ment of parts ; the other is, that the body no longer
moves in dependence upon the thoughts of the soul.
Ought we not to conclude on the same ground, and
with more reason, that the soul also exists, and that
it then begins to think, independently of the body ?
That the operation follows the existence, is ac-
260 LETTERS.
knowledged by all philosophers. These two be-
ings are independent of each other as much in
nature as in operation ; as the body does not de-
pend upon the soul for its movements, neither does
the soul require the assistance of the body for its
thoughts.
It was only from circumstances, that these two
beings, so unlike and so independent, were sub-
jected to acting in concert ; the termination of their
transient union leaves them free to operate, each
one according to its own nature, that has no mutual
relation to the other.
In fine, this becomes the question; Whether God,
who has the power to annihilate the soul of man,
or to continue its existence forever, has willed its
destruction or its preservation ? There seems not
the least reason for believing that He, who does not
annihilate the least atom in the universe, wills the
annihilation of the soul ; and there is not the least
appearance that such is its fate at the moment when
it is separated from the body, since it is a being
entirely distinct and independent. This separation
being only the end of a subjection to a certain
concert of operations with the body, it is manifest
that it is the deliverance of the soul, and not the
cause of its anniliilation.
We must acknowledge, however, that we ought
to believe in this annihilation, so extraordinary and
so diflicult to comprehend, if God himself has de-
clared il in his word. What depends only upon
LETTERS. 261
his arbitrary word, can only be revealed to us by
himself. Those who will believe the mortality of
the soul against all probability, ought to prove to
us that God has spoken to us to assure us of it. It
is by no mcaus necessary for us to prove that God
does not will this annihilation ; we are satisfied
with the supposition that the soul of man, which,
next to God, is the most perfect thing that we have
any knowledge of, is less liable to lose its existence
than the mean and imperfect substances that are
around it ; now the annihilation of the least atom
is without example in the universe since the crea-
tion. We are satisfied, then, with the supposition,
that, as the least atom is not lost, so the soul of
man is not liable to annihilation. This is the most
reasonable and the most decided judgment from the
first impression. It is for our adversaries to dis-
possess us of our conviction, by clear and unques-
tionable proofs. These they can obtain only by a
positive declaration from God himself
We produce the book which bears every mark
of a divine origin, for it has taught us to know and
to love supremely the true God. It is this book
that speaks in the character of God, when it says,
" I am that I am." No other book has described
the Supreme Being in a manner worthy of him.
The gods of Homer subject divinity to disgrace and
derision. The book that we have in our hands,
after having shown God to us as he is, teaches us
the only worship that is worthy of him. Its ob-
262
LETTERS.
ject is not to appeise h'm by the blood of victims,
but to lead us to love him supremely, and to prefer
his will to our own : to have this love of God enter
into all our virtues, and eradicate every vice.
There is but one book in the world that makes
religion consist in loving God more than ourselves,
and renouncing self for him ; all others that repeat
this great truth are borrowed from this. All truth
is taught in this fundamental truth. The book
that has disclosed to us the nature of God, and the
nature of man, and the true worship of the heart,
must be divine. Where is there another religion
in which this is the great truth ? Moreover, this
book, so divine in its doctrine, is full of prophecies,
whose accomplishment is open to the observation
of the world; as the reprobation of the Jews, and
the admission of idolatrous nations to the true wor-
ship through the Messiah. Besides, this book is
sacred as a record of miracles performed in open
day, and in view of the greatest enemies to religion.
In fine, this book has done all that it says it
could do ; it has changed the face of the world ; it
has peopled the deserts with men, who have been
angels in mortal bodies ; it has taught and cherished,
even in the midst of the most corrupt and impious
society, the most difficult and the most gentle vir-
tues ; it has persuaded the idolater of self to count
himself as nothing, and to love supremely the in-
visible lic'iiig. Such a book ought to be read as if
it descended from hcuveu to the earth. It is in this
LETTERS. 263
book, that God has declared to ns a truth, aheady
so rational, so probable in itself.
The same almighty and good Being, who alone
could deprive us of life eternal, has here promised
it to us ; it is the hope of this life without end,
that has taught so many ma:tyrs to despise the
short and suffering life of the body. Is it not
reasonable that God, who proves the virtue of every
man in this short life, and who often leaves the
impious in their prosperous course, while the just
live and die amidst suffering and obscurity, should
reserve to another life the chastisement of the one,
and the reward of the other ? This is what the
sacred records teach us. Wonderful and blessed
conformity between the word of God and the truth
that we bear within us! All harmcnize ; philoso-
phy, the supreme authority of the promises, and
this deep sentiment of truth imprinted upon our
hearts.
Whence is it that men are so incredulous con-
cerning the blessed truth of their immortality ?
The impious declare that they are without hope,
and that they are, after a few days, to be swallowed
up forever in the gulf of annihilation ; they rejoice
at it, they triumph at their approaching extinction ;
they, who love themselves so madly, seem to be
enamored with this horrible doctrine ; they court
despair. Others tell them that they have resource
in the life eternal, but they are angry at the thought ;
it exasperates them ; they fear being convinced.
264 LETTERS.
They exercise all their ingenuity in cavilling at
these powerful proofs. They prefer perishing in
the indulgence of their insensate pride and brutal
passions, to living eternally and submitting to be
virtuous. O monstrous frenzy ! wild, absurd self-
love, that turns against itself and becomes its own
enemy !
LETTER XLII.
UPON THE TRUE WORSHIP OF GOD.
It appears to me that the character of the true
worship is not to fear God as we fear a terrible and
powerful man, who destroys all that resist him.
The Pagans offered incense and victims to certain
malignant and fearful divinities, to appease their
wrath. This is not my idea of God. He is infi-
nitely just and almighty, and doubtless he is to be
feared ; but only by those who refuse to love him and
make themselves acquainted with him. The best
fear we can have of God, is the fear lest we should
not please him, and lest we should not do his will.
The fear of punishment is useful to men, who
have wandered from the right i)ath ; it may re-
strain from crime, but it is only useful as it is the
means of leading them to love him. There is not
a man in the world, who desires to be feared rather
than loved by his children. When we perform
LETTERS. 2G5
good actions from fear alone, we perform them
merely to avoid suffering ; and of course, if we
could avoid the punishment, and dispense with
their performance, we should do so.
There is not only no parent who would be
pleased with being honored in this way, or friend
who would grant the name of friend to those who
were bound to him only by such ties ; but there is
not even a master who would love or reward his
domestics or accept their services, if he saw they
were bound to him by fear alone, and not by any
real love. With how much more reason is it that
God, who has given us intelligence and affections,
in order that we may know and love him, cannot
be satisfied with a servile fear, but desires our
hearts, and that our love should return to the foun-
tain whence it first flowed.
LETTER XLIII.
UPON THE MEANS BY WHICH MEN MAY BECOME RELIGIOUS.
We are too much impressed with the great dis-
parity that exists between the grossness of the
minds of most men, and the grandeur of those
truths which must be understood by one who
would become a Christian.
What is there to which sensual and evil passions
23
266 LETTERS.
have not enabled the weakest and least cultivated
men to attain ? What is there that the vilest men
have not mvented for the perfection of the arts,
when avarice has excited them ? What means will
not a prisoner invent in his dungeon to escape from
it ; to obtain news of his friends, to give them in-
telligence of himself, or to deceive those who hold
him captive ? What pains would not a man take
to penetrate the cause of his situation, if he were
to find himself when he awoke from sleep trans-
ported into a desert and unknown island? What
would he not do to discover how he had been re-
moved during his sleep, to ascertain whether there
were any vestiges of inhabitants there, to procure
subsistence, to clothe and shelter his body, and to
find means of returning to his own country ?
Such are the natural resources of the human
mind among the least cultivated men. The will
is all that is essential to enable men to succeed in
whatever is not absolutely impossible.
Love truth as much as you love health, vanity,
freedom, pleasure, even your fancy, and you will
find it. Be as curious to know Him who made
you, and to whom you owe everything, as the
lowest minded men are to satisfy their earthly de-
sires, and you will find God and life eternal.
Let men act in this world, as he who finds him-
self when he awakes in a desert and unknown
island. TiCt men, instead of being engrossed with
what they call fortune, diversions, reputation, poli-
LETTERS. 267
tics, eloquence, poetry, be occupied with answer-
ing these questions ; " Who am I? Where am I ?
Whence did I come ? By whose power did I come
hither ? Wliy and by whom am I created ? Whither
am I to go ? Who are these beings around me that
resemble me ? Whence do they come ? "
Why will not men take as much pains to know
themselves, as Anacharsis the Scythian did to find
the truth ? as the Greeks did, who went into Egypt,
Asia, and even India, to get wisdom ? It requires
but little light to see that we are in darkness, but
a little effort to become acquainted with our own
weakness : to be a true philosopher man needs
only to know his ignorance. When will men strive
to develop the great mystery of their own exist-
ence ? The mind of every man expands by use ;
it becomes elevated and enlarged in proportion to
the exercise of his will, and to the intellectual ef-
forts he makes. Let the soul be turned as strenu-
ously towards good, as it usually is towards evil,
and you will find that the simple love of goodness
will give incredible resources to the spirit in the
search after truth.
If men loved truth better than themselves, as it
ought to be loved, they would strive for it as earn-
estly as they now strive after the illusions that
flatter their vanity. Love, with little intellect, will
perform miracles. It is not important that uncul-
tivated men should be able to explain, with method
and precision, how they are persuaded in favor of
268 LETTERS.
virtue and religion ; it is enough that they are per-
suaded by correct and substantial reasons, though
they cannot analyze the principles on which their
conviction rests, nor refute the subtle objections
which may embarrass them.
Nothing is easier than to confuse a man of good
sense with regard to the reality of his own body,
although it is still impossible for him to doubt of
it seriously. Tell him that the time which he calls
awaking, is only a time of more profound sleep
than the sleep of the night ; tell him that he will
awake perhaps at death from the sleep of his whole
life, which is only a dream, just as he thinks he
awakes every morning from the dreams of the
night ; urge him to show you any difierence that
is precise and decisive between the illusion of a
dream of the night, when a man is sure he is what
he is not, and the illusion of the dream of a whole
life ; — you put it out of his power to answer you ;
but it is not less out of his power to believe you ;
he will smile at your ingenuity; lie feels, though
he is unable to demonstrate it, that your subtle
reasons have only darkened a clear trutli, instead
of throwing light upon what was obscure.
There are a hundred examples of truths which
men cannot doubt, and which seem to escape them
as soon as they arc pressed to answer an ingenious
objection to them. Truth is not the less true, and
the deep conviction which all men have of it, is
not less a real and invincible belief, although no
LETTERS.
269
one has tlie power to explain his reasons for be-
lieving. The greatest philosophers are persuaded
of a great number of truths, which they can-
not clearly develope, nor refute the objections to
them.
It is very true, as some author of our time has
said, " men have not sufficient courage to follow
their own reason ; " and I am well persuaded that
no man without the grace of God, will, by his own
natural strength, have all the constancy, all the
method, all the moderation, all the distrust of him-
self, that are necessary for the discovery even of
those truths which do not require the superior light
of faith ; in a word, that natural philosophy, which
follows, without prejudice, or impatience, or pride,
the deductions of purely human reason, is a prodigy.
I trust only in the grace of God to direct our rea-
son even within its own narrow bounds in the dis-
covery of religion ; but I believe with St. Augus-
tin, that God endows every man with the first germ
of this divine power, which imperceptibly mingles
with his reason, and prepares him to arrive gradu-
ally at faith. This preparation of the heart is at
first the more indistinct, because it is general in its
effects ; it is a confused sentiment of insufficiency,
a desire after what we have not, a wish to find
without ourselves that which we cannot find with-
in, a melancholy consciousness of a void in our
hearts, a hunger and thirst after truth, a sincere
disposition to readily believe ourselves deceived,
23*
270 LETTERS.
and to think that we are in want of assistance to
save us from error.
This is the secret beginning of the birth of the
new man ; the first springing up in the soul of that
healing and free grace, which gradually dissipates
all darkness, and conquers all the corrupt passions
of man. It will be said that this is not sufficient
to lead to the belief in Jesus Christ, since our faith
comes by our senses, and we should not have heard
of the truth, if the evangelists had not been sent.
But I maintain, that if the inward dispositions an-
swer to the grace bestowed, God will finish by his
providence the work that his love has already com-
menced. He will doubtless by a miracle enlighten
a man, and lead him by the hand to the gospel,
sooner than he will let him be deprived of a light
which he is worthy to receive.
A man who loves God more than himself, and
who forgets himself in the search after truth, has
already found it in his own heart. The religion
of Jesus already operates within him, as it did in
the hearts of just men under the ancient law ; as in
the descendants of Noah, in Job, and in the other
worshippers of the true God. St. Augustin was
assured that Cornelius had received the Holy Spirit
l)cfore he was baptized ; he believed that God never
abandons any but those who deserve it, that he
never deprives any one of the supreme good ; he
adds, in the words of the Apostle, that those Gen-
tiles, who have the law written in their hearts,
have a part in the gospel. You ])crceivc that only
LETTERS. 271
those infidels are culpable, who have received,
■uathoLit profiting by it, a real mercy, an offered
grace that would have enabled them to believe.
It will be imputed to no one to have sinned, where
he had not the power to know his duty.
If we suppose the case of an infidel, who faith-
fully uses the light of his reason, and that first germ
of the grace of God implanted within him, to seek
for truth with real piety, we must believe that God
will not refuse the knowledge of himself to such
a man. Rather than his children should be de-
prived of supreme felicity, which he has freely
promised them, God would enlighten a man living
in an unknown forest, or in a desert islaiid, either
by an interior and extraordinary revelation, or by
sending to him teachers of his word.
We need only bring to our minds the idea of
God, to be assured that he never will desert us.
Shall we fear that the supreme Love will cease to
love ? Can we believe that the infinite Good, ever
pouring himself forth on all, Avill deny himself to
any who are not unworthy of him ? St. Augustin,
on the contrary says, that God does everything to
save us, except depriving us of our free will.
Whom then shall we accuse ? God, who can-
not, without departing from himself, cease to be
infinitely good, compassionate, beneficent, watch-
ful, full of tenderness towards all his children ? or
man, who, according to his own confession, is vain,
stubborn, presumptuous, ungrateful, idolatrous of
himself, and averse to the government of his Crea-
272 LETTERS.
tor? Do not let ns blaspheme against God, that
we may excuse our own demerits ; pride and sel-
fishness are the causes of our errors.
God would have us love him supremely ; we
must overthrow and destroy this idol, self, Jesus
Christ has exterminated visible idolatry ; but the
idolatry within still prevails everywhere. Our
reason, divested of passion, pride, and evil desires,
would naturally arrive at this truth, that we have
not made ourselves, and that we owe this self,
which is so dear to us, to him who gave it.
Let us add to these reflections the true idea of
the Christian religion. In what does it consist?
In the love of God. He wills that we sliould wor-
ship him alone in our hearts. This is the true
worship which the Pagans never understood, and
which the Jews only comprehended imperfectly,
although the foundation of it was laid in their own
law. According to St, Augustin, men understand
the whole sense of the scriptures as soon as they
know what it is to love God ; in truth, this com-
mand includes all others. The Jewish religion
was only the imperfect beginning of that adoration
in spirit and in truth, which is the only worship
worthy of the Supreme Being. Divest that reli-
gion of temporal blessings, of mysterious emblems,
of ceremonies established in order to preserve the
people from idolatry, in fine, of its legal policy, and
the love of God alone remains ; afterwards unfold
and perfect this love, and you have Christianity, of
which Judaism was but the germ and preparation.
REFLECTIONS
FOR EVERY DAY IN THE MONTH.
FIRST DAY.
ON THE LITTLE FAITH THAT THERE IS IN THE WORLD.
"When the Son of Man coraeth, shall he find faith on the earth?"
Luke xviii. 8.
If he Avrere to come at this moment, would he
find it in us ? Where is our faith ? What are the
proofs of it ? Do we beheve that this life is only
a short passage to a better ? Do we beheve that
we must suffer with Jesus before we can reign
with him ? Do we look upon the world as a vain
show, and death as the entrance into true happi-
ness ? Do we live by faith ? Does it animate us ?
Do we enjoy the eternal trutlis that it presents to
us ? Do we feed our souls with them, as we
nourish our bodies with healthful aliment? Do
we acustom ourselves to view everything with the
eye of faith ? Alas ! instead of living by faith, we
extinguish it in our souls. How can we truly
believe what we profess to believe, and act as we
act?
274 - REFLECTIONS.
May we not fear, lest the kingdom of heaven be
taken from us, and given to others who will bring
forth more fruit ? This kingdom of heaven is faith,
when it dwells and reigns in the heart. Blessed
are the eyes that see this kingdom ; flesh and blood
have not seen it ; earthly wisdom is blind to it.
To realize its glories, we must be born again ; and
to do this we must die to self.
SECOND DAY.
ON THE ONLY ROAD TO HEAVEN.
" Stiive to enter in at the strait gate." Luke xiii. 24.
The kingdom of heaven is entered by violence ;
by the strait gate, by self-denial, and humiliation.
The broad gate, through which we see the multi-
tude pass, and which is ever open, leads to perdi-
tion ; let us beware of entering it. We must seek
the footsteps of the saints, the path worn by peni-
tents who have climbed the precipice, and gained
a sure footing upon the heights, by the sweat of
their brows ; and even then at the very last step,
it may require a violent effort to enter in at the
strait gate of eternity.
It is ordained by God that we be conformed to
the image of liis Son, that we may be crucified to
REFLECTIONS. 275
self, that we renounce sensual pleasures, and sub-
mit, like him, to suffering. But how great is our
blindness! we would quit the cross that unites us
to our Master. Let us live, and let us die, with
him who came to show us the true way to heaven.
We must take up the cross, if we would follow
him. We suffer in the narrow way, but we hope.
We suffer, but we behold the heavens opening.
We suffer, but we are willing to suffer. We love
God, and his love will be our recompense.
THIRD DAY.
ON TRUE DEVOTION.
" Wlio deceiveth his own heart, this man's religion is vain." James i. 26.
What mistakes are made about devotion ! One
man makes it consist in a multitude of prayers,
another in a great many outward acts, tending to
the glory of God or the good of his neighbor.
Some think it a continual desire of salvation ; others
an austere life. But they are all deceived, if they
think they have arrived at the true foundation and
essential principle of piety.
That piety which is sanctified, and which is a
true devotion to God, consists in doing all his will
precisely at the time, in the situation, and under
the circumstances, in which he has placed us.
276 REFLECTIONS.
Perform as many brilliant works as you may, you
will be recompensed only for having done the will
of your sovereign Master. Perfect devotedness
(and from this has arisen the term devotion) exacts,
not only that we do the will of God, but that we
do it with love. God would have us serve him
with delight ; it is our hearts that he demands of
us. Such a master is entitled to our love.
This devotion must be manifested in everything.
In what contradicts our views, our inclinations, or
our projects; it should make us stand ready to yield
up our fortunes, our time, our liberty, our life, and
our reputation to the will of God. These are the
dispositions, and such will be the effects of true
devotion.
FOURTH DAY.
ON WEAK AND IMPERFECT CONVERSIONS.
People who have lived far from God, are apt
to think thimselves very near him as soon as they
make some steps towards him.
Thus, polished and enlightened men make the
same mistake as the peasant does, who thinks he
has been at court, because he has seen the king.
They (pi it their most heinous vices, and adopt a
rather less criminal life ; but still effeminate, world-
ly, and vain , they judge of themselves, not by the
REFLECTIONS. 277
Gospel, which is the only rule they ought to fol-
low, but by a comparison between their present
life and the one they formerly led.
This is enough, they think, to canonize them ;
and they remain in a profound tranquillity as to
what is yet to be done for their salvation. Such
a state is perhaps more to be apprehended than one
of open sin, for this might awaken conscience, and
faith might revive, and they might make a great
effort ; while the other state only serves to stifle
salutary remorse, and establish a false peace in the
heart, that renders the evil irremediable.
These Christians are low-minded and cowardly ;
they would possess heaven at a low price ; they
do not think of what it has cost those who have
obtained it ; they do not consider what is due to
God.
Such men are far from being converted. If the
Gospel had been confided to them, it would not
have been what it is now ; we should have had
something far more pleasing to oiu* self-love. But
the Gospel is immutable, and it is by that we must
be judged. Let us follow this sure guide, and fear
nothing so much as to be flattered and betrayed.
24
278 REFLECTIONS.
FIFTH DAY.
ON A RIGHT SPIRIT.
" Your heavenly Father will give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him."
Luke xi. 13.
There is no right spirit, but the spirit of God.
The spirit that leads us away from the true good,
however ingenious, however enticing, however able
it may be to procure us perishing riches, is only a
spirit of illusion and falsehood. Would we wish
to be borne upon a brilliant and magnificent car, if
it were hurrying us on to an abyss ? Our souls were
given us to conduct us to the true and sovereign
good. There can be no right spirit, but the spirit
of God; there is none other that leads us to him.
There is a great difference between a noble, a
high, and a right spirit ; those may please and ex-
cite admiration, but it is only a right spirit that can
save us and make us truly happy, by its stability
and uprightness.
Be not conformed to the world. Despise what
men call spirit, as much as they admire it. It is
their idol, but nothing is more vain. We must re-
ject, not only this false and dazzling show of spirit,
but also the worldly policy which has a more sol-
emn as[)ect and seems more profitable ; and enter,
like little children, into the simplicity of faith, in-
nocence of manners, a horror of sin, and that
humility which is ready to take up the cross.
REFLECTIONS. 279
SIXTH DAY.
ON PATIENCE IN SUFFERING.
" In your patience possess ye your souls." Luke xxi. 19.
The soul loses command of itself, when it is im-
patient. Whereas, when it submits, without a
murmur, it possesses itself in peace, and God is
with it. To be impatient, is to desire what we
have not, and not to desire what we have. An im-
patient soul is a prey to passions unrestrained, either
by reason or faith. What weakness, what delusion !
When we acquiesce in an evil, it is no longer such.
Why make a real calamity of it, by resistance ?
Peace does not dwell in outward things, but with-
in the soul. We may preserve it in the midst of
the bitterest pain, if our will remain firm and sub-
missive. Peace in this life springs from acquiescence
even in disagreeable things, not in an exemption
from sufFerinsr.
SEVENTH DAY.
ON SUBMISSION AND CONFORMITY TO THE WILL OF GOD.
" Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven." Matt. vi. 10.
Nothing is done on earth or in heaven, but by
the will or by the permission of God ; yet men do
280 REFLECTIONS,
not desire this will, but inasmuch as it promotes
their own wishes.
Let us desire that his will be done, and only his,
and we shall make a heaven of earth. We must
thank God for everything, for evil as well as good
things ; for evil becomes good when he sends it.
We must not murmur at the conduct of his provi-
dence ; we shall find it is all in wisdom, and adore
it. O God, what do I see in the course of the
stars, in the order of the seasons, but thy will
which they accomplish ? Let it also be fulfilled in
my soul.
Jesus said, in speaking of his heavenly Father,
" For I always do those things that please him ; "
may we learn how far we can follow this example.
He is our model, he whose life was devotion to
the will of God. May we be united to him in this
spirit ; may we no longer follow our own inclina-
tions, but may we not only pray, and teach, and
suffer, but eat, drink, and converse, — do all things,
with reference to his will. Then will our lives be
a continual self-sacrifice, and an incessant prayer.
REFLECTIONS. 281
EIGHTH DAY.
ON THE ADVANTAGES OF PRAYER.
" Pray without ceasing." 1 Thes. v. 17.
Such is our dependence upon God, that we ought
not only to do his will, but we ought to desire to
know how we can please him. How unspeakable
a happiness it is to be allowed to approach our
Creator with confidence, to open our hearts to him,
and through prayer to hold intimate communion with
him. He invites us to pray. " Will he not," says
St. Cyprian, " grant us those blessings that he com-
mands us to ask for ? " Let us pray then with
faith. Happy the soul that is blessed in its prayers
with the presence of God ! St. James says, " If
any among you is afflicted, let him pray:" alas!
we often think this heavenly employment weari-
some. The heartlessness of our prayers is the
source of our other infidelities.
Ask, and it shall be given to you ; knock, and it
shall be opened ; seek, and you shall find. If we
had only to ask for riches, in order to obtain them,
what eagerness, what assiduity, what perseverance
we should display. If by seeking we could find a
treasure, we could remove mountains for it. If
we could by knocking enter into the counsels of
the king, or a high oiBce, with what reiterated
24*
282 REFLECTIONS.
Strokes should we make ourselves heard. What
are we not willing to do for false honor ; what re-
buffs, what crosses will we not endure for the phan-
tom of worldly glory ! What pains will we not
take for miserable pleasures that leave only re-
morse in their path !
The treasure of the favor of God is the only one
we cannot submit to ask for, the only one that we
are discouraged from seeking. Still, to secure this,
we have only to ask for it ; for the word of Jesus
Christ is true, it is our conduct that is unfaithful.
NINTH DAY.
ON ATTENTION TO THE WORD OF GOD.
" Lord, to whom sliall wo go? thou liastthe words of eternal life." John, vi. 68.
It is to Jesus Christ that we must listen. Men
must not be heard or believed, but inasmuch as
they speak with the truth and from the authority
of Jesus. He spoke and acted, that we might at-
tend to and study the details of his life. Mistaken
creatures that we arc ! we follow our own fancies,
and neglect the words of eternal life.
We often say, tliat we desire to know what we
must do to become more virtuous ; but when the
word of God teaches us, our courage fails us in the
execution. We arc conscious that we arc not what
we ought to be. Wc see our own wretchedness ;
REFLECTIONS. 283
it increases every day, and we think we have done
a great deal in saying that we desire to be deliver-
ed from it. But we must count for nothing any
resolution that falls short of the absolute determi-
nation to sacrifice whatever arrests us in our pro-
gress to perfection. Let us listen to what God in-
spires, prove the spirit so as to know if it comes
from him, and then follow where that may lead us.
TENTH DAY.
ON THE RIGHT USE OF CROSSES.
" They that are Christ's have crucified the flesh, with the affections and lusts."
Gal. v. 24.
The greater our dread of crosses, the more neces-
sary they are for us. Be not cast down, when the
hand of God is heavy upon you. We must
measure the greatness of our evils by the violence
of the remedies that the physician of souls thinks
necessary for our cure. We may make our trials a
source of love and confidence and consolation, say-
ing with the Apostle, '' For our light affliction,
which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far
more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."
Blessed are^they who weep, they who sow in tears,
for they shall reap, with joy ineflable, the harvest
of eternal life and felicity.
284 REFLECTIONS.
St. Paul said, " I am nailed to the cross with
Jesus Christ." Let us pray for his spirit of love
and self-renunciation. What can we suffer that
he has not suffered. Weak, cowardly nature, be
silent ; look at the Master, and be ashamed to com-
plain. Let thy love to him reconcile thee to thy
cross; then, though thou shalt suffer, it will be
willingly.
ELEVENTH DAY.
ON MEEKNESS AND HUMILITY.
" Learn of me ; for 1 am meek and lowly in heart." Matt. xi. 29.
It is Jesus who gives us this lesson of meekness
and humility ; no other being could have taught
it without our revolting at it. In all others we
find imperfection, and our pride would not fail to
take advantage of it. It was necessary that he
should himself teach us ; and he has condescended
to teach us by his example. What high authority
is this ! we have only to be silent and adore, to
admire and to imitate.
The Son of God has descended upon the earth,
and talccn upon himself a mortal body, and expired
upon the cross, that he miglit teach u^ humility.
Who shall not be humble now ? Surely not the
sinner who has merited so often, by his ingratitude,
KEFLECTIONS.
285
God's severest punishments. Humilty is the source
of all true greatness ; pride is ever impatient, ready
to be offended. He who thinks nothing is due to
him, never thuiks himself ill-treated; true meek-
ness is not mere temperament, for this is only soft-
ness or weakness. To be meek to others, we must
renounce self The Saviour adds, loioly in heart ;
this is a humility to which the will entirely con-
sents, because it is the will of God, and for his
glory.
TWELFTH DAY.
ON THK FAULTS OF OTHERS.
" Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil llie law of Clirisl." Gal. vi. 2.
Charity does not demand of us that we should
not see the faults of others ; we must, in that case,
shut our eyes. But it commands us to avoid at-
tending unnecessarily to them, and that we be not
blind to the good, while we are so clear-sighted to
the evil that exists. We must remember, too,
God's continual kindness to the most worthless
creature, and think how many causes we have to
think ill of ourselves ; and finally, we must con-
sider that charity embraces the very lowest human
being. It acknowledges that in the sight of God,
the contempt that Ave indulge for others has in its
very nature a harshness and arro-ance opposed to
286 REFLECTIONS.
the spirit of Jesns Christ. The true Christian is
not insensible to what is contemptible ; but he
bears with it.
Because others are weak, should we be less care-
ful to give thera their due ? You who complain
so much of what others make you suffer, do you
think that you cause others no pain? You who
are so annoyed at your neighbor's defects, are you
perfect ?
How astonished you would be, if those whom
you cavil at should make all the comments that
they might upon you. But even if the whole
world were to bear testimony in your favor, God,
who knows all, Avho has seen all your faults, could
confound you with a word ; and does it never
come into your mind to fear, lest he should demand
of you why you had not exercised towards your
brother a little of that mercy, Avhich he who is
your master so abundantly bestows upon you ?
THIRTEENTH DAY.
ON THE ONE THING NECESSARY.
" Tliou art careful and Iroulilcil about many tilings} but one thinjr is needful."
Luke x. 41, 42.
We think we have many important concerns,
but we have really but one. If that is attended to,
REFLECTIONS. -
287
all others will be done ; if that is wanting, all the
rest, however successful they may seem to be, will
go to ruin. Why then should we divide our hearts
and our occupations ? Oh ! thou sole business of
life, henceforth thou shall have my undivided at-
tention. Cheered by the presence of God, I will
do at the moment, without anxiety, according to
the strength which he shall give me, the work that
his providence assigns me. I will leave the rest;
it is not my affair.
"Father, I have finished the work which thou
gavest me to do." Each one of us must be ready
to say this in the day in which we must render an
account. I ought to consider the duty to which I
am called each day, as the work that God has
given me to do, and to apply myself to it in a man-
ner worthy of his glory, that is to say, with exact-
ness and in peace. I must neglect nothing ; I must
be violent in nothing ; for it is dangerous, either to
perform the works of God with negligence, or to
appropriate them to ourselves by self-love and false
zeal. In that case, we act from our own individual
feeling, and we do the work ill, for we get fretted
and excited, and think only of success. The glory
of God is the pretext that covers this illusion.
Self-love, under the disguise of zeal, complains
and thinks itself injured if it does not succeed.
Almighty God, grant me thy grace to be faithful
in action, and not anxious about success. My only
concern is to do thy will, and to lose myself in
288 REFLECTIONS.
thee, when engaged in dnty. It is for thee to give
to my weak efforts such fruits as thou seest fit ;
none, if such be thy pleasure.
FOURTEENTH DAY.
ON A PREPARATION FOR DEATH.
" Thou fool ! tliis night thy soul shnll he required of thee ; then whoso shall those
things be, which thou hast provided ? " Luke xii. 20.
Nothing is so terrible as death, to those who are
strongly attached to this life. It is strange that we
do not form a more just judgment of the present
and of the future. We are as infatuated with this
world as if it were never to come to an end. The
names of those who now play the most distinguished
parts in life will perish with them. It is the will
of God, that all living things shall be swallowed
in a profound oblivion, man more especially. The
pyramids of Egypt still stand, while the names of
those who erected them are unknown.
What then can we accomplish here ? To what
purpose is the happiest life, if by a wise and Chris-
tian course it docs not conduct us to a hapjiy death ?
" Be ye also ready ; for in such an hour as ye think
not, the son of man cometh." These words are
addressed to each one of us, of whatever age and
in whatever rank we may be placed. Why do we
so cling to life ? and whence comes it that we
REFLECTIONS. 289
shrink so from death ? It is, that we do not desire
the kingdom of heaven, and the glories of a fnture
world. Oh ! ye dull souls, that cannot raise your
thoughts above this world, where, by your own con-
fession, you cannot find happiness. The true way
to be ready for the last hour, is to employ the present
hour well, and ever to expect the final one.
FIFTEENTH DAY.
ON OUR ETERNAL HOPES.
" Eye hfith not snen,iior ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, tb«
tilings whicii God hath prepared for them that love him." 1 Cor. ii. 9.
What a disproportion there is between what
we endure here and what we hope for in heaven!
The first Christians rejoiced without ceasing at the
hope placed before them ; for they believed that
they saw the heavens opening to them. The cross,
disgrace, punishment, the niost cruel death could
not discourage them. They trusted to that infinite
goodness, that would compensate them for all their
sufferings. They were transported with joy at be-
ing counted worthy to suffer; while we, cowardly
spirits, cannot endure, because we cannot hope ;
we are overwhelmed by the least sorrow, and often
by those troubles that spring from our own pride,
or imprudence, or effeminacy.
25
290 REFLECTIONS.
" They who sow in tears shall reap in joy."
We must sow in order to reap. This life is the
seed time ; we shall enjoy the fruits of our labors
in another. Earthly-minded men, weak and im-
patient as they are, would reap before they have
sowed.
We desire that God would please us, that he
would smooth the way that leads to him. We are
willing to serve him, if it does not cost us much. To
hope for a great reward, and suffer but little for it, this
is what our self-love proposes. Blind that we are !
shall we never know that the kingdom of heaven
must suffer violence ; that it is only strong and
courageous souls that shall be counted worthy of
victory ? Weep, then, since blessed are they who
mourn, for God shall wipe away all tears from their
eyes.
SIXTEENTH DAY.
ON OUR DAILY BREAD.
"Give us (lay by day our daily binad." Luke xi. 3.
What is this bread, O my God ? It is not
merely the support which thy providence supplies
for the necessities of life ; it is also the nourish-
ment of truth which thou dispensest day by day
to the soul ; it is the bread of eternal life, giving
it vigor, and making it grow in fuith. All that is
H REFLECTIONS. 291
within and all that is without us, is bestowed by
thee for the advancement of onr souls in a life of
faith and self-renunciation. I have then only to
receive this bread, and to accept, in the spirit of
self-sacrifice, whatever thou shalt ordain, of bitter-
ness in my external circumstances, or within my
heart. For whatever happens to me each day is
my daily bread, provided I receive it as from thy
hands, and for the support of my soul.
It is hunger that makes the food for our bodies
useful and agreeable to us. Let us hunger and
thirst after righteousness. The food of the mind
is truth and goodness ; let us seek for it, feed upon
it, and be strengthened by it. This is the spiritual
bread of which we must eat. Let us hunger for
it; let us humbly pray to God for it; let us be
conscious of our weakness and need of it ; let us
read, and let us pray, with this hunger after the
food for our souls ; lot us thirst after the fountain
of living waters. It is only an earnest and con-
tinual desire for instruction that renders us worthy
to receive these heavenly truths. To each one
this true bread of life is dispensed according to the
measure of his desire for it.
292 REFLECTIONS.
SEVENTEENTH DAY.
ON THE PEACE OF THE SOUL.
" Peace I leave with you ; my peace I give unto you, not as tlie world givetli."
John xiv. 27,
All men seek for peace, but they do not seek it
where it is to be found. The peace that the world
can give is as different from that which God be-
stows, as God is different from men ; or rather, the
world promises peace, but never gives it.
It presents some passing pleasures to us, but
these cost more than they are worth. It is only
the religion of Jesus that can give us peace. This
sets us at peace with ourselves ; it subdues our pas-
sions, and regulate? our desires ; it consoles us with
the hope of everlasting good ; it gives us the joy
of the holy spirit ; it enables us to be happy ; it
gives us peace of mind in the midst of outward
trials ; and as the source from whence it springs is
inexhaustible, and as the recesses of the soul which
it inhabits are inaccessible to the malignity of men,
it is to the righteous a treasure that can never fail.
True peace is the possession of the favor of God.
This is found only in submission, faith, and obe-
dience to his laws; it is the result of a pure and
holy love for him. Resign every forbidden joy ;
restrain every wish that is not referred to his
REFLECTIONS. 293
will ; banish all eager desires, all anxiety. Desire
only the will of God ; seek him alone, and you
will find peace ; you shall enjoy it in spite of the
world. What is it that troubles you ? poverty,
neglect, want of success, external or internal
troubles ? Look upon everything as in the hands
of God, and as real blessings that he bestows upon
his children, of which you receive your portion.
Then the world may turn its face from you, but
nothing will deprive you of peace.
EIGHTEENTH DAY.
ON DECEITFUL PLEASURES.
" I said of laughter it, It is mad ; and of niirlli, what doeth it ? " Eccl. ii. 2.
People of the world rejoice, as the sick man
does in his delirium ; or as they do, who have a
pleasant dream. We attach ourselves to a shadow
that fleeth away. We are delighted only because
we are deceived. We think we have great pos-
sessions, when we are poor indeed. When we
awake from the sleep of death, we shall find our
hands empty, and shall be ashamed of our joy.
Wo to them who enjoy in this world a false happi-
ness, that excludes the only true felicity. Let us
ever, say to these vain and transitory joys, Why
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294
REFLECTIONS.
temptest thou me ? Nothing is worthy of our
hearts, but our hope of future blessedness. All
that does not rest upon this, is a dream.
Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst
again. The more we drink of the corrupt waters
of the world, the more shall we thirst. In propor-
tion as we yield to evil, are our hearts dissatisfied.
Avarice and ambition experience more anxiety for
those things that they do not possess, than pleasure
from what they have.
Pleasure enervates the soul, corrupts it, and ren-
ders it insatiable ; the more we yield the more we
desire to yield. It is easier to preserve our hearts
in a state of holiness, christian feeling, and. self-de-
nial, than to restore it, or control it, when it has
once got into the vortex of pleasure and self-in-
dulgence.
Let us watch, then, over ourselves ; let us be-
ware of drinking of those waters that will only
inflame our thirst. Let us keep our hearts with all
diligence, lest the vain pleasures of the world should
seduce them, and leave us at last in despair at find-
ing ourselves deceived.
, REFLECTIONS. 295
NINETEENTH DAY.
ON HOLY TEARS.
" Blessed are they iliat mourn, for they shall he comforted." Matt. v. 4.
It is the goodness of God that inspires us with
the fear of losing his love, the fear of departing
from the right way. This excites the tears of holy
men. If we think ourselves in danger of losing
what is most precious to us, we must weep.
When we see only vanity and blindness, contempt
and disregard of God Almighty whom we adore,
we must weep. God will not disapprove of our
grief; it is he that inspires it. It is" love for him
that causes our tears to flow, and he himself will
wipe them away.
TWENTIETH DAY.
ON WORLDLY WISDOM.
" To be carnally minded is death." RoM. viii. 6.
The wisdom of the children of this world is
great. Jesus Christ declares it in the Gospel, and
it is often greater than that of the children of light ;
but there is to be found in it, notwithstanding its
specious and brilliant pretensions, a terrible defect.
296 REFLECTIONS.
It is death to those who take it for the guide of
their life.
This crooked policy, fertile of inventions, is op-
posed entirely to that from God, which ever goes
straight forward in uprightness and simplicity. Of
what benefit will all their talents be to these wise
men of the world, if at the last they are caught in
their own snares ? The apostle St. James calls
this wisdom earthly, sensual, devilish ; earthly, be-
cause it limits its desires to the possession of earthly
good ; sensual, because it labors only for those
things that flatter the passions, and plunges men
into sensual delights; diabolical, because, while it
has the shrev/dness, the penetration of a demon, it
also has the malice of one. Its possessors think
they deceive the whole world, but they only de-
ceive themselves.
Blind are all those who think themselves Avise,
and have not the wisdom that Jesus taught. They
arc running in profound darkness after a phantom.
They are like a man in a dream, who thinks that
he is awake, and who imagines that the objects he
sees are real. Thus deceived are they, who are
called great in the world, wise in their generation,
who arc the victims of deceitful pleasures. It is
only the children of God who walk in the light of
pure trntli.
What awaits these men who arc so full of their
own vain and ambitious thoughts ? Often disgrace,
always death, the judgment of God, and eternity.
REFLECTIONS. 297
These arc the great objects that arc ever before,
and that ever await these men, but they do not
discern them. Their worldly wisdom can foresee
everything, except the downfall and annihilation
of everything they hold dear. Deluded beings,
when will you open your eyes to the light of
Christianity, that will discover to you the nothing-
ness of earthly glory !
TWENTY-FIRST DAY.
ON TRUST IN GOD.
" It is better to trust in the Lord, than to put confiJenrre in mnn."
Psalm c.wiii. 8.
We are ever ready to confide in weak friends,
and we are afraid to trust hi God. We believe the
promises of the world, but we cannot believe the
word of God. Let us make an effort to restore the
divine order; let ns confide with moderation in
what depends upon ourselves, but let us set no
bounds to our confidence in God. Let us repress
all eagerness, ail inquietude, all that we call zeal.
He who thus trusts in God becomes immovable as
Mount Zion. Our trust should be more firm and ele-
vated. " I can do all things, through Christ which
strengtheneth me."
298 REFLECTIONS.
TWENTY-SECOND DAY.
ON THE DEPTH OF THE MERCY OF GOD.
Let ns give ourselves to God without any re-
serve, and let us not be afraid ; he will fill our
whole hearts, these hearts that the world may in-
toxicate, trouble, agitate, but cannot satisfy. He
will deprive us only of those things that n)ake us
unhappy. Our occupations will not be changed,
but they will be performed with reference to the
will of God. We shall meet the approach of death
in peace. It will be to us only the commencment
of an immortal life. We shall, as St. Paul says,
" not be unclothed, but be clothed upon, that mor-
tality may be swallowed up in life," and then we
shall comprehend the depth of the mercy of God.
Let us contemplate, as in the presence of God,
all the proofs that we have experienced of his mer-
cy ; the light which Jesus Christ has shed upon
our soul, the pure affection that he has inspired,
the sins that have been forgiven us, the snares
which we have escaped, the protection we have re-
ceived. Let our hearts be touched with the re-
membrance of all these precious proofs of his good-
ness. Add to tills til'! sorrows that he has sent to
sanctify our hearts ; for we should look upon these
as proofs of his love for us. Let gratitude for the
past inspire us with confidence in the future. Let
REFLECTIONS, 299
US never distrust him : let us fear only ourselves,
remember that he is the Father of mercies, and the
God of all consolation. He sometimes takes away
his consolations from us, but his mercy ever remains.
TWENTY-THIRD DAY.
ON THE YOKE OF JESUS CHRIST.
" My yoke is easy, and my burden is liglit." Matt. xi. 30.
Let not the word yoke terrify us ; we feel the
weight of it, but we do not bear it alone. Jesus
Christ will enable us to bear it, he will teach us
the charm of justice and truth, the chaste delights
of virtue ; his religion supports man against him-
self, against his corrupt desires, and makes him
strong in spite of his weakness. Oh, ye of little
faith, what do ye fear ? You suffer, but you may
suffer with peace, with love for God. You must
fight, but you shall gain the victory ; God is on
your side, and he will crown you with his own
hands. You weep, but he himself shall wipe
away your tears. Is it to be lamented that we are
delivered from the heavy yoke of the world, and
have only to bear the light burden that Jesus
Christ imposes ? Do we fear being too free from
self, from the caprices of our pride, the violence of
our passions, and the tyranny of the world ?
300 REFLECTIONS.
TWENTY-FOURTH DAY.
ON FALSE LIBERTY.
"Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom." 2 Cor. iii. 17.
When we obey the world, we call ourselves
free, because we follow our own inclinations.
Foolish mistake ! is there any condition in which
we have not as many masters as there are individ-
uals with whom we are connected ? Is there any
one in which we do not depend even more upon
the whims of others, than upon our own ? All the
commerce of life is continual constraint, from the
thraldom of decorum and from the necessity of
pleasing others.
Besides this, our own passions are worse than
the most cruel tyrants. If we obey them only in
part, we must maintain a continual contest with
them, and have hardly time to breathe. Then
they betray us, they distract our hearts, they tread
under foot the laws of honor and reason, and never
say, It is enough. If we yield ourselves up to
them, where Avill they lead us ? I shrink from the
thought. Oh my God, preserve me from the fatal
slavery that men madly call liberty. With thee
alone is freedom. It is thy truth that makes us
free. To servo thee is true dominion.
REFLECTIONS. 301
TWENTY-FIFTH DAY.
ON THE DETERMINATION TO LIVE ENTIRELY TO GOD.
"Lord, what wilt tliou have me to do?" Acts ix. 6.
These are the words of St. Paul, when he was
miraculously addressed by the grace of that Saviour
whom he had persecuted. Do we not still perse-
cute him by our pride and our passions ; and when
tribulation comes, and our pride is overthrown,
and our self-love is confounded, shall we not say
to him with perfect submission, Lord, what wilt
thou have me to do ?
It is not enough that this offer of ourselves be
made in general terms only, it must include all the
details of duty. It costs very little to desire per-
fection. We must truly desire it, more than all
temjporal blessings, even the most cherished and
the most ardently pursued. We must not do less
for the service of God than we have done for the
world. Let us ask our hearts this question. Am I
resolved to sacrifice to God my strongest affections,
my most deeply-rooted habits, my predominating
inclinations, my greatest pleasures ?
26
302 REFLECTIONS.
TWENTY-SIXTH DAY.
ON THE COMPROMISES THAT WE WOULD MAKE WITH GOD.
" How long halt ya between two opinions ?" 1 Kings xviii. 21.
" No man can serve two masters." Matt. vi. 24.
We know that we must love and serve God, if
we would be saved ; but we are anxious to strip
his service of everything burthensome and disa-
greeable. We wish to serve him, if he demands
only a few words and ceremonies ; and these must
be short, for we are soon wearied. We wish to
love him, provided we have not to relinquish this
blind love of ourselves, that amounts to idolatry,
and that seems, instead of leading us to him as the
Being for whom we were made, to seek him only
as a resource when all other creatures fail us. We
wish to love and serve him, while we are ashamed
of our love for him, and hide it as though it were
a weakness, and blush as if we were afraid, and
thought that he was unworthy of our love ; we
bestow upon him some few of the externals of re-
ligion, to avoid scandal. Thus we live under the
control of the world, and offer nothing to God
without its permission. What sort of love and
service is this ?
God will enter into no other covenant with us,
than that in which we promise to renounce self
and devote ourselves to him — than that which is
REFLECTIONS.
303
contained in the first commandment, where he
exacts without any reserve all our hearts, all our
minds, and all our strength. If we truly love God,
shall we be afraid of sacrificing too much for him?
Can we love him, and be satisfied when we dis-
please hmi, or without taking pains to do his will
and glorify him, and being ever ready to testify
courageously to the strength and sincerity of our
love for him ?
TWENTY-SEVENTH DAY.
ON THE RIGHT EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.
"Let us do good as we have opportunity." Gal. vi. 10.
" The night cometh, wlien no man can work." John ix. 4.
Time is precious, but we do not comprehend all
its value. We shall know it only when it will no
longer be of any advantage to us. Our friends make
demands upon it, as if it were nothing, and we be-
stow it in the same way. Often it is a burthen to
us. We know not what to do with it. A day
will come, when a single quarter of an hour may
appear of more worth to us than the riches of the
whole world. God, who is so free and liberal in
his bounty to us in everything else, teaches us, by
the wise economy of his providence, how careful
we should be of the use of time ; for he gives us
but one instant, and withdraws that as he gives us
304 REFLECTIONS.
a second, while he retains the third in his own
hands, leaving ns in entire uncertainty whether it
will ever be ours.
Time is given us to prepare for eternity, and
eternity will not be too long for our regrets at the
loss of time, if we have misspent it. Our lives as
well as our hearts belong to God; he has given
them both for his service. We cannot always be
doing a great work, but we can always be doing
something that belongs to our condition. To be
silent, to suffer, to pray when we cannot act, is
acceptable to God. A disappointment, a contradic-
tion, a harsh word received and endured as in his
presence, is worth more than a long prayer; and
we do not lose time if we bear its loss with gentle-
ness and patience, provided the loss was inevitable,
and was not caused by our own fault.
Thus let us spend our days, redeeming the time,
by quitting vain amusements, useless correspond-
ences, those weak outpourings of the heart that are
only modifications of self-love, and conversations
that dissipate the mind, and lead to no good. Thus
we shall find time to serve God ; and there is none
well employed that is not devoted to him.
REFLECTIONS. 305
TWENTY-EIGHTH DAY.
ON THE PRESENCE OF GOD,
" Walk before me, and be thou perfect." Gen. xvii. 1.
These are the words of God to faithful Abraham.
Whoever walks in thy presence, O Lord, is in the
path to perfection. We never depart from this
holy way, but we lose sight of thee, and cease to
behold thee in everything. Alas! where shall we
go, when we no longer see thee, thee who art
our light, and the only goal to which our steps
should tend? To have our eyes fixed on thee in
every step we take, is our only security that we
shall never go astray. Faith, beaming Avith light
amidst the darkness that surrounds us, I behold thee
with thy look of holy love and trust, leading man
to perfection. Oh God, I will fix my eyes on ihee ;
I will behold thee in everything that is around me.
The order of thy providence shall arrest my atten-
tion. My heart shall still see thee in the midst of
the busy cares of life, in all its duties, all its con-
cerns ; for they shall all be fulfilled in obedience
to thy will. " I will lift my eyes unto the holy
hills, whence cometh my strength."
In vain does our own foresight strive to escape
the snares that surround us : danger comes from
below, but deliverance only from on high. Temp-
tations are without and within us : we should be
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306
REFLECTIONS.
lost, O Lord, without thee. To thee I raise my
eyes, upon thee I rest my heart ; my own weak-
ness frightens me. Thy all-powerful mercy will
support my infii-mity.
TWENTY-NINTH DAY.
ON THE LOVE WHICH GOD HAS FOR US.
" I have loved thee with an everlasting love." Jer. xxxi. 3.
God has not waited for us to love him ; before
all time, before we were endowed with life, he
thought of us, and thought of doing us good.
What he meditated in eternity, he has performed
in time. His beneficent hand has bestowed every
variety of blessings upon us; neither our unfaith-
fulness nor ingratitude has dried up the fountain of
his goodness to us, or arrested the stream of his
bounty.
Oh thou Eternal Love, that hast loved me when
I could neither know nor acknowledge tliee ; im-
measurable love ! that has made me what I am,
that has given me all I possess, and that has
as yet promised me infinitely more ! Oh love,
without interruption, without change, that all the
bitter waters of my iniquities could not extinguish !
Have 1 any heart, oh my God, if I am not pene-
trated with gratitude and love for thee ?
REFLECTIONS.
307
THIRTIETH DAY.
ON THE LOVE THAT WE OUGHT TO HAVE TOWARDS GOD.
" W^hom have I in heaven but thee ? and there is none on earlli that I desire be-
side thee." Psalm Ixxiii. 25.
We often, when we say we love God with our
whole souls, utter mere Avords ; it is a sound with-
out any sense. We learned to speak thus in our
infancy, and we continue, when we grow up, with-
out knowing what we say. To love God is to
make his will ours ; it is to obey faithfully his laws ;
it is to abhor sin. To love God is to love all that
Jesus Christ loved, — poverty, humiliation, suffer-
ing ; it is to hate what he hated, the vanities of
the world, our own passions.
Can we think that we truly love an object that
we do not wish to resemble ? To love God is to
hold a willing communion with him ; it is to de-
sire to be near to him ; it is to thirst for his presence.
Mankind live in a deathlike coldness. They love
a little base metal, a house, a name, an airy title, a
chimera that they call reputation. They love a
conversation or a passing amusement. It is God
alone whom they do not love ; all our love is ex-
hausted upon the most paltry things.
Would we not know the happiness of loving
God ? Oh God, reign in our hearts in spite of our
infidelities ; let the flame of thy holy love extin-
308 REFLECTIONS.
giiish all other. What shall we ever find truly
lovely away from thee, that we shall not find in
thee, who art all perfection, and who art the source
of every good ?
THIRTY-FIRST DAY.
ON LOVE TO GOD.
" Oh God of my heart, Oh God, my poition forever." Psalm Ixxiii. 26.
Can we know thee, oh my God, and not love
thee ? thee, who surpassest in greatness, and power,
and goodness, and bounty, in magnificence, in all
sorts of perfections, and what is more to me, in thy
love for me, all that a created being can compre-
hend ? Thou pcrmittcst me, thou commandest me
to love thee. Shall the mad passions of the world
be indulged with ardor, and we love thee with a
cold and measured love? Oh no, my God; let
not the profane be stronger than the divine love.
Send thy spirit into my heart ; it is open to thee,
all its recesses arc known to thee. Thou knowest
how far it is capable of loving tlicc. Weak and
helpless being that T am, I can give only my love ;
increase it, Almighty God, and render it more wor-
thy of thee.
SHORT MEDITATIONS
UPON DIFFERENT SUBJECTS
TAKEN FROM THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.
FIRST MEDITATION.
" Lord, to whom sliall we go ? Thou hast the words of eternal life."
We do not understand the Gospel ; we do not
comprehend its instructions ; we do not penetrate
its spirit. We are very curious about tlie teach-
ings of men, but we neglect those of God. One
word from the Gospel is worth all the other books
in the world ; this is the source of all truth.
With what love, what faith, what adoration
ought we to listen to the words of Jesus Christ !
Henceforth let us say to him with St. Peter, " Lord,
to whom shall we go ?" A single moment of self-
communion, of love, and of the presence of God,,
will enable us to perceive and understand the truth,
better than all the reasonings of men.
310 MEDITATIONS.
SECOND MEDITATION.
" Take heed, therefore, that the light which is in thee be not darkness."
It is not surprising that our sins should be dis-
pleasing in the sight of God ; but that imperfec-
tions grow even out of our virtues, this should
make us tremble. Our wisdom is often only a
worldly and selfish policy ; our modesty a com-
posed and hypocritical exterior, to attract praise,
and for the sake of appearance ; our zeal, an effect
of fancy or pride ; our frankness only thoughtless-
ness ; and so on.
How do we shrink from those sacrifices, Avhich
we make to God, while they appear so meritorious
in the eyes of the world ! Let us beware, lest our
light turn into daikness.
MEDITATIONS. 311
THIRD MEDITATION.
" Love not the world nor the tilings that are in the world."
We rail at the world, but we carry the world in
our hearts. The world is that multitude of peo-
ple who love themselves, and who love the crea-
tures of earth, without reference to the Creator.
We are then the world ourselves, since it means
only those who love themselves, and who seek in
created things the felicity only found in God. We
must confess, then, that we are of the world, and
that we have not the spirit of Jesus Christ.
It is shameful to renounce the world in appear-
ance, and to retain its principles ; — jealousy of
authority, love of reputation that we do not merit,
dissipation in company, anxiety for all those indul-
gences that flatter ihe senses, cowardice in the ex-
ercise of christian duties, a disinclination for the
study of the truths of the Gospel. This is the
world : it dwells within us, and we love it, while
we are so anxious for its favor, and so apprehen-
sive lest it should forget us. Happy the holy
apostle, " to whom the world was crucified, and
who was crucified to the world !"
312 MEDITATIONS.
FOURTH MEDITATION.
" My peace I give unto you, not as the world giveth."
It is sacrificing little to relinquish this phantom,
called the world ; they are to be pitied, who think
they lose much in quitting it. Every true Chris-
tian renounces it. It is to seek a sheltering port
from the storm.
The world, it is true, promises peace, but it never
gives it ; it yields us some fleeting pleasures, but
they cost us more than they are worth. It is the
religion of Jesus alone that can give peace to man ;
it unites him with his Saviour ; it subdues his pas-
sions, it controls his desires, it consoles him with
the love of Christ ; it gives him joy even in sorrow,
and this is a joy that cannot be taken awaj^
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MEDITATIONS. 313
FIFTH MEDITATION.
" See that ye love one anollier willi a pure heart fervently."
The Apostle teaches us in these words, that our
charity should lead us to be always attentive not
to give pain to our neighbor. Without this watch-
fulness, charity, which droops in the world, would
soon die. A word uttered with haughtiness or un-
kindness may overcome a weak spirit. Beings so
dear to God, the friends of Jesus, should be treated
by us with gentleness. If we neglect this careful-
ness, we are deficient in charity.
We are always attentive to those who are dear
to us, and this watchful love should fill our hearts.
" Feed my sheep ;" these words of Jesus are appli-
cable to us all, as an exhortation to cordiality and
tenderness towards each other.
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314 MEDITATIONS.
SIXTH MEDITATION.
" I am not come to be ministered unto, but to minister."
This is what every one should say, who has
any authority over others. It is a ministry. We
must truly serve those whom we appear to com-
mand ; we must bear with their imperfections, cor-
rect them with gentleness and patience, and lead
them in the way to heaven.
We must be all things to all men ; consider our-
selves as made for them; soften by our humility
the most necessary reproofs ; never be discouraged,
and pray God to give that change of heart, which
we cannot produce by our efforts.
Let us examine ourselves in relation to those
who are committed to our care, and for whom we
are accountable to God.
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MEDITjiTIONS. 315
SEVENTH MEDITATION.
" Learn of mo, for I am meek and lowly of heart."
It could have been the Son of God alone, who
could have given us this divine lesson. What has
he not done for the love of us ? What has he not
sufiered, what does he not still feel for us ? He
was led like a victim to the slaughter, and no one
heard him complain ; and we complain at the
slightest evils ; we are sensitive, irritable, and
proud.
There is no true and constant gentleness with-
out humility ; while we are so fond of ourselves,
we are easily offended with others. Let us be per-
suaded 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 towards
those of others. Let us apply to our hearts these
sublime and touching words of the Son of God ;
" Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly of heart."
316 MEDITATIONS.
EIGHTH MEDITATION.
'Whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased, and he that humbleth himself shall
be exalted."
Do we desire glory ? let us seek it in its true
place ; let us seek that which will endiire forever.
Oh noble ambition, to dwell eternally with the
Son of God ! But how weak, how childish, this
eager desire for distinction in the world ; for a
name, a reputation, more evanescent than the va-
por that is the sport of the winds ! Is a vain show
worth so much pains ?
Let us aspire after true greatness, that is only
found in humility. God rebukes the proud even
in this world, and in the world to come they are
abased ; but the humble, even in this life, shall re-
ceive the respect that they have not sought for,
and eternal glory shall be the recompense of their
contempt of false and perishing honors.
MEDITATIONS. 317
NINTH MEDITATION.
" I sleep, but my heart waketh."
We sleep in peace in the arms of God, when we
yield ourselves up to his providence, in a delight-
ful consciousness of his tender mercies ; no more
restless uncertainties, no more anxious desires, no
more impatience at the place we are in ; for it is
God who has put us there, and who holds us in
his arms. Can we be unsafe where he has placed
us, and where he watches over us as a parent
watches a child ? This confiding repose, in which
earthly care sleeps, is the true vigilance of the
heart ; yielding itself up to God, with no other
support than him, it thus watches while we sleep.
This is the love of him, that will not sleep even in
death.
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318 MEDITATIONS.
TENTH MEDITATION.
" Teach us to pray."
Lord, I know not what I ought ask of thee ;
thou lovest me better than I can love myself. Oh
my Father, give to thy child that which he knows
not how to ask. I dare not pray either for crosses
or consolations : I present myself before thee, I
open my heart to thee. Behold those wants that
I know not myself. See and do according to thy
tender mercy.
I adore thy will without knowing it. I am
silent before thee : I yield myself up ; I would
sacrifice myself to thy will ; I would have no other
desire than to do it. Teach me to pray ; pray
thyself in me.
MEDITATIONS. 319
ELEVENTH MEDITATION.
"Lord, thou knowcst that I love thee."
Saint Peter said this to our Lord ; but shall we
dare to say it ? Can we love him, of whom we
do not think ? What friend have we, of whom
we had not rather speak ? Where are we more
wearied than at the foot of his altar ? What do we
do to please our Master, and to render ourselves
what he wishes us to be ? What do we do for his
glory ? What have we sacrificed to him ? Do we
prefer him even to our lowest interests, to our most
unworthy pleasures? Where, then, is our love for
him ?
Unhappy, however, are those who do not love
the Lord Jesus, who has so loved us. If we do
love him, can we be insensible to all his benefits ?
"Neither death, nor life, nor principalities, nor
powers, nor things present, nor things to come, can
separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ
Jesus our Lord."
320 MEDITATIONS.
TWELFTH MEDITATION.
" It is the Lord who leads me ; I shall want nothing."
How weak it is in us to seek anything but God !
While we have the source of all good, we think
ourselves poor. We desire to find, even in piety,
earthly consolations. We look upon it rather as a
softener of the ills that we must endure, than as a
state of renunciation and sacrifice of self. From
this arise our discouragements. Let us begin by
yielding ourselves up to the will of God. When
serving him, let us have no anxiety about what he
will do for us. A little more or a less suff"ering in
this short life, will be but of little consequence.
What can I want, if God is wnth me. Yes, God
himself! he is the infinite and the only good.
Vanish, all ye false goods of earth, unworthy of the
name you bear, and often only making men wicked.
God alone is good, he who ever dwells in my soul.
Let him deprive me of my pleasures, of riches, honor,
power, friends, health, and life, Avhile he does not
estrange himself from my heart, I shall still be
rich, I shall have lost nothing, I shall have pre-
served my all.
The Lord has sought me in my wanderings, has
loved me when I have not loved him, has regarded
me with com})assion, notwithstanding my ingrati-
tude. I am in his hands, I feel my weakness and
his strength ; W'itli such a support I shall want
nothing.
MEDITATIONS. 321
< THIRTEENTH MEDITATION.
" Learn of rae, for I am meek and lowly in heart; and yo sliall find rest to your
souls."
Almighty God, I come to be instructed at thy
feet. Thou art present, thou callest rae by thy
tender mercies ; speak. Lord, thy servant heareth.
Oh, Eternal Majesty, I come before thee to receive
everything I desire from thee, and to renounce my-
self without reserve.
Send me, Oh my God, thy holy spirit ; let it be-
come mine ; I would open my heart to this spirit
of love and truth; let it enlighten me, let it teach
me to be meek and lowly. Oh Jesus, it is thou
who hast given me this lesson of gentleness and
humility. Thou teachest me to find in it rest to
my soul. Alas, how far I have been from finding
this peace! I have sought it in the vain imagina-
tions of pride, but pride is incompatible with peace ;
it is ever desiring what it does not possess ; it
wishes to pass for what it is not ; it ever exalts itself,
and God continually resists it, by the envy and
contradictions it meets in the Avorld, or by its own
imperfections which it cannot help feeling. Un-
happy pride, that can never know the peace of the
children of God, who are meek and lowly of heart.
322 MEDITATIONS.
FOURTEENTH MEDITATION.
" The Lord gave, and the Lord liath taken away."
This, oh Lord, is what thy servant Job said in ^
the excess of his sufferings. It is thy mercy that
has put these precious words into the heart and
lips of a sinner like me. Thou gavest me health,
and I forgot thee ; thou deprivest me of it and I
return to thee. Blessed be God, who has taken
away his gifts, to bring me to himself.
Oh Lord, deprive me of all else, but restore to
me thyself. All things are thine, thou art the
Lord. Take from me riches, honor, health ; every-
thing that would separate me from thee.
MEDITATIONS. 323
FIFTEENTH MEDITATION.
" Whether wo live or whether we die, we arc the Lord's."
Oh my God ! what is death or Hfe to me ? Life
is nothing ; it is even a snare, if it be too dear to
me. Death can only destroy this house of clay ;
it delivers the soul from the contamination of the
body, and from its own pride. It frees it from the
influence of the tempter, and introduces it forever
into the kingdom of truth.
I ask not, then, oh my Father, for health or for
life. I make an offering to thee of all my days.
Thou hast counted them. I would know nothing
more. All I ask, is to die rather than live as I
have lived ; and if it be thy will that I depart, let
me die in patience and love. Almighty God, who
boldest the keys of the tomb in thy hand, to open
and close it at thy will, give me not life if I shall
love it too well. Living or dying, I would be
thine.
324 GENERAL PRAYER.
GENERAL PRAYER.
Oh God ! so great, yet so intimately with us,
so far above these heavens, and yet so near to the
lowest of thy creatures, filling immensity, and yet
dwelling in the bottom of my heart, so terrible and
yet so worthy of love, when will thy children cease
to be ignorant of thee ? Oh ! that I might find a
voice loud enough to reproach the world for its
blindness ; and to declare with authority all that
thou art. When we tell men to seek thee in their
own hearts, it is easier for them to seek thee in the
most distant parts of the world. What is more
unknown, and more remote, from vain, and dissi-
pated men, than their own hearts? Do they know
what it iS; to enter into themselves? Have they
ever sought the way ? Can they imagine what
it iS; this inward sanctuary, this impenetrable
depth of the soul, where thou wilt be worshipped
in spirit and in truth ? They dwell far off in the
objects of their ambition and their vain pleasures.
Alas ! how shall they listen to heavenly truths,
since, as Jesus Christ has said, they do not regard
even earthly truth? For me, oh my Creator!
shutting my eyes to external things, which are
only vanity and vexation of spirit, I would com-
mune with thee, in my secret heart, through thy
son Jesus Christ.
GENERAL PRAYER. 325
Oh God ! we do not know thee. It is by thee
that we live, that we think, that we enjoy; and
we forget Him from whom come all things. We see
nothing but through thee, the universal light ; by
thee alone we see anything ; and yet we see not
thee thyself It is thou who givest all ; to the stars
their light, to the fountains their waters and their
courses, to the earth its plants, to the fruits their
flavor, to the flowers their splendor and their per-
fume, to all nature its abundance and its beauty.
To man thou givest health, reason, thou givest him
all things ; thou doest all ; thou rulest over all. I
see only thee ; all other things are but as shadows
before the eyes of him who has once seen thee ;
and the world does not see thee ! But alas ! he
who has not seen thee, has seen nothing ; he has
passed his life in the illusion of a dream ; he is
as if he were not — more unhappy still, for as I
learn from thy word it had been better for him
that he had not been born.
Oh God! when shall we return love for love?
When shall we seek him who ever seeks us, and
whose arms are ever around us ? It is in thy pa-
ternal bosom that we forget thee. The blessings
we every moment receive from thee, instead of
touching our hearts, turn our thoughts away from
thee. Thou art the source of all happiness : thy
creatures are only the channels through which it
flows ; and the stream leads us away from the
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326 EVENING PRAYER.
fountain. This boundless love follows us every-
where, and we flee from it. It is everywhere, and
we do not perceive it. We think ourselves alone
when we are only with God. He does all for us,
and we do not trust in him ; we despair when we
have no other resource than his providence, and
count for nothing infinite love, and infinite power.
EVENING PRAYER.
Oh Lord ! watch over me, lest I sleep the sleep
of death. Alas ! this day, has it not been void of
good works ? In it we might have gained ever-
lasting life, and we have lost it in vain pleasures.
Perhaps it may be the last of a life undeserving of
thy mercy. Oh fool ! perhaps this very night Jesus
may come to demand of thee thy soul, the image
of the great God, which thou hast disfigured by sin.
Oh Lord! grant that whilst I sleep, thy love
may watch over me, and keep guard around my
heart. I am the prodigal son ; I have wandered
far away into a strange land, where I have lost all
my inheritance. I am starving, and a beggar : but
I know what I will do ; I will return to my Fa-
PRAYER TO GOD. 327
ther ; I will say to him, oh my Father ! I have
sinned against heaven and against thee. Art thou
not the good shepherd who leaves his flock to go
into the desert after a single wandering sheep ?
Hast thou not declared that there is joy in heaven
over a single sinner who repents ? Thou wilt not
then despise an humble and contrite heart.
Oh Lord! watch over my spirit while I wake,
and my body while I sleep, that I may sleep in
peace and awake in Jesus. Pity my weakness.
Send thy holy angels, spirit of light, that they may
keep far from me the spirit of evil that is ever
around me. Grant that I may resist it with the
courage of faith. Give jjenitence to sinners, perse-
verance to the just, and peace to the dead. Let
my evening prayer rise to thee, oh Lord ; and let
thy blessing descend upon me.
PRAYER TO GOD.
Oh my God ! while so many of thy children are
unconscious of thy presence in this glorious scene
of nature that thou presentest to them, still thou
art not far from any one of them. Thou art near
328 PRAYER TO GOD.
US, but we do not perceive thee ; our passions blind
us, but we do not perceive thee ; our passions blind
us. Thus, Oh Lord, thy light shineth in tlie dark-
ness, and the darkness comprehendeth it not. Thou
discoverest thyself everywhere, but men do not
see thee. All nature speaks of thee, and resounds
with thy most holy name ; but its voice is uttered
to deafened ears, — they will not hear. Thou art
near them and within them, but they fly from
themselves and from thee. They would find thee,
oh thou eternal and holy light, fountain of all pure
and unfailing felicity, life of all true existence, if
they would seek thee within their souls. But
alas ! thy good gifts that declare the bounty of the
giver, turn then' attention from the hand that be-
stows them. They live in thee without thinking
of thee ; or rather they die, for to be ignorant of
thee is death. Thou supportest them in the arms
of thy mercy, and they are unconscious of it. It
is because thou art within them, in the temple of
the soul into which they never enter, that thou
art hidden from them.
The order and beauty of the creation, is like a
veil that hides thee from their weak vision. The
light that should enlighten, blinds them. Thou
art too high and too pure to be perceived by their
gross senses. T'ho earthly minded cannot compre-
hend thee. Frightful darkness that envelopes the
children of men ! when they can see only shad-
PRAYER TO GOD. 329
ows, and even truth appears a phantom; when
what is nothing seems all to them, and what is
everything is as nothing to them. What do I see
in all nature ? God ! God is everything, and God
alone ! Who does not see thee, has seen nothing.
He is as if he were not, and his whole life is as a
dream. Sorrow to the soul, that has not seen thee,
that is far from God, without hope, without conso-
lation ! But blessed already are they who seek
thee, who thirst for thee ! Unspeakable the felicity
of those, who rejoice in thy immediate presence,
from whose eyes thou hast wiped away every tear,
and whose hearts are filled with thy love and
presence !
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