That It Will Be a Great Help for Everyone to Ask Himself Frequently: “What Did You Enter Religion for?”

ANOTHER practice also will help us very much to grow in virtue and attain perfection; it is that which St. Bernard used, as Surius relates in his Life. He carried it ever in his head and often spoke to himself, saying: “Bernard, Bernard, for what hast thou come into religion ?”—Bernarde, ad quid venisti? We read the same of the holy Abbot Arsenius, who often asked himself the same question: “Argenius, Arsenius, for what hast thou come?” He often took account of himself. ‘“Arsenius, why hast thou left the world? What was thy end and intention in leaving it and betaking thyself to religion? Was it not that therein thou mightest succeed in pleasing God entirely, and not trouble thyself about pleasing and satisfying men nor about standing high in their esteem? Take care of this, then, and make no account of the opinion and esteem of men. That would be going back to the world which thou hast left. Do not return to it in heart; little will it avail thee to be here in religion in body, if in heart thou art in the world, desiring the applause and esteem of men.” With these thoughts those saints aroused and animated themselves greatly. We, too, should arouse and animate ourselves with the same, to go forward and overcome all difficulties that we meet with in religion. When you feel difficulty in any order of obedience, arouse yourself with these words: “For what purpose have you come into religion? Was it, perchance, to do your own will? Certainly not, but to follow the will of another. Why, then, do you wish to do your own?” When you feel any effect of poverty, you should animate yourself with this: “Did you, perchance, come here to seek your own conveniences, to have everything completely to your satisfaction, and to want nothing? Know you not that you have come to be poor, and to suffer need like a real poor man? Why have you to complain of then?’ When you think that people do not make enough of you, animate and console yourself with this reflection: “Did you, perchance, come to religion to be regarded and esteemed? Certainly not, but to be forgotten of men, and to despise the opinion and esteem of the world. Why do you refuse what you have come for, and seek to return to what you have left?” This it is to be a religious—not to do your own will, to be poor, to suffer need, to seek to be forgotten and disregarded. This it is to be dead to the world and live to God.

For this we came into religion, and little will it profit us to be therein if we do not that for which we came; for it is not the place that makes saints, but a religious and perfect life. St. Augustine says this very well in a sermon that he gave to the religious who dwelt in the desert: “You see, brethren, here we are in solitude; we have left the world and are in religion. But it is not the place that makes holy the inhabitants, but good works—a religious life that will make the place holy and us also. Alas, holy as the place may be, and however strict the enclosure of religion, still you may sin there, and this means damnation. Trust not in that,” says St. Augustine, “since the angel sinned in heaven, and Adam in paradise, and there was no place holier than those. The place does not make people holy; if the place were sufficient for that, neither the angel would have fallen from heaven, nor man from paradise.’”’ So do not think that you have done your business and are master of the field when you can say: “I am a religious; I am a member of the Society.” That is not enough unless you do that for which you came to religion. See that you did not come to be a good student, or a learned graduate, or a good teacher but to be a good religious and aim at perfection. Oh, how very little it matters whether you turn out more or less of a scholar, or whether you turn out a great or a middling preacher! What does matter, what makes all the difference, is that you turn out a good and perfect religious. What are we doing, if we are not doing that? And what have we done all this while, if we have not done that? To what have we applied our minds if we have not applied them to that for which we came hither? My friend, my brother, whereunto art thou come? Amice, ad quid venisti? (Matt. xxvi. 50).

Take account of yourself and often ask yourself this question: “Ah, my God, what art or trade might I not have learned all these years I have been in the Society, and come out well in it by this time! If I had set myself to a painter, I should by this time have painted well; if to an embroiderer, I should know how to use my needle so cleverly as to gain my livelihood thereby. I have set myself to be a good religious and have not succeeded at that. So many years I have been going to the school of virtue and I have not yet learned the A B C of it. I have not yet attained the first degree of humility. Others become good philosophers and good theologians in seven years’ time; and I, after so many years, have not become a good religious.” Oh, if we sought and aimed at true virtues with as much care and diligence as we aim at learning!

St. Bernard says: “Many look to science, but few to corscience. If a good conscience were looked to with as much zeal and solicitude as vain and secular science is sought, it would be at once more speedily attained and more usefully retained’—Multi quaerunt scientiam, pauci vero conscientiam. Si vero tanto studio et solicitudine quaereretur conscientia quanto quaeritur saecularis et vana scientia, et citius apprehenderetur et utilius retineretur.

It were only fair that we should take as much care and pains over our spiritual progress as we do over our studies. St. Dorotheus says that he found this consideration a great help: “When I was a student in the world, I took my studies so much to heart that I remembered and thought of nothing else, not even of my dinner, and it seemed I had no time to think of what I had to eat, so much so that had it not been for my companion and very dear friend who took care to provide me with something to eat and to call me at dinner-time, often I would have forgotten to eat. The vehement desire that I had to learn went so far that, when I was at table, I had my book always open before me, that I might eat and study at the same time; and at night, when I came from school, I at once lit my candle and studied till midnight; and when I lay down to sleep, I took my book to bed, and after I had slept awhile, I fell to reading again, and was so wholly taken up with this passion for study that I could take no delight in anything else. Since I came to be a religious man, I have often reflected and said to myself: ‘If thou wert hereto so ardent in thy desires to acquire eloquence and human letters, what great pains and care oughtest thou not to take now in order to acquire true virtues and true wisdom, seeing that thou art come here for no other purpose?’ And from this thought I gathered no little strength.”

Let us, then, rouse and animate ourselves also with this consideration, that it is of greater concern for us to be good religious than to be good students and good men of letters. All our solicitude and diligence ought to be how to attain to this divine wisdom; that should be our business. The Son of God had no other business on earth but to occupy Himself in loving us and seeking our advancement and greater good, and that at so much cost to Himself. And shall we think it much to have no other business here but to occupy ourselves in loving and pleasing God and seeking and procuring His greater glory? Wherefore lift up your hands that hang down as if tired, and brace up your loose knees (Heb. xii. 12). Abandoning tepidity and sloth, let us put trifles aside and quicken our pace. Let us make haste to enter into that rest (Heb. iv. 11). Let us push on and cover the ground to climb the mountain of perfection and glory, even to the mountain of God, Horeb (III Kings xix. 8). And as a traveler that has slept till late in the morning makes haste to repair the time he has lost, by mending his pace till he overtake his company that has gone ahead, so should we make haste and never stop in our course till we have recovered the time we have lost by our negligence. Oh, how my companions and brothers have gone ahead, and I alone am left behind, notwithstanding that I began my journey first and entered into religion before them! Oh, that we regretted so much the time we have lost hitherto, and felt it so much that it might serve us as a spur to run henceforth with great ardor!

Denis the Carthusian relates an incident taken from the lives of the ancient Fathers. There was a youth who wanted to enter religion, but his mother endeavored to thwart his good purpose and brought up many reasons, to all of which the young man simply answered: “I want to save my soul” —Salvare volo animam meam. At last, as she could do nothing with him, she let him go and he entered religion. But after a while his fervor cooled down and he began to live very carelessly. Then it came to pass that his mother died, and he fell dangerously ill. In a trance he was carried before the judgment seat of God and saw his mother, with many others, expecting sentence of condemnation. His mother, turning her eyes, saw her son in the ranks of those who were to be condemned, and in amazement cried out: “Son, hast thou come to this? What has become of those words: ‘I want to save my soul’?” He felt so ashamed that he did not know what to answer. He came out of the trance, and it pleased God that he should get better. He took the vision as a warning from God, and changed so much that he was wholly given over to bewailing the past and doing penance. Many people endeavored to persuade him to moderate and abate some part of his austerities, lest he should destroy his health by them, but he rejected all their advice, saying: “If I could not suffer the reproaches of my mother, how shall I suffer those of Christ and His holy angels on the day of judgment?”