Letters 108–116

Letter 108. To the Same

WE turn all our troubles to good when we bear them patiently for the love of God; but, on the other hand, we turn all that is good into evil when we use it to foster self-love. There is no real good save in detachment and resignation to God's Will. This is your time of trial; now is the time for you to give yourself up into God's Hands with unreserved confidence.

What would I not give to see you perfectly cured of your malady, and still more of the love of the world? Self-love is a hundredfold more malignant than smallpox, the venom lurks so deep within! I pray for you with all my heart.

Letter 109. To One in Great Trouble

EVERYTHING combines to try you; but God, Who loves you, will not suffer you to be tried above that you are able to bear. He will use the trials for your progress. Still you must not pry curiously even into this, but remember that God's Hand is none the less powerful when it is invisible. His workings are for the most part out

©ne in (Trouble 195 of sight: we should never really die to self if we always saw His Hand visibly succouring us. At that rate He would sanctify us amid life, and all spiritual gifts; not in crosses, darkness, privation, death. Our dear Lord did not say, " If any one will come after Me, let him be richly clothed, let him be satiate with delights, like S. Peter on Mount Tabor, let him rejoice in himself and in Me, and trust to his spiritual perfection." Xo; He said, " If any one will come after Me, this is the road by which he must pass: he must renounce himself, he must take up his cross and follow Me, along the edge of precipices which seem to bristle with death." S. Paul speaks of our craving to be " clothed upon," but before we are so clothed by Jesus Christ we must be " unclothed." r

So then let yourself be stripped of all to which self clings, the better to receive that robe made white in the Blood of the Lamb, which has no purity save His own. Happy the soul which has nothing of its own, and shines solely through His Light O bride, never so beautiful as when without ornament of thine own, as when wholly His!

Remember that the great seducer of all is " I " : it seduces more souls than even Eve's tempter the serpent! Blessed is that soul which listens so devoutly to God's Voice as to forget to heed and pity self!

I would that I could be with you, but God does not suffer it. Or say rather that God brings us much nearer in Himself, the Centre of all that are His, than if we were in the same place. I am near you in spirit, I share your trials and your languor. . . . But you -must die to yourself in order that Christ may live in you.

Letter 110. To One Suffering From Jealousy

You are pleased out of jealousy at the faults which try you most in M: you are more annoyed by her good qualities than by her faults. All this is very horrible and unworthy; but it is what proceeds out of your heart, and God lets you realise it to teach you how rightly to esteem yourself, and never to reckon upon your own goodness. Your self-love grows desperate when you find yourself yielding to such vehement, shameful jealousy on the one hand, and on the other, full of distractions, weariness, and coldness for the things of God. But God often carries on His work in souls by the emptying them of self, by dint of taking away every possible resource left to self-conceit and complacency. You want to feel good, upright, strong, incapable of doing wrong? If you did so feel, you would be all the worse from that very impression. You need to feel abject, to know yourself to be bad, unjust, — to see nothing but weakness in yourself, to abhor yourself, mistrust yourself, having no hope save in God, and withal patiently to bear with yourself. Moreover, as these things which trouble you are after all only involuntary feelings, enough if your will does not consent to them, for thus you will gain the humiliation without really entertaining such evil thoughts.

Do not give up communicating: communion is the best remedy for the weakness of souls in temptation who long to live in Jesus Christ in spite of all the efforts of self-love. Live on Jesus Christ, and live for Him. The chief matter for you is not strength, but lowliness. Let yourself be brought low, — keep back nothing out of human wisdom and earthly courage. Learn to bear with others by dint of having so much to bear with in yourself. You fancied you had full control of yourself, but experience shows you that a moody, peevish, uncertain self-love has control of you. I hope that henceforth you will give up the notion of guiding yourself, and let yourself be wholly guided by God.

Letter 111. The Restlessness of Self-Conceit

You want to be perfect, and to feel that you are so, and under those conditions you would be at peace. But real peace in this life must be attained with a full view of one's own imperfections, neither slurred over nor tolerated, but, on the contrary, heartily condemned. Then one bears the humiliation of one's frailty in peace, because there is no more clinging to self. One is more sorry for one's own faults than for those of others, not out of a merely selfish spirit, but because it is one's business to correct, conquer, abase one's self, in order that God's Will may be perfected in one's self. The mental attitude which you need to cultivate is faithful attention to the light thrown upon your own faults, without harbouring any of the restless fretfulness which would so soon renew your old troubles. Whatever comes to you in a quiet, simple manner is God's Light guiding you; but all argument and disturbance of your own raising must be gradually put away while you turn lovingly to God.

Try not to vex yourself with forestalling the future any more than with fretting over the past. When a real doubt arises as to your duty, try to solve it, but do not seek to raise doubts. Rather resign yourself to God, and do the best you can for the present moment.

When a sacrifice is made, do not dwell upon it; and as to those which you foresee, believe that God shows them you afar off that you may learn how to accept them. When you have once done so, there is no more to do at

©n a Ijngbanfo'iS Dcatl) 199 present; if the actual call comes ultimately, then is the time for acting upon your acceptance.

Letter 112. To a Lady. Ox the Death of Her Husband

IT is a sad consolation to tell you that I sympathise deeply with your grief, but it is all that earthly friends have power to do: for all else you can only turn to God. And indeed, Madame, I very heartily turn to Him, the Comforter of the afflicted, the Stay of the weak. I ask Him, not to take away your grief, but to turn it to your good, to give you strength to bear up under it, not to let it overwhelm you. Great and grievous sorrow is the sovereign remedy to the most dangerous evil of our nature, for amid such sorrow the great mystery of Christianity, the inward crucifixion of the natural man, takes place. Then it is that all the power of grace is developed, and its most real work, that of rooting out self, achieved; otherwise the love of God is not in us. We must go forth from out of self before we can give ourselves to God; and in order thus to force us out of self, it needs some deep heart's wound which shall turn all that is of this world to bitterness for us. Then the heart, wounded in its tenderest point, torn from its sweetest, purest, loveliest moorings, realises that it can jSptrttttal find no rest within, and bursts forth to cast itself upon God.

And this truly is the sovereign cure for the grievous ills with which sin overwhelms us. The cure seems a severe process, but then the disease is very deep-seated. It is the true support of Christians in their sorrows. God parts two people bound together by the most sacred bonds, and in truth He sends a blessing to both, for the one He takes to His own Eternal Glory, and by this healing sorrow He saves her who is left a little while in this world. This is what God has done for you. May His Holy Spirit kindle your faith, and fill your soul with His Truth. I ask it earnestly for you, Madame; and as I have great belief in the prayers of God's afflicted children, I intreat you to pray for me amid your sorrow. Your charity will tell you what I need, and lead you to ask it fervently.

Letter 113. To the Duchesse de Chevreuse,' Some Time After Her Husband's Death

. . . YOUR letter cost me some tears. Sorrow for your loss is an addition to my own sorrow, but amid all our

1 The Due de Chevreuse was "not loved, but adored," by his family, Saint Simon says, and especially by his wife, who was her-

§To the pnche-sjie tie Chenreuge 201 grief we must not lose sight of God's designs. He has sought at once to reward him whom we mourn and to teach us greater detachment; He has taken from us an earthly stay on whom we leant too much even in striving to glorify Him. He vouchsafes sometimes to be jealous of His own best tools, and will have us seek the fulfilment of His Work through Himself only.

The chief lesson God means to teach you in this trial is a practical one, — that you were not yet as detached from earthly things as you flattered yourself you were. We never know ourselves till the time of trial comes, and God only sends such trial to undeceive us as to our self a person of most remarkable piety and spiritual attainments. Saint Simon describes her unworldliness and attractive goodness. After her husband's death she could not be induced to return in any degree to the world, beyond granting the interviews sought by Louis XIV., who had always held her in great admiration. After the King died " she set herself free from all worldly claims, and lived entirely amid a very narrow circle of friends and relations. She slept little, spent a long morning in devotion and good works, gathered her family around her at meals, which were always refined without being sumptuous, and always received as though not expecting the attentions which the world never ceased to pay her, though she made no return. She was like a patriarch in her family — their delight, their centre, their common bond. No woman was ever so justly adored by all her belongings, or so respected by the world to the end of her life, which reached to over eighty, in full health of mind and body, — a life even then too short for her family and friends. She died in 1752, an object of public veneration, as bravely and devoutly as she had seen her husband die." — SAINT SIMON, vol. xix. p. 161.

202 jfcptritttal fitter*!

superficial detachment. God suffered S. Peter's terrible fall in order to undeceive him as to the real nature of a certain outward fervour and very frail courage on which he was most vainly relying. If you had only your outward cross to bear, however heavy or sharp it might be, it would not undeceive you as to the reality of your detachment; on the contrary, the more overwhelming the outward cross, the greater your inward satisfaction at not yielding under it, and so self-confidence is fostered, and a very dangerous delusion. The Cross only teaches us our real weakness and frailty when within we feel all dark and cold, while from without we are sorely pressed. The thing is to face and realise our inward weakness, then our utter poverty becomes a real treasure, and "having nothing we possess all things."

Let us heartily unite ourselves to him we mourn. He sees us, he feels for our needs, he prays for us. He still speaks to you in the words he so often used while yet among us, " Live by faith only; think nothing of your regular life or your many good deeds; bear patiently with the consciousness of your imperfections; give yourself up to God; never give ear to your own imaginations; hearken solely to the Spirit of Grace." This is what he used to say; this is what he still says to you. So far from having lost him, you will find him nearer, more closely bound to you, more available to comfort you, more helpful in

©n the pake'* pcatrj 203 leading you with his counsels, if you can learn to realise his companionship through faith instead of the visible, daily companionship which was so sweet to you.

Take care of your health for the sake of your family, which greatly needs you. May the courage of true faith sustain you. It is a courage which makes no boast, and which does not inspire a conscious strength whereon to rely. They who have it have no self-reliance, and yet they never lack anything in time of need: their poverty is true riches. If they unconsciously go astray, they turn it to account in humiliation, they continually return to their true centre point by consenting to whatever is a laying aside of self. They throw themselves upon God by absolutely refusing to trust themselves. And so by degrees recollection, silence, a perpetual reliance on grace in every detail, an ever-growing hidden life through death unto self, become as a very second nature to them. And thus, "having nothing, and yet possessing ail things," such souls find again all that they once lancied they had lost, and beyond that, the closest, truest union with God.

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Letter 114. To the Young Duchesse de Montemart.' on Some Domestic Troubles

IT seems to me that the chief thing for you is never to despair of God's Goodness, and only to mistrust yourself. The more we mistrust ourselves, and look to God only for the correction of our faults, the more it will be achieved, but it will not do to reckon upon God without working hard one's self. Grace only works effectually in us when we, on our side, work heartily too. You must watch, be strict with yourself, shun self-deceit, receive the most humiliating rebukes patiently, and only count yourself to be dealing faithfully with God when you are making daily practical sacrifices and self-denials.

As you think that you have said things to the Duke tending to set him against his mother, you must endeavour to put this right; but do it quietly and gradually. It is very important that her son should not be in anywise estranged from such a good mother, who loves him dearly, and is so devoted to his real interests. She may

1 Henrietta de Beauvilliers, who married her cousin, and was living with her mother-in-law (likewise aunt), Mme. de Montemart. This lady, as well as her sisters, had been objects of Fenelon's affection and interest from their childhood. The Education dcs Filles was written at their parents' request.

Pomesttc ^rouble* 205 from time to time do too much or too little, as easily happens to the wisest and best-intentioned people; but take it all in all, you seldom find any one truly religious and right-minded in all respects. She may sometimes be a little quick with you concerning what she considers your real good; but she loves you, — that I can say from my own knowledge, — and what you feel to be excessive is but an excess of affection. Indeed, you ought to strive diligently to draw the mother and son together, both for his sake and your own; but try to do it without vexing and exciting yourself. If you have committed some serious faults in this matter, as would appear to be the case from your letter to me, you must bear your inward humiliation without being disheartened. Try henceforward to avoid anything which could tend to the repetition of such errors, and be careful to neglect no opportunity of repairing the past. I have noticed one excellent point in you, and that is your openness with your mother-in-law. Keep this up, — tell her everything, whatever it may cost you: you know by experience how she will receive it, and God's Blessing will be on such straightforward simplicity. You see how good He is to you, little as you have corresponded to His correction. Would you misuse His Patience, and turn it against Himself, by treating His Mercies with contempt? Nor will it suffice to tell everything; you must do so at once, be perfectly sincere from the first.

206 j&pirituat flettcrg and not wait for God to wrest from you that which you cannot withhold. How glad I shall be if I can hear that God has opened your heart, and taught you to mistrust your imagination; and that you have learned to cast aside your indolence, and go to work steadily at all your duties. Then you would find as much freedom and peace as now you have anxiety, depression, and uncertainty.

You see by the freedom with which I speak how sincerely I am devoted to you.

Letter 115. To the Duchesse (Douairiere) de Montemart. on Bearing Reproof

.... I EARNESTLY desire that you may be at peace within. You know that peace can only be found in lowliness, and that lowliness is only real so long as we suffer ourselves to be abased under God's Hand, time after time, as He wills. The means which He most frequently uses are contradiction and blame from others, and our own inward weakness. We must learn to bear both the one and the other, from without and from within. We become really lowly when we are no longer surprised either at receiving censure from others, or at feeling incorrigible within. Then everything overrules us like little

©n Bearing fleproof 207 children, and we are willing to be overruled; we are conscious that others are right, but feel helpless in ourselves to amend. By this time we expect nothing of ourselves, and have no hope save in God; and then the reproofs of others, however hard or harsh they be, seem less than we deserve; and if we find them hard to bear, we are more inclined to blame our sensitiveness than to justify ourselves. So that even reproof can scarcely humble us, we are already so lowly. When we feel an inward rebellion against reproof, it shows how urgently we needed it, for indeed no reproof can benefit one unless it cuts to the quick; so the more we feel it, the more necessary we may conclude it to be.

Forgive me all my freedom, dear Duchess. God knows how much I love you, and how I feel for all your troubles. I beg your pardon if anything I have said seems harsh; do not doubt my affection, and do not think of me in the matter; look only to God's Hand, which has used mine as the awkward instrument wherewith to deal you a painful blow. Your pain proves that I have touched the ailing spot Yield to God, submit unreservedly; this alone will give you rest and restore your tone. It is only what you know so well how to say to others. This is a weighty season, a very crisis. What grace will be poured out upon you, if you bear like a little child all that God is doing to humble you and strip you both of self-reliance and self-will! I intreat you to make yourself so small that you may nowhere be found!

Letter 116. To the Same. in Reply to Some Questions Concerning Self-Knowledge

Oct. ir, 1710.

FEW letters ever gave me more real pleasure than your last, my dear Duchess. I thank God for leading you to write it. I am alike convinced as to your sincere intention to say everything and your incapacity to do so. So long as one has not attained perfection, one can know one's self but imperfectly. The same self-love which causes our faults is very subtle in hiding them both from ourselves and from others. Self-love cannot endure to see itself; it would die of shame and vexation! If by chance it gets a glimpse, it at once places itself in some artificial light, so as to soften the full hideousness and find some comfort. And so there will always be some remains of self-delusion clinging to us while we still cling to self and its imperfections. Before we can see ourselves truly, self-love must be rooted up, and the love of God alone move us; and then the same light which showed us our faults would cure them. Till then we only know ourselves by halves, because we are only half God's, and hold a great deal more to ourselves than we imagine or choose to see. When the truth has taken full possession of us, we shall see clearly, and then we shall behold ourselves without partiality or flattery, as we see our neighbours. Meanwhile God spares our weakness, by only showing us our own deformity by degrees, and as He gives strength to bear the sight. He only shows us to ourselves, so to say, by bits; here one and there another, as He undertakes our correction.

Spiritual guides ought not to display all people's faults to them until such time as God prepares the way. They ought to watch a failing patiently, and say nothing until He begins to speak in inward rebuke. Sometimes even it is necessary to imitate God's dealings with souls, Who often so softens His rebuke that the person rebuked feels rather as though he were accusing himself than being accused. Anything like impatient reproof from being shocked at great faults becomes a very human correction, not that of grace. Our own imperfection makes us hasty to rebuke the imperfect; and it is a very subtle and allpermeating self-love which cannot forgive the self-love of others. The stronger it is, the more critical the censor will be: there is nothing so irritating to a proud, selfwilled mind, as the self-will of a neighbour; and another man's passions seem intolerably ridiculous and unbearable to one who is given up to his own. But he who is

Fin. Sf. L.—1I.} O jepmtttal ^Letters full of the love of God, on the contrary, is full of forbearance, consideration, and indulgence. He waits and adapts himself, and goes softly, one step at a time: the less self-love he has, the more he tolerates that of others, in order to heal it. No surgeon probes a wound without applying soothing ointment to the wound, or purges a sick man without nourishing him, or risks any operation save when nature indicates that the time is seasonable. And so a wise spiritual guide will sometimes wait years to give a wholesome counsel; he waits till Providence gives a favourable opportunity, and till grace makes a like preparation of the heart. If you persist in gathering fruit before it is ripe, you simply waste it all. . . .

Among our friends who are themselves imperfect there can be little perfect knowledge of us. They often judge only from certain external failings which are obvious in society, and which wound the self-love of others. Selflove is a sharp, severe, suspicious, implacable censor; and while it softens away our critics' own faults, it exaggerates ours in their eyes. As they see things from a totally different point of view from ours, they see things in us which we do not see, and they are blind to much that we do see. They see keenly enough a great deal which offends the jealous sensitiveness of their own self-love, and which ours disguises; but they do not see that within which clouds our virtues, and which offends God only.

And so their wisest judgments are but very superficial. . . .

As to recollection, I do not ask you to cultivate it actively, and by passive recollection I mean avoiding dissipating causes, and not encouraging your natural eagerness. Enough if you let God work in you, and do not hinder recollection by superfluous occupations which merely concern vanity or inclination. Often it is enough simply to turn aside from the natural eagerness which prompts you, and you will find yourself unconsciously returning to the influence of grace. Occupy yourself little with your neighbours' affairs; ask little, expect little of them, and do not be ready to fancy that people are wanting towards you whenever self is tempted to feel somehow affronted. Let it all pass away, and bear such annoyances as do not pass away with meekness. ... So doing, you will accomplish whatever you have to do.quietly, and without anxiety or empressement. . . . You will be content when you seek nothing. But to maintain such peace you must continually cast aside whatever tends to disturb it. You must often silence yourself, in order to hearken to the Master speaking within, and teaching you all His truths. He often speaks to those who listen faithfully; and when we do not hear His secret, familiar Voice within, it is a proof that we do not hush ourselves duly to hearken. His Yoice is no foreign accent: God is in the soul, as the soul in the body, — a something which we cannot distinguish from ourselves, yet which we are conscious is leading, restraining, controlling us. The silence by which we hear His Voice is a trustful dependence, a recalling whenever we are conscious of wandering from Him. . . .

I see by your letter, dear Duchess, that you are convinced that our friends. . . have been greatly wanting in what is due to you. It may be so... but I do not believe it was intentional. ... I am not going to make excuses for them, but I think you ought to beware of the exceeding keenness with which you have felt their conduct. A sudden change in friends is painful, and it is hard to bear; — one easily perceives a lack of courtesy or friendship. It is natural for wounded self-love to exaggerate whatever wounds it, and I think you should mistrust the opinions you may form at such a time. Indeed, I think you may go further, and believe that the malady needed a stern remedy. This total upset, your complete overwhelming, which you mention so frankly, show that your heart was very sick. The probing has been sharp; but it was needed. You may see this by the pain it has caused to your self-love. . . . You are fortunate in that God has made use of other men's faults to correct yours. What was wrong on their part has been a great mercy to you. Accept the bitterness and pain if you wish to be healed.