That you may thoroughly understand the nature of that strength and generosity of spirit about which you have questioned me, I must first reply to a very frequent inquiry of yours as to the nature of true humility; for in resolving this point I shall make myself better understood when I come to speak of the second matter, namely that generosity of spirit of which you now wish me to treat.
Humility, then, is nothing else than the recognition of the fact that we are absolute nothingness and it keeps us constant in this estimation of ourselves. In order to understand this better, you must know that there are in us two kinds of good gifts; some which are both in us and of us, and others which are in us but not of us. When I say that we have good gifts which are of us, I do not mean that they do not come from God, and that we receive them from ourselves; for, in truth, of ourselves we are nothing but misery and nothingness; but I mean that they are gifts which God has put into us in such a manner that they seem to be actually of us. Such gifts are health, riches, learning, and the like. Now, humility prevents us from glorying in or esteeming ourselves on account of these gifts, which it holds as of no account at all; and with reason, seeing that they are most unstable possessions, that they do not render us more pleasing to God, and are mutable, and subject to the caprices of fortune. Indeed, is there anything less secure than riches, which depend on the weather and seasons; than beauty which may fade in a moment, and which some little disfigurement on the face suffices to blemish; than learning, seeing that some little brain trouble can make us forget and lose all that we once knew? It is then with great reason that humility takes no account of all these gifts. But the more it makes us humble and abase ourselves, through the knowledge of what we are of ourselves and through the small esteem in which it holds all that s in us and of us; so much the more, on the other hand, does it make us greatly esteem ourselves on account of the good gifts which are in us but not of us; faith, hope, the love of God (little though it be, in us), a certain capacity which God has given us of being united to Him by grace. I add, as regards ourselves, our vocation, which gives us an assurance, as far as may be in this life of the possession of eternal glory and happiness. And this esteem in which humility holds all these good gifts, namely faith, hope, and charity, is the foundation of generosity of spirit.
Take notice that the first gifts of which we spoke belong to the exercise of humility, and the others to generosity. Humility believes that it can do nothing, considering its poverty and weakness as far as depends on ourselves; while, on the contrary, generosity makes us say with St. Paul: I can do all things in Him Who strengthens me [Phil. 4:13], humility makes us mistrust ourselves, generosity makes us trust in God. You see, then, that these two virtues of humility and generosity are so closely joined and united to one another, that they never are and never can be separated. There are persons who deceive themselves by a false and foolish humility, which prevents them from looking at the real good which God has implanted in them. In this they are quite wrong, for the gifts which God has bestowed on us ought to be recognised, esteemed, and highly honoured, and not placed in the same rank, or held in the same low estimation, as those which belong to the gifts which are in us and of us. Not only have true Christians always recognised that these two kinds of gifts which are in us must be regarded in different aspects, the one kind as given for our humiliation, the other to glorify the divine Goodness which bestowed them, but the philosophers have done the same. Their maxim: "Know thyself," must be understood as referring not only to the knowledge of our vileness and misery, but also to that of the excellence and dignity of our souls, which are capable of being united to the Divinity. His infinite goodness has implanted in us a certain instinct, impelling us always to tend towards and aim at that union in which all our happiness consists. The humility which does not produce generosity is undoubtedly false, for after it has said: "I can do nothing, I am only absolute nothingness," it suddenly gives place to generosity of spirit, which says: "There is nothing and there can be nothing that I am unable to do, so long as I put all my confidence in God, who can do all things;" and buoyed up by this confidence, it courageously undertakes to do all that is commanded.
But notice that I say, all that is commanded or counselled, however difficult it may be, for I can assure you that humility would consider it no impossible thing for her to work miracles if commanded to do so. For if the humble soul sets herself to the execution of the command in simplicity of heart, God will rather work a miracle than fail in giving her the power to accomplish what she attempts, because she undertakes it not relying on her own strength, but on the gifts which God has bestowed on her. And so she reasons thus with herself: “If God calls me to a state of perfection so high that in this life there is none higher, what can prevent my attaining to it, since I am well assured that He who has begun the work of my perfection will finish it? [Phil. 1:6]. But take note that all this is done without any presumption, for such confidence as I have described does not make us lesson our guard for fear of falling; on the contrary, it renders us all the more watchful over ourselves, more vigilant and careful to do whatever may serve for our advancement in perfection.
Humility does not only consist in mistrust of ourselves, but also in confidence in God; and indeed mistrust of ourselves and of our own strength produces confidence in God, and of this confidence is born that generosity of spirit of which we are speaking. The Blessed Virgin, Our Lady, gives us a striking example of this in the words: Behold the handmaid of the Lord, be it done unto me according to thy word [Lk. 1:38]. For in calling herself the handmaid of the Lord, she made the greatest act of humility that could be, since in opposition to the praises bestowed on her by the Angel, when he tells her that she shall be the Mother of God, that the Child Who shall be born of her shall be called the Son of the most High [Lk. 1:32]; a dignity the greatest that could ever be imagined – in opposition to all this praise and this greatness, I say, she brings forward her own lowliness and unworthiness: behold the handmaid of the Lord. Yet observe that as soon as she has paid this debt to humility, she instantly makes an act of generosity: be it done unto me according to thy word. “It is true,” she would say, “that I am not in any respect capable of this grace, as of myself; but since what you tell me is His most holy will, I believe that it can and will be done;” and therefore without hesitation she says: be it done unto me according to thy word.
It is likewise for want of this generosity that so very few acts of true contrition are made; because, after having humbled and abased ourselves before the divine Majesty, when we remember and ponder over our grievous infidelities, we do not go on to make this act of confidence, reviving our courage by the assurance which we ought to have that the divine Goodness will give us grace to be henceforth faithful to Him, and to correspond more perfectly to His love. After this act of confidence, we ought instantly to make the act of generosity, saying, "Since I am fully assured that the grace of God will never fail me, I will also believe that He will not permit me to fail in corresponding with that grace." But you may reply: "If I fail grace, it also fail me." That is true. "If it is thus, who then shall assure me that I, who have so often failed to correspond to grace in the past, shall not fail in the future?" I answer that generosity makes the soul say boldly and without fear: "No, I will never more be faithless to God;" and because she feels in her heart this resolution firmly fixed, she fearlessly sets herself to do all that she can to render herself pleasing to God, without any exception whatever; and undertaking all, she believes that she can do all, not of herself, but in God, in Whom she places all her confidence, and for Whom she does all that she is commanded or advised to do.
You ask me, however, if we are never permitted to doubt our capability of doing the things which we are commanded to do. I reply that generosity of spirit never permits us to entertain the slightest doubt on the subject. In order that you may understand this better, you must distinguish, as I have often told you, between our higher nature and our lower. When I say that generosity will not allow us to doubt, I am speaking with regard to our higher nature, for it is quite possible that our lower may be full of these doubts, and may experience great difficulty in accepting the charge or employment which is given to us. But the generous soul pays no heed to any such considerations, and simply sets herself to work to fulfil this charge, without saying a single word or giving the slightest evidence of her feeling of incapacity. We, on the contrary, are eager to show that we are very humble, and that we have a very poor estimation of ourselves and so on. This is anything but true humility, which never permits us to resist the judgment of those whom God has given to us for our guidance in my book of "The Introduction"[1] I have given an example which is to the point, and very remarkable; it is that of King Achaz [Is. 7: 3, 12]. Being reduced to great misery by the fierce war made upon him by two other kings who had besieged Jerusalem, God commanded the prophet Isaiah to go and console him in His name, promising him that he should gain the victory, and triumph over his enemies. Moreover, Isaiah told him that, as a proof of the truth of what he had promised, he was to " ask of God a sign, either in the heavens or earth," and it, would be given him. Then Achaz, distrusting the goodness and liberality of God, answered: I will not do it, because I am not willing to tempt God. But the miserable man did not say this because of the honour that he bore to God; on the contrary, he refused to honour Him, seeing that God on that occasion willed to be glorified by miracles, and Achaz would not ask for one which He had signified that He desired to perform. Achaz offended God by refusing to obey the Prophet sent to him by God to intimate His will.
We must, then, never doubt for a moment our power of doing what we are commanded to do, more especially because those who so command us know perfectly well what our capabilities are. But you say that perhaps you have many interior miseries and great imperfections which your Superiors do not know of, and that they found their opinion of you on outward appearances, by which you may have led them into error. I reply that you are not always to be believed when you say, perhaps under pressure of discouragement, that you are miserable and full of imperfections; nor, on the other hand, must it be believed that you have none because you say nothing about them, since, generally speaking, you are such as your works show you to be. Your virtues will be known by the fidelity with which you practise them, and so in like manner will your imperfections be known by your deeds. Unless you fell that there is malice in your heart, you will not mislead the judgement of your Superiors.
You tell me, however, that many saints have opposed a firm resistance when they have had charges offered to them. What, however, they did on such occasions was not done only on account of the low estimation in which they held themselves, but chiefly because they saw that those who wished to place them in these positions were relying on apparent virtues, such as fasting, almsgiving, penances, and bodily austerities, and not on real internal virtues which they kept hidden and veiled by holy humility. Then, again, they were sought out and pursued by people who only knew them by reputation. In such a case as it would, I think, be allowable to make a little resistance; but do you know who might be permitted to do this? Well, for instance, a sister of Dijon, to whom a Superior of Annecy might send a command to become Superior without ever having seen or known her. But a sister of this house to whom the same command might be given, must never consider it her duty to bring forward any reason to explain her repugnance to this command; she must set to work to fulfil the duties of her office with as much calmness and courage as if she felt herself perfectly capable of acquitting herself well. But I quite understand this subterfuge; we are afraid of not coming out of the affair with credit to ourselves; we hold our own reputation so dear that we would not be looked upon as apprentices to the work, but rather as masters and mistresses who never make mistakes.
You can now understand sufficiently what is this spirit of strength and generosity which we so much desire to see among you. It banishes by its presence all the little follies and softness which only serve to hinder us on our road, and prevent us from making progress in perfection. These softnesses are nourished by the idle reflections which we make about ourselves, chiefly when we have stumbled in our path by committing some fault. I say stumbled, for here, by the grace of God, we do not fall outright; that has not yet occurred amongst us; but we stumble, and then, instead of quietly humbling ourselves and rising up again courageously, as I have said, we begin to dwell too much upon the thought of our wretchedness, and to lament over ourselves. “Alas!” we cry, “how miserable I am! I am fit for nothing!” From that we pass on to discouragement, which makes us exclaim: "Oh no! you must not hope for anything from me again; I shall never do any good, you are wasting time in speaking to me;" and we sink to a state where we would almost rather be left to ourselves, as if it were fully recognized that nothing could be done with us. Ah! How different is all this to the behaviour of the generous soul, who, as we have said, holds in high estimation the good gifts with which God has endowed her. Such a soul is never dismayed, either by the difficulties of the road which she has to traverse, or by the greatness of the work which she is called upon to perform, or by the length of time which she must give to it, or finally by the delay in the progress of the work undertaken. The Daughters of the Visitation are all called to very great perfection, and their undertaking is the loftiest, the most exalted, that can be imagined; since they not only aim at uniting themselves with the will of God, as all God’s creatures should, but more than this, they aim at uniting themselves with His desires, yea, even with His intentions, anticipated as it were, rather than signified. Indeed, if one could imagine anything more perfect, or a step higher in perfection, than that of conformity with the will, desires, and intentions of God, they would certainly undertake to ascend there, since theirs is a vocation which obliges them to do so. Therefore the devotion of this house ought indeed to be strong and generous, as we have said many times.[2]
But besides what we have said of this generosity, we must add that the soul which possesses it welcomes dryness equally with the sweetness of consolation, welcomes interior weariness, sadness, and heaviness of heart, equally with the fervour and satisfaction of a mind all filled with peace and tranquility. This is because she remembers that He Who gave her these consolations is the very same Who sends her afflictions, moved in both instances by the same tender love; and this love acknowledges to be very great, inasmuch as through internal affliction He would draw her on to the very highest perfection, which is the abnegation of every sort of consolation, resting assured that He Who deprives her of it here below will not deprive her of it eternally in heaven.
You will say to me that in such a state of gloom it is impossible to make these considerations, since it seems as if we could speak not even one word to Our Lord. Certainly you do right in saying, it seems, for it is not really so. The sacred Council of Trent has determined that,[3] and we are bound to believe that God and His grace will never so far abandon us, that we cannot have recourse to His goodness, and protest that, in spite of all the trouble of our soul, we will to be wholly His, and never to offend Him. But observe that all this goes on in the higher part of our soul, and because the lower part perceives nothing of it, and still remains troubled, we are disturbed, and fancy ourselves very miserable. Thereupon we begin to grieve over ourselves, as if to be so devoid of consolation were a state of things deserving much compassion. Ah! Do we remember that Our Lord and Master willed to be tried by these interior desolations, and in a manner beyond all compare? Listen to His words upon the cross: My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me? [Mt. 27:46]. He was reduced to extremity, for only the very highest point of His spirit was exempt from oppression, yet observe that He proceeds to speak with God, to show us that it can never be impossible for us to do the same.
You will ask whether, at times like these, it is better to speak to God of our trouble and misery, or of something different? I tell you that in this, as in all other temptations, it is best to divert our mind from its trouble and distress by speaking to God of something else rather than of our pain. For undoubtedly, if we do, the tenderness which we have for ourselves will be moved, and we shall only aggravate and stir up our pain afresh, our nature being such that we cannot look at our troubles without feeling great compassion for them. But you say that, if you pay no heed to your troubles, you will not remember them well enough to tell them. And what does that matter? Truly we are like children who love to run to tell their mother how they have been stung by a bee, so that she may pity them, and breathe upon the wound which is already healed. We too wish to go and tell our Mother that we have been in great trouble, enhancing our affliction by going into every detail, not forgetting the smallest circumstance which may excite a little pity for us. Now is not this very great childishness? If we have been guilty of any infidelity, it is quite right to tell it; if we have been faithful, we should say so too (but briefly, without exaggerating either the one or the other); for all must be told to those who have the care of our souls.
You tell me now that when you have experienced some great emotion of anger, or when any other temptation has assailed you, you always feel scruples if you do not confess it. I reply that you should mention it in your review of conscience, but not in the way of confession, and only that you may learn how to behave under such circumstances. I speak of the case when you do not clearly see that you gave some sort of consent. For if you were to say: "I accuse myself of having felt great stirrings of anger for two whole days, but I never consented to them," you would be telling your virtues instead of your faults. "But," you say, "I am doubtful whether I did not commit a fault!" Well, you must steadily consider whether this doubt has any foundation. Perhaps, for about a quarter of an hour in the course of these two days, you may have been a little careless about diverting your thoughts. Well, if this be so, say quite simply that you were a little careless for a quarter of an hour in keeping yourself from dwelling on a thought of anger. You need not add that it lasted for two days, unless you wish to get advice from your Confessor, or because it concerns your review of conscience, in which cases it is well to do so. But in ordinary confessions it would be better not to speak of it, since you would only do so for self-satisfaction; and if silence with regard to it causes you a little mortification, you must bear it as you would anything else which you could not help. Blessed be God.
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[1] Introduction to the Devout Life, Part III, Chapter 5.
[2] Conference I; cf. Conference XIV.
[3] Session, VI, chapters 11, 13.
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