In what spirit we should receive our reading books, and on the fact that we must not be astonished at seeing imperfections in Religious, even in Superiors.
My dear daughters, I sometimes play the part of the barber, sometimes that of the surgeon.[1] Do you not observe that when I am preaching in the choir, before seculars, I give no pain[2]. I only throw perfumes about, I only speak of virtues and of matters likely to console our hearts; I play a little on the flute, and dwell on the praises which we ought to render to God. But in our familiar conferences I come to you in the capacity of surgeon, bringing nothing but plasters and blisters to apply to my dear daughters’ wounds, and though they may cry out a little, I shall but press my hand the firmer to make the plaster stick closer, and so to cure them. If I make an incision, it will not be done without giving my daughters some pain; but I do not care, that is why I am here. Those who live in the world might be scandalised, on account of their mistaken notion that Religious, and persons vowed to perfection, ought to have no imperfections. As for us, my dear daughters, we know perfectly well that this is impossible, and therefore we have no fear of scandalising each other by frankly avowing our little infirmities.
The first question then is: What is antipathy? Antipathies are certain inclinations which are some times natural, and which excite in us a certain repugnance towards those for whom we entertain these feelings; a repugnance which prevents us from liking their conversation, or at least from taking that pleasure in it which we feel with regard to others, for whom we have a certain attraction, because there is between their mind and ours a reciprocity and union of tastes and feelings, which makes us feel for them a natural affection.
Here is a proof that it is perfectly natural that we should love some people and not others by a kind of instinct. Is it not often the case (so say the philosophers who advance this proposition) that two men enter a tenniscourt where two others are playing tennis, and at once make up their minds which of the two players they wish should win? They have never seen either of them before, they have never heard them spoken of, and not knowing which is the superior in skill, they have no reason to like one better than the other. Why is this? Well, we must confess that this instinctive attraction to love some more than others is natural; and is to be seen in the brute creation, which is unreasoning, and has nevertheless attractions and antipathies. To prove this, take the instance of a lamb only a few hours old. You show it the skin of a wolf; the creature is dead, but nevertheless the lamb will run away, bleat and tremble, and hide itself at its mother's side. Show it a horse, which is a far larger animal, and it will not evince the slightest sign of fear, but will be ready to play with it. The only explanation of this is that a natural instinct attracts it to the one, and makes it shrink from the other.
Now, we must not dwell too much upon these instinctive antipathies or attractions, provided all are kept in reasonable subjection. If I feel a repugnance to conversing with a person whom yet 1 know to be most excellent, and from whom I might learn much that would do me good, I must not give way to the antipathy which prompts me to avoid his society. On the contrary, I must force myself to listen to the voice of reason telling me rather to seek his company, or at least, if I am already in it, to remain there with a quiet, peaceful mind. There are, however, people who are so much afraid of getting to dislike those whom they instinctively loved at one time, that they avoid intercourse with them, for fear of finding some defect in their character which might deprive this friendship of its sweetness.[3]
What remedy is there for these antipathies, since no one, however perfect, can be exempt from them? People who are of a harsh, severe disposition will dislike those who are gentle and mild. They will regard such gentleness as extreme weakness, though indeed it is the quality most universally beloved. The only remedy for this evil, as indeed for all other kinds of temptation, is simply to turn away from it, and think no more about it. But the misfortune is that we are always too anxious to find out whether or not we really have any reason for our antipathy to some person. Oh, we must never amuse ourselves with trying to discover this; for our self-love, which never slumbers, will gild the pill for us so well, as to make us believe it good. I mean, that it will make us see that we have certain reasons which seem good to us, and these being approved by our private judgment and our self-love, there is no longer anything to prevent us from regarding them as just and reasonable. We must indeed beware of this, and it is so important a matter that I must speak a little more about it. There is never any reason for our feeling an antipathy, and still less for our wishing to nourish it. If you have simply a natural instinctive dislike to any one, I beseech you to pay no attention to it, to turn away your thoughts from it and so trick your own mind. When, however, you find that it is going too far, beyond the bounds of reason, you must fight against it and overcome it, for reason will never permit us to foster antipathies and evil inclinations, for fear of offending God, Now when, as regards our antipathies, we do nothing worse than speak a little less pleasantly to a person than we should do to any one for whom we felt a strong affection, it is no great matter; indeed it is scarcely in our power to do otherwise, when under the influence of this emotion, and it would be wrong to require it of us.
The second question is: How ought we to behave with regard to the books which are given to us to read? The Superior will give to one of the sisters a book treating well of the virtues, but because she does not like it, she will derive no profit from her reading. She will read it carelessly and inattentively; the reason is that she has its contents al. her fingers' ends, and she would very much prefer to read another. Now I tell you plainly that it is an imperfection to wish to choose any book but the one given to you, and it is also a proof that we read rather to satisfy our curiosity of mind than to profit by our reading.[4] If we read for profit, and not for self-gratification, we should be as well satisfied with one book as another, or at least we should cheerfully accept what our Superior gave us to read. More than this, I assure you we ought to take pleasure in reading the same book, and no other, over and over again, provided it were good and spoke of God; since if it contained no word but that name of God we should be content, for we should always find enough to practise after having read and re-read it several times. To wish to read only what satisfies our curiosity, is a proof that we are still somewhat light-minded, and that we do not yet take sufficient delight in practising the virtues we read about in those little books on the virtues; for they treat of humility arid mortification, which we certainly do not practise when we do not accept them cheerfully.
To say: "Because I do not like a book, I shall gain no profit from it," is illogical. And to say, "I know it already by heart, so I cannot possibly find pleasure in reading it," is childishness. If a book you already know almost or entirely by heart is given to you, thank God for it, since you will all the more easily understand its teaching. If you are given one that you have already road several times, humble yourself, and be assured that it is the will of God that you should be occupied rather in practising virtues, than in learning about them. In His loving-kindness, He gives the volume to you for the second or third time because you did not sufficiently profit by your first reading.[5] But the root of all this evil is, that we continually seek after our own satisfaction, and not after the highest possible perfection. If it should happen that the Superior, out of regard to our infirmity, should allow us to choose the book which we wish to read, we can do it with all simplicity; but otherwise, we must submit humbly to all that the Superior orders, whether we like it or not, without ever showing any repugnance to such submission.
The third question is: Whether or not you ought to be surprised at seeing imperfections in each other, or even in Superiors. As regards the first point, most certainly you ought not to be in the least astonished at seeing imperfections here just as in other religious houses, however perfect they may be. You will never be so perfect as not to be liable, from time to time, to be betrayed into some imperfections, according to the temptations which may beset you. It is nothing very extraordinary for a person who has nothing to vex or try her to lead a very peaceful and faultless life. When I am told: "There is some one who is never seen to commit an imperfection," I immediately ask: "Has she any post of duty in the Community?" If they answer " no," I do not think much of her perfection, for there is a great difference between the virtue of such a one, and that of another who is much tried, either inwardly by temptations, or outwardly by contradictions.[6] Those who are placid and gentle as long as they meet with no contradiction, and who have not gained this virtue at the sword’s point, are apparently most exemplary and edifying; but let them be put to the proof, let them be suddenly tried, and you will see them stirred up, showing that their gentleness was not a strong and solid virtue, but imaginary rather than real.
There is a great difference between getting rid of a vice, and acquiring its contrary virtue. Many people seem to be most virtuous, who yet in reality have no virtue at all, because they have never striven to acquire it. It often happens that our passions slumber and become torpid, and if, while they are in this state, we do not lay in a supply of strength to enable us to fight and resist them when they wake up again, we shall be worsted in the battle. We must always remain humble, and not believe that we possess virtues, even though we may not, as far as we know, commit the contrary faults. There are certainly many people who are so mistaken as to think, that those who profess perfection ought never to lapse into imperfections, and especially Religious. It seems to them that it is only necessary to enter Religion to become at once perfect; but this is not so. Religious Orders are not formed for the purpose of gathering together perfect people, but of those who have the courage to aim at perfection.[7]
"But what is to be done, if we see imperfections in Superiors as well as in others? Are we not to be astonished at that, since those who are imperfect are surely not raised to the position of Superiors?" Alas! my dear daughters, if we wait to find a perfect Superior to set over a Community, we must ask God to send some Saint or Angel to fill the post, for neither men nor women will be found suitable for it. Of course, we try to find such as are not likely to set a bad example; but as to their being absolutely free from imperfections, we do not trouble about that, provided they have the necessary qualities of mind, especially as many who are really more perfect, are yet less capable of being Superiors. Let me ask you, has not Our Lord Himself shown us this in the choice which He made of St. Peter be the head of all the Apostles? We all know of his grievous sin at the time of his Divine Master’s Passion and death, idly conversing with a waiting-maid, and miserably denying his dearest Lord, Who had done so much for him; boasting and professing such devotion, and then taking to flight. Yes, and even after he had been confirmed in grace by the outpouring of the Holy Ghost, we find him committing a fault of such gravity that St. Paul, writing to the Galatians [2:11], tells them that he had withstood him to the face, because he was to be blamed. And not only St. Peter, but St. Paul and St. Barnabas also, when they were going forth to preach the Gospel, disputed together. St. Barnabas wished to take with them John Mark, his cousin; St. Paul, being of contrary opinion, was unwilling that he should accompany them. St. Barnabas refused to give way to St. Paul, and they separated; St. Paul going to preach in one country, and St. Barnabas, with his cousin John Mark, in another [Acts 15:37-42]. It is, however, true that Our Lord brought good out of this dispute; for, instead of their preaching in only one part of the earth, they scattered the seed of the Gospel in various places.
Never let us for a moment think that while we are in this life we can be free from imperfections. This is impossible, whether we be Superiors or subordinates, since we are all human; consequently we must firmly believe this truth, in order that we may never be astonished at finding ourselves subject to imperfections. Our Lord has commanded us to say every day those words in the Pater: Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us; and there is no exception to this command, since we all need to obey it. It is, then, unreasonable to say such a one is a Superior, and must therefore be free from anger and other imperfections. You are perhaps astonished, on coming to speak to the Superior, that she should say something to you less gently than usual, probably because her head is full of business and cares.[8] Your self-love goes away much disturbed, instead of thinking that God has permitted this little coldness on the part of the Superior in order to mortify this self-love, which was seeking for caresses. But, indeed, we are always much disturbed at meeting with mortifications where we did not seek them. Alas! you ought to have gone away, praying to God for the Superior, and thanking Him for this salutary contradiction. In a word, my dear daughters, let us remember the words of the great Apostle St. Paul [1 Cor. 13:5]: Charity thinketh no evil;[9] meaning to say that, directly she sees it, she turns away from it, without thinking about it, or amusing herself with dwelling on it.
Touching this point, you go on to ask me whether the Superior or Novice Mistress ought to manifest the dislike they have to sisters seeing their faults, and what they ought to say when one of them comes openly accusing herself of having in thought or word judged her Superior's actions, attributing to her some imperfection — as, for instance, thinking that a correction had been given with temper. Well, I reply that in such a case the Superior ought to humble herself, and have recourse to the love of abjection. If, however, the sister, in making the self-accusation, seems distressed, the Superior should treat the matter lightly, turning the conversation, but none the less treasuring the humiliation in her heart, for we must be careful not to lose through self-love the opportunity of seeing that we are imperfect, and of humbling ourselves. Therefore, though we restrain the outward act of humility, for fear of grieving the poor sister, who is already sufficiently troubled at having nourished such a thought, we must not fail to make the act. If, however, the sister, on the contrary, is not the least disturbed when so accusing herself, I think it well that the Superior should frankly own herself in the wrong, if she be so; but if the judgment is false, she ought humbly to say that it is, cherishing, nevertheless, the humiliation brought on her by being thought to be in the wrong.
I want you to see that this virtue — namely, the love of self-abjection — must never be one step away from our hearts; because we need it at every moment, however far advanced we may be in perfection. We need it continually, I repeat, because our passions are always liable to wake up again; sometimes even after we have lived a long time in Religion, and after having made great progress in perfection. I will give you an instance of this. One of the monks of St. Pachomius, named Sylvanus, who in the world had been an actor and juggler by profession, having been converted, entered upon the Religious life. He passed the year of his probation and several succeeding years in the practice of the most exemplary mortification, never betraying the slightest remembrance of his former occupation. At the end, however, of twenty years, under pretext of amusing the brothers, and believing that his passions were so completely mortified that they would never outstep the bounds of simple recreation, he thought he might again practise some of his old tricks. Alas! the poor man had deceived himself, for the passion of jesting woke up again within him so violently, that folly degenerated into licence, and this to such an extent that it was determined to dismiss him from the monastery. This, indeed, would have been done if one of his brother monks had not pledged himself for Sylvanus, promising his amendment — a promise most fully redeemed, for Sylvanus in due course became a great saint. You see, then, my dear sisters, that we must never forget what we once were, lest we should become even worse, and never think that we are perfect because we do not commit many imperfections.
We must also beware of astonishment if we find that we have passions, for we shall never be exempt[10] from them. Those hermits who asserted the contrary were censured by the sacred Council,[11] and their opinion was condemned and pronounced to be erroneous. We shall always, then, commit some faults; but we must try to make them so rare that there may not be more than two in fifty years, that being the number committed by the Apostles, during the time they lived after they had received the Holy Ghost. If, however, three or four, or even seven or eight, should occur in that period, we must not grieve or lose courage, but take heart and strengthen ourselves to do better. One word more for the Superior. The sisters ought not to be surprised that the Superior commits imperfections, since St. Peter, Chief Pastor as he was of Holy Church, and universal Superior of all Christians, fell into a fault, and that so grave a one that he deserved correction for it, as says St. Paul. Neither must the Superior show any astonishment if her faults are noticed; but she should observe the humility and gentleness with which St. Peter received the correction of St. Paul, whose Superior, nevertheless, he was. It is hard to say which is the most to be admired, the strength of St. Paul's courage in reproving St. Peter, or the humility with which St. Peter submitted to the correction given to him; and this for a matter, remember, in which he had thought to do well, and had a most excellent intention. Now let us pass on.
You ask, in the fourth place, if it should ever happen that a Superior was so much inclined to please secular persons, under the pretext of doing them good, that she neglected her duties towards the sisters placed under her care; or, again, if she spent so much time in the parlour, that she had not enough to give to the affairs of the household; you ask, I say, whether she should not be obliged to curb this inclination, even though her intention might be good. To that I reply that Superiors ought to be exceedingly affable to seculars[12], so as to help them, and should cheerfully give up part of their time to these persons. But, then, how large, think you, should be that portion of time? It should be a twelfth, the remaining eleven parts being employed in the house, in the care of the family.
Bees, indeed, from time to time quit their hive, but only from necessity or for purposes of utility, returning to it as quickly as possible. The queen-bee very rarely comes out—only, indeed, when the bees are swarming; and then she is quite surrounded by her little subjects. A Religious Community is a mystic hive occupied by celestial bees, gathered together there to store up the honey of heavenly virtues. For this reason the Superior, who is among them as their queen, should be most careful to keep them close to her, so as to teach them how to acquire and to preserve these virtues. She must not, however, on that account neglect conversing with lay people when necessity or charity demands it;[13] but beyond that the Superior must be brief with them, I say, beyond the demands of necessity and charity, because there are some persons of high consideration who must not be offended. Religious must never waste time with seculars, under pretext of acquiring friends for their Order. Most certainly there is no need for that, for if they stay quietly within, doing their various duties, they need not doubt but that Our Lord will provide their Order with the friends they need. But supposing that when the bell rings for Office, the Superior is unwilling to obey its call, for fear of vexing those with whom she is conversing at the moment? Well, we must not be so weak, for unless these persons are of great distinction, or come very seldom, or from a great distance, we must not absent ourselves from the Office or prayer, except when charity absolutely demands it. As for the ordinary visits of people to whom an excuse can easily be made, the Portress ought to say that our Mother or the sisters being at prayer, or Office, the visitors will perhaps kindly wait, or come another time. But if it should happen that some pressing necessity calls them to the parlour at that particular hour, then time must be made later, as far as possible, for the omitted meditation; for as regards the Office, there is no doubt about our being obliged to say that.
Now, with regard to the last question, which is, whether there ought to be some little distinction between the Superior and the sisters in the matter of food and clothing? Well, that is soon answered. I say, certainly not — there must be no sort of difference, unless it happens to be on account of a need which might occur in the case of any one of the sisters. She must not even have a special chair, except in the choir and at chapter; and in that chair the Assistant must never seat herself, although in all other things the same respect must be shown to her as to the Superior (of course, in the absence of the latter; but in the refectory there must be no distinction either as regards her seat or anything else. Although she must be treated with great respect as a person in authority, yet she must not affect any kind of singularity, or, at least, as little as possible. Of course, exception is always to be made in cases of necessity; for instance, if she were very old or infirm, a special chair might be given to her for her comfort and relief. We must carefully avoid everything which makes us appear somewhat above others; I mean, pre-eminent and remarkable. The Superior ought to be recognised and distinguished by her virtues, and not by any unnecessary distinctions, especially among us of the Order of the Visitation, who desire to make a special profession of great simplicity and humility. Such honours are all very well for those Religious houses in which the Superior is called "my lady," but for us there must be nothing of the kind.
Is there anything more to be said? What must we do to preserve the spirit of the Visitation, and to prevent it from deteriorating? Well, the only way is to keep it firmly enclosed in the observance of the Rules. "But," you say, "there are some who are so jealous of this spirit, that they do not wish to communicate it to any one beyond the house." In this kind of jealousy there is an excess which must be cut off; for, pray, how could it be fitting to hide from your neighbour what might profit him? For my own part, I wish that all the good in the Visitation could be known and acknowledged by every one; and for that reason I have always been of opinion that it would be well to have the Rules and Constitutions printed, so that, seeing them, many might derive benefit from them. Would to God, my dear sisters, that numbers of people might be found willing to practise them! We should very soon see great changes in those who do so, resulting in glory to God, and the salvation of their own souls. Be very careful to preserve the spirit of the Visitation, but not in such a way as would prevent you from communicating it to your neighbour, charitably and with simplicity, to each according to his capacity; and do not fear that it will suffer by this communication, for charity never injures anything, but perfects everything. Blessed be God!
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[1] I am always ready at a moment's notice, needing no preparation, except that of making the sign of the Cross. Before entering, however, upon the questions put to me, I will mention an idea that often occurs to me, namely, that when, in my sermons, I am reproving vices, I always, though without intending it, touch some special individual. In saying this I anticipate the opinion which our sisters may form as to my speaking at some one in particular concerning any fault which she may have committed; for although such may not he my intention, I should be very glad to do it, and I will explain why. Philosophers, and especially the great Epictctus, draw a great distinction between a barber and a surgeon. They begin by calling attention to the difference to be observed in approaching their shops. As for the barber's, they say it is perfectly delicious, inasmuch as he always has a little child who plays the flute; and his shop is so full of sweet perfumes, that it is all perfume. On the contrary, all the surroundings of the surgery are unpleasant; nothing is to be seen but plasters and ointments, nothing to be heard but the piteous cries and expostulations of the poor patients, exclaiming, Oh! What are you doing to me? Ah! What suffering. The surgeon cuts, cauterises, causes them intense pain; for we all know that bones cannot be set without causing the patient to cry out! Now the barber gives no pain in cutting the beard, because it has no sensation. (MS. and Coll.)
[2] no pain—for I do not, generally speaking, touch on special faults with the same familiarity as in our private conferences, on account of the seculars who are listening to me, (MS. and Coll.)
[3] this friendship.—These friendships are commonly called "walet-friendships," because they rest on one side.
I once knew a man who was of this humour. We were college friends; he loved me very much, and yet the more he loved me, the more he avoided my society. This astonished me much, as I had never done anything to displease him. At last we did meet, and he told me plainly that he shrank from coming in contact with me, fearing that he might not he able to love me as much as he had formerly done. In further explanation he added, that as soon as he met with the slightest imperfection or defect in those he loved, he ceased at once to feel any pleasure in his affection for them, and this, if they only made use of an ill-chosen word, or failed in perfect propriety of behaviour, (MS, and Coll.)
[4] reading,—The mind has a curiosity of its own, just as much as the body, and the eyes. (MS, and Coll.)
[5] reading.—I have told you before that a Usurious having asked St. Thomas Aquinas what menus he should take to become more learned, the Saint replied that he should only read one book.
[6] It is one of God's great mercies to us when He permits us to be severely tried either outwardly by contradictions, or business, or inwardly by temptations. (Coll.)
[7] perfection.—And perfection is not simply charity, for all those who are in a state of grace have charity, but it must be a fervent charity which will make us undertake not only to extirpate our vices, but also strive faithfully to acquire their contrary virtues. I will tell you what has happened to me tolerably often. On one occasion I asked some women living in the world, but happening to be staying in this house, if they would truthfully answer a question which I was going to put to them; and as they replied that they would, I inquired what impression the daughters of the Visitation produced upon them. Some answered directly that they had found a great deal more good among them than they had ever expected to find. I thanked God for that. Others, however, to whom I addressed the same question, replied that there was a great deal of difference between reading the Rule and seeing it practised, because the Rule was like sugar and honey, sweetness and perfection itself, whereas among the sisters you could not help noticing some imperfections; on hearing which, I smiled to myself, seeing that they thought because the Rules were so perfect, there ought to be no imperfections in the Community. (MS. and Coll.)
[8] full of—hammers, stones, mortar, owing to her great anxiety to push on (lie work of building. (MS. and Coll.)
[9] Charity — seeketh no evil. It does not say that she sees no evil, but that she seeks it not — that is to say, that though she may be doubtful whether what she sees is not evil, she will not search further into it; she simply believes that it is not there. (MS. and Coll.) But when she sees it (for it is impossible that we should not see it on many occasions) the Apostle says that Charity thinketh no evil. (Coll.)
[10] exempt – while we are in this life (MS. And Coll.).
[11] Conc. Ephes., Pars. II. Act vii.
[12] To that I reply that Superiors are individuals who are meant to do good not only to persons inside the convent, but also to those who are outside.
[13] demands it.—For instance, with some very worldly lady who may desire to be converted, quitting the vanities of life to follow truth and piety, and who may therefore greatly need the Superior's assistance to give her necessary advice and counsel; but, &c. (MS. and Coll.)
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Conference 16 B: Omitted from the Conference "On Antipathies"
I am asked if you may complain to the Spiritual Father, or Confessor, when you are dissatisfied with the Superior. Complain! Oh, my daughter! Have I not told Philothea that, "generally speaking, those who complain, sin?”[1] Now, to complain to the Superior when a sister has mortified us, is just to be tolerated in an imperfect Religious; but to complain to a sister that the Superior has done so! Well, I have really nothing to say about that, except that, without mincing matters, if any one is inclined to such a fault, she must amend at once. But, above all, to complain of the Superior to any outside person! Truly, that must never be done under any circumstances; it is too grave a fault. If the Superior should give any occasion for complaint, I should tell her so quite trustfully, or inform her of it through her Coadjutrix as the Constitution directs.[2]
You ask if it is allowable to name to the Superior, the sister who repeated to us something which she may have said to our disadvantage. I reply: Certainly not, my dear daughters, and the Superior ought not to ask you to do so. To go to a sister and tell her that the Superior has said this or that of her, is a more serious fault than you may think, and the Superior ought to correct it most severely; to show her Community the grievousness of the offence, and the beauty of its contrary virtue; but this must always be done without naming the delinquent. For remember, my dear daughters, we may declare our venial sins, clearly and openly before the whole world, in order to humble ourselves, but not our mortal sins, because we are not masters of our reputation. With still stronger reason are we bound to cover those of our neighbour, at the same time bestowing on her that fraternal correction which the Constitution prescribes.[3] A sister has perhaps spoken passionately in the presence of others, or murmured a little, or been cold and stiff in manner. Well, you can tell all that to the Superior, even admonishing her of it in chapter or in the refectory.
We ought certainly to be so sincerely anxious for the peace and tranquillity of our dear sisters, as never to do or say anything which might vex them. Now, nothing can afflict a poor sister more than to believe that the Superior is displeased with her. Shall I not, then, commit a great sin, reporting to her some slight remark the Superior may have made thoughtlessly, and which in the repetition will appear much more important than it really is, and so will keep this poor heart in pain and grief? She who does this is guilty of two wrongs; she violates charity, and speaks of a private matter. In God's name, my dear daughters, never do that. Generally speaking, I would not even have you tell the Superior the names of the sisters who may have spoken against her. You might tell her that such and such a thing which she has done has been disapproved of, but I should not say who expressed this disapproval; for, my dear daughters, if we have not the fervour and purity of charity, we shall never arrive at perfection.[4]
You say, if a sister is too timid to express the secrets of her heart to the Superior, or, in her absence, to the Assistant, in matters in which she needs enlightenment, what must she do? My dearest daughters, the Superior, or, in her absence, the Assistant, ought readily and cheerfully to give her permission to speak to any one of the sisters whom she pleases, and in giving this permission, to show no dislike or coldness. At the same time, it is true, that if the sister were to go on doing this she would be imperfect; for she is bound to see God in her Superiors, and in what they say to her; private individuals can never be of equal service to her.
Again, you wish to know whether you ought to obey, if the Superior orders you to do something contrary to the Commandments of God and of His Church. Certainly not, my dear daughters; but then, I must tell you that Superiors approved by the Pope may, in a case of necessity, dispense from certain Commandments of the Church. For instance, on a special fasting day, such as a vigil, the Superior sees a sister languid and fatigued, and may then, as a matter of duty, indeed, say to her: "Do not fast." If, however, it were for the whole of Lent, or for eating forbidden food, the dispensation must be obtained from the Confessor. But suppose the thought occurs to her: "This sister has not enough the matter with her to prevent her fasting? "Still, we must not be too scrupulous; in this regard the Church always wishes us to incline to charity, rather than to austerity. Yes, my dear daughters, if after having represented that you really do not think you are ill enough to be dispensed from fasting, the Superior still insists that you are, obey her without scruple. If, however, she says that you are to act according to your own judgment and your own feelings, then do so with a holy liberty.
I must tell you again, my daughters, that Holy Church is not so rigorous by any means as you think. Supposing one of the sisters is sick, though only of tertian fever, and that on a Holiday of obligation her attack of fever is sure to come on exactly at the time of Mass, you may and should lose Mass to stay with her, even though no harm would come to her if she were left alone; for remember, charity and the holy, sweet love of our dear Mother the Church are above all things.
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[1] Part III, Chapter 3.
[2] Constitutions, 35.
[3] Constitutions, 25.
[4] We owe more respect and honour to our Superiors than to our good Angels, because our good Angels are only the ambassadors of God, and our Superiors hold the place of God Himself; since our Lord has said: He that heareth you, heareth Me (speaking of Superiors), and he that despiseth you, despiseth Me. (MS.)
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