Chapter VIII: Exterior Mortification

Its Necessity and Advantages.

There is no alternative: we poor children of Adam must till death live in continual warfare; For, says the Apostle, the flesh lusteth against the spirit The flesh desires what the spirit dislikes; and the spirit pants for what the flesh abhors. Now, since it is peculiar to irrational creatures to place all their happiness in sensual enjoyment, and to the angels to seek only the accomplishment of God’s will, surely if we attend to the observance of the divine commands, we shall, as a learned author justly says, be transformed into angels; but if we fix our affections on the gratifications of sense, we shall sink to the level of the brute creation.

If the soul do not subdue the body, the flesh will conquer the spirit. To maintain his seat on a furious steed, and to escape danger, the horseman must hold a tight rein; and to avoid the corruption of the flesh, we must keep the body in perpetual restraint. We must treat it as a physician treats a patient, to whom he prescribes nauseous medicine, and to whom he refuses palatable food. Cruel indeed must be the physician who gives to a sick man noxious draughts because they are pleasing to the taste, and who does not administer useful remedies, because they are bitter and disgusting. And great is the cruelty of the sensual, when to escape¹ some trifling corporal pain in this life they expose their souls and bodies to eternal torments in the next. “Such charity,” says St. Bernard, “is destructive of charity: such mercy is full of cruelty; because it serves the body so as to destroy the soul.”¹ The false love of the flesh destroys the true charity which we owe to ourselves: inordinate compassion towards the body is full of cruelty, because by indulging the flesh it kills the soul. Speaking of sensualists who deride the mortifications of the saints, the same Father says: “If we are cruel in crucifying the flesh, you by sparing it are far more cruel.”² Yes, for by the pleasures of the body in this life you shall merit for soul and body inexpressible torments forever in the next. Father Rodriguez³ tells us of a solitary who had emaciated his body by very rigorous austerities. Being asked why he treated his body so badly, he replied: “I only chastise what chastises me.”⁴ I torment the enemy who persecutes my soul, and who seeks my destruction. The Abbot Moses being once censured for his severity towards his body, replied: “Let the passion cease, and I will also cease to mortify my flesh.”⁵ When the flesh ceases to molest me, I shall cease to crucify its appetites.

¹ “Caro enim concupiscit adversus spiritum, spiritus autem adversus carnem.”— Gal. v. 17.

¹ “Such charity destroys charity; such mercy is full of cruelty, by which the body is so served that the soul is slain.”—Apol. ad Guill. c. 8.

² “Simus nos crudeles interim non parcendo, at vos parcendo crudeliores.”—In Ps. xc. s. 10.

³ Practice of Perfec. tr. 1, ch. 4.

⁴ “Vexo eum qui vexat me.”

⁵ “Quiescant passiones, quiescam ego.”

If, then, we wish to be saved, and to please God, we must take pleasure in what the flesh refuses, and must reject what the flesh demands. Our Lord once said to St. Francis of Assisi: “If you desire my love, accept the things that are bitter as if they were sweet, and the things that are sweet as if they were bitter.”

Some will say that perfection does not consist in the mortification of the body, but in the abnegation of the will. To them I answer with Father Pinamonti, that the fruit of the vineyard does not consist in the surrounding hedge; but still if the hedge be taken away, you will seek in vain for the produce of the vine. Where there is no hedge, says the Holy Ghost, the possession shall be spoiled.¹ So ardent was the desire of St. Aloysius to crucify his flesh, that, although weak in health, he sought nothing but mortifications and penitential rigors; and, to a person who once said that sanctity does not consist in corporal works of penance, but in the denial of self-will, he wisely answered in the words of the Redeemer: These things you ought to have done, and not to leave those undone.² He meant to say that, to keep the flesh in subjection to reason, the mortification of the body is necessary, as well as the denial of the will. I chastise my body, says St. Paul, and bring it into subjection.³ The flesh, when indulged, will be brought with difficulty to obey the divine law. Hence St. John of the Cross, speaking of certain spiritual directors who despise and discourage external penance, says that “he who inculcates loose doctrine regarding the mortification of the flesh, should not be believed though he confirmed his preaching by miracles.”

¹ “Ubi non est sepes, diripietur possessio.”—Ecclus. xxxvi. 27.

² “Hæc oportuit facere et illa non omittere.”—Matt, xxiii. 23.

³ “Castigo corpus meum, et in servitutem redigo.”—1 Cor. ix. 27.

The world and the devil are very powerful enemies of our eternal salvation; but our own body, because it is a domestic enemy, is a still more dangerous antagonist. “A domestic enemy,” says St. Bernard, “is the worst of foes.”⁴ A town that is besieged has more to apprehend from the enemies that are within than from those that are without the walls; because it is far more difficult to ward off the attacks of the former than those of the latter. St. Joseph Calasanctius used to say that “we should pay no more attention to the body than to the vilest rag.” Such indeed has been the practice of the saints. As the indulgence of the body by sensual pleasures is the sole and constant study of worldlings, so the continual mortification of the flesh is to the saints the only object of their care and of their desires. St. Peter of Alcantara was accustomed to say to his body: O my body, keep your peace; I shall give you no rest here below; pains and torments shall be your portion in this life; when we shall be in paradise, you will then enjoy that repose which shall never end. Similar was the practice of St. Mary Magdalene de Pazzi, who, on the bed of death, stated that she did not remember to have ever taken pleasure in any other object than in God alone. If we read the lives of the saints and see the works of penance that they performed, we shall be ashamed of the delicacy and of the reserve with which we chastise the flesh. In the lives of the ancient Fathers¹ we read of a large Community of nuns who never tasted fruit or wine. Some of them took food only once every day; others never ate a meal, except after two or three days of rigorous abstinence: all were clothed and even slept in haircloth. I do not require such austerities from religious of the present day: but is it too much for them to take the discipline several times in the week?—to wear a chain round some part of the body till the hour of dinner?—not to approach the fire in winter on some day in each week, and during novenas of devotion?—to abstain from fruit and sweetmeats?—and, in honor of the Mother of God, to fast every Saturday on bread and water, or at least to be content with one dish?

⁴ “Magis nocet domesticus hostis.”—Medit. c. 13.

¹ Lib. I, Vit. S. Euphros.

But you will say: I am weak, and my director forbids me to practise any corporal austerity. Obey your confessor, but take care to embrace with peace all the troubles of your infirmities, and all the inconveniences arising from the heat or cold of the seasons. If you cannot chastise your body by positive rigors, abstain at least from some lawful pleasures. St. Francis Borgia, when amusing himself in hawk-hunting, used to cast down his eyes when he saw the hawk about to spring upon its prey. St. Aloysius always turned away his eyes from the objects of curiosity exhibited at the festivities at which he was present. Why cannot you practise similar mortifications? If denied lawful pleasures, the body will not dare to seek forbidden indulgence; but if continually gratified by every innocent enjoyment, it will soon draw the soul into sinful gratifications. Besides, that great servant of God, Father Vincent Carafa, of the Society of Jesus, used to say that the Almighty has given us the goods of the earth, not only that we may enjoy them, but also that we may have the means of pleasing him by offering to him his own gifts, and by voluntarily renouncing them in order to show our love for him. It is true, indeed, that certain innocent pleasures assist our weakness, and prepare us for spiritual exercises; but it is likewise true that sensual pleasures poison the soul, by attaching her to creatures. Hence, like poison, they must be used sparingly. Poisons, when properly prepared and taken with moderation, are sometimes conducive to health; and sensual delights, because they are poisonous remedies, must be taken with great caution and reserve, without attachment to them, only through necessity, and to be better able to serve God.

Besides, for the recovery of bodily health you must take care never to impair the strength of the soul, which will be always weak as long as the flesh is not mortified. “I compassionate,” says St. Bernard, “the infirmities of the body; but the infirmity of the soul should be an object of greater alarm.”¹ I pity the infirmities of the body, but feel greater commiseration for the more formidable and dangerous maladies of the soul. Oh! how often is bodily weakness made the pretext for unnecessary indulgence. “We leave the choir,” says St. Teresa, “to-day, because the head aches; on to-morrow, because it has ached; and on the day after, lest it should ache.” Hence on another occasion she thus addresses her dear children: “You have entered religion not to indulge the flesh but to die for Jesus Christ. If we do not resolve to disregard the want of health, we shall do nothing. What injury will death do us? How often have our bodies molested us? Shall not we torment them in return?” St. Joseph Calasanctius says: “Woe to the religious who loves health more than sanctity.”

¹ “Compatior infirmitati corporum; sed timenda multo magis ampliusque cavenda infirmitas animarum.”—Epist. 345.

St. Bernard considered it indecent in a religious to take costly medicine; for them, he said, decoctions of herbs should be sufficient. I do not require this of you; but I say that small indeed must be the spiritual progress of the religious who is continually seeking physicians and remedies; who is sometimes not content with the prescription of the ordinary physician; and who, by her discontent, disturbs the whole Community. “Men,” says Salvian, “devoted to Christ are weak, and wish to be so: if they were robust, they could with difficulty be saints.”² All, and particularly nuns who have consecrated themselves to the love of Jesus Christ, are weak in body, and desire to continue in their infirmities: were they strong and vigorous, it would be difficult for them to attain sanctity. The truth of this observation appears from the lives of St. Teresa, St. Rose, St. Mary Magdalene de Pazzi, and other saints. The Venerable Beatrix of the Incarnation, the first spiritual daughter of St. Teresa, though afflicted with pains and infirmities, was accustomed to say that she would not exchange her condition for that of the happiest princess on earth. Such was her patience, that in the greatest sufferings she never uttered a word of complaint. Hence a sister once said to her: “You are like one of those wretched paupers who languish for want of food, but continue to endure the pains of hunger rather than submit to the shame of manifesting their poverty.”¹

² “Men devoted to Christ are weak, and wish to be so; if they were strong, they could scarcely be saints.”—De Gubern. D. l. 1.

¹ Found., ch. 12.

If bodily weakness renders us unable to practise corporal austerities, let us at least learn from her example to embrace with joy the infirmities with which Almighty God visits us. If borne with patience, they will conduct us to perfection better than voluntary works of penance. St. Syncletica used to say, that “as corporal maladies are cured by medicine, so the diseases of the soul are healed by the infirmities of the body.”²

² Vit. Patr. 1. 5, libell. 7.

Oh! how profitable to the spirit are the mortifications of the flesh.

They detach the heart from sensual pleasures, which wound the soul, and frequently deprive her of life. The wounds of charity,” says Origen, “make us insensible to the wounds of the flesh.”³

³ “Vulnera charitatis non faciunt sentire vulnera carnis.”

Moreover, by mortifications we atone in this life for the pains due to our sins. He that has offended God, though the offence may be pardoned, must either by expiatory works in this life, or by the pains of purgatory in the next, make satisfaction for the temporal punishment due to sin after remission of its guilt. His sufferings in purgatory will be infinitely greater than any torments that he could endure on earth. They shall be in very great tribulation, unless they do penance from their deeds.⁴ They who have not expiated their sins shall suffer the sharpest torments in the other world. St. Antoninus¹ relates that an angel proposed to a sick man the choice of being confined to purgatory for three days, or of being condemned to a continuation of his infirmities for two years. The sick man chose the three days in purgatory; but scarcely had an hour elapsed in that place of torments when he began to complain of the angel for having condemned him to a purgation not of three days, but of several years. “What!” replied the angel, “your body is still warm on the bed of death, and you speak of having spent years in purgatory.” If, dear Sister, you wish to suffer in peace, imagine that you have still to live fifteen or twenty years, and say, This is my purgatory: it is the spirit rather than the body that I must conquer.

⁴ “In tribulatione maxima erunt, nisi pœnitentiam ab operibus suis egerint.”—Apoc. ii. 22.

¹ P. 4, tit. 14, c. 10, § 4.

Mortifications raise the soul to God. St. Francis de Sales used to say, that a soul cannot ascend to the throne of God unless the flesh is mortified and depressed. There are many beautiful remarks on this subject in the works of St. Teresa: “It would be folly,” says this great saint, “to think that God admits to his familiar friendship those who seek their own ease.² Sensuality and prayer are incompatible.³ Souls who truly love God cannot desire repose.”⁴

² Way of Perf. ch. 19.

³ Ibid. ch. 4.

⁴ Found. ch. 5.

Mortifications merit great glory in heaven. If “every one who striveth for the mastery” abstains from whatever is likely to diminish his strength, and thus endanger the conquest of a miserable earthly crown, how much more should we deny the flesh for the attainment of an eternal kingdom? And they, indeed, says St. Paul, that they may receive a corruptible crown; but we an incorruptible one.⁵ St. John saw all the saints with palms in their hands.¹ From this passage we learn that all the elect must be martyrs, either by the sword of the tyrant or by the voluntary crucifixion of the flesh. But while we meditate on the necessity of works of penance, we should at the same time remember that the pains of this life bear no proportion to the eternal glory that awaits us in paradise. The sufferings of this life, says St. Paul, are not worthy to be compared with the glory to come, that shall be revealed in us.² The few transitory mortifications which we practise here below will produce complete and everlasting felicity. For, says the Apostle, that which is at present momentary and light of our tribulation, worketh for us above measure exceedingly an exceeding weight of glory.³

⁵ “Illi quidem, ut corruptibilem coronam accipiant; nos autem, incorruptam.”—1 Cor. ix. 25.

¹ “Et palmæ in manibus eorum.”—Apoc. vii. 9.

² “Non sunt condignæ passiones hujus temporis ad futuram gloriam, quæ revelabitur in nobis.”—Rom. viii. 18.

³ “Momentaneum et leve tribulationis nostræ . . . æternum gloriæ pondus operatur in nobis.”—2 Cor. iv. 17.

Let us then animate our faith. Our pilgrimage on earth will not be of long duration: our home is eternity, where he who has practised the greatest mortifications during life shall enjoy the greatest glory. St. Peter⁴ says the saints are the living stones of which the celestial Jerusalem is built. But before they are translated to the city which is above, they must be polished by the salutary chisel of penance.

⁴ 1 Pet. ii. 5.

⁵ In Dedic. Eccl.

Let us consider each act of self-denial as a work that will prepare us for paradise. This thought will sweeten all our pains and all our toils. How pleasing is the fatigue of a journey to him who is assured that he shall obtain possession of all the territory through which he travels? It is related in the Lives of the Fathers,¹ that a certain monk was anxious to exchange his cell for another nearer to the fountain from which he was accustomed to draw water, but as he was one day going to the fountain, he heard his steps counted by a person behind him. Turning round he saw a young man, who said: “I am an angel: I count your steps, that none of them may be without a reward.” The monk immediately abandoned the intention of changing his cell; and even wished it to be more distant from the water, that he might be able to acquire greater merit.

¹ Vit. Patr. l. 5, libell. 7, n. 31.

Mortified religious enjoy peace and content in this life, as well as in the next. What greater happiness can a soul possess than to know that by her mortifications she pleases God? The very privation of carnal pleasures, and even the pains of penance, are so many spiritual delights to a loving soul. Love cannot be at rest. He that loves God cannot live without giving continual proofs of his affection. Now a soul cannot give a stronger proof of its love for God than the voluntary renunciation of earthly pleasures for his sake, and the oblation of its pains to him. A Christian enamoured of Jesus Christ feels no pain in his penitential works. “He that loves,” says St. Augustine, “labors not.”² “Who,” says St. Teresa, “can behold his God covered with wounds and harassed by persecutions, without embracing and even desiring a portion of his Saviour’s sufferings?”³ Hence St. Paul exclaimed, that he wished for no other delight or glory than the Cross of the Redeemer. God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.¹ Again he says, that the crucifixion of the flesh is the test by which the true lovers of Jesus Christ may be known. They that are Christ’s have crucified their flesh, with the vices and concupiscences.² Worldlings go in search of sensual gratifications, but the followers of Christ seek only corporal austerities.

² “Qui amat, non laborat.”—In Jo. tr. 48.

³ Life, ch. 26.

¹ “Mihi autem absit gloriari, nisi in cruce Domini nostri Jesu Christi.”—Gal. vi. 14.

² “Qui autem sunt Christi, carnem suam crucifixerunt cum vitiis et concupiscentiis.”—Gal. v. 24.

In conclusion, dear Sister, imagine that death is at hand, and that as yet you have done but little for paradise. Strive from this day forward to mortify yourself as much as possible, at least by abstinence from the pleasures that self-love seeks. Endeavor to profit by every opportunity of mortification. Let not the part of a good gift overpass you.³ Consider every occasion of self-denial as a gift which God bestows upon you, that you may be able to merit greater glory in another life; and remember that what can be done to-day cannot be performed to-morrow, for time that is past never returns.

³ “Particula boni doni non te prætereat.”—Eccles. xiv. 14.

To animate your fervor in the practice of mortification, I shall here place before your eyes, in his own words, what St. John Climacus saw in a monastery called the Prison of Penitents. “I saw,” says the saint, “some of them standing the whole night in the open air, to overcome sleep. I saw others with their eyes fixed on heaven, and with tears begging mercy from God. Others stood with their hands bound behind their shoulders, and their heads bowed down, as if they were unworthy to raise their eyes to heaven. Others remained on ashes, with their heads between their knees, and beat the ground with their foreheads. Others deluged the floor with their tears. Others stood in the burning rays of the sun. Others, parched with thirst, were content with taking a few drops of water to prevent death. Others took a mouthful of bread, and then threw it out, saying that he who has been guilty of beastly actions is unworthy of the food of men. Some had their cheeks furrowed by continual streams of tears; and others had their eyes sunken. Others struck their breast with such violence, that they began to spit blood. And I saw all with faces so pallid and emaciated, that they appeared to be so many corpses.¹ The saint then concludes by saying, that notwithstanding their fall, he considered them, on account of their penitential rigors, more happy than those who had never sinned and never done penance. What shall be said of them who have fallen and have never atoned for their crime by expiatory works?

¹ Scal. par. gr. 5.

Prayer.

O my Spouse, assist me and give me strength, that for the future I may serve Thee better than I have done for the past. Hitherto I have sought the gratification of my senses and of self-love, but have been regardless of offending Thee. But for the future I desire only to please Thee, who art so deserving of all my love. For the love of me Thou hast chosen a life of continual pains and sorrows; Thou hast spared nothing to draw me to Thy love, and shall I continue to be as ungrateful as I have been for so many years? No, my Jesus, it shall not be so: I have sinned enough in my past life. Pardon me all my transgressions; I am sorry for them, and repent with all my whole heart of all the displeasure I have given Thee by my irregular life. I now love Thee with my whole soul, and desire to do all that I can to please Thee in all things, and without reserve. Through my director, make known to me Thy will. I now purpose, and hope with the assistance of Thy grace, to fulfil Thy will in all things. My beloved Redeemer, replenish my memory with holy thoughts, that I may always remember the sorrows which Thou hast endured for my sake. Inflame my will with holy affections, that I may seek only what pleases Thee, and may desire only the accomplishment of Thy will, and to belong entirely to Thee. Grant, O Lord, that I may love Thee, and that I may love Thee ardently. For if I love Thee, all pains will be sweet and agreeable to me.

Holy Virgin Mary, my mother, assist me to please God during the remainder of my life. In thee I place all my hope.

II. The Mortification of the Eyes, and Modesty in General.

1. Mortification of the Eyes.

Almost all our rebellious passions spring from unguarded looks; for, generally speaking, it is by the sight that all inordinate affections and desires are excited. Hence, holy Job made a covenant with his eyes, that he would not so much as think upon a virgin.¹ Why did he say that he would not so much as think upon a virgin? Should he not have said that he made a covenant with his eyes not to look at a virgin? No; he very properly said that he would not think upon a virgin; because thoughts are so connected with looks, that the former cannot be separated from the latter, and therefore, to escape the molestation of evil imaginations, he resolved never to fix his eyes on a woman.

¹ “Pepigi foedus cum oculis meis, ut ne cogitarem quidem de virgine.”—Job, xxxi. i.

St. Augustine says: “The thought follows the look; delight comes after the thought; and consent after delight.”² From the look proceeds the thought; from the thought the desire; for, as St. Francis de Sales says, what is not seen is not desired, and to the desire succeeds the consent. If Eve had not looked at the forbidden apple, she should not have fallen; but because she saw that it was good to eat, and fair to the eyes, and beautiful to behold, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat.¹ The devil first tempts us to look, then to desire, and afterwards to consent.

² “Visum sequitur cogitatio, cogitationem delectatio, delectationem consensus.”

¹ “Vidit.... quod bonum esset,... et pulchrum oculis, aspectuque delectabile, et tulit.”—Gen. iii. 6.

St. Jerome says that Satan requires “only a beginning on our part.”² If we begin, he will complete our destruction. A deliberate glance at a person of a different sex often enkindles an infernal spark, which consumes the soul. “Through the eyes,” says St. Bernard, “the deadly arrows of love enters.”³ The first dart that wounds and frequently robs chaste souls of life finds admission through the eyes. By them David, the beloved of God, fell. By them was Solomon, once the inspired of the Holy Ghost, drawn into the greatest abominations. Oh! how many are lost by indulging their sight!

² “Nostris tantum initiis opus habet.”

³ “Per oculos intrat ad mentem sagitta amoris.”—De modo bene viv. s. 23.

The eyes must be carefully guarded by all who expect not to be obliged to join in the lamentation of Jeremiah: My eye hath wasted my soul.⁴ By the introduction of sinful affections my eyes have destroyed my soul. Hence St. Gregory says, that “the eyes, because they draw us to sin, must be depressed.”⁵ If not restrained, they will become instruments of hell, to force the soul to sin almost against its will. “He that looks at a dangerous object,” continues the saint, “begins to will what he wills not.” It was this the inspired writer intended to express when he said of Holofernes, that the beauty of Judith made his soul captive.⁶

⁴ “Oculus meus depraedatus est animam meam.”—Lam. iii. 51.

⁵ “Deprimendi sunt oculi, quasi quidam raptores ad culpam.”— Mor. l. 21, c. 2.

⁶ “Pulchritudo ejus captivam fecit animam ejus.”—Judith, xvi. n.

Seneca says that “blindness is a part of innocence.”¹ And Tertullian relates² that a certain pagan philosopher, to free himself from impurity, plucked out his eyes. Such an act would be unlawful in us: but he that desires to preserve chastity must avoid the sight of objects that are apt to excite unchaste thoughts. Gaze not about, says the Holy Ghost, upon another’s beauty; . . . thereby lust is enkindled as a fire.³ Gaze not upon another’s beauty; for from looks arise evil imaginations, by which an impure fire is lighted up. Hence St. Francis de Sales used to say, that “they who wish to exclude an enemy from the city must keep the gates locked.”

¹ “Pars innocentiæ, cœcitas.”—De Remed. fort.

² Apolog. c. 46.

³ “Ne circumspicias speciem alienam; . . . ex hoc concupiscentia, quasi ignis, exardescit.”—Ecclus. ix. 8, 9.

Hence, to avoid the sight of dangerous objects, the saints were accustomed to keep their eyes almost continually fixed on the earth, and to abstain even from looking at innocent objects. After being a novice for a year, St. Bernard could not tell whether his cell was vaulted. In consequence of never raising his eyes from the ground, he never knew that there were but three windows to the church of the monastery, in which he spent his novitiate. He once, without perceiving a lake, walked along its banks for nearly an entire day; and hearing his companions speak about it, he asked when they had seen it. St. Peter of Alcantara kept his eyes constantly cast down, so that he did not know the brothers with whom he conversed. It was by the voice, and not by the countenance, that he was able to recognize them.

The saints were particularly cautious not to look at persons of a different sex. St. Hugh, bishop, when compelled to speak with women, never looked at them in the face. St. Clare would never fix her eyes on the face of a man. She was greatly afflicted because, when raising her eyes at the elevation to see the consecrated host, she once involuntarily saw the countenance of the priest, St. Aloysius never looked at his own mother in the face. It is related of St. Arsenius, that a noble lady went to visit him in the desert, to beg of him to recommend her to God. When the saint perceived that his visitor was a woman, he turned away from her. She then said to him: “Arsenius, since you will neither see nor hear me, at least remember me in your prayers.” “No,” replied the saint, “but I will beg of God to make me forget you, and never more to think of you.”

From these examples may be seen the folly and temerity of some religious who, though they have not the sanctity of a St. Clare, still gaze around from the terrace, in the parlor, and in the church, upon every object that presents itself, even on persons of a different sex. And notwithstanding their unguarded looks, they expect to be free from temptations and from the danger of sin. For having once looked deliberately at a woman who was gathering ears of corn, the Abbot Pastor was tormented for forty years by temptations against chastity. St. Gregory¹ states that the temptation, to conquer which St. Benedict rolled himself in thorns, arose from one incautious glance at a woman. St. Jerome,² though living in a cave at Bethlehem, in continual prayer and macerations of the flesh, was terribly molested by the remembrance of ladies whom he had long before seen in Rome. Why should not similar molestations be the lot of the religious who wilfully and without reserve fixes her eyes on persons of a different sex?

¹ Dial. l. 2, c. 2.

² Epist. ad Eustoch.

“It is not,” says St. Francis de Sales, “the seeing of objects so much as the fixing of our eyes upon them that proves most pernicious.” “If,” says St. Augustine, “our eyes should by chance fall upon others, let us take care never to fix them upon any one.”¹ Father Manareo, when taking leave of St. Ignatius for a distant place, looked steadfastly in his face: for this look he was corrected by the saint.² From the conduct of St. Ignatius on this occasion, we learn that it was not becoming in religious to fix their eyes on the countenance of a person even of the same sex, particularly if the person is young. But I do not see how looks at young persons of a different sex can be excused from the guilt of a venial fault, or even from mortal sin, when there is proximate danger of criminal consent. “It is not lawful,” says St. Gregory, “to behold what it is not lawful to covet.”³ The evil thought that proceeds from looks, though it should be rejected, never fails to leave a stain upon the soul. Brother Roger, a Franciscan of singular purity, being once asked why he was so reserved in his intercourse with women, replied, that when men avoid the occasions of sin, God preserves them; but when they expose themselves to danger, they are justly abandoned by the Lord, and easily fall into some grievous transgressions.

¹ “Oculi vestri, etsi jaciuntur in aliquam, figantur in nulla.”—Reg.ad serv. D. n. 6.

² Lancicius. De ext. <corp. comp. n. 304.

³ “Intueri non licet, quod non licet concupiscere.”

The indulgence of the eyes, if not productive of any other evil, at least destroys recollection during the time of prayer. For, the images and impressions caused by the objects seen before, or by the wandering of the eyes, during prayer, will occasion a thousand distractions, and banish all recollection from the soul. It is certain that without recollection a religious can pay but little attention to the practice of humility, patience, mortification, or of the other virtues. Hence it is her duty to abstain from all looks of curiosity, which distract her mind from holy thoughts. Let her eyes be directed only to objects which raise the soul to God. St. Bernard used to say, that to fix the eyes upon the earth contributes to keep the heart in heaven. “Where,” says St. Gregory, “Christ is, there modesty is found.”¹ Wherever Jesus Christ dwells by love, there modesty is practised. However, I do not mean to say that the eyes should never be raised or never fixed on any object. No; but they ought to be directed only to what inspires devotion, to sacred images, and to the beauty of creation, which elevate the soul to the contemplation of the divinity. Except in looking at such objects, a religious should in general keep the eyes cast down, and particularly in places where they may fall upon dangerous objects. In conversing with men, she should never roll the eyes about to look at them, and much less to look at them a second time.

¹ “Ubi Christus est, modestia est.”—Ep. adDiocUm.

To practise modesty of the eyes is the duty of a religious, not only because it is necessary for her own improvement in virtue, but also because it is necessary for the edification of others. God only knows the human heart: man sees only the exterior actions, and by them he is edified or scandalized. A man, says the Holy Ghost, is known by his look.² By the countenance the interior is known. Hence, like St. John the Baptist, a religious should be a burning and shining light.³ She ought to be a torch burning with charity, and shining resplendent by her modesty, to all who behold her. To religious the following words of the Apostle are particularly applicable: We are made a spectacle to the world, and to angels, and to men.⁴ And again: Let your modesty be known to all men: the Lord is nigh.⁵ Religious are attentively observed by the angels and by men; and therefore their modesty should be made manifest before all; if they do not practise modesty, terrible shall be the account which they must render to God on the day of judgment. Oh! what devotion does a modest religious inspire, what edification does she give, by keeping her eyes always cast down! St. Francis of Assisi once said to his companion, that he was going out to preach. After walking through the town, with his eyes fixed on the ground, he returned to the convent. His companion asked him when he would preach the sermon. We have, replied the saint, by the modesty of our looks, given an excellent instruction to all who saw us. It is related of St. Aloysius, that when he walked through Rome the students would stand in the streets to observe and admire his great modesty.

² “Ex visu cognoscitur vir.”—Ecclus. xix. 26.

³ “Lucerna ardens et lucens.”—-John, v. 35.

⁴ “Spectaculum facti sumus mundo, et Angelis et hominibus.”—1 Cor. iv. 9.

⁵ “Modestia vestra nota sit omnibus hominibus; Dominus prope est.” Phil. iv. 5.

St. Ambrose says, that to men of the world the modesty of the saints is a powerful exhortation to amendment of life. “The look of a just man is an admonition to many.”¹ The saint adds: “How delightful it is to do good to others by your appearance!”² It is related of St. Bernardine of Sienna, that even when a secular, his presence was sufficient to restrain the licentiousness of his young companions, who, as soon as they saw him, were accustomed to give to one another notice that he was coming. On his arrival they became silent or changed the subject of their conversation. It is also related of St. Gregory of Nyssa, and of St. Ephrem, that their very appearance inspired piety, and that the sanctity and modesty of their exterior edified and improved all that beheld them. When Innocent II. visited St. Bernard at Clairvaux, such was the exterior modesty of the saint and of his monks, that the Pope and his cardinals were moved to tears of devotion. Surius³ relates a very extraordinary fact of St. Lucian, a monk and martyr. By his modesty he induced so many pagans to embrace the faith, that the Emperor Maximian. fearing that he should be converted to Christianity by the appearance of the saint, would not allow the holy man to be brought within his view, but spoke to him from behind a screen.

¹ “Plerisque justi aspectus admonitio est.”

² “Quam pulchrum ergo, si videaris, et prosis!”—In Ps. cxviii. s. 10.

³ Die 7 Jan.

That our Redeemer was the first who taught, by his example, modesty of the eyes, may, as a learned author remarks, be inferred from the holy evangelists, who say that on some occasion he raised his eyes. And he, lifting up his eyes on his disciples.¹ When Jesus therefore had lifted up his eyes.² From these passages we may conclude that the Redeemer ordinarily kept his eyes cast down. Hence the Apostle, praising the modesty of the Saviour, says: I beseech you, by the mildness and modesty of Christ.³

¹ “Et ipse elevatis oculis in discipulos... “—Luke, vi. 20.

² “Cum sublevasset ergo oculos Jesus. . . .”—John, vi. 5.

³ “Obsecro vos per mansuetudinem et modestiam Christi.”—2 Cor. x. 1.

I shall conclude this subject with what St. Basil said to his monks: If, my children, we desire to raise the soul towards heaven, let us direct the eyes towards the earth.⁴ From the moment we awake in the morning, let us pray continually in the words of holy David: Turn away my eyes, that they may not behold vanity.⁵

⁴ Serm. de Ascesi.

⁵ “ Averte oculos meos, ne videant vanitatem.”—Ps. cxviii. 37.

2. Modesty in General.

We must practise modesty, not only in our looks, but also in our whole deportment, and particularly in our dress, our walk, our conversation, and all similar actions.

I. Modesty of dress is not incompatible with neatness or cleanliness. But how disedifying is the conduct of the religious who attends too much to the neatness of her person and to the fineness or richness of her apparel, who wears superfluous ornaments, whose dress is made in a manner apt to attract notice, and whose whole appearance exhibits worldly vanity! Speaking of seculars, St. Cyprian says that “women decorated with gold, necklaces, and precious stones lose the ornaments of the soul.”¹ What would the saint have thought of the religious who imitates worldlings in the vanity of her dress? “The ornaments of a woman are,” says St. Gregory Nazianzen, “to be conspicuous for probity; to converse with the divine oracles; to seek wool and take hold of the spindle; and to keep a restraint on her eyes and on her lips.”² Yes, the ornaments of holy women are probity of life; continual conversation with God by prayer; constant labor; and a perpetual guard over the eyes and tongue, by modesty and by silence.

¹ “Auro, margaritis, et monilibus adornate, ornamenta cordis perdiderunt.”—De Disc, et Hab. virg.

² “The adornment of women is to flourish in uprightness, to hold converse with the divine oracles, to apply themselves to spindle and wool, and to place a bond upon their eyes and lips.”—Adv. mul. se orn.

II. A religious should be modest in her walk. “Let your gait,” says St. Basil, “be neither slow nor vehement.”³ Your walk, to be modest, must be grave, neither too quick nor too slow.

³ “Incessus sit nec segnis nec vehemens.”— Ep. l ad Greg.

III. A religious must practise modesty in sitting. She must avoid every slothful posture; she must abstain from crossing her feet, and from putting one limb on the other.

IV. She must be modest at meals, by taking her food without avidity, and without rolling her eyes around in all directions, as if to observe how and what the others eat.

V. Above all, a religious must be modest in her conversation, by abstaining from all the words unbecoming the religious state. She must be persuaded that all words that savor of the world are indecorous in a religious. “If,” says St. Basil, “a worldling make use of scurrilous expressions, he is not noticed. But if a man who professes to lead a perfect life appear to depart in the slightest degree from his duty, he is instantly remarked by all.”¹ In a secular, no one observes indecent words, because they are common in the world; but if religious who profess to aspire to sanctity be guilty of the smallest impropriety, universal attention is immediately directed to their conduct.

¹ “If someone among the common people utters scurrilous words, hardly anyone will pay attention; but as for one who professes a perfect manner of life, if he should seem to depart from his duty by a fingernail’s breadth, everyone immediately observes him.”— Reg. fus. disp. int. 22.

To observe modesty in words at the common recreations, you must attend to the following rules:

1. You must abstain from all murmurings, even against manifest abuses.

2. You must never interrupt the person that is speaking. And, says the Holy Ghost, interrupt not others in the midst of their discourse.² How scandalous is it to see a religious engrossing to herself the whole conversation! —to see her ready to stop the sisters in the middle of a word, or of a sentence, and thus show her pride by pretending to know everything, and constituting herself mistress of all! Such conduct is a source of great annoyance to all that join in the conversation. However, every religious should speak occasionally during the hours of recreation, and particularly when the others are silent; for, should all abstain from speaking, the end of the rule which prescribes recreation would be frustrated. But modesty requires, particularly from the young, that, after speaking as much as will be necessary for the ends of the recreation, they show a stronger inclination to listen than to speak. The best rule, then, is to speak when others are silent, and to be silent when others are speaking.

² “In medio sermonum, ne adjicias loqui.”—Ecclus. xi. 8.

3. You must abstain from certain jests and jocose remarks on the real and known defects of others; for such jokes offend the persons to whom they are applied.

4. You must never utter a word of self-praise; when you are praised by others, you must raise your heart to God, and change the subject of conversation; and when you are contradicted or ridiculed, you must not be angry. Whenever the companions of St. John Francis Regis made him the subject of their jests at recreation, he endeavored with great good-humor to keep up the conversation, that, by being the object of their laughter, he might contribute to their amusement.

5. You must speak always in a low tone, and never in such a manner as to offend the ears of others. “Let no one,” says St. Ambrose, “offend by too loud a voice.”¹

¹ “Ne cujusquam offendat aurem vox fortior.”—/)< Offic. 1. I, c. 18.

6. You must observe modesty and moderation in laughter. St. Gregory relates, that the Mother of God appeared once to a devout virgin called Musa, and told her that, if she wished to please her, she must restrain immoderate laughter. “They who seek after piety,” says St. Basil, “must take care not to pour forth their souls in laughter.”² All that aspire to perfection should avoid excessive laughter. Moderate laughter, which shows the serenity of the soul, is neither a violation of decorum nor opposed to devotion. A religious should always present an appearance of modesty and devotion, but not of sadness and melancholy. By appearing sad and afflicted she dishonors religion, and gives all who behold her to understand that sanctity, instead of infusing peace and joy, fills the soul with sorrow and melancholy. But by a cheerful countenance she encourages others to the practice of piety. Two courtiers of a certain monarch, having witnessed the joy with which an aged monk remained in solitude, renounced the world, and remained in his retreat.

² “Cavendum est, ab iis qui pietati student, ne in risum effusi sint.” —Reg. fus. disp. int. 17.

7. Lastly, you must not speak of things of the world; such as marriages, feasts, comedies, or of splendid dresses: you must not speak of eating, nor praise or censure the dishes that are brought to table. St. Francis de Sales used to say that “well-behaved persons never think of the table but when they sit at it.” When religious hear unseemly discourses, they should, like St. Aloysius, propose some useful question, or take occasion from what is said to introduce some pious subject of conversation. To be able to converse with his companions on spiritual subjects during recreation, he was accustomed to spend, each day, half an hour in reading the life of a saint, or some other book of devotion. When among the juniors, he was the first to introduce a religious subject. When with priests, or with his seniors, he proposed a case of conscience, as if for his own information, and thus succeeded in making the conversation turn upon holy things. In a short time his companions knew that he did not relish any but pious conversation, and therefore they sought on every occasion to gratify his wishes. When they happened to be discoursing on any other subject, when he came among them, they would immediately begin to speak of God. Every one is inclined to speak continually of what he tenderly loves. St. Ignatius of Loyola appeared not to know how to speak of anything but God, and was therefore called the “Father who speaks always of God.”

Prayer.

My Jesus, pardon me, for Thy mercy’s sake, the numberless faults which I have committed for want of sufficient modesty, and of which I now repent with my whole heart. All my defects have arisen from my little love of Thee. I acknowledge that I do not deserve mercy; but Thy wounds and Thy death encourage and oblige me to hope. O my God! how often have I insulted Thee? And with what tenderness hast Thou pardoned all my sins? I have promised to be faithful to Thee, and still I have returned to my sins! Shall I wait till Thou abandon me to my tepidity, and thus to eternal misery? I desire, O Lord, to amend; and I place all my confidence in Thee, and purpose to seek continually Thy assistance to be faithful to Thee. Hitherto I have trusted in my own resolutions, and have neglected to recommend myself to Thee. This self-confidence and neglect of prayer have been the cause of my past sins. Eternal Father, through the merits of Jesus Christ, have mercy upon me and assist me; give me grace to recommend myself to Thee in all my wants. I love Thee, O my Sovereign Good, and desire to love Thee with all my strength; but without Thee I can do nothing. Give me Thy love: give me holy perseverance. I hope for all things from Thy infinite goodness.

O Mary, Mother of God, thou knowest how much I confide in thee; assist me; have pity on me.

III. The Mortification of the Appetite.

St. Andrew Avellini used to say, that he who wishes to advance in perfection should begin zealously to mortify the appetite. “It is impossible,” says St. Gregory, “to engage in the spiritual conflict, without the previous subjugation of the appetite.”¹ Father Roggacci, in his “Treatise on the one thing necessary,” asserts that the principal part of external mortification consists in the mortification of the palate. Since the mortification of the taste consists in abstinence from food, must we then abstain altogether from eating? No; it is our duty to preserve the life of the body, that we may be able to serve God as long as he wills us to remain on earth. But, as Father Vincent Carafa used to say, we should attend to the body with the same feelings of disgust as a powerful monarch would perform by compulsion the meanest work of a servant.

“We must,” says St. Francis de Sales, “eat, in order to live; but we should not live as if for the purpose of eating.” Some, like beasts, appear to live only for the gratification of the palate. “A man,” says St. Bernard, “becomes a beast by loving what beasts love.”¹ Whoever, like brute animals, fixes his heart on the indulgence of the appetite, falls from the dignity of a spiritual and rational creature, and sinks to the level of senseless beasts. Unhappy Adam, for the pleasure of eating an apple, is “compared to senseless beasts, and is become like to them.” In another place, St. Bernard says that, on seeing Adam forget his God and his eternal salvation, for the momentary gratification of his palate, the beasts of the fields, if they could speak, would exclaim: “Behold Adam is become one of us.”² Hence, St. Catharine of Sienna used to say, that “without mortifying the taste, it is impossible to preserve innocence, since it was by the indulgence of his appetite that Adam fell.” Ah! how miserable is the condition of those whose God is their belly!³

¹ “Non ad conflictum spiritualis agonis assurgitur, si non prius gulz appetitus edomatur.”—Mor. 1. 30, c. 26.

¹ “Beluinus est homo, amando talia, qualia beluæ.”

² “I think the beasts would say, if it were lawful to speak: Behold, Adam has become as one of us.”—In Cant. s. 35.

³ “Quorum deus venter est.”—Phil. iii. 19.

How many have lost their souls by intemperance! In his Dialogues,⁴ St. Gregory relates, that in a monastery of Sienna there was a monk who led a very exemplary life. When he was at the point of death, the religious, expecting to be edified by his last moments, gathered around him. “Brethren,” said the dying man, “when you fasted, I ate in private, and therefore I have been already delivered over to Satan, who now deprives me of life, and carries away my soul.” After these words he expired. The same saint relates⁵ in another place, that a certain nun, seeing in the garden a very fine lettuce, pulled and ate it, in opposition to her Rule. She was instantly possessed by a devil, who tormented her grievously. Her companions called to her aid the holy Abbot Equitius, at whose arrival the demon exclaimed: “What evil have I done? I sat upon the lettuce; she came and ate it.” The holy man, by his commands, compelled the evil spirit to depart. In the Cistercian records we read that St. Bernard, once visiting his novices, called aside a brother whose name was Acardo, and said that a certain novice, to whom he pointed, would on that day fly from the monastery. The saint begged of Acardo to watch the novice, and to prevent his escape. On the following night, Acardo saw a demon approach the novice, and by the savoury smell of a roasted fowl tempt him to desire forbidden food. The unhappy young man awoke, and, yielding to the temptation, took his clothes and prepared to leave the monastery. Acardo endeavored in vain to convince him of the dangers to which he would be exposed in the world. Overcome by gluttony, the unhappy man obstinately resolved to return to the world: there, the narrator adds, he died miserably.

⁴ Dial. l. 4, c. 38.

⁵ Ibid. l. 1, c. 4.

Let us then take care not to be conquered by this brutal vice. St. Augustine says,¹ that food is necessary for the support of life; but, like medicine, it should be taken only through necessity. Intemperance is very injurious to the body as well as to the soul. It is certain that excess in eating is the cause of almost all the diseases of the body. Apoplexy, diarrhoea, headaches, complaints of the stomach and bowels, and innumerable other maladies, spring from the immoderate use of food. But the diseases of the body are only a small part of the evils that flow from intemperance; its effects on the soul are far more disastrous.

¹ Conf. 1. 10, c. 31.

This vice, according to St. Thomas, in the first place, darkens the soul, and renders it unfit for spiritual exercises, but particularly for mental prayer. As fasting prepares the mind for the contemplation of God and of eternal goods, so intemperance diverts it from holy thoughts. St. John Chrysostom says that the glutton, like an overloaded ship, moves with difficulty, and that in the first tempest of temptation he is in danger of being lost. “Take,” says St. Bernard, “even bread with moderation, lest a loaded stomach should make you weary of prayer.”¹ And again he says: “If you compel a person who takes a heavy meal to watch, you will extort from him wailing rather than singing.”² Hence it is the duty of religious to eat sparingly, and particularly at supper: for in the evening a false appetite is frequently created by the acid that is produced by the food taken at dinner. Whoever satisfies his appetite in the evening, is exposed to great danger of excess; and in consequence of indigestion will frequently feel his stomach overburdened in the morning, and his head so stupid and confused that he will not be able to say a “Hail Mary.” Do not imagine that the Almighty will, at the time of prayer, infuse his consolations into the souls of those who, like senseless beasts, seek delight in the indulgence of the appetite. “Divine consolation,” says St. Bernard, “is not given to those that admit any other delight.”³ Celestial consolations are not bestowed on those that go in search of earthly pleasures.

¹ “Panem ipsum cum mensura studebo sumere, ne, onerato ventre, stare ad orandum taedeat.”—In Cant. s. 66.

² “Si ad vigilias surgere indigestum cogis, non cantum, sed planctum potius extorquebis.”—Apol. ad Guill. c. 9.

³ “Divina consolatio non tribuitur admittentibus alienam.”—De Vit. et Mor. cler. c. 21.

Besides, he that gratifies the taste will readily indulge the other senses; for, having lost the spirit of recollection he will easily commit faults, by indecent words and by unbecoming gestures. But the greatest evil of intemperance is, that it exposes chastity to great danger. ''Repletion of the stomach,” says St. Jerome, “is the hotbed of lust.”¹ Excess in eating is a powerful incentive to incontinence. Hence, Cassian says that “it is impossible for him who satiates his appetite not to experience conflicts.”² The intemperate cannot expect to be free from temptations against purity. To preserve chastity, the saints practised the most rigorous mortifications of the appetite. “The devil,” says St. Thomas, “vanquished by temperance, does not tempt to lust.”³ When his temptations to indulge the palate are conquered he ceases to provoke incontinence.

¹ “Ventris saturitas seminarium libidinis est.”—Adv. Jovin. 1. 2.

² “Tmpossibile est saturum ventrem pugnas non experiri.”—De Com. inst. 1. 5, c. 13.

³ “Diabolus, victus de gula, non tentat de libidine.”

He that attends to the abnegation of the appetite makes continual progress in virtue. That the mortification of the palate will facilitate the conquest of the other senses, and enable us to employ them in acts of virtue, may be inferred from the following prayer of the Church: “O God, who by this bodily fast extinguishest our vices, elevatest our understanding, bestowest on us virtue and its reward, etc.”⁴ By fasting, the Lord enables the soul to subdue her vices, to raise her affections above the earth, to practise virtue, and to acquire merits for eternity.

⁴ “Deus, qui corporali jejunio vitia comprimis, mentem elevas, virtntem largiris et premia.”—Preface of Lent.

Worldlings say: God has created the goods of this earth for our use and pleasure. Such is not the language of the saints. The Venerable Vincent Carafa, of the Society of Jesus, used to say, that God has given us the goods of the earth, not only that we may enjoy them, but also that we may have the means of thanking him, and showing him our love by the voluntary renunciation of his gifts, and by the oblation of them to his glory. To abandon, for God’s sake, all worldly enjoyments, has always been the practice of holy souls.

The ancient monks, as St. Jerome¹ relates, thought it a great defect to make use of food dressed with fire. Their daily sustenance consisted of a pound of bread. St. Aloysius, though always sickly, fasted three times in the week on bread and water. St. Francis Xavier during his missions was satisfied each day with a few grains of toasted rice. St. John Francis Regis, in the great fatigues of his missions took no other food than a little flour steeped in water. The daily support of St. Peter of Alcantara was but a small quantity of broth. We read in the life of the Venerable Brother John Joseph of the Cross, who lived in our own days, and with whom I was intimately acquainted, that for twenty-four years he fasted very often on bread and water, and never ate anything but bread and a little herbs or fruit. When commanded, on account of his infirmities, to use warm food, he took only bread dipped in broth. When the physician ordered him to take a little wine, he mixed it with his broth to increase the insipidity of his scanty repast.

¹ Ad Eustoch.

I do not mean to say, that to attain sanctity it is necessary for nuns to imitate these examples; but I assert that whoever is attached to the pleasures of the table, or does not seriously attend to the mortification of the appetite, will never make any considerable progress in perfection. In religious Communities there are generally several meals in the day: hence, they who neglect the mortification of the taste will daily commit a thousand faults.

Let us now come to the practice of denying the appetite.....................

In what is it to be mortified? St. Bonaventure answers: “In the quantity, the quality, and the manner.”¹

¹ “In qualitate, in quantitate, et modo.”—De Prof. rel. 1. 2, c. 47.

I. In the quality, adds the saint, by seeking not what is delicate, but what is simple.² The saint says, in another place, that small is the progress of the religious who is not content with what is offered to her, but requires that it be prepared in a different manner, or seeks more palatable food. A mortified religious is satisfied with what is placed before her; and instead of seeking after delicacies, she selects among all the dishes that may be presented to her, the least palatable, provided it be not prejudicial to health. Such was the practice of St. Aloysius, who always chose what was most disagreeable to the taste.

² “Ut non delicata requirat, sed simplicia.”

“Wine and flesh,” says Clement of Alexandria, “give strength indeed to the body, but they render the soul languid.”³ From the sacred Canons we learn that formerly monks were not permitted even to taste flesh. “To a monk, the privilege of either, taking or of tasting flesh is not granted.”⁴ Speaking of himself, St. Bernard says: “I abstain from flesh, lest I should cherish the vices of the flesh.”⁵ Give not wine to kings,⁶ says the Wise Man. By kings, in this place, we are to understand, not the monarchs of the earth, but the servants of God, who rule their wicked passions and subject them to reason. In another place Solomon says: Who hath woe?... Surely they that pass their time in wine, and study to drink off their cups.⁷ Since, then, the the word woe, in the Sacred Scriptures, according to St. Gregory, signifies everlasting misery, woe, eternal woe, shall be the lot of all who are addicted to wine! Because wine is a luxurious thing.¹ and incites to incontinence. “My first advice,” says St. Jerome, in one of his epistles to the virgin Eustochia, “is, that the spouse of Christ fly from wine as from poison. Wine and youth are a twofold incentive to pleasure.”² If you desire to preserve the chastity which becomes the spouse of Jesus, avoid wine as poison: wine and youth are a double fire, which kindle the desire of unlawful pleasures. From the words of the holy Doctor we may infer that he who has not enough of courage or of bodily strength to abstain altogether from flesh and from wine, should at least use them with great moderation: otherwise he must be prepared for continual molestation from temptations against purity.

³ “Vinum et carnium sagimen robur quidem adducunt corpori, sed animam reddunt languidam.”—Strom. 1. 7.

⁴ “Carnem monacho nec sumendi nec gustandi est concessa licentia.” —De Consecr. d. 5, c. 32.

⁵ “Abstineo a carnibus, ne carnis nutriant vitia.”—In Cant. s. 66.

⁶ “Noli regibus dare vinum.”—Prov. xxx. 4.

⁷ “Cui vae?... nonne his qui commorantur in vino, et student calicibus epotandis.”—Prov. xxiii. 29, 30.

¹ “Luxuriosa res vinum.”—Prov. xx. 1.

² “This first I advise: that the spouse of Christ flee wine as poison; wine and youth are a double conflagration of lust.”

A mortified religious would also do well to abstain from superfluous seasonings which serve only to gratify the palate. The seasonings used by the saints were ashes, aloes, and wormwood. I do not require such mortifications of you; nor do I recommend very extraordinary fasts. On the contrary, it is, according to Cassian,³ the duty of all that are not solitaries, and that live in Community, to avoid, as a source of much vainglory, whatever is not conformable to the common usages of the monastery. “Where,” says St. Philip Neri, “there is a common table, all should eat of what is served up.” Hence he frequently exhorted his disciples to “avoid all singularity as the origin of spiritual pride.”⁴ A courageous religious finds opportunities of practising mortification without allowing it to appear to others. St. John Climacus partook of whatever was placed before him; but his refection consisted in tasting rather in eating what was offered to him; and thus, by his abstemiousness, he practised continual mortification of the appetite without the danger of vanity. St. Bernard¹ used to say that he that lives in Community will take more pleasure in fasting once, while his companions at table take their ordinary repast, than in fasting seven times with them.

³ De Coenob. inst. 1. 5, c. 23.

⁴ Bacci, 1. 2, ch. 14-17.

¹ De Grad. humil. gr. 5.

However, religious may, without the danger of vainglory, occasionally perform very rigorous mortifications. For example, by living on bread and water on days of devotion, on Fridays and Saturdays, on the vigils of the Blessed Virgin, and on similar occasions; for such fasts are ordinarily practised by fervent religious. If, on account of bodily infirmity, or through want of fervor you do not practise rigid fasts, you should at least not complain of the common fare; and should be content with whatever is brought to table. St. Thomas never asked for particular food, but was always satisfied with what was placed before him, and ate of it with great moderation. Of St. Ignatius we read that he never refused any dish, and never complained that the food was not well dressed or well seasoned. It is the duty of the Superior to provide the Community with wholesome food, but a religious should never complain when what is laid before her is rare or overdone; when it is scanty, smoked, insipid, or too highly seasoned with salt. The poor, provided they receive what is necessary for the support of life, take what is offered to them without conditions or complaints; and a religious should, in like manner, accept whatever is laid before her as an alms from Almighty God.

II. With regard to the quantity, St. Bonaventure says that “food ought not to be taken too often, or in excess, but in such a quantity that it may be a refection and not a burden to the body.”¹ Hence the rule of all who seek perfection is never to eat to satiety. “Let your repast be moderate,” says St. Jerome, “so that the stomach will never be replete.”² Some religious fast one day and eat to excess on the next. St. Jerome says that it is better to take always a reasonable quantity of food than to fast sometimes, and afterwards to commit excess. The same holy Doctor remarks that satiety is to be avoided in the use, not only of delicacies, but also of the coarsest food.³ If a nun commit excess, it matters not whether she eat of partridges or of vegetables: the bad effects of her intemperance are the same in both cases. St. Jerome’s rule for determining the quantity of food is that a person should always rise from the table in such a state that he may be able to apply immediately to prayer or to study. “When,” says the holy Doctor, “you eat, think that it will be your duty to pray or to read immediately after.”⁴

¹ “Ut non nimis et saepius quam decet, ut sit refectio corporis, non onus.”

² “Sit tibi moderatus cibus, et nunquam venter expletus.”

³ “Sed et ex vilissimis cibis vitanda satietas est.”—Adv. Jovin. 1. 2.

⁴ “Quando comedis, cogita quod statim tibi orandum et legendum sit.”—Epist. ad Furiam.

An ancient Father wisely said, that “he who eats a great deal, and is still hungry, will receive a greater reward than the man who eats little and is satiated.” Cassian⁵ relates that to comply with the duty of hospitality a certain monk was one day obliged to sit at table many times with strangers, and to partake of the refreshment prepared for them, and that after all he arose the last time with an appetite. This is the best and most difficult sort of mortification; for it is easier to abstain altogether from certain meats than, after having tasted them, to eat but little.

⁵ De Cenod. inst. 1. 5, c. 25.

He who desires to practise moderation in eating would do well to diminish his meals gradually till, by experience, he ascertains the quantity of food necessary to support the body. It was in this manner that St. Dorothy trained his disciple, St. Dositheus, to the just practice of mortification. But the most secure means of removing all doubts and scruples with regard to fasts and abstinence is to follow the advice of your director. St. Benedict¹ and after him St. Bernard² say that mortifications that are performed without the permission of one’s confessor are not meritorious, because they are the fruit of a criminal presumption: “What is done without the permission of the spiritual Father will be regarded as presumption, and shall not be rewarded.”³ All, but particularly nuns, as we have said above,⁴ should make it a general rule to eat sparingly at supper, even when there is some apparent necessity for a plentiful meal; for in the evening all are subject to a false appetite, and therefore a slight excess will occasion, on the following morning, headaches, fulness of the stomach, and by consequence a repugnance and incapacity for all spiritual exercises.

¹ Reg. ch. 49.

² In Cant. s. 19.

³ “Quod sine permissione patris spiritualis fit, praesumptioni deputabitur, non mercedi.”

⁴ Page 232.

Abstinence from drink, except at meals, may be safely observed by all, unless when, in particular circumstances, such as in the heats of summer, the want of liquid might be prejudicial to health. However, St. Laurence Justinian, even in the burning heats of summer, never drank out of meal-time; and to those who asked how he could bear the thirst, he replied: “How shall I be able to bear the burning thirst of purgatory if I cannot now abstain from drink?” On fasting days the ancient Christians abstained from drink till the hour of their repast, which was always taken in the evening. Such is the practice of the Turks at the present day during their fasts of Lent. We should at least observe the rule that is universally prescribed by physicians, not to take any drink for four or five hours after dinner.

III. With regard to the manner of eating, St. Bonaventure says that

“food should not be taken unseasonably nor inordinately, but religiously.”¹

¹ “Ut non importune requiratur (cibus), nec inordinate sumatur, sed religiose.”

1. Food should not be taken unseasonably; that is, before the hours prescribed for the Community. To a penitent who could not abstain from eating till the hour of meals, St. Philip Neri said: “Child, if you do not correct this defect you will never advance in virtue.”² Blessed, says the Holy Ghost, is the land whose princes eat in due season.³ And happy the monastery whose members never eat out of the hours of meals. When St. Teresa heard that some of her nuns had asked permission from the Provincial to keep eatables in their cells, she reproved them very severely: “Your request,” said the saint, “if granted, would lead to the destruction of the monastery.”⁴

² Baca, 1. 2, ch. 14.

³ “Beata terra... cujus principes vescuntur in tempore suo.”— Eccles. x. 17.

⁴ L. to F. G rati an, Febr. 27, 1581.

2. To avoid the fault of taking your food inordinately, you must be careful not to eat with avidity, with eagerness, or with haste. Be not greedy in your feasting.⁵ says the Holy Ghost. Your object in eating must be to support the strength of the body, and to be able to serve the Lord. To eat through mere pleasure cannot be excused from the guilt of venial sin; for Innocent XI.¹ has condemned the proposition which asserts that it is not a sin to eat or to drink from the sole motive of satisfying the palate. However, it is not a fault to feel pleasure in eating; for it is, generally speaking, impossible to eat without experiencing the delight which food naturally produces. But it is a defect to eat like beasts through the sole motive of sensual gratification, and without proposing any reasonable end. Hence the most delicious meats may be eaten without sin if the motive be good and worthy of a rational creature; and in taking the coarsest food through attachment to pleasure there may be a fault. In the Lives of the Fathers² it is related that though the same food was served to all the monks of a certain monastery, a holy bishop saw some of them feasting on honey, others on bread, and others on mire. By this vision he was given to understand that the first ate with a holy fear of violating temperance, and were accustomed at meals to raise their souls to God by holy aspirations; that the second felt some delight in eating, but still returned thanks to God for his benefits; and that the third ate for the mere gratification of the taste.

⁵ “Noli avidus esse in omni epulatione.”—Ecclus. xxxvii. 32.

¹ Propos. 8.

² Vit. Patr. 1. 6, libell. I, n. 17.

To practise temperance in the manner of eating, you must not perform indiscreet fasts, which would render you unable to serve the Community, or to observe your Rule. Transported with a certain fervor, by which the Almighty animates their zeal for virtue, beginners are often very indiscreet in their fasts and other works of penance. Their rigors sometimes bring on infirmities, which disqualify them for the duties of the Community, and sometimes make them give up all exercises of piety. Discretion is necessary in all things. A master who intrusts a servant with the care of a horse will be equally displeased whether the animal be rendered unfit for use by an excess or by a want of food. St. Francis de Sales used to say to his nuns of the Visitation, that “continual moderation is better than fits of violent abstinence interspersed with occasional excesses. Besides, such abstinences make us esteem ourselves more holy than others who do not practise them.”¹ It is certainly the duty of all to avoid indiscretion, but it has been justly remarked by a great spiritual master (and the remark deserves attention), that the spirit seldom deceives us by suggesting excessive mortifications; while the flesh, under false pretences, frequently claims commiseration, and procures an exemption from what is displeasing to its propensities.

¹ Introduct. p. 3, ch. 23.

The following are some of the mortifications that are very useful:

To abstain from delicacies agreeable to the taste, and in some measure injurious to health.

To refrain from the fruits that come first in season.

To deprive yourself throughout the year from some particular fruit, determined by lot.

To abstain once or twice in the week from all fruit, and every day from a portion of what is laid before you.

To deny yourself some delicacy, or merely to taste it, and say with St. Mary Magdalene de Pazzi, that it is not useful for you.

To leave, every day, according to the advice of St. Bernard, a part of what is most pleasing to the palate. “Let every one,” says the saint, “offer at table something to God.”²

² “Unusquisque super mensam aliquid offert Deo.”—Reg. c. 49.

To check for some time the desire of drinking or of eating what is before you; and to abstain from wine, spirits, and spices. Such abstinence is particularly useful for young persons.

The preceding mortifications may be practised without pride, or injury to health. It is not necessary to perform all of them. Let each person observe the abstinences that her Superior or director permits. It is certainly better to practise small and frequent works of penance, than to perform rare and extraordinary fasts, and afterwards lead an unmortified life.

Prayer.

My dear Redeemer, I am so tepid and full of defects, that I am ashamed to appear before Thee. Had I corresponded to Thy graces, I should now be a seraph by the ardor of my love. But I am more imperfect than ever. How often have I promised to become a saint, and to consecrate myself entirely to Thee? But my promises have been so many treasons. I console myself with the reflection, that I have to deal with infinite Goodness. Do not abandon me, O Lord! but continue to strengthen me, for I desired to amend, by the assistance of Thy grace. I do not wish to resist the love that Thou bearest me; I see that Thou dost wish me to become a saint; and to please Thee, I desire to sanctify my soul. I promise to mortify my senses, particularly by abstaining from certain pleasures. (Name them.) Ah! my Jesus, I know that to gain my heart Thou hast done too much. Great, indeed, should be my ingratitude if I denied Thee anything, or loved Thee but little. I do not wish to be any longer ungrateful. Thou hast been infinitely good to me; I shall not be ungenerous to Thee as I have hitherto been. I love Thee, O my Spouse; I am sorry for all the displeasure that I have given Thee. Pardon me, and assist me to be faithful to Thee.

O Mary, thou hast always been faithful to God, obtain for me the gift of fidelity to his graces during the remainder of my life.

The Mortification of the Sense of Hearing, of Smell, and of Touch.

1. The sense of hearing must be mortified by not listening to indecent words, to detraction, or to worldly conversations, which fill the mind with a thousand thoughts and images, that afterwards distract and disturb the soul in prayer, and in the other exercises of devotion. Should you ever happen to be present at such discourses, endeavor to cut them short by proposing some useful question. If that be not sufficient, you ought either to retire or remain silent, and cast down your eyes, to show how much you dislike such language.

II. To mortify the smell, you must abstain from the use of perfumes and of scented waters: such delicacies are unbecoming even in worldlings. Animated by the spirit of charity and mortification, the saints felt as much delight in the offensive odors that surround the sick and the infected, as they would in a garden of the most fragrant flowers. Let it be your study to imitate their example, and to bear patiently the disagreeable smell that you may experience in the rooms of the sick.

III. With regard to the touch, you must take the greatest care to avoid all, even the smallest, defects. For every fault committed by the indulgence of that sense exposes the soul to the danger of eternal death. I cannot explain myself fully on this subject: I shall only say, that to preserve the precious jewel of purity, religious should observe all possible modesty and caution, not only towards others, but also towards themselves. Even in his last agony St. Peter of Alcantara would not allow any of his brethren to touch any part of his body. Feeling himself touched by one of them, he exclaimed: “Withdraw, touch me not; I am still alive, and may still offend God.” This sense of touch must be kept under the greatest restraint by external mortifications, of which I shall now speak. These mortifications are reduced to four heads—to fasts, haircloths, disciplines, and watchings.

i. In the preceding section enough has been said of fasting.

2. Haircloths are of various kinds: some are made of strong or coarse hair; the others are bands or chains of brass or iron wire. The former may be injurious to persons of a delicate constitution: for, as Father Scaramelli justly remarks,¹ they inflame the flesh, and weaken the stomach by drawing its natural heat to the external surface of the body. The latter may be worn on the arms, thighs, or shoulders without injury to the health, but not on the breast or round the body. These are the ordinary species of haircloths, and may be safely used by all. Far different from them were the haircloths worn by the saints. D. Sancia Carriglio, the celebrated penitent of Father M. Avila, wore a shirt of coarse hair which reached from the neck to the knees. St. Rose of Lima used a long hair-shirt interwoven with needles, and carried a broad iron chain round her loins. St. Peter of Alcantara wore on his shoulders a large plate of iron, which was so rough, and covered with sharp projections, that it kept the flesh in a state of continual laceration. Would it then be too much for you to wear a small band of iron from morning till the hour of dinner?

¹ Direct, asc. tr. 2, a. I, c. 4.

3. Disciplines or flagellations are a species of mortification strongly recommended by St. Francis de Sales, and universally adopted in religious Communities of both sexes. All the modern saints, without a single exception, have continually practised this sort of penance. It is related of St. Aloysius that he often scourged himself unto blood three times in the day. And at the point of death, not having sufficient strength to use the lash, he besought the Provincial to have him disciplined from head to foot. Surely, then, it would not be too much for you to take the discipline once in the day, or at least three or four times in the week. However, the practice of this penance should be regulated by the confessor.

4. Lastly, vigils or watchings consist in the retrenchment of sleep. It is related of St. Rose, that to prevent sleep, and thus be able to spend the night in prayer, she tied her hair to a nail fastened in the wall. When she was overcome by sleep the inclination of the head caused pain sufficient to awake her. Of St. Peter of Alcantara we read that for forty years he slept but an hour, or at the most an hour and a half, each night; and that he might not be overcome by sleep, he lay with his head on a piece of wood fixed in the wall of his cell. Such austerities cannot be practised by all, nor without a special grace. Indeed, watching is a species of penance in which great moderation and discretion should be observed. Severe watchings generally render us unfit for the exercise of the mental faculties, for the recitation of the office, for prayer, and spiritual reading. St. Charles Borromeo, in consequence of watching during the night, was sometimes overcome by sleep even during public functions, and was therefore obliged to prolong the time for rest. However, they that pretend to virtue should not, like brute animals, give to their body all the repose that the flesh desires. It is necessary to take as much rest as is requisite, and no more. Generally speaking, women require less sleep than men. In general, five, or at the most six, hours' sleep is sufficient for women. At least, dear sister, be careful to rise at the first sound of the morning bell, and not to remain, like the sluggard, turning about in bed after having heard the signal for rising. St. Teresa used to say that a religious should leap out of bed the instant she hears the bell.

The saints have not only curtailed the time for sleep, but have also practised various mortifications in the manner of taking repose. St. Aloysius was accustomed to scatter fragments of wood and of stones over his bed. St. Rose of Lima lay on the trunks of trees, the space between which was filled with broken earthenware. The Venerable Sister Mary Crucified, of Sicily, used a pillow of thorns. These austerities are extraordinary, and are not adapted to all persons. But a religious should not seek a bed of down; if a straw bed be not injurious to her health, why should she require a mattress of hair?—or, if a single mattress be sufficient for her, why does she make use of two?

To bear with patience the excessive heat or cold of the seasons is a very useful mortification of the sense of touch. St. Peter of Alcantara went barefooted and bareheaded throughout the winter, and never wore more than a single coat, which was generally torn. You cannot practise such rigors; but would it be too much for you to refrain from approaching the fire during the winter? St. Aloysius, even when he lived in Lombardy, where the cold is very intense, never approached the fire. You can, at least on one day of the week, bear with patience, and accept as a penance from the hands of God, the cold and heat of the seasons. St. Francis Borgia, on arriving one night at a college in the country, found the gates locked, and was therefore obliged to remain all night exposed to the cold and the snow, which fell heavily. In the morning the religious expressed great regret at what had happened. Be assured, replied the saint, that though I suffered much in the body I was greatly consoled in spirit by the reflection that God rejoiced at my pains. It appeared to me that God himself sent to me from heaven the flakes of snow that fell upon me.

Prayer. My beloved Redeemer, I blush to appear before Thee with so many attachments to earthly pleasures. During life Thou hast thought of nothing but of suffering for me. But, forgetful of Thy pains, and of Thy love for me, I have hitherto attended only to my own gratification. In my past life I have had nothing of the character of a religious, and of Thy spouse, except the habit and the name. I would deserve to be banished from this holy place, where Thou hast favored me with so many lights and graces, which I have always repaid with ingratitude. I have certainly made many good purposes; and though I have frequently promised, I have not fulfilled them. O my Jesus, give me strength: I desire to do something for Thee before I die. If I were now to die, how unhappy should I be? Thou dost prolong my life that I may become a saint. I desire to be perfect: I love Thee, O my God and my Spouse; and I desire to love Thee as becomes Thy spouse. I wish to think only of pleasing Thee. Pardon me all the offences that I have hitherto offered to Thee: I detest them with my whole heart. O God of my soul, to gratify myself I have insulted Thee, my treasure and my life, who hast loved me so much. Assist me to give myself entirely to Thee from this day forward.

Holy Virgin Mary, my hope, come to my aid, and obtain for me the grace to do something for God before the hour of my death.