Part III, Chapter VIII

Of Meekness towards Our Neighbor, and Remedies against Anger

The holy chrism, which, by apostolical tradition, we use in the Church of God for confirmations and consecrations, is composed of oil of olives mingled with balm, which, amongst other things, represents to us the two favorite and well-beloved virtues which shone forth in the sacred person of our Lord, and which he has strenuously recommended to us; as if by them our hearts ought to be in a particular manner consecrated to his service, and dedicated to his imitation. “Learn of me,” says he, “for I am meek and humble of heart.” (Matthew 11:29) “Humility” perfects us with respect to God; and “meekness,” with regard to our neighbor. The balm, which, as I have before observed, always sinks beneath all other liquors, represents humility; and the oil of olives, that swims above, represents meekness and mildness, which surmount all things, and excel amongst virtues, as being the flower of charity, which, according to St. Bernard, is then in its perfection, when it is not only patient, but also meek and mild. But take care, Philothea, that this mystical chrism, compounded of meekness and humility, be within your heart, for it is one of the great artifices of the enemy to make many deceive themselves with the expressions and exterior appearance of these two virtues, who, not examining thoroughly their interior affections, think themselves to be humble and meek; whereas, in effect, there are no virtues to which they have less pretensions. This may be easily discovered, for, notwithstanding all their ceremonious mildness and humility, at the least cross word, or smallest injury, they exhibit an unparalleled arrogance. It is said that those who have taken the preservative which is commonly called “the grace of St. Paul,” do not swell when they are bitten and stung by a viper, provided the preservative be of the best sort; in like manner, when humility and meekness are good and true, they preserve us from that swelling and burning heat which injuries are wont to raise in our hearts. But if, being stung and bitten by detractors and enemies, we swell, and are enraged, it is a certain sign that neither our humility nor meekness is true and sincere, but only apparent and artificial.

That holy and illustrious patriarch Joseph, sending back his brethren from Egypt to his father’s house, gave them this only advice: “Be not angry with one another by the way.” (Genesis 45:29) I say the same to you, Philothea; this wretched life is but a journey to the happy life to come; let us not, then, be angry with each other by the way, but rather march on with the troop of our brethren and companions meekly, peaceably, and lovingly; nay, I say to you, absolutely and without exception, be not angry at all if it be possible, and admit no pretext whatsoever to open the gate of your heart to so destructive a passion; for St. James tells us positively, and without reservation, “The anger of man works not the justice of God.” (James 1:20) We must, indeed, resist evil, and restrain the vices of those that are under our charge constantly and courageously, but yet with meekness and compassion. Nothing so soon appeases the enraged elephant as the sight of a little lamb, and nothing so easily breaks the force of a cannon-shot as wool. We do not value so much the correction which proceeds from passion, though it be accompanied with reason, as that which proceeds from reason alone; for the reasonable soul, being naturally subject to reason, is never subject to passion but through tyranny; and, therefore, when reason is accompanied by passion, she makes herself odious, her just government being debased by the fellowship of tyranny. Princes do honor to their people, and make them rejoice exceedingly, when they visit them with a peaceable train; but when they come at the head of armies, though it be for the common good, their visits are always disagreeable; for although they cause military discipline to be rigorously observed among their soldiers, yet they can never do it so effectually but that some disorders will always happen, by which the peasant will be a sufferer. In like manner, as long as reason rules, and peaceably exercises chastisements, corrections, and reprehensions, although severely and exactly, every one loves and approves it; but when she brings anger, passion, and rage, which St. Austin calls her soldiers, along with her, she rather makes herself feared than loved, and even her own disordered heart is always the sufferer. “It is better,” says the same St. Austin, writing to Profuturus, “to deny entrance to just and reasonable anger, than to admit to it, be it ever so little; because, being once admitted, it is with difficulty driven out again; for it enters as a little twig, and in a moment becomes a beam; and if it can but once gain the night of us, and the sunset upon it, which the apostle forbids, it turns into a hatred, from which we have scarce any means to rid ourselves; for it nourishes itself under a thousand false pretexts, since there was never an angry man that thought this anger unjust.”

It is better, then, to attempt to find the way to live without anger, than pretend to make a moderate and discreet use of it; and when, through our imperfections and frailty, we find ourselves surprised, it is better to drive it away speedily than enter into a parley; for, if we give it ever so little leisure, it will become mistress of the place, like the serpent, who easily draws in his whole body where he can once get in his head.

But how shall I banish it? you may say. You must, my dear Philothea, at the first alarm, speedily muster your forces; not violently, not tumultuously, but mildly, and yet seriously; for as we hear the ushers in public halls and courts of justice crying Silence, make more noise than the whole assembly; so it frequently happens that, by endeavoring with violence to restrain our anger, we stir up more trouble in our heart than wrath has excited before; and the heart, being thus agitated, can be no longer master of itself. After this meek effort practise the advice which St. Austin, in his old age, gave the young bishop Auxilius. Do, says he, that which a man should do, if that befall you of which the man of God speaks in the Psalms: “My eye is troubled with wrath.” (Psalms 30) Have recourse to God, crying out, “Have mercy on me, O Lord!” that he may stretch forth his right hand to repress your anger. I mean we must invoke the assistance of God, when we find ourselves excited to wrath, in imitation of the apostles when they were tossed by the wind and the storm upon the waters; for he will command our passions to cease, and a great calm shall ensue. But the prayer which is made against present and pressing anger must always be performed calmly, and not violently; and they must be observed in all the remedies against this evil. Moreover, as soon as ever you perceive yourself guilty of an act of wrath, repair the fault immediately, by an act of meekness towards the same person against whom you were angry. For, as it is a sovereign remedy against a lie, to contradict it upon the spot, as soon as we perceive we have told it, so we must repair anger instantly by a contrary act of meekness; for fresh wounds are most easily cured.

Again, when your mind is in a state of tranquillity, supply yourself with meekness, speaking all your words, and doing all your actions, little and great, in the mildest manner possible, calling to mind, that as the Spouse in the Canticles has not only honey in her lips, on her tongue, and in her breast, but milk also, so we must not only have our words sweet towards our neighbor, but also our whole breast; that is to say, the whole of our soul; neither must we have the aromatic and fragrant sweetness of honey only, viz., the sweetness of civil conversation with strangers, but also the sweetness of milk amongst our family and neighbors; in which those greatly fail, who in the street seem to be angels, and in their houses demons.

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