Volume II, Treatise III, Chapter XXII

That Humility Is the Means to Acquire Inward Peace of Mind, and that We Cannot Have Peace Without Humility

“Learn of me, for [ am meek and humble of heart, and you shall find rest for your souls.” (Matthew 11:29) The peace of mind, which St. Paul reckons among the fruits of the Holy Ghost, is so desirable and precious a blessing, that one of the strongest reasons to make us humble, and despise the esteem of the world, is that which our Saviour proposes to us in the above words; whereby he teaches us, that humility is the only means to acquire inward peace. But as every thing becomes more intelligible, by comparing it with its contrary, so let us see in the first place, with what trouble and restlessness the hearts of the proud are tormented, that we may the better comprehend the peace and tranquillity which the humble enjoy. The Holy Scripture is full of passages which shew us, that the wicked have no peace. ‘There is no peace,” says the Lord, “unto the wicked.”—(Isa. xlviii. 22). ‘They said peace, peace, but there was no peace.”—(Jerom. vi. 14). “They find nothing but trouble of mind and unhappiness wheresoever they go, and they know not what peace is.” (Psalms 13:3). Their conscience is always at war with them, and even their very peace, if they have any, ‘is full of bitterness.” —(Isa. xxxviii. 17). But the proud, in particular, are in continual disquiet; and St. Austin gives us a reason for it, when he says, “that pride never goes without envy, and that it is by these two things, that the devil is what he is, a devil;” (Lib. de 8. Virg. c. 55); that we may judge what effects they produce in man, since they make the devil to be what he is.

It is impossible for a man, who is possessed of pride and envy, its inseparable companion, and who seeks in vain to be honoured by every body, but to have a heart full of gall and bitterness, and not to be in continual agitation of mind. For what can more sensibly disturb a proud man, than to see himself despised, and others preferred to him?

The Holy Scripture gives us an admirable description of the nature and effects of pride, in the person of Aman. He was the great favourite of King Assuerus; and by him was made rich, and placed above all the grandees of the kingdom; he was respected by all, and nothing seemed wanting to his wishes; yet nevertheless, he was so disquieted, because Mardochai the Jew, who sat usually at the king’s gate, did not rise up and show him respect when he passed by, that he could enjoy no content upon that account, as he confessed one day to his wife and friends; for after having set forth the happy state of his fortune, the high place he was in, and the favours he received every day from the king; “yet all this I reckon as nothing,” said he, “so long as I see Mardochai sitting at the king’s gate.” (Esther 5:18) What trouble and disquiet does not this express; and does it not prove, that pride raises many storms in the breast of man? According to the words of Isaias, “the wicked are as a troubled sea which cannot rest.”—(Isa. lvii. 20). So great a rage did he conceive against Mardochia, that thinking it too little to be revenged on him, he resolved to extend his vengeance to all the Jews; and obtained an edict of King Assuerus to put them all to death. His fury, in the mean time, not permitting him to await the day appointed for its execution, he caused a gallows to be set up, to hang Mardochai upon, and went to the king for orders to that effect; but divine providence frustrated all his measures, covered him with confusion, and brought upon his own head, the vengeance which he contrived against so innocent @ man. For the king not able to sleep that night, ordered the book of records to be brought #to him, where all the remarkable things of his reign were written, and as they were read before him, there was @ passage which showed that Mardochai had discovered a plot, which had been made against his royal person. He then asked what reward Mardochai had received for so considerable a service? It was answered, none at all; then the king, inquiring who waited without, he was told, Aman; whereupon he commanded that he should be called in, and as soon as he saw him he asked him; what should be done to the man whom the king would honour? He then, thinking that his majesty would honour no one but himself, answered, that he whom the king had a mind to honour, was to be clothed with his royal robes, and put upon the horse which the king himself used to ride, and have the crown put upon his head, and that one of the greatest nobles of the kingdom should hold the horse by the bridle and go before him, proclaiming through the streets:— ‘Thus shall he be treated, whom the king pleases to honour.” Go then, said the king, take my royal robes, and treat as you have said Mardochai the Jew, who sits at the gate of my palace, and look that you do not fail in the least circumstance thereof. What a heart-breaking was this, to a man puffed up with pride. What more terrible mortification could be thought of? But he was obliged to obey all to the letter, and to complete his punishment, he himself was hanged a little after, on the same gallows he had prepared for Mardochai. This is what one gets by giving way to the motions of pride and vanity. And admire, I pray, the occasion which makes Aman so furious against poor Mardochai, it is because he bows not to him when he passes by. Any little trifle, is enough to trouble the rest of a proud man; and to make him pine away continually with vexation. We have great examples thereof in the people of the world, especially those who are in high posts; whatever touches their pride, pierces them to the quick; the thrust of a sword would be Jess sensible to them. And because there is no favour or preferment which can defend them from the affronts of this kind, therefore they live in continual bitterness of heart, and in great agitation of mind.

As much will happen even to a religious, if he is proud; for he will be sure to feel hurt, if less esteem is made of him than of others; if such a one is chosen for such or such business, whilst he is not thought of; and things of that nature will excite more uneasiness in him, than even worldlings feel, when their vanity is touched. How many religious have thus run the hazard of losing their vocation? How many have quitted their convent, thinking they could no longer stay there without exposing themselves to affronts, not being looked upon with any consideration? Nay, how many have hereby hazarded even their salvation? For humility is not only necessary for perfection, but very often for salvation. “If you become not as one of these little children, you shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18:3) With what reason

then was St. Xaverius used to cry out:— O esteem of the world,

what evil hast thou done, what evil dost thou do, and what evil wilt thou yet do?”

This may serve to convince us of the truth of one thing we too often experience—namely, that though we may be sometimes sick of melancholy from the overflow of bile, yet what makes us melancholy is very often neither bile nor any indisposition of the body. It is only a motion of pride, which is a disease of the mind. You are melancholy, because you believe that people don’t think of, nor respect you. You are melancholy because you came off ill upon an occasion; and where you expected honour, have met with confusion. That sermon, that public exercise was not applauded as you

a aes expected: nay, on the contrary, you think you have thereby lost your credit, and that is your real disease. You are melancholy only through pride; just as you feel agitated through pride, when yor are to do some action, upon which your honour depends, and of which you doubt the success. In fine, when a proud man is sick and melancholy, you must seek for the cause thereof only in his pride. But it is not so with a man truly humble of heart; for as he seeks not the esteem of the world, and is contented with the last place every where, so is he free from all sort of disquiet, and enjoys an entire peace, which nothing can disturb; so that though we should not regard our spiritual welfare, and what tends to perfection, but consider only our own interest, and the pleasure of having peace within; that alone ought to suffice to make us humble; for to live in a perfect tranquillity of mind, is, properly, to live; and to live in perpetual uneasiness every moment, is to die.

St. Austin hereupon relates a passage of himself, whereby, he says, God shewed him the blindness and misery he was under. I was, says he, to make a speech in praise of the Emperor, in which I had introduced a great many flatteries, and unmerited praises, But the folly and vanity of the world are so great, that these very praises would not have failed to have pleased, even those very persons who knew them to be false. Upon a certain day, therefore, when my head was engaged with these thoughts; and the uncertainty of success tormented me to that degree that I was even in a kind of burning fever; it happened, that passing by a street in Milan, ] saw a poor fellow who was merry with drink. Looking upon him, I sighed, and turning to some of my friends, said; 0! how highly I blame our folly! For in a profession like ours, where we bend continually under the weight of our miseries, and where the goads of ambition, force us on still to increase our burden, we have no other end in all the pains we take, than to gain sure and certain joy, which we shall never perhaps arrive to, and which this poor man has compassed—so that what he has already purchased with a little money he begged, I mean a little temporal happiness, we seek it, perhaps in vain, though with great care and labour. It is true, adds that great saint, his joy was no true joy; but what I aimed at by my ambition, was yet more false than his, and after all he was gay, and I was sad, he was in great peace and tranquillity, and I in deadly disquiet. Now, if any one had asked me, whether I had rather be joyful; and if I had been asked yet further, whether I had rather have been as that poor man was, or as I was myself, I had certainly chosen to have remained as I was, though I was tormented with a thousand anxieties. Yet I should nevertheless have made that choice without any reason; for, what motive had I to prefer myself to him? Was it because I was more learned than he? But my learning excited no joy in me; and I thereby sought only to please men and not to instruct them. Without doubt, continues he, that poor creature was happier than 1; not only because he was merry, and J was vexed with a multitude of cares; but because, the means he used, to have wherewith to buy a little wine, which had made him so merry, were innocent; whereas I sought to gain a vain reputation by pronouncing lies.

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