God alone has the right properly to say I, and to look at everything as it regards Himself, to be Himself the rule, the measure, and the centre of all things; because God alone exists of Himself, and everything else exists only by His will, and for Him, has no value whatever but the value He gives it, and, considered by itself, is nothing, is worth nothing, and deserves nothing. This is true in the order of nature, and it is still more true in the order of grace.
When we can well understand this fact, it is easy to understand also how unjust is the human I. This injustice consists in man having a great consideration for himself, esteeming himself, loving himself, and thinking himself worthy of esteem and love; in his constituting himself the centre of everything, and referring everything to himself; in making the love he has for himself and his own interests the secret motive of all his thoughts, words, and actions. He looks at everything from his own point of view; he seeks himself in everything; it seems to him as if the whole universe, and all creatures, and even God Himself, only existed on his account. He has no esteem or love for others, except in proportion to the esteem and friendship they show to him. And if he ever does show them any sort of kindness, or oblige them or serve them in any way, it is only for the sake of his own interest, or if not for his own interest directly, for his own vain-glory. This esteem and love of himself insinuate themselves everywhere, even into his service of God, and are the source of all the imperfections and faults into which he falls.
The human I is the root of pride, and consequently of all sin. It is the enemy of God, Whom it attacks in His absolute and universal sovereignty. It is also the enemy of men, whom it stirs up one against another, on account of the opposition of their respective interests. It is the worst enemy of every individual man, because it draws him away from his real and true good, leads him on to evil, and takes from him all peace and rest.
If we could once annihilate the human I, all crimes would disappear from the face of the earth, all men would live with each other like brothers, sharing their possessions without envy, helping each other in all their necessities, and each one of them looking upon his neighbour as a second self. If we could once annihilate the human I, all the thoughts of man, all his desires, all his actions would be referred to God only, without any mixture of self-interest; God would be loved, adored, and served for Himself alone, on account of His infinite perfections and on account of His benefits. He would be loved whether He consoled a man or afflicted him; whether He caressed him or tried him; whether He drew the man to Himself with sweetness, or seemed to reject and forsake him. If we could once annihilate the human I, the innocent man would pass his days in an unchanging peace, because both from within and from without there would be nothing to trouble him.
There are two kinds of the human I: the first one, which is gross, animal, earthly, and which has for its object only the things of here below; it is that of worldlings, who are always occupied in seeking after the honours, riches, and pleasures of this earth, or regretting the loss of them; it is that of pretended philosophers and wise men, who by a refined pride, and to make themselves singular, affect to be independent of common prejudices and opinions, and seek their own glory and honour by the very contempt they pretend to have for such things. All the vices which brutalise man and desolate the world are the offspring of this gross and earthly I, which causes the misery of the human race here and hereafter.
The other I, which is far more subtle and delicate, is the spiritual I, the I of persons who are given to piety. And who can say what harm this I does to devotion how it lessens it, and narrows it; to how many delusions and complications it exposes devotion; how it renders piety ridiculous and contemptible in the eyes of the world, which is always ready to criticise spitefully and pitilessly the servants of God? Who can tell of how many miseries and weaknesses and falls it is the cause? How it makes devout people scrupulous, petty, uneasy, officious, uncertain, eccentric, jealous, critical, spiteful, ill-tempered, insupportable to themselves and to others? Who can tell how often it frustrates and stops the operations of Divine grace; how it favours the cunning and snares of the devil; how it makes us weak in temptations, cowardly in times of trial, reserved and ungenerous in our sacrifices; how many noble designs it brings to nought; how many good actions it infects with its dangerous poison; how many faults it disguises and makes appear as virtues?
The especial characteristic of the human I, whichever it may be, the sensual or the spiritual, is to plunge us into the most deplorable blindness. We do not see ourselves, we do not know ourselves, and we think all the time that we do see and know ourselves. Nothing can open our eyes, and we get angry with any one who tries to do this. We set it down to unkindness, or at least to quite mistaken kindness, if any one attempts to advise us or correct us. It is no use to be very gentle with us, and to tell us what is wrong with all the sweetness and circumspection possible our wounded self-love is at at once in arms, is very much offended, rebels against and never pardons the good advice which was inspired simply by zeal and charity.
In the same way, we think we are quite capable of guiding and judging ourselves, we even wish to direct those who have been appointed to govern us, and to teach them how they ought to act towards us; we do not think we are properly guided and directed, except by those who will guide us and direct us in our own way, and according to our own opinion.
The true director, he who requires the submission of our judgment and our will, who preaches to us bare faith and blind obedience, is soon abandoned as one who tyrannises over consciences. When we are spoken to about fighting with our self-love, or overcoming our repugnances, or conquering our aversions; when any one tries to open our eyes about certain cherished faults; when any one tries to show us the imperfection or positive badness of our motives; when certain sacrifices are asked of us all these things speak a language which we will not listen to; all this is an intolerable burden which is being forced upon us: no one understands us; every one is mistaken about us; they exaggerate things; they go beyond what the law requires, and even beyond the counsels of perfection!
Nevertheless, it is most certainly true that all holiness consists in the destruction of the human I. It is true that Christian morality has no other end; that the object of all the operations of Divine grace is to humble us and to annihilate in us the love of ourselves. It is true that the love of God and the love of ourselves are like the two weights of a balance, and that one can only go down when the other goes up. Therefore, the only means of perfection, that great practice which embraces all others, is to fight against ourselves, to do violence to ourselves in everything and always; and, as we are neither sufficiently clear-sighted or disinterested or skillful in the choice of means to undertake and successfully conduct a warfare of such importance, in which our own heart is the field of battle, we have only one thing to do, and that is to give ourselves freely to God, to leave to Him the care of this warfare, and to second Him as far as is in our own power.
Let us say to ourselves: My greatest enemy, the enemy by which my two other enemies, the devil and the world, can do anything against me, is myself; it is that " old man," that offspring and consequence of Adam's sin; it is that love of self which was born with me, which was developed in me before ever I came to the use of reason, which has been strengthened by my passions, by the blindness of my understanding, and by the weakness of my will, by the abuse I have made of my liberty, by my sins and my bad habits. How shall I fight against, how shall I overcome this terrible enemy? What shall I do; how shall I begin? Alas! this enemy will raise himself up again through the very blows which I give him; he will applaud himself for my victories, and will attribute them to the effect of his own strength! He will contemplate and admire himself in the virtues I may have acquired and in the defects I may have corrected; he will be intoxicated with the praises which others may give to my piety; and he will pride himself even on the acts of humility which I may have performed! He will appropriate to himself your work, O my God! and will deprive You of the glory which belongs to You alone! Once more, then, what shall I do? How shall I conquer this terrible enemy, who makes of his very defeat a subject of triumph?
Ah, Lord and God of my soul! it is You Who must undertake this war for me. I cannot do it myself.
My self-love is my enemy only because it is Yours; attack it, conquer it, crush it, pursue it to its utter destruction. I give myself up to You, I abandon myself to You entirely with this intention. You are All-powerful, suffer me not to resist You; punish me for the least infidelity; permit me not the least thought of myself, the least complacency in the good which it may please You to work in me, the least attachment to Your gifts, the least spirit of appropriating anything to myself! Leave me not, O my God and my all! until the old Adam is entirely destroyed in me, and until the new Adam, who is our Lord Jesus Christ, reigns in his place and makes me holy with His own holiness! Amen.
- taken from Manual for Interior Souls, by Father Jean Nicolas Grou