On Reflections During Prayer

The wise King Solomon tells us that "there is a time for all things." Now in prayer, as in everything else, there is a time to reflect, and a time to reflect no longer. Reflections are very useful, and even necessary, to make us understand the truths of religion, to enter into ourselves and to discover our faults. It is by these salutary reflections that sinners return to God, and that the generality of Christians persevere in the practice of good. As a general rule, as long as a person is being led by the ordinary way, and is able to preserve the free use of his understanding, it is right for him to make reflections, and to apply himself to meditation, without relying on it too much, however, or trying to dig too deeply, because there can very well be an abuse of meditation, as of all good things. And the greatest abuse, undoubtedly, is to think too much about it, and to rely too much on our own judgment and its light. A great deal of distrust of ourselves, a great deal of humility, a continual recourse to God that He may enlighten us, and a certain sobriety of wisdom, which stops the natural curiosity of our mind whenever it is necessary these are so many efficacious remedies against the rashness of our reflections and the bad effects they might otherwise produce.

But is there not a way of prayer in which reflections become dangerous, and in which we cannot avoid them too much in which we must allow ourselves to be guided only by the Spirit of God and by obedience? Most assuredly there is, and this way is the dark way of pure faith.

We cannot enter of ourselves upon this way; it is for God alone to lead into it those souls upon whom He has special designs. Neither spiritual books, nor directors, nor our own efforts, can do anything here; we must wait for grace to act, and not allow ourselves to think about such a state of prayer, still less to desire it, for if we do we shall most certainly be exposed to the danger of delusion. But at the same time we must never deny that there is such a way of prayer, and that the chief sign by which we may know that God wishes to lead a soul into it, is when that soul has no longer the same liberty of using her faculties in prayer that she formerly had; when she is able no longer to apply herself to a particular subject, to draw from it reflections and affections; but when she feels within herself, instead, a certain delicious peace which is above all expression, which takes the place of everything else, and which forces her, so to speak, to keep herself in quiet and in silence. When an experienced director is sufficiently convinced of this disposition of a soul, and is quite sure that she is not acting of herself, but that she is only lending herself to the action of God, then there is no longer any occasion to doubt that God wishes this soul to enter upon the way of blind faith. Always supposing, of course, that this soul is simple, upright, and docile, of a clear mind and good sense, and that she has lived in innocence, or at least that she has sincerely returned to God, and has led for some time a Christian and edifying life. For it is a very rare thing for a sinner to be suddenly raised to the way of faith, although a few examples of it are not wanting: for instance, Saint Mary of Egypt and some others.

Now, it is in this way of pure faith that reflections are dangerous, and all the masters of the spiritual life agree that we must neither listen to them nor follow them. There are several solid reasons for this, drawn some from the very nature of this way, and others from the object of the reflections which then present themselves to the mind, and others again from the cause which inspires or suggests these reflections.

The way of faith is essentially a dark way, a way in which the soul can know nothing by the ordinary light of reason, a way in which the principal intention of God is to make the soul die to her own spirit. It is therefore perfectly clear that in such a way it is no longer by our own reflections that we must be guided, but by the light of faith, and by the movement of the Holy Spirit. There is no question then of meditation, for it is impossible to meditate any longer; nor of following any particular method, for the Spirit of God blows where He will, and as He will; nor of exercising our own spirit, for that is dying; nor of reflecting about what is going on within us, for we can neither discern it nor have a correct judgment upon it.

The way of faith is a way in which God, the Sole Master of the soul and of her liberty, which she has given to Him, takes possession of her, disposes of her as He pleases, works in her according to His will, exercises over her a supreme dominion, and allows nothing to oppose His action. Now, nothing could put more obstacles in the way of God's action than the reflections the soul might make of herself, either to guide herself, or to judge of what is passing within her and act in consequence. It is evident that such reflections must constrain and hinder the Divine operations, and consequently must do harm to the soul, even so as to make her leave this way of prayer altogether.

The way of faith is a way of sacrifice, a way of continual self-immolation, a way which ends in the total loss of the soul in God. This way, which is sweet, and full of Divine favours and lights in the beginning, becomes afterwards a way of obscurity, of nakedness, of despoilment, in which the soul finds herself reduced to the last extremity, without having the slightest perceptible assistance either from God, or from creatures, or from herself. Now, it is quite evident that such a state as this, during the whole course of it, can never admit reflections; it must exclude them absolutely, and the soul must not see, and must not wish to see, where she is going, whither God means to lead her, or in what way He means to lead her; otherwise, she would never be able to make up her mind to all the sacrifices which God will certainly require of her. Especially, she would never make the entire sacrifice of her mind if she could always preserve the use of reflection, and the total immolation of herself, which God expects of her, would never take place.

Finally, the way of faith is a way of temptations, in which God gives the devil a strange power over the soul on purpose to try her. God allows the devil to fill her mind with darkness, her imagination with a thousand wild fancies, and her will with every kind of thought of blasphemy, of despair, of impurity, and of impiety. The soul must bear all this patiently, and she will come by degrees to believe that all these horrors are really a part of herself, that she is consenting to them, and that for that reason she is justly hated by God. This state of extreme temptation, which she could never bear at all except by the most entire abandonment to the will of God and the most complete trust in Him, is not compatible with any reflections to be made upon herself. It is too clear that it cannot possibly be. There is a great deal more to be said on this subject; but I have said enough to make it understood that any reflections can only spoil everything in the life of pure faith, which is only called so because it banishes all reflection.

More than this, the object even of these reflections furnishes us with new reasons to forbid them to those who are in this way of prayer. For their object is, either to know what God is doing in us, and the reasons of His action, and God wishes the soul to know nothing whatever of the secret operations of His grace; or to seek for a feeling of assurance, and God wishes to take away from the soul all assurance; or to examine into the manner in which our director is guiding us, and God requires no less the blind obedience of the judgment than of the will. It is essential to the perfection of this way of prayer that the soul should walk in it blindly, and that she should leave to God alone the care of governing her and guiding her safely to the end, without knowing where she is, whither she is going, or where she will end. Thus, all reasoning, all foresight, all examination, all consideration of self, is strictly forbidden, as an infidelity, a straying from the way, and a temptation of which the effect will certainly be to withdraw the soul from the guidance of God.

Finally, it is certain that the soul, in this way of prayer, must admit no other thoughts than those that come to her from God. Now, all the reflections which ever present themselves then to the soul, and which have for their principle either curiosity, or uneasiness, or a wish to foresee what is going to happen to us, or a secret self-complacency, come always from our own spirit, or are suggested by the devil. It is easy to recognize this, because such reflections either inspire the soul with vanity and presumption, or throw her into trouble and despair. She must therefore reject them, and never willingly dwell on them. It is the only means she has of preserving her interior peace in a state so difficult.

Besides, the changes and vicissitudes of this way are such, and so frequent, that the soul would try to take note of them, or to keep account of them, or to remember them; from one day to another, from the morning to the evening, from one hour to the other, her state changes; she is like the heavens when they are charged with storms, or the sea agitated by tempests. How can she possibly reflect in the midst of such agitations? And what foundation could she possibly make on thoughts suggested either by nature reduced to its last extremity or by the spirit of darkness? When the storm is over, and a blessed peace and calm has succeeded it, she will enjoy that calm and think no more of the torments she has just been suffering.

"But," you will say, "is it not very ill-advised to forbid the soul to make any reflections upon her state, when this is precisely the matter which interests her most to know, and in fact is the only thing that is of interest to her?"

I reply, no: it is not ill-advised, when once we have all the necessary proofs of the reality of this state. The less the soul reflects the more she will advance, the stronger she will be against the devil and against herself, the more generosity she will have to accomplish all the sacrifices which God asks of her.

And I may add that she will thus considerably shorten her time of trial, and will spare herself many troubles and anxieties of which her own reflections are the source, and also that she will be much less difficult a charge to him who has the care of her direction.

- taken from Manual for Interior Souls, by Father Jean Nicolas Grou