02 - On Discretion

Source: Cartier E. 1868

Importance of this virtue, rule and mother of all others. Means to acquire it. Humility, obedience, guidance from superiors. On false shame. Excesses to avoid. Rules of temperance.

(1) After having enjoyed a little sleep toward morning, we were filled with great joy when the light appeared, and we hastened to ask the blessed Abbot Moses to fulfill his promise. He expressed himself in these words: “I truly admire the eagerness of your desire, and I fear that you have not sufficiently benefited from this moment of rest, which I wished to see you take after our conversations, to refresh your body. Seeing your zeal, I worry for myself; for it is necessary, when repaying such debts, to bring as much fervor to speaking to you as you bring to listening to me. It is said: ‘When you sit down to eat with a ruler, consider carefully what is before you, and when you reach for it, think that you too may have to prepare a similar feast.’” (Prov., XXIII, 1.)

Since we must speak of the virtue of discretion, which I was about to discuss when night came to interrupt us, it is good to first show you its excellence through the testimony of the Fathers. Once we know what they think, we will try to prove its usefulness and benefits by recounting ancient and recent examples of those who fell for not practicing it enough. This will help us more easily see its merit and importance, and how much we must desire and cultivate it.

Discretion, indeed, is not a small virtue; man alone cannot obtain it, and only the grace of God can give it. The Apostle counts it among the noblest gifts of the Holy Spirit. “To one is given through the Spirit the word of wisdom, to another the word of knowledge by the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing… to another, finally, discretion, the discernment of spirits.” (I Cor., XII, 10.) After enumerating the gifts of the Holy Spirit, he adds: “All these are the work of one and the same Spirit, who distributes them to each as he wills.” (Ibid.) You see that discretion is not a small or fleeting gift, but a precious gift of divine grace. If a hermit does not make every effort to acquire it and to discern rightly the spirits that invade his soul, he will inevitably wander as in a deep night, falling often—not only among rocks and precipices but also on the straightest and smoothest paths.

(2) I remember that long ago, when I was still a child, I lived in the part of the Thebaid where the blessed Anthony resided. Some older hermits came to visit him to learn the means of acquiring perfection. Their conference lasted from evening until the next day, and most of the night was devoted to the subject that concerns us. They focused especially on discovering which virtue or religious observance could best protect hermits from the traps and illusions of the demon, and guide them most directly and surely to the summit of perfection. Each gave his opinion according to the inclinations of his mind. Some proposed vigils and fasts, because the mortified soul attains great purity of heart and body, and unites more easily with God. Others suggested deprivation and contempt for anything that could captivate the mind and prevent it from rising to God.

Others said it was solitude, in the depths of a desert, where one can converse more intimately with God and attach oneself more closely to Him; others finally, that it was charity, good works to which Our Lord specially promises in the Gospel the kingdom of heaven, when He says: “Come, you blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. I was hungry, and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink, etc.” (Matt., XXV, 34.) They all debated which virtues could most surely lead to God, and the night passed quickly thus, when the blessed Anthony finally took the floor: “All the means you have just recommended,” he said to them, “are useful and necessary for those who thirst for God and wish to reach Him; but the experience and falls of many do not allow us to believe that you have indicated the main and infallible means. How many times, indeed, have we seen religious observe strict vigils and fasts, hide in solitude, strip themselves entirely, so as not to possess even a penny or enough food for a single day, and practice all works of charity with zeal, and yet suddenly fall into disastrous illusions, and instead of completing their task in fervor and holiness, end in a deplorable manner!

To know the principal virtue that leads to God, it is enough to seek the cause of the illusions and falls of these hermits. They practiced perfectly the virtues we have spoken of; but discretion was lacking, and they could not persevere to the end. If they fell, it was solely because they had not sufficiently listened to the teachings of the ancient Fathers; they had not acquired the virtue of discretion that leads between extremes and teaches the religious to follow the royal way, never wandering to the right of virtues, that is, into excess of fervor or foolish presumption, nor allowing themselves to be carried to the left into vices, that is, lukewarmness and slackness, under the pretext of sparing their body.

This discretion is the eye and the light of which the Savior speaks in the Gospel. “The light of the body is the eye; if therefore your eye is clear, your whole body will be full of light; but if your eye is evil, your whole body will be full of darkness.” (Matt., VI, 23.) When it discerns all thoughts and actions of man, it perfectly sees everything that must be done; but if this inner eye is evil, if the soul lacks knowledge and judgment, it is deceived by error and presumption. Our whole body will be dark; our mind and actions will become obscure, because they are blinded by vices and enveloped by the darkness of passions; for it is said: “If the light that is in you is darkness, how great will that darkness be?” When the heart errs in judgment and is plunged into the night of ignorance, how can we doubt that all thoughts and actions dependent on discretion are increasingly filled with the darkness of sin?

(3) He whom God deemed worthy to first reign over the people of Israel was deprived of his kingdom because he lacked this eye of discretion, without which the whole body becomes dark. He was deceived by the error of a false light, imagining that his sacrifices would be more pleasing to God than his obedience to Samuel’s commands, and he was lost instead of pleasing the divine Majesty, which he hoped to favor. The lack of discretion also misled Ahab, king of Israel, after the great victory God granted him. He thought mercy was better than strict execution of a command that seemed too cruel; he weakened in trying to temper a bloody victory with clemency, but this false compassion plunged him into darkness and earned him an irreparable death.

(4) Discretion is not only the lamp of our body; the Apostle also compares it to the sun, when he says: “Let not the sun go down on your wrath.” (Eph., IV, 26.) It governs our life, according to the saying: “Those whom it does not keep will fall like leaves.” It is aptly called by Scripture the counsel without which nothing can be done, not even drinking the spiritual wine that rejoices the heart in moderation. “Do everything with counsel; drink wine with counsel;” and again: “He who acts without counsel is like a city broken down, without walls.” (Prov., XXV, 28.)

This comparison makes us understand how pernicious the lack of discretion is to the hermit. If he then resembles a fallen and defenseless city, it is because discretion is the wisdom, understanding, and common sense indispensable to raise our inner edifice and amass spiritual riches. “By wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established; by knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches.” (Prov., XXIV, 4.) Discretion is also solid food, reserved for strong and perfect persons. Solid food for the perfect is for those who faithfully apply themselves to discern good and evil. (Heb., V, 14.) The Apostle deems this virtue so useful and necessary that he likens it to the word of God and its effects. “For the word of God is living and powerful, sharper than any two-edged sword; it pierces even to the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and is able to discern the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” (Heb., IV, 12.) All these texts prove that, without the grace of discretion, it is impossible to acquire perfect virtue and preserve it. And so the blessed Anthony and the other hermits concluded that discretion alone could surely lead a religious to God, preserving other virtues from all error, and with its help one could more easily reach the heights of spiritual life, whereas, without it, many, despite all their efforts, could not attain the summit of perfection; for discretion is the mother, guardian, and director of all virtues.

(5) I wish, as I promised, to confirm by examples the judgment of the blessed Anthony and the ancient Fathers. Recall what recently happened before your very eyes. It was only a few days ago that the elder Heron was led into the abyss by the artifices of the demon. He had lived fifty years in this desert; we know that he lived there in great austerity, and that he distinguished himself above all by his fervor and love of solitude. How, after so much labor, could he be deceived by the demon? How did his fall cause so many tears for all who lived with him in the desert? Was it not because he lacked discretion, because he preferred to follow his own judgment rather than the advice of his brothers and the rules of the elders? He practiced his fasts with such rigor and was so passionate about solitude and the secrecy of his cell that he would never take a meal with his brothers, nor celebrate Easter with them; on that day, all the hermits kept vigil in the church because of the solemnity. He would never join them, fearing that by taking even a little vegetable, he would break his resolutions. That pride led him astray; he took Satan for an angel of light, and obeyed him willingly, plunging into a well whose bottom was unseen. He who he took for a good angel persuaded him that no harm would come to him as a reward for his merits and virtues. To prove it, he threw himself into the well at night, hoping to demonstrate his sanctity by emerging without injury. The brothers had great difficulty in rescuing him half dead, and most deplorably, three days later, near death, he persisted in his illusion, and even death could not convince him that he had been the plaything of the demon. In consideration of so many labors and years spent in the desert, those who lamented this misfortune obtained, though with difficulty, from the holy Abbot Paphnutius that he would not be counted among the suicides, and that prayers for the dead could be offered on his behalf.

(6) What shall I say of those two hermits who lived beyond the desert of the Thebaid, where Saint Anthony dwelt? Lack of discretion also misled them, and they went deep into solitude, deciding to take no food other than what God Himself would provide. They wandered long in the desert, dying of hunger, when they were encountered by the Marzites; these are tribes more barbarous and cruel than all others, for they spill blood not merely in hope of plunder, but for the pleasure of killing. These men, however, despite their natural ferocity, took pity on these two unfortunate men about to perish and offered them some bread to revive them. One of them, wiser, received it with joy and gratitude, as if from God Himself; but the other refused it, seeing it as given by human hands, and allowed himself to die of hunger. Both had first fallen into error; but one heeded discretion and renounced his foolish enterprise, while the other persisted in his foolish presumption and closed his eyes to the light of discretion. He surrendered to the death from which Our Lord wished to save him, not believing that it was by grace that barbarians forgot their natural ferocity and offered bread instead of killing.

(7) Shall I speak of another hermit, whose name I will keep silent because he still lives? He was long the plaything of the demon, whom he took for an angel of light, believing all his revelations, as if he were the ambassador of divine justice. He was finally commanded to sacrifice his son, who lived in the same monastery, to God, to imitate Abraham’s sacrifice and equal its merits. His illusion was so great that he prepared to commit the crime when his son, seeing him sharpen a knife unusually and seeking bonds to tie him, feared his father’s plan and spared a crime by fleeing.

(8) It would be too long to recount the illusion of this hermit from Mesopotamia, whose austerity could hardly be imitated. He had spent many years in the secrecy of his cell when the demon deceived him so much through revelations and dreams that he persuaded him to embrace Judaism and undergo circumcision, even after he had surpassed, by his labors and virtues, all the religious living with him. To better deceive him and prepare his fall, the demon long foretold things that truly came to pass; he gained his trust and finally showed him the Christian people and the leaders of our faith, the Apostles and martyrs plunged into sadness and darkness, while the Jewish people, led by Moses, the patriarchs, and prophets, were in splendor and joy; and he persuaded him that to share their happiness, he must hasten to be circumcised. None of those we have mentioned would have been seduced if they had applied themselves to acquiring discretion. All these examples show how dangerous it is not to possess it.

(9) ABBOT GERMAIN. Recent examples and the testimonies of the ancients have abundantly shown us that discretion is the source, the root of other virtues; we now wish to know how to acquire it and recognize whether it comes from God or the demon, so that, following the example of the money-changer of the Gospel, of whom you have already spoken, we may distinguish the image of the legitimate prince on coins of good alloy: for what use is knowing the importance of this virtue if we do not know how to possess it?

(10) ABBOT MOSES. True discretion is never acquired without genuine humility, and the first proof of this humility is to submit all our actions and even our thoughts to the wisdom of the elders, to renounce our own judgment, to follow entirely their advice, and to discern good and evil according to their doctrine. This rule will teach not only the young religious to walk in the true path of discretion but also to avoid all the snares and traps of the enemy. No one, indeed, can be deceived if he follows not his own judgment but the example of the elders, and all the cunning of the enemy will never surprise the simplicity of one who does not hide by false shame the thoughts that arise in his heart, but admits or rejects them, submitting them to the examination of his superiors.

An evil thought dissipates as soon as it is brought to light, even before discretion has pronounced its judgment. The hideous serpent that hid in the shadows is illuminated by the virtue of confession, and as soon as it is discovered, it is vanquished and flees. Its suggestions can harm us only by being hidden in our hearts. To help you better understand the truth of what I say, I will cite an incident that Abbot Serapion often recounted to young hermits to instruct them.

(11) “When I was a child,” he said, “and lived with Abbot Theon, the deceiver had accustomed me to steal a small loaf after the meal I took with the old man at the hour of None. I hid it each day in my bosom and ate it secretly in the evening. I committed this theft out of gluttony and increasingly formed the habit. Yet, when I had satisfied my guilty appetite, I inwardly suffered far more than the pleasure I had taken in committing the fault; I groaned in my heart for obeying the demon who tormented me, as Pharaoh’s officers tormented the Hebrews; but I could not escape his tyranny, and dared not confess my theft to the holy old man, when God allowed, to free me from my servitude, that some hermits came to visit him for a few words of edification.

After the meal, the conference began, and the holy elder, answering questions, spoke about the vice of gluttony, the dominion of secret thoughts, and the violence they exert as long as they are hidden. This discourse overwhelmed me; the remorse of my conscience made me believe it addressed me, and that God had revealed to the elder the secrets of my heart. At first, I stifled my groans; but my pain continually increased, and soon I burst into sobs and tears; I drew from my bosom, which had so often concealed my theft, the small loaf I had taken to eat as usual; I showed it, declaring that I secretly ate one like it every day; I prostrated myself, confessing my fault to those present, asking their forgiveness, and imploring with tears their prayers that they might obtain from God my deliverance from this harsh captivity. ‘Have confidence, my child,’ said the holy elder, ‘you do not need my word; your confession has already delivered you; today you have triumphed over the enemy who had conquered you. Your admission has struck him more than your silence had weakened you. You had allowed him to dominate you until this moment, neither confounding him yourself nor through another. Solomon said: “Because one does not contradict those who do wrong, the hearts of the children of men are filled with iniquities.” (Eccles., VIII, 11.) Now that he sees himself discovered, the evil spirit can no longer trouble you; the infernal serpent will no longer find a place to hide in you; for your confession has brought him from the darkness of your heart into great light.’” Hardly had the holy elder finished speaking, when a burning flame seemed to come from my bosom and filled the cell with a sulfurous smell, so strong that it was barely possible to remain there. The holy elder spoke again: “See, the Lord visibly approves the truth of what I advance. You have just seen yourself that your salutary confession has driven from your heart the one who led you to evil, and you will see that, thanks to this public admission, the discovered enemy will have no more hold on you.”

And indeed, according to the promise of the old man, the confession I made of my fault delivered me so much from this tyranny of the demon, that the enemy did not even attempt afterward to recall this gluttony to me, and I never had the thought of a similar theft. This is very well explained in Ecclesiastes: “If the serpent bites without hissing, the enchanter can do nothing” (Eccles., x, 11), that is to say, the bite of a serpent of which one does not speak is dangerous, and if one does not confess the secret temptation of the demon to an enchanter, to an enlightened man who can, by means of the beautiful sayings of the holy Scriptures, immediately heal the wound and remove from the heart the dangerous venom of the serpent, it will be impossible to help us, and our loss will be inevitable.

Thus the best way to acquire the knowledge of true discretion is to follow the examples of the ancients, to innovate nothing, to decide nothing according to our own judgment, but to guide ourselves in all things according to their traditions and their holy life. He who follows this rule will arrive not only at perfect discretion, but will also be preserved from all attacks of the enemy. For there is no fault that serves the demon so much in destroying a religious person as to neglect the counsel of superiors to follow one’s own judgment and doctrine. If all the arts and all the professions invented by human genius, for the sole enjoyments of this fleeting life, cannot be learned, though they are tangible and visible, except through a master, how unreasonable would it be to believe that one can dispense with a director in a state where everything is invisible and hidden, where the greatest purity of heart is necessary for conduct, and where an error causes not a temporal damage easy to repair, but the loss of the soul and eternal death. It is not a matter of visible adversaries, but of invisible and cruel enemies who attack us day and night; it is not one or two enemies to resist in this interior battle, but innumerable legions; and the danger is all the greater because the enemy is more relentless and his attacks more secret. Therefore, one must follow with great care the traces of the ancients, and reveal to our superiors all that takes place in the secret of our hearts, without heeding a false shame.

(12) ABBÉ GERMAIN. There is a cause for this dangerous shame that leads us to hide our evil thoughts, and makes us fear revealing them through a salutary confession. Among the Fathers of Syria, we knew a solitary who was regarded as one of the principal among them. A solitary had humbly confessed certain thoughts to him, and one day, in a moment of indignation, he reproached him harshly for them. A similar example is enough to restrain us, and if we fear to reveal our thoughts to our superiors, we are deprived of the remedy that could cure them.

(13) ABBÉ MOYSE. Young religious do not all possess equal fervor, nor equal regularity and virtue, and it is also possible to find elders who do not have the same perfection and experience. The wealth of the elders is not their white hair, but the experience of their youth and the merits acquired by their past life. It is said: “What you have not gathered in your youth, how will you find in your old age?” (Eccli., xxv, 5.) “The honor of old age is not measured by time and the number of years; the wisdom of a man is worth white hair, and a pure life is true old age.” (Sap., IV, 9.) Therefore, it is not the elders who have white hair, and who are recommended only by long life, whom one must imitate and listen to; one must follow the traces and seek the counsel of elders who have always led an exemplary life, and who regulate themselves according to the traditions of the ancients rather than their own judgment.

There are many, and unfortunately more than others, who grow old in the lukewarmness and laxity of their youth. It is not the maturity of their morals, but the number of years that gives them authority. God condemns them through the mouth of the Prophet: “Strangers have devoured his strength, and he has disregarded it; white hairs have covered him, and he has ignored them.” (Hosea, VII, 9.) If they are above the young religious, it is neither by the purity of their life, nor by the merit of their doctrine and examples, it is solely by their advanced age. The enemy uses their old age as a trap to deceive the young; he first presents them as authorities to those who were striving for perfection by their own movement or by the direction of others; then he deceives and confuses them through their examples and doctrine, and thus leads them into dangerous lukewarmness or mortal despair.

I will give you a proof, without naming anyone, so as not to imitate the one who revealed the faults that his brother had confided to him. I will simply tell you how the matter occurred, so that you may profit from it. We know an old man, to whom a young man, who was far from being lax, addressed himself for some words of edification and some help in his pains; he revealed simply that he was tormented by dishonest thoughts, hoping to find consolations and remedies for his afflictions in the prayers of the old man; but the latter reproved him very harshly, called him unworthy and miserable, and told him that he did not deserve the name of a religious, since such movements of concupiscence had troubled his heart. His reproaches wounded the young man so deeply that he left his cell, overwhelmed with sadness and despair, no longer seeking to combat his passion, but rather to satisfy it. Abbé Apollon, one of the most enlightened elders, met him and recognized, from the dejection of his face, the violence of the battle taking place in his heart. He asked him the cause of his trouble; but he could get no answer, despite the gentleness with which he spoke, and he understood that he wanted to hide by his silence the sadness reflected on his face; he pressed him further, and the young man, defeated, confessed that he was going to the nearby town, since, according to the advice of the old man he had consulted, he could no longer be a religious, and that instead of resisting the temptations of the flesh any longer, he would marry and leave the monastery to live in the world. The good old man began to console him gently, assuring him that he experienced the same battles every day, and that one should not despair or be astonished at the violence of temptations, which is overcome far less by our efforts than by divine grace and mercy. He begged him to delay his plan by a day, and sent him back to his cell, while he hurried toward the dwelling of the old man who had rejected him. As he approached, he lifted his hands to heaven and prayed with tears, saying: “Lord, who know the secret strengths and infirmities of men, and who alone can, in Your mercy, heal them, let the temptation of this young solitary pass into the heart of this old man, so that he may learn to condescend to the miseries of those who suffer, and to sympathize at least, in his weakness, with the weaknesses of the young.” Hardly had he made this prayer when he saw a hideous Ethiopian ¹ standing near the old man’s cell, who was shooting fiery darts at him. He was soon wounded by them, running here and there like a drunk or a madman. He left his cell, reentered without being able to stay, and finally took the same path as the young solitary. Abbé Apollon, seeing this unhappy man so disturbed, understood that the fiery darts of the demon had wounded his heart, and had caused this derangement of mind, this agitation of all the senses. He approached him and said: “Where are you running, and what cause makes you thus forget the gravity of your age, and run about like a child?”

Troubled by his conscience and ashamed of his shameful temptation, he thought the holy old man knew the flames that agitated him and the sad secrets of his heart, and he did not dare respond. “Return to your cell,” said the abbé, “and understand that the demon, until now, ignored your existence or despised you; for you were not among those whom he believes he must fight every day, and who resist him by their progress and virtues. After so many years spent in religious life, you could not despise a dart directed at you; you could not even endure it for a single day. God allowed you to be wounded, in order to teach you at least to sympathize in your old age with the infirmities of others, and to know, through your experience, how to condescend to the frailty of the younger. You received the visit of a religious tried by a temptation of the demon, and instead of consoling him, strengthening him, you cast him into despair; you delivered him into the hands of the enemy, and it did not depend on you that he was not cruelly devoured; he certainly would not have been attacked with such violence if the demon, who scorned you, had not foreseen the progress he would make, and had not sought to destroy by his fiery darts the virtues whose seed he saw in him. He esteemed him stronger than you, to direct such assaults against him. Learn by your example to have compassion for those who suffer, and not to despair those who are in danger. Instead of embittering them with harsh reproaches, seek to console them with gentle words, and, according to the precept of the Wise, ‘Deliver those being led to death, and strive to rescue those who are being led to the slaughter.’ (Prov., xxiv, 11.) Following the example of the Savior, ‘Do not crush the bruised reed, and do not quench the smoking wick.’ (St. Matt., xii, 20.) Ask God for the grace to be able to say truthfully: ‘The Lord has given me a learned tongue, that I may sustain by the word him who is crushed.’ (Isaiah, LV, 4.) No one could endure the attacks of the enemy, extinguish the ardors of the flesh, if the grace of God did not support our weakness and protect us. Now that, by a judgment of His will, the Lord has delivered this young solitary from temptation, and has let you experience it yourself to teach you compassion, let us unite our prayers to obtain from His mercy the end of this trial which will be useful to you. For ‘it is He who afflicts and consoles; He strikes, and His hands heal.’ (Job, v, 18); ‘He humbles, and He raises; He kills, and He gives life; He brings down to hell, and He brings back.’ (I Reg., 11, 7.) Let us ask Him to extinguish, by the heavenly dew, the fiery darts by which, at my prayer, He allowed you to be wounded.”

They were heard, and this temptation vanished as quickly as it had come. The old man learned by experience that, far from reproaching our brothers for the faults they reveal to us, we must be sensitive to their slightest pains. Therefore, ignorance and levity of some elders, whom the enemy uses to deceive the younger, must not divert us from the path and tradition of the ancients. On the contrary, we must banish false shame and reveal all to our superiors, so as to receive remedies for our wounds, and take them with confidence as models for our life and conduct. We will gain useful help if we listen to them without pride, and if we do not follow our own judgment in anything.

(14) God so approves this rule that He has pleased to record it in the holy Scriptures. He had chosen the young Samuel, but He did not wish to train him directly in His divine teachings; He subjected him to the direction of an old man who had nonetheless offended him, and, however great his vocation, He made him obey a superior, to test, through humility, the one He was calling to a holy ministry, and to give the younger the example of his obedience. (I Reg., III.)

(15) When Our Lord called Paul, and spoke to him Himself, He could have immediately taught him the way of perfection; but He preferred to send him to Ananias, who was to teach him the truth. “Arise,” He said, “and enter the city; and it will be told you what you must do.” (Acts, ix, 7.) He sends him to an elder, and he receives the doctrine from him, rather than from Our Lord Himself, so that what would have been done for Paul would not be, for Christians to come, a reason to believe it is better to listen to God alone than to follow the direction of superiors. The Apostle shows us, not only by his writings, but by his deeds and examples, how much one must detest this culpable presumption; for he went to Jerusalem to consult the other Apostles who had preceded him in the faith, he who had already received the grace of the Holy Spirit, and had preached the Gospel to the nations, performing so many miracles. “And I conferred,” he said, “with them about the Gospel I preach to the Gentiles, so that, past or future, my preaching would not be in vain.” (Gal., II, 2.) Who would be so presumptuous and blind as to trust his own judgment and prudence when this vessel of election declares that he wished to consult the other Apostles? It is therefore manifest that God does not show the way of perfection to one whom someone can instruct, and who despises the doctrine and examples of the elders, paying little heed to this precept that must be kept with such care: “Ask your father, who will teach you, and your elders, who will instruct you.” (Deut., xxxii, 7.)

(16) Therefore, we must make all our efforts to acquire, through the virtue of humility, the treasure of discretion, which will preserve us from all excess. An old proverb says, “extremes meet.” The excess of fasting leads to the same result as gluttony, and excessive vigils harm the religious as much as the abuse of sleep. Too much abstinence weakens the body, as too much negligence does; and we have often seen those who had resisted gluttony, so weakened by their immoderate fasting, that they fell by weakness into the vice they had until then avoided. Prolonged vigils also overturned those whom sleep could not conquer. “Therefore, according to the Apostle, we must resist with the weapons of righteousness on the right and left” (II Cor., VI, 7), and pass so prudently between the two extremes that we do not leave the path traced by continence, and do not yield through laxity to the cravings of intemperance.

(17) I remember that by striving against my appetite, I had managed to pass two or three days without even thinking of taking food; I also deprived myself of sleep so much, by the artifice of the demon, that I could spend several days and nights in prayer; but I recognized that this disgust of food and sleep exposed me to more dangers than laziness and gluttony. One must resist the cravings of our body, not advance the hour of our meal, nor exceed its measure. One must also, despite our repugnance, take, at the fixed hour, the necessary food and sleep. The demon also pushes us to opposite excesses, and exaggerated abstinence is often more harmful than intemperance. One corrects easily a fault that causes shame, while one does not renounce a false virtue.

(18) ABBÉ GERMAIN. What is the rule that can hold us in wise moderation, and lead us safely between the two extremes?

(19) ABBÉ MOYSE. This question has often been debated by our elders; they examined the way of life of the solitaries: some contented themselves with vegetables and herbs, others with fruits; but they proposed to nourish oneself with bread alone, and they fixed the ordinary at two small loaves, which certainly do not weigh more than a pound.

(20) We replied that we would gladly accept this rule, which did not seem very strict to us, since we had difficulty eating one of these small loaves whole.

(21) ABBÉ MOYSE. If you want to try this regimen, observe it rigorously, and add nothing cooked on Sundays and feast days, or when brothers come to visit you; for this relaxation allows one to reduce food on other days, and even to fast completely, because the food taken suffices to sustain the stomach; but he who takes only these two small loaves can’t go without them for a single day. I remember that our elders and we ourselves endured the rigor of this regimen with so much difficulty that we wept and groaned before getting accustomed to it.

(22) However, the general rule of temperance is to proportion the quantity of food to strength, temperament, and age, sustaining the body, without satisfying its appetite. To neglect these two points is to harm oneself: too much fasting shrinks the stomach; too much food fatigues it. The soul suffering from deprivation of food loses its vigor and is completely numb in prayer. Overabundant meals overwhelm it and prevent it from offering pure and fervent prayers to God. Even chastity will be more difficult to maintain; for the more rigorous fasts will not prevent the body from feeling the sting of the flesh, due to its prior intemperance.

(23) The rule we indicated for the quality and quantity of food is that approved by our ancient Fathers; it is to nourish oneself every day with dry bread, never fully satiated. The soul and body thus remain healthy, without weakening from fasting, and without being weighed down by satiety; and this regimen is so frugal that often, after vespers, one no longer remembers the meal taken.

(24) It is difficult to adapt to this rule, and those who do not know the laws of discretion prefer to fast two days, in order to keep for the next day what they should have taken the day before, and thus fully satisfy their appetite. You know what happened to the solitary Benjamin, your compatriot; he never wanted to accept this regular sobriety, and content himself with two loaves per day; he preferred to fast every other day, to better satisfy his appetite afterward. He thus had four loaves for a single meal, and made up at once for his long abstinence. He obstinately followed his own judgment rather than the traditions of the elders; and you recall what his sad end was: he abandoned the desert to return to the dreams of philosophy and the vanities of the world. He confirmed, by his example and fall, the wisdom of this oracle of the ancients: “He who relies on his own judgment will never reach perfection, and cannot avoid the traps of the demon.”

(25) ABBÉ GERMAIN. How will it be possible to consistently maintain this rule? Often at the hour of none, at the moment of taking the meal, some brothers arrive; then one must either add something to our ordinary, or fail in the charity that we owe to everyone.

(26) ABBÉ MOYSE. These two things can easily be reconciled. One must maintain the same frugality in the meal, out of love for temperance and purity. One must also fulfill toward our visiting brothers the duties that charity commands. It would be absurd to receive at one’s table one’s brother, or rather Jesus Christ Himself, without sitting with him, and treat him as a stranger, not touching what is offered. We will fail in none of our duties if we take the habit, at the hour of none, to take one of the two loaves that the rule allows, and reserve the other for vespers, in order to eat it with a brother who might visit, without adding anything to our ordinary; this will prevent us from being disturbed by the visits of our brothers, whom we must always receive with joy; and by showing ourselves thus charitable, we will not relax in our austerity. If no one comes, we will take without scruple the bread we had reserved, and our stomach will not suffer from this evening meal, because we have already eaten something at the hour of none, and we will avoid what happens to those who think it better to fast by eating only at vespers; for this late meal prevents them from having a free mind during vespers and the night office, and it is far preferable to fix the meal at none. The religious person is not only better disposed for holy vigils, but also more apt for evening prayers, because digestion is complete.

Thus Abbé Moyse nourished us twice with his holy word. He had just expertly explained the grace and virtue of discretion, and he had shown us how to renounce the world, and the goal that a religious person must choose. He made us see, more clearly than daylight, what we had previously sought blindly, and by instinct of zeal and fervor, and made us understand how far until then we were from the true purity of heart and the straight path of discretion; for it is certain that in this world, no art exists without a rule and a goal, and one cannot reach this goal without keeping it constantly in view.