There are some stories or ideas that are so powerful that they defy our normal rules of attribution. We don’t really care where they come from; they’re just true. We even have one such example in the New Testament in the story of Jesus and the Woman Caught in Adultery (which I prefer to call, ‘Jesus Confronts a Vigilante Mob’), a story which does not seem to have been part of the original text of the Gospel according to St. John, but which is undeniably part of the canon of Scripture. Similarly, the writings of the author now known as Pseudo-Dionysius, long associated with the biblical figure Dionysius the Areopagite but which unquestionably date after the fourth century, were among the most influential in Christian theology for close to a thousand years. I begin this post this way because the way of holiness I’d like to talk about today is of similarly uncertain origins. It’s long been connected to the eighteenth-century French Jesuit Jean Pierre de Caussade, but comparison of the primary text attributed to this figure with letters known to have been written by him make this unlikely. But whoever truly wrote them, they have inspired generations of faithful seeking a way forward in uncertain times.
As should be clear from this series so far, the ways of holiness never run smooth. And we see this in the life of Jean Pierre de Caussade, those who likely inspired him, and the history of the ideas attributed to him. Jean Pierre de Caussade (1675-1751) was a Jesuit priest who worked as a spiritual director to the Nuns of the Visitation in Nancy, France. He was known for a practical mysticism that can also be seen in the work later attributed to him, Abandonment to Divine Providence. Prior to his assignment in Nancy, de Caussade had been under investigation of Quietism, a spiritual trend that had been condemned by Pope Innocent XI in 1687. As with many official ‘heresies’, Quietism is difficult to define and it’s unclear whether its main players actually advocated what the Church proclamations condemned. At its most basic and innocuous interpretation, Quietism (much like Byzantine Hesychasm, whose name also refers to quiet or stillness) promotes a spirituality of contemplative prayer with the aim of union with God. As one prominent Quetist teacher, Jeanne Guyon, put it, “The way to become perfect is to live in the presence with God; “ and, “There was a period when I chose a time and place for prayer … But now I seek that constant prayer known in inner stillness.” To its detractors, however, Quietism promoted the annihilation of the self and — what was more likely their real concern — a rejection of the need to access God through the Church’s mediation. Whoever the real author of Abandonment to Divine Providence may have been, they were aware of the controversy and when out of their way to place their teachings within a strongly ecclesiastical framework. For a century, the text lay hidden in manuscripts in a French convent before being discovered and published in 1861. And it has inspired generations since to a new and radical, though incredibly simple, approach to spirituality. And so, it’s now time to turn to what this wonderful text actually teaches.
Abandonment to Divine Providence is most strongly associated with what we might call the spirituality of the present moment. In its opening lines, it riffs on the story of the Annunciation (Luke 1) and claims that the “shadow” in which “the power of the Most High” hides in our lives “for the purpose of bringing forth Jesus Christ in the soul,” is nothing other than “the duty, the attraction, or the cross that is presented to us at each moment” (1.2). Each of these is important. By duty, it means that our most menial tasks and responsibilities are “like a sacrament to sanctify all [our] present moments” (1.2). By attraction, it means the impulses of the heart, provided they do not lead us explicitly away from God: If you feel a certain inclination spiritually, “obey this impulse according to the inspiration of grace without stopping to reflect, to reason, or to make efforts. Give yourself up to these things as long as God wishes without doing so through any self-will” (2.6). And by cross, it refers to the challenges or sufferings we encounter every day: “Sufferings must be accepted with simplicity, for those things that happen at each moment by the divine command or permission are always the most holy, the best and most divine for us.” (1.4). This is a radical practice that insists that everything before us in every moment is given to us by God for our salvation. When we receive the world in this way, we become the new chapters of God’s new revelation, the Testament of the Holy Spirit. So then, “the present moment is always like an ambassador declaring God’s ordering, and the heart is always saying its fiat [Let it be!].”
We see here the similarities to Quietism that made de Caussade suspect, namely the vision of human perfection and the passive abandonment to life. But there are also major differences, and its these that have made the text so powerful to so many. For this is not a passive abandonment of the world, but an active engagement with it, in whatever it may bring. It means that holiness is not just found in quiet prayer and contemplation, or sacrificial acts of service, or in the formal sacraments of the Church. Rather, tending to a crying baby, plowing a field, or responding to an email can be equally considered ways of holiness. And more controversially so can managing the challenging, painful, and frightening things of the world: illness, injury, chronic pain, anxiety and depression, an invading army, and on and on. On the one hand this could be seen as theologically problematic, since it places everything — no matter how horrific — as God’s will for us. But on the other hand, spiritually, this can be freeing — to not worry about what’s good or bad or ascribe blame to anything or anyone, but simply to receive whatever comes our way as an opportunity to respond faithfully.
This is reminiscent of Joseph’s expression of faith upon seeing his brothers who had sold him into slavery: “Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people” (Genesis 50.20). This is a hard thing, and, crucially, it only works when it comes from the person experiencing it. For me to tell a stranger or even a friend that their suffering if meant for good is a terrible thing; but for that person to receive their suffering as something for good is an incredible act of faith. And that’s what this is all about. The teaching of Abandonment to Divine Providence meshes perfectly with what I’ve been writing the past few years about faith: that faith is not primarily about ‘believing’ things, but about showing up, every day in every moment, in all of our relationships. Here, the author commonly said to be Jean Pierre de Caussade reminds us that everything that comes our way, be it a task, a desire, or a circumstance beyond our control, is an opportunity to respond with faith, with grace, and with love:
In reality, sanctity can be reduced to one single practice, fidelity to the duties appointed by God. Now this fidelity is equally within each one’s power whether it is in active practice, [that is, accomplishing the duties which devolve upon us,] or passive exercise [that is, the loving acceptance of all that God sends us at each moment]. (1.3)
So then, the way of Jean Pierre de Caussade, or whoever wrote this beautiful and challenging text, is an immensely beneficial one. While I don’t believe that everything we experience is God’s will in a prescriptive sense, I do certainly believe that everything we experience is an opportunity to experience and understand God, an opportunity for faithfulness, and to teach us in the ways of holiness.
“Oh great history! Grand book written by the Holy Spirit in this present time! It is still in the press. There is never a day when the type is not arranged, when the ink is not applied, or the pages are not primed.” — Jean Pierre de Caussade, attrib.
Matthew Root 