by James Martin
Indifference in decision making is hard to achieve. The fellow planning his marriage found himself in the midst of a serious emotional crisis where indifference seemed nearly impossible. But it is an important goal. Like all things in the spiritual life, while you try to move toward it and strive to be as free as possible, indifference is a result of God’s grace.
IGNATIUS GETS A HAIRCUT
Many of Ignatius’s famous practices for making good decisions came from his own life. The earliest example, as I mentioned, was the insight he received when he was reading the life of Christ and the lives of the saints. After Ignatius thought about emulating the saints, he was filled with peace. When he thought about doing more worldly things (impressing “a certain lady”), he felt dry. Slowly he came to see that this was one way that God was leading him.
Ignatius realized that if you act in accord with God’s desires for you, you will naturally feel a sense of peace. That insight—that following God’s invitation leads to peace—is a central part of Ignatian discernment. If you are in accord with God’s presence within you, you will feel a sense of rightness, of peace, what Ignatius called “consolation.” It is an indication that you’re on the right path.
Conversely, feelings of spiritual “desolation,” which Ignatius describes as movements to “disquiet from various agitations and temptations,” signal that you’re on the wrong path. The thoughts and feelings that spring from consolation and from desolation are contrary to one another. One leads you to the right path, the right action, right relationship with God; the other in the opposite direction.
From the Spiritual Exercises
Since spiritual consolation and desolation are central to Ignatian discernment, let’s look at Ignatius’s original definitions. By consolation he means not only feelings that cause a soul to be “inflamed with love” for God, and even shed tears for the love of God, but also
every increase in hope, faith, and charity, and every interior joy which calls and attracts one toward heavenly things and to the salvation of one’s soul, by bringing it tranquility and peace in its Creator and Lord.
By desolation, Ignatius means feelings that are “contrary” to consolation, that is
obtuseness of soul, turmoil within it, an impulsive motion toward low and earthly things, or disquiet from various agitations and temptations. These move one toward lack of faith and leave one without hope and without love. One is completely listless, tepid, and unhappy, and feels separated from our Creator and Lord.
These feelings, which Ignatius knew from his initial conversion, as well as from years of prayer afterward and his spiritual direction of countless persons, enable us to discern which choices will help lead us closer to God.
This basic element of Ignatian discernment is rooted in the experiences of Ignatius, as well as his observations about how God worked in the lives of others. David Lonsdale, who teaches spirituality at Heythrop College in London, addresses discernment in his book Eyes to See, Ears to Hear. Discernment, says Lonsdale, is about the “spiritual interpretation and evaluation of feelings, and particularly with the direction in which we are moved by them.” Michael Ivens, S.J., in Understanding the Spiritual Exercises, points out that this is “recognizing the action in human consciousness of the Holy Spirit.” David Fleming calls it “decision-making by a loving heart.”
Discernment has a practical end. It is not simply a way to try to find God’s will; nor is it a way just to move closer to God in prayer. Discernment helps to decide what is the best way to act. It isn’t simply about relationship with God alone; it is about living out your faith in the real world. Ignatius was a results-oriented mystic.
And, as a practical man, he was not averse to changing his mind in the face of new data.
Not long after his conversion, as I mentioned, he retired to a dank cave outside a town called Manresa. With characteristic enthusiasm, Ignatius decided that in order to throw off his former vanity, he would take the opposite tack. The formerly vain person would no longer care for his appearance, letting his hair grow wild and refusing to cut the nails on his fingers and toes. The former elegant courtier must have presented a fearsome sight.
A few months later he reverses his decision. What happened? He concluded that his austerity was doing little to help him with his ultimate goal of “helping souls.” Even though he had adopted this penance for a good reason, he abandoned it to accomplish his goals. The reasons are hard to discern: he may have felt his bizarre appearance would repel others. But whatever the motivation, he wrote, “He gave up those extremes that he had formerly practiced.”
Thereafter he would follow a path of moderation, toning down the severe religious penances popular in his day. Years later, he counseled Jesuits against undertaking similarly austere practices if they prevented working efficiently. In the Constitutions he advised Jesuits to be moderate in all things and maintain their health: eat healthy food, get good exercise, and have the proper rest in order to carry out their work. “A proper concern with the preservation of one’s health and bodily strength for the divine service is praiseworthy and should be exercised by all,” he said, quite sensibly.
A seemingly minor decision about cutting his hair was among the first of many times when Ignatius would weigh the pros and cons of a course of action and also realize the need for constant evaluation and reevaluation.
Years after his conversion, while celebrating Mass, he frequently felt overcome with emotion, often to the point of tears. But this became so physically taxing, with tears affecting his vision, that he resolved for a time to give up his Masses to regain his health, in order that he might work better. Discernment for Ignatius frequently meant changing course.
Ignatius was “indifferent” enough to learn from his experiences. The ascetic pilgrim who neglected his health could, with great freedom, change course and later counsel Jesuits to care for their own health. And one of the greatest mystics in Christian history could curtail his own time in prayer and counsel Jesuits against excessive prayer lest it take them away from their work. Reaching your goal, Ignatius realized, sometimes means changing paths. Sometimes it even means turning around.
One of his earliest companions, Jerónimo Nadal, wrote that even when it came to planning the direction of the Society of Jesus, “He was gently led where he did not know.”
A final aside before we look at his decision-making practices: for Ignatius all mature choices are between “goods.” In other words, you don’t consider something manifestly evil. So the question, “Should I punch my boss in the face because he’s a jerk?” is not worth considering. Nor is: “Should I chop down my neighbor’s maple tree if it keeps dropping those stupid leaves on my lawn that I have to rake up every Saturday?” Both are obviously bad choices, and justified though you may feel in wanting to make them, they are not the choices that Ignatius feels should be under consideration. (Then again, Ignatius was his own boss, and he never lived in the suburbs.)
Some matters aren’t up for grabs. If you’ve already made an “unchangeable” decision, according to Ignatius, you should stick with it. Commitments are honored. And if you’ve made a “changeable” decision for good reasons and you’re comfortable with it and there’s no reason to change things, don’t bother making a new decision.
So I don’t come to my annual retreats with the question, “Should I stay a Jesuit priest?” Now and then I may seek more clarity, and I may even be tempted to think about leaving once in a while. (Or, as my friend Chris jokes, you might be tempted to “think about thinking about leaving.”) But it’s not something that requires a decision. Ignatius would say: Don’t waste your time. You’ve already made a commitment.
Also, if you’ve made a good decision and suddenly feel downcast, it’s not a sign to reconsider. Let’s say you have decided to be a more generous person and will forgive someone against whom you’ve had a grudge for many months. So you speak with your friend. If your forgiveness doesn’t seem to heal the relationship immediately, i
t does not mean you should stop being a forgiving person. “When you have made a good decision to serve God better and after a while go into desolation, you should not change the decision; it’s hardly a good spirit moving you,” writes Joseph Tetlow in Making Choices in Christ. “When you are feeling down, you would do well to pray a little more and increase the help you give to others.”
On the other hand, if you’ve made a changeable decision in a bad way, you can revisit it. You might want to “make it anew in a properly ordered way,” says Ignatius. If you’ve made a poor decision that can still be changed, why not take a fresh look at things?
In the Exercises, Ignatius lists three “times” of making a decision, which could also be described as three situations in which we find ourselves facing a choice. Now the following discussion may seem tricky at times, and you even might find yourself initially a little baffled by some of the terminology and the various steps. That was my first reaction when I was introduced to these practices as a novice.
But don’t worry. Perhaps because he came from a military class, or needed to manage a large religious order, Ignatius liked things marshaled in an orderly fashion. As a result, the Spiritual Exercises are full of lists, most of which come in twos and threes. The Two Standards. The Three Degrees of Humility. The Three Times of Making a Decision. Sometimes it feels less like prayer and more like algebra.
And don’t worry if you get confused in the following discussion over what time you’re in, or what method you’re using. More important is finding some techniques, or combination of techniques, that work for you, that fit. Eventually, if you practice enough, you’ll find that the techniques will become second nature.
You’ll find something else about his techniques for decision making: they work.
THE THREE TIMES
The First Time
Occasionally there is no question about what to do. This is decision making in the First Time. Your decision comes, says Ignatius, “without doubting or being able to doubt.”
One example: You’ve been searching for a job in a particular city with a particular company, starting at a particular time. After months of interviewing, you land the job. You are elated at your good fortune and sure it is the right move. You accept the new job immediately with barely a thought.
Ignatius compares the First Time with the story of St. Paul being blinded by a heavenly light and hearing the voice of Jesus. No doubt here. Paul was asked to go into Damascus, and he did so.
Recently an actor told me of falling in love with acting in high school. He decided on his career after his first play, never looked back, and never regretted his choice. “I loved acting so much that it hurt,” he said. That was that. The First Time.
In their book The Spiritual Exercises Reclaimed, the three authors give a marvelous example of the First Time, from a woman known by one of the writers:
I’ve spent the past twenty years putting my husband through school, and then the kids. I was happy to be taking the kids to Little League, but now it’s time for me. There is a community college close, and my son just got his driver’s license, so there is no need to be carting him to after-school sports. I’m going to school now. It’s the right time and the right thing to do. I just know it.
In all these cases a decision was made, and though someone might not compare his or her experience with St. Paul’s, it could not be doubted. In a sense, the answer comes as soon as the question is asked.
The eventual decision to enter a religious order was something like that for me. In an earlier chapter I mentioned returning home one night after work and stumbling upon a documentary on Thomas Merton, which led me to enter a religious order. Looking back, it was a decision made in the First Time.
At the time I was working for General Electric in Stamford, Connecticut, in human resources. When I arrived at my apartment one night, which I shared with two friends, it was nearing 9:00 p.m. After changing out of my business clothes, I rummaged around the refrigerator for some leftovers, popped a plate of old spaghetti in the microwave, sat down in front of the television, and started flipping through the channels.
Presently, I stumbled upon a documentary about a Trappist monk I had never heard of. All sorts of people—musicians, writers, scholars—appeared on screen to testify to the influence that he had in their lives. The program detailed Thomas Merton’s long process of conversion, from lonely boy to rebellious college student to aimless grad student to brand-new Catholic to, finally, Trappist monk. But the most arresting part of the show was not the story, but the photographs of Merton. His face radiated a kind of serenity that was unknown to me and that called to me.
The next day, I tracked down and began reading Merton’s autobiography, The Seven Storey Mountain. When I finished the book late one night, it dawned on me that I wanted to do what Merton had done in the 1940s: leave behind a life of confusion and join a religious order. (Little did I know that life in a religious order is not free of confusion.) Over time I learned more about the Jesuits, the religious order that seemed to suit me best.
Still, though the desire to join a religious order was born on that evening, I resisted it. It would take two years before I was able to see it with absolute clarity. After I buried myself once again in work, the thought of entering religious life lay dormant in my soul, like a seed ready to sprout—as soon as it received some water.
Eventually someone—a psychologist I was seeing because I was so stressed at work—watered that seed. He asked me a question that helped me to name my desire. One day I was complaining to him about my job. It wasn’t satisfying, wasn’t enjoyable, and wasn’t something I could see doing for more than a few more years.
Finally he said, “What would you do, if you could do anything you wanted to do?”
The answer came as if it had been waiting there all my life. “That’s easy,” I said. “I would become a Jesuit priest!”
And he said, “Well, why don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I said, “why don’t I?”
The path to the Jesuits suddenly became clear. While I knew little about the Jesuits, and even less about the application process, I knew for sure that I wanted to join up immediately. It was a real Aha! moment. As with St. Paul, it was as if “something like scales” fell from my eyes. As Ignatius says, I neither doubted nor was able to doubt. Everything fell into place and a few months later I entered the Jesuit novitiate. It was the best decision I’ve ever made and also one of the few occasions when I experienced making a decision in the First Time.
The Second Time
The Second Time is less clear. It is not love at first sight. It’s not like being bowled over by clarity à la St. Paul. It’s less of an Aha! moment. It requires some deliberation.
In the Second Time you may not be completely sure, at least initially. Contrary forces and desires seem to pull you one way or the other. To return to our career example, you have found a job with a good salary, but it’s not starting at the right time. Or it’s the right salary but the wrong job. While the decision may not be clear initially, in time, after you think about it, talk about it, and pray about it, the decision gradually becomes clearer. You find yourself moved toward taking the job.
At this point, says Ignatius, it’s good to meditate on which option gives you the greater consolation. Ignatius asks you to look at the “motions” within you as a sign of God’s helping you with your choice. For people trying to discern God’s hopes and dreams for their lives, the presence of God will be reflected primarily through consolation.
Consolation, again, is the sense of God’s presence and those interior feelings that lead to peace, tranquility, and joy. Here, in a time of decision, consolation is a sense of peace and of rightness of the choice. Consolation leads you to feel encouraged, confident, and calm in your decision.
For many years I wondered about the connection between making a good decision and feeling consolation. It seemed almost superstitious. Does God zap you with consolation, like a magic trick,
to help you make the right choice?
No. As David Lonsdale writes, we feel peace about a particular decision when it is “coherent with” God’s desires for our happiness. Ignatius understood that God works through our deepest desires. When we are following that path to God, things seem right. Things feel in synch because they are in synch.
Lonsdale’s explanation of consolation is superb. The main feature of feelings of consolation is that “their direction is toward growth, creativity and a genuine fullness of life and love in that they draw us to a fuller, effective, generous love of God and other people, and to a right love of ourselves.”
The flip side of consolation is desolation. By this Ignatius means anything that moves you toward hopelessness. You are agitated or restless or, as Ignatius says, “listless, tepid, and unhappy.” These feelings mean you are moving away from a good decision.
Ignatian discernment means trusting that God will speak to you through these spiritual experiences about the choices you are considering. As Fleming writes, our hearts will gradually tell us which choices are moving us closer to God. All this is based on the belief that God does move our hearts and that we can grow in our sensitivity to God’s voice within us.
While recovering from his wounds at Pamplona, Ignatius felt consolation when he thought about following the saints. When he thought about impressing “a certain lady,” he felt desolation. Gradually he realized that these were ways that God was calling him to the best course of action. These are the kinds of feelings that you weigh in your prayer during the Second Time.
The Discerning Mother
Here’s a joke about discernment: A woman asks her local priest for advice. “Father,” she says, “I have a little boy who is six months old. And I’m curious to know what he will be when he grows up.”
The priest says, “Place before him three things: a bottle of whiskey, a dollar bill, and a Bible. If he picks the bottle of whiskey, he’ll be a bartender. If he picks the dollar bill, a business man. And if he picks the Bible, a priest.” So the mother thanks him and goes home.