In his Autobiography, Ignatius describes a near-death experience a few years after his conversion. He was on a ship sailing from Spain to Italy when a fierce storm came up. The wind howled, the waves broke over the little vessel — and everyone on board prepared to die. He writes
Examining himself carefully and preparing to die, he could not feel afraid for his sins or of being condemned, but he did feel embarrassment and sorrow, as he believed he had not used well the gifts and graces which God our Lord had granted him.
Ignatius was sad that he had to leave this life without making more use of the gifts and graces God had given him. He was mindful of his sins, but not overly bothered by them. This is remarkable because a year or so earlier, Ignatius had been tormented by his sins.
I found myself so weighed down by my sins that I could scarcely lift my head. I saw that my sins had separated me from God, and I was filled with remorse and shame. I resolved to do penance for my sins, and began to fast and pray more rigorously. But the more I tried to resist sin, the more it seemed to cling to me. I was in great distress, and did not know what to do.
What happened to cause such a change in attitude? Ignatius says that he decided not to keep confessing his sins, but to accept God’s forgiveness, but that’s about all he has to say about it. Ignatius was somewhat laconic. This is one of the times when we wish he had been more forthcoming about the details of his experience.
William Barry, the great Jesuit psychologist and spiritual director, says that Ignatius had to decide what God he believed in—the judgmental God he feared or the loving God who was inviting him into a relationship. Barry writes, “when he chose not to confess his past sins again, he had no guarantee that he was right. He had to act in faith, hope, and love that God was not an ogre ready to pounce on mistakes and forgotten sins.”
It seems that Ignatius knew that his fears were all wrong. God isn’t like this; these thoughts were doing him terrible harm. But his heart was captive to the false idea that God was a fierce judge who never forgave, never forgot, and perpetually held him to impossibly high standards. He was paralyzed, unable to live in freedom. So he chose, and acted on his choice. When he did, his scruples melted away. His trust in a God of love and mercy freed him.
He acted “as if” he felt differently. The Jesuit spiritual director George Aschenbrenner explains
When we do not feel like serving in love, it is time to act as if we do feel it. To reach out to the needy person when we feel like turning away is not dishonesty. Rather it is acting in line with what we deeply believe, even though, at this moment, the emotional drive for such acting is absent. This is mature faith: to act as if we are always feeling what we deeply believe.
There’s a psychological basis for the “as if” principle. Psychologist Richard Wiseman says it’s based on a principle of cognitive science known as “embodied cognition” — the notion that the body influences the mind. If you act contrary to the way you’re feeling, eventually your feelings will catch up. If you are feeling perversely selfish, give some money to panhandlers on the street. If you are afraid of talking to strangers, strike up a conversation with some people you don’t know. Feeling unhappy but acting happy makes us subtly, unconsciously uncomfortable. It doesn’t feel right; something has to change. So we get rid of the discomfort by bringing our unhappy feelings into line with our happy actions.
Ignatius did something like that. So can we.