How to Grow in Gentleness

A Virtue Mistaken for Weakness

Gentleness suffers from a misunderstanding deeper still than patience. It is confused with timidity, softness, lack of character; it is made the virtue of weak hearts, as if the strong man had no need to be gentle. The opposite is true. It takes far more strength to hold back one's anger than to let it burst out, to remain peaceful under insult than to return blow for blow. Gentleness is not the inability to grow angry: it is the mastery of that movement, and none is more master of himself than he who, able to flare up, chooses to remain calm.

Saint Vincent de Paul, who had a naturally bilious temperament and spent years transforming himself, bore witness to this from experience: gentleness does not soften, it strengthens.

"There are no persons more constant and more firm in good than those who are gentle and debonair; whereas, on the contrary, those who give way to anger and to the passions of the irascible appetite are ordinarily more inconstant." — Saint Vincent de Paul^[3]

Experience confirms it: the irascible man is at the mercy of the slightest shock, tossed about by his moods, unstable in his resolutions; the gentle man, because he has made himself master of his first reaction, holds his course without letting himself be turned aside. Gentleness is not the renunciation of strength: it is its accomplished form, the form that consists in holding one's own heart in hand.

"Learn From Me, for I Am Gentle and Humble in Heart"

Gentleness is not a secondary virtue in the Christian life: it touches the very heart of Christ. Of all the virtues he practiced, it is the only one he expressly referred to himself with a "learn from me" (Mt 11:29):

"Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." — Gospel according to Saint Matthew 11:29^[4]

Saint Francis de Sales dwells at length on this verse. He sees in it the two virtues that shone in the person of the Savior and that he "singularly recommended": humility, which perfects us toward God, and gentleness, which perfects us toward our neighbor^[5]. The two go together like the oil and the balm of the holy chrism: humility always takes the lowest place, gentleness floats to the top and "overcomes all things." That is why growing in gentleness is never a matter of correcting one's temperament: it is becoming like Christ, entering into the most intimate disposition of his Heart. One does not become gentle by effort of will alone, but by placing oneself in his school: "Learn from me."

"Blessed Are the Meek": A Beatitude, Not a Temperament

Gentleness is not only recommended: it is proclaimed blessed. Christ places it at the threshold of his Sermon on the Mount, among the eight portraits of the disciple after his own heart:

"Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." — Gospel according to Saint Matthew 5:5^[6]

The paradox is deliberate. In the eyes of the world, it is the violent, the clever, the hard who "take the earth"; Christ promises the inheritance to those who force nothing. Evangelical gentleness is not a resignation that abandons the field: it is the certainty that we truly possess only what we have received from God, and that the strength which imposes itself loses what it thinks to gain. "To inherit the earth" is to possess, already in this life, the peace of heart that violence never gives, and, in the next, the "land of the living" promised to the children of God. Gentleness is therefore not a fortunate trait of character with which only placid souls would be endowed: it is a beatitude offered to all, including — and above all — lively temperaments, who will have the most to conquer.

Before the means, one decisive clarification: many fail to grow in gentleness because they aim at a counterfeit of it. Some confuse it with apathy or complaisance, others believe it reserved for calm natures. The virtue of gentleness is something else entirely, and defining it exactly is already half the journey.

Gentleness, the Virtue That Moderates Anger

Saint Thomas Aquinas ranks gentleness — which he names in Latin meekness (mansuetudo) — among the virtues annexed to temperance, and not among those of fortitude or justice. His reason is precise. Temperance moderates the passions that draw us toward a sensible good (the pleasure of food, carnal pleasure); but there is also a passion that carries us to excess against an evil — anger, that movement of the soul which demands reparation for an offense. The virtue that regulates this movement is meekness:

"It belongs properly to meekness to moderate the movement of anger according to right reason." — Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, II-II, q. 157, a. 2^[7]

This point is crucial for aiming at the virtue correctly. The function of gentleness is not to suppress anger, but to moderate it according to reason. Saint Thomas, following Aristotle, does not hold as virtuous the man who never feels any indignation: there is an anger "according to reason," just and measured, which meekness does not extinguish but orders. The virtue stands between the one who flares up too much (the irascible man) and the one who is not moved enough by what should move him. Growing in gentleness, then, is not becoming insensitive: it is making one's anger docile to reason, instead of letting it command.

Gentleness, Clemency, Meekness, Debonairness

The spiritual language distinguishes several neighboring realities that must be told apart in order to cultivate each rightly. Saint Thomas devotes an entire question (II-II, q. 157) to comparing meekness and clemency, two sister virtues which "both consist in a certain restraint" of anger, but do not bear on the same object^[8].

• Meekness (gentleness properly so called) moderates within the passion of anger: it is a virtue of interiority, which calms the movement of the heart.
• Clemency moderates without the punishment: it is the virtue of the superior who, able to punish, softens the penalty — the virtue of judges, princes, fathers.
• Debonairness (débonnaireté), a word dear to Francis de Sales, denotes gentleness displayed in manners: a "good" heart that shows itself affable, welcoming, without harshness.

These virtues hold together and sustain one another; but meekness comes first, for one will not be clement outwardly if anger has not first been mastered inwardly. The following table fixes this discernment.

Reading the table: gentleness (meekness) governs the interior, clemency governs the sanction, debonairness governs the face. All three oppose anger; patience does not oppose anger but sorrow — which is why Saint Thomas classifies it elsewhere. One can be patient without being gentle, and conversely: gentleness is worked at for its own sake.

For the neighboring virtue that bears evil and delays, see How to Grow in Patience; for the fundamental combat against the vice of anger, How to Grow in the Fight Against Anger.

Gentleness, "Flower of Charity"

If Saint Thomas refuses to count gentleness among the greatest virtues — it is not so absolutely, since charity, justice, and fortitude are superior to it — he immediately recognizes that it disposes sovereignly to all the others, "inasmuch as it removes what hinders the acts of reason"^[9]. The irascible man can neither pray, nor judge rightly, nor love peacefully: anger deprives him of the use of himself. Gentleness, by calming this turmoil, makes the soul available for every good.

Saint Francis de Sales goes further and gives it its finest title. Taking up Saint Bernard, he makes gentleness the flower of charity:

"Meekness and debonairness excels among the virtues as being the flower of charity, which, according to Saint Bernard, is in its perfection when not only is it patient, but when, besides that, it is gentle and debonair." — Saint Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, Part III, ch. 8^[10]

The image is apt: gentleness is to charity what the flower is to the plant — its visible blossoming, the sign that love has reached maturity. A love that still bears up while gritting its teeth is not complete; it is complete when it becomes gentle, when benevolence no longer costs. That is why growing in gentleness is never a mere correction of character: it is making charity itself blossom.

A Fruit of the Spirit, Not a Placid Temperament

One last truth, the most consoling: gentleness is not first a question of temperament. There are placid natures and lively natures; but virtuous gentleness is not natural phlegm. It is a fruit of the Holy Spirit, which the soul receives with grace. Saint Paul names it in his list, taken up by the Catechism: "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness…" (Gal 5:22-23; CCC § 1832)^[11].

The practical consequence is immense. On the one hand, the choleric temperament is not condemned to harshness: grace can give a boiling heart a gentleness that nature refused it — Saint Francis de Sales, naturally lively, and Saint Vincent de Paul, naturally bilious, are living proofs of it. On the other hand, since gentleness is a gift, the first means of growing in it is not strained effort, but humble and persevering petition. Perfect gentleness is received on one's knees before it is conquered.

Like every virtue, gentleness stands on a summit between two abysses. By defect, one falls into angry harshness; but by deviation, one falls into a false gentleness that has of the virtue only the name. Knowing both protects growth, for one can miss gentleness by falling on either side.

By Defect: Harshness, Irascibility, Bitterness

The first defect is disordered anger and the harshness that flows from it: growing irritated, raising one's voice, wounding by speech, bearing grudges. Saint Francis de Sales shows its insidious mechanism: anger, however slight, is not to be bargained with, for it grows in an instant. He quotes Saint Augustine writing to Profuturus:

"It is better to refuse entrance to anger, however just and equitable it may be, than to receive it, however small it may be; for once received, it is hardly made to leave: it enters like a small shoot, and in no time it swells and becomes a beam." — Saint Augustine, Letter to Profuturus, quoted by Saint Francis de Sales^[12]

Hence this golden rule which the holy bishop opposes to all techniques of "measured anger": it is better to learn to live without anger than to use it "moderately and wisely," for "never did any angry man think his anger unjust"^[13]. Anger has this fearful quality that it justifies itself: it always believes itself right. John Cassian, gathering the wisdom of the Desert Fathers, weighed its cost with a pitiless balance:

"One gains less by a fast than one loses by a movement of anger; and the profit drawn from reading does not equal the harm incurred by contempt for a brother." — Saint John Cassian, Conferences, I^[14]

Bitterness, harshness of tone, wounding irony, impatience that snubs: these are the daily faces of this harshness. It ruins in an instant what months of kindness had built. The fundamental combat against this vice is the subject of a separate article: How to Grow in the Fight Against Anger.

By Excess: The False Gentleness That Lets Evil Run Its Course

The opposite error is subtler, for it wears the mask of virtue. All softness is not gentleness. There exists a false gentleness born of cowardice, which never dares displease, lets evil settle in, tolerates injustice for fear of conflict, and confuses benevolence with complaisance. This pseudo-virtue is not too great a gentleness: it is an absence of fortitude, and sometimes an absence of charity, for leaving one's neighbor in his sin out of personal comfort is not loving him.

Saint Francis de Sales, the gentlest of Doctors, is here of trenchant clarity: gentleness does not forbid correcting, it forbids correcting with passion.

"We must indeed resist evil and repress the vices of those in our charge, constantly and valiantly, but gently and peacefully. Nothing so tames the enraged elephant as the sight of a little lamb, and nothing so easily breaks the force of cannonades as wool." — Saint Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, Part III, ch. 8^[15]

True gentleness is therefore compatible with firmness, and even with a certain indignation. The model is Christ himself: he who is "gentle and humble in heart" drove the merchants from the Temple with a whip (Jn 2:14-17), called the Pharisees "whitened sepulchres," spoke harshly when his Father's honor and the salvation of souls were at stake^[16]. His gentleness was not anesthesia: it was an anger perfectly possessed, never suffered, always ordered to the good. False gentleness is but fear disguised as virtue. One does not grow in gentleness by becoming incapable of firmness, but by becoming capable of a peaceful firmness.

The Middle Way: A Peaceful Strength

Between these two edges, the virtue stands in a balance that tradition sums up in one phrase: a peaceful strength. It is firm, for it yields neither to irascibility nor to cowardice; it is peaceful, for it does not grow bitter and is not troubled. It is neither the violence of the irascible man nor the inertia of the complaisant one, but the stability of the heart that possesses itself. The following table fixes this discernment.

Reading the table: gentleness is not a weak point between two dangers, but a fullness that holds together what each defect separates — a true firmness before evil and a true peace of heart. One grows in gentleness by moving away from both edges at once: by taming irascibility without falling into softness.

Here is the practical heart of this article. The spiritual masters did not only praise gentleness: they indicated precise, repeatable means, within everyone's reach. Saint Vincent de Paul, who had to conquer his own over a difficult nature, even counted them: "the first act… the second act… the third act of gentleness"^[17]. They can be grouped into a few great worksites.

Looking at Christ, Gentle and Humble in Heart

The first means, and the most powerful: contemplating the gentleness of Christ. Christian gentleness is not a self-control technique; it is an imitation. One does not become gentle by watching oneself — that only breeds tension — but by looking at Him who bore all without returning evil. Saint Peter makes it the central motive: Christ, "when he was insulted, returned no insult; when he suffered, he did not threaten; rather, he handed himself over to the one who judges justly" (1 Pet 2:23)^[18]. His whole Passion is a school of gentleness: silence before his accusers, the "put your sword back into its sheath" said to Peter (Mt 26:52), forgiveness of his executioners. Looking at the crucifix in contrariety is remembering that our gentleness has no meaning in itself: it is a way of following in his footsteps, of learning from his Heart the disposition he expressly gave us to imitate (Mt 11:29).

Asking for Gentleness as a Grace

Since gentleness is a fruit of the Spirit (Gal 5:22-23), it is not manufactured by will alone: it is asked for. Francis de Sales teaches this at the very heart of trial: when anger rises, the first reflex is not to grit one's teeth but to cry out to God.

"We must invoke God's help when we see ourselves assailed by anger, in imitation of the Apostles tossed by wind and storm upon the waters; for he will command our passions to cease, and there will come a great calm." — Saint Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, Part III, ch. 8^[19]

But he adds a precious warning: this prayer against anger "must be practiced gently, tranquilly, and not violently"^[20]. For one can pray impetuously, which only fans the turmoil. Asking for gentleness, especially at the moment when it is lacking, is already practicing it: this petition is itself an act of humility and surrender, which disarms anger before it bursts out.

Being Gentle First Toward Oneself

Here is the most neglected and most liberating means. Saint Francis de Sales devotes an entire chapter to it: the first gentleness to acquire is the one practiced toward oneself. Many grow irritated at their own faults believing it fervor, whereas it is, he says, a trick of self-love.

"Many, having grown angry, grow angry at having grown angry, enter into vexation at having been vexed; and by this means they keep their heart pickled and soaked in anger… These frettings and bitternesses against oneself tend to pride, and have their origin only in self-love, which is troubled and disquieted at seeing us imperfect." — Saint Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, Part III, ch. 9^[21]

The remedy is of a demanding gentleness: taking oneself in hand without drama, as a father corrects his child "with gentle and tranquil remonstrances, having more compassion for him than passion against him"^[22]. Repentance that truly penetrates is not the bitter kind, it is the peaceful kind:

"We must have a displeasure at our faults that is peaceful, settled, and firm… Raise up your heart when it falls, quite gently, humbling yourself greatly before God… without being in any way astonished at your fall, since it is no marvel that infirmity should be infirm." — Saint Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, Part III, ch. 9^[23]

This gentleness toward oneself is not laxity: it is the condition of all progress, for the soul that grows angry at having grown angry "keeps its heart steeped in anger" and never leaves the circle. One does not correct oneself by bitterness, but by a peaceful and lasting firmness.

Repressing the First Movement, in Time

Gentleness is won or lost in the first seconds. Saint Vincent de Paul makes control of the first movement the "first act of gentleness":

"The first act of gentleness is to repress the contrary movement as soon as we feel it, either by stopping anger altogether, or by employing it so well in necessity that it is in no way separated from gentleness." — Saint Vincent de Paul^[24]

Francis de Sales gives the exact manner of this "gentle effort": anger must be repelled at the first resentment, but "not abruptly nor impetuously, but gently and nevertheless seriously"^[25]. For wanting to stifle one's anger with violence is like the usher who shouts "Silence!" louder than those he wants to quiet: one adds turmoil to turmoil. Mastery of the first movement is therefore not a tensing up, but a calm recovery of oneself — seizing nascent anger with the fingertips, before it swells. One concrete aid, as old as the Fathers: deferring. Saint Josemaría Escrivá advises it for correcting one's neighbor:

"Do not reprove in a moment of indignation. Wait until the next day, or even longer. Then, once calm and your intention purified, do not fail in your duty to correct. You will obtain more by a word of affection than in three hours of quarrel. Master your character." — Saint Josemaría Escrivá, The Way, no. 10^[26]

Repairing at Once by a Contrary Act

When anger has slipped out — for it will slip out — Francis de Sales's remedy is immediate and concrete: not sinking into regret, but repairing on the spot by an act of gentleness.

"As soon as you perceive that you have committed some act of anger, repair the fault by an act of gentleness promptly performed toward the same person against whom you were irritated. For, as fresh wounds are more easily healed, so it is a good remedy against anger to repair it suddenly by a contrary act of gentleness." — Saint Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, Part III, ch. 8^[27]

A kind word, a smile, a service rendered to the one just wounded: this contrary gesture disarms anger better than a thousand resolutions. It has besides a virtue of humility, for it obliges us to acknowledge our wrong at once, "without waiting to be asked." Repairing quickly is preventing the wound from festering.

Correcting One's Neighbor Without Passion

Gentleness does not dispense from the duty of reproving one's neighbor; it changes the manner. Saint Paul makes it a rule for every Christian, and first for pastors:

"Brothers, if someone is caught in a fault, you who are spiritual, restore him in a spirit of gentleness." — Letter to the Galatians 6:1^[28]

"The servant of the Lord must not be quarrelsome, but welcoming to all, able to teach, patient under trial, correcting opponents with gentleness." — Second Letter to Timothy 2:24-25^[29]

The principle is that correction bears all the more fruit for being stripped of anger: "We do not so much prize the correction that comes from passion, though accompanied by reason, as that which has no other origin than reason alone," observes Francis de Sales^[30]. The Venerable Francis Libermann sums it up in a decisive formula:

"Always remember that gentleness and persuasion penetrate souls, and that firmness and rigor obtain only an outward change." — Venerable Francis Libermann^[31]

Rigor can obtain the obedience of bodies; gentleness alone wins hearts. That is why correcting gently is not correcting softly: it is correcting effectively.

Laying Up a Store of Gentleness in Times of Peace

The gentleness of the difficult moment is prepared in calm hours. Francis de Sales recommends laying up, outside all trial, a store of gentleness that will then overflow naturally:

"When you are tranquil and without any cause for anger, lay up a great store of gentleness and debonairness, speaking all your words and doing all your actions, small and great, in the gentlest manner possible." — Saint Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, Part III, ch. 8^[32]

This habit joins Saint Vincent de Paul's "second act of gentleness": "having great affability, cordiality, and serenity of countenance toward the persons who approach us, so that we may be a consolation to them"^[33]. The gentle face, the measured speech, the benevolent tone are not mere externals: they gradually shape the interior. Francis de Sales warns moreover against those who are "angels in the street and devils at home": true gentleness is measured first by our nearest, not by strangers we wish to charm.

Passing Over Offenses

The "third act of gentleness," the highest, consists in letting offenses drop without showing anything of them — not from indifference, but from a charity that excuses:

"The third act of gentleness is that, having received displeasure from someone, one passes over it, shows nothing of it; or else one says in excusing him: 'He did not mean it, he did it hastily, a first movement carried him away'; in short, one turns one's thought away from the supposed grievance." — Saint Vincent de Paul^[34]

This art of excusing one's neighbor — of lending him the best possible intention — is the most daily exercise of gentleness. It joins the word of the Eternal Father to Saint Catherine of Siena, who makes our neighbor the unexpected master of this virtue:

"It is through our neighbor that the virtues are practiced, and above all patience when one receives injuries from him. The soul practices… its gentleness with the one who is angry. Our neighbor is the occasion of all the virtues." — The Eternal Father to Saint Catherine of Siena, The Book of Dialogues^[35]

The difficult, irritating, unjust neighbor is unknowingly the instrument by which God makes our gentleness grow. His harshnesses are the school where real meekness is learned, which is not the dreamed love of perfect beings but the patient love of real beings.

Drawing From Prayer and the Sacraments

Finally, gentleness is nourished at the sources of grace. The Eucharist holds first place there: receiving Christ "gentle and humble in heart" is receiving his very gentleness, letting his Heart reshape ours. Confession lifts up the soul that anger against itself had cast down, restoring to it the peace of forgiveness. And persevering prayer gradually calms the depths of temperament, where will alone cannot reach. Communicating, praying, confessing is standing at the sources where gentleness is rekindled — all the more since it is Christ himself, and not our effort, who is its measure. See How to Grow in Frequent Communion and How to Grow in Regular Confession.

How can we tell that we are truly growing in gentleness? Not by a feeling, but by stable fruits which the saints describe with constancy.

Peace of Soul and Self-Possession

The first fruit is peace: not the absence of contrariety, but the absence of turmoil within contrariety. The gentle man does not lose control of himself; he "possesses his soul," because no outward offense commands his reactions anymore. Saint Francis of Assisi made it the very mark of the servant of God:

"The servant of God who remains inaccessible to anger and turmoil in his dealings with others leads a life in conformity with his vocation." — Saint Francis of Assisi, Admonitions, 11^[36]

This peace is not insensibility: it is freedom. The irascible man is the slave of all that thwarts him; the gentle man is free, because he has retaken mastery of the only ground that truly depends on him — his own heart.

The Strength That Wins Hearts

Second fruit, paradoxical: gentleness is effective where force fails. It wins what harshness only constrains. "Gentleness and persuasion penetrate souls" (Libermann)^[37]; the little lamb tames the enraged elephant (Francis de Sales). In the spirituality of the Divine Will, Jesus says to Luisa Piccarreta this word in which gentleness becomes almost all-powerful:

"My daughter, gentleness can change the nature of things. It can make bitterness sweet. So, be gentler!" — The Book of Heaven, volume 2, 23 May 1899^[38]

Gentleness transforms what it touches: it calms the irascible, disarms the adversary, opens closed hearts. Where rigor hardens, it softens; where violence provokes resistance, it persuades. It is the strength of the weak according to the world, which proves mightier than the strength of the strong.

Charity Made Lovable

Third fruit: charity arrived at its flower. Gentleness is what makes love lovable, that is, effectively received. One can do good harshly, and good done harshly often wounds as much as it helps. Gentleness wraps charity in a kindness that makes it welcome. Thus this humble virtue, wholly turned toward mastering an interior movement, opens onto the highest of virtues: it is its "flower." A growing gentleness makes one capable of a charity that radiates — not the impulse of a day, but the stable goodness of a whole life. See How to Grow in Charity.

The spirituality of the Divine Will, transmitted to Luisa Piccarreta (1865-1947), gives gentleness its final accent. In her writings, gentleness is not only self-mastery: it is a participation in the Heart of Jesus, who defined himself by this very virtue.

Jesus teaches Luisa that gentleness has the power to transform what it touches, even to "change the nature of things" and "make bitterness sweet"^[39]. This is no sentimental metaphor: it is the spiritual law according to which a heart united to the divine Will receives something of God's own gentleness, and communicates it around itself. Where self-love returns blow for blow, the soul that lives in the Divine Will opposes bitterness with a gentleness that disarms it.

This gentleness joins a teaching Jesus gives Luisa on how to speak of one's neighbor: before judging him, he says, one must first examine oneself for a like fault; otherwise, "rise and try to speak as I would have spoken… you will not fail in charity"^[40]. Growing in gentleness, in this perspective, is not only restraining oneself a little better: it is letting oneself be raised to God's own gentleness, who bears with man with measureless patience and never ceases to love him. Human gentleness, grafted onto his, ceases to be an exhausting tension and becomes the peaceful overflow of a Will greater than our own.

One does not grow in a virtue by fixing it as an abstract ideal, but by contemplating those who lived it perfectly. And gentleness has its masters.

The first is Christ, whose whole life manifests the gentleness he expressly gave us to imitate (Mt 11:29). But — as we have seen — his gentleness was never softness: at the hour of the Temple, it knew how to become burning indignation for God's honor. It is the accomplished model of peaceful strength: a heart capable of bearing all out of love, and capable too of thundering when love demands it. Learning the gentleness of Christ is learning this perfect self-possession.

The second is Mary, who brought gentleness to its human perfection. No harshness, no bitterness, no outburst is recorded of her; she remained silent under trials, "keeping all these things in her heart" (Lk 2:51), standing without revolt at the foot of the Cross. Tradition hails her as "clement, loving, and gentle." Taking Mary as mistress of gentleness is learning to remain peaceful when everything invites us to turmoil.

The Old Testament already offered its figure in Moses, of whom Scripture says he was "the meekest man upon the earth" (Num 12:3)^[41] — and yet the leader who stood up to Pharaoh and broke the Tablets before the golden calf. The gentleness of great souls never excluded strength; it made strength governable.

Growing in gentleness, in the end, is becoming, under their gaze, a disciple capable of possessing himself: of moderating his anger without stifling his just indignation, of correcting without wounding, of bearing without bitterness, of rising without hardening — until the day when, the heart at last pacified, gentleness will have "inherited the earth," because it will have let charity blossom.

Gentleness does not grow by grand resolutions, but by a small and repeated fidelity. The means studied here can be summed up in a simple program, graded from the most accessible to the most demanding.

Reading the table: none of these exercises is spectacular; it is their faithful repetition that transforms a temperament. Begin with one or two, hold to them, then add more.

The essential thing is not to aim at gentleness in general, but to posit, today, the concrete act that presents itself: that curt tone to soften, that first movement to repress, that offense to excuse, that correction to defer. For gentleness is the virtue of self-mastery; and self-mastery is won only instant after instant. "Be hard on yourself and gentle with others"^[42], Gabrielle Bossis heard — all gentleness lies in this reversal: severe toward oneself, indulgent toward one's neighbor, the exact opposite of our natural bent.

• How to Grow in the Fight Against Anger — the fundamental combat against the vice that gentleness moderates: its roots, its ruses, its remedies.
• How to Grow in Patience — the sister virtue, which bears present evil and delays without collapsing; one is often gentle and patient together, but they are two distinct virtues.
• How to Grow in Humility — the twin virtue Christ associates with gentleness: "gentle and humble in heart" (Mt 11:29).
• How to Grow in Temperance — the cardinal virtue of which gentleness (meekness) is a part: the mastery of the passions.
• How to Grow in Charity — the theological virtue of which gentleness is "the flower," according to Saint Francis de Sales.
• What the Saints Say About Humility — a selection of texts on the virtue Christ unites with gentleness.