A Short Method of Prayer

In Short

This foundational work of Christian mysticism outlines a "short method" of prayer that prioritizes internal silence and constant communion over formal, liturgical, or analytical study. By encouraging readers to move beyond vocal recitations and mental gymnastics, the author argues that anyone—regardless of station or education—can experience direct union with the Divine. Its enduring influence lies in its radical accessibility, stripping away the perceived barriers of religious expertise to offer a practice defined by abandonment, trust, and the quiet, inward resting of the soul in the presence of its Creator.

The Story

The progression of this work follows the soul’s journey from a state of external, self-driven religious effort to a state of internal, divine repose. It begins by addressing the common misconception that prayer is a difficult, specialized task requiring great intellectual capacity or professional guidance. The author insists that prayer is not a mental exercise to be performed, but a state of being to be inhabited. Because God is omnipresent—specifically, present within the individual—the "way" is not a long, arduous trek, but a simple turning inward.

The arc of this teaching moves from the "commencement" of spiritual life to its "consummation" in divine union. Initially, the practitioner must learn to cultivate an attitude of silence, setting aside the distractions of the mind to focus on the presence of God. This requires a transition from vocal prayer and discursive meditation—where one thinks about God—to the prayer of the heart, where one feeds upon the Divine. The author provides clear, pedagogical instructions for this transition: when the mind wanders, one must gently return to the center; when the spirit feels a "taste" of God, one must rest there quietly, like a person who stops chewing to savor and swallow the nourishment of a meal.

As the soul advances, it encounters the inevitable challenge of "dryness"—the feeling that God has hidden Himself. The author insists that this is not a sign of failure but a test of love. The practitioner must resist the urge to "make" things happen through effort or anxiety. Instead, they are called to practice "abandonment," a state of total resignation to God’s will, whether that will manifests as joy, bitterness, consolation, or silence. This is the stage where the cross becomes central; one learns to love the Giver more than the gifts.

The final phase of the journey is the state of passive contemplation, where the soul is so thoroughly united with the Spirit that its actions become habitual and almost imperceptible. The author uses the metaphor of a ship at sea: in the beginning, the sailor must row with effort to leave the harbor; later, as the ship reaches the open ocean, the sailor simply spreads the sails to be moved by the wind of the Holy Spirit. The struggle against one’s own nature ceases, and the soul is carried forward by a "Divine attraction." The journey ends not in a loss of the self, but in the total surrender of the self to the "All" of God, transforming the practitioner into an instrument of the Divine.

How It Unfolds

The opening invitation The author immediately lowers the bar for entry, asserting that prayer is "the one thing needful" and that it is far easier than people imagine. By inviting all—from princes to the sick—to approach God as children, the text dismantles the elitism often associated with spiritual life.

The shift to the heart The method moves away from intellectual meditation, which is described as limiting and prone to interruption. Instead, the focus shifts to the "prayer of the heart," which is continuous and cannot be broken by the mind’s occupations.

The discipline of return The text addresses the reality of distractions, urging the reader not to fight them directly, which only feeds them. Instead, one must simply turn back to the presence of God, treating the wandering mind as a minor obstacle that yields to the "attractive virtue" of the Divine.

The test of abandonment A significant portion of the instruction deals with the "dryness" that follows initial fervor. The reader is cautioned against seeking consolation, arguing that one must learn to wait in silence and patience, trusting God even when He feels absent.

The navigation of the soul Using the analogy of a ship, the author explains the transition from human effort to divine guidance. Once the soul moves past the "harbor" of its own works, it must learn to "spread the sails" and allow the Spirit to carry it forward.

The final union The narrative concludes with the total annihilation of the self. By letting go of all personal appropriation, the soul reaches a state of "central rest," where the distinction between the creature’s will and the Creator’s will begins to dissolve.

The People

Because the book is a guide for the seeker, the primary "characters" are the Soul and God. The Soul is initially depicted as a creature weighed down by its own efforts, intellectual pride, and fear. It is characterized by its hunger—a restless, unsatisfied desire for something more than what the material world offers. The Soul wants to be "perfect," but it is hindered by the belief that such perfection is a reward to be earned through complex, methodical labor. Through the book's instruction, the Soul is transformed from a restless, active striver into a passive, receptive vessel that finds its true identity only by becoming "nothing."

God acts as the Divine Centre. He is described as having an "attracting virtue"—a gravitational pull that naturally draws the soul toward Himself. God is the initiator who hides Himself only to deepen the soul’s desire and to purify its motives. He wants not the soul’s "studied harangues" or "polished language," but its simple, disordered, and honest heart. God stands in the way of the soul’s ego, acting as a "pitiless and devouring fire" that burns away the soul's attachments to its own works. By the end, God is no longer an external object to be sought or argued with; He is the living environment in which the soul moves, acts, and breathes.

In Its Own Voice

"The grandest part of religion is the most simple."

The author defends the accessibility of her method by comparing it to natural processes, arguing that the most profound spiritual truths are often the least complicated.

"Come, children, to your Father; He will receive you with open arms of love."

This characterizes the tone of the book, which functions as an open invitation to readers who may feel alienated by the rigid or scholarly structures of institutional religion.

"We must cease to be, so that the Spirit of the Word may be in us."

This encapsulates the core argument of the book: that the ultimate goal of prayer is the total surrender of the individual ego.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an argument for the primacy of interiority over external ritual. It posits that the "one thing needful" is not the acquisition of theological knowledge but the cultivation of a permanent, habitual consciousness of the Divine presence. The central question is whether the human person can ever truly be "good" or "perfect" through their own volition; the author’s answer is a firm "no." Instead, she argues that human effort is often the very thing that prevents spiritual progress. The themes of "annihilation"—the stripping away of the ego—and "abandonment"—the complete trust in God’s sovereignty—serve to redefine holiness not as a moral achievement, but as an act of surrender. It is a treatise on the transition from the "religion of the law" to the "religion of the heart."

Why Read It Today

Readers who feel fatigued by the noise of modern life or the performative nature of much contemporary spirituality will likely find this book deeply refreshing. It feels like a quiet, steady voice in a crowded room, urging the listener to stop running and start resting. There is a profound warmth in the author's tone, particularly her insistence that the "ignorant and foolish" are the best candidates for this path.

However, a modern reader must be prepared for the author’s intensity. Her language is saturated with the metaphors of seventeenth-century mysticism—terms like "annihilation," "sacrifice," and "the cross" appear frequently, which can be jarring or even alienating to those not accustomed to this tradition. The text expects the reader to embrace a complete loss of self, a concept that sits in direct tension with modern cultural emphases on self-actualization and individual identity. Furthermore, the prose is repetitive by design; the author circles the same concepts of "rest" and "abandonment" to ensure the reader absorbs the feeling of the prayer rather than just the logic of it. If you approach it as a manual for productivity, you will be frustrated. If you approach it as a devotional companion for moments of stillness, you may find the "short method" to be as transformative as the author promises. It remains a stark, beautiful invitation to slow down and let go.