Chap­ter VI – For Greater Things begins as Stanis­laus Kost­ka and his broth­er Paul tran­si­tion to life out­side the struc­tured envi­ron­ment of their Jesuit board­ing school, which was closed fol­low­ing the death of Emper­or Fer­di­nand I. Now study­ing as day schol­ars, they move into the res­i­dence of Sen­a­tor Kim­berk­er, a wealthy Luther­an who offers them lodg­ing in his expan­sive Vien­na home. Though the man­sion is filled with ele­gance and com­fort, it soon proves spir­i­tu­al­ly bar­ren for Stanis­laus. The home becomes a social hub, often host­ing live­ly par­ties marked by drink­ing and gaming—activities that clash deeply with Stanislaus’s val­ues. He doesn’t argue or protest, but qui­et­ly dis­tances him­self. His days are marked not by rebel­lion, but by inte­ri­or silence and grow­ing spir­i­tu­al inten­si­ty. His refusal to par­take in these dis­trac­tions, even as those around him indulge, speaks vol­umes about his resolve and the inner life he con­tin­ues to cul­ti­vate.

Stanis­laus does not retreat out of pride but out of fideli­ty to some­thing high­er. Where his broth­er and Bilin­s­ki drift toward plea­sures and diver­sions, he finds mean­ing in soli­tude and dis­ci­pline. Left with­out the dai­ly rhythm of Jesuit over­sight, many boys might have drifted—but not Stanis­laus. His room becomes a sacred space, his sched­ule shaped by self-imposed struc­ture and prayer. Though sur­round­ed by noise and vice, he remains calm, turn­ing every lone­ly moment into an oppor­tu­ni­ty for com­mu­nion with God. He begins to spend more time read­ing spir­i­tu­al works, med­i­tat­ing, and main­tain­ing a strict per­son­al rou­tine that mir­rors the dis­ci­pline of reli­gious life. His joy isn’t loud, but steady—rooted in qui­et inti­ma­cy with the divine rather than out­ward dis­trac­tion. His behav­ior, though sim­ple, begins to draw curios­i­ty, even ridicule, from Paul and Bilin­s­ki.

Despite the mock­ery, Stanis­laus nev­er retal­i­ates. He responds only with kind­ness, reveal­ing an inter­nal peace that no insult can dis­turb. To Paul, this humil­i­ty looks like weak­ness; to Stanis­laus, it’s strength drawn from his trust in divine prov­i­dence. Kimberker’s home, meant to be tem­po­rary lodg­ing, becomes a train­ing ground for Stanislaus’s sanc­ti­ty. He prac­tices tem­per­ance, patience, and per­se­ver­ance, not in the­o­ry, but dai­ly under pres­sure. Even his requests for spir­i­tu­al necessities—like access to the sacraments—are hin­dered by the household’s Luther­an atmos­phere, yet he adapts with grace. He nev­er com­plains, but he feels the absence of spir­i­tu­al nour­ish­ment deeply, which only fuels his desire to grow clos­er to God. Every denial becomes anoth­er rea­son to offer his suf­fer­ing as a prayer.

This con­trast between the broth­ers grows more dis­tinct as Paul begins to resent Stanislaus’s piety. The elder sib­ling views Stanislaus’s dis­ci­pline as judg­men­tal, even though no words of con­dem­na­tion are ever spo­ken. Ten­sion in the house­hold increas­es, yet Stanis­laus remains unmoved. His strength lies in refus­ing to mir­ror the neg­a­tiv­i­ty around him. His deep sense of voca­tion grows stronger with each act of self-restraint. While Paul seeks com­pa­ny in Vienna’s social scene, Stanis­laus seeks soli­tude to align his heart more ful­ly with the life of Christ. Even Kim­berk­er, a man of dif­fer­ent faith, begins to notice some­thing spe­cial in the young Pol­ish noble who qui­et­ly lives his val­ues with­out show.

In trans­form­ing iso­la­tion into sacred space, Stanis­laus demon­strates the pow­er of inten­tion­al liv­ing. He proves that sanc­ti­ty isn’t con­fined to monas­ter­ies or churches—it begins with small, dai­ly choic­es to love, for­give, and remain faith­ful. He does not preach to his com­pan­ions, yet his life becomes a ser­mon of integri­ty. By resist­ing the urge to con­form, he invites those around him to reflect more deeply. His wit­ness chal­lenges Paul and Bilin­s­ki with­out a sin­gle accu­sa­tion. Though mocked, he per­sists with dig­ni­ty. Though over­looked, he remains faith­ful. Though denied access to the Eucharist and spir­i­tu­al com­forts, he builds an inte­ri­or tem­ple no one can touch.

This chap­ter reveals not just a por­trait of pri­vate piety but of emerg­ing great­ness. Stanislaus’s virtues are forged not in ease but in hid­den tri­als. In a house filled with dis­trac­tions, he finds silence. In lone­li­ness, he finds divine pres­ence. His abil­i­ty to remain cheer­ful, focused, and prayer­ful in such an envi­ron­ment is not only rare but trans­for­ma­tion­al. It’s in these hid­den years that the ground­work for saint­hood is laid—not with dra­mat­ic mir­a­cles, but with dai­ly fideli­ty, born from love. Through every temp­ta­tion to aban­don his path, Stanis­laus choos­es, again and again, to live for greater things.