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diff --git a/old/25133.txt b/old/25133.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 864991f..0000000 --- a/old/25133.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3375 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Spiritual Torrents, by -Jeanne Marie Bouvières de la Mot Guyon - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Spiritual Torrents - -Author: Jeanne Marie Bouvières de la Mot Guyon - -Translator: A. W. Marston - -Release Date: April 22, 2008 [EBook #25133] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPIRITUAL TORRENTS *** - - - - -Produced by Free Elf, David Wilson and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from scanned images of public domain -material from the Google Print project.) - - - - - - - - - - +--------------------------------------------------------------+ - | | - | Transcriber's note: | - | | - | This eBook contains the front matter from a combined edition | - | of _A Short Method of Prayer_ and _Spiritual Torrents_, but | - | only contains the text of _Spiritual Torrents_. | - | | - +--------------------------------------------------------------+ - - - - -A SHORT METHOD OF PRAYER - -and - -SPIRITUAL TORRENTS. - -BY -J. M. B. DE LA MOTHE GUYON. - - -Translated from the Paris Edition of 1790 -BY -A. W. MARSTON. - - -LONDON: -SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, LOW, & SEARLE, -CROWN BUILDINGS, 188 FLEET STREET. -1875. - -[_All rights reserved._] - - - - -PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY -EDINBURGH AND LONDON - - - - -_PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH PROTESTANT EDITION._ - - -Some apology is perhaps needed when a Protestant thus brings before -Protestant readers the works of a consistent Roman Catholic author. The -plea must be, that the doctrine and experience described are essentially -Protestant; and so far from their receiving the assent of the Roman -Catholic Church, their author was persecuted for holding and -disseminating them. - -Of the experience of Madame Guyon, it should be borne in mind, that -though the glorious heights of communion with God to which she attained -may be scaled by the feeblest of God's chosen ones, yet it is by no -means necessary that they should be reached by the same apparently -arduous and protracted path along which she was led. - -The "Torrents" especially needs to be regarded rather as an account of -the personal experience of the author, than as the plan which God -invariably, or even usually, adopts in bringing the soul into a state of -union with Himself. It is true that, in order that we may "live unto -righteousness," we must be "dead indeed unto sin;" and that there must -be a crucifixion of self before the life of Christ can be made manifest -in us. It is only when we can say, "I am crucified with Christ," that we -are able to add, "Nevertheless I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in -me." But it does not follow that this inward death must always be as -lingering as in the case of Madame Guyon. She tells us herself that the -reason was, that she was not wholly resigned to the Divine will, and -willing to be deprived of the gifts of God, that she might enjoy the -possession of the Giver. This resistance to the will of God implies -suffering on the part of the creature, and chastisement on the part of -God, in order that He may subdue to Himself what is not voluntarily -yielded to Him. - -Of the joy of a complete surrender to God, it is not necessary to speak -here: thousands of God's children are realising its blessedness for -themselves, and proving that it is no hardship, but a joy unspeakable, -to present themselves a living sacrifice to God, to live no longer to -themselves, but to Him that died for them, and rose again. - -A simple trust in a living, personal Saviour; a putting away by His -grace of all that is known to be in opposition to His will; and an -entire self-abandonment to Him, that His designs may be worked out in -and through us; such is the simple key to the hidden sanctuary of -communion. - - - - -_A SHORT METHOD OF PRAYER._ - -CONTENTS. - - - CHAP. PAGE - I. PRAYER POSSIBLE AT ALL TIMES, BY THE MOST SIMPLE 1 - - II. FIRST DEGREE OF PRAYER 6 - - III. SECOND DEGREE OF PRAYER, CALLED HERE THE PRAYER OF SIMPLICITY 13 - - IV. SPIRITUAL DRYNESS 16 - - V. ABANDONMENT TO GOD 18 - - VI. SUFFERING 21 - - VII. MYSTERIES 23 - - VIII. VIRTUE 25 - - IX. PERFECT CONVERSION 27 - - X. HIGHER DEGREE OF PRAYER, THAT OF THE SIMPLE PRESENCE OF GOD 30 - - XI. REST IN THE PRESENCE OF GOD--INWARD AND OUTWARD SILENCE 35 - - XII. SELF-EXAMINATION AND CONFESSION 39 - - XIII. READING AND VOCAL PRAYER 42 - - XIV. THE FAULTS AND TEMPTATIONS OF THIS DEGREE 44 - - XV. PRAYER AND SACRIFICE EXPLAINED BY THE SIMILITUDE OF A PERFUME 47 - - XVI. THIS STATE NOT ONE OF IDLENESS, BUT OF ACTION 51 - - XVII. DISTINCTION BETWEEN EXTERIOR AND INTERIOR ACTIONS 63 - - XVIII. EXHORTATIONS TO PREACHERS 71 - - XIX. PREPARATION FOR DIVINE UNION 77 - - - - -_SPIRITUAL TORRENTS._ - -CONTENTS. - - -_PART I._ - - CHAP. PAGE - I. THE DIFFERENT WAYS IN WHICH SOULS ARE LED TO SEEK AFTER GOD 91 - - II. OF THE FIRST WAY, WHICH IS ACTIVE AND MEDITATIVE 94 - - III. OF THE SECOND WAY, WHICH IS THE PASSIVE WAY OF LIGHT 103 - - IV. OF THE THIRD WAY, WHICH IS THE PASSIVE WAY OF FAITH, - AND OF ITS FIRST DEGREE 111 - - V. IMPERFECTIONS OF THIS FIRST DEGREE 125 - - VI. SECOND DEGREE OF THE PASSIVE WAY OF FAITH 139 - - VII. SECT. I.--COMMENCEMENT OF THE THIRD DEGREE OF THE PASSIVE - WAY OF FAITH--FIRST DEGREE OF THE SPOLIATION OF THE SOUL 151 - - SECT. II.--SECOND DEGREE OF THE SPOLIATION OF THE SOUL 164 - - SECT. III.--THIRD DEGREE OF SPOLIATION 169 - - SECT. IV.--ENTRANCE INTO MYSTICAL DEATH 179 - - VIII. THIRD DEGREE OF THE PASSIVE WAY OF FAITH, IN ITS - CONSUMMATION 185 - - IX. FOURTH DEGREE OF THE PASSIVE WAY OF FAITH, WHICH IS THE - COMMENCEMENT OF THE DIVINE LIFE 193 - - -_PART II._ - - I. MORE PARTICULAR DESCRIPTION OF SEVERAL CHARACTERISTICS OF - THE RESURRECTION LIFE 211 - - II. STABILITY, EXPERIENCE, ELEVATION, AND EXTREME PURITY OF THE - ABANDONED SOUL 221 - - III. PERFECT UNION OR DEIFORMITY 230 - - IV. ACTIONS AND SUFFERINGS OF THOSE IN A STATE OF UNION WITH GOD 239 - - - - -_SPIRITUAL TORRENTS._ - -BY -MADAME J. M. B. DE LA MOTHE-GUYON. - - -"Let judgment run down as waters; and righteousness as a mighty -stream."--Amos v. 24. - - - - -SPIRITUAL TORRENTS. - - - - -_PART I._ - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -SOULS UNDER DIVINE INFLUENCE ARE IMPELLED TO SEEK AFTER GOD, BUT IN -DIFFERENT WAYS--REDUCED TO THREE, AND EXPLAINED BY A SIMILITUDE. - - -As soon as a soul is brought under divine influence, and its return to -God is true and sincere, after the first cleansing which confession and -contrition have effected, God imparts to it a certain instinct to return -to Him in a most complete manner, and to become united to Him. The soul -feels then that it was not created for the amusements and trifles of the -world, but that it has a centre and an end, to which it must be its aim -to return, and out of which it can never find true repose. This -instinct is very deeply implanted in the soul, more or less in different -cases, according to the designs of God; but all have a loving impatience -to purify themselves, and to adopt the necessary ways and means of -returning to their source and origin, like rivers, which, after leaving -their source, flow on continuously, in order to precipitate themselves -into the sea. You will observe that some rivers move gravely and slowly, -and others with greater velocity; but there are rivers and _torrents_ -which rush with frightful impetuosity, and which nothing can arrest. All -the burdens which might be laid upon them, and the obstructions which -might be placed to impede their course, would only serve to redouble -their violence. It is thus with souls. Some go on quietly towards -perfection, and never reach the sea, or only very late, contented to -lose themselves in some stronger and more rapid river, which carries -them with itself into the sea. Others, which form the second class, flow -on more vigorously and promptly than the first. They even carry with -them a number of rivulets; but they are slow and idle in comparison -with the last class, which rush onward with so much impetuosity, that -they are utterly useless: they are not available for navigation, nor can -any merchandise be trusted upon them, except at certain parts and at -certain times. These are bold and mad rivers, which dash against the -rocks, which terrify by their noise, and which stop at nothing. The -second class are more agreeable and more useful; their gravity is -pleasing, they are all laden with merchandise, and we sail upon them -without fear or peril. - -Let us look, with divine aid, at these three classes of persons, under -the three figures that I have proposed; and we will commence with the -first, in order to conclude happily with the last. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -OF THE FIRST WAY, WHICH IS ACTIVE, AND OF MEDITATION--WHAT IT IS--ITS -WEAKNESSES, HABITS, OCCUPATIONS, ADVANTAGES, ETC.--GENERAL OPINION--WANT -OF OBSERVATION THE CAUSE OF MOST OF THE DISPUTES AND DIFFICULTIES WHICH -HAVE ARISEN UPON THE PASSIVE WAY, AND THE ABSURD OBJECTIONS WHICH HAVE -BEEN MADE TO IT--SOULS FOR MEDITATION--THEY SHOULD BE LED TO IT THROUGH -THE AFFECTIONS--OPINION CONCERNING THEIR BARRENNESS AND -POWERLESSNESS--SPIRITUAL BOOKS AND AUTHORS ON THE INNER LIFE, IN -CONTRAST TO OTHERS--CAPACITY AND INCAPACITY OF SOULS--THE SIMPLE ARE -BETTER THAN THE GREAT REASONERS. - - -The first class of souls are those who, after their conversion, give -themselves up to meditation, or even to works of charity. They perform -some exterior austerities; endeavour, little by little, to purify -themselves, to rid themselves of certain notable sins, and even of -voluntary venial ones. They endeavour, with all their little strength, -to advance gradually, but it is feebly and slowly. - -As their source is not abundant, the dryness sometimes causes delay. -There are even periods, in times of aridity, when they dry up -altogether. They do not cease to flow from the source, but it is so -feebly as to be barely perceptible. These rivers carry little or no -merchandise, and, therefore, for the public need, it must be taken to -them. It is necessary, at the same time, that art should assist nature, -and find the means of enlarging them, either by canals, or by the help -of other rivers of the same kind, which are joined together and united -to it, which rivers thus joined increase the body of water, and, helping -each other, put themselves in a condition to carry a few small boats, -not to the sea, but to some of the chief rivers, of which we shall speak -later. Such beings have usually little depth of spiritual life. They -work outwardly, and rarely quit their meditations, so that they are not -fit for great things. In general they carry no merchandise--that is to -say, they can impart nothing to others; and God seldom uses them, unless -it be to carry a few little boats--that is, to minister to bodily -necessities; and in order to be used, they must be discharged into the -canals of sensible graces, or united to some others in religion, by -which means several, of medium grace, manage to carry the small boat, -but not into the sea itself, which is God: into that they never enter in -this life, but only in the next. - -It is not that souls are not sanctified in this way. There are many -people, who pass for being very virtuous, who never get beyond it, God -giving them lights conformed to their condition, which are sometimes -very beautiful, and are the admiration of the religious world. The most -highly favoured of this class are diligent in the practice of virtue; -they devise thousands of holy inventions and practices to lead them to -God, and to enable them to abide in His presence; but all is -accomplished by their own efforts, aided and supported by grace, and -their own works appear to exceed the work of God, His work only -concurring with theirs. - -The spiritual life of this class only thrives in proportion to their -work. If this work be removed, the progress of grace within them is -arrested: they resemble pumps, which only yield water in proportion as -they are agitated. You will observe in them a great tendency to assist -themselves by means of their natural sensibilities, a vigorous activity, -a desire to be always doing something more and something new to promote -their perfection, and, in their seasons of barrenness, an anxiety to rid -themselves of it. They are subject to great variation: sometimes they do -wonders, at other times they languish and decline. They have no evenness -of conduct, because, as the greater part of their religion is in these -natural sensibilities, whenever it happens that their sensibilities are -dry, either from want of work on their part, or from a lack of -correspondence on the part of God, they fall into discouragement, or -else they redouble their efforts, in the hope of recovering of -themselves what they have lost. They never possess, like others, a -profound peace or calmness in the midst of distractions; on the -contrary, they are always on the alert to struggle against them or to -complain of them. - -Such minds must not be directed to passive devotion; this would be to -ruin them irrecoverably, taking from them their means of access to God. -For as with a person who is compelled to travel, and who has neither -boat nor carriage, nor any other alternative than that of going on foot, -if you remove his feet, you place advancement beyond his reach; so with -these souls; if you take away their works, which are their feet, they -can never advance. - -And I believe this to be the cause of the contests which now agitate the -religious world. Those who are in the _passive_ way, conscious of the -blessedness they experience in it, would compel all to walk with them; -those, on the contrary, who are in what I have termed the state of -_meditation_, would confine all to their way, which would involve -inestimable loss. - -What must be done then? We must take the middle course, and see for -which of the two ways souls are fitted. - -This may be known in some by the opposition they have to remaining at -rest, and allowing themselves to be led by the Spirit of God; by a -confusion of faults and defects into which they fall without being -conscious of them; or, if they are possessed of natural prudence, by a -certain skill in concealing their faults from others and from -themselves; by their adherence to their sentiments, and by a number of -other indications which cannot be explained. - -The way to deliver them from such a state would be, to lead them to live -less in the intellect and more in the affections, and if it be manifest -that they are gradually substituting the one for the other, it is a sign -that a spiritual work is being carried on within them. - -I am at a loss to understand why so loud a cry is raised against those -books and writers that treat of the inner life. I maintain that they can -do no harm, unless it be to some who are willing to lose themselves for -the sake of their own pleasure, to whom not only these things, but -everything else, would be an injury: like spiders, which convert flowers -into venom. But they can do no injury to those humble souls who are -desirous for perfection, because it is impossible for any to understand -them to whom the special light is not accorded; and whatever others may -read, they cannot rightly understand those conditions which, being -beyond the range of imagination, can be known only by experience. -Perfection goes on with a steady advancement corresponding to the -progress of the inner life. - -Not that there are no persons advanced in sanctification who have faults -in appearance even greater than those of others, but they are not the -same either as to their nature or their quality. - -The second reason why I say that such books can do no harm is, that they -demand so much natural death, so much breaking off, so many things to be -conquered and destroyed, that no one would ever have strength for the -undertaking without sincerity of purpose; or even if any one undertook -it, it would only produce the effect of _meditation_, which is to -endeavour to destroy itself. - -As for those who wish to lead others in their groove, and not in God's, -and to place limits to their further advancement--as for those, I say, -who know but one way, and would have all the world to walk in it, the -evils which they bring upon others are irremediable, for they keep them -all their lives stopping at certain things which hinder God from -blessing them infinitely. - -It seems to me that we must act in the divine life as in a school. The -scholars are not kept always in the same class, but are passed on to -others more advanced. O human science! you are so little worth, and yet -with you men do not fail to take every precaution! O science mysterious -and divine! you are so great and so necessary; and yet they neglect you, -they limit you, they contract you, they do violence to you! Oh, will -there never be a school of religion! Alas! by wishing to make it a -study, man has marred it. He has sought to give rules and limits to the -Spirit of God, who is without limit. - -O poor powerless souls! you are better fitted to answer God's purposes, -and, if you are faithful, your devotion will be more pleasing to Him, -than that of those great intellects which make prayer a study rather -than a devotion. More than this, I say that such souls as these, who -appear so powerless and so incapable, are worthy of consideration, -provided they only knock at the door, and wait with a humble patience -until it be opened to them. Those persons of great intellect and subtle -understanding, who cannot remain a moment in silence before God, who -make a continual Babel, who are so well able to give an account of their -devotion in all its parts, who go through it always according to their -own will, and with the same method, who exercise themselves as they -will on any subject which suggests itself to them, who are so well -satisfied with themselves and their light, who expatiate upon the -preparation and the methods for prayer, will make but little advance in -it; and after ten or twenty years of this exercise, will always remain -the same. - -Alas! when it is a question of loving a miserable creature, do they use -a method for that? The most ignorant in such a matter are the most -skilful. It is the same, and yet very different, with divine love. -Therefore, if one who has never known such religion comes to you to -learn it, teach him to love God much, and to let himself go with a -perfect abandonment into love, and he will soon know it. If it be a -nature slow to love, let him do his best, and wait in patience till love -itself make itself beloved in its own way, and not in yours. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -OF THE SECOND WAY OF THE RETURN OF THE SOUL TO GOD, WHICH IS THE PASSIVE -WAY, BUT ONE OF LIGHT, AND OF TWO KINDS OF INTRODUCTION TO -IT--DESCRIPTION OF THIS CLASS, AND OF THEIR STRIKING ADVANTAGES--VARIOUS -NECESSARY PRECAUTIONS AND OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING THIS CLASS, THEIR -CONDUCT, PERFECTIONS, IMPERFECTIONS, AND EXPERIENCES. - - -The second class are like those large rivers which move with a slow and -steady course. They flow with pomp and majesty; their course is direct -and easily followed; they are charged with merchandise, and can go on to -the sea without mingling with other rivers; but they are late in -reaching it, being grave and slow. There are even some who never reach -it at all, and these, for the most part, lose themselves in other larger -rivers, or else turn aside to some arm of the sea. Many of these rivers -serve to carry merchandise, and are heavily laden with it. They may be -kept back by sluices, and turned off at certain points. Such are the -souls in the _passive way of sight_. Their strength is very abundant; -they are laden with gifts, and graces, and celestial favours; they are -the admiration of their generation; and numbers of saints who shine as -stars in the Church have never passed this limit. This class is composed -of two kinds. The first commenced in the ordinary way, and have -afterwards been drawn to passive contemplation. The others have been, as -it were, taken by surprise; they have been seized by the heart, and they -feel themselves loving without having learned to know the object of -their love. For there is this difference between divine and human love, -that the latter supposes a previous acquaintance with its object, -because, as it is outside of it, the senses must be taken to it, and the -senses can only be taken to it because it is communicated to them: the -eyes see and the heart loves. It is not so with divine love. God, having -an absolute power over the heart of man, and being its origin and its -end, it is not necessary that He should make known to it what He is. He -takes it by assault, without giving it battle. The heart is powerless -to resist Him, even though He may not use an absolute and violent -authority, unless it be in some cases where He permits it to be so, in -order to manifest His power. He takes hearts, then, in this way, making -them burn in a moment; but usually He gives them flashes of light which -dazzle them, and lift them nearer to Himself. These persons appear much -greater than those of whom I shall speak later, to those who are not -possessed of a divine discernment, for they attain outwardly to a high -degree of perfection, God eminently elevating their natural capacity, -and replenishing it in an extraordinary manner; and yet they are never -really brought to a state of annihilation to self, and God does not -usually so draw them out of their own being that they become lost in -Himself. Such characters as these are, however, the wonder and -admiration of men. God bestows on them gifts upon gifts, graces upon -graces, visions, revelations, inward voices, ecstasies, ravishments, &c. -It seems as though God's only care was to enrich and beautify them, and -to communicate to them His secrets. All joys are theirs. - -This does not imply that they bear no heavy crosses, no fierce -temptations: these are the shadows which cause their virtues to shine -with greater brilliancy; for these temptations are thrust back -vigorously, the crosses are borne bravely; they even desire more of -them: they are all flame and fire, enthusiasm and love. God uses them to -accomplish great things, and it seems as though they only need to desire -a thing in order to receive it from God, He finding His delight in -satisfying all their desires and doing all their will. Yet in the same -path there are various degrees of progression, and some attain a far -higher standard of perfection than others; their danger lies in fixing -their thoughts upon what God has done for them, thus stopping at the -gifts, instead of being led through them to the Giver. - -The design of God in the bestowal of His grace, and in the profusion -with which He gives it, is to bring them nearer to Himself; but they -make use of it for an utterly different end: they rest in it, reflect -upon it, look at it, and appropriate it; and hence arise vanity, -complaisance, self-esteem, the preference of themselves to others, and -often the destruction of religious life. These people are admirable, in -themselves considered; and sometimes by a special grace they are made -very helpful to others, particularly if they have been brought from -great depths of sin. But usually they are less fitted to lead others -than those who come after; for being near to God themselves, they have a -horror of sin, and often a shrinking from sinners, and never having -experienced the miseries they see in others, they are astonished, and -unable to render either help or advice. They expect too great -perfection, and do not lead on to it little by little, and if they meet -with weak ones, they do not aid them in proportion to their own -advancement, or in accordance with God's designs, but often even seek to -avoid them. They find it difficult to converse with those who have not -reached their own level, preferring a solitary life to all the ministry -of love. If such persons were heard in conversation by those not -divinely enlightened, they would be believed equal to the last class, or -even more advanced. They make use of the same terms--of DEATH, LOSS OF -SELF, ANNIHILATION, &c.; and it is quite true that they do die in their -own way, that they are annihilated and lose themselves, for often their -natural sensibilities are lost or suspended in their seasons of -devotion; they even lose the habit of making use of them. Thus these -souls are passive, but they have light, and love, and strength in -themselves; they like to retain something of their own, it may be even -their virtues, but in so delicate a form that only the Divine eye can -detect it. Such as these are so laden with merchandise that their course -is very slow. What must be done with them, then, to lead them out of -this way? There is a more safe and certain path for them, even that of -faith: they need to be led from the sensible to the supernatural, from -that which is known and perceived to the very deep, yet very safe, -darkness of faith. It is useless to endeavour to ascertain whether these -things be of God or not, since they must be surpassed; for if they are -of God, they will be carried on by Him, if only we abandon ourselves to -Him; and if they are not of God, we shall not be deceived by them, if we -do not stay at them. - -This class of people find far greater difficulty in entering the way of -faith than the first, for as what they already possess is so great, and -so evidently from God, they will not believe that there is anything -higher in the Church of God. Therefore they cling to it. - -O God! how many spiritual possessions there are which appear great -virtues to those who are not divinely enlightened, and which appear -great and dangerous defects to those who are so! For those in this way -regard as virtues what others look upon as subtle faults; and even the -light to see them in their true colours is not given to them. These -people have rules and regulations for their obedience, which are marked -by prudence; they are strong and vigorous, though they appear dead. They -are indeed dead as to their own wants, but not as to their foundation. -Such souls as these often possess an inner silence, certain sinkings -into God, which they distinguish and express well; but they have not -that secret longing to be nothing, like the last class. It is true they -desire to be nothing by a certain perceptible annihilation, a deep -humility, an abasement under the immense weight of God's greatness. All -this is an annihilation in which they dwell without being annihilated. -They have the feeling of annihilation without the reality, for the soul -is still sustained by its feelings, and this state is more satisfactory -to it than any other, for it gives more assurance. This class usually -are only brought into God by death, unless it be some privileged ones, -whom God designs to be the lights of His Church, or whom He designs to -sanctify more eminently; and such He robs by degrees of all their -riches. But as there are few sufficiently courageous to be willing, -after so much blessedness, to lose it all, few pass this point, God's -intention perhaps being that they should not pass it, and that, as in -the Father's house there are many mansions, they should only occupy this -one. Let us leave the causes with God. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -OF THE THIRD WAY OF RETURN TO GOD, WHICH IS THE PASSIVE WAY OF FAITH, -AND OF ITS FIRST DEGREE--DESCRIPTION OF THIS WAY UNDER THE SIMILITUDE OF -A TORRENT--PROPENSITY OF THE SOUL TOWARDS GOD--ITS PROPERTIES, -OBSTACLES, AND EFFECTS EXPLAINED BY THE SIMILITUDE OF FIRE--WHAT BEFALLS -THE SOUL CALLED TO WALK IN THE PASSIVE WAY OF FAITH--DESCRIPTION OF THE -FIRST DEGREE OF THIS THIRD WAY, AND OF THE STATE OF THE SOUL IN IT--THE -REST IT FINDS IN IT WOULD BE HURTFUL IF GOD DID NOT DRAW IT OUT OF IT, -IN ORDER TO FURTHER ITS ADVANCEMENT. - - -What shall we say of the souls in this _third way_, unless it be that -they resemble TORRENTS which rise in high mountains? They have their -source in God Himself, and they have not a moment's rest until they are -lost in Him. Nothing stops them, and no burdens are laid upon them. They -rush on with a rapidity which alarms even the most confident. These -torrents flow without order, here and there, wherever they can find a -passage, having neither regular beds nor an orderly course. They -sometimes become muddy by passing through ground which is not firm, and -which they bear away with them by their rapidity. Sometimes they appear -to be irrecoverably lost, then they reappear for a time, but it is only -to precipitate themselves in another abyss, still deeper than the former -one. It is the sport of these torrents to show themselves, to lose -themselves, and to break themselves upon the rocks. Their course is so -rapid as to be undiscernible; but finally, after many precipices and -abysses, after having been dashed against rocks, and many times lost and -found again, they reach the sea, where they are lost to be found no -more. And there, however poor, mean, useless, destitute of merchandise -the poor torrent may have been, it is wonderfully enriched, for it is -not rich with its own riches, like other rivers, which only bear a -certain amount of merchandise or certain rarities, but it is rich with -the riches of the sea itself. It bears on its bosom the largest vessels; -it is the sea which bears them, and yet it is the river, because the -river, being lost in the sea, has become one with it. - -It is to be remarked, that the river or torrent thus precipitated into -the sea does not lose its nature, although it is so changed and lost as -not to be recognised. It will always remain what it was, yet its -identity is lost, not as to reality, but as to quality; for it so takes -the properties of salt water, that it has nothing peculiar to itself, -and the more it loses itself and remains in the sea, the more it -exchanges its own nature for that of the sea. For what, then, is not -this poor torrent fitted? Its capacity is unlimited, since it is the -same as that of the sea; it is capable of enriching the whole earth. O -happy loss! who can set thee forth? Who can describe the gain which has -been made by this useless and good-for-nothing river, despised and -looked upon as a mad thing, on which the smallest boat could not be -trusted, because, not being able to restrain itself, it would have -dragged the boat with it. What do you say of the fate of this torrent, O -great rivers! which flow with such majesty, which are the delight and -admiration of the world, and glory in the quantity of merchandise spread -out upon you? The fate of this poor torrent, which you regard with -contempt, or at best with compassion, what has it become? What use can -it serve now, or rather, what use can it not serve? What does it lack? -You are now its servants, since the riches which you possess are only -the overflow of its abundance, or a fresh supply which you are carrying -to it. - -But before speaking of the happiness of a soul thus lost in God, we must -begin with its origin and go on by degrees. - -The soul, as we have said, having proceeded from God, has a continual -propensity to return to Him, because, as He is its origin, He is also -its final end. Its course would be interminable if it were not arrested -or interrupted by sin and unbelief. Therefore the heart of man is -perpetually in motion, and can find no rest till it returns to its -origin and its centre, which is God: like fire, which, being removed -from its sphere, is in continual agitation, and does not rest till it -has returned to it, and then, by a miracle of nature, this element, so -active itself as to consume everything by its activity, is at perfect -rest. O poor soul who are seeking happiness in this life! you will never -find it out of God. Seek to return to Him: there all your longings and -troubles, your agitations and anxieties, will be reduced to perfect -rest. - -It is to be remarked, that in proportion as fire approaches its centre, -it always approaches rest, although its swiftness increases. It is the -same with the soul: as soon as sin ceases to hold it back, it seeks -indefatigably to find God; and if it were not for sin, nothing could -impede its course, which would be so speedy, that it would soon attain -its end. But it is also true that, in proportion as it approaches God, -its speed is augmented, and at the same time becomes more peaceful; for -the rest, or rather the peace, since it is not at rest, but is pursuing -a peaceful course, increases so that its peace redoubles its speed, and -its speed increases its peace. - -The hindrances, then, arise from sins and imperfections, which arrest -for a time the course of the soul, more or less, according to the -magnitude of the fault. Then the soul is conscious of its activity, as -though when fire was going on towards its centre, it encountered -obstacles, such as pieces of wood or straw: it would resume its former -activity in order to consume these obstacles or barriers, and the -greater the obstacle the more its activity would increase. If it were a -piece of wood, a longer and stronger activity would be needed to consume -it; but if it were only a straw, it would be burned up in a moment, and -would but very slightly impede its course. You will notice that the -obstacles which the fire would encounter would only impart to it a fresh -stimulus to surmount all which prevented its union with its centre; -again, it is to be remarked, that the more obstacles the fire might -encounter, and the more considerable they might be, the more they would -retard its course; and if it were continually meeting with fresh ones, -it would be kept back, and prevented from returning whence it came. We -know by experience, that if we continually add fuel to fire, we shall -keep it down, and prevent its rising. It is the same with the souls of -men. Their instincts and natural propensities lead them towards God. -They would advance incessantly, were it not for the hindrances they -meet. These hindrances are sins and imperfections, which prove the -greater obstacles in the way of their return to God, according as they -are serious and lasting; so that if they continue in sin, they will -never reach their end. Those, therefore, who have not sinned so grossly -as others, should advance much more rapidly. This usually is the case, -and yet it seems as though God took pleasure in making "grace abound -where sin has most abounded" (Rom. v. 20). I believe that one of the -reasons of this, to be found in those who have not grossly sinned, is -their estimation of their own righteousness, and this is an obstacle -more difficult to surmount then even the grossest sins, because we -cannot have so great an attachment to sins which are so hideous in -themselves, as we have to our own righteousness; and God, who will not -do violence to liberty, leaves such hearts to enjoy their holiness at -their own pleasure, while He finds His delight in purifying the most -miserable. And in order to accomplish His purpose, He sends a stronger -and fiercer fire, which consumes those gross sins more easily than a -slower fire consumes smaller obstacles. It even seems as though God -loved to set up His throne in these criminal hearts, in order to -manifest His power, and to show how He can restore the disfigured soul -to its original condition, and even make it more beautiful than it was -before it fell. Those then who have greatly sinned, and for whom I now -write, are conscious of a great fire consuming all their sins and -hindrances; they often find their course impeded by besetting sins, but -this fire consumes them again and again, till they are completely -subdued. And as the fire thus goes on consuming, the obstacles are more -and more easily surmounted, so that at last they are no more than -straws, which, far from impeding its course, only make it burn the more -fiercely. - -Let us then take the soul in its original condition, and follow it -through its various stages, if God, who inspires these thoughts, which -only occur to me as I write, wills that we should do so. - -As God's design for the soul is that it should be lost in Himself, in a -manner unknown to ordinary Christians, He begins His work by imparting -to it a sense of its distance from Him. As soon as it has perceived and -felt this distance, the natural inclination which it has to return to -its source, and which has been, as it were, deadened by sin, is revived. -Then the soul experiences true sorrow for sin, and is painfully -conscious of the evil which is caused by this separation from God. This -sentiment thus implanted in the soul leads it to seek the means of -ridding itself of this trouble, and of entering into a certain rest -which it sees from afar, but which only redoubles its anxiety, and -increases its desire to pursue it until it finds it. - -Some of those who are thus exercised, having never been taught that they -must seek to have God within them, and not expect to find Him in outward -righteousness, give themselves up to meditation, and seek without what -can only be found within. This meditation, in which they seldom succeed, -because God, who has better things in store for them, does not permit -them to find any rest in such an experience, only serves to increase -their longing; for their wound is at the heart, and they apply the -plaster externally, which does but foster the disease, instead of -healing it. They struggle a long time with this exercise, and their -struggling does but increase their powerlessness; and unless God, who -Himself assumes the charge of them, sends some messenger to show them a -different way, they will lose their time, and will lose it just so long -as they remain unaided. But God, who is abundant in goodness, does not -fail to send them help, though it may be but passing and temporary. As -soon, then, as they are taught that they cannot advance because their -wound is an internal one, and they are seeking to heal it by external -applications; when they are led to seek in the depths of their own -hearts what they have sought in vain out of themselves; then they find, -with an astonishment which overwhelms them, that they have within them a -treasure which they have been seeking far off. Then they rejoice in -their new liberty; they marvel that prayer is no longer a burden, and -that the more they retire within themselves, the more they taste of a -certain mysterious something which ravishes them and carries them away, -and they would wish ever to love thus, and thus to be buried within -themselves. Yet what they experience, delightful as it may appear, does -not stop them, if they are to be led into pure faith, but leads them to -follow after something more, which they have not yet known. They are now -all ardour and love. They seem already to be in Paradise; for what they -possess within themselves is infinitely sweeter than all the joys of -earth: these they can leave without pain; they would leave the whole -world to enjoy for one hour their present experience. They find that -prayer has become their continual attitude; their love increases day by -day, so that their one desire is always to love and never to be -interrupted. And as they are not now strong enough to be undisturbed by -conversation, they shun and fear it; they love to be alone, and to enjoy -the caresses of their Beloved. They have within themselves a Counsellor, -who lets them find no pleasure in earthly things, and who does not -suffer them to commit a single fault, without making them feel by His -coldness how much sin is displeasing to Him. This coldness of God, in -times of transgression, is to them the most terrible chastisement. It -seems as though God's only care were to correct and reprove them, and -His one purpose to perfect them. It is a surprise to themselves and to -others that they change more in a month by this way, and even in a day, -than in several years by the other. O God! it belongs only to Thee to -correct and to purify the hearts of Thy children! - -God has yet another means of chastising the soul, when it is further -advanced in the divine life, by making Himself more fully known to it -after it falls; then the poor soul is covered with confusion; it would -rather bear the most severe chastisement than this goodness of God after -it has sinned. - -These persons are now so full of their own feelings that they want to -impart them to others; they long to teach the whole world to love God; -their sentiments towards Him are so deep, so pure, and so disinterested, -that those who hear them speak, if they are not divinely enlightened, -believe them to have attained the height of perfection. They are -fruitful in good works; there is no reasoning here, nothing but a deep -and burning love. The soul feels itself seized and held fast by a divine -force which ravishes and consumes it. It is like intoxicated persons, -who are so possessed with wine that they do not know what they are -doing, and are no longer masters of themselves. If such as these try to -read, the book falls from their hands, and a single line suffices them; -they can hardly get through a page in a whole day, however assiduously -they may devote themselves to it, for a single word from God awakens -that secret instinct which animates and fires them, so that love closes -both their mouth and their eyes. They cannot utter verbal prayers, being -unable to pronounce them. A heart which is unaccustomed to this does not -know what it means; for it has never experienced anything like it -before, and it does not understand why it cannot pray, and yet it cannot -resist the power which overcomes it. It cannot be troubled, nor be -fearful of doing wrong, for He who holds it bound does not permit it -either to doubt that it is He who thus holds it, or to strive against -it, for if it makes an effort to pray, it feels that He who possesses it -closes its lips, and compels it, by a sweet and loving violence, to be -silent. Not that the creature cannot resist and speak by an effort, but -besides doing violence to himself he loses this divine peace, and feels -that he is becoming dry: he must allow himself to be moved upon by God -at His will, and not in his own way. The soul in this state imagines -itself to be in an inward silence, because its working is so gentle, so -easy, and so quiet that it does not perceive it. It believes itself to -have reached the summit of perfection, and it sees nothing before it but -enjoyment of the wealth it possesses. - -These Christians, so ardent and so desirous after God, begin to rest in -their condition, and gradually and insensibly to lose the loving -activity in seeking after God which formerly characterised them, being -satisfied with their joy which they substituted for God Himself; and -this rest would be to them an irreparable loss, if God, in His infinite -goodness, did not draw them out of this state to lead them into one more -advanced. But before speaking of it, let us look at the imperfections of -this stage. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -IMPERFECTIONS, INTERIOR AND EXTERIOR, OF THIS FIRST DEGREE--MISTAKES -THAT ARE MADE IN IT--ITS PASSIVITY--SPIRITUAL DRYNESS, MINGLED WITH A -TENDER BUT SELF-INTERESTED LOVE, WHICH NEEDS THE EXPERIENCE AND -PURIFICATIONS OF THE FOLLOWING DEGREE. - - -The soul in the degree of which I have just spoken can and does make -great advances, going from love to love, and from cross to cross; but it -falls so frequently, and is so selfish, that it may be said to move only -at a snail's pace, although it appears to itself and to others to -progress infinitely. The torrent is now in a flat country, and has not -yet found the slope of the mountain down which it may precipitate -itself, and take a course which is never to be stopped. - -The faults of those in this degree are a certain self-esteem, more -hidden and deeply rooted than it was before they had received these -graces and favours from God; a certain secret contempt for others whom -they see so far behind themselves, and a certain hardness for sin and -sinners; a zeal of St John before the descent of the Holy Ghost, when he -wanted to call down fire from heaven upon the Samaritans to consume -them; a certain confidence in their own safety and virtue; a secret -pride, which causes them to grieve specially over the faults which they -commit in public: they appropriate the gifts of God, and treat them as -though they were their own: they forget weakness and poverty in the -strength which they possess; so that they lose all self-distrust. Though -all this and much more is to be found in persons in this degree, they -are themselves unconscious of it; but these faults will make themselves -known in time. The grace which they feel so strongly in themselves being -an assurance to them that they have nothing to fear, they allow -themselves to speak without being divinely commissioned. They are -anxious to communicate what they feel to every one else. It is true that -they are of use to others, for their burning words take hold of the -hearts of those who hear them; but apart from the fact that they cannot -do the good they would do, if God would have them impart to others what -they have received, they are giving out of their necessity and not of -their abundance; so that they exhaust themselves; as you have seen -several pools of water under a fountain. The fountain alone gives out of -its abundance, and the pools only send into each other of the fulness -which is communicated to them; but if the fountain be closed or turned -aside, and the pools cease to overflow, then as they are cut off from -the source, they dry up. This is precisely what happens to those in this -degree. They want to be constantly sending out their waters, and it is -not till late that they perceive that the water which they had was only -for themselves, and that they are not in a state to communicate it, -because they are not connected with the source. They are like bottles of -scent which are left open: they find so much sweetness in the odour -which they emit that they do not perceive the loss they themselves -sustain. Yet they appear to practise virtue without any effort, since -they are occupied only with a general love, without reason or motive. If -you ask them what they do during the day, they will tell you that they -love; but if you ask why they love, they will tell you that they do not -know; they only know that they love, and that they burn with desire to -suffer for the object of their love. You may ask if it is not the sight -of the sufferings of their Beloved which inspires them with the longing -to suffer with Him, but they will reply that the thought of His -sufferings did not even enter their mind. Neither is it the desire to -imitate the virtues which they see in Him, for they do not think of -them, nor the sight of His beauty which enraptures them, for they do not -look at it. Only they feel in the depths of their heart a deep wound, -yet so delightful that they rest in their pain, and find their pleasure -in their grief. - -They believe now that they have arrived at the consummation of all, for -though they are full of the faults I have mentioned, and many others yet -more dangerous, which are better perceived in the following degree than -in this, they rest in their fancied perfection, and stopping at the -means, which they mistake for the end, they would remain stationary, if -God did not bring the torrent, which is now like a peaceful lake on a -mountain-top, to the brow of the hill in order to precipitate it, and to -start it on a course which will be more or less rapid according to the -depth of its fall. - -It appears to me that even the most advanced in this degree have a habit -of concealing their faults, both from themselves and others, always -finding excuses and extenuations; not designedly, but from a certain -love of their own excellence, and a habitual dissimulation under which -they hide themselves. The faults which cause them the deepest solicitude -are those which are most apparent to others. They have a hidden love of -self, stronger than ever, an esteem for their own position, a secret -desire to attract attention, an affected modesty, a facility in judging -others, and a preference for private devotion rather than domestic -duties, which renders them the cause of many of the sins of those around -them. This is of great importance. The soul, feeling itself drawn so -strongly and sweetly, desires to be always alone and in prayer, which -gives rise to two evils--the first, that in its seasons of greatest -liberty it spends too much time in solitude; the second, that when its -vigour of love is exhausted, as it often is in this way, it has not the -same strength in times of dryness; it finds it difficult to remain so -long in prayer; it readily shortens the time; its thoughts wander to -exterior objects; then it is discouraged and cast down, thinking that -all is lost, and does everything in its power to restore itself to the -presence and favour of God. - -But if such persons were strong enough to live an even life, and not to -seek to do more in seasons of abundance than in times of barrenness, -they would satisfy every one. As it is, they are troublesome to those -around them, to whom they cannot condescend, making it a favour to lay -themselves out for the satisfaction of others: they preserve an austere -silence when it is unnecessary, and at other times talk incessantly of -the things of God. A wife has scruples about pleasing her husband, -entertaining him, walking with him, or seeking to amuse him, but has -none about speaking uselessly for two hours with religious devotees. -This is a horrible abuse. We ought to be diligent in the discharge of -all duties, whatever their nature may be; and even if they do cause us -inconvenience, we shall yet find great profit in doing this, not perhaps -in the way we imagine, but in hastening the crucifixion of self. It even -seems as though our Lord shows that such sacrifice is pleasing to Him by -the grace which He sheds upon it. I knew a lady who, when playing at -cards with her husband in order to please him, experienced such deep and -intimate communion with God as she never felt in prayer, and it was the -same with everything she did at her husband's desire; but if she -neglected these things for others which she thought better, she was -conscious that she was not walking in the will of God. This did not -prevent her often committing faults, because the attractions of -meditation and the happiness of devotion, which are preferred to these -apparent losses of time, insensibly draw the soul away, and lead it to -change its course, and this by most people is looked upon as sanctity. -However, those who are to be taught the way of faith are not suffered -long to remain in these errors, because, as God designs to lead them on -to better things, He makes them conscious of their deficiency. It often -happens, too, that persons by means of this death to self, and acting -contrary to their natural inclinations, feel themselves more strongly -drawn to their inward rest; for it is natural to man to desire most -strongly what it is most difficult for him to obtain, and to desire most -intensely those things which he most earnestly resolves to avoid. This -difficulty of being able to enjoy only a partial rest increases the -rest, and causes them even in activity to feel themselves acted upon so -powerfully that they seem to have two souls within them, the inner one -being infinitely stronger than the outer. But if they leave their duties -in order to give the time to devotion, they will find it an empty form, -and all its joy will be lost. By devotion I do not mean compulsory -prayer, which is gone through as a duty that must not be avoided; -neither do I understand by activity the labours of their own choice, but -those which come within the range of positive duty. If they have spare -time at their disposal, by all means let them spend it in prayer; nor -must they lay upon themselves unnecessary burdens, and call them -obligations. When the taste for meditation is very great, the soul does -not usually fall into these last-named errors, but rather into the -former one, that of courting retirement. I knew a person who spent more -time in prayer when it was painful to her than when she felt it a -delight, struggling with the disinclination; but this is injurious to -the health, because of the violence which it does to the senses and the -understanding, which being unable to concentrate themselves upon any one -object, and being deprived of the sweet communion which formerly held -them in subjection to God, endure such torment, that the subject of it -would rather suffer the greatest trial than the violence which is -necessary to enable it to fix its thoughts on God. The person to whom I -alluded sometimes passed two or three hours successively in this painful -devotion, and she has assured me that the strangest austerities would -have been delightful to her in comparison with the time thus spent. But -as a violence so strong as this in subjects so weak is calculated to -ruin both body and mind, I think it is better not in any way to -regulate the time spent in prayer by our varying emotions. This painful -dryness of which I have spoken belongs only to the first degree of -faith, and is often the effect of exhaustion; and yet those who have -passed through it imagine themselves dead, and write and speak of it as -the most sorrowful part of the spiritual life. It is true they have not -known the contrary experience, and often they have not the courage to -pass through this, for in this sorrow the soul is deserted by God, who -withdraws from it His sensible helps, but it is nevertheless caused by -the senses, because, being accustomed to see and to feel, and never -having experienced a similar privation, they are in despair, which -however is not of long duration, for the forces of the soul are not then -in a state to bear for long such a pressure; it will either go back to -seek for spiritual food, or else it will give all up. This is why the -Lord does not fail to return: sometimes He does not even suffer the -prayer to cease before He reappears; and if He does not return during -the hour of prayer, He comes in a more manifest way during the day. - -It seems as though He repented of the suffering He has caused to the -soul of His beloved, or that He would pay back with usury what she has -suffered for His love. If this consolation last for many days, it -becomes painful. She calls Him sweet and cruel: she asks Him if He has -only wounded her that she may die. But this kind Lover laughs at her -pain, and applies to the wound a balm so sweet, that she could ask to be -continually receiving fresh wounds, that she might always find a new -delight in a healing which not only restores her former health, but -imparts one yet more abundant. - -Hitherto it has only been a play of love, to which the soul would easily -become accustomed if her Beloved did not change His conduct. O poor -hearts who complain of the flights of love! You do not know that this is -only a farce, an attempt, a specimen of what is to follow. The hours of -absence mark the days, the weeks, the months, and the years. You must -learn to be generous at your own expense, to suffer your Beloved to -come and go at His pleasure. I seem to see these young brides. They are -at the height of grief when their Beloved leaves them: they mourn His -absence as if it were death, and endeavour, as far as they can, to -prevent His departure. This love appears deep and strong, but it is not -so by any means. It is the pleasure they derive from the sight of their -Beloved which they mourn after. It is their own satisfaction they seek, -for if it were the pleasure of their Beloved, they would rejoice in the -pleasure which He found apart from them, as much as in that which He -found with them. So it is self-interested love, though it does not -appear such to them; on the contrary, they believe that they only love -Him for what He is. It is true, poor souls, you do love Him for what He -is, but you love Him because of the pleasure you find in what He is. You -reply that you are willing to suffer for your Beloved. True, provided He -will be the witness and the companion of your suffering. You say you -desire no recompense. I agree; but you do desire that He should know of -your suffering, and approve of it. You want Him to take pleasure in it. -Is there anything more plausible than the desire that He for whom we -suffer should know it, and approve of it, and take delight in it? Oh, -how much you are out in your reckoning! Your jealous Lover will not -permit you to enjoy the pleasure which you take in seeing His -satisfaction with your sorrow. You must suffer without His appearing to -see it, or to approve of it, or to know it. That would be too great a -gratification. What pain would we not suffer on such conditions! What! -to know that our Beloved sees our woes, and takes an infinite pleasure -in them! This is too great a pleasure for a generous heart! Yet I am -sure the greatest generosity of those in this degree never goes beyond -this. But to suffer without our Beloved being aware of it, when He seems -to despise what we do to please Him, and to turn away from it; to have -only scorn for what formerly seemed to charm Him; to see Him repay with -a terrible coldness and distance what we do for His sake alone, and with -terrible flights all our pursuit of Him; to lose without complaint all -that He had formerly given as pledges of His love, and which we think -we have repaid by our love, our fidelity, and our suffering; not only -uncomplainingly to suffer ourselves to be thus despoiled, but to see -others enriched with our spoils, and nevertheless not to cease to do -what would please our absent Lover; not to cease following after Him; -and if by unfaithfulness or surprise we stop for a moment, to redouble -our speed, without fearing or contemplating the precipices, although we -fall a thousand times, till we are so weary that we lose our strength, -and die from continual fatigue; when, perhaps, if our Beloved turns and -looks upon us, His glance restores life by the exquisite pleasure it -gives; until at last He becomes so cruel that He lets us die for want of -help: all this, I say, belongs not to this state, but to that which -follows. I must remark here, that the degree of which I have been -speaking is of very long duration, at least unless God intends the soul -to make great advances; and many, as I have said, never pass it. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -SECOND DEGREE OF THE PASSIVE WAY OF FAITH--SHORT DESCRIPTION OF THIS -DEGREE--ENTRANCE INTO IT AND USELESS EFFORTS TO AVOID IT--GRADATIONS AND -ADVANCEMENTS IN THIS DEGREE, IN WHICH OCCUR FREQUENT MANIFESTATIONS OF -CHRIST TO THE SOUL--THE USES AND ABUSES WHICH IT MAKES OF THEM, BY WHICH -IT IS BROUGHT TO MYSTICAL DEATH, OR TO THE THIRD DEGREE OF THIS PASSIVE -WAY OF FAITH. - - -The torrent having come to the brow of the hill, enters at the same time -into the _second degree of the passive way of faith_. This soul, which -was so peacefully resting on the mountain-top, had no thought of leaving -it. However, for want of a declivity, these waters of Heaven by their -stay upon earth were becoming tainted; for there is this difference -between stagnant waters which have no outlet, and those which are in -motion and have an outlet, that the first, with the exception of the -sea, and those large lakes which resemble it, grow putrid, and their -want of motion causes their destruction. But when, after leaving their -source, they have an easy outlet, the more rapidly they flow, the more -they are preserved. - -You will remember I remarked before of this soul, that as soon as God -imparted to it the gift of _passive_ faith, He gave it at the same time -an instinct to seek after Him as its centre; but in its unfaithfulness -it stifles by its repose this instinct to seek God, and would remain -stationary, if God did not revive this instinct by bringing it to the -edge of the mountain, whence it is compelled to precipitate itself. At -first it is sensible that it has lost that calmness which it expected to -retain for ever. Its waters, formerly so tranquil, begin to be noisy. A -tumult is seen in its waves; they run and dash over. But where do they -run? Alas! as they imagine, it is to their own destruction. If it were -in their power to desire anything, they would wish to restrain -themselves, and return to their former calm. But this is impossible. The -declivity is found; they must be precipitated from slope to slope. It is -no longer a question of abyss or of loss. The water, that is the soul, -always reappears, and is never lost in this degree. It is embroiled and -precipitated; one wave follows another, and the other takes it up and -crashes it by its precipitation. Yet this water finds on the slope of -the mountain certain flat places where it takes a little relaxation. It -delights in the clearness of its waters; and it sees that its falls, its -course, this breaking of its waves upon the rocks, have served to render -it more pure. It finds itself delivered from its noise and storms, and -thinks it has now found its resting-place; and it believes this the more -readily because it cannot doubt that the state through which it has just -passed has greatly purified it, for it sees that its waters are clearer, -and it no longer perceives the disagreeable odour which certain stagnant -parts had given to it on the top of the mountain; it has even acquired a -certain insight into its own condition; it has seen by the troubled -state of its passions (the waves) that they were not lost, but only -asleep. As when it was descending the mountain, on its way to this -level, it thought it was losing its way, and had no hope of recovering -its lost peace, so now that it no longer hears the dash of its waves, -that it finds itself flowing calmly and pleasantly along the sand, it -forgets its former trouble, and never imagines there will be a return of -it: it sees that it has acquired fresh purity, and does not fear that it -will again become soiled; for here it is not stagnant, but flows as -gently and brightly as possible. Ah, poor torrent! You think you have -found your resting-place, and are firmly established in it! You begin to -delight in your waters. The swans glide upon them, and rejoice in their -beauty. But what is your surprise while, as you are flowing along so -happily, you suddenly encounter a steeper slope, longer and more -dangerous than the first! Then the torrent recommences its tumult. -Formerly it was only a moderate noise; now it is insupportable. It -descends with a crash and a roar greater than ever. It can hardly be -said to have a bed, for it falls from rock to rock, and dashes down -without order or reason; it alarms every one by its noise; all fear to -approach it. Ah, poor torrent! what will you do? You drag away in your -fury all that comes in your way; you feel nothing but the declivity down -which you are hurried, and you think you are lost. Nay, do not fear; -you are not lost, but the time of your happiness is not yet come. There -must be many more disturbances and losses before then; you have but just -commenced your course. - -At last this dashing torrent feels that it has gained the foot of the -mountain and another level spot. It resumes its former calm, and even a -deeper one; and after having passed it may be years in these changes, it -enters the third degree, before speaking of which I will touch upon the -condition of those who enter it, and the first steps in it. The soul -having passed some time in the tranquillity of which we have spoken, -which it imagines it has secured for ever, and having, as it supposes, -acquired all the virtues in their full extent, believing all its -passions to be dead; when it is expecting to enjoy with the greatest -safety a happiness it has no fear of losing, is astonished to find that, -instead of mounting higher, or at least remaining in its present -position, it comes to the slope of the mountain. It begins, to its -amazement, to be sensible of an inclination for the things it had given -up. It sees its deep calm suddenly disturbed; distractions come in -crowds, one upon another; the soul finds only stones in its path, -dryness and aridity. A feeling of distaste comes into prayer. Its -passions, which it thought were dead, but which were only asleep, all -revive. - -It is completely astonished at this change. It would like either to -return to the top of the mountain, or at least to remain where it is; -but this cannot be. The declivity is found, and the soul must fall (not -into sin, but into a privation of the previous degree and of feeling). -It does its best to rise after it falls; it does all in its power to -restrain itself, and to cling to some devotional exercise; it makes an -effort to recover its former peace; it seeks solitude in the hope of -recovering it. But its labour is in vain. It resigns itself to suffer -its dejection, and hates the sin which has occasioned it. It longs to -put things right, but can find no means of doing it; the torrent must go -on its way; it drags with it all that is opposed to it. Then, seeing -that it no longer finds support in God, it seeks it in the creature; but -it finds none; and its unfaithfulness only increases its apprehension. -At last, the poor bride, not knowing what to do, weeping everywhere the -loss of her Beloved, is filled with astonishment when He again reveals -Himself to her. At first she is charmed at the sight, as she feared she -had lost Him for ever. She is all the more happy, because she finds that -He has brought with Him new wealth, a new purity, a great distrust of -self. She has no longer the desire to stop, as she formerly had; she -goes on continuously, but peacefully and gently, and yet she has fears -lest her peace should be disturbed. She trembles lest she should again -lose the treasure which is all the dearer to her because she had been so -sensible of its loss. She is afraid she may displease Him, and that He -will leave her again. She tries to be more faithful to Him, and not to -make an end of the means. - -However, this repose carries away the soul, ravishes it, and renders it -idle. It cannot help being sensible of its peace, and it desires to be -always alone. It has again acquired a spiritual greediness. To rob it of -solitude is to rob it of life. It is still more selfish than before, -what it possesses being more delightful. It seems to be in a new rest. -It is going along calmly, when all at once it comes to another descent, -steeper and longer than the former one. It is suddenly seized with a -fresh surprise; it endeavours to hold itself back, but in vain; it must -fall; it must dash on from rock to rock. It is astonished to find that -it has lost its love for prayer and devotion. It does violence to itself -by continuing in it. It finds only death at every step. That which -formerly revived it is now the cause of its death. Its peace has gone, -and has left a trouble and agitation stronger than ever, caused as much -by the passions, which revive (though against its will) with the more -strength as they appeared the more extinct, as by crosses, which -increase outwardly, and which it has no strength to bear. It arms itself -with patience; it weeps, groans, and is troubled. The Bride complains -that her Beloved has forsaken her; but her complaints are unheeded. Life -has become death to her. All that is good she finds difficult, but has -an inclination towards evil which draws her away. But she can find no -rest in the creature, having tasted of the Creator. She dashes on more -vehemently; and the steeper the rocks, and the greater the obstacles -which oppose her course, the more she redoubles her speed. She is like -the dove from the ark, which, finding no rest for the sole of its foot, -was obliged to return. But alas! what could the poor dove have done if, -when it desired to re-enter the ark, Noah had not put out his hand to -take it in? It could only have fluttered round about the ark, seeking -rest but finding none. So this poor dove flutters round the ark till the -Divine Noah, having compassion on her distress, opens the door and -receives her to Himself. Oh, wonderful and loving invention of the -goodness of God! He only eludes the search of the soul to make it flee -more quickly to Him. He hides Himself that He may be sought after. He -apparently lets her fall, that He may have the joy of sustaining her and -raising her up. Oh, strong and vigorous ones, who have never experienced -these artifices of love, these apparent jealousies, these flights, -lovely to the soul which has passed them, but terrible to those who -experience them! You, I say, who do not know these flights of love, -because you are satisfied with the abiding presence of your Beloved; or, -if He hide Himself, it is for so short a time that you cannot judge of -the joy of His presence by the pain of a long absence; you have never -experienced your weakness, and your need of His help; but those who are -thus forsaken learn to lean no longer on themselves, but only on the -Beloved. His rigours have rendered His gentleness the more needful for -them. - -These persons often commit faults through sheer weakness, and because -they are deprived of all sensible support; and these faults so fill them -with shame, that, if they could, they would hide themselves from their -Beloved. Alas! in the terrible confusion into which they are thrown, He -gives them a glimpse of Himself. He touches them with His sceptre, like -another Ahasuerus (Esther v. 2), that they may not die; but His tender -caresses only serve to increase their confusion at the thought of having -displeased Him. At other times He makes them sensible, by His severity, -how much their unfaithfulness displeases Him. Oh! then if they could -sink into dust, they would. They would do anything to repair the injury -done to God; and if, by any slight neglects, which appear crimes to -them, they have offended their neighbour, what return are they not -willing to make? But it is pitiful to see the state of that one who has -driven away her Beloved. She does not cease to run after Him, but the -faster she goes, the further He seems to leave her behind; and if He -stops, it is only for a moment, that she may recover breath. She feels -now that she must die; for she no longer finds life in anything; all has -become death to her; prayer, reading, conversation--all is dead: she -loses the joy of service, or rather, she dies to it, performing it with -so much pain and weariness, that it is as death to her. At last, after -having fought well, but uselessly, after a long succession of conflicts -and rest, of lives and deaths, she begins to see how she has abused the -grace of God, and that this state of death is better for her than life; -for as she sees her Beloved returning, and finds that she possesses Him -more purely, and that the state which preceded her rejoicing was a -purification for her, she abandons herself willingly to _death_, and to -the coming and going of her Beloved, giving Him full liberty to go and -come as He will. She receives instruction as she is able to bear it. -Little by little she loses her joy in herself, and is thus prepared for -a new condition. - -But before speaking of it, let me say, that in proportion as the soul -advances, its joys become short, simple, and pure, and its privations -long and agonising, until it has lost its _own_ joy, to find it no more: -and this is the _third degree_, that of _death_, _burial_, and _decay_. -This second degree ends in death, and goes no further. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -Section I. - -THIRD DEGREE OF THE PASSIVE WAY OF FAITH, IN ITS COMMENCEMENT, AND ITS -PROGRESS BY VARIOUS SPECIAL DEATHS TO A TOTAL DEATH, TO BURIAL, AND TO -DECAY--DURATION OF THIS TRANSITION, IN WHICH THERE MUST BE NO -ADVANCEMENT BEYOND FAITH, NOR ANY RECEDING--SPOLIATION OF THE SOUL, AND -THE THREE DEGREES OF IT--FIRST DEGREE, WHICH CONCERNS GIFTS, GRACES, AND -FAVOURS, OR ORNAMENTS--ITS NECESSITY AND EFFECTS. - - -You have seen dying persons who, after they have been believed to be -dead, have all at once assumed a new strength, and retained it until -their death; as a lamp whose oil is spent flickers in the surrounding -darkness, but only to die out the more quickly: thus the soul casts out -flames, which only last for a moment. It has bravely resisted death; but -its oil is spent: the Sun of Righteousness has so withered it up, that -it is forced to die. But does this Sun design anything else with its -fierce rays, except the consumption of the soul? And the poor soul thus -burned thinks that it is frozen! The truth is, that the torment it -suffers prevents its recognising the nature of its pain. So long as the -Sun was obscured by clouds, and gave out rays to a certain extent -moderated, it felt the heat, and thought it was burning, while in -reality it was but slightly warmed: but when the Sun flashed full upon -it, then the soul felt itself burning, without believing that it was so -much as warmed. O loving deceit! O sweet and cruel Love! Have you lovers -only to deceive them thus? You wound these hearts, and then hide your -darts, and make them pursue after that which has wounded them. You -attract them, and show yourself to them, and when they long to possess -you, you flee from them. When you see the soul reduced to the last -extremity, and out of breath from its constant pursuit, you show -yourself for a moment that it may recover life, only to be killed a -thousand times with ever-increasing severity. - -O rigorous Lover! innocent murderer! Why dost Thou not kill with a -single blow? Why give wine to an expiring heart, and restore life in -order to destroy it afresh? This is Thy sport. Thou woundest to the -death; and when Thou seest the victim on the point of expiring, Thou -healest one wound in order to inflict another! Alas! usually we die but -once; and the very cruellest murderers in times of persecution, though -they prolonged life, it is true, yet were content to destroy it but -once. But Thou, less compassionate than they, takest away our life time -after time, and restorest it again. - -O life, which cannot be lost without so many deaths! O death, which can -only be attained by the loss of so many lives! Perhaps this soul, after -thou hast devoured it in Thy bosom, will enjoy its Beloved. That would -be too great happiness for it: it must undergo another torture. It must -be _buried_ and reduced to _ashes_. But perhaps it will then arrive at -the end of its sufferings, for bodies which decay suffer no longer. Oh! -it is not thus with the soul: it suffers continually; and burial, decay, -and nothingness are even more sensibly felt by it than death itself. - -This degree of _death_ is extremely long, and as I have said that very -few pass the other degrees, so I say that far less pass this one. Many -people have been astonished to see very holy persons, who have lived -like angels, die in terrible anguish, and even despairing of their -salvation. It is because they have died in this mystical death; and as -God wished to promote their advancement, because they were near their -end, He redoubled their sorrow. The work of stripping the soul must be -left wholly to God. He will do the work perfectly, and the soul will -second the spoliation and the death, without putting hindrances in the -way. But to do the work for ourselves is to lose everything, and to make -a vile state of a divine one. There are persons who, hearing of this -spoliation, have effected it for themselves, and remain always -stationary; for as the stripping is their own work, God does not clothe -them with Himself. The design of God in stripping the soul is to clothe -it again. He only impoverishes that He may enrich, and He substitutes -_Himself_ for all that He takes away, which cannot be the case with -those whose spoliation is their own work. They indeed lose the gifts of -God, but they do not possess God Himself in exchange. - -In this degree the soul has not learned to let itself be stripped, -emptied, impoverished, killed; and all its efforts to sustain itself -will but be its irreparable loss, for it is seeking to preserve a life -which must be lost. As a person wishing to cause a lamp to die out -without extinguishing it, would only have to cease to supply it with -oil, and it would die out of itself; but if this person, while -persistently expressing a wish that the lamp should go out, continued -replenishing it with oil from time to time, the lamp would never go out: -it is the same with the soul in this degree, which holds on, however -feebly, to life. If it consoles itself, does not suffer itself to be -killed, in a word, if it performs any actions of life whatever, it will -thereby retard its death. O poor soul! fight no longer against death, -and you will live by your death. I seem to see a drowning man before me; -he makes every effort to rise to the surface of the water; he holds on -to anything that offers itself to his grasp; he preserves his life so -long as his strength holds out; he is only drowned when that strength -fails. It is thus with Christians. They endeavour as long as possible to -prevent their death; it is only the failure of all power which makes -them die. God, who wishes to hasten this death, and who has compassion -upon them, cuts off the hands with which they cling to a support, and -thus obliges them to sink into the deep. Crosses become multiplied, and -the more they increase, the greater is the helplessness to bear them, so -that they seem as though they never could be borne. The most painful -part of this condition is, that the trouble always begins by some fault -in the sufferer, who believes he has brought it upon himself. - -At last the soul is reduced to utter self-despair. It consents that God -should deprive it of the joy of His gifts, and admits that He is just in -doing it. It does not even hope to possess these gifts again. - -When those who are in this condition see others who are manifestly -living in communion with God, their anguish is redoubled, and they sink -in the sense of their own nothingness. They long to be able to imitate -them, but finding all their efforts useless, they are compelled to die. -They say in the language of Scripture, "The thing which I greatly feared -is come upon me" (Job iii. 25). What! they say, to lose God, and to lose -Him for ever, without the hope of ever finding Him again! To be deprived -of love for time and for eternity! To be unable to love Him whom I know -to be so worthy of my affection! - -Oh! is it not sufficient, Divine Lover, to cast off your spouse, to turn -away from her, without compelling her to lose love, and lose it, as it -seems, for ever? She believes she has lost it, and yet she never loved -more strongly or more purely. She has indeed lost the vigour, the -sensible strength of love; but she has not lost love itself; on the -contrary, she possesses it in a greater degree than ever. She cannot -believe this, and yet it is easily known; for the heart cannot exist -without love. If it does not love God, its affection is concentrated -upon some other object: but here the bride of Christ is far from taking -pleasure in anything. She regards the revolt of her passions and her -involuntary faults as terrible crimes, which draw upon her the hatred -of her Beloved. She seeks to cleanse and to purify herself, but she is -no sooner washed than she seems to fall into a slough yet more filthy -and polluted than that from which she has just escaped. She does not see -that it is because she runs that she contracts defilement, and falls so -frequently, yet she is so ashamed to run in this condition, that she -does not know where to hide herself. Her garments are soiled; she loses -all she has in the race. - -Her Bridegroom aids in her spoliation for two reasons: the first, -because she has soiled her beautiful garments by her vain complaisances, -and has appropriated the gifts of God in reflections of self-esteem. The -second, because in running, her course will be impeded by this burden of -appropriation; even the fear of losing such riches would lessen her -speed. - -O poor soul! what art thou become? Formerly thou wast the delight of thy -Bridegroom, when He took such pleasure in adorning and beautifying thee; -now thou art so naked, so ragged, so poor, that thou darest neither to -look upon thyself nor to appear before Him. Those who gaze upon thee, -who, after having so much admired thee, see thee now so disfigured, -believe that either thou hast grown mad, or that thou hast committed -some great crime, which has caused thy Beloved to abandon thee. They do -not see that this jealous Husband, who desires that His bride should be -His alone, seeing that she is amusing herself with her ornaments, that -she delights in them, that she is in love with herself; seeing this, I -say, and that she sometimes ceases looking at Him in order to look at -herself, and that her love to Him is growing cold because her self-love -is so strong, is stripping her, and taking away all her beauties and -riches from before her eyes. - -In the abundance of her wealth, she takes delight in contemplating -herself: she sees good qualities in herself, which engage her affection, -and alienate it from her Bridegroom. In her foolishness she does not see -that she is only fair with the beauties of her Beloved; and that if He -removed these, she would be so hideous that she would be frightened at -herself. More than this, she neglects to follow Him wherever He goes; -she fears lest she may spoil her complexion, or lose her jewels. O -jealous Love! how well is it that thou comest to chastise this proud -one, and to take from her what Thou hast given, that she may learn to -know herself, and that, being naked and destitute, nothing may impede -her course. - -Thus, then, our Lord strips the soul little by little, robbing her of -her ornaments, all her gifts, positions, and favours--that is, as to her -perception or conscious possession of them--which are like jewels that -weigh her down; then He takes away her natural capacity for good, which -are her garments; after which He destroys her personal beauty, which -sets forth divine virtue, which she finds it impossible to practise. - -This spoliation commences with the graces, gifts, and favours of -conscious love. The bride sees that her husband takes from her, little -by little, the riches He had bestowed upon her. At first she is greatly -troubled by this loss; but what troubles her the most, is not so much -the loss of her riches, as the anger of her Beloved; for she thinks it -is in anger that He thus takes back His gifts. She sees the abuse she -had made of them, and the delight she had been taking in them, which so -fills her with shame that she is ready to die of confusion. She lets Him -do as He will, and dares not say, "Why dost Thou take from me what Thou -hast given?" for she sees that she deserves it, and looks on in silence. - -Though she keeps silence, it is not so profound now as afterwards; it is -broken by mingled sobs and sighs. But she is astonished to find, when -she looks at her Bridegroom, that He appears to be angry with her for -weeping over His justice towards her, in no longer allowing her the -opportunity of abusing His gifts, and for thinking so lightly of the -abuse she has made of them. She tries then to let Him know that she does -not care about the loss of His gifts, if only He will cease His anger -towards her. She shows Him her tears and her grief at having displeased -Him. It is true that she is so sensible of the anger of her Beloved that -she no longer thinks of her riches. After allowing her to weep for a -long time, her Lover appears to be appeased. He consoles her, and with -His own hand He dries her tears. What a joy it is to her to see the new -goodness of her Beloved, after what she has done! Yet He does not -restore her former riches, and she does not long for them, being only -too happy to be looked upon, consoled, and caressed by Him. At first she -receives His caresses with so much confusion, that she dare not lift her -eyes, but forgetting her past woes in her present happiness, she loses -herself in the new caresses of her Beloved, and thinking no more of her -past miseries, she glories and rests in these caresses, and thereby -compels the Bridegroom to be angry again, and to despoil her anew. - -It must be observed that God despoils the loss little by little; and the -weaker the souls may be, the longer the spoliation continues; while the -stronger they are, the sooner it is completed, because God despoils them -oftener and of more things at once. But however rough this spoliation -may be, it only touches superfluities on the outside, that is to say, -gifts, graces, and favours. - -This leading of God is so wonderful, and is the result of such deep love -to the soul, that it would never be believed, except by those who have -experienced it; for the heart is so full of itself, and so permeated -with self-esteem, that if God did not treat it thus, it would be lost. - -It will perhaps be asked, If the gifts of God are productive of such -evil consequences, why are they given? God gives them, in the fulness of -His goodness, in order to draw the soul from sin, from attachment to the -creature, and to bring it back to Himself. But these same gifts with -which He gratifies it--that He may wean it from earth and from self to -love Him, at least from gratitude--we use to excite our self-love and -self-admiration, to amuse ourselves with them; and self-love is so -deeply rooted in man, that it is augmented by these gifts; for he finds -in himself new charms, which he had not discovered before; he delights -in them, and appropriates to himself what belongs only to God. It is -true, God could deliver him from it, but He does not do it, for reasons -known only to Himself. The soul, thus despoiled by God, loses a little -of its self-love, and begins to see that it was not so rich as it -fancied, but that all its virtue was in Christ; it sees that it has -abused His grace, and consents that He should take back His gifts. The -bride says, "I shall be rich with the riches of my Bridegroom, and -though He may keep them, yet, from my union in heart and will with Him, -they will still be mine." She is even glad to lose these gifts of God; -she finds herself unencumbered, better fitted for walking. Gradually she -becomes accustomed to this spoliation; she knows it has been good for -her; she is no longer grieved because of it; and, as she is so -beautiful, she satisfies herself that she will not cease to please her -Bridegroom by her natural beauty and her simple garments, as much as she -could with all her ornaments. - - -Section II. - -SECOND DEGREE OF THE SPOLIATION OF THE SOUL, AS TO ITS GARMENTS, OR ITS -FACILITY FOR THE EXTERIOR PRACTICE OF VIRTUE--ITS CAUSES, WHICH ARE THE -APPROPRIATION OF THESE VIRTUES, AND SATISFACTION IN THEM, INSTEAD OF THE -RECOGNITION OF NATURAL HELPLESSNESS, AND ABSENCE OF ALL GOOD IN SELF. - - -When the poor bride is expecting always to live in peace, in spite of -this loss, and sees clearly the good which has resulted to her from it, -and the harm she had done to herself by the bad use which she had made -of the gifts which now have been taken from her, she is completely -astonished to find that the Bridegroom, who had only given her temporary -peace because of her weakness, comes with yet greater violence to tear -off her clothing from her. - -Alas, poor bride! what wilt thou do now? This is far worse than before, -for these garments are necessary to her, and it is contrary to all -propriety to suffer herself to be stripped of them. Oh! it is now that -she makes all the resistance in her power. She brings forward all the -reasons why her Bridegroom should not thus leave her naked: she tells -Him that it will bring reproach upon Himself. "Alas!" she cries, "I have -lost all the virtues which Thou hast bestowed upon me, Thy gifts, the -sweetness of Thy love! But still I was able to make an outward -profession of virtue; I engaged in works of charity; I prayed -assiduously, even though I was deprived of Thy sensible benefits: but I -cannot consent to lose all this. I was still clothed according to my -position, and looked upon by the world as Thy bride: but if I lose my -garments, it will bring shame upon Thee." "It matters not, poor soul; -thou must consent to this loss also: thou dost not yet know thyself; -thou believest that thy raiment is thine own, and that thou canst use it -as thou wilt. But though I acquired it at such a cost, thou hast given -it back to me as if it were a recompense on thy part for the labours I -have endured for Thee. Let it go; thou must lose it." The soul having -done its best to keep it, lets it go, little by little, and finds itself -gradually despoiled. It finds no inclination for anything; on the -contrary, all is distasteful to it. Formerly it had aversions and -difficulties, without absolute powerlessness; but here all power is -taken from it: its strength of body and mind fails entirely; the -inclination for better things alone remains, and this is the last robe, -which must finally be lost. - -This is done very gradually, and the process is extremely painful, -because the bride sees all the while that it has been caused by her own -folly. She dares not speak, lest she may irritate the Bridegroom, whose -anger is worse to her than death. She begins to know herself better, to -see that she is nothing in herself, and that all belongs to her -Bridegroom. She begins to distrust herself, and, little by little, she -loses her self-esteem. - -But she does not yet hate herself, for she is still beautiful, though -naked. From time to time she casts a pitiful look towards the -Bridegroom, but she says not a word: she is grieved at His anger. It -seems to her that the spoliation would be of little moment if she had -not offended Him, and if she had not rendered herself unworthy to wear -her nuptial robes. - -If she was confused when at the first her riches were taken from her, -her confusion at the sight of her nakedness is infinitely more painful. -She cannot bear to appear before her Bridegroom, so deep is her shame. -But she must remain, and run hither and thither in this state. What! is -it not even permitted to her to hide herself? No; she must appear thus -in public. The world begins to think less highly of her. It says, "Is -this that bride who was once the admiration of angels and of men? See -how she has fallen!" These words increase her confusion, because she is -well aware that her Bridegroom has dealt justly with her. She does what -she can to induce Him to clothe her a little, but He will do nothing, -after having thus stripped her of all, for her garments would satisfy -her by covering her, and would prevent her seeing herself as she is. - -It is a great surprise to a soul that thinks itself far advanced towards -perfection to see itself thus despoiled all at once. It imagines the old -sins, from which it was once purged, must have returned. But it is -mistaken: the secret is, that she was so hidden by her garments as to be -unable to see what she was. It is a terrible thing for a soul to be thus -stripped of the gifts and graces of God, and it is impossible that any -should know or imagine what it is without the actual experience of it. - - -Section III. - -THIRD DEGREE OF THE SPOLIATION OF THE SOUL, WHICH CONCERNS ITS BEAUTY, -OR THE PERCEPTIBLE ACTION OF DIVINE VIRTUE--HOW GOD THUS LEADS THE SOUL -TO SELF-DESPAIR AND TO TRUE PURITY--INTERVAL OF REST, FOLLOWED BY THE -INCREASE OF THE PRECEDING OPERATIONS, TILL THEY END IN MYSTIC DEATH. - - -All this would be but little if the bride still retained her beauty; but -the Bridegroom robs her of that also. Hitherto she has been despoiled of -gifts, graces, and favours (facility for good): she has lost all good -works, such as outward charity, care for the poor, readiness to help -others, but she has not lost the divine virtues. Here, however, these -too must be lost, so far as their practice is concerned, or rather the -habit of exercising them, as acquired by herself, in order to appear -fair: in reality, they are all the while being more strongly implanted. -She loses virtue as virtue, but it is only that she may find it again in -CHRIST. This degraded bride becomes, as she imagines, filled with pride. -She, who was so patient, who suffered so easily, finds that she can -suffer nothing. Her senses revolt her by continual distractions. She -can no longer restrain herself by her own efforts, as formerly; and what -is worse, she contracts defilement at every step. She complains to her -Beloved that the watchmen that go about the city have found her and -wounded her (Cant. v. 7). I ought, however, to say that persons in this -condition do not sin willingly. God usually reveals to them such a -deep-seated corruption within themselves, that they cry with Job, "Oh, -that Thou wouldest hide me in the grave, that Thou wouldest keep me in -secret, until Thy wrath be past!" (Job xiv. 13). - -It must not be supposed that either here or at any other stage of -progress God suffers the soul really to fall into sin; and so truly is -this the case, that though they appear in their own eyes the most -miserable sinners, yet they can discover no definite sin of which they -are guilty, and only accuse themselves of being full of misery, and of -having only sentiments contrary to their desires. It is to the glory of -God that, when He makes the soul most deeply conscious of its inward -corruption, He does not permit it to fall into sin. What makes its -sorrow so terrible is, that it is overwhelmed with a sense of the -purity of God, and that purity makes the smallest imperfection appear as -a heinous sin, because of the infinite distance between the purity of -God and the impurity of the creature. The soul sees that it was -originally created pure by God, and that it has contracted not only the -original sin of Adam, but thousands of actual sins, so that its -confusion is greater than can be expressed. The reason why Christians in -this condition are despised by others, is not to be found in any -particular faults which are observed in them, but because, as they no -longer manifest the same ardour and fidelity which formerly -distinguished them, the greatness of their fall is judged from this, -which is a great mistake. Let this serve to explain or modify any -statements or representations in the sequel, which may appear to be -expressed too strongly, and which those who do not understand the -experience might be liable to misinterpret. Observe, also, that when I -speak of _corruption_, of _decay_, &c., I mean the destruction of the -old man by the central conviction, and by an intimate experience of the -depth of impurity and selfishness which there is in the heart of man, -which, bringing him to see himself as he is apart from God, causes him -to cry with David, "I am a worm and no man" (Ps. xxii. 6), and with Job, -"If I wash myself with snow water, and make my hands never so clean, yet -shalt Thou plunge me in the ditch, and mine own clothes shall abhor me" -(Job ix. 30, 31). - -It is not, then, that this poor bride commits the faults of which she -imagines herself guilty, for in heart she was never purer than now; but -her senses and natural powers, particularly the senses, being -unsupported, wander away. Besides which, as the speed of her course -towards God redoubles, and she forgets herself more, it is not to be -wondered at that in running she soils herself in the muddy places -through which she passes; and as all her attention is directed towards -her Beloved, although she does not perceive it by reason of her own -condition, she thinks no more of herself, and does not notice where she -steps. So that, while believing herself most guilty, she does not -willingly commit a single sin; though all her sins appear voluntary to -herself, they are rather faults of surprise, which often she does not -see until after they are committed. She cries to her Bridegroom, but He -does not heed her, at least not perceptibly, though He sustains her with -an invisible hand. Sometimes she tries to do better, but then she -becomes worse; for the design of her Bridegroom in letting her fall -_without wounding herself_ (Ps. xxxvii. 24) is that she should lean no -longer on herself; that she should recognise her helplessness; that she -should sink into complete self-despair; and that she should say, "My -soul chooseth death rather than life" (Job vii. 15). It is here that the -soul begins truly to _hate itself_ and to _know itself_ as it would -never have done if it had not passed through this experience. - -All our natural knowledge of self, whatever may be its degree, is not -sufficient to cause us really to hate ourselves. "He that loveth his -life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world, shall -keep it unto life eternal" (John xii. 25). It is only such an experience -as this which can reveal to the soul its infinite depth of misery. No -other way can give true purity; if it give any at all, it is only -superficial, and not in the depth of the heart, where the impurity is -seated. - -Here God searches the inmost recesses of the soul for that hidden -impurity which is the effect of the self-esteem and self-love which He -designs to destroy. Take a sponge which is full of impurities, wash it -as much as you will, you will clean the outside, but you will not render -it clean throughout unless you press it, in order to squeeze out all the -filth. This is what God does. He squeezes the soul in a painful manner, -but He brings out from it that which was the most deeply hidden. - -I say, then, that this is the only way in which we can be purified -radically; and without it we should always be filthy, though outwardly -we might appear very clean. It is necessary that God should make the -soul thoroughly sensible of its condition. We could never believe, -without the experience, of what nature left to itself is capable. Yes, -indeed, our own being, abandoned to itself, is worse than all devils. -Therefore we must not believe that the soul in this state of misery is -abandoned by God. It was never better sustained; but nature is, as it -were, left a little alone, and makes all these ravages without the soul -in itself taking any part in them. This poor desolate bride, running -hither and thither in search of her Beloved, not only soils herself -grievously, as I have said, by falling into faults of surprise and -self-esteem, but she wounds herself with the thorns that come in her -way. She becomes so wearied at length that she is forced to die in her -race for want of help; that is, to expect nothing from herself or her -own activity. - -That which is productive of the highest good to the soul in this -condition is that God manifests no pity towards it; and when He desires -to promote its advancement, He lets it run even to death; if He stops it -for a moment, by doing which He ravishes and revives it, it is because -of its weakness, and in order that its weariness may not compel it to -rest. - -When He sees that it is becoming disheartened and inclined to give up -the race altogether, He looks upon it for a moment, and the poor bride -finds herself wounded anew by this look. She would willingly say to -Him, "Alas! why hast Thou thus compelled me to run? Oh, that I could -find Thee; and see Thee face to face!" But alas! when she seems to lay -hold of Him, He flees from her again. "I sought Thee," she cries, "but I -found Thee not" (Cant. iii. 1). - -As this look from her Bridegroom has increased her love, she redoubles -her speed in order to find Him: nevertheless she was delayed just so -long as the look lasted, that is, in sensible joy. This is why the -Bridegroom does not often cast such looks upon her, and only when He -sees that her courage is failing. - -The soul then dies at the end of its race, because all its active -strength is exhausted; for though it had been passive, it had not lost -its active strength, though it had been unconscious of it. The bride -said, "Draw me, we will run after thee" (Cant. i. 3). She ran indeed, -but how? By the loss of all; as the sun travels incessantly, yet without -quitting his repose. In this condition she so hates herself, that she -can hardly suffer herself. She thinks her Bridegroom has good reason to -treat her as He does, and that it is His indignation against her which -makes Him leave her. She does not see that it is in order to make her -run that He flees, that it is in order that He may purify her that He -suffers her to become so soiled. When we put iron in the fire, to purify -it and to purge it from its dross, it appears at first to be tarnished -and blackened, but afterwards it is easy to see that it has been -purified. Christ only makes His bride experience her own weakness, that -she may lose all strength and all support in herself, and that, in her -self-despair, He may carry her in His arms, and she may be willing to be -thus borne; for whatever her course may be, she walks as a child; but -when she is in God, and is borne by Him, her progress is infinite, since -it is that of God Himself. - -In addition to all this degradation, the bride sees others adorned with -her spoils. When she sees a holy soul, she dare not approach it; she -sees it adorned with all the ornaments which her Bridegroom has taken -from her; but though she admires it, and sinks into the depths of -nothingness, she cannot desire to have these ornaments again, so -conscious is she of her unworthiness to wear them. She thinks it would -be a profanation to put them upon a person so covered with mud and -defilement. She even rejoices to see that, if she fills her Beloved with -horror, there are others in whom He can take delight, and whom she -regards as infinitely happy in having gained the love of her God: as for -the ornaments, though she sees others decorated with them, she does not -suppose that these are the sources of their happiness. If she sees any -blessedness in the possession of them, it is because they are the tokens -of the love of her Beloved. When she is thus sensible of her littleness -in the presence of such as these, whom she regards as queens, she does -not know the good which will result to her from this nakedness, death, -and decay. Her Bridegroom only unclothes her that He may be Himself her -clothing: "Put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ," says St Paul (Rom. xiii. -14). He only kills her that He may be her life: "If we be dead with -Christ, we believe that we shall also live with Him." He only -annihilates her that she may be transformed in Himself. - -This loss of virtue is only brought about by degrees, as well as the -other losses, and this apparent inclination for evil is involuntary; for -that evil which makes us so vile in our own eyes is really no evil at -all. - -The things which bring defilement to these persons are certain faults -which only lie in the feelings. As soon as they see the beauty of a -virtue, they seem to be incessantly falling into the contrary vice: for -example, if they love truth, they speak hastily or with exaggeration, -and fancy they lie at every moment, although in fact they do but speak -against their sentiments; and it is thus with all the other virtues; the -more important these virtues are, and the more strongly they cling to -them, because they appear the more essential, the greater is the force -with which they are torn from them. - - -Section IV. - -ENTRANCE OF THE SOUL INTO MYSTIC DEATH, AS TO ITS SENSIBILITIES, POWERS, -AND EVEN ITS PERCEIVED FOUNDATION--IMPORTANT OBSERVATIONS ON THIS -CONDITION. - - -This poor soul, after having lost its all, must at last lose _its own -life_ by an utter self-despair, or rather it must die worn out by -terrible fatigue. Prayer in this degree is extremely painful, because -the soul being no longer able to make use of its own powers, of which it -seems to be entirely deprived, and God having taken from it a certain -sweet and profound calm which supported it, is left like those poor -children whom we see running here and there in search of bread, yet -finding no one to supply their need, so that the power of prayer seems -to be as entirely lost as if we had never possessed it; but with this -difference, that we feel the pain occasioned by the loss, because we -have proved its value by its possession, while others are not sensible -of the loss, because they have never known its enjoyment. The soul, -then, can find no support in the creature; and if it feels itself -carried away by the things of earth, it is only by impetuosity, and it -can find nothing to satisfy it. Not that it does not seek to abandon -itself to the things in which it formerly delighted; but alas! it finds -in them nothing but bitterness, so that it is glad to leave them again, -taking nothing back but sadness at its own unfaithfulness. - -The _imagination_ goes altogether astray, and is scarcely ever at rest. -The three powers of the soul, the _understanding_, the _memory_, and the -_will_, by degrees lose their life, so that at length they become -altogether dead, which is very painful to the soul, especially as -regards the will, which had been tasting I know not what of sweetness -and tranquillity, which comforted the other powers in their deadness and -powerlessness. - -This unexplainable something which sustains the soul at its foundation, -as it were, is the hardest of all to lose, and that which the soul -endeavours the most strenuously to retain; for as it is too delicate, so -it appears the more divine and necessary: it would consent willingly to -be deprived of the two other powers, and even of the will, so far as it -is a distinct and perceived thing, if only this something might be left; -for it could bear all its labours if it may have within itself the -witness that it is born of God. - -However, this must be lost, like the rest--that is, as to the -sentiment--and then the soul enters into the sensible realisation of all -the misery with which it is filled. And it is this which really produces -_the spiritual death_; for whatever misery the soul might endure, if -this, I know not what, were not lost, it would not die; and if, on the -other hand, this were lost without the soul being conscious of its -misery, it would be supported, and would not die. It can easily -understand that it must give up all dependence upon its own feelings or -upon any natural support, but to lose an almost imperceptible comfort, -and to fall from weakness, to fall into the mire, to this it cannot -consent. This is where reason fails, this is where terrible fears fill -the heart, which seems to have only sufficient life to be sensible of -its death. - -It is, then, the loss of this imperceptible support, and the experience -of this misery, which causes death. - -We should be very careful, in such times as these, not to let our senses -be led away willingly to creatures, seeking willingly consolation and -diversion. I say _willingly_, for we are incapable of mortifications and -attentions reflected upon ourselves, and the more we have mortified -ourselves, the stronger will be the bearing in the contrary direction, -without being aware of it; like a madman, who goes wandering about, if -you attempt to keep him too rigorously within bounds, apart from its -being useless, it would retard his death. - -What must we do then? We must be careful to give no support to the -senses, to suffer them, and to let them find recreation in innocent -ways; for as they are not capable of an inward operation, by -endeavouring to restrain them we should injure health, and even mental -strength. What I say applies only to this degree; for if we were to make -this use of the senses in the time of the strength and activity of -grace, we should do wrong; and our Lord Himself in His goodness makes us -see the conduct that we should pursue; for at first, He puts such a -pressure on the senses, they have no liberty. They only have to desire -something in order to be deprived of it; God orders it thus that the -senses may be drawn from their imperfect operation, to be confined -within the heart; and in severing them outwardly, He binds them inwardly -so gently, that it costs them little to be deprived of everything; they -even find more pleasure in this deprivation than in the possession of -all things. But when they are sufficiently purified, God, who wishes to -draw the soul out of itself with a contrary movement, permits the senses -to expand outwardly, which appears to the soul as a great impurity. -However, it has now happened seasonably, and to endeavour to order -things otherwise, would be to purify ourselves in a different way from -that which God desires, and therefore to defile ourselves anew. - -This does not prevent our making mistakes in this outward development of -the senses; but the confusion which it occasions us, and our fidelity in -making use of it, is the furnace in which we are most quickly purified, -by dying the soonest to ourselves. It is here also that we lose the -esteem of men. They look on us with contempt, and say, "Are not these -the persons whom we formerly admired? How are they become thus -disfigured?" "Alas!" we reply, "look not upon me, because I am black" -(Cant. i. 6). "It is the sun which has thus discoloured me." It is at -this point that we suddenly enter the third degree, that of burial and -decay. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -THIRD DEGREE OF THE PASSIVE WAY OF FAITH IN ITS -CONSUMMATION--CONSUMMATED STATE OF SPIRITUAL -DEATH--BURIAL--DECAY--ADVICE AS TO THE CONDUCT OF PERSONS IN THESE -CONDITIONS, WHICH ARE FOLLOWED BY A NEW LIFE. - - -The torrent, as we have said, has passed through every imaginable -vicissitude. It has been dashed against rocks; indeed, its course has -been but a succession of falls from rock to rock; but it has always -reappeared, and we have never seen it really lost. Now it begins to lose -itself in gulf after gulf. Formerly it still had a course, though it was -so precipitate, so confused, and so irregular; but here it is engulphed -with a yet greater precipitation in unsearchable depths. For a long time -it disappears altogether from view, then we perceive it slightly, but -more by hearing than by sight, and it only appears to be again -precipitated in a deeper gulf. It falls from abyss to abyss, from -precipice to precipice, until at last it falls into the depths of the -sea, where, losing all form, it is lost to be found no more, having -become one with the sea itself. The soul, after many deaths, expires at -last in the arms of Love; but it does not even perceive those arms. It -has no sooner expired, than it loses all vital action, all desire, -inclination, tendency, choice, repugnance, and aversion. As it draws -near to death, it grows weaker; but its life, though languishing and -agonising, is still life, and "while there is life there is hope," even -though death be inevitable. The torrent must be buried out of sight. - -O God! what is this? What were only precipices become abysses. The soul -falls into a depth of misery from which there is no escape. At first -this abyss is small, but the further the soul advances, the stronger -does it appear, so that it goes from bad to worse; for it is to be -remarked, that when we first enter a degree, there clings to us much -that we have brought in with us, and at the end we already begin to feel -symptoms of that which is to come. It is also noticeable that each -degree contains within it an infinitude of others. - -A man, after his death and before his burial, is still among the living: -he still has the face of a man, though he is an object of terror; thus -the soul, in the commencement of this degree, still bears some -resemblance to what it was before; there remains in it a certain secret -impression of God, as there remains in a dead body a certain animal heat -which gradually leaves it. The soul still practises devotion and prayer, -but this is soon taken away from it. It must lose not only all prayer, -every gift of God, but God Himself to all appearance--that is, so far as -He was possessed selfishly by the _ego_--and not lose Him for one, two, -or three years, but for ever. All facility for good, all active virtue, -are taken from it; it is left naked and despoiled of everything. The -world, which formerly esteemed it so much, begins to fear it. Yet it is -no visible sin which produces the contempt of men, but a powerlessness -to practise its former good works with the same facility. Formerly whole -days were spent in the visitation of the sick, often even against -natural inclination; such works as these can be practised no longer. - -The soul will soon be in an entire oblivion. Little by little, it loses -everything in such a degree, that it is altogether impoverished. The -world tramples it under foot, and thinks no more of it. O poor soul! -thou must see thyself treated thus, and see it with terror, without -being able to prevent it. It must suffer itself to be buried, covered -with earth, and trodden under foot by all men. - -It is here that heavy crosses are borne, and all the heavier that they -are believed to be merited. The soul begins to have a horror of itself. -God casts it so far off, that He seems determined to abandon it for -ever. Poor soul! thou must be patient, and remain in thy sepulchre. It -is content to remain there, though in terrible suffering, because it -sees no way of escape from it; and it sees, too, that it is its only fit -place, all others being even sadder to it. It flees from men, knowing -that they regard it with aversion. They look upon this forlorn Bride as -an outcast, who has lost the grace of God, and who is only fit to be -buried in the earth. - -The heart endures its bitterness; but, alas! how sweet this state is -even now, and how easy it would be to remain in the sepulchre, if it -were not necessary to decay! The old man becomes gradually corrupted; -formerly there were weaknesses and failings, now the soul sees a depth -of corruption of which it had hitherto been ignorant, for it could not -imagine what were its self-esteem and selfishness. O God! what horror -this soul suffers in seeing itself thus decaying! All troubles, the -contempt and aversion of man, affect it no longer. It is even insensible -to the deprivation of the Sun of Righteousness; it knows that His light -does not penetrate the tomb. But to feel its own corruption, that it -cannot endure. What would it not rather suffer? But it must experience, -to the very depths of its being, what it is. - -And yet, if I could decay without being seen by God, I should be -content: what troubles me is the horror which I must cause Him by the -sight of my corruption. But, poor desolate one! what canst thou do? It -should suffice thee, one would think, to _bear_ this corruption, without -_loving_ it: but now thou art not even sure that thou dost not desire -it! The soul is in darkness, without being able to judge whether its -terrible thoughts proceed from itself or from the evil one. - -It is no longer troubled at being cast off by God; it is so conscious of -its demerit, that it consents to the deprivation of the sensible -presence of God. But it cannot endure the thought that the taint of its -corruption reaches even to God. It does not wish to sin. Let me decay, -is its cry, and find my home in the depths of hell, if only I may be -kept free from sin. It no longer thinks of love, for it believes itself -to be incapable of affection. It is, in its own opinion, worse than when -it was in a state of nature, since it is in the state of corruption -usual to the body deprived of life. - -At length by degrees the soul becomes accustomed to its corruption: it -feels it less, and finds it natural, except at certain times, when it is -tried by various temptations, whose terrible impressions cause it much -anguish. Ah, poor torrent! wast thou not better off on the mountain-top -than here? Thou hadst then some slight corruption, it is true; but now, -though thou flowest rapidly, and nothing can stop thee, thou passest -through such filthy places, so tainted with sulphur and saltpetre, that -thou bearest away their odours with thee. - -At last the soul is reduced to a state of nothingness, and has become -like a person who does not exist, and never will exist; it does nothing, -either good or ill. Formerly it thought of itself now it thinks no -longer. All that is of grace is done as if it were of nature, and there -is no longer either pain or pleasure. All that there is, is that its -ashes remain as ashes, without the hope of ever being anything but -ashes: it is utterly dead, and nothing affects it either from without or -within--that is, it is no longer troubled by any sensible impressions. -At last, reduced to nonentity, there is found in the ashes _a germ of -immortality_, which lives beneath these ashes, and in due time will -manifest its life. But the soul is in ignorance of it, and never expects -to be revived or raised from the dead. - -The faithfulness of the soul in this condition consists in letting -itself be buried, crushed, trampled on, without making any more movement -than a corpse, without seeking in any way to prevent its putrefaction. -There are those who wish to apply balm to themselves. No, no; leave -yourselves as you are. You must know your corruption, and see the -infinite depth of depravity that is in you. To apply balm is but to -endeavour by good works to hide your corruption. Oh, do it not! You will -wrong yourselves. God can suffer you; why cannot you suffer yourselves? -The soul, reduced to nothingness, must remain in it, without wishing to -change its state; and it is then that the torrent loses itself in the -sea, never to find itself in itself again, but to become one with the -sea. It is then that this corpse feels without feeling, that it is -gradually reanimated, and assumes _a new life_; but this is done so -gradually that it seems like a dream. And this brings us to the last -degree, which is the commencement of the _divine and truly inner life_, -including numberless smaller degrees, and in which the advancement is -infinite: just as this torrent can perpetually advance in the sea, and -imbibe more of its nature, the longer it remains in it. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -FOURTH DEGREE OF THE PASSIVE WAY OF FAITH, WHICH IS THE COMMENCEMENT OF -THE DIVINE LIFE--TRANSITION FROM THE HUMAN STATE TO THE DIVINE, AND TO -THE RESURRECTION OF THE SOUL IN GOD--DESCRIPTION OF THIS LIFE AND OF ITS -PROPERTIES, GRADATIONS, IDENTITY, INDIFFERENCE--SENTIMENTS OF THE -SOUL--ITS EXISTENCE IN GOD--ITS PEACE, ETC.--POWER AND VIEWS WITH REGARD -TO OTHERS, TO ITSELF, TO ITS CONDITION, TO ITS ACTIONS, TO ITS WORDS, TO -ITS FAULTS--MIND OF CHRIST--VARIOUS OBSERVATIONS. - - -When the torrent begins to lose itself in the sea, it can easily be -distinguished. Its movement is perceptible, until at length it gradually -loses all form of its own, to take that of the sea. So the soul, leaving -this degree, and beginning to lose itself, yet retains something of its -own; but in a short time it loses all that it had peculiar to itself. -The corpse which has been reduced to ashes is still dust and ashes; but -if another person were to swallow those ashes, they would no longer -have an identity, but would form part of the person who had taken them. -The soul hitherto, though dead and buried, has retained its own being; -it is only in this degree that it is really taken out of itself. - -All that has taken place up to this point has been in the individual -capacity of the creature; but here the creature is taken out of his own -capacity to receive an infinite capacity in God Himself. And as the -torrent, when it enters the sea, loses its own being in such a way that -it retains nothing of it, and takes that of the sea, or rather is taken -out of itself to be lost in the sea; so this soul loses the human in -order that it may lose itself in the divine, which becomes its being and -its subsistence, not essentially, but mystically. Then this torrent -possesses all the treasures of the sea, and is as glorious as it was -formerly poor and miserable. - -It is in the tomb that the soul begins to resume life, and the light -enters insensibly. Then it can be truly said that "The people which sat -in darkness saw great light; and to them which sat in the region and -shadow of death light is sprung up" (Matt. iv. 16). There is a -beautiful figure of this resurrection in Ezekiel (chap. xxxvii.), where -the dry bones gradually assume life: and then there is that other -passage, "The hour is coming, and now is, when the dead shall hear the -voice of the Son of God; and they that hear shall live" (John v. 25). O -you who are coming out of the sepulchre! you feel within yourselves a -germ of life springing up little by little: you are quite astonished to -find a secret strength taking possession of you: your ashes are -reanimated: you feel yourselves to be in a new country. The poor soul, -which only expected to remain at rest in its grave, receives an -agreeable surprise. It does not know what to think: it supposes that the -sun must have shed upon it a few scattered rays through some opening or -chink, whose brightness will only last for a moment. It is still more -astonished when it feels this secret vigour permeating its entire being, -and finds that it gradually receives a new life, to lose it no more for -ever, unless it be by the most flagrant unfaithfulness. - -But this new life is not like the former one: it is a _life in God_. It -is a perfect life. The soul _lives no longer_ and works no longer of -itself, but _God_ lives, acts, and operates in it (Gal. ii. 20); and -this goes on increasing, so that it becomes perfect with God's -perfection, rich with God's riches, and loving with God's love. - -The soul sees now that whatever it owned formerly had been in its own -possession: now it no longer possesses, but is possessed: it only takes -a new life in order to lose it in God; or rather it only lives with the -life of God; and as He is the principle of life, the soul can want -nothing. What a gain it has made by all its losses! It has lost the -created for the Creator, the nothing for the All in all. All things are -given to it, not in itself, but in God; not to be possessed by itself, -but to be possessed by God. Its riches are immense, for they are God -Himself. It feels its capacity increasing day by day to immensity: every -virtue is restored to it, but in God. - -It must be remarked, that as it was only despoiled by degrees, so it is -only enriched and vivified by degrees. The more it loses itself in God, -the greater its capacity becomes; just as the more the torrent loses -itself in the sea, the more it is enlarged, having no other limits than -those of the sea: it participates in all its properties. The soul -becomes strong and firm: it has lost all means, but it has found the -end. This divine life becomes quite natural to it. As it no longer feels -itself, sees itself, or knows itself, so it no longer sees or -understands or distinguishes anything of God as distinct or outside of -itself. It is no longer conscious of love, or light, or knowledge; it -only knows that God is, and that it no longer lives except in God. All -devotion is action, and all action is devotion: all is the same; the -soul is indifferent to all, for all is equally God. Formerly it was -necessary to exercise virtue in order to perform virtuous works; here -all distinction of action is taken away, the actions having no virtue in -themselves, but all being God, the meanest action equally with the -greatest, provided it is in the order of God and at His time: for all -that might be of the natural choice, and not in this order, would have -another effect, leading the soul out of God by unfaithfulness. Not that -it would be brought out of its degree or its loss, but out of the -divine plan, which makes all things one and all things God. So the soul -is _indifferent_ as to whether it be in one state or another, in one -place or another: all is the same to it, and it lets itself be carried -along naturally. It ceases to think, to wish, or to choose for itself; -but remains content, without care or anxiety, no longer distinguishing -its inner life to speak of it. Indeed it may be said not to possess one: -it is no longer in itself; it is all in God. It is not necessary for it -to shut itself up within itself; it does not hope to find anything -there, and does not seek for it. If a person were altogether penetrated -with the sea, having sea within and without, above and below, on every -side, he would not prefer one place to another, all being the same to -him. So the soul does not trouble itself to seek anything or to do -anything; that is, of itself, by itself, or for itself. It remains as it -is. But what does it do? Nothing--always nothing. It does what it is -made to do, it suffers what it is made to suffer. Its peace is -unchangeable, but always natural. It has, as it were, passed into a -state of nature; and yet how different from those altogether without -God! - -The difference is, that it is compelled to action by God without being -conscious of it, whereas formerly it was nature that acted. It seems to -itself to do neither right nor wrong, but it lives satisfied, peaceful, -doing what it is made to do in a steady and resolute manner. - -God alone is its guide; for at the time of its loss, it lost its own -will. And if you were to ask what are its desires, it could not tell. It -can choose for itself no longer: all desire is taken away, because, -having found its centre, the heart loses all natural inclination, -tendency, and activity, in the same way as it loses all repugnance and -contrariety. The torrent has no longer either a declivity or a movement: -it is in repose, and at its end. - -But with what satisfaction is this soul satisfied? With the satisfaction -of God, immense, general, without knowing or understanding what it is -that satisfies it; for here all sentiments, tastes, views, particular -opinions, however delicate they may be, are taken from it: that certain -vague, indefinable something, which formerly occupied without occupying -it, is gone, and nothing remains to it. But this insensibility is very -different to that of death, burial, and decay. That was a deprivation of -life, a distaste, a separation, the powerlessness of the dying united -with the insensibility of the dead; but this is an _elevation_ above all -these things, which does not remove them, but renders them useless. A -dead man is deprived of all the functions of life by the powerlessness -of death; but if he were to be raised gloriously, he would be full of -life, without having the power to preserve it by means of the senses: -and being placed above all means by virtue of his germ of immortality, -he would no longer feel that which animated him, although he would know -himself to be alive. - -In this degree God cannot be tasted, seen, or felt, being no longer -distinct from ourselves, but one with us. The soul has neither -inclination nor taste for anything: in the period of death and burial it -experienced this, but in a very different manner. Then it arose from -distaste and powerlessness, but now it is the effect of _plenitude_ and -_abundance_; just as if a person could live on air, he would be full -without feeling his plenitude, or knowing in what way he had been -satisfied; he would not be empty and unable to eat or to taste, but free -from all necessity of eating by reason of his satisfaction, without -knowing how the air, entering by all his pores, had penetrated equally -at all parts. - -The soul here is in God, as in the air which is natural to it, and it is -no more sensible of its fulness than we are of the air we breathe. Yet -it is full, and nothing is wanting to it; therefore all its desires are -taken from it. Its peace is great, but not as it was before. Formerly it -was an inanimate peace a certain sepulture, from which there sometimes -escaped exhalations which troubled it. When it was reduced to ashes, it -was at peace; but it was a barren peace, like that of a corpse, which -would be at peace in the midst of the wildest storms of the sea: it -would not feel them, and would not be troubled by them, its state of -death rendering is insensible. But here the soul is raised, as it were, -to a mountain-top, from which it sees the waves rolling and tossing, -without fearing their attacks; or rather it is at the bottom of the sea, -where there is always tranquillity, even while the surface is agitated. -The senses may suffer their sorrows, but at the centre there is always -the same calm tranquillity, because He who possesses it is immutable. - -This, of course, supposes the faithfulness of the soul; for in whatever -state it may be, it is possible for it to recede and fall back into -itself. But here the soul progresses infinitely in God; and it is -possible for it to advance incessantly; just as, if the sea had no -bottom, any one falling into it would sink to infinitude, and going down -to greater and greater depths of the ocean, would discover more and more -of its beauties and treasures. It is even thus with the soul whose home -is in God. - -But what must it do in order to be faithful to God? Nothing, and less -than nothing. It must simply suffer itself to be possessed, acted upon, -and moved without resistance, remaining in the state which is natural to -it, waiting for what every moment may bring to it, and receiving it from -Him, without either adding to or taking from it; letting itself be led -at all times and to any place, regardless of sight or reason, and -without thinking of either; letting itself go naturally into all things, -without considering what would be best or most plausible; remaining in -the state of evenness and stability in which God has placed it, without -being troubled to do anything; but leaving to God the care of providing -its opportunities, and of doing all for it; not making definite acts of -abandonment, but simply resting in the state of abandonment in which it -already is, and which is natural to it. - -The soul is unable to act in any way of itself without a consciousness -of unfaithfulness. It possesses all things by having nothing. It finds a -facility for every duty, for speaking and for acting, no longer in its -own way, but in God's. Its faithfulness does not consist in ceasing from -all activity, like one who is dead, but in doing nothing except by the -principle which animates it. A soul in this state has no inclination of -its own in anything, but lets itself go as it is led, and beyond that -does nothing. It cannot speak of its state, for it does not see it; -though there is so much that is extraordinary, it is no longer as it -was in the former degrees, where the creature had some part in it, that -which was in a great measure its own; but here the most wonderful things -are perfectly natural, and are done without thought. It is the same -principle that gives life to the soul which acts in it and through it. -It has a sovereign power over the hearts of those around it, but not of -itself. As nothing belongs to it, it can make no reserves; and if it can -say nothing of a state so divine, it is not because it fears vanity, for -that no longer exists; it is rather because what it has, while -possessing nothing, passes all expression by its extreme simplicity and -purity. Not that there are not many things which are but the accessories -of this condition, and not the centre, of which it can easily speak. -These accessories are like the crumbs which fall from that eternal feast -of which the soul begins to partake in time; they are but the sparks -which prove the existence of a furnace of fire and flame; but it is -impossible to speak of the principle and the end, because only so much -can be imparted as God is pleased to give at the moment to be either -written or spoken. - -It may be asked, Is the soul unconscious of its faults, or does it -commit none? It does commit them, and is more conscious of them than -ever, especially in the commencement of its new life. The faults -committed are often more subtile and delicate than formerly. The soul -knows them better, because its eyes are open; but it is not troubled by -them, and can do nothing to rid itself of them. It is true that, when it -has been guilty of unfaithfulness or sin, it is sensible of a certain -cloud; but it passes over, without the soul itself doing anything to -dispel it, or to cleanse itself; apart from which, any efforts it might -make would be useless, and would only serve to increase its impurity; so -that it would be deeply sensible that the second stain was worse than -the first. It is not a question of returning to God, because a _return_ -presupposes a departure; and if we are in God, we have but to abide in -Him; just as, when there arises a little cloud in the middle region of -air, if the wind blows, it moves the clouds, but does not dissipate -them; if, on the contrary, the sun shines forth, they will soon be -dispelled. The more subtile and delicate the clouds are, the more -quickly they will be dissipated. - -Oh! if we had sufficient fidelity never to look at ourselves, what -progress might we not make! Our sights of ourselves resemble certain -plants in the sea, which, just so long as their support lasts, prevent -bodies from falling. If the branches are very delicate, the weight of -the body forces them down, and we are only delayed for a moment; but if -we look at ourselves willingly and long, we shall be delayed just so -long a time as the look may occupy, and our loss will be great indeed. -The defects of this state are certain light emotions or sights of self, -which are born and die in a moment--certain winds of self, which pass -over the calm sea, and cause ripples; but these faults are taken from us -little by little, and continually become more delicate. - -The soul, on leaving the tomb, finds itself, without knowing how, -clothed with the _inclinations_ of Christ; not by distinct and natural -views of Him, but by its natural condition, finding these inclinations -just when they are needed, without thinking of them; as a person who -possesses a hidden treasure might find it unexpectedly in the time of -his need. The soul is surprised when, without having reflected on the -mind and disposition of Christ, it finds them naturally implanted within -it. These dispositions of Christ are lowliness, meekness, submission, -and the other virtues which He possessed. The soul finds that all these -are acting within it, but so easily, that they seem to have become -natural to it. Its treasury is in God alone, where it can draw upon it -ceaselessly in every time of need, without in any degree diminishing it. -It is then that it really "puts on" Jesus Christ (Rom. xiii. 14); and it -is henceforth He who acts, speaks, moves in the soul, the Lord Jesus -Christ being its moving principle. Now those around it do not -inconvenience it; the heart is enlarged to contain them. It desires -neither activity nor retreat, but only to be each moment what God makes -it to be. - -As in this condition the soul is capable of infinite advancement, I -leave those who are living in it to write of it, the light not being -given me for the higher degrees, and my soul not being sufficiently -advanced in God to see or to know them. All that I shall add is, that it -is easy to see by the length of the road necessary to be taken in order -to arrive at God that the end is not so soon attained as we are apt to -imagine, and that even the most spiritual and enlightened mistake the -consummation of the _passive way of light and love_ for the end of this -one, when in reality it is but the commencement. - -I must also remark, that what I have said touching the _mind_ of Christ -commences as soon as we enter the way of _naked faith_. Although the -soul in the former degrees has no distinct sights of Christ, it has -nevertheless a desire to be conformed to His image. It covets the cross, -lowliness, poverty; then this desire is lost, and there remains a secret -inclination for the same things, which continually deepens and -simplifies, becoming every day more intimate and more hidden. But here -the mind of Christ is the mind of the soul, natural and habitual to it, -as something no longer distinct from itself, but as its own being and -its own life; Christ exercising it without going out of the soul, and -the soul exercising it with Him, in Him, without going out of Him; not -like something distinct, which it knows, sees, attempts, practises, but -as that which is natural to it. All the actions of life, such as -breathing, are done naturally, without thought, rule, or measure; and -they are done unconsciously by the person who does them. It is thus with -the mind of Christ in this degree, which continually develops, as the -soul is more transformed in Him, and becomes more thoroughly one with -Him. - -But are there no crosses in this condition? As the soul is strong with -the strength of God Himself, God lays upon it more crosses and heavier -ones than before; but they are borne divinely. Formerly the cross -charmed it; it was loved and cherished; now it is not thought of, but is -suffered to go and come; and the cross itself becomes God, like all -other things. This does not involve the cessation of suffering, but of -the sorrow, the anxiety, the bitterness of suffering. It is true that -the crosses are no longer crosses, but God. In the former stages, the -cross is virtue, and is exalted more and more as the condition is more -advanced: here the soul feels it to be God, like the rest; all that -constitutes the life of this soul, all that it has, moment by moment, -being God to it. - -The outward appearance of these persons is quite ordinary, and nothing -unusual is observed in them except by those who are capable of -understanding them. - -All is seen in God, and in its true light; therefore this state is not -subject to deception. There are no visions, revelations, ecstasies, -ravishments, or translations. All these things do not belong to this -state, which is above them all. This way is simple, pure, and naked, -seeing nothing out of God; and thus seeing all as God sees it, and with -His eyes. - - - - -_PART II._ - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -MORE PARTICULAR DESCRIPTION OF SOME OF THE CHARACTERISTICS OF THE DIVINE -RESURRECTION LIFE--TRUE LIBERTY AND THE RISEN LIFE, IN DISTINCTION FROM -THAT WHICH IS NOT SO, OF WHICH JOB IS AN ILLUSTRATION--COMMENCEMENT OF -THE APOSTOLIC LIFE--ITS FUNCTIONS AND ITS FRUITS--ON THE PRACTICE OF -VIRTUE, PARTICULARLY OF HUMILITY--BLESSEDNESS OF BEING LOST IN -GOD--RARITY OF PERFECT ABANDONMENT--RAYS OF GLORY ESCAPED FROM WITHIN. - - -I omitted to say that this is where true liberty begins; not, as some -imagine, a liberty which necessitates idleness; that would be -imprisonment rather than liberty, fancying ourselves free because, -having an aversion to our own works, we no longer practise them. The -liberty of which I speak is of a different nature; it does all things -easily which God would have done, and the more easily in proportion to -the duration and the painfulness of the incapacity to do them which we -have previously experienced. I confess I do not understand the -resurrection state of certain Christians, who profess to have attained -it, and who yet remain all their lives powerless and destitute; for here -the soul takes up a true life. The actions of a raised man are the -actions of life; and if the soul remain lifeless, I say that it may be -dead or buried, but not risen. A risen soul should be able to perform -without difficulty all the actions which it has performed in the past, -only they would be done in God. Did not Lazarus, after his resurrection, -exercise all the functions of life as formerly, and Jesus Christ after -His resurrection was willing to eat and to converse with men. And so of -those who believe themselves to be risen with Christ, and who are -nevertheless stunted in their spiritual growth and incapable of -devotion,--I say, that they do not possess a resurrection life, for -there everything is restored to the soul a hundred-fold. There is a -beautiful illustration of this in the case of Job, whose history I -consider a mirror of the spiritual life. First God robbed him of his -wealth, which we may consider as setting forth gifts and graces; then of -his children; this signifies the destruction of natural sensibilities, -and of our own works, which are as our children and our most cherished -possessions: then God deprived him of his health, which symbolises the -loss of virtue; then He touched his person, rendering him an object of -horror and contempt. It even appears that this holy man was guilty of -sin, and failed in resignation; he was accused by his friends of being -justly punished for his crimes; there was no healthy part left in him. -But after he had been brought down to the dunghill, and reduced as it -were to a corpse, did not God restore everything to him, his wealth, his -children, his health, and his life? - -It is the same with spiritual resurrection; everything is restored, with -a wonderful power to use it without being defiled by it, clinging to it -without appropriating it as before. All is done in God, and things are -used as though they were not used. It is here that true liberty and true -life are found. "If we have been planted in the likeness of Christ's -death, we shall be also in the likeness of His resurrection" (Rom. vi. -5). Can there be freedom where there are powerlessness and restrictions? -No; "If the Son shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed," but with -His liberty. - -This is where true liberty begins. Nothing that God desires is difficult -to us, or costs us anything; and if a person is called to preach, to -instruct, &c., he does it with a marvellous facility, without the -necessity of preparing a discourse, being well able to practise what -Jesus commanded His disciples, "Take no thought how or what ye shall -speak: for I will give you a mouth and wisdom, which all your -adversaries shall not be able to gainsay nor resist" (Matt. x. 19; Luke -xxi. 15). This is not given till after an experience of powerlessness; -and the deeper that experience has been, the greater is the liberty. But -it is useless to endeavour to force ourselves into this condition; for -as God would not be the source, we should not realise the desired -results. It may well be said of this risen life, that all good things -are given with it. In this state, the soul cannot practise the virtues -as virtues; it is not even conscious of them; but all the virtues have -become so habitual to it, that it practises them naturally, almost -instinctively. When it hears others speak of deep humiliation, it is -surprised to find that it experiences nothing of the kind; and if it -sought to humble itself, it would be astonished, as though it were -guilty of unfaithfulness, and would even find it impossible, because the -state of annihilation through which it has passed has placed it below -all humiliation; for in order to be humbled, we must _be something_, and -nothingness cannot be brought lower; its present state has placed it -above all humility and all virtue by its transformation into God, so -that its powerlessness arises both from its annihilation and its -elevation. Those persons have nothing outwardly to distinguish them from -others, unless it be that they do no harm to any one; for, so far as the -exterior is concerned, they are very ordinary, and therefore do not -attract observation, but live in a state of quiet rest, free from all -care and anxiety. They experience a deep joy, arising from the absence -of all fear, or desire, or longing, so that nothing can disturb their -repose or diminish their joy. David possessed this experience when he -said, "The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear? The -Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid" (Ps. xxvii. -1). - -A heart ravished with joy no longer looks at itself, nor thinks of -itself; and its joy, though great, is not an object of contemplation. -The soul is in a state of ravishment and ecstasy which cause no -uneasiness, because God has enlarged its capacity almost to infinitude. -Those ecstasies which cause the loss of consciousness are the effect of -human imperfection, and are nevertheless the admiration of men. God is, -as it were, drawing the soul out of itself that it may be lost in Him; -but as it has neither sufficient purity nor strength to bear the -process, it becomes necessary, either that God should cease thus to draw -it, which involves the cessation of the ecstasy, or that nature should -succumb and die, which not unfrequently happens. But in this -resurrection life, the ecstasy lasts, not for a few hours only, but for -ever, without either violence or variation, God having purified and -strengthened the subject of it to the extent necessary to enable it to -bear this glorious ravishment. It seems to me that when God goes out of -Himself, He creates an ecstasy,--but I dare not say this for fear of -teaching an error. What I say then is, that the soul drawn out of itself -experiences an inward ecstasy; but a happy one, because it is only drawn -out of itself in order that it may be drowned and lost in God, quitting -its own imperfections and its own limited thoughts to participate in -those of God. - -O happy nothingness! where does its blessedness end? O poverty-stricken, -weary ones! how well ye are recompensed! O unutterable happiness! O -soul! what a gain thou hast made in exchange for all thy losses! Couldst -thou have believed, when thou wast lying in the dust, that what caused -thee so much horror could have procured thee so great a happiness as -that which thou now possessest? If it had been told thee, thou couldst -not have credited it. Learn now by thine own experience how good it is -to trust in God, and that those who put their confidence in Him shall -never be confounded. - -O abandonment! what gladness canst thou impart to the soul, and what -progress it might have made if it had found thee at first; from how -much weariness it might have been delivered if it had known how to let -God work! But, alas! men are not willing to abandon themselves, and to -trust only in God. Even those who appear to do it, and who think -themselves well established in it, are only abandoned in imagination, -and not in reality. They are willing to abandon themselves in one thing -and not in another; they wish to compromise with God, and to place a -limit to what they will permit Him to do. They want to give themselves -up, but on such and such conditions. No; this is not abandonment. An -entire and total abandonment excepts nothing, keeps back nothing, -neither death, nor life, nor perfection, nor salvation, nor heaven, nor -hell. O poor souls! give yourselves up utterly in this abandonment; you -will get only happiness and blessing from it. Walk boldly on this stormy -sea, relying on the word of Jesus, who has promised to take upon Himself -the care of all those who will lose their own life, and abandon -themselves to Him. But if you sink like Peter, ascribe it to the -weakness of your faith. If we had the faith calmly, and without -hesitation, to face all dangers, what good should we not receive! What -do you fear, trembling heart? You fear to lose yourself? Alas! for all -that you are worth, what would that matter? Yes, you will lose yourself -if you have strength to abandon yourself to God, but you will be lost in -Him. O happy loss! I do not know how sufficiently to repeat it. Why can -I not persuade every one to make this abandonment? and why do men preach -anything less? Alas! men are so blind that they regard all this as -folly, as something fit for women and weak minds; but for great minds it -is too mean; they must guide themselves by their own meagre share of -wisdom. This path is unknown to them, because they are wise and prudent -in themselves; but it is revealed to babes, who can suffer self to be -annihilated, and who are willing to be moved by God at His pleasure, -leaving Him to do with them as He will, without resistance, without -considering what others will say. Oh, how difficult it is to this proper -prudence to become nothing both in its own eyes and in the sight of -others! Men say that their one object in life is to glorify God, while -it is really their own glorification. But to be willing to be nothing in -the sight of God, to live in an entire abandonment, in utter -self-despair, to give themselves to Him when they are the most -discouraged, to leave themselves in His hands, and not to look at self -when they are on the very edge of the abyss; it is this that is so rare, -and it is this which constitutes perfect abandonment. There sometimes -occur in this life wonderful manifestations to the natural senses, but -this is not usual; it is like Christ on the Mount of Transfiguration. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -STABILITY, EXPERIENCES, ELEVATION, EXTREME PURITY, AND PEACE OF THE SOUL -IN THE CONDITION OF ABANDONMENT--ALL IS PURELY GOD TO IT--FOR ITS LOST -LIBERTY IT FINDS THAT OF GOD--STATE IN WHICH ALL IS DIVINELY SURE, -EQUAL, AND INDIFFERENT. - - -The soul having attained a divine state, is, as I have already said, an -immovable rock, proof against all blows or shocks, unless it be when the -Lord desires it to do something contrary to custom; then, if it does not -yield to His first promptings, it has to suffer the pain of a constraint -to which it can offer no resistance, and is compelled by a violence, -which cannot be explained, to obey His will. - -It is impossible to tell the strange proofs to which God subjects the -hearts which are perfectly abandoned, and which offer no resistance to -Him in anything; neither, if I could speak of them, should I be -understood. All that I can say is, that He does not leave them the -shadow of anything that could be named, either in God or out of God. And -He so raises them above all by the loss of all, that nothing less than -God Himself, either in earth or heaven, can stop them. Nothing can harm -them, because there is no longer anything hurtful for them, by reason of -their union with God, which, in associating with sinners, contracts no -defilement, because of its essential purity. - -This is more real than I can express: the soul participates in the -purity of God; or rather, all natural purity having been annihilated, -the purity of God alone exists in its nothingness; but so truly, that -the heart is in perfect ignorance of evil, and powerless to commit it, -which does not however prevent the possibility of its falling; but this -seldom happens here, because the profound nothingness of the soul does -not leave anything that can be appropriated to itself; and it is -appropriation alone which can cause sin, for that which no longer exists -cannot sin. - -The peace of those in this condition is so invariable and so profound, -that nothing either in earth or hell can disturb it for a moment. The -senses are still susceptible to suffering; but when they are -overpowered by it, and cry out with the anguish, if they are questioned, -or if they examine themselves, they will find nothing in themselves that -suffers: in the midst of the greatest pain, they say that they suffer -nothing, being unable to admit that they are suffering, because of the -divine state of blessedness which reigns in the centre or supreme part. - -And then there is such an entire and complete separation of the two -parts, the inferior and the superior, that they live together like -strangers; and the most extraordinary trouble does not interrupt the -perfect peace, tranquillity; joy, and rest of the superior part; as the -joy of the divine life does not prevent the suffering of the inferior. - -If you wish to attribute any goodness to those who are thus transformed -in God, they will object to it, not being able to find anything in -themselves that can be named, affirmed, or heard. They are in a complete -_negation_. It is this which causes the difference of terms and -expressions employed by writers on this subject, who find a difficulty -in making themselves understood, except by those whose experience -accords with their own. Another effect of this negation is, that the -soul having lost all that was its own, God having substituted Himself, -it can attribute nothing either to itself or to God; because it knows -God only, of whom it can say nothing. Here all is God to the soul, -because it is no longer a question of seeing all _in_ God; for to see -things in God is to distinguish them in Him. For instance, if I enter a -room, I see all that is there in addition to the room itself, though it -be placed within it; but if all could be transformed into the room -itself, or else were taken out of it, I should see nothing but the room -alone. All creatures, _celestial_, _terrestrial_ or _pure -intelligences_, disappear and fade away, and there remains only God -Himself, as He was before the creation. The soul sees only God -everywhere; and all is God; not by thought, sight, or light, but by an -identity of condition and a consummation of unity, which rendering it -God by participation, without its being able to see itself, prevents it -seeing anything anywhere; it can see no created being out of the -Uncreated, the only uncreated One being all and in all. - -Men would condemn such a state, saying it makes us something less than -the meanest insect; and so it does, not by obstinacy and firmness of -purpose, but by powerlessness to interfere with ourselves. You may ask -one in this condition, "Who leads you to do such and such a thing? Is it -God who has told you to do it, or has made known to you His will -concerning it?" He will reply, "I know nothing, and I do not think of -knowing anything: all is God and His will; and I no longer know what is -meant by the will of God, because that will has become natural to me." -"But why should you do this rather than that?" "I do not know: I let -myself be guided by Him who draws me." "Why so?" "He draws me because I, -being no longer anything, am carried along with God, and am drawn by Him -_alone_. _He_ goes hither and thither: _He_ acts; and I am but an -instrument, which I neither see nor regard. I have no longer a separate -interest, because by the loss of myself I have lost all self-interest. -Neither am I capable of giving any reason for my conduct, for I no -longer have a conduct: yet I act infallibly so long as I have no other -principle than that of the Infallible One." - -And this blind abandonment is the permanent condition of the soul of -which I speak; because having become one with God, it can see nothing -but God; for having lost all separateness, self-possession, and -distinction, it can no longer be abandoning itself, because, in order to -abandon ourselves, we must do something, and have the power of disposing -of ourselves. - -The soul is in this condition "hidden _with Christ_ in God" (Col. iii. -3); _mingled_ with Him, as the river of which we have spoken is mingled -with the sea, so that it can be separated no more. It has the ebb and -flow of the sea, no longer by choice, will, and liberty, but by nature: -the immense sea having absorbed its shallow limited waters, it -participates in all the movements of the sea. It is the sea which bears -it, and yet it is not borne, since it has lost its own being; and having -no other motion than that of the sea, it acts as the sea acts: not -because it naturally possesses the same qualities, but because, having -lost all its natural qualities, it has no others but those of the sea, -without having the power of ever being anything but sea. It is not, as -I have said, that it does not so retain its own nature, that, if God so -willed it, in a moment it could be separated from the sea; but He does -not do this. Neither does it lose the nature of the creature; and God -could, if He pleased, cast it off from His divine bosom: but He does not -do it, and the creature acts as it were divinely. - -But it will be said that by this theory I deprive man of his liberty. -Not so; he is no longer free except by an excess of liberty, because he -has lost freely all created liberty. He participates in the uncreated -freedom, which is not contracted, bounded, limited by anything; and the -soul's liberty is so great, so broad, that the whole earth appears to it -as a speck, to which it is not confined. It is free to do all and to do -nothing. There is no state or condition to which it cannot accommodate -itself; it can do all things, and yet takes no part in them. O glorious -state! who can describe thee, and what hast thou to fear or to -apprehend? O Paul! thou couldst say, "who shall separate us from the -love of Christ?" "I am persuaded," says the great apostle, "that -neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor -things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other -creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in -Christ Jesus our Lord" (Rom. viii. 35, 38, 39). Now these words, "I am -persuaded," exclude all doubt. But what was the foundation of Paul's -assurance? It was in the infallibility of God alone. The epistles of -this great apostle, this mystical teacher, are often read, but seldom -understood; yet all the mystic way, its commencement, its progress, its -end, are described by St Paul, and even the divine life; but few are -able to understand it, and those to whom the light is given see it all -there clearer than the day. - -Ah! if those who find it so difficult to leave themselves to God could -only experience this, they would confess that though the way might be -arduous, a single day of this life was a sufficient recompense for years -of trouble. But by what means does God bring the soul here? By ways -altogether opposed to natural wisdom and imagination. He builds up by -casting down; He gives life by killing. Oh! if I could tell what He -does, and the strange means which He uses to bring us here. But silence! -men are not able to hear it; those who have experienced it know what it -is. Here there is no need of place or time; all is alike, all places are -good; and wherever the order of God may take us, it is well, because all -means are useless and infinitely surpassed: when we have reached the -end, there is nothing left to wish for. - -Here all is God: God is everywhere and in everything, and therefore to -the soul all is the same. Its religion is God Himself, always the same, -never interrupted; and if sometimes God pours some stream of His glory -upon its natural powers and sensibilities, it has no effect upon the -centre, which is always the same. The soul is indifferent either to -solitude or a crowd: it no longer looks forward to deliverance from the -body in order that it may be united to God. It is now not only united, -but transformed, changed into the Object of its love, which causes it no -longer to think of loving; for it loves God with His own love, and -naturally, though not inamissibly. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -IN WHICH IS EXPLAINED BY A COMPARISON THAT WHICH CONCERNS PERFECT UNION -OR DEIFORMITY--SECRETS OF GOD REVEALED TO HIS HIDDEN ONES, AND BY THEM -TO OTHERS--PERMANENCE AND PROGRESS OF THIS CONDITION, THOUGH -VARIABLE--NATURAL CAPACITY MUST BE LOST--THE PARTICIPATED CAPACITY OF -GOD BY TRANSFORMATION GLOWS INFINITELY. - - -A similitude occurs to my mind which appears very appropriate to this -subject: it is that of grain. First it is separated from the husk, which -sets forth conversion and separation from sin: when the grain is -separate and pure, it must be ground (by affliction, crosses, sickness, -&c.); when it is thus bruised and reduced to flour, there must still be -taken from it, not that which is impure, for this is gone, but all that -is coarse, that is, the bran; and when there is nothing left but the -fine flour, then it is made into bread for food. It appears as though -the flour were soiled, blackened, and blighted; that its delicacy and -whiteness were taken from it, in order that it may be made into a paste -which is far less beautiful than the flour. Lastly, this paste is -exposed to the heat of the fire. Now this is precisely what happens to -the soul of which I have been speaking. But after the bread is baked, it -is fit for the mouth of the king, who not only unites it to himself by -contact with it, but eats it, digests it, consumes it, and annihilates -it, that it may enter into his composition, and become part of himself. - -You will observe that though the bread has been eaten by the king, which -is the greatest honour it can receive, and is its end, yet it cannot be -changed into his substance unless it be annihilated by digestion, losing -all its natural form and quality. Oh, how well this sets forth all the -conditions of the soul; that of union being very different to that of -transformation, in which the soul, in order to become one with God, -transformed and changed into Him, must not only be eaten, but digested, -that, after having lost all that was its own, it may become one with God -Himself: "That they all may be one, as Thou, Father, art in me, and I -in Thee; that they also may be one in us, I in them, and Thou in me, -that they may be made perfect in one." (John xvii. 21, 23). "He that is -joined unto the Lord is one spirit" (1 Cor. vi. 17). - -This state is very little known, therefore it is not spoken of. O state -of life! how narrow is the way which leadeth unto thee! O love the most -pure of all, because Thou art God Himself! O love immense and -independent, which nothing can limit or straiten! - -Yet these people appear quite common, as I have said, because they have -nothing outwardly to distinguish them, unless it be an infinite freedom, -which is often scandalised by those who are limited and confined within -themselves, to whom, as they see nothing better than they have -themselves, all that is different to what they possess appears evil. But -the holiness of these simple and innocent ones whom they despise is a -holiness incomparably more eminent than all which they consider holy, -because their own works, though performed with such strictness, have no -more strength than the principle in which they originate, which is -always the effort, though raised and ennobled, of a weak creature; but -those who are consummated in the divine union act in God by a principle -of infinite strength; and thus their smallest actions are more agreeable -to God than the multitude of heroic deeds achieved by others, which -appear so great in the sight of men. Therefore those in this degree do -not seek for great things to do, resting contented with being what God -makes them at each moment. These do more, without doing anything, for -the conversion of a kingdom, than five hundred preachers who have not -attained this condition. - -God sometimes, however, permits these people to be known, though not -fully. Many people apply to them for instruction, to whom they -communicate a vivifying principle, by means of which many more are won -to Christ; but this is done, without care or anxiety, by pure -Providence. If people only knew the glory which is rendered to God by -such as these, who are scorned by the world, they would be astonished; -for it is they who render to God a glory worthy of Himself; because God, -acting as God within them, brings into them a glory worthy of Him. - -Oh, how many Christians, quite seraphic in appearance, are far from -this! But in this condition, as in all others, there are souls more or -less divine. God hides them in His bosom, and under the veil of a most -common life, so that they may be known to Him alone, though they are His -delight. Here the secrets of God, in Himself and in the hearts of those -in whom He dwells, are revealed; not by word, sight, or light, but by -the science of God, which abides in Him; and when such people have to -write or speak, they are themselves astonished to find that all flows -from a divine centre, without their having been aware that they -possessed such treasures. They find themselves in a profound science, -without memory or recollection; like an inestimable treasure, which is -unobserved until there is a necessity for its manifestation; and it is -in the manifestation to others that they find the revelation to -themselves. When they write, they are astonished to find themselves -writing of things with which they neither knew nor believed themselves -to be acquainted; although, as they write, they cannot doubt their -apprehension of them. It is not so with other Christians; their light -precedes their experience, as a person sees from afar the things which -he does not possess, and describes what he has seen, known, heard, &c. -But these are persons who hold a treasure within themselves, which they -do not see until after the manifestation, although it is in their -possession. - -Yet, after all, this does not well express the idea which I wish to -convey. God is in this soul; or rather the soul no longer exists; it no -longer acts, but God acts, and it is the instrument. God includes all -treasures in Himself, and manifests them through this soul to others; -and thus, as it draws them from its centre, it becomes aware of their -presence, though it had never reflected upon them before. I am sure that -any who have attained this degree will enter into my meaning, and will -easily distinguish the difference between the states I have described. -Those whom I mentioned first, see things and enjoy them as we enjoy the -sun; but the others have become one with the sun itself, which does not -enjoy nor reflect upon its own light. This condition is permanent, and -its only vicissitude, so far as its centre is concerned, is a greater -advancement in God: and as God is infinite, He can continually make the -soul more divine by enlarging its capacity, as the water of which we -have spoken expands in proportion as it is lost in the sea, with which -it mingles incessantly without ever leaving it. It is the same with -these souls. All who are in this degree have God, but some more and some -less fully. They are all full, but all do not possess an equal -plenitude. A little vase when full is as truly filled as a larger one, -yet it does not contain an equal quantity. So all these souls are filled -with the fulness of God, but it is according to their receptive -capacity, which capacity God continually enlarges. Therefore the longer -Christians live in this divine condition, the more they expand, and -their capacity becomes continually more immense, without anything being -left for them to do or desire; for they always possess God in His -fulness, and He never leaves an empty corner in their hearts. As they -grow and enlarge, He fills them with Himself, as we see with the air. A -small room is full of air, but a large one contains more. If you -continually increase the size of a room, in the same proportion the air -will enter, infallibly though imperceptibly: and thus, without changing -its state or disposition, and without any new sensation, the soul -increases in capacity and in plenitude. But this growing capacity can -only be received in a state of nothingness, because in any other -condition there is an opposition to growth. - -It may be well here to explain what may appear a contradiction, when I -say, that the soul must be brought to nothing in order to pass into God, -and that it must lose all that is its own; and yet I speak of capacity -which it retains. - -There are two capacities. One is natural to the creature, and this is -narrow and limited: when it is purified, it is fitted to receive the -gifts of God, but not God Himself; because what we receive within us -must of necessity be less than ourselves, as that which is enclosed in a -vase must be of less extent, though it may be of greater value, than the -vase which contains it. - -But the capacity of which I speak here is a capacity to extend and to -lose itself more and more in God, after the soul has lost its -appropriation, which confined it to itself; and this capacity being no -longer restricted nor limited, because its annihilation has deprived it -of all form, disposes the soul to flow into God, so that it loses -itself, and flows into Him who is beyond comprehension. The more it is -lost in Him, the more it develops and becomes immense, participating in -His perfections, and being more and more transformed in Him, as water in -communication with its source continually mingles with it. God, being -our original source, has created us with a nature fit to be united, -transformed, and made one with Himself. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE FIRST MOVEMENTS OF THESE SOULS ARE DIVINE--THEIR SUFFERINGS ARE NOT -BY REFLECTION, BUT BY IMPRESSION--GREATNESS OF THESE SUFFERINGS, WHICH, -HOWEVER, DO NOT VARY THEIR REST OR CONTENTMENT BECAUSE OF THEIR -DEIFICATION, WHICH PROGRESSES INFINITELY, BUT GRADUALLY--THEIR PEACE -DISTURBED NEITHER BY GOOD NOR EVIL, AS GOD IS NEITHER TROUBLED NOR -DISTURBED BY THE SIGHT OF MAN'S SIN, ALL THINGS CONTRIBUTING TO HIS -GLORY. - - -The soul has now nothing to do but to remain as it is, and to follow -without resistance all the movements of its Guide. All its movements are -of God, and He guides it infallibly. It is not thus in the inferior -conditions, unless it be when the soul begins to taste of the centre; -but then it is not so infallible, and they would be deceived who applied -this rule to any but the most advanced state. - -It is the duty of this soul to follow blindly with reflection all the -movings of God. Here all reflection is banished, and the soul would -find a difficulty in indulging in it, even if it desired to do so. But -as by an effort it might accomplish it, this habit should be -scrupulously avoided; because reflection alone has the power of leading -man to enter into himself, and of drawing him out of God. Now, I say, -that if man does not go out of God he will never sin; and if he sin, it -is because he has gone out of Him, which can only be the effect of -appropriation; and the soul can only take itself back from its -abandonment by reflex action, which would be to it a hell similar to -that into which the great angel fell when, looking with complacency upon -himself, and preferring himself to God, he became a devil. And this -state would be more terrible as that which had been previously attained -was more advanced. - -It will be objected that suffering is impossible in this condition, not -only as to the centre, but also as to the senses, because in order to -suffering there must be reflex action, and it is reflection which -constitutes the principal and the most painful part of suffering. All -this is true in a certain sense; and as it is a fact that souls far less -advanced than these suffer sometimes by reflection, sometimes by -impression, I maintain that it is also true that those in this degree -cannot suffer otherwise than by impression. This does not imply that -sorrow may not be unlimited, and far more intense than that which is -reflected, as the burning of one brought into actual contact with fire -would be much more severe than that of one who is burned by the -reflection of fire. It will be said, But God can teach them by means of -reflection how to suffer. God will not make use of reflection for this -end. He can show them in a moment what they have to suffer by a direct -view, and not by a reflected one, as those in heaven see in God that -which is in Him, and that which passes out from Him to His creatures, -without looking at these things or reflecting upon them, but remaining -absorbed and lost in God. It is this which deceives so many -spiritually-minded people, who imagine that nothing can be either known -or suffered but by reflection. On the contrary, this kind of knowledge -and suffering is very slight compared to that which is imparted in other -ways. - -All such suffering as can be distinguished and known, though expressed -in such exaggerated terms, does not equal that of those who do not know -their suffering, and cannot admit that they do suffer, because of the -great separation between the two parts. It is true that they suffer -extreme pain; it is true that they suffer nothing, and that they are in -a state of perfect contentment. - -I believe that, if such a soul were taken to hell, it would suffer all -the cruel tortures of its fate in a complete contentment, because of the -beatitude of its transformed centre; and this is the cause of the -indifference which they feel towards all conditions. - -As I have said, this does not prevent their experiencing the extremity -of suffering, as the extremity of suffering does not hinder their -perfect happiness. Those who have experienced it will be well able to -understand me. - -It is not here as in the passive state of love. There the soul is filled -with a love of suffering and of the good pleasure of God: here it is a -loss of the will in God by a state of deification, where all is God -without its being recognised as such. The soul is established by its -condition in its sovereign, unchangeable good. It is in a perfect -beatitude, where nothing can cross its perfect happiness, which is -rendered its permanent condition; for many possess it temporarily, or -know it temporarily, before it becomes their permanent condition. God -gives first the knowledge of the condition, then a desire for it; then -He gives it confusedly and indistinctly; and lastly, He makes it a -normal condition, and establishes the soul in it for ever. - -It will be said that when once the soul is established in this -condition, nothing more can be done for it. It is just the reverse: -there is always an infinitude to be done on the part of God, not on that -of the creature. God does not make the life divine all at once, but by -degrees. Then, as I have said, He enlarges the capacity of the soul, and -can continually deify it more and more, God being an unfathomable depth. - -O Lord! "how great is Thy goodness, which Thou hast laid up for them -that fear Thee!" (Ps. xxxi. 19). - -It was the sight of this state of blessedness which elicited such -frequent exclamations from David after he had been purified from sin. - -But in conclusion, I say that these persons cannot be troubled by sin, -because, although they hate it infinitely, they no longer suffer from -it, seeing it as God sees it; and though, if it were necessary, they -would give their lives to prevent the commission of a single sin, if God -so willed it, they are without action, without desire, without -inclination, without choice, without impatience, in a state of complete -death, seeing things only as God sees them, and judging them only with -God's judgment. - - - - -THE END. - - - - -PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY -EDINBURGH AND LONDON - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Spiritual Torrents, by -Jeanne Marie Bouvières de la Mot Guyon - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPIRITUAL TORRENTS *** - -***** This file should be named 25133.txt or 25133.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/1/3/25133/ - -Produced by Free Elf, David Wilson and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from scanned images of public domain -material from the Google Print project.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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