+--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | 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. 

BYJ. M. B. DE LA MOTHE GUYON. 

Translated from the Paris Edition of 1790BYA. W. MARSTON. 

LONDON:SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, LOW, & SEARLE, CROWN BUILDINGS, 188 FLEET STREET. 1875. 

[_All rights reserved. _]

PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANYEDINBURGH AND LONDON

_PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH PROTESTANT EDITION. _

Some apology is perhaps needed when a Protestant thus brings beforeProtestant readers the works of a consistent Roman Catholic author. Theplea must be, that the doctrine and experience described are essentiallyProtestant; and so far from their receiving the assent of the RomanCatholic Church, their author was persecuted for holding anddisseminating them. 

Of the experience of Madame Guyon, it should be borne in mind, thatthough the glorious heights of communion with God to which she attainedmay be scaled by the feeblest of God's chosen ones, yet it is by nomeans necessary that they should be reached by the same apparentlyarduous and protracted path along which she was led. 

The "Torrents" especially needs to be regarded rather as an account ofthe personal experience of the author, than as the plan which Godinvariably, or even usually, adopts in bringing the soul into a state ofunion with Himself. It is true that, in order that we may "live untorighteousness, " we must be "dead indeed unto sin;" and that there mustbe a crucifixion of self before the life of Christ can be made manifestin us. It is only when we can say, "I am crucified with Christ, " that weare able to add, "Nevertheless I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth inme. " But it does not follow that this inward death must always be aslingering as in the case of Madame Guyon. She tells us herself that thereason was, that she was not wholly resigned to the Divine will, andwilling to be deprived of the gifts of God, that she might enjoy thepossession of the Giver. This resistance to the will of God impliessuffering on the part of the creature, and chastisement on the part ofGod, in order that He may subdue to Himself what is not voluntarilyyielded to Him. 

Of the joy of a complete surrender to God, it is not necessary to speakhere: thousands of God's children are realising its blessedness forthemselves, and proving that it is no hardship, but a joy unspeakable, to present themselves a living sacrifice to God, to live no longer tothemselves, but to Him that died for them, and rose again. 

A simple trust in a living, personal Saviour; a putting away by Hisgrace of all that is known to be in opposition to His will; and anentire self-abandonment to Him, that His designs may be worked out inand through us; such is the simple key to the hidden sanctuary ofcommunion. 

_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. _

BYMADAME J. M. B. DE LA MOTHE-GUYON. 

"Let judgment run down as waters; and righteousness as a mightystream. "--Amos v. 24. 

SPIRITUAL TORRENTS. 

_PART I. _

CHAPTER I. 

SOULS UNDER DIVINE INFLUENCE ARE IMPELLED TO SEEK AFTER GOD, BUT INDIFFERENT WAYS--REDUCED TO THREE, AND EXPLAINED BY A SIMILITUDE. 

As soon as a soul is brought under divine influence, and its return toGod is true and sincere, after the first cleansing which confession andcontrition have effected, God imparts to it a certain instinct to returnto Him in a most complete manner, and to become united to Him. The soulfeels then that it was not created for the amusements and trifles of theworld, but that it has a centre and an end, to which it must be its aimto return, and out of which it can never find true repose. Thisinstinct is very deeply implanted in the soul, more or less in differentcases, according to the designs of God; but all have a loving impatienceto purify themselves, and to adopt the necessary ways and means ofreturning to their source and origin, like rivers, which, after leavingtheir source, flow on continuously, in order to precipitate themselvesinto 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. Allthe burdens which might be laid upon them, and the obstructions whichmight be placed to impede their course, would only serve to redoubletheir violence. It is thus with souls. Some go on quietly towardsperfection, and never reach the sea, or only very late, contented tolose themselves in some stronger and more rapid river, which carriesthem with itself into the sea. Others, which form the second class, flowon more vigorously and promptly than the first. They even carry withthem a number of rivulets; but they are slow and idle in comparisonwith the last class, which rush onward with so much impetuosity, thatthey are utterly useless: they are not available for navigation, nor canany merchandise be trusted upon them, except at certain parts and atcertain times. These are bold and mad rivers, which dash against therocks, which terrify by their noise, and which stop at nothing. Thesecond class are more agreeable and more useful; their gravity ispleasing, they are all laden with merchandise, and we sail upon themwithout fear or peril. 

Let us look, with divine aid, at these three classes of persons, underthe three figures that I have proposed; and we will commence with thefirst, in order to conclude happily with the last. 

CHAPTER II. 

OF THE FIRST WAY, WHICH IS ACTIVE, AND OF MEDITATION--WHAT IT IS--ITSWEAKNESSES, HABITS, OCCUPATIONS, ADVANTAGES, ETC. --GENERAL OPINION--WANTOF OBSERVATION THE CAUSE OF MOST OF THE DISPUTES AND DIFFICULTIES WHICHHAVE ARISEN UPON THE PASSIVE WAY, AND THE ABSURD OBJECTIONS WHICH HAVEBEEN MADE TO IT--SOULS FOR MEDITATION--THEY SHOULD BE LED TO IT THROUGHTHE AFFECTIONS--OPINION CONCERNING THEIR BARRENNESS ANDPOWERLESSNESS--SPIRITUAL BOOKS AND AUTHORS ON THE INNER LIFE, INCONTRAST TO OTHERS--CAPACITY AND INCAPACITY OF SOULS--THE SIMPLE AREBETTER THAN THE GREAT REASONERS. 

The first class of souls are those who, after their conversion, givethemselves up to meditation, or even to works of charity. They performsome exterior austerities; endeavour, little by little, to purifythemselves, to rid themselves of certain notable sins, and even ofvoluntary 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 upaltogether. They do not cease to flow from the source, but it is sofeebly as to be barely perceptible. These rivers carry little or nomerchandise, and, therefore, for the public need, it must be taken tothem. 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 helpof other rivers of the same kind, which are joined together and unitedto it, which rivers thus joined increase the body of water, and, helpingeach 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 speaklater. Such beings have usually little depth of spiritual life. Theywork outwardly, and rarely quit their meditations, so that they are notfit for great things. In general they carry no merchandise--that is tosay, they can impart nothing to others; and God seldom uses them, unlessit be to carry a few little boats--that is, to minister to bodilynecessities; and in order to be used, they must be discharged into thecanals of sensible graces, or united to some others in religion, bywhich 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 inthis life, but only in the next. 

It is not that souls are not sanctified in this way. There are manypeople, who pass for being very virtuous, who never get beyond it, Godgiving them lights conformed to their condition, which are sometimesvery beautiful, and are the admiration of the religious world. The mosthighly favoured of this class are diligent in the practice of virtue;they devise thousands of holy inventions and practices to lead them toGod, and to enable them to abide in His presence; but all isaccomplished by their own efforts, aided and supported by grace, andtheir own works appear to exceed the work of God, His work onlyconcurring with theirs. 

The spiritual life of this class only thrives in proportion to theirwork. If this work be removed, the progress of grace within them isarrested: they resemble pumps, which only yield water in proportion asthey are agitated. You will observe in them a great tendency to assistthemselves by means of their natural sensibilities, a vigorous activity, a desire to be always doing something more and something new to promotetheir perfection, and, in their seasons of barrenness, an anxiety to ridthemselves of it. They are subject to great variation: sometimes they dowonders, at other times they languish and decline. They have no evennessof conduct, because, as the greater part of their religion is in thesenatural sensibilities, whenever it happens that their sensibilities aredry, either from want of work on their part, or from a lack ofcorrespondence on the part of God, they fall into discouragement, orelse they redouble their efforts, in the hope of recovering ofthemselves what they have lost. They never possess, like others, aprofound peace or calmness in the midst of distractions; on thecontrary, they are always on the alert to struggle against them or tocomplain of them. 

Such minds must not be directed to passive devotion; this would be toruin them irrecoverably, taking from them their means of access to God. For as with a person who is compelled to travel, and who has neitherboat nor carriage, nor any other alternative than that of going on foot, if you remove his feet, you place advancement beyond his reach; so withthese souls; if you take away their works, which are their feet, theycan never advance. 

And I believe this to be the cause of the contests which now agitate thereligious world. Those who are in the _passive_ way, conscious of theblessedness 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 involveinestimable loss. 

What must be done then? We must take the middle course, and see forwhich of the two ways souls are fitted. 

This may be known in some by the opposition they have to remaining atrest, and allowing themselves to be led by the Spirit of God; by aconfusion of faults and defects into which they fall without beingconscious of them; or, if they are possessed of natural prudence, by acertain skill in concealing their faults from others and fromthemselves; by their adherence to their sentiments, and by a number ofother indications which cannot be explained. 

The way to deliver them from such a state would be, to lead them to liveless in the intellect and more in the affections, and if it be manifestthat they are gradually substituting the one for the other, it is a signthat a spiritual work is being carried on within them. 

I am at a loss to understand why so loud a cry is raised against thosebooks and writers that treat of the inner life. I maintain that they cando no harm, unless it be to some who are willing to lose themselves forthe sake of their own pleasure, to whom not only these things, buteverything else, would be an injury: like spiders, which convert flowersinto venom. But they can do no injury to those humble souls who aredesirous for perfection, because it is impossible for any to understandthem to whom the special light is not accorded; and whatever others mayread, they cannot rightly understand those conditions which, beingbeyond the range of imagination, can be known only by experience. Perfection goes on with a steady advancement corresponding to theprogress of the inner life. 

Not that there are no persons advanced in sanctification who have faultsin appearance even greater than those of others, but they are not thesame either as to their nature or their quality. 

The second reason why I say that such books can do no harm is, that theydemand so much natural death, so much breaking off, so many things to beconquered and destroyed, that no one would ever have strength for theundertaking without sincerity of purpose; or even if any one undertookit, it would only produce the effect of _meditation_, which is toendeavour 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, theevils which they bring upon others are irremediable, for they keep themall their lives stopping at certain things which hinder God fromblessing them infinitely. 

It seems to me that we must act in the divine life as in a school. Thescholars are not kept always in the same class, but are passed on toothers more advanced. O human science! you are so little worth, and yetwith you men do not fail to take every precaution! O science mysteriousand 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, willthere never be a school of religion! Alas! by wishing to make it astudy, man has marred it. He has sought to give rules and limits to theSpirit 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 ratherthan a devotion. More than this, I say that such souls as these, whoappear so powerless and so incapable, are worthy of consideration, provided they only knock at the door, and wait with a humble patienceuntil it be opened to them. Those persons of great intellect and subtleunderstanding, who cannot remain a moment in silence before God, whomake a continual Babel, who are so well able to give an account of theirdevotion in all its parts, who go through it always according to theirown will, and with the same method, who exercise themselves as theywill on any subject which suggests itself to them, who are so wellsatisfied with themselves and their light, who expatiate upon thepreparation and the methods for prayer, will make but little advance init; and after ten or twenty years of this exercise, will always remainthe same. 

Alas! when it is a question of loving a miserable creature, do they usea method for that? The most ignorant in such a matter are the mostskilful. It is the same, and yet very different, with divine love. Therefore, if one who has never known such religion comes to you tolearn it, teach him to love God much, and to let himself go with aperfect abandonment into love, and he will soon know it. If it be anature slow to love, let him do his best, and wait in patience till loveitself 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 PASSIVEWAY, BUT ONE OF LIGHT, AND OF TWO KINDS OF INTRODUCTION TOIT--DESCRIPTION OF THIS CLASS, AND OF THEIR STRIKING ADVANTAGES--VARIOUSNECESSARY PRECAUTIONS AND OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING THIS CLASS, THEIRCONDUCT, PERFECTIONS, IMPERFECTIONS, AND EXPERIENCES. 

The second class are like those large rivers which move with a slow andsteady course. They flow with pomp and majesty; their course is directand easily followed; they are charged with merchandise, and can go on tothe sea without mingling with other rivers; but they are late inreaching it, being grave and slow. There are even some who never reachit at all, and these, for the most part, lose themselves in other largerrivers, or else turn aside to some arm of the sea. Many of these riversserve to carry merchandise, and are heavily laden with it. They may bekept back by sluices, and turned off at certain points. Such are thesouls in the _passive way of sight_. Their strength is very abundant;they are laden with gifts, and graces, and celestial favours; they arethe admiration of their generation; and numbers of saints who shine asstars in the Church have never passed this limit. This class is composedof two kinds. The first commenced in the ordinary way, and haveafterwards been drawn to passive contemplation. The others have been, asit were, taken by surprise; they have been seized by the heart, and theyfeel themselves loving without having learned to know the object oftheir 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 thesenses can only be taken to it because it is communicated to them: theeyes see and the heart loves. It is not so with divine love. God, havingan absolute power over the heart of man, and being its origin and itsend, it is not necessary that He should make known to it what He is. Hetakes it by assault, without giving it battle. The heart is powerlessto resist Him, even though He may not use an absolute and violentauthority, unless it be in some cases where He permits it to be so, inorder to manifest His power. He takes hearts, then, in this way, makingthem burn in a moment; but usually He gives them flashes of light whichdazzle them, and lift them nearer to Himself. These persons appear muchgreater than those of whom I shall speak later, to those who are notpossessed of a divine discernment, for they attain outwardly to a highdegree of perfection, God eminently elevating their natural capacity, and replenishing it in an extraordinary manner; and yet they are neverreally brought to a state of annihilation to self, and God does notusually so draw them out of their own being that they become lost inHimself. Such characters as these are, however, the wonder andadmiration of men. God bestows on them gifts upon gifts, graces upongraces, visions, revelations, inward voices, ecstasies, ravishments, &c. It seems as though God's only care was to enrich and beautify them, andto communicate to them His secrets. All joys are theirs. 

This does not imply that they bear no heavy crosses, no fiercetemptations: these are the shadows which cause their virtues to shinewith greater brilliancy; for these temptations are thrust backvigorously, the crosses are borne bravely; they even desire more ofthem: they are all flame and fire, enthusiasm and love. God uses them toaccomplish great things, and it seems as though they only need to desirea thing in order to receive it from God, He finding His delight insatisfying all their desires and doing all their will. Yet in the samepath there are various degrees of progression, and some attain a farhigher standard of perfection than others; their danger lies in fixingtheir thoughts upon what God has done for them, thus stopping at thegifts, instead of being led through them to the Giver. 

The design of God in the bestowal of His grace, and in the profusionwith which He gives it, is to bring them nearer to Himself; but theymake use of it for an utterly different end: they rest in it, reflectupon it, look at it, and appropriate it; and hence arise vanity, complaisance, self-esteem, the preference of themselves to others, andoften the destruction of religious life. These people are admirable, inthemselves considered; and sometimes by a special grace they are madevery helpful to others, particularly if they have been brought fromgreat depths of sin. But usually they are less fitted to lead othersthan those who come after; for being near to God themselves, they have ahorror of sin, and often a shrinking from sinners, and never havingexperienced the miseries they see in others, they are astonished, andunable to render either help or advice. They expect too greatperfection, and do not lead on to it little by little, and if they meetwith weak ones, they do not aid them in proportion to their ownadvancement, or in accordance with God's designs, but often even seek toavoid them. They find it difficult to converse with those who have notreached their own level, preferring a solitary life to all the ministryof love. If such persons were heard in conversation by those notdivinely enlightened, they would be believed equal to the last class, oreven more advanced. They make use of the same terms--of DEATH, LOSS OFSELF, ANNIHILATION, &c. ; and it is quite true that they do die in theirown way, that they are annihilated and lose themselves, for often theirnatural sensibilities are lost or suspended in their seasons ofdevotion; they even lose the habit of making use of them. Thus thesesouls are passive, but they have light, and love, and strength inthemselves; they like to retain something of their own, it may be eventheir virtues, but in so delicate a form that only the Divine eye candetect it. Such as these are so laden with merchandise that their courseis very slow. What must be done with them, then, to lead them out ofthis way? There is a more safe and certain path for them, even that offaith: they need to be led from the sensible to the supernatural, fromthat which is known and perceived to the very deep, yet very safe, darkness of faith. It is useless to endeavour to ascertain whether thesethings be of God or not, since they must be surpassed; for if they areof God, they will be carried on by Him, if only we abandon ourselves toHim; and if they are not of God, we shall not be deceived by them, if wedo not stay at them. 

This class of people find far greater difficulty in entering the way offaith than the first, for as what they already possess is so great, andso evidently from God, they will not believe that there is anythinghigher in the Church of God. Therefore they cling to it. 

O God! how many spiritual possessions there are which appear greatvirtues to those who are not divinely enlightened, and which appeargreat and dangerous defects to those who are so! For those in this wayregard as virtues what others look upon as subtle faults; and even thelight to see them in their true colours is not given to them. Thesepeople have rules and regulations for their obedience, which are markedby prudence; they are strong and vigorous, though they appear dead. Theyare indeed dead as to their own wants, but not as to their foundation. Such souls as these often possess an inner silence, certain sinkingsinto God, which they distinguish and express well; but they have notthat secret longing to be nothing, like the last class. It is true theydesire to be nothing by a certain perceptible annihilation, a deephumility, an abasement under the immense weight of God's greatness. Allthis is an annihilation in which they dwell without being annihilated. They have the feeling of annihilation without the reality, for the soulis still sustained by its feelings, and this state is more satisfactoryto it than any other, for it gives more assurance. This class usuallyare 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 tosanctify more eminently; and such He robs by degrees of all theirriches. But as there are few sufficiently courageous to be willing, after so much blessedness, to lose it all, few pass this point, God'sintention perhaps being that they should not pass it, and that, as inthe Father's house there are many mansions, they should only occupy thisone. 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 OFA TORRENT--PROPENSITY OF THE SOUL TOWARDS GOD--ITS PROPERTIES, OBSTACLES, AND EFFECTS EXPLAINED BY THE SIMILITUDE OF FIRE--WHAT BEFALLSTHE SOUL CALLED TO WALK IN THE PASSIVE WAY OF FAITH--DESCRIPTION OF THEFIRST DEGREE OF THIS THIRD WAY, AND OF THE STATE OF THE SOUL IN IT--THEREST 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 thatthey resemble TORRENTS which rise in high mountains? They have theirsource in God Himself, and they have not a moment's rest until they arelost in Him. Nothing stops them, and no burdens are laid upon them. Theyrush on with a rapidity which alarms even the most confident. Thesetorrents flow without order, here and there, wherever they can find apassage, having neither regular beds nor an orderly course. Theysometimes become muddy by passing through ground which is not firm, andwhich they bear away with them by their rapidity. Sometimes they appearto be irrecoverably lost, then they reappear for a time, but it is onlyto precipitate themselves in another abyss, still deeper than the formerone. It is the sport of these torrents to show themselves, to losethemselves, and to break themselves upon the rocks. Their course is sorapid as to be undiscernible; but finally, after many precipices andabysses, after having been dashed against rocks, and many times lost andfound again, they reach the sea, where they are lost to be found nomore. And there, however poor, mean, useless, destitute of merchandisethe poor torrent may have been, it is wonderfully enriched, for it isnot rich with its own riches, like other rivers, which only bear acertain amount of merchandise or certain rarities, but it is rich withthe 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 theriver, being lost in the sea, has become one with it. 

It is to be remarked, that the river or torrent thus precipitated intothe sea does not lose its nature, although it is so changed and lost asnot to be recognised. It will always remain what it was, yet itsidentity is lost, not as to reality, but as to quality; for it so takesthe properties of salt water, that it has nothing peculiar to itself, and the more it loses itself and remains in the sea, the more itexchanges its own nature for that of the sea. For what, then, is notthis poor torrent fitted? Its capacity is unlimited, since it is thesame as that of the sea; it is capable of enriching the whole earth. Ohappy loss! who can set thee forth? Who can describe the gain which hasbeen made by this useless and good-for-nothing river, despised andlooked upon as a mad thing, on which the smallest boat could not betrusted, because, not being able to restrain itself, it would havedragged the boat with it. What do you say of the fate of this torrent, Ogreat rivers! which flow with such majesty, which are the delight andadmiration of the world, and glory in the quantity of merchandise spreadout upon you? The fate of this poor torrent, which you regard withcontempt, or at best with compassion, what has it become? What use canit 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 onlythe overflow of its abundance, or a fresh supply which you are carryingto it. 

But before speaking of the happiness of a soul thus lost in God, we mustbegin with its origin and go on by degrees. 

The soul, as we have said, having proceeded from God, has a continualpropensity to return to Him, because, as He is its origin, He is alsoits final end. Its course would be interminable if it were not arrestedor interrupted by sin and unbelief. Therefore the heart of man isperpetually in motion, and can find no rest till it returns to itsorigin and its centre, which is God: like fire, which, being removedfrom its sphere, is in continual agitation, and does not rest till ithas returned to it, and then, by a miracle of nature, this element, soactive itself as to consume everything by its activity, is at perfectrest. O poor soul who are seeking happiness in this life! you will neverfind it out of God. Seek to return to Him: there all your longings andtroubles, your agitations and anxieties, will be reduced to perfectrest. 

It is to be remarked, that in proportion as fire approaches its centre, it always approaches rest, although its swiftness increases. It is thesame with the soul: as soon as sin ceases to hold it back, it seeksindefatigably to find God; and if it were not for sin, nothing couldimpede its course, which would be so speedy, that it would soon attainits 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; forthe rest, or rather the peace, since it is not at rest, but is pursuinga peaceful course, increases so that its peace redoubles its speed, andits speed increases its peace. 

The hindrances, then, arise from sins and imperfections, which arrestfor a time the course of the soul, more or less, according to themagnitude of the fault. Then the soul is conscious of its activity, asthough when fire was going on towards its centre, it encounteredobstacles, such as pieces of wood or straw: it would resume its formeractivity in order to consume these obstacles or barriers, and thegreater the obstacle the more its activity would increase. If it were apiece of wood, a longer and stronger activity would be needed to consumeit; but if it were only a straw, it would be burned up in a moment, andwould but very slightly impede its course. You will notice that theobstacles which the fire would encounter would only impart to it a freshstimulus to surmount all which prevented its union with its centre;again, it is to be remarked, that the more obstacles the fire mightencounter, and the more considerable they might be, the more they wouldretard its course; and if it were continually meeting with fresh ones, it would be kept back, and prevented from returning whence it came. Weknow by experience, that if we continually add fuel to fire, we shallkeep it down, and prevent its rising. It is the same with the souls ofmen. Their instincts and natural propensities lead them towards God. They would advance incessantly, were it not for the hindrances theymeet. These hindrances are sins and imperfections, which prove thegreater obstacles in the way of their return to God, according as theyare serious and lasting; so that if they continue in sin, they willnever reach their end. Those, therefore, who have not sinned so grosslyas others, should advance much more rapidly. This usually is the case, and yet it seems as though God took pleasure in making "grace aboundwhere sin has most abounded" (Rom. V. 20). I believe that one of thereasons of this, to be found in those who have not grossly sinned, istheir estimation of their own righteousness, and this is an obstaclemore difficult to surmount then even the grossest sins, because wecannot have so great an attachment to sins which are so hideous inthemselves, as we have to our own righteousness; and God, who will notdo violence to liberty, leaves such hearts to enjoy their holiness attheir own pleasure, while He finds His delight in purifying the mostmiserable. And in order to accomplish His purpose, He sends a strongerand fiercer fire, which consumes those gross sins more easily than aslower fire consumes smaller obstacles. It even seems as though Godloved to set up His throne in these criminal hearts, in order tomanifest His power, and to show how He can restore the disfigured soulto its original condition, and even make it more beautiful than it wasbefore it fell. Those then who have greatly sinned, and for whom I nowwrite, are conscious of a great fire consuming all their sins andhindrances; they often find their course impeded by besetting sins, butthis fire consumes them again and again, till they are completelysubdued. And as the fire thus goes on consuming, the obstacles are moreand more easily surmounted, so that at last they are no more thanstraws, which, far from impeding its course, only make it burn the morefiercely. 

Let us then take the soul in its original condition, and follow itthrough its various stages, if God, who inspires these thoughts, whichonly 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 amanner unknown to ordinary Christians, He begins His work by impartingto it a sense of its distance from Him. As soon as it has perceived andfelt this distance, the natural inclination which it has to return toits source, and which has been, as it were, deadened by sin, is revived. Then the soul experiences true sorrow for sin, and is painfullyconscious of the evil which is caused by this separation from God. Thissentiment thus implanted in the soul leads it to seek the means ofridding itself of this trouble, and of entering into a certain restwhich it sees from afar, but which only redoubles its anxiety, andincreases its desire to pursue it until it finds it. 

Some of those who are thus exercised, having never been taught that theymust seek to have God within them, and not expect to find Him in outwardrighteousness, give themselves up to meditation, and seek without whatcan only be found within. This meditation, in which they seldom succeed, because God, who has better things in store for them, does not permitthem to find any rest in such an experience, only serves to increasetheir longing; for their wound is at the heart, and they apply theplaster externally, which does but foster the disease, instead ofhealing it. They struggle a long time with this exercise, and theirstruggling does but increase their powerlessness; and unless God, whoHimself assumes the charge of them, sends some messenger to show them adifferent way, they will lose their time, and will lose it just so longas they remain unaided. But God, who is abundant in goodness, does notfail to send them help, though it may be but passing and temporary. Assoon, then, as they are taught that they cannot advance because theirwound is an internal one, and they are seeking to heal it by externalapplications; when they are led to seek in the depths of their ownhearts what they have sought in vain out of themselves; then they find, with an astonishment which overwhelms them, that they have within them atreasure which they have been seeking far off. Then they rejoice intheir new liberty; they marvel that prayer is no longer a burden, andthat the more they retire within themselves, the more they taste of acertain mysterious something which ravishes them and carries them away, and they would wish ever to love thus, and thus to be buried withinthemselves. Yet what they experience, delightful as it may appear, doesnot stop them, if they are to be led into pure faith, but leads them tofollow after something more, which they have not yet known. They are nowall ardour and love. They seem already to be in Paradise; for what theypossess within themselves is infinitely sweeter than all the joys ofearth: these they can leave without pain; they would leave the wholeworld to enjoy for one hour their present experience. They find thatprayer has become their continual attitude; their love increases day byday, so that their one desire is always to love and never to beinterrupted. And as they are not now strong enough to be undisturbed byconversation, they shun and fear it; they love to be alone, and to enjoythe caresses of their Beloved. They have within themselves a Counsellor, who lets them find no pleasure in earthly things, and who does notsuffer them to commit a single fault, without making them feel by Hiscoldness how much sin is displeasing to Him. This coldness of God, intimes of transgression, is to them the most terrible chastisement. Itseems as though God's only care were to correct and reprove them, andHis one purpose to perfect them. It is a surprise to themselves and toothers 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 tocorrect and to purify the hearts of Thy children!

God has yet another means of chastising the soul, when it is furtheradvanced in the divine life, by making Himself more fully known to itafter it falls; then the poor soul is covered with confusion; it wouldrather bear the most severe chastisement than this goodness of God afterit has sinned. 

These persons are now so full of their own feelings that they want toimpart 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 arefruitful in good works; there is no reasoning here, nothing but a deepand burning love. The soul feels itself seized and held fast by a divineforce which ravishes and consumes it. It is like intoxicated persons, who are so possessed with wine that they do not know what they aredoing, and are no longer masters of themselves. If such as these try toread, the book falls from their hands, and a single line suffices them;they can hardly get through a page in a whole day, however assiduouslythey may devote themselves to it, for a single word from God awakensthat secret instinct which animates and fires them, so that love closesboth their mouth and their eyes. They cannot utter verbal prayers, beingunable to pronounce them. A heart which is unaccustomed to this does notknow what it means; for it has never experienced anything like itbefore, and it does not understand why it cannot pray, and yet it cannotresist the power which overcomes it. It cannot be troubled, nor befearful of doing wrong, for He who holds it bound does not permit iteither to doubt that it is He who thus holds it, or to strive againstit, for if it makes an effort to pray, it feels that He who possesses itcloses its lips, and compels it, by a sweet and loving violence, to besilent. Not that the creature cannot resist and speak by an effort, butbesides doing violence to himself he loses this divine peace, and feelsthat he is becoming dry: he must allow himself to be moved upon by Godat His will, and not in his own way. The soul in this state imaginesitself to be in an inward silence, because its working is so gentle, soeasy, and so quiet that it does not perceive it. It believes itself tohave reached the summit of perfection, and it sees nothing before it butenjoyment of the wealth it possesses. 

These Christians, so ardent and so desirous after God, begin to rest intheir condition, and gradually and insensibly to lose the lovingactivity in seeking after God which formerly characterised them, beingsatisfied with their joy which they substituted for God Himself; andthis rest would be to them an irreparable loss, if God, in His infinitegoodness, did not draw them out of this state to lead them into one moreadvanced. But before speaking of it, let us look at the imperfections ofthis stage. 

CHAPTER V. 

IMPERFECTIONS, INTERIOR AND EXTERIOR, OF THIS FIRST DEGREE--MISTAKESTHAT ARE MADE IN IT--ITS PASSIVITY--SPIRITUAL DRYNESS, MINGLED WITH ATENDER BUT SELF-INTERESTED LOVE, WHICH NEEDS THE EXPERIENCE ANDPURIFICATIONS OF THE FOLLOWING DEGREE. 

The soul in the degree of which I have just spoken can and does makegreat advances, going from love to love, and from cross to cross; but itfalls so frequently, and is so selfish, that it may be said to move onlyat a snail's pace, although it appears to itself and to others toprogress infinitely. The torrent is now in a flat country, and has notyet found the slope of the mountain down which it may precipitateitself, and take a course which is never to be stopped. 

The faults of those in this degree are a certain self-esteem, morehidden and deeply rooted than it was before they had received thesegraces and favours from God; a certain secret contempt for others whomthey see so far behind themselves, and a certain hardness for sin andsinners; a zeal of St John before the descent of the Holy Ghost, when hewanted to call down fire from heaven upon the Samaritans to consumethem; a certain confidence in their own safety and virtue; a secretpride, which causes them to grieve specially over the faults which theycommit in public: they appropriate the gifts of God, and treat them asthough they were their own: they forget weakness and poverty in thestrength which they possess; so that they lose all self-distrust. Thoughall this and much more is to be found in persons in this degree, theyare themselves unconscious of it; but these faults will make themselvesknown in time. The grace which they feel so strongly in themselves beingan assurance to them that they have nothing to fear, they allowthemselves to speak without being divinely commissioned. They areanxious to communicate what they feel to every one else. It is true thatthey are of use to others, for their burning words take hold of thehearts of those who hear them; but apart from the fact that they cannotdo the good they would do, if God would have them impart to others whatthey have received, they are giving out of their necessity and not oftheir abundance; so that they exhaust themselves; as you have seenseveral pools of water under a fountain. The fountain alone gives out ofits abundance, and the pools only send into each other of the fulnesswhich is communicated to them; but if the fountain be closed or turnedaside, and the pools cease to overflow, then as they are cut off fromthe source, they dry up. This is precisely what happens to those in thisdegree. They want to be constantly sending out their waters, and it isnot till late that they perceive that the water which they had was onlyfor themselves, and that they are not in a state to communicate it, because they are not connected with the source. They are like bottles ofscent which are left open: they find so much sweetness in the odourwhich they emit that they do not perceive the loss they themselvessustain. Yet they appear to practise virtue without any effort, sincethey are occupied only with a general love, without reason or motive. Ifyou ask them what they do during the day, they will tell you that theylove; but if you ask why they love, they will tell you that they do notknow; they only know that they love, and that they burn with desire tosuffer for the object of their love. You may ask if it is not the sightof the sufferings of their Beloved which inspires them with the longingto suffer with Him, but they will reply that the thought of Hissufferings did not even enter their mind. Neither is it the desire toimitate the virtues which they see in Him, for they do not think ofthem, nor the sight of His beauty which enraptures them, for they do notlook 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 pleasurein their grief. 

They believe now that they have arrived at the consummation of all, forthough they are full of the faults I have mentioned, and many others yetmore dangerous, which are better perceived in the following degree thanin this, they rest in their fancied perfection, and stopping at themeans, which they mistake for the end, they would remain stationary, ifGod did not bring the torrent, which is now like a peaceful lake on amountain-top, to the brow of the hill in order to precipitate it, and tostart it on a course which will be more or less rapid according to thedepth of its fall. 

It appears to me that even the most advanced in this degree have a habitof concealing their faults, both from themselves and others, alwaysfinding excuses and extenuations; not designedly, but from a certainlove of their own excellence, and a habitual dissimulation under whichthey hide themselves. The faults which cause them the deepest solicitudeare those which are most apparent to others. They have a hidden love ofself, stronger than ever, an esteem for their own position, a secretdesire to attract attention, an affected modesty, a facility in judgingothers, and a preference for private devotion rather than domesticduties, which renders them the cause of many of the sins of those aroundthem. This is of great importance. The soul, feeling itself drawn sostrongly and sweetly, desires to be always alone and in prayer, whichgives rise to two evils--the first, that in its seasons of greatestliberty it spends too much time in solitude; the second, that when itsvigour of love is exhausted, as it often is in this way, it has not thesame strength in times of dryness; it finds it difficult to remain solong in prayer; it readily shortens the time; its thoughts wander toexterior objects; then it is discouraged and cast down, thinking thatall is lost, and does everything in its power to restore itself to thepresence and favour of God. 

But if such persons were strong enough to live an even life, and not toseek to do more in seasons of abundance than in times of barrenness, they would satisfy every one. As it is, they are troublesome to thosearound them, to whom they cannot condescend, making it a favour to laythemselves out for the satisfaction of others: they preserve an austeresilence when it is unnecessary, and at other times talk incessantly ofthe things of God. A wife has scruples about pleasing her husband, entertaining him, walking with him, or seeking to amuse him, but hasnone about speaking uselessly for two hours with religious devotees. This is a horrible abuse. We ought to be diligent in the discharge ofall duties, whatever their nature may be; and even if they do cause usinconvenience, we shall yet find great profit in doing this, not perhapsin the way we imagine, but in hastening the crucifixion of self. It evenseems as though our Lord shows that such sacrifice is pleasing to Him bythe grace which He sheds upon it. I knew a lady who, when playing atcards with her husband in order to please him, experienced such deep andintimate communion with God as she never felt in prayer, and it was thesame with everything she did at her husband's desire; but if sheneglected these things for others which she thought better, she wasconscious that she was not walking in the will of God. This did notprevent her often committing faults, because the attractions ofmeditation and the happiness of devotion, which are preferred to theseapparent losses of time, insensibly draw the soul away, and lead it tochange 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 sufferedlong to remain in these errors, because, as God designs to lead them onto better things, He makes them conscious of their deficiency. It oftenhappens, too, that persons by means of this death to self, and actingcontrary to their natural inclinations, feel themselves more stronglydrawn to their inward rest; for it is natural to man to desire moststrongly what it is most difficult for him to obtain, and to desire mostintensely those things which he most earnestly resolves to avoid. Thisdifficulty of being able to enjoy only a partial rest increases therest, and causes them even in activity to feel themselves acted upon sopowerfully that they seem to have two souls within them, the inner onebeing infinitely stronger than the outer. But if they leave their dutiesin 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 compulsoryprayer, which is gone through as a duty that must not be avoided;neither do I understand by activity the labours of their own choice, butthose which come within the range of positive duty. If they have sparetime at their disposal, by all means let them spend it in prayer; normust they lay upon themselves unnecessary burdens, and call themobligations. When the taste for meditation is very great, the soul doesnot usually fall into these last-named errors, but rather into theformer one, that of courting retirement. I knew a person who spent moretime in prayer when it was painful to her than when she felt it adelight, struggling with the disinclination; but this is injurious tothe health, because of the violence which it does to the senses and theunderstanding, which being unable to concentrate themselves upon any oneobject, and being deprived of the sweet communion which formerly heldthem in subjection to God, endure such torment, that the subject of itwould rather suffer the greatest trial than the violence which isnecessary to enable it to fix its thoughts on God. The person to whom Ialluded sometimes passed two or three hours successively in this painfuldevotion, and she has assured me that the strangest austerities wouldhave been delightful to her in comparison with the time thus spent. Butas a violence so strong as this in subjects so weak is calculated toruin both body and mind, I think it is better not in any way toregulate the time spent in prayer by our varying emotions. This painfuldryness of which I have spoken belongs only to the first degree offaith, and is often the effect of exhaustion; and yet those who havepassed through it imagine themselves dead, and write and speak of it asthe most sorrowful part of the spiritual life. It is true they have notknown the contrary experience, and often they have not the courage topass through this, for in this sorrow the soul is deserted by God, whowithdraws from it His sensible helps, but it is nevertheless caused bythe senses, because, being accustomed to see and to feel, and neverhaving experienced a similar privation, they are in despair, whichhowever is not of long duration, for the forces of the soul are not thenin a state to bear for long such a pressure; it will either go back toseek for spiritual food, or else it will give all up. This is why theLord does not fail to return: sometimes He does not even suffer theprayer to cease before He reappears; and if He does not return duringthe 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 thesoul of His beloved, or that He would pay back with usury what she hassuffered for His love. If this consolation last for many days, itbecomes painful. She calls Him sweet and cruel: she asks Him if He hasonly wounded her that she may die. But this kind Lover laughs at herpain, and applies to the wound a balm so sweet, that she could ask to becontinually receiving fresh wounds, that she might always find a newdelight in a healing which not only restores her former health, butimparts one yet more abundant. 

Hitherto it has only been a play of love, to which the soul would easilybecome accustomed if her Beloved did not change His conduct. O poorhearts who complain of the flights of love! You do not know that this isonly a farce, an attempt, a specimen of what is to follow. The hours ofabsence mark the days, the weeks, the months, and the years. You mustlearn to be generous at your own expense, to suffer your Beloved tocome and go at His pleasure. I seem to see these young brides. They areat the height of grief when their Beloved leaves them: they mourn Hisabsence as if it were death, and endeavour, as far as they can, toprevent His departure. This love appears deep and strong, but it is notso by any means. It is the pleasure they derive from the sight of theirBeloved which they mourn after. It is their own satisfaction they seek, for if it were the pleasure of their Beloved, they would rejoice in thepleasure which He found apart from them, as much as in that which Hefound with them. So it is self-interested love, though it does notappear such to them; on the contrary, they believe that they only loveHim for what He is. It is true, poor souls, you do love Him for what Heis, but you love Him because of the pleasure you find in what He is. Youreply that you are willing to suffer for your Beloved. True, provided Hewill be the witness and the companion of your suffering. You say youdesire no recompense. I agree; but you do desire that He should know ofyour 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 wesuffer 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 notpermit you to enjoy the pleasure which you take in seeing Hissatisfaction with your sorrow. You must suffer without His appearing tosee it, or to approve of it, or to know it. That would be too great agratification. What pain would we not suffer on such conditions! What!to know that our Beloved sees our woes, and takes an infinite pleasurein them! This is too great a pleasure for a generous heart! Yet I amsure the greatest generosity of those in this degree never goes beyondthis. But to suffer without our Beloved being aware of it, when He seemsto despise what we do to please Him, and to turn away from it; to haveonly scorn for what formerly seemed to charm Him; to see Him repay witha terrible coldness and distance what we do for His sake alone, and withterrible flights all our pursuit of Him; to lose without complaint allthat He had formerly given as pledges of His love, and which we thinkwe have repaid by our love, our fidelity, and our suffering; not onlyuncomplainingly to suffer ourselves to be thus despoiled, but to seeothers enriched with our spoils, and nevertheless not to cease to dowhat would please our absent Lover; not to cease following after Him;and if by unfaithfulness or surprise we stop for a moment, to redoubleour speed, without fearing or contemplating the precipices, although wefall a thousand times, till we are so weary that we lose our strength, and die from continual fatigue; when, perhaps, if our Beloved turns andlooks upon us, His glance restores life by the exquisite pleasure itgives; until at last He becomes so cruel that He lets us die for want ofhelp: all this, I say, belongs not to this state, but to that whichfollows. I must remark here, that the degree of which I have beenspeaking is of very long duration, at least unless God intends the soulto 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 THISDEGREE--ENTRANCE INTO IT AND USELESS EFFORTS TO AVOID IT--GRADATIONS ANDADVANCEMENTS IN THIS DEGREE, IN WHICH OCCUR FREQUENT MANIFESTATIONS OFCHRIST TO THE SOUL--THE USES AND ABUSES WHICH IT MAKES OF THEM, BY WHICHIT IS BROUGHT TO MYSTICAL DEATH, OR TO THE THIRD DEGREE OF THIS PASSIVEWAY OF FAITH. 

The torrent having come to the brow of the hill, enters at the same timeinto the _second degree of the passive way of faith_. This soul, whichwas so peacefully resting on the mountain-top, had no thought of leavingit. However, for want of a declivity, these waters of Heaven by theirstay upon earth were becoming tainted; for there is this differencebetween stagnant waters which have no outlet, and those which are inmotion and have an outlet, that the first, with the exception of thesea, and those large lakes which resemble it, grow putrid, and theirwant of motion causes their destruction. But when, after leaving theirsource, they have an easy outlet, the more rapidly they flow, the morethey are preserved. 

You will remember I remarked before of this soul, that as soon as Godimparted to it the gift of _passive_ faith, He gave it at the same timean instinct to seek after Him as its centre; but in its unfaithfulnessit stifles by its repose this instinct to seek God, and would remainstationary, if God did not revive this instinct by bringing it to theedge of the mountain, whence it is compelled to precipitate itself. Atfirst it is sensible that it has lost that calmness which it expected toretain for ever. Its waters, formerly so tranquil, begin to be noisy. Atumult is seen in its waves; they run and dash over. But where do theyrun? Alas! as they imagine, it is to their own destruction. If it werein their power to desire anything, they would wish to restrainthemselves, and return to their former calm. But this is impossible. Thedeclivity is found; they must be precipitated from slope to slope. It isno 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 andprecipitated; one wave follows another, and the other takes it up andcrashes it by its precipitation. Yet this water finds on the slope ofthe mountain certain flat places where it takes a little relaxation. Itdelights in the clearness of its waters; and it sees that its falls, itscourse, this breaking of its waves upon the rocks, have served to renderit more pure. It finds itself delivered from its noise and storms, andthinks it has now found its resting-place; and it believes this the morereadily because it cannot doubt that the state through which it has justpassed has greatly purified it, for it sees that its waters are clearer, and it no longer perceives the disagreeable odour which certain stagnantparts had given to it on the top of the mountain; it has even acquired acertain insight into its own condition; it has seen by the troubledstate of its passions (the waves) that they were not lost, but onlyasleep. As when it was descending the mountain, on its way to thislevel, it thought it was losing its way, and had no hope of recoveringits 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, itforgets its former trouble, and never imagines there will be a return ofit: it sees that it has acquired fresh purity, and does not fear that itwill again become soiled; for here it is not stagnant, but flows asgently and brightly as possible. Ah, poor torrent! You think you havefound your resting-place, and are firmly established in it! You begin todelight in your waters. The swans glide upon them, and rejoice in theirbeauty. But what is your surprise while, as you are flowing along sohappily, you suddenly encounter a steeper slope, longer and moredangerous than the first! Then the torrent recommences its tumult. Formerly it was only a moderate noise; now it is insupportable. Itdescends with a crash and a roar greater than ever. It can hardly besaid to have a bed, for it falls from rock to rock, and dashes downwithout order or reason; it alarms every one by its noise; all fear toapproach it. Ah, poor torrent! what will you do? You drag away in yourfury all that comes in your way; you feel nothing but the declivity downwhich 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. Theremust be many more disturbances and losses before then; you have but justcommenced your course. 

At last this dashing torrent feels that it has gained the foot of themountain and another level spot. It resumes its former calm, and even adeeper one; and after having passed it may be years in these changes, itenters the third degree, before speaking of which I will touch upon thecondition of those who enter it, and the first steps in it. The soulhaving 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 itspassions to be dead; when it is expecting to enjoy with the greatestsafety a happiness it has no fear of losing, is astonished to find that, instead of mounting higher, or at least remaining in its presentposition, it comes to the slope of the mountain. It begins, to itsamazement, to be sensible of an inclination for the things it had givenup. It sees its deep calm suddenly disturbed; distractions come incrowds, one upon another; the soul finds only stones in its path, dryness and aridity. A feeling of distaste comes into prayer. Itspassions, which it thought were dead, but which were only asleep, allrevive. 

It is completely astonished at this change. It would like either toreturn 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 (notinto 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 torestrain itself, and to cling to some devotional exercise; it makes aneffort to recover its former peace; it seeks solitude in the hope ofrecovering it. But its labour is in vain. It resigns itself to sufferits dejection, and hates the sin which has occasioned it. It longs toput things right, but can find no means of doing it; the torrent must goon its way; it drags with it all that is opposed to it. Then, seeingthat it no longer finds support in God, it seeks it in the creature; butit finds none; and its unfaithfulness only increases its apprehension. At last, the poor bride, not knowing what to do, weeping everywhere theloss of her Beloved, is filled with astonishment when He again revealsHimself to her. At first she is charmed at the sight, as she feared shehad lost Him for ever. She is all the more happy, because she finds thatHe has brought with Him new wealth, a new purity, a great distrust ofself. She has no longer the desire to stop, as she formerly had; shegoes on continuously, but peacefully and gently, and yet she has fearslest her peace should be disturbed. She trembles lest she should againlose the treasure which is all the dearer to her because she had been sosensible of its loss. She is afraid she may displease Him, and that Hewill leave her again. She tries to be more faithful to Him, and not tomake an end of the means. 

However, this repose carries away the soul, ravishes it, and renders itidle. It cannot help being sensible of its peace, and it desires to bealways alone. It has again acquired a spiritual greediness. To rob it ofsolitude 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 afresh surprise; it endeavours to hold itself back, but in vain; it mustfall; it must dash on from rock to rock. It is astonished to find thatit has lost its love for prayer and devotion. It does violence to itselfby continuing in it. It finds only death at every step. That whichformerly 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 muchby the passions, which revive (though against its will) with the morestrength as they appeared the more extinct, as by crosses, whichincrease outwardly, and which it has no strength to bear. It arms itselfwith patience; it weeps, groans, and is troubled. The Bride complainsthat her Beloved has forsaken her; but her complaints are unheeded. Lifehas become death to her. All that is good she finds difficult, but hasan inclination towards evil which draws her away. But she can find norest in the creature, having tasted of the Creator. She dashes on morevehemently; and the steeper the rocks, and the greater the obstacleswhich oppose her course, the more she redoubles her speed. She is likethe 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 totake it in? It could only have fluttered round about the ark, seekingrest but finding none. So this poor dove flutters round the ark till theDivine Noah, having compassion on her distress, opens the door andreceives her to Himself. Oh, wonderful and loving invention of thegoodness of God! He only eludes the search of the soul to make it fleemore quickly to Him. He hides Himself that He may be sought after. Heapparently lets her fall, that He may have the joy of sustaining her andraising her up. Oh, strong and vigorous ones, who have never experiencedthese artifices of love, these apparent jealousies, these flights, lovely to the soul which has passed them, but terrible to those whoexperience 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 ofthe joy of His presence by the pain of a long absence; you have neverexperienced your weakness, and your need of His help; but those who arethus forsaken learn to lean no longer on themselves, but only on theBeloved. His rigours have rendered His gentleness the more needful forthem. 

These persons often commit faults through sheer weakness, and becausethey are deprived of all sensible support; and these faults so fill themwith shame, that, if they could, they would hide themselves from theirBeloved. Alas! in the terrible confusion into which they are thrown, Hegives them a glimpse of Himself. He touches them with His sceptre, likeanother Ahasuerus (Esther v. 2), that they may not die; but His tendercaresses only serve to increase their confusion at the thought of havingdispleased Him. At other times He makes them sensible, by His severity, how much their unfaithfulness displeases Him. Oh! then if they couldsink into dust, they would. They would do anything to repair the injurydone to God; and if, by any slight neglects, which appear crimes tothem, they have offended their neighbour, what return are they notwilling to make? But it is pitiful to see the state of that one who hasdriven away her Beloved. She does not cease to run after Him, but thefaster she goes, the further He seems to leave her behind; and if Hestops, it is only for a moment, that she may recover breath. She feelsnow that she must die; for she no longer finds life in anything; all hasbecome death to her; prayer, reading, conversation--all is dead: sheloses the joy of service, or rather, she dies to it, performing it withso much pain and weariness, that it is as death to her. At last, afterhaving fought well, but uselessly, after a long succession of conflictsand rest, of lives and deaths, she begins to see how she has abused thegrace 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 Himmore purely, and that the state which preceded her rejoicing was apurification for her, she abandons herself willingly to _death_, and tothe coming and going of her Beloved, giving Him full liberty to go andcome 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 fora new condition. 

But before speaking of it, let me say, that in proportion as the souladvances, its joys become short, simple, and pure, and its privationslong 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 ITSPROGRESS BY VARIOUS SPECIAL DEATHS TO A TOTAL DEATH, TO BURIAL, AND TODECAY--DURATION OF THIS TRANSITION, IN WHICH THERE MUST BE NOADVANCEMENT BEYOND FAITH, NOR ANY RECEDING--SPOLIATION OF THE SOUL, ANDTHE THREE DEGREES OF IT--FIRST DEGREE, WHICH CONCERNS GIFTS, GRACES, ANDFAVOURS, OR ORNAMENTS--ITS NECESSITY AND EFFECTS. 

You have seen dying persons who, after they have been believed to bedead, have all at once assumed a new strength, and retained it untiltheir death; as a lamp whose oil is spent flickers in the surroundingdarkness, but only to die out the more quickly: thus the soul casts outflames, which only last for a moment. It has bravely resisted death; butits oil is spent: the Sun of Righteousness has so withered it up, thatit is forced to die. But does this Sun design anything else with itsfierce rays, except the consumption of the soul? And the poor soul thusburned thinks that it is frozen! The truth is, that the torment itsuffers prevents its recognising the nature of its pain. So long as theSun was obscured by clouds, and gave out rays to a certain extentmoderated, it felt the heat, and thought it was burning, while inreality it was but slightly warmed: but when the Sun flashed full uponit, then the soul felt itself burning, without believing that it was somuch as warmed. O loving deceit! O sweet and cruel Love! Have you loversonly to deceive them thus? You wound these hearts, and then hide yourdarts, and make them pursue after that which has wounded them. Youattract them, and show yourself to them, and when they long to possessyou, you flee from them. When you see the soul reduced to the lastextremity, and out of breath from its constant pursuit, you showyourself for a moment that it may recover life, only to be killed athousand times with ever-increasing severity. 

O rigorous Lover! innocent murderer! Why dost Thou not kill with asingle blow? Why give wine to an expiring heart, and restore life inorder to destroy it afresh? This is Thy sport. Thou woundest to thedeath; and when Thou seest the victim on the point of expiring, Thouhealest one wound in order to inflict another! Alas! usually we die butonce; and the very cruellest murderers in times of persecution, thoughthey prolonged life, it is true, yet were content to destroy it butonce. But Thou, less compassionate than they, takest away our life timeafter time, and restorest it again. 

O life, which cannot be lost without so many deaths! O death, which canonly be attained by the loss of so many lives! Perhaps this soul, afterthou hast devoured it in Thy bosom, will enjoy its Beloved. That wouldbe too great happiness for it: it must undergo another torture. It mustbe _buried_ and reduced to _ashes_. But perhaps it will then arrive atthe 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 veryfew pass the other degrees, so I say that far less pass this one. Manypeople have been astonished to see very holy persons, who have livedlike angels, die in terrible anguish, and even despairing of theirsalvation. It is because they have died in this mystical death; and asGod wished to promote their advancement, because they were near theirend, He redoubled their sorrow. The work of stripping the soul must beleft wholly to God. He will do the work perfectly, and the soul willsecond the spoliation and the death, without putting hindrances in theway. But to do the work for ourselves is to lose everything, and to makea vile state of a divine one. There are persons who, hearing of thisspoliation, have effected it for themselves, and remain alwaysstationary; for as the stripping is their own work, God does not clothethem with Himself. The design of God in stripping the soul is to clotheit again. He only impoverishes that He may enrich, and He substitutes_Himself_ for all that He takes away, which cannot be the case withthose whose spoliation is their own work. They indeed lose the gifts ofGod, 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 itselfwill but be its irreparable loss, for it is seeking to preserve a lifewhich must be lost. As a person wishing to cause a lamp to die outwithout extinguishing it, would only have to cease to supply it withoil, and it would die out of itself; but if this person, whilepersistently expressing a wish that the lamp should go out, continuedreplenishing 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, howeverfeebly, to life. If it consoles itself, does not suffer itself to bekilled, in a word, if it performs any actions of life whatever, it willthereby 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 onto anything that offers itself to his grasp; he preserves his life solong as his strength holds out; he is only drowned when that strengthfails. It is thus with Christians. They endeavour as long as possible toprevent their death; it is only the failure of all power which makesthem die. God, who wishes to hasten this death, and who has compassionupon them, cuts off the hands with which they cling to a support, andthus obliges them to sink into the deep. Crosses become multiplied, andthe more they increase, the greater is the helplessness to bear them, sothat they seem as though they never could be borne. The most painfulpart of this condition is, that the trouble always begins by some faultin the sufferer, who believes he has brought it upon himself. 

At last the soul is reduced to utter self-despair. It consents that Godshould deprive it of the joy of His gifts, and admits that He is just indoing it. It does not even hope to possess these gifts again. 

When those who are in this condition see others who are manifestlyliving in communion with God, their anguish is redoubled, and they sinkin the sense of their own nothingness. They long to be able to imitatethem, but finding all their efforts useless, they are compelled to die. They say in the language of Scripture, "The thing which I greatly fearedis come upon me" (Job iii. 25). What! they say, to lose God, and to loseHim for ever, without the hope of ever finding Him again! To be deprivedof love for time and for eternity! To be unable to love Him whom I knowto be so worthy of my affection!

Oh! is it not sufficient, Divine Lover, to cast off your spouse, to turnaway from her, without compelling her to lose love, and lose it, as itseems, for ever? She believes she has lost it, and yet she never lovedmore strongly or more purely. She has indeed lost the vigour, thesensible strength of love; but she has not lost love itself; on thecontrary, she possesses it in a greater degree than ever. She cannotbelieve this, and yet it is easily known; for the heart cannot existwithout love. If it does not love God, its affection is concentratedupon some other object: but here the bride of Christ is far from takingpleasure in anything. She regards the revolt of her passions and herinvoluntary faults as terrible crimes, which draw upon her the hatredof her Beloved. She seeks to cleanse and to purify herself, but she isno sooner washed than she seems to fall into a slough yet more filthyand polluted than that from which she has just escaped. She does not seethat it is because she runs that she contracts defilement, and falls sofrequently, yet she is so ashamed to run in this condition, that shedoes not know where to hide herself. Her garments are soiled; she losesall 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. Thesecond, because in running, her course will be impeded by this burden ofappropriation; even the fear of losing such riches would lessen herspeed. 

O poor soul! what art thou become? Formerly thou wast the delight of thyBridegroom, when He took such pleasure in adorning and beautifying thee;now thou art so naked, so ragged, so poor, that thou darest neither tolook 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 committedsome great crime, which has caused thy Beloved to abandon thee. They donot see that this jealous Husband, who desires that His bride should beHis alone, seeing that she is amusing herself with her ornaments, thatshe delights in them, that she is in love with herself; seeing this, Isay, and that she sometimes ceases looking at Him in order to look atherself, and that her love to Him is growing cold because her self-loveis so strong, is stripping her, and taking away all her beauties andriches from before her eyes. 

In the abundance of her wealth, she takes delight in contemplatingherself: she sees good qualities in herself, which engage her affection, and alienate it from her Bridegroom. In her foolishness she does not seethat she is only fair with the beauties of her Beloved; and that if Heremoved these, she would be so hideous that she would be frightened atherself. More than this, she neglects to follow Him wherever He goes;she fears lest she may spoil her complexion, or lose her jewels. Ojealous Love! how well is it that thou comest to chastise this proudone, and to take from her what Thou hast given, that she may learn toknow herself, and that, being naked and destitute, nothing may impedeher course. 

Thus, then, our Lord strips the soul little by little, robbing her ofher ornaments, all her gifts, positions, and favours--that is, as to herperception or conscious possession of them--which are like jewels thatweigh her down; then He takes away her natural capacity for good, whichare her garments; after which He destroys her personal beauty, whichsets forth divine virtue, which she finds it impossible to practise. 

This spoliation commences with the graces, gifts, and favours ofconscious love. The bride sees that her husband takes from her, littleby little, the riches He had bestowed upon her. At first she is greatlytroubled by this loss; but what troubles her the most, is not so muchthe loss of her riches, as the anger of her Beloved; for she thinks itis in anger that He thus takes back His gifts. She sees the abuse shehad made of them, and the delight she had been taking in them, which sofills her with shame that she is ready to die of confusion. She lets Himdo as He will, and dares not say, "Why dost Thou take from me what Thouhast 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 isbroken by mingled sobs and sighs. But she is astonished to find, whenshe looks at her Bridegroom, that He appears to be angry with her forweeping over His justice towards her, in no longer allowing her theopportunity of abusing His gifts, and for thinking so lightly of theabuse she has made of them. She tries then to let Him know that she doesnot care about the loss of His gifts, if only He will cease His angertowards her. She shows Him her tears and her grief at having displeasedHim. It is true that she is so sensible of the anger of her Beloved thatshe no longer thinks of her riches. After allowing her to weep for along time, her Lover appears to be appeased. He consoles her, and withHis own hand He dries her tears. What a joy it is to her to see the newgoodness of her Beloved, after what she has done! Yet He does notrestore her former riches, and she does not long for them, being onlytoo happy to be looked upon, consoled, and caressed by Him. At first shereceives His caresses with so much confusion, that she dare not lift hereyes, but forgetting her past woes in her present happiness, she losesherself in the new caresses of her Beloved, and thinking no more of herpast miseries, she glories and rests in these caresses, and therebycompels the Bridegroom to be angry again, and to despoil her anew. 

It must be observed that God despoils the loss little by little; and theweaker the souls may be, the longer the spoliation continues; while thestronger they are, the sooner it is completed, because God despoils themoftener and of more things at once. But however rough this spoliationmay 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 loveto the soul, that it would never be believed, except by those who haveexperienced it; for the heart is so full of itself, and so permeatedwith 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 suchevil consequences, why are they given? God gives them, in the fulness ofHis goodness, in order to draw the soul from sin, from attachment to thecreature, and to bring it back to Himself. But these same gifts withwhich He gratifies it--that He may wean it from earth and from self tolove Him, at least from gratitude--we use to excite our self-love andself-admiration, to amuse ourselves with them; and self-love is sodeeply rooted in man, that it is augmented by these gifts; for he findsin himself new charms, which he had not discovered before; he delightsin them, and appropriates to himself what belongs only to God. It istrue, God could deliver him from it, but He does not do it, for reasonsknown only to Himself. The soul, thus despoiled by God, loses a littleof its self-love, and begins to see that it was not so rich as itfancied, but that all its virtue was in Christ; it sees that it hasabused His grace, and consents that He should take back His gifts. Thebride says, "I shall be rich with the riches of my Bridegroom, andthough 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 shebecomes accustomed to this spoliation; she knows it has been good forher; she is no longer grieved because of it; and, as she is sobeautiful, she satisfies herself that she will not cease to please herBridegroom by her natural beauty and her simple garments, as much as shecould with all her ornaments. 

Section II. 

SECOND DEGREE OF THE SPOLIATION OF THE SOUL, AS TO ITS GARMENTS, OR ITSFACILITY FOR THE EXTERIOR PRACTICE OF VIRTUE--ITS CAUSES, WHICH ARE THEAPPROPRIATION OF THESE VIRTUES, AND SATISFACTION IN THEM, INSTEAD OF THERECOGNITION OF NATURAL HELPLESSNESS, AND ABSENCE OF ALL GOOD IN SELF. 

When the poor bride is expecting always to live in peace, in spite ofthis 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 madeof the gifts which now have been taken from her, she is completelyastonished to find that the Bridegroom, who had only given her temporarypeace because of her weakness, comes with yet greater violence to tearoff 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 allpropriety to suffer herself to be stripped of them. Oh! it is now thatshe makes all the resistance in her power. She brings forward all thereasons why her Bridegroom should not thus leave her naked: she tellsHim that it will bring reproach upon Himself. "Alas!" she cries, "I havelost all the virtues which Thou hast bestowed upon me, Thy gifts, thesweetness of Thy love! But still I was able to make an outwardprofession of virtue; I engaged in works of charity; I prayedassiduously, even though I was deprived of Thy sensible benefits: but Icannot consent to lose all this. I was still clothed according to myposition, and looked upon by the world as Thy bride: but if I lose mygarments, 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 itas thou wilt. But though I acquired it at such a cost, thou hast givenit back to me as if it were a recompense on thy part for the labours Ihave endured for Thee. Let it go; thou must lose it. " The soul havingdone its best to keep it, lets it go, little by little, and finds itselfgradually despoiled. It finds no inclination for anything; on thecontrary, all is distasteful to it. Formerly it had aversions anddifficulties, without absolute powerlessness; but here all power istaken from it: its strength of body and mind fails entirely; theinclination 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 ownfolly. She dares not speak, lest she may irritate the Bridegroom, whoseanger is worse to her than death. She begins to know herself better, tosee that she is nothing in herself, and that all belongs to herBridegroom. She begins to distrust herself, and, little by little, sheloses her self-esteem. 

But she does not yet hate herself, for she is still beautiful, thoughnaked. From time to time she casts a pitiful look towards theBridegroom, but she says not a word: she is grieved at His anger. Itseems to her that the spoliation would be of little moment if she hadnot offended Him, and if she had not rendered herself unworthy to wearher 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! isit not even permitted to her to hide herself? No; she must appear thusin public. The world begins to think less highly of her. It says, "Isthis that bride who was once the admiration of angels and of men? Seehow she has fallen!" These words increase her confusion, because she iswell aware that her Bridegroom has dealt justly with her. She does whatshe 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 satisfyher 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 towardsperfection to see itself thus despoiled all at once. It imagines the oldsins, from which it was once purged, must have returned. But it ismistaken: the secret is, that she was so hidden by her garments as to beunable to see what she was. It is a terrible thing for a soul to be thusstripped of the gifts and graces of God, and it is impossible that anyshould 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 SOULTO SELF-DESPAIR AND TO TRUE PURITY--INTERVAL OF REST, FOLLOWED BY THEINCREASE OF THE PRECEDING OPERATIONS, TILL THEY END IN MYSTIC DEATH. 

All this would be but little if the bride still retained her beauty; butthe Bridegroom robs her of that also. Hitherto she has been despoiled ofgifts, graces, and favours (facility for good): she has lost all goodworks, such as outward charity, care for the poor, readiness to helpothers, but she has not lost the divine virtues. Here, however, thesetoo must be lost, so far as their practice is concerned, or rather thehabit of exercising them, as acquired by herself, in order to appearfair: 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 inCHRIST. This degraded bride becomes, as she imagines, filled with pride. She, who was so patient, who suffered so easily, finds that she cansuffer nothing. Her senses revolt her by continual distractions. Shecan no longer restrain herself by her own efforts, as formerly; and whatis worse, she contracts defilement at every step. She complains to herBeloved that the watchmen that go about the city have found her andwounded her (Cant. V. 7). I ought, however, to say that persons in thiscondition do not sin willingly. God usually reveals to them such adeep-seated corruption within themselves, that they cry with Job, "Oh, that Thou wouldest hide me in the grave, that Thou wouldest keep me insecret, until Thy wrath be past!" (Job xiv. 13). 

It must not be supposed that either here or at any other stage ofprogress God suffers the soul really to fall into sin; and so truly isthis the case, that though they appear in their own eyes the mostmiserable sinners, yet they can discover no definite sin of which theyare guilty, and only accuse themselves of being full of misery, and ofhaving only sentiments contrary to their desires. It is to the glory ofGod that, when He makes the soul most deeply conscious of its inwardcorruption, He does not permit it to fall into sin. What makes itssorrow so terrible is, that it is overwhelmed with a sense of thepurity of God, and that purity makes the smallest imperfection appear asa heinous sin, because of the infinite distance between the purity ofGod and the impurity of the creature. The soul sees that it wasoriginally created pure by God, and that it has contracted not only theoriginal sin of Adam, but thousands of actual sins, so that itsconfusion is greater than can be expressed. The reason why Christians inthis condition are despised by others, is not to be found in anyparticular faults which are observed in them, but because, as they nolonger manifest the same ardour and fidelity which formerlydistinguished them, the greatness of their fall is judged from this, which is a great mistake. Let this serve to explain or modify anystatements or representations in the sequel, which may appear to beexpressed too strongly, and which those who do not understand theexperience might be liable to misinterpret. Observe, also, that when Ispeak of _corruption_, of _decay_, &c. , I mean the destruction of theold man by the central conviction, and by an intimate experience of thedepth 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 himto 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, yetshalt 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 sheimagines herself guilty, for in heart she was never purer than now; buther senses and natural powers, particularly the senses, beingunsupported, wander away. Besides which, as the speed of her coursetowards God redoubles, and she forgets herself more, it is not to bewondered at that in running she soils herself in the muddy placesthrough which she passes; and as all her attention is directed towardsher Beloved, although she does not perceive it by reason of her owncondition, she thinks no more of herself, and does not notice where shesteps. So that, while believing herself most guilty, she does notwillingly commit a single sin; though all her sins appear voluntary toherself, they are rather faults of surprise, which often she does notsee until after they are committed. She cries to her Bridegroom, but Hedoes not heed her, at least not perceptibly, though He sustains her withan invisible hand. Sometimes she tries to do better, but then shebecomes worse; for the design of her Bridegroom in letting her fall_without wounding herself_ (Ps. Xxxvii. 24) is that she should lean nolonger on herself; that she should recognise her helplessness; that sheshould sink into complete self-despair; and that she should say, "Mysoul chooseth death rather than life" (Job vii. 15). It is here that thesoul begins truly to _hate itself_ and to _know itself_ as it wouldnever have done if it had not passed through this experience. 

All our natural knowledge of self, whatever may be its degree, is notsufficient to cause us really to hate ourselves. "He that loveth hislife shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world, shallkeep it unto life eternal" (John xii. 25). It is only such an experienceas this which can reveal to the soul its infinite depth of misery. Noother way can give true purity; if it give any at all, it is onlysuperficial, and not in the depth of the heart, where the impurity isseated. 

Here God searches the inmost recesses of the soul for that hiddenimpurity which is the effect of the self-esteem and self-love which Hedesigns to destroy. Take a sponge which is full of impurities, wash itas much as you will, you will clean the outside, but you will not renderit clean throughout unless you press it, in order to squeeze out all thefilth. 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 purifiedradically; and without it we should always be filthy, though outwardlywe might appear very clean. It is necessary that God should make thesoul 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 isabandoned by God. It was never better sustained; but nature is, as itwere, left a little alone, and makes all these ravages without the soulin itself taking any part in them. This poor desolate bride, runninghither and thither in search of her Beloved, not only soils herselfgrievously, as I have said, by falling into faults of surprise andself-esteem, but she wounds herself with the thorns that come in herway. She becomes so wearied at length that she is forced to die in herrace for want of help; that is, to expect nothing from herself or herown activity. 

That which is productive of the highest good to the soul in thiscondition is that God manifests no pity towards it; and when He desiresto promote its advancement, He lets it run even to death; if He stops itfor a moment, by doing which He ravishes and revives it, it is becauseof its weakness, and in order that its weariness may not compel it torest. 

When He sees that it is becoming disheartened and inclined to give upthe race altogether, He looks upon it for a moment, and the poor bridefinds herself wounded anew by this look. She would willingly say toHim, "Alas! why hast Thou thus compelled me to run? Oh, that I couldfind Thee; and see Thee face to face!" But alas! when she seems to layhold of Him, He flees from her again. "I sought Thee, " she cries, "but Ifound Thee not" (Cant. Iii. 1). 

As this look from her Bridegroom has increased her love, she redoublesher speed in order to find Him: nevertheless she was delayed just solong as the look lasted, that is, in sensible joy. This is why theBridegroom does not often cast such looks upon her, and only when Hesees that her courage is failing. 

The soul then dies at the end of its race, because all its activestrength is exhausted; for though it had been passive, it had not lostits active strength, though it had been unconscious of it. The bridesaid, "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 withoutquitting his repose. In this condition she so hates herself, that shecan hardly suffer herself. She thinks her Bridegroom has good reason totreat her as He does, and that it is His indignation against her whichmakes Him leave her. She does not see that it is in order to make herrun that He flees, that it is in order that He may purify her that Hesuffers her to become so soiled. When we put iron in the fire, to purifyit and to purge it from its dross, it appears at first to be tarnishedand blackened, but afterwards it is easy to see that it has beenpurified. Christ only makes His bride experience her own weakness, thatshe may lose all strength and all support in herself, and that, in herself-despair, He may carry her in His arms, and she may be willing to bethus borne; for whatever her course may be, she walks as a child; butwhen she is in God, and is borne by Him, her progress is infinite, sinceit is that of God Himself. 

In addition to all this degradation, the bride sees others adorned withher spoils. When she sees a holy soul, she dare not approach it; shesees it adorned with all the ornaments which her Bridegroom has takenfrom her; but though she admires it, and sinks into the depths ofnothingness, she cannot desire to have these ornaments again, soconscious is she of her unworthiness to wear them. She thinks it wouldbe a profanation to put them upon a person so covered with mud anddefilement. She even rejoices to see that, if she fills her Beloved withhorror, there are others in whom He can take delight, and whom sheregards as infinitely happy in having gained the love of her God: as forthe ornaments, though she sees others decorated with them, she does notsuppose that these are the sources of their happiness. If she sees anyblessedness in the possession of them, it is because they are the tokensof the love of her Beloved. When she is thus sensible of her littlenessin the presence of such as these, whom she regards as queens, she doesnot know the good which will result to her from this nakedness, death, and decay. Her Bridegroom only unclothes her that He may be Himself herclothing: "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 withChrist, we believe that we shall also live with Him. " He onlyannihilates her that she may be transformed in Himself. 

This loss of virtue is only brought about by degrees, as well as theother losses, and this apparent inclination for evil is involuntary; forthat evil which makes us so vile in our own eyes is really no evil atall. 

The things which bring defilement to these persons are certain faultswhich only lie in the feelings. As soon as they see the beauty of avirtue, they seem to be incessantly falling into the contrary vice: forexample, if they love truth, they speak hastily or with exaggeration, and fancy they lie at every moment, although in fact they do but speakagainst their sentiments; and it is thus with all the other virtues; themore important these virtues are, and the more strongly they cling tothem, because they appear the more essential, the greater is the forcewith 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 THISCONDITION. 

This poor soul, after having lost its all, must at last lose _its ownlife_ by an utter self-despair, or rather it must die worn out byterrible fatigue. Prayer in this degree is extremely painful, becausethe soul being no longer able to make use of its own powers, of which itseems to be entirely deprived, and God having taken from it a certainsweet and profound calm which supported it, is left like those poorchildren whom we see running here and there in search of bread, yetfinding no one to supply their need, so that the power of prayer seemsto be as entirely lost as if we had never possessed it; but with thisdifference, that we feel the pain occasioned by the loss, because wehave proved its value by its possession, while others are not sensibleof the loss, because they have never known its enjoyment. The soul, then, can find no support in the creature; and if it feels itselfcarried away by the things of earth, it is only by impetuosity, and itcan find nothing to satisfy it. Not that it does not seek to abandonitself to the things in which it formerly delighted; but alas! it findsin 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 becomealtogether dead, which is very painful to the soul, especially asregards the will, which had been tasting I know not what of sweetnessand tranquillity, which comforted the other powers in their deadness andpowerlessness. 

This unexplainable something which sustains the soul at its foundation, as it were, is the hardest of all to lose, and that which the soulendeavours the most strenuously to retain; for as it is too delicate, soit appears the more divine and necessary: it would consent willingly tobe deprived of the two other powers, and even of the will, so far as itis 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 thewitness that it is born of God. 

However, this must be lost, like the rest--that is, as to thesentiment--and then the soul enters into the sensible realisation of allthe misery with which it is filled. And it is this which really produces_the spiritual death_; for whatever misery the soul might endure, ifthis, I know not what, were not lost, it would not die; and if, on theother hand, this were lost without the soul being conscious of itsmisery, it would be supported, and would not die. It can easilyunderstand that it must give up all dependence upon its own feelings orupon any natural support, but to lose an almost imperceptible comfort, and to fall from weakness, to fall into the mire, to this it cannotconsent. This is where reason fails, this is where terrible fears fillthe heart, which seems to have only sufficient life to be sensible ofits death. 

It is, then, the loss of this imperceptible support, and the experienceof this misery, which causes death. 

We should be very careful, in such times as these, not to let our sensesbe led away willingly to creatures, seeking willingly consolation anddiversion. I say _willingly_, for we are incapable of mortifications andattentions reflected upon ourselves, and the more we have mortifiedourselves, the stronger will be the bearing in the contrary direction, without being aware of it; like a madman, who goes wandering about, ifyou attempt to keep him too rigorously within bounds, apart from itsbeing useless, it would retard his death. 

What must we do then? We must be careful to give no support to thesenses, to suffer them, and to let them find recreation in innocentways; for as they are not capable of an inward operation, byendeavouring to restrain them we should injure health, and even mentalstrength. What I say applies only to this degree; for if we were to makethis use of the senses in the time of the strength and activity ofgrace, we should do wrong; and our Lord Himself in His goodness makes ussee the conduct that we should pursue; for at first, He puts such apressure on the senses, they have no liberty. They only have to desiresomething in order to be deprived of it; God orders it thus that thesenses may be drawn from their imperfect operation, to be confinedwithin the heart; and in severing them outwardly, He binds them inwardlyso gently, that it costs them little to be deprived of everything; theyeven find more pleasure in this deprivation than in the possession ofall things. But when they are sufficiently purified, God, who wishes todraw the soul out of itself with a contrary movement, permits the sensesto expand outwardly, which appears to the soul as a great impurity. However, it has now happened seasonably, and to endeavour to orderthings otherwise, would be to purify ourselves in a different way fromthat which God desires, and therefore to defile ourselves anew. 

This does not prevent our making mistakes in this outward development ofthe senses; but the confusion which it occasions us, and our fidelity inmaking 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 theesteem of men. They look on us with contempt, and say, "Are not thesethe persons whom we formerly admired? How are they become thusdisfigured?" "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 atthis point that we suddenly enter the third degree, that of burial anddecay. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THIRD DEGREE OF THE PASSIVE WAY OF FAITH IN ITSCONSUMMATION--CONSUMMATED STATE OF SPIRITUALDEATH--BURIAL--DECAY--ADVICE AS TO THE CONDUCT OF PERSONS IN THESECONDITIONS, WHICH ARE FOLLOWED BY A NEW LIFE. 

The torrent, as we have said, has passed through every imaginablevicissitude. It has been dashed against rocks; indeed, its course hasbeen but a succession of falls from rock to rock; but it has alwaysreappeared, and we have never seen it really lost. Now it begins to loseitself in gulf after gulf. Formerly it still had a course, though it wasso precipitate, so confused, and so irregular; but here it is engulphedwith a yet greater precipitation in unsearchable depths. For a long timeit disappears altogether from view, then we perceive it slightly, butmore by hearing than by sight, and it only appears to be againprecipitated in a deeper gulf. It falls from abyss to abyss, fromprecipice to precipice, until at last it falls into the depths of thesea, where, losing all form, it is lost to be found no more, havingbecome one with the sea itself. The soul, after many deaths, expires atlast in the arms of Love; but it does not even perceive those arms. Ithas no sooner expired, than it loses all vital action, all desire, inclination, tendency, choice, repugnance, and aversion. As it drawsnear to death, it grows weaker; but its life, though languishing andagonising, is still life, and "while there is life there is hope, " eventhough death be inevitable. The torrent must be buried out of sight. 

O God! what is this? What were only precipices become abysses. The soulfalls into a depth of misery from which there is no escape. At firstthis abyss is small, but the further the soul advances, the strongerdoes it appear, so that it goes from bad to worse; for it is to beremarked, that when we first enter a degree, there clings to us muchthat we have brought in with us, and at the end we already begin to feelsymptoms of that which is to come. It is also noticeable that eachdegree 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; thusthe soul, in the commencement of this degree, still bears someresemblance to what it was before; there remains in it a certain secretimpression of God, as there remains in a dead body a certain animal heatwhich 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 asHe 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. Theworld, which formerly esteemed it so much, begins to fear it. Yet it isno visible sin which produces the contempt of men, but a powerlessnessto practise its former good works with the same facility. Formerly wholedays were spent in the visitation of the sick, often even againstnatural inclination; such works as these can be practised no longer. 

The soul will soon be in an entire oblivion. Little by little, it loseseverything in such a degree, that it is altogether impoverished. Theworld tramples it under foot, and thinks no more of it. O poor soul!thou must see thyself treated thus, and see it with terror, withoutbeing able to prevent it. It must suffer itself to be buried, coveredwith earth, and trodden under foot by all men. 

It is here that heavy crosses are borne, and all the heavier that theyare 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 forever. Poor soul! thou must be patient, and remain in thy sepulchre. Itis content to remain there, though in terrible suffering, because itsees no way of escape from it; and it sees, too, that it is its only fitplace, all others being even sadder to it. It flees from men, knowingthat they regard it with aversion. They look upon this forlorn Bride asan outcast, who has lost the grace of God, and who is only fit to beburied in the earth. 

The heart endures its bitterness; but, alas! how sweet this state iseven now, and how easy it would be to remain in the sepulchre, if itwere not necessary to decay! The old man becomes gradually corrupted;formerly there were weaknesses and failings, now the soul sees a depthof corruption of which it had hitherto been ignorant, for it could notimagine what were its self-esteem and selfishness. O God! what horrorthis soul suffers in seeing itself thus decaying! All troubles, thecontempt and aversion of man, affect it no longer. It is even insensibleto the deprivation of the Sun of Righteousness; it knows that His lightdoes not penetrate the tomb. But to feel its own corruption, that itcannot 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 becontent: what troubles me is the horror which I must cause Him by thesight of my corruption. But, poor desolate one! what canst thou do? Itshould suffice thee, one would think, to _bear_ this corruption, without_loving_ it: but now thou art not even sure that thou dost not desireit! The soul is in darkness, without being able to judge whether itsterrible thoughts proceed from itself or from the evil one. 

It is no longer troubled at being cast off by God; it is so conscious ofits demerit, that it consents to the deprivation of the sensiblepresence of God. But it cannot endure the thought that the taint of itscorruption 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 bekept free from sin. It no longer thinks of love, for it believes itselfto be incapable of affection. It is, in its own opinion, worse than whenit was in a state of nature, since it is in the state of corruptionusual to the body deprived of life. 

At length by degrees the soul becomes accustomed to its corruption: itfeels it less, and finds it natural, except at certain times, when it istried by various temptations, whose terrible impressions cause it muchanguish. Ah, poor torrent! wast thou not better off on the mountain-topthan here? Thou hadst then some slight corruption, it is true; but now, though thou flowest rapidly, and nothing can stop thee, thou passestthrough such filthy places, so tainted with sulphur and saltpetre, thatthou bearest away their odours with thee. 

At last the soul is reduced to a state of nothingness, and has becomelike 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 nolonger. All that is of grace is done as if it were of nature, and thereis no longer either pain or pleasure. All that there is, is that itsashes remain as ashes, without the hope of ever being anything butashes: it is utterly dead, and nothing affects it either from without orwithin--that is, it is no longer troubled by any sensible impressions. At last, reduced to nonentity, there is found in the ashes _a germ ofimmortality_, which lives beneath these ashes, and in due time willmanifest its life. But the soul is in ignorance of it, and never expectsto be revived or raised from the dead. 

The faithfulness of the soul in this condition consists in lettingitself be buried, crushed, trampled on, without making any more movementthan a corpse, without seeking in any way to prevent its putrefaction. There are those who wish to apply balm to themselves. No, no; leaveyourselves as you are. You must know your corruption, and see theinfinite depth of depravity that is in you. To apply balm is but toendeavour by good works to hide your corruption. Oh, do it not! You willwrong yourselves. God can suffer you; why cannot you suffer yourselves?The soul, reduced to nothingness, must remain in it, without wishing tochange its state; and it is then that the torrent loses itself in thesea, never to find itself in itself again, but to become one with thesea. It is then that this corpse feels without feeling, that it isgradually reanimated, and assumes _a new life_; but this is done sogradually that it seems like a dream. And this brings us to the lastdegree, which is the commencement of the _divine and truly inner life_, including numberless smaller degrees, and in which the advancement isinfinite: just as this torrent can perpetually advance in the sea, andimbibe more of its nature, the longer it remains in it. 

CHAPTER IX. 

FOURTH DEGREE OF THE PASSIVE WAY OF FAITH, WHICH IS THE COMMENCEMENT OFTHE DIVINE LIFE--TRANSITION FROM THE HUMAN STATE TO THE DIVINE, AND TOTHE RESURRECTION OF THE SOUL IN GOD--DESCRIPTION OF THIS LIFE AND OF ITSPROPERTIES, GRADATIONS, IDENTITY, INDIFFERENCE--SENTIMENTS OF THESOUL--ITS EXISTENCE IN GOD--ITS PEACE, ETC. --POWER AND VIEWS WITH REGARDTO OTHERS, TO ITSELF, TO ITS CONDITION, TO ITS ACTIONS, TO ITS WORDS, TOITS FAULTS--MIND OF CHRIST--VARIOUS OBSERVATIONS. 

When the torrent begins to lose itself in the sea, it can easily bedistinguished. Its movement is perceptible, until at length it graduallyloses all form of its own, to take that of the sea. So the soul, leavingthis degree, and beginning to lose itself, yet retains something of itsown; 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; butif another person were to swallow those ashes, they would no longerhave 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 individualcapacity of the creature; but here the creature is taken out of his owncapacity to receive an infinite capacity in God Himself. And as thetorrent, when it enters the sea, loses its own being in such a way thatit retains nothing of it, and takes that of the sea, or rather is takenout of itself to be lost in the sea; so this soul loses the human inorder that it may lose itself in the divine, which becomes its being andits subsistence, not essentially, but mystically. Then this torrentpossesses all the treasures of the sea, and is as glorious as it wasformerly poor and miserable. 

It is in the tomb that the soul begins to resume life, and the lightenters insensibly. Then it can be truly said that "The people which satin darkness saw great light; and to them which sat in the region andshadow of death light is sprung up" (Matt. Iv. 16). There is abeautiful figure of this resurrection in Ezekiel (chap. Xxxvii. ), wherethe dry bones gradually assume life: and then there is that otherpassage, "The hour is coming, and now is, when the dead shall hear thevoice of the Son of God; and they that hear shall live" (John v. 25). Oyou who are coming out of the sepulchre! you feel within yourselves agerm of life springing up little by little: you are quite astonished tofind a secret strength taking possession of you: your ashes arereanimated: you feel yourselves to be in a new country. The poor soul, which only expected to remain at rest in its grave, receives anagreeable surprise. It does not know what to think: it supposes that thesun must have shed upon it a few scattered rays through some opening orchink, whose brightness will only last for a moment. It is still moreastonished when it feels this secret vigour permeating its entire being, and finds that it gradually receives a new life, to lose it no more forever, unless it be by the most flagrant unfaithfulness. 

But this new life is not like the former one: it is a _life in God_. Itis a perfect life. The soul _lives no longer_ and works no longer ofitself, but _God_ lives, acts, and operates in it (Gal. Ii. 20); andthis goes on increasing, so that it becomes perfect with God'sperfection, rich with God's riches, and loving with God's love. 

The soul sees now that whatever it owned formerly had been in its ownpossession: now it no longer possesses, but is possessed: it only takesa new life in order to lose it in God; or rather it only lives with thelife of God; and as He is the principle of life, the soul can wantnothing. What a gain it has made by all its losses! It has lost thecreated for the Creator, the nothing for the All in all. All things aregiven 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 GodHimself. It feels its capacity increasing day by day to immensity: everyvirtue is restored to it, but in God. 

It must be remarked, that as it was only despoiled by degrees, so it isonly enriched and vivified by degrees. The more it loses itself in God, the greater its capacity becomes; just as the more the torrent losesitself in the sea, the more it is enlarged, having no other limits thanthose of the sea: it participates in all its properties. The soulbecomes strong and firm: it has lost all means, but it has found theend. This divine life becomes quite natural to it. As it no longer feelsitself, sees itself, or knows itself, so it no longer sees orunderstands or distinguishes anything of God as distinct or outside ofitself. It is no longer conscious of love, or light, or knowledge; itonly knows that God is, and that it no longer lives except in God. Alldevotion is action, and all action is devotion: all is the same; thesoul is indifferent to all, for all is equally God. Formerly it wasnecessary to exercise virtue in order to perform virtuous works; hereall distinction of action is taken away, the actions having no virtue inthemselves, but all being God, the meanest action equally with thegreatest, provided it is in the order of God and at His time: for allthat might be of the natural choice, and not in this order, would haveanother effect, leading the soul out of God by unfaithfulness. Not thatit would be brought out of its degree or its loss, but out of thedivine plan, which makes all things one and all things God. So the soulis _indifferent_ as to whether it be in one state or another, in oneplace or another: all is the same to it, and it lets itself be carriedalong naturally. It ceases to think, to wish, or to choose for itself;but remains content, without care or anxiety, no longer distinguishingits 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 itto shut itself up within itself; it does not hope to find anythingthere, and does not seek for it. If a person were altogether penetratedwith the sea, having sea within and without, above and below, on everyside, he would not prefer one place to another, all being the same tohim. So the soul does not trouble itself to seek anything or to doanything; that is, of itself, by itself, or for itself. It remains as itis. But what does it do? Nothing--always nothing. It does what it ismade to do, it suffers what it is made to suffer. Its peace isunchangeable, but always natural. It has, as it were, passed into astate of nature; and yet how different from those altogether withoutGod!

The difference is, that it is compelled to action by God without beingconscious of it, whereas formerly it was nature that acted. It seems toitself 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 ownwill. And if you were to ask what are its desires, it could not tell. Itcan 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 andcontrariety. 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 satisfactionof God, immense, general, without knowing or understanding what it isthat satisfies it; for here all sentiments, tastes, views, particularopinions, however delicate they may be, are taken from it: that certainvague, indefinable something, which formerly occupied without occupyingit, is gone, and nothing remains to it. But this insensibility is verydifferent to that of death, burial, and decay. That was a deprivation oflife, a distaste, a separation, the powerlessness of the dying unitedwith the insensibility of the dead; but this is an _elevation_ above allthese things, which does not remove them, but renders them useless. Adead man is deprived of all the functions of life by the powerlessnessof death; but if he were to be raised gloriously, he would be full oflife, 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 knowhimself to be alive. 

In this degree God cannot be tasted, seen, or felt, being no longerdistinct from ourselves, but one with us. The soul has neitherinclination nor taste for anything: in the period of death and burial itexperienced this, but in a very different manner. Then it arose fromdistaste and powerlessness, but now it is the effect of _plenitude_ and_abundance_; just as if a person could live on air, he would be fullwithout feeling his plenitude, or knowing in what way he had beensatisfied; he would not be empty and unable to eat or to taste, but freefrom all necessity of eating by reason of his satisfaction, withoutknowing how the air, entering by all his pores, had penetrated equallyat all parts. 

The soul here is in God, as in the air which is natural to it, and it isno more sensible of its fulness than we are of the air we breathe. Yetit is full, and nothing is wanting to it; therefore all its desires aretaken from it. Its peace is great, but not as it was before. Formerly itwas an inanimate peace a certain sepulture, from which there sometimesescaped exhalations which troubled it. When it was reduced to ashes, itwas at peace; but it was a barren peace, like that of a corpse, whichwould be at peace in the midst of the wildest storms of the sea: itwould not feel them, and would not be troubled by them, its state ofdeath 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 alwaysthe same calm tranquillity, because He who possesses it is immutable. 

This, of course, supposes the faithfulness of the soul; for in whateverstate it may be, it is possible for it to recede and fall back intoitself. But here the soul progresses infinitely in God; and it ispossible for it to advance incessantly; just as, if the sea had nobottom, any one falling into it would sink to infinitude, and going downto greater and greater depths of the ocean, would discover more and moreof its beauties and treasures. It is even thus with the soul whose homeis in God. 

But what must it do in order to be faithful to God? Nothing, and lessthan nothing. It must simply suffer itself to be possessed, acted upon, and moved without resistance, remaining in the state which is natural toit, waiting for what every moment may bring to it, and receiving it fromHim, without either adding to or taking from it; letting itself be ledat all times and to any place, regardless of sight or reason, andwithout thinking of either; letting itself go naturally into all things, without considering what would be best or most plausible; remaining inthe state of evenness and stability in which God has placed it, withoutbeing troubled to do anything; but leaving to God the care of providingits opportunities, and of doing all for it; not making definite acts ofabandonment, but simply resting in the state of abandonment in which italready is, and which is natural to it. 

The soul is unable to act in any way of itself without a consciousnessof unfaithfulness. It possesses all things by having nothing. It finds afacility for every duty, for speaking and for acting, no longer in itsown way, but in God's. Its faithfulness does not consist in ceasing fromall activity, like one who is dead, but in doing nothing except by theprinciple which animates it. A soul in this state has no inclination ofits own in anything, but lets itself go as it is led, and beyond thatdoes 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 itwas in the former degrees, where the creature had some part in it, thatwhich was in a great measure its own; but here the most wonderful thingsare perfectly natural, and are done without thought. It is the sameprinciple 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 ofitself. As nothing belongs to it, it can make no reserves; and if it cansay nothing of a state so divine, it is not because it fears vanity, forthat no longer exists; it is rather because what it has, whilepossessing nothing, passes all expression by its extreme simplicity andpurity. Not that there are not many things which are but the accessoriesof this condition, and not the centre, of which it can easily speak. These accessories are like the crumbs which fall from that eternal feastof which the soul begins to partake in time; they are but the sparkswhich prove the existence of a furnace of fire and flame; but it isimpossible to speak of the principle and the end, because only so muchcan be imparted as God is pleased to give at the moment to be eitherwritten or spoken. 

It may be asked, Is the soul unconscious of its faults, or does itcommit none? It does commit them, and is more conscious of them thanever, especially in the commencement of its new life. The faultscommitted are often more subtile and delicate than formerly. The soulknows them better, because its eyes are open; but it is not troubled bythem, and can do nothing to rid itself of them. It is true that, when ithas been guilty of unfaithfulness or sin, it is sensible of a certaincloud; but it passes over, without the soul itself doing anything todispel it, or to cleanse itself; apart from which, any efforts it mightmake would be useless, and would only serve to increase its impurity; sothat it would be deeply sensible that the second stain was worse thanthe 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 inHim; just as, when there arises a little cloud in the middle region ofair, if the wind blows, it moves the clouds, but does not dissipatethem; if, on the contrary, the sun shines forth, they will soon bedispelled. The more subtile and delicate the clouds are, the morequickly they will be dissipated. 

Oh! if we had sufficient fidelity never to look at ourselves, whatprogress might we not make! Our sights of ourselves resemble certainplants in the sea, which, just so long as their support lasts, preventbodies from falling. If the branches are very delicate, the weight ofthe body forces them down, and we are only delayed for a moment; but ifwe look at ourselves willingly and long, we shall be delayed just solong 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 passover the calm sea, and cause ripples; but these faults are taken from uslittle 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 naturalviews of Him, but by its natural condition, finding these inclinationsjust when they are needed, without thinking of them; as a person whopossesses a hidden treasure might find it unexpectedly in the time ofhis need. The soul is surprised when, without having reflected on themind and disposition of Christ, it finds them naturally implanted withinit. These dispositions of Christ are lowliness, meekness, submission, and the other virtues which He possessed. The soul finds that all theseare acting within it, but so easily, that they seem to have becomenatural to it. Its treasury is in God alone, where it can draw upon itceaselessly 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 itis henceforth He who acts, speaks, moves in the soul, the Lord JesusChrist being its moving principle. Now those around it do notinconvenience it; the heart is enlarged to contain them. It desiresneither activity nor retreat, but only to be each moment what God makesit to be. 

As in this condition the soul is capable of infinite advancement, Ileave those who are living in it to write of it, the light not beinggiven me for the higher degrees, and my soul not being sufficientlyadvanced in God to see or to know them. All that I shall add is, that itis easy to see by the length of the road necessary to be taken in orderto arrive at God that the end is not so soon attained as we are apt toimagine, and that even the most spiritual and enlightened mistake theconsummation of the _passive way of light and love_ for the end of thisone, when in reality it is but the commencement. 

I must also remark, that what I have said touching the _mind_ of Christcommences as soon as we enter the way of _naked faith_. Although thesoul in the former degrees has no distinct sights of Christ, it hasnevertheless a desire to be conformed to His image. It covets the cross, lowliness, poverty; then this desire is lost, and there remains a secretinclination for the same things, which continually deepens andsimplifies, becoming every day more intimate and more hidden. But herethe 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 andits own life; Christ exercising it without going out of the soul, andthe soul exercising it with Him, in Him, without going out of Him; notlike something distinct, which it knows, sees, attempts, practises, butas that which is natural to it. All the actions of life, such asbreathing, are done naturally, without thought, rule, or measure; andthey are done unconsciously by the person who does them. It is thus withthe mind of Christ in this degree, which continually develops, as thesoul is more transformed in Him, and becomes more thoroughly one withHim. 

But are there no crosses in this condition? As the soul is strong withthe strength of God Himself, God lays upon it more crosses and heavierones than before; but they are borne divinely. Formerly the crosscharmed it; it was loved and cherished; now it is not thought of, but issuffered to go and come; and the cross itself becomes God, like allother things. This does not involve the cessation of suffering, but ofthe sorrow, the anxiety, the bitterness of suffering. It is true thatthe crosses are no longer crosses, but God. In the former stages, thecross is virtue, and is exalted more and more as the condition is moreadvanced: here the soul feels it to be God, like the rest; all thatconstitutes 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 nothingunusual is observed in them except by those who are capable ofunderstanding them. 

All is seen in God, and in its true light; therefore this state is notsubject to deception. There are no visions, revelations, ecstasies, ravishments, or translations. All these things do not belong to thisstate, 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 withHis eyes. 

_PART II. _

CHAPTER I. 

MORE PARTICULAR DESCRIPTION OF SOME OF THE CHARACTERISTICS OF THE DIVINERESURRECTION LIFE--TRUE LIBERTY AND THE RISEN LIFE, IN DISTINCTION FROMTHAT WHICH IS NOT SO, OF WHICH JOB IS AN ILLUSTRATION--COMMENCEMENT OFTHE APOSTOLIC LIFE--ITS FUNCTIONS AND ITS FRUITS--ON THE PRACTICE OFVIRTUE, PARTICULARLY OF HUMILITY--BLESSEDNESS OF BEING LOST INGOD--RARITY OF PERFECT ABANDONMENT--RAYS OF GLORY ESCAPED FROM WITHIN. 

I omitted to say that this is where true liberty begins; not, as someimagine, a liberty which necessitates idleness; that would beimprisonment rather than liberty, fancying ourselves free because, having an aversion to our own works, we no longer practise them. Theliberty of which I speak is of a different nature; it does all thingseasily which God would have done, and the more easily in proportion tothe duration and the painfulness of the incapacity to do them which wehave previously experienced. I confess I do not understand theresurrection state of certain Christians, who profess to have attainedit, and who yet remain all their lives powerless and destitute; for herethe soul takes up a true life. The actions of a raised man are theactions of life; and if the soul remain lifeless, I say that it may bedead or buried, but not risen. A risen soul should be able to performwithout 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 afterHis resurrection was willing to eat and to converse with men. And so ofthose who believe themselves to be risen with Christ, and who arenevertheless stunted in their spiritual growth and incapable ofdevotion, --I say, that they do not possess a resurrection life, forthere everything is restored to the soul a hundred-fold. There is abeautiful illustration of this in the case of Job, whose history Iconsider a mirror of the spiritual life. First God robbed him of hiswealth, which we may consider as setting forth gifts and graces; then ofhis children; this signifies the destruction of natural sensibilities, and of our own works, which are as our children and our most cherishedpossessions: then God deprived him of his health, which symbolises theloss of virtue; then He touched his person, rendering him an object ofhorror and contempt. It even appears that this holy man was guilty ofsin, and failed in resignation; he was accused by his friends of beingjustly 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 itwere to a corpse, did not God restore everything to him, his wealth, hischildren, his health, and his life?

It is the same with spiritual resurrection; everything is restored, witha wonderful power to use it without being defiled by it, clinging to itwithout appropriating it as before. All is done in God, and things areused as though they were not used. It is here that true liberty and truelife are found. "If we have been planted in the likeness of Christ'sdeath, 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 withHis liberty. 

This is where true liberty begins. Nothing that God desires is difficultto us, or costs us anything; and if a person is called to preach, toinstruct, &c. , he does it with a marvellous facility, without thenecessity of preparing a discourse, being well able to practise whatJesus commanded His disciples, "Take no thought how or what ye shallspeak: for I will give you a mouth and wisdom, which all youradversaries shall not be able to gainsay nor resist" (Matt. X. 19; Lukexxi. 15). This is not given till after an experience of powerlessness;and the deeper that experience has been, the greater is the liberty. Butit is useless to endeavour to force ourselves into this condition; foras God would not be the source, we should not realise the desiredresults. It may well be said of this risen life, that all good thingsare given with it. In this state, the soul cannot practise the virtuesas virtues; it is not even conscious of them; but all the virtues havebecome so habitual to it, that it practises them naturally, almostinstinctively. When it hears others speak of deep humiliation, it issurprised to find that it experiences nothing of the kind; and if itsought to humble itself, it would be astonished, as though it wereguilty of unfaithfulness, and would even find it impossible, because thestate of annihilation through which it has passed has placed it belowall humiliation; for in order to be humbled, we must _be something_, andnothingness cannot be brought lower; its present state has placed itabove all humility and all virtue by its transformation into God, sothat its powerlessness arises both from its annihilation and itselevation. Those persons have nothing outwardly to distinguish them fromothers, unless it be that they do no harm to any one; for, so far as theexterior is concerned, they are very ordinary, and therefore do notattract observation, but live in a state of quiet rest, free from allcare and anxiety. They experience a deep joy, arising from the absenceof all fear, or desire, or longing, so that nothing can disturb theirrepose or diminish their joy. David possessed this experience when hesaid, "The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear? TheLord 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 ofitself; and its joy, though great, is not an object of contemplation. The soul is in a state of ravishment and ecstasy which cause nouneasiness, because God has enlarged its capacity almost to infinitude. Those ecstasies which cause the loss of consciousness are the effect ofhuman 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 theprocess, it becomes necessary, either that God should cease thus to drawit, which involves the cessation of the ecstasy, or that nature shouldsuccumb and die, which not unfrequently happens. But in thisresurrection life, the ecstasy lasts, not for a few hours only, but forever, without either violence or variation, God having purified andstrengthened the subject of it to the extent necessary to enable it tobear this glorious ravishment. It seems to me that when God goes out ofHimself, He creates an ecstasy, --but I dare not say this for fear ofteaching an error. What I say then is, that the soul drawn out of itselfexperiences an inward ecstasy; but a happy one, because it is only drawnout of itself in order that it may be drowned and lost in God, quittingits own imperfections and its own limited thoughts to participate inthose of God. 

O happy nothingness! where does its blessedness end? O poverty-stricken, weary ones! how well ye are recompensed! O unutterable happiness! Osoul! what a gain thou hast made in exchange for all thy losses! Couldstthou have believed, when thou wast lying in the dust, that what causedthee so much horror could have procured thee so great a happiness asthat which thou now possessest? If it had been told thee, thou couldstnot have credited it. Learn now by thine own experience how good it isto trust in God, and that those who put their confidence in Him shallnever be confounded. 

O abandonment! what gladness canst thou impart to the soul, and whatprogress it might have made if it had found thee at first; from howmuch weariness it might have been delivered if it had known how to letGod work! But, alas! men are not willing to abandon themselves, and totrust only in God. Even those who appear to do it, and who thinkthemselves well established in it, are only abandoned in imagination, and not in reality. They are willing to abandon themselves in one thingand not in another; they wish to compromise with God, and to place alimit to what they will permit Him to do. They want to give themselvesup, but on such and such conditions. No; this is not abandonment. Anentire and total abandonment excepts nothing, keeps back nothing, neither death, nor life, nor perfection, nor salvation, nor heaven, norhell. O poor souls! give yourselves up utterly in this abandonment; youwill get only happiness and blessing from it. Walk boldly on this stormysea, relying on the word of Jesus, who has promised to take upon Himselfthe care of all those who will lose their own life, and abandonthemselves to Him. But if you sink like Peter, ascribe it to theweakness of your faith. If we had the faith calmly, and withouthesitation, to face all dangers, what good should we not receive! Whatdo you fear, trembling heart? You fear to lose yourself? Alas! for allthat you are worth, what would that matter? Yes, you will lose yourselfif you have strength to abandon yourself to God, but you will be lost inHim. O happy loss! I do not know how sufficiently to repeat it. Why canI not persuade every one to make this abandonment? and why do men preachanything less? Alas! men are so blind that they regard all this asfolly, as something fit for women and weak minds; but for great minds itis too mean; they must guide themselves by their own meagre share ofwisdom. This path is unknown to them, because they are wise and prudentin themselves; but it is revealed to babes, who can suffer self to beannihilated, and who are willing to be moved by God at His pleasure, leaving Him to do with them as He will, without resistance, withoutconsidering what others will say. Oh, how difficult it is to this properprudence to become nothing both in its own eyes and in the sight ofothers! Men say that their one object in life is to glorify God, whileit is really their own glorification. But to be willing to be nothing inthe sight of God, to live in an entire abandonment, in utterself-despair, to give themselves to Him when they are the mostdiscouraged, to leave themselves in His hands, and not to look at selfwhen 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 sometimesoccur in this life wonderful manifestations to the natural senses, butthis is not usual; it is like Christ on the Mount of Transfiguration. 

CHAPTER II. 

STABILITY, EXPERIENCES, ELEVATION, EXTREME PURITY, AND PEACE OF THE SOULIN THE CONDITION OF ABANDONMENT--ALL IS PURELY GOD TO IT--FOR ITS LOSTLIBERTY 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, animmovable rock, proof against all blows or shocks, unless it be when theLord desires it to do something contrary to custom; then, if it does notyield to His first promptings, it has to suffer the pain of a constraintto 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 thehearts which are perfectly abandoned, and which offer no resistance toHim in anything; neither, if I could speak of them, should I beunderstood. All that I can say is, that He does not leave them theshadow of anything that could be named, either in God or out of God. AndHe so raises them above all by the loss of all, that nothing less thanGod Himself, either in earth or heaven, can stop them. Nothing can harmthem, because there is no longer anything hurtful for them, by reason oftheir union with God, which, in associating with sinners, contracts nodefilement, because of its essential purity. 

This is more real than I can express: the soul participates in thepurity of God; or rather, all natural purity having been annihilated, the purity of God alone exists in its nothingness; but so truly, thatthe heart is in perfect ignorance of evil, and powerless to commit it, which does not however prevent the possibility of its falling; but thisseldom happens here, because the profound nothingness of the soul doesnot leave anything that can be appropriated to itself; and it isappropriation alone which can cause sin, for that which no longer existscannot 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. Thesenses are still susceptible to suffering; but when they areoverpowered by it, and cry out with the anguish, if they are questioned, or if they examine themselves, they will find nothing in themselves thatsuffers: in the midst of the greatest pain, they say that they suffernothing, being unable to admit that they are suffering, because of thedivine state of blessedness which reigns in the centre or supreme part. 

And then there is such an entire and complete separation of the twoparts, the inferior and the superior, that they live together likestrangers; and the most extraordinary trouble does not interrupt theperfect peace, tranquillity; joy, and rest of the superior part; as thejoy of the divine life does not prevent the suffering of the inferior. 

If you wish to attribute any goodness to those who are thus transformedin God, they will object to it, not being able to find anything inthemselves that can be named, affirmed, or heard. They are in a complete_negation_. It is this which causes the difference of terms andexpressions employed by writers on this subject, who find a difficultyin making themselves understood, except by those whose experienceaccords with their own. Another effect of this negation is, that thesoul having lost all that was its own, God having substituted Himself, it can attribute nothing either to itself or to God; because it knowsGod 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 seethings in God is to distinguish them in Him. For instance, if I enter aroom, I see all that is there in addition to the room itself, though itbe placed within it; but if all could be transformed into the roomitself, or else were taken out of it, I should see nothing but the roomalone. All creatures, _celestial_, _terrestrial_ or _pureintelligences_, disappear and fade away, and there remains only GodHimself, as He was before the creation. The soul sees only Godeverywhere; and all is God; not by thought, sight, or light, but by anidentity of condition and a consummation of unity, which rendering itGod by participation, without its being able to see itself, prevents itseeing anything anywhere; it can see no created being out of theUncreated, the only uncreated One being all and in all. 

Men would condemn such a state, saying it makes us something less thanthe meanest insect; and so it does, not by obstinacy and firmness ofpurpose, but by powerlessness to interfere with ourselves. You may askone in this condition, "Who leads you to do such and such a thing? Is itGod who has told you to do it, or has made known to you His willconcerning it?" He will reply, "I know nothing, and I do not think ofknowing anything: all is God and His will; and I no longer know what ismeant 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 letmyself 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 aninstrument, which I neither see nor regard. I have no longer a separateinterest, 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 nolonger have a conduct: yet I act infallibly so long as I have no otherprinciple than that of the Infallible One. "

And this blind abandonment is the permanent condition of the soul ofwhich I speak; because having become one with God, it can see nothingbut God; for having lost all separateness, self-possession, anddistinction, it can no longer be abandoning itself, because, in order toabandon ourselves, we must do something, and have the power of disposingof 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 mingledwith the sea, so that it can be separated no more. It has the ebb andflow of the sea, no longer by choice, will, and liberty, but by nature:the immense sea having absorbed its shallow limited waters, itparticipates in all the movements of the sea. It is the sea which bearsit, and yet it is not borne, since it has lost its own being; and havingno other motion than that of the sea, it acts as the sea acts: notbecause it naturally possesses the same qualities, but because, havinglost 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, asI have said, that it does not so retain its own nature, that, if God sowilled it, in a moment it could be separated from the sea; but He doesnot do this. Neither does it lose the nature of the creature; and Godcould, if He pleased, cast it off from His divine bosom: but He does notdo 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 hehas lost freely all created liberty. He participates in the uncreatedfreedom, which is not contracted, bounded, limited by anything; and thesoul's liberty is so great, so broad, that the whole earth appears to itas a speck, to which it is not confined. It is free to do all and to donothing. There is no state or condition to which it cannot accommodateitself; it can do all things, and yet takes no part in them. O gloriousstate! who can describe thee, and what hast thou to fear or toapprehend? O Paul! thou couldst say, "who shall separate us from thelove of Christ?" "I am persuaded, " says the great apostle, "thatneither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, northings present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any othercreature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is inChrist Jesus our Lord" (Rom. Viii. 35, 38, 39). Now these words, "I ampersuaded, " exclude all doubt. But what was the foundation of Paul'sassurance? It was in the infallibility of God alone. The epistles ofthis great apostle, this mystical teacher, are often read, but seldomunderstood; yet all the mystic way, its commencement, its progress, itsend, are described by St Paul, and even the divine life; but few areable to understand it, and those to whom the light is given see it allthere clearer than the day. 

Ah! if those who find it so difficult to leave themselves to God couldonly experience this, they would confess that though the way might bearduous, a single day of this life was a sufficient recompense for yearsof trouble. But by what means does God bring the soul here? By waysaltogether opposed to natural wisdom and imagination. He builds up bycasting down; He gives life by killing. Oh! if I could tell what Hedoes, 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 itis. Here there is no need of place or time; all is alike, all places aregood; and wherever the order of God may take us, it is well, because allmeans are useless and infinitely surpassed: when we have reached theend, there is nothing left to wish for. 

Here all is God: God is everywhere and in everything, and therefore tothe soul all is the same. Its religion is God Himself, always the same, never interrupted; and if sometimes God pours some stream of His gloryupon its natural powers and sensibilities, it has no effect upon thecentre, which is always the same. The soul is indifferent either tosolitude or a crowd: it no longer looks forward to deliverance from thebody 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 nolonger to think of loving; for it loves God with His own love, andnaturally, though not inamissibly. 

CHAPTER III. 

IN WHICH IS EXPLAINED BY A COMPARISON THAT WHICH CONCERNS PERFECT UNIONOR DEIFORMITY--SECRETS OF GOD REVEALED TO HIS HIDDEN ONES, AND BY THEMTO OTHERS--PERMANENCE AND PROGRESS OF THIS CONDITION, THOUGHVARIABLE--NATURAL CAPACITY MUST BE LOST--THE PARTICIPATED CAPACITY OFGOD BY TRANSFORMATION GLOWS INFINITELY. 

A similitude occurs to my mind which appears very appropriate to thissubject: it is that of grain. First it is separated from the husk, whichsets forth conversion and separation from sin: when the grain isseparate and pure, it must be ground (by affliction, crosses, sickness, &c. ); when it is thus bruised and reduced to flour, there must still betaken from it, not that which is impure, for this is gone, but all thatis coarse, that is, the bran; and when there is nothing left but thefine flour, then it is made into bread for food. It appears as thoughthe flour were soiled, blackened, and blighted; that its delicacy andwhiteness were taken from it, in order that it may be made into a pastewhich is far less beautiful than the flour. Lastly, this paste isexposed to the heat of the fire. Now this is precisely what happens tothe soul of which I have been speaking. But after the bread is baked, itis fit for the mouth of the king, who not only unites it to himself bycontact with it, but eats it, digests it, consumes it, and annihilatesit, 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, whichis the greatest honour it can receive, and is its end, yet it cannot bechanged into his substance unless it be annihilated by digestion, losingall its natural form and quality. Oh, how well this sets forth all theconditions of the soul; that of union being very different to that oftransformation, 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 GodHimself: "That they all may be one, as Thou, Father, art in me, and Iin 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 isjoined unto the Lord is one spirit" (1 Cor. Vi. 17). 

This state is very little known, therefore it is not spoken of. O stateof life! how narrow is the way which leadeth unto thee! O love the mostpure of all, because Thou art God Himself! O love immense andindependent, which nothing can limit or straiten!

Yet these people appear quite common, as I have said, because they havenothing outwardly to distinguish them, unless it be an infinite freedom, which is often scandalised by those who are limited and confined withinthemselves, to whom, as they see nothing better than they havethemselves, all that is different to what they possess appears evil. Butthe holiness of these simple and innocent ones whom they despise is aholiness incomparably more eminent than all which they consider holy, because their own works, though performed with such strictness, have nomore strength than the principle in which they originate, which isalways the effort, though raised and ennobled, of a weak creature; butthose who are consummated in the divine union act in God by a principleof infinite strength; and thus their smallest actions are more agreeableto God than the multitude of heroic deeds achieved by others, whichappear so great in the sight of men. Therefore those in this degree donot seek for great things to do, resting contented with being what Godmakes them at each moment. These do more, without doing anything, forthe conversion of a kingdom, than five hundred preachers who have notattained this condition. 

God sometimes, however, permits these people to be known, though notfully. Many people apply to them for instruction, to whom theycommunicate a vivifying principle, by means of which many more are wonto Christ; but this is done, without care or anxiety, by pureProvidence. If people only knew the glory which is rendered to God bysuch 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 fromthis! But in this condition, as in all others, there are souls more orless divine. God hides them in His bosom, and under the veil of a mostcommon life, so that they may be known to Him alone, though they are Hisdelight. Here the secrets of God, in Himself and in the hearts of thosein whom He dwells, are revealed; not by word, sight, or light, but bythe science of God, which abides in Him; and when such people have towrite or speak, they are themselves astonished to find that all flowsfrom a divine centre, without their having been aware that theypossessed such treasures. They find themselves in a profound science, without memory or recollection; like an inestimable treasure, which isunobserved until there is a necessity for its manifestation; and it isin the manifestation to others that they find the revelation tothemselves. When they write, they are astonished to find themselveswriting of things with which they neither knew nor believed themselvesto be acquainted; although, as they write, they cannot doubt theirapprehension of them. It is not so with other Christians; their lightprecedes their experience, as a person sees from afar the things whichhe does not possess, and describes what he has seen, known, heard, &c. But these are persons who hold a treasure within themselves, which theydo not see until after the manifestation, although it is in theirpossession. 

Yet, after all, this does not well express the idea which I wish toconvey. God is in this soul; or rather the soul no longer exists; it nolonger acts, but God acts, and it is the instrument. God includes alltreasures in Himself, and manifests them through this soul to others;and thus, as it draws them from its centre, it becomes aware of theirpresence, though it had never reflected upon them before. I am sure thatany who have attained this degree will enter into my meaning, and willeasily distinguish the difference between the states I have described. Those whom I mentioned first, see things and enjoy them as we enjoy thesun; but the others have become one with the sun itself, which does notenjoy nor reflect upon its own light. This condition is permanent, andits only vicissitude, so far as its centre is concerned, is a greateradvancement in God: and as God is infinite, He can continually make thesoul more divine by enlarging its capacity, as the water of which wehave spoken expands in proportion as it is lost in the sea, with whichit mingles incessantly without ever leaving it. It is the same withthese souls. All who are in this degree have God, but some more and someless fully. They are all full, but all do not possess an equalplenitude. 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 filledwith the fulness of God, but it is according to their receptivecapacity, which capacity God continually enlarges. Therefore the longerChristians live in this divine condition, the more they expand, andtheir capacity becomes continually more immense, without anything beingleft for them to do or desire; for they always possess God in Hisfulness, and He never leaves an empty corner in their hearts. As theygrow and enlarge, He fills them with Himself, as we see with the air. Asmall room is full of air, but a large one contains more. If youcontinually increase the size of a room, in the same proportion the airwill enter, infallibly though imperceptibly: and thus, without changingits state or disposition, and without any new sensation, the soulincreases in capacity and in plenitude. But this growing capacity canonly be received in a state of nothingness, because in any othercondition there is an opposition to growth. 

It may be well here to explain what may appear a contradiction, when Isay, 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 capacitywhich it retains. 

There are two capacities. One is natural to the creature, and this isnarrow and limited: when it is purified, it is fitted to receive thegifts of God, but not God Himself; because what we receive within usmust of necessity be less than ourselves, as that which is enclosed in avase must be of less extent, though it may be of greater value, than thevase which contains it. 

But the capacity of which I speak here is a capacity to extend and tolose itself more and more in God, after the soul has lost itsappropriation, which confined it to itself; and this capacity being nolonger restricted nor limited, because its annihilation has deprived itof all form, disposes the soul to flow into God, so that it losesitself, and flows into Him who is beyond comprehension. The more it islost in Him, the more it develops and becomes immense, participating inHis perfections, and being more and more transformed in Him, as water incommunication with its source continually mingles with it. God, beingour 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 NOTBY REFLECTION, BUT BY IMPRESSION--GREATNESS OF THESE SUFFERINGS, WHICH, HOWEVER, DO NOT VARY THEIR REST OR CONTENTMENT BECAUSE OF THEIRDEIFICATION, WHICH PROGRESSES INFINITELY, BUT GRADUALLY--THEIR PEACEDISTURBED NEITHER BY GOOD NOR EVIL, AS GOD IS NEITHER TROUBLED NORDISTURBED BY THE SIGHT OF MAN'S SIN, ALL THINGS CONTRIBUTING TO HISGLORY. 

The soul has now nothing to do but to remain as it is, and to followwithout resistance all the movements of its Guide. All its movements areof God, and He guides it infallibly. It is not thus in the inferiorconditions, 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 appliedthis rule to any but the most advanced state. 

It is the duty of this soul to follow blindly with reflection all themovings of God. Here all reflection is banished, and the soul wouldfind a difficulty in indulging in it, even if it desired to do so. Butas by an effort it might accomplish it, this habit should bescrupulously avoided; because reflection alone has the power of leadingman 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, itis because he has gone out of Him, which can only be the effect ofappropriation; and the soul can only take itself back from itsabandonment by reflex action, which would be to it a hell similar tothat into which the great angel fell when, looking with complacency uponhimself, and preferring himself to God, he became a devil. And thisstate would be more terrible as that which had been previously attainedwas more advanced. 

It will be objected that suffering is impossible in this condition, notonly as to the centre, but also as to the senses, because in order tosuffering there must be reflex action, and it is reflection whichconstitutes the principal and the most painful part of suffering. Allthis is true in a certain sense; and as it is a fact that souls far lessadvanced than these suffer sometimes by reflection, sometimes byimpression, I maintain that it is also true that those in this degreecannot suffer otherwise than by impression. This does not imply thatsorrow may not be unlimited, and far more intense than that which isreflected, as the burning of one brought into actual contact with firewould be much more severe than that of one who is burned by thereflection of fire. It will be said, But God can teach them by means ofreflection how to suffer. God will not make use of reflection for thisend. He can show them in a moment what they have to suffer by a directview, and not by a reflected one, as those in heaven see in God thatwhich is in Him, and that which passes out from Him to His creatures, without looking at these things or reflecting upon them, but remainingabsorbed and lost in God. It is this which deceives so manyspiritually-minded people, who imagine that nothing can be either knownor suffered but by reflection. On the contrary, this kind of knowledgeand suffering is very slight compared to that which is imparted in otherways. 

All such suffering as can be distinguished and known, though expressedin such exaggerated terms, does not equal that of those who do not knowtheir suffering, and cannot admit that they do suffer, because of thegreat separation between the two parts. It is true that they sufferextreme pain; it is true that they suffer nothing, and that they are ina state of perfect contentment. 

I believe that, if such a soul were taken to hell, it would suffer allthe cruel tortures of its fate in a complete contentment, because of thebeatitude of its transformed centre; and this is the cause of theindifference which they feel towards all conditions. 

As I have said, this does not prevent their experiencing the extremityof suffering, as the extremity of suffering does not hinder theirperfect happiness. Those who have experienced it will be well able tounderstand me. 

It is not here as in the passive state of love. There the soul is filledwith a love of suffering and of the good pleasure of God: here it is aloss of the will in God by a state of deification, where all is Godwithout its being recognised as such. The soul is established by itscondition in its sovereign, unchangeable good. It is in a perfectbeatitude, where nothing can cross its perfect happiness, which isrendered its permanent condition; for many possess it temporarily, orknow it temporarily, before it becomes their permanent condition. Godgives first the knowledge of the condition, then a desire for it; thenHe gives it confusedly and indistinctly; and lastly, He makes it anormal condition, and establishes the soul in it for ever. 

It will be said that when once the soul is established in thiscondition, 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 thatof the creature. God does not make the life divine all at once, but bydegrees. Then, as I have said, He enlarges the capacity of the soul, andcan continually deify it more and more, God being an unfathomable depth. 

O Lord! "how great is Thy goodness, which Thou hast laid up for themthat fear Thee!" (Ps. Xxxi. 19). 

It was the sight of this state of blessedness which elicited suchfrequent 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 fromit, seeing it as God sees it; and though, if it were necessary, theywould give their lives to prevent the commission of a single sin, if Godso willed it, they are without action, without desire, withoutinclination, without choice, without impatience, in a state of completedeath, seeing things only as God sees them, and judging them only withGod's judgment. 

THE END. 

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