Madame Guyon's The Way to God

5 CONCISE VIEW OF 10

THE WAY TO GOD;

AND OF 15

THE STATE OF UNION

Y MADAME GUYON

0 "And the glory which Thou gavest me, I have given them; that they may be one even as we are one, (I in them and Thou in me,) that they may be made perfect in one." !ohn "vii. ##. 5

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ON THE WAY TO GOD

THE FIRST DEGREE: CONVE$SION. !5 1. THE first degree is the return of the Soul to God, when, being truly converted, it begins to subsist by means of his grace.

"0 THE SECOND DEGREE: THE EFFECTUA% TOUCH IN THE WI%%#

. THE Soul then receives an effectual Touch in the $ill, which invites it to recollection, and instructs it that God is within, and must be sought there# that He is $resent in the Heart, and must be there en%oyed. 5 !. This discovery, in the beginning, is the source of very great %oy to the Soul, as it is an intimation or $ledge of ha$$iness to come# in its very commencement, the road it is to $ursue is o$ened and is shown to be that of the &nward 'ife. This (nowledge is the more admirable, as it is the s$ring of all the felicity of the Soul, and the solid foundation of interior $rogress# for those Souls who tend toward God merely by the intellect, even though they should en%oy a somewhat s$iritual contem$lation, yet can never enter into &ntimate )nion, if they do not *uit that $ath and enter this of the &nward Touch, where the whole wor(ing is in the +ill. ". Those who are led in this +ay, though conducted by a blind abandonment, yet e,$erience a savory (nowledge. They never wal( by the light of the intellect, li(e the former, who receive distinct lights to guide them, and who, having a clear view of the road, never enter those im$enetrable $asses of the hidden +ill which are reserved for the latter. The former $roceed u$on the evidence furnished by their illuminations, assisted by their reason, and they do well# but the latter are destined to $ursue blindly an un(nown course, which, nevertheless, a$$ears $erfectly natural to them, although they seem obliged to feel their way. They go, however, with more certainty than the others, who are sub%ect to be misled in their intellectual illuminations# but these are guided by a su$reme +ill which conducts them howsoever it will. -nd further, all the more immediate o$erations are $erformed in the .entre of the Soul, that is, in the Three /owers reduced to the )nity of the +ill, where they are all absorbed, insensibly following the $ath $rescribed for them by that Touch to which we have before referred. 5. These latter are they who $ursue the +ay of 0aith and absolute -bandonment. They have neither relish nor liberty for any other $ath# all else constrains and embarrasses them. They dwell in greater aridities than the others, for as there is nothing distinct to which their minds are attached, their thoughts often wander and have nothing to fi, them. -nd as there are differences in Souls, some having more sensible delights, and others being drier, so it is with those who are led by the +ill# the former sort have more relish and less solid ac*uirement, and should restrain their too eager dis$osition, and suffer their emotions to $ass, even when they seem burning with love# the latter seem harder and more insensible, and their state a$$ears altogether natural# nevertheless, there is a delicate something in the de$th of the +ill, which serves to nourish them, and which is, as it were, the condensed Essence of what the others e,$erience in the intellect and in ardor of $ur$ose. 1. Still, as this su$$ort is e,ceedingly delicate, it fre*uently becomes im$erce$tible, and is hidden by the slightest thing. This gives rise to great suffering, es$ecially in times of tribulation and tem$tation# for as the relish and su$$ort are delicate and concealed, the +ill $arta(es of the same character in a high degree, so that such Souls have none of those strong wills. Their state is more indifferent and insensible, and their way more e*uable# but this does not hinder them from having as severe and even more serious trouble than others# for nothing being done in them by im$ulse, everything ta(es $lace,

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as it were, naturally, and their feeble, insensible, hidden +ills cannot be found, to ma(e head against their foes. Their 0idelity, however, often e,cels that of the others. 2otice the stri(ing difference between /eter and 3ohn# one seems to be overflowing with e,traordinary 4eal, and falls away at the voice of a maid5servant# the other ma(es no e,ternal manifestation, and remains faithful unto the end. 6. 7ou will as( me, then, if these Souls are urged on by no violent influence, but wal( in blindness, do they do the will of God8 They do, more truly, although they have no distinct assurance of it# His +ill is engraved in indelible characters on their very inmost recesses, so that they $erform with a cold and languid, but firm and inviolable, abandonment, what the others accom$lish by the drawings of an e,*uisite delight. 9. Thus they go on under the influence of this divine touch, from one degree to another, by a faith more or less sensibly savory, and e,$erience constant alternations of aridity and en%oyment of the $resence of God, but ever finding that the en%oyment becomes continually dee$er and less $erce$tible, and thus more delicate and interior. They discover, too, that in the midst of their aridity, and without any distinct illumination, they are not the less enlightened# for this state is luminous in itself, though dar( to the Soul that dwells in it. -nd so true is this, that they find themselves more ac*uainted with the truth# & mean that truth im$lanted in their interior, and which causes everything to yield to the +ill of God. This divine +ill becomes more familiar to them, and they are enabled, in their insi$id way, to $enetrate a thousand :ysteries that never could have been discovered by the light of reason and (nowledge. They are insensibly and gradually $re$aring, without being aware of it, for the states that are to follow. ;. The trials of this state are alternations of dryness and facility. The former $urified the attachment or tendency and natural relish that we have for the en%oyment of God. So that the whole of this degree is $assed in these alternations of en%oyment, aridity, and facility, without any intermi,ture of tem$tations, e,ce$t very transitory ones, or certain faults# for in every state, from the beginning onward, the faults of nature are much more liable to overta(e us in times of aridity than in seasons of interior %oy, when the )nction of Grace secures us from a thousand evils. &n all the $receding states thus far, the Soul is engaged in combatting its evil habits, and in endeavoring to overcome them by all sorts of $ainful Self5denial. 10. &n the beginning, when God turned its loo( inward, he so influenced it against itself, that it was obliged to cut off all its en%oyments, even the most innocent, and to load itself with every (ind of affliction. God gives no res$ite to some in this regard, until the life of 2ature, that is, of the e,terior senses as manifested in a$$etites, li(es and disli(es, is wholly destroyed. 11. This destruction of the a$$etites and re$ugnances of the outward senses, belongs to the second degree, which & have called the effectualTouch in the Will, and in which the highest and greatest virtue is $ractised, es$ecially when the inward drawing is vigorous and the )nction very savory. 0or there is no sort of contrivance that God does not discover to the Soul, to enable it to con*uer and overcome Self in everything# so that at length, by this constant $ractice, accom$anied by the gracious )nction before referred to, the S$irit gets the u$$er hand of 2ature, and the interior $art comes under sub%ection

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without resistance. There is, then, no further trouble from this source, any more than if all e,ternal feeling had been ta(en away. This state is mista(en, by those who are but little enlightened, for a state of <eath# it is, indeed, the <eath of the Senses, but there is yet a long way to that of the S$irit. 5

THE THIRD DEGREE: !ASSIVITY AND INTE$IO$ SAC$IFICE# 10 1 . +HE2 we have for some time en%oyed the re$ose of a victory that has cost us so much trouble, and su$$ose ourselves forever relieved from an enemy whose whole $ower has been destroyed, we enter into the third degree, ne,t in order to the other, which is a +ay of 0aith more or less savory, according to the state. +e enter into a condition of alternate dryness and facility, as & have stated, and in this dryness, the Soul $erceives certain e,terior wea(nesses, natural defects, which, though slight, ta(e it by sur$rise# it feels, too, that the strength it had received for the struggle, is dying away. This is caused by the loss of our active, inward force# for although the Soul, in the second degree, imagines itself to be in silence before God, it is not entirely so. &t does not s$ea(, indeed, either in Heart or by :outh, but it is in an active striving after God and constant outbreathing of 'ove, so that, being the sub%ect of the most $owerful amorous activity, e,erted by the <ivine 'ove towards Himself, it is continually lea$ing, as it were, towards its ob%ect, and its activity is accom$anied by a delightful and almost constant /eace. -s it is from this activity of 'ove that we ac*uire the strength to overcome 2ature, it is then that we $ractice the greatest virtues and most severe mortifications. 1!. =ut %ust in $ro$ortion as this activity decays, and is lost in an amorous $assivity, so does our strength of resistance sin( and diminish, and, as this degree advances, and the Soul becomes more and more $assive, it becomes more and more $owerless in combat. -s God becomes strong within, so do we become wea(. Some regard this im$ossibility of resistance as a great tem$tation, but they do not see that all our labor, aided and assisted by Grace, can only accom$lish the con*uest of our >utward Senses, after which God ta(es gradual $ossession of our &nterior, and becomes Himself our $urifier. -nd as He re*uired all our watchfulness while He continued us in amorous activity, so He now re*uires all our 0idelity to let Him wor(, while He begins to render Himself 'ord by the sub%ection of the 0lesh to the S$irit. 1". 0or it must be observed that all our outward /erfection de$ends u$on, and must follow the inward# so that when we are em$loyed in active devotion, however sim$le, we are actively engaged against ourselves %ust as sim$ly. 15. The second degree accom$lishes the destruction of the >utward Senses, the third, that of the &inward, and this is brought about by means of this savory passivity. =ut as God is then wor(ing within, He seems to neglect the outward, and hence the rea$$earance of defects, though feebly and only in a time of aridity, which we thought

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e,tinct. 11. The nearer we a$$roach the termination of the third degree, the longer and more fre*uent are our aridities, and the greater our wea(ness. This is a $urification which serves to destroy our internal feelings, as the amorous activity $ut an end to our e,ternal, and in each degree, there are alternations of dryness and en%oyment. The dryness serves as a $urifier of the %oy that is to follow# it is always $ainful from its barrenness and wea(ness. -s soon as we cease, from inability, to $ractice mortifications of our own fashioning, those of /rovidence ta(e their $lace ? the crosses which God dis$enses according to our degree. These are not chosen by the Soul# but the Soul, under the interior guidance of God, receives such as He a$$oints.

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15 THE FOURTH DEGREE: NA&ED FAITH# 16. THE fourth degree is %a&ed 'aith; here we have nothing but inward and outward desolation# for the one always follows the other. 19. Every degree has its beginning, $rogress, and consummation. 5 1;. -ll that has hitherto been granted and ac*uired with so much labor, is here gradually ta(en away. 0. This degree is the longest, and only ends with total death, if the Soul be willing to be so desolated as to die wholly to Self. 0or there is an infinite number of Souls that never $ass the first degrees, and of those who reach the $resent state there are very fe in whom its $erfect wor( is accom$lished. 1. This desolation ta(es $lace in some with violence, and although they suffer more distress than others, yet they have less reason to com$lain, for the very severity of their affliction is a sort of consolation. There are others who e,$erience only a feebleness and a (ind of disgust for everything, which has the a$$earance of being a failure in duty and unwillingness to obey. . +e are first de$rived of our voluntary wor(s, and become unable to do what we did in the $receding degrees# and as this increases, we begin to feel a general inability in res$ect to everything, which, instead of diminishing, enlarges day by day. This wea(ness and inability gradually ta(ing $ossession of us, we enter u$on a condition in which we say@ "'or that which I do, I allow not; for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I." A(om. vii. 15.B !. -fter being thus de$rived of all things, both inward and outward, which are not essential, the wor( begins u$on those which are# and in $ro$ortion as the virtuous life becoming a .hristian, which we regarded with so much com$lacency, disa$$ears, we

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are li(ewise s$oiled of a certain interior delight and substantial su$$ort. -s this su$$ort becomes wea(er and more subtile, the more $erce$tible becomes its loss. &t is to be remar(ed, however, that there is no loss e,ce$t to our own consciousness, as it still e,ists in the Soul, but im$erce$tibly and without a$$arent action. &f it were not hidden, the death and loss of Self could not be accom$lished. =ut it retires within, and shuts itself u$ so closely that the Soul is not aware of its $resence. ". <o you as( why this course is $ursued8 The whole ob%ect of the +ay thus far has been to cause the Soul to $ass from multi$licity to the distinct sensible without multi$licity# from the distinct sensible to the distinct insensible# then to the sensible indistinct, which is a general delight much less attractive than the other. &t is vigorous in the beginning and introduces the Soul into the $erceived, which is a $urer and less e,*uisite $leasure than the first# from the $erceived, into 0aith sustained and wor(ing by 'ove# $assing in this +ay from the sensible to the s$iritual, and from the s$iritual to 2a(ed 0aith, which, causing us to be dead to all s$iritual e,$eriences, ma(es us die to ourselves and $ass into God, that we may live henceforth from the 'ife of God only. 5. &n the economy of Grace, then, we begin with sensible things, continue with those which are s$iritual, and end by leading the Soul gradually into its centre, and uniting it with God. 1. The more dee$ly this im$erce$tible su$$ort retires, the more does it (nit the Soul together, so that it cannot continue to multi$ly itself among a thousand things which it can no longer either affect or even $erceive# and, entirely stri$$ed, it is gradually obliged to desert even itself. 6. &t is stri$$ed without mercy, then, e*ually and at the same time, of everything both within and without, and what is worst of all, is delivered over to tem$tations# and the more fully it is thus given u$ to tem$tation, the more com$letely is it de$rived of strength to resist them from without# thus it is wea(ened still farther at the very time when it is sub%ected to more violent attac(s, and finally its internal su$$ort is removed, which, while it served as a refuge and asylum, would be an evidence of the Goodness of God, and of its 0aithfulness to itself. 9. So you may see a man $ursued by a $owerful adversary# he fights, and defends himself as well as he is able, always contriving, however, to get nearer and nearer to a Stronghold of Safety# but the longer he fights the wea(er he becomes, while the strength of his o$$onent is constantly increasing. +hat shall he do8 He will gain the $ortal of the stronghold as adroitly as he can, for there he will find abundant aid. =ut, on reaching it, he sees that it is closed, and finds that, far from rendering him any assistance, the (ee$ers have barricaded every loo$hole of refuge# he must fall into the hands of his $owerful enemy, whom he recogni4es, when, defenceless and in des$air, he has given himself u$, as his best and truest friend. ;. =e sure, then, that this degree com$rehends all these things# the $rivation of every good, the accumulation of all sorts of wea(nesses, $owerlessness of defence, no interior asylum# God himself often a$$ears angry# and, to crown all, tem$tations.

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!0. +illingly, & thin( & hear you say, $rovided & might be sure that my +ill was not in harmony with the malignity of 2ature and the wea(nesses of the senses. -hC you would be too ha$$y# but that cannot be. &n $ro$ortion as you become enfeebled and destitute of every o$eration and activity of 'ove, however insignificant, the +ill, which was founded in that vigor of 'ove, becoming wea(er day by day, gradually disa$$ears# and vanishing thus, it is certain that it ta(es no $art in anything that is $assing in the man, but is se$arate. =ut as it does not manifest itself anywhere, by any sign, it affords no assured su$$ort to the Soul, but the contrary# for, no longer finding the +ill in an attitude of resistance, the Soul believes that it is consenting to everything, and that it has %oined in with the animal will, which is the only one $erce$tible. !1. 7ou will, $erha$s, remind one that & have before stated that, in the first contest of amorous activity, 2ature and the Senses had become, as it were, e,tinguished and subdued. &t is true# but the S$irit of Self, by the very victories that Grace had thus ac*uired for it, has become high5minded, more tenacious of what it esteems good, and still more indomitable. God, who is determined to subdue it, ma(es use for that $ur$ose, of an a$$arent resurrection of that same nature which the Soul su$$osed dead. =ut observe that He does not use 2ature until He has e,tracted its malignity, destroyed it and se$arated the su$erior +ill from that which rendered it violent and criminal. He e,tracts the venom of the vi$er, and then uses it as an antidote to the S$irit. +hoever shall become ac*uainted with the admirable Economy of Grace and the +isdom of God in bringing man to a total !acrifice of Self, will be filled with delight, and, insensible as he may be, will e,$ire with 'ove. The little traces of it which have been revealed to my Heart, have often overwhelmed me with ecstasy and trans$ort. ! . 0idelity in this degree re*uires us to suffer S$oliation to the whole e,tent of the designs of God, without being an,ious about ourselves, sacrificing to God all our interests both for time and for eternity. 2othing must be made a $rete,t for reserving or retaining the slightest atom, for the least reservation is the cause of an irre$arable loss, as it $revents our death, from being total. +e must let God wor( his absolute $leasure, and suffer the winds and tem$ests to beat u$on us from every *uarter, submerged, as we may often be, beneath the tumultuous billows. !!. - wonderful thing is here $erceived# far from being estranged by our suffering and wretched state, it is then that God a$$ears# and if any wea(ness has been a$$arent, He gives us some to(en of his immediate $resence, as if to assure the Soul for a moment, that He was with it in its tribulation. & say for a moment, for it is of no service subse*uently, as a su$$ort, but is rather intended to $oint out the +ay and invite the Soul to the further loss of Self. !". These states are not continuous in their violence# there are remissions, which, while they afford s$ace for ta(ing breath, serve, at the same time, to render the subse*uent trial more $ainful. 0or 2ature will ma(e use of anything to sustain its life, as a drowning man will su$$ort himself in the water by clinging to the blade of a ra4or, without adverting to the $ain it causes him, if there be nothing else within his reach.

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THE FIFTH DEGREE: MYSTICA% DEATH# 5 !5. -TT-.DE< thus on all sides by so many enemies, without life and without su$$ort, we have no recourse but to e,$ire in the arms of 'ove. +hen death is com$lete, the most terrible states cause no further trouble. +e do not recogni4e death from the fact of having $assed through all these states, but by an absolute want of $ower to feel $ain, to thin( of or care for Self, and, by our indifference to remaining there forever, without manifesting the slightest sign of vitality. 'ife is evidenced by a +ill for or re$ugnance to something# but here, in this death of the Soul, all things are ali(e. &t remains dead and insensible to everything that concerns itself, and, let God reduce it to what e,tremity He will, feels no re$ugnance. &t has no choice between being -ngel or <emon, because it has no longer any eyes for Self. &t is then that God has $laced all its enemies beneath his footstool, and, reigning su$reme, ta(es and $ossesses it the more fully, as it has the more com$letely deserted itself. =ut this ta(es $lace by degrees. !1. There remains for a long time, even after death, a trace of the living heat, which is only gradually dissi$ated. -ll states effect somewhat towards cleansing the Soul, but here the $rocess is com$leted. !6. +e do not die s$iritually, once for all, as we do naturally# it is accom$lished gradually# we vibrate between life and death, being sometimes in one and sometimes in the other, until death has finally con*uered life. -nd so it is in the resurrection# an alternate state of life and death, until life has finally overcome death. !9. 2ot that the new life does not come suddenly. He who was dead, finds himself living, and can never afterward doubt that he was dead and is alive again# but it is not then established# it is rather a dis$osition toward living, then a settled state of life. !;. The first life of Grace began in the sensible, and san( continually inward toward the .entre, until, having reduced the Soul to )nity, it caused it to e,$ire in the arms of 'ove# for all e,$erience this death, but each by means $eculiar to himself. =ut the life that is now communicated arises from within# it is, as it were, a living germ which has always e,isted there, though unobserved, and which demonstrates that the life of Grace has never been wholly absent, however it may have been suffered to remain hidden. There it remained even in the midst of death# nor was it less death because life was concealed in it# as the sil(5worm lies long dead in the chrysalis, but contains a germ of life that awa(es it to a resurrection. This new life, then, buds in the .entre, and grows from there# thence it gradually e,tends over all the faculties and senses, im$regnating them with its own life and fecundity. "0. The Soul, endued with this vitality, e,$eriences an infinite contentment# not in itself, but in God# and this es$ecially when the life is well advanced. "1. =ut, before entering u$on the effects of this admirable life, let me say, that there are some who do not $ass through these $ainful deaths# they only e,$erience a mortal

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languor and fainting, which annihilate them, and cause them to die to all. " . :any s$iritual $ersons have given the name of death, to the earlier $urifications, which are, indeed, a death in relation to the life communicated, but not a total death. They result in an e,tinguishment of some one of the lives of 2ature, or of Grace# but that is widely different from a general e,tinction of all life. "!. <eath has various names, according to our different manner of e,$ression or conce$tion. &t is called a departure, that is, a se$aration from Self in order that we may $ass into God# a loss, total and entire, of the +ill of the creature, which causes the Soul to be wanting to itself, that it may e,ist only in God. 2ow, as this +ill is in everything that subsists in the creature, however good and holy it may be, all these things must necessarily be destroyed, so far as they so subsist, and so far as the good will of man is in them, that the +ill of God alone may remain. Everything born of the will of the flesh and the will of man, must be destroyed. Then nothing but the +ill of God is left, which becomes the $rinci$le of the new life, and, gradually animating the old e,tinguished will, ta(es its $lace and changes it into 0aith. "". 0rom the time that the Soul e,$ires mystically, it is se$arated generally from everything that would be an obstacle to its $erfect )nion with God# but it is not, for all that, received into God. This causes it the most e,treme suffering. 7ou will ob%ect here, that, if it be wholly dead, it can no longer suffer. 'et me e,$lain. "5. The Soul is dead as soon as it is se$arated from Self# but this death or mystic decease is not com$lete until it has $assed into God. )ntil then, it suffers very greatly, but its suffering is general and indistinct, and $roceeds solely from the fact that it is not yet established in its $ro$er $lace. "1. The suffering which $recedes death, is caused by our re$ugnance to the means that are to $roduce it. This re$ugnance returns whenever these means recur, or grow shar$er# but in $ro$ortion as we die we become more and more insensible, and seem to harden under the blows, until at last death comes in truth through an entire cessation of all life. God has unrelentingly $ursued our life into all its covert hiding $laces# for so malignant is it, that when hard $ressed, it fortifies itself in its refuges, and ma(es use of the holiest and most reasonable $rete,ts for e,istence# but, being $ersecuted and followed into its last retreat, in a few souls AalasC how fewCB it is obliged to abandon them altogether. "6. 2o $ain then remains arising from the means which have caused our death, and which are e,actly the o$$osite to those which used to maintain our life# the more reasonable and holy the latter are in a$$earance, the more unreasonable and defiled is the loo( of the other. "9. =ut after death ? which is the cause of the SoulEs de$arture from Self, that is, of its losing every Self5a$$ro$riation whatever# for we never (now how strongly we cling to ob%ects until they are ta(en away, and he who thin(s that he is attached to nothing, is fre*uently grandly mista(en, being bound to a thousand things, un(nown to himself ? after death, & re$eat, the Soul is entirely rid of Self, but not at first received into God. There still e,ists a something, & (now not e,actly what, a form, a human remnant# but

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that also vanishes. &t is a tarnish which is destroyed by a general, indistinct suffering, having no relation to the means of death, since they are $assed away and com$leted# but it is an uneasiness arising from the fact of being turned out of Self, without being received into its great >riginal. The Soul loses all $ossession of Self, without which it could never be united to God# but it is only gradually that it becomes fully $ossessed of Him by means of the new life, which is wholly divine.

10 UNION WITH GOD' =)T 2>T 7ET FE.>G2&GE<. ";. -S soon as the Soul has died in the embraces of the 'ord, it is united to Him in truth and without any intermediate# for in losing everything, even its best $ossessions, it has lost the means and intermediates which dwelt in them# and even these greatest treasures themselves were but intermediates. &t is, then, from that moment, united to God immediately, but it does not recogni4e it, nor does it en%oy the fruits of its )nion, until He animates it and becomes its vivifying $rinci$le. - bride fainting in the arms of her husband, is closely united to him, but she does not en%oy the blessedness of the union, and may even be unconscious of it# but when he has contem$lated her for some time, fainting from e,cess of love, and recalls her to life by his tender caresses, then she $erceives that she is in $ossession of him whom her Soul loves, and that she is $ossessed by him.

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!a"t II#
ON UNION WITH GOD#

!5 THE $ESU$$ECTION# 50. THE Soul thus $ossessed of God, finds that He is so $erfectly 'ord over it, that it can no longer do anything but what He $leases and as He $leases# and this state goes on increasing. &ts $owerlessness is no longer $ainful but $leasant, because it is full of the 'ife and /ower of the <ivine +ill. 51. The dead Soul is in )nion, but it does not en%oy the fruits of it until the moment of its (esurrection, when God, causing it to $ass into Him, gives it such $ledges and assurances of the consummation of its <ivine :arriage, that it can no longer doubt@ for this immediate )nion is so s$iritual, so refined, so divine, so intimate, that it is e*ually

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im$ossible for the Soul to conceive or to doubt it. 0or we may observe that the whole way whereof we s$ea(, is infinitely removed from any imagination# these Souls are not in the least imaginative, having nothing in the intellect, and are $erfectly $rotected from dece$tions and illusions, as everything ta(es $lace within. 5 5 . <uring their $assage through the +ay of 0aith, they had nothing distinct, for distinctness is entirely o$$osed to 0aith, and they could not en%oy anything of that sort, having only a certain generality as a foundation u$on which everything was communicated to them. =ut it is far otherwise when the life becomes advanced in God# for though they have nothing distinct for themselves, they have for others, and their illumination for the use of others, though not always received by those for whom it was intended, is the more certain as it is more immediate, and as it were natural. 5!. +hen God raises a Soul, that is to say, receives it into Himself, and the living germ, which is no other than the 'ife and S$irit of the +ord, begins to a$$ear, it constitutes the (evelation in it of !esus )hrist, A*al. i. 11,B who lives in us by the loss of the life of -dam subsisting in Self. 5". The Soul is thus received into God, and is there gradually changed and transformed into Him, as food is transformed into the one who has $arta(en of it. -ll this ta(es $lace without any loss of its own individual e,istence, as has been elsewhere e,$lained. 55. +hen transformation begins, it is called annihilation, since in changing our form, we become annihilated as to our own, in order to ta(e on His. This o$eration goes on constantly during life, changing the Soul more and more into God, and conferring u$on it a continually increasing $artici$ation in the divine *ualities, ma(ing it unchangeable, immovable, etc. =ut He also renders it fruitful in, and not out of, Himself. 51. This fruitfulness e,tends to certain $ersons whom God gives and attaches to the Soul, communicating to it his 'ove, full of .harity. 0or the love of these divine Souls for the $ersons thus bestowed u$on them, while it is far removed from the natural feelings, is infinitely stronger than the love of $arents for their children, and though it a$$ears eager and $reci$itate, it is not so, because he, who e,hibits it, merely follows the movement im$ressed u$on him. 56. To ma(e this intelligible, we must (now that God did not de$rive the senses and faculties of their life, to leave them dead# for though there might be life in the .entre of the Soul, they would remain dead if that life were not also communicated to them. &t increases by degrees, animates all the $owers and senses which, until then, had remained barren and unfruitful, enlarges them in $ro$ortion to its communication, and renders them active, but with an activity derived and regulated from God, according to His own designs. /ersons in a dying or dead condition, must not condemn the activity of such Souls, for they could never have been $ut in divine motion if they had not $assed through the most wonderful death. <uring the whole $eriod of 0aith, the Soul remains motionless# but after God has infused into it the <ivine -ctivity, its s$here is vastly e,tended# but, great as it may be, it cannot e,ecute a Self5originated movement.

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THE %IFE IN GOD# 5 59. THEFE is no more to be said here of degrees# that of Glory being all that remains, every means being left behind, and the future consisting in our en%oying an infinite stretch of life, and that more and more abundantly. A !ohn ,. 10.B -s God transforms the Soul into Himself, his life is communicated to it more $lentifully. The 'ove of God for the creature is incom$rehensible, and his assiduity ine,$licable# some Souls He $ursues without intermission, $revents them, seats Himself at their door, and delights Himself in being with them and in loading them with the mar(s of his 'ove. He im$resses this chaste, $ure, and tender love u$on the Heart. St. /aul and St. 3ohn the Evangelist, felt the most of this maternal affection. =ut to be as & have described it, it must be bestowed u$on the Soul in the state of Grace of which & have %ust s$o(en# otherwise, such emotions are $urely natural. 5;. The $rayer of the state of 0aith is an absolute silence of all the $owers of the Soul, and a cessation of every wor(ing, however delicate, es$ecially toward its termination. The Soul in that state, $erceiving no more $rayer, and not being able to set a$art fi,ed seasons for it, since all such e,ercises are ta(en away, is led to thin( that it has absolutely lost all (ind of devotion. =ut when life returns, /rayer returns with it, and accom$anied by a marvellous facility# and as God ta(es $ossession of the senses and faculties, its devotion becomes sweet, gentle, and very s$iritual, but always to God. &ts former devotion caused it to sin( within itself, that it might en%oy God, but that which it now has, draws it out of Self, that it may be more and more lost and changed in God. 10. This difference is *uite remar(able, and can only be accom$lished by e,$erience. The Soul is silent in the state of death, but its stillness is barren, and accom$anied by a frantic rambling, which leaves no mar( of silence save the im$ossibility of addressing God, either with the li$s or the heart. =ut after the Fesurrection, its silence is fruitful and attended by an e,ceedingly $ure and refined )nction, which is deliciously diffused over the senses, but with such a $urity, that it occasions no stay and contracts no taint. 11. &t is now im$ossible for the Soul to ta(e what it has not, or to $ut off what it has. &t receives with $assive willingness whatever im$ressions are made u$on it. &ts state, however overwhelming, would be free from suffering, if God, who moves it towards certain free things, gave them the necessary corres$ondence. =ut as their state will not bear it, it becomes necessary that what God wills they should have, should be communicated by means of suffering for them. 1 . &t would be wrong for such $ersons to say that they do not wish these means# that they desire God only. He is an,ious that they should die to a certain interior su$$ort of Self, which causes them to say that they desire God only, and if they were to re%ect these means, they would withdraw themselves from the order of God, and arrest their $rogress. =ut, being given sim$ly as means, though fruitful in grace and virtue, however secret and concealed, they finally disa$$ear when the Soul finds itself united with the

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means in God, and He communicates Himself directly. Then God withdraws the means, u$on which he no longer im$resses any movement in the direction of the $erson to whom they are attached# because it might then serve as a stay, its utility being at last recogni4ed. The Soul can then no longer have what it had, and remains in its first death in res$ect to them, though still very closely united. 1!. &n this state of Fesurrection comes that ineffable silence, by which we not only subsist in God, but commune with Him, and which, in a Soul thus dead to its own wor(ing, and general and fundamental Self5a$$ro$riation, becomes a flu, and reflu, of <ivine .ommunion, with nothing to sully its $urity# for there is nothing to hinder it. 1". The Soul then becomes a $arta(er of the ineffable communion of the Trinity, where the 0ather of S$irits im$arts his s$iritual fecundity, and ma(es it one S$irit with Himself. Here it is that it communes with other Souls, if they are sufficiently $ure to receive its communications in silence, according to their degree and state# here, that the ineffable secrets are revealed, not by a momentary illumination, but in God Himself, where they are all hid, the Soul not $ossessing them for itself, nor being ignorant of them. 15. -lthough & have said that the Soul then has something distinct, yet it is not distinct in reference to itself, but to those with whom it communes# for what it says is said naturally and without attention, but seems e,traordinary to the hearers, who, not finding the thing in themselves, notwithstanding it may be there, consider it as something distinct and wonderful, or $erha$s fanatical. Souls that are still dwelling among gifts, have distinct and momentary illuminations, but these latter have only a general illumination, without defined beams, which is God Himself# whence they draw whatever they need, which is distinct whenever it is re*uired by those with whom they are conversing, and without any of it remaining with themselves afterwards.

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THE T$ANSFO$MATION# !5 11. THEFE are a thousand things that might be said about the inward and celestial life of the Soul thus full of life in God, which He dearly cherishes for Himself, and which He covers e,ternally with abasement, because He is a %ealous God. =ut it would re*uire a volume, and & have only to fulfill your re*uest. God is the life and Soul of this Soul, which thus uninterru$tedly lives in God, as a fish in the sea, in ine,$ressible ha$$iness, though loaded with the sufferings which God lays u$on it for others. 16. &t has become so sim$le, es$ecially when its transformation is far advanced, that it goes its way $er$etually without a thought for any creature or for itself. &t has but one ob%ect, to do the will of God. =ut as it has to do with many of the creatures who cannot attain to this state, some of them cause it suffering by endeavoring to com$el it to have a care for Self, to ta(e $recautions, and so on, which it cannot do# and others by their want of corres$ondence to the +ill of God.

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19. The crosses of such Souls are the most severe, and God (ee$s them under the most ab%ect humiliations and a very common and feeble e,terior, though they are his delight. Then 3esus .hrist communicates Himself in all his states, and the Soul is clothed u$on both with his inclinations and sufferings. &t understands what man has cost Him, what his faithlessness has made Him suffer, what is the redem$tion of 3esus .hrist, and how He has borne his children. 1;. The Transformation is recogni4ed by the want of distinction between God and the Soul, it not being able any longer to se$arate itself from God# everything is e*ually God, because it has $assed into its >riginal Source, is reunited to its -'', and changed into Him. =ut it is enough for me to s(etch the general outlines of what you desire to (now# e,$erience will teach you the rest, and having shown you what & ought to be to you, you may %udge of what & am in our 'ord. 60. &n $ro$ortion as its Transformation is $erfected, the Soul finds a more e,tended *uality in itself. Everything is e,$anded and dilated, God ma(ing it a $arta(er of His infinity# so that it often finds itself immense, and the whole earth a$$ears but as a $oint in com$arison with this wonderful breadth and e,tension. +hatever is in the order and will of God, e,$ands it# everything else contracts it# and this contraction restrains it from $assing out. -s the +ill is the means of effecting the transformation, and the .enter is nothing else but all the faculties united in the will, the more the Soul is transformed, the more its will is changed and $assed into that of God, and the more God Himself wills for the Soul. The Soul acts and wor(s in this <ivine +ill, which is thus substituted for its own, so naturally, that it cannot tell whether the will of the Soul is become the +ill of God, or the +ill of God become the will of the Soul. 61. God fre*uently e,acts strange sacrifices from Souls thus transformed in Him# but it costs them nothing, for they will sacrifice everything to Him without re$ugnance. The smaller sacrifices cost the most, and the greater ones the least, for they are not re*uired until the Soul is in a state to grant them without difficulty, to which it has a natural tendency. This is what is said of 3esus .hrist on his coming into the world# "Then said I, +o, I come, in the volume of the boo& it is written of me; I delight to do thy will, - my *od; yea, thy law is within my heart." A.salm ,i. 6,9.B -s soon as .hrist comes into any Soul to become its living $rinci$le, He says the same thing of it# He becomes the eternal /riest who unceasingly fulfills within the Soul his sacerdotal office. This is sublime indeed, and continues until the victim is carried to glory. 6 . God destines these Souls for the assistance of others in the most tangled $aths# for, having no longer any an,iety in regard to themselves, nor anything to lose, God can use them to bring others into the way of his $ure, na(ed and assured +ill. Those who are still Self5$ossessed, could not be used for this $ur$ose# for, not having yet entered into a state where they follow the $ill of *od blindly for themselves, but always mingling it with their own reasonings, and false wisdom, they are not by any means in a condition to withhold nothing in following it blindly for others. +hen & say withhold nothing, & mean of that which God desires in the $resent moment# for He fre*uently does not $ermit us to $oint out to a $erson all that hinders him, and what we see must come to $ass in res$ect to him, e,ce$t in general terms, because he cannot bear it. -nd though

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we may sometimes say hard things, as .hrist did to the .a$ernaites, He nevertheless bestows a secret strength to bear it# at least He does so to the Souls whom He has chosen solely for Himself# and this is the Touchstone. 5 FINIS#