OF THE THIRD WAY OF RETURN TO GOD, WHICH IS THE PASSIVE WAY OF FAITH,
AND OF ITS FIRST DEGREE--DESCRIPTION OF THIS WAY UNDER THE SIMILITUDE OF
A TORRENT--PROPENSITY OF THE SOUL TOWARDS GOD--ITS PROPERTIES,
OBSTACLES, AND EFFECTS EXPLAINED BY THE SIMILITUDE OF FIRE--WHAT BEFALLS
THE SOUL CALLED TO WALK IN THE PASSIVE WAY OF FAITH--DESCRIPTION OF THE
FIRST DEGREE OF THIS THIRD WAY, AND OF THE STATE OF THE SOUL IN IT--THE
REST IT FINDS IN IT WOULD BE HURTFUL IF GOD DID NOT DRAW IT OUT OF IT,
IN ORDER TO FURTHER ITS ADVANCEMENT.
What shall we say of the souls in this _third way_, unless it be that
they resemble TORRENTS which rise in high mountains? They have their
source in God Himself, and they have not a moment's rest until they are
lost in Him. Nothing stops them, and no burdens are laid upon them. They
rush on with a rapidity which alarms even the most confident. These
torrents flow without order, here and there, wherever they can find a
passage, having neither regular beds nor an orderly course. They
sometimes become muddy by passing through ground which is not firm, and
which they bear away with them by their rapidity. Sometimes they appear
to be irrecoverably lost, then they reappear for a time, but it is only
to precipitate themselves in another abyss, still deeper than the former
one. It is the sport of these torrents to show themselves, to lose
themselves, and to break themselves upon the rocks. Their course is so
rapid as to be undiscernible; but finally, after many precipices and
abysses, after having been dashed against rocks, and many times lost and
found again, they reach the sea, where they are lost to be found no
more. And there, however poor, mean, useless, destitute of merchandise
the poor torrent may have been, it is wonderfully enriched, for it is
not rich with its own riches, like other rivers, which only bear a
certain amount of merchandise or certain rarities, but it is rich with
the riches of the sea itself. It bears on its bosom the largest vessels;
it is the sea which bears them, and yet it is the river, because the
river, being lost in the sea, has become one with it.
It is to be remarked, that the river or torrent thus precipitated into
the sea does not lose its nature, although it is so changed and lost as
not to be recognised. It will always remain what it was, yet its
identity is lost, not as to reality, but as to quality; for it so takes
the properties of salt water, that it has nothing peculiar to itself,
and the more it loses itself and remains in the sea, the more it
exchanges its own nature for that of the sea. For what, then, is not
this poor torrent fitted? Its capacity is unlimited, since it is the
same as that of the sea; it is capable of enriching the whole earth. O
happy loss! who can set thee forth? Who can describe the gain which has
been made by this useless and good-for-nothing river, despised and
looked upon as a mad thing, on which the smallest boat could not be
trusted, because, not being able to restrain itself, it would have
dragged the boat with it. What do you say of the fate of this torrent, O
great rivers! which flow with such majesty, which are the delight and
admiration of the world, and glory in the quantity of merchandise spread
out upon you? The fate of this poor torrent, which you regard with
contempt, or at best with compassion, what has it become? What use can
it serve now, or rather, what use can it not serve? What does it lack?
You are now its servants, since the riches which you possess are only
the overflow of its abundance, or a fresh supply which you are carrying
to it.
But before speaking of the happiness of a soul thus lost in God, we must
begin with its origin and go on by degrees.
The soul, as we have said, having proceeded from God, has a continual
propensity to return to Him, because, as He is its origin, He is also
its final end. Its course would be interminable if it were not arrested
or interrupted by sin and unbelief. Therefore the heart of man is
perpetually in motion, and can find no rest till it returns to its
origin and its centre, which is God: like fire, which, being removed
from its sphere, is in continual agitation, and does not rest till it
has returned to it, and then, by a miracle of nature, this element, so
active itself as to consume everything by its activity, is at perfect
rest. O poor soul who are seeking happiness in this life! you will never
find it out of God. Seek to return to Him: there all your longings and
troubles, your agitations and anxieties, will be reduced to perfect
rest.
It is to be remarked, that in proportion as fire approaches its centre,
it always approaches rest, although its swiftness increases. It is the
same with the soul: as soon as sin ceases to hold it back, it seeks
indefatigably to find God; and if it were not for sin, nothing could
impede its course, which would be so speedy, that it would soon attain
its end. But it is also true that, in proportion as it approaches God,
its speed is augmented, and at the same time becomes more peaceful; for
the rest, or rather the peace, since it is not at rest, but is pursuing
a peaceful course, increases so that its peace redoubles its speed, and
its speed increases its peace.
The hindrances, then, arise from sins and imperfections, which arrest
for a time the course of the soul, more or less, according to the
magnitude of the fault. Then the soul is conscious of its activity, as
though when fire was going on towards its centre, it encountered
obstacles, such as pieces of wood or straw: it would resume its former
activity in order to consume these obstacles or barriers, and the
greater the obstacle the more its activity would increase. If it were a
piece of wood, a longer and stronger activity would be needed to consume
it; but if it were only a straw, it would be burned up in a moment, and
would but very slightly impede its course. You will notice that the
obstacles which the fire would encounter would only impart to it a fresh
stimulus to surmount all which prevented its union with its centre;
again, it is to be remarked, that the more obstacles the fire might
encounter, and the more considerable they might be, the more they would
retard its course; and if it were continually meeting with fresh ones,
it would be kept back, and prevented from returning whence it came. We
know by experience, that if we continually add fuel to fire, we shall
keep it down, and prevent its rising. It is the same with the souls of
men. Their instincts and natural propensities lead them towards God.
They would advance incessantly, were it not for the hindrances they
meet. These hindrances are sins and imperfections, which prove the
greater obstacles in the way of their return to God, according as they
are serious and lasting; so that if they continue in sin, they will
never reach their end. Those, therefore, who have not sinned so grossly
as others, should advance much more rapidly. This usually is the case,
and yet it seems as though God took pleasure in making "grace abound
where sin has most abounded" (Rom. v. 20). I believe that one of the
reasons of this, to be found in those who have not grossly sinned, is
their estimation of their own righteousness, and this is an obstacle
more difficult to surmount then even the grossest sins, because we
cannot have so great an attachment to sins which are so hideous in
themselves, as we have to our own righteousness; and God, who will not
do violence to liberty, leaves such hearts to enjoy their holiness at
their own pleasure, while He finds His delight in purifying the most
miserable. And in order to accomplish His purpose, He sends a stronger
and fiercer fire, which consumes those gross sins more easily than a
slower fire consumes smaller obstacles. It even seems as though God
loved to set up His throne in these criminal hearts, in order to
manifest His power, and to show how He can restore the disfigured soul
to its original condition, and even make it more beautiful than it was
before it fell. Those then who have greatly sinned, and for whom I now
write, are conscious of a great fire consuming all their sins and
hindrances; they often find their course impeded by besetting sins, but
this fire consumes them again and again, till they are completely
subdued. And as the fire thus goes on consuming, the obstacles are more
and more easily surmounted, so that at last they are no more than
straws, which, far from impeding its course, only make it burn the more
fiercely.
Let us then take the soul in its original condition, and follow it
through its various stages, if God, who inspires these thoughts, which
only occur to me as I write, wills that we should do so.
As God's design for the soul is that it should be lost in Himself, in a
manner unknown to ordinary Christians, He begins His work by imparting
to it a sense of its distance from Him. As soon as it has perceived and
felt this distance, the natural inclination which it has to return to
its source, and which has been, as it were, deadened by sin, is revived.
Then the soul experiences true sorrow for sin, and is painfully
conscious of the evil which is caused by this separation from God. This
sentiment thus implanted in the soul leads it to seek the means of
ridding itself of this trouble, and of entering into a certain rest
which it sees from afar, but which only redoubles its anxiety, and
increases its desire to pursue it until it finds it.
Some of those who are thus exercised, having never been taught that they
must seek to have God within them, and not expect to find Him in outward
righteousness, give themselves up to meditation, and seek without what
can only be found within. This meditation, in which they seldom succeed,
because God, who has better things in store for them, does not permit
them to find any rest in such an experience, only serves to increase
their longing; for their wound is at the heart, and they apply the
plaster externally, which does but foster the disease, instead of
healing it. They struggle a long time with this exercise, and their
struggling does but increase their powerlessness; and unless God, who
Himself assumes the charge of them, sends some messenger to show them a
different way, they will lose their time, and will lose it just so long
as they remain unaided. But God, who is abundant in goodness, does not
fail to send them help, though it may be but passing and temporary. As
soon, then, as they are taught that they cannot advance because their
wound is an internal one, and they are seeking to heal it by external
applications; when they are led to seek in the depths of their own
hearts what they have sought in vain out of themselves; then they find,
with an astonishment which overwhelms them, that they have within them a
treasure which they have been seeking far off. Then they rejoice in
their new liberty; they marvel that prayer is no longer a burden, and
that the more they retire within themselves, the more they taste of a
certain mysterious something which ravishes them and carries them away,
and they would wish ever to love thus, and thus to be buried within
themselves. Yet what they experience, delightful as it may appear, does
not stop them, if they are to be led into pure faith, but leads them to
follow after something more, which they have not yet known. They are now
all ardour and love. They seem already to be in Paradise; for what they
possess within themselves is infinitely sweeter than all the joys of
earth: these they can leave without pain; they would leave the whole
world to enjoy for one hour their present experience. They find that
prayer has become their continual attitude; their love increases day by
day, so that their one desire is always to love and never to be
interrupted. And as they are not now strong enough to be undisturbed by
conversation, they shun and fear it; they love to be alone, and to enjoy
the caresses of their Beloved. They have within themselves a Counsellor,
who lets them find no pleasure in earthly things, and who does not
suffer them to commit a single fault, without making them feel by His
coldness how much sin is displeasing to Him. This coldness of God, in
times of transgression, is to them the most terrible chastisement. It
seems as though God's only care were to correct and reprove them, and
His one purpose to perfect them. It is a surprise to themselves and to
others that they change more in a month by this way, and even in a day,
than in several years by the other. O God! it belongs only to Thee to
correct and to purify the hearts of Thy children!
God has yet another means of chastising the soul, when it is further
advanced in the divine life, by making Himself more fully known to it
after it falls; then the poor soul is covered with confusion; it would
rather bear the most severe chastisement than this goodness of God after
it has sinned.
These persons are now so full of their own feelings that they want to
impart them to others; they long to teach the whole world to love God;
their sentiments towards Him are so deep, so pure, and so disinterested,
that those who hear them speak, if they are not divinely enlightened,
believe them to have attained the height of perfection. They are
fruitful in good works; there is no reasoning here, nothing but a deep
and burning love. The soul feels itself seized and held fast by a divine
force which ravishes and consumes it. It is like intoxicated persons,
who are so possessed with wine that they do not know what they are
doing, and are no longer masters of themselves. If such as these try to
read, the book falls from their hands, and a single line suffices them;
they can hardly get through a page in a whole day, however assiduously
they may devote themselves to it, for a single word from God awakens
that secret instinct which animates and fires them, so that love closes
both their mouth and their eyes. They cannot utter verbal prayers, being
unable to pronounce them. A heart which is unaccustomed to this does not
know what it means; for it has never experienced anything like it
before, and it does not understand why it cannot pray, and yet it cannot
resist the power which overcomes it. It cannot be troubled, nor be
fearful of doing wrong, for He who holds it bound does not permit it
either to doubt that it is He who thus holds it, or to strive against
it, for if it makes an effort to pray, it feels that He who possesses it
closes its lips, and compels it, by a sweet and loving violence, to be
silent. Not that the creature cannot resist and speak by an effort, but
besides doing violence to himself he loses this divine peace, and feels
that he is becoming dry: he must allow himself to be moved upon by God
at His will, and not in his own way. The soul in this state imagines
itself to be in an inward silence, because its working is so gentle, so
easy, and so quiet that it does not perceive it. It believes itself to
have reached the summit of perfection, and it sees nothing before it but
enjoyment of the wealth it possesses.
These Christians, so ardent and so desirous after God, begin to rest in
their condition, and gradually and insensibly to lose the loving
activity in seeking after God which formerly characterised them, being
satisfied with their joy which they substituted for God Himself; and
this rest would be to them an irreparable loss, if God, in His infinite
goodness, did not draw them out of this state to lead them into one more
advanced. But before speaking of it, let us look at the imperfections of
this stage.