Sixth Letter

To the Reverend Father

My Reverend Father, — Not finding my manner of life in books, although I have no difficulty about it, yet, for greater security, I shall be glad to know your thoughts concerning it

In a conversation some days since with a person of piety, he told me that the spiritual life was a life of grace, which begins with servile fear, which is increased by hope of eternal life, and which is consummated by pure love. That each of these states had its different stages, by which one arrives at last at that blessed consummation.

I have not followed all these methods. On the contrary, from I know not what instincts, I 38 found that they discouraged me. This was the reason why, at my entrance into religion, I took a resolution to give myself up to God, as the best satisfaction I could make for my sins, and for the love of Him to renounce all besides.

For the first years, I commonly employed myself during the time set apart for devotion with the thoughts of death, judgment, hell, heaven, and my sins. Thus I continued some years, applying my mind carefully the rest of the day, and even in the midst of my business, to the Presence of God, Whom I considered always as with me, often as in me.

At length I came insensibly to do the same thing during my set time of prayer, which caused in me great delight and consolation. This practice produced in me so high an esteem for God, that faith alone was capable to satisfy me in that point.¹

Such was my beginning; and yet I must tell you, that for the first ten years I suffered much: the apprehension that I was not devoted to God, as I wished to be, my past sins always present to my mind, and the great unmerited favours which God bestowed on

me, were the matter and source of my sufferings. During all this time I fell often, yet as often rose again. It seemed to me that all creation, reason, and God Himself were against me; and faith alone for me. I was troubled sometimes with thoughts, that to believe I had received such favours, was an effect of my presumption, which pretended to be at once where others arrive only with difficulty; at other times that it was a wilful delusion and that there was no salvation for me.

When I thought of nothing but to end my days in these times of trouble and disquiet (which did not at all diminish the trust I had in God, and which served only to increase my faith), I found myself changed all at once; and my soul, which till that time was in trouble, felt a profound inward peace, as if it had found its centre and place of rest.

Ever since that time, I have been and am now walking before God in simple faith, with humility, and with love; and I apply myself diligently to do nothing, say nothing, and think nothing which may displease Him. I hope that when I have done what I can, He will do with me what He pleases.

As for what passes in me at present, I cannot express it I have no pain nor any doubt as to my state, because I have no will but that of God, which I endeavour to carry 4 ° out in all things, and to which I am so submissive that I would not take up a straw from the ground against His order, or from any other motive but purely that of love to Him.

I have quitted all forms of devotion and set prayers, save those to which my state obliges me. And I make it my only business to persevere in His Holy Presence, wherein I keep myself by a simple attention and an absorbing passionate regard to God, which I may call an actual Presence of God; or to speak better, a silent and secret, constant intercourse of the soul with God, which often causes in me joys and raptures inwardly, and sometimes also outwardly, so great, that I am forced to use means to moderate them, and prevent their appearance to others.

In short, I am assured beyond all doubt, that my soul has been with God these past thirty years and more. I pass over many things that I may not be tedious to you; yet I think it proper to inform you after what manner I consider myself before God, Whom I behold as my King.

I consider myself as the most wretched of men, full of sores and corruptions, and as one who has committed all sorts of crimes against his King; moved with deep sorrow, I confess to Him all my wickedness, I ask His forgiveness, I abandon myself in His hands, that He may do with me what He pleases. This 4i

King, full of mercy and goodness, very far from chastising me, embraces me with love, makes me to eat at His table, serves me with His own hands, gives me the key of His treasures; He converses and delights Himself with me unceasingly, in a thousand and a thousand ways, and treats me in all respects as His favourite. It is thus that I consider myself from time to time in His Holy Presence.

My most usual method is this simple attention and this absorbing, passionate regard to God, to Whom I find myself often attached with greater sweetness and delight, than that of an infant at his mothers breast: so that, if I dare use the expression, I should choose to call this state the bosom of God, by reason of the inexpressible sweetness which I taste and experience there. If sometimes my thoughts wander from it by necessity or by infirmity, I am soon recalled by inward emotions, so charming and delightful that I am confused to mention them.

I beg you to reflect rather upon my great wretchedness, of which you are fully informed, than upon the great favours which God does me, all unworthy and ungrateful as I am.

As for my set hours of prayer, they are only a continuation of the same exercise. Sometimes I consider myself as a stone in the hands of a carver, whereof he wills to 4 2 make a statue: presenting myself thus before God, I beseech Him to render me entirely like Himself, and to fashion in my soul His Perfect Image.

At other times so soon as I apply myself to prayer, I feel my whole spirit and my whole soul lift itself up without any trouble or effort of mine; and it remains as it were in elevation, fixed firm in God as in its centre and its resting-place.

I know that some charge this state with inactivity, delusion, and self-love. I avow that it is a holy inactivity, and would be a happy self-love, were the soul in that state capable of such; because, in fact, while the soul is in this repose, it cannot be troubled by such acts, as it was formerly accustomed to, and which were then its support, but which would now rather injure than assist it

Yet I cannot bear that this should be called delusion; because the soul which thus enjoys God, desires herein nothing but Him. If this be delusion in me, it is for God to remedy it. May He do with me what He pleases: I desire only Him, and would fain be wholly devoted to Him. You will, however, oblige me in sending me your opinion, to which I always pay great deference, for I have a very special esteem for your Reverence, and, am, in OUR Lord, my Reverend Father, — Yours, etc.

Footnotes

1. I suppose he meant, that all distinct notions he could form of God were unsatisfactory, because he perceived them to be unworthy of God; and therefore his mind was not to be satisfied but by the views of faith, which apprehends God as infinite and incomprehensible, as He is in Himself and not as He can be conceived by human ideas. ↩