a dividing line between two persons. We are two: we remain
two. But when we meet God there is nothing between us and God,
nothing whatever divides us, and yet we are not lost in God--that is
to say, we do not disappear as a living individual consciousness, but
our consciousness is increased to a prodigious degree, and we are
One with God.

XIV

This Oneness, in a tiny degree, can be experienced by two persons
who are in close spiritual sympathy when both are simultaneously
and powerfully animated by very loving thoughts of Christ, or are
working together, and _giving_ on account of Christ: then a fluid
interchange of sympathies and interests takes place in which the
barriers of individuality go down.

This same fluid interchange in a still lesser degree takes place in
ordinary friendship between two friends of similar tastes; but this
interchange must always be with the mental and the higher part of us,
it can never take place because of the merely physical, for in the
physical, dependent as it is upon senses, barriers always exist: we
see this in the union of lovers--their union is merely a transitory
_self_-gratification, although it may include another self in that it is
mutual; but more frequently it is not even mutual, and what is a
pleasure to one is at the moment distasteful to the other, though the
one can easily conceal from the other that it is so, proving
how complete the duality of consciousness and of feeling
remains between two individuals who depend upon contiguity of
_substance_ (or the sense of touch) for their union, and not upon
spiritual _similarity_: in spiritual similarity alone is _identity_ of
feeling and personality and perfect union to be found, and in this
identity _deceit is impossible._

XV

The more we investigate the question of satisfactions the more we
find that these, in order to be permanent, must take place upon a
very high level, upon a plane above materialism. However much we
may with our sense of taste enjoy a dinner to-day, it will be no joy
whatever even a week hence. The natural everyday facts should (and
are intended to) prove to us the futility of giving so much time and
thought to the pleasures of the flesh: these pleasures lead nowhere,
they end abruptly, they are very limited, being confined to five
senses, and consequently, owing to a necessity of continual
repetition, satiety supervenes, and there remains nothing else to turn
to. Yet when this happens we are really very fortunate, because it
may be a cause of our searching amongst our higher faculties for our
gratifications.

XVI

The soul finds it bitterly hard to rid herself of selfishness and
self-will: she gets rid of one form, only to find herself falling to
another. When first my soul reknew the Joy of God I said to myself, "I
will hide it in my own bosom, I will keep it all to myself. I am become
independent of all creatures, I want none of them, I cannot bear the
sight or the sound of them, how joyfully I leave them all behind!--I
want only my God--I want--But what is all this?--I want, I will, I, I,
I, I!" Later the days come when God hides Himself from me: I can
go and wait at His threshold (because when she knows the way He
never denies the soul the threshold, though He denies her Himself). I
may pour out all the sweetness of my love, but he makes no
response; I may sing to Him all day: He will not hear; I may give
Him all that I am or have, and He will not communicate Himself to
me. Then I remember all the years of my striving, I remember the
stress, the sweat of all that climb to His footstool--the sweat that at
times was like drops of blood wrung out of the soul, out of the heart,
out of the mind; and yet all forgotten in the instant of the rapture of
Finding. Did He then beckon and draw and delight the soul only to
madden with the anguish of more hiding and more striving: was He
to be found only that He might again be lost? My soul sickened with
fear, and I said, Love is a calamity; who can release me from the
anguish of it? O God, since I may no more possess Thee, grant that I
may shortly pass into the dust and for ever be no more, so that I may
escape this pain of knowing Thy Perfections and my own necessity
for Thee; and I mourned for Him till my health went.

Weeks passed, and three words came constantly to me: "Visit my
sick." But I did not listen: I was sick myself with a deadly wound.
Almost every day the same three words came; but I turned away
resentfully from them, saying to myself, "What have the sick to do
with me? I am weary of sick people: I have been so much with them.
Must I accept the sick in place of the ecstasy of God? I mourn for
the loss of God. I can cheer no sick."

The words came again, with excessive gentleness, and the
gentleness was like the gentleness of Christ, and it pierced. So that
day I go to the village and visit the sick again, and I look at them
tenderly and lovingly, and tenderly and lovingly they look at me,
and some say, "It is as if God came into the house with you"; and
tears come to my eyes, and I say, "It may be so, because He sent
me," and they gaze at me lovingly, and lovingly I gaze at them; and
it seems to me that I can no longer tell where "they" cease and where
"I" begin, and the sweetness, the peculiar sweetness, of Christ
pierces me through from my head to my feet--that sweetness that I
have not known for weeks. And so I comprehend that Holy Love is
not alone just Thee and me, but it is also Thee and me and the others,
and Thee and the others and me.

* * *

I wanted my own way. The way I wanted was to be free in order to
worship and bless God in a beautiful place, in some place that _I_
should choose. I wanted to worship Him, and to sing Him the Song
of the Soul from some quiet hill among the olive trees by the
Mediterranean Sea. I wanted this marvellous, this almost terrible,
joy of meeting God in a beautiful place that _I_ should choose: I
wanted it so that it became spiritual greed--spiritual self-indulgence.

Duty, heavy-winged duty, prevented my taking the journey; duty to
an always-contrary relation, now unwell. It was only a little
thing--just a journey prevented, but it crossed my self-will; and in an
impatient, detestable way that I have, I wanted to push all duty, even
all human relationships, anywhere upon one side, or over the edge of
the world, so they might all fall together out of my sight and I be
free!

Because I thought these thoughts, I came to the Place of Tribulation.
And the Messenger came, and he said, "Escape, and the way is
consenting." But I said, "No, I will not have that way, I will escape
by some other way." So I tried every other way, but found it guarded
by something which seemed to be armed with a hammer; but I
persisted: then for days and nights my soul stood up to the hammers
and received terrible blows, and still I persisted--I would find a way
to escape that should please my will. But I could not eat, I could not
sleep, the flesh visibly lessened on my bones, and at last I loathed
myself and my own will and my own soul, and I cried to God, "Shall
I never be through with this terrible struggle with self-will?" and
groaned aloud in my despair.

Then the words that were sent long ago to a saint, and that he was
inspired to write down to help us all, now came and did their work
for me through him: "My grace is sufficient for thee." And so I
found it, and more than sufficient--when I consented.

Who is it, what is it, that so punishes the soul? Is it God? No.
Patiently, lovingly He waits. Our pain is the difficulty of consenting
to perfection: every virtue has a hammer, every perfection a long
two-edged sword; and the punishment we feel is the breaking and
wounding of self-will under the hammers of the virtues and the
sword-thrusts of the vision of perfection.

Put aside these wretched, these sometimes awful and terrible, battles
and punishments, shrink from them when they come, and we may
put aside salvation. Accept them--stand up to the hammer and take
the blows and learn: consent to the sword that pierces up to the hilt,
and what do we come to?--The Blisses of God.

PART V

After coming to Union with God, our prayers become entirely
changed, not only in the manner of presenting them, but changed
also in what is presented. Petitioning is a hard thing. I had found it
easy to pray for others whether I loved them or not, with the lips and
with some of the heart; but I found that I could not do it in the new
way, with all my heart, mind, soul, and strength, so that everything
else fled away into nothing and was no more, except that for which I
petitioned God. A perfect concentration for the welfare of a stranger
or of some cause was a very hard thing; yet I was made aware that I
must learn to do it.

For two or three years I suffered pain and exhaustion over this
petitioning; I would be so fatigued by it, found it so great a strain,
that I said to myself, "I shall lose my health over this petitioning, for
as I do it, it is as though I gave my life-energy for the cause or
person for whom I pray." But my Good Angel whispered me not to
give in, but continue to be willing, continue to be generous, no
matter the cost. I am not generous, but I went on with it, and secretly
had the greatest dread of it; my whole nature shrank from the effort,
from the strange loss of vitality this petitioning brought.

Then at last, after more than two years, because of remaining willing,
because of trying to remain generous about this, to me, most
grievously hard prayer, one happy day God lifted away all the strain
and difficulty, all the pain and fatigue, and turned it into the sweetest
of prayers: into a new song, a new honey, new music, a new delight,
in which the soul has, as it were, but to sip at the nectar of His Love
and Beneficence, to bring it to a fellow-soul.

I found that God causes the soul to pray this joyous, this exquisite,
prayer for total strangers, passers-by in the street, fellow-travellers
by road and rail, here and there, this one and that, she knows which
one it is: how surprised these persons would be if they knew that a
total stranger, who never saw them before and never will see them
again, was joyously, lovingly, holding them up before God for His
help and His blessing! and they receive His blessing. God does not
prompt such prayers for nothing. Is this favoritism? No; they are
secretly seeking Him.

II

When the soul is united to God a great change comes over the mind,
which now thinks continually, lovingly, of God. God not merely
hoped for, looked for, as in the past, but God found and known, God
close and near; interruptions come and go, but the mind, like a
pendulum, swings back to God, nothing stops it; the soul streams to
Him: she discovers Him everywhere: she knows her way to Him,
and she has not far to go. Her own door is also His door. There are
many degrees of intensity about this condition, which can increase
to such an extent as to entirely interfere with our everyday duties.
When it is increased to this degree it would appear (certainly at
times) to be on purpose to teach the soul a self-abnegation which she
could not otherwise learn, because, together with an intense, almost
terrible, attraction and desire to be alone with God, will come the
pressure of a duty which it is obvious God would wish us to attend
to: this is a severe and a very continual lesson to the soul--the lesson
of learning patiently to continue some sordid work in this world,
after finding the joys of the spiritual life.

What are amongst the most noticeable changes in the mind? first, we
notice it has become very simple in its requirements, and very
restful; it no longer darts here and there gathering in this and that of
fancied treasures, as a bird darts at flies; it has dropped outside
objects, in order to hover around thoughts of God, which at the same
time are not particularised, but, as it were, quietly, contentedly, float
in a general and peaceful fragrance of beauty.

Ordinarily the mind would find it difficult to hover in this way with
such a singleness of intent, but in certain other cases we see the
same contentment--in the mother beside her babe: though she may
not talk to it, or touch it, she is happy; she knows it near; she is
secretly giving to it. We see it in the babe also: it gazes at its mother
and is quiet; if the mother removes herself, the child may cry; no
one has hurt it--merely, it has ceased to be happy because the object
of its desire has gone too far from it, has disappeared. We see it also
in two lovers; they sit near together, and the more they love the
fewer words they require to speak: they are happy: they require very
few words, very few thoughts. Separate them, and they spend their
time uneasily in sending messages, in thinking numberless yearning
thoughts which become painful, and, if continued for long, can
affect the health. Put them together again, and they barely say two
words: their joy at meeting occupies the whole of their attention. It
is the same when we love God. The heart, and the mind, and the soul
are blissfully content, they are in a love-state, they bask in His
Presence; but that we should be aware of His Presence--this is His
gift, this is the vast difference between our former and our present
state.

When we have become experienced in this Presence of God, the
Reason tries very earnestly to comprehend the manner of it. Christ
says that when love is established between God and a man, "My
Father and I will come to him and make our abode with him." How
can such a tremendous thing as this be carried out without, as it were,
burning the man up with the greatness of it? Does God, then, when
experienced feel to be a Fire? Yes, and no, for we feel that we shall
be consumed, and yet it is not burning but a blissful energy of the
most inexpressible and unbearable intensity, which has the feeling
of disintegrating or _dispersing flesh._ The experience is blissful to
heart and mind only so long as it is given within certain limits:
beyond this it is bliss-agony, beyond this it would soon be death to
the body; and the soul feels that in her imperfect state it can soon
easily be the dispersion of herself also: this is a very terrible feeling:
this does not bear remembering or thinking about. How, then, can it
be possible that God can take up His abode with us and we still live?

In all contacts with God we notice one fact pre-eminently--they do
not take place with the mind, but with that which was previously
unknown to us, and which communicates the joy and the realities of
meeting God to the mind. What is this? It does not live in the heart:
it lives, or feels to live, in the upper cavity of the chest, above the
heart, and below the throat-base. It can endure God. It is spirit, it
feels to be a higher part of the soul: we might call it the Intelligence
and Will of the soul, because it acts for the soul as the mind acts for
the body, it is above the soul as the mind is above (more important
than) and rules an arm or leg. The more we experience God, the
more we are forced to comprehend that we have in us an especial
organ in this spirit with which we can communicate with God and
by which we can receive Him without the mind or body being
destroyed. For when God takes up His abode with a man He will
communicate Himself to this loving Spirit-Will or Intelligence in
ecstasies. And through His Son He will communicate Himself in
another manner, to the heart and mind, so graciously, with such a
tender care, that without the stress of ecstasy we are kept in a
delicate and most blessed Awareness of God. In these ways we can
know, even in flesh, the beginnings of the true love-state, the
beginnings of the angelic state, which is this same love-state brought
_to completion by Beholding God._

Although this blessed condition of Awareness of God is a gift, and
at first the mind and soul are maintained in it without effort on their
part, it being accomplished for them solely by the power of the
Grace of God, yet later--and somewhat to their dismay after
receiving such favours--they discover that it must be worked for in
order to be maintained. The heart must give, the mind must give, the
soul must give: when they neither work nor give they may find
themselves receiving nothing: God ceases to be present to them.
Generosity on our part is required. It works out in experience to be
always the same thing that is needed for our perfect health and
happiness--reciprocity. Without we maintain this reciprocity we
shall experience _extraordinary disappointment._

IV

The soul is now blind: we know this by experience; but do we know
that she ever had sight? If she did not, but was created imperfect,
and was so created in order that only by work and merit she should
arrive at completion and perfection and Behold God (instead of
merely, as now in this world, being able only to apprehend Him by
the retrospect of His effect upon her), then she was always below
angels. If through work and obedience she becomes so raised that
she merits sight and the actual Beholding of God, then she becomes
equal to angels because of this Beholding; and so Christ tells us that
she does as the Child of the Resurrection.

It is the inability of the soul to comprehend, after experiencing the
bliss of Union with God, how she came to embark upon this
wandering and separation, which so presses the Reason for an
explanation of the fall of the soul.

It may be that not all souls are fallen, but that some are merely in
process of progressing to sight. These are Righteous Souls. But there
are more souls also created sightless, who are fallen by curiosity, by
infidelity or plain self-will and forgetfulness--these it is who need
the Redeemer: "I come not to call the Righteous, but sinners to
repentance." From this it would seem that there are souls who,
though they are in this world, are yet fundamentally righteous: not
fallen, but working to receive sight. It is inconceivable to the soul
that, had she ever Beheld God, she could have left Him, but not
inconceivable to her that, having never Beheld Him, she may have
been unfaithful on her road to Sight. She understands this awful
possibility after coming to Union with Him from this earth, because
then she learns the immense difficulties of maintaining this sightless
Union.

She knows the terrible solitude and testing it entails, and the
innumerable temptations when low-spirited and lonely to turn to
interests and consolations apart from God; for God will frequently,
in the later stages of progress, withhold every consolation and
comfort from the soul, leaving her solitary. Will she stay? Will she
go?

V

We hope for much from "education"; but what education is it that
will be of enduring value to us? Is it the education which teaches us
the grammars of foreign languages, scientific facts, the dates when
wars were won, when kings ascended their thrones, princes died,
artists painted their masterpieces, that will bring us to our finest
opportunities of success? To the soul there is little greater or less
chance of success offered by the degree of "polish" in the education
we have the money to procure: the peasant who cannot read or write
may achieve the purpose of life before the savant: we know it
without caring to acknowledge it to ourselves: the education that we
really require is the education of daily conduct, the education of
character, the education by which we say to Self-will, to Pride, and
to Lusts, "Lie down!"--and they do it!

* * *

When a soul knows herself, has repented and become redeemed, she
knows all other souls, good or bad: there are no longer any secrets
for her, no one can hide himself from her: she sees all these open
and living books, reads them, and avoids judging and bitterness in
spite of the selfishness, stupidity, and frailty revealed on every page:
she finds the same faults in herself; selfishness, stupidity, and
weakness are engraven upon herself; the redeemed and enlightened
soul with tears perpetually corrects these faults: the unenlightened
soul does not--this is the difference between them.

VI

For some time after coming to Union with God we remain
convinced that all now being so well with the soul all will be well
with the body also, and the health does improve and become more
stable; but the day comes when we learn that God is not concerned
with saving flesh, and that the body must share the usual fate--we
shall continue to suffer through it. But we also discover that there
can be a marvellous amelioration to this suffering. By raising the
consciousness to its highest--that is to say, by living with the highest
part of the soul _and waiting upon God_--we can experience such
very great Grace that the poignancy, the distress, of pain disappears.
For instance, the following is from my experience. Trouble has
come, trouble of several kinds: the death of one very dear; severe
illness to another; for my brother a serious operation; for myself a
slight one, but a very painful one--in fine, a variety of trials all
coming together as they have a way of doing. I feel terribly nervous
and fearful of the pain of my own operation and my brother's also:
he is the brother who once saved my life, he is the being who more
than anyone on earth I have most loved since early childhood. So I
hang on to God. I hang to Him, not by beseeching Him to relieve or
release me from any of these inevitable happenings, but by the way I
have so slowly been learning, in which a creature, by means and
because of love, passes out of itself and is able to hand over to God
everything which it is or has or thinks or does, and in exchange
receives His Peace. So I hand over my brother and my dead and my
anxieties for self into His hands, and I go to my operation with the
same serenity that I should go to meet a friend. I notice that I am
more calm, less nervous, than anyone else.

The anaesthetic fails before the operation is completed:
consciousness returns and becomes aware of atrocious pain and
blood-soaked busy instruments. Yet by Grace of God the mind and
soul are able immediately to raise and maintain themselves in high
consciousness of God, and the operation can be finished without a
cry or movement of the body: no automatic shrinking takes place.
And this Grace is continued for days afterwards, so that in recalling
the torturing incidents, and though the pain of wounds continues
severe enough to interfere with sleep, yet my mind remains quite
calm, like a quiet lake over which, without ruffling its waters, hangs
a mist--a tranquil shroud of pain that has no sting, no fear, no fret.

VII

After coming to Union with God I _never lacked anything,_ and this
during the most difficult times of the war, and under every and all
circumstances. Being careful to try and observe how this was
worked, I saw it was very naturally and simply done by everyone
being given an impulse to help me, always without any request to
them on my part: the porter, besieged by twenty persons, would be
blind to all and, coming straight to me, would offer his service; the
taxi-driver, hailed by a waiting mob, had eyes and ears for no one
but myself, yet I had made him no sign except by looking at him.
The same with the coal merchant and his coal, the same with all
tradesmen, the same with servants. I never lacked anything for one
hour: _but I continually asked Christ to help me._

Since coming to Union with God, I have had innumerable trials,
some of them tortures, but have been brought safely out of every one.
I afterwards found that each trial was exactly what was needed for
the alteration of some objectionable characteristic in myself. No trial
that came was unnecessary. When its work was accomplished, the
trial disappeared.

* * *

Can it be said that Union with God in this world entails upon us
increased sufferings here? Yes. But these sufferings are not owing to
abnormal occurrences: nothing will happen which is not the
common lot of humanity; merely we are caused to feel that which
we do experience, very acutely; and after Union with God all earthly
consolations must be abandoned: until we abandon these we do not
know how we have depended on them, how they have protected us
from depression, loneliness, boredom, and discontent. Abandon all
these earthly consolations and interests, and at the same time _be
abandoned by God_ (sensible Grace is withdrawn), and immediately
our sufferings become very severe, though our outward circumstances
may appear, and may actually remain, of the very best. If
our house is a fine one, we must live in it completely detached
from its attractions: the same with regard to our friends, our
amusements, our wealth, and all our possessions. It is obvious that
in learning to do this we shall often suffer. The soul has painfully to
learn that without God's Grace there is no virtue, no righteousness,
and no sanctity: she learns by going forward upon Grace--perhaps to
some great height: then Grace is withdrawn, the soul falls back, and
feels to fall lower than she ever was before, and usually she falls
over a trifle. Amazed, unspeakably surprised and humiliated, and
ashamed, the soul learns to know herself--to know herself with God,
to know herself without God. When she is with God, there seems no
height to which she cannot rise: this gives great courage: more and
more she abandons everything distasteful to God in order to unite
herself more securely to Him.

We have no sufferings that are not useful to us. Looking back on my
life, I see how many troubles I suffered: how often my health
suffered (malaria and sun fevers, and lightning and its
consequences): how I was and still am kept in a somewhat fragile
state of health, though quite free of all actual disease. I see in this
frailness, especially during the earlier years of my life, an immense
protection: given full and vigorous health, combined with my selfish
and passionate temperament, and I know very well I should have
fallen in any and all kinds of dangers at all times. I was not to be
trusted with robust health, and even after all the mercies and
blessings God has showered upon me I do not trust myself. I still
remain the sinner, fundamentally and potentially at every step the
sinner. But Love and Grace surround the sinner. Love and Grace
save the sinner from himself: Love and Grace can beautify and make
the sinner shine.

My physical sufferings are not to be compared with the sufferings I
see others endure, and endure cheerfully: this is a great shame and
humiliation to me, because I have not learnt to suffer cheerfully: I
am too easily undone by suffering and by the sight of suffering in
any living thing; but although one may be a coward--that is to say,
one may inwardly shrink from every kind of suffering,--one can be,
and it is necessary to be, quite submissive; and to refrain from the
slightest rebellion or selfishness--this is what God takes note of.
What a difference there is between the selfish and the unselfish
sufferer: how the one makes everyone around him miserable, wears
them out body and soul; and how the other calls out all that is best in
others and strengthens all that is best in himself! It is not so
important whether we are secretly cowards or heroes; what matters
is how we deal with sufferings when they come, what reaction we
permit or encourage on their account in heart and mind and soul.
There is nothing but suffering that can cleanse us, nothing but pain
and misfortune which can so thoroughly convince us of our own
nothingness, and break self-pride: joy will not do it; joy can do
nothing more than refresh us after our sufferings, and in almost all
lives we see how joy is made to alternate with sorrow: it encourages,
it stimulates to further endeavours (this is the reason that God, at a
certain stage of progress, gives extraordinary blisses, ecstasies, and
so on), but it does not disperse our blemishes: the dispersal of
spiritual blemishes is, as we know, the main reason of life in the
flesh; it must be done, and the sooner the better: then we can finish,
once and for all, with flesh existence. Righteous and very virtuous
people may be able to dispense with Divine joys and consolations: it
is doubtful if many sinners can--they require the confidence, the
certainty, the enthusiasm which is naturally kindled by such
experiences. So then we find that the vicissitudes of life, the endless
daily trials, do not go because we find God. But His Grace comes,
and when His Grace is with us wet or shine is all one, love and
beauty gently sparkle everywhere; and then the heart cries out to
him, Every day is like a jewel, every day I see the whole world
decked and garlanded with all the beauty of Thy mind: each tree,
each flower, each bee or bird tremulous with the life and wonder of
Thy creative ingenuity! Each day is a new jewel set upon the
necklace of my thoughts of Thee.

VIII

One of the trials that we have to endure as beginners is a joyless, flat,
ungracious condition; a kind of paralysis of the soul, a dreary torpor.
When we would approach God--pray to Him--He is nowhere to be
found: He has disappeared, and everything to do with finding Him is
become hard work, such hard work that it suddenly seems to us
quite unprofitable: we suddenly remember a number of outside
things which we would far sooner do: we try to pray, but the prayer
goes nowhere-in-particular; it has no enthusiasm, no force behind it:
has prayer then suddenly re-become a duty? This is terrible; what
shall we do--shall we ask God to help us? When we do, we do it in
so halfhearted a manner that our prayer feels to merely float around
our own head like some miserable mist. We feel certain that this
joyless, withered state will endure to the end of life on earth (the
conviction that our unhappy condition is permanent is characteristic
of all severe trials, because if we supposed the condition or
difficulty only momentary it would not produce a sufficient trial,
and consequent effort to overcome it on our part). This trial (though
it may not always be a trial, but an actual blemish of the soul, a
serious lack of unselfish love which must at once be strenuously
corrected) is given for several reasons--we have become, perhaps,
too greedy of _enjoyment_ of prayer: or we have come to take this
joyousness of prayer for granted: or we have come to think we are
uncommonly clever at knowing how to love and to pray; that we
know so well how to do it that we can do it of our own power and
capacity without God's assistance.

Or the trial may be sent not for any of these reasons, but solely in
order to increase the strength and perseverance of our love to God,
and of our Generosity.

This is one trial, and another is that God allows us to become
convinced that He has nothing more to give us, He withdraws His
graciousness from our apprehension; He leaves us as a tiny,
unwanted, meaningless speck, alone in a vast universe. It would be
idle to say that the soul does not suffer from this change; but these
sufferings are just what she requires in order to develop courage,
humility, endurance, love, and generosity. These two trials--the one
when love is all dried up on our part, and the other when we think
love must be all dried up on God's part--are the finest possible
training and exercise for the soul, but they are only such if the soul
_tries ardently to overcome them:_ it is in the effort to overcome
that virtue is learnt, progress made.

There is one most splendid remedy. Is it asking of God? No, it is
giving to God. We give Him thanks and we bless Him, and we tell
Him that we love Him, and we do it with all our heart, mind, soul,
and strength, and this becomes possible even though a moment ago
we were so far from Him, so tepid, seemingly so estranged: it
becomes possible because we remember all the wonderful things
that God has done for us and given us, and made for us, and suffered
for us; and in remembering these it is impossible but that love and
gratitude, like a torch of enthusiasm, will presently flare up in us.

If God never gives us another thing, we will adore Him for His
kindness in the past, we will adore Him for Himself, for what He is.
Desolation and tepidity vanish. Joy returns, the trial is over; but it
will come again perhaps a few hours hence, or to-morrow, or every
day for weeks: the remedy is ever to be reapplied, and the remedy
when thoroughly applied never fails in immediate efficacy; but it
has to be constantly repeated: never let the heart and mind forget
this.

IX

The heart, mind, soul, and will work together and lead together the
reasonable earthly existence; but there is another part of the soul, a
higher part, which has its own intelligence, which leads no earthly
existence, has no direct recognition of _material being;_ thinks no
earth-thoughts, judges by no man-made standards, sins no earth-sins.
Has this part of the soul, then, never sinned? _It feels_ that it has
sinned, though it cannot say how or when, but it _feels_ that this sin
was direct as between itself and God, and is the cause of its
separation from God; and it feels this sin to have been _an
infidelity._ It is with this part of the soul that we sin the
unforgivable sin against the Holy Ghost, which cannot be sinned by
mere natural man: (here we touch the mystery of the two orders of
sinning which, to the initiated, are seen both to be covered by the
same commandments). This higher part of the soul mourns and
longs for God with a terrible longing, and can be consoled, satisfied,
by God only; He communicates Himself to this part of the soul. Sins
of heart and mind do not injure it, but retard it: it cannot be
corrupted by material living, because it does not connect itself
directly with earth-living, it "responds" to God alone; but earthly
sins delay it, paralyse its powers, postpone indefinitely its return to
God. Is it this part of the soul which we ordinarily speak of as the
Will? It cannot be, since it is with our Will that we consent to
earth-sins. Have we, then, two Wills? It is reasonable and it conforms with
experience to say that we have two Wills--a Spirit-Will conducting
Spirit-living, and a Reasoning or Mind Will, conducting the affairs
of earth-living: the lower part of the soul is the meeting-place and
the intermediary between these two (often opposing) Wills, it is the
ground upon which they work and have their fruitions.

The Spirit-Will is the Will by which we finally become united to
God. Before regeneration we are unaware in any keen degree of its
existence; but it may exist for us in a vague and confused manner as
an incomprehensible, undefined yearning: we cannot satisfy this
yearning, because we do not know what it requires for its
satisfaction. It is above conscience: conscience has its seat in the
lower soul, there it deals with the affairs of earthly life. This
Spirit-Will is so far above conscience (which can be used, cultivated,
improved, or destroyed, according to our own desire) that it is not
given into the keeping or cognisance of the "natural" man, but
remains unknown, inoperative until reawakened and impregnated
with renewed vigour by direct Act of God in the regenerated man.
This awakening, this reinvigoration, would seem to be synonymous
with the Baptism of the Holy Ghost.

If it is awakened only by Act of God, in what way can we be held
responsible about it? Our responsibility, our part, our opportunity is
to so order the lower or earth-will that God shall see us to be
prepared for the awakening of the Spirit-Will.

This Spirit-Will, once awakened, is never again shut out from direct
communication with God. Even when Grace is withdrawn, this
Will-Spirit can come before God and, no barrier between, know Him
_there_; although He may deny it all consolation and leave it
languishing, it yet retains the consolation of its one supreme
necessity--that of knowing _it has not lost Him._ It waits.

X

Like knows like: it does not "know" its opposite, but is drawn
towards its opposite before and without "knowing" it: here we have
the cause of the condescension of the Good towards the imperfect,
and of the aspiration of the imperfect to the perfect long before it
can "know" the perfect. Without this attraction of like to opposite
the imperfect could not become the perfect (we desire, are drawn to
God, long before we are able to know Him). The imperfect is able to
become the perfect by continually aspiring to it: it gradually
becomes "like." There are no barriers in spirit-living, therefore there
is nothing to prevent the soul becoming perfect, save its own
will-failure. The barrier existing between material- or physical-living and
spirit-living can only be overcome in and by a man's own soul: in
the soul these two forms of living can meet and become known by
the one individual, who can live alternately in the two modes, but it
is necessary that the will and preference shall be continually given
and bent towards spiritual-living, physical-living being accepted
patiently and as a cross. Then flesh ceases to be a barrier to
spiritual-living. This is the work of Christ and of the Holy Ghost. Because
the soul has recaptured the knowledge of this rapturous living we are
not to suppose that it is possible to continually enjoy it here or
introduce its glories into social and worldly living: it is between the
soul and God only; but earth-life can and should by this knowledge
be entirely readjusted.

XI

Are we correct in saying or supposing that this world with all that
we see in it (because perishable) is not real, and that the Invisible is
the only Real? We are using the wrong word: all that we see here is
real after its own manner: it is intentional, it is designed, it is
magnificent, it is the evidence in fixed form of the Supreme
Intelligence; how can we venture to call it unreal, nothing,
negligible? It is a question not of Reality or Unreality, but of greater
and of lesser Activity. In this world we see the Divine Energy
slowed down to its least degree: we see it so much slowed down that
the Divine Ideas can become crystallised into a form and for their
decreed period remain fixed. It is exactly this which the soul
requires in order to recover her lost bearings. She needs the
Beautiful, the Good, and the Bad made sensible to her in _fixed
objects,_ and Time in which to consider them and make her choice
between them. When Spirit-living is experienced, we become aware
that in spirit-life Activity is of such an order as to preclude the mode
of it being in fixed forms and objects: so there is no fixed visible
Beauty, no fixed visible Good or Bad, no fixed _results,_ and the
soul "sees" and "knows" only _that which she herself is like to._ If
she is bad, she cannot become better by the privilege of looking at
that which is good. If she thinks or desires wrong, she remains
wrong: she must think Right in order to produce or "know" Right.
She loses God because she can no longer think godly, and nothing is
fixed by which she can trace Him: it is like to like, and this
instantaneously without pause (or time). Here in this world Like
may behold its Opposite: Bad may behold Good and, because of
being able to behold it, may go over and join its will to Good: it is
able to do this, because the evidence of Good remains fixed whether
the beholder or thinker is good or bad.

What is our quest in this world? It is to refind the lost knowledge of
Celestial-living. Our Goal is God Himself. Our salvation does not
depend upon our finding Celestial-living, but our finding this living
depends upon whether we have found the way of Salvation. This
Celestial-living is here, at our door, but we cannot retouch it without
Act of God. What is essential to obtaining this Act of God? Is it
necessary to belong to this or that Denomination, to perform this or
that ceremony, to stand up, kneel down, or prostrate ourselves a
hundred and one times, visit shrines, handle relics, endlessly repeat
fixed words and sentences? No, these will not do it. Christianity _in
its full meaning,_ a repentant and clean heart and mind--these will
do it. It is a direct affair between the soul and God. It is Thee and me.
This is immense condescension on the part of God. Love alone
makes such a condescension possible.

As in free spirit we think a thought and become it, have a desire
flash to it and are it, it is easy to see how in thinking thoughts that
are not godly, desiring that which is ungodly and imperfect, we pass
far from God by "becoming" imperfection; and, having "become,"
find no satisfaction, satisfaction resting with God only. Having
ceased to think godly, the soul loses God, becomes insensitive, and
falls into darkness, thinks of her own wretchedness and, thinking of
it, is held fast to it. Being miserable, she thinks to Self; thinking of
Self, she is bound to the solitude of Self--blank solitude without
fixed objects to amuse, without fixed Beauty to lead higher, to
restore, to calm. Is all this tantamount to saying that when separated
from God Spirit-life is less desirable than earth-life? It is: for then
we are "dead" to celestial-living, and in Spirit-life all other living is
miserable living. Hence we see the dire necessity of the soul for a
Saviour: the necessity of fixed forms, of time, of flesh (which is a
fixed stay-point for the soul), of the Incarnation of the Saviour _in
flesh_ in order that He may guide the soul amongst these fixed
forms, Himself showing her which to choose and which to cast aside:
we see the necessity of time in order that, though we have an
ungodly thought, we have _time_ to repent and choose a better
before, in a horrible rapidity, we are inevitably _become that which
we had thought._ In this world, this stay-point for the soul, the most
lost is enabled to enjoy and perceive Beauty and Goodness. How
much more easy, then, to return to godly thoughts, to the Good, to
God Himself! But though her Saviour is in this world so near to the
soul, she does not always seek Him. He belongs to the Invisible.
Intoxicated at finding herself amused amongst fixed objects which
she enjoys lazily through fixed mediums of the five senses, she
devotes herself to these objects, surrounds herself with them, forgets
everything else. "It is harder for the rich man to enter the kingdom
of heaven." But she must abandon object-worship: this is not to say
she is to deny the existence of objects, calling them unreal; she must
despise no created object, for each is there to form for her an
object-lesson. She has two choices: she can see the objects, remain
satisfied with them, and seek no further. Or, she can see the objects,
admire them, but seek beyond them for their Instigator and Creator. Now
she is on the track of God. All is well.

But all this is not that Adam may recover his perfection, for when,
and for how long, was Adam "Perfect"? We behold him sinning at
the very first opportunity. In the Fall of Adam we see merely the
continuation in the stay-point of time and of flesh, of the history of
the fallen soul--sinning the same old sin, Self-will.

The way of return to God is the same way by which we came out
from Him--reversed. We came away by means of greeds and
curiosities imagined by Self-will. The return is by casting away
these greeds, casting away all prides, all selfishness; and what
self-loving soul is there that could or would, left alone to herself,
conceive of following such a way of cruel necessities, of such hard
endurance without an Example before her? For the way is a hard
way, a toiling way, at times an awful way, and as we pursue it the
burden grows heavier, the pain sharper: then it grows lighter as the
soul becomes renewed; and the pain is no longer the pain of
loneliness, of sin and sorrow, but becomes the pain of Love, waiting
in certainty for an ultimate Reunion: it becomes pain which is being
forgotten in the returning happiness of God.

But first must come the abandonment of Self-will, bit by bit, to the
death. So we see upon the Cross Christ stripped of everything, and
at the last stripped even of Union with the Father: consenting to bear
the pains of even Spiritual Death: "My God, my God, why hast
Thou forsaken Me?" If there could be any greater depth of pain, He
would have shared that also with the wandering soul. So we are
indeed one with Him in everything: and He with us.

In Spirit-life we meet the Ideas of God uncrystallised into any form.
They penetrate the soul--she flashes to them, she becomes them, she
reaches unimaginable heights of bliss by "becoming." This form of
joy is incomprehensible until experienced: it is stupendous living, if
it may be so expressed it is happiness at lightning velocity; but it is a
lightning happiness which must flash to God. When it ceases to do
this in a full manner, it ceases to be full happiness. When it becomes
further perverted, diverted, and, finally, inverted, it ceases to be any
happiness whatever. It is independent of surroundings: what it
depends on is a perfect reciprocity with its own Source. That the
laws which govern this Divine living will not be altered to suit
wandering souls is not to be wondered at; but a new system may be
called into being, and we may be able to perceive it in this world,
evolved from first to last with its substance, forms, creatures, flesh,
and time, in order to assist such wanderers. God _spends Himself_
for every wandering soul.

XII

Directly this world ceases to afford us pleasure, we wonder why we
were born. The soul longs for happiness; feels certain she was
created for it. So she is. Looking at the masses of drab, ugly, and
unsuccessful lives around us, we may well ask what purpose and
what progress is there in the lives of all these hopeless-looking
people. But there is not one life that does not have brought before it,
and into it, the opportunity of, and the invitation to, self-sacrifice,
and in a greater or lesser degree this is accepted and responded to by
all. There is far more soul-progress made by these grey-looking lives
than would appear on the surface: they accept self-sacrifice--they
accept Duty--all is well. Very much progress may not be made
during the one earth-period of life, but some is made: we drifted
away slowly from God; our return is slow.

XIII

Love is not the mere pleasant sentiment of the heart we are apt to
consider it: it is _the animating principle of the soul,_ it is the reason
and cause of her existence: it is a God-Force. When a soul does not
love God she has ceased to respond to this Force; she is no longer a
"sensitive" or _living_ soul: when she becomes insensitive, she has
become what flesh is when it is "callous."

This insensitiveness is the one great predominating disease of the
soul: it is the cause of the darkness in which the soul finds herself in
this world: it is this which causes our unawareness of God and of
Celestial-living. How can we commence to remedy this disastrous
state? We can act nobly, we can be generous, doing what we do as
though it were for love, although it is merely Duty which animates
us. This will be more or less joyless, because love alone can make
acts joyful; but though it may be joyless it will advance the soul
immensely: it will advance her to the highest degrees required by
God in order that He shall Retouch her. When He Retouches her she
becomes reanimated, she once again commences to live for and
because of love: she becomes "sensitive" to God. This Retouching
may occur only after the soul is free of the body--but the body is the
house in which our examination must be passed, in which we must
prepare and qualify for this Retouching. Hence the importance of
continuing to make every effort _in this life._ The soul which takes
Christ into herself, loves Him, obeys Him, tries to copy Him,
qualifies fully for this Retouching.

XIV

In early youth life may be, and often is, a joyous adventure: little by
little we grow aghast at the amount of suffering which life really
stands for--our own sufferings and those of others, of which, owing
to our own pains, we gradually take more and more note. Why all
this suffering? It appals, it frightens, it makes upon many hearts and
minds a sinister impression: how is this suffering of innocents to be
reconciled with the Benign Will of a God Who is Perfect Love? Let
us cease thinking that indiscriminate suffering to creatures is the
Will of God. What is it, then? It is the inevitable--the long
drawn-out sequence to the soul's departure from God--the Source of
Happiness.

To inhabit flesh is no paradise, but it is a means of regaining heaven.
There is no misfortune, suffering, sorrow, disappointment, or pain,
which is not consequent upon this departure of the soul from God.
Are there here any truly "innocent" persons? To be here at all points
to a fault of the soul, to infidelity to God--the "Original sin" in
which we are born.

The beginning of Salvation is to think. Nothing causes us to think so
much as sorrow, suffering, and pain; and they melt the heart also,
and they humble pride. The man who has never suffered, and never
loved, is more to be pitied than the paralytic: his chance of Life is
remote.

How can we reasonably expect that the road back to our long-since
forsaken God is to be smooth, pleasant, velvet-covered. What
divides us from God? Is it happiness, beauty, and light?
No--self-indulgence, rocks of evil, ugly greeds, places of sin and
selfishness. Can we climb back through all this, most of it in
darkness, without tears, without pain, without every kind of anguish?

Over this part of the road is no peace; but continue, and, little by
little, peace comes.

* * *

We say that we must find Christ; but where, and how, shall we find
this Mighty Lord, Who comes out from the Father to meet the
Prodigal? Must we study in ecclesiastical colleges, travel to distant
lands, visit holy places, kneel on celebrated sacred ground, kiss
stones, attend ceremonies, look at bones?

No! Stand still! Just where we are is the place where we can meet
Him. Just where we stand to-day can be as sacred, as blessed, as the
Holy Land. Some little wood sprinkled with flowers, our own quiet
room, an unknown, nameless hillside--these can be as holy as Mount
Carmel, because He meets us there.

* * *

In all these experiences of the soul which has refound God, what is
it that truly rejoices her? Is it the learning and knowledge that the
pursuit of Truth may bring her to? She values Truth and knowledge
because they lift her towards Him Whom she seeks and loves. Does
the soul rejoice in ecstasies because they are ecstasies? No: what she
values is the recaptured knowledge and certainty of heavenly
living--in however small or brief a degree she is able to attain it in
flesh: and because in the experience of ecstasy _she knows Him to Whom
she belongs._

All other affairs become nothing whatever. Life on earth is now
entirely a means of relearning how to please Him Whom she has
found. Her concern is that she may quickly so prepare herself that
she may behold Him for ever.

It may well be asked of a soul which claims to have found God,
How does she know that she has encountered Him?

We have a Critical Faculty. It is above Reason, because it sifts and
judges the findings of Reason, throwing out or retaining what
Reason has deduced. This is a Higher-Soul faculty: it concerns itself
solely with knowing Perfection. Reason is not occupied with
knowing Perfection, but in analysing and digesting all alike that is
brought to it.

It is to the Critical Faculty that art, poetry, and music appeal, and
make their thought-suggestions. We do not enjoy music because of
the noise, but because of the thoughts suggested by it--we float upon
these emotion-thoughts (we may float low, we may float high, and
do not know to where; but it is somewhere where we cannot get
without the music), so we say we love the music; but it is the
emotion-thoughts we love. The sound and the thoughts suggested by
it appeal to the Critical Faculty of the Soul, and, if it is perfect
enough to be accepted by this faculty, we may pass, for the time
being, into soul-living, but only very delicately, tentatively, and
nothing to be compared to the soul-living, produced by the Touch of
God. When God communicates Himself to the soul, she lives in a
manner never previously conceived of, reaching an experience of
living in which every perfection is present to her as Being there in
such unlimited abundance that the soul is overwhelmed by it and
must fall back to less, because of insupportable excess of Perfections.
This perfection of living is given, and is withdrawn, outside of her
own will. Which is the more sane and reasonable--for the soul to
think, I have invented and originated a new and _perfectly
satisfying_ form of living; or for the soul to conclude that she has
been admitted to the re-encounter of perfect- or Celestial-living? In
this living are happenings which cannot be communicated, or even
indicated to others, because they reach beyond words, beyond all or
any other experience, beyond any possible previous imagination or
expression of mind, beyond all particularisation; it is these occasions
of experience which the Critical Faculty regards as being encounters
with the Supreme Spirit, because they are complete; nothing is
wanting; they afford life at its perfection point--a stupendous
Felicity, and that _Repose_ in bliss for which all souls secretly long.
It is the meeting of the Wisher with the Wished, of Desire with the
Desired: and yet, being that which it is--unthinkable Fulfilment--it is
above all, or any, Wishes, and beyond Desire; it can be known, but
not named.

By these experiences the knowledge of the soul becomes
enlightened two ways: she knows what bliss is; she knows the full
calamity of life away from God--in flesh, in this world: not that flesh
is not a wonderful Idea, not that the world is not greatly to be
admired for its beauties, but the reawakened spirit desires
spirit-living, cannot be pleased with earth-living, cannot be satisfied
with less than God Himself. So, then, the logical consequence is that this
world becomes a place we desire to take leave of as soon as may be.
Life here becomes a punishment: not that Perfect Love desires to
punish, but that the soul now knows that any form of life in which
she is restricted from continual access to Him is a disaster, a
profound grief.

XV

If the soul looks to God to comfort her, asks for His help, and gets
it--and since communication with God is dependent upon some
degree of like to like,--it follows that the soul must maintain a
readiness to "give" to fellow-souls: to fail in this is to fail in any sort
of resemblance to God. Hence we see how carefully Christ enjoined
upon us to "Give to them that ask": and in no niggardly way either,
but wholeheartedly, for "God loveth the cheerful giver."

If we say that we apprehend God by that which is not Mind, what
reason have we for saying that it is not Reason which receives Him?
Because for this living which God's touch causes us to share with
Himself we find that Space, Infinity, and Eternity are required and
Reason stands, and remains, uncomprehending and dumbfounded
before all three. It is Spirit, the flash-point of the soul, which
receives and transmits and which lives this living. As we have an
heredity of flesh so we have also an heredity of Spirit which of its
own nature comprehends the ways of God and the mode of God's
living. In High Contemplation we find that if Reason attempts
activity, nothing is consummated: she must submerge herself and
wait: soon Reason discovers the wherefore of this--her activity is not
the activity of That Other. Only by that which is like in activity can
That Other be received: this "like" is not herself: finally she comes
to know this "like" as a higher part of the soul--Spirit. When Spirit
has received and given it to the soul, then it is afterwards the part of
Reason to attack from every side that which has been received, to
digest it, absorb it, and share it, in fact though not in act. According
to the health and strength of Reason so we shall successfully deal
with and use that with which the Spirit presents us. By comparison
with the magnificent Spirit-Activity or Spirit-Intelligence the
Reason is limited and frail as a new-born babe: this is no humiliation
to Reason, since she should not be expected to accomplish that
which is not her part.

Why do not all men apprehend God? It is very questionable if all
men desire to do so, because in the recesses of each man's soul lies
the consciousness that there will be some great price to pay.

But beyond this there arises the question, Is it desirable, price or no
price, that all souls should come while still in flesh to immediate
knowledge of, and contact with, God; and after long and close
thinking the experienced soul will answer No, and Yes. No, in so far
as the apprehension of the Godhead is concerned; Yes, and most
vitally Yes, for Christians, in so far as Communion and Contact with
Christ is concerned. Why this distinction? Because the apprehension
of the Godhead is beyond the requirements of salvation and
redemption, and the world and flesh were created for those purposes.
Though there is no limit to the heights to which the soul may aspire,
and all souls are invited eventually to behold the Face of God, if so
be they shall be able to prepare themselves to endure Him, there are
to a soul still in flesh the most terrible dangers in knowing the
Fullness of God even so far as His Fullness may be Known to Flesh:
never perhaps in all her history is the soul in such danger as she is
after coming (in flesh) to the apprehension of the Godhead: and this
danger may extend in an acute degree over a period of many years
and can never be said to cease altogether. The Soul Knows and feels,
when in its acute stage, this horrible danger without comprehending
its exact cause and nature, but it has about it the feeling that
a man might have standing balanced on a narrow pinnacle.
Unapproachable, untouchable only so long as he remains upon the
summit, the eyes of a thousand enemies watch for his smallest
descent: they watch day and night. What alone can enable the Soul
to maintain such a position? Hourly, often momently, Communion
with Jesus Christ. What makes such perseverance likely or even
possible on the soul's part? Only love can make it so.

If we say Communion with Christ is for the Christian vital to a full
redemption, and therefore the Apprehension of Him is essential, to
what degree should we experience this Apprehension of Him? The
degree at which, perceiving in Him and His ways our Ideal, we
become willing to modify and change _our manner of thinking and
doing_ in order to meet the requirements of this Ideal. Having gone
so far, the soul is likely to become enamoured of Him Personally:
then all is indeed well for her.

So then we find that we can apprehend God by an ever-ascending
scale of degrees. We can apprehend Him with the Reason and the
heart at all hours of the day. We can seek and approach Him with
the holy white passion of the Mind. Yet this is not the Apprehension
of Him which alone can be termed Contact, and which alone
satisfies the soul or gives us the full feeling that we Know God. We
cannot "Know" God as fully as He can be known by flesh without
we enter ecstasy; but it is not ecstasy which produces the meeting
with God, but the meeting with God which produces the ecstasy.
Though we are able to enjoy a continual apprehension of Him with
heart and Reason, no man could endure an unremitting ecstasy.

Can ecstasy be prepared for? Yes, if we have courage to aspire to it,
it can be prepared for by a contemplation of Him in which, to
commence with, the Will, Mind, and heart, in great activity of love,
send forth all their powers towards God: then for love's sake being
glad and willing to become nothing, and becoming, as it were, dead
to themselves and all interests and desires usual to them, by Act of
God their normal living is then taken over into a greater living. Then
He comes.

And when He comes the Reason does not receive Him, but that
certain small part, little more than a point in the soul receives Him.

Apart from the joy of it, what is the true value of ecstasy to him to
whom it is granted? It raises him above Faith into Certitude. The
peace and strength given by Certitude are such that Joy is neither
here nor there, the soul can wait for it, because, no matter what may
afterwards happen to such a one, he remembers, and remains once
and for all aware, that God Is, _and that He can be Known_: he
learns also a new knowledge, but cares nothing for this because it is
knowledge or because it is power, but because it brings him nearer
to his God.

Having once learnt the knowledge that comes by ecstasy alone, truth
to tell, the soul would be content to receive no further ecstasy in
flesh; but, intoxicated with love and worship, she best enjoys herself
doing all the giving, for when He comes and gives He bursts down
all her doors and, under the awful stress of Him, the soul hardly
knows how to endure either Himself or herself.

Life in this world is a life for spiritual weaklings. Our eternal Self is
an Intelligence, a Desire, and a Will, and the life we live with it is no
idle, torpid, confined living such as we have here, but is a living _in
Liberty,_ without limit, restriction, fatigue, or satiety; in it word
thoughts and thinking are superseded; by comparison to it even the
highest thought-achievements of men, their noblest aspirations,
appear like the sand-castles of children. Ravished at such further
revelations of the Genius of God, the soul at last knows satisfaction.
It requires perfection in order to be permanently operative, because
only in perfection is Freedom found, and because for the living of it
nothing can remain but such Essentials of the soul as _cannot be
dispersed._ It is a measureless Generosity and an ecstasy of
Receiving and Giving. To say that purity and perfection are required
for this living is no mere arbitrary dictum, but a scientific fact: the
impure, imperfect soul finds herself unable in perfect liberty and
freedom _to expand to interaction_ with the Divine Activity. When
the process of Return is sufficiently completed and, being still in
flesh, we enter for a brief time this living, Reason, Pain and Evil,
Yesterday and To-morrow disappear. Reason is gathered up into,
and superseded by, the spiritual and wordless Intelligence: Pain and
Evil, their part and work accomplished, are dispersed and banished
into the mists of darkness.

So the soul may learn even from this world something of the
mystery of the Depths of God. She may enter into the happiness of
Union with the Three in One: the One Whom in a state of glory yet
to come she may Behold. But beyond This of Him which He will
allow her to Behold, beyond This of Him in which she may repose
in bliss, and beyond this Repose which He wills her to know of Him,
He shows her that yet more of Him Is which He will share--heights
of Felicity beyond all measure, holding the soul till she must pray
Him to release her, or she will perish--reeling depths of rapture in a
mystery of light; bliss beyond bliss for that lover who shall
venture--all Eternity unfolding in fulfilment.

And yet remains That of Him which wills no reciprocity, but shares
Himself with Himself. So peace Is. And so, even in not giving, He
yet does give that which is most precious, for without He Himself in
His forever hidden depths were Peace, His creatures could neither
know nor have peace.

Looking into herself, what does the soul perceive? Apart from sins
and virtues she perceives two things--caprice and free-will. Neither
are of her own creation, but are essentials of her being. It may be
that in caprice and free-will she may find an answer to those two
questions which stir her to her depths: What is she that God should
so love her? and how comes she to be away from Him? Clothed in
the body of either man or woman, the soul is predominantly
feminine--the Feminine Principle beloved of, and returning to, the
Eternal Masculine of God. Caprice is feminine; Caprice and
Mystery are two enchanting sisters, and in Woman we see them as
being irresistible to Man. Angels, though they are a glory of God's
heaven, cannot alone satisfy all the needs of their Creator: they have
neither sex nor caprice, nor the mystery which joins hands with it.
So He creates the soul, and He gives her an heredity of Himself in
the flash-point of the soul, and He gives her sex and caprice and
free-will to deny herself to Him if she choose; and in her caprice she
goes out and away from Him, and when she would return she cannot,
because in infidelity she has dropped from perfection. Disillusioned
by her unfaithful wanderings and horribly pained, the soul longs for
Him, and He longs for her. He Himself must make her the way of
return, which is the way of redemption, and at a terrible cost to
Himself He shows her His Righteousness and the mode of her
Return in the Face and the Ways of Jesus Christ; and in the
Crucifixion He shows her the measure of His love, and in the Cross
the necessary abandonment of all self-will--total surrender. And all
this suffering to Himself He bears in order to make good the wilful
sinning and the misery of the wayward soul. So He brings home the
soul, not by force but by love--that love by which He is at once the
Life of everything and everything is the life of Him.

Absence from God is Pain, and everlastingly will be Pain in varying
degrees. Are there souls who have never left Him? Undoubtedly, but
they know nothing of this world. Are we perhaps distressed at this
multiplicity of worlds and souls? We need not be, for they are a
necessity both of God and of ourselves; for God to Be Himself He
must give Himself, and who can receive Him? Not even the greatest
of all the Angels can alone bear to endure Him? Only into a vast
multiplicity of individuals can God pour and expend Himself to the
fullness of His desire, the One to the many. Each individually
receives from Him, and each individually and collectively--the many
to the One--returns Him those burning favours which are in
Celestial-living.

Is it all joy to find God? How can it be? Can faults and sins be
eradicated without pain? Life here for the lover of God is one long
eradication of offences. How can even the daily requirements of
flesh be fulfilled without pain? How without profound humiliation
and patience can we descend from Contemplation to duties in the
household? How without pain consider with that same mind which
has so recently been rapt in God--the various merits of breads,
pastries, and portions of dead animals, in order that flesh shall eat
and live! What a fall is this!--a fall that must be taken daily and
patiently. Is it all joy to love God? How can it be? For Love carries
in itself a terrible wound of longing which can never be healed till
we come before Him in possession Face to Face.

And many times a day in an unpremeditated natural anguish Love
remembers the sufferings of that meek and holy Saviour; how can it
be a joy to the soul that passionately loves Him to stand before a
tortured Lord, tortured for her? There never was a pain as hard and
sharp as this. There are no tears like the tears we shed to Christ.

XVI

We say of God that He is Love and Light, Wisdom and Truth. He is
also a Gracious Consenting. So we see the Divine Light Consenting
to darkness that it may return to Light, and Divine Love Consenting
to infidelity that it may return to Perfect Love.

But this Gracious Consenting is not because of or since Adam, but
Adam "is" because of this Consenting.

In the flesh of Adam the fallen soul is brought to a stay-point. Any
that have experienced spirit-living even for one hour know that in
immortal living is no stay-point but infinity of movement, in which
movement the wandering soul becomes lost and finally insensitive.
By means of the flesh the soul is brought to that stay-point where
she more easily receives and understands the impregnation of
Consenting Light, which is the Divine Begetting; and she receives
the drawing power of Consenting Love: she is directly operated
upon by the Divine Pity Who Himself came to show her the Way of
Return: first, by the negation or sacrifice of flesh lusts; secondly, by
the sacrifice of spiritual lusts (by which the soul originally fell);
until finally, by death to all lusts and infidelities she is reunited to
the blisses of Immortal Life. This is the kindly purpose of our life in
this world. Christ being Eternal Light and Love and Life, we also
are eternal _who contain Christ._

So, then, we consent to abandon all lusts of the flesh whilst also
consenting to endure any consequences of these lusts in ourselves
and others, not in unwillingness to endure, which is resistance, but
in submission. From consenting to abandon the delights of the flesh
we advance to consenting to the withdrawal of all spiritual delights
from us: enduring instead spiritual difficulties, standing firm in the
strength of Christ whilst the assaults of self-will and infidelity batter
the soul.

We consent to abandon self-absorption in the delights of God, and,
returning to the world, endeavour to perform all acts of life in the
world in a manner consonant with perfection; but this is impossible:
this effort is insupportable without Grace. We cannot do it alone.
We learn to know it and to know that we are never alone. Even if we
fall into the deepest sin, we are not abandoned by the Divine
Graciousness: by consenting to abandon this wickedness we are
immediately reunited with the Divine Consenting, and so onwards
and upwards in an ever-ascending improvement to perfection: and
by consenting the soul daily sinks into the balm of Christ and loses
her burden.

We see the Perfection of this divine consenting and abandonment of
Self-Will in the final picture of the Cross. We see unmurmuring
consent to the death of flesh, consent to the attacks of evil, consent
to injustice, consent to infidelity (and straightway they all forsook
Him and fled), and, finally, consent to the death of Divine Union:
this not without groanings, as being the one supreme and only
insupportable Agony.

XVII

How is it that Perfect Love can consent to the wandering of the soul
with its consequent sorrow and sin? Divine Light, being also Perfect
Freedom, consents to the wandering of the soul; but Divine Love,
being also Reciprocity, may not consent to such wandering as shall
for ever preclude Reciprocity. The wandering soul must be, will be,
Redeemed.

* * *

If Divine Light, being also Perfect Freedom, consents to the
wandering of the soul, but Divine Love, being also Reciprocity, may
not consent to a perpetual wandering, how set limits in a life in
which perfect freedom must continue? A limit can be fixed by Evil,
Evil the outermost circle from God, the shore on which, continually
breaking and being broken, the soul turns herself in longing to a
long-forgotten Lord. Evil is the hedge about the vineyard of the
Parable. The soul is free to touch it, free to pass through it if she will,
but touching it she knows Pain. Pain causes the soul to pause and
consider: now is her opportunity; now she is likely to turn about and
seek the Good.

Then the purpose of Evil is fulfilled; then Evil becomes the
handmaid of Good; then we can feel and say with sincerity, Evil has
smitten me friendly, for it has caused me to turn about and seek
Good. Good, once found, is found to be stronger than Evil. In a few
years Good has so drawn us that Evil has become negligible; it lies
forgotten on a now distant misty shore. The soul is Homeward
bound.

XVIII

"If the wicked turn from his sins that he hath committed and keep
my statutes . . . all his transgressions that he hath committed, they
shall not be mentioned unto him."--Ezekiel xviii. 21, 22.

XIX

Who is so blessed as the Redeemed Sinner? Who can taste the
sweetness of God as can the repentant sinner? Who can know His
graciousness, His infinity of tenderness and courtesy, as can the
sinner? Who knows the heights and depths and lengths and breadths
of God's forgiving love as does the sinner? Who can share with God
hereafter such close experiences as will the sinner?

Can Angels share the memories of His human days with Christ?
And who but the sorely tempted sinner can be bonded to Him by the
mutual knowledge of those bitter, burning, desert days? Not the
Righteous, nor even Angels can know quite the full beauty of all the
bonds that bind the sinner to his Saviour. O marvellous love of God!
O blessed soul, O blessed Adam, blessed even in thy sins!

He desired lovers and had none: Created Angels, and, desiring to
prove them as lovers, He made Him a Lure.

A third of them turned to the Lure and fell to It. They serve the Lure
and take their bread from It, and the offspring of the serving is Evil.

Desiring more lovers, He fashioned souls; yet, when He proved
them, they also fell to the Lure.

Being lesser than Angels, they served not the Lure, but the offspring
of it--Evil--and became subject to Evil. They were made for Love,
and in Evil found no Love, and it was an anguish and it tormented
them.

And He put them in flesh, that He might limit their suffering and
show them His Light again; covered them about with Limits like a
merciful Cloak; hedged them in with Evil as a boundary, so they
should have no will to fall away further from Him than Evil because
of the pain of it.

But in flesh they continued to serve Evil, and the offspring of the
serving was Sin: and they were miserable in their service, because of
the pain of it; yet no soul could break the bondage of service,
because no soul could be found that, being subject, did not serve,
and in serving lose freedom by its own offspring.

Then He sent His Spirit to walk with them in flesh, and being
proven as a Lover, was not found wanting, and being subject to Evil
did not serve, and remaining Sinless had no offspring to destroy His
freedom, and He broke the bondage and showed them a light.

He sent, because He repented Him of the Proving and of the Evil
that came of it, and His fallen lovers repented and repent of their fall.

His travail and their travail--the travail of severed Love towards
Reunion--is the anguish of the Ages: but the anguish will have an
end, because Love is Omnipotence.

[Transcriber's notes:  The name of the author, Lilian Staveley, is not
mentioned on the title page of this text, but I have added it here.
I have also made the following editorial changes:

"I am of no value value whatever" to "I am of no value whatever"

"called it it by the same name as I" to "called it by the same name as I"

"God shall see us to to be prepared" to "God shall see us to be prepared"

"the full beauty of all the the bonds" to "the full beauty of all the
bonds"]

"(though entirely without effort on her part) is immensely increased)" to
"(though entirely without effort on her part) is immensely increased"]