My senses were, as I have said, under a continual mortification, and I gave them no liberty; for it should be known that, in order to kill them utterly, one must during a certain time give them no respite, until they are entirely dead. Otherwise they are in danger of never dying, as happens with persons who are content to practise great external austerities, and who nevertheless give their senses certain indulgences, which they call innocent and necessary, and thereby they give them life; for it is not austerities, however great they be, which make the senses die. We have seen very ascetic persons feel their revolts all their life. What more effectually destroys them is to refuse them generally all that pleases them and to give them all which is disagreeable to them, and this without relaxation and as long as is necessary, to render them void of appetite and repugnance. But if before that one pretends to give them a little relaxation, one does what would happen to a person who had been condemned to die of hunger, should anyone give him from time to time a little nourishment, under pretext of strengthening him; one would prolong his torture and hinder him from dying. It is the same with the death of the senses, the powers, the “own” intellect, and the “own” will; because if one does not tear from them all subsistence, however small it be, one maintains them to the end in a dying life, which is very well named mortification—what St. Paul has perfectly well distinguished when he says, “We bear in our body the mortifications of Jesus Christ;” that is, properly, the dying state. But afterwards, to make us see we must not end there, he adds elsewhere, “We are dead, and our life is hid with Jesus Christ in God.” We never can lose ourselves in God, save by total death.
He who is dead in this way has no longer need of mortification, but all that is over for him—everything is become new. There is a great fault which persons of good intention commit; after they have attained the extinction of their senses by this continual and unrelaxing death, to remain all their life attached to that, and not to leave this work through a perfect indifference, taking alike the good and the bad, the sweet and the bitter, in order to enter upon a more useful toil, which is the mortification of the “own” intellect and the “own” will, commencing by the loss of their “own”activities. This is never effected without profound prayer, no more than the death of the senses will ever be entire without profound concentration joined to mortification. Because otherwise the soul, remaining still turned towards the senses, maintains them in a strong life, whereas by concentration she dwells as it were separated from them, and in this way indirectly contributes more to their death than all the rest.
The more you increased my love and my patience, O my God, the stronger and more continual became my crosses: but love made them light to me. Oh, poor souls who consume yourselves with superfluous worries, if you sought God in yourselves, you would soon find an end of your ills, since their excess would constitute your delight. Love, at this commencement, insatiable of mortifications and penances, made me invent all kinds. But what was admirable is that, without my paying any attention to it, as soon as mortification no longer produced any effect upon me, love made me discontinue it, to practise another to which it directed me itself; for that love was so subtle and enlightened, it saw even the smallest defects. If I was about to speak, it made me see a fault therein, and made me keep silence. If I kept silence, it found a defect there. In all my actions it found defects—my manner of acting, my mortifications, my penances, my alms, my solitude, in short, it found defect in all. If I walked, I noticed a defect in my manner of walking. If I said anything to my advantage—“pride.” If I said, “Well, I will say nothing of myself, good or bad”— “self-hood.” If I was too concentrated and reserved—“self-love.” If I was gay and open, people condemned me. This pure Love always found something to censure, and was extremely careful to let nothing pass with my soul. It is not that I paid attention to myself, for I could regard myself very little, owing to the fact that my attention to him through the adherence of the will was continual. I was unceasingly awake to him, and he kept his eye continually on me, and conducted me in such a way by the hand of his providence, that he made me forget everything, and, although I experienced these things, I was unable to declare them to anyone. He so completely took away all regard towards myself, that I could not in any way make an examination. As soon as I set myself to do so, I was removed from all thought of myself, and turned to my one Object, who had no distinct object for me, but an utter generality and vastness. I was, as it were, plunged in a river of peace. I knew by faith it was God who thus possessed all my soul, but I did not think on it, as a wife seated near her husband knows it is he who embraces her, without saying to herself, “It is he,” and without occupying her thought with it.
It was great trouble when I went to confession, for as soon as I thought to turn in upon myself for examination, Love seized me with such force, unction, and concentration, that I could no longer regard myself, nor think of myself, but I was quite absorbed in a love as powerful as it was sweet. I had, therefore, to present myself in this state at the feet of the priest. It was then, O my God, you made present to me all that you wished me to say. Had I said it, I could no more open my mouth to pronounce a word, in such dependence did Love keep me; but this was done with so much unction and sweetness, that I could only adhere to him. I hardly heard anything of what the priest said to me, but when he pronounced the absolution, I experienced like a flowing in of grace and a more powerful unction. I remained there so full of love that I could not even think of my sins, to be sorry for them, I would not have wished for anything in the world to displease my dear Spouse, since before he had wounded me in this way I wept so bitterly, at the sma1lest faults; but it was not in my power, to give myself any other disposition than that he had placed me in. When I say, “I could not,” it must not be thought God does violence to our liberty; oh, by no means! But he demands it from us with so many attractions, and causes us to do things with so much power, love, and sweetness, that he inclines our heart where he pleases, and that heart follows him very freely, and with so much pleasure and sweetness, that it would be unable not to do it. The attraction is as free as infallible.
Although Love treated me in this way, it must not be supposed he left my faults unpunished. O God, with what rigour do you punish your most faithful and most cherished lovers! I do not speak here of external penances, which are too weak to punish the least fault in a soul that God wills to purify radically, and which, on the contrary, serve rather as consolation and refreshment; but the manner God uses to punish the least faults in the chosen souls is so terrible, it must be experienced to be understood. All that I could tell of it would be understood only by experienced souls. It is an interior conflagration and a secret fire, which, emanating from God himself, comes to purify the fault, and does not cease to cause an extreme pain until the fault is entirely purified. It is like a bone dislocated, which continues to cause extreme pain until it is entirely replaced. This pain is so painful to the soul, that she throws herself into a hundred postures to satisfy God for her fault. She would tear herself in pieces rather than suffer such a torment. Oftentimes she goes quickly to confession, to get rid of this great torment, and thus multiplies her confessions without matter, and withdraws herself from the designs of God.
It is, at that time, of great importance to know how to make use of this pain, and on this depends almost the whole advancement or retardation of souls. We must, then, in this painful, obscure, and troubled time, second the designs of God, and suffer this devouring and crucifying pain in all its extent as long as it shall endure, without adding anything to it or diminishing, bearing it passively, without desiring to satisfy God by penances or confession, until this pain be past. To bear it passively is more painful, and that which it is hardest to adjust one’s self to, and it would not be believed that an inconceivable courage is needed. Those who have not experienced it will hardly believe me, yet nothing is more true, and I have heard tell of a very great soul (which, however, never attained entirely to God in this life, for want of courage to allow himself to be entirely purified by the devouring fire of justice), that he had never been able to bear this pain more than half an hour without going to free himself of it by confession. You instructed me, O my God, in another way, and you taught me that I must not practise penance nor confession, until you yourself were satisfied. O amiable cruel One! Pitiless and sweet Exactor, you made me bear this pain, not only many hours, but many days, according to the nature of my fault. A useless attention, a hasty word, was punished with rigour, and I saw very well that if I had then put a hand to the work under pretext of supporting the ark, I should have been punished like Oza. I had, then, to suffer without stirring the least in the world. I have had much trouble to let God perform this operation in all its extent.
I understand, at the moment that I write, that this fire of exact justice is the same as that of purgatory; for it is not a material fire which there burns souls, as some persuade themselves, saying that God for that purpose enhances its activity and natural capacity. It is this exacting divine justice which burns in this way those poor souls, in order, by purifying, to make them fit to enjoy God. All other fire would be refreshment for them. This fire is so penetrating, it goes even into the substance of the soul, and can alone purify her radically; and as these souls are disengaged from their bodies, nothing causes a diversion of the pain, and this fire devours and penetrates them in a terrible manner, each according to the different degree of their impurity; it is the impurity which causes the vehemence of this fire of justice and its duration. Those who pretend that souls desire to get out of that fire do not know their situation. They remain in peace quite passive in their sufferings, without wishing to shorten them; for they are so powerfully absorbed in God, that, though they suffer extremely, they cannot return upon themselves to contemplate their sufferings, this return being an imperfection of which they are incapable. God applies to them according to his will the prayers that are made for them, and he grants to his saints and to his Church to shorten their torments and diminish the activity of that fire. O God, how very true it is, you are a “devouring fire”!
It was, then, in this purgatory, amorous yet at the same time rigorous, that you purified me from all that was in me contrary to your divine will, and I let you do it, although I sometimes suffered for several days pains that I cannot tell. I would have much wished that I had been permitted to practise some extraordinary penances, but I had to continue practising only the daily ones, such as love made me practise. This pain ordinarily deprived me of the power of eating. I, however, did violence to myself to let nothing appear, except that there was remarked upon my face a continual occupation by God; for, as the attraction was powerful, it spread itself even over the senses, so that this gave me such a gentleness, modesty, and majesty that people of the world perceived it.
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MADAME GUYON 