The Prodigal Returns Part 6

A distinguis.h.i.+ng mark between this prayer and Contemplation is that in even the lowest degree of Contemplation G.o.d (if one may so express the inexpressible) is Localised. Hitherto His Presence has been near--but we cannot say how near, or where, and _we cannot be sure of finding it._ After Union we are certain of finding G.o.d's Presence everywhere, and at any time. He may at times be far away, or pay no attention to us; but we know whereabouts He is, and we can go and wait outside that place where He has hidden Himself and which is no place (but a figure of speech): He merely disappears from our consciousness, but not so entirely but that we can partly find Him. All this cannot be explained, but after Union G.o.d is as present to the soul in Contemplation (and far more so because of the great poignancy of it) as is a fellow-creature whom we actually see and touch, much more so because between ourself and a fellow-creature, however dear, is always a barrier: try as we may there is always a dividing line between two persons. We are two: we remain two. But when we meet G.o.d there is nothing between us and G.o.d, nothing whatever divides us, and yet we are not lost in G.o.d--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 G.o.d.

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 friends.h.i.+p 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 _ident.i.ty_ of feeling and personality and perfect union to be found, and in this ident.i.ty _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 repet.i.tion, 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d--I want--But what is all this?--I want, I will, I, I, I, I!" Later the days come when G.o.d 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 G.o.d, since I may no more possess Thee, grant that I may shortly pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sed, 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 G.o.d? I mourn for the loss of G.o.d. 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 G.o.d 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 wors.h.i.+p and bless G.o.d in a beautiful place, in some place that _I_ should choose. I wanted to wors.h.i.+p 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 G.o.d 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 relations.h.i.+ps, 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 G.o.d, "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 G.o.d? 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 G.o.d.

PART V

I

After coming to Union with G.o.d, our prayers become entirely changed, not only in the manner of presenting them, but changed also in what is presented. Pet.i.tioning 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 pet.i.tioned G.o.d. 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 pet.i.tioning; 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 pet.i.tioning, 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 pet.i.tioning 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d causes the soul to pray this joyous, this exquisite, prayer for total strangers, pa.s.sers-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 G.o.d for His help and His blessing! and they receive His blessing. G.o.d does not prompt such prayers for nothing. Is this favoritism? No; they are secretly seeking Him.

II

When the soul is united to G.o.d a great change comes over the mind, which now thinks continually, lovingly, of G.o.d. G.o.d not merely hoped for, looked for, as in the past, but G.o.d found and known, G.o.d close and near; interruptions come and go, but the mind, like a pendulum, swings back to G.o.d, 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 G.o.d, will come the pressure of a duty which it is obvious G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d. 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 G.o.d, the Reason tries very earnestly to comprehend the manner of it. Christ says that when love is established between G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d can take up His abode with us and we still live?

In all contacts with G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d. 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 G.o.d, the more we are forced to comprehend that we have in us an especial organ in this spirit with which we can communicate with G.o.d and by which we can receive Him without the mind or body being destroyed. For when G.o.d 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 G.o.d. 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 G.o.d._

III

Although this blessed condition of Awareness of G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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: G.o.d 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 G.o.d (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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d; for G.o.d 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 l.u.s.ts, "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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d_--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 G.o.d. 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, pa.s.ses out of itself and is able to hand over to G.o.d 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 G.o.d the mind and soul are able immediately to raise and maintain themselves in high consciousness of G.o.d, 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 G.o.d I _never lacked anything,_ and this during the most difficult times of the war, and under every and all circ.u.mstances. 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._