The Autobiography of Madame Guyon | Page 2

255
Chapter 8

261
Chapter 9
266
Chapter 10
272
Chapter 11
277
Chapter 12
282
Chapter 13
293
Chapter 14
302
Chapter 15
309
Chapter 16
316
Chapter 17
326

Chapter 18
343
Chapter 19
353
Chapter 20
364
Chapter 21
374

MADAME GUYON
PART ONE
CHAPTER 1
There were omissions of importance in the former narration of my life.
I willingly comply with your desire, in giving you a more
circumstantial relation; though the labor seems rather painful, as I
cannot use much study or reflection. My earnest wish is to paint in true
colors the goodness of God to me, and the depth of my own
ingratitude--but it is impossible, as numberless little circumstances
have escaped my memory. You are also unwilling I should give you a
minute account of my sins. I shall, however, try to leave out as few
faults as possible. I depend on you to destroy it, when your soul hath
drawn those spiritual advantages which God intended, and for which
purpose I am willing to sacrifice all things. I am fully persuaded of His
designs toward you, as well for the sanctification of others, as for your
own sanctification.

Let me assure you, this is not attained, save through pain, weariness
and labor; and it will be reached by a path that will wonderfully
disappoint your expectations. Nevertheless, if you are fully convinced
that it is on the nothing in man that God establishes his greatest
works,--you will be in part guarded against disappointment or surprise.
He destroys that he might build; for when He is about to rear His sacred
temple in us, He first totally razes that vain and pompous edifice, which
human art and power had erected, and from its horrible ruins a new
structure is formed, by His power only.
Oh, that you could comprehend the depth of this mystery, and learn the
secrets of the conduct of God, revealed to babes, but hid from the wise
and great of this world, who think themselves the Lord's counselor's,
and capable of investigating His procedures, and suppose they have
attained that divine wisdom hidden from the eyes of all who live in self,
and are enveloped in their own works. Who by a lively genius and
elevated faculties mount up to Heaven, and think to comprehend the
height and depth and length and breadth of God.
This divine wisdom is unknown, even to those who pass in the world
for persons of extraordinary illumination and knowledge. To whom
then is she known, and who can tell us any tidings concerning her?
Destruction and death assure us, that they have heard with their ears of
her fame and renown. It is, then, in dying to all things, and in being
truly lost to them, passing forward into God, and existing only in Him,
that we attain to some knowledge of the true wisdom. Oh, how little are
her ways known, and her dealings with her most chosen servants.
Scarce do we discover anything thereof, but surprised at the
dissimilitude betwixt the truth we thus discover and our former ideas of
it, we cry out with St. Paul, "Oh, the depth of the knowledge and
wisdom of God! how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways
past finding out." The Lord judgeth not of things as men do, who call
good evil and evil good, and account that as righteousness which is
abominable in His sight, and which according to the prophet He regards
as filthy rags. He will enter into strict judgment with these
self-righteous, and they shall, like the Pharisees, be rather subjects of
His wrath, than objects of His love, or inheritors of His rewards. Doth

not Christ Himself assure us, that "except our righteousness exceed that
of the scribes and pharisees we shall in no case enter into the kingdom
of heaven." And which of us even approaches them in righteousness; or,
if we live in the practice of virtues, though much inferior to theirs, are
we not tenfold more ostentatious? Who is not pleased to behold himself
righteous in his own eyes, and in the eyes of others? or, who is it
doubts that such righteousness is sufficient to please God? Yet, we see
the indignation of our Lord manifested against such. He who was the
perfect pattern of tenderness and meekness, such as flowed from the
depth of the heart, and not that affected meekness, which under the
form of a dove, hides the hawk's heart. He appears severe only to these
self-righteous people, and He publicly dishonored them. In what
strange colors does He represent them, while He beholds the poor
sinner with mercy, compassion and love, and declares that for them
only He was come, that it was the sick who needed the physician; and
that