Except the sins of a self-abandoned soul, which are light, and even converted to her good by the divine will, there is nothing _distinctly manifest_ in her but the action of grace. And this action is distinctly manifest in all those painful or consoling impressions by means of which the divine will unceasingly works the soul’s good. I use the term “distinctly manifest,” for of all that transpires within the soul, these impressions are what it best distinguishes. To find God under all these appearances is the great art of faith; to make everything a means of uniting one’s self with God is the exercise of faith. _CHAPTER II._ The more God seems to withdraw Light from the Soul abandoned to His Direction, the more Safely He guides Her. It is particularly in souls wholly abandoned to God that the words of St. John are accomplished: _You have no need that any man teach you; but as His unction teacheth you of all things_. To know what God asks of them, they have but to consult this unction, to sound the heart, to heed its voice; it interprets the will of God according to their present needs. For the divine action disguised reveals its designs, not by thoughts, but by intuition. It manifests them to the soul either by necessity, leaving it but the one present course to choose, or by a first impulse, a sort of supernatural transport which impels to action without reflection, or, finally, by a certain attraction or repulsion which, while leaving the soul perfect liberty, no less attracts it to or withdraws it from objects. Were we to judge by appearances, it would seem most unwise to thus pursue a course so uncertain; a course of conduct in which, according to ordinary rules, we find nothing stable, uniform, or regular. It is nevertheless at bottom the highest state of virtue, and one which usually is only attained after long exercise therein. The virtue of this state is virtue in all its purity; in fact, it is perfection. The soul is like a musician who to long practice unites great knowledge of music; he is so full of his art that, without any effort, all that he does therein is perfection; and if his compositions be examined, they will be found in perfect conformity with prescribed rules. One is convinced that he will never succeed better than when he acts without restraint, untrammelled by rules which fetter genius when too scrupulously followed; and his impromptus, like so many masterpieces, are the admiration of connoisseurs. Thus the soul, after long exercise in the science and practice of perfection under the empire of reason and the methods with which she aids grace, insensibly forms a habit of acting in all things by divine instinct. Such a soul seems to intuitively accept as best the first duty that presents itself, without resorting to the reasoning which she formerly found necessary.