The Autobiography of Madame GuyonGuyon, Jeanne Marie Bouvier de la Motte
Religion
The Autobiography of Madame Guyon
Guyon, Jeanne Marie Bouvier de la Motte
Catholics -- France -- Biography; Guyon, Jeanne Marie Bouvier de La Motte, 1648-1717
I doubt not that you will be amazed at such a series of
inconsistencies; but what succeeds will surprise you yet more, when you
see this manner of acting gain ground with my years. As my reason
ripened, it was so far from correcting this irrational conduct. Sin
grew more powerful in me.
O my God, thy grace seemed to be redoubled in proportion to the
increase of my ingratitude! It was with me as with a city besieged,
Thou didst surround my heart, and I only studied how to defend myself
against thy attacks. I raised fortifications about the wretched place,
adding every day to the number of my iniquities to prevent Thee taking
it. When there was an appearance of Thy becoming victorious over this
ungrateful heart, I raised a counter-battery, and threw up ramparts to
keep off thy goodness, and to hinder the course of thy grace. None
other could have conquered than Thyself.
I cannot bear to hear it said, "We are not free to resist grace." I
have had too long and fatal an experience of my liberty. I closed up
the avenues of my heart, that I might not so much as hear that secret
voice of God, which was calling me to Himself. I have indeed, from
tenderest youth, passed through a series of grievances, either by
maladies or by persecutions. The girl to whose care my mother left me,
in arranging my hair used to beat me, and did not make me turn it
except with rage and blows.
Everything seemed to punish me, but this instead of making me turn unto
Thee, O my God, only served to afflict and embitter my mind.
My father knew nothing of all this; his love to me was such that he
would not have suffered it. I loved him very much, but at the same time
I feared him, so that I told him nothing of it. My mother was often
teasing him with complaints of me, to which he made no other reply
than, "There are twelve hours in the day; she'll grow wiser." This
rigorous proceeding was not the worst for my soul, though it soured my
temper, which was otherwise mild and easy. But what caused my greatest
hurt was, that I chose to be among those who caressed me, in order to
corrupt and spoil me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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