Depending on the subject, the term 'the classics' can refer to just about anything, be it music of a certain era or cars of a certain make or films of a certain taste, but on a blog that sometimes flirts with literature, I'm probably referring to the great fiction books of history, though in this case I'm getting even more specific and referring to the Christian Classics, books like Pilgrim's Progress, Practicing the Presence of God, the Confessions of Saint Augustine... A while back I ran across an article mentioning an author I had not read, and went to project Gutenberg to see if they had any of her books, and found 'A Short and Easy Method of Prayer' and 'Spiritual Torrents' by Marie Guyon. The first is a good solid book and well worth the read, but I'm halfway through the second and having a little trouble with the whole concept of the book. While I like her idea and metaphor, I was a little horrified at what she explained, as it seemed to me, the ideal progress of every soul towards God, but then I remembered the preface, which mentioned just this:
"Of the experience of Madame Guyon, it should be borne in mind, that though the glorious heights of communion with God to which she attained may be scaled by the feeblest of God’s chosen ones, yet it is by no means necessary that they should be reached by the same apparently arduous and protracted path along which she was led.
The “Torrents” especially needs to be regarded rather as an account of the personal experience of the author, than as the plan which God invariably, or even usually, adopts in bringing the soul into a state of union with Himself. It is true that, in order that we may “live unto righteousness,” we must be iv“dead indeed unto sin;” and that there must be a crucifixion of self before the life of Christ can be made manifest in us. It is only when we can say, “I am crucified with Christ,” that we are able to add, “Nevertheless I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me.” But it does not follow that this inward death must always be as lingering as in the case of Madame Guyon. She tells us herself that the reason was, that she was not wholly resigned to the Divine will, and willing to be deprived of the gifts of God, that she might enjoy the possession of the Giver. This resistance to the will of God implies suffering on the part of the creature, and chastisement on the part of God, in order that He may subdue to Himself what is not voluntarily yielded to Him.
Of the joy of a complete surrender to God, it is not necessary to speak here: thousands of God’s children are realising its blessedness for themselves, and proving that it is no hardship, but a joy unspeakable, to present themselves a living sacrifice to God, to live no longer to themselves, but to Him that died for them, and rose again.
A simple trust in a living, personal Saviour; a putting away by His grace of all that is known to be in opposition to His will; and an entire self-abandonment to Him, that His designs may be worked out in and through us; such is the simple key to the hidden sanctuary of communion." Amen!
While I think Madame Guyon's personal spiritual journey is worth study, proposing it, as she does, as a template for most everyone else, is dangerous indeed. To her, God is a jealous husband that will suffer no rival, especially His bride's obsession with all His gifts and blessings, which in her case had to be stricken from her ere she would turn her eyes upon the Giver and love Him for His own sake rather than for the sake of His blessings. That is not how everyone is wired or what every soul needs for its purification and growth. In my own case, the 'severe husband' would only alienate me from the only One who can heal my stricken soul! I am a survivor of severe emotional abuse and neglect from the earliest days of my existence, manipulated and shamed into self-hatred and extreme loathing of anything remotely resembling my own wants, needs, and tastes, never having encountered love, kindness, or succor at the hands of my parents. I need a loving, gentle Father, not the 'severe husband.' My iron-willed three year old probably needs something of the sort, but any hint of harshness, severity, or gifts given solely for the purpose of taking them away immediately shuts me down, for my trembling soul still thinks I am unlovable, unworthy of the least kindness, I deserve to be punished for existing, that my needs are an unacceptable burden upon others and inherently selfish; I lay down in the dust in despair, knowing it is more than just and of all men I am most wretched and deservedly so.
But there are many other pictures of God painted in the Scriptures beyond the jealous husband who so long chased faithless Israel through all her adulterous flings. There is the gentle shepherd seeking the lost sheep and slowly leading the pregnant and nursing ewes, the mother with her little children, the patient husband who takes again his wayward bride, the Father who sends His only Son to purchase the life and freedom of an unworthy, wretched race! Some souls may need the stern father or husband, but that is not my failing, I will cringe under severe discipline, declare it just, shrivel and die, to rise no more. Rather it is kindness which smites me, humbled to the dust, I would help dig my own grave so wretched do I think myself, rather He stoops and lifts my chin, gazing upon me not in abhorrence but pity, asking 'where are your accusers,' and lo, I stood amongst the stone casting hoard, the most vociferous of all in condemning myself. But kindness, that fatal dart! The soul none could love He has called Beloved, Bride, Daughter, Child! Severity and deprivation would only drive me further into despair, confirming my reservation in Hell, and I would call it just, knowing there could be no reprieve for such as I, one whom her own parents could not love. But He is kind, patient, and loving when no one on earth was or could be, how then can I resist Him?
The classics, no matter the topic, are classic for a reason, but we should not abandon our judgement, our sense, our reason, our taste, our discernment just because the 'mob of history or thought' has declared something a classic. We can learn much and enjoy more, but we also must be cautious in what we assimilate into our own lives, particularly in the spiritual sense, for all such are the work of fallen men, and like every mere man who has ever lived, subject to all manner of faults and flaws, but even so, the pursuit of excellence in any and every field is a wonderful thing and gives dimension and color to an otherwise drab existence. Just like everything you read on the internet isn't true, so too, even the Classics have their shortcomings, but happily time and trial have sifted them again and again, leaving, in general, a profound experience for those willing to delve into them, rather than having to sift through a mountain of chaff on our own to find a single grain of wheat.
