CHAPTER XII

CONCLUSION: MODERN MYSTICS
GIOSUE BORSI—J. W. ROWNTREE—LUCIE-CHRISTINE— CHARLES DE FOUCAULD—SADHU SUNDAR SINGH
Ir is a curious fact that those who study and admire the great mystics of Christendom, constantly assume that their experiences belong wholly to the past : that ‘‘ modern mystics,” if they exist at all, must be of another species, and express their desire for God in other ways. Yet if the Church be indeed a living and enduring fact, a true organism, the mystical element of her corporate life must also endure, and bring from time to time its gift of supernatural joy and certitude to the common store. Moreover, such a mystical element will retain certain unchanging characteristics, since it arises in the soul’s experience of the Unchanging God. Its outward expression may vary: its substance will always be the same. This we have indeed learnt in our survey of the Christian centuries : St. Paul joins hands with Henry Martyn, and the period between is filled with men and women who share the same vision, life and power, accept, enrich and carry on the same traditions and speak the same native language of the soul.
It is less easy to show the continuance of this tradition when we come to our own times. Those whose experience is deepest will be least inclined to
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reveal it, save indirectly, to the world. ‘‘ My secret to myself” will always remain true, at least in some degree, of the real mystic; whose contemporaries can only guess at the nature of his hidden life by its results. The fact that certain published works of so-called ‘‘ modern mystics”’ disappoint us by their crude quietism, their shallow volubility, or their un-Christian claim to an exclusive and aris- tocratic intimacy with God, need not involve the pessimistic belief that the Church can no longer bear and nourish souls capable of a direct and life- giving experience of His richness and love. In every period the number of hidden saints must immensely exceed those whose records are pre- served ; and even those immediately concerned with spiritual work cannot fully know the amount of genuine mysticism now existing, the numbers of men and women whose lives are centred upon conscious communion with God.
Yet here and there in contemporary literature we find direct evidence that this same life is being lived, this same development is taking place ; that surrender still issues in spiritual power. ‘Those who read the human and beautiful diary called A Soldier's Confidences with God—written partly in the trenches by a young Italian officer during the Great War, and discovered after his heroic death— could not doubt that here they saw the first, ardent, yet sometimes hesitating, steps of a spirit called to the path of the mystical saints. Even making full allowance for the patent influence of St. Augustine, Dante and Pascal, we find here one who had a genuine share in their spirit of penitence and
adoring love, and knew something of their deep 240
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experience. Here the classic Catholic tradition of the spiritual life once more proves its vitality. It is accepted and re-expressed by a completely modern spirit : a brilliant young man of the world, a poet and scholar, brought up in an anti-clerical atmosphere, yet deeply aware of God’s prevenient action, both inspiring and demanding the generous co-operation of his soul.
Thou art speaking to me directly; my heart is filled with Thee, all at once, entirely and without effort! Ifeel'Thee in me, Thou art speaking to me: “‘ Courage, My beloved son, courage, for I love thee
‘and I want thee; fear no more, hesitate no longer, cast off the last hawsers,launch forth into the sea, and turn not back even fora glance.”
Along another line, John Wilhelm Rowntree, the Quaker (1868-1905), continues the same direct spiritual realism; in the form in which it inspired the early Friends, and upheld his own life when he was threatened with early blindness. He has told the story of how, leaving the consultation at which this sentence was pronounced, he “‘ suddenly felt the love of God wrap him about as though a visible presence enfolded him, and a joy filled him ~such as he had never known before.” And in another passage he speaks less directly, yet in terms plainly dependent on a deep personal experi- ence, of “‘the whole soul flooded with light and love . . . the unspeakable peace’”’ experienced by those whom we might call mystics of the Pauline type, for whom the Christian vision and the Christian life are merged in one, adding :
“‘ T have sketched, you say, a hypothetical career. No, it is a story from real life. You say I have spoken in mystical language. I answer, Yes, the supreme moment cannot be defined in the dry language of theology, nor can words express it. You say the
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experience is the result of mental suggestion practised over a term of years. I answer, No one believes that who has once been there and taken off his shoes on holy ground—the reality is too over- powering, the effect too profound . . .”
Testimonies of this kind might be—and as time goes on doubtless will be—multiplied indefinitely. Those already made public are enough to prove the identity and continuity of the Christian mystical experience. ‘The secret lives of hard-bitten mis- sionaries and explorers such as David Livingstone (1813-73) or the Vicomte de Foucauld; of devoted women such as Mother Janet Stuart (18 57— 1914) or Mary Slessor (1848-1915), who have performed apparently superhuman works in the spirit and strength of prayer; or of cloistered contemplatives such as Elizabeth de la Trinité (1880-1906) and the newly-canonized Thérése de. Enfant Jésus (1873-97) ; or of converts from agnosticism such as Madeleine Sémer (1874-1921), mysteriously initiated into the experiences of the saints, all disclose the same power and attraction at work—an attraction and power identical with that revealed in the New Testament. Three widely differing personalities of our own time, whose mystical experience in its depth, vigour and trans- forming power, can bear comparison with the classic standards of mysticism, may serve as illus- trations of this truth. The first is the lady whose Spiritual Fournal was published after her death under the pseudonym of Lucie-Christine (1844— 1908) ; the next is the “‘ hermit of the Sahara,” the heroic Charles de Foucauld (1858-1916) ; the last—still living—the Indian convert and missionary, Sadhu Sundar Singh.
Lucie-Christine was a Frenchwoman of the
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leisured class, who married when she was twenty- one and became the devoted mother of five children. The circumstances of her life, like those of Madame Acarie, contradict the idea that the mystical voca- tion involves the neglect or the absence of ordinary human duties and relationships, or a deliberate retirement from the world. Indeed, her interest for us largely consists in the discovery that this deeply affectionate, sensitive, and intelligent woman, whose one desire was to “‘ appear ordinary,” who was often absorbed in home duties and willingly took part in social life, was continually possessed by a secret experience of God identical in character and comparable in richness with that of the great mystics. She entered completely into her children’s interests and amusements, wrote and staged the plays which they acted, welcomed their friends ; fought and conquered her natural desire for soli- tude, and distaste for the trivial details and inter- ruptions of daily life. Yet, once alone, “‘ my soul found itself transported into the Infinity of God ; not merely as into some new region, but as if, having lost its own life, it was living in the Infinite itself.”
When Lucie-Christine’s contemplative life first developed, she knew nothing of the writings of the mystics ; and was ignorant of the very names of those degrees of prayer and union, those vivid intuitions of God, which she describes with such delicacy and freshness. She therefore guarantees to us, as few of the traditional mystics have done, the objective reality of these experiences: their independence of the suggestions inherent in mediz- val religion. ‘To the world she appeared only a fervent and exact Christian of the French Catholic type, with a special devotion to the Eucharist.
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Her friends realized in her a growing beauty of soul, a strange peace-giving power, a silent influence which more than once brought unbelievers to God. But it was only after her death that the journal which she had kept for many years at the wish of her spiritual director and confidant disclosed the range and beauty of a mystical experience which places this unassuming woman in the spiritual family of Julian of Norwich, Angela of Foligno and St. Teresa.
Lucie-Christine was by nature deeply religious, and there is no trace of anything which we can call a conversion in her experiences. But her initiation into the mystical life, which took place when she was nearly thirty years of age, was abrupt and apparently unprepared.
“This morning,” she says, “ I was making my meditation on the ‘ Imitation of Christ,’ as I have been accustomed to do this last thirteen years, when suddenly I saw before my inward eyes these words—God Alone. It is strange to say that one sees words, yet it is certain that I see and hear them inwardly, but not in the ordinary manner of sight and hearing; and further I feel how badly my words express that which I experienced, although the remem- brance has remained very vivid to me. It was at the same time a Light, an Attraction anda Power. A Light which showed me how I could belong completely to God alone in the world, and I saw that hitherto I had not well understood this; an Attraction, by which my heart was subdued and delighted; a Power which inspired me with a generous resolution, and in some way placed in my hands the means of carrying it out; for it is the property of these Divine words to do what they say: and these were the first that God vouchsafed to let my soul hear, and His mercy made them the starting point of a new life. But lo! my God, I have undertaken to tell of Thy inward works, and from the first I feel that words fail me. It seems to me that they do not exist to tell of such things. . . . And since it is to obey Thee that I write, do Thou take care that I fall not into any fault, and give Thy
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poor little creature means of expressing that which is so far above natural comprehension.”
From this moment of revelation to the end of her life Lucie-Christine’s existence was centred ona vivid consciousness of God’s Presence, ‘‘its invisible and irresistible charm,” which grew in intensity as.time went on, clothing and inundating her as she went about her domestic duties, pressing her to “perform every little daily act with love.” Sometimes this awareness forsook her, and she passed through those periods of desolation and obscurity which are the price that all the mystics pay for their happiness ; but more often the Divine companionship so filled her with rapture that she found it hard to conceal her ecstatic joy.
My way is very simple. My soul lives on God, by a glance of love between Him and herself. By this glance God gives Himself to me, and I give myself to Him. ‘This is my habitual state, that in which God has placed me. I neither can nor should turn myself from it on account of suffering. ‘This I accept as inseparable from love here below. Love suffers as the voice sings. .. .
For two days now God gives me each time that I go into church a sense of His Presence that I cannot. express, finding it above all ideas. It is a full sight, although it has no form; it is at the same time sight and union. I am plunged in God. I see Him so intensely that my soul is more certain and more possessed by the sight than my bodily eyes by the light of day ; and at the same time He is in me, He is one with me, penetrates me, is closer to me than the air I breathe, is more united to me than the soul is united to the body which lives by it; I am absorbed by Him. I no longer know by what existence I exist, it seems to me that I am trans- ported into another life, a region that is no more this earth ; and this detachment is ineffable, it is a rapture and inebriation. ‘Therein the soul knows God as no speech could make Him known to her, and there results from this an ardent thirst to abase all other souls
before Him. 245
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These passages, taken almost at random from her Yournal, put beyond doubt Lucie-Christine’s right to a place among the mystics of the Church. Though it might seem at first sight as though the creative side of the full mystical life was but slightly developed in her, and her deep union with God had few results upon the outer world, yet time has proved her to be one of those of whom her con- temporary, the saintly Abbé Huvelin, has said that “‘ they do good by what they are, rather than by what they do.” ‘I have sought,” she said, “how I might make God more loved by other souls, how to make apparent to them that gentle- ness and sweetness, that unspeakable peace... . how obey the Holy Spirit, the fire which I feel in my soul and which desires to give itself, how com- municate to all souls that which touches my soul : and I have not found any other or more powerful way than kindness.” :
But beyond this quiet and penetrative influence, her Yournal has proved to thousands of readers how perfect a life of prayer and contemplation is possible to men and women fulfilling all the duties of normal human life ; how untrue it is that the deepest knowledge of God is the prerogative of a special class, or the reward of those who have stifled their natural affections. She witnesses, too, to the intimate connection between visible and in- visible religion; passing easily and with no sense of contrast from formal and liturgic to formless and silent adoration, and finding as her spiritual life develops ever more truth and meaning in the great doctrines of the Church.
Her mystical range was wide: on one side
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passionately Christocentric, she was yet capable of those great metaphysical apprehensions ‘‘ wherein there is no duration, neither past nor future, but one moment unique and infinite’ which are char- acteristic of the highest states of contemplation : that sense of the timeless Being of God “‘ so abso- lutely other than that which we know, that when He manifests Himself to the soul, the soul cannot © doubt that it is Himself.” Few among the historic mystics, and none among the modern, can rival her power of communicating this certitude. The trials and bereavements of her life, and the many years of increasing blindness in which it closed, did nothing to darken that “ simple and evident sight.”
“Where all reasoning fails,” she says in such a time of overwhelming sorrow, ‘‘ where the soul is so troubled that she could not even explain that which troubles her, there the Divine Presence appears ; and suddenly the dizziness ceases, and peace is re-born with light.”
No more complete contrast could be imagined than that between Lucie-Christine and her con- temporary, the Vicomte Charles de Foucauld. Her mystical experience was the flower of a com- pletely Christian life; his, of the penitence and self-immolation of a great convert. If she speaks only in her writings, he does chiefly in his deeds. If her external life was commonplace and lacking in incident, his was one of the most strange and romantic known to the modern world.
A lazy, arrogant, and self-indulgent boy, Foucauld lost his faith whilst still adolescent ; and for thir- teen years was alienated from religion. Entering the army, he was known as an agreeable but in-
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tensely indolent young man, a dilettante in litera- ture, and a lover of good food. He was dismissed his regiment for immorality. In 1882, when he was twenty-four, came the French campaign in Algeria. Then, suddenly, this naturally adven- turous spirit awoke to the realities of life; and this, his first real call to action, effected a moral though not religious conversion. He returned to the army, accepted with delight the hardships of desert life, was careless of his own safety, but infinitely careful of and beloved by his men. The following year he undertook that pioneer journey into the interior of Morocco, which places him among the greatest African explorers. Disguised as a Moroccan Jew, he wandered for eleven months in constant danger, penetrating to cities where no European dared go. In 1885 he made a four months’ exploration of the South Algerian desert; drawn there by that growing passion for solitude, silence, and the simplification of life, which after- wards decided his religious vocation.
It seems to have been during these lonely journeys that his thoughts first turned towards God : in- fluenced by the sense of contrast between his own attitude and that of the Mohammedan population, who referred all things instinctively to Him, and whose lives were punctuated by times of prayer. Returning in 1886 to Paris, celebrated and admired but inwardly without peace, Foucauld met the Abbé Huvelin: that remarkable maker of saints who did not merely teach, but was religion, and who had sacrificed a brilliant career in scholarship in order to become the curate of a small Parisian church because he “desired to write in souls.”
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Foucauld, still without faith and with a sinful past, found himself in the presence of a fellow-man, outwardly genial, secretly austere, his equal in energy and intellect ; a man who had been trans- formed into the very spirit of holiness, and whose life was one act of prayer and compassion for the weakness and suffering of men. ‘The impression was profound. Within a few weeks of their meeting, he had made his submission to Huvelin, and was received back into the Church.
The complete self-giving to anything he under- took, the disregard of personal comfort, the aston- ishing power of endurance, which had made of Foucauld a great explorer, was now poured into the religious channel. Years afterwards he revealed that upon the day following his conversion, he felt himself called by Christ to imitate His life of poverty and lowliness, and accepted this vocation without reserve. After a voyage to the Holy Land, he determined on a religious career and entered the Trappist order ; the most severe life which the Catholic Church can now offer her sons. During the six years which he spent as a monk—chiefly in the poor monastery of Akbés in Syria—the converted adventurer grew swiftly in spiritual power. ‘‘ God makes me find in the solitude and silence a consolation on which I had not counted. I am constantly, absolutely constantly, with Him and with those I love.’”’ At Akbés, he soon came to be regarded asa saint. ‘‘ He did not believe— he saw,” said one who knew him there. Austere, but never ailing, he seemed to live without dif_- culty on a minimum of food and sleep impossible to other men.
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But even this life of self-immolation could not satisfy him. He craved a greater humiliation and loneliness ; and finally, obtaining release from his order, went to Nazareth. There, in imitation of the hidden life of Christ, he lived for three years in abject poverty in the garden of the convent of the Poor Clares, from whom, in exchange for work, he received his food. All spare time was given to prayer and study; St. John Chrysostom, St. Teresa, and St. John of the Cross being the authors on whom he formed his soul. The brilliant and self-indulgent aristocrat, the celebrated explorer, now had the position of an odd-job man and the appearance of a tramp; but a tramp whose whole being was irradiated with love and peace, since he possessed “‘a union with God in every instant— in prayer, reading, work, everything.”
In 1900, on the advice of his religious superiors, Foucauld went to Rome to study for the priest- hood ; and the next year fulfilled his deepest ‘desire—to return, as a missionary hermit, to those deserts of North Africa which he so deeply loved. During the retreat which he made at his ordination
_ he felt his pastoral call to be to “the most sick sheep,
the most forsaken souls’”’ ; and, knowing no people so abandoned as the tribes of the Algerian Sahara, he determined to live among them in complete poverty, spreading the Gospel not by word of mouth but by life. His attitude was simply and literally apostolic. Invited to return as a priest to the Holy Land, he answered : ‘‘ One must not go where the land is most holy, but where souls are
in greatest need.” ’ After three solitary years in his tiny hermitage ae 250 ’
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or “ Fraternity? at Beni Abbés—he loved to call himself the “‘ universal brother ’’—the old passion of the explorer reinforced the enthusiasms of, the saint. In utter loneliness, for all his efforts to persuade others to join in a life of such austerity had failed, he pushed south to Tamanrasset in the Sahara. Here he lived as a hermit among the Touareg tribes, until his assassination in 1916. So gentle, loving, and good-humoured were the manners of this ferocious ascetic and advanced contemplative, that these fanatical and suspicious Mohammedans soon came to love him; as the most irreligious soldiers of the Beni Abbés garrison had done. Recognizing in him a “holy man,” they called him the ‘‘ Marabout Charles,”’ came to him in all their troubles, and nursed him when he fell ill.
Like Henry Martyn, Grou, and other scholar- mystics, Foucauld knew the importance of mental discipline for the healthy life of the soul; and worked steadily in his solitude at a dictionary of the Tamachek language and other tasks. He also brought his keen intelligence and special experi- ence to bear on the problem of the conversion of the North African peoples; best effected, he thought, by the gradual penetration among them of persons leading Christian lives of charity and prayer. ‘‘I ought to do the best I can for the souls of these infidels, in complete forgetfulness of self.” And the means he found best were the purely spiritual energies—prayer, penitence, good example, kindness, personal sanctification—"“ using these myself, and doing my very best to increase the number of those using them.”
The mystical side of his life was deeply magden,
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and recognized chiefly by its outward effects. But the meditations and letters which were pub- lished after his death reveal something of that profound and realistic sense of Divine Companion- ship, which made solitude the greatest of delights to him and found its chief outward expression in the Eucharist ; for he was above all else a Sacra- mental and Christocentric mystic.
“¢ When we love (he wrote to his sister) we live less in ourselves than in that which we love; and the more we love, the more we establish our life beyond ourselves in that which we love.” And - to a friend, from his desert hermitage, ““I am in great inward peace: do not worry because I am alone, without.a friend or any spiritual support. I do not suffer from this solitude—I find it very sweet. I have the Blessed Sacrament. . . . Jam happy and lack nothing.” And in a letter written on December Ist, 1916, only a few hours before his martyrdom, “ When one can suffer and love one can do much: one can do the utmost that is possible in this world. We feel when we suffer—we do not always feel when we love; and this is a great added suffering. But we know that we want to love; and to want to love is to love!”
_ The contribution made by such a life as this to the corporate treasure of the Church, cannot of course be measured by its outward accomplishment. It is an easy task for common sense to discount Foucauld’s career. His actual converts were few ; though probably none with whom he came in contact was unaffected by his spirit of humility and love. But his real work, like that of Lucie- Christine, has been done among those whom he never [saw, and to whom his career has proved that the love of God has still the power to inspire lives of heroic sacrifice and _ self-abandonment, comparable with those which shame and astonish us in the histories of the saints. 252
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Our last example of this continuing energy, the Sadhu Sundar Singh, is well known to all English students of religious experience. Since he is still living, we cannot of course obtain here a perspective view of his spiritual course. We can only observe in a new setting those characteristics which we have been studying in his spiritual ancestors. It is not only from the point of view of tradition that the Sadhu interests us. As the first Indian mystic of the Christocentric type, he has an importance of his own. He was brought up from childhood within an ancient religious culture, which accepted without question the reality of God, and the soul’s need of Him. As a boy he was trained in Yoga, the classic discipline of Indian contemplatives ; thus learning that art of concentration which has served him well in his Christian life. But Hindu theism, even at its best, failed to satisfy his thirst for personal communion with God: whilst for Christianity he felt, like the unconverted Paul, nothing but abhorrence. His conversion, which took place with startling suddenness when he was sixteen and his religious unrest was at its height, inevitably reminds us of that of the great apostle. He had been praying, almost in despair, for an assurance of God, when—
At 4.30 a.m. I saw something of which I had no idea at all previously. In the room where I was praying I saw a great light. I thought the place was on fire. I looked round, but could find nothing. ‘Then the thought came to me that this might be an answer God had sent me. Then as IJ prayed and looked into the light, I saw the form of the Lord Jesus Christ. . . . The thought then came to me, Jesus Christ is not dead but living and it must be
He Himself. So I fell at His feet and got this wonderful Peace which I could not get anywhere else.
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He was soon called to suffer for his faith. His family, wealthy Sikhs hostile to Christianity, tried first to coerce, then to poison him ; finally casting him out to utter poverty. He became a Christian Sadhu or ‘“‘holy man,” devoted to prayer and meditation, wandering from village to village, and depending on alms: thus adapting a religious institution of India to the purposes of Christianity, and reproducing in an Oriental setting the wander- ing missionary life of St. Francis—for whom he has a deep admiration—and of Richard Rolle. Like St. Francis, he has remained a lay missionary; an attempt to train for orders proving conclusively how alien were his vision and temper from the ecclesiastical side of modern Christianity. In religious organization he takes no interest whatever. He does not feel impelled to gather a group of disciples or found a Church; and the mutual exclusiveness of the various Christian bodies is incomprehensible to him. ‘‘ The children of God are very dear but very queer—very nice but very narrow,’’ he said as he withdrew to the undenomi- national position he firmly maintains.
The truth is that the Sadhu’s mystical life springs from a source which lies far beyond theological con- troversies. It is essentially a reproduction of the direct and personal mysticism of the New Testa- ment; continuing the Pauline tradition of first-hand communion with the exalted Christ. Perhaps so perfect a return to primitive conditions is now impossible to any mystic born within the Christian fold ; indeed to any Western mind. ‘The freshness and ease with which St. Paul’s great declarations are actualized by this the latest of his spiritual
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descendants, are partly the result of the affinity between the Oriental soul and an Oriental faith. The great contribution made by Sundar Singh to the mystical experience of the Church, consists in this demonstration that where the necessary con- ditions are present the most mysterious promises of the Gospel are still literally fulfilled ; and it is this which makes him so appropriate a figure with whom to end our survey of the mystics of the Church. _
The Sadhu’s experience, like that of St. Paul, is not only Christocentric but ecstatic. He claims an abundance of ‘‘ visions and revelations”? from which he brings back new knowledge of the spiritual world, and new vitality and power. He speaks in Pauline terms—though never publicly—of the truths revealed to him in that “ Third Heaven” where all things pour forth adoration, and “‘ no one hides their love or what is in their heart.”’
Often when I come out of ecstasy I think the whole world must be blind not to see what I see, everything is sonearandsoclear . . . there is no language which will express the things which I see and hear in the spiritual world.
Yet a homely sense of Divine indwelling balances these transcendental apprehensions. If the Third Heaven is ineffable, the First Heaven is that inward peace and joy which he expects to find in every Christian’s heart as in his own. “I said, ‘ Where is the capital of Heaven? Where He is sitting ?’ They told me, ‘No, in every heart that loves Him.’” This experience is supported by the daily periods of prayer and meditation—never less than two, often four hours or more—which the Sadhu considers as necessary as breathing to his life. It inspires, moreover, an active, and even an
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adventurous career. In addition to religious work in India, he makes dangerous missionary journeys in Tibet and the Himalaya, has endured persecu- tion, and escaped by apparent miracle from death. Thus, perhaps depending less than any of the historical mystics on the literature and tradition of the Church—the Bible and the “ Imitation of Christ” are the only books which have greatly influenced him—he has arrived by his own path at a spiritual outlook and experience, a two-fold relationship with God, substantially identical with that of the great family of Christian contemplatives. Like them, he lives the balanced life of work and contemplation, and seems able to infect others with his own intense consciousness of God. Hence he witnesses in our own day as clearly as the saints of earlier centuries, to the actuality of that Power and Experience which make of the great Christian mystics “‘ the life-giving members of Holy Church.”
ILLUSTRATIVE WORKS
Bazin, R. Charles de Foucauld. London,” 1923.
Borst, G. A Soldier’s Confidences with God. New York, 1918.
Klein, F. Madeleine Sémer, Convertie et Mystique. 16th edition. Paris, 1924.
Lucte-Christine. Spiritual Journal ot. London, 1915.
Rowntree, J. W. Man’s Relation to God. London, 1917.
Streeter, B. H. and A. J. Appasamy. ‘The Sadhu : a Study in Mysticism and Practical Religion. London, 1921.
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INDEX
Acarie, Madame, 187 seg., 191 seq. Agnes, Mere, 205 Albertus Magnus, 134 Ambrose, St., 62 Angela of Foligno, 13, 95,99 seq. 3 visions, 104 seq. Anne of Jesus, 197 Anselm, St., 74, 112 Antoinette de Jésus, 189 Apperception, 19 Augustine, St., 10, 13, 23, 379 55 60 Seq.) 98, 114, 125 Seq.) 129 conversion, 65 on God, 68
Baker, Augustine, 204, 222 Barbe of Compiégne, 189 Benedict Canfield, 189 Benedictines, 58 Bernard, St., 75, 80, 83 seg., 112 Berniéres, M. de, 189 Bérulle, Pierre de, 190, 195, 204 Seq. Bible, 114 Blake, W., 207, 231 Boehme, Jacob, 213, 225, 231 Doctrine, 217 Life, 214 seq. Bonaventura, St., Meditations, 113 Borsi, G., 240 Bourignan, Antoinette, 207 Brainerd, David, 233 Brémond, Abbé, 206 Bridget of Sweden, St., 153
Bunyan, John, 213 Butler, Abbot, 58 :
Cambridge Platonists, 221 Carmelites, 168, 172 seq., 182, 188 Seq. 3 in} France, 193 Seq. Cassian, 54, 57 seq., 86 Catherine of Genoa, St., 13, St 152, 162 seq. doctrine of, 166 Catherine of Siena, St., 13, 152 seq. Divine Dialogue of, 160 Seq. Cecilia of Florence, 95, 100 Chantal, St., 190, 195 Life, 196 seg. Clement of Alexandria, 54 — Cloud of Unknowing, The, 114, 120 S€9., 124 Columbini, Giovanni, 153 Condren, Charles de, 189, 190, 205 Conrad of Offida, 94 Cyran, St., 205
Dante, 81, 84
Deissmann, 38
Dionysius the Areopagite, 71 seq., 98, 120, 122, 134, 222
Dominican Order, 134, 138, 154
Ebner, Margaret and Christina,
139 Eckhart, Meister, 133 s¢q., 142,215 Ecstasy, 30 seq., 41 Séq., 81, 106, 156 Se€g., 160, 164, 175 Seq.» I9I, 202, 215, 224 S€q., 255
257 R
INDEX
Elijah, 30
Elizabeth de la Trinité, 242 Elizabeth of Schonau, 79 Evangelical Revival, 210, 232 Seq.
Fénelon, 24, 191, 209 Seq., 228 Fitch, W., 189 Foucauld, Charles de, 237, 242, 247 Seq. Fox, George, 223 seq. Francis Borgia, St., 171 Franciscan Mysticism, 92 seq. III, 172, 190, 221 Spirituals, 94, 137 Tertiaries, 95, 101 Francis de Sales, St., 190 seq., 196 seq. Francis of Assisi, St., 33, 37) 90 $€G-y L1O, 115, 254 Stigmata, 93 Francis Xavier, St., 236 Friends of God, 137 seq. 147 Fry, Elizabeth, 231
Gertrude, St., 79 seq.
Gnostics, 55
Grace, 48
Grellet, Stephen, 231
Grou, J. N., 234, 251
Guyon, Madame, 187, 191 Life, 207 seq.
Helfde, 79 seq.
Herbert, George, 221
Hildegarde, St. 74 seq., 137, 153
Hilton, Walter, 23, 114,123 seq.
Holy Name, Cult of, 24, 88, 112, II5, 127
Hugh of St. Victor, 121
Huvelin, Abbé, 100, 234, 246, 248 $€q.
Ignatius, St., 152, 168 seq. Spiritual Exercises, 170
| Illumination, 27, 43, 103, 150,
214, 218 Isaiah, 31 seq.
Jacopone da Todi, 92, 95 seq., 109, 221 Poems of, 96 seq. Jeremiah, 34 Jesuits, 171 Jesus Christ, 23 seq., 29, 36 seq. Fesu dulcis memoria, 88, 11i ~ John of Avila, 172 John of La Verna, 94 John of the Cross, St., 169, 172 Life, 181 seq. Writings, 183 Juan de los Angeles, 169 Julian of Norwich, 106, 110, 113, 124, 127 S€qg., 160, 215
La Combe, Pére, 209
Lawrence, Brother, 189 seq., 200 seq.
Law, William, 219, 231 Seq.
Lead, Jane, 222
Livingstone, David, 242
Lucie-Christine, 242 seq.
Luther, 212
Malaval, 207
Marguerite Acarie, Mére, 194
Marie de l’Incarnation, 190, 202 5eq.
Martyn Henry, 233 seg., 251
Mechthild of MHackeborn, St.,
79 seq. Mechthild of Magdeburg, 79 seq. Merswin, Rulman, 138 Mohammed, rr Molinos, 207 Monasticism, Early, 56 seg. Monica, St., 64, 66 Montanists, 55 More, Dame 222
Gertrude, 204,
258
INDEX
Mystical theology, 15, 81 types, 15 seq. Mysticism, defined, 9 seq., 20 Bible, 30 seq. Christocentric, 23 seg.) 39, 111, 124, 133, 206, 233, 247, 252, 255 English, 112 Flemish, 133 seq. Franciscan, 93, 190 French, 188 German, 136 and history, 17 seq., 30 Personal, 20 seq., 254 and sacramentalism, 21, 24, 149, 162, 166, 244, 252 Spanish, 168 : Theocentric, 23 seg., 68, 134, 150, 166, 188, 195 Seq., 253 Mystic Way, 26 seq.) 35, 170
Neoplatonism, 54 seq., 122, 134, 139
Old Testament, 30 seq. Olier, M., 205 Oratorians, 190, 195, 205 Orozco, 169
Osuna, 172
Otto; 1.5732
Paracelsus, 220 Pascal, 88, 190, 206 Paul, St., 21, 29 S€q-) 35 SC] 53 S€]-y 64 his mysticism, 38 Penn, W., 223, 226 Peter Damian, St., 74 Peter of Alcantara, St., 171 seq. Pier Pettignano, 93, 95, 100 Plotinus, 55, 60, 63, 222 Poiret, P., 207 Pordage, Dr., 222 Port Royal, 205 Prayer, 12, 15, 58, 82
Privity of the Passion, The, 113 Proclus, 71
Prophets, 30 seq.
Psalms, 30, 34 seq.
Purgation, 26, 41, 149, 163
Quakers, 19, 207, 219, 223 seq.. 241
Quia Amore langueo, 111
Quietists, 19, 188, 191, 207 seq., DLA 2235227,
Raimondo, Fra, 155 Richard of St. Victor, 75, 80 seq. Rolle, Richard, 110 seq., 114 seq. Heat, sweetness and song, 117 Rowntree, W. R., 241 Ruysbroeck, 12, 51, 76, 136 seq., 148 Seqg., 164, 204
Sadhu Sundar 253 Seq.
Samuel, 30
Scale of Perfection, The, 124 seq.
Scheffler, J., 220
Seekers, The, 221, 223 seq.
Sémer, Madeleine, 242
Silesius, Angelus, 220
Simeon, Charles, 233
Slessor, Mary, 242
Soldier's Confidences with God, A, 240
Spiritual Marriage, 27, 184
Staglin, Elizabeth, 145
Stephen, St., 36 seq.
Stuart, Mother Janet, 242
Suso, 37, 136 seq., 142 seq.
Singh, 243,
Tauler, J., 136 seqg., 140 Seq.y 199, 220 Teresa, St., 43, 106, 164, 169, 188, 193 Life, 172. seq. Works, 177 seq. Theologia Germanica, 139, 212
259
1809.
ra gil da ae hag 107 Union with God, 20, 27, 45, 59; ’ I 5° hig sb 179 ee 250
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