Fénelon: The Mystic

by James Mudge

The soul finds happiness in none;

But with a God to guide our way,

’Tis equal joy to go or stay.

Could I be cast where Thou art not,

That were indeed a dreadful lot;

But regions none remote I call,

Secure of finding God in all.”

She made no complaints of those who so cruelly used her. “They believed that they did well,” was her only comment. The Spirit of her Savior was with her: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” In her biography, written later, she says, “I entreat all such persons as shall read this narrative not to indulge in hard or embittered feelings against those who have treated me with unkindness.” Her sufferings were terrible, but the fortitude and resolution with which she endured them, the steadfastness of her faith, and the meekness of her bearing, are worthy of all praise. She does not seem to have doubted for a moment the goodness and truth of God. Her theories were put to the severest of tests, and they did not fail her. It is marvelous that she lived to emerge from the gloomy walls that were the grave of such numbers, or that the tyrannical, bigoted king ever relented so far as to let her go forth. She was liberated when fifty-four years of age (it being evident that she could not survive another year of imprisonment), reduced to great feebleness, her constitution utterly shattered. Yet her enemies were still afraid to let her stay in the neighborhood of Paris; so she was banished for the rest of her life to Blois, one hundred miles away, on the river Loire. There, subjected to constant maladies which often brought her to the verge of death, but supported by abundant spiritual consolations, she did good as she had opportunity to the great numbers of people who came to see her. Her departure from earth occurred June 9, 1717, and was both peaceful and triumphant. Just before death, writing to her brother, she says, “Whatever may happen, turn not your eye back upon the world; look forward and onward to the heavenly mansions: be strong in faith, fight courageously the battles of the Lord.” Writing to another friend, and referring to her pains, which she said were so great as to call into exercise all the resources and aids of faith, she adds: “Grace was triumphant. It is trying to nature, but I can still say in this last struggle that I love the Hand that smites me.” She said in her last hours, “I rely for my salvation, not on any good works in myself, but on Thy mercies, O my God, and on the merits and sufferings of my Lord Jesus Christ.” She had no faith in the doctrine of transubstantiation, read the Scriptures much, and urged others to study them, insisting constantly upon the necessity of a real sanctification of the heart by the Holy Spirit. That she was one of the high saints of God, her soul a real temple of the Holy Ghost, can in no way be questioned. It is also certain that she had great intellectual power, and in the main taught most important and sacred truth. It is easy to find fault with many of her expressions, but her spirit is beyond praise. That she did on the whole a grand good work and will have a high place in glory, we are fully convinced.

We come now to the great conflict between Bossuet and Fénelon. Up to this time they had been friends, at least outwardly. But there are grounds for believing that Fénelon’s growing and prospective influence aroused the envy of the ambitious Bossuet, who, no more than the king, was disposed to brook a rival; and the Quietist controversy speedily took on a character which brought the two bishops into the most direct antagonism. Bossuet completed, after long labor, early in 1696, an exceedingly able book against Quietism, entitled “Instructions on the States of Prayer.” He secured the approval of the other members of the Conference at Issy, and wished to append a favorable testimonial from Fénelon also. The latter examined the manuscript with care, and was obliged to withhold his indorsement. He did so on two grounds: He thought it contained an absolutely unqualified denial of the possibility of the pure, disinterested love of God; and he considered its censures of Madame Guyon too personal and too severe. He was perfectly aware that the refusal to comply with the wishes of Bossuet would be a mortal offense to that haughty, self-willed prelate, and would also displease the king, probably blasting his worldly prospects. But as a man of honor and of true Christian principle he could not and did not hesitate. Writing to M. Tronson at this time, he says, “Am I wrong in wishing not to believe evil sooner than can be helped, and in refusing to curry favor by acting against my conscience?” He declared that he would not attack “a poor woman who is trodden down by so many, and whose friend I have been,” for the sake of dispelling suspicion against himself; that he would not speak against his conscience or recklessly insult a person whom he had respected as a saint. “It would be infamous weakness in me,” he said, “to speak doubtfully in relation to her character in order to free myself from oppression.” Other extracts from his letters at this time, had we space to give them, would show conclusively the high ground he took, the only ground which his own character and self-respect, as well as his feeling of gratitude toward the persecuted woman, could possibly permit. Had he done otherwise, what would the world now think of him?

His chief friends approved his course, but insisted that he must write his views in full. He did so, producing his elaborate work called “The Maxims of the Saints,” published in January, 1697. Without naming Madame Guyon, it was in fact her defense, the exposition of her opinions as he understood them, and as she had explained them to him in private. It was hailed as a golden work by Cardinal de Noailles, M. Tronson, the Bishop of Chartres, and many other leading men of France.[8] But Bossuet was roused to fury. “Take your own measures,” he said to these men; “I will raise my voice to the heavens against these errors so well known to you; I will complain to Rome, and to the whole earth. It shall not be said that the cause of God is weakly betrayed. Though I should stand singly in it, I will advocate it.” But none better knew than he that so far from standing singly in it he had the warmest possible backing from the king. Louis XIV had no love for Fénelon. He had raised him to certain dignities, partly because of his uncommon abilities, and partly because of his favor with the public, rather than as a sign of any personal attachment. Fénelon was, throughout his life, the very embodiment of all that Louis did not like, and this, considering Louis’ character, was one of his chief glories. The two men were so far apart in most things, and their minds were so differently constituted that there was no common bond of sympathy, and the only wonder is how they got along together as well as they did. Fénelon, while possessing a great superiority of genius, exhibited also an elevation of moral and personal character of which the king stood in awe, and he was glad that the accusation of heresy gave him a good opportunity to be rid of his uncomfortable presence.