For it is an instinct of the soul to strive to overcome every obstacle to its perfection—an instinct so cruelly exacting that it would, as it were, allow itself to be cast into hell to achieve its object. It goes on then depriving itself of everything in which the inner man can delight, and this with so much subtlety that the slightest imperfection is noted and detested.
The outer man, being no longer sustained by the consolations of the soul, suffers to such a degree that, humanly speaking, it can find nothing on earth to sustain it. There remains for it no other consolation than God, who ordereth all these things in infinite mercy and love, for the satisfaction of his justice. This view inspires me with great peace and joy, which, nevertheless, do net diminish the violence of my sufferings; but no pain could be severe enough to induce me to deviate in the least from the order of things established by God. Nor would I leave this prison till the Lord hath accomplished his designs upon me. My peace consists in satisfying the justice of God, and I could find no torment greater than in deviating from his ordinance, so perfectly just and good does it seem to me.
I see—I feel, as it were—all the things I have here related; but I find no words to express my meaning suitably as to what I have here written. I have felt its operation in my own soul, which has given me the necessary knowledge for writing about it.
The prison in which I seem to be is the world; the chain that binds me therein is the body. And the soul, illuminated by grace, recognizes the importance of the obstacles which hinder it from attaining its true end. This causes great grief to the soul, on account of its extreme sensibility. Nevertheless, it receives, through the pure grace of God, a certain impress of dignity, which not only assimilates it to God, but renders it in a manner one with him by a participation of his goodness. And, as it is impossible for God to suffer, so the soul which lives in union with him becomes impassible, and the more complete this union the more it shares in the divine attributes.
But the delay of this union causes an intolerable suffering in the soul. And this suffering and this delay make it different from what it was at its creation. God, by his grace, makes known to it its original condition. Without the power of returning to it, and yet feeling itself adapted to that condition, it remains in a state of suffering proportionate to its love for God. This love increases with the soul's knowledge of God, and its knowledge increases in the same ratio as the soul is purified from sin. Thus this delay becomes more and more intolerable, because the soul, entirely absorbed in God, has nothing more to hinder it from truly knowing him.
The man who prefers to suffer death rather than offend God is not the less fully alive to its pangs, but the divine grace inspires him with a fervor which makes him think more of the honor of God than the life of the body. It is the same with the soul that knows the will of God. It regards that as of infinitely more importance than all interior or exterior sufferings whatever, however terrible they may be; for the Lord who worketh in it surpasses all that can be felt or imagined. The result is that the slightest hold of God upon the soul keeps it so united to his supreme will that everything else is esteemed as nothing. The soul thus loses all consideration of self. It becomes so regardless of pain that it does not speak of it or even feel it. It is conscious of its real condition for one moment only—as has been said before—when passing from this life to the next.
I will only add, in conclusion: let us become thoroughly impressed with the fact that God, at once good and powerful, has created purgatory for the purification of man, wherein is consumed and annihilated all that he is by nature.