This leads us to a serious and deeply meaningful question: When can our love truly be called perfect? That is the question this chapter seeks to answer.
Before doing so, a few necessary foundations must be laid.
This leads us to a serious and deeply meaningful question: When can our love truly be called perfect? That is the question this chapter seeks to answer.
Before doing so, a few necessary foundations must be laid.
Scripture makes this plain in the great commandment: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and your neighbor as yourself.” The moment a person begins to love, holiness begins. But holiness is complete only when love has fully overcome selfishness — when a person loves with the whole heart.
Faith, without question, comes before love. Whether we look at this biblically or psychologically, faith is the foundation and the necessary starting point. But even so, Scripture gives love the highest honor, calling it “the fulfillment of the law.” So the most important question we can ask — whether we truly belong to God and are genuinely holy — ultimately comes down to this: Are we perfected in love?
Reflections on Another incident, which seems to me to indicate her progress in inward sanctification, may properly be introduced here.
"One day," she says, "laden with sorrow, and not knowing what to do, I wished to have some conversation with an individual of distinction and merit, who often came into our vicinity, and was regarded as a person deeply religious. I wrote him a letter, in which I requested the favor of a personal interview, for the purpose of receiving from him some instruction and advice. But reflecting on the subject, after I had written the letter, it seemed to me that I had done wrong. The Spirit of God seemed to utter itself in my heart, and to say, 'What l dost thou seek for ease? Art thou unwilling to bear the Lord's hand, which is thus imposed upon you? Is it necessary to be so hasty in throwing off the yoke, grievous though it be? '
All such love, which thus centres
in ourselves, is wrong, and is not acceptable in the sight of God; because it is not proportioned to its object, and is inordinate.
It may be proper to add this remark here, that pure love or holy love is that love which is precisely appropriate to the object;
being such, neither more nor less, as the object is precisely entitled
to, so far as we are capable of understanding what the object is.
If our love centres in creatures inferior to God, and becomes supreme in them, it is necessarily selfish; as really so, though not so obviously so at first sight, as if it centered in ourselves. It is entirely obvious, that the motive for loving inferior beings in the highest degree, for loving them supremely, cannot be founded in their own characters. It is not a love, to which they are justly entitled. It is not right to love them in this manner.
And if the motive of this love is not founded in their characters, and is, therefore, not based upon moral rectitude, it is founded, and must necessarily be so, in some selfish modification of our own feelings. The only active principle in man, which is antagonistical to rectitude, is selfishness in some of its modifications. Whenever a moral being deviates from the right, in any and all cases where he has a perception of what the right is, it will be found to be through the influence of self. In all such cases, if a being is loved otherwise than it ought to be, and is therefore loved wrongly, selfishness will always be found at the bottom. It will sometimes be very secret and almost hidden; but it will always be there.
— The Life of Faith, Part 2, Chapter 4.
"No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon." — Matthew 6:2.
Of the various objects, to which love is
directed, it will always be found, that those objects will not all be
loved alike; but some will be loved more, and some less. Of two objects
or of many objects which essentially differ in their attractions, in
other words, in their power of exciting love, it can never be said that
the soul loves them both, or that it loves them all in an equal degree.
The love of the object will be in proportion to the attracting power of
the object, considered in relation to the soul.
Among these
various objects there will be some one, on which the love of the soul
will rest and satisfy itself in the highest degree; in a degree which
may be expressed by the term supremely. The soul, in the exercise of its affections, must necessarily have a centre of love somewhere: viz., in the object which is most
beloved. And that object will be the most beloved, and will constitute
the centre of love, which possesses for the soul the highest
attractions. The love of other things, which have less attractions for
the soul, cannot fail to be subordinate. It is true, that the soul may
take a degree of satisfaction in those objects, which are inferior or
subordinate in its love. But it is in the supreme object of its affections, and in that central and supreme object alone, that it will rest and delight itself with supreme satisfaction. It is there, emphatically, that the heart is. There is the centre, and it is infinitely important that every man should know what that centre is in his own case.
The centre of man’s love, (we do not say his love, but the centre of his love,) must be either in himself, or in other creatures, or in God. He may love all in different degrees; and he may love all in that manner at the same time; but he cannot have a centre or supremacy of love in all at the same time. He either loves God supremely, or he loves other beings, which are inferior to God, supremely; or he loves himself supremely. There does not seem to be any other supposition to be made in the case.
— The Life of Faith, Part 2, Chapter 4.
And, accordingly, the victory over the world, whatever else the expressions may be supposed to indicate, includes especially and emphatically the victory over ourselves. Perhaps we ought to say, it is the victory over whatever sin has rendered inordinate and evil in ourselves. In other words, and still more definitely, it is the victory over SELFISHNESS; a victory, which places us in such a position, that the world, in the variety of its enticements and temptations both inward and outward, cannot reach us and touch us to our hurt. And this victory is by faith.
— The Life of Faith, Part 2, Chapter 3.
It is difficult to express and even to conceive of the subtleties and insinuations of selfishness. It enters every path. It lurks in every secret place. And wherever it finds its way, it pollutes, poisons, and destroys. It sometimes attaches itself, by a process almost imperceptible, to God's most valuable gifts and graces; those which are spiritual, as well as those which are natural. An individual, for instance, is possessed of great natural ability. This ability is a gift of God. But how often it is, that the possessor, thinking but little of the great Author of the gift, regards it as something peculiarly his own, and instead of seeing God in it, sees only himself. Almost unconsciously to himself, and greatly to his spiritual injury, he is experiencing a secret elevation of spirit, and is taking a hidden complacency in an intellectual possession, which, when properly considered, should have increasingly detached him from self, and led him nearer to his Maker.
True spiritual solitude, which always implies the special operations of divine grace, is not merely mental solitude. It is not the solitude, even when added to that of the body, of a merely disappointed and impenitent mind; of the mind as it now is.
The mind may become so intensely selfish that even the world cannot supply its wants. How many persons, the victims of intense avarice, of burning selfish sensuality, of overleaping ambition, have renounced and cursed the world, because even the world, with all its adaptedness to their desires, could not give all that they asked! Men of wealth, voluptuaries, statesmen, warriors, kings, worn out with indulgence, or disappointed in their boundless aspirations, have separated themselves from society, when probably it did not occur to them to separate from themselves. In forests and in dens of the earth, and wherever they could flee away, and shut themselves up alone, they have poured forth, not their prayers to God, but their misanthropy and hate against man. In leaving the world behind them, they have carried in their hearts that which gave the world its evil and its sin.
True spiritual solitude, in being something more than solitude of the body, and something more than solitude of the unholy mind, is solitude from that in the mind, whatever it may be, which tends to disunite and dissociate it from God.
The soul, in the state of interior solitude, is in a state of solitude or separation from two things, in particular, namely, from its own desires and its own thoughts. IT IS SEPARATE FROM ITS OWN DESIRES. Sick of the world, if thou wouldst erect an inward oratory, and enter into the secret place of the heart, then let it be thy first purpose, as it certainly is an indispensable one, to cease from all desire, except such as God himself animates. In order to control the desires, and bring them into subjection to God, it is necessary to control the senses. The desires must have their appropriate objects; and in a multitude of cases the objects are made known by the senses. Keep a close watch, therefore, upon the senses. Let not your eye rest upon anything which is forbidden. Let not your ear listen to any corrupting or unprofitable conversation; but be as one who has no sight, and no hearing, and no touch, and no taste for anything, except what God allows and is pleased with. Contend with all because all have gone astray. Crucify all, because all have crucified him, who is the Eternal Life. Separate from all, so far as they have separated from God; in order that being united with them in their truth, you may be united with the God of truth.
Properly speaking, or perhaps we should rather say, in this case, psychologically speaking, man's will can never die. A will is essential to man's nature, as it is to the nature of every moral being. Man, without a will, ceases to be man.
When, therefore, in examining the topics connected with religious experience, we speak of the death of the human will, we mean the human will considered in its action and its tendency to action, out of the divine order. It is the human will divergent, — resting in the origin of its movement on the limited and depraved basis of personal interest, and out of harmony with the will of God.
In the sense which has just been given, the human will, before it can have a higher and divine life, not only may die, but must die. Its death is not only possible but necessary. In its present life, if we may so express it, it has its principle of movement in motives which God cannot respect and approve; but, on the contrary, he disapproves and condemns them as inconsistent with the highest good of the universe. From such a will he is necessarily excluded.