“Being confident of this very thing, that He which began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Jesus Christ.”—Phil. i. 6 (R.V.)

The ground is now cleared for an answer to the question,—How is the purification of the soul effected in the Intermediate Life, and what is the nature of the process? We have seen, 1st, that this waiting time is not an idle time, but a time when something has to be done which can only be done then; 2nd, that what has to be done then is the work of cleansing and purifying the soul, that it may be perfected for the Beatific Vision in heaven; 3rd, that the souls of those who die in grace do yet, although fully pardoned, retain frailties of character, the consequences of former sins; and, 4th, that dying in itself has no cleansing virtue whatever. What, then, are the conditions on which we may rely as grounds for legitimate inferences?

1. First, then, memory survives death. In the narrative to which we have had occasion to refer more than once, Abraham is spoken of as bidding the rich man to remember. “Son, remember, that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things.” The survival of memory is involved in the soul’s consciousness of its own existence. And to be conscious of our own existence is to be conscious that we are still the same persons that we were. Therefore we must be able to remember each successive moment what and who we were in the moment previous: so that the continuance of life involves the continuance of the consciousness that it is ourselves that live. And this is memory. Bishop Butler, therefore, says, “There is no reason for supposing that the exercise of our present powers of reflection is even suspended by the act of dying.”

But if we grant this, we may go further. What is it which makes memory in this life so imperfect? What is it but the obtrusive hindrance of the body? The body is at the mercy of the disturbing assaults of present impressions. Through ear, and eye, and touch external objects invade the mind, and dispel and distract fixed and steadfast retrospect. The present blots out the past. When we look back, scenes, and events, and words, and names fade from our memory, and are dimmed by the haze of distance. The past is smothered by what has happened since. Only with a supreme effort, only in solitude, and then only imperfectly, can we recall what has gone by. But there, in the Intermediate State, when the soul dwells apart from the body, there, in the stillness of that “cloistered and secluded life,” the powers of memory will be undistracted and perfect. Even in this life, as we are told, some, in a great crisis, have seen at a single glance the whole story of their past experience, and scenes and events, long since forgotten, have flashed in an instant before the mind, clear and vivid. Such clearness, we may well suppose, will the memory have in the Intermediate Life, as it recalls in that quiet stillness the actions of the past days on earth. Here is the first equipment then for the work of cleansing. All the evil things done in life, all the forgotten sins, in all their naked and uncouth colours, will stand undisguised before the mind. Nothing will escape the memory:—nothing. The days of childhood, of youth, of middle age, of elder years will give in their report. The soul will see things then as they are, no longer tricked out in false and flattering guise. There, in all their miserable littleness, and coarseness, and meanness, and cowardice, bygone sins will rise up before the stern tribunal of the unsparing memory, each as it was, each as it is, each as God saw it at the time, each as God sees it now.

2. But this is not all. The souls of those who have received forgiveness in life, and have passed into the Intermediate State in God’s favour, are, we must remember, “with Christ”; with Christ, however imperfect their characters, however scarred with traces of former wounds of sin. The malefactor’s character at his death must have been full of blemishes, yet he was to be ushered and welcomed into Paradise by Christ Himself. S. Paul again and again spoke of his own departure at death as that which would lead him into the presence of Christ. It may, however, be suggested that to be with Christ is to be with God, and that the vision of Christ must be the same thing as the vision of God. But the vision of God is specially reserved for the redeemed in heaven, while the vision of Christ is possible in Paradise; for where Christ is there is the vision of Christ. For Christ has assumed the form of man, and was seen as Man by men. But no man hath seen nor can see God. He dwells in the light which no man can approach unto. This is the vision of Him Who is to mortal eyes in His essence invisible. That vision will be granted to the pure in heart in the infinite glory of Heaven, granted to those who shall have become fitted to behold Him in Heaven. But He Who took our flesh was manifest in the flesh, and was seen, and touched, and handled. In that same body He rose from the dead; in that same glorified body He ascended into Heaven, to fill all things. And so after His Ascension He was seen by S. Stephen [63] and by S. Paul. That human nature, therefore, we are to believe is so present in Paradise that the sight of Him is vouchsafed even there to those who may be “with Him.”

What, then, follows from this? It follows that the soul will not only remember but also be able to judge of the past. For not only will it see its sins, but it will behold Christ also. It will see them, therefore, in the light of the perfect love, and most gracious sinlessness of Jesus Christ. It will look upon sin’s stains as they stand out in contrast with His purity, its ingratitude in contrast with His compassion. He will be the atmosphere of the soul’s existence. All the shame and dishonour, which in life the soul so complacently accepted, will then overwhelm it with self-reproach and very bitter compunction. This is what is meant by seeing sins as God sees them. It is to see them as the soul will see them under the sense of the Presence of the Holy Christ. Then will the soul know its guilt as it never knew it before. The guilt of sin will then be no bare expression, no conventional formula, but a spiritual fact, not an abstract doctrine, but a concrete reality.

There will be revealed also to the soul the true meaning and significance of God’s providences in life, which at the time were overlooked, or slighted, or strangely misunderstood. Tokens of God’s love and care will then find their interpretation. The soul will see plainly why was this, wherefore was that, what that sorrow meant, what that loss, that parting from one who was more dear than life. The many perplexities which on earth misled the soul, of these the loving mercy and the gracious reason will then be seen.

And will there not be with the amazing surprise at these revelations a strange and unaccountable gladness? But, no less, at the thought of the soul’s past blindness and persistence in ill-doing, will there not be an exquisite pain? And the soul’s pain can be even more oppressive than the pain of the body. “Pain,” it may be asked, “in the Presence of Christ?” Yes, indeed! pain, because in the Presence of Christ; pain in remembering, and in the consciousness, new to the soul, of its utter unworthiness before Christ. The soul cannot fully feel it now, but it will feel it then. The fire of His love will kindle a fire of loving self-reproach. The weight of a heavy shame to think of the past, and to know now of His beauty, and His love, and His care, care for so careless a soul, love for a soul so loveless,—this will sting with an extreme severity the soul humbled before Him. And here we should do well to remember that, as the characters of each differ almost infinitely, whereby there are innumerable shades and degrees of every conceivable distinction of merit and of sin, so the proportion and depth of the pains which the souls will feel will vary equally. The pains of no two souls will be exactly the same. They will be measured out, in subtle and exact aptness to each, according to its guilt or goodness, precisely as the process of its purification shall require. There will be nothing unjust, nothing capricious in them.

And thus the pain will surely be a very wholesome pain. What could more deepen penitence? The pain of self-reproach for unworthiness, and the pain of the sense of goodness in the Presence of Jesus Christ,—these two pains will purify the soul. No work of sanctification has ever been wrought in any soul without suffering. And none ever will. Even Christ Himself was not made perfect, as Man, without suffering. But the suffering in Paradise will be accompanied with an exquisite delight and joy. Do we not know, even here on earth, how near to each other very often are joy and sorrow? He whose spirit is swelling with a great gladness has often a sense of an undercurrent of great pain along with it. How often tears and laughter go together! So, in that home of the disembodied soul, the very process of purification will be marked by an intensity of joy and an intensity of pain. They will be simultaneous. Nay! increasingly, it may be, they will deepen in the soul. The nearer the soul reaches its perfection the more abounding may be its gladness, and the more piercing its compunction. Thus its very anguish will be a delight, and its very delight will be an anguish, and these will proceed, and advance, and increase until the soul is ripe for the Blessed Vision of God in Heaven. For He Which began the good work in the soul, here, in life, will, we may be very confident, never abandon it, nor suspend it, but will continue it and perfect it all through the after life, even until the day of Jesus Christ.