Add to this, that I have within me a clear idea of a perfect unity, which is far above that I may find in my soul.  The latter is often conscious that she is divided between two contrary opinions, inclinations, and habits.  Now, does not this division, which I find within myself, show and denote a kind of multiplicity and composition of parts?  Besides, the soul has, at least, a successive composition of thoughts, one of which is most different and distinct from another.  I conceive an unity infinitely more One, if I may so speak.  I conceive a Being who never changes His thoughts, who always thinks all things at once, and in which no composition, even successive, can be found.  Undoubtedly it is the idea of the perfect and supreme unity that makes me so inquisitive after some unity in spirits, and even in bodies.  This idea, ever present within me, is innate or inborn with me; it is the perfect model by which I seek everywhere some imperfect copy of the unity.  This idea of what is one, simple, and indivisible by excellence can be no other than the idea of God.  I, therefore, know God with such clearness and evidence, that it is by knowing Him I seek in all creatures, and in myself, some image and likeness of His unity.  The bodies have, as it were, some mark or print of that unity, which still flies away in the division of its parts; and the spirits have a greater likeness of it, although they have a successive composition of thoughts.

Sect.  LXIII.  Dependence and Independence of Man.  His Dependence Proves the Existence of his Creator.

But here is another mystery which I carry within me, and which makes me incomprehensible to my self, viz.:  that on the one hand I am free, and on the other dependent.  Let us examine these two things, and see whether it is possible to reconcile them.

I am a dependent being.  Independency is the supreme perfection.  To be by one’s self is to carry within one’s self the source or spring of one’s own being; or, which is the same, it is to borrow nothing from any being different from one’s self.  Suppose a being that has all the perfections you can imagine, but which has a borrowed and dependent being, and you will find him to be less perfect than another being in which you would suppose but bare independency.  For there is no comparison to be made between a being that exists by himself and a being who has nothing of his own—­nothing but what is precarious and borrowed—­and is in himself, as it were, only upon trust.

This consideration brings me to acknowledge the imperfection of what I call my soul.  If she existed by herself, it would borrow nothing from another; she would not want either to be instructed in her ignorances, or to be rectified in her errors.  Nothing could reclaim her from her vices, or inspire her with virtue; for nothing would be able to render her will better than it should have been at first.  This soul would ever possess whatever she should be capable to