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Let us now, with the help of the Holy Spirit, come
to speak of the sixth Mansions, in which the soul has
been wounded with love for the Spouse and seeks more
opportunity of being alone, trying, so far as is
possible to one in its state, to renounce everything
which can disturb it in this its solitude. That sight
of Him which it has had is so deeply impressed upon
it that its whole desire is to enjoy it once more.
Nothing, I must repeat, is seen in this state of
prayer which can be said to be really seen, even by
the imagination; I use the word "sight" because of
the comparison I made.
The soul is now completely determined to take no
other spouse; but the Spouse disregards its yearnings
for the conclusion of the Betrothal, desiring that
they should become still deeper and that this
greatest of all blessings should be won by the soul
at some cost to itself. And although everything is of
but slight importance by comparison with the
greatness of this gain, I assure you, daughters,
that, if the soul is to bear its trials, it has no
less need of the sign and token of this gain which it
now holds.
Oh, my God, how great are these trials, which the
soul will suffer, both within and without, before it
enters the seventh Mansion![1] Really, when I think
of them, I am sometimes afraid that, if we realized
their intensity beforehand, it would be most
difficult for us, naturally weak as we are, to muster
determination enough to enable us to suffer them or
resolution enough for enduring them, however
attractively the advantage of so doing might be
presented to us, until we reached the seventh
Mansion, where there is nothing more to be feared,
and the soul will plunge deep into suffering for
God's sake.
The reason for this is that the soul is almost
continuously near His Majesty and its nearness brings
it fortitude. I think it will be well if I tell you
about some of the things which I know are certain to
happen here. Not all souls, perhaps, will be led
along this path, though I doubt very much if souls
which from time to time really taste the things of
Heaven can live in freedom from earthly trials, in
one way or in another.
Although I had not intended to treat of this, it has
occurred to me that some soul finding itself in this
state might be very much comforted if it knew what
happens to those whom God grants such favours, at a
time when everything really seems to be lost. I shall
not take these experiences in the order in which they
happen, but as each one presents itself to my memory.
I will begin with the least of them.
An outcry is made by people with whom such a
person is acquainted, and even by those with whom she
is not acquainted and who she never in her life
supposed would think about her at all. "How holy
she's getting!" they exclaim, or "She's only going to
these extremes to deceive the world and to make other
people look sinful, when really they are better
Christians than she is without any of these
goings-on!" (Notice, by the way, that she is not
really indulging in any "goings-on" at all: she is
only trying to live up to her profession.) Then
people whom she had thought her friends abandon her
and it is they who say the worst things of all and
express the deepest regret that (as they put it) she
is "going to perdition" and "obviously being
deluded", that "this is the devil's work", that
"she's going the way of So-and-so and So-and-so, who
ruined their own lives and dragged good people down
with them", and that "she takes in all her
confessors". And they actually go to her confessors
and tell them so, illustrating what they say by
stories of some who ruined their lives in this way:
and they scoff at the poor creature and talk about
her like this times without number.
I know of a person[2] to whom these things were
happening and who was terribly afraid that there
would be nobody willing to hear her confession; but
there is so much I could say about that that I will
not stop to tell it here. The worst of it is, these
things are not soon over -- they last all one's life
long. People warn each other to be careful not to
have anything to do with persons like oneself. You
will tell me that there are also those who speak well
of one. But oh, daughters, how few there are who
believe the good things they say by comparison with
the many who dislike us! In any case, to be well
spoken of is only one trial more and a worse one than
those already mentioned. For the soul sees quite
clearly that if there is any good in it this is a
gift of God, and not in the least due to itself, for
only a short time previously it saw itself in dire
poverty and plunged deep into sin.
So this praise is an intolerable torment to it, at
least at the beginning: afterwards it is less so, and
this for various reasons. The first of these
is that experience shows it clearly how people will
speak well of others as readily as ill, and so it
takes no more notice of the former class than of the
latter. The second, that the Lord has given it
greater light and shown it that anything good it may
have does not come from itself, but is His Majesty's
gift; so it breaks into praises of God, but as though
He were being gracious to a third person, and
forgetting that it is itself concerned at all. The
third reason is that, having seen others helped
by observing the favours which God is granting it,
the soul thinks that His Majesty has been pleased for
them to think of it as good, though in fact it is
not, so that they may be profited. The fourth
is that, as the soul now prizes the honour and glory
of God more than its own honour and glory, it no
longer suffers from a temptation which beset it at
first -- namely, to think that these praises will do
it harm, as it has seen them do to others. It cares
little about being dishonoured itself, provided that
it can be the cause of God's being even once praised
-- come afterwards what may.
These and other considerations mitigate the great
distress caused by such praises, although some
distress is nearly always felt, except when a soul
takes no notice of such things whatsoever. But to
find itself publicly and unmeritedly described as
good is an incomparably greater trial than any of
those already mentioned. Once the soul has learned to
care little about this, it cares very much less about
the other, which, indeed, makes it rejoice and sounds
to it like sweetest music. This is absolutely true.
The soul is fortified rather than daunted by censure,
for experience has shown how great are the benefits
it can bring, and it seems to the soul that its
persecutors are not offending God, but that His
Majesty is permitting this for its great advantage.
Being quite clear about this, it conceives a special
and most tender love for them and thinks of them as
truer friends and greater benefactors than those who
speak well of it.
The Lord is also in the habit of sending the most
grievous infirmities. This is a much greater trial,
especially if the pains are severe; in some ways,
when they are very acute, I think they are the
greatest earthly trial that exists -- the greatest of
exterior trials, I mean -- however many a soul may
suffer: I repeat that it is only to very acute pains
that I am referring. For they affect the soul both
outwardly and inwardly, till it becomes so much
oppressed as not to know what to do with itself, and
would much rather suffer any martyrdom than these
pains. Still, at the very worst, they do not last so
long -- no longer, as a rule, than other bad
illnesses do. For, after all, God gives us no more
than we can bear, and He gives patience first.
I know a person of whom, since the Lord began to
grant her this favour aforementioned, forty years
ago,[3] it cannot be truly said that she has been a
day without pains and other kinds of suffering; I
mean because of her poor physical health, to say
nothing of other great trials. It is true that she
had been very wicked and it was all very slight by
comparison with the hell that she had merited.
Others, who have not so greatly offended Our Lord,
will be led by Him along another way, but I should
always choose the way of suffering, if only to
imitate Our Lord Jesus Christ, and even were there no
other special benefit to be obtained from it -- and
there are always a great many. But oh, when we come
to interior sufferings! If these could be described
they would make all physical sufferings seem very
slight, but it is impossible to describe interior
sufferings and how they happen.
Let us begin with the torture which it costs us to
have to do with a confessor so scrupulous and
inexperienced that he thinks nothing safe: he is
afraid of everything, and doubtful about everything,
as soon as he sees that he is dealing with anything
out of the ordinary. This is particularly so if he
sees any imperfection in the soul that is undergoing
these experiences.
He thinks that people to whom God grants these
favours must be angels; and, as this is impossible
while they are in the body, he attributes the whole
thing to melancholy or to the devil. The world is so
full of melancholy that this certainly does not
surprise me; for there is so much abroad just now,
and the devil makes so much use of it to work harm,
that confessors have very good cause to be afraid of
it and to watch for it very carefully. But, when the
poor soul, harassed by the same fear, goes to the
confessor as to a judge, and he condemns her, she
cannot fail to be upset and tortured by what he says
-- and only a person who has passed through such a
trial will know how great it is.
For this is another of the great trials suffered
by these souls, especially if they have been wicked
-- namely, to think that because of their sins God
will permit them to be deceived -- and although, when
His Majesty grants them this favour, they feel secure
and cannot believe that it comes from any other
spirit than a spirit of God, yet, as it is a state
which passes quickly, and the soul is ever mindful of
its sins, and it sees faults in itself -- for these
are never lacking -- it then begins to suffer this
torture. When the confessor reassures the soul, it
becomes calm, though in due course it gets troubled
again; but when all he can do is to make it still
more fearful the thing grows almost intolerable,
especially when on top of everything else come
periods of aridity, during which the soul feels as if
it has never known God and never will know Him, and
as if to hear His Majesty spoken of is like hearing
of a person from a great distance away.
All this would be nothing to the person concerned
were it not followed immediately by the thought that
she cannot be describing her case properly to her
confessor and has been deceiving him; and, although
when she thinks about it she feels sure she has not
kept back even the first movement of her mind, it is
of no use. For her understanding is so dim that it is
incapable of seeing the truth, but believes what the
imagination (now mistress of the understanding)
presents to it and the nonsense which the devil
attempts to present to it, when Our Lord gives him
leave to test her soul, and even to make her think
herself cast off by God. For there are many things
which assault her soul with an interior oppression so
keenly felt and so intolerable that I do not know to
what it can be compared, save to the torment of those
who suffer in hell, for in this spiritual tempest no
consolation is possible.
If she decides to take up the matter with her
confessor, it would look as if the devils have come
to his aid so that he may torture her soul the more.
A certain confessor, dealing with a person who had
been in this state of torment, after it had passed
away, thought that the oppression must have been of a
dangerous type, since it had involved her in so many
trials; so he told her, whenever she was in this
state, to report to him; but this made her so much
worse that he came to realize that he could no longer
do anything with her. For, although she was quite
able to read, she found that, if she took up a book
written in the vernacular, she could understand no
more of it than if she had not known her alphabet;
her understanding was not capable of taking it in.
Briefly, in this tempest, there is no help for it but
to wait upon the mercy of God, Who suddenly, at the
most unlooked-for hour, with a single word, or on
some chance occasion, lifts the whole of this burden
from the soul, so that it seems as if it has never
been clouded over, but is full of sunshine and far
happier than it was before. Then, like one who has
escaped from a perilous battle and gained the
victory, the soul keeps praising Our Lord, for it is
He Who has fought and enabled it to conquer. It knows
very well that it did not itself do the fighting. For
it saw that all the weapons with which it could
defend itself were in the hands of its enemy, and was
thus clearly aware of its misery and realized how
little we can do of ourselves if the Lord should
forsake us.
We have no need of reflection to enable us to
understand this, for the soul's experience of
enduring it, and of having found itself completely
powerless, has made it realize that it is utterly
helpless and that we are but miserable creatures.
For, though it cannot be devoid of grace, since
despite all this torment it does not offend God, and
would not do so for anything upon earth, yet this
grace is buried so deeply that the soul seems not to
feel the smallest spark of any love for God, nor has
it ever done so. If it has done anything good, or His
Majesty has granted it any favour, the whole thing
seems to it like a dream or a fancy: all it knows for
certain is that it has sinned.
Oh, Jesus! How sad it is to see a soul thus forsaken,
and how little, as I have said, can it gain from any
earthly consolation! So do not suppose, sisters, if
you ever find yourselves in this condition, that
people who are wealthy, or free to do as they like,
have any better remedy for such times. No, no; to
offer them earthly consolations would be like telling
criminals condemned to death about all the joys that
there are in the world; not only would this fail to
comfort them -- it would but increase their torment;
comfort must come to them from above, for earthly
things are of no value to them any more. This great
God desires us to know that He is a King and we are
miserable creatures -- a point of great importance
for what follows.
Now what will a poor creature like that do if such a
thing goes on for a very long time?[4] If she prays,
she might as well not be doing so at all -- I mean
for all the comfort it will bring her, for interiorly
she is incapable of receiving any comfort, nor, even
when her prayer is vocal, can she understand what she
is saying; while mental prayer at such a time is
certainly impossible -- her faculties are not capable
of it. Solitude is still worse for her, though it is
also torture for her to be in anyone's company or to
be spoken to; and so, despite all her efforts to
conceal the fact, she becomes outwardly upset and
despondent, to a very noticeable extent. Is it
credible that she will be able to say what is the
matter with her? The thing is inexpressible, for this
distress and oppression are spiritual troubles and
cannot be given a name. The best medicine -- I do not
say for removing the trouble, for I know of none for
that, but for enabling the soul to endure it -- is to
occupy oneself with external affairs and works of
charity and to hope in God's mercy, which never fails
those who hope in Him. May He be blessed for ever.
Amen.[5]
Other trials caused by devils, which are of an
exterior kind, will not occur so commonly and thus
there is no reason to speak of them nor are they
anything like so grievous. For, whatever these devils
do, they cannot, in my opinion, go so far as to
inhibit the working of the faculties or to disturb
the soul, in the way already described. After all, it
thinks (and rightly), they cannot do more than the
Lord permits, and, so long as it is not lost, nothing
matters much by comparison with what has been
described above.
We shall next deal with other interior troubles which
occur in these Mansions, treating of the different
kinds of prayer and favours of the Lord; for,
although a few are still harder to bear than those
referred to, as will be seen by the effects which
they leave upon the body, they do not merit the name
of trial, nor is it right that we should give them
that name, since they are such great favours of the
Lord and the soul understands them to be so, and far
beyond its deservings.
This severe distress comes just before the soul's
entrance into the seventh Mansion, together with many
more, only a few of which I shall describe, as it
would be impossible to speak of them all, or even to
explain their nature. For they are of another type
than those already mentioned, and a much higher one;
and if, in dealing with those of a lower kind, I have
not been able to explain myself in greater detail,
still less shall I be able to explain these others.
The Lord give me His help in everything I do, through
the merits of His Son. Amen.
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