|
Background to the book
Towards the end of her life, probably near the end of
the year 1579, St. Teresa was travelling with three
of her nuns from Medina del Campo, across the bleak
Castilian plateau, on her way to St. Jos�ph's, Avila.
Accidentally (or, as it would be more accurate to
say, providentially) she fell in with an old friend,
a Hieronymite, Fray Diego de Yepes. Their meeting
took place at an inn in the town of Ar�valo, where he
had arrived some time previously, and, as was
fitting, he had been given the most comfortable room.
When the little party of nuns, half frozen but still
cheerful, reached the inn, there was mutual delight
at the encounter; and Fray Diego not only gave up his
room to them but appointed himself their personal
servant for the period of their stay. They spent, so
he tells us, "a very great part of the night" in
conversation about their Divine Master. On the next
day it was snowing so hard that no one could leave.
So Fray Diego said Mass for the four nuns and gave
them Communion, after which they spent the day "as
recollectedly as if they had been in their own
convent". In the evening, however, St. Teresa had a
long conversation with her former confessor, who
later was to become her biographer, and in the course
of this she recounted to him the story of how she
came to write the Interior Castle. The report of this
narrative may suitably be given in the words of Fray
Diego himself, taken from a letter which he wrote to
Fray Luis de Le�n about nine years later.[2]
"This holy Mother," he writes, "had been desirous of
obtaining some insight into the beauty of a soul in
grace. Just at that time she was commanded to write a
treatise on prayer, about which she knew a great deal
from experience. On the eve of the festival of the
Most Holy Trinity she was thinking what subject she
should choose for this treatise, when God, Who
disposes all things in due form and order, granted
this desire of hers, and gave her a subject. He
showed her a most beautiful crystal globe, made in
the shape of a castle, and containing seven mansions,
in the seventh and innermost of which was the King of
Glory, in the greatest splendour, illumining and
beautifying them all. The nearer one got to the
centre, the stronger was the light; outside the
palace limits everything was foul, dark and infested
with toads, vipers and other venomous creatures.
"While she was wondering at this beauty, which by
God's grace can dwell in the human soul, the light
suddenly vanished. Although the King of Glory did not
leave the mansions, the crystal globe was plunged
into darkness, became as black as coal and emitted an
insufferable odour, and the venomous creatures
outside the palace boundaries were permitted to enter
the castle.
"This was a vision which the holy Mother wished that
everyone might see, for it seemed to her that no
mortal seeing the beauty and splendour of grace,
which sin destroys and changes into such hideousness
and misery, could possibly have the temerity to
offend God. It was about this vision that she told me
on that day, and she spoke so freely both of this and
of other things that she realized herself that she
had done so and on the next morning remarked to me:
'How I forgot myself last night! I cannot think how
it happened. These desires and this love of mine made
me lose all sense of proportion. Please God they may
have done me some good!' I promised her not to repeat
what she had said to anyone during her lifetime."
Some days before she was granted this marvellous
vision, St. Teresa had had a very intimate
conversation on spiritual matters with P. Jer�nimo
Graci�n; the upshot of this was that she undertook to
write another book in which she would expound afresh
the teaching on perfection to be found in her Life,
at that time in the hands of the Inquisitors.[3] This
we learn from a manuscript note, in Graci�n's hand,
to the sixth chapter of the fourth book of Ribera's
biography of St. Teresa:
Origin of the bookWhat happened with regard
to the Book of the Mansions is this. Once, when I was
her superior, I was talking to her about spiritual
matters at Toledo, and she said to me: "Oh, how well
that point is put in the book of my life, which is at
the Inquisition!" "Well," I said to her, "as we
cannot get at that, why not recall what you can of
it, and of other things, and write a fresh book and
expound the teaching in a general way, without saying
to whom the things that you describe have happened."
It was in this way that I told her to write this Book
of the Mansions, telling her (so as to persuade her
the better) to discuss the matter with Dr. Vel�zquez,
who used sometimes to hear her confessions; and he
told her to do so too.[4]
Although she did as she was instructed, however, P.
Graci�n tells us that she made various objections,
all of them dictated by her humility. "Why do they
want me to write things?" she would ask. "Let learned
men, who have studied, do the writing; I am a stupid
creature and don't know what I am saying. There are
more than enough books written on prayer already. For
the love of God, let me get on with my spinning and
go to choir and do my religious duties like the other
sisters. I am not meant for writing; I have neither
the health nor the wits for it."[5]
Such was the origin of the Interior Castle, one of
the most celebrated books on mystical theology in
existence. It is the most carefully planned and
arranged of all that St. Teresa wrote. The mystical
figure of the Mansions gives it a certain unity which
some of her other books lack. The lines of the
fortress of the soul are clearly traced and the
distribution of its several parts is admirable in
proportion and harmony. Where the book sometimes
fails to maintain its precision of method, and falls
into that "sweet disorder" which in St. Teresa's
other works makes such an appeal to us, is in the
secondary themes which it treats -- in the furnishing
of the Mansions, as we might say, rather than in
their construction. A scholastic writer, or, for that
matter, anyone with a scientific mind, would have
carried the logical arrangement of the general plan
into every chapter. Such a procedure, however, would
have left no outlet for St. Teresa's natural
spontaneity: it is difficult, indeed, to say how far
experiential mysticism can ever lend itself to
inflexible scientific rule without endangering its
own spirit. Since God is free to establish an
ineffable communion with the questing soul, the soul
must be free to set down its experiences as they
occur to it.
In its language and style, the Interior Castle is
more correct, and yet at the same time more natural
and flexible, than the Way of perfection. Its
conception, like that of so many works of genius, is
extremely simple. After a brief preface, the author
comes at once to her subject:
I began to think of the soul as if it were a castle
made of a single diamond or of very clear crystal, in
which there are many rooms, just as in Heaven there
are many mansions.
These mansions are not "arranged in a row one behind
another" but variously -- "some above, others below,
others at each side; and in the centre and midst of
them all is the chiefest mansion, where the most
secret things pass between God and the soul."
The figure is used to describe the whole course of
the mystical life -- the soul's progress from the
First Mansions to the Seventh and its transformation
from an imperfect and sinful creature into the Bride
of the Spiritual Marriage. The door by which it first
enters the castle is prayer and meditation. Once
inside, "it must be allowed to roam through these
mansions" and "not be compelled to remain for a long
time in one single room". But it must also cultivate
self-knowledge and "begin by entering the room where
humility is acquired rather than by flying off to the
other rooms. For that is the way to progress".
Description of the Mansions
How St. Teresa applies the figure of the castle to
the life of prayer (which is also the life of virtue
-- with her these two things go together) may best be
shown by describing each of the seven stages in
turn.[6]
FIRST MANSIONS. This chapter begins with a meditation
on the excellence and dignity of the human soul, made
as it is in the image and likeness of God: the author
laments that more pains are not taken to perfect it.
The souls in the First Mansions are in a state of
grace, but are still very much in love with the
venomous creatures outside the castle -- that as,
with occasions of sin -- and need a long and
searching discipline before they can make any
progress. So they stay for a long time in the
Mansions of Humility, in which, since the heat and
light from within reach them only in a faint and
diffused form, all is cold and dim.
SECOND MANSIONS. But all the time the soul is anxious
to penetrate farther into the castle, so it seeks
every opportunity of advancement -- sermons, edifying
conversations, good company and so on. It is doing
its utmost to put its desires into practice: these
are the Mansions of the Practice of Prayer. It is not
yet completely secure from the attacks of the
poisonous reptiles which infest the courtyard of the
castle, but its powers of resistance are increasing.
There is more warmth and light here than in the First
Mansions.
THIRD MANSIONS. The description of these Mansions of
Exemplary Life begins with stern exhortations on the
dangers of trusting to one's own strength and to the
virtues one has already acquired, which must still of
necessity be very weak. Yet, although the soul which
reaches the Third Mansions may still fall back, it
has attained a high standard of virtue. Controlled by
discipline and penance and disposed to performing
acts of charity toward others, it has acquired
prudence and discretion and orders its life well. Its
limitations are those of vision: it has not yet
experienced to the full the inspiring force of love.
It has not made a full self-oblation, a total
self-surrender. Its love is still governed by reason,
and so its progress is slow. It suffers from aridity,
and is given only occasional glimpses into the
Mansions beyond.
FOURTH MANSIONS. Here the supernatural element of the
mystical life first enters: that is to say, it is no
longer by its own efforts that the soul is acquiring
what it gains. Henceforward the soul's part will
become increasingly less and God's part increasingly
greater. The graces of the Fourth Mansions, referred
to as "spiritual consolations", are identified with
the Prayer of Quiet, or the Second Water, in the
Life. The soul is like a fountain built near its
source and the water of life flows into it, not
through an aqueduct, but directly from the spring.
Its love is now free from servile fear: it has broken
all the bonds which previously hindered its progress;
it shrinks from no trials and attaches no importance
to anything to do with the world. It can pass rapidly
from ordinary to infused prayer and back again. It
has not yet, however, received the highest gifts of
the Spirit and relapses are still possible.
FIFTH MANSIONS. This is the state described elsewhere
as the Third Water, the Spiritual Betrothal, and the
Prayer of Union -- that is, incipient Union. It marks
a new degree of infused contemplation and a very high
one. By means of the most celebrated of all her
metaphors, that of the silkworm, St. Teresa explains
how far the soul can prepare itself to receive what
is essentially a gift from God. She also describes
the psychological conditions of this state, in which,
for the first time, the faculties of the soul are
"asleep". It is of short duration, but, while it
lasts, the soul is completely possessed by God.
SIXTH MANSIONS. In the Fifth Mansions the soul is, as
it were, betrothed to its future Spouse; in the
Sixth, Lover and Beloved see each other for long
periods at a time, and as they grow in intimacy the
soul receives increasing favours, together with
increasing afflictions. The afflictions which give
the description of these Mansions its characteristic
colour are dealt with in some detail. They may be
purely exterior -- bodily sickness;
misrepresentation, backbiting and persecution;
undeserved praise; inexperienced, timid or
over-scrupulous spiritual direction. Or they may come
partly or wholly from within -- and the depression
which can afflict the soul in the Sixth Mansions,
says St. Teresa, is comparable only with the tortures
of hell. Yet it has no desire to be freed from them
except by entering the innermost Mansions of all.
SEVENTH MANSIONS. Here at last the soul reaches the
Spiritual Marriage. Here dwells the King -- "it may
be called another Heaven": the two lighted candles
join and become one, the falling rain becomes merged
in the river. There is complete transformation,
ineffable and perfect peace; no higher state is
conceivable, save that of the Beatific Vision in the
life to come.
While each of these seven Mansions is described with
the greatest possible clarity, St. Teresa makes it
quite plain that she does not regard her description
as excluding others. Each of the series of moradas
(the use of the plural throughout, especially in the
title of each chapter, is noteworthy) may contain as
many as a million rooms; all matters connected with
spiritual progress are susceptible of numerous
interpretations, for the grace of God knows no limit
or measure. Her description is based largely on her
own experience; and, though this has been found to
correspond very nearly with that of most other great
mystics, there are various divergences on points of
detail. She never for a moment intended her path to
be followed undeviatingly and step by step, and of
this she is careful frequently to remind us.
At the end of this last, most mystical and most
mature of her books, St. Teresa invites all her
daughters to enter the Interior Castle, drawing a
picturesque contrast between the material poverty of
the convents of the Reform and the spiritual
luxuriance and beauty of the Mansions -- where, as
she delightfully puts it, they can go as often as
they please without needing to ask the permission of
their superiors. There is no doubt whatever that she
considered mystical experience to be within the reach
of all her daughters: we find this conviction
enunciated in the nineteenth chapter of the Way of
perfection and repeated so frequently in the Interior
Castle that it is needless to give references. She
does not, of course, mean that every one of her nuns
who prepares herself as far as she can to receive
mystical favours does in fact receive them: she could
not presume to pronounce upon the secret judgments of
God. But she evidently believes that, generally
speaking, infused contemplation is accessible to any
Christian who has the resolution to do all that in
him lies towards obtaining it.
It must not be forgotten that, notwithstanding the
mystical character of the greater part of the
Interior Castle, it is also a treasury of
unforgettable maxims on such ascetic themes as
self-knowledge, humility, detachment and suffering.
The finest of these maxims alone would fill a book,
and it would be as invidious as self-indulgent to
quote any of them here. Yet many have supposed the
Interior Castle to be concerned solely with raptures,
ecstasies and visions, with Illumination and Union;
or to be a work created by the imagination, instead
of the record of a life. There is no life more real
than the interior life of the soul; there is no
writer who has a firmer hold on reality than St.
Teresa.
Sublime as is the Interior Castle, it would be
difficult for any conscientious student who practised
what it taught to lose his way in it. St. Teresa did
not write it in any sense as a spiritual
autobiography or an account of the wonders which
God's Spirit had wrought in her soul -- still less as
a literary work, a storehouse of spiritual maxims or
a treatise on psychology. She intended it for the
instruction of her own daughters and of all other
souls who, either in her own day or later, might have
the ambition to penetrate either the outer or the
inner Mansions. At all times in the history of
Christian perfection there has been a dearth of
persons qualified to guide souls to the highest
states of prayer: the Interior Castle will both serve
as an aid to those there are and to a great extent
supply the need for more.
|