Life of St Teresa of Jesus by Teresa of Avila (e ink epub reader TXT) 📕

now and then to be on the very point of going forth out of the

body: and what a blessed death that would be! Now, I think it is

for the soul’s good—as you, my father, have been told—to

abandon itself into the arms of God altogether; if He will take

it to heaven, let it go; if to hell, no matter, as it is going

thither with its sovereign Good. If life is to come to an end

for ever, so it wills; if it is to last a thousand years, it

wills that also: His Majesty may do with it as with His own

property,—the soul no longer belongs to itself, it has been

given wholly to our Lord; let it cast all care utterly away.

2. My meaning is that, in a state of prayer, so high as this, the

soul understands that God is doing His work without any fatiguing

of the understanding, except that, as it seems to me, it is as if

amazed in beholding our Lord taking upon Himself the work of the

good gardener, refusing to let the soul undergo any labour

whatever, but that of taking its pleasure in the flowers

beginning to send forth their fragrance; for when God raises a

soul up to this state, it can do all this, and much more,—for

these are the effects of it.

3. In one of these visits, how brief soever it may be, the

Gardener, being who He is,—in a word, the Creator of the

water,—pours the water without stint; and what the poor soul,

with the labour, perhaps, of twenty years in fatiguing the

understanding, could not bring about, that the heavenly Gardener

accomplishes in an instant, causing the fruit both to grow and

ripen; so that the soul, such being the will of our Lord, may

derive its sustenance from its garden. But He allows it not to

divide the fruit with others, until by eating thereof, it is

strong enough not to waste it in the mere tasting of it,—giving

to Him none of the produce, nor making any compensation for it to

Him who supplies it,—lest it should be maintaining others,

feeding them at its own cost, and itself perhaps dying of

hunger. [1] The meaning of this is perfectly clear for those who

have understanding enough to apply it—much more clear than I can

make it; and I am tired.

4. Finally, the virtues are now stronger than they were during

the preceding prayer of quiet; for the soul sees itself to be

other than it was, and it knows not how it is beginning to do

great things in the odour which the flowers send forth; it being

our Lord’s will that the flowers should open, in order that the

soul may believe itself to be in possession of virtue; though it

sees most clearly that it cannot, and never could, acquire them

in many years, and that the heavenly Gardener has given them to

it in that instant. Now, too, the humility of the soul is much

greater and deeper than it was before; because it sees more

clearly that it did neither much nor little, beyond giving its

consent that our Lord might work those graces in it, and then

accepting them willingly.

5. This state of prayer seems to me to be a most distinct union

of the whole soul with God, but for this, that His Majesty

appears to give the faculties leave to be intent upon, and have

the fruition of, the great work He is doing then. It happens at

times, and indeed very often, that, the will being in union, the

soul should be aware of it, and see that the will is a captive

and in joy, that the will alone is abiding in great

peace,—while, on the other hand, the understanding and the

memory are so free, that they can be employed in affairs and be

occupied in works of charity. I say this, that you, my father,

may see it is so, and understand the matter when it shall happen

to yourself; at least, it carried me out of myself, and that is

the reason why I speak of it here.

6. It differs from the prayer of quiet, of which I have

spoken, [2] though it does seem as if it were all one with it.

In that prayer, the soul, which would willingly neither stir nor

move, is delighting in the holy repose of Mary; but in this

prayer it can be like Martha also. [3] Accordingly, the soul is,

as it were, living the active and contemplative life at once, and

is able to apply itself to works of charity and the affairs of

its state, and to spiritual reading. Still, those who arrive at

this state, are not wholly masters of themselves, and are well

aware that the better part of the soul is elsewhere. It is as if

we were speaking to one person, and another speaking to us at the

same time, while we ourselves are not perfectly attentive either

to the one or the other. It is a state that is most easily

ascertained, and one, when attained to, that ministers great joy

and contentment, and that prepares the soul in the highest

degree, by observing times of solitude, or of freedom from

business, for the attainment of the most tranquil quietude.

It is like the life of a man who is full, requiring no food, with

his appetite satisfied, so that he will not eat of everything set

before him, yet not so full either as to refuse to eat if he saw

any desirable food. So the soul has no satisfaction in the

world, and seeks no pleasure in it then; because it has in itself

that which gives it a greater satisfaction, greater joys in God,

longings for the satisfaction of its longing to have a deeper joy

in being with Him—this is what the soul seeks.

7. There is another kind of union, which, though not a perfect

union, is yet more so than the one of which I have just spoken;

but not so much so as this spoken of as the third water. You, my

father, will be delighted greatly if our Lord should bestow them

all upon you, if you have them not already, to find an account of

the matter in writing, and to understand it; for it is one grace

that our Lord gives grace; and it is another grace to understand

what grace and what gift it is; and it is another and further

grace to have the power to describe and explain it to others.

Though it does not seem that more than the first of these—the

giving of the grace—is necessary to enable the soul to advance

without confusion and fear, and to walk with the greater courage

in the way of our Lord, trampling under foot all the things of

this world, it is a great advantage and a great grace to

understand it; for every one who has it has great reason to

praise our Lord; and so, also, has he who has it not: because His

Majesty has bestowed it upon some person living who is to make us

profit by it.

8. This union, of which I would now speak, frequently occurs,

particularly to myself. God has very often bestowed such a grace

upon me, whereby He constrains the will, and even the

understanding, as it seems to me, seeing that it makes no

reflections, but is occupied in the fruition of God: like a

person who looks on, and sees so many things, that he knows not

where to look—one object puts another out of sight, and none of

them leaves any impression behind.

9. The memory remains free, and it must be so, together with the

imagination; and so, when it finds itself alone, it is marvellous

to behold what war it makes on the soul, and how it labours to

throw everything into disorder. As for me, I am wearied by it,

and I hate it; and very often do I implore our Lord to deprive me

of it on these occasions, if I am to be so much troubled by it.

Now and then, I say to Him: O my God, when shall my soul praise

Thee without distraction, not dissipated in this way, unable to

control itself! I understand now the mischief that sin has done,

in that it has rendered us unable to do what we desire—to be

always occupied in God. [4]

10. I say that it happens to me from time to time,—it has done

so this very day, and so I remember it well,—to see my soul tear

itself, in order to find itself there where the greater part of

it is, and to see, at the same time, that it is impossible:

because the memory and the imagination assail it with such force,

that it cannot prevail against them; yet, as the other faculties

give them no assistance, they are not able to do it any

harm—none whatever; they do enough when they trouble its rest.

When I say they do no harm, my meaning is, that they cannot

really hurt it, because they have not strength enough, and

because they are too discursive. As the understanding gives no

help, neither much nor little, in the matters put before the

soul, they never rest anywhere, but hurry to and fro, like

nothing else but gnats at night, troublesome and unquiet: and so

they go about from one subject to another.

11. This comparison seems to me to be singularly to the purpose;

for the memory and the imagination, though they have no power to

do any harm, are very troublesome. I know of no remedy for it;

and, hitherto, God has told me of none. If He had, most gladly

would I make use of it; for I am, as I say, tormented very often.

This shows our wretchedness and brings out most distinctly the

great power of God, seeing that the faculty which is free hurts

and wearies us so much; while the others, occupied with His

Majesty, give us rest.

12. The only remedy I have found, after many years of weariness,

is that I spoke of when I was describing the prayer of quiet: [5]

to make no more account of it than of a madman, but let it go

with its subject; for God alone can take it from it,—in short,

it is a slave here. We must bear patiently with it, as Jacob

bore with Lia; for our Lord showeth us mercy enough when we are

allowed to have Rachel with us.

13. I say that it remains a slave; for, after all, let it do what

it will, it cannot drag the other faculties in its train; on the

contrary, they, without taking any trouble, compel it to follow

after them. Sometimes God is pleased to take pity on it, when He

sees it so lost and so unquiet, through the longing it has to be

united with the other faculties, and His Majesty consents to its

burning itself in the flame of that divine candle by which the

others are already reduced to ashes, and their nature lost,

being, as it were, supernaturally in the fruition of blessings

so great.

14. In all these states of prayer of which I have spoken, while

explaining this last method of drawing the water out of the well,

so great is the bliss and repose of the soul, that even the body

most distinctly shares in its joy and delight,—and this is most

plain; and the virtues continue to grow, as I said before. [6]

It seems to have been the good pleasure of