Introduction
Father Benedict Zimmerman, in his fine introduction to this spirituality classic, describes Teresa repeatedly as if she were known as a saint by her contemporaries. He, for instance, recounts this memory of a religious sister: “Entering one day [Teresa’s] cell to deliver a message, the holy Mother was just beginning a new sheet of her book. While taking off her spectacles to listen to the message she was seized by a trance in which she remained for several hours. The nun, terrified at this, did not stir, but kept her eyes steadily on the Saint.” This is no doubt true. In fact, there were also occasions when Teresa’s sisters discovered her levitating slightly, so taken away was she in her prayer. But many of the nuns also thought she might be in trouble when she appeared in these ways. Like other great mystics throughout the history of religion—when it was perhaps possible to be one without optics—Teresa wasn’t thought a saint so much as an addled woman.
As an abbess (spiritual leader and CEO of convents), Teresa was often firm with fellow nuns, putting a stop to gossip, the misuse of funds, and bad confessors, even writing “terrible letters,” as she called them—of reproof—when necessary. She often, in letters to priests, complained about some of the other nuns being too submissive, or lacking in humor. As a leader, she worried about debts and the policies of corrupt government officials. She was also sensitive to how personalities can clash in close quarters, remarking in one December 1579 letter about a prioress that was moved from one convent to another: “I tell you that if she were to return, the peace of this house would be completely destroyed.” So, I ask you, does this sound like a mystic detached from reality?
Yet she could become transfixed. Look only at the famous Bernini sculpture of her heart being pierced by a divine spear and the almost erotic gaze of love on her face at that moment. She wrote—very hesitantly—of such experiences.
This is her masterwork, written, as I say, hesitantly. It has inspired millions of people over the centuries, many of them far away from the confines of a Catholic religious house. Some years ago, for instance, the motivational teacher and spiritual writer Caroline Myss wrote a book about the influence of this book of Teresa’s upon her. Writing from what she called “a transreligious perspective,” and in “a search for cosmic, unifying truths,” Myss called hers “a guide to your soul,” and all of that made sense because that’s what Interior Castle—penned by a sixteenth-century (1515–1582) Carmelite nun—was always meant to be.*
The metaphor of a castle, and its mansions, are her way of explaining, by comparison, what she experienced in herself in prayer: God and soul together. By “soul” she does not mean the intellect, or what we usually call the mind. She means that word which we use much less than our grandparents did, to indicate the inexhaustible, eternal, personal, and unique center of identity of ourselves in relationship to our Creator.
“There are many rooms in this castle,” she begins so simply. Then, a little while later, “There are very different ways of being in this castle.”
Her reflections on prayer are deeply personal; she recognizes that her experiences will not match your own, and that hers have been obtained by grace, which means God’s gift given without regard for her worthiness. “I am like a parrot which has learnt to talk,” she says, “only knowing what it has been taught or has heard.” This is really different from the preacher who asks you for money saying that God has given him some private revelation—because Teresa assumes no authority at all. It is to her reader to try—if we dare—what worked for her, to see how true it is.
Making her way through the mansions of this interior castle, Teresa is often in darkness. I imagine the interior castle as a poorly lit place. Over the centuries, the theologians have most often set sail with Saint Paul, emphasizing how God “commanded light to shine out of darkness” (2 Corinthians 4:6), and the theologian’s (Father Zimmerman’s) introduction to our volume, here, is no different. But what they often neglect is the love a mystic such as Teresa has for darkness itself, and how its night sea has a beauty all its own. That mysterious dark offers a person of faith more than any rainbow or rising sun.
A few final notes are needed before you get started. First, the gender singularity in this work is refreshingly not male. You’ll encounter many instances of “sisters” and “my daughters,” reminding you to whom Teresa was originally speaking and writing. That’s okay. We can all be, in absorbing this wisdom a half-millennium later, like nuns in a Spanish convent.
Another factor that may feel distancing between you and Teresa is how real the devil seemed to be in her life and experience. This is not so for most people in our time. I encourage you simply to consider the many ways that Teresa describes this devilish activity around her. There are “vipers and poisonous creatures” that need to be avoided. They take the form of negative thoughts—encouraging us to despair when joys cease, or people criticize us, or they lie by suggesting that our penances and disciplines will get us nowhere. These—and others—are “the devil’s wiles!” We should still beware of them all.
Lastly, it will be interesting to some to know that this book bears the mark of other nuns, those who translated it from the Spanish a little more than a century ago: “Benedictines of Stanbrook,” it says. They were located in Worcester, England, having arrived from Flanders following imprisonment at the hands of French Revolution enthusiasts. These nuns printed the early editions of the book as well. They ran a letterpress! My old hardback copy reads on the final page after the epilogue, “translated and printed by the Benedictines of Stanbrook A.D. MCMXXX.” It was only in 2009 when they left the glorious Gothic buildings of Worcester for modern accommodations in North Yorkshire; but you can still visit the old abbey as a five-star hotel; stone cloisters and stained glass are now accompanied by “brasserie-style dining” and a wealth of other amenities, according to the website.
So follow through these gates, if you can, into these mansions of this castle that is right there inside you, even if it is not yet familiar to you. It is possible that, like Teresa, you will find that you (your soul)—as she says in one of the final mansions—“no longer feels solitary since it rejoices in such Company.”
—Jon M. Sweeney
editor of A Course in Christian Mysticism by Thomas Merton
1Description of the Castle
This chapter treats of the beauty and dignity of our souls and makes a comparison to explain this. The advantage of knowing and understanding this and the favours God grants to us is shown, and how prayer is the gate of the spiritual castle.
(Plan of this book). WHILE I was begging our Lord to-day to speak for me, since I knew not what to say nor how to commence this work which obedience has laid upon me, an idea occurred to me which I will explain, and which will serve as the foundation for all that I am about to write.(The Interior Castle). I thought of the soul as resembling a castle,* formed of a single diamond or a very transparent crystal,† and containing many rooms, just as in heaven there are many mansions.‡ If we reflect, Sisters, we shall see that the soul of the just man is but a paradise, in which, God tells us, He takes His delight.* What, do you imagine, must that dwelling be in which a King so mighty, so wise, and so pure, containing in Himself all good, can delight to rest? Nothing can be compared to the great beauty and capabilities of a soul; however keen our intellects may be, they are as unable to comprehend them as to comprehend God, for, as He has told us, He created us in His own image and likeness.†(Our culpable self-ignorance). As this is so, we need not tire ourselves by trying to realise all the beauty of this castle, although, being His creature, there is all the difference between the soul and God that there is between the creature and the Creator; the fact that it is made in God’s image teaches us how great are its dignity and loveliness. It is no small misfortune and disgrace that, through our own fault, we neither understand our nature nor our origin. Would it not be gross ignorance, my daughters, if, when a man was questioned about his name, or country, or parents, he could not answer? Stupid as this would be, it is unspeakably more foolish to care to learn nothing of our nature except that we possess bodies, and only to realise vaguely that we have souls, because people say so and it is a doctrine of faith. Rarely do we reflect upon what gifts our souls may possess, Who dwells within them, or how extremely precious they are. Therefore we do little to preserve their beauty; all our care is concentrated on our bodies, which are but the coarse setting of the diamond, or the outer walls of the castle.*(God dwells in the centre of the soul). Let us imagine, as I said, that there are many rooms in this castle, of which some are above, some below, others at the side; in the centre, in the very midst of them all, is the principal chamber in which God and the soul hold their most secret intercourse.† Think over this comparison very carefully; God grant it may enlighten you about the different kinds of graces He is pleased to bestow upon the soul. No one can know all about them, much less a person so ignorant as I am. The knowledge that such things are possible will console you greatly should our Lord ever grant you any of these favours; people themselves deprived of them can then at least praise Him for His great goodness in bestowing them on others. The thought of heaven and the happiness of the saints does us no harm, but cheers, and urges us to win this joy for ourselves, nor will it injure us to know that during this exile God can communicate Himself to us loathsome worms; it will rather make us love Him for such immense goodness and infinite mercy.(Why all souls do not receive certain favours?). I feel sure that vexation at thinking that during our life on earth God can bestow these graces on the souls of others shows a want of humility and charity for one’s neighbour, for why should we not feel glad at a brother’s receiving divine favours, which do not deprive us of our own share? Should we not rather rejoice at His Majesty thus manifesting His greatness wherever He chooses?* Sometimes our Lord acts thus solely for the sake of showing His power, as He declared when the Apostles questioned whether the blind man whom He cured had been suffering for his own or his parents’ sins.† God does not bestow these favours on certain souls because they are more holy than others who do not receive them, but to manifest His greatness, as in the case of St. Paul and St. Mary Magdalen, and that we may glorify Him in His creatures.(Reasons for speaking of these favours). People may say such things appear impossible and it is best not to scandalise the weak in faith by speaking about them. But it is better that the latter should disbelieve us, than that we should desist from enlightening souls which receive these graces, that they may rejoice and may endeavour to love God better for His favours, seeing He is so mighty and so great. There is no danger here of shocking those for whom I write by treating of such matters, for they know and believe that God gives even greater proofs of His love. I am certain that if any one of you doubts the truth of this, God will never allow her to learn it by experience, for He desires that no limits should be set to His work: therefore never discredit them because you are not thus led yourselves.(The entrance of the castle). Now let us return to our beautiful and charming castle and discover how to enter it. This appears incongruous: if this castle is the soul, clearly no one can have to enter it, for it is the person himself: one might as well tell some one to go into a room he is already in! There are, however, very different ways of being in this castle; many souls live in the courtyard of the building where the sentinels stand, neither caring to enter farther, nor to know who dwells in that most delightful place, what is in it and what rooms it contains.(Entering into oneself.) Certain books on prayer that you have read advise the soul to enter into itself,* and this is what I mean. I was recently told by a great theologian that souls without prayer are like bodies, palsied and lame, having hands and feet they cannot use. Just so, there are souls so infirm and accustomed to think of nothing but earthly matters, that there seems no cure for them. It appears impossible for them to retire into their own hearts; accustomed as they are to be with the reptiles and other creatures which live outside the castle, they have come at last to imitate their habits. Though these souls are by their nature so richly endowed, capable of communion even with God Himself, yet their case seems hopeless. Unless they endeavour to understand and remedy their most miserable plight, their minds will become, as it were, bereft of movement, just as Lot’s wife became a pillar of salt for looking backwards in disobedience to God’s command.*(Prayer.) As far as I can understand, the gate by which to enter this castle is prayer and meditation. I do not allude more to mental than to vocal prayer, for if it is prayer at all, the mind must take part in it. If a person neither considers to Whom he is addressing himself, what he asks, nor what he is who ventures to speak to God, although his lips may utter many words, I do not call it prayer.† Sometimes, indeed one may pray devoutly without making all these considerations through having practised them at other times. The custom of speaking to God Almighty as freely as with a slave—caring nothing whether the words are suitable or not, but simply saying the first thing that comes to mind from being learnt by rote by frequent repetition—cannot be called prayer: God grant that no Christian may address Him in this manner. I trust His Majesty will prevent any of you, Sisters, from doing so. Our habit in this Order of conversing about spiritual matters is a good preservative against such evil ways.(Those who dwell in the first mansion). Let us speak no more of those crippled souls, who are in a most miserable and dangerous state, unless our Lord bid them rise, as He did the palsied man who had waited more than thirty years at the pool of Bethsaida.‡ We will now think of the others who at last enter the precincts of the castle; they are still very worldly, yet have some desire to do right, and at times, though rarely, commend themselves to God’s care. They think about their souls every now and then; although very busy, they pray a few times a month, with minds generally filled with a thousand other matters, for where their treasure is, there is their heart also.* Still, occasionally they cast aside these cares; it is a great boon for them to realise to some extent the state of their souls, and to see that they will never reach the gate by the road they are following.(Entering). At length they enter the first rooms in the basement of the castle, accompanied by numerous reptiles† which disturb their peace, and prevent them seeing the beauty of the building; still, it is a great gain that these persons should have found their way in at all.(Difficulties of the subject). You may think, my daughters, that all this does not concern you, because, by God’s grace, you are farther advanced; still, you must be patient with me, for I can explain myself on some spiritual matters concerning prayer in no other way. May our Lord enable me to speak to the point; the subject is most difficult to understand without personal experience of such graces. Any one who has received them will know how impossible it is to avoid touching on subjects which, by the mercy of God, will never apply to us.
Copyright © 2023 by Jon M. Sweeney