The Interior Castle

ONTINUES THE SAME SUBJECT: EXPLAINS THE PRAYER OF UNION BY A DELICATE
COMPARISON AND SPEAKS OF THE EFFECTS IT LEAVES UPON THE SOUL. THIS
CHAPTER SHOULD RECEIVE GREAT ATTENTION.

1. The soul compared to a butterfly. 2. The grandeurs of creation. 3.
Symbol of the soul and the silkworm. 4. Preparation of the soul for
God's indwelling. 5. Mystic death of the silkworm. 6. Effects of divine
union. 7. Increase of fervour and detachment. 8. Trials succeeding the
prayer of union. 9. Longing for death and zeal for God's honour. 10.
This zeal supernatural. 11. God alone works this grace. 12. The same
zeal as that felt by our Lord on earth. 13. Christ's keenest suffering.

1. You may imagine that there is no more left to be described of the
contents of this mansion, but a great deal remains to be told, for as I
said, it contains favours of various degrees. I think there is nothing
to add about the prayer of union, but when the soul on which God
bestows this grace disposes itself for their reception, I could tell
you much about the marvels our Lord works in it. I will describe some
of them in my own way, also the state in which they leave the soul, and
will use a suitable comparison to elucidate the matter, explaining that
though we can take no active part in this work of God within us, [173]
yet we may do much to prepare ourselves to receive this grace. You
have heard how wonderfully silk is made--in a way such as God alone
could plan--how it all comes from an egg resembling a tiny pepper-corn.
Not having seen it myself, I only know of it by hearsay, so if the
facts are inaccurate the fault will not be mine. When, in the warm
weather, the mulberry trees come into leaf, the little egg which was
lifeless before its food was ready, begins to live. The caterpillar
nourishes itself upon the mulberry leaves until, when it has grown
large, people place near it small twigs upon which, of its own accord,
it spins silk from its tiny mouth until it has made a narrow little
cocoon in which it buries itself. Then this large and ugly worm leaves
the cocoon as a lovely little white butterfly.

2. If we had not seen this but had only heard of it as an old legend,
who could believe it? Could we persuade ourselves that insects so
utterly without the use of reason as a silkworm or a bee would work
with such industry and skill in our service that the poor little
silkworm loses its life over the task? This would suffice for a short
meditation, sisters, without my adding more, for you may learn from it
the wonders and the wisdom of God. How if we knew the properties of all
things? It is most profitable to ponder over the grandeurs of creation
and to exult in being the brides of such a wise and mighty King.

3. Let us return to our subject. The silkworm symbolizes the soul which
begins to live when, kindled by the Holy Spirit, it commences using the
ordinary aids given by God to all, and applies the remedies left by Him
in His Church, such as regular confession, religious hooks, and
sermons; these are the cure for a soul dead in its negligence and sins
and liable to fall into temptation. Then it comes to life and continues
nourishing itself on this food and on devout meditation until it has
attained full vigour, which is the essential point, for I attach no
importance to the rest. When the silkworm is full-grown as I told you
in the first part of this chapter, it begins to spin silk and to build
the house wherein it must die. By this house, when speaking of the
soul, I mean Christ. I think I read or heard somewhere, either that our
life is hid in Christ, or in God (which means the same thing) or that
Christ is our life. [174] It makes little difference to my meaning
which of these quotations is correct.

4. This shows, my daughters, how much, by God's grace, we can do, by
preparing this home for ourselves, towards making Him our
dwelling-place as He is in the prayer of union. You will suppose that I
mean we can take away from or add something to God when I say that He
is our home, and that we can make this home and dwell in it by our own
power. Indeed we can: though we can neither deprive God of anything nor
add aught to Him, yet we can take away from and add to ourselves, like
the silkworms. The little we can do will hardly have been accomplished
when this insignificant work of ours, which amounts to nothing at all,
will be united by God to His greatness and thus enhanced with such
immense value that our Lord Himself will be the reward of our toil.
Although He has had the greatest share in it, He will join our trifling
pains to the bitter sufferings He endured for us and make them one.

5. Forward then, my daughters! hasten over your work and build the
little cocoon. Let us renounce self-love and self-will, [175] care
for nothing earthly, do penance, pray, mortify ourselves, be obedient,
and perform all the other good works of which you know. Act up to your
light; you have been taught your duties. Die! die as the silkworm does
when it has fulfilled the office of its creation, and you will see God
and be immersed in His greatness, as the little silkworm is enveloped
in its cocoon. Understand that when I say you will see God,' I mean in
the manner described, in which He manifests Himself in this kind of
union.

6. Now let us see what becomes of the silkworm,' for all I have been
saying leads to this. As soon as, by means of this prayer, the soul has
become entirely dead to the world, it comes forth like a lovely little
white butterfly! [176] Oh, how great God is! How beautiful is the
soul after having been immersed in God's grandeur and united closely to
Him for but a short time! Indeed, I do not think it is ever as long as
half an hour. [177] Truly, the spirit does not recognize itself,
being as different from what it was as is the white butterfly from the
repulsive caterpillar. It does not know how it can have merited so
great a good, or rather, whence this grace came [178] which it well
knows it merits not. The soul desires to praise our Lord God and longs
to sacrifice itself and die a thousand deaths for Him. It feels an
unconquerable desire for great crosses and would like to perform the
most severe penances; it sighs for solitude and would have all men know
God, while it is bitterly grieved at seeing them offend Him. These
matters will be described more fully in the next mansion; there they
are of the same nature, yet in a more advanced state the effects are
far stronger, because, as I told you, if; after the soul has received
these favours, it strives to make still farther progress, it will
experience great things. Oh, to see the restlessness of this charming
little butterfly, although never in its life has it been more tranquil
and at peace! May God be praised! It knows not where to stay nor take
its rest; everything on earth disgusts it after what it has
experienced, particularly when God has often given it this wine which
leaves fresh graces behind it at every draught.

7. It despises the work it did while yet a caterpillar--the slow
weaving of its cocoon thread by thread--its wings have grown and it can
fly; could it be content to crawl? All that it can do for God seems
nothing to the soul compared with its desire. It no longer wonders at
what the saints bore for Him, knowing by experience how our Lord aids
and transforms the soul until it no longer seems the same in character
and appearance. Formerly it feared penance, now it is strong: it wanted
courage to forsake relations, friends, or possessions: neither its
actions, its resolutions, nor separation from those it loved could
detach the soul, but rather seemed to increase its fondness. Now it
finds even their rightful claims a burden, [179] fearing contact with
them lest it should offend God. It wearies of everything, realizing
that no true rest can be found in creatures.

8. I seem to have enlarged on this subject, yet far more might be said
about it; those who have received this favour will think I have treated
it too briefly. No wonder this pretty butterfly, estranged from earthly
things, seeks repose elsewhere. Where can the poor little creature go?
It cannot return to whence it came, for as I told you, that is not in
the soul's power, do what it will, but depends upon God's pleasure.
Alas, what fresh trials begin to afflict the mind! Who would expect
this after such a sublime grace? [180] In fact in one way or another
we must carry the cross all our lives. If people told me that ever
since attaining to the prayer of union they had enjoyed constant peace
and consolation, I should reply that they could never have reached that
state, but that, at the most, if they had arrived as far as the last
mansion, their emotion must have been some spiritual satisfaction
joined to physical debility. It might even have been a false sweetness
caused by the devil, who gives peace for a time only to wage far
fiercer war later on. I do not mean that those who reach this stage
possess no peace; they do so in a very high degree, for their sorrows,
though extremely severe, are so beneficial and proceed from so good a
source as to procure both peace and happiness.

9. Discontent with this world gives such a painful longing to quit it
that, if the heart finds comfort, it is solely from the thought that
God wishes it to remain here in banishment. Even this is not enough to
reconcile it to fate, for after all the gifts received, it is not yet
so entirely surrendered to the will of God as it afterwards becomes.
Here, although conformed to His will, the soul feels an unconquerable
reluctance to submit, for our Lord has not given it higher grace.
During prayer this grief breaks forth in floods of tears, probably from
the great pain felt at seeing God offended and at thinking how many
souls, both heretics and heathens, are lost eternally, and keenest
grief of all, Christians also! The soul realizes the greatness of God's
mercy and knows that however wicked men are, they may still repent and
be saved; yet it fears that many precipitate themselves into hell.

10. Oh, infinite greatness of God! A few years ago--indeed, perhaps but
a few days--this soul thought of nothing but itself. Who has made it
feel such tormenting cares? If we tried for many years to obtain such
sorrow by means of meditation, we could not succeed.

11. God help me! If for long days and years I considered how great a
wrong it is that God should be offended, and that lost souls are His
children and my brethren; if I pondered over the dangers of this world
and how blessed it would be to leave this wretched life, would not that
suffice? No, daughters, the pain would not be the same. for this, by
the help of God, we can obtain by such meditation; but it does not seem
to penetrate the very depths of our being like the other which appears
to cut the soul to pieces and grind it to powder through no
action--even sometimes with no wish--of its own. What is this sorrow,
then? Whence does it come? I will tell you. Have you not heard (I
quoted the words to you just now, but did not apply to them this
meaning) [181] how the Bride says that God brought her into the
cellar of wine and set in order charity in her'? [182] This is what
happens here. The soul has so entirely yielded itself into His hands
and is so subdued by love for Him that it knows or cares for nothing
but that God should dispose of it according to His will. I believe that
He only bestows this grace on those He takes entirely for His own. He
desires that, without knowing how, the spirit should come forth stamped
with His seal for indeed it does no more than does the wax when
impressed with the signet. It does not mould itself but need only be in
a fit condition--soft and pliable; even then it does not soften itself
but must merely remain still and submit to the impression.

12. How good Thou art, O God! All is done for us by Thee, Who dost but
ask us to give our wills to Thee that we may be plastic as wax in Thy
hands. You see, sisters, what God does to this soul so that it may know
that it is His. He gives it something of His own--that which His Son
possessed when living on earth--He could bestow on greater gift on us.
Who could ever have longed more eagerly to leave this life than did
Christ? As He said at the Last Supper: With desire have I desired'
[183] this. O Lord! does not that bitter death Thou art to undergo
present itself before Thine eyes in all its pain and horror? 'No, for
My ardent love and My desire to save souls are immeasurably stronger
than the torments. This deeper sorrow I have suffered and still suffer
while living here on earth, makes other pain seem as nothing in
comparison.'

13. I have often meditated on this and I know that the torture a friend
of mine [184] has felt, and still feels, at seeing our Lord sinned
against is so unbearable that she would far rather die than continue in
such anguish. Then I thought that if a soul whose charity is so weak
compared to that of Christ--indeed, in comparison with His this charity
might be said not to exist--experiences this insufferable grief, what
must have been the feelings of our Lord Jesus Christ and what must His
life have been? for all things were present before His eyes and He was
the constant witness of the great offences committed against His
Father. I believe without doubt that this pained Him far more than His
most sacred Passion. There, at least, He found the end of all His
trials, while His agony was allayed by the consolation of gaining our
salvation through His death and of proving how He loved His Father by
suffering for Him. Thus, people who, urged by fervent love, perform
great penances hardly feel them but want to do still more and count
even that as little. What, then, must His Majesty have felt at thus
publicly manifesting His perfect obedience to His Father and His love
for His brethren? What joy to suffer in doing God's will! Yet I think
the constant sight of the many sins committed against God and of the
numberless souls on their way to hell must have caused Him such anguish
that, had He not been more than man, one day of such torment would have
destroyed not only His life but many more lives, had they been His.
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[173] Way of Perf. ch. xxv. 3.

[174] Col. iii. 3: 'Vita vestra est abscondita cum Christo in Deo.'
Gal. ii. w: Vivo autem, jam on ego; vivit vero in me Christus.'

[175] Way of Perf. ch. xxxi. i 1.

[176] St. Teresa must have been thinking of this simile when she chose
butterflies' as the pseudonym for her nuns in her letters at the time
when she was obliged to be cautious on account of the troubles of the
Reform.

[177] Life, ch. xviii. 16.

[178] Life, ch. xviii. 5-7.

[179] Rel. ix, 11.

[180] Way of Perf. ch. xviii. 1-4. Castle, M. vi ch. i. 3, sqq. M. vii.
ch. iv. 7.

[181] Fifth Mansions, ch. i. 10.

[182] Cant. ii. 4. Introduxit me in cellam vinariam, ordinavit in me
caritatem.'

[183] St. Luke xxii. 15: Desiderio desideravi hoc pascha manducare
vobiscum, antequam patiar.'

[184] This friend is, of course, St. Teresa herself. See Life, ch.
xiii. 14; xxxii. 9. Way of Perf. ch. i. 3. Castle, M. vii. ch. i. 5, 6.
Excl. x. 9.
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