Capítulo VII
The Slippery Slope of Vanity
Teresa describes how she began to lose spiritual consolations and fall into worldly vanities and occasions of sin, while maintaining an outward appearance of virtue.
This section covers how she gradually lost the favors the Lord had shown her, the aimless life she began to lead, and the harm that results when convents are not kept strictly enclosed.1 So that's how I began going from pastime to pastime, from vanity to vanity, from occasion to occasion—getting myself so deep into very great occasions of sin, my soul so ruined by many vanities, that I was already ashamed to turn back and come to God in so intimate a friendship as dealing with Him in prayer; and what helped this along was that as my sins grew, I began to lose the delight and consolation in the things of virtue. I saw very clearly, my Lord, that I lacked this because I myself was failing You.2 This was the most terrible deception the devil could work on me under the appearance of humility: that I began to fear practicing prayer, seeing myself so lost; and it seemed better to me to go along like most people—since in wretchedness I was among the worst—and to say vocally the prayers I was obliged to say, rather than practice mental prayer and have such intimate dealing with God, I who deserved to be with the demons and who was deceiving people; because outwardly I kept up a good appearance. And so the house where I was living is not to blame, because with my craftiness I made sure they held me in good opinion—though not by deliberately pretending to be a Christian; for in this matter of hypocrisy and vainglory, glory to God, I never remember having offended Him that I know of: the moment I saw the first stirring of it, it pained me so much that the devil came away the loser and I the winner, and so in this he has rarely ever tempted me!3 Perhaps if God had allowed him to tempt me in this as fiercely as in other things, I would have fallen too; but His Majesty has so far kept me in this—may He be forever blessed. On the contrary, it weighed heavily on me that they held me in good opinion, since I knew the secret of what I was. Their not regarding me as so wretched came from seeing me so young and in so many occasions of danger, and from my often withdrawing into solitude to pray and read a great deal, speaking of God, being fond of having His image painted in many places and of keeping an oratory and furnishing it with things that would awaken devotion, of not speaking ill of others, and other things of that kind that had the appearance of virtue—and I, vain as I was, knew how to value myself in the things the world usually counts as esteem. Because of this they gave me as much freedom as the oldest nuns, and even more, and they had great confidence in me; for to take liberties myself, or do anything without permission—I mean through holes or over walls, or by night—it never seems to me I could have brought myself, in a convent, to behave that way, nor did I, because the Lord held me by His hand.4 It seemed to me (for I deliberately and on purpose watched many things) that to put the honor of so many at risk because I was wretched, while they were good, was a very bad thing to do—as if the other things I was doing were fine! In truth, the evil did not proceed with as much deliberate consent as that would have been, though it was a great deal.5
The Danger of Lax Convents
Teresa warns against convents that are not strictly enclosed, arguing they can be more dangerous than the world itself, and laments the corruption in religious orders.
Because of this, it seems to me that not being in an enclosed convent did me a lot of harm, because the freedom that the good nuns could have in their goodness—since they owed nothing more, as enclosure wasn't vowed—would certainly have carried me to hell, wicked as I am, if the Lord, by his very particular mercies, hadn't pulled me out of this danger, among so many remedies and means. And so it seems to me that a convent of women with freedom is a very great danger; and it seems to me more like a step for those who want to be wicked to walk toward hell than a remedy for their weaknesses. Don't take this as referring to my own convent, because there are so many who serve the Lord very truly and with great perfection that His Majesty cannot fail—good as he is—to favor them. It isn't one of the very open ones, and in it all religious observance is kept, but of others that I know and have seen.6 I say they fill me with great pity, for the Lord has to make special callings—and not just once, but many times—so that they may be saved, seeing how accepted the world's honors and recreations are, and how poorly what is owed is understood. May God grant that they don't mistake sin for virtue, as I often did; and there's such great difficulty in making them understand it that the Lord has to set his hand to it in earnest. If parents would take my advice—since they won't look to place their daughters where they go on the path of salvation, but in greater danger than in the world—let them consider what touches their honor. Let them marry them very humbly rather than put them in convents of that kind, if they aren't very well inclined. May God grant that it does some good, or else keep them at home. Because if they want to be wicked, it can only be covered up a short time, and here a very long time, and in the end the Lord uncovers it. They harm not only themselves but everyone. And sometimes the poor girls aren't at fault, because they go along with what they find. It's a pity for many who want to leave the world, and thinking they're going to serve the Lord and get away from the world's dangers, find themselves in ten worlds at once, not knowing how to manage or help themselves. For youth, sensuality, and the devil invite them and incline them to follow some things that belong to that same world, seeing there that they're held to be good, so to speak.7 They seem to me in part like the wretched heretics, who want to blind themselves and pretend that what they follow is good, and who believe it that way without really believing it, because inside themselves they have someone who tells them it's bad. !8 Oh, what an enormous evil! An enormous evil among religious! (I'm not speaking now of women more than of men) where religious life is not kept; where in one monastery there are two paths—of virtue and religious life, and of the lack of religious life—and almost everyone walks them alike. No, I put that badly: not alike, because through our sins people walk the more imperfect path more, and since there's more of it, that path is more favored.9 The way of true religious life is practiced so little that the friar and the nun who are going to begin in earnest to follow their calling completely have to fear the people of their own house more than all the demons; and they have to use more caution and concealment when speaking of the friendship they desire to have with God than with other friendships and attachments that the devil arranges in the monasteries.10 And I don't know why we're shocked that there are so many evils in the Church, since those who ought to have been the models from which everyone drew virtues have so erased the work that the spirit of the saints of the past left in the religious orders.11 May it please His divine Majesty to put a remedy to this, as indeed it is needed. Amen.12
A Divine Warning Against Bad Company
Teresa recounts a specific dangerous friendship and the divine warnings she received—a vision of Christ and a mysterious toad—which she initially ignored, leading to further spiritual harm.
So when I began taking up these conversations—since it didn't seem to me, because I saw they were the custom, that the harm and distraction would come to my soul that I later understood such dealings to be—it seemed to me that something as common as visiting many monasteries wouldn't do me any more harm than it did the other women, whom I saw were good. And I didn't consider that they were much better, and that what was a danger in me wouldn't be so great in them. For I doubt any of them escapes some harm, even if it's only time badly spent. While I was with one person, right at the beginning of getting to know her, the Lord wanted to make me understand that those friendships weren't good for me, and to warn me, and to give me light in such great blindness. Christ appeared before me with great severity, making me understand how much that displeased Him: I saw Him with the eyes of the soul, more clearly than I could have seen Him with those of the body, and it remained so impressed on me that—though this was more than twenty-six years ago—it still seems present to me. I was left very frightened and disturbed, and I didn't want to see the person I was with anymore. It did me great harm that I didn't know it was possible to see anything except with the eyes of the body, and the devil helped me believe that, and made me understand that it was impossible, that I had imagined it, that it could be the devil, and other things of that kind. Although there always remained in me a sense that it was God, and that it wasn't imagination, since it wasn't to my liking, I made myself deny it. And since I didn't dare discuss it with anyone, and afterward she came back and pressed me hard, assuring me that it wasn't wrong to see such a person, nor did I lose honor—rather I gained it—I returned to the same conversation, and even at other times to others. For it was many years that I took this harmful recreation, which didn't seem to me, while I was in it, as bad as it was, although at times I clearly saw it wasn't good. But none caused me the distraction that this one I'm speaking of did, because I had a great affection for her.13 When I was with that same person again, we saw something like a large toad coming toward us (and other people there saw it too), moving much faster than they usually do: I can't understand how such a creature could have been there in the middle of the day, coming from where it did, nor has there ever been one there; and the effect it had on me, it seems, was not without mystery; and I never forgot this either. O greatness of God — and with how much care and compassion You were warning me in every way, and how little good it did me! There was a nun there who was an elderly relative of mine, a great servant of God and deeply religious. She warned me sometimes, too, and not only did I not believe her, but she put me off, and it seemed to me she was scandalized without any reason. I've said this so that my wickedness and God's great goodness may be understood, and how richly I deserved hell for such great ingratitude; and also so that if the Lord should so ordain and be pleased, some nun may someday read this and take warning from me; and I ask them, for the love of our Lord, to flee from such recreations.14 May it please His Majesty that someone among all those I've misled may be undeceived through me—I who told them it wasn't wrong, and who, out of the blindness I had, made so great a danger seem safe, for I didn't mean deliberately to deceive them; and by the bad example I gave them, as I've said, I was the cause of a great many evils, not thinking I was doing so much harm.15
Zeal for Others and the Return to Prayer
Teresa describes her misguided zeal in leading her father to prayer while she herself was in sin, her subsequent abandonment of prayer under a false humility, and her eventual return to it through a confessor.
While I was ill in those first days, before I knew how to help myself, I had a very great desire to help others—a very common temptation among beginners, though for me it turned out well. Since I loved my father so much, I wanted him to have the good that I thought came with practicing prayer—for it seemed to me that nothing in this life could be greater than prayer. And so, by roundabout ways, as best I could, I began to try to get him to practice it: I gave him books for this purpose.16 Since he was so virtuous, as I've said, this practice took root in him too, so that in five or six years (I think it must have been) he was so far along that I greatly praised the Lord, and it gave me tremendous consolation. The hardships he suffered were enormous, and of many kinds: he bore them all with complete acceptance of God's will.17 He would come to see me often, because it consoled him to talk about the things of God. Later, when I had grown so distracted and was no longer praying — and when he saw me he thought I was still as I used to be — I couldn't bear it without telling him the truth; because I went a year and more without prayer, thinking that was more humble; and this, as I'll say later, was the greatest temptation I ever had, for through it I was on the verge of being completely lost; for with prayer, one day I would offend God, and on others I would gather myself again and draw farther from the occasion of sin.18 Since that blessed man would come with this expectation, it was hard for me to see him so deceived, thinking I was still conversing with God as I used to, and I told him I no longer had prayer — though not the reason why. I gave him my illnesses as the excuse, for although I recovered from that very grave one, I've always had them until now, and I still have quite serious ones; though lately not with such severity, still they haven't left me — they come in many forms. In particular, for twenty years I had morning vomiting, so that until past midday I often couldn't eat any breakfast — sometimes even later. Since I've been receiving Communion more often, it comes at night, before I go to bed, with much more distress, and I have to bring it on with feathers and other things; because if I leave it, the sickness I feel is severe. And I'm almost never, it seems to me, without many pains, and sometimes quite serious ones, especially in the heart; though the illness that used to seize me so continually now comes only very rarely. A severe palsy, and other fever illnesses I used to have often — I've been free of those for eight years now.19 I care so little now about these ailments that I often rejoice in them, thinking that in some way the Lord is served by them. And my father believed me — that this was the reason — since he never told a lie, and by then, given what I used to talk over with him, I wasn't supposed to tell one either. I told him—so he’d believe it more easily (though I knew full well there was no excuse for it)—that I was doing enough just by being able to serve in the choir.20 Even so, it still wasn't reason enough to give up something that doesn't take bodily strength—only love and habit; and the Lord always gives opportunity if we're willing. I always say that although circumstances and illness may hinder prayer for stretches of time, there are still other stretches of solitude when we have enough health for it; and in the very illness and circumstances themselves, true prayer is found when it is a soul that loves—offering it up, remembering for Whose sake we bear it, conforming ourselves to it, and a thousand other things that come to mind; here love is exercised, for it's not as if we can only pray when we have time for solitude, and that everything else isn't prayer.21 With a little care, great goods are found in the time when, through trials, the Lord takes away our time for prayer; and that's how I had found them when I had a good conscience. But he, with the opinion he had of me and the love he felt for me, believed everything I told him—rather, he pitied me; but since he was already in so elevated a state, afterward he wasn't with me as much; instead, once he had seen me, he would leave. saying it was wasted time: since I was spending it on other vanities, I cared little. It wasn't only him; I also tried to get some other people to take up prayer, even while I myself was still going about in these vanities: when I saw they were fond of saying their prayers, I'd tell them how they could practice meditation and how it would help them, and I gave them books; for this desire that others should serve God I'd had, as I've said, ever since I began prayer. It seemed to me that since I wasn't serving the Lord as I knew I should, the understanding His Majesty had given me shouldn't go to waste, and that others should serve Him in my place.22 I say this so you can see the great blindness I was in: I was letting myself be lost while I tried to win others.
The Holy Death of a Father
Teresa recounts her father's final illness, his exemplary death, and the profound impact it had on her, leading her to resume prayer with the help of a Dominican confessor.
Around this time, my father fell ill with the sickness that eventually took his life, which lasted for several days. I went to nurse him, though I was more sick in soul than he was in body, caught up in many vanities — though not in such a way that, as far as I understood, I was in mortal sin throughout this more lost time I'm speaking of; because if I'd understood that I was, I'd never have stayed in it. I went through a great deal of hardship during his illness; I believe I repaid him something of what he had endured in mine. Though I myself was quite sick, I forced myself; and though losing him meant losing every comfort and kindness—because he alone was all that to me—I had such courage not to show him my grief, and to stay with him until he died as if I felt nothing, even while it seemed my soul was being torn out when I saw his life ending, because I loved him so much.23 The death he died was something to praise the Lord for—and so was the longing he had to die, the counsel he gave us after receiving Extreme Unction, his charging us to commend him to God and ask mercy for him, and that we should always serve Him and see that everything was coming to an end; and with tears he told us of the great sorrow he felt at not having served Him, that he wished he had been a friar—I mean, of the strictest order there could be.2425 I'm quite certain that fifteen days beforehand the Lord made him understand he was not going to live; because before that, though he was ill, he didn't think so. Afterward, even though he was much improved, and the doctors said so, he paid no attention to it, but set himself to ordering his soul.26 His chief illness was an enormous pain in his back that never left him; sometimes it gripped him so hard that it distressed him greatly. I told him that since he was so devoted to the Lord carrying the Cross on His shoulders, he should think His Majesty wanted to let him feel something of what He had suffered in that pain. He was so comforted that I don't think I ever heard him complain again. For three days he was barely conscious. On the day he died, the Lord restored him so completely that we were astonished; and He kept him that way until halfway through the Creed, which he himself was saying when he expired.27 He looked like an angel; and so it seemed to me that he was one, so to speak, in soul and disposition, which were very good. I don't know why I've said this, except to blame my wretched life still more, after seeing such a death and understanding such a life—that, seeming to resemble such a father in some way, I ought to have improved mine. His confessor, who was a Dominican and a very learned man, used to say that he had no doubt he was going straight to heaven, because he had been confessing him for some years and praised the purity of his conscience. This Dominican father, who was very good and God-fearing, did me a great deal of good, because I confessed to him, and he carefully set about doing good to my soul and making me understand the ruin I was bringing on myself. He had me receive Communion every fifteen days, and little by little, as I began to open up to him, I told him about my prayer. He told me not to give it up, that it could in no way do me anything but good. I began to return to it, though not to withdraw from the occasions of sin, and I never gave it up again.28
The Agony of a Divided Heart
Teresa describes the painful years of trying to reconcile her love for God with her attachment to the world, and how God's mercies, rather than punishments, brought her to deeper compunction.
I was living an extremely hard life, because in prayer I understood my faults more clearly. On the one hand God was calling me; on the other, I was following the world. Everything of God gave me great joy; the things of the world held me bound. It seems I wanted to reconcile these two opposites, as hostile to each other as spiritual life is to sensual pleasures, delights, and pastimes. In prayer I went through great hardship, because the spirit was not acting as master, but as a slave; and so I couldn't withdraw into myself—which was the whole way I practiced prayer—without shutting a thousand vanities in with me.29 I spent many years like this—so many that now I'm astonished any strength of will was enough to endure not leaving either one or the other. I know well that leaving prayer was no longer in my hands, because He who wanted me in order to grant me greater mercies was holding me with His own.30 Oh, God help me! If I were to recount all the occasions God pulled me away from during those years, and how I went right back into them, and the dangers of losing my reputation entirely—dangers from which He delivered me!31 I kept doing things that would uncover what I really was, while the Lord covered my evils and brought out any small virtue I had—if I had any—and made it look great in everyone's eyes, so that they always held me in high regard; because although my vanities sometimes showed through, since they saw other things that seemed good to them, they didn't believe it; and it was that the Knower of all things had already seen that this was necessary, so that later, in the things I have spoken of concerning His service, they would give me some credit; and His sovereign generosity looked not at my great sins, but at the desires I often had to serve Him, and at my distress that I didn't have strength in myself to put them into practice.3233 Oh, Lord of my soul! How can I ever do justice to the favors You showed me in these years? And how, at the very time when I was offending You most, You would quickly prepare me with the deepest repentance so that I might taste Your gifts and favors! Truly, my King, you used the most delicate and painful punishment possible for me, as one who understood well what would pain me most. You punished my offenses with great gifts.34 And I don't think I'm talking nonsense—though it would be right if I were beside myself, recalling again now my ingratitude and wickedness.35 It was so much more painful for my temperament to receive mercies when I had fallen into grave sins than to receive punishments—so much so that one of those mercies, I'm certain, undid me and confused me and wore me out more than many illnesses along with other hardships piled together; because with the latter I saw that I deserved them, and it seemed to me I was paying something of my sins, though it was all little given how many they were; but to see myself receiving mercies again while having repaid so poorly those already received is a terrible kind of torment for me, and I believe for everyone who has some knowledge or love of God; and we can take this here as a virtuous disposition.3637 Here were my tears and my anger at seeing what I felt, seeing myself in such a state that I was on the verge of falling again; although my resolutions and desires then—for that while, I mean—were firm. It is a great evil for a soul to be alone among so many dangers: it seems to me that if I had had someone to talk all this over with, it would have helped me not to fall again, if only out of shame, since I had none toward God.
The Necessity of Spiritual Friendship
Teresa strongly advises those who pray to seek like-minded friends for support, warning against the devil's trick of hiding one's devotion, and concludes with a doxology of praise.
That's why I would advise those who practice prayer, especially at the beginning, to seek friendship and conversation with other people engaged in the same thing: it's extremely important, even if it's only helping one another with their prayers — and all the more so because there are many further gains. And I don't understand why—since for ordinary human conversations and attachments, even when they aren't very good, people look for friends to relax with and to share those vain pleasures all the more—it should be considered acceptable that someone who has truly begun to love God and serve Him would stop sharing with some people the joys and struggles that all who practice prayer experience. Because if the friendship he wants with His Majesty is genuine, he needn't fear vainglory; and when the first impulse of it strikes him, he'll come out of it with merit. And I believe that anyone who discusses these things with this intention will profit himself and those who hear him, and he'll come away better taught — both in understanding and in teaching his friends. Anyone who would take vainglory from speaking about this will also take it from hearing Mass with devotion if people see him, and from doing other things that, if he is not to cease being a Christian, he has to do — and those mustn't be left undone out of fear of vainglory.38 For this is so extremely important for souls that aren't yet strengthened in virtue — since they have so many adversaries and so many friends urging them toward evil — that I don't know how to insist on it enough. It seems to me the devil has used this trick, as something that benefits him greatly: that people hide so carefully that no one can tell they truly want to seek to love and please God — just as he has driven people to display other dishonest attachments, which are so common that it already seems they're worn as a badge of honor, and the offenses done to God in that case are published openly.39 I don't know if I'm talking nonsense; if I am, Your Reverence, tear it up; and if I'm not, I beg you to help my simplicity by adding a great deal here; because the things of God's service are already so weak that those who serve Him need to back one another up to keep going forward — just as people think it's fine to go about in the vanities and pleasures of the world: for those, few eyes are watching; and if someone begins to give himself to God, there are so many who murmur that it's necessary to seek company for defense, until they're already strong enough that suffering no longer weighs on them — and if not, they'll find themselves in a hard spot.40 It seems to me that this is why some saints used to go off into the deserts; and it is a kind of humility not to trust in yourself, but to believe that for those you converse with God will give help; and charity grows by being shared, and there are a thousand goods I wouldn't dare to name if I didn't have great experience of how much hangs on this.41 It's true that I am weaker and more wretched than anyone ever born; but I believe that no one will lose who, humbling himself — even if he is strong — does not believe that of himself, and trusts in this the one who has experience. For myself I can say that if the Lord had not shown me this truth and given me means to deal very regularly with people who have prayer, I would have gone, falling and rising, straight into hell headfirst; because for falling I had many friends to help me; for getting up I found myself so alone that now I'm amazed I wasn't always fallen; and I praise the mercy of God, who alone was the one who gave me His hand. May He be blessed forever and ever, amen.
Read the original Spanish
Trata por los términos que fué perdiendo las mercedes, que el Sefor le había hecho, y cuán perdida vida comenzó á tener; dice los daños que hay en no ser muy encerrados los monesterios de monjas.
Pues ansí comencé de pasatiempo en pasatiempo, y de vanidad en vanidad, de ocasion en ocasion, á meterme tanto en muy grandes ocasiones, y andar tan estragada mi alma en muchas vanidades, que ya yo tenia vergüenza de en tan particular amistad, como es tratar de oracion, tornarme á llegar á Dios; y ayudóme á esto, que como crecieron los pecados, comenzóme á faltar el gusto y regalo en las cosas de virtud. Via yo muy claro, Señor mio, que me faltaba esto á mí, por faltaros yo á vos. Este fué el mas terrible engaño que el demonio me podia hacer debajo de parecer humildad, que comencé á temer de tener oracion, de verme tan perdida; y parecíame era mejor andar como los muchos, pues en ser ruin era de los peores, y rezar lo que estaba obligada y vocalmente, que no tener oracion mental, y tanto trato con Dios, la que merecia estar con los demonios, y que engañaba á la gente; porque en lo exterior tenia buenas apariencias; y ansí no es de culpar á la casa donde estaba, porque con mi maña procuraba me tuviesen en buena opinion, aunque no de advertencia, fingiendo cristianidad; porque en esto de yproquesía y vanagloria, gloria á Dios, jamás me acuerdo haberle ofendido, que yo entienda, que, en viéndome primer movimiento, me daba tanta pena, que el demonio iba con pérdida, y yo quedaba con ganancia, y ansí en esto muy poco me ha tentado jamás! Por ventura, si Dios permitiera me tentara en esto tan recio como en otras cosas, tambien cayera; mas su Majestad hasta ahora me ha guardado en esto, sea por siempre bendito; antes me pesaba mucho de que me tuviesen en buena opinion, como yo sabía lo secreto de mí. Este no me tener por tan ruin venia, de que como me vian tan moza, y en tantas ocasiones, y apartarme muchas veces á soledad, á rezar y leer mucho, hablar de Dios, amiga de hacer pintar su imágen en muchas partes, y de tener oratorio, y procurar en él cosas que hiciesen devocion, no decir mal, otras cosas desta suerte, que tenian apariencia de virtud; y yo, que de vana, me sabia estimar en las cosas, que en el mundo se suelen tener por estima. Con esto me daban tanta y mas libertad que á las muy antiguas, y tenian gran siguridad de mí; porque tomar yo libertad, ni hacer cosa sin licencia, digo por agujeros, ó paredes, ó de noche, nunca me parece lo pudiera acabar conmigo en monesterio hablar desta suerte, ni lo hice, porque me tuvo el Señor de su mano. Parecíame á mí (que con advertencia, y de propósito miraba muchas cosas) que poner la honra de tantas en aventura, por ser yo ruin, siendo ellas buenas, que era muy mal hecho; ¡como si fuera bien otras cosas que hacia! A la verdad no iba el mal de tanto acuerdo, como esto fuera, aunque era mucho.
Por esto me parece á mí me hizo harto daño no estar en monesterio encerrado; porque la libertad, que las que eran buenas podian tener con bondad, porque no debian mas, que no se prometia clausura, para mí, que soy ruin, hubiérame cierto llevado al infierno, si, en tantos remedios y medios, el Señor, con muy particulares mercedes suyas, no me hubiera sacado de este peligro; y ansí me parece lo es grandísimo, monesterio de mujeres con libertad; y que mas me parece es paso para caminar al infierno las que quisieren ser ruines, que remedio para sus flaquezas. Esto no se tome por el mío, porque hay tantas, que sirven muy de veras y con muena perficion al Señor, que no puede su Majestad dejar (segun es bueno) de favorecerlas, y no es de los muy abiertos, y en él se guarda toda religion, sino de otros, que yo sé y he visto. Digo que me hacen gran lástima, que ha menester el Señor hacer particulares llamamientos; y no una vez, sino muchas, para que se salven, segun están autorizadas las honras y recreaciones del mundo, y tan mal entendido á lo que están obligadas, que plega á Dios no tengan por virtud lo que es pecado, como muchas veces yo lo hacia; y hay tan gran dificultad en hacerlo entender, que es menester el Señor ponga muy de veras en ello su mano. Si los padres tomasen mi consejo, ya que no quieran mirar á poner sus hijas adonde vayan camino de salvacion, sino con mas peligro que en el mundo, que lo miren por lo que toca á su honra; y quieran mas casarlas muy bajamente, que meterlas en monesterios semejantes, si no son muy bien inclinadas; y plega á Dios aproveche, ó se las tengan en su casa: porque, si quieren ser ruines, no se podrá encubrir sino poco tiempo, y acá muy mucho, y en fin lo descubre el Señor; y no solo dañan á sí, sino á todas; y á las veces las pobrecitas no tienen culpa, porque se van por lo que hallan; y es lástima de muchas, que se quieren apartar del mundo, y pensando que se van á servir al Señor, y apartar de los peligros del mundo, se hallan en diez mundos juntos, que ni saben cómo se valer ni remediar; que la mocedad y sensualidad y demonio las convida y enclina á siguir algunas cosas, que son del mesmo mundo, vé allí que lo tienen por bueno, á manera de decir. Paréceme como los desventurados de los herejes en parte, que se quieren cegar, y hacer entender que es bueno aquello que siguen, y que lo creen ansí, sin creerlo, porque dentro de sí tienen quien les diga que es malo. ! O grandísimo mal! grandísimo mal de religiosos!
(no digo ahora mas mujeres que hombres) adonde no se guarda religion; adonde en un monesterio hay dos caminos de virtud y religion, y falta de religion, y todos casi se andan por igual; antes mal dije, no por igual, que por nuestros pecados camínase mas el mas imperfeto, y, como hay mas de él, es mas favorecido. Usase tan poco el de la verdadera religion, que mas ha de temer el fraile y la monja, que ha de comenzar de veras á siguir del todo su llamamiento, á los mesmos de su casa, que á todos los demonios; y mas cautela y disimulacion ha de tener para hablar en la amistad, que desea de tener con Dios, que en otras amistades y voluntades, que el demonio ordena en los monesterios. Y no sé de qué nos espantamos haya tantos males en la Iglesia, pues los que habian de ser los dechados, para que todos sacasen virtudes, tienen tan borrada la labor, que el espíritu de los santos pasados dejaron en las religiones. Plega la divina Majestad, ponga remedio en ello, como va que es menester, amen.
Pues comenzando yo á tratar estas conversaciones, no me pareciendo, como via que se usaban, que habia de venir á mi alma el daño y distraimiento, que despues entendí era semejantes tratos, parecióme que cosa tan general como es este visitar en muchos monesterios, que no me haria á mi mas mal que á las otras, que yo veia eran buenas; y no miraba que eran muy mejores, y que lo que en mí fué peligro, en otras no le sería tanto; que alguno dudo yo le deja de haber, aunque no sea sino tiempo mal gastado. Estando con una persona, bien al principio del conocerla, quiso el Señor darme á entender que no me convenían aquellas amistades, y avisarme, y darme luz en tan gran ceguedad. Representóseme Cristo delante con mucho rigor dándome á entender lo que de aquello le pesaba: vile con los ojos del alma, mas claramente que le pudiera ver con los del cuerpo, y quedóme tan imprimido, que há esto mas de veinte y seis años, y me parece lo tengo presente. Yo quedé muy espantada y turbada, y no queria ver mas á con quien estaba. Hizome mucho daño no saber yo que era posible ver nada, sino era con los ojos de el cuerpo y el demonio, que me ayudó á que lo creyese ansí, y hacerme entender que era imposible, y que se me habia antojado, y que podia ser el demonio, y otras cosas desta suerte; puesto, que siempre me quedaba un parecerme era Dios, y que no era antojo; mas como no era á mi gusto, yo me hacia á mí mesma desmentir; y yo, como no lo osé tratar con nadie, y tornó despues á hacer gran importunacion, asegurándome que no era mal ver persona semejante, ni perdia honra, antes que la ganaba, torné á la mesma conversacion, y aun en otros tiempos á otras; porque fué muchos años los que tomaba esta recreacion pestilencia que no me parecia á mí, como estaba en ello, tan malo como era, aunque á veces claro via no era bueno; mas ninguna me hizo el destraimiento que esta que digo, porque la tuve mucha afecion.
Estando otra vez con la mesma persona, vimos venir hácia nosotros (y otras personas, que estaban allí, tambien lo vieron), una cosa á manera de sapo grande, con mucha mas ligereza que ellos suelen andar: de la parte que él vino, no puedo yo entender pudiese haber semejante sabandija en mitad del dia, ni nunca la ha habido y la operacion que hizo en mí, me parece no era sin misterio; y tampoco esto se me olvidó jamás. ¡Oh grandeza de Dios, y con cuánto cuidado y piedad me estábades avisando de todas maneras, y qué poco me aprovechó á mí!
Tenia allí una monja, que era mi parienta antigua, y gran sierva de Dios, y de mucha religion: esta tambien me avisaba algunas veces, y no solo no la creia, mas desgustábeme con ella, y parecíame se escandalizaba sin tener por qué. He dicho esto, para que se entienda mi maldad y la gran bondad de Dios, y cuán merecido tenia el infierno, por tan gran ingratitud; y tambien, porque si el Señor ordenare y fuere servido, en algun tiempo lea esto alguna monja, escarmienten en mí; y les pido yo, por amor de nuestro Señor, huyan de semejantes recreaciones. Plega á su Majestad se desengañe alguna por mí, de cuantas he engañado, diciéndoles que no era mal, y asigurando tan gran peligro con la ceguerad que yo tenia, que de propósito no las queria yo engañar; y por el mal enjemplo que las dí, como he dicho, fuí causa de hartos males, no pensando hacia tanto mal.
Estando yo mala en aquellos primeros dias, antes que supiese valerme á mí, me daba grandísimo deseo de aprovechar á los otros; tentacion muy ordinaria de los que comienzan, aunque á mí me sucedió bien. Como queria tanto á mi padre, deseábale con el bien, que me parecia tenia con tener oracion, que me parecia que en esta vida no podia ser mayor que tener oracion; y ansí por rodeos, como pude, comencé á procurar con él la tuviese: díle libros para este propósito. Como era tan virtuoso, como he dicho, asentóse tambien en él este ejercicio, que en cinco ó seis años (me parece seria) estaba tan adelante, que yo alababa mucho al Señor, y dábame grandísimo consuelo.
Eran grandísimos los trabajos que tuvo de muchas maneras: todos los pasaba con grandísima conformidad. Iba muchas veces á verme, que se consolaba en tratar cosas de Dios. Ya despues que yo andaba tan destraida, y sin tener oracion, como veia pensaba, que era la que solia, no lo pude sufrir sin desengañarle; porque estuve un año, y mas, sin tener oracion, pareciéndome mas humildad; y esta, como despues diré, fué la mayor tentacion que tuve, que por ella me iba á acabar de perder; que, con la oracion, un dia ofendia á Dios, y tornaba otros á recogerme, y apartarme mas de la ocasion. Como el bendito hombre venia con esto, hacíaseme recio verle tan engañado, en que pensase trataba con Dios, como solia, y díjele; que ya yo no tenia oracion, aunque no la causa. Púsele mis enfermedades por inconveniente, que aunque sané de aquella tan grave, siempre hasta ahora las he tenido, y tengo bien grandes; aunque de poco acá no con tanta reciedumbre, mas no se quitan de muchas maneras. En especial, tuve veinte años vómitos por las mañanas, que, hasta mas de mediodía, me acaecía no poder desayunarme; algunas veces mas tarde: despues acá que frecuento mas á menudo las comuniones, es á la noche, antes que me acueste, con mucha mas pena, que tengo yo de procurarle con plumas y otras cosas; porque si lo dejo, es mucho el mal que siento, y casi nunca estoy, á mi parecer, sin muchos dolores, y algunas veces bien graves, en especial en el corazon; aunque el mal que me tomaba muy continuo, es muy de tarde en tarde: perlesía recia, y otras enfermedades de calenturas, que solia tener muchas veces, me hallo buena ocho años há. De estos males se me da ya tan poco, que muchas veces me huelgo, pareciéndome en algo se sirve el Señor. Y mi padre me creyó, que era esta la causa, como él no decia mentira, y ya, conforme á lo que yo trataba con él, no la habia yo de decir.
Díjele, porque mijor lo creyese (que bien via yo que para esto no habia disculpa), que harto hacia en poder servir el coro.
Aunque tampoco era causa bastante para dejar cosa, que no son menester fuerzas corporales para ella, sino solo amar y costumbre; aunque el Señor da siempre oportunidad si queremos. Digo siempre, que, aunque con ocasiones y enfermedad algunos ratos impida, para muchos ratos de soledad no deja de haber otros que hay salud para esto; y en la mesma enfermedad y ocasiones es la verdadera oracion, cuando es alma que ama, en ofrecer aquello, y acordarse por quien lo pasa, y conformarse con ello y mill cosas que se ofrecen; aquí ejercita el amor, que no es por fuerza que ha de haberla cuando hay tiempo de soledad, y lo demás no ser oracion. Con un poquito de cuidado grandes bienes se hallan en el tiempo, que con trabajos el Señor nos quita el tiempo de la oracion; y ansí los habia yo hallado cuando tenia buena conciencia. Mas él, con la opinion que tenia de mí, y el amor que me tenia, todo me lo creyó, antes me hubo lástima; mas como él estaba ya en tan subido estado, no estaba despues tanto conmigo, sino, como me habia visto, íbase. que decia era tiempo perdido: como yo le gastaba en otras vanidades, dábaseme poco.
No fué solo á él sino á otras algunas personas, las que procuré tuviesen oracion, aun andando yo en estas vanidades: como las via amigas de rezar, las decia cómo ternian meditacion y les aprovechaba, y dábales libros; porque este deseo, de que otras sirviesen á Dios, desde que comencé oracion, como he dicho, le tenia. Parecíame á mí, que ya que yo no servia al Señor, como lo entendia, que no se perdiese lo que me habia dado su Mejestad á entender, y que le sirviesen otros por mí. Digo esto, para que se vea la gran ceguedad en que estaba, que me dejaba perder á mí, y procuraba ganar á otros.
En este tiempo dió á mi padre la enfermedad de que murió, que duró algunos dias. Fuíle yo á curar, estando mas enferma en el alma que él en el cuerpo, en muchas vanidades, aunque no de manera, que, á cuanto entendia, estuviese en pecado mortal en todo este tiempo mas perdido que digo; porque entendiéndolo yo, en ninguna manera lo estuviera.
Pasé harto trabajo en su enfermedad; creo le serví algo de lo que él habia pasado en las mias. Con estar yo harto mala me esforzaba, y con que en faltarme él me faltaba todo el bien y regalo, porque en un ser me le hacia, tuve tan gran ánimo para no le mostrar pena, y estar hasta que murió, como si ninguna cosa sintiera, pareciéndome se arrancaba mi alma, cuando via acabar su vida, porque le queria mucho. Fué cosa para alabar al Señor la muerte que murió, y la gana que tenia de morirse, los consejos que nos daba despues de haber recibido la Extrema Uncion, el encargarnos le encomendásemos á Dios y le pidiésemos misericordia para él, y que siempre le sirviésemos, que mirásemos se acababa todo; y con lágrimas nos decia la pena grande que tenia de no haberle servido, que quisiera ser un fraile, digo, haber sido de los mas estrechos que hubiera. Tengo por muy cierto, que quince dias antes le dió el Señor á entender no habia de vivir; porque antes de estos, aunque estaba malo, no lo pensaba. Despues, con tener mucha mijoría, y decirlo los médicos, ningun caso hacia de ello, sino entendia en ordenar su alma. Fué su principal mal de un dolor grandísimo de espaldas, que jamás se le quitaba: algunas veces le apretaba tanto, que le congojaba mucho. Díjele yo, que pues era tan devoto de cuando el Señor llevaba la Cruz acuestas, que pensase, su Majestad le queria dar á sentir algo de lo que habia pasado con aquel dolor. Consolóse tanto, que me parece nunca mas le oí quejar.
Estuvo tres dias muy falto el sentido.
El dia que murió se le tornó el Señor tan entero, que nos espantábamos; y le tuvo hasta que á la mitad de el Credo, diciéndole él mesmo, espiró. Quedó como un ángel; y ansí me parecia á mí lo era él, á manera de decir, en alma y dispusicion, que la tenia muy buena. No sé para qué he dicho esto, sino es para culpar mas mi ruin vida, despues de haber visto tal muerte, y entender tal vida, que por parecerme en algo á tal padre, la habia yo de mijorar. Decia su confesor, que era dominico, muy gran letrado, que no dudaba de que se iba derecho al cielo, porque habia algunos años que le confesaba, y loaba su limpieza de conciencia. Este padre dominico, que era muy bueno y temeroso de Dios, me hizo harto provecho, porque me confesé con él, y tomó á hacer bien á mi alma con cuidado, y hacerme entender la perdicion que traia. Hacíame comulgar de quince á quince dias, y poco á poco comenzándole á tratar, tratéle de mi oracion. Díjome, que no la dejase, que en ninguna manera me podia hacer sino provecho. Comencé á tornar á ella, aunque no á quitarme de las ocasiones, y nunca mas la dejé.
Pasaba una vida trabajosísima, porque en la oracion entendia mas mis faltas. Por una parte me llamaba Dios, por otra yo siguia á el mundo. Dábame gran contento todas las cosas de Dios; teníanme atada las de el mundo. Parece que queria concertar estos dos contrarios, tan enemigo uno de otro, como es vida espiritual, y contentos, y gustos y pasatiempos sensuales. En la oracion pasaba gran trabajo, porque no andaba el espíritu señor, sino esclavo; y ansí no me podia encerrar dentro de mí, que era todo el modo de proceder que llevaba en la oracion, sin encerrar conmigo mil vanidades. Pasé ansí muchos años, que ahora me espanto, que sujeto bastó á sufrir, que no dejase lo uno ú lo otro: bien sé que dejar la oracion no era ya en mi mano, porque me tenia con las suyas, el que me queria para hacerme mayores mercedes.
¡Oh, válame Dios! si hubiera de decir las ocasiones, que en estos años Dios me quitaba, y como me tornaba yo á meter en ellas, y de los peligros de perder del todo el crédito que me libró! Yo á hacer obras para descubrir la que era, y el Señor encubrir los males y descubrir alguna pequeña virtud, si tenia, y hacerla grande en los ojos de todos, de manera que siempre me tenian en mucho; porque, aunque algunas veces se traslucian mis vanidades, como vian otras cosas, que les parecian buenas, no lo creian; y era que habia ya visto el Sabidor de todas las cosas, que era menester ansí, para que en las que despues he hablado de su servicio, me diesen algun crédito; y miraba su soberana largueza, no los grandes pecados, sino los deseos que muchas veces tenia de servirle, y la pena por no tener fortaleza en mí para ponerlo por obra.
¡Oh Señor de mi alma! ¿Cómo podré encarecer las mercedes que en estos años me hicistes? ¡Y cómo en el tiempo que yo mas os ofendia, en breve me disponíades con un grandísimo arrepentimiento para que gustase de vuestros regalos y mercedes!
A la verdad tomábades, Rey mio, el mas delicado y penoso castigo por medio, que para mí podia ser, como quien bien entendia lo que me habia de ser mas penoso. Con regalos grandes castigábades mis delitos. Y no ereo digo desatino, aunque seria bien que estuviese desatinada, tornando á la memoria ahora de nuevo mi ingratitud y maldad. Era tan mas penoso para mi condicion recibir mercedes, cuando habia caido en graves culpas, que recibir castigos; que una de ellas me parece cierto me deshacia, y confundia mas, y fatigaba, que muchas enfermedades, con otros trabajos harto juntos; porque lo postrero via lo merecia, y parecíame pagaba algo de mis pecados, aunque todo era poco, segun ellos eran muchos: mas verme recibir de nuevo mercedes, pagando tan mal las recibidas, es un género de tormento para mí terrible, y creo para todos los que tuvieren algun conocimiento ó amor de Dios; y esto por una condicion virtuosa lo podemos acá sacar. Aquí eran mis lágrimas y mi enojo de ver lo que sentia, viéndome de suerte, que estaba en víspera de tornar á caer; aunque mis determinaciones y deseos entonces, por aquel rato, digo, estaban firmes. Gran mal es un alma sola entre tantos peligros: paréceme á mí, que si yo tuviera con quien tratar todo esto, que me ayudara á no tornar á caer, siquiera por vergüenza, ya que no la tenia de Dios.
Por eso aconsejaria yo á los que tienen oracion, en especial al principio, procuren amistad y trato con otras personas, que traten de lo mesmo: es cosa importantísima, aunque no sea sino ayudarse unos á otros con sus oraciones; cuanto mas, que hay muchas mas ganancias. Y no sé yo por qué (pues de conversaciones y voluntades humanas, aunque no sean muy buenas, se procuran amigos con quien descansar, y para mas gozar de contar aquellos placeres vanos), se ha de permitir, que quien comenzare de veras á amar á Dios y á servirle, deje de tratar con algunas personas sus placeres y trabajos, que de todo tienen los que tienen oracion. Porque si es de verdad el amistad, que quiere tener con su Majestad, no haya miedo de vanagloria; y cuando el primer movimiento le acometa, saldrá dello con mérito; y creo, que el que tratando con esta intencion lo tratare, que aprovechara á sí y á los que le oyeren, y saldrá mas enseñado, ansí en entender, como enseñar á sus amigos. El que de hablar en esto tuviere vanagloria, tambien la terná en oir misa con devocion, si le ven, y en hacer otras cosas, que, sopena de no ser cristiano, las ha de hacer, y no se han de dejar por miedo de vanagloria. Pues es tan importantísimo esto para almas, que no están fortalecidas en virtud (como tienen tantos contrarios y amigos para incitar al mal), que no sé cómo lo encarecer. Paréceme que el demonio ha usado de este ardid, como cosa que muy mucho le porta, que se ascondan tanto de que se entienda, que de veras quieren procurar amar y contentar á Dios; como ha incitado se descubran otras voluntades mal honestas, con ser tan usadas, que ya parece se toma por gala y se publican las ofensas, que en este caso se hacen á Dios.
No sé si digo desatinos; si lo son, vuesa merced los rompa; y si no lo son, le suplico ayude á mi simpleza, con anidir aquí mucho; porque andan ya las cosas del servicio de Dios tan flacas, que es menester hacerse espaldas unos á otros, los que le sirven, para ir adelante, sigun se tiene por bueno andar en las vanidades y contentos del mundo: para estos hay pocos ojos; y si uno comienza á darse á Dios, hay tantos que mormuren, que es menester buscar compañía para defenderse, hasta que ya estén fuertes en no les pesar de padecer, y si no veránse en mucho aprieto. Paréceme, que por esto debian usar algunos santos irse á los desiertos; y es un género de humildad no fiar de sí, sino creer que para aquellos con quien conversa le ayudará Dios; y crece la caridad con ser comunicada, y hay mil bienes, que no los osaria decir, si no tuviese gran espiriencia de lo mucho que va en esto. Verdad es, que yo soy mas flaca y ruin que todos los nacidos; mas creo no perdera quien humillándose, aunque sea fuerte, no lo crea de sí, y creyere en esto á quien tiene espiriencia. De mí sé decir, que si el Señor no me descubriera esta verdad, y diera medios para que yo muy ordinario tratára con personas que tienen oracion, que cayendo y levantando iba á dar de ojos en el infierno; porque para caer habia muchos amigos que me ayudasen; para levantarme hallábame tan sola, que ahora me espanto cómo no estaba siempre caida; y alabo la misericordia de Dios, que era solo el que me daba la mano. Sea bendito para siempre jamás, amen.
Notes
- 1 ↩Source reads "Sefor"; translated from the intended "Señor" as "the Lord".
- 2 ↩"esto" points back to the lost gusto y regalo in virtue (s1); rendered as "this" to keep the anaphora.
- 3 ↩Source "yproquesía" read as "hipocresía" (hypocrisy).
- 4 ↩"hablar desta suerte" rendered as illicit convent conduct (secret exits), not mere speech, from the preceding "por agujeros, ó paredes, ó de noche".
- 5 ↩"de tanto acuerdo" taken as deliberate consent/intention contrasting with the calculated risk to others' honor in s7.
- 6 ↩Source reading "muena perficion" treated as corrupt for "buena perfección" (great/true perfection).
- 7 ↩"casarlas muy bajamente" rendered as "marry them very humbly" (beneath their station), not as moral degradation.
- 8 ↩Source sentence is only a stray exclamation mark, likely a segmentation artifact from Spanish ¡...! before "O grandísimo mal!".
- 9 ↩Spanish religión here means monastic religious life / observance of the rule, not abstract "religion" in the modern sense.
- 10 ↩voluntades rendered as "attachments" (attachments of the will); also possible as "particular friendships" or "shared wills," but the contrast is with friendship with God.
- 11 ↩labor suggests patterned work or embroidery left as a design; rendered "work" to keep the image of a pattern rubbed out without forcing a craft metaphor.
- 12 ↩Source reads "Plega la divina Majestad" without the expected "a"; translated as the idiomatic petition "May it please His divine Majesty."
- 13 ↩Subject of 'tornó después a hacer gran importunación' is not explicit; rendered as the person previously mentioned (the friend), which fits 'asegurándome que no era mal ver persona semejante'. Alternative reading: the devil resumed the pressing.
- 14 ↩recreaciones: the worldly social pastimes Teresa has been describing, not mere innocent leisure.
- 15 ↩Source 'hacia tanto mal' read as hacía tanto mal ('I was doing so much harm'); period spellings ceguerad / asigurando / enjemplo taken as ceguedad / asegurando / ejemplo.
- 16 ↩oracion here is Teresa's practice of (mental) prayer, not merely spoken petitions; rendered as 'prayer' / 'practicing prayer' to keep that force without archaic 'orison'.
- 17 ↩Spanish conformidad here is spiritual conformity to God's will in suffering, not mere agreeableness.
- 18 ↩pareciéndome más humildad names a false-humility temptation: abandoning prayer under the pretext of humility.
- 19 ↩procurarle con plumas refers to inducing vomiting with a feather/quill, a period medical practice; rendered as 'bring it on with feathers'.
- 20 ↩Source spelling mijor is period Spanish for mejor ('better' / 'more readily').
- 21 ↩"acordarse por quien lo pasa" rendered as remembering for Whose sake one bears the hardship (Christ); could also be heard more loosely as remembering Who is letting one pass through it.
- 22 ↩Source reads 'Mejestad'; translated as 'Majesty' (Majestad).
- 23 ↩"en un ser me le hacia": rendered as "he alone was all that to me" (one person embodying all her comfort and care); the idiom is compressed and slightly obscure.
- 24 ↩"Extrema Uncion" kept as Extreme Unction, the historical English for the sacrament later commonly called Anointing of the Sick.
- 25 ↩"los mas estrechos": strictest friars / orders of strictest observance.
- 26 ↩Source "mijoría" read as "mejoría" (improvement), the expected historical spelling.
- 27 ↩Reading "se le tornó el Señor tan entero" as the Lord's restoring him to full consciousness, given the previous section's note that he had been without his senses for three days.
- 28 ↩"las ocasiones" rendered as "occasions of sin," the usual sense in Teresa's spiritual vocabulary.
- 29 ↩"encerrar dentro de mí" is Teresa's language for recollected withdrawal into the interior; rendered here as "withdraw into myself" to keep that sense without archaic "recollection" jargon.
- 30 ↩"sujeto" here is taken as the enduring person/will ("strength of will"), not a grammatical subject; "mercedes" rendered as "mercies" for divine favors.
- 31 ↩crédito rendered as reputation (good name / standing), not financial credit.
- 32 ↩Sabidor de todas las cosas rendered as the Knower of all things (divine omniscience as a title).
- 33 ↩largueza rendered as generosity (sovereign liberality), not mere largeness.
- 34 ↩regalos: spiritual gifts/consolations used as chastisement; kept as "gifts" rather than flattening to mere pleasures.
- 35 ↩Source reads "ereo"; translated as the intended "creo" (I think/believe).
- 36 ↩condicion: rendered "temperament" for natural disposition early in the sentence, and "disposition" for condicion virtuosa at the close.
- 37 ↩una de ellas: antecedent taken as mercedes (mercies), not culpas.
- 38 ↩sopena de no ser cristiano rendered as the practical necessity of Christian obligation, not a formal canonical penalty.
- 39 ↩voluntades mal honestas rendered as dishonest attachments (disordered affections), not merely vague bad intentions.
- 40 ↩Source spellings sigun and mormuren read as según and murmuren.
- 41 ↩Source espiriencia read as experiencia.
The Life (Libro de la Vida) of Teresa of Ávila companion
A daily portion of stillness
Chosen Portion delivers one short contemplative reading and a guided moment of silence each day — the ascent, one step at a time.
Chosen Portion is the paced doorway into this collection: it portions the dense mystical treatises into one daily reading plus guided silence, exactly as the 14-day plan teaches.
- Daily bite-sized excerpts from the contemplative classics, never a wall of text
- A built-in timed stillness practice that grows from 2 minutes to 10
- Gentle progression through the tradition — the app remembers where you are on the ascent