The Life of St Teresa of Jesus
- Very Average Joe
- Oct 25
- 11 min read
The Life of St Teresa of Jesus is an autobiography written by the saint herself, also referred to as St Teresa of Avila (b. 28 March 1515 – d. 4 October 1582) as she was born in Avila, Spain. She was canonized by Pope Gregory XV about 40 years after her death on 12 March 1622.
St Teresa wrote this book under obedience during the 1560s in Spanish. An English translation by David Lewis was published in 1870. There have been other English translations since.
The book is not short. It is about 480 pages in total, depending on the layout. The main text is organized into 40 chapters spanning about 410 pages. The remaining 70 pages is a section labelled “Relations” containing accounts or letters of her “spiritual state” written to her confessors, of which there are 11.
In many respects, it reads similarly to other biographies of saints. It begins with their early life, their family circumstances and their struggles, and how they slowly overcame them by the grace of God and with great effort and suffering. As it is an autobiography, it obviously does not cover the subject’s death.
In the case of this book, the early life is only briefly covered. St Teresa’s struggles included illnesses, and in one episode even to the point that all but her father gave up on her. Later, as a nun, she was instructed to found a monastery but encountered persecution and setbacks. These are generally not uncommon sufferings of saints and mystics.
The text is not merely biographical; it is not just her life story up to that point. St Teresa is famous for her many writings, particularly on mysticism, prayer and meditation given that she was a great mystic; much of this book is on these topics.
Her writing style is relatively simple. However, as mystical experiences are difficult to describe and she does not consider herself “learned”, she can be clumsy in her descriptions and, in this sense, difficult to read. Whilst she is not technical, which is sometimes necessary in theology and actually makes it easier to understand, her simplicity comes across as genuine even if it makes it harder to read.
It is impractical to summarize such a long book but a few quotations are provided.
St Teresa had “a father and mother who were devout and feared God” and she was one of “three sisters and nine brothers”. Both her parents were into books. Her father in particular had a decent library and he encouraged his children to read.
In one episode, when St Teresa was about seven years old, after reading about martyrdom undergone by some saints, she and a brother who was of similar age pulled the following stunt:
We settled to go together to the country of the Moors, begging our way for the love of God, that we might be there beheaded; and our Lord, I believe, had given us courage enough, even at so tender an age, if we could have found the means to proceed; but our greatest difficulty seemed to be our father and mother.
Was it true holiness or a sign that she was a talented trouble-stirrer? Probably both. Fortunately, an uncle of theirs found them and took them home before they got very far.
Her mother was “very fond of books of chivalry”. Although this was normal enough and was fine for her mother, St Teresa considered this pastime in her youth a distraction and detrimental to her spiritually.
Her mother “was a woman of great goodness, and her life was spent in great infirmities”. She died in 1528 at about age 33 years. St Teresa had an older sister, much older than her, who was “great” in modesty and goodness but the saint admitted to having “learned nothing” from her. Instead, as a teen, she learned some vanities from another relative although she did not think she sinned mortally.
When her mother died, St Teresa recommended herself to the Virgin Mary.
I remember that, when my mother died, I was about twelve years old—a little less. When I began to understand my loss, I went in my affliction to an image of our Lady, and with many tears implored her to be my mother. I did this in my simplicity, and I believe that it was of service to me; for I have by experience found the royal Virgin help me whenever I recommended myself to her; and at last she has brought me back to herself. It distresses me now, when I think of, and reflect on, that which kept me from being earnest in the good desires with which I began.
Soon after, St Teresa was sent to study under some Augustinian nuns. With their good influence, she began to pray and advance spiritually. Initially, she did not wish to be a nun although she was not particularly keen on marriage either.
Eventually, after some struggle, she entered the Carmelite Order in November 1536. From that time, she suffered many illnesses, including the abovementioned, and she took St Joseph as her patron. She recommends others to do likewise.
…I took for my patron and lord the glorious St Joseph, and recommended myself earnestly to him. I saw clearly that both out of this my present trouble, and out of others of greater importance, relating to my honour and the loss of my soul, this my father and lord delivered me, and rendered me greater services than I knew how to ask for. I cannot call to mind that I have ever asked him at any time for anything which he has not granted; and I am filled with amazement when I consider the great favours which God hath given me through this blessed Saint; the dangers from which he hath delivered me, both of body and of soul. To other Saints our Lord seems to have given grace to succour men in some special necessity; but to this glorious Saint, I know by experience, to help us in all: and our Lord would have us understand that, as He was Himself subject to him upon earth—for St Joseph, having the title of father, and being His guardian, could command Him—so now in heaven He performs all his petitions. I have asked others to recommend themselves to St Joseph, and they too know this by experience; and there are many who are now of late devout to him, having had experience of this truth.
In 1543, her father fell ill and after “some days” died. St Teresa nursed him despite her own illness. Some time after that, she contemplated a statue of the wounded Christ.
My soul was now grown weary; and the miserable habits it had contracted would not suffer it to rest, though it was desirous of doing so. It came to pass one day, when I went into the oratory, that I saw a statue which they had put by there, and which had been procured for a certain feast observed in the house. It was a representation of Christ most grievously wounded; and so devotional, that the very sight of it, when I saw it, moved me—so well did it show forth that which He suffered for us. So keenly did I feel the evil return I had made for those wounds, that I thought my heart was breaking. I threw myself on the ground beside it, my tears flowing plenteously, and implored Him to strengthen me once for all, so that I might never offend Him any more.
She had many mystical experiences, such as visions, which others did not understand. But these sufferings contributed to her spiritual advancement. This is common amongst mystics.
St Teresa often criticizes herself, afraid of some imperfection that offends God. Was she being (excessively) scrupulous or was she accurate in her self-evaluation? Only God knows but it was probably the former as is common amongst saints and mystics. Either way, she advised perseverance. This ultimately benefits not just that individual but also others.
He showeth great mercy unto him to whom He gives the grace and resolution to strive for this blessing with all his might; for God withholds Himself from no one who perseveres. He will by little and little strengthen that soul, so that it may come forth victorious. I say resolution, because of the multitude of those things which Satan puts before it at first; to keep it back from beginning to travel on this road; for he knoweth what harm will befall him thereby—he will lose not only that soul, but many others also. If he who enters on this road does violence to himself, with the help of God, so as to reach the summit of perfection, such a one, I believe, will never go alone to Heaven; he will always take many with him: God gives to him, as to a good captain, those who shall be of his company.
St Teresa devotes 11 chapters, about a quarter of the main text, to discussing the four degrees or levels of prayer. These degrees do not seem to correspond to the degrees as discussed by her or other authors in other texts. In this book, she uses the analogy of a garden.
A beginner must look upon himself as making a garden, wherein our Lord may take His delight, but in a soil unfruitful, and abounding in weeds. His Majesty roots up the weeds, and has to plant good herbs. Let us, then, take for granted that this is already done when a soul is determined to give itself to prayer, and has begun the practice of it. … Let us now see how this garden is to be watered, that we may understand what we have to do: how much trouble it will cost us, whether the gain be greater than the trouble, or how long a time it will take us. It seems to me that the garden may be watered in four ways: by water taken out of a well, which is very laborious; or with water raised by means of an engine and buckets, drawn by a windlass—I have drawn it this way sometimes—it is a less troublesome way than the first, and gives more water; or by a stream or brook, whereby the garden is watered in a much better way—for the soil is more thoroughly saturated, and there is no necessity to water it so often, and the labour of the gardener is much less; or by showers of rain, when our Lord Himself waters it, without labour on our part—and this way is incomparably better than all the others of which I have spoken.
As already mentioned, her descriptions can be a little clumsy and, in that sense, difficult to understand. It seems the first two degrees require more effort on our part, which few go beyond, and the third and fourth are more dependent on God to provide. The soul has to wait for God to lift her up.
One of the points St Teresa often makes is attachments which may not be sinful but nevertheless hinder one’s relationship with God. In other words, it is important to detach oneself, even from things which seem good since union with God is ultimately the goal.
And if the soul is humble, indifferent to, and detached from, all joy, however spiritual, and if it loves the cross, it will make no account of the sweetness which Satan sends.
St Teresa, following the examples of the saints before her, discusses the importance of meditating on Christ’s Sacred Humanity.
I see clearly, and since then have always seen, that if we are to please God, and if He is to give us His great graces, everything must pass through the hands of His most Sacred Humanity, in whom His Majesty said that He is well pleased. I know this by repeated experience: our Lord has told it me. I have seen clearly that this is the door by which we are to enter, if we would have His supreme Majesty reveal to us His great secrets. … It is a great matter for us to have our Lord before us as Man while we are living and in the flesh. This is that other inconvenience which I say must be met with. The first—I have already begun to describe it—is a little failure in humility, in that the soul desires to rise of itself before our Lord raises it, and is not satisfied with meditation on so excellent a subject—seeking to be Mary before it has laboured with Martha.
Amongst the visions granted to her is one of hell. Consistent to the visions of other mystics, there is an emphasis on both physical and spiritual pain. However, unlike the visions of some others in which a number or even a great number of souls are seen, St Teresa’s vision is one of loneliness even if she does not explicitly state it. Either way, she was thankful to God for it “because it has destroyed my fear of trouble and of the contradiction of the world”.
The entrance seemed to be by a long narrow pass, like a furnace, very low, dark, and close. The ground seemed to be saturated with water, mere mud, exceedingly foul, sending forth pestilential odours, and covered with loathsome vermin. At the end was a hollow place in the wall, like a closet, and in that I saw myself confined. All this was even pleasant to behold in comparison with what I felt there. There is no exaggeration in what I am saying. But as to what I then felt, I do not know where to begin, if I were to describe it; it is utterly inexplicable. I felt a fire in my soul. I cannot see how it is possible to describe it. My bodily sufferings were unendurable. I have undergone most painful sufferings in this life, and, as the physicians say, the greatest that can be borne, such as the contraction of my sinews when I was paralysed, without speaking of others of different kinds, yea, even those of which I have also spoken, inflicted on me by Satan; yet all these were as nothing in comparison with what I felt then, especially when I saw that there would be no intermission, nor any end to them. These sufferings were nothing in comparison with the anguish of my soul, a sense of oppression, of stifling, and of pain so keen, accompanied by so hopeless and cruel an infliction, that I know not how to speak of it. If I said that the soul is continually being torn from the body it would be nothing—for that implies the destruction of life by the hands of another; but here it is the soul itself that is tearing itself in pieces. I cannot describe that inward fire or that despair, surpassing all torments and all pain. I did not see who it was that tormented me, but I felt myself on fire, and torn to pieces, as it seemed to me; and, I repeat it, this inward fire and despair are the greatest torments of all. Left in that pestilential place, and utterly without the power to hope for comfort, I could neither sit nor lie down: there was no room. I was placed as it were in a hole in the wall; and those walls, terrible to look on of themselves, hemmed me in on every side. I could not breathe. There was no light, but all was thick darkness. I do not understand how it is; though there was no light, yet everything that can give pain by being seen was visible.
The last few chapters document some visions and revelations, including one regarding the “latter days”.
I was given to understand the great services which a particular Order would render in the latter days, and the courage with which its members would maintain the faith. I was praying before the most Holy Sacrament one day; I had a vision of a Saint, whose Order was in some degree fallen. In his hands he held a large book, which he opened, and then told me to read certain words, written in large and very legible letters; they were to this effect: “In times to come this Order will flourish; it will have many martyrs.” On another occasion, when I was at Matins in choir, six or seven persons, who seemed to me to be of this Order, appeared and stood before me with swords in their hands. The meaning of that, as I think, is that they are to be defenders of the faith; for at another time, when I was in prayer, I fell into a trance, and stood in spirit on a wide plain, where many persons were fighting; and the members of this Order were fighting with great zeal. Their faces were beautiful, and as it were on fire. Many they laid low on the ground defeated, others they killed. It seemed to me to be a battle with heretics.
This is generally consistent to Scripture and other prophecies regarding the end times. It is implied that heresy will have some ascendency, that at least one religious order will be “in some degree fallen”, and that it will be costly to combat such heresies.
The “Order” and the “Saint” of this order are deliberately unnamed to avoid unnecessarily offending others but for reasons outside of the scope of this article to discuss, it is most likely referring to the Carmelite Order to which St Teresa belonged.
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