Typed by: Kathy Sewell ksewell@gate.net
August 28, 1997
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INTRODUCTION
Chapter XV to XXX
LIFE AND DOCTRINE OF SAINT CATHERINE OF GENOA
TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN
NEW YORK
CHRISTIAN PRESS ASSOCIATION PUBLISHING CO.
1907
The publication of the Life of St Catherine
of Genoa at this moment is, for several reasons, opportune.
The reading of it will correct the misconceptions
of many who honestly fancy that the Catholic Church encourages a mechanical
piety, fixes the attention of the soul almost, if not altogether, on outward
observances, and inculcates nothing beyond a complete submission to her
authority and discipline.
The life of our Saint is an example of the
reverse of that picture. It makes clear the truth that the immediate guide of
the Christian soul is the Holy Spirit, and that her uncommon fidelity to the
inspirations of the Holy Spirit, made this holy woman worthy of being numbered
by the Church among that class of her most cherished children, who have
attained the highest degree of Divine love which it is possible for human
beings to reach upon earth.
The mistake of the persons above spoken of arises
from their failing to see that the indwelling Holy Spirit is the divine life of
the Church, and that her sacraments have for their end to convey the Holy
Spirit to the soul. It arises also from their not sufficiently appreciating the
necessity of the authority and discipline of the Church, as safeguards to the
soul from being led astray from the paths of the Holy Spirit.
Without doubt God could have, if He had so
pleased, saved and sanctified the souls of men in spite of their ignorance,
perversity, and weakness, by the immediate communication and action of the Holy
Spirit in their souls, independently of an external organization like the
Church. But such was not His pleasure, or His plan. For His own wise reasons,
He chose to establish a Church which He authorized to teach the world
whatsoever He had commanded, which He promised to be with unto the end of all
time, whose ministry, sacraments, and government should serve Him, as His body
had, to continue and complete, by a visible means, the work of man's
redemption.
Hence it is an entirely false view of the nature
and design of the Church to suppose that it was intended to be, or is in its
action, or ever was, or ever can be, a substitute for the authority of Christ,
or the immediate guidance of the Holy Spirit in the Christian soul.
The authority of the Church is no other that the
authority of Christ, as He Himself has declared, "He that heareth you, heareth
Me."[1] The sacraments are nothing else than the
channels, or visible means, of communicating the Holy Spirit to the soul. It is
the divine action in the Church which gives to its external organization the
principal reason for its existence.
And it is equally false, and at the same time
absurd, to suppose for a moment that the Holy Spirit indwelling in the Church
and embodied in her visible authority, and the same Holy Spirit dwelling in and
inspiring the Christian souls, should ever contradict each other, or come into
collision. Whenever, by supposition, this takes place, be assured it is not the
work of the Holy Spirit, but the consequence of ignorance, error, or perversity
on the part of the individual; for it must not be forgotten, or ever be lost
sight of, that it pleased Christ our Lord to promise to His Church that "the
gates of hell shall not prevail against her,"[2]
and not to teach individual Christians.
The test, therefore, of the sincerity of the
Christian soul in following the inspirations of the Holy Spirit, will be shown,
in case of uncertainty, by its prompt obedience to the voice of the Holy
Church. It is only when the soul goes astray from the paths of the Holy Spirit,
it finds trammels to its feet, otherwise it is conscious of perfect liberty in
the Church of God.
From the foregoing truths, the following
practical rule of safe-conduct can be drawn. The immediate guide of the soul to
salvation and sanctification is the Holy Spirit, and the criterion or test that
the soul is guided by the Holy Spirit, is its ready obedience to the authority
of the Church. With this rule there can be no danger of going astray, and the
soul can walk in absolute security, in the ways of sanctity.
This is the way in which all the saints have trod
to arrive at Christian perfection, but no life illustrates this truth more
plainly, so far as we are aware, than the life of our saint.
There are others who think that the Church
fosters a sanctity which is not concerned with this present life, rendering one
useless to society, and indifferent to the great needs of humanity.
The love of God and the love of one's neighbor as
taught by Christ and His Apostles, are essentially one. If the saints of the
Church were distinguished for their great love for God, they ought therefore to
be equally distinguished for their great love for mankind. The one is the test
of the other. If any man say, "I love God, and hateth his neighbor, he is a
liar." Such is the emphatic language of St John.[3]
Let us apply this test, with the history of the
Church and the biographies of her saints, in our hands. Take, for example, the
religious orders, and it is a fair one, for nearly all of them were founded by
saints, whose special aim it was to teach and practice Christian perfection, as
understood by the Catholic Church. What do these pages of history and biography
teach us? All that we possess of the classics, and of literature in every
department, pagan as well as Christian, prior to the invention of the art of
printing, we owe exclusively to the industry and labor of the early monks. Not
a slight service. These men were for the most part the founders and professors
of the great universities and colleges in England, Italy, Spain, France,
Germany, and Ireland. The last were not the least, for the monks of Ireland
were famous as founders of colleges and seats of learning in their own as well
as in foreign countries. Monks were the pioneers in agriculture, and in many
industrial and mechanical arts, while their monasteries became the centers of
great cities, many of which still retain their names. They were the sowers of
those seeds, which, being developed by time, men of our day claim all the honor
of their results, but modestly, under the title of "modern civilization!"
"Idle monks and nuns" were they? They were, as a
class, men and women who ate less, worked harder, and did more for intellectual
progress, civilization, and social well-being, than any other body of men and
women, whose record can be found on the pages of history, or who can be pointed
out in this nineteenth century!
As for works of mercy, such is the superabundance
of material, that it is difficult to know where to begin, and how to leave
off.
The brotherhoods and sisterhoods in the Church,
devoted to the care and relief of the sick, the orphan, the aged, the poor, the
captive, the prisoner, the insane, and to the thousand and one ills that human
nature is heir to, as well as those which are self-inflicted, who can count
them?
True, there were some religious orders which were
given almost exclusively to contemplation, but these were exceptional
vocations, and were so considered by the Church. These had also a most
important social bearing and practical value, which, however, this is not the
place to demonstrate. But the great majority of her saints were men and women
whose hearts were overflowing with warm and active sympathy for their race,
consecrating their energies to its improvement spiritually, intellectually,
morally, and bodily, and not seldom laying down their lives for its sake.
That the Church did not compel all her children,
seeking Christian perfection, into one uniform type, is true. Governed by that
divine wisdom which made man differ from man in his talents and aptitudes, she
did not attempt to mar and wrong their nature, but sought to elevate and
sanctify each in his own peculiar individuality.
Read the life of Saint Catherine, and in
imagination fancy her in the city hospital of Genoa, charged, not only with the
supervision and responsibility of its finances, but also overseeing the care of
its sick inmates, taking an active, personal part in its duties, as one of its
nurses, and the whole establishment conducted with strict economy, perfect
order, and the tenderest care and love! Fancy this for a moment in the city
hospital of Genoa in the sixteenth century, and seek for her compeer in the
city of New York, or in any other city in the world, in our day, and if you
find one, and outside of the Catholic Church, then, but not till then, you may
repeat to your heart's content, that she fosters a sanctity which turns one's
attention altogether away from this world, and makes one indifferent to the
wants of humanity.
Saint Catherine's life teaches another lesson to
those whose mental eyes are not closed to facts as plain as the sun when
shining at noonday.
We hear much said, and not a little is written,
in the United States and in England, about the exclusion of woman from spheres
of action for which her natural aptitudes fit her equally, and in many cases
render her superior to men; of her partial education, and in many cases, the
inferior position which she is forced to accept in society.
Strange that we hear no such complaints in
Catholic society, or from Catholic women! Is it because they have been taught
to hug the chains which make them slaves? or that they are denied the liberty
of speech? or that their lips are closed by arbitrary authority? Not at all.
The reason is plain. Women, no less than men, are free to occupy any position
whose duties and functions they have the intelligence or aptitude to fulfill.
They have the opportunities and are free to obtain the highest education their
capacities are capable of. This, every Catholic woman knows and feels, and
hence the absence of all consciousness, in the Church, of being deprived of her
rights, of oppression, and injustice.
One has but to open his eyes and read the pages
of ecclesiastical history to be convinced that in the Catholic Church there has
been no lack of freedom of action for women. Look for a moment at the countless
number of sisterhoods in the Church, some counting their members by thousands,
all under the government of one head, a woman, and elected by themselves for
life. Others again, each house forming a separate organization, with a superior
of its own, elected for a limited period. In fact, there is no form of
organization and government, of which they do not give us an example, and
carried on successfully, showing a practical ability in this field of action,
which no one can call in question. Then, there is no kind of labor, literary,
scientific, mechanical, as well as charitable, in which they may not engage,
according to their abilities and strength. Who shall enumerate the different
kinds of literary institutions, schools, and academies under their direction,
and confessedly superior in their kind? Who shall count the hospitals, the
orphanages, the reformatories, the insane asylums, and other similar
institutions, where they have proved their capacity to be above that of men?
All roads are open to woman's energies and capacities in the Church, and she
knows and is conscious of this freedom; and what is more, she is equally aware
that whatever she has ability to do, will receive from the Church
encouragement, sanction, and that honor which is due to her labor, her
devotion, and her genius.
Few great undertakings in the Church have been
conceived and carried on to success, without the cooperation, in some shape, of
women. The great majority of her saints are of their sex, and they are honored
and placed on her altars equally with men. It is not an unheard of event, that
women, by their scientific and literary attainments, have won from Catholic
Universities the title of Doctor. Saint Teresa is represented as an authorized
teacher, with a pen in hand, and with a doctor's cap. It would carry us
altogether too far beyond the limits of this preface to show how largely the
writings of women in the Church, have contributed to the body and perfection of
the science of theology.
In this respect also, our saint was
distinguished. Her spiritual dialogues and her treatise on purgatory have been
recognized by those competent to judge in such matters, as masterpieces in
spiritual literature. Saint Francis of Sales, that great master in spiritual
life, in whose city we have the consolation of writing this preface, was
accustomed to read the latter twice a year. Frederic Schlegel, who was the
first to translate Saint Catherine's dialogues into German, regarded them as
seldom if ever equaled in beauty of style; and such has been the effect of the
example of Christian perfection in our saint, that even the "American Tract
Society" could not resist its attraction, and published a short sketch of her
life among its tracts, with the title of her name by marriage, Catherine
Adorno.
It was fitting that the life of Saint Catherine
of Genoa should be translated for the first time into English, by one who is
now no more, but who was while living, distinguished, like our saint, for her
intellectual gifts, for her charity toward the poor and abandoned, and in
consecrating her pen to the cause and glory of God's Church.
L. T. Hecker
Annecy, Oct. 7, 1873
Of the parents and ancestors of the blessed Catherine, and how
at eight years of age she began to do penance; her gift of prayer, and of her
desire to enter into religion, and her marriage against her will.
Catherine was born at Genoa in
the year 1447. Her parents, Giacopo Fieschi and Francesca di Negro, daughter of
Sigismund, Marquis di Negro, were both of illustrious and noble birth. On
account of his merits, her father (a descendant of Robert, brother of Pope
Innocent IV, who was uncle of another Pontiff, Adrain V) was created Viceroy of
Naples, under King Regnier, in which office he remained until his death.
Although of very noble parentage, and very
delicate and beautiful in person, yet from her earliest years, she despised the
pride of birth, and abhorred luxury; so that when only about eight years of
age, she was inspired with the desire to do penance, and beginning to dislike
the soft indulgence of her bed, she laid herself down humbly to sleep on straw,
with a block of hard wood under her head, in the place of pillows of down.
She had in her chamber that image of our Lord,
which is commonly called "La Pieta," and whenever she entered there, and raised
her eyes to it, a violent pain seized her whole frame, caused by her grief and
love at the thought of what our Lord had suffered for love of us.
She led a very simple life, seldom speaking with
any one, very obedient to her parents, well skilled in the way of the divine
precepts, and zealous in the practice of the virtues.
At the age of twelve, God in his grace bestowed
on her the gift of prayer, and a wonderful communion with out Lord, which
enkindled within her a new flame of deep love, together with a lively sense of
the sufferings he endure in his holy passion, with many other good inclinations
for the things of God.
At the age of thirteen, she was inspired with a
desire for the religious life, and immediately communicated this inspiration to
her spiritual father, who was also confessor to the devout convent of our Lady
of Grace, in which she desired to become a nun, together with her pious sister
Limbania. She earnestly begged the Father to make known her holy desire to the
superiors of the convent above mentioned, and urge that they would deign to
receive her into their company. When this prudent, spiritual father saw and
heard such love for religion in one of so tender and delicate age, he began to
represent to her the austerities of the religious life; the innumerable
temptations of the enemy; the delicacy of her body, and many other things, to
all of which Catherine answered with so much prudence and zeal, that the father
was astonished, for her replies did not appear to him human, but supernatural
and divine; and he therefore promised her that he would lay the matter before
the superiors, which he did on the following day, at the same time
communicating to them the prudent, remarkable answers of his spiritual daughter
to his disclosures concerning the temptations and austerities of the religious
life. After taking his proposal into deliberate consideration the superiors of
the convent replied, that they were not accustomed to receive among them girls
of so tender an age. To this the Father made answer that judgment and devotion
not only supplied the want of age, but were better than years; still, they
judged it inexpedient to receive her as it was contrary to their custom, which
decision greatly afflicted the young girl who still trusted that Almighty God
would not abandon her.
At the age of sixteen, she was married by her
parents to a young Genoese of noble family, named, Giuliano Adorno; and
although this step was contrary to her wishes, yet her great simplicity,
submission, and reverence for her parents gave her patience to endure it.
But God, who in his goodness would not leave his
chosen one to place her affections on the world and the flesh, permitted a
husband to be given her entirely the opposite of herself in his mode of life,
who caused her so much suffering, that for ten years, she could hardly support
life, and by his imprudence she was at length reduced to poverty.
The last five of these ten years she devoted to
external affairs, and feminine amusements, seeking solace for her hard life, as
women are prone to do, in the diversions and vanities of the world, yet not to
a sinful extent; and she did this, because, during the five first years, she
suffered inconsolably from sadness; this was constantly increased by the
opposition of her husband's disposition to her own, which distressed her so
much, that one day, (it was the vigil of St Benedict), having gone into the
church of that saint, in her grief she exclaimed: "Pray to God for me, Oh, St
Benedict, that for three months he may keep me sick in bed." This she said
almost in desperation, not knowing what to do, so great was her distress of
mind; for during the three months before her conversion she was overwhelmed
with mental suffering, and filled with deep disgust for all things belonging to
the world; wherefore, she shunned the society of every one. She was oppressed
with a melancholy quite insupportable to herself, and took no interest in
anything.
But after these ten years she was called by God
and converted in a marvelous manner, as will appear hereafter.
She is wounded with divine love in the presence of her
confessor. Manifestations of the love of God and of her own offences. The Lord
appears to her carrying his cross, and she is taken up three degrees toward
God.
The day following the feast of
St Benedict, Catherine, at the instance of her sister, who was a nun, went to
confession at the convent of the latter, although she had no desire to do so;
but her sister said to her: "At least go to obtain the blessing of our
confessor," for he was indeed a holy man. The moment she knelt before him, she
was wounded so forcibly with the love of God, and received so clear a
revelation of her misery and faults, and of the goodness of God, that she had
well nigh fallen to the ground.
Overpowered by these emotions, and by her sense
of the offences she had committed against her dear Lord, she was so drawn away
by her purified affections from the miseries of the world, that she became
almost beside herself; and without ceasing, internally repented to herself, in
the ardor of love: "No more would, no more sin." And at that moment if she had
possessed a thousand worlds, she would have thrown them all away.
Through the ardent flame of burning love with
which she was enkindled, her good God, by his grace, impressed instantly upon
that soul, and infused into it, all perfection, purging it of all earthly
affections, illuminating it with a divine light by which she was enabled to
perceive with her interior eye, his goodness; and in a word, united her with
himself, and changed and transformed her entirely by the true union of a good
will, inflaming her wholly with his burning love.
The saint while in the presence of her confessor
lost entirely all consciousness through this sweet wound of love, so that she
could not speak; but her confessor was not yet aware of this when he chanced to
be called out, and left her so overwhelmed with grief and love, that she said
to him, with great difficulty, when he returned: "With your consent, father, I
will leave my confession till another time;" and she did so. Returning home,
she was so on fire and wounded with the love which God had interiorly
manifested to her, together with the view of her miseries, that, as if beside
herself, she went into a private chamber, and gave vent to her burning tears
and sighs.
At that moment she was instructed interiorly in
prayer, but her lips could only utter: "oh Love! can it be that you have called
me with so much love, and revealed to me at one view, what no tongue can
describe?" For many days she could only utter herself in sighs, and wonderfully
deep they were; and so great was her contrition for her offences against such
infinite goodness, that if she had not been miraculously supported, her heart
would have broken, and she would have died.
But when our Lord saw this soul still more
interiorly inflamed with his love, and filled with sorrow for her sins, he
appeared to her in spirit, with the cross upon his shoulder, dripping with
blood which she saw was shed wholly for love, and this vision so inflamed her
heart, that she was more than ever lost in love and grief.
This vision made such an impression upon her that
she seemed always to see with her bodily eyes, her bleeding Love, nailed to the
cross. Very plainly too did she see all the offences she had committed against
him, and cried out continually: "Oh Love, no more sin, no more sin!" Her hatred
of herself became so great, that filled with disgust she exclaimed: "Oh Love,
if it be necessary I am prepared to make a public confession of my sins."
After this she made her general confession with
such contrition and compunction, that her soul was at once cleansed of its
sins, for God had pardoned them all, consuming them in the flames of love, with
which he had already wounded her heart; yet, to satisfy justice he led her
through the way of satisfaction, permitting that this contrition and
self-knowledge should continue for nearly fourteen months; and when she had
made satisfaction, relieved her of the sight of her sins so entirely that she
never beheld again the least of them, no more than if they had all been cast
into the depths of the sea.
At that moment of her vocation, when she was
wounded at the feet of her confessor, she seemed to be drawn to the feet of our
Lord Jesus Christ, and in spirit beheld all the graces, means, and ways, by
which the Lord, in his pure love, had brought her to conversion. In this light
she remained for more than a year, relieving her conscience by means of
contrition, confession, and satisfaction.
She felt herself drawn with St. John, to rest on
the bosom of her loving Lord, and there she discovered a sweeter way which
contained in itself many secrets of the bounteous love which was consuming her,
so that she was often beside herself; and in her intense eagerness, her hatred
of self, and her deep contrition, she would lick the earth with her tongue, and
so great was the wain of contrition, and the sweetness of love, that she knew
not what she was doing; but she felt her heart lightened, occupied with
unbounded, poignant grief, and the sweet ardor of love. Thus she remained for
three years or more, melted with love and grief, and with the deep and burning
flames that were consuming her heart.
Then she was drawn to the open wound in the side
of the crucified Lord, and there she was allowed to see the Sacred heart of her
Lord burning with the same flames with which her own was enkindled; at the
sight of this, her heart died within her, and her strength abandoned her. This
impression remained for many years which were spent by her, in continual sighs,
and burning flames, so that her heart and soul were well nigh melted, and she
was constrained to cry out: "I have no longer either soul or heart; but my soul
and my heart are those of my Beloved;" and in him she was wholly absorbed and
transformed.
Finally, her sweet and loving Lord drew her to
himself, and bestowed upon her a caress, by the power of which she was entirely
immersed in that sweet Divinity to which she abandoned herself exteriorly, so
that she exclaimed: "I live no longer, but Christ lives in me." She knew no
longer whether her mere human acts were good or bad, but saw all things in God.
How the desire was given her to receive holy communion, and of
its precious effects in her; of her sufferings when she did not receive, and
how it seemed to her that she had lost faith, and walked by sight.
On the day of the Festival of
the Annunciation of the glorious Virgin Mary, after her conversion, that is,
after her loving wound, her Lord gave her the desire for holy communion, which
she never lost during her whole life; and her Love ordered it in such a way,
that communion was given her, without any care on her part, for she was, in a
wonderful manner, provided with it in one way or another; and without asking,
she was often summoned to receive it, by priests inspired by God to give it to
her.
On one occasion a holy religious said to her:
"You receive communion every day, how are you now satisfied?" and she answered
him simply, explaining her desires and feelings. In order to prove her, he said
to her: "Perhaps there may be something wrong in receiving communion so often:"
and then left her. In consequence of this, Catherine, for fear of doing wrong,
abstained from communion, but with great pain; and the religious, finding that
she thought more of doing wrong, than of the consolation and satisfaction of
communion, directed her to make daily communion, and she returned to her
accustomed way.
Once, when at the point of death, so ill that she
was unable to take any sustenance, she said to her confessor: "If you would
give me my Lord three times only, I should be cured." It was done, and her
health was immediately restored. Before receiving communion, she suffered
severe pains about the heart, and said: "My heart is not like that of others,
for it only rejoices in its Lord; and therefore give him to me." It indeed
seemed that otherwise she could not have lived, and if deprived of communion,
her life would have consumed away in suffering. Of this there are many proofs,
for if, on any day, she happened not to receive, she would pass it in almost
insupportable pain, so that her attendants were filled with compassion for her,
and believed it clearly, to be the will of God, that she should receive
daily.
One day, after communion, God gave her such
consolation, that she lost her consciousness, and the priest could not give her
the ablution until she had been restored to herself, and she then exclaimed:
"Oh, Lord, I do not desire to follow thee for these consolations, but only for
pure love."
Although she did not easily shed tears she awoke
one night weeping, when she had dreamed that she was not to receive on the next
day. But if, for any human reason, she could not have received it, she would
have been patient and confident, saying to her Lord: "If thou wouldst, it could
be given to me."
She said, that at the beginning of her
conversion, when this desire of communion was first given to her, she sometimes
envied the priests who received whenever they wished, without causing remarks
from any one. And it was her special desire, to be able to say the three masses
on Christmas day; so that she envied no one in this world but the priests, and
when she saw the Sacrament in the hands of one of them at the altar, she would
say within herself: "Take it, take it quickly, to your heart, for it is the
Lord of the heart." To receive it, she would have gone miles, and endured
fatigues beyond human power to bear.
When she was at mass she was often so occupied
interiorly with her Lord, that she did not hear a word; but when the time came
to receive communion she accused herself, and would say: "Oh! my Lord, it seems
to me that if I were dead, I should come to life, in order to receive thee, and
if an unconsecrated host were given to me, that I should know it by the taste,
as one knows wine from water." She said this, because, when consecrated, it
sent a certain ray of love into the very depths of her heart.
She also said, that if she had seen the whole
court of heaven, arrayed in such a manner, that there was no difference between
God and the angels, yet the love in her heart would have caused her to know
God, as the dog knows his master: and much sooner, and with less effort,
because love, which is God, himself, instantly and directly finds its end, and
last repose.
At one time, on receiving, she perceived such an
odor and such sweetness, that she believed herself in Paradise, when suddenly
she turned towards her Lord, and humbly said: "O Lord perhaps thou wouldst draw
me to thee by this fragrance? I do not desire it; I desire nothing but thee,
and thee wholly; thou knowest, that from the beginning I have asked of thee the
grace that I might never see visions, nor receive external consolations, for so
clearly do I perceive thy goodness, that I do not seem to walk by faith but by
a true and heartfelt experience."
How she was unable to take food during Lent and Advent, being
sustained by the Blessed Sacrament
Some time after her conversion,
on the day the Annunciation of our Lady, her Love spoke within her, saying,
that he wished her to keep the fast in his company in the desert, and
immediately she became unable to eat, so that she was without food for the body
until Easter, and with the exception of the three fast days, on which she had
the grace to be able to eat, she took nothing during the whole of Lent.
She afterwards ate, as at other times, without
disgust; and in this manner she passed twenty-three Lents and as many Advents,
during which time she took nothing but a tumblerful of water, vinegar, and
pounded salt. When she drank this mixture, it seemed seemed as if it were
thrown upon a red-hot surface, and that it was at once dried up in the great
fire that was burning within her. How wonderful! for no one, however healthy,
could bear a drink of this kind, fasting; but she described the sweetness that
proceeded from her burning heart, as so great, that even this harsh beverage
refreshed her.
This rejection of food, at first, gave her great
trouble, for now knowing the cause, she suspected some deception; but when she,
again and again, forced herself to take food, and her stomach rejected it, all
her family, as well as herself, regarded it as a prodigy; for even when she
attempted to eat, in obedience to her confessor, the result was the same.
This was the more remarkable, because at other
times she could eat and retain her food, even up to the very day when Lent and
Advent began. During the seasons when she could not eat, she practiced pious
works more than at other times, she slept better, and felt stronger and more
active; and she also went to table with the others, to avoid, as far as
possible, all singularity; and even forced herself to taste something, in order
to escape observation; then she would say to herself: "Oh if you knew what I
feel within!" By this she meant the burning and pure love, and union with God,
which those around her could hardly endure, so much were they astonished that
she could not eat; but she paid no heed to them, saying to herself: "If we
regarded the operations of God, we should look at the interior more than the
exterior. Living without food is purely an operation of God, without my will;
but it is nothing to boast of, or to cause surprise, for to him it is as
nothing. The pure light shows us, that we should not regard the manifestations
that God makes of himself for our necessities and his own glory, but only the
pure love with which his divine majesty performs his work in our behalf, and
the soul becoming these pure operations of a love which looks for no good that
we can do, must needs love him purely, without regard to any particular grace
which she receives from him, but looking to him alone, for himself alone, who
is worthy of being loved without measure, and with no reference either to soul
or body."
Of her great penances and mortifications
During the first four years
after she had received the sweet wound from her Lord, she performed many
penances, and mortified all her senses. She deprived her nature of all that it
desired, and obliged it to take what it disliked. She wore hair-cloth, and ate
no meat, nor fruit of any kind, either fresh or dry; and being by nature
courteous and affable, she did great violence to herself, by conversing as
little as possible with her relatives when they visited her, without any
respect to herself or to them; and if any one was surprised by it, she took no
notice.
She practiced great austerity in sleeping, lying
down on sharply pointed things. As soon as she determined to do any thing, she
never felt any temptation to the contrary. The fire within was so great, that
she took no account of exterior things relating to the body, although she
neglected no necessary work; and no temptations except those of her natural
inclinations could affect her. This was the case throughout her whole
after-life. She so resisted her natural inclinations, that they were completely
destroyed. Temptations like insects, could not approach the flames of pure love
enkindled in her heart.
Her eyes were always cast down. During the first
four years of her conversion she spent six hours daily in prayer, for such was
the obedience of her body to the spirit, that it dared not rebel, although it
suffered keenly; and she thus fulfilled in herself the words: cor meum, et
caro meo, exultaverunt in Deum vivum.
During these first four years, the
interior fire that was consuming her produced such extreme hunger, and so
quickly did she digest her food, that she could have devoured iron. She
comprehended that this desire for food was something supernatural. She was also
unable to speak except in so low a tone as scarcely to be understood, so
powerful was her interior feeling.
Most of the time she appeared like one beside
herself, for she neither spoke, nor heard, nor tasted nor valued any thing in
the world; neither did she look at any thing.
Yet she lived in subjection to every one, and was
always more inclined to do the will of others than her own. And it is
remarkable, that although God even in the beginning made her perfect by infused
grace, so that she was at once entirely purified in her affections, illuminated
and peaceful in her intellect, and transformed in all things by his sweet love,
yet it was the will of God, that the divine justice should be observed in the
mortification of all her senses, which, although they were already mortified,
so far as regarded the consent to any natural inclinations, even the slightest,
yet the Lord allowed her to see what these were, and therefore, she very
carefully opposed them.
She was sometimes asked, when practising such
mortifications of all her senses: "Why are you doing this?" And she answered:
"I do not know, but I feel myself interiorly and irresistibly drawn to do so,
and I believe that this is the will of God; but it is not his will that I
should have any object in it." And it seemed indeed to be the truth, for, at
the end of four years, all these mortifications ended, so that if she still
wished to practice them, she could no longer have done so.
At that time, listening one day to a sermon in
which the conversion of Mary Magdalen was narrated, she heard a voice in her
heart saying: "I understand;" and by her correspondence with the preaching, she
perceived her conversion to have been like that of Magdalen.
How she was withdrawn by God from the use of her senses. Of
three rules given her by the Lord, and of certain words chosen from the Our
Father and Hail Mary, and from the whole of the Holy Scripture.
After the four years above
mentioned, her mind became clear and free, and so filled with God that nothing
else ever entered into it. At mass and instructions her bodily senses were
closed; but interiorly, in the divine light, she saw and heard many things,
being wholly absorbed in secret delights; and it was not in her power to do
otherwise.
It is wonderful, that with all this interior
occupation, God did not allow her to depart from the usual order. Whenever it
was needful, she returned to her accustomed mode of life, answered the
questions put to her, and thus she gave no cause of complaint to any one.
She was sometimes so lost in the sense of divine
love, that she was obliged to hide herself, for she was like one dead. In order
to escape such a condition, she endeavored to remain in the company of others,
and said to her Lord: "I wish not, O sweet Love, for that which proceeds from
thee, but for thyself alone!" She wished to love God without soul and without
body, and unsustained by them, with a direct, pure, and sincere, love; but the
more she shunned these consolations, the more her Lord bestowed them upon her.
Sometimes she was found in a remote place, prostrate on the earth, her face
covered with her hands, so completely lost in the sweetness of divine love,
that she was insensible to the loudest cry.
At other times she would walk back and forth, as
if lost to self, and following the attraction of love.
Sometimes, when she had been thus lifeless for
the space of six hours, she would be aroused suddenly by the voices of persons
calling her, and attend to their smallest wants, for she abandoned as hateful
all right to self. On these occasions she came forth from her retirement, with
a glowing countenance, like a cherub ready to exclaim: "Who will separate me
from the love of God," with all the other words of that glorious apostle.
Her love once said to her interiorly: "My
daughter, observe these three rules, namely: never say I will or I will not.
Never say mine, but always ours. Never excuse yourself, but always accuse
yourself." Moreover he said to her: "When you repeat the `Our Father' take
always for your maxim, Fiat voluntas tua, that is, may his will be done
in everything that may happen to you, whether good or ill; from the `Hail Mary'
take the word Jesus, and may it be implanted in your heart, and it will
be a sweet guide and shield to you in all the necessities of life. And from the
rest of Scripture take always for your support this word, Love, with
which you will go on your way, direct, pure, light, watchful, quick,
enlightened, without erring, yet without a guide or help from any creature; for
love needs no support, being sufficient to do all things without fear; neither
does love ever become weary, for even martyrdom is sweet to it. And, finally,
this love will consume all the inclinations of the soul, and the desires of the
body, for the things of this life."
How even her humanity was affected by the burning fire of this
love; how much she desired to die, and took delight in hearing masses, bells,
and offices, for the dead.
When the use of her senses and
facilities was thus lost, in her spiritual joy she said to her humanity: "Are
you satisfied with being thus fed?" And humanity answered: "Yes," and that she
would sacrifice every enjoyment in this life for it. What must have been the
joys of the soul, if even humanity, so contrary to the spirit, also took
delight in peace and union with God?
This was the case from the beginning, but at
last, that burning, interior flame burst forth, and caused a corresponding
suffering in the body, so that she was often obliged to press her hand upon her
heart for relief. She could not have endured these pains for two successive
days, and after their intensity had passed away, her heart was left melted in a
divine and wonderful sweetness.
God allowed her to remain for some days, in this
state, and then permitted her to be assailed by another and still more violent
attach, so that humanity, rather than take food, would have suffered martyrdom;
therefore, when she looked on the dead, or heard offices and masses, or even a
passing bell, she rejoiced as if she were going to behold that truth which she
experienced in her heart; and she would rather have died than live separated
from those things in which she found her support and consolation.
She became reduced to such a condition, that she
had no rest but when she slept; and then she felt herself freed from prison,
because her attention was not so continually riveted on God. Her desire for
death remained for nearly two years, and she was always asking for it, saying:
"O cruel death, why do you keep me so anxiously waiting for you?" This desire
knew no why, nor how, and it continued until she began to make daily
communion.
Filled with this desire, she addressed death, as
"Gentle death, sweet, gracious, beautiful, strong, rich, precious, death," and
by every other name of honor and dignity that she could call to mind, and then
added: "I find, O death, but one fault in thee, thou art too sparing of thyself
to him who desires thee, and too ready for him who shuns thee; yet I see that
thou dost all things, according to the will of God, which is without fault; but
our irregular appetites do not correspond, for if they did so, they would rest
on the divine will, in peace and silence, as death itself does, and we should
have no more choice than if we were already dead and buried." But she said, it
really seemed, if there were any choice for her, that death was the thing to be
chosen, because thus the soul is secure from ever offering any hindrance to
pure love, and is liberated from the prison of this wretched body and of the
world, which, with all their power, are continually engaging her, in every way,
in their own occupations, while she regards them as her enemies to which she is
outwardly subjected.
When she was performing cruel penances, the
sensitive nature never opposed her, but was entirely obedient; but when
inflamed with love, it was wonderful how restive it became, and how much it
suffered. And for this reason, because in penances the spirit corresponded to
humanity, and strengthened her for her share in the work, but afterwards, the
spirit being separated from visible things, and God operating in it without
means, humanity was left in abandonment, and suffered intolerably without any
help. Humanity is indeed capable of penance, but is not capable of such burning
love.
But everything was regulated by her merciful God,
with the highest wisdom, which enabled the body to endure the most severe
penance, and to live and rejoice in these agonizing flames, without
complaining; and no one can know how severe is this suffering, unless he has
himself experienced it.
How the Saint devoted herself to pious works, and served in a
hospital.
In the beginning of her
conversion she devoted herself to good works, seeking for the poor throughout
the city, under the guidance of the Ladies of Mercy on whom devolved this
charge and who, according to the custom of the city, supplied her with money
and provisions for the poor. She cleansed their houses from the most disgusting
filth, and she would even put it in her mouth, in order to conquer the disgust
it produced. She took home the garments of the poor, covered with dirt and
vermin, and having cleansed them thoroughly, returned them to their owners. It
was remarkable that nothing unclean was ever found upon herself: she also
tended the sick with most devoted affection, speaking to them of their
spiritual as well as of their temporal affairs.
She took charge of the great hospital of Genoa,
where nothing escaped her watchful care, although her incessant occupations
never diminished her affection for God, her sweet Love; neither did this love
ever cause her to neglect her service in the hospital, which was regarded as a
miracle by all who saw her. It is also remarkable that she never made the
mistake of a single farthing, in the accounts of large sums of money which she
was obliged to keep, and, for her own little necessities, she made use of her
own little income.
There was once in the hospital a very pious woman
of the third order of St. Francis, who was dying of a malignant fever. She was
in her agony for eight days, and during that time, Catherine often visited her,
and would say to her: "Call Jesus!" Unable to articulate, she moved her lips so
that it was conjectured that she tried to do so, and Catherine, when she saw
her mouth so filled, as it were, with Jesus, could not restrain herself from
kissing her, and in this way took the fever, and only narrowly escaped death.
This, however, did not diminish her zeal in the service of the hospital, to
which she returned immediately upon her recovery, and devoted herself to it
with great care and diligence.
Of her wonderful knowledge of God and of herself.
This servant of God had an
almost incredible knowledge of herself. She was so purified and enlightened, so
united with and transformed into God, her Love, that what she said seemed to be
uttered not by a human tongue, but rather by one angelic and divine; which
proves the truth that numble souls, thirsting after God, can often grasp what
the mere human intellect can never attain or comprehend. She was accustomed to
say: "If it were possible for me to suffer as much as all the martyrs have
suffered, and even hell itself, for the love of God, and in order to make
satisfaction to him, it would be after all only a sort of injury to God, in
comparison with the love and goodness with which he has created, and redeemed,
and, in a special manner, called me. For man, unassisted by God's grace, is
even worse than the devil, because the devil is a spirit without a body, while
man, without the grace of God, is a devil incarnate. Man has a free will,
which, according to the ordination of God, is in nowise bound, so that he can
do all the evil that he wills; to the devil, this is impossible, since he can
act only by the divine permission; and when man surrenders to him his evil
will, the devil employs it, as the instrument of his temptation."
And hence she said: "I see that whatever is good
in myself, in any other creature, or in the saints, is truly from God; if, on
the other hand, I do any thing evil, it is I alone who do it, nor can I charge
the blame of it upon the devil or upon any other creature; it is purely the
work of my own will, inclination, pride, selfishness, sensuality, and other
evil dispositions, without the help of God I should never do any good thing. So
sure am I of this, that if all the angels of heaven were to tell me I have
something good in me, I should not believe them."
This holy soul knew in what true perfection
consists, and had, moreover a knowledge of all imperfections. There is nothing
surprising in this, for her interior eye was enlightened, her affections
purified, and her heart wholly united to God, her Love, in whom she saw things
wonderful and hidden from human sense. She said, therefore: "So long as any one
can speak of divine things, enjoy and understand them, remember and desire
them, he has not yet arrived in port; yet there are ways and means to guide him
thither. But the creature can know nothing but what God gives him to know from
day to day, nor can he comprehend beyond this, and at each instant remains
satisfied with what he receives. If the creature knew the height to which God
is prepared to raise him in this life, he would never rest, but on the contrary
would feel a certain craving, a vehement desire to reach quickly that ultimate
perfection, and would think himself in hell until he had obtained it."
Even at the beginning of her conversion, this
holy and devout soul, inflamed with divine love, was wont to exclaim: "Oh!
Lord, I desire thee wholly, for in thy clear and strong light I see that the
soul can never be at peace until she has attained her last perfection. Oh,
sweet Lord! if I believed that I should lose one spark of thee, I could no
longer live." Again she said: "It appeared to me, as I noted from time to time,
that the love wherewith I loved my sweet Love, grew greater day by day, and
yet, at each step, I had thought it as perfect as it could be, for love has
this property that it can never perceive in itself the least defect. But as my
vision grew clearer, I beheld in myself many imperfections which, had I seen
them in the beginning, I should have esteemed nothing, not even hell itself,
too great or painful that would have rid me of them. In the beginning they were
hidden from me, for it was the purpose of God to accomplish his work by little
and little, in order to keep me humble, and enable me to remain among my fellow
creatures. And finally, seeing a completed work entirely beyond the creature, I
am compelled to say what before I could not say, and confess how clear it is to
me that all our works are even more imperfect than any creature can fully
understand."
This holy creature was accustomed to use the
words: "Sweetness of God; purity of God," and other beautiful expressions of
the same kind. Sometimes she uttered expressions like these: "I see without
eyes, hear without understanding, feel without feeling, and taste without
tasting. I know neither form nor measure; for without seeing I yet behold an
operation so divine that the words I first used, perfection, purity, and the
like seem to me now mere lies in the presence of the truth. The sun which once
looked so bright is now dark; what was sweet is now bitter, because sweetness
and beauty are spoiled by contact with creatures. Nor can I any longer say: `My
God, my All.' Everything is mine, for all that is God's seems to be wholly
mine. Neither in heaven nor on earth shall I ever again use such words, for I
am mute and lost in God. Nor can I call the saints blessed, nor the blessed
holy, for I see that their sanctity and their beatitude is not theirs, but
exists only in God. I see nothing good or blessed in any creature if it be not
wholly annihilated and absorbed in God, so that he alone may remain in the
creature and the creature in him.
"This is the beatitude that the blessed might
have, and yet they have it not, except in so far as they are dead to themselves
and absorbed in God. They have it not in so far as they remain in themselves
and can say: `I am blessed.' Words are wholly inadequate to express my meaning,
and I reproach myself for using them. I would that every one could understand
me, and I am sure that if I could breathe on creatures, the fire of love
burning within me would inflame them all with divine desire. O thing most
marvelous! So great is my love for God, that beside it all love for the
neighbor seems only hypocrisy. I can no longer condescend to creatures, or if I
do so, it is only with pain, for to me the world seems only to live in vanity."
How impossible it was for vain-glory to enter the mind of this
holy creature. Of the light which hatred of self gave her, and of the value of
our own actions.
Vain-glory could never enter
her mind, for she had seen the truth, and distrusting herself, placed her whole
confidence in God, saying always: "Oh Lord! do with me what thou wilt." She had
so little esteem of herself that it was pleasing to her to be reproved for any
inclination she might have, nor did she ever excuse herself. So clear was the
interior vision of that illuminated mind, and such deep things did she say
concerning perfection that she could hardly be understood except by the most
profound intellects. Among other things she said: "I would not wish to see one
meritorious act attributed to myself, even if it were the means of insuring my
salvation; for I should be worse than a demon, to wish to rob God of his own.
Yet it is needful that we ourselves act, for the divine grace neither vivifies
nor aids that which does not work itself, and grace will not save us without
our cooperation. I repeat it; all works, without the help of grace are dead,
being produced by the creature only; but grace aids all works performed by
those who are not in mortal sin, and makes them worthy of heaven; not those
which are ours solely, but those in which grace cooperates." So jealous was she
for the glory of God, that she was wont to say: "If I could find any good in
any creature, (which, however, is impossible) I would tear it from her, and
restore it all to God."
Of the revelation she had concerning purity of conscience, and
of the opposition of sin to God.
Illuminated by a clear ray from
the true light which shone into this holy soul she spoke admirable things
concerning purity of conscience, saying: "Purity of conscience can endure
nothing but God only; for he alone is spotless, simple, pure: of all things
else, that is, of what is evil, it cannot endure even the smallest spark; this
can neither be understood nor appreciated, if it be not felt." Hence she had
ever in her mouth, as a habit, this word Purity: she had also a
cleanliness and purity most admirable in her speech. She wished that every
conception and emotion of the mind should issue to from it undefiled and pure,
without the least complexity, and thus it was impossible for her to feign a
sympathy she did not feel, or to condole with others out of friendship, except
so far as she really corresponded with them in her heart. The continual
humility, contempt, and hatred of self, in this soul were at this time most
remarkable. When, by the divine permission, she suffered such mental distress
that she could scarcely open her mouth, she would then say: "Oh, Love! let me
remain thus, that I may be submissive; for otherwise it would be impossible
that I should not do something wrong. Oh, how good and admirable is the
knowledge of a soul, which, being all protected, united, and transformed in
God, her felicity, sees clearly, on one side, her own inclination to all that
is evil, and on the other, how she is restrained by God, that she may not
commit actual sin! One thing is certain; namely, that never is the soul so
perfect that it does not need the continual help of God, even though it be
transformed in him. It is true, that the nature of the sweet God is such, that
he never allows these souls to fall, although the soul, left to herself, could
fall if she were not thus restrained. But he only preserves those who never
with their free will consent unto sin; and allows those to fall who do
voluntarily yield assent thereto; for truly, having given us free will, he will
not force it. Consequently, those who fall into sin do so by their own fault,
and not by that of God, who is ever ready to aid the soul even after her fall,
if she will allow herself to be aided, and will correspond to the divine grace
which never ceases to call her, saying: `Turn from evil and do good, and be
converted to me with your whole heart.'"
And therefore she said: "If the soul, fallen into
what sins soever, corresponds to the grace of God and abhors her past sins,
with a resolution and a will to sin no more, he immediately frees her from her
guilt, and holds her so that she may not fall, nor through her own malice be
separated from him, that is, from the observance of his commandments which are
his will; to sin voluntarily, is to be separated from God. And not only is he
ready, on his own part to do all this, but I see clearly with the interior eye,
that the sweet God loves with a pure love the creature that he has created, and
has a hatred for nothing but sin, which is more opposed to him than can be
thought or imagined. I say, God loves his creature with a perfection that
cannot be understood, nor could it be even by an angelic intellect which would
fail to comprehend even its slightest spark. And if God wished to make a soul
understand, it would be necessary to give her an immortal body, since by nature
it could never endure the knowledge. For it is impossible that God and sin,
however slight, should remain together, for such an impediment would prevent
the soul from attaining to his glory. And as a little thing that thou hast in
thine eye will not allow thee to see the sun, and as it is possible to compare
the difference between God and the sun to that between the intellectual vision
and that of the bodily eye, it is plain that the great opposition between the
one and the other can never be truly imagined.
"Wherefore, it is necessary that the soul which
desires to be preserved from sin in this life, and to glorify God in the other,
should be spotless, pure, and simple, and not voluntarily retain a single thing
which is not purged by contrition, confession and satisfaction, because all our
works are imperfect and defective. Whence, if I consider and observe clearly,
with the interior eye, I see that I ought to live entirely detached from self;
Love has wished me to understand this, and in a manner I do understand it, so
that I could not possibly be deceived; and for my part I have so abandoned
myself, that I can regard it only as a demon, or worse, if I may so say."
"After God has given a soul the light in which
she perceives the truth that she cannot even will, and much less work, apart
from him, without always soiling and making turbid the clear waters of his
grace, then she sacrifices all to him, and he takes possession of his creature,
and both inwardly and outwardly occupies her with himself, so that she can do
nothing but as her sweet Love wills. Then the soul, by reason of its union with
God, contradicts Him in nothing, nor does aught but what is pure, upright,
gentle, sweet, and delightful, because God allows nothing to molest it. And
these are the works which please the Lord our God."
Of the great and solicitous care which God operates in divers
ways in order to attract the soul to himself, so that he seems to be in a
manner our servant.--Of the blindness of man.--Of the many ways in which he is
deceived by his own self-will.
"I see that the sweet God is so
solicitous for the welfare of the soul, that no human being could have a like
anxiety to gain the whole world even if he were certain to obtain it by his
efforts; when behold the love he displays in providing us with all possible
aids to lead us into heaven, I am, as it were, forced to say that this sweet
Master appears as if he were our servant. If man could see the care which God
takes of a soul, nothing more would be necessary to amaze and confound him than
to consider that this glorious God, in whom all things have their being, should
have so great a providence over his creatures; yet we, to whom it is a matter
either of salvation or damnation, hold it in light esteem."
"But alas! how can this be so? If we esteem not
that which God esteems, what else should we esteem? O wretched man, where dost
thou lose thyself? What dost thou with that time, so precious, of which thou
hast such need? What with those goods with which thou shouldst buy Paradise?
What with thy body, which was given thee to work for and to serve thy soul?
What with thy soul, whose end is to be united to God by love? All these thou
hast turned towards earth, which produces a seed whose fruits thou wilt eat
with the demons in hell with infinite despair, because, having lost that glory
for which thou wert created, and to which so many inspirations called thee,
thou wilt then see that thou hast failed to secure it through thine own fault
alone.
"Know for a certainty that if men understood how
terrible is even one solitary sin, they would rather be cast into a heated
furnace, and there remain, living both in soul and body, than to support such a
sight. And if the sea were all fire they would cast themselves therein and
never leave it, if they were certain of meeting the sin on doing so." To many
this will appear a strange saying, but to the saint these things had been shown
as in truth they were, and such a comparison seemed to her but a trifling one;
she added:
"It has happened to me to behold something almost
too shameful to relate, and this is that man seems to live quite merrily in
sin; it astonishes me that a thing so terrible should receive so little
consideration." She said again: "When I see and contemplate what God is, and
what our own misery is, and behold the many ways by which he seeks to exalt us,
I am transported beyond myself with astonishment. On the part of man, I see
such a perversity and rebellion against God, that it seems impossible to bend
his will except by the lure of things greater than those he enjoys here in this
life. This is because the soul loves visible things, and will not renounce one
but with the hope of four. And even with this hope, she would still seek to
escape, if God did not retain her by his exterior and interior graces, without
which man, whose instincts are naturally corrupt, could not be saved; for we
are naturally corrupt, could not be saved; for we are naturally prone to add
actual to original sin, and to continually tend toward earth for our
satisfactions. And as Adam opposed his own will to the divine will, so we must
seek to have the will of God as our only object, and by it to have our own
disposed and annihilated. And as we cannot by ourselves discover our own evil
inclinations, and our secret self-love, nor possibly annihilate our own
self-will, it is very useful to subject our will to that of some other
creature, and to do its bidding for the love of God. And the more we so subject
ourselves for that divine love, so much the more shall we emancipate ourselves
from that evil plague of our self-will which is so subtle and hidden within us,
and works in so many ways, and defends itself by so many pleas that it is like
the very demon. What it cannot effect in one way, it does in another, and this
under many disguises. Now it is known as charity, now as necessity, justice,
perfection, or suffering for God, or seeking for spiritual consolation, or for
health, or as a good example to others, or a condescension to those who seek
our advantage. It is an abyss, so deep and dangerous, that no one but God can
save us from it. And as he sees this more clearly than we, he has great
compassion for us, and never ceases to send us good inspirations and to seek to
liberate us, not by forcing our free-will, but rather by disposing us in so
many loving ways, that the soul, when she comes to understand the great care
which God has taken of her, is forced to exclaim: `O my God, it appears to me
that thou hast nothing else to think of but my salvation! What am I that thou
shouldst so care for me? Thou art God who thus carest for me, and I am nothing
but myself. Can it be possible that I should not esteem what thou esteemest?
that I should not remain ever obedient to thy commandments, and attentive to
all the gracious inspirations thou sendest me by so many ways?'"
How she sees the source of goodness is in God, and how
creatures participate in it.
"I saw," said she, "a sight
which greatly consoled me. I was shown the living source of goodness in God, as
it was when yet alone and unparticipated in by any creature. Then I saw it
begin to communicate itself to the creatures, and it did so to the fair company
of angels, in order to give them the fruition of its own ineffable glory,
demanding no other return from them than that they should recognize themselves
as creatures, created by the supreme goodness, and having their being wholly
from God, apart from whom all things are reduced to pure nonentity. The same
must be said of the soul, which also was created immortal, that it might attain
to beatitude; for if there were no immortality there could be no happiness. And
because the angels were incapable of annihilation, therefore when their pride
and disobedience robed them in the vesture of sin, God deprived them of that
participation in his goodness, which, by his grace, he had ordained to give
them: hence they remained so infernal and terrible that none, even of those who
are specially enlightened by God, can possibly conceive their degradation. He
did not, however, subtract all his mercy from them, for had he done so, they
would be still more malicious, and would have a hell as infinitely immense in
torture as it is in duration.
"God also is patient with man, his creature,
while he remains in this world (although in sin), supporting him by his
goodness, by which we are either tortured, or enabled to endure joyfully all
grievous things, accordingly as he wishes to impart more or less to us. Of this
goodness we sinners participate in this life, because God knows our flesh,
which is the occasion of so much ignorance and weakness; and, therefore, while
we are in this present life, he bears patiently with us, and allures us to him
by hidden communications of his bounty: but, should we die in mortal sin (which
God forbid), then he would deprive us of his mercy, and leave us to ourselves;
yet not altogether so, because in every place he wills that his mercy shall
accompany his justice. And were it possible to find a creature which in no
degree participated in the divine goodness, it would be almost as bad as God is
good.
"This I say, because God showed me somewhat of
his truth, in order that I might know what man is without him; that is, when
the soul is found in mortal sin, at that time, it is so monstrous and horrible
to behold, that it is impossible to imagine anything equally so.
"No one need be surprised at this which I say and
feel, namely, that I can no longer live in myself, that I am with a single
motion of my own proper will, intellect, or memory. Wherefore, whether I speak,
walk, remain quiet, sleep, eat, or do anything else, as if from my own proper
self, I do not feel or know it. All these things are so far removed from me,
that is, from the interior of my heart, that the distance is like that between
heaven and earth; and if any of these things could by any mode enter into me,
and give me such an enjoyment as ordinarily they produce, without doubt, I
should be filled with misery, for I should feel it to be a retrogression from
that which had formerly been shown me, and that it ought to have been
destroyed. In this manner, all my natural inclinations, both of soul and body,
are being consumed; and I know it to be necessary that all that is ours should
waste away until nothing of it can be found; this is on account of its
malignity, which nothing is able to overcome but the infinite goodness of God;
and if it be not hidden and consumed, it will never be possible for us to be
freed from this goad which is more than infernal, and which, so far as we are
concerned, I behold to grow more horrible daily, so that one who was interiorly
enlightened, yet had no confidence in God, would be driven to despair by the
sight; so dreadful are we when compared to God, who, with great love and
solicitude, continually seeks to aid us."
It was still further shown to her in spirit how
all the works of men (especially those which are spiritual), without the aid of
supernatural grace, remain near God, without fruit, and are of little or no
value. She saw also that God never fails to knock at the heart of man in order
to enter therein and justify his works, and that none can ever complain that he
was not called, for God is ever knocking, and not more at the hearts of the
good than at those of the evil.
How she was entirely transformed in God, and hated to say me
or mine.--What pride is.--Of the error of man who seeks for plenty and
happiness on earth, where they cannot be found.--What a misfortune it is to be
without love.
And continuing her discourse,
she said: "I have always seen, and I am ever seeing more and more clearly, that
there is no good except in God, and that all lesser goods which can be found
are such only by participation; but pure and simple love cannot desire to
receive from God anything, however good it may be, which is merely a good of
participation, because God wishes it to be as pure, great, and simple as he is
himself, and if the least thing were wanting to this perfection, love could not
be contented, but would suffer as if in hell. And therefore I say that I cannot
desire any created love, that is, love which can be felt, enjoyed, or
understood. I do not wish love that can pass through the intellect, memory, or
will; because pure love passes all these things and transcends them." She said
also:
"I shall never rest until I am hidden and
enclosed in that divine heart wherein all created forms are lost, and, so lost,
remain thereafter all divine; nothing else can satisfy true, pure, and simple
love. Therefore I have resolved so long as I live to say always to the world
that it may do with my exterior as it wills, but with my interior this cannot
be allowed, because it cannot, it will not occupy itself except in God, nor
could it possibly wish to do otherwise, for he has locked it up within himself
and will discover it to no one.
"Knowing that with all his power he is
continually striving to annihilate this humanity, his creature, both inwardly
and outwardly, in order that when it is entirely destroyed, the soul may issue
with him from the body and thus united ascend to heaven; in my soul, therefore,
I can see no one but God, since I suffer no one else to enter there, and myself
less than any other, because I am my own worst enemy."
"If, however, it happens to be necessary to speak
of myself, I do so on account of the world, which would not understand me
should I name myself otherwise than as men are named, yet inwardly I say: my
self is God, nor is any other self known to me except my God.
"And likewise when I speak of being, I say: all
things which have being, have it from the essence of God by his participation:
but pure love cannot stop to contemplate this general participation coming from
God, nor to consider whether in itself, considered as a creature, it receives
it in the same way as do the other creatures which more or less participate
with God. Pure love cannot endure such comparison; on the contrary, it exclaims
with a great impetus of love; my being is God, not by participation only but by
a true transformation and annihilation of my proper being.
"Now take an example: the elements are not
capable of transformation, for it is their nature to remain fixed, and, because
this is the law of their being, they have not free-will, and it is impossible
for them to vary from their original state. But every one who desires to remain
firm in his own mind must have God as his chief end, who arrests every creature
at that end for which he has created it, otherwise it would be impossible to
detain it; it is insatiable until it has reached its true centre, which is God
himself.
"Now although man is created for the possession
of happiness, yet, having deviated from his true end, his nature has become
deformed and is entirely repugnant to true beatitude. And on this account we
are forced to submit to God this depraved nature of ours which fills our
understanding with so many occupations, and causes us to deviate from the true
path, in order that he may entirely consume it until nothing remains there but
himself; otherwise the soul could never attain stability nor repose, for she
was created for no other end.
"Therefore, whenever God can do so, he attracts
the free-will of man by sweet allurements, and afterwards disposes it in such a
manner that all things may conduce to the annihilation of man's proper being.
So that in God is my being, my me, my strength, my beatitude, my good,
and my delight. I say mine at present because it is not possible to
speak otherwise; but I do not mean by it any such thing as me or
mine, or delight or good, or strength or stability, or beatitude; nor could
I possibly turn my eyes to behold such things in heaven or in earth; and if,
notwithstanding, I sometimes use words which may have the likeness of humility
and of spirituality, in my interior I do not understand them, I do not feel
them. In truth it astonishes me that I speak at all, or use words so far
removed from the truth and from that which I feel. I see clearly that man in
this world deceives himself by admiring and esteeming things which are not, and
neither sees nor esteems the things which are. Listen to what Fra Giacopone
says about this in one of his lauds, that one which commences: O love of
poverty. He says: What appears to thee, is not, so great is that which
is; pride is in heaven; humility condemns itself. He says what appears,
that is, all things visible and created are not and have no true being in
themselves; so great is that which is, namely God, in whom is all true
being. Pride is in heaven; that is, the true greatness is in heaven and
not on earth; humility condemns itself, that is, the affections placed
on things created which are humble and vile, not having in themselves any true
being.
"But let us consider more attentively this matter
namely this human blindness which takes white for black and holds pride for
humility and humility for pride, and from which springs the perverse judgment
which is the cause of all confusion. Let us see what pride may be. I say,
according to what I see with the interior eye, pride is nothing else but
an elevation of the mind to things which surpass man and are above his
dignity, and whenever man abandons that which is, and which knows, and
which is powerful, for that which in truth has neither existence, knowledge,
nor power, this is not pride.
"This degrades him, and it generates that pride
accompanied by presumption, self-esteem, and arrogance which occasions so many
sins against charity for the neighbor; for man believes himself to be such as
he appears in his disordered mind which is so full of miseries. Therefore God
says to this proud man: If thou seekest, according to the nature of the created
soul, for such great things as seem at present to be good and for that
happiness which belongs to earth, know that they are not, they cannot satisfy
nor afford contentment seek rather in heaven, where pride is lawful, and where
it is not placed in things empty and vain, but in those which are really great,
which always remain and which cause a sinless pride; but if thou seekest after
worthless things thou shalt never find them and shalt lost those which thou
shouldst have sought.
"If man's eyes were pure, he would see clearly
that things which pass away so quickly as do those which in this world are
esteemed beautiful, good, and useful, could not truly be said to be so, such
words being suitable only for things which have no end. Hence, man, if he
prides himself upon temporal things, becomes unable to attain those that are
celestial and eternal, degenerates into a vile and humble creature whose
greatness is lost and who is degraded to the condition of the things he has
always sought. Think, alas, what will become of this spirit so generous,
created for the highest dignity and felicity, when it is immersed in the vile
filth of its own depraved desires and held by its own demerits in abominations
which will ever grow worse, but which will never end and which have no remedy?
Alas! what pain, what anguish, and what desperate tears shall then be to this
poor soul!
"We see and know by experience that only two
causes could enable the spirit to remain in a place of torture: one of these is
force, and the other the hope of a great reward for such endurance. What
despair then will not man suffer when the force which detains him in hell shall
never cease, and the pain shall have no remuneration? It is certain that our
spirit was created for love and for felicity and this is what it is constantly
seeking in all things; it can never find satiety in temporal things and yet is
ever hoping that it may there attain it. Finally it deceives itself and loses
that time which is so precious, and which was given it that it might seek God,
the supreme good, in whom may be found the true love and the holy satisfaction
which should be its true satiety and full repose. But what will it do in the
end, when, having lost all its occupations, and discovered all its illusions
and its vain hopes, and lost all its time, it remains deprived of every good,
and, though contrary to its nature, must forever remain forcibly deprived of
all love and felicity? This one thing alone is so painful and terrible to
contemplate that to speak of it makes me tremble with fear.
"By this I comprehend what hell and heaven may
be, because, as I see that man by love becomes one with God, in whom he finds
all happiness, so, on the contrary I see that, deprived of love he remains as
full of woes as he would have of joys (and that is infinitely) if he had not
been so mad. Therefore, although we hear it said that hell is a great
punishment, yet this does not appear to me to express it, nor can its gravity
be truly told or comprehended, neither could it be represented to one as I
understand it; only by the greatness of love in, the true and omnipotent God,
can that which is opposed to it be measured.
"When I consider the blindness of those who, for
the sake of things so vile and little, allow themselves to be stupidly led away
into the abyss of such horrible and infinite woe, all that is within me is
moved by a great compassion. In this connection I recall a possessed person who
was forced by a religious to declare who he was: he cried out with great force:
`I am that wretch who is deprived of love.' He said this with a voice so
piteous and penetrating that inwardly I was filled with pity, especially when I
was hearing those words, Deprived of love." |
