Appeared in Vol. 10 No. 4 Download PDF here

Against the sombre colors of an age alienated from God and from authentic spiritual experience, the mystical theology of St. Teresa of Avila shines with the brilliant light of Christ. In the following study, Robert Herrera attempts to outline the Teresian approach to mysticism from the Saint’s own works, with due attention to the particular set of questions posed by modern religious (or areligious) sensibilities. The result is a concise review of the work of a doctor of the Church, and a white ray of hope in the darkness. This article was first delivered as a Lonergan College Lecture at Concordia University, Montreal, Canada, November 17, 1983.

Several years ago, a volume appeared to commemorate the proclamation of St. Teresa as Doctor of the Church on September 27, 1970.1 Prominent theologians and scholars contributed brief articles. Most were presented against a backdrop which had its inception in Nietzsche and later, rather etiolated variations, in Heidegger, Buber, Zubiri, and others, all of whom view the relation between God and man as, at worst, shattered, and, at best, as severely impaired. The more religious evoke the absence of God as depicted in the Psalter and the Psalms of Salomon, a Divine admonition to an unfaithful people. Ready-made ladders of Jacob constructed to mend the damage merely add to the deviation.

The contributors to the volume Teresa de Jesus: Doctora de la Iglesia had interesting things to say. Rahner saw the proclamation as the occasion for posing several questions regarding the relation between Christian and natural mysticism.2 Truhlar viewed the mystic as experiential buttressing for a crumbling rationalism’ while for Vendenbroucke the mystic is a witness for the immanence of God.4 He is an antidote to the scandal of evil, the apparent absence of providence. In this vein, Schillebeeck considers the mystic prophet of God’s presence, lived by us-paradoxically-in the form of the experience of absence.5 Common to all these views is the accent on the this-worldly, in conformity with Christian thought post Heidegger mortuum.

The only opposing voice comes from the cloister. Giovanna della Croce agrees that the problem of mysticism is preeminently a human problem, but suggests that the proper Teresian charism is not prophetic but deals with the role of the contemplative life vis-a-vis the growth of the entire mystical body.6 She insists on the necessity of a theology of transcendence as this is the only way in which the body-of-believers can acquire the vitality to affirm itself in the world today. I suggest that this spiritual realism in which immanence and transcendence coalesce in the human world and the otherworldly energizes the this-worldly is very much in the spirit of Teresa. The saint and her present day disciple agree that “solo Dios basta” (only God suffices), and that the discovery of God in the soul is accompanied by the discovery of the soul in God.

St. Teresa, who has left us an itinerary of her search for transcendence in the Moradas del Castillo Interior,7 is really more at ease in the world of modernity than her predecessors and contemporaries. The hierarchies of the Pseudo-Denis, the ten heavens of Dante, the Sefirot of the Kabbalah, even the Sounding-Silence of John of the Cross are further removed from the modern temper. St. Teresa lacks their heavy pace and convoluted systematizations and has yet to be relegated to the status of a museum piece. She seldom bores or cloys, is readable and usually understandable. Even passages which tend to the pedestrian convey genuine fervor. The many superb passages make the repetition-for which she rightly faults herself minor annoyances. When clarity of expression is joined to unique practical insight and perverse humor, the result is impressive. Perhaps because of this, St. Teresa remains, even today, the major inspiration of much of the best work on the spiritual life.

St. Teresa’s work has elicited general enthusiasm in the speculative mind from Pascal to Bergson and beyond. Leibniz recognizes his debt to her for the proposition that the soul should conceive all things as if only God and the soul existed.8 It is intriguing to find her aphorism, Neo-Platonic roots and all, enjoying continued existence in the world of the mathematization of nature. Perhaps because the literature of Christian mysticism, during the past four hundred years, has inclined towards the fantastic, the parrochial, or the professorial, to contemporary man Teresa stands as a model of equilibrium. To a world which senses that many dear things have been lost, she is one of the few voices which demand attention.

Before following Teresa in her quest for transcendence, it should be noted that the greatest disservice to her is done by those reductionist critics who transform the feisty Castillian nun into a mere casebook for psychiatry, or those who present a model of saccharine piety endlessly mouthing sententious platitudes. A person who compares the spiritual life to a chess game in which the object is to checkmate God9 and who lived her life accordingly should be spared caricature. Teresa’s God dwelled in the seventh mansion but could be found in the pots and pans. Her age and spirit can be best summarzied by the title of a work by a later mystical writer, Fray Juan de los Angeles, Dialogos de la Conquista del reino de Dios (Dialogues of the Conquest of the Kingdom of God). The startling contrasts of the Siglo de Oro with its peasants and nobility and picaros, priests, students, monks, and visionaries provide the texture of this world. A world which provides the point of departure for her spiritual journey to the seventh mansion (or dwelling place) where God Himself is.


The Moradas (The Interior Castle) was written in 1577 in a period of six months when she was about sixty-two years of age. Fifteen years had passed since the first discalced convent had been founded, San Jose, in the city of Avila. Her Life and the Way of Perfection were already written, the Foundations nearly so. Most of her mystical experiences, including the most spectacular ones, belonged to the past, her spiritual life having moved to higher, more serene, levels. Although admittedly written in a language used “between women,” the development of the theme leads to complex if not outrightly speculative terminology. The starting point of the journey is the image of the soul as a castle made of diamond or crystal (todo de diamante u muy claro cristal) which is comprised of many mansions or dwelling-places which should be pictured as spreading outwards from the center of a palmetto.10 Although the image is an obvious allusion to John 14:2, its source is a matter of debate, some scholars even searching for its origin in the Kabbalah, while other more prosaic souls refer to the physical layout of the city of Avila.

Teresa herself indicates she had a vision which represented the soul in this manner. Although comprised of a multiplicity of mansions they are reduced to seven principle levels, with God residing in the last, the seventh mansion. The first three pertain to the natural order, in the fourth the natural and the supernatural co-exist, and the last two pertain to the properly mystical and supernatural. To begin with, St. Teresa presents the necessary conditions of solid spirituality. Primary is self-knowledge-theconsideration of the created self in the light of the uncreated God-which generates humility, the foundation of the whole of the enterprise. This is hardly a limp pseudo-virtue, a caricature in line with Nietzsche’s critique of Christianity, but a frank view of oneself. Teresa insists that Jesus preached humility “because God is Supreme Truth and to be humble is to walk in truth.”11

While many remain in the courtyard of the Castle (allusions to Kafka come to mind) becoming so externalized that they become like the insects and vermin which surround the Castle, the humble soul enters the Castle through the gate of prayer. She enters into herself, into the first mansion, but accompanied by some of the courtyard denizens and because of this unable to appreciate its true beauty. Teresa insists that the human soul is spacious and capable of much more than is assumed.12 The ascent which follows involves a progressive cleansing of spiritual sight together with an advancing awareness of the soul’s true worth. Although in the line of the ascent of the Symposium and Bonaventure’s Itinerarium, its emphasis is practical: true perfection consists in love of God and neighbor. This entails detachment from unnecessary things and activities in conformity with one’s position in life.13 This detachment or negation finds its speculative origin in the Pseudo-Denis and its ascetic representation in St. John of the Cross.

In a tart analogy, Teresa compares the inhabitants of the first mansion to deafmutes, those of the second to those who hear but cannot speak. The voice of God is faintly heard and the soul begins to discover its true nature through prayer, sermons, trials, and sickness. The vicissitudes of life begin to lose their chaotic appearance and coalesce to form the point of departure for the awareness of God’s presence. When authentic eternity begins to manifest itself it is somehow fitting that a parallel temptation arisestemporal things are given a semblance of eternity so as to delude the soul.14 Usually singled out as especially pernicious is the sin of avarice which derives its force from the illusory eternity attributed to money. But equally dangerous, and more to the point today, is the transmogrification of spiritual favors into sensuous and aesthetic gratification.

The third mansion is related by Teresa herself to the young man of Matthew’s Gospel (19:16) who had kept the commandment but was reluctant to sell his possessions and give the money to the poor. This is a period of both Divine favors and aridity in prayer, the first granted in proportion to the soul’s love of God, a love demonstrated through deeds.15 This demand for converting aspirations into deeds is repeatedly stressed, even on the heights of the seventh mansion. Again we find the detachment (aphairesis) of the Dionysian writings, but again domesticated and deintellectualized, as detachment from worldly things. A noetic function has become an ascetic norm.

The dangers of this stage bear a marked resemblance to those cases mentioned by Freud in his monograph “Those Wrecked by Success”.16 The soul reaches a point at which it feels itself to be “Lord of the World” and becomes especially vulnerable. It is possible for any minor trial to bring down the entire house of cards. Teresa suggests that these people are riding high on self-satisified virtue and the experience of wretchedness is therapeutic. God withdraws his favor and the desolation which ensues promotes self-knowledge. The practice of virtue can be all too reasonable and moderate, too complacent. She depicts this life-reminiscent of Kierkegaard’s life of morality-rather ironically. The Christian is living like a virtuous Pagan. Let love overwhelm reason and so move forward with rapidity.17

The fourth mansion is a half-way house. The supernatural is introduced and co-exists with the natural order. At this point, Teresa is principally concerned with distinguishing between two different types of phenomena, both of which are included under the rubric of mercedes interiores (interior favors), consolations (contentos) and spiritual delights (gustos). The first have their origin in nature and their end in God, the latter have their origin in God. They are also experienced in a manner superior to consolations which are derived from the natural order.18 Embroidering the theme, Teresa indicates that spiritual delights (gustos) expand the heart while consolations constrict it. Everyday life examples are given. Consolations may cause severe headaches, tears, and many other emotions in keeping with the temperament of the person involved. She mentions constriction of the chest, automatic motor movements, and nosebleeds. These afflictions are also experienced by those who rely over-much on discursive thought and rational meditation. For Teresa, it is more important to love than to speculate, and this love is not an emotion but a determination to please God in everything.19

In her Life, Teresa emphasizes the passive nature of spiritual delights.20 In the Morcadas she brings her favorite metaphor, water, to bear upon the problem. She distinguishes between two fountains, each with a water trough.

The first, representing consolations, is filled from a distance by means of artfully contrived machinery, while the second, representing spiritual delights, rests directly on its source and the trough is filled noiselessly.21 This is an expansion of the heart which proceeds from the deepest recesses of the soul, the center of the soul. Peace, quietude, and sweetness flow through the soul and even touch the body. In addition, the soul understands them intuitively, above any purely rational explanation which may be formulated. The faculties of intellect, memory, and will look on absorbed in wonder at what they see (embevidas y mirando como espantadas que es aquello)22 The soul addresses God while its senses and the external world become muted and lose their hold. More to the point, these experiences, as well as other supernatural favors such as the prayer of recollection, cannot be produced by the work of the imagination or intellect, but only by the activity of God who draws the soul inwards.

Why this insistence on distinguishing between consolations and spiritual favors? Is it not because the threshold of another world, another level of reality, is being attained. A level which will progressively disengage itself from the categories of mundane thought and in which symbol and metaphor move even further from the reality signified. Is it not the beginning of a Negative Theology which proceeds from the lowest to the highest while the number of conceptions diminish progressively until the soul becomes silent, voiceless both in speech and thought, at last united to the Ineffable God? But this is scarcely the intellectualistic ascent recommended by the Pseudo-Denis. Teresa compares this process of interiorization to a turtle drawing into its shell.23

In an insightful phrase, she speaks of the Prayer of Recollection as a preparation for listening to what the Lord is working in the soul.24 Here, in the spiritual domain, laws other than the natural hold sway. Who thinks less and has less desire for activity actually does more. All the techniques which operate on the natural level cannot induce this type of prayer. Moreover, an attempt to do so will increase the soul’s aridity. Penance, good deeds, and prayer should be practiced but they do not, in themselves, constitute the means of inducing contemplation. This may be compared to a fountain which grows in accordance to the water which flows into it. The initiative is God’s: “When His Majesty desires the intellect to stop, he occupies it in another way, and gives it a light so far above what we can attain, that it remains absorbed.”25 Because of this, there is an overall improvement in the virtues. However, the soul is still a “suckling babe” (un nino que empieza a mamar) and open to many dangers, especially from Satan because of the great benefit which these souls bring to the believing community.26

Teresa was hardly naive psychologically. She knew that there is more than a fine line between rapture (arrobamiento) and foolishness (abobamiento).27 In people with weak imagination, sight follows fantasy. The fifth mansion is distinguished by a discussion of the state of mystical union, quite the opposite of a dreamlike state after the manner of its counterfeit. Here, she tells us, the soul “is like one who in every respect has died to the world, so as to live more completely in God.”28 Unlike previous experiences, no doubt as to its certitude is entertained. It remains unknown, secret, even to Satan. It escapes the categories of human language. Teresa attempts to describe it in passages which lose the smoothness of her narrative and become sharp, jagged, and obscure. The difference between this experience and earthly joy “is like that between feeling something on the rough, outer, covering of the body and in the marrow of the bones” (en esta groseria del cuerpo u en los tuetanos).29 The translation does little justice to the original.

This experience is short-lived and the suspension of the faculties does not cause irreparable physical harm. More important, at this point, God acts upon the soul by imprinting His wisdom upon it. He places Himself within the soul in a unique manner. He enters the center of the soul without “passing through any doors” in the way in which He entered the upper room to greet His disciples (John 20:19). The soul understands that which transcends its natural powers.30 Teresa parts company with the filosofosin this case the Stoics-who counselled apatheia, indifference, which is grounded on impotence and so makes a virtue of necessity. She reiterates that in the religious life only two things are indispensable, love of God and of neighbor. And the best indication that we possess both is love of neighbor.31 The supernatural must energize the natural, the ineffable the pedestrian. Nonetheless, this experience is a real adumbration of the life of vision albeit burdened with the flaws inherent to contingent existence.

The sixth mansion is the lengthiest, most detailed, and least readable section of the Interior Castle, but also most important for the study of mystical phenomena which seem to multiply endlessly. The dictum of the Pseudo-Denis that the higher the contemplation the more reduced the language seems, at first sight, to have been abandoned. Actually, the greater bulk of the discussion deals with phenomena tangential to mystical union proper, such as those effects of spiritual purification which St. John of the Cross represents by his metaphor of the dark night. Of these, the worst by far is a sort of depression which she calls apretamiento interior, interior oppression, and compares it to the suffering of the damned.32Still, this and other sufferings are able to generate a superior self-knowledge which is the necessary condition to enter the seventh mansion. They are ways in which God awakens the soul and prods it towards its final goal.33

But God also awakens the soul through mystical experiences. Some are immediate, like thunderclaps, and the soul knows that it has been called by God. Teresa speaks of locutions which cover the field from single words to conversations. They effect what they state and leave the soul in great quiet, in devout and peaceful recollection. There may be counterfeit locutions in which Satan-a true Cartesian-will pronounce the words clearly and distinctly. But in these counterfeits the soul experiences anxiety and darkness instead of peace and light, pride instead of humility.34 On a higher level, Spiritual Betrothal comes about when the soul is drawn out of its sense by God, when it experiences rapture. The difference between this experience and mere fainting and convulsions (desmayo u parajismo) is that a deep enlightenment is communicated to the soul.35 It conveys a knowledge which transcends discursive reason. Striving to explain the phenomenna, Teresa borrows the NeoPlatonic metaphor of the sun and its rays to represent the human soul and the spirit. Although in a sense one, the soul, remaining in its place, has the superior part (mind) rising above it. But embarassed by this burst of speculation, she states, “In a word, I don’t know what I’m saying.”36

The human soul should never part with Christ, its guide. Teresa counters the view, very much in the Dionysian tradition, that meditation on the humanity of Christ should be jettisoned on the advanced stages of mystical life. Although it may well be true that this sort of contemplation may prove to be difficult, Christ remains the bridge between the human and the divine. Although the point of departure for contemplation may be a thought, even an image, a leap then occurs in which discursive reason is transcended and the mysteries of faith are understood in a more perfect way. Teresa refers to a suspension which comes suddenly while a person is at prayer and of great secrets, which appear to be seen in God Himself.37 Here, the soul views creation from the perspective of Divinity, an experience similar to the intellectualistic visions described by John of the Cross among the mystics, and Spinoza among the philosophers. In Teresa it is wholly gratuitous and not the end-result of a process of thought.

The soul is living a life which if superior to itself, ensconced within the divine intimacy. At its highest it is called spiritual marriage. It takes place in the very center of the soul, the seventh mansion where God dwells. The spirit is made one with God. While Spiritual Betrothal is compared to the joining of two candles-wick, flame and wax become one, but they may be separated-Spiritual Marriage is compared, by a somewhat pantheistic analogy, to a small stream which merges with the ocean. At this point there is such an overflow of love and knowledge that Teresa speaks of a revelation of the glory of heaven.38 While the spirit is recollected in God, the soul is at times subject to the hurly-burly of the imagination and the external world. The senses, the faculties, and the affects live on but reside at the periphery, unable to enter the center of the soul.

The spectacular phenomena associated with mysticism cease and God teaches the soul in silence. Clamor and distress is left behind. The soul has become strong and its capacity enlarged. Martha is joined to Mary as the soul is united to the spirit. As ever, the goal of spiritual marriage is the generation of good works, “always good works.”39 At the end of the journey the soul attains true peace. It is elevated to a domain in which past weaknesses are overcome and grows in proportion to the spirit of God which is transforming it. This is the peace of Christ which the world cannot give (John 14:27).


A word of caution: To the contemporary reader, neither Teresa’s use of language nor her personality are really unsettling. In fact, her literary gifts are more appreciated today than during her lifetime when her simple, unbaroque style was hardly the fashion. What disturbs today is her familiar, almost folksy, attitude towards things divine, her reports of raptures, locutions and visions, all decidedly bizarre, to the point that her post-conversion life may seem to be a lengthy dialogue with God. The concrete world fades into a backdrop which echoes with bits and pieces of this dialogue. It may strike us as disturbingly close to psychopathology. The charge of hysteria has a long history and has been a constant irritation to admirers of the saint.40 But, at first sight, what is to separate her visions of Christ from Freud’s Patient Schreber’s hallucinations, or her youthful malady which led to a catatonic state from his torpor? Nothing less than grandiose, Schreber thought he was dead, decompsoing, but still in direct communication with God.41

There are important psychological factors involved with which we can scarcely occupy ourselves at present. After all, as a psychological type a hysteric is, on the whole, preferable, to the computerized enthusiasm of the obsessive-compulsive or the predictable evasiveness of the phobic. In Teresa’s own day, the ‘iluminados’ followed the logic of their views to their pathological conclusion: Father Gutierrez was revealed the divine essence in the form of an ox, while Father Mendez left the gifts of the Holy Spirit in his will, and Catalina de Jesus attributed her corporeal beauty-by all accounts of debatable quality-to mental prayer.42 Obviously, St. Teresa is far too sober to be included here. She stresses the need which the mystical element in religion has for tempering by historical and institutional factors. She insists that spiritual gifts be measured against the rule provided by Scripture and Church discipline., Furthermore, neurosis is not a decisive barrier against the grace of God. It is simply a disposition of the personality which must be structured and transformed. Christianity has seldom subscribed to what William James called the Religion of Healthy-Mindedness.

But let us return to transcendence. If transcendence signifies a going-beyond-itself on the part of him who has a relation with God, all of Teresa’s work and life, not only the Interior Castle, stand as a testimony to it. But then why do many of her modern admirers emulate much of contemporary Christian thought, by shying away or muting transcendence? Are the “archons of this world” (Col. 2, 7) attempting to reclaim the domain which was lost when Christianity reduced its glorious hierarchies to the pedestrian status of created things? Is this the inevitable consequence of the Cartesian fragmentation of reality, or perhaps of the dismissal by Nietzsche of speculation concerning the traditional God-notion?

What is evident is that contemporary man believes himself to be imprisoned in a universe in which the transcendent God is absent. That God is expected to submit to its dictates and place Himself under its tutelage. This is the popular opposite of the Gnostic view in which the Divine is alien to the world, and is neither revealed nor indicated by the world, and is therefore the Unknown. Here there is a conflict between man and the world in which he is ensconced. Man, in this scheme of things, is well advised to flee the world. But at least the God who is totally other enjoys the pathos of distance. On the contrary, the view under discussion would lock man and the world together in a deadly embrace with God in danger of being trivialized out of existence.

But individual philosophies should not be faulted. It is what Zubiri calls a`historical sin’. Perhaps the lesson to be learned-and St. Teresa is a superb teacher-is that the Christian cannot unreservedly embrace any secular system of thought as its truth may well be the truth of the world. The Lord of Being breaks into created being, as does God in the human soul, to transform it and lead it to Himself. He does not acknowledge the sovereignty of alien powers. Inner dispositions, even language must be transformed into good deeds for them to have true spiritual worth. The notion that the beatific vision is grounded radically on God-the lumen gloriae of the mediaeval theologians-though not unique to Teresa, is a belief which prevented Christianity from becoming simply another priggish intellectualistic sect in which immortality is doled out in proportion to speculative genius. It prevented a relapse into a new paganism lacking the grace and fire of the ancient world.

That God is found among the pots and pans says very little regarding God’s culinary preferences, but much concerning Teresa’s view of the physical world as both the locus of divinity and point of departure for transcending it. Paraphrasing Dr. Johnson’s view of Scotland, the best thing about it are the roads leading out of it. But this “flight to the Beloved Fatherland” which is found with as much insistence in Plotinus as in Tauler and in Proclus as in John of the Cross, is, in St. Teresa, hardly acosmic. She possessed a very concrete sense of the worth of the physical world, together with an overwhelming awareness of the majesty of God. This led her to value things in the light of God and to propose that the goal of creation is the transformation of things. The transcendent works on the world as grace works on the soul, effecting in it a metamorphosis and prodding it on, towards the seventh mansion.



1Teresa de Jesus: Doctora de la Iglesia (Madrid: Revista de Espiritual-idad, 1970).

2 Karl Rahner, “La experiencia personal de Dios mas apremiante que nunca.” Idem., pp. 22-25.

3 Valdimir Truhlar, “Contemplacian en medio del mundo “. Idem., pp. 25-27.

4Francois Vandenbroucke, “El mistico expermenta lo que nosotros creemos”. Idem., pp. 27-31.

5E. Schillebeeck, “Profetas de la presencia viva de Dios”. Idem., pp. 31-34.

6Giovanna della Croce, “Peculiaridades de la mlstica teresiana”. Idem. pp. 174’192. The Informatio Patroni (pp. 83-160) is also informative.

7The basic text is Obras Completas de St. Teresa, intro, and notes by Efren de la Madre de Dios, OCD and Otger Steggink OC (Madrid: BAC, 1967). English translation of the Moradas by K. Kavanaugh OCD and O. Rodriguez OCD: Teresa

of Avila: The Interior Castle (New York: Paulist Press, 1979). Due to inconsistencies between the text of the Moradas given in the Obras and this translation, the page number of the latter is also given. For a thorough treatment of the life of St. Teresa, Efren de la Madre do Dios OCD and Otger Steggink OC, Tiempo y Vida de Sta. Teresa (Madrid: BAC, 1968). More compact and readable is Efren de la Madre de Dios OCD, Teresa de Jesus (Madrid: BAC, 1981).

8Refer to Jacques Chevalier, Historia del Pensamiento, trans. by J.A. Miguez (Madrid: Aqiular, 1967), Vol. II, pp. 647-664.

9Camino [Escoria], 24, 1.

10Morada, I, 1, 1 (p. 42).

11Ibid., I, 2, 8-9 (pp. 42-43) et al.

12Ibid., I, 2, 8 (p. 42).

13Ibid., I, 2, 14;17 (pp. 51-52).

14Ibid., II, 1, 3 (pp. 49-50).

15Ibid., III, 1, 7 (pp. 58-59).

16 “Some Character Types met with in Psycho-Analytic Work.” The Complete Works of Sigmund Freud. Standard Edition, edited by James Strachey (London: The Hogarth Press, 1971), Vol. XIV, pp. 316-318; 324-325; 331.

17Moradas, III, 2, 7-8 (pp. 62-63).

18Ibid., IV, 1, 4 (pp. 68-69).

19Ibid., IV, 1, 7 (p. 70).

20Vida, 14, 15.

21Moradas, IV, 2, 2-4 (pp. 73-74).

 22Ibid., IV, 2, 6 (p. 75).

 23Ibid., IV, 3, 3(pP. 78-79).

 24lbid., IV, 3, 4 (p. 79).

 25Ibid., IV, 3, 5-6 (pp. 79-80).

26Ibid., IV, 3, 10 (pp. 82-83).

 27Ibid., IV, 3, 11 (pp. 83-84).

 28Ibid., V, 1, 3 (pp. 86-87).

29Ibid., V, 1, 6 (p. 88).

30Ibid., V, 4, 4, (pp. 103-104).

31lbid., V, 3, 9 (pp. 100-101).

32Ibid., VI, 1, 9-11 (pp. 112-113).

33Ibid., VI, 1, 10 (p. 113).

34Ibid., VI, 3, 16-17 (pp. 124-125).

35Ibid., VI, 4, 3 (p. 127).

36Ibid., VI, 5, 9 (pp. 136-137).

37Ibid., VI, 10, 3 (pp. 163-164).

38Ibid., VII, 2, 4 (p. 178); VII, 2, 5 (p. 179).

39lbid., VII,4, 6-7 (pp. 189-190).

40 Dated but still informative is Nazarjo de Sta. Teresa OCD, La Psicologia de

Sta. Teresa (Avila: Estudios del Colegio Filosofico “La Santa,” 1950).

41Notes on a Case of Paranoia. Standard Edition, Vol. XX, pp. 3-84.

42 Refer to Marcelino Menedez Pelayo, Historia de los Heterodoxos Espanoles (Madrid: BAC, 1956), Vol. II, pp. 169-233.