How to find inner peace like Saint Teresa of Ávila

The 16th-century ‘spiritual rock-star’ shows how seeing your soul as a castle can be a source of strength and consolation

Do you ever feel a sense of melancholy, pulled in too many directions, lost as to who you really are, or what you could do to be more content and fulfilled? It might be difficult to articulate the mood, let alone understand why you feel such existential frustration.

This might be depression, in which case you should seek medical attention. But the 16th-century influencer and Roman Catholic nun Saint Teresa of Ávila (1515-82) suggested that there might be another explanation. Unless you’re religious, you probably wouldn’t think of going to a saint for advice, but in fact Teresa was psychologically insightful, and many of her observations and practices can be useful when reinterpreted.

A charismatic and rebellious teenager, Teresa defied her father and became a nun to escape marriage. She became so popular that her superiors ordered her to write down her ideas, which was astonishing for a woman at that time. She reluctantly did so, insisting she felt like a parrot merely repeating what she had heard and ‘helpless, as a bird with broken wings, when it [came] to saying anything good.’ There was good reason for Teresa’s self-deprecation. She lived under the threat of the Spanish Inquisition which persecuted her contemporaries, seized her writing, and cast her as a ‘contumacious woman’.

Teresa founded 17 Carmelite convents but her impact radiates beyond cloistered spaces. She was canonised 40 years after her death and in 1970 she was one of the first women to be proclaimed Doctor of the Church. Teresa has been described as a ‘spiritual rock-star’ and probably influenced René Descartes’s Meditations (1641). She inspired Simone de Beauvoir, George Eliot, Julia Kristeva, and informs contemporary psychoanalysis, psychiatry, and organisational management.

‘Believe me, I fear an unhappy nun more than many devils,’ she wrote

In her most famous work, The Interior Castle, written in 1577 when she was 62 years old, Teresa proposes that a key source of human misery is that ‘we do not prize our souls as is deserved,’ and therefore ‘we do not understand the deep secrets that lie in them.’ People concern themselves with their outer world, such as strengthening their bodies with exercise and food, but they forget to nourish their souls. They busy themselves with distractions – what Teresa calls poisonous vipers and vermin – so that they don’t have time to feel or think about alienation and emptiness. But, Teresa asks: ‘What hope can we have of finding rest outside of ourselves if we cannot be at rest within.’

Teresa was well acquainted with the dread of existence and with estrangement from her inner life. She was accused of showing off and pretending to be a saint. She struggled with acute chronic pain. After one four-day paroxysm, Teresa awoke with wax on her eyes; convinced she was dead, caregivers had begun the burial ritual. Teresa also had extensive experience managing convents of restless nuns: ‘[N]uns are usually unhappy,’ she writes, and: ‘Believe me, I fear an unhappy nun more than many devils.’

While she didn’t expect or intend for her wisdom to be useful to anyone other than her religious sisters, even Teresa recognised there are different routes to similar destinations: ‘God does not lead everyone along the same path,’ she said, and noted that people who are not holy can benefit from aspects of the process.

Teresa starts with the assumption that, ‘Because we have heard and because faith tells us so, we know we have souls.’ Next, she counsels, ‘consider our soul to be like a castle made entirely out of a diamond or of very clear crystal, in which there are many rooms, just as in heaven there are many dwelling places.’ At the core is the divine sun, ‘where the very secret exchanges between God and the soul take place,’ Teresa explains, and ‘the sun that is in this royal chamber shines in all parts.’ But, she writes, ‘if a black cloth is placed over a crystal that is in the sun, obviously the sun’s brilliance will have no effect on the crystal even though the sun is shining on it.’ As you enter deeper into the castle, removing the cloth from the crystal, you become enlightened.

From a secular perspective, the soul can be a convenient metaphor to describe your psyche, or the inner universe that is your unconscious life. God, at the core of the soul, could be thought of as your authentic self, true self, or actualised self. The inward journey reflects the introspective work of understanding hidden aspects of your psychological experience to find inner peace. When you ignore your interiority, life is chaotic and exhausting. When you know who you are – the truth of your inner life – you can be clearer about your direction in the external world and act authentically.

The point of reflection is to become aware of, and then eliminate, beasts of distraction

Teresa’s quest towards the core of the soul takes us through seven ‘dwelling places’, each with its own challenges.

The first dwelling place

The first step towards inner peace is to commit to self-knowledge. ‘[S]elf-knowledge is the most important thing for us,’ Teresa advises. Imagine you were asked where you came from, and you didn’t know. ‘Well now, if this would be so extremely stupid, we are incomparably more so when we do not strive to know who we are, but limit ourselves to considering only roughly these bodies.’ Beginning is straightforward: ‘Insofar as I can understand the door of entry to this castle is prayer and reflection,’ Teresa says.

From an atheist perspective, imagine your inner self as a new love interest. You would get to know them by spending time and doing things together. Similarly, to know yourself better, you intentionally carve out space for introspective reflection. Reflective activities might include journaling, listening to your thoughts, automatic writing, drawing, or dancing.

Teresa pointed to preoccupations with immediate gratifications, success, achievements, fame and possessions as key obstacles to self-knowledge. Like vipers, they poison your soul by siphoning your time and energy. The point of reflection is to become aware of, and then eliminate, beasts of distraction: ‘[S]trive to give up unnecessary things and business affairs … Guard yourselves, my daughters, from extraneous cares.’ There’s no need to give up everything; not even nuns do that: ‘Each one should do this in conformity with his state in life.’

The second dwelling place

Of the second dwelling, Teresa writes: ‘O Jesus, what an uproar the devils instigate here! And the afflictions of the poor soul: it doesn’t know whether to continue or to return to the first room.’ The devil tries to discourage souls from connecting with God by tempting them with earthly superficialities such as ‘pastimes, business affairs, pleasures’. But, Teresa exhorts: ‘oh, my Lord and my God, how the whole world’s habit of getting involved in vanities vitiates everything!’

The most important thing is persistence. ‘One always gains much through perseverance,’ Teresa advises. Continue reflecting. Remember that inner peace is worth it. And choose your company wisely. Teresa had many bad experiences with ‘half-learned’ men. ‘Be careful not to choose someone who will teach you to become a toad, satisfied only with catching little lizards,’ she warns.

While this wisdom applies to non-religious souls, another way to think about this phase is the importance of reevaluating what and who makes you happy. Perhaps you are drawn toward familiar people who remind you of your childhood but who do not support your growth as an adult. It can be hard to walk away from relationships, but sometimes we have to, in order to save ourselves. Instead, focus on nurturing good relationships with wise people.

The third dwelling place

‘Humility is the ointment for our wounds’

Even greater adversaries lurk in the third dwelling. Illnesses and financial woes, for example, can tempt you to feel that the journey is too hard. ‘It is a great misery to have to live a life in which we must always walk like those whose enemies are at their doorstep,’ Teresa writes. Which is why she points to two strategies for dealing with such disturbances: detachment and humility.

Of people facing challenges, Teresa proposes that: ‘Sometimes seeing their fault distresses them more than the thing that disturbs them, for unable to help themselves they are affected by earthly happenings even though these may not be very burdensome.’ For example, Teresa had visions, people didn’t believe her, and they chastised her. Teresa learned to detach herself from others’ opinions and advised: ‘Humility is the ointment for our wounds because if we indeed have humility, even though there may be a time of delay, the surgeon who is our Lord, will come to heal us.’

Even if the Lord doesn’t come to heal you, practising humility and gratitude for what you have – including your life – can be ameliorating. The third dwelling is all about reframing your perspective. Challenges create opportunities for self-discipline. Reminiscent of the Stoic dichotomy of control, accepting what you can’t control and managing your responses develops inner strength. In the grand scheme of the universe (or God), we’re nothing, so detach yourself from your ego and outcomes. Temper your cravings for prestige and material objects. Let go of your sense of entitlement and need for validation. Care less about other people’s opinions. Be OK with being misunderstood.

The fourth dwelling place

The fourth dwelling calls for cultivating a more sophisticated form of reflection: ‘recollection’. The goal of recollection is to calm your rambling brain by being mindful. ‘[T]he soul instead of striving to engage in discourse strives to remain attentive and aware of what the Lord is working in it,’ Teresa explains.

Teresa meditated on Bible stories and God, but recommended doing whatever supports you in being present. ‘[A] book can be a help,’ Teresa offers, and: ‘It helped me also to look at fields, or water, or flowers.’ Whether you contemplate literature, nature, art or the mysteries of life, Teresa suggests that the point is ‘considering in detail the things there are to think of and feel.’ It took Teresa 20 years to master this, but for another person she said it might take just a day. That’s up to God.

Teresa believed that ‘supernatural experiences begin here’ but, even without supernatural influences, it makes sense that, given the practices of the earlier three realms, you’re better prepared to fight beasts of distraction and face trials. As for recollection, sometimes the doing is simply being – or being open, letting go, and accepting – not adding more to your to-do list. The more you practise being open and present to the moment as you go about your everyday activities, the easier it will be, and the greater benefits you will reap.

The cocoon phase involves killing your former self (as a silkworm)

The fifth dwelling place

Imagine your soul is like a silkworm. It grows by eating mulberry leaves but soon realises its life lacks meaning, so it builds itself a cocoon. For a more meaningful life, Teresa advises that we too need to build ourselves a metaphorical cocoon in which we shed self-love, let go of attachments, and pray.

In this cocoon, Teresa believed that the soul can finally touch God and metamorphose: ‘When the soul is, in this prayer, truly dead to the world, a little white butterfly comes forth. Oh, greatness of God! How transformed the soul is when it comes out of this prayer after having been placed within the greatness of God and so closely joined with Him for a little while – in my opinion the union never lasts for as much as a half hour.’ But the cocoon phase is not fun. Teresa writes: ‘[I]t seems that the pain breaks and grinds the soul into pieces.’ But it’s worth it. ‘[I]f after God brings a soul here it makes the effort to advance, it will see great things.’

Back to the dating metaphor: you and your inner soul have spent time together, got to know each other, overcome many obstacles to the relationship, started to be intimate, and now the focus is on the possibility of marriage. The cocoon phase involves killing your former self (as a silkworm). It’s hard because you become estranged from your former life, connections and everything you used to value. It’s understandable to feel sad about the death of your old self and attachments. But the benefit is opening yourself up to new possibilities of togetherness with your inner self, to see how to integrate, and agree on how to live together more authentically (as a butterfly).

The sixth dwelling place

The penultimate dwelling is the space of spiritual betrothal. After meeting God in the cocoon, ‘the soul is now wounded with love for its Spouse and strives for more opportunities to be alone [with Him],’ Teresa writes. As immortalised in Bernini’s orgasmic sculpture, when Teresa connected with God, she swooned with great but delightful pain. She would cry aloud and thought she was dying, but trembled with delight over the ‘fiery arrow’ penetrating her soul. She didn’t want to be cured of the satisfying wound because when ‘He who wounds it draws out the arrow, it indeed seems, in accord with the deep love the soul feels, that God is drawing these very depths after Him.’

Living in accordance with your inner truth might be a delightful torment, incomprehensible to others, but ultimately ecstatic

In addition to the pain of love, Teresa faced the emotional pain of gossip and slander. She endured the struggles by likening them to cleansing in Purgatory and believed the only solution is patience: ‘[T]here is no remedy in this tempest but to wait for the mercy of God.’ The mercies of God included locutions such as ‘Don’t be distressed’, ‘Be calm’ and ‘Everything will turn out all right’, which resonated with Teresa from the depths of her soul.

Teresa assumed the reminders came from God but it seems plausible that affirming these kinds of messages yourself can be soothing. It’s also understandable that getting in touch with your core desires sparks your curiosity for more, especially if it leaves you with a sense of harmony. But, like Teresa’s raptures, living in accordance with your inner truth might be a delightful torment, incomprehensible to others and painful for you, but ultimately ecstatic. You may not experience orgasmic transcendence when you connect with the core of your soul, but perhaps that’s just as well: Teresa’s ecstasies (sometimes dismissed as epileptic seizures) often occurred at inconvenient times and in public, ‘Hence, persecutions and criticism,’ she notes.

The seventh dwelling place

In the final dwelling, the mystical marriage takes place. ‘The Lord appears in this centre of the soul,’ Teresa writes, and ‘joins the soul to Himself.’ The soul aligns with the divine, and the butterfly dies joyfully ‘because its life is now Christ.’ Teresa likens it to when rain falls into a stream and the waters combine so you can’t separate them.

In this stage, ‘The soul doesn’t worry about all that can happen.’ It exists only in the service of God. (Of course, a person still eats and sleeps, but Teresa’s focus is what’s happening internally.) In forgetting itself, the soul finally realises inner tranquility and freedom from earthly distractions. Suffering is desired, persecutors are loved, and death is no longer feared because the soul understands it’s God’s will.

The most startling thing that Teresa mentions about the soul’s core, in my opinion, is that there’s a mirror there. You find the god at your centre illuminated and reflected back to you. You realise the truth of who you really are. A secular interpretation is that being united with your inner self – like in a great marriage – fortifies you. The fragmented parts of your being fuse into an integrated totality that gives you the serenity and confidence to act authentically.

Teresa believed God was at the centre of the soul, hence it had to be good. But why should you believe your inner self is necessarily good? There’s no guarantee, but if you heed Teresa’s advice to ‘Strive for the virtues and practise them’, and focus on ‘the birth always of good works, good works’, then you need not fear monsters lurking in your depths.

Final thoughts

Teresa shows how thinking about your soul as a castle gives you a way to slow down and enjoy your sublime interiority. As Teresa advises her sisters: ‘I think it will be a consolation for you to delight in this interior castle since without permission from the prioress you can enter and take a walk through it at any time.’ When you need to boost your inner strength and peace, remember you have a brilliant interior paradise to explore. Who knows what you’ll find in your mirror at the core of your being, but Teresa’s journey encourages intrepid adventurers to appreciate the expansive ambiguity and creative potential of their existence.

‘You will wonder, if this is true,’ Teresa posits. ‘I don’t know,’ she says, but these ideas consoled her. They console me, and they might console you too.