PART ONE: THE THREE THEOLOGICAL VIRTUES

CHAPTER ONE: FAITH

One of the best ways to penetrate into the spirituality of the saints is to examine how they spoke of and lived the three loftiest virtues—the theological virtues—which united them most intimately with God and inspired all the other virtues from above.

We shall first consider faith in St. Catherine of Siena, particularly in relation to The Dialogue, which she dictated in ecstasy over several sessions about two years before her death.[1] We will first examine faith in itself, how it is often darkened and obscured in the sinner, and then how it ought to grow, how we ought to live by it, seeing all things in its supernatural light.

Some modern psychologists claim that the lives of mystics are dominated by a great and noble emotion, which is then expressed intellectually through the ideas they convey to us.[2] According to this view, their thought follows the movement of their emotions and sensitivity, and thus rests upon a fragile and shifting foundation—perhaps even the subconscious. In this perspective, the intellect of Christian mystics would not be nourished first and foremost by immutable and incontestable truth; rather, their judgments would be mere reflections of the passionate stirrings of their hearts.

St. Catherine of Siena teaches a very different doctrine.

Her writings help us to see the profound truth of the theological treatise on faith and to witness the lived experience of this theological virtue. Here, faith does not appear merely as an obligatory adherence to a revealed formula proposed by the Church, but as an intense and radiant life.

Infused Faith

Faith, says the saint, is a light received in baptism that shows us the path that leads to eternal life.[3] Along this path, we must walk courageously, without hesitation, for the light that guides us comes from God, who cannot deceive. Through this light, we come to know, in a supernatural and infallible way, the goal of our journey and the One who is "the way, the truth, and the life.[4]"

Faith, defined as the intellectual instinct that leads us toward our final end, can be likened to the instinct that compels the swallow to migrate in springtime to distant lands. This instinct guides it unerringly, even if it is young and alone, or even if it has wandered far from its birthplace or into unfamiliar territory. In this natural order, we find a symbol of the highest spiritual instinct.

Faith, the saint adds, is the pupil of the eye of the intellect. Its light discerns, knows, and follows the way and the doctrine of truth—the Incarnate Word.[5] Without this pupil of faith, the soul would be blind in the supernatural order, like a man who, though having eyes, has a veil covering his sight. The intellect is the eye of the soul, and faith is the pupil of this eye.[6]

This symbolic way of speaking of faith as a pupil placed within the eye of the intellect at baptism clearly illustrates that infused faith is essentially supernatural, vastly superior to the natural powers of human and angelic intelligence alike.[7] It is a participation in the very knowledge God has of His intimate life and of what He has prepared for those who love Him. As St. Paul says, "Eye has not seen…[8]" nor could it naturally behold these things. But God has revealed them by the Holy Spirit, and through the supernatural gift of faith, we adhere infallibly to the First Truth, the revealer of Himself, and to the revealed mysteries that the Church proposes to us.

Infused faith, like the pupil of the eye, expands the horizons of our intellect, elevating it to a certain, however obscure, knowledge of the interior life of God. As the saint says, faith grants us a foretaste of "eternal life, giving us its pledge even in this life.[9]" It is truly the beginning, the seed, "the substance of things hoped for,[10]" causing us to adhere to them even without yet seeing them. Through it, we do not merely know the stirrings of our own hearts, but also those which St. Paul calls "the deep things of God.[11]"

Faith, then, is of immeasurable value. If we customarily refer to what is dearest to us as "the pupil of our eye," what must we say of infused faith, the very pupil of our spiritual vision? It remains with us until the light of glory dawns, which will allow us to behold the divine essence directly, without the mediation of created things or ideas.

The Darkness of Faith

Yet this inestimable light of faith is often covered in the soul of the sinner by dense clouds. The Christian, having received infused faith in baptism, can lose it only through a mortal sin committed directly against the faith itself—by formally denying or doubting a revealed truth that has been sufficiently proposed.

These sins, which annihilate faith, are very rare, thanks be to God. In many baptized souls who have fallen into mortal sin, faith remains, together with hope, like the roots of a tree that has been cut but may yet grow again. In these sinners, faith remains without charity and without the infused moral virtues, and is therefore darkened, covered by clouds. St. Catherine insists forcefully on this point:[12] "These miserable ones act in opposition to faith.[13]"

The saint does not say that faith has disappeared or been lost; rather, it remains, but like the pupil of an eye covered by a cloud that is more or less dense.[14]

When faith is darkened, even the most intelligent person seems to lose sight of heaven. He sees only what is at his own level or beneath him; he may display great acumen in worldly affairs, but he is closed to higher realities.

"The sinner does not know," says the Lord to St. Catherine, "my goodness in him, from whom he has received his being and every grace that has been placed upon it. Not knowing me, nor himself, he does not detest his own sensuality; on the contrary, he loves it, seeking to satisfy his appetite… Nor does he love me. And not loving me, he does not love what I love—his neighbor—nor does he take delight in doing what pleases me.[15]"

Thus, self-love covers the pupil of faith with a blindfold.[16] Deliberate venial sin does not, to be sure, kill faith, but it produces an analogous effect to that of a cloud covering the sky: these souls become overly attached to their own judgment and allow themselves to be more or less deceived by the enemy of all good. They should fix their gaze instead on that holy simplicity, loftiness, and sweetness that come from God alone. The darkness of the abyss, which arises from matter, error, and vice, prevents the soul from ascending and penetrating into the darkness of the heights—that darkness produced by a light so dazzling that it is blinding to the weakness of the eyes of the our spirit.

Faith Illumined by the Gifts of the Holy Spirit

If the faith of the Christian in mortal sin is surrounded by clouds and fog, the faith of the just, especially if it is generous, is ever more illuminated by the gifts of the Holy Spirit—particularly by the gifts of understanding and wisdom, which render faith penetrating and savory.

The Saint calls these gifts a special light granted to the just, by which they perceive "that God, sweet and first Truth, bestows time, place, consolations, and tribulations according to what is necessary for our salvation and for completing the perfection in the soul to which He has chosen it.[17]" St. Thomas teaches that faith causes adherence to divine truth and directs life accordingly. Here, this practical aspect of faith is especially emphasized, showing how this virtue is the positive foundation of the spiritual life.

"If the soul were truly humble and not presumptuous, it would see with this light that everything comes from Me… and that everything I give is out of love; and therefore all must be received with love and reverence.[18]"

Illumined ever more, "the just regard themselves as worthy of the sufferings and scandals of the world, of being deprived of their own consolations and whatever else. And just as they repute themselves worthy of the pains and scandals of the world, so too do they consider themselves unworthy of the fruits that follow their sufferings. In the light, they have known and tasted my eternal will, which wills nothing other than their good; and in order that they may be sanctified in me, I give and permit these things.[19]"

The Saint notes that pride deprives the learned of this light, which makes faith penetrating and savory: "And so it is that ignorant and prideful scholars are blinded in the light, for pride and the cloud of self-love cover and extinguish it. They savor only the letter, and find delight in many other books rather than in the marrow of the Scripture, having extinguished the light by which it was formed and declared. These men are astonished and murmur when they see many simple and unlettered souls illumined with a knowledge of the truth, as though they had studied it for years... Therefore I say to you: it is far better to seek counsel for the salvation of your soul from a humble man with a holy and upright conscience than from a proud, lettered man learned in many sciences. For such a man can give only what he has himself—and when his life is darkened, he often casts the light of sacred Scripture into shadow. The opposite will be found in my servants, who offer the light they possess with hunger and desire for your salvation.[20]"

And indeed, living faith presupposes and generates love: "By this light, they love Me—for love follows the intellect. The more they know, the more they love; and the more they love, the more they know. Thus, each nourishes the other.[21]"

This doctrine is entirely in harmony with that of St. Thomas: the highest faculty in us is the intellect, which directs the will; but the most sublime of the virtues is charity, which is the source of all merit.

The Spirit of Faith and the Contemplation of the Mystery of Christ

In the just man, increasingly docile to the Holy Spirit with each passing day, faith becomes ever more penetrating, grasping divine reality more profoundly under figures, and revealing with greater clarity the greatness of the mystery of Christ the Redeemer, whose sacrifice is perpetuated until the end of time in the Eucharistic consecration.

The just man lives ever more with the spirit of faith. The spirit, or mentality, of a person is his way of seeing, judging, sympathizing, willing, and acting. The natural spirit does not rise above the more or less conscious self-interest of the individual. The spirit of faith, however, brings us to consider all things in the light of divine revelation: first, God, the mysteries of salvation, our soul, and our neighbor, and then the joys and sorrows that befall us.

In St. Catherine of Siena, faith is so alive that she seems to see Christ present in the consecrated Host and at work in souls, just as we perceive the colors of a countryside in the light of the sun. She discerns the spiritual health of souls regenerated by the Blood of Christ as we discern the health of bodies. She sees, too, the spiritual wounds—pride, concupiscence of the flesh and of the eyes—just as we see festering wounds in a body consumed by illness.

The Saint never loses sight, even for an instant, of Jesus Christ, the Savior, whose redeeming work endures until the end of the ages. She has not only a clear idea of the Savior but a profoundly lived idea of Him. This is the intimate life of faith, not merely an obligatory adherence to a revealed formula. The Heavenly Father said to her: "The two natures being thus joined together, I received and accepted the sacrifice of My only-begotten Son, permeated and kneaded into one with the divine nature by the fire of divine love, which was the bond that held Him fastened and nailed to the Cross… Wherefore, having come, the great Physician—My only-begotten Son—cured this sickness (that is, the sin of Adam), drinking the bitter medicine which man, in his great weakness, could not drink.[22]"

Jesus is the Physician who accompanies humanity to lead it to salvation. To give it life, He nourishes it with Himself. Truly present in the Eucharist, He continues to offer Himself and never ceases to intercede for us. As St. Catherine says, He is the bridge[23], the great arch reuniting earth to heaven, the way by which all must pass to attain eternal life.

With her living faith and the gifts of the Holy Spirit, St. Catherine marvelously penetrates the sentiments of Our Lord and shows us how, on the Cross, He fully abandoned Himself to suffering without, however, losing the supreme beatitude in the highest part of His soul:

"… The Immaculate Lamb, My only-begotten Son, who on the Cross was both blessed and sorrowful: He was sorrowful, carrying the Cross of the body, bearing pain, and the Cross of desire to atone for the fault of mankind; and He was blessed because the divine nature, united with the human nature, could not suffer pain, and always rendered His soul blessed, revealing itself to His soul without veil.[24]"

✶ ✶ ✶

Catherine of Siena’s faith penetrates even more profoundly into the essence of the intimate life of the Church, the mystical body of the Savior. She sees how Christ communicates His life to souls, incorporating them into Himself—first sharing with them His infancy, then His hidden life, and finally His sorrowful life, before bringing them into His glorious life in heaven.

The Virgin of Siena perceives how the Church, alive with the thoughts, love, and will of Christ, is His true spouse. Within the Church, in a certain sense, there continues the great prayer and redemptive suffering of the Savior until the end of the world. It is the supernatural life of grace, which, like a spiritual river springing from God, is poured out through the humanity of Jesus upon souls, returning to God in the form of adoration, reparation, supplication, and thanksgiving: "This Blood has given and accomplished all things pertaining to salvation.[25]"

The Church appears to St. Catherine as a virgin of noble lineage, with a pure gaze but a face disfigured by leprosy[26]—the errors of many fallen Christians:

"But look and see how My spouse has defiled her face—how it is leprous through impurity and self-love…[27]"

Catherine understands that, despite this leprosy, the Church remains intimately united to Christ and always vivified by Him[28]:

"By their defects, the ministry of the sacraments is neither diminished nor divided…[29]"

The treasury of the Blood remains intact, but reparation for sins is necessary.

St. Catherine hears these words:

"Take the sweat and tears, immerse them in the wellspring of My charity, and with them wash the face of My spouse. I promise you that this remedy will restore her beauty. Neither the sword nor war can restore her dignity, but only assiduous prayer, sweat, and tears shed with the anxious desire of My servants. Do not refrain from offering Me the incense of fragrant prayers for the salvation of souls, for I long to have mercy on the world… Do not fear. If the world persecutes you, I will be with you, and never will My Providence be lacking to you.[30]"

This is the great faith, illuminated by the gifts of the Holy Spirit, which grows ever deeper in the contemplation of the mystery of Christ and the Church.[31]

"O eternal Trinity! O Deity! That Deity who, through Your divine nature, made worthy the price of the Blood of Your Son! You, eternal Trinity, are a profound sea—the more I enter, the more I find, and the more I find, the more I seek You. You are insatiable, so that the soul, satiated in Your abyss, is never satiated, for it always remains hungry for You, eternal Trinity…[32]"

This recalls St. Augustine’s definition of beatitude: the state of a soul both filled and ever hungering.

Her elevation to the Trinity culminates in a canticle to the greatness of faith:

"In the light of faith, I acquire the wisdom of the Word of Your Son; in the light of faith, I am strong, constant, and persevering; in the light of faith, I hope; do not let me fail along the way… Clothe me, clothe me of yourself, O eternal Truth, that I may live this mortal life in true obedience and in the light of the most holy faith, whose radiance once again inebriates my soul. Deo gratias. Amen.[33]"

Thus ends the book… in the year of our Lord 1378.

Conclusion

It is evident that to reduce the ideas and judgments of Christian mystics to mere reflections of their emotions or movements of sensibility would be a grave error. Their intelligence is nourished above all by revealed divine truth—faith, not emotion, governs their lives. Precisely because their intellect is fixed on God’s truth, their will is rectified and fortified, and their actions bear fruit not only for a century or for successive generations but for eternity.

This fruitfulness marks one of the great distinctions between Christian mysticism and Eastern mysticism, such as that found in Buddhism. The thought and love of Christian mystics originate in God and, because of this divine origin, are able to ascend back to Him.

✶ ✶ ✶

We too ask, through the intercession of St. Catherine, for a great spirit of faith—one that will lead us to contemplate, in the light of divine revelation, God, His intimate life, the humanity of the Savior, our soul to be saved, our neighbor to be helped, and the joys and sorrows that accompany us on our journey toward eternity. From this spirit of faith, a double knowledge will arise within us: the awareness of our own indigence and misery, and the recognition of the infinite greatness and goodness of God. The saint expresses these two truths as the lowest and highest points of a circle that continually expands: "I am He who is, you are she who is not."

ENDNOTES

[1] At the time, St. Catherine of Siena was thirty-two years old. It is worth recalling that she had received the grace of spiritual espousal, or the transforming union, at the age of twenty. Cf. Life of St. Catherine of Siena by Bl. Raymond of Capua, Part I, Chapters IX and XII.
[2] This remains Bergson’s perspective in Le Deux Sources de la Morale et de la Religion; however, he appears to have made progress since then.
[3] Cf. Dialogue, c. 29.
[4]This definition pertains to action—the tendency toward the ultimate end—but it is rooted in revealed truth. Here, we find a higher pragmatism, one that makes a mockery of mere pragmatism.
[5] St. Thomas speaks in precisely this manner, particularly in his Commentary on the Sentences, III, d. 24, a. 2 and 3.
[6] Cf. Dialogue, c. 45.
[7] Cf. Dialogue, c. 46.
[8] I Cor. 2, 9.
[9] Dialogue, c. 45.
[10] Hebr. 11, 1: "Fides est sperandarum sustantia rerum, argumentum non apparentium."
[11] I Cor. 2, 10.
[12] Dialogue c. 46.
[13] Dialogue, c. 46; cf. James 2:26.
[14] Elsewhere, in c. 110, faith without charity is likened to a drenched wick of a candle.
[15] Dialogue, c. 46.
[16] One of the sad effects of this darkening is the low esteem of the value of faith. In this state of spiritual death, faith does not recognize itself. And it is indeed a great mercy of God toward the soul, to leave faith in the soul despite the sin. This clouded faith, frequently surrounded with haze, is not the absolute blindness into which one falls with mortal sin against the light. The Lord can without doubt restore infused faith before death to whoever has lost it, but this is a grace of immense mercy that is not certainly obtained. At the thought of this grace the sinner should reflect on the supernatural value of this gift that conserves faith as the root of a cut tree and do everything to recover living faith, which alone can effectively lead us to union with God.
[17] Dialogue, c. 99.
[18] Dialogue, c. 100.
[19] Dialogue, c. 85.
[20] Dialogue, c. 85.
[21] Dialogue, c. 85.
[22] Dialogue, c. 14.
[23] Cf. Dialogue, c. 127.
[24] Dialogue, c. 78.
[25] Dialogue, c. 14.
[26] Cfr. Dialogue, c. 86
[27] Dialogue, c. 14
[28] Dialogue, c. 12
[29] Dialogue, c. 118
[30] Dialogue, c. 86
[31] And there is no doubt that all of this was far more alive in the soul of St. Catherine than upon the pages of the Dialogue—a book, moreover, that rises ever higher the more our faith deepens and becomes more penetrating. Blessed Angela of Foligno, upon rereading her description of what she had seen in contemplation, scarcely recognized it: the words seemed lifeless compared to the living reality she had experienced interiorly. St. Catherine of Siena must have felt much the same when rereading this Dialogue, which she had dictated under the power of ecstasy.
[32] Dialogue, c. 167
[33] Dialogue, c. 167