In speaking of Antonio Rosmini’s ‘mystical experience’, we have to be quite clear that we are not dealing with that very special experience of God proper to souls known for their ‘voices’, ‘visions’, ecstasies and ‘raptures’. There is none of this in Rosmini’s life.

Nevertheless, he certainly lived the experience of God in such an extraordinary way that he felt himself totally dominated by it. This is what we mean by his true, ‘mystical experience’. And we may add that under this aspect, too, he characteristically united mysticism and rationality in great equilibrium. These two states in the soul’s activity would seem to be mutually exclusive. In ‘mysticism’, feeling, sensible experience, reality is preeminent; in ‘rationality’, the mind, the intelligence dominates. In both cases, of course, it is always the whole soul which is present and living in mystical experience and rational activity.

This balance which Rosmini maintains between mysticism and rationality, while constantly keeping the distinction between these moments in the life of the spirit, makes it difficult for those who approach his work to realise that the thinker is also a mystic. But his teachings, both philosophical and theological, take fire from the burning heat that pervades his soul’s mystical experience.

As we see it, the fascination, which his teachings have for those who study his thought, originates from this. Later on we shall see the reason for this more fully. We can provide a clue in anticipation by saying that Rosmini ‘thought’ what his soul ‘experienced’ in possessing all truth, all good; a possession which is a ‘loving union’ with the whole of Being in the natural order; and is an intimate union with God, that is, a true ‘mystical experience’, in the supernatural order.

Because of this his teachings are never ‘cold’, even the most difficult and profoundly speculative ones, because his teachings do not exist ‘on their own’, so to speak, but are the intellectual breath of an ardent soul, which both lives and loves all truth, all good and shares intimately in it.

If we are to grasp Rosmini’s great interior richness, we have to draw near him to discover the secret of his heart. It is not sufficient ‘to know’ what he teaches. We can indeed speak of the ‘vortex’ of the soul of a kind of whirlpool of warmth and trembling in which all our life and experience is sucked in as nourishment to make us burn more ardently and tend more more directly towards the Good, the All, the All-Good.

We shall see later that Rosmini himself, when treating of mystical theology, describes the state of the soul that experiences ‘ a perpetual luminous and joyful movement’. It is sufficient that we allude to it here, to repeat how we do not study the ‘true’ Rosmini if we limit ourselves to his teachings.

And how can we study the ‘stirring’ of his soul? Rather than saying how we shall do it, we shall simply seek to do it. For a start we shall not find a page of Rosmini in which he speaks of his mystical experience. It is up to us to grasp how much of this experience appears in many places in his writings, even in the pages of his philosophy, and we shall indeed be continually surprised at how much we meet it.

On our part we should perhaps be open, or better still, be on the alert for this, rather than searching for something which satisfies the understanding only. We should have a mind which understands and at the same time searches and wishes to listen.

For example the entry he made in his personal diary when he was a young man of 16 (in 1813 to be exact) is often cited. He wrote: ‘This year was for me a year of grace. God has opened my eyes about many things, and I have learned that there is no other wisdom but in God’.

This is a simple note without any comment. And it is written in his diary between these two entries: ‘I studied humanities under Don Giambattista Locatelli" and "I wrote a little work called The Day of Retreat.’ It is in the style of a diary that only mentions items of information. But if we carefully focus on that note it reveals to us his deep, youthful fervour.

We have no hesitation in saying that already we can discern an incipient mystical experience. Everyone knows how much the young Rosmini longed for knowledge, how open he was to all cultural interests and how he devoted his whole energy to this. The extent of this aim to know everything could be a danger, not just of his being absorbed in this sphere, to the neglect perhaps of everything else; but also the danger of pride to which those who improve themselves intellectually are easily exposed. ‘Science’ and ‘knowledge’ are never instinctive incentives to humility.

Indeed Rosmini was exposed to this danger. In his youth there do not appear to have been, at least in any notable way, sensual passions, which young people normally experience, in which life with all its instincts makes itself felt strongly. But the passion for knowledge was there with all its risks.

So, he says that God has opened his eyes and adds ‘I have learned that there is no other wisdom but in Him’. It is this ‘have learned’ that seems to us to say so much more than would appear at first sight. We believe that he was not drawn by purely rational knowledge, knowledge simply of the mind. To understand simply with the intellect would not have been sufficient to counterbalance the force of passion with which he was drawn to scholarship. One force can only be offset by another greater one. He felt himself attracted to God by a force greater than that which drew him to devote himself wholly to study. That note of 1813, therefore, reveals to us something that God, as infinite and powerful Reality, worked in the soul of the young Rosmini. And a similar action of God in the soul occurs precisely in the mystical order.

Rosmini was and always would be totally overcome by this. From that moment he would let God rule him totally. This is precisely the attitude of the mystic in the face of the ineffable action that God works in the soul. His comment after the note is significant. He says that he has begun to write a little work entitled The Day of Retreat (Il giorno di solitudine). This shows that he felt an inner urge for recollection, for solitude with God: another attitude proper to the mystic.

Yet more significant is the decision he made to become a priest. He could be wholly God’s in any condition of life; but in his desire to become a priest it was his wish to be not only wholly ‘of’ God but wholly ‘for’ God, at his full disposal, in total service, at God’s good pleasure. God alone counted for Rosmini, and indeed he placed him first not only rationally, not only lovingly, but also "practically."

He held firm to his decision to be a priest not withstanding the pressure from his parents, who believing his desire to be only a beautiful and generous youthful dream, insisted that he desist from it because they wanted him to continue their illustrious family name. ‘I am intent on becoming a priest’, he wrote in 1814, a year after the note of 1813: that is, ‘I have firmly decided’; and he did not waver from his decision..

The letter, which he wrote to his friend Bartolomeo Menotti, is interesting. It gives us already a programme of life that he would follow. At the beginning of the letter we find these very significant words: ‘There can be no wisdom down here if it does not come from the Father of lights’; words which echo perfectly the extraordinary experience of 1813. ‘I know there is no other wisdom but in God’. He then continues: ‘I intend to become a priest and to put all that I have in buying a treasure, which neither rust nor moth consumes or spoils nor one that robbers dig up and carry away. All the little knowledge I have (if the blessed God helps me) I intend to use in teaching others (and what is more beautiful than helping!); and not to be lazy in body but to work hard; and to use all my riches in strengthening the sciences and in the relief of the poor. These are the sentiments that move not only my intellect but also my heart.’

His decision for the priesthood was indeed very firm. He reiterates this a little later to a friend don Luigi Sonn in very youthful language but with a very mature gravity and determination. He writes, ‘Why else should you believe that I have chosen this most delightful state of life, if not to devote myself most especially and entirely to my good Lord God; and with complete dedication to praise him sublimely in so far as man can, to learn and preach his most wise and holy law, which enlightens the little ones, and which makes the ignorant wise in so wonderful a way; and to enrich my brothers and share with all those whom I get to love tenderly in Jesus Christ, this treasure, which is worth so much more than gold and precious stones and which is sweeter than honey? Oh, my dear friend this is the one aim and desire of my heart.’

It is interesting to note that in the years of preparation for the priesthood during his theological studies at Padova university, although keeping up a continual correspondence especially with his friends, Rosmini jealously hid the feelings that he experienced, helping him towards the goal which he desired with all his strength. It was all too intimate between him and God. And therefore he lived in a complete interior solitude. And this is also proper to the mystics.

There are only some rare passages. For instance, in a letter of 24 July 1820, Rosmini congratulates his friend Giuseppe Brunati who was being ordained priest, and he rejoices with him, because the Father calls them ‘as friends to dwell and work in his house.’ And then we have this outpouring: ‘Oh this house, this house of God is also a sweet refuge, a loveable haven, and, as it were, a most joyful hideaway! The house of God is a hideaway for the priest because he hides his grandeur in it, and his overflowing joy keeps it from worldly eyes, which see in him simply an ordinary man.’

Perhaps also, in order ‘to keep’ (to hide) his ‘overflowing’ joy at the imminence of his priestly consecration from the eyes of the world, he kept quiet about this even with his friends. We repeat: it was his mystical secret with God.

The years, which immediately followed his priestly ordination were a most important stage in his spiritual life. As we see it, they are also very meaningful for those trying to grasp his mystical experience.

He lived those years in recollection, in prayer and in study at his house in Rovereto. In order that he might be directed in his activity he waited for God to make his will known. There were so many paths before him as a priest. He could devote himself to the care of souls in some parish, or to the education of youth, or to assist the needy, or to the contemplative life in some religious order. These were all ways of being ‘for God’.

But he wished to be ‘of God’, that is to be his instrument for whatever good or charitable work which God would want of him. He therefore placed himself wholly in his hands, entirely abandoned to his will: that is, he left the initiative to God. Indeed this attitude of his, which is the foundation of all his activity and life, bears out our thinking on his mystical experience.

The mystic, in fact, experiencing himself to be overpowered entirely by God leaves the initiative to him; he leaves God to dispose of him totally, that he might make of him what he pleases, what he wishes. This is revealed to us in that invocation which later would come as a cry of the soul of Rosmini: ‘You reign in me with omnipotent and absolute power!’ The invocation is of 1840 but it expresses the inner life of his soul and not just at that time.

We have said that Rosmini never speaks of a precise mystical experience but transposed what is characteristic of a mystical occurrence into rational terms. We have perfect confirmation of this in what he did in these years of retirement at Rovereto. He felt that he must leave the initiative to God: it was his profound conviction and it dominated him entirely. He then "rationalised" his spiritual condition by making of it a principle of conduct to follow always for the whole of his life.

The so-called principle of passivity is derived from this. All those who treat of Rosminian asceticism rightly dwell on it. The principle of passivity is customarily explained as a personal renunciation of initiative, not in order to be inactive, but to wait on an indication from God. This is to be totally at his disposition for all that he can want of us. So, as soon as man knows the will of God, he commits himself totally, unconditionally to what God wills, anything he may demand of him.

This is the most precise explanation that is customarily given of the principle of passivity formulated by Rosmini. But it seems to us that we should say more, to state that this principle was demanded by his mystical experience. He experienced that his own soul was totally ruled by God and handed himself over entirely to him, letting God dispose of him according to his good pleasure. Here I am Lord; do with me what you will could be the translation into prayer of the principle of passivity.

Rosmini gives a reason for this interior attitude of his: he states that he found himself absolutely powerless to do anything of himself in the service of his neighbour. But if God were to call him to a work of charity, he would also give him the capacity and strength to complete it. This feeling of his own nothingness is an attitude common to mystics, who truly feel that they are nothing in the face of the omnipotence with which God works in them. And consequently from the feeling of their creaturely nothingness comes the feeling of their moral nothingness, of their imperfection, of being sinners before God.

This is another sentiment characteristic of the mystics, which we find expressed, for example, at the beginning of the autobiography of St Teresa of Avila, where she says that, ‘I wish I had been allowed to describe clearly and in full detail my grave sins and wicked life.’ Her spiritual directors did not allow her to do this; but out of her love for God she implores her readers always to keep this in mind, ‘that my life was very bad, so much so that among all the saints who have been converted to God, I have not found one who affords me any comfort. She continues, ‘In fact they, when they were called by the Lord, did not abandon him again; I, on the other hand, not only have continued to become even worse, but it seems moreover that I have studied especially to resist the graces which God continually granted me, almost fearing that following on these graces I would be obliged to serve him with greater perfection, while I understood that by myself I was not even capable of satisfying in the least what I already owed him.’

We might think that these are the exaggerations of the saints. But it is not so. The saints really feel that the least moral imperfection is ‘very grave’. And they feel it because they have an intimate experience of the infinite holiness of God present to and acting within them. So it should not surprise us that Rosmini speaks of his ‘enormous vices’ from which he felt he must purify himself, rather than going in search of works of charity to perform for his neighbour’s good. We are not surprised that he calls himself a ‘a disgrace to the Church, for which he ought to have died a thousand times in order that it should be taken away.’ (Letterto Giovanni Padulli, 29 February 1828)

And it does not surprise us that Clemente Rebora, totally overcome by grace, preparing for his priestly ordination, began to pray ardently that God make him ‘dung’ in his vineyard.

In fact with this experience of God it is not possible for the soul to feel any self worth in any way To experience God like this is to feel that he is all, and that the soul can only consent to God without limitation, wholly of him and wholly for him. It therefore leaves the initiative to God, a consequence of its intimate experience of him.

God works marvels in the soul. As a result of leaving the initiative to God true mystics have a capacity for extraordinary external activity. We have only to think how much St Teresa of Avila did, how much St Catherine of Siena worked. Both of them could unite the intimacy of mystical experience with the most intense and indefatigable exterior activity. Rosmini was the same.

His spiritual, intellectual and material charity in all its aspects was, without doubt, extraordinary. His work in the field of intellectual charity, his immense apostolate as thinker and writer is better known. But he was first and foremost a priest, totally devoted to the spiritual good of souls. At the same time he was also a great organiser in the sphere of material or temporal charity. This included his being interested in the finest details in the concrete, daily things of religious life. He was a universal genius, not only in the sphere of the spirit but also in the practicalities of life: he thus loved all "being", but above all he loved and practised all "good".

But the secret and the source of his extraordinary activity lay in his intimacy with God. It came from God and not from himself. He himself says that he felt his total nothingness. He will show this also in his Christian desire for perfection: he will recommend living ‘always in an interior solitude, cut off as it were from created things, where he may find only God and his own spirit. He must always be conscious of God in order to adore his greatness, and of himself in order to recognise more and more clearly his own weakness and nothingness.’ (5^th Maxim of Perfection).

This call to interior solitude is a most clear invitation to intimate experience with God, the privileged place of the mystic, but privileged because the mystic knows how to live it, not because it is reserved to him. Every Christian already united mystically to Christ in baptism has, in this particular relationship, that which can lead him to an intimate experience of God, only if he wants it, only if he makes some effort, only if he seeks God in himself. God is there and waits for him, in his soul, in that soul which daily is taken over by thousands and thousands of visual and aural stimuli which take us away from this intimacy, thus conditioning us to live simply superficially, totally incapable of interior life, if not completely hostile to it. Is this perhaps due to an instinctive fear of emptiness?

Whoever is familiar with the true moral and spiritual stature of Rosmini is completely fascinated by this man who worked in every field of charity but above all he always feels led back by him to intimacy with God. Rosmini’s intellectual, and vast, sometimes almost overwhelming activity, arousing wonder and admiration, is inexplicable if we ignore his profound intimacy with God.

Some of his ejaculations made at times when he pours out his soul, reveal his longing for God, as when he says: ‘O God, give yourself to me: I will rejoice in you, I will glorify you for all eternity’; ‘Give me yourself, give me yourself, O infinite Good, sole Good’; ‘O my love, grant me love’; ‘Father I ask for your divine Son and your Spirit’; ‘O infinite [God], I ask the infinite of you…O my eternal good’; ‘May you take on the guidance of my powers, O my Head, O my Life, O my God’; ‘May you master me with your almighty and absolute rule’.
At this point we must call a halt.: Any words of ours would break the spell. These are invocations that must echo in the depths of our soul and in our recollected intimacy with God.

There is another consequence of this ‘feeling’ which characterises the mystic. It is a consequence, which has an immense relevance in the asceticism of Antonio Rosmini. Feeling his littleness and infirmity in the face of God, the mystic experiences an irresistible need to be purified from evil, to amend the smallest defect which he has incurred, to avoid every imperfection and moral defect of which he feels the total gravity and enormity compared with the infinite holiness of God.

The asceticism of Rosmini is totally based on this solid foundation. It is extraordinary how much he insists on inculcating the necessity of purification from evil in the religious of his Institute and in all the persons he spiritually directs. He was indefatigable in recommending the interior work of purification of conscience. He was completely uncompromising, convinced that if he did not insist on this, all the rest would be of no avail.

‘Let us consider seriously that if we have obtained the amendment and the purification of our souls, we have obtained our ultimate desire. We have obtained everything…here lies the simplicity of Christian life’. ‘There is no other good than this, the eternal salvation of the soul and its moral perfection.’ ‘All our good lies in our sanctification and all our evil lies in losing some degree of it.’ ‘A drop of virtue is worth more than an ocean of knowledge’. These are only some of his expressions in his letters, but the conviction and feeling which stands out in them, recurs in all his ascetical writings.

Rosmini placed such importance on purification from evil that it is necessarily the end of his Institute. We are speaking of the Institute of Charity! This title puts charity in first place, the charity, which members of the Institute must practise. Rosmini clearly says:

And he explains: ‘The salvation of our souls is reached through justice that is, abstaining from sin. This justice is the foundation of the whole Society. Each member, then, should humbly make constant and persevering efforts, wholly relying on the grace of God, to purify his conscience more and more day by day’ (n.3).

The purifying of conscience, the purification from evil must therefore come before everything else for the religious of the Institute of Charity. This foundation is absolutely logical for Rosmini, and it is indeed the fruit of most profound spiritual discernment and also truly great thought.

Contrary to what is commonly thought the exercise of charity cannot be the end of the Institute, because it undertakes works of charity only when requested to do so. But no requests for works of charity may be made of it: in such a case does it remain without its end? Absolutely not, says Rosmini, because the end is always present, and this is the "purification" from evil of the souls of its members.

Perhaps our interpretation has been too absolute whereas it is much more vague, because one could say that the end of the Institute should be the exercise of charity, as the final outcome. But in order to be capable of loving, and loving without limit, even to "die" for charity, (the person who does not know how to die does not know how to love, says Rosmini) the religious of the Institute must attend first of all to their own sanctification. And the first and absolutely necessary step is to purify themselves from evil. Rosmini is most consistent in proposing it as the immediate end for the members of the Institute.

How he felt about the gravity of even the slightest moral fault is evident to us. This feeling is a characteristic of his and even surprises us. Such was his horror for sin, even the slightest one that he writes: ‘...even if we were certain that by the slightest sin of ours we could convert everyone now in the world and bring about the salvation of all who are to come into it in the future, and even convert hell with all the demons, raising them to the highest level of sanctity, yet still we ought not to commit that sin. Nor would the pretext of promoting God’s glory excuse us; for any ‘glory’ which we could give to God by means of the smallest sin, it is not our duty to give rather, we are bound not to give it. For the God of infinite holiness does not want it of us.’

In this reasoning there is all the logical force of which his great mind was capable, because it is clear that God cannot want a sin from me, no matter how small this would be. He does not wish it because this would be absurd. For God can never wish evil, not even the slightest moral evil.

But in this purely logical statement of Rosmini, there appears above all his extreme delicacy of conscience, his keenest moral sensitivity, that sensitivity which sees even the slightest fault as grave. And it is this attitude and we come back again to our theme that characterises the mystic. The mystic, who experiences the infinite ineffable holiness of God, can only have horror and loathing for sin, even the least, because this is always in opposition to God, the negation of God. This situation says little or nothing to a person who is alien to it; but for the mystic it can be absolute torture; the torture of the soul to see the object of his love offended, while feeling it to be worthy of infinite love.

And Rosmini confirms this for us giving the following reason for rejecting ‘even our slightest sin’: ‘I will go even further, and say that anyone who truly loves God would not consent to part with a single degree of his love for God even if he knew that as a result of this lessening of his love, God would receive unbounded acts of seraphic love from everyone in creation. This is because anyone who truly loves God would not consent to lessen that love in the slightest degree: he looks on every smallest spark of his love of God as an infinite, precious treasure, and indeed his only good. So he would never consent to exchange this love for any good whatever. For his own part he wishes, cost what it may, to love God as much as he possibly can, independently of what other creatures may do. His only good is his love of God: in this lies his perfection, his justice, and all that God wants of him."(1)

(1) Lesson 10.