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Letters of Catherine Benincasa by Catherine Benincasa

C >> Catherine Benincasa >> Letters of Catherine Benincasa




From these and many other difficulties that arise, it has not been meant
that penance should be used otherwise than as a means. I have already seen
many penitents who have been neither patient nor obedient, because they
have studied to kill their bodies, but not their wills. The rule of
indiscretion has wrought this. Dost thou know the result? All their
consolations and desires centre in carrying out their penance to suit
themselves, and not to suit anyone else. Therein they nourish their will.
While they can fulfil their penance, they have consolation and gladness,
and seem to themselves full of God, as if they had accomplished
everything; and they do not perceive that they fall into a mere personal
estimate, and into a judicial attitude. For if all people do not walk in
the same way, they seem to them in a state of damnation, an imperfect
state. They indiscreetly want to measure all bodies by one same measure,
by that with which they measure themselves. And if one wants to withdraw
them from this, either to break their will or from some necessity of
theirs, they hold their will harder than a diamond; living in such wise,
that at the time of test by a temptation or injury, they find themselves,
from indulgence in this wrong will, weaker than straw.

Indiscretion taught them that penance bridled wrath, impatience, and the
other sinful impulses that come into the heart; it is not so. This
glorious light teaches thee that thou shalt kill sin in thy soul, and draw
out its roots, with hatred and displeasure against thyself, loading thy
fault with rebuke, with the consideration of who God is whom thou
wrongest, and who thou art who wrongest Him, with the memory of death and
the longing for virtue. Penance cuts off, yet thou wilt always find the
root in thee, ready to sprout again; but virtue pulls up. Earth in which
sins have been planted is always ready to receive them again if self-will
puts them there with free choice; not otherwise, when once the root is
pulled up.

It may happen that a sick body is obliged perforce to give up its habits
of life; then it falls at once into weariness and confusion of mind,
deprived of all gladness: it thinks itself condemned and confounded, and
finds no sweetness in prayer, such as it seemed to have in the time of its
penance. And whither is this sweetness gone? Lost, with the personal will
on which it was built! This cannot be gratified, and so the soul suffers.
And why art thou fallen into such confusion and almost despair? And where
is the hope which thou hadst in the Kingdom of God? All lost, by means of
that very penance through which the soul hoped to have eternal life!
Capable of this no more, it thinks itself deprived of the other.

These are the fruits of indiscretion. Had the soul the light of
discretion, it would see that nothing but being without virtues deprived
it of God; and it has eternal life through virtue, by the Blood of Christ.
Then let us rise above all imperfection, and set our heart, as I said, on
true virtues, which are of such joy and gladsomeness as tongue could not
tell. There is none who can give pain to the soul founded on virtue, or
take from it the hope of heaven; for it has put its self-will to death in
spiritual things as in temporal, and its affections are not set on
penance, or private consolations or revelations, but on endurance through
Christ crucified and the love of virtue. So it is patient, faithful, hopes
in God and not in itself or its works: is humble and obedient, believing
others rather than itself, because it does not presume. It stretches wide
the arms of mercy, and thereby drives forth confusion of mind. In shadows
and conflicts it uplifts the light of faith, labouring manfully, with true
and profound humility; and in gladness it enters into itself, that the
heart may not fall into vain glee. It is strong and persevering, because
it has put to death its own will, which made it weak and inconstant. All
times are the right time for it; all places the right place. If it is in a
season of penance, this is a time of gladness and consolation to it, using
penance as a means; and if, by necessity or obedience, penance has to be
abandoned, it rejoices; because its chief foundation, in the love of
virtue, cannot be and is not taken from it; and because it sees the
contradiction of its own will, which it has been enlightened to perceive
must always be resisted with great diligence and zeal.

It finds prayer in every place, for it bears ever with it the place
wherein God lives by grace, and where we ought to pray--that is, the house
of our soul wherein holy desire prays constantly. This desire is uplifted
by the light of the mind to be reflected in itself and in the immeasurable
flame of divine love, which it finds in the Blood shed for us, which by
largess of love it finds in the vase of the soul. This it cares and should
care to know, that it may drink deep of the Blood, and therein consume its
self-will--and not simply to accomplish the count of many paternosters. So
we shall make our prayer continuous and faithful; because in the fire of
His love we know that He is powerful to give us what we ask. He is Highest
Wisdom, who knows how to give and discern what we need; He is a most
piteous and gracious Father, who wishes to give us more than we desire,
and more than we know how to ask for our need. The soul is humble, for it
has recognized its own defects and that in itself it is not. This is the
kind of prayer through which we attain virtue, and preserve in our souls
the longing for it.

What is the beginning of so great good? Discretion, the daughter of
charity, as I said. And it presents straightway to its neighbour the good
which it has itself. So it seeks to present to its fellow-creature the
foundation it has found, and the love and the teaching it has received,
and shows these by example of life and doctrine, advising when it sees
need or when advice were asked of it. It comforts the soul of its
neighbour, and does not confound him by leading him into despair when he
has fallen into some fault; but tenderly it makes itself ill with that
soul, giving him what healing it can, and enlarging in him hope in the
Blood of Christ crucified.

The virtue of discretion gives this and infinitely many other fruits to
the neighbour. Then, since it is so useful and necessary, dearest and most
beloved daughter and sister mine in Christ sweet Jesus, I summon thee and
me to do what in past time I confess not to have done with that perfection
which I should. It has not happened to thee as to me, to have been and to
be very faulty, or over-lax and easy-going in my life, instead of strict,
through my fault; but thou, as one who has wished to subdue her youthful
body that it be not rebel to the soul, hast chosen a life so extremely
strict that apparently it is out of all bounds of discretion; in so much
that it seems to me that indiscretion is trying to make thee feel some of
its results, and is quickening thy self-will in this. And now that thou
art leaving what thou art accustomed to do, the devil apparently is trying
to make it seem to thee that thou art damned. I am very much distressed at
this, and I believe that it is a great offence against God. Therefore I
will and I beg thee that our beginning and foundation be in the love of
virtue, as I said. Kill thy self-will, and do what thou art made to do;
pay attention rather to how things look to others than to thyself. Thou
dost feel thy body weak and ill; take every day the food that is needed to
restore nature. And if thy illness and weakness are relieved, undertake a
regular life in moderation, and not intemperately. Do not consent to let
the little good of penance hinder the greater; nor array thyself therein
as thy chief affection--for thou wouldst find thyself deceived: but wish
that we may haste in sincerity upon the beaten road of virtue, and that we
may guide others on this same road, breaking and shattering our own wills.
If we have the virtue of discretion in us, we shall do it; otherwise, not.

Therefore I said that I desired to see in thee the holy virtue of
discretion. I say no more. Remain in the holy and sweet grace of God.
Forgive me should I have talked too presumptuously; the love of thy
salvation, through the honour of God, is my reason. Sweet Jesus, Jesus
Love.




TO BROTHER RAIMONDO OF CAPUA
OF THE ORDER OF THE PREACHERS

AND TO MASTER JOHN III.
OF THE ORDER OF THE HERMIT BROTHERS OF ST. AUGUSTINE

AND TO ALL THEIR COMPANIONS
WHEN THEY WERE AT AVIGNON


Catherine's interest in public affairs is rising and widening. This letter
marks an inner crisis. Her thoughts and deeds have, as we have seen, been
already busied for some time with the dissension between the Pope and his
rebellious Tuscan people: now the hour has come when she is to feel
herself solemnly dedicated, by a divine command, to the great task of
reconciliation. We overhear her, as it were, thinking out in her Master's
presence and with His aid the deepest questions which the situation
suggests: and as we listen to that colloquy, so natural, so sweetly
familiar, so deeply reverent, we feel that no problems, however sorrowful
and perplexing, could be hopeless there. From communion with her Lord, she
went forth strong and reassured into the stormy action of her time. Christ
Himself, so she tells us, placed the Cross upon her shoulder and the olive
in her hand, changed her mourning into a high and rapturous hope, and bade
her go, strong in the faith, to bear His message of joy "to one and the
other people." Thus she should be shown in art--Cross-bearer like her
Lord, and holding to the world the sign of reconciliation. Thus did she
start upon the Via Dolorosa of the peace-maker; from now on we shall
follow her in her letters, as she treads that way of sorrows which was
also the way of life.

The experience here described fell on the first of April, 1376. Early in
May, the Florentines, knowing of her holy fame, sent for her to come to
their city and give them counsel. For to defy the Vicar of Christ was a
fearsome thing, and many hearts were uneasy in the rebellious town.


In the Name of Jesus Christ crucified and of sweet Mary:

Dearest my sons in Christ Jesus. I your poor mother have longed
passionately to see your hearts and affections nailed to the Cross, held
together by the bond which grafted God into man and man into God. So my
soul longs to see your affections grafted into the Incarnate Word Christ
Jesus, in such wise that nor demons nor creatures can divide you. For if
you are held and enkindled by sweet Jesus, I do not fear that all the
devils of hell with all their wiles can separate you from so sweet love
and union. So I wish, because there is mighty need, that you should never
cease from throwing fuel on the fire of holy desire--the fuel of the
knowledge of yourselves. For that is the fuel which feeds the fire of
divine charity: charity which is won by knowledge of the inestimable love
of God, and then unites the soul with its neighbour. And the more material
one gives to the flame--that is, the more fuel of self-knowledge--the more
the warmth of the love of Christ and one's neighbour increases. Abide,
then, hidden in the knowledge of yourselves, and do not live
superficially, lest Devil Malatasca catch you with many illusions and
reflections against one another: this he would do to take from you your
union in divine charity. So I will and command you that the one be subject
to the other, and each bear the faults of the other; learning from the
Sweet Primal Truth, who chose to be the least of men, and humbly bore all
our faults and iniquities. So I will that you do, dearest sons; love,
love, love one another. And joy and exult, for the summer-tide draws near.

For the first of April, especially in the night, God opened His secrets,
showing His marvellous things in such a wise that my soul did not seem to
be in the body, and received such joy and plenitude as the tongue does not
suffice to tell. He explained and made clear part by part the mystery of
the persecution which Holy Church is now enduring, and of her renewal and
exaltation, which shall be in time to come: saying that the present crisis
is permitted to restore her to her true condition. The Sweet Primal Truth
quoted two words which are in the Holy Gospel--"It must needs be that
offences come into the world": and then added: "But woe to him by whom the
offence cometh." As if He said: "I permit this time of persecution, to
uproot the thorns, with which My bride is wholly choked; but I do not
permit the evil thoughts of men. Dost thou know what I do? I am doing as I
did when I was in the world, when I made the scourge of cords, and drove
out those who sold and bought in the Temple, not choosing that the House
of God should be made a den of thieves. So I tell thee that I am doing
now. For I have made a scourge out of human beings, and with that scourge
I drive out the impure traffickers, greedy, avaricious, and swollen with
pride, who buy and sell the gifts of the Holy Spirit." Yes, He was driving
them forth with the scourge of the persecutions of their fellow-beings--
that is, by force of tribulation and persecution He put an end to their
disorderly and immodest living.

And, the fire growing in me, I gazed and saw the Christian people and the
infidel enter into the side of Christ crucified; and I passed through the
midst of them, by my loving and longing desire, and entered with them into
Christ Sweet Jesus, accompanied by my father St. Dominic, and John the
Single, with all my sons together. Then He placed the Cross on my shoulder
and the olive in my hand, almost as if I had asked for them, and said that
thus I should bear them, to the one and to the other people. And He said
to me: "Tell them, I bring you tidings of great joy." Then my soul became
more full; it was lost to itself among the true believers who feed upon
the Divine Substance, by the uniting force and longing of love. And so
great was the delight of my soul, that it no longer realized its past
affliction from seeing God wronged; nay! I said: "O blessed and fortunate
wrong!" Then sweet Jesus smiled, and said: "Is sin fortunate, which is
nothing at all? Dost thou know what St. Gregory meant when he said,
'Blessed and fortunate fault'? What element is it that thou holdest as
fortunate and blessed, and that Gregory calls so?" I replied as He made me
reply, and said: "I see well, sweet my Lord, and well I know, that sin is
not worthy of good fortune, and is not fortunate nor blessed in itself;
but the fruit may be, which comes from sin. It seems to me that Gregory
meant this: that through the sin of Adam, God gave us the Word, His only-
begotten Son, and the Word gave His Blood, so that, giving His life, He
restored life with a great fire of love. So, then, sin is fortunate, not
through the sin itself, but from the fruit and the gift we receive by that
sin." Now, so it is. Thus from the wrong done by the wicked Christians who
persecute the Bride of Christ, spring her exaltation, her light, and the
fragrance of her virtues. This was so sweet that there seemed no
comparison between the wrong, and the unsearchable goodness and benignity
of God, which He showed toward His Bride. Then I rejoiced and exulted, and
was so arrayed in assurance of the time to come that I seemed to possess
and taste it. And I said then with Simeon: "Nunc dimittis servum tuum,
Domine, secundum verbum tuum, in pace." So many mysteries were wrought in
me as tongue cannot suffice to tell nor heart to think nor eye to see.

Now, what tongue could suffice to tell the wonderful things of God? Not
mine, poor wretch that I am. Therefore I choose to keep silence, and to
give me wholly to seeking the honour of God and the salvation of souls and
the renewal and exaltation of Holy Church, and through grace and power of
the Holy Spirit to persevere even unto death. With this desire I called
our Christ on earth, and I will call him, with great love and compassion,
and you, father, and all my dear sons; I made and was granted your
petition. Rejoice, then, rejoice and exult. O sweet God our Love, fulfil
quickly the desires of thy servants! I will say no more--and I have said
nothing. I die, delayed in my desires. Have compassion on me. Pray the
divine Goodness and Christ on earth that there be no more loitering.
Remain in the holy and sweet grace of God. Drown you in the Blood of
Christ crucified; and on no account faint, but rather take comfort.
Rejoice, rejoice, in your sweet labours. Love, love, love one another.
Sweet Jesus, Jesus Love.




TO SISTER BARTOLOMEA DELLA SETA
NUN IN THE CONVENT OF SANTO STEFANO AT PISA


The conflicts of the cloister and of the court are not dissimilar; and the
first, to Catherine, are as real and significant as the second. She writes
in a familiar strain to Sister Bartolomea. The truths on which she is
insisting have been reiterated in every age by guides to the spiritual
life. But whenever, as here, they come from the depths of personal
experience, they possess peculiar freshness and force; and, indeed, this
Colloquy of the Saint of Siena with her Lord has become a _locus
classicus_ in the literature of the interior life.

One likes to note, in passing, how frequently Catherine urges frail,
cloistered women, sheltered from all the din and storm of outer life, to
"manfulness." "Virile," "virilmente"--they are among her especial words.
And, indeed, they well befit her own spirit, singularly vigorous and
fearless for a woman whose feminine sensitiveness is evident in every
letter she writes.


In the Name of Jesus Christ crucified and of sweet Mary:

Dearest daughter in Christ Jesus. I Catherine, servant and slave of the
servants of Jesus Christ, write to you in His precious Blood: with desire
to see you a true bride, consecrated to the eternal Bridegroom. It belongs
to a bride to make her will one with that of her bridegroom; she cannot
will more than he wills, and seems unable to think of anything but him.
Now do you so think, daughter mine, for you, who are a bride of Christ
crucified, ought not to think or will anything apart from Him--that is,
not to consent to any other thoughts. That thoughts should not come, this
I do not tell thee--because neither thou nor any created being couldst
prevent them. For the devil never sleeps; and God permits this to make His
bride reach perfect zeal and grow in virtue. This is the reason why God
sometimes permits the mind to remain sterile and gloomy, and beset by many
perverse cogitations, so that it seems unable to think of God, and can
hardly remember His Name.

Beware, when thou mayest feel this in thyself, lest thou fall into
weariness or bewildered confusion, and do not give up thy exercises nor
the act of praying, because the devil may say to thee: "How does this
prayer uplift thee, since thou dost not offer it with any feeling or
desire? It would be better for thee not to make it." Yet do not give up,
nor fall for this into confusion, but reply manfully: "I would rather
exert myself for Christ crucified, feeling pain, gloom and inward
conflicts, than not exert myself and feel repose." And reflect, that this
is the state of the perfect; if it were possible for them to escape Hell,
and have joy in this life and joy eternal beside, they do not want it,
because they delight so greatly in conforming themselves to Christ
crucified; nay, they want to live rather by the way of the Cross and pain,
than without pain. Now what greater joy can the bride have than to be
conformed to her bridegroom, and clothed with like raiment? So, since
Christ crucified in His life chose naught but the Cross and pain, and
clothed Him in this raiment, His bride holds herself blessed when she is
clothed in this same raiment; and because she sees that the Bridegroom has
loved her so beyond measure, she loves and receives Him with such love and
desire as no tongue can suffice to tell. Therefore the Highest and Eternal
Goodness, to make her attain most perfect love and possess humility,
permits her many conflicts and a dry mind, that the creature may know
itself and see that it is not. For were it anything, it would free itself
from pain when it chose, but being naught it cannot. So, knowing itself,
it is humbled in its non-existence, and knows the goodness of God, which,
through grace, has given it being, and every grace that is founded upon
being.

But thou wilt say to me: "When I have so much pain, and suffer so many
conflicts and such gloom, I can see nothing but confusion; and it does not
seem as if I could take any hope, I see myself so wretched." I reply to
thee, my daughter, that if thou shalt seek, thou shalt find God in thy
goodwill. Granted that thou feel many conflicts, do thou not therefore
feel thy will deprived of wishing God. Nay, this is the reason why the
soul mourns and suffers, because it fears to offend God. It ought then to
joy and exult, and not to fall into confusion through its conflicts,
seeing that God keeps its will good, and gives it hatred of mortal sin.

I remember that I heard this said once to a servant of God, and it was
said to her by the Sweet Primal Truth, when she was abiding in very great
pain and temptation, and among other things, felt the greatest confusion,
in so much that the devil said: "What wilt thou do? for all the time of
thy life thou shalt abide in these pains, and then thou shalt have hell."
She then answered with manly heart, and without any fear, and with holy
hatred of herself, saying: "I do not avoid pains, for I have chosen pains
for my refreshment. And if at the end He should give me hell, I will not
therefore abandon serving my Creator. For I am she who am worthy of
abiding in hell, because I wronged the Sweet Primal Truth; so, did He give
me hell, He would do me no wrong, since I am His." Then our Saviour, in
this sweet and true humility, scattered the shadows and torments of the
devil, as it happens when the cloud passes that the sun remains; and
suddenly came the Presence of Our Saviour. Thence she melted into a river
of tears, and said in a sweet glow of love: "O sweet and good Jesus, where
wast thou when my soul was in such affliction?" Sweet Jesus, the Spotless
Lamb, replied: "I was beside thee. For I move not, and never leave My
creature, unless the creature leave Me through mortal sin." And that woman
abode in sweet converse with Him, and said: "If Thou wast with me, how did
I not feel Thee? How can it be that being by the fire, I should not feel
the heat? And I felt nothing but freezing cold, sadness, and bitterness,
and seemed to myself full of mortal sins." He replied sweetly, and said:
"Dost thou wish Me to show thee, daughter mine, how in those conflicts
thou didst not fall into mortal sin, and how I was beside thee? Tell me,
what is it that makes sin mortal? Only the will. For sin and virtue
consist in the consent of the will; there is no sin nor virtue, unless
voluntarily wrought. This will was not in thee; for had it been, thou
wouldst have taken joy and delight in the suggestions of the devil; but
since the will was not there, thou didst grieve over them, and suffer for
fear of doing wrong. So thou seest that sin and virtue consist in choice--
wherefore I tell thee that thou shouldst not, on account of these
conflicts, fall into disordered confusion. But I will that from this
darkness thou derive the light of self-knowledge, in which thou mayest
gain the virtue of humility, and joy and exult in a good will, knowing
that then I abide in thee secretly. The will is a sign to thee that I am
there; for hadst thou an evil will, I should not be in thee by grace. But
knowest thou how I thus abide in thee? In the same way in which I hung
upon the wood of the Cross. And I take the same way with you that my
Father took with Me. Reflect, daughter mine, that upon the Cross I was
blessed and was sorrowful; blessed I was by the union of the divine and
the human nature, and nevertheless the flesh endured pain, because the
Eternal Father withdrew His power to Himself, letting Me suffer; but He
did not withdraw the union in which He was for ever united with Me.
Reflect that in this way I abide in the soul; for often I withdraw to
myself feeling, but do not withdraw grace, since grace is never lost,
except by mortal sin, as I said. But knowest thou why I do this? Only to
make the soul reach true perfection. Thou knowest that the soul cannot be
perfect unless borne on these two wings, humility and charity. Humility is
won through the knowledge of itself, into which it enters in the time of
darkness; and charity is won by seeing that I, through love, have kept its
will holy and good. Wherefore, I tell thee, that the wise soul, seeing
that from this experience proceeds such profit, reassures itself (and for
no other cause do I permit the devil to give you temptations), and will
hold this time dearer than any other. Now I have told thee the way I take.
And reflect, that such experience is very necessary to your salvation; for
if the soul were not sometimes pressed by many temptations, it would fall
into very great negligence, and would lose the exercise of continual
desire and prayer. Because in the hour of battle it is more alert, through
fear of its foes, and provisions the rock of its soul, having recourse to
Me who am its Fortitude. But this is not the intention of the devil--for
I permit him to tempt you that he may make you attain virtue, though he,
on his part, tempts you to make you attain despair. Reflect that the devil
will tempt a person who is dedicated to My service, not because he
believes that the man may actually fall into that sin, for he sees at once
that he would choose death rather than actually to do wrong. But what does
he do? He exerts himself to make the man fall into confusion, saying: 'No
good is of any use to you, on account of these thoughts and impulses that
come to you.' Now thou seest how great is the malice of the devil; for,
not being able to conquer in the first battle, he often conquers in the
second, under guise of virtue. Wherefore I do not want thee ever to follow
his malicious will; but I want thee to assume My will, as I have told
thee. This is the rule which I give thee, and which I wish thee to teach
others when there is need."

John Crace digests A Question of Upbringing by Anthony Powell

My English teacher is wearing a barrister's wig. He turns and points towards me as I sit trembling in the dock. "Members of the jury, I put it to you that this man, Tom Robinson, is innocent," he says, rather lugubriously. I want to protest. I want to shout that no, I am not Tom Robinson, but yes, I am innocent! But the words won't come out.

Then I wake up. It's another literary dream – one that's troubled me ever since I studied Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird for GCSE.

Most of the time I'm disappointed to leave my literary dreams, waking to realise that I'm not really ensconced with with the boozing Welsh pensioners from Kingsley Amis's The Old Devils or haven't really been thrashing Harry Potter's Quidditch team. I remember with fondness a skiing trip with William Shakespeare and the delightful discovery that Don DeLillo was serving drinks behind the bar in my local pub.

It's not all sunshine, though. Tom Wolfe once ruined a trip to New York, shouting at me across Fifth Avenue: "You're not even familiar with my work – get outta town, asshole!" But that's nothing on Howard Jacobson. I spent a summer discovering his novels during my waking hours and bumping into him in my sleep. I'd see him in a local restaurant and tell him how much I was enjoying his novels. "Oh right," he'd snap, "that old chestnut, huh?" When I met him for real last year he was, in fact, charm personified. I didn't tell him about the dreams.

But enough about my subconscious, what about yours? It's Friday: forget about work and tell me all about your literary dreams. Don't hold back – it's not like we'll read anything into it.

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