Teresa did not lack for logistics advisers. There was her confessor, the Jesuit priest Baltasar Álvarez, and the Dominican Fr. Pedro Ibáñez, and her Carmelite superiors, including Fr. Gregorio Hernández and the ecclesiastical provincial Angel de Salazar, as well as the rectors of the Society of Jesus: Dionisio Vázquez, followed by Gaspar de Salazar. There was that affectionate Franciscan and loyal accomplice, Friar Pedro de Alcántara. But over and above these it was the word of His Majesty that carried most weight with the nun, imposed itself upon her confessors and counselors, and, having become indistinguishable from the word of La Madre, held them all under His sway. This imperious Third Person—the Voice of the ideal Father converted into Teresa’s ideal superego—was a resolutely interior Other, with whom Teresa would not lose a contact that was ever more vocal as she continued to analyze herself through writing and through making foundations.
Mind you, to be agreeable to His Majesty did not simply mean jouissance, it also involved hearkening to the ideal Father’s words as constructed by Teresa in her readings and prayers. More precisely, to please Him was to respond to His teachings: to embody them in acts, in works. She would have to adjust her thoughts, her body, and her transactions in the world with that ideal Other who spoke within her.
And thus you set forth on a new stage of the journey, my attentive, my realistic Teresa.
To hear that Voice transcends listening, it is rather a new kind of enjoying: a matter of com-prehending the Voice in Itself without self. Of being agreeable (agradable) to it outside oneself, at the same time as pleasing the Other in oneself as though pleasing another self. An altered self that begins to stir, to strain toward the Other without cease, to almost merge with It at times; nothing would stand between them were it not for the tympanum, her hymen as it were, like a fine Dutch linen or a translucent diamond partition filtering the Master’s light through the psyche and body of the nun turned foundress. The Dwelling Places tirelessly accumulate metaphors that might convey this mysterious alteration-cohabitation with His Voice. For it is only by co-responding to the Voice of the Third Person incorporated inside her that Teresa de Ahumada can consider herself worthy to become Teresa of Jesus. Thus and only thus persuaded of the truth of her task, the future Madre feels unassailable, irrefutable, armed against all obstacles or conflicts—for that correspondence demotes them to the rank of lies.
The Voice of His Majesty speaking through her mouth is certainly categorical: “Do you know what it is to love Me truthfully? It is to understand that everything that is displeasing to me is a lie [entender que todo es mentira lo que no es agradable a mí].”2 In this comprehensive hearing and understanding, “truth,” “love,” and whatever is “pleasing” are synonymous, provided it is the ideal Father, identified with Teresa, who is speaking. Or, to put it another way, provided Teresa is projected into Him by way of that vocal Third Person, His Voice. From now on she is more than protected, she is untouchable. “Paranoid visions”: my colleague Jérôme Tristan pounces straightaway, it’s his job, the symptom is patent, “too patent, Sylvia dear.” Of course it is, who does he think I am? Ah, the amiable paternalism of men…La Madre “sees” in visions “all kinds of people” who are “preparing to attack her,” to “persecute” and “harm” her. I could hardly fail to spot it, my anxious Teresa. All you can rely on is God, the God you hear while He speaks through your mouth!
Not content with savoring His penetration and habitation of her, from around 1560 Teresa heard Him and made His Voice heard urbi et orbi. Persecuted as she perhaps or certainly was, the praying woman was far from being left all alone with her visions, as she had recently written. In aid of her ambition to be agreeable to His Majesty, two supportive figures stepped forward: Saint Joseph and the Virgin. With them by her side, her metamorphosis took the form of a re-foundation, a reformation of the Carmelite order.
One day after Communion, His Majesty earnestly commanded me to strive for this new monastery with all my powers, and He made great promises that it would be founded and that He would be highly served in it. He said it should be called St. Joseph and that this saint would keep watch over us at one door, and Our Lady at the other, that Christ would remain with us, and that it would be a star shining with great splendor. He said that even though religious orders were mitigated one shouldn’t think He was little served in them; He asked what would become of the world if it were not for religious people, and said that I should tell my confessor what He commanded, that He was asking him not to go against this or hinder me from doing it.3
But how to get this vocal injunction, this new understanding of the nun with the divine, publicly acknowledged? After all, she could hardly inform Fr. Baltasar that what she heard was not the fancy of a poor deluded woman, but the utterance of His Majesty Himself! Teresa’s quandary was not induced by her awareness of being a woman in a man’s world, nor by her dependence upon validation by a higher authority, as feminist commentators have suggested. The Voice that dwelt within her was rooted in psychic depths way more radical than the perception of such restrictive imbalances of social power. Teresa wavered, dreading as was natural the reaction of her confessor; yet, with still greater lucidity, she also feared the “lights of reason” that the good man strove to share with her and that she was conscious of betraying by her “understanding” with the Voice. On the borderland of reason, like a chess player she assessed the risks she incurred with this business of voices, and gambled on controlling the game. A Jesuit, therefore a Tridentine, Fr. Baltasar did not contest the existence of Voices from the Beyond, but he was not about to offer a blind endorsement on the mere strength of Teresa’s word; let her discuss it with the superior of her own order! Where foundations were concerned, he advised Teresa to ask doña Guiomar to write to Rome in support of the project.
Teresa sought in vain for a confidant to whom she might expound her new way of being with His Majesty. She knew from experience that even old friends are not always trustworthy, particularly female friends. María de Ocampo was only a lay sister as yet, and even though the foundation idea was originally hers, she was merely contributing a “legitime”; it would be a further ten years before she took full Carmelite vows under the name María Bautista. And when this same cousin was appointed prioress of the Valladolid monastery, she was noticeably sympathetic to the calced persecutors of Teresa’s discalced tribe, enough said! All in all, few people can be counted on in this world.
Thanks to God, doña Guiomar de Ulloa undertook to help out in launching the longed-for overhaul of the Carmelite regime. She submitted the foundational project to the Carmelite provincial, who, man of faith though he was, would be more amenable to a petition from a wealthy noblewoman than from a humble nun. The idea of a monastery housing thirteen Carmelites in accordance with the Primitive Rule of poverty and enclosure appealed to him; he pledged his full support. Guiomar sent the official request in his name and started the paperwork with the Vatican to obtain the permissions; they even dared hope for the endorsement of Francisco de Borja, whom Pius IV had summoned to Rome not long before. But the story leaked out in Avila. The Convent of the Incarnation took umbrage and advanced jealous objections: How was any foundation possible in the absence of a secure source of income? Other orders grumbled that alms intakes were skimpy enough already, so imagine an extra convent without a cent to its name! All this was enough to unnerve the provincial, who changed his mind.
Teresa was not especially disappointed: such was her confidence in His Majesty within, she never doubted she would prevail. On the other hand, she was not at all sure whether the others believed in her claim that He spoke through her! Judiciously she examined her predicament from every angle, and opted for prudence:
Sometimes I gave them explanations. Yet since I couldn’t mention the main factor, which was that the Lord had commanded me to do this, I didn’t know how to act; so I remained silent about the other things. God granted me the very great favor that none of all this disturbed me; rather, I gave up the plan w
ith as much ease and contentment as I would have if it hadn’t cost me anything.…and I remained in the house, for I was very satisfied and pleased there. Although I could never stop believing that the foundation would come about, I no longer saw the means, nor did I know how or when; but I was very certain that it would.4
The problem lay, she thought, in her being as it had been gradually forged by prayer, for “there is a great difference in the ways one may be”—habéis de entender que va mucho de estar a estar.5 Henceforth her being would be defined by this experience of alteration-cohabitation with Him: Jesus is His Majesty within, speaking though her in order to act through her. “Seek yourself in Me,” the Master would command in years to come. For the moment, it was imperative to convince everyone who was anyone in the Church that she had been chosen by the Third Person, chosen to be and to found as though she were He.
Teresa of Jesus, or Teresa as in Moses? God speaks through her, the Voice inhabits the burning bush that she is. I can picture from here the frowns of the Carmelite fathers, the contortions of the Jesuits, and the hairsplitting of the Dominicans who now endorsed her, now deplored her, depending on moment and individual temperament. And I’m fascinated by the “theological” seduction La Madre worked on them. She managed to get them onside without neglecting to cover her back by creating personal networks of useful friends of both sexes, establishing practical bulwarks, and organizing a solid intendancy to tide her over everyday setbacks.
Teresa was well aware that the subtle variations of her being, which were the strong points of her praying and its modulations, were weaknesses in the eyes of the world; the challenge was thus to continue to cultivate them, but secretly, silently, shrouded in caution, while she conducted a diplomacy of prudence and influence, even—or especially—with prelates. Like the psychologist she was, she began by probing the difference between the Voice of His Majesty as heard inside and her own reason: the ideal Father turned into the ideal enamored Self was not the same as the self.
Many of the things I write about here do not come from my own head, but my heavenly Master tells them to me. The things I designate with the words “this I understood” or “the Lord said this to me” cause me great scrupulosity if I leave out even as much as a syllable. Hence if I don’t recall everything exactly, I put it down as coming from myself; or also, some things are from me. I don’t call mine what is good, for I already know that nothing is good in me but what the Lord has given me without my meriting it. But when I say “coming from myself,” I mean not being made known to me through a revelation.6
In the current state of her being, this myself without a self, governed by the Other, is shorn of personal will and consciousness, and yet by virtue of this very alteration feels more certain than ever of its sovereign governance:
There come days in which I recall an infinite number of times what St. Paul says—although assuredly not present in me to the degree it was in him—for it seems to me I neither live, nor speak, nor have any desire but that He who strengthens and governs me might live in me.7
And then sometimes this assurance collapses into stupor. Teresa goes through periods in which the bright transference, the revelation, have gone: “It happened just now that for eight days it seemed there wasn’t any knowledge in me—nor could I acquire any—of what I owed God, or any remembrance of His favors; my soul was in a terrible stupor and in I don’t know what kind of condition.”8
But there are also moments in which the fusion with the ideal Father reaches its apogee, so that His truth becomes “hers” in perfect exaltation:
And what power this Majesty appears to have, since in so short a time He leaves such an abundant increase and things so marvelous impressed upon the soul! O my Grandeur and Majesty! What are You doing, my all-powerful Lord? Look upon whom You bestow such sovereign favors! Don’t You recall that this soul has been an abyss of lies and a sea of vanities, and all through my own fault?9
Even so, in a final twist of self-observation, the analysand Teresa is skeptical enough to wonder whether the entire experience might not be a dream, after all. A wonderful dream that will only become reality once she has confronted the humdrum chores and travails of foundation, the “business affairs” she mentions in Letter 24.10
The first of these travails would be the foundation of the Convent of Saint Joseph. Teresa was just beginning to invent that blend of vocation and pragmatism, the supernatural and the efficient, whose permutations would underpin the sixteen further foundations accomplished over the twenty years she had left to live. Some people applauded the reformer, others attacked her. On balance, however (and she was a compulsive balancer of accounts, whether in direct relationships or by means of letters), our chess player felt so bolstered by her exchanges with His Majesty that she could only laugh at her adversaries and persecutors of every stripe:
Likewise the devil began striving here through one person and another to make known that I had received some revelation about this work. Some persons came to me with great fear to tell me we were in trouble and that it could happen that others might accuse me of something and report me to the Inquisitors. This amused me and made me laugh, for I never had any fear of such a possibility. If anyone were to see that I went against the slightest ceremony of the Church in a matter of faith, I myself knew well that I would die a thousand deaths for the faith or for any truth of Sacred Scripture. And I said they shouldn’t be afraid about these possible accusations; that it would be pretty bad for my soul if there were something in it of the sort that I should have to fear the Inquisition; that I thought that if I did have something to fear I’d go myself to seek out the Inquisitors: and that if I were accused, the Lord would free me, and I would be the one to gain.11
Thanks to God, the practice of silent prayer had penetrated into every milieu; even the Dominican priest Pedro Ibáñez was a keen practitioner. The great theologian retired for two years into a monastery of his order so as to freely immerse himself in that mental prayer of union with God that was so important for Teresa, thanks to Osuna and in part also, let’s not forget, to Uncle Pedro. Could the experience be contagious? There is a great difference in the ways one may be.…
As a further sign from Providence, the Society of Jesus appointed a new rector. Father Dionisio Vázquez, who had reservations about Teresa’s project, was replaced by Fr. Gaspar de Salazar, “another very spiritual one who had great courage and understanding and a good background in studies.” Her confessor urged her to confide in this man, especially as her conflicts with the authorities who resisted reform meant her soul “couldn’t even breathe”; was it out of anguish?12
The first meeting between Teresa of Avila and Gaspar de Salazar was a rarefied moment of pure love that she, naturally, distilled in writing:
I felt in my spirit I don’t know what that I never recall having felt with anyone, neither before nor afterward; nor would I be able to describe what this experience was, or draw any comparisons. For it was a spiritual joy and understanding within my soul that his soul would understand mine and that mine would be in harmony with his; although, as I say, I don’t know how such an experience was possible. For if I had spoken with him or had heard enthusiastic reports about him, it wouldn’t have been a great thing to experience joy in knowing he would understand me. But he hadn’t spoken one word to me, nor I any to him, nor was he anyone of whom I had any previous knowledge. Afterward I saw that my spirit was not deceived, for in every way it did me and my soul great good to speak with him. His attitude is very suited to persons whom it seems the Lord has already brought very far along, for he makes them run rather than walk with measured step. His method is to detach them from everything and to mortify them, for the Lord has given him the most remarkable talent for doing this, as well as for many other things.13
The beneficial effects of this “incomparable” rapport with Fr. Salazar were not long in coming. The conversation with the ideal Father promptly resumed, and His Majesty (obviously residing “in heaven,” far
above the effusions of the two soul mates, but speaking through Teresa’s mouth) “urged” the nun to return to matters of foundation:
A little while after I had got to know [Salazar], the Lord began again to urge me to take up once more the matter of the monastery and to give my confessor and this rector many reasons and arguments why they shouldn’t impede me from the work. Some of these reasons made them fear, because this Father Rector never doubted the project was from the spirit of God, for through much study and care he considered all the consequences. After much reflection they didn’t dare venture to hinder me from carrying out this work.14
Although she was deeply attached to this Jesuit (who would later, under suspicion of Illuminism, suffer persecution and imprisonment), from a business point of view my political Teresa was always grateful to the Society as a whole for the support it gave to her reformist designs. Despite the tensions and severe exigencies to which the Jesuits had often subjected her—trials she had the sense to appreciate as formative—she gave them a flattering role in some of her prayerful visions:
I saw great things concerning members of the order (of the whole order together) that this Father belonged to, that is, of the Society of Jesus. I saw them in heaven, sometimes with white banners in their hands, and, as I say, other very admirable things about them. Thus I hold this order in great veneration, for I’ve had many dealings with them and I see that their lives are in conformity with what the Lord has made known to me about them.15
The Dominicans were equally petted, for Teresa was always at pains to preserve the balance between the two orders. Humbly and without favoritism, she acknowledged the help and support her reforms had had from priests like Pedro Ibáñez, Domingo Báñez, and García de Toledo. His Majesty was kind enough moreover to send her premonitory visions that reassured her about the brilliant future of their order at a time when it was “somewhat fallen”:
Teresa, My Love Page 34
