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This institution reserves the right to refuse to accept a copy order If, in its judgement, fulfillment of the order would involve violation of the copyright law. A UTHOR: JOHN OF THE CROSS, SAINT TITLE: THE COMPLETE WORKS OF SAINT JOHN OF... PLACE: LONDON DATE: 1864 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES PRESERVATION DEPARTMENT BIBLIOCR APHIC MTCROFORM TARHFT Master Negative # Original Material as Filmed - Existing Bibliographic Record »-• I ■■■■ ■M |i i |l J I I J 111)1 ||| C88 Juan ^de la Crus , ,Saint ^ 154r2-.1591. Complete worlrc tr from the -orifrinal Gpanish by David Lev/is. ed by the Oblate FatherG of Caint CharlcE with a pref by I!is Kninonce Cardinal V.iseman London 13G4 2 v Contentn 1 Tlie ascent of j ^^ Mount Carmel : The obscure ni^^ht of the cc3s^^ul Re /. FILM SIZE: TECHNICAL MICROFORM DATA REDUCTION RATIO IMAGE PLACEMENT: JA (^ IB IIB DATE FILMED:__:gj^:^ INITIALS HLMEDBY: RESEARCH PUBLICATIONS. INC WOODBRinnFrT , IIk riw COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES PRESERVATION DEPARTMENT BIBLIOGRAPHIC MTCROFORM TAR^FT Master Negative # Original Material as Filmed - Existing Bibliographic Record ! 932.7 C88 Chrict: Tl,c living flano of love: Instruc- tions and cautionc: Lottorr.: Cpiritual max- ^ imc : Poens { ) ■'■ J Re TECHNICAL MICROFORM DATA « FILM SIZE: '^^ _ REDUCTION RATIO- IMAGE PLACEMENT: I A Q^ IB IIB r DATE FILMED: }iT§5. INITIALS _>t/&:<^ FILMED BY; RESEARCH PUBLICATIONS. INC WOnnnRinnF~rT~ .Jk c V AMociation for Infomation ami Image Management 1100 Wayne Avenue, Suite 1100 Silver Spring. Maryland 20910 301/587-8202 Centimeter [23456789 10 11 iiii|iiji|imjii|i|iijilii|ijiijiliiJmilniiljiiiliiJ 12 3 4 12 13 14 15 Inches 1.0 I.I 1.25 is6 H 3.2 Itt 36 Uo 1.4 2.5 2.2 2.0 1.8 1.6 liiiili mm Mfl* iiiiiiH mmj]iii iii ml MfiNUFfiCTURED TO fiUM STRNDRRDS BY APPLIED IMRGE. INC. 'W-WI "* "" -J '■ f^ iiffitfkff .>' r5*#' -saito; >d • ill - •-'/?-.' - c ». - „ «• ^ J- '^ . " '.'T ." ' ' ' ' . ' *■•;*; ":'■? *- ' ¥ x"' f ' '' ^J °/'\ •^ 1 - ' ^ ?-^ *" .:t -villi :„t *•?! ?C, - Wr i^m- fm' K- |Esj^.i': ■hbh i-^ 1 m n Itf " 1 5'. /I m L-^ i] N '^:>*--.-^- ^i. X' \ »' .#^'»- ■;■• /I ^^m f/ J C ^. ^"^^ c \JL Ou^Y\^ cU dc,^ THE ^ ? PUINTKD BY 8POTTI8WOOUK AM) CO MCW-8TUKKT SQUARK -Kn'-8THKKT KQUARB 'r I III I til; /.? I'll :ll A II :!, :ii ir *# THE COMPLETE WORKS OF SAINT JOHN OF THE CEOSS,i OF THE ORDER OF OUR LADY OF MOUNT CARMEL. I r TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL SPANISH BT DAVID LEWIS, Esq. M.A. / EDITED BY THE OBLATE FATHERS OF SAINT CHARLES. WITH A PREFACE BY HIS EMINENCE CARDINAL WISEMAN. \. VOL. L LONDON: LONGMAN, GREEN, LONGMAN, ROBERTS, & GREEN. 1864. '^->. ^ / r .-./ PREFACE. -•o*- 1 NOTE BY THE TRANSLATOR. This Translation was made for the late Father Fabeb, Provost of the London Oratory. He intended to publish it himself, but, hindered by many cares, and finally by failing health, he presented it to the Oblate Fathers of S. Charles, to whose laborious care this Impression is due. The Fathers have further enriched it with marginal notes and a double index. \ CO CD IT is now many years ago, long before the episcopal burthen pressed upon his shoulders, that the author enjoyed the pleasure of knowing, and frequently con- versing with, the estimable Gorres, at Munich. One day, the conversation turned on a remark in that deep writer's ' Philosophy of Mysticism,' to the effect, that saints most remarkable for their mystical learning and piety were far from exhibiting, in their features and expression, the characteristics usually attributed to them. They are popularly considered, and by artists represented, as soft, fainting, and perhaps hysterical persons ; whereas their portraits present to us counte- nances of men, or women, of a practical, business-like, working character. The author asked Gorres if he had ever seen an original Ukeness of S. Teresa, in whom he thought these remarks were particularly exempKfied. He rephed that he never had; and the writer, on re- turning to Eome, fulfilled the promise which he had made the philosopher, by procuring a sketch of an authentic portrait of that saint, preserved with great care in the Monastery of S. Sylvester, near Tusculum. V 42S015 / I 1*1 n ^- i r .1 .-# VI PREFACR. It was painted for Philip 11 by a concealed artist, while he was conversing with her. This portrait confirms most strongly the theory of Gorres, as the author wrote to him with the drawing ; for while no mystical saint has ever been more idealised by artists, or represented as living in a continual swoon, than S. Teresa, her true portraits all represent her with strong, firmly set, and almost masculine features, with forms and lines that denoted vigour, resolution, mid strong sense. Her handwriting perfectly suggests tlie same conclusion. Still more does the successful activity of her life, in her many painful struggles, under every possible disadvantage, and her final and complete triumph, strengthen this idea of her. And then, her almost superhuman prudence, by which she guided so many mmds, and prosperously conducted so many compli- cated interests and affairs, and her wonderful influence over men of high education and position, and of great powers, are further evidences of her strong, command- ing nature ; such as, in the world, might have claimed an almost unexampled preeminence. It is not improbable that some who Uike up these volumes, or dip into them here and there, may conceive that they were written by a (beamy ascetic, who passed his Ufe in hazy contemplation of things unreal and un- practical Yet it was quite the contrary. Twin-saint, it may be said, to S. Teresa — sharer in her labours and in her sufferings, S. John of the Cross, actively and unflinchingly pursued their joint object, that of PREFACE. VU reforming and restoring to its primitive purity and observance the religious Order of CarmeUtes, and founding, throughout Spain, a severer branch, known as discalced, or barefooted Carmelites, or more briefly as Teresians. We do not possess any autobiography of S. John, as we do of S. Teresa, or the more active portion and character of his hfe would be at once apparent. More- over, only very few of his letters have been preserved ; not twenty, in fact, or we should undoubtedly have had sufficient evidence of his busy and active life. But, even as it is, proofs glance out from his epistles of this important element in his composition. In his second letter (vol. ii. p. 318), he thus writes to the rehgious of Veas, a highly favoured foundation : 'What is wanting in you, if, indeed, anything be wanting, is . . . silence, and work. For, whereas speaking distracts, silence and action collect the thoughts, and strengthen the spirit.' And again, ' To arrest this evil, and to preserve our spirit, as I have said, there is no surer remedy than to suffer, to work, to be silent.' It was not, therefore, a hfe of visionary or speculative meditation that S. John taught even the nuns to pursue, but one of activity and operative occupation. But we may judge of his own practice by a passage in another of his letters. Thus he writes : ' I have been waiting to finish these visitations and foundations, which our Lord has hastened forward in such wise that there has been no time to spare. The \ y- U" via PREFACE. IX PREFACE. I Friars have been received at Cordova with the greatest joy and solemnity on the part of the whole city I am now busied at SeviUe with the removal of the nuns, who have bought one of the principal houses at a cost of about 14,000 ducats, being worth more than 20,000. They are now estabUshed there. Before my departure, I intend to establish another house of Friars here, so that there will be two of our Order in Seville. Before the Feast of S. John, I shaU set forth to Ecija* where, with the Divine blessing, we shaU found another ;' thence to Malaga .... I wish I had authority to' make this foundation, as I had for the other. I do not expect much difficulty ' * (p. 322). This is only a few months' work, or rather some weeks' ; for the interval described in the letter is from the Ascension to the 24th of June. We must allow some portion of this time for the slow travelling of those days and those regions, over sierras, on mule- back. And then S. John's travels were not triumphal progresses, but often were painful pilgrimages, crossed by arrests, and even long imprisonments, embittered by personal unkindness. Yet, with calm firmness he persevered and travelled and worked at the establishment of his new houses in many parts of Spain, till the Order was folly and per- manently planted. In fact, if we looked only at his life, we should naturally conclude that he was a man «. *^ '^ii "t*"' ^^ ^"^ **"' P^"^""' ^^ '"'^^^^ *^^«« «*rfy foundations at Seville, Ecija Malaga, and Granada. The first fervour of the Order yet remains in them. of an operative mind, always at work, ever in move- ment, who could not afford much time for inward concentration on abstract subjects. But when we read his writings, another high quaUty, for which we are not prepared, must strike us forcibly as entering into the composition of his character. He must have given much time to reading and study. He is learned in all those pursuits which we desire and expect to find in an ecclesiastical scholar of his age. Every page in his book gives proof of thorough acquain- tance with that mental discipline which trained and formed the mind in the schools, and gave a mould into which thought ran and settled itself in fixed prin- ciples ; or, where this possessed extraordinary power, opened a channel through which it passed to further spheres of activity. Even the mind of a Bacon was conducted through the dialectics of those schools, to all the developments of his intellectual vigour. ^ * In S. John we discover, at every turn, a mind so educated by reading and by study. His writings are far from being a string of loose disjointed thoughts, scattered apophthegms, or aimless rhapsodies. Quite on the contrary, there is ever a sequence and strict logical continuity in every division of his discourse, and all the several parts are coherent and consistent. How^ ever detailed his treatment of his subject, he never becomes entangled or confused ; he never drops a thread of what may appear a fine-spun web of expansion in a difficult topic, and loses it ; but he returns to what he has interrupted or intercalated with undisturbed fidelity, i s i X PREFACE. and repursues his reasoning with a distinctness and discrimination which shows that in truth there had been no interruption, but that unity of thought had pervaded all the design, and nothing had been left to chance or the idea of the moment. Indeed, one feels in reading him that he has to deal with the master of a science. There is no wandering from the first purpose, no straying aside from the predetermined road, after even flowers tliat grow on its sides. Every division and subdivision of the way has been charted from the beginning by one who saw it all before him. And the secret Ues in this, and notliing more : S. John invents nothing, borrows nothing from others, but gives us clearly the results of his own experience in himself and in others. He presents you with a portrait, not with a fancy picture. He represents the ideal of one who has passed, as he had done, through the career of the spiritual life, through its struggles and its victories. Not only does he at all times exhibit proof of his mental cultivation by those processes which formed every great mind in those days, and the gradual decline of which, in later times, has led proportionably to looseness of reasoning and diminution of thinking nower, but S. John throughout exhibits tokens of a personal culture of his own mental powers and many graceful gifts. His mind is eminently poetical, imaginative, tender, and gentle. Whatever mystical theology may appear to the mind of the uninitiated, to S. John it was clearly PREFACE. XI a_brigh.t_andjy^llilOT pursuit ; it was a work of the heart more than of the head ; its place was rather in the aflections than among the intellectual powers. Hence, with every rigour of logical precision, and an unbending exactness in his reasonings, there is blended a buoyancy of feehng, a richness of varied illustration, and often a sweet and elegant fancy playing with grave ^subjects, so as to render them attractive, which show a mind unfettered by mere formal methods, but easy in its movements and free in its flights. Indeed, often a point which is obscure and abstruse when barely treated, receives, from a lively illustration, a clearness and almost brilhancy quite une:^pected. y But the prominent learning of the saint and the source of his most numerous and happiest elucidations, are to be found in the inspired Word of God. That is his treasure-house, that the inspirer of his wisdom, and subject of his meditation. The sacred volume must have been in his hands all day, and can hardly have dropped out of them at night. Even by merely glancmg at the index of texts quoted by him, placed at the end of the second volume, anyone may convince himself of^ his rare famiUarity with the inspired writings, and one very difierent from what we may find among readers of Scripture in our days. For, first, it is an impartial famiharity, not confined to some favourite portions, as is often the case, where the reader thinks he finds passages or subjects that confirm his own views or encourage his tastes. But ni S. John we discover nothing of this sort; Of course, /, i Xll PREFACE. PREFACE. Xlll such a book as the Canticle, the special food of mystics, 18 famihar to his pen as it was to the mouths of Jewish maidens, made sweeter and sweeter by frequent reiter- ations. But every other book is almost equally ready to his hand, to prove more formally, occasionally iUus- trate, every one of his positions. For the first purpose he must have deeply studied the sacred text ; for the second, its expressions must have been his very house- hold words. Then, secondly, the beauty and elegance of his applications prove not mere famiharity, but a refined study, and a loving meditation on what he considers most holy and divine. Some of his quotations are richly set in his own graceful explanations and com- mentaries ; and, though the adaptations which he makes may sometimes appear startling and original to an ordinary peruser of Scripture, they seem so apt and so profound in their spiritual wisdom that they often win approbation and even admiration:>^ So far, it may appear that this Preface Ifas dealt with S. John of the Cross outside of the sphere in which the volume to which it is prefixed represents him as moving. It has not treated him as a mystical theologian. Why is this ? it may be justly asked. • The answer must be honest and straightforward. It is too common for overlooking or disguising, to pro- nounce a contemplative fife to be only a doak for idleness, a pretext for abandoning or neglecting the active duties of domestic or social existence, and shrinking from their responsibihties. Those who pro- fess to lead it are considered as the drones of the human hive, who leave its work to others, and yet exact a share of its sweets. And if, from time to time, one emerges from the passive, or, as it is deemed, indolent, condition of mere dreamers, and gives form and precision to the rules and laws which guide them, he is probably held merely to have more method and skill in his disordered ideas, and to be only more pernicious than his companions or followers. This prejudice, firmly rooted in many English minds, it has been thought well to remove, as a preHminary to presenting S. John to his readers in -his. highest and distinctive character. He has been shown to possess other eminent qualities."^ He was a man of active life and practical abilities, industrious, conversant with business, where prudence, shrewdness, and calculation, as well as boldness, were required. He was a man of well-trained mind, cultivated by the exercise of intel- lectual faculties, and matured by solid, especially re- ligious knowledge. * He has now to come before us as a diver into the very depths of thought, as a contemplative of the highest order. A man with such a character as we have claimed for him cannot have dozed away his years of life in un- practical dreams, or in crude speculations. These would be incompatible with the rest of his character. His contemplativeness, and his mode of explaining it, may be anticipated to be methodical and practical, and at the same time feeUng and attractive. And such / 'i XlV PREFACE. both are ; Iiis own practice, and his coiuiuunicatioii of it to us. But now, perhaps, many readers may ask for some introductory information on the very nature of the subjects treated in the volumes before him, and it can- not be reasonably refused. This may be conveyed in various ways ; perhaps the most simple and appreciable will be found in an analogy, though imperfect, with other spheres of thought. p It is well known that a mind naturally adapted to a >ursuit, and thus led ardently to follow it, after having become tlicroughly conversant and famihar with all its resources, becomes almost, or altogether, independent H of its methods, and attains conclusions by compendious processes, or by intuitive foresight, which require in others long and often compUcated deductions. ^ Faimliar illustrations may be found in our habitual speaking without tliinking of our grammar, which a foreigner has constantly to do while learning our language ; or the almost inexplicable accuracy of calculation in even children, gifted with the power of instantaneous arith- ^ . metical solutions. A mathematician acquires by study this faculty ; and it is said that Laplace, in the decHne of life, could not any longer fill up the gaps- in the processes by which, at the age of greater mental vigour, he had reached, without effort, the most wonderful yet accurate con- clusions. What is to be found in these abstruser pursuits, exists no less in those of a liiihter character. The ^ ,<^ ^ A ^ PREFACE. XV literary mind, whether in thinking, writing, or speaking, when well disposed by abilities, and well tutored by appHcation, takes in without effort the entire theme presented to it, even with its parts and its details. Sometimes it is like a landscape revealed, in a dark night, by one flash of lightning ; oftener it resembles the calmer contemplation of it, in bright day, by an artist's eye, which is so filled with its various beauties, that it enables him to transfer it, at home, to the enduring canvas, on which many may enjoy it. "^ The historian may see, in one glance, the exact plan of a work, with its specific aims and views ; its sources, too, and its auxiliary elucidations. The finished orator, no less, when suddenly called upon, will hold from end to end the drift and purpose of his entire discourse, and deliver, without effort, what to others appears an elaborate composition. But, still more, the poet in- dulges in noblest flights up to the regions of subUme, or over the surface of beautiful, thoughts, while he appears to be engaged in ordinary occupation, or momentarily musing in vague abstraction. Indeed, even where manual action is required to give utterance to thought, the result is the same. The consummate musician sits down to a complicated in- strument, silent and dumb, till his fingers communicate to it his improvised imaginings ; bearing to its inner- most organisation, by a sort of reflex action of the nerves of sensation on those of motion, the ready and inexhaustible workings of his bram, sweet melodies and rich harmonies, with tangled knots and dehcious VOL, I. a /} H Ivs XVI PREFACE. resolutions ; effortless, as if the soul were in the hand, or the mechanical action in the head. \ In the few examples which are here given, and < which might easily be multipHed, the point iUustrated IS this ; that where, with previous natural dispositions and persevering cultivation, perfection in any intellec- tual pursuit has been attained or approached, the faculty exercised in it becomes, in a manner, passive, dispenses with intermediate processes, and receives their ultimate conclusions like impressions stamped upon it. < Labour almost ceases, and spontaneity of thought be- comes its substitute. :v. In this condition of mind, familiar to any one pos- sessing genius in any form, perceptions, ideas, reason- ings,'^imagery, have not to be sought; they either dart at once complete into the thought, inborn, and perfect to their very arms, as Pallas was symboHcally fabled to express this process ; or they grow up, expanding from a small seed to a noble plant, but as if by an innate sap and vigour. There is a flow into the mind of unsought images, or reflections, or truths ; whence they come, one hardly knows, v They were not there before ; they have not been forged, or cast, or distilled within. And when this spontaneous productiveness has been gained, the occupation of mind is not interrupted. S. Thomas is said to have concluded an argument against the Manichees alone at the royal table ; Bishop Wahnesley renounced his mathematical studies on finding them painfully distract him at the altar. i' I •/ J / PREFACE. XVU Neither recreation, nor serious employment, nor noise, nor any condition oftime or place, will suffice to dissi-\ pate or even to disturb the continuous, unlaborious, and unfatiguing absorption, of thought in the mental i region which has become its natural dwelling. Let us now ask, why may not a soul, that is the mind accompanied by the best feelings, be placed in a similar position with relation to the noblest and sub- limest object which it can pursue— God ? He and His attributes present more perfect claims, motives, and allurements, and more full gratification, repletion, and reward to earnest and affectionate contemplation, than any other object or subject. How much soever the mathematician may strain his inteUect^ir^ pursuit of the true ; however the poet may luxuriate in the enjoyment of the beautiful ; to whatsoever extent the moralist may delight in the apprehension of the good in its recondite quintessence, none of these can reach, in his special aim and longing, that elevation and consummation which can be attained in those of all the three, by one whose contemplation is directed to the Infinite in Truth, in Beauty, and in Goodness.* A¥hy, then, should not this, so comprehensive and so grand a source of every mental enjoyment, become a supreme, aU-exhausting, and sole object of contempla- • It is recorded of the celebrated, though perhaps eccentric scholar, Raymund Lully, that once he entered the school of Duns Scotus, to whom he waB unknown. The lecturer addressed to him the question, Qu^uplex pars scientue est i)^?-'What part of knowledge mcludes God ? ' His reply overmastered the interrogator :^ Dms nm est pars, qm est Totum : ' God is in no part— He is the whole.' a 2 K \\ r xviii PREFACE. 111' tiye frmtion ? Why should not some, or rather many, minds be fomid which have selected this aa their occu- pation, theu- solace, their delight ; and fomid it to be what none other can of it* nature be, inexhaustible? Jiveiythmg else is measureable and fathomable ; this alone unhmited. Then, if there be no repugnance to' such a choice bemg made in the aim of contemplation, it is natural tor us to expect conditions and laws in its attainment analogous to what we find where the mental powers have selected for their exercise some inferior and more restncted object. There will be the same gradual and often slow course of assiduous training, the same diffi- culty of fixmg and concentrating the thoughts ; till by degrees forms and intemediate steps are dispensed with ; when the mind becomes passive, and ite trains of thought seem spontaneous and in-coming, rather than worked out by elaborating processes. This state, when God is the sole occupier of thought represents the highest condition of contemplatL,' fiJect °^ ""^''^ ^^"''"^^ ^^'°^°^ P'"^^^^^^ *« There are, however, two essential differences between the natural and the spiritual exercises of the contem- plative faculties. In treating of the fir^t, a natmul aptitude was named throughout as a condition for attaimng that highest sphere of spontaneous suggestion m the mmd. In the second, this condition is not in- cluded. Its place is taken by the supernatural power of Gkace. ^ I PREFACE. XXX Every believer in Christianity acknowledges the existence of an inward gift, which belongs of right to all ; though many may not choose to claim it. It takes the place of mere natural advantages so com- pletely, that its name has become a rooted word in our language, even apart from reUgion. We say that a man ' has had, or has not had, the grace ' to do a good thing ; * a graceless act ' is, in some way, evil ; ' a graceless youth ' is one walking, somehow, on the path leading to perdition. And we feel, and say, that it is grace which makes a poor man often more virtuous, and virtuously wise, though ignorant and in other ways not wise-minded, than clever, better-educated, and more intellectual rich ones. Whoever thus beUeves in a superhuman gift, which suppUes, in the higher life of man, the ordinary powers of nature, or elevates these to the attainment of what requires more than ordinary quahties, will hardly be able to deny that this supernatural aid will be copiously granted, where the whole energy of a soul is directed exclusively to the most holy and subhme of purposes, the knowledge and contemplation of God. If it be easily accepted that any one reading, with pure and simple docility. His written records is helped by this grace to understand them, it surely is not much to ask, that one may expect no less assistance when, instead of the eye running over a written page, the entire soul is centred in Him, and every power, and every affection, is absorbed in deep and silent meditation on His own Divine essence. XX PREFACE. \ A fiirther distinction between this application of man's noblest faculties combined to their simplest but sublimest possible object, and their separate exercise on any inferior speculation, consists in this. God, to- wards whom the mystical contemplative directs himself, is a living active Power, at once without and within the soul. Every Christian beheves that He deals as such with the individual man ; that in his natural life each one has received his destiny, his time, and place, and measure of both, by a special allotment ; that in his outward being, whatever befalls him, he is the ward of a personal Providence ; while in his inward and imseen existence, he receives visitations of light, of remorse, of strength, and of guidance, which can apply and belong to him alone. If so, how can he doubt that one of his own kind and class, who, more than tens of thousands, singles out that Giver of every good gift as supereminent, or rather sole claimant of his souFs best tributes ; the throne on which all his ideal conceptions of the great and the good are concentrated in a single unclouded vision of majesty and glory ; the altar on whiclj, are laid, in wil- ling oblation, all his tenderest affections, and, in ready immolation, every inferior appetite and desire — who can doubt that such a one establishes a right to a larger share than others of the active interposition of Divine kindness, and of personal favour in seconding his dis- interested love ? These two differences, great and essential, show that we have been only illustrating, rather than vindicating, PREFACE. XXI the spiritual science of S. John, by comparing it with other classes of knowledge. We have endeavoured to prove that, even prescinding from the spiritual qua- lity, which is its characteristic, there is nothing singular, unnatural, or reprehensible in what would only add one more, and a most worthy, mental pursuit, to those which generally receive not mere appro- bation but praise. And hence the religious and ascetic contemplative may be allowed not only to deserve equal admiration with the poet or philosopher, but to be as fit as either for the ordinary duties of life, and in as full possession of practical and social virtues. Having thus, by this analogy, disposed the unin- itiated reader to judge unprejudicedly of this spiritual occupation of so many persons of singularly virtuous life in the Cathohc Church, we may invite him to con- sider if it have not strong presumptions in its favour. But, first, it may be well to give a brief explanation of this religious mysticism, of which the works of S. John are considered to treat so admirably. What we have already said will greatly assist us. In the Catholic Church, besides public or private vocal prayer, everyone is directed and urged to the practice of mental prayer, or meditation. For this duty the Church furnishes simple rules and methods, varying somewhat, but all with one practical end. She has at hand almost countless models, forms, and even fully- developed draughts, scarcely requiring to be filled in. X / XXU PREFACE. In carrying out this familiar practice, it will be obvious that very different degrees of success will be attained. To some it continues, almost to the end, irksome and trying, full of distraction and imperfec- tion. This may easily arise from natural deficiencies in the mind, or from habitual negligence. But to a willing and persevering mind, these difficulties will diminish, and the power of concentrating the thoughts and affections upon a given subject will increase and strengthen. Thus far, anyone may aspire, with every chance of success. Then comes a higher stage ; when this power of fixing the mind is not only easy, but most pleasing ; when, without formal guidance, the soul rests, like the bird poised upon its wings, motionless above the earth, plunged, as it were, in the calm atmosphere which sur- rounds and sustains it on every side. This is the state of contemplation, when the placid action of a deeply inward thoughtfulness, undisturbed by other objects, is intent on gazing upon images and scenes fixed or passing as on a mirror before it, without exertion or fatigue, almost without note of time. This condition, with its requisite power, is also attain- able by those who regularly and seriously apply to meditation.* j-Yet, when we have reached it, we are still standing on the ground, and have not set foot on • Anyone familiar with the Exercises of S. Ignatius will understand the difference between meditation and contemplation, in the sense here used 5 and how from one he is led to the other. This is very different from the * prayer of contemplation/ which belongs to mystical theology. PREFACE. XXlll the first step of the ' mystical ladder,' which S. John teaches how to mount, v/ Far above this earthly exercise of contemplation, is one which belongs to a much higher and purer sphere, above the clouds and mists of the one in which we move. To reach it, is given to few ; and of those few, fewer still have left us records of their ex- perience. Yet — and this is sufficient for our present purpose — that the consimamation of their desires, and attainment of their scope, was a closer union with God, is acknowledged by all. The soul, thoroughly purified of all other affections, reaches a sublime and super- natural power of settling all its faculties in the con- templation of the Supreme Being with such clearness and intensity, that its very existence seems lost in Him ; the most perfect conformity and uniformity with all the emanations of His Will are established as its guiding laws ; and, as far as is yet compatible, union the most complete is obtained between the im- perfect spirit of man and the infinite Spirit that created it to its own image and hkeness. Now, this aim of infirm humanity, and the possibiHty of reaching it, may appear, at first sight, extravagant and presumptuous. Yet there has hardly ever, if ever, existed a rehgious system which has not supposed such an aspiration as its highest, but still possible, flight to be within the reach of some more favoured votaries. It is too well known to require proof that there existed, beyond a gross visible idolatry, a hidden, eso- .^ XXIV PREFACE. PREFACE. XXV I teric, and mysterious system in the mythologies of the East, handed down in the succession of their priesthoods. The mystic teachings of India, the best known to us, because we possess their works, reveal this doctrine to us, that contemplation is the means by which a man may attain to unification of himself with the Deity, rising by steps gradually to this almost bHssful enjoy- ment of His presence. In China the sect or school of Lao-tseu, with which the learned Abel-Eemusat made Europe acquainted by a special memoir, taught and practised the same mystical system. Chaldea and Egypt no doubt held it also ; for it was from them that Pythagoras borrowed, and infused into the philosophy of Greece and Italy precisely the same doctrine ; for, while his foolish theory, also Oriental, of transmigration put ofi* to an indefinite period the frui- tion of the Divine essence, he taught that the soul, thoroughly purified and detached from every inferior affection, could, through contemplation, attain a union with God. Although this sublime philosophy became obscured in the ages which succeeded him, it shone forth again in the N"eo-platonic school— in Plotinus, Poi-phyrius, and their followers. Whether they merely revived a faded, or published an occult, tradition of their heathen philosophy, or whether they drew disfigured doctrines and practices from the still young and fresh Christianity of their times, it matters but little. In the one case we conclude how instinctive it is to man, even amidst absurd wanderings of his intellect, to expect, nay to crave for, not merely an approach to God, but unifica- tion with Him ; * and such a noble and holy desire and longing of humanity may naturally expect to find satisfaction in the true revelation of man's Creator. In the second hypothesis, we must admit that already Christianity had sufficiently developed the germs of its mystical system to be known to ahens, and even enemies. Indeed, we cannot doubt that the religion of Christ, following the early manifestations of God in the Old Testament, laid deep those seeds of highest contem- plation which were at once matured in His apostles. S. Paul, who was taken to the third heaven, to hear words unutterable to man, and to require a severe counterpoise to the greatness of his revelations (2 Cor. xii.), came so to be united with his Lord as to hold but one life with and in Him (Gal. ii. 20; Phil. i. 21). As to the existence, in the seers and holy sages of the Old Law, of a state of unitive contemplation, as in Abraham, Job, Moses, and Ehas, we are not called aside to speak or consider. This point may be safely left in the hands of S. John of the Cross ; for, though he does not anywhere expressly treat of this point, he has so filled his pages with quotations from every part of Scripture in illustration of his teaching, and the texts alleged by him are so apt and naturally appHed, as to force conviction upon us that the mystical and spiritual • In races t>f both continents a ruder yet deeply symbolical feeling prevailed at all times, that incorporation with the Deity was obtained by partaking of the victims offered to Him. — See Gerbet's beautiful treatise, Sur le Dogme generatmr de la PUU Catholique, XXVI PREFACE. PREFACE. XXVU communion with God was carried to the highest degree. Nay, does not a state of close intercommunion between God and man, through revelations, manifestations, angelic messages, and the prophetic spirit, on the one hand, and visions and ecstasies on the other, necessarily suppose it? And does the frequent boldness of the Psalmist's famiharity with God, still more the domestic intimacy with Him so tenderly shadowed forth in the Canticle of Canticles, allow of any alternative except the highest and purest admission of a perishable and frail creatm^e into the very sanctuary of the Divine glory ? Surely on Sinai and in the cave of Horeb such loving intercourse of almost friendship was held. But the history of the Church soon unfolds to us a bright page, on which is emblazoned, as its title. Contemplation. At the very time when martyrs are shedding their blood and receiving the highest homage and praise, the Church, which so loves and honours them, reveres scarcely less the hundreds who fled from the very persecutions which the martyrs encountered and overcame. And the reason was, that the anchorets and cenobites, who retired to the desert, and did not again return to the world after peace was restored to the Church, but swelled their numbers to thousands, were considered by her no less conquerors of the world and triumphers over the weakness of nature. Their lives of soUtude and silence were not idle, for they laboiured with their hands for their slender sustenance ; but this was expressly the rule of their lives, that, even while their hands were at work, their minds should be fixed on God. And hours of the dark night had no other occupation. It was this power of fixed and unflagging contem- plation which sustained them through eighty, often, and a hundred years of this seclusion. Many were men of refined minds and high education, who, in their thoughtfiil meditative lives, must be supposed to have attained the highest refinement of devout appUcation to spiritual things which can be enjoyed on earth. And what pious soUtaries thus gained in the desert of the Thebais, our own hermits, like Guthlake, and monks, hke Cuthbert, as surely possessed. Without the peaceful enjoyment of such a sweet interior reward, their Hves would have been intolerable. So necessary does the power of communing with God alone, and ' face to face,' appear to every class of Christians, that not only the ascetics of the Eastern Church, or the mystics of the Western, profess to possess it, but even the least enthusiastic forms of re-/ ligion claim, or admit it. Jacob Bohme and Sweden-f^ borg have found plenty of admirers ; the latter is still i leader of a sect. It would be invidious to enter into 1 comparison between the writings of these men and the volumes before us. We refer to them only as evi- dence that every form of Christianity feels the want of some transcendental piety, which bears the soul beyond the dominion and almost out of the prison of the ' body of death,' and allows it a free and familiar intercourse with God, as of spirit with spirit. When, however, perusing the writings of S. John, 1 1 / / XXVUl PREFACE. \ \ i the reader will find no symptom of fanaticism, no arrogation of superior privileges, of inspirations, Divine guidance, or angelic ministrations, as are to be found in pretended mystics. There is scarcely an allusion to himself, except occasionally to apologise for being so unequal to the sublime doctrines which he is unfolding, or for the rudeness of his style. Never, for a moment, does he let us know, that he is communicating to us the treasures of his own experience, or describing his own sensations. One sees and knows it. A man who writes a handbook of travel need not tell us, whether or no, he has passed over the route himself. We feel if he has, by the minuteness of his details, by the freshness of his descriptions, by the exactness of his acquaintance with men and things. Then, no one who had not tasted, and relished, the sweetness of the spiritual food prepared by him, could possibly treat of it with such zest ; its delicious flavour is on the lips that speak about it. Nor need the reader imagme that he will hear from this humble and holy man accounts of visions, or ecstasies, or marvellous occurrences to himself, or others ; or rules, or means for attaining supernatural illuminations, or miraculous gifts. No ; he proposes to guide any pupil, who feels drawn by God, to supreme love of Him, and towards those regions of contemplative prayer in which He often communicates Himself most intimately to the human soul; but only through a dark and painful ix)ad, from which all joy and almost consolation is excluded. < } 'r^ PREFACE. XXIX It is now time to lay before the reader an outline, though imperfect, of what he vdll find in the volumes before him. The first contains two treatises, embody- ing what may be called the portion of mystical instruc- tion, most fully and excellently imparted by S. John. It may be considered a rule in this highest spiritual life, that, before it is attained, there must be a period of severe probation, lasting often many years, and separating it from the previous state, which may have been one of most exalted virtue. Probably, many whom the Catholic Church honours as saints have never received this singular gift. But, in reading the biography of such as have been favoured with it, ^3^e shall invariably find that the possession of it has been"^ preceded, not only by a voluntary course of mortifica- tion of sense, fervent devotion, constant meditation, and separation from the world, but also by a trying course of dryness, weariness of spirit, insipidity oi de- votional duties, and, what is infinitely worse, dejection, f despondency, temptation to give all up in disgust, and almost despair. During this tremendous probation, the soul is dark, parched, and wayless, as ' earth without water,' as one staggering across a desert ; or, to rise to a nobler illustration, like Him, remotely, who lay on the ground on OHvet, loathing the cup which he had longed for, beyond the sweet chalice which He had drmik with His Apostles just before. Assuming, as we do, that this trial comes upon the soul from God, its purpose is clear. That sublime condition to which it aspires, and is called, of spiritual « » « « « • • t ^ \>.-,^. XXX PREFACE. f 1 ; f /' f \ J union with infinite holiness, and of the nearest approach allowable to the closer gazing of blessed spirits into the unfathomable glory, requires a purity like gold' in the crucible, and a spiritualising unclothing of whatever can be cast ofi; of our earthly and ahnost of our cor- \ poreal existence. The soul is to be winged, strongly as the eagle, gently as the dove,* to leave all this world behind it, and seek a sweet repose. Detachment and purity are the reasons for this inter- mediate state of desolation; detachment not merely ^0 from outward objects and from visible bonds, but from 4^ our own wills and desires, however virtuous ; detach- ment from our own ways of even seeking God, and still more from our sensible enjoyment of devotion, and the very sweetness, of His service. There must be no trust in one's own intellect, where faith alone can guide through the deep darkness; no reUance upon the ordinary aids to contemplation, for the very impulses and first thriving touches of love must come from God's dehcate hand ; no impatience for release, no desire to return back. It is an earthly purgatory, in which all dross is painfully drained out. all straw and stubble burnt up. And what is the result ? The soul has indeed been brought into a state httle below that of angels ; but it has given proof of a love than which theu^s can- not be higher. That dark period of hard probation • ' They sliaU take wings as eagles, they shaU run and not be weary ' (Isa. xl. 31) ; ' Who will give me wings like a dove, and I will fly and be at rest ? ' Psalm liv. 7). I XXXI PREFACE. V has completely inured her to fidelity to God, not for the sake of His rewards, not for the happiness of His service even here below, but for His own dear and good sake, because He is her God. And this per- severing and persisting love of Him, without a ray or even a ghmmering of the brightness of His countenance to light and cheer the dreary path, has surely, by gentle patience, won a returning love beyond the claims of ordinarily virtuous souls. It is after this often long, but always severe, trial of faithful love, that what one may call the mystical espousals of God with the soul take place ; when its spiritual existence may be said to have been raised into a heavenly sphere ; when the exercise of that subUme privilege of contemplation has become so habitual, that scarce do the knees touch the ground in prayer, than the afiections flash upwards from the heart, and are embosomed and absorbed at once in almost bhssful fruition in God's mighty love ; and when the body is busy with the afiairs of life, these no more hinder the famihar colloquies and the burning glances of affection* directed to the one exclusive Euler of the soul, thani did the shm and Ught palm-leaves woven by the! desert anchoret distract his thoughts. This happy consummation of both trials and desires forms the subject of mystical treatises by many who have enjoyed it. S. John does not, except incidentally, ^ dwell upon it. He does not systematically deal with those who bask on the summit of that spiritual Thabor; he only guides the pilgrim to it. The ascent to the VOL. I. ^ J^^ V 1^ xxxu PREBWCE. mystical mountain is rugged and steep; the journey can only be made in the darkness of probationary pri- vations of inward light and joy. Hence the titles t of his two great treatises — 'The Ascent of Mount Carmel ; ' ^ The Obscure Night of the Soul.' Each of these works may be said to go over the same ground, though without repetitions, or even tiresome similarities. To each is prefixed a poem of eight stanzas, which forms not merely an introduction, but an argument rather, to a full dissertation on mys- tical science. But our author does not go beyond the two or three first strophes in his commentary, which often extends to many chapters ; copious, most me- thodical, and rich upon one only line. \ Mount Carmel is his natural type of the spiritual mount : for there dwelt his ' Father Elias ' (vol. i. p. 143), whom the Carmelites revere as their model and founder ; and there in a dark cavern he spake with God, and even caught a glimpse of His glorious being, in His might, and in His gentleness (3 Kings xix. 8). Up, up, slowly but warily, he guides his scholar along the steep and perilous ascent. He may be compared to the Alpine guide who, himself familiar with the craggy path, and sure of his steps, is all solicitude for his inexperienced charge, and watches and directs every movement. He makes him keep his eyes intent on the rude path before his feet, or on the slippeiy stair which he has cut out for them. He does not allow him to look down into the valley below, beau- tiful though it be, lest his head turn giddy, and he / PREFACE. xxxm topple over the bluff precipice ; nor to gaze upwards, in immature hope, towards the bright pinnacles, which reflect and refract the sun's rays, lest he become weary at their distance, and blinded by their bril- liancy, and unable to pick his steps. Now the faithful guide takes his hand and leads him ; now he bids him rely on his trusty pole, throwing his weight upon it ; now he encourages him to gather all his strength, and boimd over the yawning crevasse. And so in the end he lands his charge safe upon the high and dizzy summit, whence he may look around, and above, apd downwards in safety, and enjoy a sweet repose and a refreshing banquet. 'So careful, so minute, so tender, and so resolute is the guidance of S. John in the ' Ascent of Mount Carmel.' And through 'The Obscure Night,' no less safe by its prudence, and encouraging by its firmness, is his leadership to the soul. The twofold night, that of sense and that of the spirit, may be securely traversed under his direction, and the soul return to a daylight sevenfold brighter than that of the ordinary sun. s, After thus attempting, however imperfectly, to give an outline of S. John's principal treatises on the spi- ritual life, no space remains to say anything about the beautiful writings which fill the second volume. We are mistaken if many readers, who have not courage or disposition to master the abstruser and sublimer doctrines and precepts of the first, will not peruse with dehght the more practical and cheerful maxims of the second part, and even find exquisite satisfaction in b 2 1^ V XXXIV PREFACE. those lessons of Divine love, and in those aphorisms of a holy life, which are adapted for every devout soul. Before closing this preface, it is a mere act of justice to say, that the translation of these difficult works has been made with a care seldom bestowed upon such books when rendered from a foreign language. So simple, so clear, and so thoroughly idiomatic is this version, that the reader will never have to read a sentence twice from any obscurity of language ; how- ever abstruse the subject may be. Indeed, he will almost find a difficulty in beheving that the work is a translation, and has not been written originally as he reads it, in his own tongue. London : February 23, 1864. I I CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. STANZAS PROLOaUB PAOB 1 3 BOOK I. THE NATURE OF THE OBSCURE NIGHT, THE NECESSITY OF PASSING THROUGH IT IN ORDER TO ATTAIN TO THE DIVINE UNION I AND SPECIALLY THE OBSCURE NIGHT OF SENSE AND DESIRE, WITH THE EVILS WHICH THESE INFLICT ON THE SOUL. CHAPTER L TWO KINDS OF THIS NIGHT, COBRESPONDING WITH THE DIVISION OP THE SOTTL INTO HIGHER AND LOWER CHAPTER n. THE NATURE AND CAUSE OF THE OBSCURE NIGHT .... CHAPTER in. THE FIRST CAUSE, THE PRIVATION OF THE DESIRE .... CHAPTER IV. ^ THE NECESSITY OP PASSING TRULY THROUGH THE OBSCURE NIGHT OF SENSE, WHICH IS THE MORTIFICATION OF THE DESIRE CHAPTER V. CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT. PROOFS FROM SCRIPTURE . 8 9 11 13 18 XXXVl CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. XXXVll CHAPTEK VI. vxom TWO GEEAT EVILS OF THE DESIRES: NEGATIVB AND POSITIVB. PROOFS FROM SCRIPTURE 23 CHAPTER VII. THE DESIRES TORMENT THE SOUL. PROOFS AND ILLUSTRATIONS . , 27 CHAPTER VIII, THE DESIRES DARKEN THE SOUL. PROOFS AND ILLUSTRATIONS , . 29 CHAPTER IX. THE DESIRES POLLUTE THE SOUL. PROOFS FROM SCRIPTURE ... 33 CHAPTER X. THE DESIRES MAKE THE SOUL LUKEWARM, AND ENFEEBLE VIRTUE. PROOFS AND ILLUSTRATIONS 37 CHAPTER XI. THE NECESSITY OF FREEDOM FROM ALL DESIRES, HOWEVER SLIGHT, FOR THE DIVINE UNION . • . , 39 CHAPTER XII. THE NATURE OF THOSE DESIRES WHICH SUFFICE TO INJURE THE SOUL . CHAPTER XIII. HOW THE SOUL ENTERS BY FAITH INTO THE NIGHT OF SENSE CHAPTER XIV. EXPLANATION OF THE SECOND LINE OF THE STANZA .... CHAPTER XV. EXPLANATION OF THE LAST LINES OF THE STANZA 44 47 51 6Z BOOK II. PROXIMATE MEANS OF UNION, FAITH. THE SECOND NIGHT OF THE SPIRIT. CHAPTER I. EXPLANATION OF THE SECOND STANZA ....... CHAPTER II. THE SECOND PART, OR C4.USE, OF THIS NIGHT — FAITH. TWO REASONS WHY IT IS DARKER THAN THE FIRST AND THIRD £4 56 CHAPTER III. PAGE FAITH, THE DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL. PROOFS FROM REASON AND THE HOLY SCRIPTURES 57 CHAPTER rV. HOW THE SOUL MUST BE IN DARKNESS, IN ORDER TO BE DULY GUIDED BY FAITH TO THE HIGHEST CONTEMPLATION ..... 61 CHAPTER V. V THE UNION OF THE SOUL WITH GOD. A COMPARISON . . . .65 CHAPTER VI. THE THREE THEOLOGICAL VIRTUES PERFECT THE POWERS OF THE SOUL, AND BRING THEM INTO A STATE OF EMPTINESS AND DARKNESS. PROOFS FROM S. LUKE AND ISAUS 70 CHAPTER VII. THE 8TRAITNESS OF THE WAY OF LIFE. THE DETACHMENT AND FREEDOM NECESSARY FOR THOSE WHO WALK IN IT. THE DETACHMENT OF THE INTELLECT 74 CHAPTER VIII. NO CREATURE, NO KNOWLEDGE, COMPREHENSIBLE BY THE INTELLECT, CAN SUBSERVE AS PROXIMATE MEANS OF UNION WITH GOD ... 80 CHAPTER IX. FAITH IS THE PROXIMATE AND PROPORTIONATE MEANS OF THE INTELLECT BY WHICH THE SOUL MAY ATTAIN TO THE DIVINE UNION OF LOVE. PROOFS FROM THE HOLY SCRIPTURES 85 CHAPTER X. THE DIVISIONS OF THE APPREHENSIONS AND ACTS OF THE INTELLECT . 87 CHAPTER XI. OF THE HURT AND HINDRANCE RESULTING FROM INTELLECTUAL APPRE- HENSIONS SUPERNATURALLY PRODUCED THROUGH THE INSTRUMENTALITY OF tHE EXTERIOR SENSES. HOW THE SOUL IS TO BE GUIDED UNDER SUCH CIRCUMSTANCES 88 CHAPTER XII. OP NATURAL AND IMAGINARY APPREHENSIONS. THEIR NATURE. THEY CANNOT BE PROPORTIONATE MEANS OP UNION. THE EVIL RESULTS OF NOT KNOWING HOW TO DETACH ONESELF FROM THEM IN TIME . . 96 Xj XXXVIU CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. XXXIX 1/ 1/ CHAPTER XIII. PAOB THB SIGNS TO BE OBSERVED BY THE SPIRITUAL MAN THAT HE MAT KNOW WHEN TO WITHDBAW THE INTELLECT FROM IMAGINARY FORMS AND DISCURSIVE MEDITATIONS 101 CHAPTER XrV. THE FITNESS OP THESE SIGNS. THE NECESSITY OF OBSERVING THEM FOR SPIRITUAL PROGRESS 104 CHAPTER XV. OF* THB OCCASIONAL NECESSITY OP MEDITATING AND EXERTING THE NA- TURAL FACULTIES ON THE PART OF THOSE WHO BEGIN TO ENTER ON THB CONTEMPLATIVE STATE Ug CHAPTER XVI. OP IMAGINARY APPREHENSIONS SUPERNATURALLY REPRESENTED TO THB FANCY. THEY CANNOT BE PROXIMATE MEANS OF UNION WITH GOD . 114 CHAPTER XVn. OP THE ENDS AND WAY OF GOD IN COMMUNICATING SPIRITUAL BLESSINGS TO THE SOUL THROUGH THB INTERIOR SENSES. ANSWER TO THB QUESTION PROPOSED 122 CHAPTER XVIU. HOW SOULS ARB INJURED BECAUSE THEIR SPIRITUAL DIRECTORS DO NOT GUIDE THEM ARIGHT THROUGH THESE VISIONS. HOW THESE VISIONS, THOUGH FROM GOD, BSCOMB OCCASIONS OF ERROR . . . ,128 CHAPTER XIX. VISIONS, REVELATIONS, AND LOCUTIONS, THOUGH TRUE AND FROM GOD, MAY DECEIVE. PROOFS FROM HOLY SCRIPTURE 133 CHAPTER XX. PROOFS FROM SCRIPTURE THAT THE DIVINE LOCUTIONS, THOUGH ALWAYS TRUE, ARB NOT ALWAYS CERTAIN IN THEIR CAUSES . . . .142 CHAPTER XXI. GOD IS AT TIMES DISPLEASED WITH CERTAIN PRAYERS, THOUGH HE AN- SWERS THEM. ILLUSTRATIONS OF HIS ANGER WITH SUCH PRAYERS . 147 CHAPTER XXn. IT IS NOT LAWFUL, UNDER THB NBW LAW, AS IT WAS UNDER THB OLD, TO ENQUIRE OF GOD BY SUPERNATURAL WAYS. THIS DOCTRINE PRO- FITABLE FOR THB UNDERSTANDINQ OF THE MYSTERIES OF OUR HOLY FAITH. PROOFS FROM S. PAUL iQg J CHAPTER XXIII. PAGE OF THE PURELY SPIRITUAL APPREHENSIONS OF THE INTELLECT . . 167 CHAPTER XXIV. OF THE TWO KINDS OF SPIRITUAL VISIONS WHICH COME BY THE SUPER- NATURAL WAY 169 CHAPTER XXV. OF REVELATIONS : THEIR NATURE AND DIVISION . . , . .174 CHAPTER XXVI. * THE INTELLIGENCE OF PURE TRUTHS. TWO KINDS THEREOF. THE CON- DUCT OF THE SOUL THEREIN 175 CHAPTER XXVII. OF THE SECOND KIND OF REVELATIONS, THE DISCLOSURE OF SECRETS AND HIDDEN MYSTERIES. HOW THEY MAY SUBSERVE AND HINDER THE DIVINE UNION. OF THE MANY DELUSIONS OF THE DEVIL INCIDENT TO THEM 184 CHAPTER XXVni. OF THE INTERIOR LOCUTIONS WHICH OCCUR SUPERNATURALLY. THEIR DIFFERENT KINDS 188 CHAPTER XXIX. OF THB FIRST KIND OF WORDS FORMED BY THB MIND SELF-RECOLLECTED. THB CAUSES OF THEM. THE ADVANTAGES AND DISADVANTAGES OF THEM 189 CHAPTER XXX. OF INTERIOR WORDS FORMALLY WROUGHT IN A SUPERNATURAL WAY. OP THB DANGERS INCIDENT THERETO ; AND A NECESSARY CAUTION AGAINST DELUSIONS 195 CHAPTER XXXL OF THB INTERIOR SUBSTANTIAL LOCUTIONS: THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THEM AND THE FORMAL. THE PROFITABLENESS OF THEM. THE RE- SIGNATION AND REVERENCE OF THE SOUL IN RESPECT OF THEM . 199 CHAPTER XXXn. OF INTELLECTUAL APPREHENSIONS RESULTING FROM THE INTERIOR IM- PRESSIONS SUPERNATURALLY EFFECTED. THE SOURCES OF THEM. THE CONDUCT TO BE OBSERVED BY THE SOUL, SO THAT THESE APPREHEN- SIONS SHALL NOT HINDER IT ON THE WAY OF UNION . . .201 xl CONTENTS OF BOOK III. THE PURGATION AND ACTIVE NIGHT OF THE MEMORY AND THE WILL. CHAPTER L PAOR OF THE NATURAL APPREHENSIONS OF THE MEMORY : WHICH IS TO BE EMPTIED OF THEM, THAT THE SOUL, ACCORDING TO THAT FACULTY, MAY BE UNITED "WITH GOD 206 m CHAPTER n. THREE KINDS OF EVILS TO WHICH THE SOUL IS LIABLE, WHEN NOT IN DARK- NESS ; WITH RESPECT TO THE KNOWLEDGE AND REFLECTIONS OF THE MEMORY. EXPLANATION OF THE FIRST 213 CHAPTER III. OF THE SECOND EVIL, COMING FROM THE EVIL SPIRIT THROUGH THE - NATURAL APPREHENSIONS OF THE MEMORY . . . . .216 CHAPTER IV. OP THE THIRD EVIL, PROCEEDING FROM THE DISTINCT NATURAL KNOW- LEDGE OF THE MEMORY 217 CHAPTER V. THE PROFITABLENESS OF FORGETFULNESS AND EMPTINESS, WITH REGARD TO ALL THOUGHTS AND KNOWLEDGE, WHICH NATURALLY OCCUR TO THE MEMORY 219 CHAPTER VI. OF THE SECOND KIND OF APPREHENSIONS: THE IMAGINARY AND SUPBH- NATUSAL 221 CHAPTER VII. THE EVILS INFLICTED ON THE SOLL BY THE KNOWLEDGE OF SUPERNA- TURAL THINGS IF REFLECTED UPON. THEIR NUMBEB . . .222 CHAPTER Vin. OF THE SECOND EVIL I THE DANGER OF SELF-CONCEIT AND PRESUMPTION 224 CHAPTER IX. OF THE THIRD EVIL I THE WORK OP THE DEVIL THROUGH THE IMAGINARY APPREHENSIONS OP THE MEMORY 226 THE FIRST VOLUME. Xli CHAPTER X. PAGE OF THE FOURTH EVIL OP THE DISTINCT SUPERNATURAL APPREHENSIONS OF THE memory: THE IMPEDIMENT TO UNION 228 CHAPTER XI. OF THE FIFTH EVIL, RESULTING FROM THE IMAGINARY SUPERNATURAL APPREHENSIONS : LOW AND UNSEEMLY VIEWS OF GOD .... 228 CHAPTER XIL THE BENEFITS OF WITHDRAWING THE SOUL FROM THE APPREHENSIONS OF THE IMAGINATION. ANSWER TO AN OBJECTION. THE DIFFERENCE BE- TWEEN THE NATURAL AND SUPERNATURAL IMAGINARY APPREHENSIONS 230 CHAPTER XIII. OF SPIRITUAL KNOWLEDGE AS IT RELATES TO THE MEMORY . CHAPTER XIV. GENERAL DIRECTIONS FOR THE GUIDANCE OF THE SPIRITUAL MAN IN RE- 236 LATION TO THE MEMORY 238 CHAPTER XV. OF THE OBSCURE NIGHT OF THE WILL. PROOFS FROM DEUTERONOMY AND THE PSALMS. DIVISION OF THE AFFECTIONS OF THE WILL 240 CHAPTER XVI. OP THE FIRST AFFECTION OF THE WILL. WHAT JOY IS. ITS DIVERS SOURCES 243 CHAPTER XVII. OF JOY IN TEMPORAL GOODS. HOW IT IS TO BE DIRECTED . . . 244 CHAPTER XVIII. OF THE EVILS RESULTING FROM JOY IN TEMPORAL GOODS . . .247 CHAPTER XIX. THE BENEFITS RESULTING FROM WITHDRAWING OUR JOY FROM TEMPORAL THINGS 253 CHAPTER XX. THE JOY OF THE WILL IN NATURAL GOODS IS VANITY. HOW TO DIRECT THE WILL TO GOD THEREIN 256 fl xlii CONTENTS OF ?■», V " CHAPTEK XXI. PAOB THE BYILS OF THE "WTLl's BEJOICINO IN NATTJKAL GOODS . . . 258 CHAPTER XXII. THE BENEFITS OF NOT REJOICING IN NATURAL GOODS .... 262 CHAPTER XXIII. OF THE THIRD KIND, SENSIBLE GOODS. THEIR NATURE AND VARIETIES. THE REGULATION OF THE WILL WITH RESPECT TO THEM . . .264 CHAPTER XXIV. THE EVILS WHICH BEFALL THE SOFT. WHEN THE WILL HAS JOT IN SEN- SIBLE GOODS . 267 CHAPTER XXV. THE SPIRITUAL AND TEAIPORAL BENEFITS OF SELF-DENIAL IN THE JOY OF SENSIBLE THINGS 269 CHAPTER XXVI. THE FOURTH KIND OF GOODS : MORAL GOODS. HOW THE WILL MAY LAW- FULLY REJOICE IN THEM 273 CHAPTER XXVII. SEVEN EVILS TO WHICH MEN ARE LIABLE IF THE WILL REJOICES IN MORAL GOODS 276 CHAPTER XXVin. THE BENEFITS OF REPRESSING ALL JOY IN MORAL GOODS . . .281 CHAPTER XXIX. THE FIFTH KIND OF GOODS, IN WHICH THE WILL HAS JOY! THE SUPER- NATURAL. THEIR NATURE, AND THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THEM AND SPIRITUAL GOODS. HOW JOY IN THEM IS TO BE DIRECTED UNTO GOD 283 CHAPTER XXX. THE EVILS RESULTING FROM THE Wlix's REJOICING IN THIS KIND OF GOODS 285 CHAPTER XXXI. THE BENEFITS OF SELF-DENIAL IN THE JOY OF SUPERNATURAL GRACES . 290 THE FIRST VOLUME. xliii CHAPTER XXXII. PAGE THE SIXTH KIND OF GOODS IN WHICH THE WILL REJOICES. THEIR NA- TURE. THE FIRST DIVISION OF THEM 291 CHAPTER XXXIII. OF THE SPrarrUAL GOODS DISTINCTLY COGNISABLE BY THE INTELLECT AND THE MEMORY. THE CONDUCT OF THE WILL WITH RESPECT TO JOY IN THEM 293 CHAPTER XXXIV. OF THE SWEET SPIRITUAL GOODS WHICH DISTINCTLY AFFECT THE WnX. THEIR DIVERSITIES . . . 293 CHAPTER XXXV. THE SUBJECT CONTINUED. THE IGNORANCE OF SOME PEOPLE IN THE MATTER OF IMAGES 297 CHAPTER XXXVI. HOW THE JOY OF THE WELL IN SACRED IMAGES IS TO BE REFERRED TO GOD, SO THAT THERE SHALL BE NO HINDRANCE IN IT, OR OCCASIONS OF ERROR 300 CHAPTER XXXVII. MOTIVE GOODS CONTINL-RD. ORATORIES AND PLACES OF PRAYER . . 302 CHAPTER XXXVin. THE RIGHT USE OF CHURCHES AND ORATORIES. HOW THE SOUL IS TO BE DIRECTED THROUGH THEM UNTO GOD 305 CHAPTER XXXIX. CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT 307 CHAPTER XL. OF SOME EVILS TO WHICH MEN ARE LIABLE WHO INDULGE IN THE SEN- SIBLE SWEETNESS WHICH RESULTS FROM OBJECTS AND PLACES OF DEVOTION 308 CHAPTER XLL OF THE THREE KINDS OF DEVOTIONAL PLACES. HOW THE WILL IS TO REGULATE ITSELF IN THE MATTER 309 CHAPTER XLII. OF OTHER MOTIVES TO PRAYER ADOPTED BY MANY ; NAlklELY, MANY CERE- MONIES 312 ^-^ xliv CONTENTS OF CHAPTER XLIII. PAGB HOW THE JOT AND STRENGTH OF THE WILL IS TO BE DIRECTED IN THESE DETOTIONS 313 CHAPTER XLIV. OF THE SECOND KIND OF DISTINCT GOODS IN WHICH THE WILL VAINLY REJOICES 317 THE OBSCURE NIGHT OF THE SOUL. •»'»'*'»#»«*©*»#«»«*« •'-'•^ BOOK I. OF THE NIGHT OF SENSE. CHAPTER I. OF THE IMPERFECTIONS OF BEGINNERS . . . . . , .327 CHAPTER IL OF SOME IMFERFECTI0N8 TO WHICH BEGINNERS ARE LIABLE IN THE MATTER OF FRIDB 329 CHAPTER III. OF THE IMPERFECTIONS OF ATARICE, IN THE SPIRITUAI. SENSE . . 333 CHAPTER IV. OF THE IMPERFECTION OF LUXURY, SPIRITUALLY UNDERSTOOD . .335 CHAPTER V. OF THE IMPERFECTIONS OF ANGEA 333 CHAPTER VI. OF THE IMPERFECTIONS OF SPmiTTAL GLUTTONY 339 CHAPTER VII. OF THE IMPERFECTIONS OF ENVY AND SPIRITUAL SLOTH . , . 343 CHAPTER Vin. EXPLANATION OF TUB FIRST LINE OF THE FIRST STANZA . . . 2io THE FIRST VOLUME. xlv CHAPTER IX. PAGE OF THE SIGNS BY WHICH IT MAY BE KNOWN THAT THE SPIRITUAL MAN IS WALKING IN THE WAY OF THIS NIGHT OR SENSITIVE PURGATION . 348 CHAPTER X. HOW THEY ARE TO CONDUCT THEMSELVES WHO HAVE ENTERED THE OBSCURE NIGHT 353 CHAPTER XI. EXPLANATION OF THE SECOND LINE OF THE FIRST STANZA . . . 356 CHAPTER XII. OF THE BENEFITS OF THE NIGHT OF SENSE 359 CHAPTER XIII. OF OTHER BENEFITS OF THE NIGHT OF SENSE 365 CHAPTER XIV. THE LAST LINE OF THE FIRST STANZA EXPLAINED 369 BOOK II. OF THE NIGHT OF THE SPIRIT. CHAPTER I. THE SECOND NIGHT ; THAT OF THE SPIRIT. WHEN IT BEGINS CHAPTER IT. OF CERTAIN IMPERFECTIONS OF Pf.OFICIBXTS CHAPTER III. INTRODUCTION * • CHAPTER IV. THE FIRST STANZA SPIRITUALLY EXPLAINED . t • 373 375 377 379 ^ xlvi CONTENTS OP CHAPTER V. PAGE OBSCUKB CONTEMPLATION IS NOT A NIGHT ONLY, BUT PAIN AND TOBMBNT ALSO FOR THE SOUL ... 380 CHAPTER VI. OF OTHER SUFFERINGS OF THE SOUL IN THIS NIGHT . 384 CHAPTER VII. THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. OTHER AFFLICTIONS AND TRIALS OF THE "WILL 388 CHAPTER VIII. CTHER TRIALS OF THE SOUL IN THIS STATE 393 CHAPTER IX. HOW IT IS THAT THIS NIGHT ENLIGHTENS THE MIND WHILE IT BRINGS DARKNESS OVER IT ... . 396 CHAPTER X. EXPLANATION OF THIS PURGATION BY A COMPARISON .... 402 CHAPTER XI. A VEHEMENT PASSION OF DIVINE LOVE THE FRUIT OF THESE SHARP AF- FLICTIONS OF THE SOUL 405 CHAPTER XII. HOW THIS AWFUL NIGHT IS LIKE PURGATORY. HOW THE DIVINE WISDOM ILLUMINATES MEN ON EARTH WITH THAT LIGHT IN WHICH THE ANGELS ARE PURIFIED AND ENLIGHTENED IN HEAVEN 409 CHAPTER XIII. OTHER SWEET EFFECTS OF THE DARK NIGHT OF CONTEMPLATION 412 THE FIRST VOLUME. xlvii CHAPTER XV. PAGE EXPLANATION OF THE SECOND STANZA 4^9 CHAPTER XVI. HOW THE SOUL JOURNEYS SECURELY WHEN IN DARKNESS . . .419 CHAPTER XVII. OBSCURE CONTEMPLATION IS SECRET 426 CHAPTER XVIII. THIS SECRET WISDOM IS ALSO A LADDER 431 CHAPTER XIX. ) THJf llYSTIC LADDER HAS TEN DEGREES. EXPLANATION OF THE FIRST FIVE ^-^"^ OF THEM 433 CHAPTER XX. jji^'fKB OTHER FIVE DEGREES . . . . . ^ \ 433 CHAPTER XXI. THE MEANING OF ' DISGUISED.' THE COLOURS IN WHICH THE SOUL DIS- GUISES ITSELF ... AA^ ••••••<. 441 CHAPTER XXIT. HAPPINESS OF THE SOUL aak CHAPTER XXITI. ^T^ Wonderful hiding-place of the sol^ which the devil, though HE penetrates INTO OTHER HIGHER PLACES, CANNOT ENTER . . 446 CHAPTER XXIV. THE LAST LINE OF THE SECOND STANZA EXPLAINED . . . .452 CHAPTER XXV. THIRD STANZA EXPLAINED .^. CHAPTER XrV. I THE LAST LINES OF THE FIRST STANZA SPIRITUALLY EXPLAINED 417 VOL. I. ERRATUM. Vol. I., pp. 1, 323, Second Stanza, for obscurity read security. / THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. ARGUMENT. f TfitB following stanzas are a summary of the doctrine contained in this book of the Ascent of Mount Carmel. Thev also describe how we are to ascend to the summit of Perfection,— J , its definition. it, that is, to the high estate of perfection, called here union ■ of the soul with Grod. I place all the stanzas together, / because what I have to 'say is founded upon them. Thus the whole substance of my book may be comprehended at once. I shall also transcribe each stanza again, and each line separately, as the nature of my work requires. STANZAS t In an obscure night, With anxious love inflamed, O, happy lot I Forth unobserved 1 went, . ' My house being now at rest. n In darkness and obscurity, By the secret ladder, disgtdsed, O, happy lot ! In darkness and conceahnent. My house being now at rest. VOL. I. » / 2 STANZAS. THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. m In that liappy night, In secret, seen of none, Seeing nought myself, Without other light or guide Save that which in my heart was burning, That light guided me More surely than the noonday sun To the place where He was waiting for me, Whom I knew well, And where none but He appeared. 0, guiding night ; O, night more lovely than the dawn j O, night that hast united The Lover with His beloved, And changed her into her Love. VI On my flowery bosom. Kept whole for Him alone. He reposed and slept ; I kept Him, and the waving Of the cedars fanned Him. ' VII Then His hair floated in the breeze That blew from the turret ; He struck me on the neck With His gentle hand. And all sensation lefl; me. VIII I continued in oblivion lost, My head was resting on my Love ; I fainted away, abandoned. And, amid the lilies forgotten, Threw all my cares away. GUIDE, THE CHURCH AND HOLY SCRIPTURE. 3 PROLOGUE. The dark night, through which the soul passes, on its way pboloqtjb. to the Divine light of the perfect union of the love of God — so far as it is in this life possible — requires for its explanation greater experience and light of knowledge than I possess. For so great are the trials, and so profound the dark- ness, spiritual as well as corporal, which souls must endure, if they will attain to perfection, that no human knowledge can comprehend them, nor experience describe them. He ) only who has passed through them can know them, but even he cannot explain them. Therefore, while touching bat slightly on the subject of this dark night, 1 trust neither to experience nor to knowledge, for both may mislead me ; but solely to the Holy Scriptures, under the teaching of which I cannot err, because he who speaks therein is the Holy Ghost. Nevertheless, I accept the aid of experience and knowledge, and if through ignorance I should err, it is not my intention to depart from the sound doctrine of our holy mother the Catholic Churfih. I resign myself absolutely to ^^^^Jj^'* her light, and bow down before her decisions, and moreover ^ the^ to the better judgment herein of private men, be they who they may. It is not any personal fitness which I recognise in myself that has led me to undertake this work, so high and so difficult, but solely my trust in our Lord, Who, I hope, will enable me to speak on account of the great necessities of many souls. Many persons begin to walk in the way of virtue — our Lord longing to lead them into the obscure night that they may travel onwards into the Divine union — but make no progress; sometimes because they will not enter upon this night, or suffer Him to lead them into it ; and sometimes also because they do not imderstand their B 2 4 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. P BOLOGUE. own State, and are destitute of fit and wise directors who Hindrances, may guide them to the summit of the mount. How miserable it is to see many souls, to whom Grod has given grace to i. Cowardice, advance — and who, had they taken courage, would have reached perfection — remain satisfied with narrow-minded 1/ views of Grod's dealings, through want of will or through ignorance, or because there is not one to direct their steps, and to teach them how to go onwards from the beginning. And in the end, when our Lord has compassion on them, and leads them on in spite of these hindrances, they arrive late, with much difficulty, and less merit, because they have not submitted themselves to His ways, nor suffered Him to plant their feet on the pure and certain road of union. Though it is true that God, Who conducts them, can do so without these helps, still, because they do not yield them- selves up to Him, they make less progress on the road, resisting their Guide ; and they merit less because they do not submit their will, whereby their sufferings are increased. There are souls who, instead of abandoning themselves to the care and protection of God, hinder Him rather by their indiscreet behaviour, or resist Him like Httle children who, when their mothers would carry them in their arms, struggle' and cry that they may be allowed to walk. These souls make no progress, or if they do, it is comparable only to the walking of an infant child. So, then — that men may know, beginners as well as those who have made some progress, how to resign themselves into the hands of God when it is His pleasure to lead them — I purpose, by His help, to furnish some directions, so that they may understand the matter for themselves, or at least submit to the guidance of God. Some confessors and spiritual dt- rectors, because they have no perception or experience of these ways, are a hindrance and an evil, rather than a help to such souls : they are Hke the builders of Babel ; who, when 2. Sdf-wilL! DIFFICULTIES OF THE WAY. 5 required to furnish certain materials, furnished others of a . prologite. very different sort, because they knew not the language of those around them, and thus the building was stopped. * Come ye therefore,' saith God, * let us go down and there confound their tongue, that they may not understand one another's speech. And so the Lord scattered them.' * It is a hard and miserable thing for souls when they can- s. seif- , J 1 . ignorance, not comprehend their own state, nor meet with any one who can. For when God leads any one along the highest road of obscure contemplation and aridity, such an one will think himself lost ; and in this darkness and affliction, temptation and distress, some will be sure to tell him, like the comforters of Job,t that his sufferings are the effects of melancholy, or disordered health, or of natural temperament, or, it may be, of some secret sin for which God has abandoned him. Yea, they will decide that he is, or that he has been, exceed- ingly wicked, seeing that he is thus afflicted. Some also will say that he is going backwards, because he finds no consola- tion or pleasure, as before, in the things of God. Thus they multiply the sorrows of this poor soul, for his greatest trial is the knowledge of his own misery, when it seems to him clearer than light that he is full of evil and sin, because God enables him, as I shall hereafter explain, to see this in the obscure night of contemplation. And so, when he meets with those who tell him, in accordance with his own impres- sions, that his troubles arise out of his own sins, his grief and misery are infinitely increased and rendered more bitter than death. Such confessors as these, not satisfied with considering all 4. want of a guide. his sorrows to fiow from past sins, compel him to retrace his whole life, and to make frequent general confessions, putting him on the rack anew. They do not understand that this is not the time for such acts, but that it is now the day of ♦ Gen. xi. 7, 8, f Job iv. e THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CABMEL. PROLOGUE. God's purgation ; and when they ought to leave him alone, comforting him, indeed, and encouraging him to bear his trials patiently until God shall be pleased to deliver him ; for until then, notwithstanding all they may say or do, there can be no relief. I have to treat this matter hereafter, and how the soul is to be guided, and how the confessor is to conduct himself with regard to his penitent, and what are the signs whereby we may ascertain whether this be a state of purgation, and if it be, whether of sense or of spirit — this is the obscure night — and whether or not it be the effect of melancholy or any other imperfection of body* or soul. For there are per- sons who will think, or their confessors for them, that God is leading them along the road of the obscure night of spiritual purgation, and yet, perhaps, all is nothing but imperfection of sense and spirit ; and others also who will think they do not pray when they pray much, and, on the other hand, there are others who think they pray much when they do not in reality pray scarcely at all. There are some—and it is sad to see them — who toil and labour, wearying themselves, and yet go backwards, because they make the fruit which is profitable to consist in that which profits not, but which is rather a hindrance ; and others who, in rest and quietness, make great advancement. Others also there are who turn the graces and the gifts of God, given them for their advancement, into embarrassments and stum- bling-blocks on this road. Those who travel on this road will meet with many occa- sions of joy and sorrow, hope and pain, some of which are the result of the spirit of perfection, others of imperfections. I shall endeavour, by God's help, to speak of all, so that everyone who shall read my book may, in some degree, see the road he takes, and that which he ought to take, if he wishes to ascend to the summit of this mount 6. Abuse of grace. CONDITIONS OF MAKING THE JOURNEY. T As my book treats of the obscure night in which the soul prologue. journeys on to God, let no one be sm-prised if he finds it ^- obscurity, also somewhat obscure. It will be so, certainly, at first, but as the reader advances he will understand it better, for one How remedied. part of it will throw light on another. If it be read a second time it will become more intelligible, and the doctrine it con- tains will appear the more certain. But if still there should be any to whom it shall seem hard, let them ascribe it to my ignorance and poor style, for the matter of it is in itself good and most necessary. But aft^r all I believe that, if I had written it in a more perfect manner, many would not appreciate it, because its contents are not those moralities and soothing matters which those spiritual persons run after who desire to draw near to God in pleasant ways, but a solid and substantial doctrine suited to all, if they seek to advance to that detachment of spirit which is here described. My principal object, however, is not to address myself to all, but only to certain persons of our holy religion of Mount Carmel, who by the grace of God are on the pathway of this mount. It is at their request I have undertaken my task. They, indeed, already detached from the things of this life, will the better understand this ' doctrine of detachment of spirit. *v ^"y 8 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. NATURE AND CAUSE OP THE OBSCURE NIGHT. 9 BOOK I. Perfection requires; J. Purga- tion of tha flesh. n. Purga- tion of the qpirit. BOOK I. THE NATimE OP THE OBSCURE NIGHT, THE NECESSITY OF PASSING THROUGH IT IN ORDER TO ATTAIN TO THE DIVINE UNION : AND SPECIALLY THE OBSCURE NIGHT OF SENSE AND DESIRE, WITH THE EVILS WHICH THESE INFLICT ON THE SOUL. CHAPTER I. Two kindfl of tliis night, corresponding with the division of the soul into higher and lower. STANZA I. In an obscure nighty With anxious love inflamed. Of ha'ppy lot! Forth unobserved 1 went. My house being now at rest. THIS stanza describes the happy state of the soul at its departure from all things, from the appetites and im- perfections of our sensual nature to which all are subject because of our disobedience to reason. I mean that, in order to reach perfection, the soul has to pass, ordinarily, through two kinds of night, which spiritual writers call purgations, or purifications of the soul, and which I have called night, because in the one as well as in the other the soul travels, as it were, by night, in darkness. The first is the night, or purgation of the sensual part of the soul, treated of in this first ptanza, and described in the first part of this work. The second is the night of the spiritual part, of which the second stanza speaks, and which I shall discuss in the second part of my work, so far as it relates to the soul's activity therein, and in the third and chap. fourth part, so far as it relates to its passive condition in it. • The meaning of the stanza then is, that the soul went Explanation forth, led of God, through love of Him only, and with that stanza. love inflamed, into the obscure night, which is the privation / of, and purgation from, all sensual desires, in all external ! things ; all the pleasures of the flesh, and all the satisfactions / of the will. This is wrought in this purgation of the will, \ and for this reason is it said that the soul departed, its house, that is the sensual part, being at rest — all the desires being at rest and asleep, and the soul asleep to them ; for there is no departing from the pains and vexations of desire till it be mortified and put to sleep. The happy lot of the soul, then, is this unobserved de- parture, when no carnal desire or aught else was able to detain it. And also in that this departure took place by night, which is the privation of all desire wrought by God, a condition which is as night to the soul. The happy lot of the soul, then, consists in being led by God into this night from which so great a blessing results, but into which it could not have entered of itself, because no one is able in his own strength to empty his heart of all desires, so as to draw near unto God. This is the meaning of the stanza. I now proceed to explain each line of it separately, and to discuss the subject of this book. CHAPTER n. The nature and cause of the ohscure night. 'In an obscure night.' — The journey of the soul to the Three parts Divme union is called nisfht for three reasons. The first scure night. '^ 1. Priva- is derived from the point from which the soul sets out, 2*F^th the privation of the desire of all pleasure in all the things ^' ^^^^ 10 THE ASCENT OP MOUNT CARMEL. y BOOK I. niostrated by the history of Tobias. of this world, by an entire detachment therefrom. This is ' as night for every desire and sense of man. The second, from the road by which it travels ; that is faith, for faith is obscure, like night, to the intellect. The third, from the goal to which it tends, God, incomprehensible and infinite. Who in this life is as night to the soul. We must pass through these three nights if we are to attain to the Divine union with God. They are foreshadowed in Holy Scripture by the three nights which were to elapse, according to the command of the angel, between the betrothal and the marriage of the younger Tobias. « When thou shalt take her, ' said the angel, * go into the chamber, and for three days keep thyself con- tinent from her.' * On the first night he was to burn the liver of the fish in the fire, which is the heart whose affections are set on the things of this world, and which, if it will enter on the road that leadeth unto God, must be burned up, and purified of all created things in the fire of this love. This purgation drives away the evil spirit who has dominion over our soul, because of our attachment to those pleasures which flow from temporal and corporeal things. *The second night,' said the angel, Hhou shalt be ad- mitted into the society of the Holy Patriarchs,' the fathers of the faith. The soul having passed the first night, which is the privation of all sensible things, enters immediately into the second night, alone in pure faith, and by it alone directed : for faith is not subject to sense. 'The third night,' said the angel, nhou shalt obtain a blessing '— that is, God, Who, in the second night of faith, communicates Himself so secretly and so intimately to the soul. This is another night, inasmuch as this communica- tion is more obscure than the others, as I shall presently » Tob. vi. 18. FIRST CAUSE, THE PRIVATION OF THE DESIRE. 11 explain. When this night is over, which is the accomplish- ment of the communication of God in spirit, ordinarily eflfected when the soul is in great darkness, the union with the bride, which is the Wisdom of God, immediately ensues. The angel adds also, saying to Tobias, 'When the third night is passed, thou shalt take the virgin with the fear of the Lord.' This fear is then perfect when it is also the love of God, and it is made perfect when the soul is by love transformed in God. I shall speak of these three causes separately, that they may be the better understood, first reminding the reader that the three nights are but one divided into three parts. The first, which is that of the senses, may be likened to the commencement of night when material object-s begin to be invisible. The second, of faith, may be compared to mid- night, which is utter darkness. The third resembles the close of night, which is God, when the dawn of day is at band. CHAP. II. CHAPTER ni. ^ The first cause, the privation of the desire. The privation of all pleasure to the desire in all things is i. The night here called night. For as night is nothing else but ""* ^"''**^°''* the absence of light, and, consequently, of visible objects, whereby the faculty of vision remains in darkness unem- ployed, so the mortification of the desires is as night to the soul. For when the soul denies itself those pleasures which outward things furnish to the desire, it is as it were in darkness, without occupation. As the faculty of vision is nourished by light and fed by visible objects, and ceases to be so fed when the light is withdrawn, so the soul by means of the desire feeds on those things which, correspond- ing with its powers, give it pleasure ; but when the desire 12 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. PASSAGE THROUGH THE NIGHT OF PRIVATION. 13 BOOK I. i is mortified, it derives no more pleasure from them, and thus, so far as the desire is concerned, the soul abides in darkness, without occupation. This may be illustrated in the case of all the faculties of the soul. When the soul denies itself the pleasure arising from all that gratifies the ear, it remains, so far as the faculty of hearing is concerned, in darkness, without occu- pation ; and when it denies itself in all that is pleasing to the eye, it remains in darkness, so far as it relates to the faculty of sight. The same may be said of the other senses, 80 that he who shall deny himself all satisfaction de- rivable from external objects, mortifying the desire thereof, may be said to be in a state which is as night, and this is nothing else but an entire detachment from all things. Philosophers say that the soul is a blank when first in- fused into the body, without knowledge of any kind whatever, and incapable of receiving knowledge, in the course of nature, in any other way than through the senses. Thus, while in the body, the soul is like a man imprisoned in darkness, who has no knowledge of what passes without beyond what he can learn by looking through the window of his cell, and who if he did not so look could in nor other way learn anything at all. Thus, then, the soul cannot naturally know anything beyond what reaches it through the senses, which are the windows of its ceU. If, then, the impressions and communications of sense be neglected and denied, we may well say that the soul is in darkness and empty, because according to this opinion there is no other natural way for knowledge or light to enter in. It is true, indeed, that we cannot help hearing, seeing, smelling, tasting, and touching, but this is of no moment, and does not trouble the soul, when the objects of sense are repelled, any more than if we neither heard nor saw ; for he who shuts his eyes is as much in darkness as a blind man who cannot possession. see. This is the meaning of the Psalmist when he said, chap. * I am poor and in laboui-s from my youth.' * He says '■ — that he is poor, though it is certain he was rich ; because he had not set his mind upon riches, he was really like a poor man. But if he had been really poor, yet not in spirit, he would not have been truly poor, for his soul would have been rich, full of desires. I call this detachment the night of the soul, for I am not Detachment speaking here of the absence of thinefs — for absence is not company " Dosaes&ion detachment, if the desire of them remain — but of that detach- ment which consists in suppressing desire, and avoiding pleasure ; it is this that sets the soul free, even though pos- session may be still retained. The things of this world neither occupy nor injure the soul, because they do not enter within, but rather the will and desire of them which abide within it. This is the night of the sensual part of the soul. And now I proceed to explain how the soul is to depart from its house in the obscure night of sense, in order to be united with God. CHAPTER IV. The necessity of passing truly through the obscure night of sense, which is the mortification of the desire. The soul must of necessity — if we would attain to the Divine imioD of God — pass through the obscure night of mortification of the desires, and self-denial in all things. The reason is that all the love we bestow on creatures is~^ in the eyes of God mere darkness, and that while we are involved therein, the soul is incapable of being enlightened V and possessed by the pure and simple light of God, unless we first cast it away. Light hath no fellowship with dark- J The soul cannot have two masters. * Psal. Ixxxvii. 16. \ 14 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. BOOK I. LoTe begets likenefis. The creature is nothing in compa- rison with the Creator. ness, for as St John saith, * The light shineth in darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.'* Two contrary qualities, as the philosophers say, cannot co-exist in the same subject. Darkness, which is the love of creatures, and light, which is God, are contrary to one another, for ' What fellow- ship hath light with darkness ?'t The light of the Divine union cannot, therefore, dwell in the soul if these affections are not cast away. The affection and attachment which the soul feels for the creature reoders the soul its equal and its like, and the greater the affection the greater will be the likeness. Love begets a likeness between the lover and the object of his love, and so the Psalmist, speaking of those who set their heart upon idols, says, 'Let them that make them become like unto them, and all such as trust in them.'J Thus, he then who loves the creature becomes vile as that creature itself, and in one sense even viler, for love not only levels, but subjects also the lover to the object of his love. He, therefore, who loveth anything beside Grod renders his soul incapable of the Divine union and transformation in God, for the vileness of the creature is much less capable of the dignity of the Creator than darkness is of light. All things in heaven and earth are nothing in comparison with God. 'I beheld the earth,' saith he, 'and lo, it was void and nothing, and the heavens, and there was no light in them.' § The earth ' void and nothing,' signifies that the earth and all it contains are nothing, and the heavens without light, that all the lights of heaven, in comparison with God, are perfect darkness. Thus all created things, with the affec- tions bestowed upon them, are nothing, because they are a hindrance, and the privation of our transformation in God, just as darkness is nothing, and less than nothing, being the ♦ S. John i. 6. I Ps. cxiii. 8. t 2 Cor. vi. 14. § Jerem. iv, 23. CHAP. IV. GOD THE FIRST PAIR AND THE HIGHEST GOOD. 15 absence of light. And as he who is in darkness comprehends not the light, so the soul whose affections are given to the creature shall never comprehend God. Until our soul is purged of these affections we shall not possess God in this life in the pure transformation of love, nor in the life to come in the beatific vision. To make this more clear I shall enter into some particulars. The whole creation, compared with the infinite Being of Godaioneis; God, is nothing ; and so the soul whose affections are set on i- ^^e- created things is nothing, and even less than nothing before God, because love begets equality and likeness, and even in- feriority to the object beloved. Such a soul, therefore, cannot by any possibility be united to the infinite Being of God, because that which is not can have no communion with that which is. All the beauty of the creation, in comparison with «• Beauty, the infinite Beauty of God, is supreme deformity, for ' Favour is deceitful and beauty is vain,'* and so the soul whose affections are set on the beauty of any created thing whatever shows before God nothing but deformity, and can never be transformed in Beauty, which is God, because deformity can- not attain unto beauty. All the grace and comeliness of creation, compared with the Grace of God, is supreme disgrace and supreme disfavour, and that soul, therefore, which is cap- tivated by the grace and comeliness of created things is in the eyes of God in disfavour and disgrace, incapable of the infinite grace and beauty, for that which is ill-favoured is far removed from that which is infinitely gracious. All the goodness of the whole world together, in compari- s. Goodnesa. son with the infinite Goodness of God, is wickedness rather than goodness, for ' None is good but God alone,'t and that soul is, therefore, wicked before God, whose affections are set on the things of this world. And as wickedness can have no * Prov. xxxi. 30. t S. Luke xviii. 19. 16 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. BOOK I. 4. Wisdom. 6. Liberty and Power. fellowship with goodness, so that soul cannot be united in ' perfect union with God, who is the supreme Goodness. All the wisdom of the world, and all human cunning, com- pared with the infinite Wisdom of God, is simple and supreme ignorance, ^ for the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God.' • He, therefore, who shall labour to attain to union with the Wisdom of God, in reliance on his own wisdom and skill, is supremely ignorant, and infinitely distant therefrom : for ignorance knoweth not what wisdom is. They who con- sider themselves gifted with knowledge are in the eyes of God most ignorant, ^professing themselves to be wise, they become fools.' f They alone attain to the Divine Wisdom who, like children and ignorant ones, lay aside their own wisdom, and serve God in love. This is the wisdom to which the Apostle refers, saying, ' Let no man deceive himself; if any man among you seem to be wise in this world, let him be- come a fool that he may be wise. For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God.' J Ignorance, therefore, and not knowledge, becomes that soul which strives after imion with the Wisdom of God. All the liberty and power of the world, compared with the Power and Liberty of the Spirit of God, is but supreme slavery, wretchedness, and captivity ; and so he who loves superiority and dignities, and the indulgence of his desires, stands before God, not as a son who is free, but as a person of mean con- dition, the slave of his passions, because he submits not to the holy teaching, which saith, « He that is the greater among you, let him become as the younger." § Such an one will never attain to the true liberty of spirit attainable in the Divine union, because slavery has no fellowship with liberty, liberty dwelleth not in a heart subject to desires, for that heart is in captivity, but in that which is free, the heart of a son. It * 1 Cor. iii. 19. X 1 Cor. iii. 18, 19. t Rom. i. 22. § S. Luke xxii. 26. CHAP. IV. GOD THE ONLY TRUE FREEDOM, WEALTH AND WISDOM. 17 was for this reason that Sara said unto Abraham: *Cast out this bond-woman and her son, for the son of the bond- woman shall not be heir with my son Isaac' * All the sweetness and all the pleasures which all the e. Happiness, things of this world furnish to the will are, in comparison with the sweetness and pleasure which is God, supreme pain, torment, and bitterness. He, therefore, who shall set his heart upon them is, in the eyes of God, worthy of pain, torment, and bitterness, and can never attain to those delights with which the Divine union abounds. All the riches and glory of the whole creation compared 7. Eiciies and . , , . honour. With the true riches, which is God, is supreme poverty and meanness, and he who sets his heart upon them is, in God's sight, supremely poor and mean, and can never attain to the blessed estate of riches and glory, which is the transfor- mation of the soul in God ; for that which is mean and poor is infinitely distant from that which is supremely rich and florious. For this cause, then, the Divine Wisdom bewails men ; namely, because they make themselves loathsome, mean, wretched and poor, through their love for that which is beautiful, rich, and noble in the eyes of the world. ' ye men, to you I call, and my voice is to the sons of men, little ones, understand subtlety, and ye unwise take notice. Hear, for I will speak of great things. . . . With me are riches and glory, glorious riches and justice. For my fruit is better than gold and the precious stone, and my blossoms than choice silver. I walk in the way of justice, in the midst of the paths of judgment, that I may enrich them that love me, and may fill their treasures.' f Here God addresses Himself to those who set their affections on the things of this world ; He calls them little ones, because they make themselves * Gen. xxi. 10. TOL. I. t Prov. viii. 4-6, 18-21. 18 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CABMEL. THE EVANGELICAL LAW OF KENUNCIATION. 10 BOOK I. little, like the object of their love. He bids them ' under- stand subtlety,' and ' take notice,' because He is speaking of great things, and not of little things, such as they are. He tells them that great riches and glory, objects of their love, are with Him and in Him, and not where they think they shall find them. ^ Glorious riches and justice ' are with wis- dom. For though the things of this world may seem to men to be something, yet let them take notice, the things of G-od are more. The fruit of wisdom is better than gold and precious stones, and that which wisdom produces in the soul is preferable to the choice silver which men covet. This is applicable to every kind of affection to which we are liable in this life. V CHAPTER V. Continuation of the same subject. Proofs from Scripture. ■ I HAVE now explained how great is the distance between created things and God, and how souls which set their affections thereon are equally distant from Him, because — as I have said — love begets equality and likeness. This 8. Augustine, ^as Well Understood by S. Augustine when, considering his own inclination towards the creature, he thus spoke unto God : ' Miserable man that I am, what fellowship hath my perverseness with Thy uprightness? Thou art truly good, I wicked ; Thou full of compassion, I impious ; Thou holy, I miserable ; Thou just, I unjust ; Thou art light, I am blind ; Thou art life, and I am dead ; Thou art medicine, I am sick ; Thou supreme truth, and I utter vanity.' * It is, therefore, supreme ignorance for any one to think that he can ever attain to the high estate of union with ♦ Soliloq. c, ii. 0pp. Ed. Ben. torn. vi. App. p. 86. CHAP. V. God before he casts away from him the desire of natural things, and of supernatural also, so far as it concerns self- love, because the distance between them and the state of per- fection is the Very greatest. For Christ our Lord hath said, ^ Every one of you that doth not renounce all that he pos- sesseth, cannot be My disciple.' * The doctrine of Christ which He came into the world to teach, is contempt of all things, that we may thereby have power to receive the reward of the Spirit of God. For he who does not withdraw himself from the things of the world, is not qualified to receive the Spirit of God in the pure transformation. This truth is foreshadowed in the book of Exodus,t where The manna we read that God did not give the manna to the people of Israel ^^• till the corn they had brought from Egypt had failed them, for the bread of angels is not given to, neither is it meant for, that palate which is pleased with the bread of man. He who feeds on strange meats, and is delighted therewith, not only disqualifies himself for the reception of the Holy Ghost, but also provokes God to anger exceedingly, as all do who, while they seek spiritual food, are not content with God only, but intermingle therewith carnal and earthly satisfactions. This appears from the same history, where it is said that the people cried, ' Who will give us flesh to eat ? '% They were not satisfied with food so pure, for they desired and demanded the flesh of beasts. God was grievously offended because they would mingle flesh, so vile and coarse, with the pure and heavenly bread which, though always the same, had in it *the sweetness of every taste,' § for while 'their meat was in their mouth the wrath of God came upon them, and He slew the fat ones amongst them, and brought down the chosen men of Israel.' || God regarded it as an evil wish to desire other food when He was giving them the bread of heaven. * S. Luke, xiv. 33. § Wisd. xvi. 20. t Ex. xvi. 4. X Num. xi. 4. II Ps. btxvii. 30, 31. c 2 > / f 20 THE ASCENT OP MOUNT CARMEL. BOOK L Mount Sinai a type of perfection. Oh, would that spiritual persons knew how they are losing - the good things of the Spirit, abundantly furnished, because they will not raise up their desires above trifles, and how they might have the sweetness of aU things in the phre food of the Spirit if they would only forego them. But as they will not, so they shaU not have such sweetness. The people of Israel perceived not the sweetness of every taste in the manna, though it was there, because they would not limit their desires to it alone. The sweetness and strength of the manna was not for them, not because it was not there, but because they longed for other meats beside it He who loves any other thing with God makes light of Him, because he puts into the balance with Him that which is infinitely beneath Him, We know by experience that the will, when set on a particular object, magnifies it above all others, if it has no pleasure in them, though they may be of greater importance than what it desires. And Jfjt^ should desire twojhings *2S?^^«r^^^ does wrong to the chief of the two, because ires- t ablish es an unjust equality between them. There is nothing in the w hole world to be compared with God ; and, therefore, he who loves anything together with Him, wrongs Hiin! And if this be true, what does he do who loves anything more than God ? . This truth is set before us in the book of Exodus. When God commanded Moses to go up into Mount Sinai, He bade him go up alone ; the children of Israel were to remain below, and even the cattle were not to feed in sight of the mountain. * Thou shalt stand with Me on the top of the mount. Let no man go up with thee, and let not any man be seen throughout all the mount : neither let the oxen nor the sheep feed over against it.'* He, therefore, that will go up mto the mount of perfection and hold communion with God * Ex. xxxiv. 2, 3. CHAP. V. UNION WITH GOD REQUIRES SEPARATION FROM CREATURES. 21 must not only abandon everything, but restrain even his desires, the sheep and the cattle from feeding in sight of the mount — that is, upon anything which is not simply God, in Whom, in the estate of perfection, every desire must cease. This journey or ascent must therefore be a perpetual struggle with our desires to make them cease, and the more earnest we are the sooner shall we reach the summit. But until the desires cease we can never reach it, notwithstanding our many virtues, for virtue is not perfectly acquired before our souls are empty, detached, and purified from all desire. Of this truth we have a lively figure in the history of the Three com- mandments patriarch Jacob. When he was on his way to Bethel to build o^ ^b: an altar for sacrifice unto God, he commanded his household 2!*?Sfl- the observance of three things: the casting away of strange T^ch^geot gods, self-purification, and the changing of their garments. * Jacob having called together all his household, said, Cast away the strange gods that are among you, and be cleansed and change your garments.' * He, therefore, who will ascend to the mount of perfection, to build an altar there, whereon to offer imto God the sacrifice of pure love, praise, and adora- tion, must first of all perfectly fulfil the three commandments of Jacob. He must cast away the strange gods, the earthly affections and attachments. He must purify himself from the impressions which the desires have made on the soul, in the obscure night of sense, denying them and doing penance for their past indulgence, and, in the third place, he must change his garments. This God himself will do during the observance of the first two commandments ; He will change them from old into new, by infusing into the soul a new un- derstanding of God in God, the human understanding being set aside, and a new love of God in God, the will being detached from its old desires and human satisfactions, by * Gen. XXXV. 2. 22 THE ASCENT OP MOUNT CAKMEL. i^ooK bringing the soul into a state of new knowledge nd of deep ■~" delight, all other knowledge and old imaginings being cast away ; and, finally, by causing that which is of the old man to cease, which is our natural aptitudes, and investing us with a new supernatural aptitude corresponding with the powers of the soul, so that all that is human in the action of the soul may become divine. This is the object gained in the estate of union, in which the soul is nothing else but an altar of God whereon the sacrifice of praise and love is offered, and where He alone dwells. The altar of TMs is the reasou why, under the old law, the altar of Godtobe .« pure. sacntice was to be hollow within. ' Thou shalt not make it solid, but empty and hollow in the inside.' * It is the will of Grod that the soul should be empty of all created things, so that it may become a fitting altar of His Majesty. He would not endure strange fires on the altar, nor that His own should fail. * Nadab and Abiu, the sons of Aaron, taking their censers, put fire therein, and incense on it, offering before the Lord strange fire: which was not commanded them, and fire coming out from the Lord destroyed them, and they died before the Lord.'f Because Nadab and Abiu, sons of Aaron the high priest, offered strange fire on the altar, God in His anger slew them before it. That soul, therefore, which would become a fitting altar, must not be without the love of God, nor mingle therewith any other and strange love. God will never dwell there where aught is present beside Himself. Thus, when the Philistines took the ark of God and brought it into the temple of Dagon, their idol was thrown to the ground, and at last broken to pieces.^ The royal One dcsire only doth God allow, and suffer, in His presence. Holy Cross, that of perfectly observing His law, and of cai-rying the cross of Christ. We do not know that He commanded anything * Ex. xxvii. 8. t Levit. X. 1, 2. X 1 Kings V. 1-6. TWO GREAT EVILS OF THE DESIRES. 23 except the book of the law, to be laid up with the ark where the manna was preserved. — ' Take this book, and put it in the side of the ark of the covenant of the Lord your God ' * — and the rod of Aaron, type of the cross. ^ Take back the rod of Aaron into the tabernacle of the testimony.' f That soul which has no other aim than the perfect observance of the law of God, and the carrying of the cross of Christ, will be a true ark containing the true manna, which is God. CHAP. V. CHAPTER VI. Two great evils of the desires : negative and positive. Proofs from Scripture. To make this matter clear, it is advisable here to explain how the desires inflict these two great evils on the soul. These evils are, the privation of the Spirit of God, and the i. Privation ^ of God. fatigue, torture, darkness, defilement, and weakness of that soul which indulges them. ' My people have done two evils,' saith God, ' They have forsaken Me, the fountain of living water, and have digged to themselves cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water.' J These two evils flow from one single act of desire ; for it is clear that the instant we set our affections upon any one created thing, our capacity for union with God is diminished in proportion to the in- tensity of that act of affection. For, as I said before, § two contrary qualities cannot coexist in the same subject ; the love of God and the love of the creature are contrary, the one to the other, and so cannot dwell together in the same heart. What connection is there between the creature and the Creator ? Between the sensual and the spiritual ? The seen and the unseen ? The temporal and the eternal ? ♦ Deut. xxxi. 26 j Ex. xvi. 33. X Jerem. ii. 13. t Numb. xvii. 10. § Ch. IV. 24 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. BOOK I. God and not creatures, the end of man. \ Between the heavenly food, pure and spiritual, and the food of the flesh, simply sensual ? Between the poverty of Christ and selfish attachments ? As in natural generation, no new form results without the corruption of the one previously existing— for this obstructs the former by reason of the contrariety between them — so while our souls are under the dominion of the sensual and animal spirit, the pure and heavenly spirit can never enter within them. This explains those words of our Lord, ' It is not good to take the bread of children, and to ca^t it to the dogs;'* and * Give not that which is holy to dogs.' f Our Lord compares those who, renouncing all earthly desires, prepare themselves in simpHcity for the graces of the Holy Ghost, with children, and those who satisfy their desires in earthly things, with dogs: children are admitted to the Father's table, and nourished by the Spirit, but only the crumbs which fall from it are given to the dogs. All created things are but the crumbs which fall from the table of God. Thus they who go about feeding on the creature are rightly called dogs; the children's bread is withheld from such, because they will not rise from the crumbs of the creature to the table of the uncreated Spirit of their Father. These are always hungry like dogs, and justly so, because crumbs excite the appetite rather than appease hunger. These are they of whom it is written, ^They shall suffer hunger like dogs ; and shall go round about the city— and shall murmur if they be not filled.' J They who gratify their desires are always morose and discontented, like hungry persons: for what is there in common between the hunger which the creature occasions, and the fulness which proceeds from the Spirit of God ? The fulness of God cannot enter into the soul before we drive away the hunger of desire, for two contrary qualities, such as hunger and fulness, cannot dwell • S. Matt XV. 26. |- lb. vU. 6. j p^. i^jj. jg^ ^q J V THE WAY OF TRANSGRESSORS IS HARD. 25 CHAP. VI. together in the same subject. We may see from this how much greater is the work of God in purifying the soul from these contrarieties, than it was when He first created it out of nothing. For these rebellious desires and opposing affections seem to resist God more than nothing : that which is not, cannot resist His Majesty, but not so the love of the creature. Let this suffice for the first great evil which desires inflict on the soul, namely, resistance to the Spirit of God. Let us now proceed to the second, which is manifold n. kv© wounds of in its operations. The desires fatigue, torment, darken, ^^esoui. defile and weaken the soul. Of these five forms of evil, I shall discuss each separately. As to the first, it is evident i. Weariness. that the desires weary the soul, because they resemble little children, restless and dissatisfied, who always begging of their mother, now one thing, now another, are never content. As one given to covetousness fatigues himself digging for gold, so the soul wearies itself in the pursuit of those things which the desires demand, and though we may obtain them, yet the end is weariness, because we are never satisfied. We have recourse to broken cisterns, which can hold no water to quench our thirst, as it is written, * Faint with thirst and his soul is empty.'* The soul which yields to its desires, j{ weary and faint, like one ill of a burning fever, never at rest,'' and whose thirst increases while the fever lasts. It is written in the book of Job, ' When he shall be filled, he shall be straitened, he shall burn, and every sorrow shall fall upon him.' t Thus is it with the soul, wearied and afflicted by the desires : they wound it, agitate and disturb it, as wind does water, harassing it, so that it can never repose on any- thing, or in any place. Of such souls is it written, ^The wicked are like the * Is. xxix. 8. t Job XX. 22. ■vbitliiiU .) BOOK L n THE ASCENT OP MOUNT CARMEL. ragiDg sea which cannot rest.' * The heart of the wicked is like the raging sea, and he is wicked who does not subdue his desires. That soul which seeks to satisfy them wearies and torments itself, and is like one who, in the pains of hunger, opens his mouth to be filled with the wind, and who, instead of being satisfied therewith, becomes still more hungry, for wind is not his meat and drink. Of such it is written, * In the desire of his heart, he snuffed up the wind of his love,'f and again warning the soul against the in- creasing dryness towards which it tends: *Keep thy foot,' that is thy thoughts, ' from being bare, and thy throat from thirst,' J— that is, thy will from the gratification of the desire which is the occasion of greater dryness. As the ambitious man is wearied in the day of disappointed expectations, so the soul with its desires and their fulfilment, for they make it more empty and hungry thaa it was before. The desires are, as it is commonly said, like fire which burns when sup- plied with fuel, but which, when the fuel is consumed, im- mediately dies away. In truth, the desire is in a much worse condition : the fire is quenched when the fuel fails, but the desire ceases not with the matter on which it fed while it raged, even though that be utterly consumed ; for instead of ceasing, like fire when the fuel is burnt out, the desire pines away in weariness, for hunger is increased, and food diminished. A soul in this condition is thus described by the prophet, * He shall turn to the right hand, and shall be hungry, and shall eat on the left hand, and shall not be filled.' § They who mortify not their desires are justly punished with hunger when they ' turn to the right hand,' that is, when they swerve from the way of God ; for they do not deserve the fulness of • Is. Ivii. 20. I Jerem. ii. 25. t Jerem. ii. 24. § Is. ix. 20. 1 / THE TORMENT OF UNRESTRAINED DESIRES. 27 His sweet Spirit, and justly also shall they * not be filled,' when they * eat on the left hand,' that is, when they satisfy their desire with created things; for then abandoning that which can alone satisfy them they feed on that which is the source of greater hunger. Thus, then, is it clear that the desires weary and fatigue the soul. CHAP. VI. CHAPTER VII. The desires torment the soul. Proofs and illustrations. The second positive evil which the desires inflict is a certain 2. Tom^nt, torment and affliction of soul, so that he who sufiers there- from is like one in torture, bound with chains, finding no rest until released. ' The cords of my sins,' that is, my desires, saith the Psalmist, * have encompassed me.'* As a man who lies naked amid thorns and briars, so is the soul in the power of its desires ; for they pierce, tortiure, and tear it pain- fully, as it is written, ' They surrounded me like bees, and they burned like fire among thorns. 'f The desires, which are as thorns, increase the fire of affliction and trouble. As the husbandman, greedy of the harvest, goads the oxen at the plough, so concupiscence goads the soul harnessed to its desires, till it shall obtain its will. Such was the desire of Dalila to know the secret of the strength of Samson; she ^pressed him — giving him no time to rest,' so that * his soul fainted away, and was wearied even unto death. 'J The desire tortures the soul in proportion to its inten- sity, so that the pain equals the desires, and the more numerous the desires the greater the pain : for the words which the apostle heard are fulfilled even in this life. • Ps. cxviii. 61. f lb. cxvii. 12. J Judg. xvi. 16. ( 28 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. BOOK I. Example of Samson. Invitation of God. *As much as she hath glorified herself, and lived in deli- cacies, BO much torment and sorrow give ye to her.'* As he is tormented who falls into the hands of his enemies, so is the soul carried away by its desires. This truth is foreshadowed in the history of Samson, who was once so strong and free, the judge of Israel. But when he had fallen into the hands of his enemies, they robbed him of his great strength, plucked out his eyes, imprisoned him in a mill, and ^ made him grind,' torturing and afflicting him. So is it with the soul, whose enemies, its own de- sires, live and triumph : their first act is to weaken and blind the soul, then to torment it, imprisoning it in the mill of concupiscence, and the cords that bind it are its own desires themselves. God, therefore, compassionating those who, with so much toil and cost, go about to satisfy the hunger and thirst of their desires in created things, thus speaks to them by the mouth of His prophet: 'All you that thirst' and desire ' come to the waters, and you that have no money,' self-will, * make haste, buy and eat, come, buy wine and milk,' peace and spiritual sweetness, 'without money' of self-will, and * without price,' without' that labour which your desires demand. * Why do you spend money ' of self- will * for that which is not bread,' that is, the Spirit of Grod, and the 'labour' of your desires 'for that which doth not satisfy you ? ' ' Hearken diligently imto Me and eat that which is good,' and which you desire, 'and your soul shall be delighted in fatness.'f We attain to this fatness when we abandon all created satisfactions, for pain and sor- row flow from the creature, and refreshment from the Spirit of God. 'Come to Me,' saith our Lord, 'all you that labour and SIN DARKENS AND BLINDS THE SOUL. 29 are burdened, and I will refresh you.'* All you who are tormented and afflicted, labouring beneath the burden of anxiety and desire, cast it aside, by coming unto Me, and I will refresh you; and your souls shall find that rest of which your desires rob you, for they 'as a heavy burden are become heavy upon Me.'f CHAP. vn. CHAPTER VIII. The deBires darken the soul. Proofs and illustrations. The third evil which the desires inflict is darkness and 3. Darkness, blindness of soul. For as vapours darken the air, and hide the light of the sun, or as a stained mirror cannot clearly receive an image, or as muddy water cannot dis- tinctly reflect his face who looks into it, so the soul, stained by its desires, is intellectually blind, so that neither the un- derstanding itself nor the sun of natural reason, nor that of the supernatural wisdom of God, can inform and enlighten it. To this the Psalmist referred when he said, 'My iniquities have overtaken me, and I was not able to see.'t And thus, while the soul is intellectually blind, the will becomes torpid, the memory fails, and every lawful function is disordered. These faculties depend on the intel- lect, and it is therefore clear that, when the intellect is em- barrassed, they must all be thrown into confusion and disorder. * My soul,' saith the Psalmist, ' is troubled exceedingly,' § that is, all my faculties are in disorder ; for, as I have said, the intellect in this state cannot receive the illumination of the Divine Wisdom, just as the obscured air cannot reflect the brightness of the sun. The will cannot embrace God in pure love, just as the stained mirror cannot represent an object ♦ Apoc. xviii. 7. f Is. Iv. 1, 2. * S. Matt. xi. 28. X Ps. xxxix. 13. t Ps. xxxvii. 5, § lb. vi. 4. 30 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CABMEL. I BOOK I. placed before it. The memory overclouded by desires cannot calmly dwell on the Image of God, just as muddy water can- not reflect the face of him who looks into it. x^^""*^ '^^^ ^^sire also blinds and darkens the soul, for the desire, ^guide of as such, is blind and unreasonable, and reajson is that which I ever guides the soul aright in its several acts. Hence it is ' that the soul becomes blind whenever the desires guide it, because it is as if one who saw were led by one who saw not : the result being the same as if both were blind. This is what our Lord referred to when He said, ' If the blind lead the blind, both fall into the pit.' * Eyes are of little service to the moth, whose desire for the beauty of the light leads it dazzled into the midst of the flame. He who gives the rein to his desires may be likened to the fish dazzled by the light which the fishermen throw over the water, that the nets may not be seen : in this case, light serves but to in- crease the obscurity. This is the meaning of the Psalmist when he said, ' Fire hath fallen upon them, and they have not seen the sun,'t for the desire is like fire, warming with its heat, and dazzling with its light, and the effect of the desire in the soul is, that it enkindles concupiscence, and dazzles the intellect, so that it cannot see. The cause of this dazzling obscurity is, the interposition of another light between the object and the eye, whereon the eye rests, so as to see nothing beyond. Thus the desire comes so close to the soul, and within the range of its vision, that we are dazzled, and satisfied with the light it gives, and so it hides from us the clear light of the intellect, which we do not, and never shall see, until the glare of the desire shall have ceased. This renders so deplorable their case who burden them- selves with indiscreet penances, and other imprudent methods * S. Matt. XV. 14. t Ts. Ivii. a '/: SELF-RESTRAINT NECESSARY FOR PERFECTION. 31 of devotion— voluntary certainly— 6n which they rely, thinking chap. / • such alone, without mortifying their desires in other matters, — ^^'-^ to be sufficient to lead them on to the union of the Divine ^S^'" Wisdom. But this can never be, if the desires be not dili- sa^yth^ ' ^""^ outwaxd. gently mortified. If these persons bestowed but half their labour on this, they would make greater progress in a month than they can now make in many years, if they persevere in their present ways. As it is necessary to till the earth that it may bring forth fruit— for otherwise nothing will grow therein but weeds — so also is it necessary to mortify our desires, if we are to make progress towards perfection. Without mortification, I say it boldly, we shall make no progress whatever in the knowledge of God and of ourselves, notwithstanding all our efforts, any more than the seed will grow which is thrown away on uncultivated ground. Neither can the darkness and ignorance of our souls be removed, if the desii-es are not extinguished : for they are like a mote or cataract in the natural eye, obstructing the vision, until it be taken away. The Psalmist, considering the blindness of those souls which are under the power of their desires, the impossibility of their clearly beholding the truth, and the greatness of God's anger with them, said, ' Before your thorns could know the briar, He swalloweth them up, as alive, in His wrath.' * Before yoiu: thorns, your desires, harden and grow into a thicket, shutting out the sight of God, as the thread of life is frequently broken in the midst thereof, so will God swallow them up in His anger. Those persons in whom their desires live, and hinder the knowledge of God, God will swallow up Necessity, in His wrath, either in the next life, in the purifying pains of 8^erS'/"°' Purgatory, or in this, in afflictions and sufferings, sent to detach them from their desires, or in the mortification of * Ps. Ivii. 10. /.v {* 32 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. UNRULY DESIRES POLLUTE THE SOUL. 33 BOOK I. Example of Solomon. those very desires voluntarily undergone. Grod doeth this to take away the false light of desire between Himself and us, which dazzles us, and hinders us from knowing Him ; and that, the intellect becoming clear, the ravage of desire may be repaired. Oh that men knew how great a blessing, that of the Divine Light, this their blindness, the result of their desires, robs them of, and how great the evils they daily fall into, because they do not mortify them. We are not to rely on a clear intellect, or on the gifts received from God, and then imagine that any affections or desires we may indulge in will not blind us, nor cause us to fall into a worse state, little by little. Who would have thought that a man of perfect wisdom, filled with the gifts of God, as Solomon was, could have fallen away in his old age into such blindness aud torpor of the will, as to build altars to idols and worship them ? His affection for his wives, and his negligence in controlling his desires and the satisfactions of his heart, were alone sufiicient to reduce him to this. So he tells us himself, saying, * Whatsoever my eyes desired, I refused them not, and I withheld not my heart from enjoying every pleasure.' * Such was the effect upon Solomon of unbridled desires, and their gratification, though at first he was cautious ; they soon blinded his understanding, and at last put out the light of wisdom within him, so that in his old a^e he forsook God. And if unmodified desires could produce such a disaster in the case of Solomon, who knew so well the difference between good and evil, what shall they not produce in us who are so ignorant ? We are like the people of Ninive, of whom God said, * They know not how to distinguish between their right hand and their left,'t since, at every step, we take good for evil, and evil for good ; and this is as • Eccles. ii. 10. t Jon. iv. 11. it were natural to us. What, then, must it be when our desires are added to our natural blindness, but that which the prophet bewailed, speaking of those who love to follow after their desires : ' We have groped for the wall, and like the blind, we have groped as if we had no eyes, we have stumbled at noon as if in darkness.' * Such is he who is blinded by his desires, for in the presence of the truth and his real interests he cannot see them any more than if he had been utterly blind. CHAP. vni. CHAPTER IX. The desires pollute the soul. Proofe from Scripture. The fourth evil which the desires inflict on the soul is that 4. Defiie- they pollute and defile it, as it is written, ' He that toucheth "^^""^ pitch shall be defiled with it.' f He, then, toucheth pitch who satisfies the desires of the will in any created thing. Observe here that the wise man compareth the creature with pitch: for there is a greater distance between the excellence of the soul and the noblest creature than there is between the glittering diamond or fine gold and pitch. As a diamond or a piece of gold, if placed, heated, in contact with pitch becomes foul and stained in proportion to the heat, so the soul inflamed by the desire it may entertain for the creature, draws corruption therefrom and defilement. And there is a greater difference between the soul and all other created corporeal things than there is between the most pellucid water and the foulest mud. So, then, as such water mingled with mud becomes foul, so the soul whose affections are set on created things becomes polluted; for then it resembles them. As soot defiles the most beautiftil face, so the unruly desires of the soul, if iudulged in, defile * Is. Ux. 10. t Eccles. xiii. 1.^ VOL. I. D BOOK I. Man nobler than the universe. CoiTupido optimipes* 34 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. THE DEFORMITY OF SIN. 35 and pollute that soul, which is in iteelf the most beautiful and perfect image of Grod. The prophet Jeremias, bewailing the ravages of corruption produced by these unruly desires, first of aU describes the beauty of the soul and then its defilement : * Her Nazarites were whiter than snow, purer than milk, more ruddy than the old ivory, fairer than the sapphire ; their face is now made blacker than coals, and they are not known in the streets.' * The hair of the Nazarites signify the thoughts and affections of the soul, which, ordered according to the law of God, that is referred all to Him, are * whiter than snow, purer than milk, more ruddy than the old ivory, fairer than the sapphire.' The whole physical creation in all its beauty and magnificence is signified by these four things, and higher than all is the soul of man and its operations — that is, the Nazarites with their long hair — which, when ordered, not according to the commandments of God, that is, when occupied with created things, is now made blacker than coals. All this and far greater ruin befalls the soul's beauty from the indulgence of unruly desires. So, then, if my object were to describe the foul and cor- rupt condition to which the desires reduce the soul, I should not be able to find anything so full of cobwebs and worms, not even corruption itself, wherewith to compare it. For though the disordered soul in its natural substance be as perfect as God has made it, its reasonable substance is foul, filthy, and dark, overladen with all these evils and even more. Even one unruly desire— as I shall hereafter explain though not a mortal sin, sullies and deforms the soul, and indisposes it for the perfect union with God, until it be ca«t away. What, then, must be the corruption of that soul which is wholly disordered, which has abandoned itself to * Lam. iv. 7, 8. CHAP. IX. the sway of its desires, and how far removed from the purity of God I No language can describe, no understanding can comprehend, the diverse impurities which diverse desires produce in the soul. If, indeed, any description of this could be given, so that Love in order men might understand it, it would be a matter for wonder l^T' °' and for great pity : for each desire, according to its nature and intensity, deposits the filth and sediment of corruption and uncleanness in the soul, everyone in its own way. For as the soul of the just man, in one single perfection, which is the justice thereof, possesses innumerable most rich gifts, and y many virtues of exceeding beauty, everyone of them lovely, different from each other according to the multitude and nedrein dig- variety of the acts of the love of God ; so the disordered soul *" ^'*'^'** in the same way, according to the multitude of the desires, the object of which are created things, contracts a miserable diversity of vileness and impurity, with which these desires pollute it. These diverse pollutions are described by the prophet Vision of Ezechiel, when God showed him the interior of the temple ^^^^ with its walls painted round about with the likenesses of creeping things, and all abominable and unclean beasts : ' I went in,' saith the prophet, ^and saw, and behold every form of creeping things, and of living creatures, the abomination and all the idols of the house of Israel were painted on the wall round about.' * When the prophet had seen this, God said to him, ' Surely thou seest, son of man, what the ancients of the house of Israel do in the dark, everyone in private in his chamber. Turn thee again; thou shalt see greater abominations.' The prophet turned, and * behold women sat there mourning for Adonis.' ' Turn thee again,' said God to the prophet, 'and thou shalt see greater abomi- * • Ezech. viii. 10. D 2 36 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CAEMEL. SIN ENSLAVES THE SOUL. 37 BOOK I. Interpreta- tion. Three faculties of the soul ; 1. Intellect. 2. Will. 8. Memory. Three hin- drances to the Divine Union. 1. Voluntary imperfec- tion. 2. Venial dn. 3. Mortal sin. nations than these.' And then the prophet saw ' at the door of the temple of the Lord, between the porch and the altar, five and twenty men having their backs to the temple of the Lord.'* The various creeping things and unclean beasts painted on the walls of the temple within are the thoughts and concep- tions of the intellect derived from the vile things of earth and of other created things, which, because contrary to those that are eternal, defile the temple of the soul ; and the soul by means thereof, embarrasses the intellect, which is its first court The women in the second court.. * Mourning for Adonis ' are the desires of the will, the second faculty of the soul ; these weep, as it were, when they covet that on which the will is bent, that is, the unclean things painted on the understanding. The men in the third court are the fancies and imaginations resulting from created objects which the third faculty of the soul, the memory, preserves and dwells on. These had their backs to the temple of the Lord : for when the faculties of the soul have been completely occupied with any object of earth, the soul itself may be said to have turned its back upon God's temple, which is right reason, and which tolerates nothing that is in opposition to God. Let this suffice for the present to give us some insight into the foul disorder which desires engender in the souL For were I to treat separately of the impediment to the Divine union which these imperfections and their varieties occasion ; of that of venial sin, which is much greater than that of imperfections, and of its varieties ; and also of mortal sin, which is complete defilement, and of its various forms, I should never come to an end. What I say — and it is to the purpose — is, that eveiy single desire, though it be but the slightest imperfection, darkens the soul, and hinders its perfect union with God. • Ezech. viii. 14, 16. CHAPTER X. The desires make the soul lukewarm, and enfeeble virtue. Proofs and illustrations. The fifth evil inflicted on the soul by its desires is lukewarm- ness and feebleness, so that it has no strength to follow after virtue nor to persevere therein. As the strength of desire is diminished when it is applied to many objects, instead of being concentrated upon one, and the more numerous the objects embraced, the less is the energy with which each is sought, so, philosophers say, is it with virtue, which is more vigorous when united than when it is dispersed. It is, therefore, clear that if the desire of the will be directed to other objects than virtue it must be most ineffectual in the pursuit thereof. The soul whose will is divided among trifles, is like water which never rises, because it has an outlet below, and is therefore profitless. Thus it was that the patriarch Jacob compared Euben his son to * water poured out,' because he had given way to his desires in a certain sin : ' Thou art poured out as water, grow thou not;'* that is, because thou art poTired out as water in thy desires thou shalt not grow in virtues. As boiling water left uncovered quickly loses its heat, and as aromatic spices exposed to the air gradually lose their fra- grance and the strength of their perfume, so the soul not recollected in the love of God alone loses the heat and vigour of virtue. This truth was well understood by the Psalmist when he said, * I will keep my strength to Thee,'t that is, I will concentrate the strength of my affections on Thee alone. The desires enfeeble the soul, for they are like the little twigs and suckers which grow on a tree, sapping its strength so that it shall not be so fruitful. Of such souls our Saviour says : ^ Woe unto them that are with child, and that give CHAP. X. 5. Weakness. * Gen. xlix. 4. t Ps. Iviii. 10. BOOK I. The joy of lelf-restraiut. 38 THE ASCENT OP MOUNT CARMEL. Buck in those days.' • This signifies the desires, which, if not - cut off, will continually lessen the strength of the soul, and grow to be its ruin, like the suckers on a tree. Our Lord, therefore, warns us, saying, * Let your loins be girt.' f The loins are the desires ; they are also like leeches sucking the blood from the veins, for so the wise man calls them, saying, * The horse leech hath two daughters,' the desires, * that say, bring, bring.' J It is, therefore, evident that the desires bring no good at all to the soul, but rather deprive it of what it has, and if we do not mortify them, they will not rest imtil they have done what the young vipers are said to do to their mother : these, as they grow in the womb, devour the entrails of their mother, and kill her, preserving their own life at the cost of hers. Thus the unmortified desires grow and devour the soul, killing the life of Grod within it. They alone live in that soul, because that soul has not destroyed them first This it is that made the wise man pray : * Take from me the greediness of the belly.' § But even if the desires do not issue in this great calamity, it is lamentable to see how they torture the poor soul in which they dwell — how hateful to itself they render it, how profitless to its neighbours, how dull and slothful in the things of God. There are no corrupt humours which can so bow down a sick man, enfeeble him in his gait, and make him loathe his proper food, as the desire of the creature bows down the soul in sadness, and indisposes it for the practice of virtue. And, in general, the reason why many souls have no love or inclination for virtue is, that they entertain affections and desires which are not innocent nor directed towards our Lord God. ♦ S. Matt. xxiv. 19. X Prov. XXX. 15. t S. Luke xii. 36. ^ Eccles. xxiii. 6. THE FIRST MOVEMENTS OF NATURE INVOLUNTARY. 39 CHAPTER XI. The necessity of freedom from all desires, however sliglit, for the Divine union. It seems reasonable here for the reader to ask, whether it be necessary to mortify completely every desire, small and great, before perfection can be reached, or whether it will be enough to have mortified some of them, overlooking others — at least those which seem of less moment — ^because it is a matter most difficult to attain to such pureness and detachment, as to have no affection for anything remaining in the wilL To this I reply : in the first place, it is true that all the desires are not equally hurtful, neither do they perplex the soul in the same degree. I am speaking of those which are voluntary : for the natural desires, when we do not consent to them, and when they do not pass beyond the first move- ments, do but slightly or not at all stand in the way of union. By natural and fii'st movements I mean all those in which the natural will had no share, either before 6r after they arose : for to banish and mortify these completely is, in this life, impossible. The hindrance which these create is not such as to prevent the Divine union, though they may not be wholly mortified; they may remain in our nature, and yet the soul in its spiritual part may be most free from them. For it will sometimes happen that the soul enjoys the profound union of quiet in the will, while these remain in the sensual portion of man's nature, but having no com- munication with the spiritual portion occupied in prayer. But all the other voluntary desires, whether mortal sins, which are the most grievous, or of venial sins, which are less so, or imperfections only, which are still less so, must be banished away, and the soul which would attain to perfect union must be delivered from them all, however sHght they CHAP. XI. Must every desire be mortified? Answer. 1. Involun- tary natural desires harm- less. 2. All unruly desires not equally hurt* ful; 9. Yet all must be banished. 40 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. i BOOK I. Because per- fect union re- quires iden- tity of wiU. Kjiowledge and consent necessary for a moral act. One act does not make a habit. may be. The reason is this : the estate of Divine union consists in the total transformation of the will into the will of God, in such a way that every movement of the will shall be always the movement of the will of God only. This is the reason why, in this state, two wills are said to be one- my will and God's will-so that the will of God is also that of the soul. But if the soul then cleaves to any imper- fection, contrary to the will of God, His will is not done, for the soul wills that which God wiUs not. It is clear, there- fore, that, if the soul is to be united in love and will with God, every desire of the will must first of all be cast away, however slight it may be; that is, we must not deliberately and knowingly assent with the will to any imperfection, and we must have such power over it, and such liberty, as to reject every such desire the moment we are aware of it. I say knowingly, for without deliberation and a clear per- ception of what we are doing, or because it is not wholly in our power, we may easily give way to imperfections and venial sins, and to those natural desires of which I have just spoken. It is of such sins as these, not so entirely voluntary that It IS written : ' A just man shall fall seven times, and snail rise again.' ♦ But as to those voluntary and perfectly deliberate desires, how slight soever their objects may be, any one of them, not overcome, is sufficient to prevent this union. I am speaking of the unmortified habit thereof, because certain acts occJ sionally have not so much power, for the habit of them is not ^ttled ; still we must get rid of them, for they, too, proceed from habitual imperfection. Some habits of voluntary im- perfections, so far as they are never perfectly overcome, impede not only the Divine union but our progress towards perfection. These habitual imperfections are, for instance, much • Prov. xxiy. 16. TRIFLES MAY IMPEDE PROGRESS. 41 talking, certain attachments, which we never resolve to chap. XI break through— such as to individuals, to a book or a cell, to ' — a particular food, to certain society, the satisfaction of one's m^^V , habits. taste, science, news, and such things. Everyone of these imperfections, if the soul is attached and habituated to them, results in such serious injuries to our growth and progress in perfection. Yea, even if we fall daily into many other imperfections greater than these, provided they are not the result of the habitual indulgence of any evil inclination, we should not be so much hindered in our spiritual course as we are by this selfish attachment of the soul to particular objects; for while the soul entertains it, it is useless to hope that we can ever attain to perfection, even though the object of our attachment be but of the slightest importance possible. Does it make any difference whether a bird be held by a slender thread or by a rope, while the bird is bound and cannot fly till the cord that holds it is broken ? It is true that a slender thread is more easily broken, still, notwith- standing, if it is not broken the bird cannot fly. This is the state of a soul with particular attachments : it never can attain to the liberty of the Divine union, whatever virtues it may possess. Desires and attachments affect the soul as the remora is said to affect a ship ; that is but a little fish, yet when it adheres to the vessel it effectually prevents its progress. How sad it is to see certain souls, like vessels richly The remora . of selfish freighted, full of good works, of spiritual exercises, virtues attachments. and gifts of God, which, because they have not the courage to break with certain tastes, attachments, or affections— these are all one — never reach the haven of perfect union. And yet it would cost them but a single vigorous flight to break the thread of their attachment or to shake off the remora of desire. It is a matter of deep regret, when God has given 7 49 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. BOOK I. Not to ad- vance is to fallback. them strength to burst other and stronger bonds — those of - vanity and sins — merely because they will not detach them- selves from trifles, which God has left for them to break away from for love of Him, and which are no more than a single thread -— that they should for this neglect their own advancement and the attainment of so great a blessing. And what is stiU more deplorable, because of such attachments, not only do they not advance, but, so far as perfection is con- cerned, they fall back, losing in some measure what they had already gained with so much labour. For it is well known that on the spiritual road not to go on overcoming self is to go backwards, and not to increase our gain is to lose. This is what our Lord would teach us when He says, * He that gathereth not with me scattereth.' * He who will neglect to repair the vessel that is but slightly cracked, will at last lose all the liquor it may hold ; for * he that contemneth small things shall fall by little and little :'' f and ' of one spark cometh a great fire.' J One imperfection is enough to beget another, and this other, others again. We shall never see a soul, negligent in overcoming a single desire, which has not also many other desires arising out of the weakness and imperfection from which the first proceeds. There have been many persons who, by the grace of God, had made great progress in detachment and freedom, and yet because they gave way, under the pretence of some good— as of society and friendship — to petty atta^jhments, have thereby lost the spirit and sweetness of God, holy solitude, aiid cheerfulness, and have injured the integrity of their spi- ritual exercises, so as to be unable to stop before all was gone. AU this has befallen them because they did not root out the principle of pleasure and of the sensual desires, keeping themselves in solitude for God. * GOD KEQUIRES AN UNDIVIDED LOVE. 43 CHAP. XI. We must ever walk on this road so as to reach the end ; that is, in the constant repression of our desires, and not in their indulgence : and if we do not perfectly repress them we shall never perfectly reach the end. As wood can never be transformed into fire if but one degree of heat necessary for that end be wanting, so the soul that has but one imperfec- tion can never be perfectly transformed in God, as I shall The som has hereafter explain when speaking of the Night of Faith. The ^""^ '"''^ """^ soul has but one will ; and if this will be occupied or embar- rassed, it is not free, perfect, solitary, and pure, as it ought to be for this Divine transformation. This truth is foreshadowed in the Book of Judges, where we read that an angel of the Lord came to the children of Israel and told them that, be- cause they had not destroyed the inhabitants of the land, but had made a league with some of them, those, therefore, would be left among them as their enemies, and an occasion to them of their fall and destruction : * Wherefore I would not destroy them from before your face, that you may have enemies, and their gods may be your ruin.'* God is just in thus dealing with those souls whom He has led forth out of the Egjrpt of this world, for whom he has slain the giants of their sins, and whose enemies he has destroyed, which are the occasions of sin which they meet with in the world, and all this for the sole purpose of their entrance into the promised land of the Divine union. He is just, I say, in thus dealing with them, when he sees them form friendships, and become confederate with the heathen, which are their imperfections; when they do not mortify themselves wholly, but are negligent and slothful in their lives : for this, then, He becomes angry with them, and suflfers them to fall through their desires from bad to worse. This truth is also shadowed forth in the command of God r ( S. Matt. xii. 30. t Eccles. xix. I. t Ibid. xi. 34. Judges ii. 3. 44 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. BOOK I. to Josue when the children of Israel were about to enter into the land of promise. The city of Jericho was to be utterly destroyed and all that was within, man and woman, young and old, together with the cattle; and the people were not to take, nor even to touch any of the spoil thereof.* He, therefore, that will enter into the Divine union must put to death all that lives in his soul, whether small or great, many or few ; he must abstain from all desire thereof, and be com- pletely detached therefrom, as if neither existed for the other. S. Paul, also writing to the Corinthians, says the same thing : 'This therefore I say, brethren, the time is short : it remaineth, that they also who have wives be as if they had none, and they that weep, as though they wept not, and they that rejoice as if they rejoiced not, and they that buy as though they possessed not, and they that use this world as if they used it not.' f The apostle teaches here that we must be detached in spirit from the world if we would walk so as to attain unto God. CHAPTER Xn. The nature of those desires which suffice to injure the soul. « I MIGHT have entered at greater length on the night of sense according to the extent of evil which the desires occasion, not only in the way described, but in many others as well. Summary, but this is euough for my purpose, because it is now clear why the mortification of them is called night, and how ne- cessary it is to enter into this night in order to draw near unto God. One thing only remains for discussion before I speak of • Josue vi. 18, 21. t 1 Cor. vu. 29-31. SIN AND ITS PENALTY. 45 the way by which this night is entered upon, and so conclude this book — namely, a doubt which might be suggested to the reader by the matter in hand. It might be asked, in the first place, whether any desire be enough to produce in the soul these positive and negative evils of which I have spoken, and, in the second place, whether any desire, however slight, and of whatever kind, be enough to produce all these evils together, or whether each desire produces a distinct evil, as one desire weariness, another pain, and another darkness. To this I reply as follows : — In the first place, if we are speaking of the negative evil, which consists in the soul's being deprived of God, it is only those voluntary desires which are the matter of mortal sin that can, and do, result in this : for these rob the soul in this life of grace, and in the next of glory, which is the fruition of God. And in the second place that all these desires, those which are the matter of mortal sin, and those voluntary desires, which are matter of venial sin, and those which are imperfections, are, every- one of them, enough to inflict on the soul the positive evils. These evils, though in one sense negative, are here called positive, because they correspond to a turning towards the creature, as the negative evils correspond to a turning away from God. There is, however, this difference : those desires which are matter of mortal sin produce complete blindness, pain, im- pureness, and weakness. But those other desires, matter of venial sin, or known imperfection, do not produce these evils in this perfect and supreme degree, seeing that they do not cast the soul out of the state of grace : for the loss of grace is concurrent with their dominion over the soul, because their life consists in the death of grace. Still they occasion somewhat of these evils, though but remissly, proportional to that weakness and remissness which they generate in the soul ; so that the particular desire which most weakens the CHAP. xn. "WTiatevUsin the soul does even one sin produce ? Answer. 1. One mortal sin inflicts all the negative evils; 2. Any sin the iwsitive evils. But in differ- ent degrees. 46 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CABMEL. ENTRANCE INTO THE NIGHT OF PRIVATION. 47- I BOOK I. 3. Some sins spedflc evils, e.g. (1) Sen- suality. (2) Avarioe. (3) Vain- glory. (4) Gluttony. Prnitsof Virtue. The force of habit. soul is most fruitful in pain, blindness, and impureness. But it is to be remarked that, though every desire generates all these evils, which we here call positive, there are some which chiefly and directly produce particular evils, and other evils incidentally. For though it is true that one sensual desire produces all these evils, yet its chief and proper fruit is the defilement of soul and body. Though one avaricious desire also produces all these evils, yet its principal and direct result is trouble. Though one vainglorious desire, precisely like the rest, produces all these evils, yet its chief and im- mediate effect is darkness and blindness. And, though one gluttonous desire issues in the same evils, yet still its primary direct result is weakness in those things that pertain to virtue. The same may be said of all other desires. The reason why any act of voluntary desire produces all these evils in the soul together, is that contrariety which subsists directly between it and those acts of virtue which result in opposite effects. As an act of virtue produces and generates in the soul sweetness, peace, consolation, light, piureness, and fortitude together, so an unruly desire begets pain, fatigue, weariness, blindness, and weakness. All virtues increase by the practice of each ; so also vices thrive and grow, and their effects are magnified in the soul in the same way. Though all these evils are not visible then when the desire is gratified, because the satisfaction thereof furnishes at the time no opportunity for them, yet afterwards the evil results become clearly visible. For the desire, when it is fulfilled, is sweet, and appears good, but afterwards the effects thereof are found to be bitter, which is the experience of everyone who has suffered himself to be led away thereby. I am not ignorant, however, that there are some so blind and so insensible as not to feel this : they do not walk in the ways of God, and therefore see not that which hinders their drawing near unto Him. I am not speaking here of those other natural desires chap. which are involuntary, nor of thoughts which do not go — beyond the first movements, nor of other temptations to which we consent not, because none of these produce any of the evils I describe. Though a person liable to these trials may imagine that the passion and disturbance thus occasioned darken and defile his soul, in reality it is not so — ^yea, rather the contrary effects are sometimes the result of them. Because^ in proportion to the resistance offered, such an one How trials firivc gams strength, pureness, light, consolation, and many other strength. good things, according to the words of our Lord to S. Paul : * Virtue is made perfect in infirmity.'* But voluntary desires produce these and more evils. For this cause the chief solicitude of spiritual directors is to mortify the desires of their penitents, and to make them deny themselves in all that is pleasing to them, so as to deliver them from so great misery." CHAPTER Xni. How the soul enters by faith int« the night of sense. It now remains for me to give some directions by which the ■soul may be able to enter on this night of sense. Ordinarily, the soul enters in two ways on this night : one is the active Two ways. way, the other is the passive. The active way is that by ^* ^^^"^^ which the soul is able to make, and does make, efforts of its own to enter in, assisted by divine grace. Of this I shall speak in the instructions that follow. The passive way is 2. Passive. that in which the soul doeth nothing as of itself, neither does it make therein any efforts of its own ; but it is Grod who works in it, giving special aids, and the soul is, as it were, ♦ 2 Cor. xu. 9. BOOK I. Insfcractioiifl. Imitation of Christ. Sdf^enial. 48 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. patient, freely consenting thereto. Of this I shall speak when treating of the obscure night, when I shall have to describe those who are beginners. And as I shall have then to give many counsels to such with reference to the many imperfections to which they are liable on this road, I shall not enlarge on that question now. Besides, this is not the place to do so, for I am now concerned only with the reasons why this journey is called night, with the nature and di- visions of the same. But as it seems a defect, and not so profitable as it should be, to abstain here from furnish- ing some help or instructions proper for this night of the desires, I have determined to lay down the brief instruction following. I shall adopt the same course at the conclusion of each of these divisions or causes of this night, of which by the help of our Lord I undertake to speak. These instructions for the subduing of our desires are, in my opinion, though brief and few, as profitable and effectual as they are brief. He who will reduce them to practice will need none others, for they include everything. 1. Be continually careful and earnest in imitating Christ in everything, conforming thyself to His life : for this end thou must meditate thereon, that thou mayest know how to imitate it, and conduct thyself in all things as He would have done Himself. 2. To do this well, every satisfaction offered to the senses, which is not for God's honour and glory, must be renounced and rejected for the love of Jesus Christ, who in this life had, and sought, no other pleasure than doing the will of His Father, which was His meat,* as He tells us Himself. For instance, if the pleasure of listening to anything which tends not to the service of Grod presents itself, seek not that plea- sure, neither give ear to what is said. If thou art offered • S. John iv. 34. \ MORTIFICATION OF THE PASSIONS. 49 CHAP. xni. the sight, pleasurable in itself, of things which do not tend to God's honour, seek not that pleasure, and abstain from that sight. Do the same also in conversation and every other commerce of society. Practise the same mortification with respect to the other senses, as far as possible ; and if it be not possible, it will be enough not to seek the pleasure that is offered. Thus the mortification of the senses and the absence of all pleasure must be striven after, so that the soul may be as in darkness. The practice of this counsel will bring with it great profit in a short time. In order to mortify and calm the four natural passions of joy, hope, fear, and grief, from the concord and tran- quillity of which result these and other great advantages, the following instructions are a perfect means of great merit and the source of great virtues : — Strive always, not after that which is most easy, but that Mortification which is most diflficult. Not after that which is most pleasant, but that which is i. Joy. most unpleasant. Not after that which giveth pleasure, but after that which giveth none. Not after that which is consoling, but that which is 2. Grief. afflictive. Not aft^r that which ministers repose, but after that which ministers labour. Not after great things, but after little things. »• Hope. Not after that which is elevated and precious, but after that which is vile and despised. Strive not to desire anything, but rather nothing. Seek not after that which is better, but that which is worse, and desire to be detached from all things, empty and poor for Christ's sake. This state is to be embraced with a perfect heart, and the will must conform thereto. Because if our heart be truly engaged herein, we shall in a short time VOL. I. » 4. Fear. SQ THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CAEMEL. BOOK I. Humility in 1. Deed. 2. Word. 8. Thought. Inatmctions how to enjoy, know, pos- sess, and be like the All, which ia God. 1. What to seek. 2. What to do. attain to great -joy and consolation, doing our work orderly ' with discretion. These instructions, well acted upon, are sufficient for our entrance on the night of sense. But still, out of the abundance of the matter, I will give another method of devotion, which teaches us how to mortify truly the desire of honour, from which so many others proceed. 1. Do those things which bring thee into contempt, and desire that others also may do thenu 2. Speak disparagingly of thyself, and contrive that others may do so too. 3. Think humbly aud contemptuously of thyself, and de- sire that others may do so also. I think it fitting, in conclusion, to insert here certain instructions for ascending to the summit of Mount Carmel, which is the high estate of union. Though the doctrine they contain is spiritual and interior, it relates also to the spirit of imperfection in sensible and exterior things, which may be met in the two roads on either side of the way of perfection. We shall, therefore, take these sentences in this sense, namely, as referring to sensible things, and after- wards, in the second division of the night, we shall take them as referring to that which is spiritual. 1. That thou mayest have pleasure in everything, seek pleasure in nothing, 2. That thou mayest know everything, seek to know nothing. 3. That thou mayest possess all things, seek to possess nothing. 4 That thou mayest be everything, seek to be nothing. 5, That thou mayest attain to that of which thou hast no present perception, thou must walk there where thou hast no perception. 6. That thou mayest attain to that thou knowest not, thou must go through that thou knowest not. V.I THE THIRST AFTER GOD. 51 7. That thou mayest attain to that thou possessest not, thou must go through that thou possessest not. 8. That thou mayest attain to that which thou art not, thou must go through that which thou art not. Inatmctions hoiv not to impede the AIL 1. When thou dwellest upon anything, thou hast ceased to cast thyself upon the All. 2. Because in order to arrive from all to the All, thou hast to deny thyself wholly in all. 3. And when thou comest to attain the All, thou must keep it without desiring anything. 4. Because if thou wilt keep anything with the All, thou 'w-hast not thy treasure simply in Grod. In detachment the spirit finds quiet and repose^ for covet- ing nothing, nothing wearies it by elation, and nothing op- presses it by dejection, because it stands in the centre of its own humility ; for as soon as it covets anything it is imme- diately fatigued thereby. CHAP. XIII. Desires for 1. Happiness, 2. Know- ledge, 3. Gain, and 4. Glory only satisfied in Gk)d, who is theAU. 3. What to avoid. The creature in itself is nothing, and cannot fill the heart of man. t Deus mens et omnia. CHAPTER XIY. Explanation of the second line of the stanza* With anxioiLS love injlamed. Now that I have explained the first line of the stanza, which Recapitu- lation. relates to the sensual night, and described what the night of sense is, and why it is called night, and that I have also taught how we are to enter on it in the active way, it remains for me here to treat of its wonderful properties and eflfects. These are comprised in the following lines of this stanza. I touch but lightly upon them, as I promised in the prologue, E 2 ,A, 52 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. BOOK I. The effects of the night of privation. 1. Love of God. and pass on at once to the second book, which describes the other, the spiritual, division of this night. The words of the soul then are * with anxious love in- flamed.' The soul has passed out and gone forth in the obscure night of sense to the union of the Beloved. For, in order to overcome our desires, and to deny ourselves in all things, our love and inclination for which are wont so to in- flame the will that it delights therein, we require another and greater fire of another and nobler love — that of the Bride- groom — so that having all our joy in Him, and deriving from Him all our strength, we may gain such resolution and courage as shall enable us easily to abandon and deny all besides. It was necessary, in order to subdue our sensual desires, not only to have this love for the Bridegroom, bat also to be on fire therewith, and that with anxiety. For the fact is, that our sensual nature is influenced by such vehe- ment desires, and attracted by sensible objects, that if our spiritual nature were not on fire with other and nobler anxieties — anxieties for that which is spiritual — we should never overcome our natural and sensible satisfactions, nor be able to enter on the night of sense, neither should we have the courage to remain in the darkness, in the denial of every desire. The nature and varieties of these anxieties of love, which the soul feels in the beginning of the way of union, the care- fulness and the contrivances it employs that it may go forth out of its own house, which is self-will, into the night of the mortification of the senses ; how easy, and even pleasant, these anxieties make the toils and dangers of that night — this is not the place to explain, neither, indeed, can it be done ; for these things are rather to be felt and meditated upon than matters for description : so I shall pass on to the explana- tion of the other lines in the following chapter. T^ SOUL AT REST. 53 CHAPTER XV. Explanation of the last lines. ^ HAPPY lot ! I departed unobserved, my house being now at rest.' This is a metaphor derived from the miserable condition of slaves. He who is delivered therefrom, pro- nounces his own a happy lot when none of his jailers hinder his release. The soul, because of original sin, is truly a prisoner in this mortal body, in the power of natural passions and desires, and therefore counts it a happy lot when it has gone forth unobserved from this slavery and subjection, that is, unimpeded and imembarrassed by all its desires. To effect this, it was advantageous for the soul to have departed in an obscure night, in the denial of every pleasure, and in the mortification of every desire. * My house being now at rest,' that is, the sensual part of the soul, the house of the desires being now at rest, because those desires are overcome and lulled to sleep. For until the desires be lulled to sleep by the mortification of sensuality, and sensuality itself be mortified in them, so that it shall be contrary to the spirit no more, the soul cannot go forth in perfect liberty to the fruition of the union with the Beloved. CHAP. XV. 2. Peace of mind. H THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CABMEL. BOOK n. PROXIMATE MEAJNS OF UNION, FAITH. THE SECOND NIGHT OF THE SPIRIT. BOOK 11. Second part, CHAPTER I. STANZA IL In darkness, and in safety^ By the secret ladder, disguised^ O happy lot ! In darkness and concealment. My hotise being now at rest. HEEE the soul sings of that happy lot, attained by detachment of spirit from all spiritual imperfections, iS^gationof and selfish desires in spiritual things. This was a happiness e spin . ^^ much the greater, because of the greatness of the diffi- culty which the soul had to encounter in tranquillizing the house of the spiritual part, and in effecting an entrance into the interior darkness, which is spiritual detachment from all things, as well sensual as spiritual, leaning only on a living faith — it is of this I speak ordinarily, because I have to do with those who are walking in the way of perfection— and by it ascending upwards unto Grod. This is here called a secret ladder, because all the steps and divisions of it are secret, hidden from sense and the intellect. Thus the soul is in darkness as to all natural light of sense and intellect, going forth beyond the limits of "nature and of reason, that it may ascend by this Divine ladder of the faith which reaches and penetrates into the heights of God. The soul is said to have gone forth • in disguise, because its natural condition was Divinely changed, ascending upwards by faith. And this disguise was the Explanation of second stanza. THE BLISS OF FAITH. 55 cause why it was unobserved, unimpeded by the things of time or reason, and by the devil himself: for none of these can hurt the soul while travelling onwards by living faith. This is not all : the soul travels in such secrecy and con- cealment, and the devil with his wiles is so ignorant of its way, that it journeys truly, as it is here said, * in dai'kness and concealment,' so far as the evil one is concerned, to whom the light of the faith is more than darkness. Thus the soul, which thus walks, may be said to walk in darkness, hidden from the devil, as I shall more clearly explain here- after. This is the reason why it is said that the soul went forth * in darkness and in safety.' For he to whom is granted the happiness of walking in the darkness of the faith, having faith for his guide, walks in the utmost security when he goeth forth beyond all natural imaginations and spiritual reasonings. And so it is added, that the soul went forth in the spiritual night, *my house being now at rest,' that is, the rational and spiritual parts. When the soul attains to the Divine union, its natural powers, impulses, and sensible anxieties in the spiritual part, are at rest. It is, therefore, not said here that the soul went forth anxiously, as in the first night of sense, because the anxieties of sensible- love were necessary for a perfect departure then, so as to journey in the night of sense, and to be detached from all objects of the same. But in order to perfect the tranquillity of the house of the spirit, no more is required than the confirmation of all the powers of the soul, all its pleasures and spiritual desires, in pure faith. This done, the soul is united with the Beloved in a certain imion of simplicity, pureness, love, and resemblance. In the first stanza, speaking of the sensual part, the soul went forth * in an obscure night ; ' and here, speaking of the spiritual part, *in darkness,' because the darkness of the CHAP. I. M THE ASCENT OF MOUMT CAKMEL. BOOK n. ^ spiritual part is greater, as this darkness is greater than that " of the night ; for, however obscure the night may be, still something is visible, but in this darkness nothing is visible. Thus, in the night of sense, there remains stiU some Ught, because the understanding remains, and the reason also, which are not blind. But in this spiritual night, the night of faith, all IS darkness, both in the understanding and the sense. The soul says that it went forth • in darkness and in safety,' which it said not in the first stanza, and the reason is that the soul, when it makes the least usage of its own proper ability, travels most securely, because it walks most by faith. ■' I shaU explain this matter at great length in the present book, to which I request the benevolent attention of the devout reader, because it will contain things most important to the truly spiritual man. Though they are somewhat obscure, yet one question will open the way to another, so that, as I believe, all wiU be well understood. n. Faith ; the middle and darkest part of the obscure night. CHAPTER n. The second part, or cause of this night-Faith. Two reasons why it IS darker than the first and third. I HAVE now to treat of the second part of this night— Faith— which is that wonderful means of reaching the goal, which is God, who is also to the soul, naturally, the third cause or aivision of this night. Faith, which is the mean, is com- pared to midnight, and thus it may be said, that faith is to the soul darker than the first part, and in a way also darker than the third: for the first part, that of the senses, is like the beginning of night, when sensible objects cea^e to be visible, and is not so far removed from light as midnight is. The third part, that which immediately precedes daybreak, is' FAITH, THE MIDNIGHT OF THE SPIRIT. 57 not so dark as midnight, because the clear light of morning is at hand : this is compared with Grod. Though it is true, speaking after the manner of men, that G-od is as dark a night to the soul as faith, yet because Grod Himself, when the three divisions of this night are over — which are naturally the night of the soul — illumines it supernaturally with the rays of the Divine Light in a higher and nobler way, experimentally — which is the commencement of the perfect union which ensues when the thiid night is past — He may be said to be less dark. It is also more obscure than the first part, which relates to the lower, the sensual, nature of man, and consequently the more exterior. The second night, of faith, relates to the higher, to the rational, nature of man, and is therefore more interior and obscure, because it deprives us of the light of reason, or rather, to speak more clearly, makes it blind. Thus the comparison between it and midnight is made good : for that is the most obscure and most perfect portion of the night. I have now to show how this second division — the night of faith — is the night of the spirit, as the first division is the night of sense, and then what those things are which are contrary to it, and how the soul is to be disposed actively for entering into it. For as to the passive way, which is the work of God, I reserve it for another opportunity — for the third book of this treatise. CHAP. n. Ood in Him- self is Light. Three points in the second division : 1. Faith, the night of the soul. 2. Whatoon- trary toit. 3. Dispo- edtious for it. CHAPTER ra. Faith, the dark night of the soul. Proofs from reason and the Holy Scriptures. Faith, according to theologians, is a habit of the soul. First point, certain and obscure. The reason why it is an obscure habit di^tio^ is that it makes us believe the truths which God Himself m THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. FAITH COMETH BY HEARING. 59 BOOK II. An excess of light. Faith sar- passes 1. Intellect. 2. Know- ledge. 3. Expe- rience. Two analo- gies. has revealed — truths surpassing the light of reason, and beyond the reach of all human understanding. Hence it is that the excessive light of the faith is obscure darkness to the soul, because it subdues that which is great, and des- troys that which is little, as the light of the sun puts out all other lights so that they appear not, and subdues oiu- power of vision. As the sun blinds the eyes and robs them of the vision which it gives, because its own light is out of proportion with, and stronger than, our power of sight, so the light of faith, by reason of its greatness and the mode in which Grod communicates it, transcends our understand- ing, which in itself reaches only to natviral knowledge, though gifted with the power of obeying in that which is super- natural when it is the will of our Lord to bring it to a supernatural action. The intellect, therefore, can of itself know nothing but in a natural way, the beginning of which is in the senses, and in no other way. For this end it retains the forms and species of objects either in themselves or in their resemblances : for as the philosophers say, know- ledge results from an object and the faculty. Ab objecto et potentia paritur notitia. If a man were told of things he knows nothing of, and the like of which he has never seen, no light could be thrown on them, so far as he is concerned, any more than if they had never been spoken of in his presence. For instance, if you were told that there is in a certain island an animal which you have never seen, and no description of it were given you, so that you might compare it with other animals, your knowledge of it, or what it resembles, is not greater than it would have been if you had never been told of it. I will give another illustration which will make the matter still more clear : if you tell a person blind from his birth that one object is white, another yellow, he would never under- stand what you mean, though you may speak to him for CHAP. in. ever, because he has never seen such colours or anything like them, so as to have any opinion on the subject. The word colour only will remain with him, because that reaches him through the ear, but the form and figure thereof escape him because he has never seen them. Such is faith to the soul, though the resemblance is not exact in all points; faith tells us of things we have never seen, of things of which we had no previous knowledge, either in themselves or in aught resembling them, and to which we never could have attained but h^ revelation. The light of natural knowledge cannot inform us of these things, because they are out of proportion with our natural senses. We know them because we have heard of them, believing that which the faith teaches us, subjecting thereto our natural light, and making ourselves blind before it : for * faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the Word of Christ.' * Faith is not knowledge that entereth in by any of the senses, but only the assent of the soul to that which cometh by hearing. Faith, therefore, far transcends the foregoing illustrations : for not only does it not produce evidence or knowledge, but, as I have said, it transcends and surpasses all other know- ledge whatever, so that perfect contemplation alone may judge of it. Other sciences are acquired by the light of the understanding, but that of faith is acquired without it, by rejecting it for faith, and it is lost in its own light. There- fore is it said, ' If you will not believe you shall not under- ^^ stand.' t It is evident that the faith is a dark night to the soul, and Faith though it is thus that it gives it light ; the more it darkens the soul lightens the the more -^ioes it enlighten it. It is by darkening that it gives light, according to the words of the prophet, 'If you will not believe,' that is, ^ if you do not make yourselves xX • Horn. X. 17. t Is. vii. 9, according to the Sept. 60 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CAEMEL. DISPOSITIONS FOR FAITH. 61 BOOK n. Three illua- trations from Holy Scripture. blind you shall not understand ' — that is, you shall have no light, the high and supernatural knowledge. The faith was foreshadowed by the cloud which divided the Egyptians from the children of Israel at the entrance of the Bed Sea. * It was a dark cloud enlightening the night.' * How wonderful a cloud I — its darkness illumines the night. Faith, then, which is a dark cloud, obscure to the soul — and night also, for in the presence of faith the soul is blind, with- out its own natural light — enlightens with its own obscurity, and illumines the darkness of the soul, so that the master be- comes like the disciple. For man who is in darkness can- not be rightly enlightened except by darkness, as the Psalm- ist saith, ' Day to day uttereth speech, and night to night showeth knowledge.'! The * day ' is God in everlasting bliss, where it is perpetual day, who communicates and reveals His Word, the Son, to the blessed angels and the holy souls, who are also now day, so that they may know Him and re- joice in Him. * Night,' which is the faith in the Church militant, where it is still night, showeth knowledge to the Church, and consequently to every soul, which is also night, because it does not as yet enjoy the clear beatific vision, and because in the presence of faith its natural light is extin- guished. The teaching set before us here then is, that the faith, which is obscure night, illumines the soul which is in darkness, according to the words of the Psalmist, ' Night shall be my Hght in my pleasures,'^ that is, in the pleasures of pure contemplation and of union with God. The night of faith shall guide me. The soul, therefore, must be in dark- ness that it may have light, and be able to journey on the spiritual road. •► • Ex. xiv. 20. t Ps. xviii, 3. } Ps, cxxxviii. 11. / CHAPTER IV. How the soul must be in darkness, in order to be duly guided by faith to the highest contemplation. I BELIEVE that I have now in some measure explained how' faith is the obscure night of the soul, and how also the soul must be obscured, or deprived of its natural light, that it may be guided by faith to this high end of union. But that the soul may know how to effect this, it is necessary that I should explain somewhat more minutely this obscurity, which it must observe that it may enter into the abyss of faith. I shall, therefore, in this chapter, speak of that in general, and by and by, with the favour of God, more particularly of the way which the soul must keep, that it may not go astray in that obscurity, nor put obstacles before its guide. I say, then, that the soul, to be rightly guided by faith to this estate, must be in darkness, not only as to that part thereof — the sensual and the inferior, of which I have already spoken — which regards temporal and created things, but also as to that part thereof, the rational and the superior, of which I am now speaking, which regards God and spiritual things. Because it is clearly necessary for the soul, aiming at its own supernatural transformation, to be in darkness and far removed from all that relates to its natural condition, the sensual and rational parts. The supernatural is that which transcends nature, and, therefore, that which is natural re- mains below. Inasmuch as this union and transformation are not cognisable by sense or any human power, the soul must be completely and voluntarily empty of all that can enter into it, of every aflfection and inclination, so far as it concerns itself. Who shall hinder God from doing His own will in a soul that is resigned, detached, and self-annihilated? The soul, therefore, must be emptied of aU such feelings ; and. CHAP. IV. Detachment from natiiral and superna- tural goods of the spirit, necessary for Perfection. Second point. What to shun. In this life union with God is not 1 . by the senses; \\ BOOK n. 3. Nor by intelleotml vision: 8. But by fttith. Two proofs from Holy Scxiptore. 62 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CAEMEL. however great may be its supernatural endowments, it must be as it were detached from them, in darkness like a blind man, leaning on the obscure faith, and taking it for its light and guide ; not trusting to anything it understands, tastes, feels, or imagines — for all this is darkness, which will lead it astray, or keep it back ; and faith is above all understanding, taste, and sense. If the soul be not blind herein, and in total darkness as to all such things, it will never reach to those higher things which faith teaches. A blind man, if he be not totally blind, will not commit himself wholly to his guide, but because he sees a little he thinks a certain road secure, not seeing another which is better. Such an one leads his guide astray, because he acts as if he saw, and has more authority in the matter than his guide: so the soul, if it leans upon any under- standing, sense, or feeling of its own — ^all this, whatever it may be, is very Httle and very unlike to God— in order to travel along this road, is most easily led astray or impeded, because it is not perfectly blind in faith, which is its true guide. This is the meaning of S. Paul when he said, * He thatcometh to God must believe that He is.' * He that will draw near and unite himself unto God, must believe that He is. This is saying in effect. He that will attain to the union of God must not rely on his own understanding, nor lean upon his own imagination, sense, or feeling, but must believe in the perfection of the Divine Essence, which is not cognis- able by the understanding, desire, imagination, nor any sense of man, and which in this life can never be known as it IS. Yea, in this life, our highest knowledge and deepest sense, perception, and understanding of God is infinitely distant from what He is, and from the pure fruition of His Presence. • Heb. xi. 6. TO LOSE SELF IS TO FIND GOD. 63 CHAP. IV. Thus the Prophet cries out, ' The eye hath not seen, God, besides Thee, what things Thou hast prepared for them that wait for Thee; '* and S. Paul repeats his words, *Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man, what things God hath prepared for them that love Him.'t How much soever, then, the soul may desire to be perfectly united by grace in this life to that whereunto it is to be united in glory in the next, which as S. Paul saith, eye hath not seen nor ear heard, and which hath not entered into the heart of man in the flesh, it is evident, that in order to be perfectly united in this life in grace and love, it must live in utter darkness as to all that can enter by the eye, all that the ear receives, all that the fancy may imagine, or the heart conceive, which here signifies the soul. Greatly embar- seif-reiiance rassed, then, is the soul, on the road of the Divine union, ^^?*^^ when it leans at all on its own understanding, sense, ima- gination, judgment, will, or any other habits of its own, or anything peculiar to itself, not knowing how to release and detach itself therefrom. For, as I have said, the goal to which it tends is beyond this,- though this may be the highest thing it may know or feel, and it must, therefore, go beyond, passing on to that which it knows not. On this road, therefore, to abandon one's own way is to enter on the true way, or, to speak more correctly, to pass onwards to the goal ; and to forsake one's own way is to enter on that which has none, namely God. For the soul that attains to this estate has no ways or methods of its own, neither does it, nor can it, lean upon anything of the kind. I mean ways of understanding, perceiving, or feeling, though it has all ways at the same time, as one who, possessing nothing, yet possesseth everything. For the soul cou- rageously resolved on passing, interiorly and exteriorly, • Is. Ixiv. 4. f 1 Cor. ii. 9. y 64 THE ASCENT OP MOUNT CAEMEL. LIFE OF GOD IN THE SOUL. e5 BOOK IL The flesh and the spirit both to be y rrt>rti fiff^i beyond the limits of its own nature, enters illimitably within the supernatural, which has no measure, but contains all measure eminently within itself. To arrive there is to depart hence, going away, out of oneself, as far as possible, from this vile estate to that which is the highest of all. Therefore, rising above all that may be known and under- stood, temporally and spiritually, the soul must earnestly desire to reach that which in this life cannot be known, and which the heart cannot conceive; and, leaving behind all actual and possible taste and feeling of sense and spirit, must desire earnestly to arrive at that which transcends all sense and all feeling. In order that the soul may be free and unembarrassed for this end, it must in no wise attach itself— as I shall pre- sently explain when I treat of this point — to anything it may receive in the sense or spirit, but esteem such as of much less importance. For the more importance the soul attributes to what it understands, feels, and imagines, and the greater the estimation it holds it in, whether it be spiritual or not, the more it detracts from the Supreme Good, and the greater will be its delay in attaining to it. On the other hand, the less it esteems all that it may have in com- parison with the Supreme Good, the more does it magnify and esteem the Supreme Good, and consequently the greater the progress towards it. In this way the soul draws nearer and nearer to the Divine union, in darkness, by the way of faith which, though it be also obscure, yet sends forth a marvellous light Certainly, if the soul will see, it thereby becomes instantly more blind than he who should attempt to gaze upon the sun shining in its strength. On this road, therefore, to have our own faculties in darkness is to see the light, ac- cording to the words of our Lord: *For judgment I am come into this world, that they who see not may see, and they who see may become bUnd.' * This relates to the spiritual road : he who is in darkness, blind as to his ovm proper and natural light, shall see supematurally, and he who shall rely on any light of his own, the greater will be his blindness, and the more he shall be hindered on the way of the Divine unioD. I think it necessary now, in order to avoid confusion, to explain the nature of the soul's union with God. This I intend to do in the following chapter, for if this be clearly understood, a great light will be thrown on what is to follow. This, therefore, seems to me a fit place for the subject. For though it breaks in on the course of the present matter, still it is not beside the question, because it will help us to un- derstand the subject before us. The next chapter then will be a sort of parenthesis, after which I shall return to the special discussion of the three powers of the soul in their relations to the three theological virtues with reference to the second night of the spirit. CHAP. IV. CHAPTER V. The union of the soul with God. A comparison. f What I have hitherto written will, in some degree, explain chapter in the nature of that estate which I have called the union of the soul with God, and therefore, what now follows will be so much the more intelligible. It is not my intention at present to describe, in particulars, what is the imion of the intellect, of the will, and of the memory ; what is the transient, and what the permanent union of these faculties, and what also is the perfect union : of this I shall speak hereafter, and the matter will be more clear when I come to discuss it in its VOL. I. S. John ix. 39. 66 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. COOPERATION OP THE WILL NECESSARY. 67 B^K proper place, having before me a vivid example of it ; then ' the matter will be clear, each particular observed and sus- ceptible of a better decision. Now I am speaking only of the perfect and permanent imion in the substance of the soul and its powers, so far as the union is a habit. Because, in reference to actual union, I shall explain hereafter how there is not, and cannot be, any permanent union in this life in the faculties of the soul, but only that which is transient. Two kinds of In order then to understand what this union is, we must union 2. Moral; 1. substan- ^ remember that in every soul, even that of the greatest sinner C in the world, God dwells, and is substantially present. This union or presence of God, in the order of nature, subsists between Him and all His creatures. By this He preserves them in being, and if He withdraws it they immediately perish and cease to be. And so when I speak of the union of the soul with God, I do not mean this substantial pre- sence which is in every creature, but that union and trans- formation of the soul in God by love which is only then accomplished when there subsists the Hkeness which love begets. For this reason shall this union be called the union of likeness, as the other is essential or substantial union ; itsdefinition. this latter one is natural, the other is supernatural, which takes effect when two wills, the will of God and the will of the soul, are conformed together, neither desiring augLt repugnant to the other. Thus the soul, when it shaU have driven away from itself aU that is contrary to the divine will, becomes transformed in God by love. This is to be understood not only of that which is contrary in act but also in habit, so that not only voluntary acts of imperfection must be got rid of, but the habit thereof as / well. And because no creature can, by any actions or capa- bilities of its own, attain to that which is God, the soul must be therefore detached from all created things, from aU actions and capabilities of its own, that is from its own / \. \ understanding, taste, and feeling, so that passing by every- thing which is unlike to, and not in conformity with God, it may attain to the receiving of His likeness, and resting upon nothing which is not His will, it may be so trans-, formed in Him. Though it be true, as I have said, that God is always in every soul, bestowing upon it, and preserving to it, by His presence, its natural being, yet for all this He does not always communicate the supernatural life. For this is given only by love and grace, to which all souls do not attain ; and those who do, do not in the same degree, for some arise to higher degrees of love than others. That soul, therefore, has greater communion with God, which is most advanced in love, that is, whose will is most conform- able to the will of God. And that soul which has reached perfect conformity and resemblance is perfectly united and supernaturally transformed in God. For which cause, there- fore, as I have already explained, the more the soul cleaves to created things, relying on its own strength, by habit and inclination, the less is it disposed for this union, because it does not completely resign itself into the hands of God, that He may transform it supernaturally. The soul has need, therefore, to be detached from these natural con- trarieties and dissimilarities, that God, who communicates Himself to it naturally, in the order of nature, may also communicate Himself supernaturally, in the order of grace. This is the meaning of S. John when he said, *bom, not of blood, nor of the wiU of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.' * It is as if he had said, ' He gave power to be made the sons of God,' that is, to be transformed in God, only to those who are *born, not of blood,' not of natural temperaments and constitutions, ' nor of the will of the flesh,' nor of our natural free will and capacities, and • S. John i. 13. F 2 CHAP. V. ConcuTsus Dei. ) 68 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. PARTICIPATION IN THE DIVINE NATURE, 69 BOOK still less of the will of man, which includes every form of intellectual judgment and comprehension. To none of these gave He power to be made sons of God in all per- fection, but only to those who are born of God; to those regenerated by grace, first of all dead to all that is of the old man, rising above themselves to that which is super- natural, and receiving from God their new birth and son- ship, surpassing every thought of man. For as our Lord saith, * Unless a man be born again of water and the Holy Ghost, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.'* He who shall not have been bom again of the Holy Ghost shall not see the kingdom of God, which is the estate of per- fection. To be born again of the Holy Ghost in this life perfectly, is to be a soul most like unto God in purity with- out any stain of imperfection. Thus the pure transformation by participation of union may be effected, though not essentially. luusta^tion. In Order that we may have a clearer notion of the one and the other, let us consider the following illustration: the sun, with its rays, strikes a window ; but if that window be stained and unclean, the sun cannot shine throuofhout nor transform it perfectly into itself, as it would have done, had it been clean and unsullied. This depends not on the sun but on the window, so that if the latter were perfectly clean, the rays of the sun would so shine through it, and so trans- form it as to make it seem identical with the rays and to give forth the light thereof, though in truth the window, while it appears one with the rays of the sun, preserves still its own separate and distinct substance. In this case we might say that the window is a ray or light by participation. Thus the soul resembles the window ; the divine light of the presence of God in the order of nature, perpetually * S. John iii. 5. CHAP. V. 1/ i ] strikes upon it, or rather dwells within it. The soul then by resigning itself — in removing from itself every spot and stain of the creature, which is to keep the will perfectly united to the will of God ; for to love Him is to labour to detach ourselves from, and to divest ourselves of, everything which is not God, for God's sake— becomes immediately en- lightened by, and transformed in, God; because He com- municates His own supernatural Being in such a way that the soul seems to be God Himself and to possess the things of God. Such an union is then wrought when God bestows on the soul that supreme grace which makes the things of God and the soul one by the transformation which renders the one a partaker of the other. The soul seems to be God rather than itself, and indeed is God by participation, though in reality preserving its own natural substance as distinct from God as it did before, although transformed in Him, as the window preserves its own substance distinct from that of the rays of the sun shining through it and making it light. Hence it becomes more evident that the fitting disposition Dispositions #• , -1 . . . , ^or union ; for this union is, not that the soul should understand, taste, P'^n^of ' ' heart and feel, or imagine anything on the subject of the nature of ^^''^' God, or any other thing whatever, but only that pureness and love which is perfect resignation, and complete detach- ment from all things for God alone. And as there cannot be any perfect transformation without perfect pureness, so in proportion to that pureness will be the enlightenment, illu- mination, and, union of the soul with God, yet not wholly perfect if the soul be not wholly purified and clean. The An analogy following illustration will make this plain: conceive a picture painted with exquisite taste and delicate finish, the lines of which are so admirably formed that by reason of their singular fineness they can with difficulty be observed. Now, hie whose vision is imperfect will see only the less t/ 70 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. WORX OF FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 71 BOOK IT, Different degrees of perfect beatitude. perfect portions of the picture, and he whose vision is clearer will see more of its beauties, and another with still better eyesight will see more, and, finally, he whose vision is the most perfect will see the most delicate excellencies of it, for the painting has so much beauty that the more it is observed the more remains to be seen. All this is applicable to those souls who are enlightened by Grod and in Him transformed. For though it be true that every soul, according to its measure, great or little, may attain to this union, yet all do not in an equal degree, but only as our Lord shall give uuto each ; as it is with the blessed in heaven, there some see God more perfectly than others, and yet all see Him and all are satisfied and happy, for each one is filled with the vision according to his merits, greater or less. Hence it comes to pass, that though souls in this life enjoy equal peace and tranquillity in their state of perfection, everyone being satisfied, nevertheless some of them may be more advanced than the rest, in a higher degree of union, and yet all equally satisfied according to their several dispositions, and the knowledge they have of God. But that soul which does not attain to that degree of purity corresponding with the light and vocation it has received from God, will never obtain true peace and contentment, because it has not at- tained to that detachment, and emptiness of its powers, which are requisite for this pure union. ^ CHAPTER VI. The three Theological virtues perfect the powers of the soul, and bring them into a state of emptiness and darkness. Proofs from S. Luke and Isaias. of the second Having uow to explain how the three powers of the soul, in- division. jt 5 ritiinsfo?^' tellect, memory, and will, are to be brought into this spiritual t^^^ixituai night, which is the means of the Divine union, it becomes necessary, in the first place, to discuss in this chapter how the three theological virtues. Faith, Hope, and Charity — through the instrumentality of which the soul is united to God in its powers — effect this emptiness and darkness, each one in ita own power : Faith in the intellect, Hope in the memory, and Charity in the will. Afterwards, I shall show how the in- tellect is made perfect in the obscurity of Faith, how the memory is made empty in Hope, and how, also, the will is to withdraw and detach itself from every affection that it may ascend upwards unto ixod. This done, we shall see clearly how necessary it is for the soul, if it will travel securely along the spiritual road, to journey in the obscure night, leaning on these three virtues, which make it empty of all things and blind. For, as I have said, the soul is not united to God in this life by the understanding or feeling or imagination, or any other sense whatever, but only by Faith, in the intellect; by Hope, which may be referred to the memory — though also to the will — in so far as Hope relates to that emptiness and forgetfulness of every temporal and perishable thing which it causes, the soul preserving itself entire for the Supreme Good which it hopes for; and by Love, in the will. These three virtues render empty all the powers of the soul ^aith makes the intellect empty and blind ; Hope takes everything away from the memory, and Charity detaches the will from every pleasure and affection which are not Godj Faith teaches us what the intellect cannot reach by the light of nature and of reason, being, as the Apostle saith, *the substance of things to be hoped for.'* And though the intellect firmly and certainly assents to them, yet it cannot discover them ; for if the intellect had discovered them, there would be no room for Faith. And though the * Hehr. xi. 1. . . ' CHAP. VI. Union with God by 1. Faith in the intellect. THE ASCENT OP MOUNT CARMEL. } GOD IN THE INTELLECT, MEMORY, AND WILL. 73 BOOK n. S. Hope in the memory. S. Love in the will. Two niustra- tions from Holy Sariptnxe. intellect derives certainty from Faith, yet it does not derive clearness but rather obscurity. As to Hope, there is no doubt that it renders the memory empty, and brings dark- ness over it as to all surroimding objects, for hope is ever conversant with that which is not in possession, for if it were already possessed there would be no place for hope ; because, as the Apostle saith, ' hope that is seen is not hope, for what a man seeth why doth he hope for ? ' • This virtue, then, makes empty also, for it is the virtue of that which is not in possession, and not of that which is. Charity, too, in the same way empties the will of all things, for it compels us to love God above all, which we cannot do without withdrawing our affections from every object, to fix them wholly upon Cf od. Christ our Lord hath said, ' Every one of you that doth not renounce all that he possesseth cannot be My disciple.' t Thus these virtues bring darkness over the soul, and empty it of all created things. Consider that parable of our Lord recorded by S. Luke,t of the friend who went out at midnight asking for three loaves. These loaves are the three theological virtues. They were asked for at midnight, to teach us that the soul must dispose itself for perfection in these virtues in darkness as to all its powers, and that perfection is tj> be acquired in this night of the spirit. The prophet Isaias saw in a vision two seraphim on either side of God, each of them with six wings. With two of their wings they covered their feet. This signifies the quenching and subduing of the will in everjrthing for the sake of God. With two of their wings they covered their faces ; this signifies the blindness of the intellect in the presence of God, With two of their wings they flew ; this signifies the flight of hope towards those things which we possess not ; lifted up on high CHAP. VI. * Bom. viii. 24. t S, Luke xiv. 33. I S. Luke xi. 5. above all possession short of God. * Upon it stood the sera- phim : the one had six wings, and the other had six wings ; with two each covered his face, and with two each covered his feet, and with two they flew.'* We have, therefore, to lead these three powers of the soul unto these three virtues ; informing the intellect by Faith, stripping the memory of all that it possesses by Hope, and informing the will by Charity, detaching them from, and making them blind to, all that is beside these three virtues. This is the spiritual night which I have called the active night; because the soul labours, on its own part, to enter into it. AMien I was treating of the night of sense, I ex- plained how that the sensual powers of the soul are to be emptied of all sensible objects in the desire, so that the soul may go forth from the beginning of its course to the middle, which is faith ; so now, while speaking of the night of the spirit, I shall also explain, by the help of God, how that the Purity of spiritual powers of the soul are to be emptied and purified of obtained in ,, . the spiritual all that IS not God, and remain m the darkness of these three ^^^** virtues, which are the means and dispositions by which the soul becomes united with God. Herein is found every security against the cunning of the devil and the craftiness of self-love with all its ramifications, which is wont most deeply to deceive and hinder the progress of spiritual persons, because they do not know how to be detached, and to guide their steps by these virtues. For this cause they never per- fectly reach the substance and pureness of spiritual good, neither do they journey, as they might do, by the straightest and the shortest road. Keep in mind, however, that I am now speaking specially of those who have begun to enter the state of contemplation. For, as to beginners, this must be discussed at greater length, which I shall do when I shall have to treat of what is peculiar to them. * Is. vi. 2. / 74 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. .THE ROYAL ROAD OF THE HOLY CROSS. 75 BOOK n. Perfection requires labour. CHAPTER VII. The straitness of the way of life. The detachment and freedom necessary for those who wtdk in it. The detachment of the intellect. The pureness and detachment of the three powers of the soul require, for their discussion, greater knowledge and abilities than mine, so as to enable spiritual persons to com- prehend bow strait the way is that leadeth unto life, and that, convinced of this, they may not wonder at the empti- ness and detachment wherein we must abandon, in this night, the three powers of the soul. For this end we must ponder well the words of our Lord, applied here to the obscure night, and the way of perfection. Our Lord saith, ' How narrow is the gate and strait is the way that leadeth to life ; and few there are that find it.'* Consider the great and significant import of the word * how.' It is as if He had said, * In truth it is very narrow, much narrower than you think.' Consider, also, that He began by saying, ' How narrow is the gate.' By this He teaches us that the soul that will enter in by the gate of Christ, which is the beginning of the road, must first of all constrain itself, and detach the will from the things of time and sense, loving Grod above them all. This refers to the night of the senses. Our Lord immediately adds, * Strait is the way,' that is of perfection. By this He teaches us that He who will walk in the way of perfection must not only enter through the narrow gate, emptying himself of everything that relates to sense, but must also renounce all that he possesses, laying a con- straint upon himself, and releasing himself entirely from all attachment even to spiritual things. Thus the narrow gate refers to the sensual nature of man, and the strait way to his spiritual or rational nature. He says also, * Few there are that find it.' Mark here the chap. reason of this, which is that there are but few who under- '■ — « sstand how, and desire, to enter into this supreme detachment and emptiness of spirit. For this pathway up the lofty moun- tain of perfection, in that it ascends upwards and is strait, requires that those who climb it should carry nothing with them which shall press them downwards, or embarrass them in their ascent upwards. And as this is a matter in which we should seek and aim after God alone ; so Grod only ought to be the sole object of our efforts. This clearly shows that the soul must be not only in the way of the Cross disentangled from all that belongs to the creature, but also christ is detached and annihilated in the things of the spirit. And Teacher. so our Lord teaching us, and guiding us into this road, gives us this wonderful doctrine, and which is, if I may so say, the less practised by spiritual persons the more it is necessary for them. I shall transcribe it here, because it is so necessary and so much to the purpose, and then explain its real and spiritual meaning. * If any man will follow Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me. For whoso- ever will save his life, shall lose it, and whosoever shall lose his life for My sake . . . shall save it.' * that some one would teach us how to understand, practise, and feel what is involved in this profound lesson of self-denial given us by our Lord Himself, that spiritual persons may perceive how different, on this road, their conduct ought to be from that which many of them think to be right ! Some consider any kind of retirement from the world, and any correction of excesses to be sufficient; others are content with a certain degree of virtue, persevere in prayer and practise mortifi- cation, but they do not rise to this detachment, and poverty, or self-denial, or spiritual pureness — all these are one — which • S. Matth. vu. 14. • S. Mark viii. 34, 35. \ BOOK n. Spiritual gluttony ;- what. 76 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CAEMEL. our Saviour here recommends, because they nourish and clothe their natural self with consolations, instead of de- taching themselves therefrom, and denying themselves in all things for Grod. They think it enough to deny themselves in the things of this world, without annihilating themselves, and purging away all self-seeking in spiritual things. Hence it comes to pass, that when any of this solid devotion pre- sents itself to them, which consists in the annihilation of all sweetness in God, in dryness, in distaste, in trouble, which is the real spiritual cross, and the nakedness of the spiritual poverty of Christ, they run away from it as from death itself. They seek only for delights, for sweet communications, and satisfactions in God, but this is not self-denial, nor detach- ment of spirit, but rather spiritual gluttony. They render themselves spu-itually enemies of the cross of Christ, for true spirituality seeks for bitterness rather than sweetness in God, inclines to suffering more than to consolation, and to be in want of everything for God rather than to possess ; to dryness and afflictions rather than to sweet communications, knowing well that this is to follow Christ and deny self, while the other course is perhaps nothing but to seek oneself in God, which is the very opposite of love. For to seek self in God is to seek for comfort and refreshment from God. But to seek God in Himself is not only to be willingly deprived of this thing and of that for God, but to incline ourselves to will and choose for Christ's sake whatever is most disagreeable, whether proceeding from God or from the world ; this is to love God. who can tell us how far God wills that this self- renunciation should reach I In truth it should be as^ath, a temporal, natural, and spiritual annihilation in all things which the will esteems ; herein is all our gain. This is the meaning of oiu: Saviour when He said, * Whosoever will save } / THE JOY OF SUFFERING. 77 CHAP. VII his life shall lose it ; ' * that is, whosoever will possess, or seek anything for himself, he shall lose it. * Whosoever shall lose his life for My sake, shall save it ; ' that is, whosoever shall renounce for the sake of Christ whatever is pleasing to his own will, choosing rather the cross — to which our Lord referred when He said, * He that hateth his life ' — he shall gain it. Our Lord taught this same truth to the two disciples who 2. our asked that they might be admitted to sit on His right hand ^"^p*^^"' and on His left. He gave no encouragement to them in the matter of their petition, but offered them the chalice which He was about to drink Himself, as something more safe and more precious on earth than the dignity which they sought. This chalice is the death of our natural self by detachment from all that relates to sense, as I have already said, and from all that relates to the spirit, as I shall explain here- after, so that we may journey onwards on this strait way, that is, detachment from our own understanding, sense, and feelings, and in such a manner that the soul shall renounce itself both in sense and spirit, and more, so that it may not be impeded even by the things of the spirit on the narrow road. For this road admits only of self-denial — as our Lord declares — and the cross, which is our staff to lean on, and which lightens the road and makes it easy. Thus our Lord hath 3. oor Eeward. said: 'My yoke is sweet, and My burden light.' f This burden is the cross. For if we are determined to submit ourselves, and to carry the cross — this is nothing else but an earnest resolution to seek and endure it in everything for God — we shall find great refreshment and sweetness therein to enable us to travel along this road, thus detached from all things, desiring nothing. But if we cling to anything whatever, whether it come from God or from the world, we • S. Mark viii. 35. t S. Matth. xi. 30. ^^» » '^^ ^ d 4 \ BOOK n. True perfec- tion ;— what. Ko ^iritual progress but in the imita- tion of Christ. 4. Our Model. 78 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. are not journeying in detachment and self-denial, and so we shall miss our way, and never be able to ascend the narrow path. Would that I could persuade spiritual persons that the way of God consisteth not in the multiplicity of meditations, ways of devotion or sweetness, though these may be necessary for beginners, but in one necessary thing only, in knowing how to deny themselves in earnest, inwardly and outwardly, giving themselves up to suffer for Christ's sake, and anni- hilating themselves utterly. He who shall exercise himself herein, will then find all this and much more. And if he be deficient at all in this exercise, which is the sum and root of all virtue, all he may do will be but beating the air — utterly profitless, notwithstanding great meditations and communi- cations. There is no progress but in the imitation of Christ, Who is the way, the truth, and the life. * I am the way,' saith He, ^ and the truth, and the life. No man cometh to the Father but by Me.'* And again, * I am the door. By Me if any man enter in he shall be saved.' f That spirituality, therefore, which would travel in sweetness at its ease, shun- ning the imitation of Christ, is, in my opinion, nothing worth. And now, having said that Christ is the way, and that the way is to die to our natural self in all that relates to sense and spirit, I proceed to explain how it is to be done in imitation of Christ, for He is our light and our example. In the first place, it is certain that He died spiritually while on earth to all things belonging to sense, and naturally at His death ; ' The Son of man,' saith He, ' hath not where to lay His head.' J And when He died it was the same. In the second place, it is certain that at the hour of death His soul was desolate and, as it were, brought to nothing, forsaken of CHRIST, THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE. 79 His Father, left without comfort in the most distressing chap. VII. dryness, so that He cried out on the cross, ' My God, my - • ^^ Mental sor- God, whv hast thou forsaken Me?'* This was the greatest rows of our ' •' , ° Saviour. sensible abandonment of His whole life ; and it w£^ then that He wrought the greatest work of His whole life of miracles and of wonders, the reconciliation and union with God by grace of all mankind. This He accomplished at that very moment when He was most annihilated in all things, brought lowest in the estimation of men, for when they saw Him dying on the ignominious tree, they showed Him no rever- ence, yea, rather they stood by and derided Him. Then, saivationand Perfection too, was He brought lowest in His very nature, for that was oniy in the as it were annihilated when He died ; and as to the protection and consolation of His Father also, for He was then forsaken that He might pay our debt to the utmost, and unit^ us with God, being Himself annihilated and, as it were, brought to nothing. Therefore it is that the Psalmist saith of Him, ' I am brought to nothing, and I knew not.'f This is for the instruction of the truly spiritual man, in the mystery of the gat€ and way of Christ, that he may become united with God, and also to teach him that the more he annihilates self for God, in sense and spirit, the more will he be united with God, and the gi*eater the work he will accomplish. And when he shall have been brought to nothing, when his hu- mility is perfect, then will take place the union of the soul and God, which is the highest and noblest estate .attainable in this life. This consisteth not in spiritual refreshments, tastes, or sentiments, but in the living death of the cross, sensually and spiritually, outwardly and inwardly. I will not proceed further with this subject, though I could pursue it indefinitely ; for I see that Jesus Christ is but little known by those who consider themselves His friends. • S. John xiv. 6. t lb. X. 9. X S. Matth. viii. 20, * S. Matth. xxvii. 46. t Ps. Ixxii. 22. 80 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CAKMEL. THE MEDIUM OF UNION WITH GOD. 81 BOOK These, loving themselves very much, seek in Him their own Je^ushasfew '^'"'"^^^ ^^ Satisfaction, and not His sufferings and death for kj^of His love of Him. I am now speaking of those who think them- selves His friends, not of those who live at a great distance from Him ; men of learning and of dignity, and others who Hve in the world, slaves of ambition and of honours— of these, we may say, they know not Christ ; and their end, however good, will be fiill of anguish. I am not speaking of these, but they wiU be remembered in the Day of Judgment, for * to them it behoveth us first to speak the word of God,'* as to persons whom He has set up as guides to others, by reason of their learning and exalted rank. But let me now address myself to the intellect of the spiritual man, and in an especial manner of him whom God in His goodness has raised up to the state of contem- plation—for I address myself now particularly to him-and instruct him how he is to direct himself in the way of God by faith, and purify himself from all contrary things, girding up his loins that he may enter on this narrow path of obscure contemplation. CHAPTER Vin. No creature, no knowledge, comprehensible by the intellect can subserve as proximate means of union with God. ' * Befobe I discuss the proper and fitting means of union with God, which is faith, it is right that I should show how that no created, or imagined, thing can subserve the intellect as a proper meaas for its union with God ; and how everything which the intellect embraces, if it does but cleave to it, be- comes a hindrance instead of help. In this chapter I shall show this in general, and afterwards I shaU do so in parti- • Acts xiii. 46. CHAP. VIU. cular, going through all sorts of knowledge which the intellect may receive through the senses, both exterior and interior ; and then the inconveniences and losses it may sustain through all such knowledge, because it does not proceed in reliance on the proper means, which is Faith. It is a principle of philosophy that all means must be Proportion- proportionate to the end, having a certain fitness, and resem- ^^^^^nd* blance to it, such as shall be sufficient for the object in view. For instance, a person wishes to reach a certain city : he must necessarily travel along the road, which is the means, leading to it. Likewise, if you wish to combine and unite together wood and fire, in that case, it is requisite that heat, that is the means, should so dispose the wood, and raise it to such a degree of heat that it shall have a great resemblance and proportion to fire. If you attempt this by any other than the proper means, which is heat, as, for instance, by air, water, or earth, it will be impossible to unite wood with fire. So, therefore, if the intellect is to be united with God, so far ^^rtS' as that is possible in this life, it must, of necessity, make use of those means which can effect that union, and which are most like unto God. But remember, among all creatures, the highest and the lowest, there is not one that comes near unto God, or that bears any likeness to His Substance. For, though it be true, as theologians tell us, that all creatures bear a certain relation to God, and are tokens of His Being, some mora, some less, according to the greater or less perfection of their nature, yet there is no essential likeness or communion between them and Him; yea, rather the distance between His Divine Nature and their nature is infinite. Hence, then, it is im- possible for the intellect to attain perfectly unto God, by means of created things, whether of heaven or of earth, because there is no proportion of similitude between them. Thus David, speaking of the heavenly host, cries out: VOL. I. o ate to God? Answer. 1. Not crea- tures. Om THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. BOOK II. * There is none among the gods like unto Thee, Lord.'* The * gods ' are the holy Angels and the souls of the Saints. And again, * Thy way, Grod, is in the holy place ; who is the great God like our G-od ? ' f That is, the way to Thee, God, is a holy way, namely, pureness of faith. * Who is the great God like our God ? ' Who is the Saint so high in glory, or the Angel so exalted by nature, that can be a way proportionate and sufl&cient for us to attain unto God ? The same Prophet speaking of the things of heaven and earth together, saith, ' The Lord is high and looketh on the low, and the high he knoweth afar off.' X That is, God high in His own Being, seeth that the things of the earth are in themselves most vile and low, in comparison with Himself ; and * the high,' the heavenly host. He knoweth to be far dis- tant from Him. No creature, therefore, can be a proportion- ate means of perfect union with God. * So also nothing that the imagination may conceive or the intellect eomprebend, in this life, is, or can be a proxi- (i.) Natural; mate meaus of union with God. For if we speak of natural knowledge; the intellect is incapable of comprehending anything unless it be presented to it under forms and images by the bodily senses ; and these forms of things, as I have already said, cannot serve as means, and no natural acts of the intellect can in any way contribute thereto. Again, if we speak of supernatural acts — as far as possible in this life— the intellect in its bodily prison has neither th^ disposition nor the capacity requisite for the reception of the clear knowledge of God. This knowledge is not of this Hfe, for we must either die, or remain without it. Thus God said to Moses, ' Man shall not see me and live.' § And S. John saith the same, * No man hath seen God at any time.' || S. Paul, too, repeats the words of Isaias, * Eye hath not seen, X Ibid, cxxxvii. 6. 2. Not intel- lectual per- ception, (2.) Or super naturaL • Ps. Ixxxv. 8. § Exod. xxxiii. 20. t Ibid. Ixxvi. 14, II S. John i. 18. NO LIKENESS BETWEEN GOD AND CREATURES. 83 CHAP. vin. nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man.' * This is the reason why Moses at the bush * durst not behold,' f God being there present. He knew that his intellect could not proportionately contemplate God, though this sprung from the deep sense he had of God. Elias, our father, covered his face on the mountain, in the presence of God.{ By that action he taught us that he made his intel- lect blind, not venturing to apply an instrument so vile to a matter so high; and that he perceived clearly, that however much he saw or understood, all would be most imlike unto God, and far distant from Him. No knowledge, therefore, and no understanding in this Qmsacut mortal life can serve as proximate means of this high union of the love of God. All that the intellect may comprehend ; all that the will may be satisfied with; and all that the imagination may conceive, is most unlike unto God, and most disproportionate to Him. This truth is admirably ex- pressed by the Prophet : ^ To whom then have you likened God? or what image will you make for Him? Hath the workman cast a graven statue ? or hath the goldsmith formed it with gold, or the silversmith with plates of silver ? ' § The workman is the intellect, which fashions our knowledge, and cleanses it from the iron of sensitive impressions and fancy. The goldsmith is the will, which is capable of receiving the forms and figiu-es of pleasure caused by the gold of love where- with it loves. The silversmith which cannot represent God with plates of silver, is the memory with the imagination, the notions and conceptions of which are well described as plates of silver. The Prophet then says, in other words: The intellect, by speculation, cannot comprehend anything which is like unto God ; no delight or satisfaction of the will can resemble that which is God ; nor can the memory furnish • 1 Cor. ii. 9 J Is. Ixiv. 4. t 3 Kings xix. 13. t Acts vii. 32 ; Ex. iii. 6. § Is. xl. 18, 19. O 2 84 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. BOOK II. the imagination with any notions or images to represent Him. It is evident, then, from this that the intellect cannot be immediately directed in the way of God by any know- 3. But the in- ledge such as this, and that, if it is to draw near unto Grod, minated by {^ must do SO bv uot Understanding rather than by seeking Faith. to understand ; yea, rather it must be by making itself blind, covering itself with darkness, and not by opening its eyes, that it can attain to the Divine enlightening. Hence it is that Contemplation, by which God enlightens the intellect, is called Mystical Theology, that is, the secret Wisdom of God, because it is a secret even to the intellect which receives -^^ a DfenjHins. it. S. Dionysius calls it a ray of darkness. And the prophet \i Aristotle. \\ *\ J Baruch thus speaks of it : ' The way of wisdom they have not known, neither have they remembered her paths.'* It is therefore clear that the intellect must be blind, as to every path along which it has to taravel, in order to be united with God. Aristotle says, that as the eyes of the bat are with regard to the sun, which wholly blinds them, so is our intellect with regard to the greater Light of God which is to us perfect darkness. He further says, that the more profoimd and the clearer the things of God are in themselves, the less intelligible and the more obscure th«y are to us. The Apostle says the same thing, when he teaches us that the deep things of God are not known unto men. I should never end were I to bring forward here all the authorities and reasons which show that, among all created things of which the intellect takes cognisance, there is nothing which can serve as a ladder whereby it may ascend unto God, who is so high. Yea, rather we must acknowledge that all and each of these things, if the intellect will use them as proximate means of union, will prove not only a hindrance, • Baruch iii. 23. FAITH UNITES THE SOUL TO GOD. 85 but the source of many errors and delusions, in the ascent chap. vm of this mountain. - CHAPTER IX. Faith is the proximate and proportionate means of the intellect by which the soul may attain to the Divine union of love. Proofs from the Holy Scriptures. It appears then from what I have written that the intellect, ^ if rightly disposed for the Divine union, must be pure, and empty of all sensible objects, disengaged from all clear intel- f lectual perceptions, interiorly tranquil and at rest, reposing J on Faith ; for faith is the sole proximate and proportionate means of the soul's union with God, seeing that there is no other alternative, but that God is either seen, or believed in. For as God is infinite, so faith proposes Him as infinite ; and as He is Three and One, so faith proposes Him to us as Three and One. And thus by this means alone, that is faith, God manifests Himself to the soul in the Divine light, which surpasses all understanding, and therefore the greater the faith of the soul the more is that soul united to God. This is the meaning of S. Paul when he said, ' He that coineth to God must believe that He is.'* Such an one must walk by faith, with his understanding in darkness, and in the obscurity of faith only ; for in this darkness God unites Himself to the intellect, being Himself hidden beneath it, as it is written: * Darkness was under His feet, and He ascended upon the cherubim, and He flew upon the wings of the winds. And He made darkness His covert. His pavilion round about Him, dark waters in the clouds of the air.'t The darkness * under His feet,' serving for ' His covert ' and ' His pavilion,' and * the dark waters,' signify the obscurity of faith, which ♦ Hebr. xi. 6. t Ps. xvii. 10—12. I?6 THE ASCENT OP MOUNT CABMEL. THE SOURCES OF KNOWLEDGE. 87 BOOK II. In this life the intellect can know God only in l^e obscTiTity of Faith. Il- lustrated by the history of Solomon, Moses, Job, Gideon. conceals Him. His ' ascending on the cherubim,' and His flying ' on the wings of the winds,' signify that He transcends all understanding. The * cherubim' mean those who under- stand OT contemplate; the ^ wings of the winds' are the sublime and lofty notions or conceptions of the mind, above which His Divine Being is, and which no man can ever comprehend. This truth is shadowed forth in the Holy Scriptures, where we read that, when Solomon had finished the Temple, God came down in a cloud, which filled it, so that the people could not see. * Then Solomon said : The Lord said that He would dwell in a cloud.'* Moses also, on the mount, saw a cloud wherein God was hidden.t And at all times, when God communicated with men. He appeared through a cloud. We read in the Book of Job, that God spoke out of the darkened air: *The Lord answered Job out of a whirl- wind.'t These clouds signify the obscurity of faith, in which God is hidden when He communicates Himself to the soul. This will be removed at that time to which S. Paul referred when he said, *When that which is perfect is come, that which is in part shall be done away ; '§ when ' that which is in part,' the obscurity of faith, shall be done away, and when * that which is perfect,' the Divine light, shall come. This is prefigured in the army of Gideon : the soldiers had lamps in their hands, which they saw not, because they were * within the pitchers.' But when they had broken the pitchers the lamps gave light. Gideon ' gave them trumpets in their hands, and empty pitchers, and lamps within the pitchers.' II So faith, of which these pitchers were a figure, contains the Divine light, that is, the Truth which God is ; and at the end of this mortal life, when the work of faith is * 3 Kings viii. 10 — 12. f Exod. xix. 9. % Job xxxviii. 1 j xl. 1. § 1 Cor. xiii. 10. . || Judg. vii. 16. over, and the pitchers are broken, the Light and Glory of God will then shine forth. It is therefore plain that the soul, which would in this life be united with God and commune immediately with Him, must unite itself to Him in the cloud where, according to Solomon, He has promised to dwell ; and in the obscure air, wherein He was pleased to reveal His secrets to Job; and take up the pitchers of Gideon, that it may hold in its hands, in the acts of the will, that light which is the union of love — though in the obscurity of faith — so that, as soon as the pitcher of life be broken, it may see God face to face in glory. It remains for me now to describe particularly those notions and apprehensions which the intellect admits; the hindrance and the injury they may inflict upon us in the way of faith ; and how the soul must be disposed with respect to them, so that they may be profltable rather than hurtful, both those which proceed from the sense as well as those which proceed from the spirit. CHAP. IX. CHAPTER X. The divisions of the apprehensions and acts of the intellect. In order to describe specially the profit and the los s, which Two kinds of - - " knowledge ; the notions and apprehensions of the intellect occasion in the i. Natural : ^^ 1 Senses soul with respect to Faith, the means of this Divine union, 2! Reflection. it is necessary to distinguish' here between all these appre- tui-ai?^"^* hensions, natural and supernatural, so that the intellect may be directed with greater accuracy into the night and obscu- rity of faith. This I shall do with the utmost brevity possible. There are two ways by which these notions and intelligent 88 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. THE SENSES AFFECTED SUPERNATURALLY. 89 BOOK n. Supernatural knowledge divided into. 1. Corporeal. 2. Spiritual. Corporeal into (1) Sensa- tions. (2.) Mental inaages. Spiritual into (1) Distinct. a. Visions. fi. Revela- tions. y. Interior voices. S. Impres- sions. (2) Obscure ; i. e. The Con- templation of Faith. acts enter into the understanding : one is natural, the other supernatural. The first includes all the means by which the intellect receives knowledge, whether through the channel of the bodily senses, or by reflection. The second comprises all that is beyond the natural powers and capacity of the intellect. Some supernatural knowledge is corporeal, and some spiritual. The former is of two kinds : one of them enters the intellect through the exterior bodily senses; and the other through the interior bodily senses, comprehending all that the imagination may grasp, form, and conceive. The spiritual supernatural knowledge is also of two kinds ; one distinct and special ; the other confused, obscure, and general. The first kind comprises four particular apprehensions, com- municated to the mind without the intervention of any one of the bodily senses. These are visions, revelations, interior voices, and spiritual impressions. The second kind, which is obscure and general, has but one form, that of contemplation, which is the work of faith. The soul is to be led into this by directing it thereto through all the rest. I shall begin my instructions with the first of these, showing how the soul is to be detached from them. First source of superna- tural corpo- real know- ledge,— sensi- tive percep- tion. CHAPTER XI. Of the hurt and hindrance resulting from intellectual apprehensions supematurally produced through the instrumentality of the exterior senses. How the soul is to be guided under such circumstances. The first notions, mentioned in the foregoing chapter, are those which relate to the intellect in the order of nature. I shall not speak of them now, because I have discussed them in the first book, while showing how the soul is to be led into the night of sense, where I have given fitting directions concerning them. And therefore the subject of the present chapter will be those notions and apprehensions which relate to the intellect solely in the supernatural order, in the way of the outward bodily senses of seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, and touching. With respect to these, spiritual men are occasionally liable to representations and objects, set before them in a supernatural way. They sometimes see the forms and figures of those of another life. Saints, or Angels good and evil, or certain extraordinary lights and brightness. They hear strange words, sometimes seeing those who utter them, and sometimes not. They have a sensible perception at times of most sweet odours, without knowing whence they proceed. Their sense of taste is also deliciously affected ; and that of the touch so sweetly caressed at times that the bones and the marrow exult and rejoice, bathed, as it were, in joy. This delight is like to that which we call the Union of the Spirit, flowing from Him through all the senses of simple souls. And this sensible sweetness is wont to affect spiritual persons, because of that sensible devotion, more or less, which they feel, every one in his own measure. Still, though the bodily senses may be thus affected in the way of God, we must never rely on these emotions, nor encourage them ; yea, rather we must fly from them, without examining whether they be good or evil. For, inasmuch as they are exterior and in the body, there is the less certainty of their being from God. It is more natural that God should communicate Himself through the spirit — wherein there is greater security and profit for the soul — than through the senses, wherein there is usually much danger and delusion, because the bodily sense decides upon, and judges, spiritual things, thinking them to be what itself feels them to be, when in reality they are as different as body and soul, sensuality and reason. The bodily sense is as ignorant of spiritual things, as a beast of the field is of the CHAP. XI. Supernatural phsenomena of, Sight. iT Hearing. Smell. Taste, and touch. Reasons for repelling them. 1. Less like- lihood of their being from God, n THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CAKMEL. EXTRAORDINARY SENSATIONS UNTRUSTWORTHY. 91 BOOK II. 3. Danger of self-decep- tion, j 8. Frobabi- lity of their being from thederil. 4. liOss of Faith as a guide. 6. Subtlety of Pride. things of reason. He who makes much of these emotions mistakes his way, and exposes himself to the great danger of delusions; and, at least, places a great obstacle on his road to true spirituality. For all these bodily sensations bear no proportion to spiritual things. There is always ground for fear that these proceed from the devil rather than from God ; for the devil has more influence in that which is exterior and corporeal, and can more easily deceive us therein than in what is more interior. And these bodily forms and objects, the more exterior they are, the less do they profit the interior spiritual man, by reason of the great distance and disproportion subsisting between the corporeal and the spiritual. For, although these things communicate some spirituality, as is always the case when they proceed from God, yet it is much less than it would have been, had they been more spiritual and interior ; and thus they become more easily and readily occasions of error, presumption, and vanity. As they are so palpable and so material they excite the senses greatly, and the soul is led to consider them the more important, the more they are felt. It runs after them and abandons the secure guidance of Faith, thinking that the light they give is a guide and means to that which it desires, union with God. Thus the soul, the more it makes of such things, the more it strays from the perfect way and means, that is, Faith. Besides, when the soul perceives itself subject to these extraordinary visitations, self-esteem very frequently enters in, and it thinks itself to be something in the eyes of God, which is contrary to humility. The devil also knows too well how to insinuate into the soul a secret, and some- times an open, self-satisfaction. For this end he frequently presents to the eyes the forms of Saints, and most beau- tiful lights ; he causes voices well dissembled to strike the ear, and delicious odours the smell ; he produces sweetness in the mouth, and thrills of pleasure in the sense of touch ; and all to make us long for such things that he may lead chap. US astray into many evils. ^^^.^^-^^ For this reason, then, we must always reject and disregard *^ these representations and sensations. For even if some of JJo wrong ^ thereby done them were from God, no wrong is offered to Him, because J^^ul**'*^ the effect and fruit, which He desires to bring forth in the soul, is not the less accomplished when that soul rejects them and seeks them not. The reason is this : all corporeal visions or emotions of the senses — the same is true of all other interior communications — if from God, effect their chief object at the moment of their presence, before the soul has time to deliberate whether it shall entertain or reject them. For as God begins them in a supernatural way without effort on the part of the soul, and without respect to any capacity for them ; so the effect^ which He desires to produce by means of them, is wrought without reference to any effort or capacity of the soul ; for it is perfected and brought to pass in the spirit passively without its free consent, and therefore does not depend on the will in any way. It is as if a person quite naked came into contact with fire: it matters not whether he wills to be burned or not, the fire necessarily performs its own proper functions. This is the case with good visions and apparitions : even if the soul wills it not, they produce their effects, chiefly and specially in the soul rather than in the body. So also the visions, which are the work of the devil — without the con- sent of the soul — bring forth trouble or dryness of spirit, vanity, or presumption, although they are not so effectual for evil, as the visions of God are for good. Diabolic visions do not proceed beyond the primary motions, neither can they influence the will, provided it seeks ihem not; and the disquiet which they occasion does not last long, unless the soul be negligent and irresolute when they occur. But the visions of God penetrate into the inmost parts of the soul, 92 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. SATAN AS AN ANGEL OF LIGHT. 93 BOOK II. "Without de- tachment even from Di- vine favours, the soul weakens its Faith; Prefers the gifts to the Giver; Becomes selfish; Loses their fruit; And the gifts themselves; and produce their effects, a quickened zeal and overpowering joy, which enable and dispose it to assent freely and lovingly to good. Still, even when these outward visions and im- pressions come from God, if the soul cleaves to them and accepts them readily, six inconveniences follow. 1. The perfect guidance of faith is lessened ; because the experience of sense derogates from faith ; for faith, as I have said, surpasseth all sense, and thus the soul, by not closing its eyes against every object of sense, turns away from the means of union with God. 2. They are hindrances in the way of the spirit, if they are not rejected ; for the soul rests upon them, and does not regard the invisible. This, too, was one of those causes, of which our Lord spoke to His disciples, that it was ex- pedient for them that He should go away that the Spirit might come. Neither did He permit Mary Magdalene to kiss His feet, after His resurrection, that she, as well as the disciples in the former case, might be the more grounded in faith. 3. The soul clings selfishly to them, and does not advance to true resignation and detachment of spirit. 4. The soul loses the good effect of them and the interior spirit they produce, because it has regard to the sensible part of them, which is the least important. Thus the spirit, which is the proper fruit, is not so abundantly received ; because it is most deeply impressed in the soul when we deny ourselves in all things of sense, as they are most at variance with the pure spirit. 5. The soul loses the gifts of God, because it assumes them for its own, and does not profit rightly by them. To assume them for our own and not to profit by them, is to seek them and to occupy ourselves with them. God does not send them for this end ; neither should we easily believe that they come from God. 6. The ready admission of them opens the door to the chap. devil, that he may deceive us by others Hke them ; he knows well how to dissemble and disguise his own visions so that ^JJ^iJfed^^ they shall seem to be good ; for Satan transformeth himself *^® ^®^* * into an angel of light.' * I shall treat this question hereafter, by the grace of God, when I come to describe spiritual gluttony in the first book of the Obscure Night. It is therefore expedient that the soul should close its eyes and reject them, come they whence they may. For unless we do so we shall make way for those of the devil, and give him so much power over us, that not only will the evil visions come in the place of those which are Divine, but, when the latter cease, they will also become so numerous, that the devil will have every influence over us, and God none, as it has happened to many incautious and ignorant souls. They so relied on their visions, that many of them had great difficulty in returning to God in pureness of faith, and many never returned at all; so widely and so deeply had the roots of the devil grown within them. For this reason it is good to shut our eyes against these visions and to fear them all. By withdrawing from the evil visions we escape the delusions of the devil ; and by withdrawing from those which are good we put no obstacles in the way of faith, and the spirit still derives fruit from them. When the soul gives admission readily to these visions God withholds them, because it cleaves to them and does not duly profit by them; the devil also insinuates himself and multiplies his own visions, because the soul makes room for them. But when the soul is resigned and not attached to such visions the devil retires, seeing that he cannot injure [us then ; and, on the other hand, God multiplies His graces in the humble and detached soul, placing it over many • 2 Cor. xi. 14. THE ASCEOT OF MOUNT CABMEL. SATAN AS AN ANGEL OF LIGHT. 93 BOOK II. Without de- tachment even from Di- vine favours, the soul weakens its Faith; Prefers the gifts to the Giver; Becomes selfish; Loses their fruit; And the gifts themselves ; and produce their effects, a quickened zeal and overpowering joy, which enable and dispose it to assent freely and lovingly to good. Still, even when these outward visions and im- pressions come from God, if the soul cleaves to them and accepts them readily, six inconveniences follow. 1. The perfect guidance of faith is lessened ; because the experience of sense derogates from faith ; for faith, as I have said, surpasseth all sense, and thus the soul, by not closing its eyes against every object of sense, turns away from the means of union with God. 2. They are hindrances in the way of the spirit, if they are not rejected ; for the soul rests upon them, and does not regard the invisible. This, too, was one of those causes, of which our Lord spoke to His disciples, that it was ex- pedient for them that He should go away that the Spirit might come. Neither did He permit Mary Magdalene to kiss His feet, after His resurrection, that she, ss well as the disciples in the former case, might be the more grounded in faith. 3. The soul clings selfishly to them, and does not advance to true resignation and detachment of spirit. 4. The soul loses the good effect of them and the interior spirit they produce, because it has regard to the sensible part of them, which is the least important. Thus the spirit, which is the proper fruit, is not so abundantly received ; because it is most deeply impressed in the soul when we deny ourselves in all things of sense, as they are most at variance with the pure spirit. 5. The soul loses the gifts of God, because it assumes them for its own, and does not profit rightly by them. To assume them for our own and not to profit by them, is to seek them and to occupy ourselves with them. God does not send them for this end ; neither should we easily believe that they come from God. 6. The ready admission of them opens the door to the chap. XI. devil, that he may deceive us by others like them ; he knows - well how to dissemble and disguise his own visions so that ^ijfel^^^ they shall seem to be good ; for Satan transformeth himself ^^® ^®^* * into an angel of light.' * I shall treat this question hereafter, by the grace of God, when I come to describe spiritual gluttony in the first book of the Obscure Night. It is therefore expedient that the soul should close its eyes and reject them, come they whence they may. For unless we do so we shall make way for those of the devil, and give him so much power over us, that not only will the evil visions come in the place of those which are Divine, but, when the latter cease, they will also become so numerous, that the devil will have every influence over us, and God none, as it has happened to many incautious and ignorant souls. They so relied on their visions, that many of them had great diflBculty in returning to God in pureness of faith, and many never returned at all; so widely and so deeply had the roots of the devil grown within them. For this reason it is good to shut our eyes against these visions and to fear them all. By withdrawing from the evil visions we escape the delusions of the devil ; and by withdrawing from those which are good we put no obstacles in the way of faith, and the spirit still derives fruit from them. When the soul gives admission readily to these visions God withholds them, because it cleaves to them and does not duly profit by them; the devil also insinuates himself and multiplies his own visions, because the soul makes room for them. But when the soul is resigned and not attached to such visions the devil retires, seeing that he cannot injure us then ; and, on the other hand, God multiplies His graces in the humble and detached soul, placing it over many • 2 Cor. xi. 14. n THE ASCENT OP MOUNT CARMEL. SUPERNATURAL SENSATIONS NOT MEANS OF UNION. 95 BOOK n. The spiritual combat. things, like the good and faithful servant to whom it is said, * Because thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will place thee over many things.'* The soul that is faithful amid these visitations Grod will not leave, till He shall raise it up, step by step, to the Divine union and transforma- tion. This is the way our Lord tests and elevates the soul : He visits it first in the senses according to its capacity ; so that, having conducted itself then as it ought to do, receiving in all temperance these first morsels for its own strength and nourishment. He may admit it to the better and more abundant feast. If the soul shall overcome the devil in the first combat it shall then pass on to the second ; and if it shall be victorious there also, it shall then pass on to the third ; and then through the seven mansions, the seven degrees of love, until the Bridegroom shall bring it to * the cellar of wine 'f of perfect Charity. Blessed is that soul which knoweth how to fight against the beast with seven heads, J which he opposes to the seven degrees of love. The beast fighteth against each of these degrees with his seven heads ; and with each one of them against the soul in all the seven mansions, wherein the soul is tried and gains each degree of the love of God. And, beyond all doubt, if the soul shall faithfully fight against every one of these heads and obtain the victory, it will deserve to pass on from one degree to another, or from one mansion to the next, until it shall have reached the highest, having destroyed the seven heads by which the beast waged so furious a war against it. So fearful is this war that the Apostle says, * It was given unto him to make war with the Saints and to overcome them,' § arraying his weapons and munitions of war over against each of these degrees of love. ♦ S. Matth. XXV. 21. J Apoc. xiii. 1. t Cant. ii. 4. W § Ibid. 7. -^, Many, alas, there are who enter the battle of the spiritual life against the beast, who do not cut off even the first head, by self-denial in the sensible objects of this world. Others, more successful, cut off the first, but not the second — the visions of sense — of which I am speaking. But what is more painful still is, that some who, having cut off not only the first and second, but the third head also, which relates to the interior senses and the passage from the state of meditation into a higher one, are overcome by the beast, when they should enter into the purity of the spirit. Then it is that he returns to the assault with his heads restored to life, and renders * their latter state worse than the first,' for he bringeth with him ^ seven other spirits more wicked than himself.' * The spiritual man must therefore reject all these apprehensions, together with the corporeal satisfactions to which the exterior senses are liable, if he will destroy the first and second head of this beast, by entering into the first and second mansion of love by a living faith, not laying hold of, nor being em- barrassed by, the impressions of the exterior senses ; for these present the greatest impediment to the spiritual night of Faith. It is now clear that these visions and apprehensions of sense cannot be the means of the Divine union, for they bear no proportion to Grod. And this is one of the reasons why Christ would not suffer Mary Magdalene to touch Him, and yet allowed it, as the better and more perfect course, in S. Thomas. The devil greatly rejoices when a soul seeks after revelations and is ready to accept them; for such conduct furnishes him with many opportunities of insinuating delusions, and derogating from faith as much as he possibly can; for such a soul becomes rough and rude, and falls fre- quently into many temptations and unseemly habits. • S. Liike xi. 26. CHAP. XI. THE ASCENT OP MOUNT CARMEL. BOOK II. Ck)nclnsion. I have dwelt at some length on these exterior communi- cations in order to throw greater light on the others, which I have soon to discuss. But I have so much to say on this matter that it appears impossible to have done with it. I might sum up what I have said in this single sentence ; that these visions should never be admitted, unless in certain rare instances, after examination by a learned, spiritual, and experi- enced director, and even then there must be no desire for them. CHAPTER XII. Of natural and imaginary apprehensions. Their nature. They cannot be proportionate means of union. The evil results of not knowing how to detach oneself from them in time. Second sonroe BEFORE discussing the imaginary visions which are wont to of natural knowi«ige,— be represented supernaturally to the interior sense, the Reflection on ^ '^ •^ ' ima^ imagination and the fancy, it is expedient that I should now — to proceed orderly — speak of the natural apprehensions incident to the same interior bodily sense. I adopt this course that we may advance from the less to the greater — from that which is more outward to that which is more inward — to that most interior recollection wherein the soul is united unto God. This too is the course I have hitherto observed. In the first place, I treated of the detachment of the soul from the natural apprehensions of exterior objects, and, consequently, from the natural powers of the desires. This I did in the first book, while speaking of the night of sense. I then treated in detail of detachment from exterior supernatural apprehensions, to which the exterior senses are liable — as in the preceding chapter — so that I may guide the steps of the soul into the night of the spirit in this second book. Now the first subject of discussion is the interior bodily MEDITATION BY IMAGINATION AND REFLECTION. 97 sense, the imagination and fancy, out of which we must cast all imaginary forms and apprehensions naturally incident thereto, and show how impossible it is for the soul to attain to linion with Grod until their operations shall have ceased, because they can never be the proper and proximate means of union. The senses of which I am now speaking particularly are two, bodily and interior, called imagination and fancy, which in their order subserve each other. In the one there is something of reasoning, though imperfect and in an imperfect way ; the other, the imagination, forms the image. For our purpose the discussion of either is equivalent to that of the other, and therefore when I do not mention them both let it be understood that what is said of the one is applicable to the other also, and that I am speaking indifferently of both, without distinguishing between them. All, therefore, that the senses perceive and fashion are called imaginations and fancies— that is, forms represented to the senses in bodily shape and likeness. These may take place in two ways — supernaturally when, without the action of the senses, they may and do become present passively before them. These are imaginary visions wrought super- naturally, of which I shall speak hereafter. The other way is natural, when the senses actively effect them by their own operation, through forms, figures, and images. These two powers serve for meditation, which is a discursive act by means of imagery, forms, and figures, wrought and fashioned in the senses. We picture to ourselves Christ on the cross, or boxmd to the pillar, or Grod sitting on His Throne in great majesty. So also we imagine glory as a most beautiful light, and represent before ourselves any other object, human or Divine, of which the faculty of imagination is capable. All these imaginations and apprehensions are to be emptied out of the soul, which must remain in darkness so far as it VOL. I. H CHAP. xn. Imagination not a proxi- mate, but a remote means of union with God. Its two sources: 1. Natural. 2. Super- natural. Meditation, — what. 98 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. PURE CONTEMPLATION THE END OF PRAYER. 99 BOOK n. Imagination can only recombine sensitive perceptions. Ko image or picture of God. conceras the senses, in order that we may attain to the Divine union, because they bear no proportion to the proxi- mate means of union with God; as neither do corporeal things, the objects of the five exterior senses. The reason is, that nothing enters the imagination but through the exterior senses. The eye must have seen, or the ear must have heard, or the other senses must first have become cognisant of all that is in it. Or at the utmost, we can only form pictures of what we have seen, heard, or felt ; and these forms are not more excellent than what the imagination has received through the senses. Though we picture in our imagination palaces of pearls and mountains of gold, because we have seen gold and pearls, yet after all this is nothing more than one piece of gold or a single pearl, even though the imagination ranges them in a certain order. And as all created things cannot have any proportion with the Being of God, it follows that all the conceptions of the imagination, which must resemble them, cannot serve as proximate means of union with Him. Those persons, therefore, who represent God to their minds under any sort of figure, or as a great fire • or light, or anything else, thinking Him to be like them, are very far from drawing near unto Him. For though such considerations, forms, and methods of meditation may be necessary for beginners, in order to inflame and fill their souls with love, through the instrumentality of sense, as I shall explain hereafter — and though they may serve as remote means of imion, through which souls must usually pass to the goal and resting-place of spiritual repose — still they must 80 make use of them as to pass beyond them, and not dwell upon them for ever. If we dwell upon them we shall never reach the goal, which is not like the remote means, neither has it any proximate relation with them. The steps of a ladder have no proximate relation with the goal and place to which we ascend by it. CHAP. xn. towards which they are but means ; so if he who climbs does not leave behind all the steps so that none remain, or if he rests upon one of them, he will never ascend to the summit, , to the peaceful resting of the goal. The soul, therefore, that will ascend in this life to the Supreme Good and Eest must pass beyond all these steps of considerations, forms, and notions, because they bear no likeness or proportion to the end, which is God, towards which it tends. ^ We must not suppose,' saith the Apostle, * the Divinity to be like unto gold, or silver, or stone, the graving of art and device of man.' * Great, therefore, is the mistake of those spiritual persons imagination who, having laboured to draw near unto God by means of beginners. imagery, forms, and meditations, such as become beginners — while God would attract them to more spiritual, interior, and unseen good, by depriving them of the sweetness of discursive meditation — do not accept the guidance, neither venture nor know how to detach themselves from these palpable methods to which they have been accustomed. They retain these methods still, seeking to advance by them and by meditation upon exterior forms, as before, thinking that it must be so always. They take great pains in the matter, but find very little sweetness or none— yea, rather dryness, weariness, and disquiet of soul increase and grow the more they search after the sweetness they had before — it being now impossible for them to have it as they had it at first. The soul has no more pleasure in its first food, which was of the senses, but requires another of greater delicacy, interior, and less cognisable by the senses, consisting, not in the travail of the imagination, but in the repose of the soul, and in that quietness thereof, which is more spiritual. The more the soul advances in spirituality, the more it ceases from the operations of its faculties on particular objects ; for it then gives itself up to • Acts xvii. 29. H 2 100 THE ASCENT OP MOUNT CARMEL. SIGNS OP PROGRESS IN PRAYER. 101 BOOK n. Peace foimd only in f ol- lo'ndng the guidance of the Holy l^;>irit. one sole, pure, and general act ; and so its powers cease from the practice of that method by which they once travelled towards the point to which the soul was tending; as the feet cease from movement and are at rest when the journey is over ; for if all were movement, there would be no goal to reach, and if all things are means, where or when shall we enjoy the end ? How sad it is to see men who, when the soul would be at peace in the repose of interior quiet, where God fills it with refreshment and peace, disturb it, draw it away to outward things, compel it to travel again along the road it had passed, and to abandon the goal, where it reposes, for the sake of the means and considerations which guided it to its rest. This is not effected without loathing and repugnance on the part of the soul, which would repose in this tranquillity as in its proper place — as it happens to him who after toil- some labour has attained repose; for when he is made to return to his work he feels it painfully. And as they do not understand the secret of their new condition, they imagine themselves to be idle, doing nothing ; and so do not suffer themselves to be at rest, but strive to reproduce their former reflections and discursive acts. They are therefore full of dryness and trouble, because they seek there for sweetness where there is no longer sweetness for them. To them the proverb applies, ' the more it freezes the more it binds ; ' the more obstinately they cling to this way the worse it becomes for them, because they lead their soul further away from spiritual peace. This is to abandon what is greatest for what is least, to travel backwards along the road they came, and do again what they have done before. To these my counsel is— learn to abide with attention in loving waiting upon God in the state of quiet ; give no heed to your imagination, nor to its operations, for now, as I have said, the powers of the soul are at rest, and are not exercised. except in the sweet and pure waiting of love. If at times they are excited, it is not violently, nor with meditation - elaborately prepared, but by the sweetness of love, more under the influence of God than by the ability of the soul, as I shall hereafter clearly explain. Let this, for the present, sufiice to show how necessary it is for those who would make progress, to abandon these methods and ways of the imagiuation at the proper time, when their growth, in that state wherein they are, requires it. And that we may know when this time is come, I shall describe certain signs which the spiritual man is to observe, that he may thereby recognise the time when he may freely avail himself of the goal already mentioned, and leave behind him all intellectual reflections and all the acts of the imagination. CHAP. xn. CHAPTER Xm. The signs to be observed by the spiritual man that he may know when to withdraw the intellect from, imaginary forms and discursive medi- tations. To avoid confusion in my teaching, I find it necessary in this when should •^ ° '' Meditation chapter to explain when the spiritual man should abstain g^^l^^**^ from the meditation which rests on imaginary forms and *^°"^ mental representations, in order that he may not abstain from it sooner or later than the Spirit calls him. For as it is necessary to abstain from it at the proper time, in order to draw near unto God, that we may not be hindered by it ; so also must we not cease from it before the time, lest we go backwards : for though all that the powers of the soul may apprehend cannot be proximate means of union for those who have made some spiritual progress, still they serve, as remote means, to dispose and habituate the minds of beginners to that which is spiritual by means of the senses, and to clear the way of all other low forms and images. 102 THE ASCENT OP MOUNT CARMEI. BOOK II. Answer, — By observing three signs. 1. Dryness of spirit. 2. No play of Imagination. 8. Desire of repose in God. Cautions. temporal, worldly, and natural. With this view I will mention here certain signs and evidences, three in number, by observing which the spiritual man may know whether the time is come for him to cease from meditation or not. 1. When he finds that he cannot meditate nor exert his imagination, nor derive any satisfaction from it, as he was wont to do — when he finds dryness there, where he was accustomed to fix the senses and draw forth sweetness — then the time is come. But while he finds sweetness, and is able to meditate as usual, let him not cease therefrom, except when his soul is in peace, of which I shall speak when describing the third sign. 2. When he sees that he has no inclination to fix the imagination or the senses on particular objects, exterior or interior. I do not mean when the imagiuation neither comes nor goes— for it is disorderly even in the most complete self- recollection— but only when the soul derives no pleasure from tying it down deliberately to other matters. 3. The third sign is the most certain of the three, namely, when the soul delights to be alone, waiting lovingly on God, without any particular considerations, in interior peace, quiet, and repose, when the acts and exercises of the in- tellect, memory, and will, at least discursively — which is the going from one subject to another — have ceased ; nothing remaining except that knowledge and attention, general and loving, of which I have spoken, without the particular per- ception of aught else. The spiritual man must have observed these three signs together, at least, before he can venture with safety to abandon the state of meditation for that of the way of spiritual contemplation. It is not enough for him to observe the first without the second, for it may happen that he cannot meditate on the things of God, as before, because of distractions and the absence of due preparation. He must WAITING UPON GOD CONTINUAL PEAYER. 103 therefore have regard to the second sisnQ, and see whether he chap. . . xin. has no inclination or desire to think of other things. For when this inability to fix the imagination and the senses on the things of God proceeds from distraction or lukewarm- ness, the soul readily inclines to other matters, and these lead it away from God. Neither is it sufficient to have observed the first and second Physical causes may sign if we do not also discern the third. For though we cannot f^^ti^^ meditate or think on the things of God, and have no pleasure either in dwelling upon anything else ; yet this may be the effect of melancholy or some other oppression of the brain or the heart, which is wont to produce a certain suspension of our faculties, so that we think upon nothing, nor desire to do so, nor have any inclination thereto, but rather remain and produce ' -^ ' a deceitful in a kind of soothing astonishment. By way of defence softness. against this, we must be sure of the third sign, which is a loving knowledge and attention in peace, as I have said. It is, however, true that in the commencement of this estate this loving knowledge is, as it were, imperceptible, because it is then wont to be, in the first place, most subtile and delicate, and as it were, unfelt ; and because, in the second place, the soul, having been accustomed to meditation, which is more cognisable by sense, does not perceive, and, as it were, does not feel this new condition, not subject to sense, and which is purely spiritual. This is the case especially when, through not understand- ing his condition, the spiritual man will not allow himself to rest therein, but will strive after that which is cognisable by sense. This striving, notwithstanding the abundance of loving interior peace, disturbs him in the consciousness and enjoyment of it. But the more the soul is disposed for this tranquillity, the more will it grow therein continually ; and the more conscious it will be of this general loving knowledge of God, which is sweeter to it than all besides. BOOK n. 104 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. because it brings with it peace and rest, sweetness and delight without trouble. To make this matter more clear, I shall explain in the following chapter why these signs are neces- sary for the direction of the soul. CHAPTER XIV. The fitness of these signs. The necessity of observing them for spiritual progress. ^thS" ^s to the first sign, it is to be observed that there are two "^ reasons, comprised as it were in one, why the spiritual man — if he is to enter on the life of the spirit, which is that of contemplation — must abandon the way of the imagination and sensible meditation, when he has no pleasure in it and is i;^°J5j^ ^^ longer able to make his wonted discourse. The first is. profit. that all the spiritual good to be found, by way of meditation in the things of God, has been already in a manner bestowed upon him. This is shown by the fact that he cannot now make his former meditations and reflections, and that he has no pleasure or satisfaction therein as he had before, because he had not then attained to the spiritual life. And, in general, whenever the soul receives a fresh spiritual grace it receives it with pleasure, at least in spirit, in the means whereby it comes, and it profits by it ; otherwise its profiting would be miraculous. This is in accordance with the philo- sophical saying. What is palatable nourishes ; and also with the words of Job, ' Can an unsavoury thing be eaten that is not seasoned with salt?'* The reason, then, why meditation is no longer possible, is the little pleasure and profit which the mind now derives from it. s^dflj. The second reason is this: the soul has now attained means'oease. substantially and habitually to the spirit of meditation. For the end of meditation and reflection on the things of God • Job vi. 6. HABITUAL ELEVATION OP THE SOUL TO GOD. 105^ is to elicit the knowledge and the love of Him. Each time chap. the soul elicits this, it is an act, and as acts often repeated — produce habits, so, many acts of loving knowledge con- tinuously elicited by the soul, beget the habit thereof in the course of time. God is wont at times to eflfect this without these acts of meditation — at least without many of them — leading souls at once into the state of contemplation. Thus, what the soul elicited before, at intervals, by dint of medita- tion, in particular acts of knowledge, is now by practice converted into the habit and substance of knowledge, loving, general, not distinct or particular, as before. And, there- fore, such a soul betaking itself to prayer — like a man with water before him — drinks sweetly without effort, without the necessity of drawing it through the channel of previous reflections, forms, and figures. And the moment such a soul places itself in the presence of God, it elicits an act of know- ledge, confused, loving, peaceful, and tranquil, wherein it drinks in wisdom, love, and sweetness. This is the reason why the soul is troubled and disgusted Meditation . / painful,— when compelled, in this state, to make meditations and to ^^y- labour after particular acts of knowledge. Its condition, then, is like that of an infant at the breast, withdrawn from it while it was sucking it, and bidden to procure its nourish- ment by efforts of its own ; or of one who, having removed the rind, is tasting the fruit it contained, and is bidden to cease therefrom and to peel away the rind already removed, and then finds no rind and loses the fruit he had in his hand — like one who loses a prize already in his power. This is the case with many who have begun to enter upon this state. They think that the whole matter consists in discursive meditations, in the understanding of particulars by means of forms and images, which are the rind of the spiritual life. When they do not find these in that loving and substantial quiet, where the soul desires to dwell, and where nothing distinct reaches 106 THE ASCEJS^T OP MOUNT CAEMEL. THE REPOSE OF KNOWLEDGE AND LOVE. 107 BOOK II. Second sign. the intellect, they suppose themselves to be going astray, wasting their time, and so go in quest of the rind of images and discursive meditation, not now to be found, because long ago taken away. Thus they do not enjoy the sub- stance, neither can they meditate ; and so they vex them- selves, thinking that they are going backwards, and that they are lost. This is certainly true, but not in the way they mean : they are lost to their own sense, to their first perceptions and understanding, which is nothing else but to gain the spiritual life which is given unto them ; for the less they understand, the further do they enter into the night of the spirit, through which they have to pass in order to be united with Grod, in a way that surpasses all understanding. There is but little for me to say of the second sign, because it is evident that the soul has necessarily no plea- sure at that time in other imaginary representations, those of the world, seeing that it has none, for the reasons already given, in those which are most befitting it, as those of the inroinntary things of Grod. Only, as I have said before, the imaginative pai^otui. faculty, in this state of recollection, is wont to come, and go, and vary, but without the consent of the soul and without giving it any pleasure ; yea, rather, the soul is then aflflicted thereby, because of the interruption of its peace and sweet- ness. Third sign. Nor do I think it necessary here to speak at all of the fitness and necessity of the third sign, whereby we may discern when we are to cease from meditation. That sign is a knowledge of, and attention to, Grod, general and loving. I have explained this in some degree while speaking of the first sign ; and I have to treat of it again directly, when I speak of that general, confused knowledge, after discussing the particular apprehensions of the intellect. But I propose now to mention one reason only, which will make it clear why this attention, or general loving knowledge of God, is necessary, when the spiritual man passes from the state of chap. meditation to that of contemplation. ■ '■ — That reason is this : if the soul were without this knowledge without ^ Meditation or sense of Grod's presence at that time, the result would be °F cpntem- •*• ^ plation, the that it would have nothing, and do nothing; for having ceased ^"^i*^®* from meditation, wherein the soul acts discursively, by means of its intellectual faculties — and contemplation not yet ^J^^^ij: attained to, which is that general knowledge, wherein the spiritual powers of the soul, memory, intellect, and will, are exerted, and united in this knowledge, which is as it were efi'ected and received in them — every act of the worship of God must of necessity be wanting ; for the soul cannot act at all, nor receive impressions, nor persevere in the work it has before it, but by the action of its intellectual and spiritual faculties. It is through the intellectual faculties that the soul reflects, searches out, and effects the knowledge of things ; and through the spiritual faculties that it rejoices in the knowledge thus attained without further labour, search, or reflection. The difference between these two conditions of the soul is like the difference between working, and the enjoyment of the fruit of our work ; between receiving a gift, and profiting by it ; between the toil of travelling, and the rest at our journey's end ; between the preparation of our food, and the eating or enjoyment of it. If the soul be idle, not occupied, either with its intellectual faculties in medita- tion and reflectioD, or with its spiritual faculties in contem- plation and pure knowledge, it is impossible to say that it is occupied at all. This knowledge is therefore necessary for the abandonment of the way of meditation and reflection. But it is to be remembered that this general knowledge, of which I am speaking, is at times so subtile and delicate — particularly when most pure, simple, perfect, spiritual, and interior — that the soul, though in the practice thereof, is not observant or conscious of it. This is the case when that t 108 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CAEMEL. POWERS OF THE SOUL ABSORBED IN GOD. 109 BOOK. II. The soul in pure Con- templation, 1. XJncon- Bdousof particular thoughts. ninstrated by the analogy of light. knowledge is most pure, clear, and simple, which it is when it enters into a soul most pure and detached from all other acts of knowledge and special perceptions, to which the in- tellect or the sense may cling. Such a soul, because freed from all those things which were actually and habitually objects of the intellect or of the sense, is not aware of them, because the accustomed objects of sense have failed it. This is the reason why this knowledge, when most pure, perfect, and simple, is the less perceived by the intellect, and the more obscure. On the other hand, when this knowledge is less pure and simple the more clear and the more important it seems to the intellect ; because it is mixed up with, clothed in, or involved in, certain intelligible forms, of which the in- tellect most easily takes cognisance, to its hurt The following comparison will make this more intelligible. WTien the rays of the sun penetrate through a crevice into a dark room, the atmosphere of which is full of atoms and particles of dust, they are then more palpable, and more visible to the eye; and yet those rays are then less pure, simple, and perfect, because mixed up with so much impurity: also, when they are most pure and most free from dust, the less are they cognisable by the material eye ; and the more pure they are the less are they seen and apprehended. If, again, these rays were altogether pure, clear of every atom, and of the minutest particle of dust, they would be utterly invisible, by reason of the absence of all objects whereon the eye could rest ; for pure and simple light is not properly the object of vision, but the means whereby we discern visible things ; and so, if there be no visible objects present to reflect the light, nothing can be seen. Hence, then, a ray of light entering in by one crevice and going out by another, unaffected by any material object, cannot be seen ; and yet that ray is more pure and clear than when it is most distinctly seen through being mixed up with visible objects. I i Such are the conditions of the spiritual light with resrard chap. XIV. to the eye of the soul, which is the intellect, against which - this knowledge and supernatural light strikes so purely and so plainly. So clear is it of all intelligible forms, which are the adequate objects of the intellect, that the intellect is not conscious of its presence. Sometimes, indeed — when it is most pure — it creates darkness, because it withdraws the intellect from its accustomed lights, forms, and fantasies, and then the darkness becomes palpable and visible. At other times, also, the Divine Light strikes the soul with ^..Unoon- ° 8C10US of such force that the darkness is unfelt and the light unheeded ; p^'.^""^ the soul seems unconscious of all it knows, and is therefore lost, as it were, in forgetfulness, knowing not where it is, nor what has happened to it, unaware of the lapse of time. It may and does occur that many hours pass while it is in this state of forgetfulness ; all seem but a moment when it again returns to itself. The cause of this forgetfulness is the pure- ness and simplicity of this knowledge. This knowledge, being itself pure and clear, cleanses the soul while it fills it, and purifies it of all the apprehensions and forms of sense and memory through which the soul once acted, and thus brings it to a state of forgetfulness, and unconsciousness of the flight of time. This prayer of the soul, though in reality long, seems to last but for a moment, because it is an act of pure intelligence ; for it is that prayer which is said to ' pierce the clouds,'* time being unheeded while it lasts: it pierces the clouds because the soul is then in union with the heavenly Intelligence. This knowledge leaves behind it in the soul, when awake, all the effects it then wrought, without any consciousness on the part of the soul that they were wrought. These effects are the lifting up of the soul to the heavenly Intelligence, the withdrawal and estrangement of it from all things, and from the forms and figures of them. * Eccles. XXXV. 21. ■4 110 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. THE WILL ACTIVE IN CONTEMPLATION. Ill BOOK n. Three illus- trations from Holy Scrip- txaem God may snspeud the faculties of the soul. I Thus it befell David, who, when he returned to himself, said, 'I have watched, and am become as a sparrow, all alone on the housetop.' * 'Alone ' expresses his estrangement and detachment from all things ; and the ' housetop ' the lifting up of the soul on high. The soul is now, as it were, ignorant of all things, because it knows God only, without knowing how. The Bride also speaks of this ignorance as one of the effects of this sleep or forgetfulness, saying, * I knew not:'t ti^at is, I knew not how. Though he to whose soul is given this knowledge seems to be doing nothing and to be wholly unoccupied, because the imagination has ceased to act, he still believes that the time has not been lost or uselessly spent : for though the harmonious correspondence of the powers of the soul has ceased, the understanding thereof abides as I say. The Bride in her wisdom answers herself this question, when she says, ^ I sleep, and my heart watcbeth:'t though I sleep in my natural state, and cease from all exertion, my heart watcheth supernaturally, lifted up in supernatural knowledge. A sign by which we may discern whether the soul is occupied in this secret intelligence is, that it has no pleasure in the thought of anything high or low. Still we are not to suppose that this knowledge neces- sarily induces this forgetfulness ; the reality of it does not depend on this. This forgetfulness occurs when God in a special way suspends the faculties of the soul. This does not often occur, for this knowledge does not always fill the whole soul. It is sufficient for our purpose that the intellect should be abstracted from all particular knowledge, whether temporal or spiritual, and that the will should have no in- clination to dwell upon either. This sign serves to show that the soul is in this state of forgetfulness, when this know- ♦ Ps.ci8. t Cant. vi. 11. t Cant. V. 2. ledge is furnished and communicated to the intellect only. chap. But when it is commimicated to the will also, which is almost ^— , - . 3. Yet not always the case m a greater or less degncee, the soul cannot ^^®' ^^^^^e " o ' conscious of but see, if it will reflect thereon, that it is occupied by this ^Kxibyiove. knowledge ; because it is then conscious of the sweetness of love therein, without any particular knowledge or perception of what it loves. This is the reason why this knowledge is called loving and general; for as it communicates itself obscurely to the intellect, so also to the will, infusing therein love and sweetness confusedly, without the soul's knowing distinctly the object of its love. Let this suffice to show how necessary it is for the soul to be occupied by this knowledge, in order that it may leave the way of meditation, and to feel assured, notwithstanding the appearance of doing nothing, that it is well employed, if it observes the signs of which I am speaking. It appears, also, from the illustration drawn from the shining of the sun's rays, full of atoms, that the soul is not to imagine this light to be then most pure, subtile, and clear, when it presents itself to the intellect more palpably and more comprehensibly. For it is certain, ac- cording to Aristotle and theologians, that the more pure and sublime the Divine Light is, the more obscure it is to our understanding. I have much to say of this Divine Knowledge, both as it is in itself, and in its effects upon contemplatives ; but I reserve it for its proper place. The present discussion would not have been so long had it not been requisite that the subject should be left in somewhat less confusion than it is at present, which I must admit to be the case. Over and above the fact that this subject is rarely treated in this way, whether in writing or by word of mouth, because it is in itself strange and obscure, comes also my poor method and little know- ledge. I am without confidence in my own capacity to explain it, and therefore grow prolix and wearisome. 112 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. BOOK n. N Meditation, — when to be resumed. exceeding the just limits required for the explanation of this division of the subject. I admit that I have done this occasionally on purpose; for a subject that cannot be ex- plained by one view of it may be by another ; and also because I consider that I have in this way thrown more light on what is to follow. For this reason, in order to conclude this part of the subject, I think I ought to solve one question concerning the duration of this knowledge, which I propose to do in the following chapter. CHAPTER XV. Of the occasional necessity of meditating and exerting the natural faculties on the part of those who begin to enter on the contemplative state. Here it may be asked, whether proficients, those whom God has begun to lead into this supernatural knowledge of con- templation, are, in virtue of this commencement, never attain to return to the way of meditation, reflections, and natural forms ? To this I answer, that it is not to be supposed that those who have begun to have this pure and loving know- ledge are never to meditate again or attempt it. For in the beginning of their advancement the habit of this is not so perfect as that they should be able at pleasure to perform the acts of it. Neither are they so far advanced beyond the state of meditation as to be unable to meditate and make their reflections as before, and to find therein something new. Yea, rather, at first, when we see, by the help of these signs, that our soul is not occupied in this quiet, or knowledge, it will be necessary to have recourse to reflections, until we attain to the habit of it in some degree of perfection. Such will be the case when, as often as we apply ourselves to meditation, the soul reposes in this peaceful knowledge. GOD THE POSSESSION OP THE POOR IN SPIRIT. 113 without the power or the inclination to meditate ; because, imtil we arrive at this, sometimes one, sometimes the other, occurs in this time of proficiency in such a way that very often the soul finds itself in this loving or peaceful attendance upon Grod, with all its faculties in repose ; and very often also will find it necessary, for that end, to have recourse to meditation, calmly and with moderation. But when this state is attained to, meditation ceases, and the faculties labour no more ; for then we may rather say, that intelligence and sweetness are wrought in the soul, and that it itself abstains from every effort, except only that it attends lovingly upon God, without any desire to feel or see anything further than to be in the hands of God, Who now communicates Himself to the soul, thus passive, as the light of the sun to him whose eyes are open. Only, we must take care, if we wish to receive in pureness and abundance this Divine light, that no other lights of knowledge, or forms, or figures of medita- tions, of a more palpable kind, intervene, for nothing of this kind bears any resemblance to that serene and clear light. And therefore, if at that time we seek to apprehend and reflect on particular objects, however spiritual they may be, we shall obstruct the pure and limpid light of the Spirit, by interposing these clouds before us, as a man who should place anything before his eyes impedes the vision of things beyond. It appears, then, from all this that the soul, when it shall have purified and emptied itself from all these intelligible forms and images, will then dwell in this pure and simple light, transformed thereto in the state of perfection. This light is ever ready to be communicated to the soul, but does not flow in, because of the forms and veils of the creature which infold and embarrass the soul. Take away these hindrances and coverings, as I shall hereafter explain, and the soul in detachment and poverty of spirit will then, being pure and simple,' be transformed in the pure and sincere VOL. I. I CHAP. XV. They who leave all for God, find aU in Ghod. I 114 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CAKMEL. SUPERNATURAL INTERIOR VISIONS. 115 BOOK n. 1 f Wisdom of God who is the Son. For then that which is natural having failed, that which is Divine flows supematurally into the enamoured soul ; since Grod leaves nothing empty that He does not fill. When the spiritual man is unable to meditate, let him learn to remain in loving attention to God, in the quiet of his un- derstanding, though he may seem to be doing nothing. For thus by little and little, and most rapidly, will the Divine tranquillity and peace from this marvellous and deep know- ledge of God, involved in the Divine love, be infused into his soul. Let him not intermeddle with forms, imagery, medita- tions, or reflections of any kind, that he may not disquiet his soul, and drag it out of peace and contentment into that which can only end in bitterness. And if this inactivity should cause scruples to arise, let him remember that it is not a slight matter to possess his soul in peace and rest, without effort or desire. This is what our Lord requires at our hands, saying, ' Be still, and see that I am God.' ♦ Learn to be interiorly empty of all things, and you will see with delight that I am God. Second means of CHAPTER XVI. Of imaginary apprehensions supematurally represented to the fancy. They cannot be proximate means of union with God. And now having treated of those impressions which the soul snpematural -mrxn^i-^^^ • j.-i_ t « S'^i'^- ^ ®^^^ ^^ ^^® ^^^^^ o^ nature, and which exercise the inS^Sn. imagination and the fancy, it is necessary to discuss those which are supernatural, called imaginary visions, and which also, inasmuch as they are images, forms, and figures, apper- tain to this sense, like those which are in the order of nature. Under the designation of imaginary visions, I include eveiy- • Ps. xlv. 11. thing which may be supematurally represented to the imagination by images, forms, figures, or impressions, and these of the most perfect kind, which represent things, and influence us more vividly and more perfectly than it is possible in the natural order of the senses. For all these impressions and images which the five senses represent to the soul, and which establish themselves within in a natural way, may also have their place there in a way that is supernatural, represented therein without any intervention whatever on the part of the outward senses. The sense of fancy and memory is, as it were, a storehouse of the intellect, where all forms and objects of the intellect are treasured up ; and thus the intellect considers them and forms judgments about them. We must, therefore, remember that as the five outward senses propose and represent to the interior senses the images and pictures of their objects; so in a supernatural way, without the intervention of the outward senses, may be represented the same images and pictures, and that much more vividly and perfectly. And thus by means of images God frequently shows many things to the soul, and teaches it wisdom, as we see throughout the Holy Scriptures. He showed His glory in the cloud which covered the tabernacle;* and between the Seraphim which covered their faces and their feet with their wings. t To Jeremias He showed 'a rod watching;' J and to Daniel a multitude of visions. The devil, also, with visions of his own, seemingly good, labours to delude the soul. We have an instance of it in the history of the kings of Israel, where we read that he deceived the prophets of Achab, by representing to them the figure of horns, by which the king was to push Syria till he destroyed it.§ Yet all was a delusion. Such also was the vision of CHAP. XVI. Interior visions, — what. Presented to the mind without sen- sation. May come from the deviL ♦ Exod. xl. 33. X Jer. i. 11. t Is. vi. 4. § 3 Kings xxu. 11, 12. 12. 116 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. IMAGINATION CANNOT PICTURE GOD. 117 BOOK Pilate's wife concerning the condemnation of Christ, and — many others. In the case of those who have made some spiritual progress, visions of the imagination are of more frequent occurrence than bodily and exterior visions. There is no difference between them and those of the outward senses, considered as images and representations ; but there is a gi-eat difference in the effect they produce, and in their perfectness : they are more pure, and make a deeper impression on the soul, inas- much as they are supernatural and at the same time more interior than the exterior supernatural visions, still, notwith- standing, some bodily exterior visions produce a greater effect, for this depends on the will of God ; but I am speaking of them as they are in themselves, as being more interior. The sense of fancy and imagination is ordinarily that to which the devil applies himself with all his cunning, because it is the portal of the soul, and there too the intellect takes up, or leaves, its wares as in a repository. For this reason, therefore, God and the devil too come hither with images and forms to be presented to the intellect ; though God does not make use only of this means to instruct the soul, seeing that God may He dwclls Substantially within it, and is able to do so directly movethesoul i/»ii i iixin immediately, by Himsclf, and by other methods. I shall not stop here to explain how it may be known whether certain visions are from God or not, for that is not my object now, my sole purpose being to direct the intellect, so that, in the way of union with the Divine Wisdom, it shall not be embarrassed or impeded by those which are good, nor deluded by those which are evil. I say therefore with respect to all these impressions and imaginary visions, and others of whatever kind they may be, which present themselves under forms or images, or any particular intelligible forms, whether false as coming from the devil, or known to be true as coming from God, that the intellect is not to perplex itself about them, nor feed itself chap. XVI upon them ; the soul must not willingly accept them, nor '■ — rest upon them, in order that it may be detached, naked, pure, vigiong not a and sincerely simple, which is the condition of the Divine m^of^ mi r ,1 • • .1 , 11 1 n union with union. 1 he reason oi this is that all these forms are never God,— why. represented so as to be laid hold of but under certain ways and limitations, and the Divine Wisdom to which the in- tellect is to be united admits of no such limitations or forms, neither can it be comprehended under any particular image, because it is all pureness and simplicity. However, if two extremes are to be united together, such as the soul and the Divine Wisdom, it is necessary that they should meet under «^ a certain kind of mutual resemblance ; and hence the soul ^ must be also pure and simple, unlimited, not adhering to any J particular intelligence, and unmodified by any forms, figures, or image. As God is not comprehended under any form, or likeness, or particular conception, so the soul also, if it is to be united to Him, must not be under the power of any par- ticular form or conception. God has no form or likeness, as the Holy Ghost tells us : * You heard the voice of His words, Two proofs but you saw not any form at all.'* But He also says, 'That sc^ture.^ there was darkness, and a cloud, and obscurity,' "f which is the obscure night in which the soul is united to God. He says further on, ' You saw not any similitude in the day that the Lord God spoke to you in Horeb from the midst of the fire.'t The soul can never attain to the height of the Divine union, so far as it is possible in this life, through the medium of any forms or figures. This truth is set before us by the same Spirit of God in the book of Numbers, where we read of the rebuking of Aaron and Mary, because they had mur- mured against their brother. God then would have them * Deut. iv. 12. t lb. iv. 11. t lb. iv. 16. 118 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. VISIONS UNPROFITABLE UNLESS REJECTED. 119 ) The will effects the B^K understand the high estate of union and friendship with Him- self to which He had raised Moses. * If there be among you,' said Grod, ' a prophet of the Lord, I will appear to him in a vision, or I will speak to him in a dream ; but it is not so with My servant Moses who is most faithful in all My house, for I speak to him mouth to mouth and plainly, and not by riddles and figures doth he see the Lord.' * It is evident from this, that in the high estate of the union of love, Grod does not communicate Himself to the soul under the disguise of imaginary visions, similitudes, or figures, neither is there place for such, but mouth to mouth ; that is, it is in the pure and naked Essence of Grod, which is as it were the mouth of God in love, that He communicates Himself to the pure and of to?!"^'"'' naked essence of the soul, through the will which is the i_ mouth of the soul in the love of God. The soul, therefore, that will ascend to this perfect union with God, must be careful not to lean upon imaginary visions, forms, figures, and particular intelligible objects, for these things can never serve as proportionate or proxi- mate means towards so great an end : yea, rather they are an obstacle in the way, and therefore to be guarded against and rejected. For if in any case we are to admit these visions and esteem them, that must be for the profit and good effects which true visions have on the soul ; but it is not necessary, to secure these good effects, that we should admit the visions ; yea, rather it is always necessary to reject them that we may profit the more by them. The fruit of these imaginary visions, and also of the exterior bodily visions, is the communication of intelligence, love, or sweet- ness, but it is not necessary for this result that we should admit them willingly. For as I have abeady said, when these visions are present to the imagination they infuse into the • Num. xii. 6, 7, 8. CHAP. XVI. soul that intelligence, love, or sweetness, according to the good pleasure of God ; and thus the soul passively receives their quickening effects without being able on its own part to hinder them any more than it could acquire them, notwith- standing its previous efforts to dispose itself for that end. . The soul in some respects resembles a window, which can- not repel the rays of the sun striking against it, but which is disposed for the reception thereof, and is passively illumi- nated thereby, without care or effort on its own part. Thus the soul cannot but receive the influx and communications of these representations, because the will, negatively disposed, cannot, in its state of humble and loving resignation, resist the supernatural influence ; though, no doubt, ita impureness and imperfections are an impediment, as stains in the glass obscure the light. It is clear from this, then, that the soul, the more it is Fruit of Di- vine favours detached in will and affections from the stains of impressions, in proportion ■*■ to detach- images, and representations, in which the spiritual communi- ^^ ^°^ cations are involved, not only does not deprive itself of these communications, and the blessings of which they are the cause, but is thereby the more disposed for their reception, and that in greater abundance, clearness, liberty of spirit, and singleness of mind ; all the impressions, veils, and shadows, which hide the deeper spirituality within, being cast aside. If we feed upon them, sense and spirit are so filled, that 7 spiritual communication cannot freely and in simplicity be made to us ; for while we are occupied with the exterior covering, the intellect is not free to receive the substance within. If the soul will admit, and make much of, these impressions, the result will be embarrassment, and resting satisfied with that which is of least importance in them, namely, with all that it can grasp and comprehend, the form, the representation, and the particular conception. The chief part of them, the spiritual part infused, eludes its grasp, and 120 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. NOTHING TRUSTWORTHY BUT FAITH. 121 BOOK is beyond its comprehension; the soul cannot discern or explain it, because it is wholly spiritual. That only can it perceive, which is of least value, namely the sensible forms which are within the reach of its own understanding ; and for this cause I maintain that the soul, passively, without any intellectual effort, and without knowing how to make any such effort, receives through these visions what it can neither understand nor imagine, to^^^^. ^^^ ^^^^^ reasons, therefore, the eyes of the soul must be continually turned aside from these visible and distinctly in- telligible things, communicated through the senses, which form neither the foundation nor the security of Faith, and be fixed on the invisible, not on the things of sense but on those of the Spirit which are not cognisable by sense ; for it is this that lifts up the soul to union in faith which is the proper medium. And thus these visions will subsequently profit the soul in the attainment of faith when it shall have perfectly renounced all that sense and intellect find in them ; and when it shall have duly applied itself to that end which God had in view when He sent them, by detachiDg itself from them. Because, as I have said before with regard to bodily visions, God does not send them that the soul may admit them and set its affections upon them. But here arises this doubt ; if it be true that these super- natural visions are sent from God, not for the purpose of being received, clung to, and prized by the soul, why then are they sent at all ? They are the source of many errors and dangers, and are at least inconveniences, hindering our further advancement This objection is specially true, for God is able to communicate spiritually to the very substance of the soul that which He thus communicates through the interior senses in visions and sensible forms. I shall reply to this doubt in the following chapter. The doctrine on this subject is most important, and in my opinion exceedingly necessary as well for spiritual persons as for those who have the direction of them. I shall therein explain the way of God in them, and the end He has in view, the ignorance of which renders many unable to control them- selves, or to guide others through these visions along the road of unioD. They imagine, the moment they have ascer- tained the visions to be true and from God, that they may lean upon them and cleave to them ; not considering that the soul will find in them that which is natural to itself, that it will set its affections upon them and be embarrassed by them, as by the things of this world, if it does not repel them as it repels these. In this state of mind they will think it right to accept the visions, and to reject worldly things, thereby exposing themselves and the souls they direct to great dangers and vexations in discerning the truth or falsehood of these visions. God does not bid them to undertake this labour, nor to expose simple and sincere souls to this hazard ; for He has given them the sound and safe teaching of Faith, whereby to direct their steps, which cannot be followed with- out shutting our eyes against every object of sense, and of clear and particular perception. S. Peter was perfectly certain of that vision of glory which he saw when our Lord was transfigured, yet after relating it, he bids us walk by faith, saying : ' We have the more firm prophetical word : whereunto you do well to attend, as to a light that shineth in a dark place.'* This comparison involves the doctrine which I am teaching. For in saying that we should look to Faith of which the Prophets spoke, as to a light that shineth in a dark place, he bids us remain in darkness, shutting our eyes to all other light, and tells us that this darkness of faith, which is also obscure, ought to be the only light to which we should trust. For if we rely on other lights, clear * 2 S. Pet. i. 19. CHAP. XVI. 122 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. BOOK II. and distinct, of the understanding, we have ceased to rely on the obscurity of faith, which has therefore ceased to shine in the dark place of which the Apostle speaks. This place is the intellect, which is the candlestick to hold the light of faith. In this life, the intellect must therefore be dark, until the day of our transformation and union with Him, towards Whom the soul is travelling ; or until the day of the clear Vision of God shall have dawned in the next life. CHAPTER XVH. Of the ends and way of God in communicating spiritual blessings to the soul through the interior senses. Answer to the question proposed. Visions are J HAVE much to sav of the end which God has in view, and dangerous, — •^ ^^?*" of the ways He employs, when He sends visions to raise up the soul from its tepidity to the Divine union with Himself. This is treated of in all spiritual books, and I shall there- fore confine myself here to the solution of the question before us. That question is this : Why does Grod Who is most wise, and ever ready to remove every snare and every stumbling-block from before us, send us these supernatural visions, seeing that they are so full of danger, and so per- plexing to us in our further progress ? j^j^er. To answer this we have three principles to take for granted. SS^^^ The first is thus expressed by S. Paul : * Those that are, are ^chHehM ordained of God.' * That is, all that is done is done accord- nuido. ing to the ordinance of God. The second is expressed by the Holy Ghost saying of wisdom that it *ordereth all things sweetly.' f The third is an axiom of Theology, God / moveth all things in harmony with their constitution. { Ac- • Rom. xiii. 1, t Wisd. viii. 1. X Deus omnia movet secundiun modum eorum. A DIVINE ORDER IN NATURE AND GRACE. 133 cording to these principles, then, it is evident that God, when He elevates the soul from the depths of its own vileness to the opposite heights of His own dignity in union with Himself, worketh orderly, sweetly, and in harmony with the constitution of the soul. As the process by which the soul acquires knowledge rests on the forms and images of created things, and as the mode of its understanding and perception is that of the senses, it follows that God, in order to raise it up to the highest knowledge, orderly and sweetly, must begin with the lower senses, that He may thus raise it up in harmony with its own constitution to the supreme Wisdom of the Spirit which is not cognisable by sense. For this reason He leads the soul first of all through forms, images, and sensible ways, proportionate to its capacity, whether natural or supernatural, and through reflections, upwards to His own Supreme Spirit. This is the cause of His sending visions and imaginary forms, and other sensible and intel- ligible means of knowledge. Not because He would not in an instant communicate the substance of the Spirit, pro- vided that the two extremes, the human and Divine, that is, sense and Spirit, were ordinarily able to meet together, and to be united in a single act, without the previous intervention of many disposing acts, which orderly and sweetly concur together, one being the foundation and the preparation for the other, as in natural operations where the first subserves the second, that the next, and so onwards. Thus the way in which God leads man to perfection is the way of his natural constitution, raising him up from what is vile and exterior to that which is interior and noble. In the first place He perfects him in the bodily senses, moving him to make a right use of good things which in themselves are natural, perfect, and exterior ; such as hearing Mass and sermons, veneration of holy things, mortification of the appetite at meals, the maceration of the body by CHAP. XVII. Analogy of the natural acquisition of knowledge. Pour ordi- nary states of spiritual progress. 1. External mortifica- tion. 124 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. THE SPIRIT SWEETER AND STRONGER THAN SENSE. 125 BOOK n. 3. Sensible sweetness. 3. Medita- tion. 4. Interior Tifdons. penance, and the chastening of the sense of touch by holy austerities. And when the senses are in some measure pre- pared, God is wont to perfect them still more by granting them certain supernatural favours and consolations that they may be confirmed the more in goodness. He sends to them certain supernatural communications, such as visions of Saints or of holy things in bodily form, delicious odours. Divine locutions accompanied by a pure and singular sweet- ness, whereby the very senses are greatly strengthened in virtue and withdrawn from the desire of evil things. Besides, He perfects also the interior bodily senses, the imagination and the fancy, at the same time ; accustoms them to good, through considerations, meditations, and holy reflections, according to the measure of their capacity, and in all teaches and informs the mind. And when the interior senses are dis- posed by this natural exercise, God is wont to enlighten them, and to spiritualise them, more and more, through the instru- mentality of certain supernatural visions, which I have called imaginary; from which the mind at the same time derives great profit, and through the interior and exterior visions casts off its natural rudeness and becomes by degrees refined. God is free This is the way of God in elevating the soul to that which andsovereign • • j. • xt j. j.-l j_ • • in dispensing 18 mtcrior. JNot that it IS necessary for Him to observe this His graces. j j order and succession of progress, for He occasionally effects one degree without the other, as he sees it expedient for a par- ticulai- soul, and as it pleases Him to dispense His graces ; still His ordinary way is what I have described. This is the ordinary method of God in teaching and spiritualising the soul ; He begins by communicating to it spiritual things through things outward, palpable, and appropriate to sense, condescending to its weakness and the slight measure of its powers ; so that through the veil of exterior objects, in themselves good, the mind, forming particular acts, and receiving such portions of the spiritual communication, may acquire the habit of spirituality and attain to the Substance of the Spirit, to which sense is a stranger, and which the soul could never reach but by little and little in its own way, through the senses, on which it has always rested. And thus in proportion as it approaches spirituality in its converse with God, does it detach itself from, and empty itself of, the ways of sense, that is, of reflections, meditation, and imagination. And when it. shall have attained perfectly to converse in spirit with God, it must of necessity have_ emptied itself _of_all that relates to that converse which falls under the cognisance of sense. Thus, when an object is attracted to one extreme, the more it recedes from the other the nearer it approaches ; and when it shall have completely reached the point to which it tends, it will then be completely withdrawn from the other. This is the spiritual maxim so generally known : Gustato Spiritu, desipit omnia caro. When we have tasted the sweetness of the Spirit, all that is flesh becomes insipid ; that is, it profits us no more, and the ways of sense are no longer pleasing. This maxim refers to all the ways in which sense may be employed about spiritual things. This is evident : for if a thing be spiritual it falls not under the cognisance of the senses, and if it be such as is comprehensible by sense, then is it no longer purely spiritual. For the more anything is comprehended by sense and our natural perceptions, the less it has of the Spirit and of the supernatural. The spiritual man, therefore, having attained to perfection, makes no account of sense, receives nothing through it, does not ^vail himself of it, neither has he any need of it in his converse with God, as was the case before with him when he had not received the increase of the Spirit. This is the meaning of S. Paul when he said : * When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child. But when I became a man, I put away the things of CHAP. XVII. \ J The full stature of the spiritual man. 1^6 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL. MILK FOR BABES; MEAT FOR MEN. 127 BOOK n. Shonld in- terior Tisions be rejected even by a be- ginner ? Answer. Yes. Becansethey then become ; 1. More profitable, a child.' * I have already said that the objects of sense and the knowledge which results from them are the occupations of a child. That soul which ever clings to these, and which never detaches itself from them, will never cease to be a child ; as a child will it always speak, understand, and think of Grod, because relying on the outward veil of the senses which is childish, it will never attain to the Substance of the Spirit, which is the perfect man. And so the soul ought not to admit revelations, with a view to its own spiritual growth, even though God should send them; for the infant must abandon the breasts if it is to become accustomed to more solid and substantial food. Is it necessary then, you will ask, that the soul, in its spiritual infancy, should accept these revelations, and abandon them when it has grown; for the infant must seek its nourishment at the breast to be able to leave it when the time is come ? My answer is, that with regard to medita- tion and natural reflections, through which the soul begins its search after Grod, it must not, it is true, abandon the breast of the interior senses, to support itself, until the time has come when it may do so. That time is come when God raises the soul to a more spiritual converse with Himself, which is contemplation, and of that I spoke in the thirteenth chapter of this book. Still I maintain that these imaginary visions or other supernatural impressions, to which the senses are subject without the assent of the will, are, upon all occa- sions and at all times, whether in the perfect or less perfect state, and notwithstanding their coming from God, not to be sought after, nor dwelt upon by the soul ; and this for two reasons : — First, because these visions produce their effects pas- sively in the soul, without its being able on its own part to • 1 Cor. xiii. 11. hinder them, though it may do something towards hindering the manner of the vision ; consequently the secondary effects which it is intended to produce are much more substantially wrought, though not in that way. For in renouncing them with humility and fear, there is neither imperfection nor selfishness, but rather disinterestedness and emptiness of self, which is the best disposition for union with God. * Secondly, because we are thereby delivered from the risk and labour of discerning between good and bad visions, and of ascertaining whether the angel of light or of darkness is at hand. The attempt to do so is not profitable at all, but rather waste of time, an occasion of many imperfections and delay on the spiritual journey. That is not the way to direct a soul in matters which are of real importance, nor to relieve it of the vexation of trifles which are involved in particular apprehensions and perceptions, as I have said with respect to bodily visions and to those of the imagina- tion, and as I shall have to say again. Believe me, our Lord would never have communicated the abundance of the Spirit through these channels, so narrow, of forms and figures and particular perceptions, by which, as if by crumbs. He sustains the soul, if He had not to raise up that soul to Himself in the way appropriate to its own constitu- tion. This is the meaning of the Psalmist when he said : * He sendeth His crystal like morsels.' * The Wisdom of God is His crystal. How sad it is that the soul, whose capacity is as it were infinite, should be fed by morsels through the senses, because of its want of generosity, and because of its sensual weakness. S. Paul also saw with grief this little- ness of mind and absence of good spiritual dispositions, when he said to the Corinthians : ' And I, brethren, could not speak to you as imto spiritual, but as unto carnal. • Ps. cxlvii. 17. CHAP. xvn. 1^ 2. less dan- gerous and troublesome. N M 128 THE ASCENT OP MOUNT CARMEL. DANGERS OF CREDUUTY. 129 B^K. As unto little ones in Christ, I gave you milk to drink, not meat: for you were not able as yet. But neither indeed are you now able, for you are yet carnal.' * Let us, then, keep in mind that the soul must not regard these figures and objects, which are but the rind, when supematurally set before it; whether occurring through the exterior senses, as voices and words in the ear, visible visions of the Saints and beautiful lights, odours to the smell, sweet- ness to the palate, and other delectations of the touch, which are wont to proceed from the Spirit ; or through the interior senses as the interior imaginary visions. These things the rioS?-Per. ®^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ regard; yea, rather it must renounce them '^ZThig wholly, having its eyes fixed on that spiritual good alone G