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= OF THE 4 4 “y ORDER OF OUR LADY OF MOUNT CARMEL. _ a TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL SPANISH : = DAVID LEWIS, Eso. M.A. 7

| EDITED BY THE OBLATE FATHERS OF SAINT CHARLES.

WITH A PREFACE

BY

x ° al HIS EMINENCE CARDINAL WISEMAN.

VOL. I.

4 _ LONDON: aa LONGMAN, GREEN, LONGMAN, ROBERTS, & GREEN. Pot 1864.

NOTE BY THE TRANSLATOR.

This Translation was made for the late Father Farr, 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.

JHE INSTITUTE OF MEDIAEVAL STUDIES 10 ELMSLEY PLACE TORONTO 6, CANADA,

OCT 3 11931

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PREFACE.

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T 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 hé had ever seen an original likeness of 8. Teresa, in whom he thought these remarks were particularly exemplified. He replied that he never had; and the writer, on re- turning to Rome, 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 8. Sylvester, near Tusculum.

vi PREFACE.

It was painted for Philip II. by a concealed artist, while he was conversing with her.

This portrait confirms most strongly the theory of Gérres, 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 8. Teresa, her true portraits all represent her with strong, firmly set, and almost masculine features, with forms and lines that denoted vigour, resolution, and strong sense. Her handwriting perfectly suggests the 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 minds, 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 take up these volumes, or dip into them here and there, may conceive that they were written by a dreamy ascetic, who passed his life in hazy contemplation of things unreal and un- practical. Yet it was quite the contrary. Twin-saint, it may be said, to 8. Teresa—sharer in her labours and in her sufferings, 8. John of the Cross, actively and unflinchingly pursued their joint object, that of

= = PREFACE. vii

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reforming and restoring to its primitive purity and observance the religious Order of Carmelites, 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 8. John, as we do of 8. Teresa, or the more active portion and character of his life 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. i. p. 318), he thus writes to the religious 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 life of visionary or speculative meditation that 8. 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

vill PREFACE.

Friars have been received at Cordova with the greatest joy and solemnity on the part of the whole city .

I am now busied at Seville 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 established 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 §. John, I shall set forth to Ecija, where, with the Divine blessing, we shall 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 8. 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 fully and per- manently planted. In fact, if we looked only at his life, we should naturally conclude that he was a man

* The writer has had the pleasure of visiting these early foundations at Seville, Ecija, Malaga, and Granada. The first fervour of the Order yet remains in them.

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PREFACE. Ix

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 quality, 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 8. 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,

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 that 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 lies in this, and nothing more: 8. 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 power, but 8. 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 8. John it was clearly

PREFACE. X1

a bright and well-loved pursuit; it was a work of the heart more than of the head; its place was rather in the affections 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 feeling, 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 briliancy quite unexpected.

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 glancing at the index of texts quoted by him, placed at the end of the second volume, anyone may convince himself of his rare familiarity with the inspired writings, and one very different from what we may find among readers of Scripture in our days.

For, first, it is an impartial familarity, 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 in S. John we discover nothing of this sort. Of course,

xi ; PREFACE.

such a book as the Canticle, the special food of mystics, is familiar 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 illus- 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 familiarity, 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 has dealt with S. John of the Cross outside of the sphere in which the volume to which it is prefixed represents him as moving. Tt 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 life to be only a cloak for idleness, a pretext for abandoning or neglecting the active duties of domestic or social existence, and shrinking from their responsibilities. Those who pro-

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PREFACE. Xi

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 preliminary to presenting 8. 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 specuiations. 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 feeling and attractive. And such

XIV PREFACE.

both are; his own practice, and his communication 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 mi various ways; perhaps the most simple and appreciable will be found in an analogy, though imperfect, with other spheres of thought.

It is well known that a mind naturally adapted to a pursuit, and thus led ardently to follow it, after having become thoroughly conversant and familiar with all its resources, becomes almost, or altogether, independent of its methods, and attais conclusions by compendious processes, or by intuitive foresight, which require in others long and often complicated deductions. Famuliar illustrations may be found in our habitual speaking without thinking 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 decline 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 lighter character. The

PREFACE. XV

literary mind, whether in thinking, writing, or speaking, ’ when well disposed by abilities, and well tutored by application, 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 sublime, 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 brain, sweet melodies and rich harmonies, with tangled knots and delicious

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In the few examples which are here given, eu

which might easily be multiplied, the point illustrated

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.

Ca 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 symbolically fabled to express this process; or they grow up, expanding froma 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. 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 gtene at the royal table; Bishop Walmesley renounced his mathematical studies on

finding them painfully distract him at the altar.

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Neither recreation, nor serious employment, nor noise, nor any condition of time or place, will suffice to dissi- pate or even to disturb the continuous, unlaborious, and unfatiguing absorption of thought in the mental 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—Gop? 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 intellect in 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.*

Why, then, should not this, so comprehensive and so grand a source of every mental enjoyment, become a supreme, all-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 was unknown. The lecturer addressed to him the question, Quotuplex pars scientie est Deus ?—‘ What part of knowledge includes God?’ His reply overmastered the interrogator: Deus non est pars, qui est Totum: ‘ God is in no part—He is the WHOLE.’

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Xvill PREFACE.

tive fruition? Why should not some, or rather many, minds be found which have selected this as their occu- pation, their solace, their delight; and found it to be what none other can of its nature be, inexhaustible ? Everything else is measureable and fathomable ; this alone unlimited.

Then, if there be no repugnance to such a choice being made in the aim of contemplation, it is natural for 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 restricted object. There will be the same gradual and often slow course of assiduous training, the same diffi- culty of fixing and concentrating the thoughts; till by degrees forms and intermediate steps are dispensed _ with ; when the mind becomes passive, and its trains of thought seem spontaneous and in-coming, rather than worked out by elaborating processes.

This state, when God is the sole occupier of though represents the highest condition of contemplation, the reaching of which Mystical Theology professes to direct.

There are, however, two essential differences between the‘natural and the spiritual exercises of the contem- ‘plative faculties. In treating of the first, a natural aptitude was named throughout as a condition for attaining that highest sphere of spontaneous suggestion in the mind. In the second, this condition is not in- cluded. Its place is taken by the supernatural power of GRACE.

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PREFACE. Xix

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 religion. 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 P 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 believes in a superhuman gift, which supplies, in the higher life of man, the ordinary powers of nature, or elevates these to the attainment of what requires more than ordinary qualities, 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 sublime 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 further 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 believes 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 m his outward being, whatever befalls him, he is the

ward of a personal Providence; while in his inward and unseen 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 soul’s 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 which 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. XxXi

the spiritual science of 8S. 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 Catholic 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.

XXll ; 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.* 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 ; and how from one he is led to the other. This is very different from the ‘prayer of contemplation,’ which belongs to mystical theology.

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PREFACE. Xxiii

the first step of the ‘mystical ladder, which §. John teaches how to mount.

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 consummation 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 likeness.

Now, this aim of infirm humanity, and the possibility of reaching it, may appear, at first sight, extravagant and presumptuous. Yet there has hardly ever, if ever, existed a religious 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.

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 blissful enjoy- ment of His presence. In China the sect or school of Lao-tseu, with which the learned Abel-Remusat 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 off 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 Neo-platonic school—in Plotinus, Porphyrius,

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

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PREFACE. XXV

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 aliens, 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. xli.), 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 Elias, we are not called aside to speak or consider. This point may be safely left in

the hands of 8. 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 applied, as to force conviction upon us that the mystical and spiritual

* In races of 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 générateur de la Piété Catholique.

XXVi PREFACE.

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 familiarity 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 creature 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 solitude and silence were not idle, for they laboured 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

NL ——————_———==_ —

PREFACE. XXvil

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 thoughtful meditative lives, must be supposed to have attained the highest refinement of devout application to spiritual things which can be enjoyed on earth. And what pious solitaries thus gained in the desert of the Thebais, our own hermits, like Guthlake, and monks, like Cuthbert, as surely possessed. Without the peaceful enjoyment of such a sweet interior reward, their lives 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 Boéhme and Sweden- borg have found plenty of admirers ; the latter is still leader of a sect. It would be invidious to enter into a 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 8. John,

XXXVI PREFACE.

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 imagine 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

road, from which all joy and almost consolation is excluded.

PREFACE. XXiX

It is now time to lay before the reader an outline, though imperfect, of what he will 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 8. 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, we 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 of de- votional duties, and, what is infinitely worse, dejection, 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 Olivet, loathing the cup which he had longed for, beyond the sweet chalice which He had drunk 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

XXX PREFACE.

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 off, of our earthly and almost 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 from outward objects and from visible bonds, but from 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 reliance upon the ‘ordinary aids to contemplation, for the very impulses and first thrilling touches of love must come from God’s delicate 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 little below that of angels; but it has given proof of a love than which theirs can-. not be higher. That dark period of hard probation

* ‘They shall take wings as eagles, they shall run and not be weary’

(Isa. x1. 31) ; ‘ Who will give me wings like a dove, and I will fly and be at rest?’ Psalm liv. 7).

we

PREFACE, XxXxi

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 zs her God. And this per- severing and persisting love of Him, without a ray or even a glimmering 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 sublime privilege of contemplation has become so habitual, that scarce do the knees touch the ground in prayer, than the affections flash upwards from the heart, and are embosomed and absorbed at once in almost blissful fruition in God’s mighty love; and when the body is busy with the affairs of life, these no more hinder the © familiar colloquies and the burning glances of affection directed to the one exclusive Ruler of the soul, than did the slim and light 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. §. 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. b

XXXil PREFACE.

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 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 slippery 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

OO —————_— ——_—

PREFACE, — XXXiii

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 bound 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, and 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 8. 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.

After thus attempting, however imperfectly, to give an outline of §. 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 delight the more practical and cheerful maxims of the second part, and even find exquisite satisfaction in

b2

ed “Before closing this preface, it is a mere act a Oe is ae say, that the translation of these difficult works has a ‘been made with a care seldom bestowed upon such

books when rendered from a foreign language. So a 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- i ever abstruse the subject may be. Indeed, he will

_ almost find a difficulty in believing that the work is a = translation, and has not been written originally as he ead it, in his own tongue.

Lonpon: February 23, 1864.

Ml oS tae

+ Bee

CONTENTS |

THE FIRST VOLUME.

THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

PAGE STANZAS : ¥ ; > ; ; : 3 d ; ; s 1 PROLOGUE. . ; 7 ‘ Fis Es ; Ps » . 3

BOOK I,

THE NATURE OF 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 KINDS OF THIS NIGHT, CORRESPONDING WITH THE DIVISION OF THE SOUL INTO HIGHER AND LOWER . e : F F . * E 8

CHAPTER IL.

THE NATURE AND CAUSE OF THE OBSCURE NIGHT . . . . 9

CHAPTER III.

THE FIRST CAUSE, THE PRIVATION OF THE DESIRE r F F a2 aE

CHAPTER IV.

THE NECESSITY OF PASSING TRULY THROUGH THE OBSCURE NIGHT OF SENSE, WHICH IS THE MORTIFICATION OF THE DESIRE ; 4 "eR

CHAPTER V.

CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT. PROOFS FROM SCRIPTURE , . 18

XXXvi CONTENTS OF

CHAPTER VI. PAGE TWO GREAT EVILS OF THE DESIRES: NEGATIVE AND POSITIVE. PROOFS FROM SCRIPTURE : . . s 3 ‘ : : : 2 28 CHAPTER VII. THE DESIRES TORMENT THE SOUL. PROOFS AND ILLUSTRATIONS . seen CHAPTER VIII. THE DESIRES DARKEN THE SOUL. PROOFS AND ILLUSTRATIONS 2 be te CHAPTER IX. THE DESIRES POLLUTE THE SOUL. PROOFS FROM SCRIPTURE . . 2 NS CHAPTER X. THE DESIRES MAKE THE SOUL LUKEWARM, AND ENFEEBLE VIRTUE. PROOFS AND ILLUSTRATIONS . i eg < . F : ; a a) ede CHAPTER XI, THE NECESSITY OF FREEDOM FROM ALL DESIRES, HOWEVER SLIGHT, FOR THE DIVINE UNION ‘ } “ = : j = : . 39 CHAPTER XII, THE NATURE OF THOSE DESIRES WHICH SUFFICE TO INJURE THE soUL. . 44 CHAPTER XIII. HOW THE SOUL ENTERS BY FAITH INTO THE NIGHT OF SENSE 2 se CHAPTER XIV. EXPLANATION OF THE SECOND LINE OF THE STANZA f roe | CHAPTER XV.

EXPLANATION OF THE LAST LINES OF THE STANZA ; : : - 63

BOOK II.

PROXIMATE MEANS OF UNION, FAITH. THE SECOND NIGHT OF THE SPIRIT.

CHAPTER I. EXPLANATION OF THE SECOND STANZA.

CUAPTER II.

THE SECOND PART, OR CAUSE, OF THIS NIGHT—FAITH. TWO REASONS WHY IT IS DARKER THAN THE FIRST AND THIRD ‘ ; ‘ oS

hat? ae ~ THE FIRST VOLUME. XXXVI1L CHAPTER III. PAGE FAITH, THE DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL, PROOFS FROM REASON AND THE HOLY SCRIPTURES ; : : 3 3 i : : : ee Oe CHAPTER IV. HOW THE SOUL MUST BE IN DARKNESS, IN ORDER TO BE DULY GUIDED BY FAITH TO THE HIGHEST CONTEMPLATION s 7 . iy AOR CHAPTER 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 8, LUKE AND ISAIAS . i P : F Z ‘ : ee i,

CHAPTER VII.

THE STRAITNESS OF THE WAY OF LIFE. THE DETACHMENT AND FREEDOM NECESSARY FOR THOSE WHO WALK IN IT. THE DETACHMENT OF THE

INTELLECT . * 5 5 4 . ¢ r és é P 74 CHAPTER VIII. NO CREATURE, NO KNOWLEDGE, COMPREHENSIBLE BY THE INTELLECT, CAN SUBSERVE AS PROXIMATE MEANS OF UNION WITH GOD i ; rea. 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 ‘ , ° ° . . 86 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 . ° ; . “ ‘ ‘ ; F - 88

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 ,. . 96

CHAPTER XIII. E SIGNS TO BE OBSERVED BY THE SPIRITUAL MAN THAT HE MAY KNOW WHEN TO WITHDRAW THE INTELLECT FROM IMAGINARY FORMS

AND DISCURSIVE MEDITATIONS . ie ; * 4 : .

CHAPTER XIV.

_ THE FITNESS OF THESE SIGNS. THE NECESSITY OF OBSERVING THEM FOR

SPIRITUAL PROGRESS . . . . . . . . .

CHAPTER XV. OF THE OCCASIONAL NECESSITY OF MEDITATING AND EXERTING THE NA-

i) =~.

TURAL FACULTIES ON THE PART OF THOSE WHO BEGIN TO ENTER ON THE CONTEMPLATIVE STATE . : : . . + oe _ CHAPTER XVI. OF IMAGINARY APPREHENSIONS SUPERNATURALLY REPRESENTED TO THE FANCY. THEY CANNOT BE PROXIMATE MEANS OF UNION WITH GOD . CHAPTER XVII.

OF THE ENDS AND WAY OF GOD IN COMMUNICATING SPIRITUAL BLESSINGS TO THE SOUL THROUGH THE INTERIOR SENSES. ANSWER TO THE QUESTION PROPOSED . 4 ; : ; ; F : s a

CHAPTER XVIII.

‘HOW SOULS ARE INJURED BECAUSE THEIR SPIRITUAL DIRECTORS DO NOT

GUIDE THEM ARIGHT THROUGH THESE VISIONS. HOW THESE VISIONS, THOUGH FROM GOD, BECOME OCCASIONS OF ERROR . . . .

© CHAPTER XIX.

VISIONS, REVELATIONS, AND LOCUTIONS, THOUGH TRUE AND FROM GOD, MAY DECEIVE. PROOFS FROM HOLY SCRIPTURE . . . . .

CHAPTER XX.

_ PROOFS FROM SCRIPTURE THAT THE DIVINE LOCUTIONS, THOUGH ALWAYS

TRUE, ARE NOT ALWAYS CERTAIN IN THEIR CAUSES . . . .

CHAPTER XXI.

GOD IS AT TIMES DISPLEASED WITH CERTAIN PRAYERS, THOUGH HE AN- SWERS THEM, ILLUSTRATIONS OF HIS ANGER WITH SUCH PRAYERS .

CHAPTER XXII.

IT IS NOT LAWFUL, UNDER THE NEW LAW, AS IT WAS UNDER THE OLD, TO ENQUIRE OF GOD BY SUPERNATURAL WAYS. THIS DOCTRINE PRO- FITABLE FOR THE UNDERSTANDING OF THE MYSTERIES OF OUR HOLY FAITH, PROOFS FROM S, PAUL , . . . .

112

114

122

128

133

142

147

155

, 1 wt . is

.

THE FIRST -VOLUME. XXXI1X

CHAPTER XXIII.

OF THE PURELY SPIRITUAL APPREHENSIONS OF THE INTELLECT . .

CHAPTER XXIV. OF THE TWO KINDS OF SPIRITUAL VISIONS WHICH COME BY THE SUPER- NATURAL WAY . : . ; : ; ‘ . , ; ‘ CHAPTER XXV.

OF REVELATIONS: THEIR NATURE AND DIVISION . . . . .

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE INTELLIGENCE OF PURE TRUTHS. TWO KINDS THEREOF. THE CON- DUCT OF THE SOUL THEREIN . . . . . . . .

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 . . . . . . . . . . . .

CHAPTER XXVIII. OF THE INTERIOR LOCUTIONS WHICH OCCUR SUPERNATURALLY. THEIR DIFFERENT KINDS : . . . . , : ° : . CHAPTER XXIX.

OF THE FIRST KIND OF WORDS FORMED BY THE MIND SELF-RECOLLECTED. THE CAUSES OF THEM. THE ADVANTAGES AND DISADVANTAGES OF THEM . . . . . . . . . . . .

CHAPTER XXX,

OF INTERIOR WORDS FORMALLY WROUGHT IN A SUPERNATURAL WAY. OF THE DANGERS INCIDENT THERETO; AND A NECESSARY CAUTION AGAINST DELUSIONS , . . . . . . . . . . .

CHAPTER XXXI.

OF THE 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 .

CHAPTER XXXII.

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 . .

169

174

175

184

188

189

195

199

201

BOOK IL

THE PURGATION AND ACTIVE NIGHT OF THE MEMORY AND THE WILL.

CHAPTER I.

OF THE NATURAL APPREHENSIONS OF THE MEMORY: WHICH IS TO BE

PAGE

EMPTIED OF THEM, THAT THE SOUL, ACCORDING TO THAT FACULTY, —

MAY BE UNITED WITH GOD . : . . . . . .

CHAPTER II.

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 . . . . . .

CHAPTER III. OF THE SECOND EVIL, COMING FROM THE EVIL SPIRIT THROUGH THE NATURAL APPREHENSIONS OF THE MEMORY : » emee*s . CHAPTER IV. OF THE THIRD EVIL, PROCEEDING FROM THE DISTINCT NATURAL KNOW- LEDGE OF THE MEMORY . ‘ . ; . . . ‘ ° CHAPTER V.

THE PROFITABLENESS OF FORGETFULNESS AND EMPTINESS, WITH REGARD TO ALL THOUGHTS AND KNOWLEDGE, WHICH NATURALLY OCCUR TO THE MEMORY . . . . . : “¢ . . . .

CHAPTER VI.

OF THE SECOND KIND OF APPREHENSIONS: THE IMAGINARY AND SUPER- NATURAL . : ‘ ; :

CHAPTER VIL

‘THE EVILS INFLICTED ON THE SOUL BY THE KNOWLEDGE OF SUPERNA- TURAL THINGS IF REFLECTED UPON. THEIR NUMBER . . .

CHAPTER VIII.

OF THE SECOND EVIL: THE DANGER OF SELF-CONCEIT AND PRESUMPTION

CHAPTER IX.

OF THE THIRD EVIL: THE WORK OF THE DEVIL THROUGH THE IMAGINARY APPREHENSIONS OF THE MEMORY

. CF . . . . .

213

216

217

219

221

222

224

226

oer

THE FIRST VOLUME. xli

CHAPTER X. PAGE OF THE FOURTH EVIL OF THE DISTINCT SUPERNATURAL APPREHENSIONS OF THE MEMORY: THE IMPEDIMENT TO UNION . ; ; : . 228 CHAPTER XJ. OF THE FIFTH EVIL, RESULTING FROM THE IMAGINARY SUPERNATURAL APPREHENSIONS: LOW AND UNSEEMLY VIEWS OF GOD. = : ~ 228 CHAPTER XII.

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 . 5 . 236 CHAPTER XIV. GENERAL DIRECTIONS FOR THE GUIDANCE OF THE SPIRITUAL MAN IN RE- LATION TO THE MEMORY . ? Z - ; ; ¢ - . 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.

OF THE FIRST AFFECTION OF THE WILL. WHAT JOY IS. ITS DIVERS SOURCES . i - ‘ 4 3 ps R “ J « 248

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 , : o, ae CHAPTER XIX. THE BENEFITS RESULTING FROM WITHDRAWING OUR JOY FROM TEMPORAL THINGS F ¢ P 3 3 ‘ , A 2 : A 253 CHAPTER XX.

THE JOY OF THE WILL IN NATURAL GOODS IS VANITY. HOW TO DIRECT THE WILL TO GOD THEREIN 7 : Z ‘ : ; ‘ . 256

CHAPTER XXIII.

OF THE THIRD KIND, SENSIBLE GOODS. THEIR NATURU AND VARIETIES.

THE. REGULATION OF THE WILL WITH RESPECT TO THEM . . .

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE EVILS WHICH BEFALL THE SOUL WHEN THE WILL HAS JOY IN SEN- SIBLE GOODS . . : . . . . . . « .

CHAPTER XXV.,

THE SPIRITUAL AND TEMPORAL BENEFITS OF SELF-DENIAL IN THE JOY OF SENSIBLE THINGS . . . . . . . . . .

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE FOURTH KIND OF GOODS: MORAL GOODS. HOW THE WILL MAY LAW- FULLY REJOICE IN THEM . . . . . . . - .

_CHAPTER XXVII.

SEVEN EVILS TO WHICH MEN ARE LIARLE IF THE WILL REJOICES IN MORAL GOODS . . . . . . . . . . .

.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE BENEFITS OF REPRESSING ALL JOY IN MORAL GOODS . . .

CHAPTER XXTX.

THE FIFTH KIND OF GOODS, IN WHICH THE WHHL 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

CHAPTER XXX. ”

THE EVILS RESULTING FROM THE WILL’S REJOICING IN THIS KIND OF Goops. s . 5 ‘

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE BENEFITS OF SELF-DENIAL IN THE JOY OF SUPERNATURAL GRACES .

267

269

273

276

_ 281

283

290

re. SPE eee! SE

THE SIXTH KIND OF GOODS IN WHICH THE WILL REJOICES. THEIR NA- TURE, THE FIRST DIVISION OF THEM Me Be ts CHAPTER XXXIII. OF THE SPIRITUAL GOODS DISTINCTLY COGNISABLE BY THE INTELLECT AND THE MEMORY. THE CONDUCT OF THE WILL WITH RESPECT TO JOY IN” THEM Os

. . . . . . . . . . .

CHAPTER XXXIV.

OF THE SWEET SPIRITUAL GOODS WHICH DISTINCTLY AFFECT THE WILL. THEIR DIVERSITIES ; 5 . 293

. - . . . . .

CHAPTER XXXV. THE SUBJECT CONTINUED. THE IGNORANCE OF SOME PEOPLE IN THE MATTER OF IMAGES . - 7 > ; . : Z : . 297 CHAPTER XXXVI.

HOW THE JOY OF THE WILL IN SACRED IMAGES IS TO BE REFERRED TO GOD, SO THAT THERE SHALL BE NO HINDRANCE IN IT, OR OCCASIONS OF ERROR . - é . ‘ . 3800

CHAPTER XXXVII.

MOTIVE GOODS CONTINUED. ORATORIES AND PLACES OF PRAYER . . 302

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE RIGHT USE OF CHURCHES AND ORATORIES. HOW THE SOUL IS TO BE DIRECTED THROUGH THEM UNTO GOD . . 3805

CHAPTER XXXIX.

CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT ‘ 4 SOT

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 . 7 2 . 3808

CHAPTER XLI.

OF THE THREE KINDS OF DEVOTIONAL PLACES. HOW THE WILL IS TO REGULATE ITSELF IN THE MATTER ‘ . 3809

CHAPTER XLII.

OF OTHER MOTIVES TO PRAYER ADOPTED BY MANY; NAMELY, MANY CERE- MONIES. . ’ : ‘ : - $12

JOY AND STRENGTH OF THE +’ - < 9

i eas mae aa ane” 3

OF THE SECOND KIND OF DISTINCT GOODS IN WHICH THE WILL VAINLY

THE OBSCURE NIGHT OF THE

BOOK I. OF THE NIGHT OF SENSE. = ‘ 2 CHAPTER I. ; SS | OF THE IMPERFECTIONS OF BEGINNERS .. ; : 2 o) “wl BSF a CHAPTER IL. : a OF SOME IMPERFECTIONS TO WHICH BEGINNERS ARE LIABLR IN THE Se MATTER OF PRIDE : ‘ . ‘ : * . vee - 329 all CHAPTER IIL. “Ss - a OF THE IMPERFECTIONS OF AVARICE, IN THE SPIRITUAL SENSE . - 333 “i itu CHAPTER IV. =< ae OF THE IMPERFECTION OF LUXURY, SPIRITUALLY UNDERSTOOD ‘ « 3835 aie OF THE IMPERFECTIONS OF ANGER Ne ES OS Ae i< CHAPTER VI. a OF THE IMPERFECTIONS OF SPIRITUAL GLUTTONY . £ A $ . 339 rl 7 i 5a eS CHAPTER VII. = OF THE IMPERFECTIONS OF ENVY AND SPIRITUAL SLOTH : : . 343 “- CHAPTER VIII. EXPLANATION OF THE FIRST LINE OF THE FIRST STANZA : : . 346 os re ~.

IS WALKING IN THE WAY OF THIS NIGHT OR SENSITIVE PURGATION

CHAPTER X. HOW THEY ARE TO CONDUCT THEMSELVES WHO HAVE ENTERED THE OBSCURE NIGHT . . . . . . . . e °

CHAPTER XI.

EXPLANATION OF THE SECOND LINE OF THE FIRST STANZA

.

. 3859 CHAPTER XIII. OF OTHER BENEFITS OF THE NIGHT OF SENSE ,

CHAPTER XIV.

. 3865 THE LAST LINE OF THE FIRST STANZA EXPLAINED

. 869

BOOK II.

OF THE NIGHT OF THE SPIRIT.

CHAPTER I.

THE SECOND NIGHT; THAT OF TIE SPIRIT. WHEN IT BEGINS

. 373 CHAPTER I.

OF CERTAIN IMPERFECTIONS OF PROFICIENTS .

INTRODUCTION

°

. 376 CHAPTER ITI.

«ie CHAPTER IV.

THE FIRST STANZA SPIRITUALLY EXPLAINED

. 3879

. 3856 CHAPTER XII. OF THE BENEFITS OF THE NIGHT OF SENSE

1 bee aS

CHAPTER V.

| CONTEMPLATION IS NOT A NIGHT ONLY, BUT PAIN AND TORMENT "ALSO FOR THE SOUL . . . Pee ete oy os ae

CHAPTER VI.

OF OTHER SUFFERINGS OF THE SOUL IN THIS NIGHT

= : CHAPTER VIL. Re “1. THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. OTHER AFFLICTIONS AND TRIALS OF THE 3 ° wut > ; ‘ d : A F . : 4 - b ¢ e CHAPTER VIII. OTHER TRIALS OF THE SOUL IN THIS STATE . ; ‘ ‘ : F CHAPTER IX, HOW IT IS THAT THIS NIGHT ENLIGHTENS THE MIND WHILE IT BRINGS DARKNESS OVER IT. A : 4 : A 2 rg a Ot CHAPTER X.

; EXPLANATION OF THIS PURGATION BY A COMPARISON . . . .

CHAPTER XI, -- A VEHEMENT PASSION OF DIVINE LOVE THE FRUIT OF THESE SHARP AF- : FLICTIONS OF THE SOUL F : 3 ‘ 5 ; ; ; -

: 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 . . . . .

CHAPTER XIII.

OTHER SWEET EFFECTS OF THE DARK NIGHT OF CONTEMPLATION . .

CHAPTER XIV.

THE LAST LINES OF THE FIRST STANZA SPIRITUALLY EXPLAINED .

380

3888

393

396

402

405

409

412

417

ty

EXPLANATION OF THE SECOND STANZA .

CHAPTER XVI.

HOW THE SOUL JOURNEYS SECURELY WHEN IN DARKNESS

CHAPTER XVII.

OBSCURE CONTEMPLATION IS SECRET .

S CHAPTER XVIII.

‘5 te HOW THIS SECRET WISDOM IS ALSO A LADDER .

CHAPTER XIX.

THE MYSTIC LADDER HAS TEN DEGREES. EXPLANATION OF THE FIRST FIVE

‘ad OF THEM . . . . . . - . . . . . - CHAPTER XX. sll . OF THE OTHER FIVE DEGREES ° woo 8 F . . . : > 4 rs ae: CHAPTER XXI. a. 4 THE MEANING OF ‘DISGUISED.’ THE COLOURS IN WHICH THE SOUL DIS- = GUISES ITSELF . : . . . . . . . : : Ps. a CHAPTER XXII, a ( HAPPINESS OF THE SOUL ; i . F . . ° F c *s CHAPTER XXIII. bP x. -o THE WONDERFUL HIDING-PLACE OF THE SOUL, WHICH THE DEVIL, THOUGH = HE PENETRATES INTO OTHER HIGHER PLACES, CANNOT ENTER : ¢ ; CHAPTER XXIV. THE LAST LINE OF THE SECOND STANZA EXPLAINED ‘ , ; ‘ CHAPTER XXV, THIRD STANZA EXPLAINED ° . F ¢ : ‘ . : ‘

446

452

ERRATUM, *

Vol. I, pp. 1, 323, Second Stanza, for obseurity

THE

ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

Gre : i seat Kaa , te et oe a = SS. Wine ——h ae

| THE

ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

ARGUMENT.

Tue following stanzas are a summary of the doctrine contained in this book of the Ascent of Mount Carmel. They also describe how we are to ascend to the summit of Perfection, — it, that is, to the high estate of perfection, called here union of the soul with God. 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 I In an obscure night, With anxious love inflamed, O, happy lot! Forth unobserved I went, My house being now at rest.

I In darkness and obscurity, By the secret ladder, disguised, O, happy lot! In darkness and concealment, My house being now at rest. VOL. I. B

yy

In that happy Hehe

In secret, en oe > i —_ Seeing nought myself, . “ ia

Ps Without other light or guide | _ Save that which in my heart was burning,

That light guided me a GS Ait te a More surely than the noonday sun

To the place where He was waiting : for ne a

Whom I knew well, . Ae

And where none but He appeared. a

: "Fae v | Be O, guiding night; aa oe O, night more lovely than the dawn ; ite a es See . O, night that hast united a | ies The Lover with His beloved, his And changed her into her Love. ; r ; = * vi a On my flowery bosom, 3 Kept whole for Him alone, = 2 He reposed and slept ; ~s nn aa I kept Him, and the waving ae - Of the cedars fanned Him. ge e As $ é ue ee F tse: : vit 7 ee a Then His hair floated in the breeze | a 4 That blew from the turret ; ae He struck me on the eck ee With His gentle hand,

And all sensation left me.

’ Vir

I continued in oblivion lost,

My head was resting on my Love;

I fainted away, abandoned, ken And, amid the lilies forgotten, Threw all my cares away.

ieee ee ‘ 4 7

_ GUIDE, THE CHURCH AND HOLY SCRIPTURE. 3

PROLOGUE.

Tue dark night, through which the soul passes, on its way 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 but

~ slightly on the subject of this dark night, I 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 Church. I resign myself absolutely to her light, and bow down before her decisions, and moreover 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 — -hut 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 understand their

B2

PROLOGUE

The Author's submission

ot THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

protocun, 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 God has given grace to 1. Cowardice, advance —and who, had they taken courage, would have’ reached perfection — remain satisfied with narrow-minded views of God’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. 2. self-wil, 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 little 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 di- 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 like the builders of Babel; who, when

| _ | f ; DIFFICULTIES OF THE WAY. 5

required to furnish certain materials, furnished others of a Protocun. very different sort, because they knew not the language of : those around them, and thts 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- :

not comprehend their own state, nor meet with any one who ean. 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,f 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. West of his sorrows to flow 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. t Job iv.

6 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

protocus. God’s purgation; and when they ought to leave him alone,

5. Abuse of grace.

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.

T 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.

As my book treats of the obscure night in which the soul PROLOGUE. journeys on to God, let no one be surprised if he finds it ®% Ors also somewhat obscure. It will be so, certainly, at first, but as the reader advances he will understand it better, for one How part of it will throw light on another. If it be read a second “73 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

j ignorance and poor style, for the matter of it is in itself good and most necessary.

But after 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.

CONDITIONS OF MAKING THE JOURNEY. 7

i -

Pwd

BOOK as

Perfection requires ;

I. Purga- tion of the flesh.

wm. Purga- tion of the spirit.

PAF <G a ty

4 .

8 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

BOOK I.

THE NATURE OF 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 kinds of this night, corresponding with the division of the soul into higher and lower.

STANZA I, In an obscure night, With anxious love inflamed, O, happy lot! Forth unobserved I went, My house being now at rest. HIS 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 stanza, 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

NATURE AND CAUSE OF THE OBSCURE NIGHT. 9 & °° 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 P 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,

as 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 4 from which so great a blessing results, but into which it 4 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 ; , i

eater ele eraapR et 3,

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 II. The nature and cause of the obscure night.

- ‘In an obscure night..— The journey of the soul to the Thres parts Divine union is called night for three reasons. The first scure night.

is derived from the point from which the soul sets out, {.

2. Faith, the privation of the desire of all pleasure in all the things * %*

BOOK ae

Tilustrated

ad =

10 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

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 afgel, ‘thou 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, ‘thou 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.

£. oes

we tag

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 effected 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 objects 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 hand.

CHAPTER II. The first cause, the privation of the desire.

Tux privation of all pleasure to the desire in all things is 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

I. The night of privation.

BOOK z

12 _ THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

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, so 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 whicli 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 no 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 cell. 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

PASSAGE THROUGH THE NIGHT OF PRIVATION. 13

see. This is the meaning of the Psalmist when he said, cmap, ‘I am poor and in labours 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. Butif 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

may ac-

speaking here of the absence of things—for absence is not compete

detachment, if the desire of them remain—but of that detach- ment which consists in suppressing desire, and avoiding

a

a at wet

* a Ot Ree Retire

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 cntoe 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. «

es,

CHAPTER IV.

The necessity of passing truly through the obscure night of sense, which is the mortification of the desire.

Tue soul must of necessity—if we would attain to the Thesow Divine union of God—pass through the obscure night of *e masters, 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 and possessed by the pure and simple light of God, unless

we first cast it away. Light hath no fellowship with dark-

Ce tas <

* Psal. Ixxxvii. 16.

BOOK I

14 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

ness, for as St. John saith, ‘The light shineth in darkness,

——— and the darkness did not comprehend it.’* Two contrary

The creature is nothing in compa- rison with the Creator.

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 renders 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.’{. 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 God 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

* §. John i. 5. ft 2 Cor. vi. 14, t Ps. exiii. 8. § Jerem. iv, 23.

GOD THE FIRST FAIR AND THE HIGHEST GOOD. 15

absence of light. And as he who is in darkness comprehends cmap. 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 God aloneis; God, is nothing; and so the soul whose affections are set on 1 Bene 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 2 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- 3- Goodness. 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

* Proy. xxxi. 30. + S-.Luke xviii. 19. >

16 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

nook fellowship with goodness, so that soul cannot be united in perfect union with God, who is the supreme Goodness.

4. Wisdom, 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.’t Ignorance, therefore, and not knowledge, becomes that soul which strives after union with the Wisdom of God.

Raheny 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. + Rom. i, 22. } 1 Cor, iii. 18, 19. § S. Luke xxii. 26.

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 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 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 glorious.

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. ‘O ye men, to you I call, and my voice is to the sons of men. O 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. t 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, t Prov. viii. 4-6, 18-21, VOL. I. Cc

CHAP. IV.

6. Happiness.

7. Riches and honour.

BOOK x

8. Augustine.

18 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

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 God 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.

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 was 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, Iam blind; Thou art life, and lam 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

* Solilog. c. ii. Opp. Ed, Ben. tom, vi. App. p. 86.

‘

‘Nel 4

THE EVANGELICAL LAW OF RENUNCIATION. 19

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 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.

* §, Luke, xiv. 33. ¢ Ex. xvi. 4. t Num. xi. 4. § Wisd. xvi. 20, | Ps. xxvii. 30, 31.

. c 2

CHAP. ¥:

The manna a type of God.

BOOK i.

20 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

Oh, would that spiritual persons knew how they are losing

————— the good things of the Spirit, abundantly furnished, because

Mount Sinai a type of

- perfection.

they will not raise up their desires above trifles, and how they might have the sweetness of all things in the pure food of the Spirit if they would only forego them. But as they will not, so they shall 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 if it should desire two things together, it does wrong to the chief of the two, because it es- tablishes an unjust equality between them. There is nothing in the whole world to be compared with God; and, therefore, he who loves anything together with Him, wrongs Him. 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 into the mount of perfection and hold communion with God,

* Ex. xxxiy. 2, 3.

oo By

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 patriarch Jacob. When he was on his way to Bethel to build an altar for sacrifice unto God, he commanded his household the observance of three things: the casting away of strange 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 unto 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. xxxy. 2.

CHAP.

Three com- mandments of Jacob :

1. Renun- ciation.

2. Purifi- cation.

3. Change of heart.

Look I

22 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

bringing the soul into a state of new knowledge nd of deep

——— delight, all other knowledge and old imaginings being cast

The altar of God to be . pure,

The royal road of the Holy Cross,

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.

This is the reason why, under the old law, the altar of sacrifice was to be hollow within. ‘Thou shalt not make it solid, but empty and hollow in the inside.’* It is the will of God 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.’t 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.t

One desire only doth God allow, and suffer} in His presence, that of perfectly observing His law, and of carrying the cross of Christ. We do not know that He commanded anything

* Ex. xxvii. 8. + Levit. x. 1, 2. t 1 Kings v. 1-5,

~

eyez

ep

<M Ae he aed

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.’+ 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.

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 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.’ { 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; Ex. xvi. 33. + Numb. xvii. 10. t Jerem, ii, 13, § Ch. IV,

CHAP. V.

I. Privation of God.

24 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

BOOK 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. aa wend not This explains those words of our Lord, ‘ It is not good to the « ent take the bread of children, and to cast it to the dogs;’* and ‘Give not that which is holy to dogs. t Our Lord compares those who, renouncing all earthly desires, prepare K themselves in simplicity 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.’ 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. + Ib. vii. 6. t Ps. lili. 15, 16.

_ Few

THE WAY OF TRANSGRESSORS IS HARD. 25

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

x

‘

God.

Let us now proceed to the second, which is manifold in its operations. The desires fatigue, torment, darken, defile and weaken the soul. Of these five forms of evil, I shall discuss each separately. As to the first, it is evident 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, is 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.’ 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

f)

Il. Five wounds of the soul.

1, Weariness,

<- nd

* Ts. xxix. 8. 7 7) re t Job xx. 22. * i le ahs re a nek wt Ge \ A Hoh pie wee ye se |

é*

BOOK k es

26 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

raging 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,’}+ 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,’ {—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 than 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

* Ts. lvii. 20. + Jerem. ii, 24, $ Jerem. ii. 25, § Is. ix. 20.

a ~

eh en

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.

CHAPTER VII. The desires torment the soul. Proofs and illustrations.

, Tum second positive evil which the desires inflict is a certain torment and affliction of soul, so that he who suffers 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, torture, and tear it pain-

fully, as it is written, ‘They surrounded me like bees, and they burned like fire among thorns.’t ~ 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.’t

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. exyiii. 61, T . exvii. 12, { Judg. xvi. 16.

2. Torment.

BOOK I.

Example of Samson.

Invitation of God.

28 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

‘As much as she hath glorified herself, and lived in deli- cacies, so 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 -God, and the ‘labour’ of your desires ‘for that which doth not satisfy you?’ *¢ Hearken diligently unto 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

* Apoc, xviii. 7. T Is. lv. 1, 2.

me

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

CHAPTER VIII. The desires darken the soul. Proofs and illustrations.

Tue third evil which the desires inflict is darkness and 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.${ 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-

CHAP. VI.

8. Darkness.

t - x peppy

Lb Lomeitety

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

* S. Matt. xi. 28, + Ps. xxxvii. 5. } Ps, xxxix. 13. § Ib. vi. 4.

BOOK I.

Reason and not desire the guide of

man

30 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

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.

The desire also blinds and darkens the soul, for the desire, as such, is blind and unreasonable, and reason is that which 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,’ 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 Ps. lvii. 9.

- SELF-RESTRAINT NECESSARY FOR PERFECTION. 31

of devotion—voluntary certainly—on which they rely, thinking such alone, without mortifying their desires in other matters, to be sufficient to lead them on to the union of the Divine

‘Wisdom. But this can never be, if the desires be not dili-

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 desires 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 your 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 in His wrath, eitherin the next life, in the purifying pains of Purgatory, or in this, in afflictions and sufferings, sent to detach them from their desires, or in the mortification of

* Ps, lvii. 10,

CHAP. VII.

Inward mor- tification more neces- sary than outward,

(Ute

Necessity, and design of suffering.

BOOK I.

Example of Solomon,

32 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

those very desires voluntarily undergone. God 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 and 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 sufficient 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 age he forsook God. And if unmortified 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? Weare like the people of Ninive, of whom God said, ‘They know not how to distinguish between their right hand and their left,’ since, at every step, we take good for evil, and evil for good; and this is as

* Eccles. ii, 10. t+ Jon. iv. 11.

UNRULY DESIRES 3 POLLUTE THE SOUL. 33

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.

CHAPTER IX. The desires pollute the soul. Proofs from Scripture.

Tue fourth evil which the desires inflict on the soul is that they pollute and defile it, as it is written, ‘ He that toucheth pitch shall be defiled with it.’t 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 beautiful face, so the unruly desires of the soul, if indulged in, defile

© Tg) lix.. 10. t Eccles. xiii. 1. VOL. I. D

CHAP. Vill.

4. Defile- ment.

- BOOK naa

Man nobler than the universe.

Corruptio optimi pes- sima,

———————— lO eS | Oe

34 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

= and pollute that soul, which is in itself the most beautiful and perfect image of God.

The prophet Jeremias, bewailing the ravages of corruption produced by these unruly desires, first of all 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 cast away. What, then, must be the corruption of that soul which is wholly disordered, which has abandoned itself to

* Lam. iy. 7, 8.

—_— = ae

GO

THE DEFORMITY OF SIN. 35

the sway of its desires, and how far removed from the purity of God! 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 men might understand it, it would be a matter for wonder 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 many virtues of exceeding beauty, everyone of them lovely, different from each other according to the multitude and 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 divéjity of vileness and impurity, with which these desires pollute. it.

These diverse pollutions are described by the prophet 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, O 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.

D2

Love in order is virtue, or justice ;

Desire in dis- order is vice.

Vision of the prophet Ezechiel.

BOOK iv

2. Will.

3. Memory.

Three hin- drances to the Divine Union.

1. Voluntary imperfec-

tion.

2. Venial sin,

3. Mortal sin.

36 _ THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

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, Ishould never come to an end. What I say —and it is to the purpose — is, that every single desire, though it be but the slightest imperfection, darkens the soul, and hinders its perfect union with God.

* Ezech. viii. 14, 16.

- SIN ENSLAVES THE SOUL. 37

CHAPTER X.

X The desires make the soul lukewarm, and enfeeble virtue. Proofs and illustrations.

Tue 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 Ruben 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 poured 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,’f 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

~ * Gen, xlix. 4. + Ps. lviii. 10.

CHAP. xX.

5. Weakness.

BOOK as,

The joy of self-restraint.

38 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

suck 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..t 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.’ t

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 until 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 God 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. T S. Luke xii. 35, } Proy, xxx. 15, § Eccles, xxiii. 6,

es 6 Cee Pee

‘THE FIRST MOVEMENTS OF NATURE INVOLUNTARY. 39

CHAPTER XI. The necessity of freedom from all desires, however slight, for the 5 Divine union. Ir 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 isa 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 first movements I mean all those in which the natural will had no share, either before or 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 slight they

Answer.

1. Involun- tary natural desires harm- less.

2. All unruly desires not equally hurt- ful;

3. Yet all must be banished.

40 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

Book may be. The reason is this: the estate of Divine union ec consists in the total transformation of the will into the will fect unionre- Of God, in such a way that every movement of the will shall tity ot wil, 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 wills 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

Knowledge and knowingly assent with the will to any imperfection, and

and consent necessaryfor we must have such power over it, and such liberty, as to

a moral act. 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 shall rise again.’ * But as to those voluntary and perfectly deliberate desires, how slight soever their objects may be, any one of them, not One act docs OVETCOME, is sufficient to prevent this union. I am speaking hit ** of the unmortified habit thereof, because certain acts occa- sionally have not so much power, for the habit of them is not settled; 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

* Proy, xxiv. 16.

TRIFLES MAY IMPEDE PROGRESS. 41

talking, certain attachments, which we never resolve to break through—such as to individuals, to a book or a cell, to a particular food, to certain society, the satisfaction of one’s 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 freighted, full of good works, of spiritual exercises, virtues and gifts of God, which, because they have not the courage to break with certain tastes, attachments, or affections—these aré 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

CHAP. xi.

Perfection measured by habits.

The remora of selfish attachments.

BOOK I.

Not to ad- vance is to fall back,

42 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

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 still 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.’{ 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 attachments, have thereby lost the spirit and sweetness of God, holy solitude, and cheerfulness, and have injured the integrity of their spi- ritual exercises, so as to be unable to stop before all was gone. All 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.

* S. Matt. xii. 30. + Eccles, xix. 1. } Ibid. xi. 34.

ae ah ‘ Bay Ds Ld * ae

&

r

Pl aN

- GOD REQUIRES AN UNDIVIDED LOVE. 43

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 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 Egypt 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 suffers them to fall through their desires from bad to worse.

This truth is also shadowed forth in the command of God

* Judges ii, 3.

The soul has but one will

BOOK a

Summary.

44 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

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.’ 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 XII. The nature of those desires which suffice to injure the soul.

I migut 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, but this is enough 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. Tt 1 Cor, vii. 29-31.

——

_o-

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. XII.

What evilsin the soul does even one sin produce ?

Answer.

1, Onemortal sin inflicts all the negative

But in differ- ent degrees,

46 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

Book soul is most fruitful in pain, blindness, and impureness. But it is to be remarked that, though every desire generates all ScBore tins these evils, which we here call positive, there are some which e.g. (1) Sen 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 (2) Avarice. defilement of soul and body. Though one avaricious desire . also produces all these evils, yet its principal and direct @) Vain- result is trouble. Though one vainglorious desire, precisely like the rest, produces all these evils, yet its chief and im- (4) Gluttony. 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.

Fruits of 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, pureness, and fortitude together, so an unruly desire begets pain, fatigue, weariness, blindness, and weakness. All virtues

The foree of 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.

ENTRANCE INTO THE NIGHT OF PRIVATION. 47

I am not speaking here of those other natural desires 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 gains strength, pureness, light, consolation, and many other 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 XIII. How the soul enters by faith into the night of sense.

Ir 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 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 that in which the soul doeth nothing as of itself, neither does it make therein any efforts of its own; but it is God who works in it, giving special aids, and the soul is, as it were,

* 2 Cor, xii. 9,

How trials give strength,

Two ways. 1, Active.

2. Passive,

BOOK

Instructions.

Tmitation of Christ.

Self-denial.

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 Iam 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 God presents itself, seek not that plea- sure, neither give ear to what is said. If thou art offered

* S. John iv. 34,

Ot

MORTIFICATION OF THE PASSIONS. 49

the sight, pleasurable in itself, of things which do not tend CHAP. 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 difficult. Not after that which is most pleasant, but that which is 1. 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. criet. __ afflictive. | Not after that which ministers repose, but after that which ministers labour. Not after great things, but after little things. 8. 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. 4. Fear, 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. E

3. Thought.

Instructions how to enjoy, know, pos- sess, and be like the All, which is God.

1. What to seek,

2. What to do.

50 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

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 them.

2. Speak disparagingly of thyself,[an contrive that others may do so tog,; Oe Has fur?- Sem me itd $24

3. Think humbly and Bick Wee of thyself, /and de- sire that others may do so also.j .

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 posséss 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.

_ 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.

_ Instructions how not to impede the All.

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 hast not thy treasure simply in God.

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.

CHAPTER XIV. Explanation of the second line of the stanza, With anxious love inflamed,

Now that I have explained the first line of the stanza, which 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 effects. These are comprised in the following lines of this stanza. I touch but lightly upon them, as I promised in the prologue, E2

CHAP. xiii.

Desires for 1, Happiness, 2. Know- ledge, 8. Gain, and 4. Glory only satisfied in God, who is the All.

the heart of man,

Deus meus et omnia,

Recapitu- lation,

BOOK a,

The effects

of the night of privation.

1. Love of God.

52 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

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, but 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.

CHAPTER XV.

Explanation of the last lines.

©O nappy lot! I departed unobserved; my house being now

g 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 unembarrassed 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.

54 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

BOOK IL

PROXIMATE MEANS OF UNION, FAITH. THE SECOND NIGHT . OF THE SPIRIT.

CHAPTER I.

STANZA IL In darkness, and in safety, By the secret ladder, disguised, O happy lot! In darkness and concealment, My house being now at rest. ae ERE the soul sings of that happy lot, attained by a detachment of spirit from all spiritual imperfections, Pawatbace and selfish desires in spiritual things. This was a happiness mespin so 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 God. Explanation 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

ios

_— lal

THE BLISS OF FAITH. 56

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 darkness 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 union 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.

BOOK II.

mi. Faith ; the middle and darkest part of the obscure

night.

56 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

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 still some light, 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 shall 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 will be well understood.

CHAPTER II. 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 division 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 cease 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 God.

Though it is true, speaking after the manner of men, that God is as dark a night to the soul as faith, yet because God 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 third 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.

CHAPTER IU.

Faith, the dark night of the soul. Proofs from reason and the Holy Scriptures, Fartu, according to theologians, is a habit of the soul, certain and obscure. The reason why it is an obscure habit is that it makes us believe the truths which God Himself

Three points in the second division :

1. Faith, the night of the soul,

2. What con- trary to it.

3. Dispo- sitions for it,

First point,

Faith ; its definition,

BOOK IL.

An excess of light,

Two analo-

58) THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

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 our 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 God communicates it, transcends our understand- ing, which in itself reaches only to natural 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

FAITH COMETH BY HEARING. © 59

ever, because he has never seen such colours or anything CHAP. 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 by 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 itis thus that it gives it light; the more it darkens the soul lightens the the more does 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

i

* Rom. x, 17, + Is. vii. 9, according to the Sept.

60 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

BOOK blind you shall not understand’—that is, you shall have no Tei ight, the high and supernatural knowledge. hay" The faith was foreshadowed by the cloud which divided ae the Egyptians from the children of Israel at the entrance of the Red Sea. ‘ It was a dark cloud enlightening the night.’ * How wonderful a cloud! — 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.’t 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 light 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. + Ps. xviii, 3. t Ps, exxxviii. 11.

DISPOSITIONS FOR FAITH. |

CHAPTER IV.

How the soul must be in darkness, in order to be duly guided by faith to the highest contemplation.

I BELizveE 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 affection 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 all such feelings ; and,

Iv.

Detachment from natural and superna- tural goods of the _— necessary for Perfection.

Second point.

What to shun,

In this life union with God is not 1. by the senses ;

BOOK Il.

2. Nor by intellectual vision ;

3. But by Faith.

Two proofs from Holy Scripture,

62 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

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 little 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 that cometh 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

Thus the Prophet cries out, ‘The eye hath not seen, O 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.’ 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 8. Paul saith, eye hath not seen nor ear heard, and which hath not entered into the heart of manin 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- 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, lxiy. 4, fT 1 Cor. ii. 9.

CHAP.

64 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

BOOK 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.

She flesh and In order that the soul may be free and unembarrassed for

bothtobe 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

i 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

~j ~j. come into this world, that they who see not may see, and

LIFE OF GOD IN THE SOUL. 65

: a : they who see may become blind.’* This relates to the

spiritual road: he who is in darkness, blind as to his own proper and natural light, shall see supernaturally, 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 union.

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.

CHAPTER V. The union of the soul with God. A comparison.

Wut I have hitherto written will, in some degree, explain the nature of that estate which I have called the union of the _ soul with God, and therefore, what now follows will be so

is much the more intelligible. It is not my intention at present

_ to describe, in particulars, what is the union 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

* S. John ix. 39. VOL. I. : F

CHAP, IV.

Chapter in parenthesis,

BOOK Ul.

2. Moral ;

Its definition.

66 THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

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 union 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.

In order then to understand what this union is, we must remember that in every soul, even that of the greatest sinner 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 likeness which love begets. For this reason shall this union be called the union of likeness, as the other is essential or substantial union ; 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 aught repugnant to the other. Thus the soul, when it shall have driven away from itself all 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 all | actions and capabilities of its own, that is from its own

ss COOPERATION OF THE WILL NECESSARY. 67

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, ‘born,

not of blood, nor of the will 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

* §. John i. 13. F2

CHAP. Ws

Concursus Dei.

BOOK II.

Tilustration.

68 ._ THE ASCENT OF MOUNT CARMEL.

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 born 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.

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 throughout 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 isa 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

* $. John iii. 5.

PARTICIPATION IN THE DIVINE NATURE. 69

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 whith 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 for union ; Purity of

for this union is, not that the soul should understand, taste, Purity of

feel, or imagine anything on the subject of the nature of God, or any other