Introduction: The Human Condition and the Call to True Love
It would be an exercise in futility were we to focus on the fullness of human life without considering the harsh reality of the fallenness of our condition. The wisdom and experiential genius of St John of the Cross rests upon his brilliant understanding of the virtue of true love versus the vice of lust. In all of his works, he draws upon his scripturally-astute knowledge, together with his lived experience of the human condition, from its low points of immorality and demonic seduction to its high planes of graced transformation. In texts as succinct as The Sayings of Light and Love and as expansive as The Ascent/Dark Night, he details obstacles to living like Christ side by side with detailing the conditions that facilitate this contemplative commitment. He explains the vicious hindrances that lead to the tragic shift from love to lust and illumines what enables our return to the praise and glory of God in all that we are and do.
With the precision of a doctor of the soul, St John takes aim at the suffering caused by the illusion of self-sufficiency and the restored health attributed to the healing power of humility. He describes, as only a master artisan of the unitive life could do, the deadly consequences of wearisome attachments to what is less than God, juxtaposed to the freedom that accompanies divinely-inspired detachment. He expresses in poetry and prose the damage caused to our personal and communal life by uncompassionate, uncharitable behaviour compared to the efficacy of friendship with God and the saving power of following Christ’s command to love one another as he has loved us (see Jn 15:12).
For St John of the Cross, ceaseless communion with God, rooted in faith, hope, and love, is the disposition that best attunes us to the creative inflow and outflow of Spirit-inspired reformation of that which disinclines us to fix our hearts and minds on anything but God. He counsels us amid life’s fragmentary temptations to remain alone in stillness and loving awareness of God, waiting upon the Spirit to reveal to us whatever is in need of inner and outer healing.
This wondrous gift of union is infused by the Holy Spirit and by no means an acquisition of ours. The divine communications of transforming love granted to us by the Holy Spirit exalt us in God and humble us within ourselves as we let go of pride and pompous presumption so that we can be raised up ‘…since those who humble themselves are exalted and those who exalt themselves are humbled’ (Lk 14:11). In the Dark Night (Book 2, Chapters 18-20), St John depicts the secret wisdom of contemplation by use of a powerful image, that of the mystical ladder of divine love, which carries us, rung by rung, from earth to heaven.
Ascending and Descending the Ladder of Divine Love
The first step of the ladder symbolises our longing for God. No more will we submit to the languor that makes us lukewarm about our salvation or deadens our will to obey God’s call. This step signifies that we want to turn over a new leaf and detach ourselves from whatever directs us away from God.
The second step signifies our commitment to search for the Beloved without ceasing. Distractions lessen the more we choose to persevere. Every epiphany of the Mystery arouses in us a more urgent expectation to track down the traces of our Beloved’s presence. On this step, we gain strength for the harder climb that is to come.
Step three finds us performing good works with fervour, thanks to our being detached by our contemplative calling from the captivity of counter-productive self-centredness. Christ-like pursuits, including, for example, the spiritual and corporal works of mercy, bring joy to our heart and enhance our generosity.
Step four points to our steady pursuit of God with or without consolation. Suffering for the sake of Christ makes the heaviest burden light (see DN 2.19.4)[1]. On this step we find it easier than ever to resist the false promises promulgated by the world or the flesh or the devil. We enjoy the grace of equanimity, neither seeking consolation nor trying to escape desolation. What comes, comes. It is all one to the soul in faithful pursuit of union with the Trinity. What we desire are not favours but the God who may or may not grant them.
On the next step, we, of course, ascend higher to God, but now our hunger for God is incessant. Any delay of the soul’s long-sought union with the Divine, be it short or long, shakes her to the core. The soul on the way to a still higher place of love and freedom from fear finds that no other food but the sight of God can satisfy her, and so, on the sixth step, she runs swiftly to God, quickening her pace. Like a highly trained long-distance runner who moves almost like a gazelle, she stretches toward the finish line; she flies on eagle’s wings and does not faint (see Isa 40:31). She speeds forward because in some way she has already attained full adherence to the way of God’s commands.
That is why on the seventh step she moves upward with ardent boldness while conserving her humility, knowing that God will match her trust with a helping hand. So on the eighth step, she holds tight to her Beloved and promises never to let go. On this rung, the soul’s desire for union is realised to the highest degree possible in this life. Touches of intense union may be of brief duration, but they are life-changing and never forgotten. Passing swiftly on to the ninth step, the soul, as it were, burns gently in God. She feels within her the flame of love that stings but does not consume her. More than she could ever have imagined, she feels empowered to go forth and tell the Good News. The time will come when she will have to cross the threshold to the next life, but in the meantime, she can say with St John: All for you. Nothing for me. Even the slightest glimpse of the Beatific Vision is enough to convince her that she is being wholly divinised through union with her Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier. God knows her as she knows God.
Navigating What Hinders Love
In Book Two of the Dark Night, St John says that ‘the state of perfection, which consists in perfect love of God and contempt of self, cannot exist without knowledge of God and self…’ (DN 2.18.4). We need to return to the first book of the Dark Night (Chapter Two to Seven) to see how he details the imperfections of beginners. He does so in light of the seven capital sins of pride, avarice, lust, anger, gluttony, envy, and sloth, considering each one of them from a spiritual perspective. When, by the grace of God, we choose virtue over vice, we not only experience freedom from captivity to sin; we also heed God’s call to bear fruit that will last a lifetime and beyond.
The vice of spiritual pride has plagued humanity since the Fall. The preference for total autonomy outweighs the provision of obedience. As in the Garden of Eden, so in the holiest of places, the Tempter lurks, forever playing on our weak points of pride and presumption. It becomes customary to promise great results and to make refined excuses when little or nothing is actually done. Supporting this ploy is the prideful desire to appear holy at any price.
The only virtue strong enough to counter this vice is humility. Rather than dwelling on feelings of self-satisfaction, we direct our thoughts to the call of Christ and how to be faithful to it. To flourish respects the paradox that no matter what or how much we accomplish, we feel as if we have done pitifully little. Another sign of spiritual maturity is our capacity to rejoice and be genuinely happy when others receive praise. In fact, we consider our good deeds to be relatively insignificant and are embarrassed to broadcast them. We may even prefer to speak of our vices more than to brag about our virtues.
Deflating the possibility of living in love is the triple trap of avarice, lust, and anger. The capital vice of avarice counters the non-possessive, detached posture of a believer seeking to discard excess baggage so as to run freely and swiftly to God. There is no peace in avaricious persons, only nervous discontent and a peevish demeanour when the consolations they crave are not granted to them. St John contends that true devotion comes from a detached heart, freed from greedy claims on grace and generous to a fault.
Spiritual lust can take many forms, ranging from cravings for sensual gratification to an excessive desire for spiritual feelings as signs of being one of God’s favourites. Lust of this sort may lead one to a fever pitch of fanatic fervour that slows our ascent to God in purity of heart. Instead of ascending upward like a bird in flight, one becomes attached to the comfort zone of self-centred power, pleasure, and possession, lusting after lesser goods and doing whatever it takes to avoid the painful purgation of the dark night. There one sets these distractions aside, returns to peaceful prayer, lets go of flights of fancy, and relies on grace to dampen the fires of lust.
Deformations due to spiritual anger block appreciation for every good and perfect gift that flows from the Father of lights (see Jas 1:17). Nothing is good enough for such a peevish person, who is prone to be impatient and upset by the least change of plans. Such anger makes one vulnerable to the ‘demons’ of discouragement, dejection, and depression. They sap our courage and our creativity. Paradoxically, for us to flourish again, we have to retire to ‘the dryness and distress of the dark night’ (DN 1.5.1). Brought to a halt is the tendency to lash out at others or to judge them harshly. Calming our slush fund of anger is a newly found reservoir of docility and meekness, bound in gratefulness to the mercy of God.
The three remaining obstacles to loving as Jesus commanded us to do, according to St John, relate to the capital sins of gluttony, envy, and sloth. Those caught in the trap of gluttony are prone to use religious practices less to glorify God and more to feel assured that they are advancing in sanctity. Their tendency is to ‘strive more for spiritual savour than for spiritual purity and discretion’ (DN 1.6.1). They forget that flourishing in the life of the spirit is not about pleasing self but about serving God in poverty of spirit and purity of heart.
Unwittingly, spiritual gluttons can become victims of demonic seduction. When it does not suit their need for gratification, they may flit from one exercise of piety to the other like hapless sparrows seeking crumbs and missing a bird feeder full of luscious seeds. Such types may even manage to convince themselves and others that their eternal salvation is at stake if they do not get their way. Respect for the grandeur of God pales in comparison to their gluttony for glory.
Little wonder such gluttons cast an envious eye on those who seem to be advancing on the way of Christian perfection. It bothers them to hear others praised. Envy inclines them to put such up-starts in their place. When someone other than they receives a compliment, they feel obliged to contradict what is said and to undo the praise others deserve. The virtue that heals spiritual envy is charity. It prompts the person flourishing spiritually to want to emulate, never diminish, ‘goodness under whatever guise it appears’ (1 Cor 13:6).
Finally, spiritual sloth has to do with inertia, lukewarmness, and procrastination. Promises made are not promises kept. Projects started are not finished. One overlooks the winning combination of joyful labour and utter reliance on God’s help, or, to put it another way, of being an active-contemplative and a contemplative-in-action. As the depreciative track of thought triggered by spiritual sloth accelerates, we may begin to convince ourselves that we are never going to find that for which we have sought for so long. Slowly but surely, flourishing decreases and the fire of love cools. The greatest danger inherent in slothful dispositions is the temptation to ‘either give up prayer or go to it begrudgingly’ (DN 1.7.2).
Conclusion: The Dawn of New Birth
Reversing such a course demands that we risk to will what God wills by rejecting the empty promises of willful, greedy expectations. Here, too, paradoxical reality cannot be avoided, for, as the Gospel says, those who lose their life for Christ’s sake will gain it and those who desire to gain it will lose it (see Mt 16:25). This change comes about not through human effort but through the sheer grace outpoured from God who has loved us first and who wills our salvation at a price none but God’s Son would be willing to pay.
This miracle of liberation from the imprisonment of sin occurs only by means of inner purgation. It is the first and necessary step to illumination and union. No matter how earnest our actions to attain holiness have been, no matter how passionately we have practiced self-mortification, nothing we do can move us toward the dual graces of contemplative creativity and human flourishing. God alone can accomplish this transformation in us in a way and at a time known only to the mystery. It is the Lord who invites us to press onward into the depths of divine darkness until the light of a new day dawns.
[1] DN = The Dark Night in The Collected Works of St John of the Cross, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh and Otilio Rodriguez (Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 1991).
