Dark Night of the Soul

4. Now, too, satan is wont to fill them with pride and presumption ; and they, led on by vanity and arrogance make a show of themselves in the performance of exterior acts which have an air of sanctity, such as ecstasies and other appearances. They thus become bold with God, losing holy fear, which is the key and guard of all virtue. Some of them become so entangled in manifold falsehoods and delu'^ions, and so persist in them, that their return to the pure road of virtue and real spirituality is exceedingly doubtful. They fall into this miserable condition because they gave way to these spiritual imaginations and feelings with over much confidence when they began to advance on the road of spirituality. 5. I have much to say of these imperfections of theirs, and how much more incurable these are than the others, because they consider them as more spiritual than those ; but I shall pass on. One thing, however, I must say, to establish the necessity of the spiritual night which is the purgation of the soul that is to go on to perfection, that there is not one among the proficient, however great may be his exertions, who can be free from many of these natural affections and imperfect habits, the purification of which must, as I have said, necessarily precede the divine union.

6. Besides, and I have said it before,* because the spiritual communications reach also to the lower part of the soul, they cannot be as intense, pure, and strong, as the divine union demands, and, therefore, if that is to be attained, the soul must enter the second night of the spirit where — perfectly detaching sense and spirit from * Bk. ii., ch. ii., § 3 : Bk. i., cli. i., § 4. all sweetness and from all imaginations — it will travel on the road of faith dark and pure, the proper and adequate means of union, as it is written : * I will espouse thee to Me in faith,'* that is, I will unite Myself to thee in faith. Notes on that which is to follow. Proficients, then, experienced during the past time these sweet communications, in order that the sensual part of the soul, allured and attracted by the spiritual sweetness overflowing from the spirit, may be united and made one with the spiritual part ; both parts eating the same spiritual food, each in its own way, off the same dish of their one being, that, thus in a certain way become one and concordant, they might be prepared for the sufferings of the sharp and rough purgation of the spirit which is before them. In that purgation the two parts of the soul, the spiritual and the sensual, are to be wholly purified, for neither of them can be perfectly purified without the other, and the purgation of sense is then effectual when that of the spirit commences in earnest.

2. Hence it is that the night of sense may and should be called a certain re-formation and bridling of desire, * Os. ii., 20. rather than purgation, because all the imperfections and disorders of the sensual part having their strength and roots in the mind, can never be wholly purged away until the evil habits, rebelliousness and perverseness of the mind are corrected. Therefore, in this night ensuing, both parts of the soul are purified together : this is the end for which it was necessary to have passed through the re-formation of the first night, and to have attained to that tranquillity which is its fruit, in order that sense and spirit, made one, may both be purified and suffer together with the greater courage, most necessary for so violent and sharp a purgation. For if the weakness of the lower part be not redressed, and if it have acquired no courage in God, in the sweet communions with Him subsequently enjoyed, nature would have been unprepared and without strength for the trials of this night. 3. The intercourse of proficients with God is, however, still most mean, because the gold of the spirit is not purified and refined. They think, therefore, and speak of Him as children, and their feelings are those of children, as described by the Apostle : ' When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child ; '* because they have not reached perfection, which is union with God in love. But in the state of union, having grown to manhood, they do great things in spirit — all their actions and all their faculties being

* I Cor. xiii. 11. now rather divine than human, as I shall hereafter explain* — for God is stripping them of the old man, and clothing them with the new, as it is written : ' Put on the new man, who is created according to God ; 't and again, '■ Be reformed in the newness of your mind.'+ 4. He now denudes the faculties, the affections, and feelings, spiritual and sensual, interior and exterior, leaving the understanding in darkness, the will dry, the memory empty, the affections of the soul in the deepest affliction, bitterness, and distress ; withholding from it the former sweetness it had in spiritual things, in order that this privation may be one of the principles, of which the mind has need, that the spiritual form of the spirit, which is the union of love, may enter into it and be one with it. 5. All this our Lord effects in the soul by means of contemplation, pure and dark, as it is described by it in the first stanza. That stanza, though explained in the beginning of the night of sense, the soul understands it principally of this second night of the spirit, because that is the chief part of the purification of the soul. I shall, therefore, apply it in this sense, and explain it here again.

In a dark night. With anxious love inflamed. O, happy lot ! Forth unobserved I went. My house being now at rest. Taking these words, then, with reference to purgation^ contemplation, or detachment, or poverty of spirit — these are, as it were, one and the same thing — they may be thus explained in this way, as if the soul were saying : In poverty, without help in all my powers, the understanding in darkness, the will under constraint, the memory in trouble and distress, in the dark, in pure faith, which is the dark night of the natural faculties, the will alone touched by grief and affliction, and the anxieties of the love of God, I went forth out of myselt, out of my low conceptions and lukewarm love, out of my scanty and poor sense of God, without being hindered by the flesh or the devil. 2. This was to me a great blessing, a happy lot, for by annihilating and subduing my faculties, passions, and affections — the instruments of my low conceptions of God — I went forth out of the scanty works and ways of my own to those of God ; that is, my understanding went forth out of itself, and from human became divine ; for united to God in that purgation, it understands no

78 THE DARK NIGHT [BOOK n. more within its former limits and narrow bounds, but in the divine wisdom to which it is united. 3. My will went forth out of itself becoming divine, for now, united with the divine love, it loves no more with its former scanty powers and circumscribed capacity, but with the energy and pureness of the divine spirit. Thus the will acts now in the things of God, not in a human way, and the memory also is transformed in eternal apprehensions of glory. Finally, all the energies and affections of the soul are in this night and purgation of the old man, renewed into a divine temper and delight.

Explains how this dim contemplation is not a night only, but pain and torment also for the soul. In a dark night. The dark night is a certain inflowing of God into the soul which cleanses it of its ignorances and imperfections, habitual, natural, and spiritual. Contemplatives call it infused contemplation, or mystical theology, whereby God secretly teaches the soul and instructs it in the perfection of love, without efforts on its own part beyond a loving attention to God, listening to His voice and admitting the light He sends, but without understanding how this is infused contemplation. CHAP, v.] OF THE SOUL. . 70 And inasmuch as it is the loving wisdom of God, it produces special effects in the soul, for it prepares it, by purifying and enlightening it, for union with God in love : it is the same loving wisdom, which by enlightening purifies the blessed spirits, that here purifies and enlightens the soul. 2. But it may be asked : Why does the soul call the divine light, which enlightens the soul and purges it of its ignorances, the dark night r I reply, that the divine wisdom is, for two reasons, not night and darkness only, but pain and torment also to the soul. The first is, the divine wisdom is so high that it transcends the capacity of the soul, and therefore is, in that respect, darkness. The second reason is based on the meanness and impurity of the soul, and in that respect the divine wisdom is painful to it, afflictive and dark also.

3. To prove the truth of the first reason, we take for granted a principle of the philosopher, namely, the more clear and evident divine things are, the more dark and hidden they are to the soul naturally. Thus the more clear the light the more does it blind the eyes of the owl,* and the stronger the sun's rays the more it blinds the visual organs ; overcoming them, by reason of their weakness, and depriving them of the power of seeing. So the divine light of contemplation, when it beats on * [ Aristot. Metaphysic. lib. i . props fiiiem. ' i2o7rep yap to. t5>v vvkrepiSoiv hjxjxara Trpus to c^eyyos e'x^' ''"'^^ /^^^' Vf^^P*^^'' (^^'T^ i«^^ t^S ■qfierepas y/v^Tj'i o vo?? Tvpu^ ra tij (fivcriL cfiavepcoTara — arrcor.'] the soul, not yet perfectly enlightened, causes spiritual darkness, because it not only surpasses its strength, but because it blinds it and deprives it of its natural perceptions. 4. It is for this reason that St. Dionysius and other mystic theologians call infused contemplation a ray of darkness, that is, for the unenlightened and unpurified soul, because this great supernatural light masters the natural power of the reason and takes away its natural way of understanding. Therefore, David also said : ' Clouds and darkness are round about Him ; '* not that this is so in reality, but in reference to our weak understanding, which, in light so great, becomes dimmed and blind, unable to ascend so high. He repeats it, saying : ' At the brightness that was before Him the clouds passed,'! that is, between Him and our understanding. This is the reason why the illuminating ray of hidden wisdom, when God sends it from Himself into the soul not yet transformed, produces thick darkness in the understanding.

5. This dim contemplation is in its beginnings, painful also to the soul. For as the infused divine contemplation contains many excellences in the highest degree, and the soul, which is the recipient, because not yet pure, is involved in many miseries the result is — as two contraries cannot co-exist in the same subject — that * Ps. xcvi, 2. f lb. xvii. 13. CHAP, v.] OF THE SOUL. 81 the soul must suffer and be in pain, being the subject in which the two contraries meet, and resist each other because of the purgation of the soul from its imperfections, which is being wrought by contemplation. I shall show it to be so by the following induction. 6. In the first place, because the light and wisdom of contemplation is most pure and bright, and because the soul, on which it beats, is in darkness and impure, that soul which is the recipient must greatly suffer. As eyes weakened and clouded by humours suffer pain when the clear light beats upon them, so the soul, by reason of its impurity, suffers exceedingly when the divine light really shines upon it. And when the rays of this pure light strike upon the soul, in order to expel its impurities, the soul perceives itself to be so unclean and miserable that it seems as if God had set Himself against it, and itself were set against God. So grievous and painful is this feeling — for it thinks now that God has abandoned it — that it was one of the heaviest afflictions of Job during his trial. ' Why hast Thou set me contrary to Thee, and I become burdensome to myself r '* The soul seeing distinctly in this bright and pure light, though dimly, its own impurity, acknowledges its own unworthiness before God and all creatures.

7. That which pains it still more is the fear it has that it never will be worthy, and that all its goodness is gone. * Job vii. 20. This is the fruit of that deep impression, made on the mind, in the knowledge and sense of its own wickedness and misery. For now the divine and dim light reveals to it all its wretchedness, and it sees clearly that of itself it can never be other than it is. In this sense we can understand the words of the Psalmist : ' For iniquities Thou hast chastised man, and Thou hast made his soul pine away as a spider.'* 8. In the second place, the pain of the soul comes from its natural and spiritual weakness ; for when this divine contemplation strikes it with a certain vehemence, in order to strengthen it and subdue it, it is then so pained in its weakness as almost to faint away, particularly at times when the divine contemplation strikes it with greater vehemence ; for sense and spirit, as if under a heavy and gloomy burden, suffer and groan in agony so great that death itself would be a desired relief.

g. This was the experience of Job, and he said, * I will not that He contend with me with much strength, nor that He oppress me with the weight of His greatness. 't The soul under the burden of this oppression feels itself so removed out of God's favour that it thinks — and so it is — that all things which consoled it formerly have utterly failed it, and that no one is left to pity it. Job also speaks to the same purport, ' Have mercy upon me, have * Ps. xxxviii. 12. j Job xxiii. 6. mercy upon me, at the least you my friends, because the hand of our Lord hath touched me.'* Wonderful and piteous sight ! So great are the weakness and impurity of the soul that the hand of God, so soft and so gentle, is felt to be so heavy and oppressive, though neither pressing nor resting on it, but merely touching it, and that, too, most mercifully ; for He touches the soul not to chastise it, but to load it with His graces.

Of other sufferings of the soul in this night. The third kind of suffering and pain for the soul comes from the meeting of two extremes, the human and the divine : the latter is the purgative contemplation ; the human, is the soul itself. The divine touches the soul to renew it and to ripen it, in order to make it divine, to detach it from the habitual affections and qualities of the old man, to which it clings and conforms itself. The divine extreme so breaks and bruises the soul, swallowing it up in profound darkness, that the soul, at the sight of its own wretchedness, seems to perish and waste away, by a cruel spiritual death, as if it were swallowed up and devoured by a wild beast, suffering the pangs of Jonas in the belly of the whale. For it must lie buried in the grave * Job xix. 21. of a gloomy death that it may attain to the spiritual resurrection for which it hopes. David describes this kind of pain and suffering — though it really baffles description — when he says, * The sorrows of death have compassed me . . . the sorrows of hell have compassed me. ... In my tribulation I have called upon our Lord, and have cried to my God.'*

2. But the greatest affliction of the sorrowful soul in this state is the thought that God has abandoned it, of which it has no doubt ; that He has cast it away into darkness as an abominable thing. The thought that He has abandoned it is a grievous and pitiable affliction. David experienced the same trials when he said, ' As the wounded sleeping in the sepulchres, of whom Thou art mindful no more ; and they are cast off from Thy hand. They have put me in the lower lake, in the dark places, and in the shadow of death. Thy fury is confirmed upon me ; and all Thy waves Thou hast brought in upon me.'t 3. For, in truth, when the soul is in the pangs of the purgative contemplation, the shadow of death and the pains and torments of hell are most acutely felt, that is, the sense of being without God, being chastised and abandoned in His wrath and heavy displeasure. All this and even more the soul feels now, for a fearful apprehension has come upon it that thus it will be with * Ps. xvii. 5, 6, 7. f lb. Ixxxvii. 6, 7, 8.

it for ever. It has also the same sense of abandonment with respect to all creatures, and that it is an object of contempt to all, especially to its friends ; and so the Psalmist continues, saying, ' Thou hast put away my acquaintance far from me ; they have set me an abomination to themselves.'* 4. The prophet Jonas also, as one who had experience of this, both bodily and spiritually, witnesses to the same truth, saying, ' Thou hast cast me forth into the depth, in the heart of the sea, and a flood hath compassed me : all Thy surges and Thy waves have passed over me. And I said, I am cast away from the sight of Thine eyes : but yet I shall see Thy holy temple again,' — this is the purgation of the soul that it may see God — ' the waters have compassed me even to the soul, the depth hath enclosed me, the sea hath covered my head. I am descended to the extreme parts of the mountains : the bars of the earth have shut me up for ever.'f The bars of the earth here are the imperfections of the soul which hinder it from having any joy in this sweet contemplation.

5. The fourth kind of pain is caused by another excellence peculiar to this dim contemplation, a sense of God's majesty and greatness, which makes it conscious of the other extreme, its own poverty and misery ; this is one of the chief sufferings of this purgation. The * lb. Q. f Jon. ii. 4 — 7. soul is conscious of a profound emptiness, and destitution of the three kinds of goods, natural, temporal, and spiritual, which are ordained for its comfort ; it sees itself in the midst of the opposite evils, miserable imperfections and aridities, emptiness of the understanding, and abandonment of the spirit in darkness. 0. Inasmuch as God is now purifying the soul in its sensual and spiritual substance, its interior and exterior powers, it is necessary for it that it should be in all its relations empty, poor and abandoned, in aridity, emptiness, and darkness. For the sensual part is purified in aridities, the faculties in the emptiness of their powers, and the spirit in the thick darkness. 7. All this God brings about by means of this dim contemplation, in which the soul is made to suffer from the failure and withdrawal of its natural powers, which

is a most distressing pain. It is like that of a person being suffocated, or hindered from breathing. But this contemplation is also purifying the soul, undoing or emptying it, or consuming in it, as fire consumes the rust and mouldiness of the metal all the affections and habits of imperfection which it had contracted in the whole course of its life. But inasmuch as chese habits are deeply rooted in the soul, the interior sufferings and trials it has to undergo are heavy, and are, in addition to the destitution and emptiness, natural and spiritual, of which CHAP. Vr.] OF THE SOUL. 87 8. The words of the prophet Ezechiel are now fulfilled : ' Heap together the bones which I will burn with fire : the flesh shall be consumed, and the whole composition shall be sodden, and the bones shall dry away.'* This describes the pain which the soul suffers in the sensual and spiritual parts when in this state of emptiness and poverty. Then the prophet proceeds, saying : ' Set it also upon hot burning coals empty, that the brass thereof may wax hot and be melted ; and let the filth of it be melted in the midst thereof, and let the rust thereof be consumed. 't

9. This is the heavy trial of the soul in the purifying fires of contemplation. The prophet says that, in order to purge away and consume the filth of the affections which are within the soul, it is necessary for it, in a certain way to be annihilated and undone, because its passions and affections have become natural to it. The soul, therefore, because it is purified in this furnace, like gold in a crucible, according to the words of Wisdom, ' as gold in the furnace He hath proved them,'+ feels itself utterly consumed in its innermost substance in this absolute poverty wherein it is as it were lost. This is taught us by the Psalmist, saying of hirfiself: ' Save me, O God, because waters are entered unto my soul. I stick fast in the mire of the depth ; and there is no sure standing. I am come into the depth of the sea : and a * Ezech. xxiv. to. | lb. xxiv. 11. + Wisd. iii. 6. tempest hath overwhelmed me. I have laboured crying, my jaws are made hoarse, my eyes have failed, whilst I hope in my God.'* lo. Here God is humbling the soul that He may exalt it much hereafter, and if it were not His will that thesefeelings, when they rise, should be quickly lulled again, the soul would almost immediately depart from the body, but they occur only at intervals in their greatest violence. They are occasionally felt so acutely that the soul seems to see hell and perdition open before it. Of these, are they who go down alive into hell, and have their purgatory in this life ; for this is the purgation to be endured there for venial sins. And thus the soul which passes through this state in the present life, and is perfectly purified, either enters not into purgatory, or is detained there but a moment, for one hour here is of greater profit than many there.

The same subject continued. Other afflictions and trials of The afflictions and distress of the will now are also very great ; they occasionally pierce the soul with a sudden recollection of the evils that environ it, and of the uncertainty of relief. To this is superadded the memory * Ps. Ixviii. 2 — 4. of past happiness ; for they who enter this night have, generally, had much sweetness in God, and served Him greatly ; but now, to see themselves strangers to so much happiness, and unable to recover it, causes them the greatest affliction, 2. Job also, having learnt this by experience, declares it in these words: 'I sometime that wealthy one, suddenly am broken ; He hath held my neck, broken me, and set me to Himself, as it were a mark. He hath compassed me with His spears. He hath wounded my loins, He hath not spared, and hath poured out on the earth my bowels. He hath cut me with wound upon wound : He hath come violently upon me as it were a giant. I have sewed sackcloth upon my skin, and have covered my flesh with ashes. My face is swollen with weeping, and my eyelids are dim.'* So many and so great are the torments of this night, and so many the places in the Holy Writings, which may be quoted to this effect, that time and strength would fail me were I to enumerate them. For no doubt, all that can be said will fall short ; something may be gathered on the matter from the texts already before us.

2. And now to conclude the subject of the first line of the stanza, and to show what this night is to the soul, I will repeat how it was felt by the prophet Jeremias : ' I, the man that see my poverty in the rod of His * Job xvi. 13 — 17. indignation. He hath led me and brought me into darkness, and not into light. Only against me He hath turned, and hath converted His hand all the day. He hath made my skin old and my flesh ; He hath broken my bones. He hath built round about me, and He hath compassed me with gall and labour. In dark places He hath placed me as the everlasting dead. He hath built round about against me, I go not forth. He hath aggravated my fetters. Yea, and when I shall cry and ask, He hath excluded my prayer. He hath shut up my ways with square stones. He hath subverted my paths. He is become unto me a bear lying in wait ; a lion in secret places. He hath subverted my paths, and hath broken me ; He hath made me desolate. He hath bent His bow, and set me as a mark for the arrow. He hath shot in my reins the daughters of His quiver. I am made a derision to all my people, their song all the day. He hath replenished me with bitterness, He hath inebriated me with wormwood. And He hath broken my teeth by number ; He hath fed me with ashes. And my soul is repelled from peace ; I have forgotten good things. And I said : Mine end is perished and mine hope from our Lord. Remember my poverty and transgression, the wormwood and the gall. Remembering I will be mindful ; and my soul shall languish in me.'*

* Lament, iii. i — 20. 3. These are the lamentations of the prophet over these pains and trials, "whereby he most vividly depicts the sufferings of the soul, which come upon it in this purgation and spiritual night. That soul is worthy of all compassion which God leads into this dreadful and horrible night. For, although it is well with it because ot the great blessing of which this night is the source, for as Job s^aith, God will raise up good things for it out of this darkness, and bring light over the shadow of death : ' Who revealeth profound things out of darkness, and bringeth forth the shadow of death into light ;'* so that his light shall be as the darkness ; ' the darkness thereof so also the light thereof,' as David speaks. t Nevertheless, because of the excessive pain it endures, and the great uncertainty of relief, it imagines now, as the prophet says, that its calamities will never come to an end. God, in the words of David, having made it to 'dwell in darkness as those that have been dead of old,' the spirit being in anguish within it, and ' the heart within ' it ' troubled,' it is a very painful and pitiable state.

4. Besides, the soul derives no consolation now in the advice that may be given it, or from its spiritual director, because of the loneliness and desolation of this dark night. Though its confessor may set before it in many ways good reasons why it should be comforted * Job xii. 22. f Ps. cxxxviii. 12. 92 THE DARK NIGHT fBOOK H. because of the blessings which these pains supply, the soul will not believe him. For as it is so filled with and overwhelmed by its sense of these evils, whereby it discerns so clearly its own misery, it imagines that its spiritual director, not seeing that which itself sees and feels, speaks as he does without comprehending its state, and, instead of being comforted, is pained anew, for it considers that his counsel cannot relieve its misery ; and in truth so it is, for until our Lord shall have perfected the purification of the soul, according to His will, no help and no remedy can be of any service or profit in this pain. 5. Moreover, the soul can do so little in this state; like a prisoner in a gloomy dungeon, bound hand and foot, it cannot stir, neither can it see or feel any relief, either from above or below, until the spirit is softened, humbled, and purified; until it becomes so refined, simple, and pure, as to become one with the Spirit of God in that degree of the union of love which He in His mercy intends for it, and corresponding to which is the greater or less violence, the longer or shorter duration, of this purgation.

6. But if this purgation is to be real it will last, notwithstanding its vehemence, for some years, but admitting of intermissions and relief, during which, by the dispensation of God, the dim contemplation divested of its purgative form and character assumes that of the illuminative and of love. Under this form of it, the soul, like one escaped from the dungeons of its prison into the comfort of space and freedom, enjoys the sweetness of peace, and the loving tenderness of God in the flowing abundance of spiritual communications. This is to the soul a sign of the spiritual health which is being wrought within by this purgation, and a foretaste of the abundance it hopes for. So much so is this at times that it thinks all its trials are over. For such is the nature of spiritual things in the soul, when they are most purely spiritual, that the soul thinks when trials return, they will never end, and that all its blessings have perished ; and when it prospers in its spiritual course it thinks all its calamities are past, and that it shall always abound in good things. Thus it was with David when he said : ' In my abundance I said : I shall never be moved.'*

7. The reason of this is that the actual presence of one thing in the mind is naturally inconsistent with the presence and sense of its contrary ; this is not so much so in the sensual part of the soul, because of the weakness of its apprehension. But as the spirit is not yet wholly purified and cleansed from the imperfections contracted by its lower nature, though more resolute and consistent now, it is liable to further suiferings, so far as it is under the dominion of these affections, as we see in * Ps. xxix. 7. the many afflictions and distress of David after the change, though he had said in the day of his prosperity, ' I shall never be moved.' 8. In the same way the soul, amidst the abundance of spiritual blessings, but not observing the root of imperfection and impurity which still remains, thinks that all its trials are over. This thought, however, is of rare occurrence, for until the spiritual purgation is complete, the sweet communications are rarely so abundant as to conceal the root that remains behind, in such a way that the soul shall not be inwardly conscious of some deficiency, or that something still is to be done. Nor is the communication such as to allow it to enjoy the relief that is offered it perfectly, for it feels as if an enemy were lurking within, who, though he may be as if subdued and asleep, the soul fears it may yet return in his strength and assault it as before,

9. And so it comes to pass, for when the soul is most secure it returns, drags down the soul and then plunges it at once into another affliction heavier, darker, and sadder than the previous one, and which, perhaps, will be of longer continuance. The soul again is convinced that all its good is gone from it for ever. Experience cannot teach it : the blessings that followed its former trials, during which it thought that its sufferings would never end, cannot hinder it from believing, during its present trials, that all its good has perished, and that it will never be again with it as it was before. For, as I am saying, this belief, so persistent, is wrought in the soul by the present impression made on the mind, which destroys within it all the occasions of joy. lo. Thus the soul in this purgation, though it seems to love God greatly, and is ready to die for Him a thousand deaths — and that is true, for souls thus tried love God with great sincerity, nevertheless they find no relief, but rather an increase of pain herein. For seeking God alone, and nought else, seeing also its own great miser}^, it doubts whether God be not angry with it. It cannot then persuade itself that there is anything in it worthy of love, but rather is convinced that there is that in it which should make it hated not only of God, but of all creatures also for ever ; it grieves to see that of itself it deserves to be abandoned of Him Whom it so loves and so longs for.

Of other sufferings which distress the soul in this state. Another source of much affliction and distress to the soul in this state is that, as the dark night hinders the exercise of the faculties and affections, it cannot lift up the heart and mind to God as before, nor pray to Him. It thinks itself to be in that state described by Jeremias when he said, ' Thou hast set a cloud before Thee, that prayer may not pass.'* This is the meaning of the words quoted beforet — ' He hath shut up my ways with square stones. '+ If at any time it prays, it prays with so much aridity, and without sweetness, so as to think that God neither hears nor regards it ; as the prophet tells us in the same place, saying, ' Yea, and when I shall cry, and ask. He excludeth my prayer/§ And, in truth, this is the time for the soul, in the words of Jeremias, to put its ' mouth in the dust,'|| suffering in patience this purgation, 2, It is God Himself Who is now working in the soul, and the soul is therefore powerless. Hence it comes that it cannot pray or give much attention to divine things. Neither can it attend to temporal matters, for it falls into frequent distractions, and the memory is so profoundly weakened, that many hours pass by without its knowing what it has done or thought, what it is doing or is about to do ; nor can it give much heed to what it is occupied with, notwithstanding all its efforts.

3. Inasmuch, then, as not only the understanding is purified from its imperfect perceptions, and the will from its affections, but the memory, also, from all its knowledge and reflections, it is necessary that the soul * Lam. iii. 44. f Ch. vii. § 2. J lb. iii. 9. § lb. iii. 8. II lb. iii. 29. CHAP. VIII. j OF THE SOUL. 07 should be annihilated herein, that the words of the Psalmist, when he was in this purgation may be fulfilled : * I am brought to nothing, and I knew not.'* This ' knowing not ' extends to these follies and failures of the memory. These wanderings and failures of the memory are the result of interior recollection, by which the soul is absorbed in contemplation. For in order to prepare the soul, and temper it divinely in all its powers for the divine union of love, it must, first of all, be absorbed with all its powers in the divine and dim spiritual light of contemplation, and be thus detached from all affection for, and apprehension of, created things. This continues ordinarily in proportion to the intensity of its contemplation. 4. Thus, then, the more pure and simple the divine light when it beats on the soul, the more does it darken it, empty it, and annihilate it, as to all its apprehensions and affections, whether they regard heavenly or earthly things. And also, the less pure and simple the light, the less is the soul darkened and annihilated. It seems strange to say, that the purer and clearer the supernatural and divine light the more is it in the soul, and that it is less so when less pure.

5. But this may be easily explained ; if we keep in mind the saying of the philosopher that supernatural things are more dark to the understanding the more * Ps. Ixxii. 22. clear and evident they are in themselves. Thus the ray of high contemplation, transcending as it does the natural powers, striking the soul with its divine light, makes it dark, and deprives it of all the natural affections and apprehensions which it previously entertained in its own natural light. Under these circumstances, the soul is left not only in darkness but in emptiness also, as to its powers and desires, both natural and spiritual, and in this emptiness and darkness is purified and enlightened by the divine spiritual light, but it does not imagine that it has it ; yea, rather, it thinks itself to be in darkness. 6. As a ray of light, if pure, and if there be nothing to reflect it, or against which it strikes, is almost invisible, and is by reflection better seen, so the spiritual light, which beats on the soul is, of itself, neither visible nor perceptible, because it is so pure, but when it beats upon anything that reflects it, that is, upon any matter of perfection which presents itself to the understanding or a decision to be made as to the truth or falsehood of anything, the soul sees it at once, and understands the matter more clearly than it ever did before it entered into this darkness. In the same way the soul discerns the spiritual light which is given it that it may easily recognize its own imperfection ; thus, when a ray of light is of itself not so visible, but when the hand or any other object is held before it, the hand is seen

forthwith, and the light of the sun is known to be there. 7. Then, because this spiritual light is so clear, pure and diffused, neither confined to, nor specially related to, any particular matter of the understanding — seeing that with respect to all such matters the powers of the soul are empty and as if they did not exist — the soul in great ease and freedom discerns and searches into every thing high or low, that is presented to it ; and for that reason the Apostle said, * The Spirit searcheth all things, even the profundities of God ; '* for it is of this pure and diffused wisdom that we are to understand that which the Holy Ghost spake by the mouth of the wise man, ' Wisdom reacheth everywhere by reason of her clearness ;'t that is, because not connected with any particular object of the understanding or affection. The characteristic of a mind purified and annihilated as to all particular objects of affection and of the understanding, is to have no pleasure in, or knowledge of, anything in particular ; to abide in emptiness and darkness ; to embrace all things in its grand comprehensiveness, that it may fulfil mystically the words of the Apostle, ' having nothing and possessing all things,'+ for such poverty of spirit merits such a blessing.

* I Cor. ii. lo. f Wisd. vii. 24. X - Cor. vi. 10.

How this night enlightens the mind though it brings darkness over it. It remains for me now to explain that this blessed night, though it darkens the mind, does so only to give it light in every thing ; and though it humbles it and makes it miserable, does so only to raise it up and set it free ; and though it impoverishes it and empties it of all its natural self and liking, it does so only to enable it to reach forward divinely to the possession and fruition of all things, both of heaven and earth, in perfect liberty of spirit. As it is fitting that the primary elements, that they may enter into the composition of all natural substances, should have no colour, taste, nor smell peculiar to themselves, in order that they may combine with all colours, all tastes, and all smell, so the mind must be pure, simple, and detached from all kinds of natural affections, actual and habitual, in order that it may be able to participate freely in the largeness of spirit of the divine wisdom, wherein by reason of its pureness it tastes of the sweetness of all things in a certain pre-eminent way. And without this purgation it is altogether impossible to taste of the abundance of these spiritual delights. For one single affection remaining in the soul, or any one matter to which the mind clings either habitually or actually, is sufficient to prevent all perception and all communication of the

tender and interior sweetness of the spirit of love, which contains within itself all sweetness supremely. 2. As the children of Israel, merely on account of that single affection for, and remembrance of, the fleshpots of Egypt, could not taste the delicious bread of angels, the manna in the desert, which as the divine writings tell us, had * the sweetness of all taste,' and * turned to that every man would,'* so the mind which is still subject to any actual or habitual affection or particular or narrow mode of apprehending, or understanding anything, cannot taste the sweetness of the spirit of liberty, according to the desire of the will. The reason is this : the affections, feelings, and apprehensions of the perfect spirit, being of so high an order and specially divine, are of another kind and different from those which are natural ; and in order to be actually and habitually enjoyed, require the annihilation of the latter. 3. It is therefore very expedient and necessary, if the soul is to advance to these heights, that the dark night of contemplation should first bring it to nothing, and undo it in all its meannesses, bringing it into darkness, aridities, loneliness, and emptiness ; for the light that is to be given it is a certain divine light of the highest nature, surpassing all natural light, and not naturally cognisable by the understanding. If the

* Wisd. xvi. 20, 21. understanding is to be united with that light, and become divine in the state of perfection, it must first of all be purified and annihilated as to its natural light, which must be brought actually into darkness by means of this dim contemplation. 4. This darkness must continue so long as it is necessary to destroy the habit, long ago contracted, of understanding things in a natural way, and until the divine enlightening shall have taken its place. And therefore inasmuch as the power of understanding, previously exerted, is natural, the result is that the darkness now endured is awful, and most afflictive, because it reaches to, and is felt in, the innermost depths of the spirit. In the same way, inasmuch as the affection of love, communicated in the divine union, is divine, and therefore most spiritual, subtile, delicate, and most interior, surpassing all sense and affection, natural and imperfect, of the will and every desire of the same, it is necessary for the fruition, in the union of love, of this divine affection and most exquisite delight, that the will should be first purified and annihilated, as to all its affections and feelings, left in darkness and distress proportional to the intensity of the habit of natural affections it had acquired, in respect both of human and divine things.

5. And this must be done, in order that the will, in the fire of dim contemplation, wasted, withered, and deprived of all selfishness — like the liver of the fish which Tobias laid on the burning coals* — may acquire a pure and simple disposition, a purified and sound taste, so as to feel those sublime and wonderful touches of divine love when it shall be divinely transformed ; all its former contrarieties actual and habitual being expelled. 6. Moreover, in order to attain to the divine union, for which ihe dark night disposes it, the soul must be endowed and replenished with a certain glorious magnificence in the divine communication, which includes innumerable blessings and joys, surpassing all the abundance which the soul can naturally possess — so speak the prophet Isaias and S. Paul, * Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man what things God hath prepared for them that love Him,'t it is necessary for it that it should be first brought into a state of emptiness and spiritual poverty, detached from all help and consolation in all the things of heaven and earth, that being thus empty it may be really poor in spirit and divested of the old man, and may live that new and blessed life to which it attains in this dark night which is the state of union with God.

7. And because the soul is to attain to the possession of a certain sense, and divine knowledge, most generous and full of sweetness, of all human and divine things * Tob. viii. 2. f Is. Ixiv. 4 ; i Cor. ii. 9. which do not fall within the common-sense and natural perceptions of the soul — it views them with different eyes now ; as the light and grace of the Holy Ghost differ from those of sense, the divine from the human — it is necessary that the spirit should be brought low, and inured to hardships in all that relates to the natural and common sense. It must suffer hardships and afflictions in the purgative contemplation, and the memory must become a stranger to all pleasing and peaceful knowledge, with a most interior sense and feeling of being a stranger and a pilgrim here, so that all things shall seem strange to it, and other than they were wont to seem. 8. For this night is drawing the spirit away from its ordinary and common sense of things, that it may draw it towards the divine sense, which is a stranger and an alien to all human ways ; so much so that the soul seems to be carried out of itself. At other times it looks upon itself as if under the influence of some charm or spell, and is amazed at all that it hears and sees, which seem to it to be most strange and out of the way, though in reality they are as they usually are, the same. The reason is this : the soul has become a stranger to the ordinary sense of things, in order that being brought to nothing therein, it might be informed in the divine. Now this belongs more to the next life than to this.

9. The soul suffers all these afflictive purgations of the spirit that it may be born again to the life of the spirit through the divine inflowing, and in these pangs bring forth the spirit of salvation, fulfilling the words of Isaias : ' So are we become in Thy presence, O Lord. We have conceived, and been as it were in labour, and "have brought forth the spirit '* of salvation. Moreover, as in the night of contemplation the soul is prepared for that tranquillity and inward peace which is such and so full of delight as, in the words of Scripture, to * pass all understanding,'! it is necessary for the soul that all its former peace, which, because involved in so many imperfections, was no peace, though it seemed to be a twofold peace, namely, of sense and spirit, because it was pleasing, should first of all be purified, and the soul withdrawn from and disturbed in that imperfect peace, as Jeremias felt and lamented in the words cited before to express the trials of the night that is now past, namely: * My soul is repelled from peace.' + 10. This is a painful unsettling, full of misgivings, imaginations, and inward struggles, in which the soul, at the sight and in the consciousness of its own misery, imagines itself to be lost, and all its good to have perished for ever. In this state the spirit is pierced by sorrow so profound as to occasion strong spiritual groans and cries, to which at times it gives utterance,

* Is. xxvi. 17, 18. t Phil. iv. 7. X Lam. iii. 17. and tears break forth, if there be any strength left for them, though this relief is but rarely granted. The royal prophet David has well described this state, being one who had great experience of it, saying, * I am afflicted and humbled exceedingly ; I roared with the groaning of my heart.'* This roaring proceeds from great pain ; for sometimes the sudden and sharp recollection of the miseries that environ the soul, makes it feel such pain and grief that I know not how it can be explained otherwise than by the words of Job : ' as overflowing waters so is my roaring. 't For as waters sometimes overflow, drown and fill all places, so this roaring, and sense of pain, become occasionally so strong as to flow over and into the soul, filling all its deepest affections and energies with spiritual pain and sorrow which defy all exaggeration. 11. Such is the work wrought in the soul by this night that hideth the hopes of the light of day. It was in reference to it that Job said, ' In the night my mouth is pierced with sorrows, and they that feed upon me do not sleep.'J The mouth here is the will, pierced by these sorrows which cease not to tear the soul, neither do they sleep, for the doubts and misgivings which harass it are never at rest.

12. This warfare and combat are deep, because the peace hoped for is most deep : the spiritual sorrow is * Ps. xxxvii. 9. t Job iii. 24. t Job xxx. 17. interior, refined, and pure, because the love to be enjoyed must be also most interior and pure. The more interior and perfect the work, the more interior, perfect, and pure must the labour be that produces it ; and the stronger the building, the more solid it is. ' My soul fadeth within myself,' saith Job, * and the days of affliction possess me.* So, in the same way, because the soul has to attain to the enjoyment and possession, in the state of perfection to which it journeys in this purgative night, of innumerable blessings, of gifts, and virtues, both in the substance of the soul and in the powers thereof, it is necessary that it should first consider and feel itself generally a stranger to and deprived of them all, and regard them as so far beyond its reach as to be persuaded that it never can attain to them, and that all goodness is perished from it. This is the meaning of those words of Jeremias, ' I have forgotten good things. t

13. Let us now see why the light of contemplation, so sweet and lovely to the soul that nothing is more desirable — for it is that, as I said before,* whereby the divine union takes place, and whereby the soul in the state of perfection finds all the good it desires — produces, when it strikes the soul, these painful beginnings and terrible effects. The answer is easy, and is already given in part ; there is nothing in contemplation and * Job XXX. 16. f Lam. iii. 17. t Bk. ii. ch. v. §§ i, 2. the divine inflowing, to cause pain, but rather much sweetness and joy, as the soul will find later. The cause is the imperfection and weakness of the soul, and dispositions not fit for the reception of this sweetness. And so, when the divine light beats upon the soul, it makes it suffer in the way described.

Explanation of this purgation by a comparison. To make what I have said, and what I have still to say,^ more clear, it is w^ell to observe here that this purgative and loving knowledge, or divine light, of which I have spoken, is to the soul which it is purifying, in order to unite it perfectly to itself, as fire is to fuel which it is transforming into itself. The first action of material fire on fuel is to dry it, to expel from it all water and all moisture. It blackens it at once and soils it, and drying it by little and little, makes it light and consumes all its foulness and blackness which are contrary to itself. Finally, having heated and set on fire its outward surface, it transforms the whole into itself, and makes it beautiful as itself. The fuel under these conditions retains neither active nor passive qualities of its own, except bulk and weight, and assumes all the properties and acts of fire. It becomes dry, being dry it glows,. and glowing, burns ; luminous, it gives light, and burns more quickly than before. All this is the property and effect of fire. 2. It is in this way we have to reason about the divine fire of contemplative love which, before it unites with, and transforms the soul into, itself, purges away all its contrary qualities. It expels its impurities, blackens it and obscures it, and thus its condition is apparently worse than it was before. For while the divine purgation is removing all the evil and vicious humours, which, because so deeply rooted and settled in the soul, were neither seen nor felt, but now in order to their expulsion and annihilation, are rendered clearly visible in the dim light of the divine contemplation, the soul — though not worse in itself, nor in the sight of God — seeing at last what it never saw before, looks upon itself not only as unworthy of His regard, but even as a loathsome object and that God does loathe it. By this comparison we shall be able to understand much that I have said, and purpose to say.

3. In the first place, we can see how that very light, and that loving knowledge which unites the soul and transforms it into itself, is the same which purifies and prepares it ; for the fire that transforms the fuel and incorporates it with itself, is the very same which also at the first prepared it for that end. 4. In the second place, we may see that these sufferings of the soul do not proceed from the divine wisdom — it being written, ' All good things came to me together with her/* — but from its own weakness and imperfection, being incapable, previous to its purgation, of receiving this divine light, sweetness, and delight ; and that is the reason why its sufferings are so great. The fuel is not transformed into fire, at the instant of their contact, if it be not previously prepared for burning. 5. This is the experience of the Wise Man, who thus describes his sufferings before his union with, and possession of, wisdom : ' My soul hath wrestled in it. . . My belly was troubled in seeking it ; therefore shall I possess a good possession.'! 6. In the third place we learn by the way how souls suffer in purgatory. The fire would have no power over them if they were perfectly prepared for the kingdom of God, and union with Him in glory, and if they had no faults for which they must suffer, for these are the matter on which that fire seizes ; when that matter is consumed there is nothing more to burn. So is it here, when all imperfections are removed, the suffering of the soul ceases, and in its place comes joy as deep as it is possible for it to be in this life.

7. In the fourth place, we learn that the soul, the more it is purified and cleansed in the fire of love, the * Wisd. vii. II. t Ecclus. li. 25 — 29. more it glows with it. The better the fuel is prepared for the fire the better it burns. The soul, however, is not always conscious of this burning of love within it, but only now and then, when the contemplation is less profound, for the soul is then able to observe, and even to delight in, the work that is being wrought, because it is visible ; the hand of the artificer seems to be withdrawn from the work, and the iron taken out of the furnace, so as to show in some measure the work that is being wrought. Then, too, the soul is able to see in itself that good which it did not see while the process was going on. Thus, when the flame ceases to envelop the fuel, it is possible to see clearly how much of it has been burnt. 8. In the fifth place, we shall also find by this comparison that which has been said before,* namely, how true it is that after these consolations, the soul suffers again more intensely and keenly than it did before. For after the manifestation of the work that has been done, when the more outward imperfections have been expelled, the fire of love returns again to purge and consume that which is more interior. The suffering of the soul herein becomes more penetrating, deep, and spiritual, according as it refines away the more profound, subtle, and deeply rooted interior imperfections of the spirit. It is here as with the fuel in

* Ch. vii. § 9. the fire, the deeper the fire penetrates the greater is its force and energy in disposing the inmost substance of the fuel for its own possession of it. 9. In the sixth place, we shall learn that the soul, though it rejoices intensely in these intervals of peace — so much so that it seems at times, as we have said, to think its trials over, never to return, even while it is certain that they will soon return — cannot but feel, if it observes a single root of imperfection behind — and sometimes it must do so — that its joy is not full. It seems as if that root threatened to spring up anew, and when that is so, it does so quickly. 10. Pinally, that which still remains to be purified and enlightened within cannot well be concealed from the soul in the presence of that which has been already purified ; so also that portion of the fuel which is still to be set on fire is very different from that which the fiame has purified. And when this purgation commences anew in the inmost soul, it is not strange that it should consider all its goodness to have perished, and think that it can never recover its former prosperity; for in most interior sufterings all outward goodness is hidden from it.

11. Keeping this comparison, then, before our eyes, with that which I have already said,* on the first line of this stanza, concerning this dark night and its fearful characteristics, it may be well to leave the subject of these afflictions of the soul, and to enter on the matter of the fruit of its tears and their blessed properties, of which the soul sings in the second line.

Begins the explanation of the second line of the first, and shows how a vehement passion of divine love is the fruit of these sharp afflictions of the soul. With anxious love inflamed. In this line the soul speaks of the fire of love of which we have spoken,* and which, in the night of painful contemplation, seizes upon it as material fire on the fuel it burns. This burning, though in a certain wayresembling that which, as we explained before,t takes place in the sensual part of the soul, is still, in one sense, as different from this, of which I am now speaking, as the soul is from the body, the spiritual from the sensual. For this is a certain fire of love in the spirit whereby the soul, amidst these dark trials, feels itself wounded to the quick by this strong love divine with a certain sense and foretaste of God, though it understands nothing distinctly, because, as I have said,:!: the understanding is in darkness. * Ch. X. t Bk. I, ch. viii. § i. + Ch. ix. § 3. 2. The spirit is now conscious of deep love, for this spiritual burning produces the passion of it. And inasmuch as this love is infused in a special way, the soul corresponds only passively with it, and thus a strong passion of love is begotten within it. This love has in it something of the most perfect union with God, and thus partakes in some measure of its properties, which are more especially actions of God received in the soul rather than of the soul, consenting unto them in simplicity and love.

3. But this warmth and force and temper and passion of love, or burning, as the soul calls it, are solely the work of God Who is entering into union with it. The more the desires are restrained, subdued, and disabled for the enjoyment of the things of heaven and earth, the more room does this love find in the soul, and better the dispositions for its reception, so that it may unite itself with that soul, and wound it. This takes place, as has been said before,* during the dark purgation in a wonderful way, for God has so weaned the faculties, and they are now so recollected in Him, that they are unable to take pleasure as they like in anything whatever. 4. All this is the work of God ; wrought with a view to withdraw the faculties of the soul from all objects whatever, and to concentrate them upon Himself, that the soul may acquire greater strength and fitness for the * Bk. I, ch. i., § 2. Strong union of love of God which He is communicatingin the purgative way ; and in which the soul must love Him with all its strength and desire of sense and spirit, which it could never do if the faculties thereof were dissipated by other satisfactions. The Psalmist, therefore, that he might be able to receive this strong love of the union with God, said unto Him, ' I will keep my strength for Thee ; '* that is, all my capacity and desires, the strength of my faculties, neither will I suffer them to do or rejoice in anything but Thee.

5. Here we may perceive, in some degree, how great and how vehement is this burning of love in the spirit when God gathers and collects together all the strength, faculties, and desires of the soul, both spiritual and sensual, so that all this unison may use all its energies and all its forces in this love, and so come to satisfy truly, and in perfection, the first commandment, which, neglecting nothing that belongs to man, and shutting out nothing that is his from this love, saith, namely, ' Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with thy whole heart, and with thy whole soul, and with thy whole strength. 't 6. When all the desires and energies of the soul are thus recollected in this burning of love, and the soul itself touched, wounded, and set on fire with love, in them all, what must the movements and affections of * Ps. Iviii. 10. f Deut. vi. 5. these desires and energies be when they are thus wounded and burning in this strong love, when that love does not satiate them, when they are in darkness and doubt about it, and suffering also, beyond all question, a more grievous hunger, in proportion to the past experience of God ? For the touch of this love and of the divine fire so dries up the spirit, and enkindles its longing to satisfy its thirst, that it turns upon itself a thousand times, and longs for God in a thousand ways, as David did when he said, ' For Thee my soul hath thirsted, for Thee my flesh, O how many ways ; '* that is, in desire. Another version reads, ' My soul thirsteth after Thee, my soul is dying for Thee.'

7. This is the reason why the soul says, 'With anxious love inflamed.' In all its works and thoughts, in all its employments and on every occasion, the soul loves and longs in many ways, and this longing also is manifold in its forms, always and everywhere present ; the soul has no rest, feeling itself to be wounded, and on fire with anxious love ; its state is thus described by holy Job : ' As a servant desireth the shadow, as the hired man tarrieth for the end of his work, so I also have had vain months, and have numbered to myself laborious nights. If I sleep, I shall say, ' When shall I arise r and again I shall expect the evening, and shall be replenished with sorrows even until dark- * Ps. Ixii. 2. ness.'* The soul is discontented with itself, with heaven and with earth, being replenished with sorrows even until the darkness of which Job is here speaking. That darkness, speaking in a spiritual sense, and according to the matter which I am discussing, is distress and suffering without the comfort of any certain hope of any light and spiritual good. 8. The anxieties and sufferings of the soul while thus on fire with love are the greater, because of their twofold origin : the spiritual darkness which envelops it is one, and that afflicts it with doubts and misgivings. The love of God which sets it on fire is the other, which stirs it with the wound of love and makes it burn marvellously. These two kinds of suffering are thus referred to by Isaias, being in a like condition : ' My soul hath desired Thee in the night ; ' that is, in misery. This is one kind of pain which proceeds from the dark night, ' Yea, and with my spirit in my heart I will watch to Thee in the morning.'f This is the other kind of suffering in desire and anxiety, which proceeds from love, in the bowels of the spirit ; that is, the spiritual affections. The soul, however, amidst these gloomy and loving pains, is conscious of a certain companionship and inward strength which attends upon it and so invigorates it that if the burden of this oppressive darkness be removed, it

* Job vii. 2-4. f Is. xxvi. 9. lis THE DARK NIGHT [BOOK U. oftentimes feels itself desolate, empty, and weak. The reason is that the force and courage communicated to the soul flow passively from the dark fire of love which assails it, and so, when that fire ceases to assail it, the darkness, the strength, and fire of love at the same time cease in the soul.

Shows how this awful night is a purgatory, and how in it the divine wisdom illuminates men on earth with that light in which the angels are purified and enlightened in heaven. What I have said will enable us to see how the dark night of loving fire purifies in the darkness, and how the soul in the darkness is set on fire. We shall also see that, as the dark and material fires in the next life, so the loving, dark, and spiritual fires here, purify and cleanse the predestinate. The difference is that in the next world they are purified by fire, and here, purified and enlightened by love. David prayed for this love when he said, ' Create a clean heart in me, O God ! '* for cleanness of heart is nothing else but the love and grace of God. ' The clean of heart,' are called blessed by our Saviour, and it is as if He had said, blessed are those who love, for blessedness can come of nothing less than love. * Ps. 1. 12. 2. The following words of Jeremias, ' From on high He hath cast a fire in my bones, and hath taught me,'* show plainly that the soul is purified when it is enlightened in the fire of loving wisdom, for God never grants the mystical wisdom without love ; it being love itself that infuses it into the soul. David also saith that the wisdom of God is silver tried in the purifying fire of love ; ' words of our Lord are chaste words, silver examined by fire,'t for the dim contemplation infuses into the soul love and wisdom, in every one according to its necessity and capacity, enlightening the soul, and cleansing it of all its ignorances, according to the words of the Wise Man, ' He hath enlightened my ignorances. J

3. Here, also, we learn that the wisdom which purifies the ignorances of the angels, flowing from God through the highest, down to the lowest, in the order of the heavenly hierarchy, and thence to men, is that very wisdom which purifies these souls and enlightens them. All the works of the angels, and all the inspirations they suggest, are, therefore, in Holy Scripture, truly and properly said to be their work and God's work : for, ordinarily, His inspirations come through the angels ; they receiving them one from another * Lam. i. 13. j P^- ^^- 7- [* ' Ignorantias meas illuminavit. These words have been expunged from Ecclus. li. 26, by the Roman censure.] instantaneously,* as the light of the sun penetrates many windows at once, arranged one behind the other. For though it is true that the light of the sun pierces all, yet each window conveys and pours that light into the next, somewhat modified, according to the nature of the glass, somewhat weaker and fainter, according to the distance from the sun. 4. Hence it follows, with respect to the higher and lower angels, the nearer they are to God the more they are purified and enlightened in the general purgation ; the lowest in rank receiving their illumination in a less perfect degree. But man, being lower than the angels, must, when God raises him to the state of contemplation, receive that enlightenment according to his capacity in a limited degree, and with suffering. For the light of God which illumines an angel enlightens him, and sets him on fire with love, for he is a spirit already prepared for the infusion of that light ; but man, being impure and weak, is ordinarily enlightened, as I said before,t in darkness, in distress and pain — the sun's rays are painful in their light to weak eyes — till the fire of love, purifying him, shall have spiritualised and refined him, so that being made pure he may be

[* Scot. 2. Sent, dist 10, qu unic. Secundum communem processum et ordinem revelantur majoraDei mysteria superioribus priusquam inferioribus, et ita superiores mittuntur ad inferiores, loquendo et illuminando eos interius, et alii inferiores mittuntur exterius ad ilia revelata nuncianda hominibus vel explenda.] t Ch. X. § I. able to receive with sweetness, like the angels, the union of this inflowing love ; for, as we shall explain, with the help of our Lord, there are souls who, in this life, are more perfectly enlightened than even the angels. But, in the meantime, this contemplation and loving knowledge come upon the soul through trials and loving anxiety, of which I am now speaking. 5. The soul is not always conscious of this burning and anxious love ; for in the beginning of the spiritual purgation all the divine fire is employed in drying up and preparing the soul, rather than in setting it on fire. But when the soul has become heated in the fire, it then feels most commonly this burning and warmth of love. And now, as the understanding is being purified more and more in this darkness, it happens occasionally that this mystical and affective theology, while inflaming the will, wounds also by enlightening the other faculty of the understanding with a certain divine light and knowledge, so sweetly and so divinely, that the will, aided by it, glows in a marvellous manner, the divine fire of love burning within it with living flames, so that the soul appears to have received a living fire with a living understanding. This is what David referred to when he said, ' My heart waxed hot within me, and in my meditation a fire shall burn,* so vehemently that I thought it to be alread}^ on fire.'

* Ps. xxxviii. 4. 6. This kindling of love, in the union of these two powers, the understanding and the will, is to the soul a great treasure and delight, because it is certain that the foundations of the perfection of the union of love, for which the soul hopes, are now laid in that darkness. Thus the soul does not reach this sublime sense and love of God without passing through many tribulations, and accomplishing a great part of its purgation. But for other degrees of this union, lower than this, which are of ordinary occurrence, so intense a purgation is not required.

Other sweet effects wrought in the soul in the dark night of contemplation. By the expression 'burning' we understand some of the sweet effects which are wrought in the soul by the dark night of contemplation ; for occasionally, amid the darkness, the soul receives light — ' light shineth in darkness '* — the mystical inflowing streaming directly into the understanding, and the will in some measure partaking of it, with a calmness and pureness so exquisite and so delicious to the soul as to be utterly indescribable : now God is felt to be present in one way, and again in another. Sometimes, too, it wounds the will at the same time, and enkindles love deeply, tenderly, and strongly ; * St. John i. 5. for, as I have said, the more the understanding is purified the more perfectly and delicate, at times, is the union of the understanding- and the will. But, before the soul attains to this state, it is more common for the touch of the fire of love to be felt in the will than for the touch of the perfect intelligence to be felt in the understanding. 2. This burning, and thirst of love, inasmuch as it now proceeds from the Holy Ghost, is very different from that of which I spoke in describing the night of sense.* For though sense also has now its part in this, because it cannot but share in the afflictions of the spirit ; yet the root and living force of the thirst of love are felt in the higher part of the soul, that is, in the spirit. The spirit perceives and understands what it feels, and that it possesses not that which it longs for, so that it counts as nothing all the pain it feels, though it is beyond comparison greater than the pain of the first night, which is the night of sense ; for it thoroughly understands that one great good is absent, and that there is no remedy possible.

3. It may be observed here that, although at first, in the beginning of the spiritual night, this burning love is not felt because the fire of love has not yet done its work, God communicates to the soul, instead of it, a reverent love of Himself so great that, as I have said,t the * Bk. I, ch. xi. § 2. t Ch. v. § 7. 124 THE DARK NIGHT [BOOK n. heaviest trials and deepest afflictions of this night are the distressing- thought that it has lost God, and that He has abandoned it. It may, therefore, be always said that from the beginning of this night the soul is full of the anxieties of love, at one time that of reverence, at another that of burning. It is evident that the greatest of its sufferings is this doubt : for if it could be persuaded that all is not lost and over, and that the trials it undergoes are, as in truth they are, for its greater good, and that God is not angry, it would make no account whatever of all these afflictions ; on the contrary, it would rejoice, knowing that by them it is serving God.

4. This reverential love of God is so strong in the soul — though in the darkness and unaware of it — that it would be glad not only to endure its trials, but also to die a thousand deaths to serve Him. But when the fire of love and the reverent love of God together have set the soul in a flame, it is wont to gain such strength and energy, and such eager longing after God — effects of this glowing love — that it boldly disregards all considerations, and sets everything aside, in the inebriating force of love, and, without much consideration of its acts, it conducts itself strangely and extravagantly in every way that it may come to Him whom the soul loveth. 5. This is the reason why Mary Magdalene, though SO noble, heeded not the many guests, high and low, who were feasting, as we read in St. Luke, in the house of the Pharisee. She considered not that she was not welcome, and that tears were unseemly at the feast, provided she could, without an hour's delay, or waiting for another occasion, reach Him for whom her soul was wounded and on fire.* This is that inebriating and daring force of love, which, when she knew that her Love was in the sepulchre, guarded by soldiers, and a stone rolled over it and sealed, allowed none of these things to move her; for she went thither before dawn with the ointments to anoint her Beloved. And, finally, it was under the inebriating influence and anxieties of love that she asked Himself, Whom she took for the gardener, who, she thought, had robbed the sepulchre, to tell her, if he had taken Him away, where he had laid Him. ' If thou hast carried Him away, tell me where thou hast laid Him, and I will take Him away.'f She did not reflect upon the imprudence of her words ; for it is clear that if the gardener had stolen the Body he would not have told her, still less would he have allowed her to take Him away.

6. Ihis conduct of Mary Magdalene proceeded from the vehemence and energy of her love : for love thinks all things possible, and that all are of the same mind with itself ; for it cannot believe that there is anything * St. Luke vii. 37. f St. John xx. 15. to occupy men, or anything to be sought for by them, except that which itself seeks and loves ; it considers that there can be no other occupation or desire except its own. Thus, when the bride went out into the streets and highways seeking her beloved, she, believing that all were employed, like herself, in searching for him, adjured them, if they found him, to tell him that she languished with love.* 7. So strong was Mary's love that she intended, if the gardener had told her where he had hidden our Lord, to go and take Him away, in spite of any prohibition. Of this kind are those anxieties of love which the soul feels when it has made some progress in the spiritual purgation. The soul rises by night — that is, in the purifying darkness — in the affections of the will. As a lioness or a bear, robbed of its whelps, whom it cannot find, seeks them anxiously and earnestly, so does the wounded soul seek after God. Being in darkness, it feels His absence, and is dying of love. This is that impatient love which no man can endure long without obtaining his wishes or dying. It is like Rachel's longing for children, when she said to Jacob, ' Give me children, otherwise I shall die.'f

8. We have now to consider how it is that the soul, conscious of its own misery and unworthiness before God, can be so bold, amid the purifying darkness, as to * Cant. iii. 2 v. 8. f Gen. xxx. i. aspire after union with Him. The reason is, that love gives it strength to love in earnest, it being the nature of love to seek for union, companionship, equality with, and likeness to the object beloved, so as to attain to the perfection of itself. Hence it is that the soul not yet made perfect in love, because it has not attained to union, hungers and thirsts for that which it has not — namely, union ; and the strength which love communicates to the will, which is on fire, renders it bold and daring as to the will, though as to the understanding, because that is in darkness, it feels itself to be an unworthy and miserable object. 9. I must not omit here to say why it is that the divine light, being always light to the soul, does not illumine it the moment it strikes it, as it does at a later time, instead of bringing with it the darkness and misery of which I am speaking.* Something has been already said, but I now speak of it directly. The darkness and other miseries of which the soul is conscious proceed not from the divine light when it strikes the soul, but from the soul itself, and it is the light which enables it to see them. The divine light gives light at once, but the soul sees nothing at first but that which is immediately before it, or rather within itself ; its own darkness and misery, which, by the mercy of God, it sees now, and formerly saw not,

* Ch. ix. § I. because this supernatural light had not been granted it. 10. This is the reason why, in the beginning, the soul is conscious of nothing but of darkness and misery. But when it has been purified by the knowledge and sense of its misery it will have eyes to discern the blessings of the divine light, and being delivered and set free from all darkness and imperfections, the great blessings and profit will become known which the soul is gaining for itself in this blessed night. 11. This shows how great is the mercy of God to the soul when He thus purifies it in this strong lye and bitter purgation, as to its sensual and spiritual part, from all its affections and imperfect habits in all that relates to time, nature, sense, and spirit ; by darkening its interior faculties, and emptying them of all objects, by correcting and drying up all affections of sense and spirit, by weakening and wasting the natural forces which the soul never could have done of itself as we shall immediately show. God makes it die, in this way, to all that is not God, that, being denuded and stripped of its former clothing, it may clothe itself anew. Thus the soul's ' youth shall be renewed like the eagle's,'* clothed with ' the new man, which, in the words of the Apostle, is created according to God in justice.'!

1 2. Now this is nothing else but the supernatural * Ps. cii. 5. I Ephes. iv. 24. light giving light to the understanding, so that the human understanding becomes divine, made one with the divine. In the same way divine love inflames the will so that it becomes nothing less than divine, loving in a divine way, united and made one with the divine will and divine love. The memory is affected in Tike manner ; all the desires and affections also are changed divinely according to God. Thus the soul will be of heaven, heavenly, divine rather than human. 13. All this, as is clear from what I have said, is the work of God in the soul, during this night, enlightening it and setting it on fire in a divine way with an anxious solicitude for God alone, and for nought besides. 14. It is with great propriety and justice, therefore, that the soul repeats the third line of the stanza, which, together with those that follow, I repeat again and explain in the following chapter.

Repeats and explains the last three lines of the first stanza. O happy lot ! Forth unobserved I went, I\Iy house being now at rest. The happy lot of which the soul is singing in the first of these three lines befel it through those means of which it speaks in the two lines that follow it ; making use of a metaphor, it describes itself as one who, for the better execution of his purpose, goes out of his house by night, in the dark, the inmates of which are at rest, in order that none might hinder him. The soul having to perform so heroic and so rare an act, that of being united to the divine Beloved, sallies forth, because the Beloved is to be found only without, in solitude. The bride therefore desired to find him alone, saying : ' Who shall give Thee to me for my brother, sucking the breasts of my mother, that I may find Thee without and kiss Thee?'* It is necessary for the enamoured soul, in order to obtain the end desired, to act in the same way ; to go out by night when all the inmates of its house repose and sleep ; that is, when its lower operations, passions, and desires are at rest and asleep in this night. These are the inmates of its house which when awake ever hinder its good, enemies of its freedom. These are they of whom our Saviour said in the holy gospel, 'A man's enemies shall be they of his own household.' f

2. Thus it is necessary that their operations and motions should be lulled to sleep in this night in order that they may be no hindrance to the supernatural blessings of union with God in love, for while they continue to energise and act, that is unattainable. All movement and action on their part, instead of helping, hinder the reception of the spiritual blessings of the union of love, because all natural exertion is defective with * Cant. viii. i. f St. Matt. x. 36. regard to those supernatural blessings which God alone secretly and silently infuses into the passive soul. Hence it is necessary that the powers of the soul should be at rest, if it is to receive what God infuses, and should not interfere with their own inferior actions and base inclinations. 3. It was a happy lot for the soul when God in this night put all its household to sleep, that is, all the powers, passions, affections, and desires of the sensual and spiritual soul, that it may attain to the spiritual union of the perfect love of God ' unobserved,' that is, unhindered by them, because they were all asleep and mortified in that night. O how happy must the soul then be, when it can escape from the house of its sensuality ! None can understand it, I think, except that soul which has experienced it. That soul clearly sees how wretched was its former slavery, and how great its misery when it lay at the mercy of its passions and desires ; it learns now that the life of the spirit is true liberty and riches, with innumerable blessings in its train, some of which I shall speak of while explaining the following stanzas, when it will more clearly appear, what good reasons the soul has for describing the passage of this awful night as a happy lot.

132 THE DARK NIGHT [bOOK II.

The second stanza and its explanation. In darkness and in safety, By the secret ladder, disguised, O happy lot ! In darkness and concealment, My house being now at rest. In this stanza the soul goes on singing still of certain properties of the darkness of this night, speaking again of the happy lot which befel it through them. It speaks of them in answering an implied objection, observing that no one is to think that because in this dark night it passed through so many storms of affliction, doubt, fear and horror, as I said before,* it had therefore run any risk of being lost ; yea rather, it found safety in the darkness, because in the darkness it was free and skilfully escaped from its enemies who were ever hindering its departure. 2. In the darkness of the night it changed its garments, and disguised itself in three colours, of which I shall speak hereafter, f It sallied forth unknown to the whole of its household by a most secret ladder, which, as I shall show in the proper place, is a living faith — in such secrecy and silence, for the better execution of its purpose, that it could not possibly be in greater security ; especially now, because in the purgative night, the desires, passions, and affections of

* Ch. V. § 8. t Ch. xxi. the soul are asleep, mortified, and subdued ; and these are they which, awake and active, would never have consented to that departure.

Showeth how the soul journeys securely when in darkness. In darkness and in safety. The darkness of which the soul here speaks, relates, as I have said,* to the desires and powers of sense, interior and spiritual, all of which are deprived of their natural light in this night, that, being purified as to this, they may be supernaturally enlightened. The desires of sense and spirit are lulled to sleep and mortified, unable to relish anything either human or divine • the affections of the soul are thwarted and brought low, become helpless, and have nothing to rest upon ; the imagination is fettered, and unable to make any profitable reflections, the memory is gone, and the will, too, is dry and afflicted, and all the faculties are empty, and, moreover, a dense and heavy cloud overshadows the soul, distresses it and holds it as if it were far away from God. This is the darkness in which the soul says that it travels in safety. 2. The reason of this safety has been clearly shown : for usually the soul never errs, except under the influence of its desires, or tastes, or reflections, or understanding, or affections, wherein it generally is overabundant, or defective, changeable, or inconsistent ; hence the inclination to that which is not becoming. It is therefore clear that the soul is secure against being led astray by them, when all these operations and movements have ceased. Because then the soul is delivered, not only from itself, but also from its other enemies — the world and the devil — who, when the affections and operations of the soul have ceased, cannot assault it by any other way or by any other means.

3. It follows from this, that the greater the darkness and emptiness of its natural operations in which the soul travels, the greater is its security. For as the prophet saith, ' Perdition is thine own, O Israel ; only in Me is thy help.'* The perdition of the soul is exclusively its own work — the result of its own operations, of its unsubdued desires, interior and sensual — and its salvation, saith God, cometh from Me only. When the soul is hindered from giving way to its imperfections there descend upon it forthwith the blessings of union with God, in its desires and faculties which that union will render heavenly and divine. 4. If, therefore, while this darkness lasts, the soul will look within, it will very clearly see how slightly the desires and the faculties have been diverted towards vain * Os. xiii. 9. and unprofitable matters, and that it is secure itself against vainglory, pride and presumption, emptyrejoicing, and many other evils. It is quite clear, therefore, that the soul which is in this darkness is not only not lost, but that it gains much, for now it acquires virtue. 5. But here a question arises : Why is it — seeing that the things of God are profitable and beneficial to the soul, and a source of security — that the desires and faculties are so darkened by Him in this night that they cannot have any joy in spiritual things or occupy themselves with them as with other things, but are, in some way, less able to do so ? To this I reply, that it is then very necessary for the soul not to act and be devoid of pleasure even in spiritual things, seeing that its faculties and desires are base and impure ; and even if they have pleasure in, and are familiar with, divine and supernatural things, that can be only in a mean way.

6. It is a philosophical axiom that all that is received is received according- to the condition of the recipient. From this it follows that the natural faculties — being without the requisite purity, strength, and capacity for the reception and fruition of divine things in their way, which is divine, but only in their own, which is mean and vile — must be in darkness with regard to the divine way, so as to secure their perfect purgation. That being weaned, purified, and brought to nothing, they may lose their own mode of acting and receiving, and may be thus disposed and tempered for the reception and fruition of that which is divine in a high and noble way ; which cannot be if the old man do not die first. Hence it is that all spiritual graces if they do not descend from the Father of lights upon the human will and desire, however much a man may exercise his taste, desire, and faculties about God, and however much he may seem to succeed, are still not divinely nor perfectly enjoyed. 7. As to this I might here show, were this the proper place, that there are many whose tastes and affections, and the operations of whose faculties are directed to God and to spiritual things, who may imagine all this to be supernatural and spiritual, when in reality it is nothing more, perhaps, than acts and desires most natural and human. As they regard ordinary matters, so also do they regard good things, with a certain natural facility which they have in directing their faculties and desires to anything, whatever it may be. If I can find an opportunity in the course of this discussion, I propose to enter upon this question,* and describe some of the signs by which we may know when the motives and interior acts of the soul in the things of God are natural only, when they are spiritual only, and when they are natural and spiritual together. It is enough for us here to know that the interior acts and movements of the soul, if they

* Living Flame, St. iii. Bk. 4. are to be divinely influenced by God, must be first of all lulled to sleep, darkened and subdued, in their natural state, so far as their capacity and operations are concerned, until they lose all their strength. 8. O spiritual soul, when thou seest thy desire obscured, thy will arid and constrained, and thy faculties incapable of any interior act, be not grieved at this, but look upon it rather as a great good, for God is delivering thee from thyself, taking the matter out of thy hands ; for however strenuously thou may est exert thyself, thou wilt never do anything so faultlessly, perfectly, and securely as now — because of the impurity and torpor of thy faculties — when God, taking thee by the hand, is guiding thee in the dark as one that is blind, along a road and to an end thou knowest not, and whither thou couldst never travel by the help of thine own eyes and thine own feet, however strong thou mayest be. 9. The reason why the soul not only travels securely when it thus travels in the dark, but makes even greater progress, is this : In general the soul makes greater progress when it least thinks so, yea, most frequently when it imagines that it is losing. Having never before experienced the present novelty which dazzles it, and disturbs its former habits, it considers itself as losing, rather than as gaining ground, when it sees itself lost in a place it once knew, and in which it delighted, travelling by a road it knows not, and in which it has no pleasure.

As a traveller into strange countries goes by ways strange and untried, relying on information derived from others, and not upon any knowledge of his own — it is clear that he will never reach a new country but by new ways which he knows not, and by abandoning those he knew — so in the same way the soul makes the greater progress when it travels in the dark, not knowing the way. But inasmuch as God Himself is here the guide of the soul in its blindness, the soul may well exult and say, ' In darkness and in safety,' now that it has come to a knowledge of its state. 10. There is another reason also why the soul has travelled safely in this obscurity ; it has suffered : for the way of suffering is safer, and also more profitable, than that of rejoicing and of action. In suffering God gives strength, but in action and in joy the soul does but show its own weakness and imperfections. And in suffering, the soul practises and acquires virtue, and becomes pure, wiser, and more cautious. 11. There is another and stronger reason why the soul travels securely when in darkness. This reason is derived from the consideration of the light itself, or dark wisdom. The dark night of contemplation so absorbs the soul, and brings it so near unto God, that He defends it, and delivers it from all that is not God. For the soul is now, as it were, under medical treatment for the recovery of its health, which is God Himself : God

compels it to observe a particular diet, and to abstain from all hurtful things, the very desire for them being subdued. The soul is treated like a sick man respected by his household, who is so carefully tended that the air shall not touch him, nor the light shine upon him, whom the noise of footsteps and the tumult of servants shall not disturb, and to whom the most delicate food is given most cautiously by measure, and that nutritious rather than savoury. 12. All these advantages — they all minister to the safe-keeping- of the soul — are the effects of this dim contemplation, for it brings the soul nearer to God. The truth is, that the nearer the soul comes to H'm it perceives that darkness is greater and deeper because of its own weakness ; thus the nearer the sun the greater the darkness and distress v/rought by its great brightness, because our eyes are weak, imperfect, and defective. Hence it is that the spiritual light of God is so immeasurable, so far above the understanding, that when it comes near to it, it dims and blinds it. 13. This is the reason why David said that God made darkness His hiding-place and covert, His tabernacle around Him, dark water in the clouds of the air.* The dark water in the clouds of the air is the dim contemplation and divine wisdom in souls, as I am going to explain, of which they have experience as a

* Ps. xvii. 12. thing near to the pavilion where He dwells, when God brings them nearer to Himself. Thus, that which in God is light and supreme splendour, is to man thick darkness, as S. Paul saith,* and as the royal prophet David explains it in the same psalm, saying : ' Because of the brightness of His presence the clouds passed,'t that is, clouds and darkness over the natural understanding, ' the light of which,' saith the prophet Isaias, ' is darkened in the mist thereof.'+ 14. O wretched condition of this life wherein it is so difficult to find the truth ! That which is most clear and true, is to us most obscure and doubtful, and we therefore avoid it though it is most necessary for us. That which shines the most, and dazzles our eyes, that we embrace and follow after, though it is most hurtful to us, and makes us stumble at every step. In what fear and danger then must man be living, seeing that the very light of his natural eyes, by which he directs his steps, is the very first to bewilder and deceive him when he would draw near unto God. If he wishes to be sure of the road he travels on, he must close his eyes and walk in the dark, if he is to journey in safety from his domestic foes, which are his own senses and faculties.

15. Well hidden and protected then is the soul in the dark waters close to God. For as the dark waters are * Acts xxii. II. 'I did not see for the brightness of that light.' f Ps. xvii. 13. I Is. V. 30. a tabernacle and dwelling-place for God Himself, so they are also to the soul perfect safety and protection, though in darkness, where it is hidden and protected from itself, as I have said,* and from all the injuries that created things may afflict. It is of souls thus protected that David spoke when he said in another psalm : ' Thou shalt hide them in the secret of Thy face, from the disturbance of men. Thou shalt protect them in Thy tabernacle from the contradiction of tongues.'t These words comprehend all kinds of protection ; for to be hidden ' in the secret of the face ' of God ' from the disturbance of men,' is to be strengthened in the dim contemplation against all the assaults of men. To be protected in His ' tabernacle from the contradiction of tongues,' is to be engulfed in the dark waters, which is the tabernacle of which David speaks. That soul, therefore, whose desires and aifections are weaned, and whose faculties are in darkness, is set free from all the imperfections which war against the spirit, whether they proceed from the flesh, or from any other created thing. The soul, therefore, may well say, ' In darkness and in safety.'

1 6. Another reason, not less conclusive, why the soul, though in darkness, travels securely, is derived from that courage which it acquires as soon as it enters within the dark, painful, and gloomy waters of God. * § I. t Ps. XXX. 2 1, 22. Though it be dark, still it is water, and therefore cannot but refresh and strengthen the soul in all that is most necessary for it, though it does so painfully and in darkness. For the soul immediately discerns in itself a certain courage and resolution to do nothing which it knows to be displeasing unto God, and to leave nothing undone which ministers to His service, because this love, which is dim, is most watchful and careful of what it is to do, and what it is to leave undone, for His sake, so as to please Him. It looks around and considers in a thousand ways whether it has done anything to offend Him, and all this with much more solicitude and carefulness than it ever did before, as I said when speaking of this anxious love.* Here all the desires, all the strength, and all the powers of the soul, recollected from all besides, direct all their efforts and all their energies to the service of God only. Thus the soul goes forth out of itself, away from all created things, to the sweet and delightsome union of the love of God, ' in darkness and in safety.'

CHAPTER XVn. Gives the second line and explains how this dim contemplation is secret. By the secret ladder, disguised. I HAVE three things to explain in reference to the three words of this line. Two of them — ' secret ' and ' ladder' * Bk. I ch. xi. § 3, and ch. xi. supr. — belong to the dark night of contemplation of which I am speaking, but the third — ' disguised ' — belongs to the way of the soul therein. As to the first, the soul calls the dim contemplation, by which it goes forth to the union of love, a secret ladder, and that because of two properties of it which I am going to explain. First, this dark contemplation is called secret, because it is, as I have said before,* the mystical theology which theologians call secret wisdom, and which according to St. Thomas t is infused into the soul more especially by love. This happens in a secret hidden way in which the natural operations of the understanding and the other faculties have no share. And, therefore, because the faculties of the soul cannot compass it, it being the Holy Ghost Who infuses it into the soul, in a way it knoweth not, as the Bride saith in the Canticle,+ we call it secret. 2. And, in truth, it is not the soul only that knows it not, but every one else, even the devil ; because the Master who now teaches the soul dwells substantially within it. This is not the only reason why it is called secret, for it is secret also in its effects. It is not only secret beyond the powers of the soul to speak of it, during

* Ch. V. § I. f [S. Thorn. 2<5'^' qu. i8o, art. i. Et propter hoc Gregorius — Horn. 14 in Ezech. ante med. constituit vitam contemplativam in charitate Dei ideo vita contemplativa terminatur ad dilectionem, quae est in affecta, ex quo etiam amor intenditur.] t Cant. vi. 11. the darkness and sharpness of the purgation, when the secret wisdom is purifying the soul, but afterwards also, during the illumination, when that wisdom is most clearly communicated, it is so secret that it cannot be discerned or described. Moreover, the soul has no wish to speak of it, and besides, it can discover no way or proper similitude to describe it by, so as to make known a knowledge so high, a spiritual impression so delicate and infused. Yea, and if it could have a wish to speak of it, and find terms to describe it, it would always remain secret still. 3. Because this interior wisdom is so simple, general, and spiritual, that it enters not into the understanding under any form or image subject to sense, as is sometimes the case, the imagination, therefore, and the senses — as it has not entered in by them, nor is modified by them — cannot account for it, nor form any conception of it, so as to speak in any degree correctly about it, though the soul be distinctly conscious that it feels and tastes this sweet and strange wisdom. The soul is like a man who sees an object for the first time, the like of which he has never seen before ; he handles it and feels it, yet he cannot say what it is, or tell its name, do what he can, though it be at the same time an object cognisable by the senses. How much less then can that be described which does not enter in by the senses ?

4. Such is the nature of the divine language that the more interior, infused, and spiritual it is, the more it transcends every sense ; the powers of the senses, interior and exterior, cease, and their harmonies become mute. 5. The Holy Writings supply both proofs and illustrations of this principle. Jeremias shows the impossibility of manifesting and expressing it in words: for when God had spoken to him he knew not what to say, except, ' Ah, ah, ah. Lord God.'* Moses, also, is an instance of the interior helplessness, that is, of the interior imaginative sense, and of the exterior also at the same lime : for when God spoke to him out of the bush, he not only saw that he could not speak, but as is said in the Acts of the ApostleSjt he ' durst not behold ; '+ that is, the imagination itself was weak and silent. The wisdom of this contemplation is the language of God addressed to the soul, as pure spirit, and as the senses are not spiritual, so they do not perceive it ; it remains therefore a secret from them, they cannot understand it, nor express it. 6. This explains why some persons, walking in this

way, good and timid souls, who, when they would give an account of their interior state to their directors, know not how to do it, neither have they the power to do it, and so feel a great repugnance to explain themselves, especially when contemplation is the more simple and * Jerem. i. 6. f Exod. iv. 10. I Acts vii. 32. with difficulty discernible by them. All they can say is that their soul is satisfied, calm, or contented, that they have a sense of the presence of God, and that all goes well with them, as they think; but they cannot explain their state, except by general expressions of this kind. But it is a different matter when they have a consciousness of particular things, such as visions, impressions, and the like; these in general are communicated under some species, in which the senses participate ; in that case they are able to describe them. But it is not in the nature of pure contemplation that it can be described ; for it can scarcely be spoken of in words, and therefore we call it secret. 7. This is not the only reason why it is called secret, and why it is so. There is another, namely the mystical wisdom has the property of hiding the soul within itself. For beside its ordinary operation, it sometimes so absorbs the soul and plunges it in this secret abyss that the soul sees itself distinctly as far away from, and abandoned by, all created things ; it looks upon itself as one that is placed in a wild and vast solitude whither no human being can come, as in an immense wilderness without limits ; a wilderness, the more delicious, sweet, and lovely, the more it is wide, vast, and lonely, where the soul is the more hidden, the more it is raised up above all created things.

8. This abyss of wisdom now so exalts and elevates the soul — orderly disposing it for the science of love — that it makes it not only understand how mean are all (created things in relation to the supreme wisdom and divine knowledge, but also, how low, defective, and, in a certain sense, improper, are all the words and phrases by which in this life we discuss divine things, and how utterly impossible by any natural means, however profoundly and learnedly we may speak, to understand and see them as they are, except in the light of mystical theology. And so the soul in the light thereof discerning this truth, namely, that it cannot reach it, and still less explain it by the terms of ordinary speech, justly calls it secret. 9. This property of being secret, and of surpassing all natural capacity, belongs to divine contemplation, not only because it is itself supernatural, but also because it is the guide of the soul to the perfections of union with God, which not being humanly known, we must reach by not knowing the way, and being divinely ignorant. For, to use the language of mystical theology, as we are doing, these things are neither understood nor known when they are sought, but when they are found and practised. For thus the prophet Baruch speaks of the divine wisdom : ' There is none that can know her ways, nor that can search out her paths.'* The royal prophet also, speaking of this way of the soul, says unto God : * Baruch iii. ^i.

' Thy lightnings enlightened the round world, the earth was moved and trembled, Thy way is in the sea, and Thy paths in many waters, and Thy steps shall not be known/* All this in a spiritual sense explains the matter I am discussing. lo. The lightnings that enlightened the round world is the illumination of the faculties of the soul in the divine contemplation, the moving and trembling of the earth is the painful purgation of which it is the cause. To say that the way of God, by which the soul draws near unto Him, is in the sea, and His paths in many waters, and therefore not known, is to say that this way to God is as secret, and as hidden from the senses of the soul, as the way of one who walks on the waters is from the senses of the body, and whose paths and steps are not known. The paths and steps of God in those souls which He is drawing to Himself, making them great in the union of His wisdom, have this property, that they are not known. That is the meaning of these words in the book of Job, impressing upon us this truth, * Knowest thou the great paths of the clouds, and perfect knowledges ? ' t that is, the paths and ways of God, in which He makes souls great and perfect in His wisdom ; these are the clouds. This contemplation, therefore, which guides the soul to God is secret wisdom.

* Ps. Ixxvi. 19, 20. t Jobxxxvii. 16. CHAP. XVIir.J OF THE SOUL. 149

Shows how this secret wisdom is also a ladder. It remains for me to explain the second property, namely, how this secret wisdom is also a ladder. There are many reasons for calling secret contemplation a ladder. In the first place, as men employ ladders to mount up to those strong places where treasures are laid up, so also by secret contemplation, without knowing how. the soul ascends, and mounts upwards, to the knowledge and possession of the goods and treasures of heaven. This is well expressed by the royal prophet David when he says, * Blessed is the man whose help is from Thee : he hath disposed ascensions in his heart, in the vale of tears, in the place which he hath appointed. For the Lawgiver shall give blessing ; they shall go from virtue into virtue : the God of gods shall be seen in Sion.'* He is the treasure of the citadel of Sion which is blessedness. 2. We may also call it a ladder, for as the steps of one and the same ladder serve to descend as well as to ascend by, so, too, those very communications which the soul receives in secret contemplation raise it up to God and make it humble. For the communications which really come from God have this property : they humble and exalt the soul at one and the same time. In the

* Ps. Ixxxiii. 6, 7, S. spiritual way, to descend is to ascend, and to ascend is to descend, ' because everyone that exalteth himself shall be humbled, and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.'* Moreover, as the virtue of humility is an exaltation, for the trial of the soul therein, God is wont to make it ascend by this ladder that it may descend, and make it descend that it may ascend ; for thus are fulfilled the words of the Wise Man, * Before he be broken the heart of a man is exalted, and before he be glorified it is humbled. 'f 3. If the soul will reflect on the nature of a ladder — I omit the spiritual which is not perceptible — it will easily see how uneven is the road ; how after prosperity, which makes it glad, storms and trials follow at once, so that its previous repose seems to have been given it to prepare it and strengthen it for its present sufferings ; how also, after misery and distress, come abundance and ease, so that the soul shall seem to have kept a vigil before the feast. This is the ordinary course of the state of contemplation, for until the soul attains to repose it never continues in one state ; for all is ascending and descending. The reason is this ; the state of perfection, which consists in the perfect love of God and contempt of self, can only subsist on two conditions, the knowledge of God and of oneself. The soul, therefore, must of necessity be tried in the one and

* St. Luke xiv. 11. f Prov. xviii. 12. the Other, in the first which exalts it, by giving it to taste the sweetness of God, in the second which, by trials, humbles it, until, perfect habits having been acquired, it ceases to ascend and descend, having arrived at the summit, united with God, Who is at the top of it, and on Whom, too, the ladder rests. ■ 4. The ladder of contemplation, which, as I have said, comes down from God, is shadowed forth by that ladder which Jacob saw in a dream, and the angels ascending and descending by it, from God to man and from man to God, Who was Himself leaning upon it.* This took place by night, when Jacob slept, as the Scriptures declare, that we may learn from it how secret is the way and ascent unto God, and how different from all human conception. This is plain enough, for, in general, that which is to our greater profit — the loss and annihilation of self — we esteem a calamity ; and that which is of but little value — comfort and sweetness, where, in general, we lose instead of gaining — we look upon as the more advantageous for us.

5. But, to speak with more accuracy, and to the purpose, of the ladder of secret contemplation, I must observe that the chief reason why it is called a ladder is, that contemplation is the science of love, which is an infused loving knowledge of God, and which enlightens the soul and at the same time kindles within it the fire * Gen. xxviii. 12, 13. of love till it shall ascend upwards step by step unto God its Creator ; for it is love only that unites the soul and God. With a view to the greater clearness of this matter, I shall mark the steps of this divine ladder, explaining concisely the signs and effects of each, that the soul may be able to form some conjecture on which of them it stands, I shall distinguish between them by their effects with St. Bernard and St. Thomas,* and because it is not naturally possible to know them as they are in themselves, because the ladder of love is so secret that it can be weighed and measured by God only.

Begins the explanation of the ten degrees of the mystic ladder according to St. Bernard and St. Thomas. The steps of the ladder of love, by which the soul, ascending from one to another, rises upwards to God, We say are ten. The first degree of love makes the soul languish to its great profit. On this the bride is speaking when she says, ' I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if you find my beloved, that you tell him that I languish with love.'t This languishing is not unto * [S. Thom. de dilectione Dei et Proximi, cap. xxvii. Ut dicit Bernardus, magna res est amor, sad sunt in eo gradus, Loquendo ergo aliquantulum magio moraliter quam realiter decern amoris gradus distinguere possumus, per quos contingit a statu via; ad statum patriae scandere ordinate, quos gradus cognosces per actus.] t Cant. V. 8. death, but to the glory of God ; for the soul faints away as to sin and all things whatsoever that are not God, for God's sake, as the Psalmist testifies, saying : ' My spirit hath fainted away '* from all things after Thy salvation ; as he says in another place : ' My soul hath fainted after Thy salvation. 't

, " 2. As a sick man loses the desire for, and the taste of all food, and the colour vanishes from his face, so the soul in this degree of love loses all pleasure in earthly things, and all desire of them, and, like one in love, changes its colour. The soul does not fall into this languishing state if the vehement heat descends not into it from above, which is the mystic fever, according to the words of the Psalmist, ' Voluntary rain shalt Thou separate. O God, to thine inheritance, and it was weakened, but Thou hast perfected it.'+ This languishing and fainting away as to all things — it is the first and earliest step to God — I have already explained, !5 when I spoke of that annihilation to which the soul is brought when it begins to stand upon the ladder of contemplative purgation, when it finds no comfort, pleasure, nor support anywhere. In consequence of which it begins immediately to climb the other steps of the ladder. 3. On the second step the soul is unremitting in its search after God. Thus the bride speaks of her seeking Him in her bed by night — she had fainted away when on

* Ps. cxlii. 7. t Ps. cxviii. Si. J Ps. Ixvii. 10. § Bk. i ch. xi. the first step of the ladder — and had not found Him, says : ' I will rise ; I will seek Him whom my soul loveth.'* This is now the unceasing" occupation of the soul, ' Seek ye the Lord, seek His face evermore,' t is the counsel of the Psalmist, and never rest until He be found ; like the bride who, when she had questioned the watchmen, passed on in her search, + and left them. Mary Magdalene did not remain even with the angels at the sepulchre. § So anxious is the soul now that it seeks the Beloved in all things ; all its thoughts, words, and works are referred to Him ; in eating, sleeping, and waking, all its anxieties are about Him, as I have already described it when speaking of the anxieties of love.li As love becomes strong, regaining health, it commences the ascent to the third step by a new purgation in the night— as I shall hereafter explain^l^ — and which issues in the effects that follow. 4. The third step of the ladder of love renders the soul active and fervent, so that it faints not. Of this step the royal prophet said, * Blessed is the man that feareth our Lord, he shall delight exceedingly in His commandments.'** If then, fear, being the fruit of love, produces this delight, what will be the effect of love itself ? On this step the soul looks on great things as little, on many as few, its long service as short, by

* Cant. iii. 1,2. f Ps. civ. 4. j Cant. iii. 4. § St. John xx. 14. !| Bk. 2 ch. xi. § 7. ^ Spirit. Cant, stanza xiii. ** Ps. cxi. i. reason of the fire of love which is burning. It is with the soul as it was with Jacob, who * served seven years for Rachel, and they seemed but a few days, because of the greatness of his love.'* If the love of a created being did so much in Jacob, what will the love of the Creator Himself do, when it shall have taken possession Of the soul on the third step of the ladder r 5. Here the soul, because of the great love it has for God, is in great pain and suffering because of the scantiness of its service ; if it could lawfully die for Him a thousand times it would be comforted. It looks upon itself therefore as unprofitable in all it does, and ■on its life as worthless. Another most wonderful effect is that it looks upon itself as being in truth the very worst of all, because its love continues to show it what is due to God ; and then, because as it labours much in the service of God and sees how faulty and imperfect are its works, it is ashamed and distressed, seeing that the service it renders to God Who is so high, is so exceedingly mean. On this third step the soul is very far from giving way to vainglory or presumption, or from condemning others. These anxious effects and other of the same kind are wrought in the soul when on the third step of the ladder, and so the soul acquires strength and courage to ascend to the fourth.

6. When the soul is on the fourth step of the ladder * Gen. xxix. 20. of love, it falls into a state of suffering, but without weariness, on account of the Beloved ; for, as St. Augustine saith, love makes all that is grievous and heavy to be light as nothing.* It was on this step that the bride stood when longing for the last, she said : ' Put me as a seal upon Thy heart, as a seal upon Thy arm ; for love ' — that is, the acts and operations of love — ' is strong as death ; jealousy is hard as hell.t 7. The spirit is now so strong, and has so subdued the flesh, and makes so little of it, that it is as regardless of it as a tree is of one of its leaves. It seeks not for consolation or sweetness either in God or elsewhere, neither does it pray for God's gifts through any motive of self-interest, or its own satisfaction. For all it cares for now is how it shall please God, and serve Him in some measure in return for His goodness, and for the graces it has received, and this at any and every cost.

8. It is now saying with heart and mind, my God and my Lord, how many there are who seek their own comfort and joy in Thee and who pray for gifts and graces, but those who strive to please Thee, who offer Thee that which costs them something, and who cast their own interests aside, are very few ; it is not Thy will to show mercy that fails, O my God ! but it is we * Serm. LXX. de Verb. Evan. Matth. Opp. torn. v. p. 3S3. Lib. de Vidiiitate, Cap. 21, Tom. vi. p. 384. Ed. Ben. f Cant. viii. 6. who fail in using Thy mercies in Thy service, so as to bind Thee to show us Thy mercy continually. 9. This degree of love is exceedingly high, for now as the soul, earnest in its love, always follows after God in the spirit of suffering for His sake, God frequently and, as it were, continually gives it joy, visiting it sweetly in spirit, for the boundless love of Christ, the Word, cannot look on the sufferings of the souls that love without coming to their relief. He has promised this by the mouth of the prophet Jeremias, saying, ' I have remembered thee, pitying thy youth . . . when thou followedst me in the desert,'* which in its spiritual sense is that detachment of the soul from all created things, not resting upon them nor at ease among them. On this fourth step of the ladder the soul is so inflamed with love, and so set on fire with the desire after God, that it ascends upwards to the fifth, which is the next.

10. On the fifth step of the ladder the soul longs after God, and desires Him with impatience. So great is the eagerness of the soul on this step to embrace, and be united to, the Beloved, that all delay, how slight soever, seems to it long, tedious, and oppressive, and it is ever thinking that it has found its love ; but when it sees that its desires are disappointed — which is almost continually the case — it faints away through its longing, as the Psalmist says, speaking of this step : ' My soul * Jerem. ii. 2. longeth and fainteth for the courts of our Lord.'* On this step the soul must either obtain its desires or die, as Rachel, because of her great longing for children said to Jacob, her husband, ' Give me children, otherwise I shall die.'t The soul is now nourished by love, for as was its hunger so is its abundance, and so it ascends to the sixth step, the effects of which are as follows.

Of the other five degrees. When the soul has ascended to the sixth step, it runs swiftly to God ; and hope too runs without fainting, for love that has made it strong makes it fly rapidly. Of this step also Isaias speaks, saying : ' They that hope in our Lord shall change their strength, they shall take wings as eagles, they shall run and not labour, they shall walk and not faint,'+ to this step also the Psalmist refers : 'As the hart panteth after the fountains of waters, so my soul panteth after Thee, O God.'§ The hart when thirsty runs very swiftly to the water. The cause of this swiftness which the soul experiences on this step is, that charity is enlarged, and the soul is now almost wholly purified, as it is written in the psalm : * Ps. Ixxxiii. 2. t Gen. xxx. i. t Is. xl. 31. § Ps. xli. i. * without iniquity have I run,'* and in another psalm, ' I ran the way of Thy commandments, when Thou didst dilate my heart,'! and thus the soul ascends immediately from the sixth to the seventh degree which follows. 2. On the seventh step the soul becomes vehemently bold, in this intense and loving exaltation, no prudence can withhold it, no counsel control it, no shame restrain it ; for the favour which God hath shown it has made it vehemently bold. This explains to us those words of the Apostle, that charity * believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. '+ It was on this step that Moses spoke, when he said unto God : ' Either forgive them this trespass, or if Thou do not, strike me out of the book that Thou hast written. '§ Men of this spirit obtain from God what they so lovingly pray for. Hence the words of David : 'Delight in the Lord, and He will give thee the requests of thy heart.' ||

3. Standing on this step, the bride was bold, and said ' Let Him kiss me with the kiss of His mouth.'^ But consider well here, it is not lawful to be thus bold, unless the soul feels that the interior favour of the king's sceptre is extended to it,** lest it should fall down the steps already ascended ; in all of which humility must ever be preserved. From this boldness and courage which God grants to the soul on the seventh step, that * lb. Iviii. 5. f Ps. cxviii. 32. I i Cor. xiii. 7. § Ex. xxxii. 31, $2. II Ps. xxxvi. 4. \\ Cant. i. i. ** Esth. v. 2 ; viii. 4. it may be bold with Him in the vehemence of its love, the soul ascends to the eighth, where it lays hold of the Beloved and is united to Him. 4. On the eighth step the soul embraces the Beloved and holds Him fast, according to the words of the bride : ' I found Him whom my soul loveth ; I held Him ; and I will not let Him go.'* On this step of union the desires of the soul are satisfied, but not without interruption. Some souls ascend to this step and at once fall back, if they did not, and remained there, they would have attained to a certain state of blessedness in this life, and thus the soul tarries but briefly on this step of the ladder. Daniel, being a man of desires, was bidden, on the part of God, to remain here : ' Daniel thou man of desires, stand upright.'t After this comes the ninth step, which is that of the perfect.

5. On the ninth step the soul is on fire sweetly. This step is that of the perfect who burn away sweetly in God, for this sweet and delicious burning is the work of the Holy Ghost because of the union of the soul with God. St. Gregory says of the Apostles, that they burned interiorly with love sweetly, when the Holy Ghost descended upon them.+ The blessings and the riches of God which the soul now enjoys cannot be described. And if we were to write many books on the subject there would still be more to say. For this reason, and because * Cant. iii. 4. | Dan. x. 11. * Horn. 30, in Evang. I intend to speak of it hereafter,* I shall now say no more of this step, except that it is immediately followed by the tenth and the last, which does not belong to this life. 6. On the tenth step of the ladder the soul becomes wholly assimilated unto God in the beatific vision which it then enjoys ; for having ascended in this life to the ninth, it goeth forth out of the body. Love works in such souls — they are few, and perfectly purified in this life — that which purgatory works in others in the next. For according to St. Matthew ' Blessed are the clean in heart, for they shall see God.'t As I have said, the vision is the cause of the soul's perfect likeness unto God. * We know,' saith St. John, ' that, when He shall appear, we shall be like to Him, because we shall see Him as He is. 'J And thus, whatever the soul is, it will be like unto God, and so is called, and is, by participation, God.

7. This is the secret ladder of which the soul speaks, though in the higher steps no longer secret, for love reveals itself exceedingly in the great effects it produces. But on the highest step, the beatific vision, the last of the ladder, where God is leaning-, as I said before, § nothing remains secret from the soul, by reason of its perfect likeness. And, therefore, our Saviour saith, ' In * Spirit. Cant. Stanza xiv. f St. Matt. v. 8. I i St. John iii. 2i § Ch. xviii. § 4. that day you shall not ask me anything.'* Until that day come, notwithstanding the heights to which the soul ascends, something still remains secret from it, and that in proportion to the distance from its perfect likeness to the Divine Essence. In this way, then, by means of mystical theology and secret love, the soul goeth forth from all things and from itself, ascending upwards unto God. For love is like fire, which ever ascends, hastening to be absorbed in the centre of its sphere.

The meaning of * disguised.' The colours in which the soul disguises itself in this night. Having now explained why contemplation is called a secret ladder, I have further to explain what is meant by the word * disguised ' ; for the soul says that it went forth by the secret ladder * disguised.' 2. For the understanding of the whole matter it is necessary to keep in mind that to be disguised is nothing else but to hide oneself under another form than our own, either for the purpose of showing, under that concealment the will and purpose of the heart with a view to gain the goodwill and affection of the person beloved, or for the purpose of escaping the observation of rivals, and thereby the better effect our object. Such * S. John xvi. 23. CHAP. XXr.] OF THE SOUL. 163 a person assumes the disguise which shall most represent and manifest the affection of his heart, and which shall the best conceal him from his rivals. 3. The soul, then, touched with the love of its Bridegroom Christ, that it may gain His favour and goodwill, sallies forth in that disguise which shall most vividly represent the affections of the mind and secure it against the assaults of its enemies, the devil, the world, and the flesh. The disguise it assumes is, therefore, a garment of three principal colours, white, green, and purple, emblems of the three theological virtues, faith, hope, and charity ; by the help of which it shall not only enter into the good graces of the Beloved, but shall also be most secure and protected against its three enemies.

4. The faith is a garment of such surpassing whiteness as to dazzle the eyes of every understanding : for when the soul has put on faith it becomes invisible and inaccessible to the devil, because it is then most securely defended against him, its strongest and most cunning foe. 5. St. Peter knew of no better defence against the devil than faith, for he said, * whom resist, stedfast in faith,'* And with a view of entering into favour and union with the Beloved, the soul cannot put on a better garment, as the ground of the other virtues, than the * I S. Pet. V. 9. white garment of faith, for without it, the Apostle saith, ' it is impossible to please God.'* But with a living faith the soul is pleasing and acceptable unto God, for He says so Himself by the mouth of the prophet: *I will espouse thee to Me in faith.'t It is as if He said to the soul, If thou wilt be united and betrothed to Me, thou must draw near inwardly clad in faith. 6. The soul put on the white robe of faith on its going forth in this dark night, when walking in the darkness amidst interior trials, as I said before,+ it received no ray of light from the understanding; not from above, because heaven seemed shut and God hidden ; not from below, because its spiritual directors gave it no comfort. It bore its trials patiently and persevered , without fainting, or falling away from the Beloved, Who by these crosses and tribulations tried the faith of His bride, that it might be able hereafter truly to say with the Psalmist, * For the words of Thy lips, I have kept hard ways.'§

7. Over the white robe of faith the soul puts on forthwith that of the second colour, green, emblem of the virtue of hope, by which it is delivered and protected from its second enemy, the world. The freshness of a living hope in God fills the soul with such energy and resolution, with such aspirations after the things of eternal life, that all this world seems to it — as indeed * Heb. xi. 6. f Os- "• 20. t Ch. vii. § 4. § Ps. xvi. 4. it is — in comparison with that which it hopes for, dry, withered, dead, and worthless. The soul now denudes itself of the garments and trappings of the world, bysetting the heart upon nothing that is in it, and hoping for nothing that is, or may be, in it, living only in the hope of everlasting life. And, therefore, when the heart is'thus lifted up above the world, the world cannot touch it or lay hold of it, nor even see it. 8. The soul then, thus disguised and clad in the vesture of hope, is secure from its second foe, the world, for St. Paul calls hope the helmet of salvation.* Now a helmet is armour which protects and covers the whole head, and has no opening except in one place, where the eyes may look through. Hope is such a helmet, for it covers all the senses of the head of the soul in such a way that they cannot be lost in worldly things, and leaves no part of them exposed to the arrows of the world. It has one loophole only through which the eyes may look upwards only ; this is the ordinary work of hope, to direct the eyes of the soul to God alone ; as David saith, ' My eyes are always to our Lord,'t looking for succour nowhere else ; as he saith in another Psalm, *As the eyes of the handmaid on the hands of her mistress, so are our eyes to our Lord God until He have mercy on us,'J hoping in Him.