Dark Night of the Soul
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Dark Night of the Soul - St. John of the Cross
DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL
By ST. JOHN OF THE CROSS
Translated by
GABRIELA CUNNINGHAME GRAHAM
Dark Night of the Soul
By St. John of the Cross
Translated by Gabriela Cunninghame Graham
Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-6930-6
eBook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-6931-3
This edition copyright © 2020. Digireads.com Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Cover Image: a detail of St. John of Avila
, by Pierre Subleyras (1699-1749), c. 1746 (oil on canvas) / Bridgeman Images.
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CONTENTS
Prologue
Dark Night of the Soul and Declaration of the Songs
Book the First
Book the Second
Prologue
The constant and simultaneous succession and recurrence of certain distinct yet similar phenomena, taking place in all centuries and in all races, might lead us to the conclusion (in the lack of other positive knowledge) that behind all Form, Dogma, Ritual and Ceremonial, there is hidden a profound and mysterious meaning, a meaning which constitutes the Root Religion whence, as from a spring or fountain head, all others had their rise; and this Root Religion cannot have been other than the close and intimate Communication of man with the Universal Soul—the Body Soul—the Suchness, the Becoming, the Divinity,—give it what name you will; so that, so far from having gradually evolved into intellectual light through a scale of beings inferior to him, as the evolutionist maintains, he would rather seem to have begun as the inhabitant of a higher sphere, to boast a celestial genealogy. And that such has been the case and that for long afterwards he kept up his connection with this higher sphere is so deeply, profoundly, graven on the root traditions of all ancient religions and on the annals of ages lost in the triple darkness of antiquity; and what is more important, on the soul herself, that it is mad presumption to assert otherwise. It was the esoteric doctrine of the Egyptians. It has been enshrined in the sacred books, the Scriptures (if we read them aright by the light flashed on them by the Kabbala), handed down to us by the Jews who were not only Egyptian in faith, but by some, considered to have belonged to the Egyptian race.
It is this communication with God, the reminiscence of a celestial origin when Man walked in intimate Union with his Maker in the blissful gardens of primeval paradise, which is the root, the essence and quintessence of all religion; is at the back of all evolutions of religion, is the substance and form (in the metaphysical sense) of all manifestations of Religion. The priests of Egypt taught it to the Initiated in their temples. It was the profound secret which underlay the veiled rites of the Eleusinian mysteries and the Divine Doctrines of Orpheus.
It is the mystic and secret Wisdom of the Kabbala; it is the science of Love of Leon Hebreo; it is the Philosopher’s Stone of the Alchemists, the fifth quintessence; the diamond gate of Böhme and the Prayer of Union of the Christian Saints. A chorus of voices loud, imposing, calls to us across the ages and bids us be wise and listen to the secret teaching. There is no solution of continuity. When the priests of the ancient temple are silenced and the oracles wax dumb, this celestial knowledge is kept alive by symbol, sign, enigma.
Leaving, then, the great and Hoary-headed Faiths of antiquity, skipping over centuries as they were years, pausing only to breathe the names that echo through the silence, this is the teaching of Pythagoras (learnt in Egypt), of Plato, the value of whose philosophy consists in his having received (in Egypt also) the root doctrine of the Oneness and indivisibility of spirit—substance (the noumenon)—as opposed to the diversity and multiplicity of the shadowy shape and form which veils it and acts as its instrument (the phenomenon); the soul being nothing more than a breathing into the body of the One Divine Substance, and the body the instrument and outward manifestation of her presence and merely the realization, in time and space, of that which, in itself, is immortal. But soul is of the Divine Substance, and Divine Substance is One.
This is the doctrine of the Kabbala, the kiss of love
in which in an excess of rapture, the soul is united with God. This is the treasure revealed by Plotinus—the great and noble man—not his doctrine only, for Truth is mightier than scientific theorizing—but his Knowledge and his message to the world.
Following hard on the footsteps of Pythagoras and Plato, so swiftly passing through the nonentity of time, come the Neo Alexandrians, Philo the Jew, the Gnostics, Plotinus, Porphyry, Jamblichus (all resident in Egypt); Dionysius the Areopagite, steeped in Hermetic Doctrines and tradition (he also like Plato, had travelled in Egypt), teaches to the Initiated the same mystic and hidden religion. It underlies the symbols, the transposed letters, the anagrams, etc., etc. (derived from many sources) Egyptian, Persian, Sabean, Chaldaic, Kabbalastic, and is the essence of Gnosticism.
Filtering down through St. Clement of Alexandria and the early Fathers of the Church, St. Thomas Aquinas, Leon Hebreo the Jew and the Arab philosophers and doctors of Spain, it culminates at last in the sixteenth century and in the same country with a wonderful illumination in the Saint of Avila, and San Juan de la Cruz, with whom I am more particularly to treat. For the Church of Rome, herself founded in the beginning on the Ruins of those antique Faiths, has preserved intact (although none but her greatest and best know how great is the extent of this preservation); I say, she has preserved intact in her bosom, (however overlaid and obscured), the essence of the secret wisdom of the Magi.
This secret doctrine, as I have said, was known to, and practised by the Kabbalists of the tenth, eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and their descendants or resuscitators (for the knowledge has never died, and will never die), Leon Hebreo, Raymond Llull, Pico de Mirandola, John Reuchlin, the Templars, and the Brothers of the Holy Cross.
Following in unbroken succession come the alchemists: Abbot Treitheim, Paracelsus, Agrippa; the physician Van Helmont; Thomas Vaughan, Fludd, Treheme, and Henry More.
For this is the philosopher’s stone, the aqua vitæ; this the fifth quintessence; this the Divine and unutterable magic, the Transmutation of the soul into God. This is the great, the awful secret that the woman may learn at her spinning wheel, and the most learned man, with all his knowledge, die unpossessed of.
And they that learn it are the Initiated. No human laying on of hands can initiate the soul into the obscure realms of spirit. In the mystic temple of the heart, God himself orders and ordains His own adepts. He takes the soul and joins it with Himself, and when He has once so consecrated His elect, their brethren in the spirit and the secret science know and recognize them. The Buddhist as the Christian, is alike initiated.
In the Church the Divine Initiates conquer for themselves, and teach to others, this Mystical Theology, this Secret Wisdom, this Science of Love, and their experiences are invariably the same. The Church counts glorious adepts. Her training is above all others calculated to produce them.
St. Paul was an Initiate, Sta. Teresa was an Initiate, San Juan de la Cruz was an Initiate. And well did the Church know how to utilize her greatest and loftiest children for her own fixed purposes and make them instruments of her power.
So that you to whom this most humble of friars and gigantic of saints now speaks across the unutterable silence of the centuries, ask yourselves well before you enter on his exposition of this wondrous doctrine, whether what you so slightingly refer to as mysticism may not be after all the only Truth and Reality, and all the rest fleeting and unsubstantial shadow.
The Gnostics laid the basis of a profound psychology. They divided men into three classes:
1. The Hylic man.
2. The Psychic man.
3. The Pneumatic man.
The Hylic man is he who never gropes beyond the limitations of matter.
The Psychic man is the intelligent mind originating in the body, forming part of, and perishing with it.
The Pneumatic man is he who rises to the intuitions and perceptions of the soul.
The modern writers who would fain foist this old, old doctrine on the world as of their own devising (although it is good the truth should be spread abroad amongst the ignorant by whatever means, even at the risk of its being disingenuously imposed on the world as a new-fangled thing), let them listen to what the great Spanish mystics thought of the matter.
A sidelight is thrown on it by San Juan de la Cruz himself at the end of the twenty-third chapter of this very book, where he says:—
When it happens that these favours are done to the soul in concealment, that is, in spirit alone, she sometimes sees herself, without knowing how it happens, so severed as regards the loftier part of her (the pneumatic soul) from the inferior portion (the psychic intelligence) that she recognizes in herself two parts so distinctly different the one from the other, that it seems to me that the one has nothing to do with the other, the soul being under the impression that she is at a great distance from, and divorced from the inferior part.
And we find this doctrine even more clearly defined by Fray Juan de los Angeles, a Discalced Minorite, in his Dialogues of the Conquest of the Spiritual and Secret Kingdom of God, which, according to the Holy Gospel, is within ourselves. Wherein is treated of the interior and Divine Life, which the soul lives united to her Creator through transforming grace and love,
published in Madrid in 1595, wherein he says: The secret Kingdom of God is in the centre of the soul, or at the apex (pinnacle) of the intellect, where our soul becomes part of the Whole.… This centre of the soul is the most absolute quintessence of her, sealed with the image of God … whereon no form of anything created is impressed.… This innermost centre, naked, lucid, free from the impression of any shape or form, is raised above all created things, and above all the senses and faculties of the soul, and transcends all time and place, and in it the soul abides in a perpetual union and conjunction with God, her origin. Here wells forth a fount of living water which bubbles up towards life eternal and gives and communicates to the body and soul a marvellous purity and fertility.
And this is not a doctrine confined to one or two—it is the radical foundation of what the unenlightened call mysticism. For the mystics knew what modem thought is now feebly, and in the dark, beginning to grasp, that the soul being a spark of the Universal Soul—Body or Soul Substance existed long before the creation of the world, is immortal in the temporary tenement of clay she illuminates by her presence; knows no age, no passage of time, no limitations of space; shall be immortal for all time; that she never was, because she has always been—and likewise shall never end. She is the Unseen Witness, the Divine Guest that no corruption and sin of the body (how-ever much they may sadden and make her lower her pure, ever watching eyes, patient with the unutterable patience and knowledge of all Eternity) has power to taint or shadow by its proximity. Nay, more, she preserves unalterable records, which he who can turn over the leaves of his soul, may peruse as in the pages of a book. She was present at the Creation of the World and watched the Earth first float in pristine glory through the voids of Space; she was present at the building of the pyramids; she has veiled her eyes before the mystic rites in the innermost recesses of the Temples. She has read the inscriptions graven on their pillars, and passed swiftly through the gloom of endless galleries lined with the serried Images of Gods and Idols. She has gazed on Eastern cities baked yellow as saffron, rising against hot skies of quivering sapphire; she has looked through the shadow of a crumbling gateway, for it was early dawn and in full summer, into the narrow streets (once so familiar to her, and whereto she is now a stranger), shut in by files of lofty houses, their walls pierced after a strange fashion with curious loopholes and broken by the shadows of archways, stairs, and turrets. She has found herself standing before Christian cathedrals in the dawn of their beauty—ere one day of time had power to flaw or mar the matchless symmetry of the fresh white images, glittering as snow new fallen, of sculptured Saints, and Prelates, and Warriors under the rose window of the western porch. She has prayed in Spanish cathedrals before the magnificently carved and painted altarpieces in the superb glory of their golden freshness. She wanders at times in corridors of medieval convents she paced, before the triple darkness fell upon her; and once more, she leans as she did away back in the centuries, against the bay of a gothic arch open to the sky, and looks forth into the quiet eventide surrounded by the motionless figures of monk or nun (sitting on a chestnut bench hewn into straight, square, austere lines), with hands clasped and eyes transfixed in ecstatic peace on the fading glow of sunset. Nay, more. She can visit the bowels of the earth and wander with the gnomes where diamonds and emeralds and rubies lie in the rough, unquarried, for ever hidden from the rapacious gaze of man; she can watch the sylphs as they wind their mazy dances through the air, fairylike beings of surpassing loveliness and grace, with wings of gauze and garments of translucent spider webs. She can plunge into the depths of the ocean; she can sever the air with a fleetness that annihilates time and space. She has watched with the shepherds, in the shadow of the plains, the Star that shone on the Birth of Christ. All this, this marvellous soul has done; and, at times, in deep concentration, she reveals herself to us as a spark bright and blue as steel glittering with the steady light of some distant star in the frosty sky of winter. She dissipates the darkness and illumines the inferior human intellect, and then Shakespeare utters his profound thoughts on the narrow stage of human events; or we have the intuitive inventor, mathematician, astronomer, the songs of the poets fraught with celestial meaning; the deep vision of the seer who stands poised betwixt the past and future, and the harmony of the spheres. She seizes the ineffable secrets that the wind whispers to the trees as it passes; the birds of the air carry her with them in their flight. She visits the desolate places of the earth where no man has trod.
And when she comes to her own dominion, oh! you who have achieved the conquest of your souls and have recognized and raised her to her inalienable possession, her antique throne within your heart, she will glorify you, transform you, even transmute the inert flesh, the dead matter of your bodies into some semblance of spiritual seeming and beauty. She will unite with your bodily mind and transfigure it; she will inspire you with her stores of unutterable wisdom, and from being a man, you shall become a Prince, a King of men, nay, more than this, Lord of Creation itself, which shall own your irresistible sway, for, now you are a God and walk in the transmitted light of the Divinity. You shall shape men and events to your will and they shall have no power over you. You shall command the World that peoples the elements and the air. You shall cast out devils as did San Juan de la Cruz, and they shall flee from your pure presence, yea, be it Satan himself. They may