Love consists not in feeling great things but in having great detachment and in suffering for the Beloved. The soul that is attached to anything, however much good there may be in it, will not arrive at the liberty of Divine union. For whether it be a strong wire rope or a slender and delicate thread that holds the bird, it matters not, if it really holds it fast; for until the cord be broken, the bird cannot fly. —St John of the Cross

St John of the Cross Adoring

…All this arises from secret self-esteem and pride, and they can never quite realize that they are steeped in pride up to their very eyes. For they think that a certain degree of recognition of their own wretchedness suffices, and, although they have this, they are full of secret self-esteem and self-satisfaction, taking more delight in their own spirituality and spiritual gifts than in those of others. They are like the Pharisee who gave thanks to God that he was not as other men, and that he practised such and such virtues, whereat he was satisfied with himself and presumed thereon. Such men, although they may not use the Pharisee’s actual words, habitually resemble him in spirit. And some of them even become so proud that they are worse than the devil. For, observing in themselves, as they imagine, certain apprehensions and feelings concerning God which are devout and sweet, they become self-satisfied to such an extent that they believe themselves to be very near God; and those that are not like themselves they consider very low and despise them after the manner of the Pharisee.

In order to flee from this pestilent evil, abhorrent in the eyes of God, they must consider two things. First, that virtue consists not in apprehensions and feelings concerning God, howsoever sublime they be, nor in anything of this kind that a man can feel within himself; but, on the contrary, in that which has nothing to do with feeling — namely, a great humility and contempt of oneself and of all that pertains to oneself, firmly rooted in the soul and keenly felt by it; and likewise in being glad that others feel in this very way concerning oneself and in not wishing to be of any account in the esteem of others.

Secondly, it must be noted that all visions, revelations and feelings coming from Heaven, and any thoughts that may proceed from these, are of less worth than the least act of humility. And humility is one of the effects of charity, which esteems not its own things nor strives to attain them; nor thinks evil, save of itself; nor thinks any good thing of itself, but only of others. It is well, therefore, that these supernatural apprehensions should not attract men’s eyes, but that they should strive to forget them in order that they may be free.

In darkness and secure,
By the secret ladder, disguised — oh,
happy chance! —
In darkness and in concealment,
My house being now at rest.

In this second stanza the soul sings of the happy chance which it experienced in stripping the spirit of all spiritual imperfections and desires for the possession of spiritual things. This was a much greater happiness to, by reason of the greater difficulty that there is in putting to rest this house of the spiritual part, and of being able to enter this interior darkness, which is spiritual detachment from all things, whether sensual or spiritual, and leaning on pure faith alone and an ascent thereby to God. The soul here calls this a ‘ladder,’ and ’secret,’ because all the rungs and parts of it are secret and hidden from all sense and understanding. And thus the soul has remained in darkness as to all light of sense and understanding, going forth beyond all limits of nature and reason in order to ascend by this Divine ladder of faith, which attains and penetrates even to the heights of God. The soul says that it was travelling ‘disguised,’ because the garments and vesture which it wears and its natural condition are changed into the Divine, as it ascends by faith. And it was because of this disguise that it was not recognized or impeded, either by time or by reason or by the devil; for none of these things can harm one that journeys in faith. And not only so, but the soul travels in such wise concealed and hidden and is so far from all the deceits of the devil that in truth it journeys (as it also says here) ‘in darkness and in concealment’ — that is to say, hidden from the devil, to whom the light of faith is more than darkness.

‘The Ascent of Mount Carmel’ by St John of the Cross

St John of the Cross sketching, turn it ninety degrees and witness Christ ascending.

As regards this road to union, entering on the road means leaving one’s own road; or better, moving on to the goal. And turning from one’s own mode implies entry into what has no mode; that is, God. people who reach this state no longer have any modes or methods, still less are they—nor can they be—attached to them. I am referring to modes of understanding, tasting, and feeling. Within themselves, though, they possess all methods, like one who though having nothing yet possesses all things [2 Cor 6:10]. By being courageous enough to pass beyond the interior and exterior limits of their own nature, they enter within supernatural bounds—bounds that have no mode, yet in substance possess all modes. To reach these supernatural bounds, souls must depart from their natural bounds and leave self far off in respect to their interior and exterior limits in order to mount from a low state to the highest.

Passing beyond all that is naturally and spiritually intelligible or comprehensible, souls ought to desire with all their might to attain what in this life is unknowable and unimaginable. And parting company with all they can or do taste and feel, temporally and spiritually, they must ardently long to acquire what surpasses all taste and feeling. To be empty and free for the achievement of this, they should by no means seize on what they receive spiritually or sensitively (as we shall explain in our particular discussion of this matter), but consider it of little import. The higher rank and esteem they give to all this knowledge, experience, and imagining (whether spiritual or not), the more they subtract from the Supreme Good and the more they delay in their journey toward Him. And the less they esteem what they can possess—however estimable it may be relative to the Supreme Good—the more they value and prize Him, and, consequently, the closer they come to Him. In this way, in obscurity, souls approach union swiftly by means of faith, which is also dark. And in this way faith gives them wondrous light. Obviously, if they should desire to see, they would be in darkness as regards God more quickly than if they opened their eyes to the blinding brightness of the sun.

St John of the Cross ‘The Ascent of Mount Carmel’

The turmoils and dissension in his own Order, the struggle for power, and the persecution he was to suffer never touched the inner peace of John of the Cross. His life was devoted to contemplative thought, to meditation and prayer, and even the activity of writing was something he did not need, and was undertaken mainly out of regard for others. Poetry was apparently of little interest to him in his youth, and it is only as an apparent interlude in his later activities that Saint John wrote a few poems, which are considered the best in the Spanish language. He had never aimed at literary success, and indeed his works were not even published during his life. He had no intentions either of writing on philosophical or theological themes; he only ventured into fashioning commentaries on his own poetry in order to help the novices in their understanding of the religious life they had undertaken. Almost against his will, these commentaries became treatises of doctrinal exposition of theology.

As we have indicated, Saint John wrote poetry to express the most intimate experiences of his solitude and treatises to explain this poetry. Neither poetry nor treatises were a source of pride or a form of achievement to him. They were only a record of his life of contemplation in which the inner pursuit of knowledge had taken him to an awareness of the power of the mind seldom experienced in such fullness. His experience was one of mystic knowledge because it transcended the normal paths of logical understanding. Therefore, the strange relationship of contemplation and mystic experience to the refinements of poetic expression should be studied only as affecting the form of his writings, never as a part of his life, since Saint John of the Cross deliberately shunned any involvement in literary ambitions. His biographers then have to study a process influenced by many forces and leading ultimately to knowledge through ecstasy and only taking at one point the forms and conventions of literature to fill them with the outpouring of his emotions.

Saint John never had anything to do with the usual literary circles. He was devoted entirely to the perfection of his inner life or incidentally, to the affairs of his Order. The external events, the travelling, the struggle for the independence of his group against the old Carmelites, the teaching of novices, all the duties of his station, were for him only accidental; necessary, but not essential to his undertaking. His vocation as a religious was to perfect his soul to the point of annihilation of whatever kept him from a complete union with God. This pursuit of perfection and complete understanding of the divine is a discipline and an aim that has been known to all religions. His mysticism is, therefore, in no way different from the attainment and the experiences of other mystics, except that it has become known to us in special ways both through his doctrinal treatises and his poetry. But it could have remained unsaid, and, as far as Saint John himself cared, the loss of his writings would have made absolutely no difference in his determination to strive for perfection.

The life of a mystic must exist in itself and for itself before any expression or sign of such an inner adventure can reach others. Often it is only under extreme pressure, under orders from superiors even, that the person who has achieved ecstasy decides he must communicate his experience. The writings of Saint John are even more reticent than those of other mystics. He had no desire to explain himself or his position in them. “Where Saint Theresa is prepared in the cause of charity to expose her intimate spiritual life that others may gain from her experience, Saint John of the Cross from motives of humility allows no trace of his own personal history to obtrude, at least in identifiable form.”

‘San Juan de la Cruz’ by Bernard Gicovate

The purification of the soul is the first step in the long road to the rewards of ecstasy. At first, the obstacles that prevent the attainment of perfection are the sinful occupations of the mind and the lingering enjoyment of human relations, emotional attachment, and minor pleasures and comforts. The necessary beginning must then be a constant self-denial and deprivation of all possible material pleasure: a life of alert asceticism. This is the stage of purification, in a sense a preliminary state, but also a road to be traversed constantly and consistently both before and after the attainment of perfection. In perfection there would be no more need of striving, but perfection is momentary, and attachment to the delights of a special kind of thought or knowledge can become imperfection. Since every possible thought is merely an approximation to the divine, there is no way but the pursuit of a complete void, in which the soul must know nothing and be nothing. In the last stage of perfection, the soul must be free from everything no matter how spiritual it may seem, since everything because it exists is a creature and not the creator.

This first Way of Purification, the Purgative Way, leads to peace, in the same way as the second, the Illuminative Way, leads to truth, and the third, the Unitive Way, leads to love. If these metaphors clearly referred to three successive stages, it would be easy to explain and understand the process of mystical inquiry. But, from the very beginning, even in the first way of purification that seems clearly preliminary, the process is a continuum in which the truth of contemplation as well as the delight of union are prefigured in the joy of darkness, and, at the same time, the ultimate union requires the constant watchfulness of purification. The three ways overlap and “the exercises prescribed are needed simultaneously at every stage of the spiritual life. The first is concerned with the expulsion of sin, the second with the imitation of Christ, and the third with the ‘reception of the Bridegroom.’ In the first two the soul is predominantly active, in the third predominantly passive, and…in the last, meditation scarcely exists, having become unnecessary.

‘San Juan de la Cruz’ by Brazilian Philosophy professor, naturalized United States citizen, Bernard Gicovate

Last Illness and Death

John of the Cross had been deprived of all power and office. His cell was bare, and no entertainment, comfort, or consolation was at hand. He was again a humble friar–as humble and as poor as when he had started on the road to perfection in the hut at Duruelo. The only difference now was that he knew he did not have much time left. Although he had written from La Penuela that his sickness was trivial and that he would recover in a short time, he must have known that his strength had been sapped. Even the unfriendly Prior noticed that something was seriously wrong and had a doctor called.

When Antonio de Villarreal, a physician in town, arrived the next morning, the five sores in John’s foot had burst. Pus and blood were oozing. The doctor saw the need to open the ulcers and drain them. Without anesthetic, he proceeded to cut a deep incision, reaching the bone. The operation gave some relief but John of the Cross had to lie in bed. In the following days, he lay alone. The Prior visited him only to upbraid him and accuse him of a hundred imaginary crimes and imperfections. He ordered the brothers not to go near him. When charitable ladies in town offered their services to wash the sick man’s linen and change the dressing of his wounds, the Prior refused his permission. He did not allow the townspeople to provide food for Saint John’s sustenance.

The Prior of La Penuela and many of the friars were grieved when they learned of the cruel treatment John was subjected to. They found ways to inform the Provincial, who was the very old and venerable Friar Antonio de Jesus, John’s former prior in Duruelo. Antonio hastened to visit his old friend. When he saw the truth of the report, he censured the Prior of Ubeda and ordered some comfort of music and nourishment for John of the Cross. During the few days of his stay at Ubeda, Friar Antonio tried to cheer John, whom he visited often. After he left, since his example and his admonitions had succeeded in convincing the community that John deserved sympathy and love, the friars tried to console and help him, and even the Prior relented in his treatment of the dying friar.

It was, alas, too late. John himself begged that no music be played: he did not want to be distracted from the pain he thought was given to him for purification. As he lay in bed, his body began to be covered with sores. First, two large ulcers were found on his back and were opened. Then a large sore developed between his shoulder blades. More sores covered his body, and the inflammation in his leg grew worse in spite of surgery.

In the first days of December, the physician made it clear to John that he could not hope to recover. He had only days to live. The last test was at hand. The remaining days he spent reading or listening to passages of religious books read to him. Occasionally, he would listen to music or to the recitation of his own verses that promised the return of rapture he had known in moments off meditation and fervor. He continued to reflect on the futility of all things human and to long for the bliss he had named in enigmatic words during the suffering in his cell.

He knew now he would soon be delivered from the last imprisonment. On the night of the 14th of December of 1591, after having prepared his soul through confession and communion, consoled with sweet conversation from the young priests who had come to his side, his time in the world was completed. Everybody was shaken, while John of the Cross was serene and happy. The distant murmur of matins could be heard when John ceased his exhortations for the last time. Those who had heard him knew he had just paused in his work. The words he had repeated so often were now to be repeated without the changes of his inflexion and reworking; they belonged to the world now. The thoughts and the rhythms he had left in manuscripts were copied by disciples who remembered him in the convents at Beas or Granada. His example lived on in the memory of those who had loved him. Many years later their manuscripts were to be printed, and the words he had uttered were to become all that was left of him.

John of the Cross had lived less than fifty years. Of the external experiences of success and power he had known little or nothing. Of poverty and suffering he had known as much as man can know. From childhood to adolescence, from youth to manhood and maturity, he had been schooled in pain and renunciation. He had had as many opportunities as any man in his time and place to grab security or worldly gain, but had spurned every chance. He had instead been steadfast and loyal to his one ambition: to learn and to understand. He had been ill since adolescence and had suffered from unexplained fevers and excruciating pains. But his will had conquered pain and disease, poverty and calumny, temptation and power. What was left of him was only the light of a thought so clear that generation after generation would return to it again and again.

San Juan De La Cruz biography and commentary by Bernard Gicovate

St John of the Cross Adoring