Jan Poříz, OCD
The title of this year's Day of Spirituality1 was chosen: John of the Cross, psychologist, mystic, theologian. My original intention was, therefore, to present John's figure and teaching from these three perspectives. With the "John the Poet," this will likely be achievable only partially. I was unable to find a person who would be truly competent in this area and simultaneously have the time to prepare a presentation for the Day of Spirituality on this topic. Therefore, I decided first to try to handle it myself, but as time approached, I realized that it exceeded my time capabilities. Thus, I ultimately present a topic in which I feel more confident and which I managed to process – in a very simple manner (within a few hours). This topic is the symbols in John's work, which in my opinion are deeply related to poetry.
John's poetic talent and genius is also manifested in his ability to create symbols, which, like poems, can be understood in many different ways, so their content is not limited to [John's] subsequent philosophical-theological interpretation. It is possible to reflect on them based on one's own experience, which they evoke, and at the direct prompting of their author, in a manner different from his own.
(With these words, I loosely refer to what John writes in his preface to the work Spiritual Song, points 1 and 2, where he states, among other things: "Statements of love are better clarified in their breadth, so that everyone can benefit from them in their own way and from the wealth of spirit than to shorten them to a single meaning that does not accommodate every taste. Therefore, although they are clarified in some way, there is no reason to be bound to this clarification." 2)
For example, the image of the "dark night" is currently widely used in spiritual literature, heavily influenced by psychology, and partially interpreted differently than John himself interprets it in his commentary. (However, we cannot delve into this topic in detail now.)
When I conceived the theme: Main Symbols, I had not yet thought about which ones are actually the main ones – that could be argued. When I began to contemplate this, I thought of a piece of art, the quality of which many would surely doubt, namely the retable (altarpiece) in the church in Segovia, created for the occasion of the visit of Pope Saint John Paul II to this place (see fig. 1). This took place in November 1982. On the retable, we see four symbols depicted – a mountain, night, flame, and spring. On the altar itself, I further recognize the symbol of a dove, carrying an olive branch. Surely, in these symbols, you recognize John's works...
I decided to set aside the symbol of the spring and attempt to comment on the other four symbols, which are the supporting pillars of four major John commentaries (for the mountain, night, and flame, this is evident; for the dove, perhaps a bit less).
Mount Carmel
We can certainly draw inspiration from the Segovian image, but not entirely. It represents a very steep mountain, with a narrow, pointed peak where it is practically impossible to stand, let alone remain for an extended time.
Mount Carmel, according to the drawing of the saint himself (fig. 2), on the other hand, resembles rather – we could say – a plateau, on which there is plenty of space. It is indeed a place where many are invited, a place of fullness of life and freedom, where all God's children are called. It is enough to recall a few passages from John's gospel. For example, in John 8:31-32, we read about the calling to freedom, to which Jesus' word brings us: Jesus said to the Jews who had believed him, "If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples. You will know the truth and the truth will set you free." 3 And in John 10:10: The thief comes only to steal, kill, and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.
It seems that everything written at the top of the mountain points to this fullness of life and freedom, everything to which John of the Cross invites. "Peace, joy, delight, wisdom, godliness, love, firmness, justice," we read in the outer circle. "Nothing honors me, nothing distresses me," we read slightly within. Here, it is no longer necessary to honor oneself, for the one who is on the mountain is well aware that here "only the honor and glory of God dwells" (inscription in the center), in which he shares. "Nothing oppresses me," we could add as a paraphrase of the inscription at the very top, which reads: "The path does not lead here anymore, for for the righteous there is no law; he is a law unto himself."
The perspective from which the mountain is drawn is also important. It is not painted from the foot, from which a person would see primarily (or exclusively) the ascent ahead of him. Both the journey and the goal are viewed from above, as if from God's perspective, which can correctly capture the proportions of the entire pilgrimage. It is a view that was characteristic of John; let us recall, for instance, the image of the Crucified (fig. 3) that John drew.4 Only when viewed from above (based on unification or faith) is it possible to evaluate positively realities such as the dark night and the journey along the path where there is for a long time nothing or [only] the cross.
This perspective is very accurately described by Saint John in the preface to the work Dark Night: "It must be understood that the soul sings songs (i.e., the poem In the Dark Night Veiled) already in a state of perfection, which is unification with God in love (i.e., the peak of the mountain). It has already endured anxious sorrows and distress in the exercises of the spirit on the narrow way to eternal life, as our Savior says in the Gospel,5 (i.e., on the path of everything and nothing), on the road usually taken to achieve the sublime and happy unification with God. And that way is so narrow and there are so few who enter it, as the Lord Himself also says,6 (not because they are not invited) that it is for the soul a great happiness and adventure to traverse it to the happy perfection of love, as she sings in her first song, calling this narrow path aptly dark night, which will be further clarified." 7
With this, I would conclude the discussion of the peak of perfection (Mount Carmel), noting that this "graphical poem," as Father Norbert Žuška8 calls it, is a classic example of how poetic expression surpasses theological expression in content. When we read John's work Ascent of Mount Carmel, we get the impression that only the paths and the road to perfection are important, because that is his theme. When we reflect on the symbol, we find that its content is infinitely richer.
Symbol of the Night
You probably have the impression that I have cut off the peak and described only the upper half. I will attempt to rectify this immediately. We have already heard that the "narrow path" is referred to by John in the preface to the work Dark Night as "the dark night." Therefore, we will discuss it as part of this symbol.
Most of you know that John of the Cross knows several nights and divides these nights according to the different aspects that come to the forefront in them. The fundamental cause of the "night" in all its phases, however, remains the human situation on this earth, which is called to let itself be led in all its decisions, actions, and thoughts by faith, that is, by a certainty that remains hidden. To believe in God means to rely on what we hope for and to be sure of what we do not see, says the letter to the Hebrews (11:1). This, however, often means walking as if in darkness.
Faith also teaches us that when we want to reach God, we must put aside (place second) everything, even ourselves. This is why John of the Cross encourages us to take example from the young Tobias, whose story he allegorically interprets. God commanded Tobias, "to burn the heart of the fish on the fire, which signifies the heart that delighted in the things of the world and clung to them, which, in order to step beyond God, must be burned and cleansed from all created things by the fire of love for God" (1W 2:2). This effort can be understood as ascetic effort, which is the perspective of The Ascent of Mount Carmel (active night) and which directs us straight to the summit, where on one side there is nothing, on the other, everything is already covertly present, for the traveler walks in faith that already signifies communion with God. "When the soul passes through the first night, which is the deprivation of all sensory objects, she then enters the second night and remains alone in faith" (1W 2:3).
However, it would be mistaken to assume that a person is capable of shedding everything from oneself and journeying guided solely by faith. John of the Cross is convinced that a person, due to zeal and strong emotional attachment, often manages to overcome attachment to external things significantly. However, he does not succeed in overcoming and denying "himself" and tends to become unhealthily fixated on sensibly experienced spiritual consolations and on his own spiritual "successes." In the drawing of the peak, John, in this context, speaks of the path of the spirit of the imperfection of heaven, in his work Dark Night, he writes about the seven capital spiritual vices of beginners.
From these and from his own inability to overcome them, the need for another, passive night arises. The soul cannot be fully cleansed from these imperfections until God leads her into the passive purification of the dark night... Until then, let her strive for perfection, let her deserve that God immerses her in that divine bath where she will be healed of everything she failed to treat herself. For however hard the soul may struggle, it cannot actively cleanse itself sufficiently to be even minimally prepared for unification with God in perfect love (1N 3:3).
Let us summarize what has been said. The night is a symbol that alludes to a loss that becomes a gain over time. A person entering it, or being led into it, always loses part of the spectrum of their perception (not that they would actually lose it, but they are no longer able to be filled by it) and at the same time encounters a new, yet unknown light. John of the Cross loved the night: it was an environment of silence and a lack of external stimuli that, however, allowed him to listen to God's voice. The most significant turning point in his spiritual life probably occurred in the Toledo prison, where he was plunged into the deepest darkness and solitude, in which God spoke to him. Finally, even the mystical night, which invades the soul often regardless of current external conditions, is such a powerful light that it causes darkness in a person.
Symbol of the Dove
While the symbols of the mountain and night are indeed central in the first two works (at least according to the traditional ordering) of John of the Cross, this is not so for the symbol of the dove, at least at first glance. The poem is titled "Songs Between the Soul and the Bridegroom," where the "soul," that is, the human person, takes on various forms throughout. Two stand out: on one hand, the enamored woman, who gradually becomes the bride and wife, yearning for the love of her Beloved, and on the other hand, the form of the dove. Both are practically synonyms.
The reasons why John also speaks of the bride as a dove are, in my opinion, three. The first two he writes in the work Spiritual Song (SPB 34:3): "He calls her a dove because so he (the Bridegroom) names her in the Songs (understand: in the Song of Songs) to denote her simplicity and meekness of state and loving contemplation. Because the dove is not only simple and meek, free of gall, but she also has bright and loving eyes; and thus, in her, the Bridegroom signifies this quality of loving contemplation with which she gazes upon God, he also says there that she has the eyes of a dove" (Song 4:1).
Thus, biblical inspiration and purity of the bride are the first two reasons. We can add a third property, already implicitly present in the reference to the dove's contemplation. Her love for God leads her to continuous elevation and transcending herself, that is, to the flight characteristic of a dove.
This ascent, however, has two phases. When the Bridegroom's love has only wounded her and the full loving encounter has not yet occurred, her flight is restless, distracted, associated with a laborious and often anxious search. This situation changes only at the moment when the Bridegroom finally calls her and allows her to rest in Him. To express this reality, John of the Cross uses another biblical image of the dove, namely the dove from Noah's ark. "Just as the dove flew and came to the ark," he says, "because it could not find a place for its foot to rest among the waters of the flood, until it once returned with an olive branch in its beak, which was a sign of God's mercy that the waters by which the earth was flooded had receded (Gen 8:8-11), so too this soul, which has gone out from the ark of God's omnipotence... wandered through the floodwaters of sins and imperfections and could not find where to satisfy its desire, flew through the air with eager love and returned to the ark of the heart of its Creator, without ever resting in Him; until once, when God let the aforementioned waters of all imperfections on the earth of her soul recede, she returned with the olive branch, which is the victory she achieved over all things thanks to the kindness and mercy of God, to this happy and complete rest of the heart of her Beloved" (SPB 34:4).
This restless soaring and resting on the breast of the Beloved is thematically related to the restless and anxious night of seeking her love, described in stanzas 1-4 of the poem On a Night of Darkness, where the soul goes out "con ansias en amores inflamada," "with anxious desire, inflamed with love" and to the calm night of the loving encounter, when the Beloved remains asleep on the bride's "blossoming breasts, which she has kept entirely just for him" (quote – see stanzas 5-8).
In the Spiritual Song in this context, John speaks of a "clear night, with fire, which perfects and does not cause pain" – "in la noche serena, con llama que consume y no da pena" (stanza 39). The poems of John of the Cross contain erotic symbols, yet used with immense delicacy and purity – llama que consume: a flame that perfects the marital connection.
Symbol of the Flame
We are finally arriving at the last of the symbols we wanted to mention, namely the symbol of the flame. The unity of the theme of the last stanzas of the Spiritual Song and the entire poem Living Flame of Love will become even clearer when we consider the origin of the poem Living Flame of Love. This is the only poem by John directly dedicated to a single person, specifically the widow Anna de Peñalosa from Granada. Probably, she had asked him for an explanation of the already mentioned verse "con llama que consume y no da pena" – "with a flame that perfects and does not cause pain." In response to this request, John composed a new poem and later also a commentary on it.9
The symbol of the flame occurs only once in the mentioned poem, right at the beginning, yet the poem is thematically more consistent than all the others. While in the works Spiritual Song and Dark Night we encounter alternating times and periods: unrest – seeking and joy – encounter, the poem Living Flame of Love is from beginning to end an expression of immense bliss experienced by one who reaches unification. Only a subtle veil remains to differentiate this state from eternal life. "Oh, gentle touch, which knows what eternal life is," cries the poet in the second stanza.
The monothematic nature of the poem is further emphasized by the motif of fire, which appears in different forms in stanzas 1 to 3: in the first, it is the already mentioned fire – flame; in the second, "cauterio," which is translated into Czech as "branding," but in reality is a cauterizing (thus heated) metal tool; in the third "fiery lamps".
Fire and flame are therefore the same fire and flame we encounter during the night journey. Already in stanza 3 of the poem Dark Night, thus still in the course of anxious and yearned journey, we encounter "the light that burns in the heart" ("sin otra luz y guía sino la que en el corazón ardía" – "without another light and guide except that which burned in the heart"). While during the night this flame burned – purified, or perhaps illuminated (as is the case in the mentioned stanza 3), now in the state of unification it rather provides a taste of heaven. "The soul already feels how it is entirely inflamed in divine unification and her palate is wholly flooded with glory and love, and to the very depth of her essence, it overflows with entire rivers of glory, abounding with delights (cf. Song 8:5), so that she feels that from her innermost self flow rivers of living water, as God’s Son said about similar souls (John 7:38). It seems that when she has already been so profoundly transformed in God and God owns her so sublimely and she is so encompassed by the riches of His gifts and virtues that she is already close to bliss and that only a light veil separates her from it" (ZL 1:1).
Perhaps we can conclude the entire discussion with a well-known metaphor of John of the Cross (which, however, John is not the author of) about wood and fire for even better understanding of the whole process of gradual purification and enlightenment, which culminates in the ability to stand in the midst of a fire "that is no longer painful": "This purifying and loving knowledge, or divine Light, as we here say, draws the soul in her purification and preparation for perfect unification with Him, in the same way that fire draws wood when transforming it into itself. For the true fire, when laid upon wood, the first thing it does is dry it, it expels the moisture out and lets tears bathe the water that the wood has within it (the pain of purification); then it gradually changes it into black, dark, ugly, and also smelly and slowly, little by little, lets it dry out, slowly removing and throwing away all the ugly and dark additions that it has, which are contrary to the fire; and finally, when it begins to change it from the outside into flame and ignites it, it transforms it into itself and makes it beautiful, just as the fire itself is. At this end, there is no longer any suffering from the part of the wood, nor any own action, except for the weight and the denser parts than the fire (because the attributes of fire) also have their own action; for it is dried out and dried out is ignited; it is bright and illuminates; it is lighter much more than before, worked on by the fire in all these properties and effects" (2N 10:1). 10
