Attitude of Hope in the Poetry of St. John of the Cross in Context of Ethics of Ambiguity and Spiritual Abuse

Abstract

The mystical poetry of St. John of the Cross (born in 1542 in Spain and died in 1591), a collaborator of St. Teresa of Jesus in the reform of the Carmelite Order, reveals how the experience of God is indissolubly linked with compassion, and the practice of charity and hope. His life consistently reflects the virtues and attitudes celebrated in his poetry. This paper reinterprets three of his poems—Ascent of Mount Carmel, Of Falconry, and Spiritual Canticle—with a focus on the virtue and attitude of hope. It explores how hope is promoted and expressed through the lens of an ethics shaped by uncertainty and ambiguity, establishing a creative dialogue between classical and disruptive contemporary visions of Sanjuanist ethics. The text proposes an intersection of theology and ethics within a context of vulnerability, complexity, change, volatility, uncertainty, and ambiguity. It also addresses cases of spiritual abuse that distort the mystical and monastic meanings of the “dark night” metaphor. The experience of John of the Cross during his imprisonment is examined in relation to criteria for spiritual growth, with the aim of preventing spiritual misguidance. The paper aims to open the conversation in relation to the problem of abuse and its relation of how the cross may be understood and―in consequence―to help prevent the spiritual abuse that can take place through spiritual guidance.

1. Introduction

Porque esperanza del cielo tanto alcanza cuanto espera.

For hope of heaven will see all it can wish, be done.1

This single quote from the poem “Of Falconry”, probably written in 1584 in Granada (Spain), resumes the principle of hope emanating from the poetry of John of the Cross. The stanzas of the “Ascent of Mount Carmel” (1578–1579), like “In darkness and secure/By the secret ladder, disguised—oh, happy chance!/In darkness and in concealment/My house being now at rest”2, underline the ambiguity of the dark faith that makes a night bright and connect it indissolubly with the security of hope and rejoice of love (Dicken 1963; May 2004; Marcos Rodríguez 2016). It is a reflection of the biblical conviction in Hebrews 11:1, “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen”3, and the exclamation of the bride in the very first stanza of the “Spiritual Canticle of the Soul and the Bridegroom Christ” (1542–1591): “Where have You hidden Yourself/And abandoned me in my groaning/O my Beloved?” (CS4). These stanzas resonate from the intimacy of a person deeply in love who was simultaneously experiencing spiritual abuse amid controversy between the order’s supporters and detractors (Ros García 1993, p. 89). In 1577, John of the Cross was even confined in a prison: a narrow, stifling cell, with no window.

In this paper, we will analyze and interpret certain motives of hope that connect the following three texts: “Ascent of Mount Carmel”, “Of Falconry”, and “Spiritual Canticle.” Approaching them from an ethical perspective, we aim to identify the habits, dispositions, attitudes, and virtues that are cultivated and promoted, as well as examine how these are expressed within contexts of ambiguity, ambivalence, and uncertainty as experienced by the Carmelite. These findings will be compared with the ethics of uncertainty (Anker 2009) and the ethics of ambiguity (Beauvoir De [1947] 2018; Bauman and O’Brien 2019).

The purpose of this paper is twofold. Firstly, it seeks to initiate a discourse on the issue of abuse and its correlation with the interpretation of the cross. Secondly, it aims to contribute to the prevention of spiritual abuse that may occur in the context of spiritual guidance associated with symbols of suffering, such as the cross, or the dark night.

We also establish a creative dialogue between classical and disruptive contemporary visions of Sanjuanist ethics (Martínez González 2006; Herráiz García 2016; Marcos Rodríguez 2016), and contribute to the understanding of theology not merely as an abstract and theoretical discipline disconnected from praxis and life, but as a dynamic field that combines, intersects, and harmonizes the mystical experience of God with ethical commitment (Ros García 1993; Sobrino [1994] 2015; Kertes Weaver 2013; Pope Francis 2013). This exploration takes place within a context marked by vulnerability, complexity, change, volatility, uncertainty, and ambiguity (Boeve 2024, p. 192).

2. Structure and Methodology

The intersection of mysticism and ethics is only sparsely addressed in research on the work of John of the Cross (Martínez González 2006, p. 396), leaving room for a deeper ethical analysis of his doctrine. In the current context of spiritual abuse within Christianity, it becomes especially problematic not to consider how easily the Carmelite’s existential experience could be misinterpreted—particularly by those new to spirituality or those who have suffered spiritual abuse. If we overlook the potential for ambiguity in interpreting his poetry and oversimplify his mystical path, we risk ignoring the fact that John of the Cross interprets experiences of spiritual and physical suffering existentially, as part of the “Ascent of Mount Carmel,” where “to arrive at being all,” the path is “to desire to be nothing.”

Was the Carmelite path of neglection a projection of suffering, or a conviction shaped by the contemporary context in which John of the Cross lived—one that viewed this path as a form of excellence? What we aim to explore is the ambiguity of this spiritual journey in light of denunciations of spiritual abuse and the ongoing reinterpretation of suffering within contemporary Christianity (Cornel and Schnoor 2018; Leclerc and Bohecker 2022). Is it possible, in fact, to interpret the saint’s texts from the margins of sanctioned and institutionalized sanctity—reading his experience as a testimony and example of resilience and hope, as a personal response to the trauma of captivity, and as a reflection of the radical question: is suffering necessary for hope? How might the principle of hope, as articulated by John of the Cross and reframed through the lens of spiritual abuse, become a sign of real hope and justice for marginalized and abused individuals—those dwelling in the existential peripheries (Neal 2008; McCarroll and Hall 2014)?

To respond to these questions, we will first provide the context of spiritual abuse, which coexists with the experience of abundance and love in the writings of John of the Cross, as interpreted by three other Carmelite mystics. According to St. Thérèse of Lisieux (born in 1873 in France and died in 1897), a spiritual daughter of John of the Cross, the poem “Ascent of Mount Carmel” exemplifies a pedagogy of attitudes and virtues, testifying that “all is grace,” in line with St. Paul (cf. 1 Cor 15:10; 2 Cor 12:9), and summarizing her “little way.” Edith Stein (born in 1891 in Breslau and died in 1942), also a Carmelite, describes this path as a “science of the Cross” (Stein [1942] 2005) to be lived, or a “school of virtue” to be attended by the disciples of Jesus. Francis Palau (born in 1811 in Spain and died in 1872), founder of a missionary Carmelite family, offers a compendium of ethical proposals inspired by St. John of the Cross. Contemporary studies on ethics in John of the Cross (Martínez González 2006; Herráiz García 2016; Marcos Rodríguez 2009) will be presented to contrast these classical interpretations.

Secondly, we will explore the ethics of uncertainty (Anker 2009) and the ethics of ambiguity (Beauvoir De [1947] 2018; Bauman and O’Brien 2019), identifying their commonalities and differences in order to establish narrative threads that connect experiences of spiritual abuse and trauma in contemporary Christianity. These threads may challenge the authoritative validity of the experiences described in “Ascent of Mount Carmel and Mount of Perfection”—especially considering that John of the Cross was beatified less than a century after his death in 1675, canonized as a saint in 1726, and declared a Doctor of the Church by Pope Pius XI in 1926.5

Finally, we will emphasize the ethical dimension of hope, framed through the principle of hope (González 2011), as expressed in the works and experiences of John of the Cross. These experiences must be carefully discerned, interpreted, and applied to each personal case, and should not be presented in an overgeneralized or oversimplified way that implies trauma or suffering is somehow necessary in order to “come to be what you are not” (St. John of the Cross, quoted in Serra Zamora 2012, p. 136). The ethics of ambiguity can assist in discerning how trauma is experienced as ambivalent, and in distinguishing abuse from a genuine spiritual path of personal development—thus helping to prevent harmful conflations.

Methodologically, we will evoke both classical and contemporary interpretations of the ethics and mysticism of John of the Cross. Due to the length of the poems and the depth of their analysis, this paper will not be exhaustive; it does not attempt to capture the full complexity of the Carmelite experience, nor does it fully explore the meaning of the principle of hope. Instead, the aim is to focus on the ambiguity of mystical experience, which, in the case of John of the Cross, is intertwined with existential trauma—trauma that, in his case, did not undermine his unshakeable faith and hope.

However, in the context of spiritual abuse within Christianity, one cannot simply cite the saint’s resilience without also addressing the phenomenon of abuse and its potentially devastating effects—often yielding outcomes very different from those of John of the Cross. To ensure that his experience does not alienate those who have not followed a similar path of overcoming trauma, and to make his principle of hope ethically applicable, we must seek clear guidelines for discernment: where personal decision-making begins, how the individual path of growth unfolds, and what its limits may be.

Despite the limited scope of this paper, a wide array of sources has been consulted. This approach aims to achieve a balance between genuine respect for traditional and highly revered texts, and recent critiques and contemporary issues surrounding the implied ethics of mystics’ piety when reading John of the Cross (and other Carmelite mystics). The purpose of applying this methodological approach is to facilitate a re-reading of mystical texts and practices.

Considering the limits of the project, we will understand the relationship between spirituality and mystics in two dimensions: historical, as other works already offer thorough insights on the topic (Herráiz García 2016; Marcos Rodríguez 2016), and contextual (contemporary). Historically, theology was conceived in the Middle Ages as a synthesis of knowledge and experience (Martínez González 2006, p. 396; Mongeau 2016, p. 286). Humanism brought specialization of the disciplines of spirituality and ethics: the first one in direction of charity and will, and the second one―respectively― in direction of truth and intellect. Spirituality will―therefore―consist of ascetics and mystics with the stress on the psychological, more subjective practices and experiences, while morals tend to be more dogmatic, objective, legal and directed to the sacrament of penance. In short: “Morality studies salvation, and spirituality studies the practices that lead to holiness” (Vidal 2000, p. 68) in the ethical deontological and teleological classic sense.

In the contemporary context, spirituality would emphasize a personal search for the meaning, aspirations of fulfillment and balance that includes meditative practices and healthy life. Meanwhile, mystics as discipline or experience underlines the relationship with the divinity perceived as a grace received from the transcendence or/and God (Arana 2002, p. 254), the initiative proceeds from the Divinity. What is crucial in both historical and contextual perspectives is that the connection between ethics and spirituality–mystics in a personal life remains unaltered. They require each other (Jäger 1999, p. 96). The dynamics of virtue provides impulses to the simultaneous growth of person in all dimensions.

Following Martín Velasco’s ([1999] 2003 interpretation, the mystical experience is not a separate realm from spiritual experience, but rather its most intense and profound degree. According to this author, whenever there is a real experience of the Mystery―understood religiously as God or, in secular terms, as the foundation of reality―we are faced with a phenomenon that can be called “mystical,” of different forms and at different levels. Mysticism manifests authenticity of living faith, although only some reach the intensity and depth that the history of spirituality reserves for the name “mystics.” From this perspective, mysticism is not a phenomenon reserved for a few, but rather the fullest expression of religious experience: “all living faith imbues mystics” (Martín Velasco [1999] 2003, p. 319), for mysticism is, at its core, an intensified development of the experience of faith. These experiences can be described as interior and immediate and take place at a deeper level of consciousness in which the subject perceives some form of union with the whole, with the divine or with God: faith lived to its fullest intensity (Martín Velasco [1999] 2003, p. 23).

3. Context of Life of St. John of the Cross

This section will briefly present a context in which both mystical experiences and spiritual abuse occurred in the life of the Carmelite. We will describe some classic interpretations of the texts—“Ascent of Mount Carmel”, “Of Falconry”, and “Spiritual Canticle of the Soul and the Bridegroom Christ”—to consider their ethical orientation, and we will compare and contrast these with contemporary receptions at the crossroads of mysticism and ethics.

3.1. Experience of Spiritual Abuse

There are four principal elements in the life of Saint John of the Cross that facilitate the comprehension of his texts: poverty, intellectual background, the experience of suffering, and poetic creation. The notion of mysticism is inextricably linked to the concept of personal experience; it cannot be conceptualized as a literary corpus in isolation. Serra Zamora (2012, p. 134) claims that mysticism is a linguistic phenomenon, although it is not immune to the constraints of language and may culminate in a state of silence. Others insist in the ineffable nature of mystical grace (Flanagan 2016; Leblanc 1991; Payne 1990), which―on one hand―would correspond to the experience of “mystical unknowing” (Green 1986, p. 29) and―on the other hand―would enable contemplative paths of cognition (Niziński 2025) as it is further discussed in the point 4.2 on the ambiguous nature of spiritual experience.

Díaz (2022) considers John of the Cross’s theological voice to be disruptive. Born in 1542 in the village of Fontíveros under the name Juan de Yepes y Álvarez, he grew up in a hybrid culture shaped by Christian, Jewish, and Muslim interactions (McGinn 2017, pp. 242–45). As Díaz notes, “his writings reflect this cultural and religious hybridity” (Díaz 2022, p. 3).

During his formative years, Juan ministered to the sick in a local medical facility. He received a Jesuit education, but in 1563, at the age of twenty-one, he chose not to join the Jesuits and instead entered the Carmelite order at a house established in Medina (Serra Zamora 2012, p. 133). Shortly thereafter, the Carmelites sent him to the University of Salamanca to pursue philosophical and theological studies for three years. In 1567, upon his ordination as a priest, Juan became acquainted with Teresa of Ávila, who had initiated a reform of the Carmelite order. He took on the role of her companion and spiritual director, becoming a partner in the reform movement and enduring opposition from members of the Carmelite community. During the Discalced Reformation—a movement promoted by St. Teresa of Jesus (born in 1515 in Spain and died in 1582)—Juan de S. Matías adopted the name John of the Cross (Ascent, p. 20).

Between the years 1577 and 1578, the Calced Carmelites took it upon themselves to impose a period of imprisonment upon him, as a direct consequence of his involvement in the ascetic reformation of the Carmelite order. Various authors agree (Serra Zamora 2012; Díaz 2022) that through these concise biographical annotations, one can comprehend the significance of the suffering endured in understanding the Cross—a fundamental element underpinning Saint John of the Cross’s doctrine.

Juan faced numerous challenges and adversities. “From the very start of his life in Spain in 1542, John was exposed to the concepts of deprivation and marginalization,” recounts Fray Juan Evangelista, the Prior of a convent in Caravaca (Ascent, p. 58). He was imprisoned for nine months, receiving discipline every Friday with the same regularity as food, bread, and water. “I can testify that his shoulders were so sore that on one day he could not bear the serge of his habit” (Silverio de Santa Teresa 1952, p. 360).

Penance and tribulation have been interpreted in various ways by researchers, and in the majority of cases, they are considered part of the cultural and socio-religious entanglements (Serra Zamora 2012; Martínez González 2006; McGinn 2017; Díaz 2022), demonstrating the obedience and humble spirit of the Carmelite. Nevertheless, these experiences are ultimately eclipsed by the unitive and transformative process of conformation with Christ, following the “Christological iconographic model” (Serra Zamora 2012, p. 139).

Its disruptive meaning is not resolved by interpreting it merely as an invitation to imitate the obedient and suffering Christ—to be buried with Him in the cloister, renouncing one’s own will—as has been done in traditional readings of many of John of the Cross’s sentences (Martínez González 2006, p. 476). What we discover instead is a profound depth of discipleship in the Carmelite’s words, which must be understood within the context of the constant call to conformity with Christ as the only possible way to access God. This path is not merely a conquest of paradise, but the realization of our personal being and our response to the expectations God has for each of us.

This means that such experiences should not be read as a universal manual, but rather discerned and applied individually, according to each personal history, as an appropriate path of “conformation” or “conformity” with Christ (Vidal 2000, p. 130), approached gently to foster personal development. The path of purification is meaningful only if it leads to adopting “the same attitudes as Jesus Christ” (cf. Phil 2:5), resulting in progressive transformation through lived practice.

What we understood as spiritual abuse is defined as the use of spiritual or religious beliefs for the purpose of manipulation, control, or harm towards another individual (Stein 2021; Plante 2020). The phenomenon under discussion occurs in a variety of settings. In the domestic environment, the term refers to the use of religious or spiritual practices as a form of punishment for a minor. In terms of worship the “authority figure” denotes an individual significant influence within a given context, such as a religious leader or a person in a position of authority, who exploits power to inflict harm or to exercise control over another individual. In romantic relationships a partner may misappropriate religious texts in order to justify abusive behavior. In a cult, a religious context may be used as a means of exerting pressure on another individual to engage in activities that are not desired by that person. In the context of leadership, the term “influence” refers to the utilization of power to exert control over the behaviors, beliefs, and thoughts of others. In instances of spiritual abuse, the victim may encounter an attempt by the abuser to isolate them from their community, family, or social group. This is generally implemented with the objective of maintaining control and preventing individuals from expressing their opinions (Marich 2018; Orlowski 2010; Johnson and Van Vonderen [1991] 2005).

3.2. Experience of Hope as an Attitude in the Poetry of St. John of the Cross

The poetic work of the saint of Fontíveros is the result of “a spiritual experience, externally aesthetic, but internally ethical” (Ros García 1993, p. 326). The author’s purpose is rooted in a profound experience, taking shape as a spiritual rather than conceptual accompaniment. His verses emerge as expressions of mystical love and are structured within the poem as a complex system of signs that allude to the divine. His words—both in verse and prose—are consistently transcendent, with this mystical reality serving as the central focus and the ultimate explanatory key to his entire expressive system (Díaz 2022, p. 67).

We will offer a brief interpretation of the poems “Ascent of Mount Carmel,” “Of Falconry,” and “Spiritual Canticle of the Soul and the Bridegroom Christ” to highlight the Trinitarian structure of John of the Cross’s writing and the theological virtues that underpin his spiritual life. For John, the spiritual life is the unfolding of the theological life. The theological virtues—faith, hope, and love—are those that direct individuals toward God, forming the foundation upon which the entire mystical journey is articulated. Through them, the transformed person is continually renewed.

The image of the Ascent of Mount Carmel illustrates the purification of all dimensions that constitute the human personality: the intellect through faith, the memory through hope, and the will through charity. This presents a vision of the new person (cf. Col 3:10), united with God in faith, hope, and charity (Martínez González 2006, p. 443).

In accordance with the premise that mysticism is a linguistic phenomenon which is not impervious to the constraints of language, the analyzed texts of John of the Cross, as reinterpreted by other Carmelites with regard to “hope,” will demonstrate that mystics (persons) experience hope in a manner that is ambivalent, as it does not provide a sense of certainty during the process of becoming one with the Beloved (God). In such circumstances, the “ethic of ambiguity” may be applicable as a point of orientation and guidance of how to deal with the uncertainty.

3.2.1. Of Falconry: For Hope for Heaven Will See All It Can Wish

The poem “Of Falconry” belongs to a series of chants bearing the generic title found in the Sanlúcar manuscript: “Otras coplas del mismo autor, a lo divino” (Other songs of the same author, dedicated to the Divine). It is believed to have been written before 1584 (Ros García 1993, p. 329) or between 1584 and 1585 (Díaz 2022, p. 34), in all cases after the period of imprisonment. The poem describes a paradox of hope in motion: the less one sees, the higher one ascends—“just when this flight of mine/had reached its highest mark,/my eyes were dazzled so/I conquered in the dark.” Blind faith can be interpreted as night (in the second stanza), but also as the blinding light of God, as the bird draws nearer to the sun—an image of God who radiates light and warmth (Ascent II, 3.4).

Also noteworthy is the subjective component found in the third stanza. The higher the hunter climbed, “the lower I appeared,/more humble, weak, and lame.” In this contradictory moment of despair—marked by the cry “But none can win”—the vertiginous motion of the fall paradoxically becomes the very impulse for a supreme ascent, enabling the character to reach the goal. This sudden shift, born of confidence in God’s mercy and personal persistence in dreaming and desiring, is precisely what hope offers: the assurance of what one believes, the substance of the promise (cf. Heb 11:1 and Ascent II, 6.2), which propels “a thousand flights in one,/for hope of heaven will see all it can wish, be done” (last stanza).

The entire mystical trajectory—and the poem itself—acquires its true meaning from this point: it was hope that initiated the search (“I hoped for this [cast] only”), sustained the uninterrupted flight (“I hoped; was not downcast”), and ultimately, with its final ascent, enabled the greatest and most decisive leap—the flight of capture. It becomes clear, then, that hope, beyond being a theological virtue, is also a necessary disposition of one’s personality: not only to obtain and receive, but even to awaken, in some way, the very object of desire (Ros García 1993, p. 337).

3.2.2. “To Come to Be What You Are Not, You Must Go by a Way in Which You Are Not” (St. John of the Cross, Spiritual Diagram of Mount of Perfection) or “Nothing Is Not No-Thing” (Anker 2009, p. 99)

The motifs of darkness and security can be clearly traced in the stanzas of the “Ascent of Mount Carmel” (1578–1579, composed during the period of imprisonment). The trance begins at night, without being observed (first stanza), “in darkness and secure (…) in darkness and in concealment” (second stanza). The element of “luck” (“happy chance”) present in both stanzas links the concept to an experience of marvelous mercy and grace (Silverio de Santa Teresa 1952), much like in the divine encounter of “Of Falconry”, where the hunter reaches the prey beyond his own capacity or possibility.

This time, however, the passivity of the subjective experience is emphasized: “my house being now at rest.” The experience of the dark night becomes undoubtedly joyful—even from the subjective perspective of the patient or lover—who requires no other light or guide than the one “which burned in my heart” (third stanza), a light more certain—contrasted with any external objectivity—“than the light of noonday” (fourth stanza).

The paradox of chance and security is mirrored in a paradox of objectivity and subjectivity—two facets of the experience—where the subjectivity of intimacy with the Lover (“I knew who!”) holds more authority than the objectivity of time and space (“a place where none appeared”). The night becomes a guide in a striking oxymoron of vision and blindness, day and night, faith and sureness (fifth stanza). Faith proves more certain than certainty itself when it concerns the Beloved.

The impossibility of reaching God (as in the case of “Of Falconry”) and the ontological oxymoron of “human” and “God” collapse under the weight of the experience of the “Lover transformed in the Beloved.” On one hand, the verses highlight the path of expectation and hope; on the other, they evoke a peaceful state of sleep—a form of partial unconsciousness—as if the Beloved has not yet fully revealed Himself (sixth stanza). This emphasizes a kind of interplay between absence and presence: together, yet not in complete union, somehow “suspended” (seventh stanza).

Hope sustains trust, allowing one to remain, to persist despite the feeling of being lost. Although the union between Creator and creature can only ever be imperfect and partial, the attitude of hope enables one to “leave my cares,” to “abandon myself,” and to remain forgotten. The motives of hope are as powerful as the promise itself—one of the most significant categories in the Old Testament (García Santos 1998)—and resonate with the idea of resurrection or new life, understood as an insurrection against all attachments (Mendoza-Álvarez 2020).

3.2.3. Spiritual Canticle: A Synthesis of Hope, Faith and Love

The “Spiritual Canticle of the Soul and the Bridegroom Christ” was composed during the long imprisonment St. John endured in Toledo, from the beginning of December 1577 until the middle of August the following year (CS [1905] 1999, p. 2). The experience, condensed into forty stanzas, reflects an existential state of feeling lost—yet with hope placed unconditionally in God. “Where have you hidden yourself/And abandoned me in my groaning, O my Beloved?” echoes the cry of Golgotha (cf. Mt 27:46 and Ps 22:1), where the wounded hands of Jesus can no longer do good, and His feet cannot run after Abba. Hope in the help of creatures fades, yet the experience of suffering and dying remains part of the “search for my Love” beyond all frontiers.

A desperate quest for the Beloved—a hope to find Him amid the entanglements of nature, social, political, institutional, familiar, and even religious structures—proves fruitless, despite God’s passing and the leaving of “unnumbered graces.” The wounds of broken promises (of well-being, of a good life) seem to cry out and echo in the line: “A messenger/Who cannot tell me what I wish.” Themes of abandonment and reflection on a wasted life lie at the heart of stanzas eight through ten.

The motif of the “stolen prey,” closely related to the context of the poem “Of Falconry,” and the “unhealed wound” recall the experience of the community in Luke (Lk 21:31ff), where the signs of the times—the signs of hope—are catastrophes and agony. “The malady of love that is incurable” demands an immediate Presence and Face. The mirror-like reflection of God in the eyes of a creature shifts the dynamic, and a dazzling exchange of roles takes place, as the bride asks the groom to turn His desired eyes away. This is a powerful metaphor for the image of God in His creatures and the impossibility of fully reaching the Beloved.

This critical point is softened by the sweet flight of the dove. It is as if the roles are reversed: God becomes the hunter (cf. “Of Falconry”), not the soul, and He brings pleasure without further ado (stanzas thirteen to fifteen). The mystical experience of pleasure is part of the process (Ros García 2016, p. 42). The Carmelite saint simply urges us not to cling to this sensation, but to move forward and recognize that while the soul is engaged in service, there is no greater employment than love (stanza twenty-eight, manuscript B).

Once again, a paradox emerges: “You will say that I am lost/That, being enamored/I lost myself; and yet was found.” In other words, only God can transform our existential sense of being lost into something truly human—something worthy of God. However, the way this transformation occurs in the individual is a deeply personal mystery, marked by a touch “on my neck” and captivity “by one of my eyes”—the same motifs found in the seventh stanza of “Ascent of Mount Carmel.”

The redundancy of examples and motives that previously appeared during the search for the Beloved is presented once again, but now in the peaceful context of a dove’s nest. This apparent repetition—almost hyperbolic—suggests that the path of love does not end; rather, it is a cumulative process that cannot be conceived in a linear way. The unitive transformation is not merely “a quest of love” in the singular. A more fitting image is that of a multiplicity of branches on a tree (Stein [1942] 2005, p. 441), supported by hope as “all substance in God’s service” (cf. Heb 11:1). The fact that the bride once again passes through solitude (stanza thirty-five, manuscript B) as a little dove reveals how much she has learned—how much more experience of life and sorrow she has gained. As a result, she is more willing and prepared to enjoy life (thirty-six B), creatures and nature (thirty-seven B), and to overcome the consecutive nights (thirty-nine B).

In other words, hope gives strength to discover one’s own identity as aim image of God and the dignity to serve—not as a burden, but as a response to merciful grace, never in opposition to oneself. These dynamics of intertwined dignity, hope, and service as an ethical response to divine love, present in the poetry of St. John of the Cross, are further illuminated by his followers, some of whom are also Doctors of the Church.

In summary, through the insights of some notions of hope in these three poems of St. John of the Cross we can observe paradoxes and linguistic oxymorons to express with analogies a profoundly mysterious experience that corresponds the via negationis in the “Ascend” via excellentis in “Spiritual Canticle” that―surprisingly enough―culminates in “Of Falconry” in the attitude of hope. These traced analogies draw ambivalent intersections between contrasting experiences of love, desire, and courage, on one hand, and the ontological no-thing and existential sinking, on the other hand (Wozna 2025, p. 40).

3.3. Ethical Interpretations of the Classics

3.3.1. The Overabundance of Hope (Thérèse of Lisieux)

“All is grace,” exclaimed St. Thérèse of Lisieux just before her passing. She applied this principle to charity and generosity toward her sisters, connecting it with the experience of union with Jesus. Virtues are revealed to the individual as both part and content of mystical grace. There is no separation between moral and spiritual life. These two dimensions of being do not unfold in linear continuity or coherent sequence; rather, they grow simultaneously and complement each other in a theological dynamic of mutual reciprocity, union, and the plenitude of loving God in a Trinitarian way. Her interpretation of the poetry of St. John of the Cross reveals love as the source of being, health, and salvation (in Latin, the term “salus” encompasses both meanings). Her “little path” transcends “any moral imperative, rational discourses, or scientific technologies” (Pikaza 2004, p. 272).

The experience of “surpassed hope,” as she understands it, can be clearly perceived in the metaphor of the lift. She writes:

We are in a century of inventions. Nowadays, it is no longer necessary to take the trouble to climb the steps of a staircase; in the houses of the rich, a lift is an advantageous substitute.

I too would like to find a lift to raise me up to Jesus, for I am too small to climb the hard ladder of perfection. So, I searched the Holy Books for some indication of this lift—the object of my desire—and I read these words from the mouth of eternal Wisdom: Whoever is small, let him come to me.

And so I went, believing I had found what I was looking for. Wanting to know, my God, what you would do with the little one who responds to your call, I continued my search—and here is what I found: As a mother caresses her child, so will I comfort you; I will carry you in my arms and rock you on my knees.

Never have more tender or melodious words cheered my soul. The lift that will carry me to heaven is your arms, Jesus! And for that, I do not need to grow; on the contrary, I must remain small—I must become smaller and smaller. You, my God, have surpassed my hope, and I want to sing of your mercies. (St. Thérèse of Lisieux).6

Her singing of mercies is a natural response to expectations that were surpassed—a spontaneous act of appreciation or service, offered simply to please the Beloved. The experience of an overabundance of grace, as lived by this remarkably young mystic, is far from naïve. In fact, St. Thérèse of Lisieux mentions the word “cross” more than 200 times and “suffer” over 300 times in her manuscripts and letters. For comparison: “hope” appears 73 times, “love” 1006 times, “faith” 125 times, and “happiness” 700 times (Thérèse of Lisieux).

Although the French Carmelite’s experience of illness and separation from her family was a profound penance, her understanding of the cross in its “nudity” (St. Thérèse of Lisieux, p. 321) reveals a multiplicity of realities: the external pain and its distinction from internal suffering. The influence of St. John of the Cross on her work and life is undeniable, and Thérèse herself acknowledges this in a letter from 1892 (Letter 135). “The great similarity between the two saints lies in a common fundamental intuition: in Christ, the profusion of all created riches is recapitulated” (St. Thérèse of Lisieux, p. 471).

At this point, Edith Stein’s “Kreuzeswissenschaft” (“The Science of the Cross”), published in 1942, also converges. “The suffering experience is mirrored in the imitatio Christi that St. John considered to be the center of the whole life” (Serra Zamora 2012, p. 134). Suffering is embodied in the arduous experience of the dark night of the soul in Toledo—the historical and transhistorical night of his imprisonment by the Calced Carmelites, which lasted nine months from 1577 to 1578. This event holds particular historical significance, as it culminates in the protagonist’s nocturnal escape from prison—a symbol of personal transformation and spiritual enlightenment. Serra Zamora (2012, p. 135) describes these historical and spiritual events as a symbolic experience.

3.3.2. The Science of the Cross (Edith Stein)

It is hard not to perceive the existential parallels between the “Ascent of Mount Carmel” and “The Science of the Cross” in the life of St. Therese Benedict of the Cross, Edith Stein—a German-Jewish Carmelite during her process. As an apparently disillusioned Jew, a betrayed German citizen, and a successful scholar who chose to enter the Carmelite Order (in public terms, to disappear), she was—unlike Thérèse of Lisieux—considered too old. Ultimately, she was persecuted to death as a Christian nun for being Jewish under the Nazi regime. Could any lived experience sound more paradoxical?

These parallels in the fundamental experiences of John of the Cross are explained by Edith Stein through the lens of personal experience, which she integrates with the Carmelite monk’s role as teacher, spiritual director, and guide for souls—especially for other sisters in Carmel. This integration, she notes, “guards against one-sidedness and false generalizations” (Stein [1942] 2005, p. 231). She emphasizes that, thanks to the intersection of personal experience and prudence, John of the Cross always acknowledged “the great variety of possible paths, and requires the smooth and gentle adaptation of the direction of grace to the particular needs of each soul” (Stein [1942] 2005, p. 231). This is why the quote from the Second Book of “The Dark Night of the Soul” (N 16,9) is not intended to be universally applicable:

There is another reason why the soul has walked securely in this darkness, and this is because it has been suffering; for the road of suffering is more secure and even more profitable than that of fruition and action: first, because in suffering the strength of God is added to that of man, while in action and fruition the soul is practicing its own weaknesses and imperfections; and second, because in suffering the soul continues to practice and acquire the virtues and become purer, wiser and more cautious.

She does not intend to justify the suffering. Actually:

St. John’s doctrine of the cross could not be considered as a science of the cross in the given sense, if it were based on a mere intellectual point of view. But it bears the authentic stamp of the cross. It is an immense ramification of a tree whose roots have penetrated into the depths of the soul and are nourished by the blood of the heart.

(Stein [1942] 2005, p. 441)

His life and hers, in a particular way, are signs of hope for those who suffer—suggesting that there is something to be learned about how to live once suffering ends, and how to begin rejoicing in the process, as the “Spiritual Canticle” suggests, especially in stanzas 34–40, as noted at the end of Section 3.2.3.

The personalization of spiritual guidance is emphasized in Stein’s book. She provides examples of how the Passion of Christ is explained differently depending on the recipient: to a new member of the convent, with “discretion in the mortification of the body, not seeking pleasure in anything,” and to the superior of the community, with the instruction to “intend that the sisters preserve the spirit of poverty” (Stein [1942] 2005, pp. 444–50). These pages are dedicated to showing how the science of the Cross must be discerned and applied “for love” (Stein [1942] 2005, p. 451). Another set of examples—meant to prevent confusing the cross with abuse or mere suffering—includes St. Teresa of Jesus pleading with John of the Cross and other brothers to moderate their penance:

It had cost her so many prayers and tears to find suitable religious for the beginning of the Reformation, that he had the devil to push them out of indiscreet zeal, that they might be exhausted before the time and destroy the work in the beginning.

(Stein [1942] 2005, p. 452)

Edith Stein recommends not to suffer if possible, following the advice of John of the Cross:

Corporal penance without obedience is imperfect because beginners are moved to it only by the appetite and taste they would find there; in which, by doing their will, they grow in vices rather than in virtues.

(Stein [1942] 2005, p. 455)

The question of obedience, in ethical terms, relates to the principles of autonomy and maturity. In order to truly love and suffer, we must first develop, mature, and practice service—so that we may discover our dignity as images of God. Each person has their own path, and the cross will be present, but it must never be imposed against the self. Suffering and penance become sources of vice when practiced by beginners or by “inexpert confessors” (Stein [1942] 2005, p. 466), whether guides or spiritual masters. It may be better to follow “without light or guide, save that which burned in my heart” (Ascent, third stanza) than to submit to a misguided spiritual director.

3.3.3. The School of Virtue (Francis Palau)

Francisco Palau i Quer (born in Spain in 1811 and died in 1872) lived and suffered amid the revolutions and transformations that reshaped the political, industrial, agricultural, and intellectual spheres of 19th-century Spain. During this period, the country transitioned from the Ancient Regime to the contemporary age, marked by the emergence of a new political structure: the liberal state. This transformation was accompanied by significant economic, social, and cultural changes. Cities expanded rapidly, and the first major rural exodus began. Palau witnessed the burning of the Carmelite convent he had joined in 1832, a consequence of religious persecution in 1835. He fled to France from 1840 to 1851, but in 1854 was exiled to solitary confinement on Es Vedrá (Ibiza, Spain)—an island with scarce drinking water and harsh living conditions, where political prisoners were sent. His alleged offense was promoting education among the urbanizing population and spreading Christian values.

His apostolic work, nourished by a life of spirituality and hermitage in the area of Lleida (Aitona), bore fruit in the “Catechism of Virtue” (1851). When the School of Virtue he had founded was questioned and ultimately banned, he responded from exile by publishing “Escuela de la Virtud Vindicada” (“Vindication of the School of Virtue”) in 1859—an apologetic defense of the institution and of Christian values. St. John of the Cross served as his inspiration, especially as a guide for souls within the urban and secular context of 19th-century Spain, as evidenced in his letters. He founded the religious congregation of the Carmelite Missionary Teresians and was beatified by Pope John Paul II on 24 April 1988.

We present his example as a sign of the hope that emanates from the spiritual life—hope that does not yield to difficulties, exile, or the experiences of suffering, pain, the cross, and solitude. For Francisco Palau, following the path of St. John of the Cross, hope gives meaning to our history and experience, enabling new ways to adapt the significance of virtues to the historical context. His public apostolate and his guidance of sisters and laypersons made it possible for the concepts of hope, the cross, and penance to extend beyond the convent, acquiring new formulations and interpretations within modern society.

His testimony of resistance shows clearly an ambiguity of the symbol of the cross and graduality of the spiritual experience: “The flesh is crucified by the world and the Cross triumphs. Martyrdom passes, faith comes” (Palau [1859] 2023, p. 389).

Being graces freely given, God can bestow them upon both the perfect and the imperfect, the weak and the strong. They cannot be regarded as certain or infallible signs of a person’s holiness or perfection, for it is only virtues that truly perfect a person. These graces are not virtues themselves, but rather means by which virtue is acquired, authorized, sustained, and preserved. See what St. John of the Cross wrote about this (Book 2 Ascent, chapters 17–32), as cited by Palau ([1851] 2023, p. 369).

There are even references to presumably Christian individuals “who attract with the cross and then nail us to it (…) like demons behind the Cross, preaching virtue, purity, honesty” (Palau [1859] 2023, p. 458). Surely, the experience of betrayal—even within the Church he considered his home (Duval 1987, p. 73)—underlies these words, as he seeks to discern true virtue: a disposition of hope “that joins us till the end,” as stated on the first page of the “Catechism of Virtue”. What the Catalan Carmelite emphasizes is the ambivalence between the theory of hope and its existential experience. In “Lesson 41” on the “Hope”, he cites Hebrews 11:1, affirming that faith is the foundation or beginning of all that we hope to receive from God. Yet, when addressing the certainty of what is promised, he prudently quotes Philippians 2:12: “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling,” adding:

There can be no certain signs. If there were any that could assure us, it would be virtue; but we see the virtuous becoming vicious and vice versa. Nevertheless, we may conjecture that the virtuous man, if he perseveres—as long as he walks the way and practices the means—will obtain his end.

(Palau [1851] 2023, p. 346)

The idea of the school refers not only to the institution itself—intended to be public and to promote Christian values and virtues (Pastor Miralles [2009] 2018, p. 35)—but also to the underlying process. This process emphasizes the necessity of not placing suffering, the cross, or even a mere imitation of Christ at the forefront of spiritual life. Instead, it prioritizes prudence and virtues, particularly the virtue of hope, which preserves faith in ambiguous contexts and times of difficulty.

In summary, Thérèse of Lisieux insists in an innovative and subversive way of hoping by ascending to the communion with God through the act of letting oneself being lifted and held in loving arms of Divinity, not by individual efforts. Father Palau warns us not to confuse radical hope of salvation and mercy with social illusions and political deceptions. Scholastic definition of hope helps orient the quest of liberation between being moved towards God actively and receive the grace as an initiative from God. Edith Stein distinguishes the science of the Cross from personal expectations or naïf piety. Her experience shows us the difference between spiritual guidance and personal path, which need to prioritize discernment and personal liberty.

4. Ethics of Ambiguity and Uncertainty

As shown in the previous section, discerning what constitutes genuine spiritual purification versus what is abusive or merely a projection of one’s own imperfect created condition—and understanding the balance between growth and mystical experience—is crucial. This discernment must be personalized (not generalized) and can be verified through attitudes such as peace in solitude, the integration of frustrations, and a positive approach to the world.

In a complex postmodern world, the lack of clarity and certainty has intensified. We live in VUCA contexts—characterized by volatility, uncertainty, change, and ambiguity (Boeve 2024, p. 192). Within this environment, ethics and spirituality must respond not only to existential tensions but also to the reality of spiritual abuse. This is why three authors were selected who appear to agree that “a conversation about ambiguity is a starting point for action and a starting point for slowing down and stopping the wrong kinds of action” (Bauman and O’Brien 2019, p. 119). Our aim is to make sense of the reality of uncertainty—the “dark night”—through the ethical expression of hope and to demonstrate its relevance for a proper interpretation of the mystics in contexts marked by spiritual abuse. This section emphasizes that the ambiguity is specific in its reference to a sense of spiritual and existential embrace of God, as well as a sense of separation from God. In this sense, pain, physical and psychic illness, and the vulnerability of the human condition are interpreted as “darkness,” not actively willed but inexplicably permitted by God. In the context of suffering, the encounter with “the God who does not save” (Sutera 2024, p. 139) is a profoundly challenging experience of vulnerability when individuals have the opportunity to mystically perceive the nearness of God, and, precisely through their helplessness, to experience solace and deliverance.

4.1. Three Examples

4.1.1. Anker (2009) and Aporetic Openings

A North American philosopher applies an empiric-materialist strategy to trace a space of possibility for overcoming aporias such as possibility within impossibility, undecidability, difference, otherness, indeterminacy, becoming, and uncertainty—through dialogue with Nancy (2003). His vision of ambiguity is expressed as a movement of constant play and transformation, “which opens the world to novelty and event. In short, the world itself is enough” (Anker 2009, p. 9). This suggests that we should allow the world to penetrate the porosity of our senses, including the incorporeal spiritual senses (Grosz 2017). The appropriate metaphor is a rhizome, composed not of units but of directions in a non-linear motion of transformation. In contrast, the Greek word “aporos” means “without passage” (Anker 2009, pp. 13, 28).

His vision of the future—not in the sense of a “horizon,” but as a coming in the form of the Other (Anker 2009, p. 19)—offers a response to the ambivalence of spiritual experience. It belongs to an ontology of continuous movement, spacing, and transformation, which phenomenologically manifests as an aporia of concealment and unconcealment. Epistemologically, it may be understood as a state of becoming and opening; psychologically, as an “open aporetic space of possibility/impossibility” (Anker 2009, pp. 20–22).

He situates ethics within the aporetic tension of uncertainty and the absence of any stable dogmatic foundation, drawing on Unamuno and Kierkegaard to affirm the idea that “ethics can never be grounded in certainty, as certitude in totalization closes the open transformative space of becoming” (Anker 2009, p. 23). This implies that decision-making becomes the focal point of ethical engagement, while simultaneously acknowledging its limits. The notion of “aporia,” in its etymological sense, refers—especially in relation to responsibility—to a closed passage that obstructs alternative decisions.

Ethics, in this view, becomes a reflection of spiritual experience, where “hospitality, responsibility, and justice exist only in the aporetic space of being possible and impossible at the same time” (Anker 2009, p. 38). The future—understood as transcendence—appears as excess, an overabundance of grace, and any attempt at total fusion, appropriation, or abnegation “has only the violence of totalization” (Anker 2009, p. 43). Spirituality, by contrast, reflects ethical reverberations that extend beyond knowledge and certainty.

4.1.2. Bauman and O’Brien (2019): Uncertainty and the Pace of Ambiguity

The authors thematize the state of uncertainty in the context of environmental urgency, yet some of their conceptualizations also address embodiment and the material-spatial-spiritual subtract of an ethics rooted in faith and hope (Bauman and O’Brien 2019). Their vision of virtues drawn from Abrahamic faiths and other religions emphasizes the limitations of human capacity and action.

The ethical traditions of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam are characterized by a strong emphasis on virtue, with origins partly rooted in the philosophical works of Aristotle, who emphasized habit formation as a fundamental element. The authors point out that virtues are developed gradually over time through the cultivation of dispositions and habits. They are not typically acquired spontaneously or revealed in a single moment. The pursuit of virtue requires a process rather than a direct path, and a posture of patience rather than a sense of urgency. No linear or simple path or timeframe can be assumed, as virtues grow structurally. In fact, “virtues such as justice, temperance, and love are fuzzy and relational in nature” (Bauman and O’Brien 2019, p. 26). Abrahamic faiths have rich traditions of complexifying these virtues, acknowledging the tensions between them, and reminding practitioners that the final achievement of a virtuous life is ultimately impossible.

Religious traditions are themselves highly diverse. Consequently, any broad generalization about “spirituality” should be approached with caution. Mystical experiences offer tools for accepting, engaging with, and acting upon the world’s ambiguities, complexity, and uncertainty. The promise encourages individuals to adjust their expectations to the path (Neal 2008). This reminder of human limitations and the inherent tension between moral goals aligns with the nature of ambiguity. It is important to note that virtues are not, in fact, fixed essences of identity or reality.

The decision-making process engenders effects of an unknown nature. “The pace of ambiguity suggests that it is vital to spend time thinking through some of these unknowns before deciding, before making an ethical-ontological cut” (Bauman and O’Brien 2019, p. 29).

Acknowledging complexity and ambiguity implies that failure is both unavoidable and constructive. Failure and frustration lead us, first, to recognize that our role models may be fallible, possessing both commendable and flawed ideas. Second, they reveal the collective construction of knowledge and realities—a process that challenges entrenched individual views. Third, they prompt the realization that a plurality of perspectives, however disorderly they may seem, is indispensable for transitioning to novel modes of existence (Bauman and O’Brien 2019, p. 106).

The concept of mature love, characterized by a reverent acceptance of the world and a willingness to move forward in a somewhat ambiguous manner, has been elevated by numerous religious traditions. The focus on uncommon ground and an uncertain future—whether salvific or apocalyptic—necessitates a degree of comfort with the uneasiness that accompanies an ambiguous pace. It may be posited that such feelings of unease foster a deeper comfort with the particular moments in which we find ourselves, a heightened receptivity to our relationships and present realities, and a greater acceptance of ambiguity (Bauman and O’Brien 2019, p. 113).

4.1.3. Beauvoir De ([1947] 2018) and Ambiguity

The mention of Simone de Beauvoir, a feminist philosopher (born in France in 1908 and died in 1986), and her work “The Ethics of Ambiguity,” first published in 1947, highlights her attempt to conceptualize the intersection between ambiguity and freedom. She observed that ambiguity may serve as a serious foundation for ethics, rather than being a relativist or nihilist invention.

She outlines three inseparable dimensions of freedom, expressed through the prepositions “from,” “for,” and “in.” These include: freedom from egocentrism and inner slavery, which prevent us from becoming truly free individuals; freedom for liberating ourselves from anything—external or internal—that may condition or bind us; and freedom in the situation in which we are called to live (Herráiz García 2016, p. 171).

In her effort to balance personal freedom with responsibility toward others, she emphasizes the positive aspects of ambiguity. Beginning with the aesthetic attitude, she distinguishes between the concepts of freedom and liberation. She asserts, “the notion of ambiguity must not be confused with that of absurdity (…) Absurdity challenges every ethics, but ambiguity corresponds to man’s condition as ambiguous” (Beauvoir De [1947] 2018, pp. 6, 139).

Beauvoir’s reflections on freedom of existence—understood as liberation in a concrete, corporeal sense—are captured in her phrase “joy of existence asserted in each one” (Beauvoir De [1947] 2018, p. 146). This resonates with the way Herráiz thematizes spiritual rejoicing: as the most just and profound expression of the radical transformation brought about by divine communication, to the extent that the individual accepts and collaborates with it. The mystical expression that follows this insight is an exclamation from St. Teresa of Jesus: “Let this self die, and let another [self] live in me who is more than me and better than me for me...; let God live and give me life” (Herráiz García 2016, p. 176).

The ambiguity of seemingly contradictory experiences—joy and death, the cross, pain, and suffering—reveals how realistic and radical the mystical ethics of Teresa and John of the Cross truly are: aimed at forming and recreating both the ethical subject and the ethical society.

De Beauvoir claims that this kind of ethics is rather individualistic; however, she sees the possibility of building democracy—a communitarian and communicative system—upon it. The advantage of ambiguity is that it prevents both totalitarian doctrines and solipsism, as “the individual is defined only by one’s relationship to the world and to other individuals (…) one exists by transcending oneself” (Beauvoir De [1947] 2018, p. 169).

Her main contribution is the establishment of a “psychological or empirical ethics” within existential ontology, enabling the principle of hope to become operative in the individual, so that one may assume choices and responsibilities (Beauvoir De [1947] 2018, pp. 9, 25).7

She also directly addresses the possibility of “perverted willing,” “dishonesty,” and “abuse” (Beauvoir De [1947] 2018, pp. 33, 151). Surprisingly, ambiguity does not lead to a nihilistic attitude but rather to the realization that “ambiguity is at the heart of every attitude, for the independent person is still a person with one’s particular situation in the world, and what defines as objective truth is the object of one’s own choice” (Beauvoir De [1947] 2018, p. 74).

There is a clear divergence between her perspective on aporias and that of the mystics. Her sense of freedom endows the individual with the capacity to construct meanings of their own in the sense that personal freedom should not impede the freedom of others. It is evident that she did not concur with the perspectives of the mystics, who postulated the existence of intrinsic spiritual faculties that serve as a compass for human guidance. Her position is founded on rational assessments rather than spiritual graces.

4.2. Ambiguous Nature of Spiritual Experience

The critical theory of society and religion identifies the ambiguity of mystical experience in political and social terms. It is seen as an expression of fear of material reality, an escape from social responsibilities, and even a form of alienation (Anker 2009, p. 73). Mysticism was thus rejected as a turning away from history—a mysticism of closed eyes—and as a lack of solidarity with human tasks (González De Cardedal 2013, p. 215).

On the other hand, in the context of an increasingly devitalized humanity, mystics emerge as daring explorers of a new world—witnesses and educators of a renewed humanity. Religions seek their roots, aiming to become sources of life and peace through the “spirituality” that flows from them—spirituality that makes them “alive” and “life-giving,” following the attributes of the Holy Spirit. Terms such as “wild mysticism” or “religion without God” distort the original meaning of “religion”: to re-bind, to unite humanity with God and with one another (Herráiz García 2016, p. 152).

Another aspect of spiritual ambiguity is materiality and corporality. As the experience of purification reveals:

To recognize the self as an empty space, a hole at the hub of the wheel, the darkness we see in the night’s sky, is to define the self by what it is not—by what is absent. It is to take difference and abjection seriously, and therefore to base the responsibilities of the self on diversity rather than commonality. Such a loss of the “solid” self is frightening for those of us trained to rest on foundations, but we will argue below that this more ambiguous self has long existed.

(Bauman and O’Brien 2019, p. 23)

This quote can be seen as a contemporary synthesis of the ambiguous experience of the night, as presented in Section 3.1 and Section 3.2. Teresa of Jesus, however, emphasizes Jesus’s humanity as a vital point of connection between spirituality and ethics. She criticizes those priests who claimed that humanity must be set aside by voluntarily “turning away from the corporeal” (Herráiz García 2016, p. 154).

There is also a methodological problem with the entire definition of such notions as “spirituality,” “mystics,” and even “experience.” The introduction of experience as an epistemological criterion in the sciences was a result of feminist struggles (Harding [1986] 2021, p. 16). Despite its “slippery philosophical status” (McFague 1993, p. ix), phenomenologically, its basic meaning refers to the act of living or to knowledge gained through inner contact—a certain symbiosis between the knower and the known, such as the knowledge of a person through friendship. The idea of “mystical experience, wisdom, which is by way of love” (Herráiz García 2016, p. 142) also recalls what Edith Stein emphasized: knowledge attained by way of love.

What needs to be distinguished, as emphasized by both classical and contemporary readers of St. John of the Cross, is a twofold reality. First, mysticism does not refer to supernatural signs or miracles—as if they came directly and literally from God. We are not describing experiences (in the plural), but rather experience as a complex and nonlinear event that encompasses the entire reality.

Mystics are the first to relativize mystical phenomena, notwithstanding the immense grace these experiences have meant for them—and for us. Precisely because of this, they are also the first to reduce such phenomena to a means through which God chooses to communicate with them in their particular circumstances.

This leads to a second important point: “One thing is to have an experience; another is to recognize it as grace; and yet another is to be able to express this grace” (Teresa of Jesus [1577] 2022, 6M 4, 12). In fact, the first version of the autobiographic book by St. Teresa of Jesus with the title “The Life” (Teresa of Jesus [1563] 1870) was reserved for her spiritual companions, so they could discern their individual processes with more time and tranquility. Only after receiving a positive judgment from a broader circle of examiners did she write the second edition (1565), shifting her tone and allowing herself to teach a doctrine of universal scope (Herráiz García 2016, pp. 145, 154).

Spiritual and mystical experience enables us to humanize our passions, instincts, and disordered tendencies—which, however ambiguous they may seem, are a constitutive part of our being and often strongly influence our behavior. In shaping our access to truth and our willingness to live the truth that sets us free, the process sometimes resembles the cross: it invokes pain and causes suffering, but it never takes away freedom, autonomy, or dignity (Herráiz García 2016, p. 159).

4.3. Ambiguous Phenomenon of Spiritual Abuse

Up to now, we have described spiritual experience as a path of relationship with God, community, and the world—where personal life and existence reflect our human condition, oriented toward self-transcendence and openness to the alterity and diversity of others and the Other. We have discovered that, in the case of St. John of the Cross and his interpreters, his experience of spiritual abuse coincided with his mystical experience. This overlap provided him with guidance on how to interpret suffering and embrace the uncertainty of dark faith through the mystery of the Cross of Jesus and the virtue of hope.

We have also highlighted the ambiguous nature of spiritual experience on multiple levels: as both personal and communitarian, individual yet shared, joyful and painful, social and ethical—even etymological and methodological. The possibility of a philosophical conceptualization of an ethics of ambiguity and uncertainty was emphasized. Such an ethics—at least in light of the experiences of the Carmelite mystics we have presented—far from disorienting us, can contribute to healthy individuality and democracy, moving beyond totalitarianism, nihilism, or solipsism, and toward a balanced personal, spiritual, and socially ethical life.

This is likely the main contribution of this paper in terms of the intersections between ethics and spirituality/mysticism. However, the recent avalanche of cases and reports of spiritual abuse within Christianity—particularly in the Catholic Church—and the processes of reparation initiated in many countries (Núñez Montaña 2025; Ribeiro 2025), most notably addressed in German-speaking countries through the Synodal Path as early as 2018 (Sekretariat 2023), demand at least an initial but specific contextualization of spiritual experience. This is especially crucial in terms of suffering, pain, dignity, and identity—as a grave ethical issue that cannot be dismissed as taboo or treated as unrelated to authentic spirituality, precisely because of its ambiguous nature.

The scope of this paper limits the possibility of describing the phenomenon of abuse in its full dimension. We will mention only two scholars who explore the intersections between ethics and spirituality/mysticism through the lens of abuse, as examples that connect with the attitude of hope discussed in Section 3 of this paper. However, other research and scientific studies are currently in progress (Sutera 2024; Haslbeck 2025; Stiebert 2025), which will undoubtedly contribute in the near future to a deeper understanding of this profoundly ethical and ambivalent issue.

4.3.1. Franziska Schnoor and Irish Monastical Manuscripts

At a recent congress held at Trinity College Dublin (20–23 August 2025), titled “Ad Theologiam Promovendam,” German scholar Dr. Franziska Schnoor from Göttingen presented the results of her research on medieval Irish book art. The study, conducted at the Abbey Library of St. Gall in the summer of 2018, provides evidence of a special relationship between the Swiss religious house and Ireland during the early Middle Ages. Schnoor contributed in particular with a description of a manuscript titled “Monastic Rules and Penance,” which focuses on physical asceticism and the pedagogy of the Rule of St. Columbanus—including practices such as hunger, hard labor, and near-torture under the supervision of a monastic superior.

She delves deeply into the ambivalent experience of personal humility and renunciation—aiming at spiritual freedom while under the pressure of applied mortifications according to the rules of the community. She presents a striking contrast between the aesthetics of choral liturgy, singing a beautiful hymn, and the reality of spiritual abuse at the heart of Christian asceticism (Cornel and Schnoor 2018, p. 75). The paradox lies in the fact that spiritual practice is meant to lead to holiness and enhance the will’s capacity to responsibly guide moral conduct. Renunciation and spiritual struggle (cf. 2 Tim 4) cannot be measured by one’s ability to endure suffering. The context of medieval philosophy may help clarify a framework that legitimized these attitudes, as the rule is even recognized as “a contribution to cultivating the Seven Liberal Arts” (Lenz 2022, p. 47).

4.3.2. Barbara Haslbeck on Specific Patterns of Spiritual Abuse in German Context

At the same congress, a scholar from Regensburg, Dr. Barbara Haslbeck, presented—from a sociological perspective—the first research study into the (sexual) abuse of women members of religious congregations (Haslbeck 2025). It was asserted that a violation of sexual autonomy or self-determination is tantamount to a violation of spiritual autonomy. The researcher posited that victims of spiritual abuse frequently experience a dissolution of identity, an estrangement from themselves, and a disconnection from the divine. A significant number of individuals encounter difficulties in accessing appropriate support.

She highlighted one of the most striking points: the blending of spiritual guidance with psychological elements, and the significant power imbalance between the spiritual director and the dependent women. Additionally, the assumption that priests were “harmless” served as an enabling factor within the communities where these women lived.

Further issues were identified, including the notion of obedience as a “vulnerability factor.” Chastity and the “bridal motif” were recognized by victims as “ambivalent ideals” in situations of abuse. Spiritual ideals were employed by perpetrators to entice potential victims, and the vulnerability of individuals experiencing a dark night, distress, suffering, and emotional fragility was exploited. Their trust—and the ambiguity of the spiritual experience—was manipulated to foster dependence, rather than reinforce one’s dignity and identity.

The perpetrators included spiritual directors, a novitiate director, male and female superiors, retreat leaders, and fellow sisters in positions of authority. The disparity in status created specific opportunities for exploitation.

4.3.3. Challenges Regarding Spiritual Abuse

These studies challenge not only monastic rules—including the entire Carmelite tradition—but also the broader tradition of spiritual guidance.

Haslbeck’s study has demonstrated instances of abuse within the spiritual guide–spiritual follower relationship. Such abuse can affect anyone, and certain factors may render individuals particularly vulnerable. Perpetrators exploit the ambiguity of the spiritual path—its themes of purification and rejoicing—so that the concept of the “spiritual dark night” is used to justify suffering, dependency, and a lack of liberty and autonomy, which are core elements of ethical conduct.

Instead of reinforcing one’s identity and dignity, the manipulation of spiritual uncertainty produces effects contrary to those of authentic mysticism. In some cases, it even serves to invert the sense of guilt, redirecting it toward the victim. It was posited that victims often identified the abuse during their youth, thereby increasing their vulnerability. Additionally, the treatment of sexuality as a taboo has been shown to further heighten this vulnerability.

Schnoor delves deeper into the roots of abuse and violence within monastic traditions. By presenting a clear contrast between the spiritual aesthetics of communal liturgical life and the harsh discipline, asceticism, and physical penance—both individual and collective—she indirectly suggests that this ambivalence conceals two-faced, manipulative styles of living. The sources of absurdity, abuse (not ambiguity), and manipulation of spiritual experience lie within the tradition itself and are perpetuated through uncritical interpretations of the “dark night.” For some victims, this made it difficult to recognize the abuse, especially when it occurred within the spiritual realm.

Such abuse has been shown to weaken women’s self-esteem. The study also found that perpetrators use their roles and authority to groom victims and legitimize the abuse, which is often spiritually framed (Haslbeck 2025, p. 69).

In this context, what can we do as individuals navigating our own spiritual journeys? Should we abandon the structures that have enabled abuse, disregard spiritual traditions and their inherent dynamism, renounce spiritual guidance, or lose hope and faith in the authenticity of the Carmelite mystical tradition?

And what should our attitude be toward those who have experienced abuse—and, of course, toward the perpetrators? These troubling questions are not easily addressed or resolved. In the next section, we will attempt to outline some criteria for spiritual–ethical intersections, guided by the principle of hope.

5. Principle of Hope as an Attitude in St. John of the Cross

In this part we will establish connection amongst previously developed points: hope, spirituality, and mystical experience from the perspective of spiritual abuse in order to expose the interlinked sense of the paper.

Sanjuanist ethics can be understood as a path toward dignity, revealed through mystical experience. This is where mysticism and ethics intertwine: mystical experience becomes the source through which a person discovers their true self and the paths that lead them toward union with God. The experience of God profoundly influences ethical demands, shaping and guiding them, while those demands, in turn, deepen and validate the mystical experience (Martínez González 2006, p. 504).

The notion of the world characterized by complex potentialities and relationships, where its “aporias” confound fixed laws and categories, is in strong resonance with many of today’s postmodern views. However, it also offers a faith-based and hope-based approach to dealing with the perceived “volatility, uncertainty, change, and ambiguity” of the world around us. It manifests a shift away from reliance on fixed ethical laws or principles, with a transition towards a foundation of love and charity.

5.1. Contemporary Discussions on Intersection of Mystics and Ethics

Access to God is only possible through the mediation of human experience. That is where authentic knowledge of God begins and ends (Marcos Rodríguez 2009, p. 51). According to the author, the problem in Western culture lies in the fact that true experience is not actively sought, but rather confused or replaced by sensations, emotions, and superficial encounters. The longing for an experience of God can sometimes manifest as a desire for a genuine experience of life and its meaning (Marcos Rodríguez 2009, p. 52). This is precisely what connects spirituality and ethics: life, meaning, passions, decision-making—all the phenomena that shape one’s attitude toward existence.

After the renovation of the Vatican II Council, a critical and scholarly reading of the texts of the Carmelite mystics emerged, opening up new interpretive pathways: “existential, experiential, empathetic, nutritive, therapeutic—in short, multidisciplinary” (Marcos Rodríguez 2009, p. 53). St. John of the Cross is considered an expert in spiritual life, thanks to his existential experience encapsulated in the Latin word “sapientia,” which etymologically refers both to wisdom and to taste. The depth of this experience integrates the whole person—embodiment, spirit, knowledge, soul, mind, attitude, and ultimately behavior (Rüdiger et al. 2019).

Juan de Yepes (John of the Cross) articulates the human being through the three classical powers, understood as the constitutive dimensions of human existence. The subjects under scrutiny are regarded as deified, and as such, they prepare themselves to receive grace and act according to divine criteria—through the theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity, which correspond to the faculties of intellect, memory, and will (Martínez González 2006, pp. 512–13). According to this anthropology, what wounds us can also heal us; what steals happiness can restore it. “All depends on us” (Marcos Rodríguez 2009, p. 55). What matters is the emphasis we place on the experience of pain, suffering, and joy. We must cultivate the capacity to rejoice in equal measure to our capacity to endure (Castillo 2005, pp. 68–70). If we place excessive emphasis on the cross of Jesus and project suffering onto our own lives, we risk obscuring the image of his other thirty-two years—years filled with joy, family, friendship, adventure, and human connection.

It would be simplistic to focus solely on the poverty and marginalized social status of Jesus, but it would also be naïve to view his life only through the lens of “happiness.” Even the metaphor of night—representing a purifying stage in the spiritual–personal journey—can be envisioned as a star-filled night that guides our path, or as an exhilarating night of lovers. To avoid confusing the process with the goal, contemporary interpreters of the writings of St. John of the Cross consider the role of inverse psychology and highlight the effects of “pure positivity” during experiences of the night: light, praise, uplift, joy, and freedom (Marcos Rodríguez 2016). The darkness of the night never originates from God, nor does the humiliation or emptiness of the soul. God is light—illuminating our shadowed places and making us transparent and authentic, so that we may discover our true identity and dignity (Martínez González 2006, p. 480).

Another suggestive image is that of God who feeds us—a maternal metaphor—full of compassion and patience toward us. This image closely resembles the experience of being lifted, as recalled by Thérèse of Lisieux when God holds us in His or Her arms, or by John of the Cross in the Prologue of The Ascent of Mount Carmel (3). Such confidence helps us face experiences of otherness and frustration, especially when we must confront our “zones of comfort” in order to open ourselves to others. Without this attitude, no progress, liberation, or happiness is possible (Marcos Rodríguez 2009, p. 65).

This suggests that community is the best place to grow—to learn how to live with others in society through a process of self-discovery, mirrored in others and shaped by their interpellations. That is why friendship is so important: it allows us to share and to be ourselves in the midst of transformation.

In contemporary society, attachment to possessions is easily mistaken for happiness. That is why challenges such as “satisfy oneself with nothing,” found in the “Sayings of Light and Love” (Kavanaugh 1979, p. 53), and the entire “Ascent of Mount Carmel,” instead of pointing to penance, suggest a pedagogical approach to dealing with and integrating frustrations—ultimately helping one become “more” of a person.

What is crucial is how we verify the authenticity of spiritual experiences, so as not to confuse genuine growth with abuse or distortion. Neurobiology suggests that there is no specific area of the brain or body where spirituality originates (Rüdiger et al. 2019). However, brain activity during meditation, for example, shows that mystical and spiritual experiences occur on complex mental and biological levels (Rüdiger 2022, p. 22).

Marcos Rodríguez (2009, p. 70) adds that the sublime complexity of our embodiment—including, of course, the mind—perfectly represents the sublimity of mystical experience and can serve as a starting point for verifying such events. While the physiological effects of spirituality remain mysterious, we can trace some positive impacts in daily life: in habits, dispositions, and attitudes toward existence. These include paying attention to small things, breathing with conscious gratitude, learning to cope with frustration, and training our emotions to focus on the positive. Such practices allow our feelings to carry meaning and give purpose to our lives—without violence, in peace, and in pursuit of “the same attitudes as Jesus Christ” (Phil 2:5).

5.2. Hope: Attitude and a Principle in View of the Spiritual Abuse

To this point, the text explored the possible misunderstanding and manipulation of suffering and sacrifice in the spiritual Christian tradition. The symbolism of the cross and the concept of the “dark night,” examined in relation to attitudes such as sacrifice, devotion, suffering, service and abnegation, suggests that these attitudes may be used to justify a form of dominance (Bedford 2003; Sölle [1997] 2001; Gebara 2000; Moltmann-Wendel and Moltmann 1994) rather than to liberate, as claimed by mystics. The basis of spiritual abuse is precisely this: the use of a noble spiritual path as a disguise for oppression, thus making it difficult for the victim to conceptualize the state of domination. In this sense, the secular and legal terms of autonomy and identity engender hope in the discernment of the authentic spiritual path (Singh Mesconi 2026). These terms facilitate the discernment of the results of a genuine spiritual purification and enable the differentiation of these effects from those proceeding from a contrived notion of spirituality, which engages with mystics and ascesis.

It is important to note that the notion of “hope” is understood in two different ways. Firstly, it is a mindset or attitude on behalf of those who have been mistreated, allowing them to overcome their circumstances. Secondly, it is a principle for those who observe (or judge) the facts, enabling them to discern on the basis of integrity. This is the concept of the triad of hope, charity and faith. Despite the evident variations in the cases under consideration, evangelical virtues invariably engender a sense of freedom and integrity of personal identity (Gron 1997).

The double dynamics of hope in John are also interpreted by Carmelite mystics. According to them, on the one hand, hope is a virtue that provides resilience in the process of purification (mystical union with God). Conversely, it is linked to the other two evangelical virtues of charity and faith, thus facilitating the culmination of the “dark night” of the soul (Mialdea Baena 2024; Serrán-Pagán y Fuentes 2008). Faith can be understood as representing the aspect of “not-knowing” from the “Ascent,” while charity can be interpreted as symbolizing the “thousand flights in one” from “Of Falconry,” which, paradoxically, corresponds to the “hope of the heaven” that “will see all it can wish be done.” This passage, which portrays a mystical union, is presented as a coronation of the evangelical virtues. However, it does so from the perspective of hope, rather than from the living flame of love or the blinding light of faith. It suggests that hope is not only a generic ethical principle, but rather an attitude of the person who desires, struggles, and discovers that after thousands of flights, it is God who raises and fulfils the greatest hope. Any other experience―except for heaven―would not be worth aspiring to.

The experience of “all is grace” as described by Thérèse of Lisieux lends further support to the previously stated idea that an attitude of hope can serve as a source of resilience during a purification process. However, the mystical experience (knowledge) acknowledges the principle of hope (as a divine virtue) that engenders patience (in a literal sense of permitting God to act on a person) in a process of “lifting” or “ascending.”

Edith Stein’s existential example can be interpreted as a representation of spiritual guidance directed towards her sisters. This guidance is predicated on the principle of hope and is experienced by Stein in the midst of a process of spiritual trouble and struggle. The purpose of this guidance is to gain clarity on what comes from God in the midst of suffering, uncertainty and ambiguity. The example of Father Palau demonstrates the extent to which hope can be politicized and disguised, requiring an “objective” orientation of the principle of hope, prudence and discernment. In this context, neo-scholastic theology and its definitions of the virtues can prove beneficial (Daly [1984] 2023, p. 390).8 The historical connection between these three Carmelites provides a wide range of examples of how they embodied hope in their lives following John of the Cross.

Interpreted in the context of spiritual abuse, this means that any practices that violate a person’s dignity should not be regarded as part of the mystical experience of unity and communion with God. Instead, they should be denounced as oppressive, as part of affirming personal autonomy and maturity. Without autonomy and maturity, no Christian ethics exists (Martínez González 2006, p. 510).

The purifying aspect of the process (the “nights”) in personal development can only be considered a genuine part of spiritual progress if it is consciously accepted by the individual—serving as a means to discern and affirm one’s dignity within the unique context of their existence and personal history. More importantly, it enables the discernment of one’s own participation in God’s loving and transformative process.

Stanza twelve (B) describes the dynamism of the intellect as it apprehends the reality of God in a way that embraces the diversity of paths, experiences, and times. Memory opens itself both to trauma and, through hope, may find meaning in suffering—creating a disposition to embrace the promise and mystery of grace. Grace moves us to engage in the transformation of self, society, and history.

The will reorients desires from within, directing them toward love. First, for the personal benefit of the individual, as she discovers her own dignity as a reflection of the image of God (Martínez González 2006, p. 519). Second, toward a communal project, as we are meant to be free together—to know “the face” of God as joy and liberty, experienced through desire and love, rather than through renunciation or ascetic practices.

In the person of Christ, especially in the event of the cross, God goes out to meet man by appealing to ethical transformation. The moral praxis of people transformed by love, leads to the stripping and spiritual purification through the way of the night, reshapes theological ethics into the ethics of compassion.

(Martínez González 2006, pp. 489–91)

Haslbeck’s analysis of victims’ testimonies revealed that this kind of poetic theology may be misleading, as it presents suffering, pain, and the cross as means of transformation—while the dynamics of spiritual growth do not follow a linear or causal path. All is grace, and it is God who grants the path and love. Union with God “is only possible through the vital practice of faith, hope, and charity—a Trinitarian reflection of evangelical virtues” (Martínez González 2006, p. 513).

Ethical mystics, though often ambiguous in their expression, particularly in the tradition of St. John of the Cross, do not advocate for forms of spiritual guidance that could become toxic or abusive. Nor do they promote renunciation that might be spiritually manipulated through metaphors such as the “cross” or “dark night,” which can be misinterpreted to symbolize abnegation, asceticism, or “abandonment” in the sense of losing one’s identity, dignity, or autonomy.

Does this mean we should abandon spiritual guidance and the path altogether, or reject the possibility that suffering may be part of the process? The principles of individuality and prudence are crucial here, as the Carmelite tradition emphasizes the need to contextualize doctrine according to each person’s spiritual journey.

It is important to recall the third stanza of the “Spiritual Canticle”: “In search of my love/I will go …/I will gather no flowers/I will feel no wild beast/And pass by the mighty and the frontiers.” This suggests that a person must be aware of alternative paths and options. Autonomy and the freedom to choose must take precedence over rigid goals, prescribed means, or imposed advice.

Three recurrent patterns or tactics reported in research on spiritual abuse include dependence, pressure, and excessive affect and attention—each aimed at gaining control and accelerating the relationship with the perpetrator (Haslbeck 2025, p. 75). One’s identity and dignity, along with spiritually embodied liberty and freedom, become crucial criteria of hope in discerning whether a person is truly following the path of the Holy Spirit.

This is where authentic discernment takes place: distinguishing which “dark night” belongs to the process of purification, growth, and openness to the Other—in Beauvoir’s sense, where individuality (or singularity) is defined only through one’s relationship to the world—and which “cross” of abandonment, self-renunciation, and sorrow is actually the result of abuse.

The virtue of hope is also challenged—not to be confused with desperate resistance. As previously emphasized, hope is meaningful only when it is ignited by love that respects our boundaries, limits, and fears, and by faith that brings peace and certainty. The ambivalence of “blind” certainty or uncertainty is part of the spiritual path—unless another person is mistaken for a “promise of salvation.”

Hope creates the “space-between” spirituality and ethics, certainty and contingency (Anker 2009, p. 193). This is the fruit of the synthesis of hope, charity, and faith: in moments of doubt, daily attitudes of serenity, awareness of potential frustrations, and joyful service—what we might call the mysticism of daily life—are signs that, beyond all ambiguity, the Holy Spirit is guiding us.

6. Conclusions

This paper explores how the attitude of hope can be interpreted through selected poems by John of the Cross and the writings of his classic interpreters and followers within the Carmelite Order. It emphasizes the significance of hope in its ambivalent nature—as both an evangelical/theological virtue and a human disposition. Its importance lies in the strength and momentum it provides to individuals on their spiritual journey, offering peace in moments when faith feels uncertain and serenity when love cannot be sensually perceived, such as during processes of purification or the “dark nights” of the senses and spirit.

The paper also opens the conversation regarding the problem of abuse and the approach taken aimed to achieve a balance between genuine respect for spiritual traditions and recent critiques of mystics’ piety when reading John of the Cross to facilitate a reinterpretation of mystical texts and practices. It stresses how the symbology of the cross may be misunderstood with the aim to prevent spiritual abuse in context of spiritual guidance associated with the symbols of suffering, cross or the dark night.

Selected poems reveal clear ambivalence in the perception and lived experience of hope, which appears to oscillate between the following binomials: subjective–objective appreciation; social–political (Palau [1859] 2023) and individual (Stein [1942] 2005; Beauvoir De [1947] 2018) application; terrestrial life–transcendence; and lyrical dimensions such as up–down and certainty–uncertainty. The central issue lies in the ambiguity of how to distinguish a genuine path of the Holy Spirit in one’s spiritual and personal life from mere projection (Rüdiger 2022) or abuse.

This raises ethical questions: Should I hope to suffer, to abnegate myself in order to aspire to the promises of transformative love? Is the spiritual abuse experienced by John of the Cross, Francis Palau, Edith Stein, and others a necessary condition of mystical experience?

The notion of “hope” is two-fold, analogic and ambivalent. On one hand, it is an attitude on behalf of those who have been mistreated, allowing them to overcome suffering. On the other hand, it is a principle for those who discern the circumstances with prudence, as virtues converge.

So, as evangelical virtues, hope, charity and faith engender a sense of freedom and integrity of personal identity. In this way, the “dark night” of the soul needs to be understood as an integral experience where faith is represented in the aspect of “not-knowing”, charity symbolizes the “thousand flights in one” from “Of Falconry,” which, paradoxically, corresponds to the “hope of the heaven” that “will see all it can wish be done.”

Assuming that mysticism is a linguistic phenomenon the analyzed texts of John of the Cross, as reinterpreted by other Carmelites with regard to “hope,” manifest that mystics experience hope in a somewhat equivocal manner, as it does not engender a sense of certainty during the process of becoming one with Love (God). In such circumstances, the “ethic of ambiguity” and an “ethic of uncertainty” may be applicable as a point of orientation and guidance.

An attitude of hope strengthens people undergoing purification processes. Mystical experience, for its part, recognizes hope as a divine virtue and makes us patient, in the sense of allowing God to work in us on a path of inner elevation. Stein’s existential example shows how hope guides and orients us spiritually in the midst of suffering and doubt, helping us to discern what comes from God and what does not. Palau’s case also shows how hope can become politicized or disguised, and how it requires objective guidance through prudence and discernment, where neo-scholastic theology and its understanding of the virtues offer useful criteria. The historical relationship between these three Carmelites shows different ways of living hope in the wake of John of the Cross’s legacy.

Although ambivalence is part of the human condition—including spiritual experience (Marcos Rodríguez 2016)—it allows our “aporias” to be resolved, much like the porosity of the skin enables us to transpire, communicate, and exchange life with the surrounding world (Anker 2009). In other words, it opens us to Otherness (Bauman and O’Brien 2019). The experience of ambiguity, however, challenges other dualisms: trust and prudence; body and spirit; suffering and bliss; mystic/spiritual and abused. It is imperative to transcend rudimentary alternatives such as the dichotomy between such statements if the following author offers liberation or oppression.

In light of the testimonies of abuse victims (Haslbeck 2025), spiritual arguments often play a significant role in fostering dependence. Perpetrators exploit the vulnerability and trust of individuals engaged in a spiritual journey—such as the “Ascent of Mount Carmel”—to justify and legitimize abuse under the ambiguous guise of a distorted hope. This hope is framed as perseverance in the tension of “yes, but already no,” invoking the promise of resurrection itself.

Other questions arise, and this paper merely outlines possible answers in anticipation of more systematic and thorough research. What can victims expect? How should the mystical tradition be interpreted to prevent falling into misleading spiritual guidance? Is there any hope for the redemption of—especially—monastic rules of penance and obedience?

The application of mystical ethics of hope, as a means to help prevent and avoid spiritual abuse, requires a specific order of values and priorities. First, God is the guide, and “having the same attitudes as Christ” (Phil 2:5) centers on love and “life in abundance” (Jn 10:10). This implies that it is better to forgo spiritual guidance altogether if it does not prioritize a person’s long-term freedom over creating a relationship of dependency or control.

Second, hope anticipates the promise (Neal 2008, p. 54), and spiritual guidance must acknowledge and present a multiplicity of options and paths, recognizing the process as gradual and non-linear. This means that a spiritual guide must respect and support personal and bodily autonomy, including the right to “quit” at any moment without needing to justify the decision.

Finally, since frustration is part of the human condition, it is also part of the spiritual process. Purification does not need to coincide with renunciation, abnegation, or suffering. On the contrary, it should lead to the discovery of joy, serenity, and a focus on simple daily gestures of responsibility, sensitivity, and care.

The mystical monastic tradition is thus challenged not to reproduce a naïve vision of abnegation as the ideal of obedience, but to rediscover its rich sources of healthy spiritual insight—ones that promote integral human development and an authentic experience of joyful hope, faith, and charity.

In summary, the mystical ethics of St. John of the Cross consist in the practice of evangelical virtues, understood as daily serenity and openness to otherness, and as a process of personal development that unfolds within community. It proceeds from the Trinitarian experience and is actualized in a compassionate attitude toward others and oneself (Martínez González 2006, p. 521).