Todo y Nada

View of Toledo (c. 1596-c. 1600) by El Greco

 TODO Y NADA

When l was in first-year college, l remember regularly visiting Gonzalez Hall, the main library at the University of the Philippines, Diliman, Quezon City, to read about Roman Catholic mysticism. At the time l was deeply interested in the saints’ relentless personal quest for union with God, the be-all and end-all of our existence.

I read about the history of Christian mysticism, especially the notables from the High Middle Ages to the Baroque. They included the Cistercian Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, the Benedictines Saints Hildegard of Bingen and Gertrude the Great, the Beguine Mechthild of Magdeburg, the Franciscans Saints Bonaventure and Angela of Foligno, the Dominicans Meister Eckhart and the Rhineland mystics, the Augustinian Blessed Jan van Ruysbroeck, and two of the most outstanding mystics of the Roman Catholic Church, the Carmelites Saints Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross.

I read Saint Teresa of Avila’s The Way of Perfection and The lnterior Castle. They made a lasting impression on me.

The mystical writings that most deeply affected me were Saint John of the Cross’ The Dark Night of the Soul and The Ascent of Mount Carmel.

I didn’t understand Saint John of the Cross at the time. Despite my bafflement, I was powerfully drawn to his work. His doctrine of todo y nada intimidated me to the point of almost insuperable fear. Yes, I thought to myself, union with God is the only goal in our lives that really matters. However, the price Saint John asks us to pay is impossibly high. Union with God in this life, I assured myself, is practically beyond human attainment. Only the most radical self-denial could satisfy the unforgiving spiritual standards San Juan set forth.

The San Juan doctrine of todo y nada declares that in order for the soul to reach union with God, who is all—todo—the soul must deny themselves in everything, desiring nothing—nada.

Strive always to prefer, not that which is easiest, but that which is most difficult;

Not that which is most delectable, but that which is most unpleasing;

Not that which gives most pleasure, but rather that which gives least;

Not that which is restful, but that which is wearisome;

Not that which is consolation, but rather that which is disconsolateness;

Not that which is greatest, but that which is least;

Not that which is loftiest and most precious, but that which is lowest and most despised;

Not that which is a desire for anything, but that which is a desire for nothing;

Strive to go about seeking not the best of temporal things, but the worst.

Strive thus to desire to enter into complete detachment and emptiness and poverty, with respect to everything that is in the world, for Christ’s sake.

—Ascent of Mount Carmel, Book 1, Chapter XIII, 6

In order to arrive at having pleasure in everything,

Desire to have pleasure in nothing.

In order to arrive at possessing everything,

Desire to possess nothing.

In order to arrive at being everything,

Desire to be nothing.

In order to arrive at knowing everything,

Desire to know nothing.

In order to arrive at that in which you have no pleasure,

You must go by a way in which you have no pleasure.

In order to arrive at that which you know not,

You must go by a way that you know not.

In order to arrive at that which you possess not,

You must go by a way that you possess not.

In order to arrive at that which you are not,

You must go through that which you are not.

—Ascent of Mount Carmel, Book 1, Chapter XIII, 11

Years later, I came to the conclusion that the radical self-denial advocated by Saint John of the Cross is only for the very few—a minority of the Christian population—who are called to extreme asceticism.

Who exemplify the extreme asceticism of todo y nada? In the Roman Catholic Church, we might cite Saint Francis of Assisi, whose severe penitential practices wore him down so that he passed away at an age that would ordinarily be considered robust, forty-four years; Saint Benedict Joseph Labre, who embraced the life of an impoverished vagrant after being rejected by three religious orders and who died of malnutrition, reportedly, at only thirty-five years of age; Mother Teresa of Calcutta, who dedicated her life to serve not simply the poor but the poorest of them; and Saint John of the Cross himself, who practiced the extreme self-denial that he had himself preached.

As a young priest Saint John was subjected to extraordinary abuse when he was incarcerated for nine months by his original order at the Carmelite monastery at Toledo, Spain. He languished inside a converted closet, formerly a latrine. The Discalced Carmelite order that he himself had co-founded never gave him much recognition if at all while he was still alive, and he was relegated to a remote monastery at the end of his life where he was cruelly treated by the hostile prior until his death.

Most Christians are not called to undergo the extreme trials Saint John endured.

The majority of Christians who travel the spiritual journey are called to practice a moderate asceticism. Besides, moderation belongs to the very definition of virtue.

“All things are to be done with moderation on account of the fainthearted.”—Rule of Saint Benedict, Chapter 48, 9

“Let us keep to our lower but safer way.”—Saint Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, Part 3, Chapter II