The 8 Stages of the Spiritual Life

A life that grows, like all life

The first reason justifying talk of stages is almost biological. The spiritual life, St Paul writes, is a life in the proper sense: the baptised soul "lives" from Christ who "lives in her" (Galatians 2, 20^[6]). But all life is a growth. The newborn is not the adult; and between the two lie stages that no one chooses to skip.

St Paul himself uses the dietary image when speaking of milk and solid food:

"Everyone who lives on milk is unskilled in the word of righteousness, since he is a child. But solid food is for the mature, for those who have their powers of discernment trained by constant practice to distinguish good from evil." — St Paul, Hebrews 5, 13-14^[7]

The Apostle therefore assumes a progression. There is food for beginners, and other food for spiritual adults. To his Corinthians he declares outright: "But I, brothers, could not address you as spiritual people, but as people of the flesh, as infants in Christ. I fed you with milk, not solid food, for you were not ready for it" (1 Corinthians 3, 1-2^[8]). The idea of stages is thus present from the New Testament onwards.

A long-distance race

The other recurring biblical image is that of the race:

"Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable." — St Paul, 1 Corinthians 9, 24-25^[9]

The Greek word used — τρέχω, trechō — simply means "to run"^[10]. The spiritual life is like a marathon: a race won through perseverance; and precisely because it is a long race, it matters to know the map of the course: what the start looks like, where the hills are, where the refreshment posts stand, where the finish line lies. That is the very object of the doctrine of the stages.

Knowing the stages: neither contempt nor complacency

Should we, then, know where we stand? Two symmetrical pitfalls threaten here, and tradition warns against both.

On the one hand, despising the question — "it does not matter where I stand, the essential thing is to love" — deprives us of useful landmarks. St Teresa of Avila explains on the contrary that describing the mansions helps the soul to understand the graces it receives and to clear up its doubts^[11]; tradition, with St John of the Cross, adds a precious landmark: not mistaking a purifying night for a relapse, nor taking a temporary summit for the arrival^[12].

On the other hand, inspecting oneself too much is a subtle trap. St Francis de Sales warns against this curiosity of inspecting oneself: scrutinising which degree of love one has reached ordinarily belongs to self-love^[13]. God may even, out of goodness, veil from the soul its own advancement in order to keep it humble. The practical rule is therefore a humble awareness of the general path, without any mania for self-diagnosis.

Origen and the patristic origin

The idea of three ways appears with Origen of Alexandria (c. 185–253), often regarded as the first Christian theorist of the spiritual life. In the prologue to his Commentary on the Song of Songs, he distinguishes three books of Solomon — Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, the Song — which correspond to three stages: the moral (purification of morals), the natural (detachment from the sensible world) and the mystical (union with God)^[14].

This typology was taken up by Evagrius Ponticus (345–399), who speaks of praktikē (active purification), physikē (contemplation of nature) and theologikē (contemplation of God Himself)^[15]. It was then consecrated by Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite (c. 5th–6th century), whose work — The Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, The Divine Names — exercised considerable authority over the whole Middle Ages. For Dionysius, the soul must successively be purified (katharsis), be illumined (phōtismos) and be united to God (hénōsis)^[16]. The three Latin names — via purgativa, via illuminativa, via unitiva — are the straightforward translation of these Greek terms.

Catherine of Siena — the three steps of the Bridge

At the end of the 14th century, St Catherine of Siena (1347–1380), herself a doctor of the Church, gave the threefold way one of its most striking images: the Christ-Bridge of three steps, which correspond to the three stairs the soul must climb. God Himself explains in her Dialogue:

"The first step detaches her from earthly affections and strips her of vice; the second step fills her with love for virtue; the third makes her taste peace." — St Catherine of Siena, The Dialogue, ch. XXVI^[17]

The three steps of the Bridge — the feet, the side and the mouth of the Crucified — exactly match the purgative way (rupture with sin), the illuminative way (love of the virtues) and the unitive way (the peace of union). The doctrine is not an abstract schema: it is the very outline of the Cross.

Bonaventure and the Franciscan threefold way

St Bonaventure (1221–1274) gathers this tradition in two complementary works: The Soul's Journey into God and The Triple Way. For him, the soul advances as through three successive doors — via purgativa, via illuminativa, via unitiva — which correspond to the affection, the intellect and the memory set right by grace^[18].

Thomas Aquinas — the three states of charity

St Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) translates the same intuition into the rigorous language of the Summa Theologiae. He distinguishes three states of charity, which are in reality the three ways applied to the theological virtue that sums up everything:

"Three degrees of charity can be distinguished. The first task incumbent on man is to flee sin: this is the condition of beginners. […] Next comes the task of advancing in the good: this is the state of the proficient, whose chief effort is to grow in charity. Lastly, the third task is to attach oneself chiefly to God and to enjoy Him: this is proper to the perfect, who desire to depart and to be with Christ." — St Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, IIª-IIæ, q. 24, a. 9^[19]

This Thomist formulation — incipientium, proficientium, perfectorum (beginners, proficient, perfect) — became the official terminology of all Latin spiritual theology. The Catechism of the Catholic Church takes it up explicitly:

"The way of perfection passes by way of the Cross. There is no holiness without renunciation and spiritual battle. Spiritual progress entails the ascesis and mortification that gradually lead to living in the peace and the joy of the Beatitudes." — Catechism of the Catholic Church, § 2015^[20]

Purgative way — the way of beginners

The purgative way is the one in which the soul, having begun to turn towards God, breaks with mortal sin and works to detach itself from its disordered attachments to the world, the flesh and pride. This is the age of penance, of regular examination of conscience, of the first serious confessions, of ascetic combat against the seven capital sins^[21].

Here the soul is still aided by abundant sensible graces — emotion in prayer, tears of devotion, easy fervour — which are like the "spiritual milk" of which St Peter speaks (1 Peter 2, 2). But these graces are precisely graces of beginners: they are given to strengthen the still-fragile will, not to become an end in themselves.

Illuminative way — the way of the proficient

When the soul has vanquished its gross attachments, it enters the illuminative way. The combat no longer bears so much on exterior sin as on the more subtle roots of sin: vainglory, touchiness, light attachments, lack of humility of heart. The mind then opens to a deeper understanding of the Christian mysteries, of the theological virtues, of Christ.

St Thomas sees here the proper work of the virtues — acquisitio virtutum — where charity grows in height and breadth. St Bonaventure places here the reign of light: the soul becomes more penetrated by divine truths, its discernment grows finer, its mental prayer gains in depth^[22].

Unitive way — the way of the perfect

The unitive way is the one in which the soul, freed from the essentials of its own opacity, cleaves to God for God's sake. Its prayer becomes simple, almost silent; its love, disinterested; its actions, ordered as if spontaneously to the divine will. This is the way of union — no longer only the union of grace which every Christian in the state of grace already lives^[23], but an experimental, stable, sometimes sensible union, in which the soul "desires only what God desires".

"Do you not know that you are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in you?" — St Paul, 1 Corinthians 3, 16^[24]

It is precisely this "temple" that tradition calls, after Teresa of Avila, the "interior castle" — and it is in the deepest chamber, "the King's chamber", that the unitive way is lived.

A finer map than the three ways

The classic schema of the three ways is universal; but its simplicity remains insufficient to describe the interior transitions — where does the purgative way end? when does the unitive way begin? St Teresa of Avila (1515–1582), reformer of Carmel and doctor of the Church^[25], wrote in 1577, at her confessor's command, a book that would remain the most precise map ever drawn by Catholic tradition of the interior spiritual path: El Castillo interior o Las Moradas — The Interior Castle or The Mansions.

"I began to think of the soul as if it were a castle made of a single diamond or of very clear crystal, in which there are many rooms, just as in Heaven there are many mansions." — St Teresa of Avila, The Interior Castle, First Mansions, ch. 1^[26]

The baptised soul is a palace of seven concentric enclosures, whose outermost opens onto the world and whose innermost shelters God Himself. To advance in the spiritual life is to journey from the outside towards the inside, successively gaining the seven mansions.

The image is no accident. It conveys two major Catholic convictions: (1) God already dwells in the depths of the baptised soul — this is the doctrine of the Trinitarian indwelling (John 14, 23^[27]); and (2) the spiritual path does not consist in going to seek God elsewhere, but in coming back home, in descending into that interior room where He has awaited the soul from the beginning^[28].

Why seven mansions rather than three?

Teresa does not invent a doctrine competing with the three ways; she refines it. Her seven mansions distribute themselves naturally:

• Mansions 1 to 3 — the soul is in the purgative way, still largely mistress of its own progress, aided by abundant sensible graces.
• Mansion 4 — critical passage, John of the Cross's night of the senses: God withdraws sensible graces, and the soul enters the illuminative way.
• Mansions 5 and 6 — illuminative way and beginning of the unitive way: spiritual betrothal, then the terrible night of the spirit that prepares definitive union.
• Mansion 7 — the soul has entered the full unitive way: spiritual marriage, unfailing peace, joint action with God.

According to the synthesis of Blessed Mary-Eugene of the Child Jesus, Carmelite and author of I Want to See God (Éd. du Carmel, volume 1 published in 1949; complete edition: 1,392 pages), the doctrine of the Interior Castle does not abolish the traditional division into three ways: it completes and specifies it — to the three great moments of purification, illumination and union, Teresa matches seven stages, which show concretely how grace works in a soul^[29].

Even before the first mansions, Teresa describes what may be called a "stage zero": the soul that has not entered its own castle. It lives "around the outer walls", busy with the world and with itself, with no conscious relationship to God. This is not, properly speaking, a stage of the spiritual life — it is the precondition of all spiritual life.

Many souls remain there all their lives, through ignorance, refusal, or a wrong understanding of who God is. St Teresa nevertheless refuses all outward judgement of persons: one can never judge, from the outside, the interior progress of a soul. A life that appears, from the outside, foreign to God may hide secret graces known to Him alone^[30].

The passage from stage 0 to stage 1 — entry through the castle gate — is what tradition calls conversion in the initial sense, or, for poorly awakened baptised souls, the reawakening of the grace received at baptism. It is through prayer, however stammering, that the gate opens:

"So far as I can understand, the gate by which we enter this castle is prayer and meditation." — St Teresa of Avila, The Interior Castle, First Mansions, ch. 1^[31]

The soul has entered the castle, but has advanced only into the courtyard or the first rooms. It acknowledges God, sometimes goes to Sunday Mass, strives to avoid mortal sins — murder, adultery, theft, perjury^[32] — but goes hardly further. Its prayer is rare; its habitual thoughts are of the world; its moral life stands upright, but without interior depth.

Teresa notes a spiritually important fact: in the first mansions, "the light that comes from the King dwelling in the last chamber hardly reaches at all". Not because God would be absent — He already dwells in every soul in the state of grace^[33] — but because the soul is still too turned towards the outside to perceive this presence.

How does one move on? Through the discovery of God's love. It is not fear of sin that suffices to make one advance: it is the perception that God loves personally, infinitely, mercifully. The soul that glimpses this love conceives the desire to return love for love; and this desire becomes the driving force of all that follows. This is, for the spiritual tradition, what is called conversion properly speaking, or entry into the "double abyss"^[34].

The soul now wants to go further. It begins to pray in addition to Sunday Mass, reads spiritual books, takes a confessor, sometimes a spiritual director, begins to fight its venial sins, tries to acquire the virtues. God, in return, often floods the soul with sensible graces: easy fervour, tears of devotion, gentle peace in prayer. This is, as Fr Mary-Eugene writes, "the age of beginning loves"^[35].

This stage is luminous, but it is also hard. Here the soul wages a permanent combat against its "three enemies" of classic tradition: the world, the flesh and the devil^[36]. As in a garden being cleared, there is no end to pulling up weeds — addictions, bad habits, disordered attachments — and this work is long.

Christ Himself warns:

"Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few." — Jesus, Matthew 7, 13-14^[37]

Many souls stop here. The weariness of combat, the return of sensible consolations that weaken with time, the feeling of making little progress — all this can discourage. It is precisely at this moment that knowledge of the stages is precious: knowing that this difficulty is normal, that it is even a sign of progress, changes everything. St Peter writes:

"Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you." — St Peter, 1 Peter 4, 12^[38]

If the soul perseveres, it enters the third mansions. This is a first summit. It prays regularly, its life is organised around God, it guards itself even against venial sins. In the eyes of the world, it is already a "saint" — a sage, a model of virtue.

Teresa gives a meticulous description:

"Souls that have reached the third mansions have an ardent desire not to offend His Majesty; they guard themselves even against venial sins; they devote themselves to mortification; they have their hours of recollection; they employ their time well; they devote themselves to works of charity towards their neighbour; they are measured in their words, orderly in their dress, and when they find themselves at the head of a household, they govern it wisely. Assuredly, their state is to be envied." — St Teresa of Avila, The Interior Castle, Third Mansions, ch. 1^[39]

And yet — and here lies the whole spiritual scandal — this third mansion is “only” summit 3 of 8. Everything that worldly “self-development” can aim at, all purely human wisdom, stops here. But God wants to lead the soul much further.

The soul of the third mansions and the rich young man

The soul of the third mansions strangely resembles the rich young man of the Gospel: it keeps the commandments, commits no great sins, leads an orderly life. But when Christ asks it to leave everything, it hesitates.

"The young man said to him, 'All these I have kept, what do I still lack?' Jesus said to him, 'If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.' When the young man heard this he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions." — Matthew 19, 20-22^[40]

What the soul of the third mansions still lacks is total gift. It has given much, but not everything. Above all it may remain secretly proud, believing itself already arrived, judging less advanced souls, taking itself seriously. To move on, it must therefore die to itself with a deeper death. And here the soul can do nothing more: it is God who takes the initiative.

Why God withdraws sensible consolations

In great contrast to the first three stages, where the soul advanced chiefly through its own efforts sustained by grace, the fourth mansion reverses the roles: it is God who acts, the soul who receives. St John of the Cross (1542–1591), Teresa's fellow reformer, the theorist and poet of the two nights, gives the clearest reason for this in The Dark Night:

"Souls begin to enter this dark night when God withdraws them from the state of beginners — which is the state of those who meditate on the spiritual road — to begin to place them in the state of the proficient, which is already that of contemplatives." — St John of the Cross, The Dark Night, book I, ch. 1^[41]

To understand, Teresa offers an analogy. At the start of a love relationship, everything is sensible passion: the beloved's presence suffices to make the heart beat faster, to colour the smallest minute. But this sensible fervour is first given to help the relationship begin; it is not made to last indefinitely. If love is to become adult, the day must come when "feelings" fade in favour of a deeper, purer attachment, free from emotion.

So it is in the spiritual life: God withdraws sensible graces so that the soul may truly attach itself to Him, and not to the sweetness He gives. If it loves God only when He fills it with delights, its love remains mingled with self-interest^[42].

The subjective experience: everything becomes difficult

Concretely, the soul entering the night of the senses experiences something disconcerting. Prayer, which was easy, becomes arid. The sacraments, which moved it, become dry. Meditations, which used to pierce the heart, no longer reach the soul. The soul then believes it is going backwards, even rejected by God.

Here knowledge of the stages is vital. Without it, many souls believe they have lost God and give up. With it, the soul understands that this darkness is paradoxically a sign of progress. Jesus said it to St Mary Magdalene de' Pazzi:

"I shall take away from you not My grace, but the feeling you have of it. […] You must know that I shall deprive you of the feeling of My grace, but not of grace itself, for it will always be in you as it is in Me." — Jesus to St Mary Magdalene de' Pazzi, The Eight Days of the Holy Spirit, Jérôme Millon, 2004, pp. 21–22^[43]

The light is not withdrawn: it is so much stronger that it dazzles. The night is born of an excess of day. John of the Cross sees in it the work of an obscure contemplation that enkindles the soul with love while leaving it in darkness for the intellect — a paraphrase of his doctrine, not a literal quotation^[44].

Fr d'Elbée's counsel

Fr Jean of the Heart of Jesus d'Elbée (1892–1982), a great 20th-century French spiritual master, gives at this precise moment the counsel that spares many souls from despair:

"From now on, I want to warn you against the pitfall of sensible love. So often this objection has been put to me: 'I tell Jesus that I love Him, but I do not feel it. It seems to me that I am not sincere.' Not doubting that one loves when one feels cold, dry and arid calls for great faith, forgetfulness of self and a true notion of holiness. The greatest saints passed through nights of the soul, painful dryness. Yet, in those hours of purification, they loved. Love is not sensible devotion. Never forget this distinction. Holiness is a disposition of the soul, of the heart and above all of the will towards God, in which feeling may play a part but is not necessary." — Fr Jean d'Elbée, I Believe in Love, Téqui, 2007, pp. 38–39^[45]

Here the soul learns pure love: loving God for Himself, and not for the sweetness He gives.

Why God also permits more visible falls

One dimension of the night of the senses, often misunderstood, is that God may permit the soul to fall back into faults it believed vanquished. St Augustine already observed this: God sometimes permits a fall to keep the soul humble, rather than leaving it standing in pride^[46]. This is not failure; it is a lesson in poverty. The soul learns that it is nothing by itself^[47].

The second summit, more stable

Emerging from the night of the senses, the soul enters the fifth mansions. This is another summit — more stable, humbler, deeper than the human summit of the third mansions. The soul now truly seeks to please God, and not itself. It has discovered its own weakness and abandoned the illusion of being "somebody". It is paradoxically more advanced and deems itself smaller.

Teresa compares the fifth mansion to spiritual betrothal: the soul begins to taste a form of union of will with God, like two betrothed who know themselves to belong to one another, without yet being united for ever. There remain "two wills" — its own, and God's — but the soul strives to unite the one to the other at every instant.

"Consider, my daughter, what the lover may taste who has united himself with Me, My Father and the Holy Spirit, I who am the eternal Word: such will be the delights you shall have in union with Me." — Word received by St Teresa of Avila, quoted in The Interior Castle, Fifth Mansions, ch. 4^[48]

The soul arrived here is ready to leave everything for God — no longer from duty, but from free love. It lives in the Church, it wants to give itself in a mission, it wants to evangelise not from a plan but from overflow. This is, classically, the age of great missionary vocations.

But not yet total union

There nevertheless remain in the soul many unpurified corners. Its unconscious reactions, its hidden attachments, its small folds of self-love, have not yet fallen away. The fifth mansion is a landing stage, not the arrival. To advance, the soul will have to cross a second and more terrible night — the night of the spirit.

Far more terrible than the first

St John of the Cross gives the most exact comparison between the two nights. The night of the senses, he says, "merely touches the root" of evil; the night of the spirit "uproots" it:

"Between these two purifications there is the same difference as between uprooting a tree and cutting off a branch." — St John of the Cross, The Dark Night, book II, ch. 2^[49]

In the night of the senses, God withdrew sensible sweetness. In the night of the spirit, He comes to purify the spirit itself, to kill the life of self-will, and at last to allow the full life of the divine will. The word of Exodus takes on its full meaning here: "no one may see God and live"^[50].

The withdrawal of the "treasure"

To bring about this death, God often employs a fearsome means: He withdraws what matters most to self-will. "For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also"^[51]: to free the heart, God touches the treasure. This treasure is not always evil. It may be work, health, a loved one, a mission, a reputation — even the feeling of God Himself.

The soul then feels as though abandoned, like Christ on the Cross: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthew 27, 46^[52]). Its whole mind is darkened; it may even feel painful doubts about the faith, or about God's very existence. And yet it is precisely at this moment that God acts most deeply.

Becoming perfectly humble, like Christ

Emerging from this night, the soul has no illusion left about itself. It has become perfectly humble, following Christ who "although he was a son, he learned obedience through what he suffered" (Hebrews 5, 8^[53]). St Faustina Kowalska (1905–1938), who knew this night in a particularly acute way, speaks of it in her Diary:

"As I become aware of my misery, I at the same time become aware of the infinite depth of Your mercy. In my interior life, I keep constantly before my eyes the abyss of misery and abjection that I am, on the one hand, and on the other the abyss of Your mercy, O my God." — St Faustina Kowalska, Diary, § 56^[54]

The soul's only recourse is abandonment: letting itself fall, stripped of everything, into God's hands. That is what Jesus did on Calvary: "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit" (Luke 23, 46^[55]).

The resurrection after death

After death comes the Resurrection. When self-will is slain, the life of God's will can at last grow without obstacle. The soul enters the seventh mansions, which Teresa calls spiritual marriage: "there is now but one will", she writes, "as rainwater falling from heaven into a river mingles with it so that the two can no longer be separated"^[56].

St Paul expresses the same experience in the first person:

"I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." — St Paul, Galatians 2, 19-20^[57]

The soul has but one will — God's — and lives, consequently, in an immense happiness already on this earth. This happiness is not sensible exaltation — such things have long been secondary — but an unfailing peace that withstands the worst outward trials. This is the experience tradition calls holiness.

A union that is not fusion

It is essential to note that this "marriage" is never, in Catholic orthodoxy, a fusion in which the soul would cease to be itself. Teresa insists: the soul keeps its distinct personality, its freedom, its own consciousness — but its will is so united to God that it acts only for Him^[58]. St John of the Cross expresses it in his own way: the soul, without ceasing to be itself, henceforth acts only in a single love with God — a paraphrase of his doctrine of union, not a literal quotation^[59].

The visible fruits

The soul of spiritual marriage is neither motionless nor inert. On the contrary, it acts abundantly — often more than before — but it acts "without agitation". Its charity overflows, its works multiply, its apostolic fruitfulness is great. Such is the case of the great founding and missionary saints: Francis of Assisi, Catherine of Siena, Teresa of Avila herself, Francis Xavier, Vincent de Paul, Thérèse of Lisieux, Marthe Robin, Padre Pio.

Blessed Mary-Eugene of the Child Jesus presents this dwelling of God in the soul as an anticipated heaven^[60].

This is indeed the natural transition to the eighth stage.

Teresa herself acknowledges a "more"

St Teresa, in The Way of Perfection, writes a passage of capital importance for understanding that the seven earthly mansions are not the last word:

"Thus souls are occupied with nothing but His love and cannot cease loving Him, because they know Him perfectly. If we knew Him better here below than we know Him, we should love Him much more than we love Him, and we should love Him in the manner I have just described, though not to so high a degree of perfection nor so constantly." — St Teresa of Avila, The Way of Perfection, ch. XXX, commentary on the Our Father "Thy kingdom come"^[61]

Teresa stresses a fundamental point. In Heaven, love is continuous: souls "cannot cease loving Him, because they know Him perfectly". On earth, even in the seventh mansions, love remains intermittent: there are interruptions, eclipses, moments when the soul must necessarily attend to something else. This continuity of the act of love, without interruption, is what characterises the beatific vision — in other words, Heaven — and constitutes the eighth stage.

The Catholic doctrine of the beatific vision

The Catechism of the Catholic Church sums it up:

"This perfect life with the Most Holy Trinity — this communion of life and love with the Trinity, with the Virgin Mary, the angels and all the blessed — is called 'heaven.' Heaven is the ultimate end and fulfilment of the deepest human longings, the state of supreme, definitive happiness." — Catechism of the Catholic Church, § 1024^[62]

The constitution Benedictus Deus of Pope Benedict XII, of 29 January 1336, defined that the souls of the blessed "see the divine essence by an intuitive and even face-to-face vision", without any creature as intermediary^[63]. This is the beatific vision, which corresponds to the eighth stage in the strict sense of the spiritual life: a state in which the soul loves God continuously, perfectly, eternally.

The anticipation on earth: the promised new grace

Tradition has long recognised that the earthly spiritual life is an anticipation of Heaven: sanctifying grace is "the seed of glory". St Thomas affirms it in technical terms (gratia inchoatio gloriae^[64]); St Paul already expressed it: "our citizenship is in heaven" (Philippians 3, 20^[65]).

But the unheard-of newness announced to several modern mystics — particularly to the Servant of God Luisa Piccarreta (1865–1947), the Italian mystic of Corato whose cause for beatification was opened in 1994^[66] — is that God, for the end times, would grant humanity an even higher grace: that of living, already on this earth, what the saints of the first seven mansions lived only intermittently — the continuous act of the divine will in the soul:

According to the analysis Fr Joseph L. Iannuzzi gives of Luisa Piccarreta's writings in his doctoral thesis (Pontifical Gregorian University, 22 November 2012), Jesus announces there a new prodigy of love, surpassing all His earlier works: making man another Himself, and making the soul live, already on this earth, in the same Will as that of the Blessed in Heaven^[67].

Fr Joseph L. Iannuzzi, in his doctoral thesis defended at the Pontifical Gregorian University on 22 November 2012, shows how this grace of the "Gift of life in the Divine Will" — distinct from the mystical union of the classic seventh mansions — corresponds exactly to the continuity of act which St Teresa reserved for the other life^[68]. The Kingdom promised by Jesus — "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven" (Matthew 6, 10^[69]) — finds here its realisation: the divine Will is lived "on earth as in Heaven", that is, according to the same continuous mode.

It is in this precise sense that the eighth stage — proper to Heaven — would become, through exceptional grace, anticipable already on this earth according to Iannuzzi's analysis of Luisa Piccarreta's writings (thesis, Gregorian, 22 November 2012): a private theological hypothesis, belonging to private revelation, which would extend without contradiction the classic teaching of the Interior Castle^[70]. This anticipation removes neither the purifications already crossed nor death itself: it is their fruit, not a shortcut.

The table below sums up the eight stages according to the three converging languages of Catholic tradition: the threefold way (Origen-Dionysius-Thomas), the seven mansions (Teresa of Avila) and the two nights (John of the Cross).

Recognising, without inspecting oneself

Knowing this spiritual map is useful only if put to a humble use. Three classic rules of discernment help the soul to situate itself without complacency:

1. The surest sign of progress is growing humility, not mystical phenomena or consolations. A soul that believes itself advanced is probably going backwards; a soul that knows itself miserable and trusting is advancing.
2. Dryness is not automatically a step backwards. If it comes after a life of serious prayer, without new sin, and is accompanied by a persistent desire for God, it is probably a purifying night — a stage, hence a progress.
3. A competent spiritual director is, in the great tradition, the best mediator for discernment. As St Teresa wrote: "Without a good experienced confessor, one exposes oneself to deceiving oneself about oneself"^[81].

Persevering, especially at the difficult passages

The greatest spiritual danger is not falling: it is giving up. The parable of the rich young man replays itself at every stage: God proposes the next step, and many souls refuse — not from ill will, but from weariness, fear, or a wrong understanding of what is happening to them.

"Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him." — St James, James 1, 12^[82]

Living the present, without dreaming of the next stage

Lastly — and this is doubtless the most paradoxical rule — knowledge of the stages must never become a personal project. The soul does not "climb" by itself; it is "carried" by grace. This is the whole meaning of the "little way" of St Thérèse of Lisieux (1873–1897), who lived and synthesised in a few years the Carmelite doctrine while making it accessible to all:

"I have always desired to be a saint, but alas! I have always found, when I compared myself to the saints, that between them and me there is the same difference as between a mountain whose summit is lost in the heavens and the obscure grain of sand trampled underfoot by passers-by. […] I wanted to seek in Holy Scripture some sign of a little lift, the object of my desire. […] The lift that must raise me to Heaven is Your arms, O Jesus! For that I have no need to grow; on the contrary I must remain little, and become littler still." — St Thérèse of Lisieux, Autobiographical Manuscripts, MS C, fol. 2v°–3r°^[83]

The little way does not abolish the eight stages: it teaches one to let God Himself travel them, without the least pretension. "I should be quite sorry to be a great saint; there would then be one more and I should not have the joy of being little"^[84]. The soul holds fast to being faithful to the instant God gives it, and lets God dispose of the path.

• The passage from self-will to the Will of God — to understand why all the stages are in fact a passage from the "life of self-will" to the "life of God's will".
• The double abyss: humility and trust — the twofold knowledge of self and of God without which no stage can be crossed.
• Knowledge of man's nothingness — the root of all spiritual progress.
• The necessity of humility and the danger of pride — precisely the pitfall lurking at the third mansions.
• The Divine Will — to understand the eighth stage anticipated on earth.
• Luisa Piccarreta — the mystic of Corato to whom this new grace was announced for the end times.

Deepening the spiritual life — To move from the doctrinal map to an accompanied path of prayer, discernment and concrete exercises, discover the free Via Divina formation: open the formation.