2.3.6. The Dark Night of the Spirit
“Therefore I say, if he is destroyed, he will be filled with light, but if he is divided, he will be filled with darkness.”
Jesus said, “Wretched is the body that is dependent upon a body, and wretched is the soul that is dependent on these two.”
Jesus said, “That which you have will save you if you bring it forth from yourselves. That which you do not have within you will kill you if you do not have it within you.”— Gnostic Gospel of Thomas
As we move deeper into this strange landscape of the soul, we come upon territory that feels both eerily familiar and profoundly unsettling. This is not the first shadowed passage we have walked—back in Nigredo we encountered the Dark Night of the Soul, that bleak terrain marked by despair and the first quiet cracking of ego. Yet what comes now is sharper, quieter, and perhaps even more ruthless. The Dark Night of the Spirit is not about external suffering so much as it is about the reluctant surrender of the last cherished illusions of self. It is a time of weighty decisions, stark crossroads, and the dawning recognition that what we once thought was life itself is only a passing mask.
In the next two chapters, we will step into some fascinating and unsettling terrain. Here, synchronicity emerges—those uncanny alignments that seem to mock logic itself, as if the very fabric of conditioned reality starts glitching to reveal a deeper symbolic order. Even historical “facts” arrange themselves with impossible resonance once one has developed the subtle eye to see. It makes no sense from the vantage of ordinary thought, but from the heart of this moment, events conspire to deliver profound, if unsettling, meaning.
To illustrate, consider Choronzon, the reflective watcher of the Abyss—the embodiment of dread, the sum of “other.” Through gematria (where each Hebrew letter is assigned a numerical value), Choronzon’s name adds to 333, precisely half the number of the “solar man” or Beast, 666. Choronzon stands at the threshold of the Abyss, waiting as the disciple approaches, shedding the last vestiges of the old self—desires, fears, and personal narratives left crucified upon the wood of the Tree of Life.
This symbolism ripples through familiar stories. At the Last Supper, Jesus speaks of sacrificing his physical, emotional, and mental being. His crucifixion is not merely a historical claim; indeed, only certain branches of Christianity insist on its literal occurrence. Islam acknowledges Christ but does not accept his death on the cross. The Babylonian Talmud suggests he was untouched, harming only what he discarded. Gnostic texts go further, with Christ declaring it was another who suffered in his stead. Such variations hint that we are perhaps dealing more with alchemical symbols than literal events.
And yet, striking synchronicities persist. Those who have sifted through lunar cycles and ancient records believe the most likely date for the crucifixion was a Friday in April of 33 AD—specifically, April 3rd. That night a lunar eclipse turned the moon blood red over Palestine. Logic cannot comfortably hold this, but the psyche recognises patterns that reason cannot fathom. This “333” recurs, whispering of three bodies crucified: the three lower chakras, once bound by sense-sphere desire, now transfigured—becoming radiant, solar, once freed of old dross nailed to the cross of the Tree of Life.
In Nigredo, we explored the Dark Night of the Soul, a crucible where the first three fetters break and the disciple transcends personality. That was a grief-laden passage, one soaked in loss and fragile hope. The Dark Night of the Spirit is altogether different. Here, the mind wrestles with the final gross fetters—reluctantly acknowledging the necessity of sacrificing deeply held dreams and ideals. Faith begins to grow, yet there is a growing dissatisfaction with material life. To continue, one must discard old notions of self, much like Jesus abandoning his garments to be divided among soldiers. It is excruciating to release dreams once cradled close, to let go of a familiar world for the uncertain promise of the unknown.
Slowly, as identity ceases to rely on memories or experiences, these old skins slip away, like a snake shedding what it no longer needs. The real test emerges when some last, significant ideal rises to the surface—forcing a decision. This is a subtle, almost grudging crossroads. Do we pursue the old dreams, or abandon them for the path of mystery?
Unlike the sharp, instinctual leap of the Sotāpanna, this is a hesitant acceptance. One does not long for the crucifixion, but wisdom recognises it as the only way forward. Metaphysically, crossing this threshold purges the lower three centres—what the Bible calls “churches” and what Eastern systems name chakras—of desire and ill-will. Once cleared of self, these centres continue to function, but without clinging or aversion. The lower bodies—the physical, emotional, and rational—are nailed to the tree, transformed from the qlīpphotic Tree of Knowledge back toward the purer Tree of Life.
This is the “third initiation” in Christian mysticism, coming after baptism and confirmation. It is also the third stage of our stone. Christianity’s fixation on threes hints at deeper mysteries that transcend dogma.
This passage is mirrored in temptation narratives. At the Last Temptation, both Jesus and the Buddha confront Māra, who through these three centres tempts them with success. Here lies our own choice: remain in the comfortable vehicle of self, or make that one fateful decision that turns from this world forever. Māra is the gravitational pull of saṃsāra, seeding doubt and hesitation. This fork reappears again and again, until one day we step off the well-trod path, often with trembling feet.
Unlike the Dark Night of the Soul, this ordeal is persistent and stark. It is the greatest sacrifice—not merely physical, but emotional and mental. Here we stand exposed before God—or Choronzon, at least.
In Thelemic tradition, the initiate becomes the Babe of the Abyss, emptied of self and able to traverse Daʿath, leaving behind the harsh tree of karmic conditions to emerge within the Abyss of the Tree of Life. Only “thingness” remains, and the initiate arises as the slain Osiris within Binah, the third light, now called Master of the Temple—the temple being the skandhas (aggregates) they have finally transcended.
Once these last temptations pass, a sombre quiet follows. The choice has been made; the old life lies behind. Ahead waits only what is yet unformed.
The Dark Night of the Spirit is the quiet furnace where the last bonds to the old self are reluctantly severed. It is a lonely, often sorrowful crossing, yet one essential for alchemical transmutation. By letting go of even our most cherished identities and ideals, we prepare ourselves for the deeper mysteries that follow—stepping beyond familiar shores into the luminous dark.
This text is excerpted from the upcoming book Albedo: A Course in Modern Alchemy. The complete volume will include additional study guides, glossaries, and extended teachings. Learn more about the book here.