Does Every Spiritual Person Enter the Dark Night?—On Misunderstandings and the Structure of Inner Development
Many people who seriously engage with spirituality eventually encounter a similar question—often not as a theoretical concern, but arising directly from their own experience. Why does the path sometimes feel clear and supportive, and at other times diffuse, ungraspable, or unexpectedly empty? Why does regular practice not simply lead to continuous deepening, but instead to a kind of oscillation between intensity and stagnation?
Behind such experiences lies an implicit expectation: that spiritual development follows a linear progression. More practice leads to more clarity, more meditation to more stability, more insight to more inner freedom. And yet, over time, this expectation is quietly undermined.
This gives rise to a fundamental question: Does every spiritual person eventually enter a phase of inner “darkness” or stagnation that disrupts the expected course of the path?
This question is less abstract than it may seem. It touches the point where spiritual practice can no longer be understood simply as the accumulation of experience, but as something that transforms the very structure through which experience is held.
The Silent Expectation of a Linear Path
In many contemporary forms of spiritual practice—whether meditative, contemplative, or religious—one assumption remains remarkably persistent: that the inner state improves over time. This improvement is described in different ways: calmness, presence, awareness, awakening, or simply “progress.”
This idea is not wrong in the sense of being false, but it is incomplete. It describes one aspect of the process—the increase of stability or clarity in certain phases—but it does not explain why these phases do not remain constant, or why development does not unfold cumulatively.
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| Picture: Einar Storsul on Unsplash |
At a certain point, this leads to a subtle friction. Practice continues, yet the expected deepening does not occur. Experiences that once felt vivid lose their intensity. Or the practice itself begins to feel mechanical, as if it has lost its inner tension.
Instead of recognizing this as part of a larger process, it is often interpreted as a personal deficiency: lack of discipline, insufficient depth, or an inadequate method. But this interpretation may be too narrow.
A Different Reading of the Spiritual Path
In the contemplative tradition—particularly in thinkers such as —the spiritual path is not primarily described as the accumulation of experiences, but as a transformation of the way experience itself is related to.
In other words, the issue is not simply to experience more, or to attain “better” states, but to change one’s relationship to those states.
From this perspective, the concept of progress becomes less straightforward. What appears as stagnation from the outside may already be an inner reconfiguration. And what feels like intensification may, at the same time, be a form of consolidation.
The question therefore shifts: not “How far have I progressed?” but “What still sustains my experience?”
When Spirituality Itself Becomes a Support
A decisive moment in many spiritual developments is the emergence of inner supports. These include not only external practices such as meditation, prayer, or contemplation, but also internal structures:
- the sense of being “on a path”
- particular experiences of clarity or calm
- spiritual concepts that provide orientation
- an identity as a “seeker” or “practitioner”
At first, these elements are functional. They provide stability, direction, and continuity. Without them, spiritual development would often not be possible.
But this very stability can generate a second dynamic: attachment. What initially serves as support gradually becomes a condition.
At that point, a subtle shift occurs. Practice no longer serves only openness, but also the maintenance of a state that is perceived as “spiritual.”
Two Subtle Movements
If one looks closely at spiritual biographies, two recurring movements often become visible. They are not sharply separated, but they manifest in different ways.
The first appears as a sense of not moving forward. Practice continues, but it no longer resonates inwardly in the same way. Meditation is still there, but it does not alter the inner landscape as before. There is no dramatic crisis, but rather a quiet repetition of the same inner space.
The second movement is more subtle. Here, there is a sense of having already arrived. Practice is stable, the language of spirituality is familiar, and certain inner states are interpreted as signs of attainment. This form is harder to recognize because it does not appear as a problem, but as a resolution.
Despite their differences, both movements share a common structure: the relationship to experience becomes fixed. Experience is no longer transparent, but serves to confirm a certain state of being.
Rethinking “Darkness”
Against this background, the notion of the “dark night” takes on a different meaning. In common usage, it is often equated with crisis, depression, or emotional collapse. This equation, however, is historically and conceptually misleading.
In its original formulation, the dark night does not describe a pathological condition, but a process of inner release. The darkness is not the problem, but the space in which certain attachments lose their function.
Crucially, this phase does not necessarily begin with suffering. It may arise precisely where outward stability and spiritual practice are still intact—but their inner role begins to shift.
To deeply understand the process of the Dark Night, find our timeless episode here.
The Question of Universality
We can now return to the original question: does every spiritual person enter such a phase?
If understood psychologically, the answer would have to remain cautious. But if understood structurally, the perspective changes.
The key issue is not whether everyone undergoes the same experiences, but whether certain dynamics are inherent to the structure of the path itself.
As soon as practice begins to create stability, the possibility of fixation arises. As soon as experience provides orientation, it can become something one clings to. And as soon as the path is conceived as a path, it tends to solidify into a system.
In this sense, one could cautiously suggest that many spiritual practitioners already move within the structure later described as the “dark night”—without recognizing it as such.
Why the Path Does Not Simply Continue
At this point, a common misunderstanding emerges. When the path seems not to progress, it is often interpreted either as failure or as an indication that something is wrong.
The contemplative tradition offers a different interpretation. It assumes that certain forms of stability are themselves part of the problem—not because they are wrong, but because they are not ultimate.
What supports must eventually lose its supporting function. What provides orientation must eventually be relativized.
This process is not directed against practice, but against its absolutization.
John of the Cross and the Structure of the Path
In the work of John of the Cross, this insight is articulated with particular clarity: the spiritual path consists not only in growth, but in the detachment from what previously enabled growth.
This applies not only to external things, but also to internal experiences. Even states that are perceived as positive or profound can become part of what must be relinquished.
This explains why the path cannot be purely linear. It transforms not only the content of experience, but the relationship to experience itself.
Returning to the Question
If we now return once more to the initial question—whether every spiritual person enters this dynamic—its meaning has shifted.
It is no longer a question about a specific experience, but about a structure. Not: who undergoes the dark night? But: how does spiritual practice relate to its own conditions?
From this perspective, the dark night loses its character as an exceptional event. It appears rather as a threshold within a process that begins wherever practice becomes serious—yet remains attached to its own forms.
Closing Reflection
The question of whether every spiritual person enters the “dark night” cannot be answered with a simple yes or no. It points instead to a deeper structure of the inner path.
Perhaps the more decisive insight is not when or for whom this phase occurs, but that spiritual development consists not only in accumulation, but in release.
The path transforms not only what we experience, but what we rely on in order to experience at all.
And precisely where that reliance begins to loosen, a dynamic emerges that may later be described as the “dark night”—not as an exception, but as part of a movement that leads the spiritual path into its deeper dimension.
Authored by Rebekka Waldesruh
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