The Cloud of Unknowing

by William Johnston

  CHAPTER 34

  That God gives the gift of contemplation freely and without recourse to methods; that methods alone can never induce it.

  If you ask me just precisely how one is to go about doing the contemplative work of love, I am at a complete loss. All I can say is I pray that Almighty God in his great goodness and kindness will teach you himself. For in all honesty I must admit I do not know. And no wonder, for it is a divine activity and God will do it in whomever he chooses. No one can earn it. Paradoxical as it may seem, it would not even occur to a person—no, nor to an angel or saint—to desire contemplative love were it not already alive within him.1 I believe, too, that often our Lord deliberately chooses to work in those who have been habitual sinners rather than in those who, by comparison, have never grieved him at all. Yes, he seems to do this very often. For I think he wants us to realize that he is all-merciful and almighty, and that he is perfectly free to work as he pleases, where he pleases, and when he pleases.

  Yet he does not give his grace nor work this work in a person who has no aptitude for it. But a person lacking the capacity to receive his grace could never gain it through his own efforts either. No one at all, neither sinner nor innocent, can do so. For this grace is a gift, and it is not given for innocence nor withheld for sin. Notice I say withheld, not withdrawn. Be careful of error here, I beg you. Remember that the nearer a man comes to the truth the more sensitive he must become to error. The point I am making is correct, but if you cannot grasp it then let it be, until God himself helps you to understand. Do as I say and do not strain your mind over it.

  Beware of pride; it is blasphemy against God in his gifts and it makes the sinner bold. If you were really humble you would understand what I am trying to say. Contemplative prayer is God’s gift, wholly gratuitous. No one can earn it. It is in the nature of this gift that one who receives it receives also the aptitude for it. No one can have the aptitude without the gift itself. The aptitude for this work is one with the work; they are identical. He who experiences God working in the depths of his spirit has the aptitude for contemplation and no one else. For without God’s grace a person would be so completely insensitive to the reality of contemplative prayer that he would be unable to desire or long for it. You possess it to the extent that you will and desire to possess it, no more and no less. But you will never desire to possess it until that which is ineffable and unknowable moves you to desire the ineffable and unknowable. Do not be curious to know more, I beg you. Only become increasingly faithful to this work until it becomes your whole life.

  To put it more simply, let that mysterious grace move in your spirit as it will and follow wherever it leads you. Let it be the active doer and you the passive receiver. Do not meddle with it (as if you could possibly improve on grace), but let it be for fear you spoil it entirely. Your part is to be as wood to a carpenter or a home to a dweller. Remain blind during this time cutting away all desire to know, for knowledge is a hindrance here. Be content to feel this mysterious grace sweetly awaken in the depths of your spirit. Forget everything but God and fix on him your naked desire, your longing stripped of all self-interest.2

  If what I speak of is your experience then be full of confidence that it really is God who, all alone, awakens your will and desire. He needs no techniques himself nor the assistance of yours. Have no fear of the evil one, for he will not dare come near you. Be he ever so cunning he is powerless to violate the inner sanctuary of your will, although he will sometimes attempt it by indirect means. Even an angel cannot touch your will directly. God alone may enter here.3

  I am trying to make clear with words what experience teaches more convincingly, that techniques and methods are ultimately useless for awakening contemplative love. It is futile to come to this work armed with them. For all good methods and means depend on it, while it alone depends on nothing.

  CHAPTER 35

  Of Reading, Thinking, and Prayer, three habits which the beginner in contemplation should develop.

  Nevertheless, anyone who aspires to contemplation ought to cultivate Study, Reflection, and Prayer, or to put it differently, reading, thinking, and praying. Others have written about these disciplines more comprehensively than I can here, so there is no need for me to treat of them in detail. But I will say this to those who may read this book, both beginners and those a little advanced (though not to those highly skilled in contemplation): these three are so interdependent that thinking is impossible without first reading or—what amounts to the same thing—having listened to others read. For reading and listening are really one; the priests learn from reading books and the unschooled learn from the priests who preach the word of God. Beginners and those a little advanced who do not make the effort to ponder God’s word should not be surprised if they are unable to pray. Experience bears this out.

  God’s word, written or spoken, is like a mirror. Reason is your spiritual eye and conscience your spiritual reflection. And just as you use a mirror to detect a blemish in your physical appearance—and without a mirror or someone to tell you where the blemish is you would not discover it—so it is spiritually. Without reading or hearing God’s word, a man who is spiritually blind on account of habitual sin is simply unable to see the foul stain on his conscience.

  When a person discovers in a mirror—or learns from another—that his face is dirty he goes immediately to the well and washes it clean. Likewise when a man of good will sees himself as reflected by the Scriptures or the preaching of others and realizes that his conscience is defiled he also goes immediately to be cleansed. If it is a particular evil deed he notices, then the well he must seek is the Church and the water he must apply is Confession according to the custom of the Church. But if it is the blind root and tendency to sin he sees, then the well he must seek is the all-merciful God and the water he must apply is prayer with all that this implies.

  So I want you to understand clearly that for beginners and those a little advanced in contemplation, reading or hearing the word of God must precede pondering it and without time given to serious reflection there will be no genuine prayer.

  CHAPTER 36

  Of the kind of meditations common to contemplatives.

  Those, however, who are continually occupied in the work of contemplation experience all this differently. Their meditation is more like a sudden intuition or obscure certainty. For example, they will suddenly be intuitively aware of their sinfulness or God’s goodness, but without having made any conscious effort to realize this through reading or other means. Insight like this is more divine than human in origin.

  Actually, at this point I would not be concerned if you ceased to meditate altogether on your fallen nature or the goodness of God. I am assuming, of course, that you are drawn by grace and have asked advice about leaving these practices behind. For then it is quite sufficient to focus your attention on a simple word such as sin or God (or another one you might prefer) and without the intervention of analytical thought allow yourself to experience directly the reality it signifies. Do not use clever logic to examine or explain this word to yourself nor allow yourself to ponder its ramifications as if this sort of thing could possibly increase your love. I do not believe reasoning ever helps in the contemplative work. This is why I advise you to leave these words whole, like a lump, as it were.

  When you think of sin, intend nothing in particular but only yourself, though nothing particular in yourself either. For I believe that a dark generalized awareness of sin (intending only yourself but in an undefined way, like a lump) should incite you to the fury of a caged wild animal. Anyone looking at you, however, would not notice any change in your expression, and suppose that you were quite calm and composed. Sitting, walking, lying down, resting, standing, or kneeling, you would appear completely relaxed and peaceful.

  CHAPTER 37

  Of the kind of personal prayers common to contemplatives.

  The skilled contemplative, then, does not depend on discursive reasoning in the same way
as beginners and those a little advanced in contemplation must do. His insights arise spontaneously without the help of intellectual processes, as direct intuitions of truth. Something similar may be said of his prayers, too. I am speaking now of his personal prayers, not the liturgical worship of the Church, though I do not mean to imply that liturgical prayer is neglected. On the contrary, the true contemplative has the highest esteem for the liturgy and is careful and exact in celebrating it, in continuity with the tradition of our fathers. But I am speaking now about the contemplative’s personal private prayers. These, like his meditations, are wholly spontaneous and not dependent on specific methods of preparation.

  Contemplatives rarely pray in words but if they do, their words are few. The fewer the better, as a matter of fact; yes, and a word of one syllable is more suited to the spiritual nature of this work than longer ones. For now the contemplative must hold himself continually poised and alert at the highest and most sovereign point of the spirit.1

  Let me try to illustrate what I mean with an example from real life. A man or woman terrified by sudden disaster is forced by the circumstances to the limits of his personal resources, and marshals all his energy into one great cry for help. In extreme situations like this, a person is not given to many words nor even to long ones. Instead, summoning all his strength, he expresses his desperate need in one loud cry: “Help!” And with this one little word he effectively arouses the attention and assistance of others.

  In a similar way, we can understand the efficacy of one little interior word, not merely spoken or thought, but surging up from the depths of a man’s spirit, the expression of his whole being.2 (By depths I mean the same as height, for in the realm of the spirit height and depth, length and breadth, are all the same.) And so this simple prayer bursting from the depths of your spirit touches the heart of Almighty God more certainly than some long psalm mumbled mindlessly under your breath. This is the meaning of that saying in Scripture: “A short prayer pierces the heavens.”3

  CHAPTER 38

  How and why a short prayer pierces the heavens.

  Why do you suppose that this little prayer of one syllable is powerful enough to pierce the heavens? Well, it is because it is the prayer of a man’s whole being. A man who prays like this prays with all the height and depth and length and breadth of his spirit. His prayer is high, for he prays in the full power of his spirit; it is deep, for he has gathered all his understanding into this one little word; it is long, for if this feeling could endure he would go on crying out forever as he does now; it is wide, because with universal concern he desires for everyone what he desires for himself.

  It is with this prayer that a person comes to understand with all the saints the length and breadth and height and depth of the eternal, gracious, almighty, and omniscient God, as St. Paul says.1 Not completely, of course, but partially and in that obscure manner characteristic of contemplative knowledge. Length speaks of God’s eternity, breadth of his love, height of his power, depth of his wisdom. Little wonder, then, that when grace so transforms a person to this image and likeness of God, his creator, his prayer is so quickly heard by God. And I feel sure that God will always hear and help a man who prays to him like this; yes, even though he be a sinner and, as it were, God’s enemy. For if grace moves him to utter this anguished cry from the depths and height and length and breadth of his being, God will hear him.

  Let me illustrate what I am saying with another example. Imagine that in the dead of night you heard your worst enemy cry out with his whole being “Help!” or “Fire!” Even though this man were your enemy would you not be moved to compassion by the agony of that cry and rush to help him? Yes, of course you would; and though it were in the dead of winter you would still hasten to quench the fire or calm his distress. My God! If grace can so transform a mere man to where he can forget his hatred and have such compassion for his enemy, what shall we not expect from God when he hears a person cry out to him from the height and depth and length and breadth of his whole being. For by nature God is the fullness of all that we are by participation. God’s mercy belongs to the essence of his being; that is why we say he is all-merciful. Surely then we can confidently hope in him.

  CHAPTER 39

  How the advanced contemplative prays; what prayer is; and what words are most suited to the nature of contemplative prayer.

  We must pray, then, with all the intensity of our being in its height and depth and length and breadth. And not with many words but in a little word of one syllable.

  But what word shall we use? Certainly the most appropriate word is one which reflects the nature of prayer itself. And what word is that? Well, let us first try to determine the nature of prayer and then perhaps we will be in a better position to decide.

  In itself, prayer is simply a reverent, conscious openness to God full of the desire to grow in goodness and overcome evil.1 Now we know that all evil, either by instigation or deed, is summed up in the one word “sin.” So when we ardently desire to pray for the destruction of evil let us say and think and mean nothing else but this little word “sin.” No other words are needed. And when we intend to pray for goodness, let all our thought and desire be contained in the one small word “God.” Nothing else and no other words are needed, for God is the epitome of all goodness. He is the source of all good, for it constitutes his very being.

  Don’t be surprised that I place these two words before all others. If I knew of any smaller words which so adequately expressed all that is good and evil, or had God taught me any others, I would certainly use them. And I advise you to do the same. Do not be anxious to investigate the nature of words or you will never get down to your task of learning to be a contemplative. For I assure you, contemplation is not the fruit of study but a gift of grace.

  Even though I have recommended these two little words, you need not necessarily make them your own unless grace also inclines you to choose them. But if, through the attraction of God’s grace, you do find them meaningful, then by all means fix them firmly in your mind whenever you feel drawn to pray with words because they are short and simple. If you do not feel inclined to pray with words, then forget even these.

  I think you will find that the simplicity in prayer which I so highly recommend will not inhibit its frequency because, as I explained earlier, this prayer is prayed in the length of the spirit which means that it is unceasing until it is answered. Our illustration confirms this. For when a person is terrified and in great distress, he will keep crying “Help!” or “Fire!” until someone hears his plea and comes to his aid.

  CHAPTER 40

  That during contemplation a person leaves aside all meditations on the nature of virtue and vice.

  As I have explained already, you must immerse your being in the spiritual reality signified by the word “sin,” yet without dwelling on any particular kind of sin such as pride, anger, envy, greed, sloth, gluttony, or lust, or on whether it is mortal or venial sin. For to a contemplative, what does the kind or gravity of the sin matter. In the light of contemplation anything that separates him from God, however slightly, appears as a grievous evil and robs him of inner peace.

  Let yourself experience sin as a lump, realizing that it is yourself, but without defining it precisely. Then cry out in your heart this one word “sin,” “sin,” “sin,” or “help,” “help,” “help.” God can teach you what I mean through experience far better than I can with words. For it is best when this word is wholly interior without a definite thought or actual sound. Yet occasionally, you will be so satiated with the meaning of sin that the sorrow and burden of it will flow over your body and soul and you may burst out with the word itself.

  All this is equally true of the little word “God.” Immerse yourself in the spiritual reality it speaks of yet without precise ideas of God’s works whether small or great, spiritual or material. Do not consider any particular virtue which God may teach you through grace, whether it is humility, charity, patience, abstinence, ho
pe, faith, moderation, chastity, or evangelical poverty. For to a contemplative they are, in a sense, all the same. He finds and experiences all of them in God, who is the source and essence of all goodness. A contemplative has come to realize that if he possesses God he possesses all goodness and this is why he desires nothing in particular but only the good God himself. And so you must also do, insofar as you can, with his grace. Let this little word represent to you God in all his fullness and nothing less than the fullness of God. Let nothing except God hold sway in your mind and heart.1

  And because, as long as you are in this mortal life, you will always feel to some extent the burden of sin as part and parcel of your being, you will be wise to alternate between these two words, “God” and “sin.” Keep in mind this general principle: if you possess God you will be free of sin and when you are free of sin you possess God.

  CHAPTER 41

  That in everything except contemplation a person ought to be moderate.

  Now if you ask me what sort of moderation you should observe in the contemplative work, I will tell you: none at all. In everything else, such as eating, drinking, and sleeping, moderation is the rule. Avoid extremes of heat and cold; guard against too much and too little in reading, prayer, or social involvement. In all these things, I say again, keep to the middle path. But in love take no measure. Indeed, I wish that you had never to cease from this work of love.

  But as a matter of fact, you must realize that in this life it will be impossible to continue in this work with the same intensity all the time. Sickness, afflictions of body and mind, and countless other necessities of nature will often leave you indisposed and keep you from its heights. Yet, at the same time, I counsel you to remain at it always either in earnest or, as it were, playfully. What I mean is that through desire you can remain with it even when other things intervene. For the love of God, then, avoid illness as much as possible so that you are not responsible for unnecessary infirmity.