The Cloud of Unknowing

by William Johnston

  How often have you not read or heard in the holy, wise, and reliable writings of the fathers that as soon as Benjamin was born, his mother, Rachel, died. Here, Benjamin represents contemplation and Rachel represents reason. When one is touched by the grace of authentic contemplation (as he surely is in the noble resolve to make self as nothing, and the high desire that God be all), there is a sense in which we can really say that reason dies. But have you not often heard and read all this in the works of various holy and scholarly men? What makes you so slow to believe it? And if you do believe it, how dare you let your prying intellect rummage among the words and deeds of Benjamin? Now Benjamin is a figure of all who have been snatched beyond their senses in an ecstasy of love,2 and of them the prophet says: “There is Benjamin, a young child, in excess of mind.”3 I warn you: be vigilant lest you imitate those wretched human mothers who slew their newly born children. Watch, lest you accidentally thrust your bold spear with all your might at the power, wisdom, and designs of the Lord. I know you want only to further his plans; yet, if you are not careful, you may mistakenly destroy them in the blindness of your inexperience.

  CHAPTER 9

  In the early Church, when persecution was common, all sorts of people (not especially prepared by pious, devotional practices) were so marvelously and suddenly touched by grace that without further recourse to reason they ran to die with the martyrs. We read of craftsmen casting away their tools and of school children flinging down their books, so great was their eagerness for martyrdom. In our times the Church is left in peace, but is it so hard to believe that God still can and may touch all sorts of people with the grace of contemplative prayer in the same wonderful and unforeseen way? Is it really so strange that he should desire and actually do this? No, and I am convinced that God in his great goodness will continue to act as he wishes in those he chooses that in the end his goodness may be seen for what it is, to the astonishment of all the world. And anyone so lovingly determined to make self as nothing and so keenly desirous that God be all will most certainly be protected from the onslaught of his enemies within and without, by the gracious goodness of God himself. He need not marshal his own defenses, for with faithfulness befitting his goodness, God will unfailingly protect those who, absorbed in the business of his love, have forgotten concern for themselves. Yet, is it surprising that they are so wonderfully secure? No, for truth and gentleness have made them fearless and strong in love.

  But one who does not dare abandon himself to God and criticizes others who do manifests an inner emptiness. For either the evil one has robbed his heart of the loving confidence he owes to God and the spirit of good will he owes to his fellow Christians, or else he is not yet sufficiently steeped in gentleness and truth to be a real contemplative. You, however, must not be afraid to commit yourself in radical dependence upon God or to abandon yourself to sleep in the blind contemplation of God as he is, far from the uproar of the wicked world, the deceitful fiend, and the weak flesh. Our Lord shall be at your side ready to help you; he will guard your step so that you be not taken.

  It is not without reason that I liken this work to sleep. For in sleep the natural faculties cease from their work and the whole body takes its full rest, nourishing and renewing itself. Similarly, in this spiritual sleep, those restless spiritual faculties, Imagination and Reason, are securely bound and utterly emptied.1 Happy the spirit, then, for it is freed to sleep soundly and rest quietly in loving contemplation of God simply as he is,2 while the whole inner man is wonderfully nourished and renewed.

  Do you see now why I tell you to bind up your faculties by refusing to work with them and be absorbed, instead, in offering to God the naked, blind awareness of your own being? But I say again: be sure that it is naked and not clothed in any ideas about the attributes of your being. You might be inclined to clothe it in ideas about the dignity and goodness of your being or with endless considerations of the intricate details relating to man’s nature or the nature of other creatures. But as soon as you do this, you have given meat to your faculties and they will have the strength and opportunity to lead you on to all sorts of other things. I warn you, before you know it, your attention will be scattered and you will find yourself distracted and bewildered. Please be wary of this trap, I pray you.

  CHAPTER 10

  But perhaps your insatiable faculties have already been busy examining what I have said about the contemplative work. They are restless because it goes beyond their skill and they have left you puzzled and suspicious about this way to God. Actually, this is not surprising. For, in the past, you have been so dependent upon them that you will not easily put them aside now, even though the contemplative work requires that you do. At the moment, however, I see that your heart is troubled and wondering about all this. Is it really as pleasing to God as I say? And if so, why? I will reply to all this, but I want you to realize that these very questions arise from a mind so inquisitive that under no circumstance will it give you peace in consenting to this work, until its curiosity has been appeased to some degree by a rational explanation. But since this is the case, I will not refuse. I will yield to your proud intellect, descending to the level of your present understanding, that afterward you may rise to mine, trusting my counsel and setting no bounds to your docility. I call upon the wisdom of St. Bernard, who says that perfect docility sets no bounds.

  You limit your docility when you hesitate to follow the counsel of your spiritual father before your own judgment has ratified it. See how I desire to win your confidence! Yes, I really do, and I shall. But it is love that moves me, rather than any personal ability, degree of knowledge, depth of understanding, or proficiency in contemplation itself. At any rate, I trust this is so, and pray God to supply where I fail, for my knowledge is only partial whereas his is complete.

  CHAPTER 11

  Now to satisfy your proud intellect I will sing the praises of this work. Believe me, if a contemplative had the tongue and the language to express what he experiences, all the scholars in Christendom would be struck dumb before his wisdom. Yes, for by comparison the entire compendium of human knowledge would appear as sheer ignorance.1 Do not be surprised, then, if my awkward, human tongue fails to explain its value adequately. And God forbid that the experience itself become so degenerate as to fit into the narrow confines of human language. No, it is not possible and certainly will never happen; and God forbid that I should ever want that! Whatever we may say of it is not it, but only about it.2 Yet since we cannot say what it is, let us try to describe it, to the confusion of all proud intellects, especially yours, which is the actual reason for my writing at this time.

  Let me begin by asking you a question. Tell me, what is the substance of man’s ultimate, human perfection and what are the fruits of this perfection? I will answer for you. Man’s highest perfection is union with God in consummate love, a destiny so high, so pure in itself, and so far beyond human thought that it cannot be known or imagined as it really is. Yet wherever we find its fruits, we may safely assume that it abounds. Therefore, in declaring the dignity of the contemplative work above all others, we must first distinguish the fruits of man’s ultimate perfection.

  These fruits are the virtues which ought to abound in every perfect man. Now, if you study carefully the nature of the contemplative work and then consider the essence and manifestation of each separate virtue, you will discover that all the virtues are clearly and completely contained in contemplation itself, unspoiled by twisted or selfish intent.3

  I will mention no particular virtue here for it is not necessary and besides, you have read about them in my other books. It will suffice to say that the contemplative work, when it is authentic, is that reverent love, that ripe, harvested fruit of a man’s heart which I told you about in my little Letter on Prayer. It is the cloud of unknowing, the secret love planted deep in an undivided heart, the Ark of the Covenant. It is Denis’ mystical theology,4 what he calls his wisdom and his treasure, his luminous darkness, and his unknown k
nowing. It is what leads you to a silence beyond thought and words5 and what makes your prayer simple and brief. And it is what teaches you to forsake and repudiate all that is false in the world.

  But even more, it is what teaches you to forsake and repudiate your very self according to the Gospel’s demand: “Let anyone who wishes to come after me deny himself, carry his cross and follow me.”6 In the context of all we have been saying about contemplation, it is as if Christ were to say: “He who wishes to come humbly after me—not with me, but after me—to the joy of eternity or the mount of perfection …” Christ went ahead of us because this was his destiny by nature; we come after him by grace. His divine nature ranks higher in dignity than grace, and grace higher than our human nature. In these words he teaches us that we may follow him to the mount of perfection as it is experienced in contemplation, only if he first calls us and leads us there by grace.

  This is the absolute truth. And I want you (and others like you who may read this) to understand one thing very clearly. Although I have encouraged you to set out in the contemplative way with simplicity and boldness, nevertheless I am certain, without doubt or fear of error, that Almighty God himself, independently of all techniques, must always be the chief worker in contemplation. It is he who must always awaken this gift in you by his grace. And what you (and others like you) must do is make yourselves completely receptive, consenting and suffering his divine action in the depths of your spirit.7 Yet the passive consent and endurance you bring to this work is really a distinctively active attitude; for by the singleness of your desire ever reaching up to your Lord, you continually open yourself to his action. All this, however, you will learn for yourself through experience and the insight of spiritual wisdom.

  But since God in his goodness stirs and touches different people in different ways (some through secondary causes and others directly), who dares to say that he may not be touching you and others like you through the instrumentality of this book. I do not deserve to be his servant, yet in his mysterious designs, he may work through me if he so wishes, for he is free to do as he likes. But I suppose after all that you will not really understand all this until your own contemplative experience confirms it. So I simply say: prepare yourself to receive the Lord’s gift by heeding his words and realizing their full meaning. “Anyone who wishes to come after me, let him forsake himself.” And tell me, what better way can one forsake and scorn himself and the world than by refusing to turn his mind to either of them or to anything about them?

  CHAPTER 12

  But now I want you to understand that although in the beginning I told you to forget everything save the blind awareness of your naked being, I intended all along to lead you eventually to the point where you would forget even this, so as to experience only the being of God. It was with an eye to this ultimate experience that I said in the beginning: God is your being. At that time I felt it was premature to expect you to rise suddenly to a high spiritual awareness of God’s being. So I let you climb toward it by degrees, teaching you first to gnaw away on the naked, blind awareness of your self until by spiritual perseverance you acquired an ease in this interior work; I knew it would prepare you to experience the sublime knowledge of God’s being. And ultimately, in this work, that must be your single abiding desire: the longing to experience only God. It is true that in the beginning I told you to cover and clothe the awareness of your God with the awareness of your self, but only because you were still spiritually awkward and crude. With perseverance in this practice, I expected you to grow increasingly refined in singleness of heart until you were ready to strip, spoil, and utterly unclothe your self-awareness of everything, even the elemental awareness of your own being, so that you might be newly clothed in the gracious stark experience of God as he is in himself.1

  For this is the way of all real love. The lover will utterly and completely despoil himself of everything, even his very self, because of the one he loves. He cannot bear to be clothed in anything save the thought of his beloved.2 And this is not a passing fancy. No, he desires always and forever to remain unclothed in full and final self-forgetting. This is love’s labor;3 yet, only he who experiences it will really understand. This is the meaning of our Lord’s words: “Anyone who wishes to love me let him forsake himself.” It is as if he were to say: “A man must despoil himself of his very self if he sincerely desires to be clothed in me, for I am the full flowing garment of eternal and unending love.”4

  CHAPTER 13

  And so, when in this work you become aware that you are perceiving and experiencing self and not God, be filled with sincere sorrow and long with all your heart to be entirely absorbed in the experience of God alone. Cease not to desire the loss of that pitiful knowledge and corrupted awareness of your blind being. Long to flee from self as from poison. Forget and disregard your self as ruthlessly as the Lord demands.

  Yet do not misunderstand my words. I did not say that you must desire to un-be, for that is madness and blasphemy against God. I said that you must desire to lose the knowledge and experience of self. This is essential if you are to experience God’s love as fully as possible in this life. You must realize and experience for yourself that unless you lose self you will never reach your goal. For wherever you are, in whatever you do, or howsoever you try, that elemental sense of your own blind being will remain between you and your God. It is possible, of course, that God may intervene at times and fill you with a transient experience of himself. Yet outside these moments this naked awareness of your blind being will continually weigh you down and be as a barrier between you and your God, just as in the beginning of this work the various details of your being were like a barrier to the direct awareness of your self. It is then that you will realize how heavy and painful is the burden of self. May Jesus help you in that hour, for you will have great need of him.

  All the misery in the world taken together will seem as nothing beside this, because then you will be a cross to yourself. Yet this is the way to our Lord and the real meaning of his words: “Let a man first take up his cross” (the painful cross of self) that afterward he may “follow me into glory,” or, as we might say, “to the mount of perfection.” But listen to his promise: “There I will let him savor the delight of my love in the unspeakable experience of my divine person.” See how necessary1 it is to bear this painful burden, the cross of self. It alone will prepare you for the transcendent experience of God as he is and for union with him in consummate love.

  And now as this grace touches and calls you, may you see and appreciate more and more the surpassing worth of the contemplative work.

  CHAPTER 14

  Tell me now, do you still expect your faculties to help you reach contemplation? Believe me, they will not. Imaginative and speculative meditations, by themselves, will never bring you to contemplative love. Be they ever so unusual, subtle, lovely, or deep; be they of your sinful past, the Passion of Christ, the joys of our Lady, or the saints and angels in heaven; or of the qualities, subtleties, and states of your being, or God’s, they are useless in contemplative prayer. For myself, I choose to have nothing except that naked, blind sense of my self which I spoke of earlier.

  Notice that I said of my self and not of my activities. Many people confuse their activities with themselves, believing them to be the same. But this is not so. The doer is one thing and his deeds are another. Likewise, God, as he is in himself, is quite distinct from his works which are something else again.

  But returning to my point, the simple awareness of my being is all I desire, even though it must bring with it the painful burden of self and make my heart break with weeping because I experience only self and not God. I prefer it with its pain to all the subtle or unusual thoughts and ideas man may speak of or find in books (though to your clever and sophisticated mind these may seem ever so sublime and pleasant). For this suffering will set me on fire with the loving desire to experience God as he really is.

  All the same, these sweet meditations do have
their place and value. A newly converted sinner just beginning to pray will find in them the surest way to the spiritual awareness of himself and God. Moreover, outside of God’s special intervention, I believe it is humanly impossible for a sinner to come to peaceful repose in the spiritual experience of himself and of God until he has first exercised his imagination and reason in appreciating his own human potential, as well as the manifold works of God, and until he has learned to grieve over sin and find his joy in goodness.1 Believe me, whoever will not journey by this path will go astray. One must remain outside contemplation, occupied in discursive meditation, even though he would prefer to enter into the contemplative repose beyond them. Many mistakenly believe that they have passed within the spiritual door when, in reality, they are still outside it. What is more, they shall remain outside until they learn to seek the door in humble love. Some find the door and enter within sooner than others, not because they possess a special admittance or unusual merit, but simply because the porter chooses to let them in.

  CHAPTER 15

  And oh, what a delightful place is this household of the spirit! Here the Lord himself is not only the porter but the door.1 As God, he is the porter; as man, he is the door. And thus in the Gospel he says:

  I am the door of the sheepfold

  he that enters by me shall be saved.

  He shall go in and go out

  and find pastures.

  He that enters not through the door

  but climbs up another way

  the same is a thief and a robber.2

  In the context of all we have been saying about contemplation, you may understand our Lord’s words like this: “As God, I am the all-powerful porter and therefore, it is up to me to determine who may enter and how. But I chose instead to make a common, clear way to the sheepfold, open to everyone who wanted to come. So I clothed myself in an ordinary human nature and made myself utterly available so that no one could excuse himself from coming because he did not know the way. In my humanity, I am the door and whoever comes in by way of me shall be safe.”