God’s Unknowability

God’s Unknowability

Original compositions of contemplative, or mystical, writings in English as well as translations of continental works into the vernacular flourished in the late-fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. From Richard Rolle in the 1340s and even during the persecutions of Lollards in the 1400s (see “Lollardy Trials,” p. 59), English writers and translators explored modes of spirituality that centered around ways of approaching God and composed descriptions of union with Jesus. Remarkably popular, religious and lay people comprised the audiences for these texts, many, like Julian of Norwich and Margery Kempe, developing novel and emotionally vivid narratives. The author of The Cloud of Unknowing is unknown but is thought to have been active in the last quarter of the fourteenth century, also writing a paraphrase of the fifth-century pseudo-Dionysian Deonise Hid Divinite and a sequel to the Cloud, The Book of Privy Counselling, as well as translations. Seventeen manuscripts of the Cloud survive, the majority from the midfifteenth century. The Cloud is addressed explicitly to people living the contemplative life and not to tellers of tales or the idle curious. It proposes the via negativa, a negative way to God, based on the teachings of pseudo- Dionysius and thirteenth-century commentators such as Thomas Gallus, the abbot of St. Andrew’s at Vercelli.

As opposed to affective piety, which involves a conscious and deliberate striving to reach the Godhead often through physical representations, negative theology has its basis in humankind’s radical separation from God. God is incomprehensible by human means, including the senses, intellectual capacities, and desire. Lette not therfore, bot travayle ther-in1 tyl thou fele lyst. For at the first tyme when thou dost it, thou fyndest bot a derknes and as it were a cloude of unknowyng;2 thou wost never what, savyng that thou felist in thi will a nakid entent unto God. This derknes and this cloude is, how-so-ever thou dost, bitwix thee and thi God, and letteth thee that thou maist not see him cleerly by light of understonding in thi reson ne fele him in swetnes of love in thin affeccion. And therfore schap thee to bide in this derknes as longe as thou maist, evermore criing after him that thou lovest for, if ever schalt thou fele him or see him, as it may be here, it behoveth alweis be in this cloude and in this derknes. And if thou wilte besily travayle as I bid thee, I triste in his mercy that thou schalt come ther-to . . .And wene not, for I clepe it a derknes or a cloude, that it be any cloude congelid of the humours that fleen in the ayre ne yit any derknes soche as is in thin house on nightes when thi candel is oute. For soche a derknes and soche a cloude maist thou ymagin with coriouste of witte, for to bere before thin iyen in the lightest day of somer, and also agenswarde in the derkist night of wynter thou mayst ymagin a clere schinyng light. Lat be soche falsheed. I mene not thus. For when I sey derknes, I mene a lackyng of knowyng; as alle that thing that thou knowest not, or elles that thou hast forgetyn, it is derk to thee, for thou seest it not with thi goostly iye. And for this skile it is not clepid a cloude of the eire, bot a cloude of unknowyng that is bitwix thee and thi God . . . And if ever thou schalt come to this cloude and wone and worche ther-in as I bid thee, thee byhoveth, as this cloude of unknowyng is aboven thee, bitwix thee and thi God, right so put a cloude of forgetyng bineth thee, bitwix thee and alle the cretures that ever ben maad.3 Thee thinketh, paraventure, that thou arte ful fer fro God, forthi that this cloude of unknowing is bitwix thee and thi God, bot sekirly, and it be wel conseyved, thou arte wel ferther fro hym when thou hast no cloude of forgetyng bitwix thee and all the creatures that ever ben maad.

As ofte as I sey “Alle the creatures that ever ben maad,” as ofte I mene not only the self creatures bot also alle the werkes and the condicions of the same creatures. I oute-take4 not o creature, whether thei ben bodily creatures or goostly, ne yit any condicion or werk of any creature, whether thei be good or ivel, bot schortly to sey, alle schuld be hid under the cloude of forgetyng in this caas. For thof al it be ful profitable sumtyme to think of certeyne condicions and dedes of sum certein special creatures, nevertheles yit in this werke it profiteth lityl or nought. For why mynde or thinkyng of any creature that ever God maad, or of any of theire dedes outher, it is a maner of goostly light; for the iye of thi soule is openid on it and even ficchid5 ther-apon as the iye of a schoter is apon the prik6 that he schoteth to. And o thing I telle thee, that alle thing that thou thinkest apon, it is aboven thee for the tyme and bitwix thee and thi God, and in so mochel thou arte the ferther fro God that ought is in thi mynde bot only God. Ye, and if it be cortesye and semely to sey, in this werk it profiteth litil or nought to think of the kyndenes or the worthines of God, ne on oure Lady, ne on the seintes or aungelles in heven, ne yit on the joies in heven, that is to say, with a special beholding to hem, as thou woldest bi that beholding fede and encrees thi purpos. I trowe that on no wise it schuld be so in this caas and in this werk. For thof al it be good to think [a]pon the kindenes of God, and to love hym and preise him for hem, yit it is fer betyr to think apon the nakid beyng of him, and to love him and preise him for him-self . . . But now thou askest me and seiest: “How schal I think on him-self, and what is hee?” And to this I cannot answere thee bot thus: “I wote never.” For thou hast brought me with thi question into that same derknes and into that same cloude of unknowyng that I wolde thou were in thi-self.

For of alle other creatures and theire werkes – ye, and of the werkes of God self – may a man thorou grace have fulheed7 of knowing and wel to kon thinke on hem, bot of God him-self can no man thinke. And therfore I wole leve al that thing that I can think and chese to my love that thing that I can-not think. For whi, he may wel be loved bot not thought. By love may he be getyn and holden bot bi thought neither. And therfore, thof al it be good sumtyme to think of the kyndnes and the worthines of God in special, and thof al it be a light and a party of contemplacion, nevertheles in this werk it schal be casten down and keverid with a cloude of forgetyng. And thou schalt step aboven it stalworthly, bot listely,8 with a devoute and a plesing stering9 of love, and fonde10 for to peerse that derknes aboven thee and smyte apon that thicke cloude of unknowyng with a scharp darte of longing love, and go not thens for thing that befalleth . . . I bid thee put doun soche a scharp sotil thought, and kever him with a thicke cloude of forgetyng, be he never so holy, ne hote he thee never so weel for to help thee in thi purpos. For whi love may reche to God in this liif bot not knowing. And al the whiles that the soule wonith in this deedly body, evermore is the scharpnes of oure understonding in beholding of alle goostly thinges, bot most specialy of God, medelid with sum maner of fantasie for the whiche oure werk schuld be unclene, and bot if more wonder were, it schuld lede us into moche errour . . . And thou schalt understonde that thou schalt not only in this werk forgete alle other creatures then thi-self, or theire deddes or thine, bot also thou schalt in this werk forgete bothe thi-self and also thi dedes for God as wel as alle other creatures and theire dedes.

For it is the condicion of a parfite lover not only to love that thing that he loveth more then him-self, bot also in maner for to hate him-self for that thing that he lovith. Thus schalt thou do with thi-self: thou schalt lothe and be wery with alle that thing that worcheth in thi witte and in thi wil, bot if it be only God. For whi sekirly elles what-so-ever that it be, it is bitwix thee and thi God. And no wonder thof thou lothe and hate for to think on thi-self; when thou schalt alweis fele synne a foule stynkyng lumpe, thou wost never what, bitwix thee and thi God, the whiche lumpe is none other thing than thi-self. For thee schal think it onyd11 and congelid with the substaunce of thi beyng, ye, as it were with-outyn departyng. And therfore breek doun alle wetyng and felyng of alle maner of creatures bot most besily of thi-self. For on the wetyng and the felyng of thi-self hangith wetyng and felyng of alle other creatures, for in rewarde of it, alle other creatures ben lightly forgetyn. For, and thou wilt besily set thee to the preof, thou schalt fynde, when thou hast forgeten alle other creatures and alle theire werkes, ye, and therto alle thin owne werkes, that ther schal leve yit after, bitwix thee and thi God, a nakid weting and a felyng of thin owne beyng, the whiche wetyng and felyng behovith alweis be distroied er the tyme be that thou fele sothfastly the perfeccyon of this werk.