The nine and sixty chapitre. How that a mans affeccion is merveylously chaunged in goostly felyng of this nought, when it is noghwere wrought.
The First Sight of Sin
The soul's initial encounter with the nothing reveals all past sins painted upon it, requiring painful labor and tears to rub them away.
A person's affection is wonderfully changed in the spiritual feeling of this nothing when it is wrought nowhere.1 The first time a soul looks upon it, it will find all the specific sinful deeds it has ever done since it was born—bodily or spiritual, privately or darkly—painted on it.2 And no matter how he turns it around, they will keep appearing before his eyes until, with much hard work, many painful sighs, and many bitter tears, he has for the most part rubbed them away.
The Temptation to Turn Back
The pain of this purgation can feel like hell, causing many to abandon the spiritual path for fleshly comforts.
Sometimes in this struggle it seems to him that looking on it is like looking on hell; for it seems to him that he despairs of winning through to the perfection of spiritual rest out of that pain. Many come this far inward; but because of the greatness of the pain they feel, and for lack of comfort, they turn back to the beholding of bodily things, seeking fleshly comforts from outside, for lack of the spiritual comfort they have not yet deserved, as they would have if they had stayed.3
From Purgatory to Paradise
The one who perseveres finds hope and comfort as sins diminish, experiencing the nothing alternately as purgatory, paradise, or even God himself.
For the one who stays with it sometimes feels some comfort, and has some hope of perfection, because he feels and sees that many of his past particular sins have, for the most part, been rubbed away by the help of grace. Even so, he still feels pain every now and then, but he thinks it will come to an end because it keeps growing less and less. And so he calls it not hell but purgatory. Sometimes he can't find any particular sin written on it, and yet it seems to him that it is sin in a lump—he never knows what—nothing other than himself; and then it may be called the root and the pain of original sin.4 Sometimes it seems to him that it is paradise or heaven, because of the many wonderful sweetnesses and comforts, joys and blessed virtues that he finds in it. Sometimes it seems to him that it is God, because of the peace and rest that he finds in it.
The Cloud Remains
Whatever the soul may think, the nothing is always a cloud of unknowing between it and God.
Yes! Let him think whatever he will; for he'll always find it a cloud of unknowing that stands between him and his God.
Read the original Middle English
Wonderfuly is a mans affeccion varied in goostly felyng of this nought when it is noughwhere wrought. For at the first tyme that a soule lokith therapon, it schal fynde alle the specyal dedes of sinne that ever he did sithen he was borne, bodely or goostly, prively or derkly, peyntid therapon. And howsoever that he tornith it aboute, evermore thei wil apere before his ighen; unto the tyme be that with moche harde travayle, many sore sighinges, and many bitter wepynges he have in grete party rubbid hem awey.
Somtyme in this travayle him think that it is to loke therapon as on helle; for him think that he despeirith to wynne to perfeccion of goostly rest oute of that pyne. Thus fer inwardes comyn many; bot for greetnes of pyne that thei fele and for lackyng of counforte thei go bak in beholdyng of bodely thinges, sekyng fleschly counfortes withouten, for lackyng of goostly that thei have not yit deservyd, as thei schuld yif thei had abeden.
For he that abidith felith somtyme som coumforte, and hath som hope of perfeccion; for he felith and seeth that many of his fordone specyal synnes ben in grete partye by help of grace rubbid awey. Nevertheles yit everamonge he felith pyne; bot he thinkith that it schal have an ende, for it wexith ever les and les. And therfore he clepith it nought helle bot purgatory. Somtyme he kan fynde no specyal synne wretyn therapon, bot yit hym think that it is synne a lumpe, he wote never what, none other thing than hymself; and than it may be clepid the stathil and the pyne of the original synne. Somtyme hym think that it is paradis or heven, for diverse wonderful swetnes and counfortes, joyes and blessid vertewes that he fyndeth therin. Somtyme hym think it God, for pees and rest that he findeth therin.
Ye! think what he think wil; for evermore he schal fynde it a cloude of unknowyng that is bitwix hym and his God.
Notes
- 1 ↩"Wrought nowhere" keeps the Cloud's technical sense: this "nothing" is practiced in spiritual nowhere, not located in any created place or thing.
- 2 ↩"Prively or derkly" rendered as "privately or darkly" (secretly/obscurely), following the supplied reading rather than the alternate "openly" found in some editions.
- 3 ↩goostly is elliptical after fleschly counfortes; rendered as 'spiritual comfort' to preserve the contrast with outward fleshly comforts.
- 4 ↩ME stathil (cf. staddle/stock): foundation, stump, or root-stock. Rendered here as 'root' for the theological sense of the residual ground of original sin.
The Cloud of Unknowing companion
A daily portion of stillness
Chosen Portion delivers one short contemplative reading and a guided moment of silence each day — the ascent, one step at a time.
Chosen Portion is the paced doorway into this collection: it portions the dense mystical treatises into one daily reading plus guided silence, exactly as the 14-day plan teaches.
- Daily bite-sized excerpts from the contemplative classics, never a wall of text
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