Gower, Paradox, and Proverbs:

The Rhetorical Functionality of Several Proverbs in Confessio Amantis

Very little work has been done on the subject of John Gower's use of proverbial material.

Though many gallons of ink have been spilled in exploration of how the proverb functions in the works

of his contemporary, Geoffrey Chaucer, only a few studies address Gower's usage with any significant

length. Among these is a chapter on the subject in B.J. Whiting's book Chaucer's Use of Proverbs,

published in 1934. Whiting was primarily a philologist and paremiographer, and thus his chapter on

Gower focused mainly on collecting and organizing proverbial material in Confessio Amantis while

offering little in the way of analysis. Walter Skeat's book Early English Proverbs, Chiefly of the

Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries published two decades earlier, contains a chapter exploring his

proverbs in a similar vein. Outside of these aged works, there is very little. This is unfortunate, as

Gower's work is replete with proverbs, many of them employed to very interesting effect.

In alignment with a common use of proverbs, many of Gower's proverbs are didactic in nature.

As Whiting notes, “the overwhelming majority of the proverbs are uttered by Genius….Gower puts

proverbs in his mouth...to point to a moral.” (153). We can find one notable example of this sort of

usage in the postscript to Gower's first tale. After relating the story of Acteon and Diana to Amans, an

old man besotted with love, Genius, Amans' priest in the confessional of Venus, cautions,

Lo now, my sone, what it is

A man to caste his yhe amis,

Which Acteon hath dere aboght

Be war forthi and do it noght.

For ofte, who that hiede toke,

Betre is to winke than to loke. (379-384)

Genius is attempting to instruct Amans here that since love enters a “mannes yhe ferst,” (325), he

should take pains not to let his eye wander. Similarly, he warns Amans that a lover should take care not

to be one to grasp for that which is beyond his reach, for “ful ofte he heweth up so hihe, / That chippes

fallen in his yhe” (1917-18), thus blinding him to the situation around him.

Genius’ character is significantly informed by his use of this sort of proverbial material. Most

importantly, Genius’ proverbs impart to him both an air of wisdom and one of authority. Both of the

proverbs cited above, according to Whiting, are sayings that existed in the public imagination prior to

Gower (134). Just as today, proverbs such as these would have carried the sense of collected,

condensed knowledge. By employing them, then, Genius assumes a tone that reflects not just his own

learning, but also the collected and refined wisdom of many prior generations. As these statements are

derived from the collective knowledge of his culture, they, we can assume, would have been familiar or

at least sounded familiar to Amans; had he not heard these sayings specifically, they would certainly

have resonated with him on some tacit level. By virtue of this fact, Genius’ proverbs provide him with

not only an air of wisdom, but one of authoritative wisdom as well. Through their impact and

resonance, Genius’ moralizing proverbs take on a tone of irrefutability that enables Genius to more

forcefully present his conclusions to his charge.

Genius’ efforts at didacticism are also supported by the pithiness of these proverbs. In his

attempts to steer Amans away from the pitfalls of love, Genius primarily presents his lessons through

the telling of tales that are demonstrative of the principle he is trying to convey, but the tales alone are

not the extent of his teaching. Genius usually either introduces or follows each story with direct

commentary to Amans on the nature of the problem, and the moralistic proverbs he uses often occur as

the culminating point in his commentary. “Betre is to winke than to loke,” for instance, occurs as the

last line in his summary of the tale of Acteon, and “ful ofte he heweth up so hihe, / That chippes fallen

in his yhe” terminates his introduction to the idea of presumption. It is no accident that these proverbial

statements occur as ultimate points; their pithiness carries a didactic function. By ending his
commentary with these sharp remarks, which carry the essence of each lesson, Genius is able to neatly

summarize each principle for Amans in a familiar, readily digestible form that is easy for him to

remember.

Although Genius uses many proverbs in this fashion, all of them interesting, more interesting

still are the proverbs that Gower puts into the mouth of Amans. It is upon these proverbs that we will

focus the brunt of our attention. Amans uses proverbs not didactically, but descriptively, in an attempt

to explain to Genius how he is suffering from not only the pangs of love, but also from a paradoxical

emotional entanglement that he finds himself unable to express with normal speech. These proverbs

serve for Amans as the best means for communicating that paradox that he can find. To understand

how this happens, to the fullest extent that we are able, we will need to explore several principles first.

To begin with, we will have to understand how common, everyday language is at a disadvantage for

describing paradoxical situations and how other forms of communication often serve much better to

this end. Secondly, we will explore how proverbs themselves are especially well-suited to elucidating

paradox. Thirdly, it is necessary to pin down precisely the sort of paradoxical situation that Amans

finds himself within before we finally turn to his proverbs themselves.

To consider first the inadequacy of common language, if we agree with semioticians that

language is essentially the transmission and interpretation of signs, then we can quickly discover

certain limitations within the structure of language as it is normally employed. The underlying

foundation of this system—words representing a spoken or written signifier standing in for some

signified intellectual or physical object—is a logical, descriptive process, with descriptive signs ordered

in a predictable way according to the rules of each individual language to constitute meaning. The

essential problem with language, based as it is in description, is that it can never be descriptive enough;

some concepts are far too subtle, complicated, or individuated to be described thoroughly and

accurately through language. Nietzsche gives a useful example in his essay, On Truth and Lying in the
Non Moral Sense. To paraphrase a portion of his argument, the term “leaf” is insufficient to describe

with specificity the great variety of leaves that exist in the world or, indeed, on one tree; such a term

cannot account for the minute differences that constitute a particular leaf's individual characteristics, or

even the different qualities of the same leaf as it varies throughout time, changing as it does with the

seasons or even the hour of the day. The word “leaf” is at best a general term that signifies certain

objects that fall within the scope of the human concept of “leafness,” but one that proves sufficient for

successful communication insofar as a great deal of specificity is not required.

For most purposes to which language is employed, of course, exacting distinction is

unnecessary, and the language that we use is perfectly sufficient to achieve our goals; commonplace,

everyday language works perfectly well to order coffee, communicate that we are cold, or to outline the

precepts of an expository essay on proverbs, though it is with those occurrences where this kind of

language is insufficient that we should be most interested. For the purposes of this exploration, we

should seek to define this form of language from other sorts of communication that we will consider.

We can call “natural language” that form of communication that comprises the vast majority of

linguistic expression, both written and verbal. Though many different styles and tones exist within this

category—the phrasing of a newspaper article certainly differs significantly from that used to tell a

plumber about a leaky faucet—we can qualify as natural language all linguistic expression that,

through the rule-governed process of compiling words into phrases, clauses, and sentences, seek to

logically describe some intellectual concept. This is important to understand, since certain concepts lie

outside of the grasp of natural language. Foremost among these concepts is the notion of paradox;

because natural language is based on a description of concepts in a logical orderly manner, it follows

that it is strained to convey concepts which are themselves too subtle to be described, those which

inherently defy logic, or those which are intellectually disorderly. Intellectual paradox, optical illusion,

and certain varieties of emotional conflict represent a few of these concepts. For each of these

categories, natural language falls short of sufficient description, and some other means of
communication must be employed in order to accurately describe these states. It is worth exploring a

few of these examples to understand the limitations of natural language and to demonstrate the

functionality of certain alternative modes of communication before observing how well proverbs can

fulfill this role.

As natural language is essentially a descriptive, logical process, its ability to create meaning is

intrinsically tied to the logicality of the concepts which it attempts to describe. Those concepts that are

antagonistic toward logic, such as the paradox, strain natural language to the point of breaking.

Consider, for example the following sentence: “This statement is false.” This utterance is a variation

on the famous “Liar's Paradox,” an intellectual puzzle said to originate with the Greek philosopher

Eubuildes, which immediately presents to the reader a thorny contradiction. If we take this statement at

face value and regard it as false, then logic dictates that that which the sentence asserts about itself

must also be false. It follows that regarding this statement as false would necessitate, via the Law of

the Excluded Middle, which states that for each proposition, either the proposition is true or its

negation must be, that we understand that the sentence must be true. This line of thinking, however,

puts us squarely against a contradiction, for, it the sentence is true, then that which the sentence asserts

about itself must also be true. Since however, the sentence states that it is itself false, we are led to the

contradiction that, if we accept the sentence's premise, we find it to be true if and only if it is actually

false. Rejecting the sentence's premise leads us to a similar contradiction. In terms of formal logic,

the paradox arises from the fact that this statement is both true and false (or neither true nor false,

according to some), thus violating the law of the excluded middle.

Conceptually, we are dealing here with a single point in intellectual space (the sentence) that

proposes to exist in two separate and diametrically opposed intellectual regions at once (both true and

false), leading us to a situation tantamount to a light bulb being both on and off in one instant, or

Schrodinger's cat being both dead and alive at the same time. With regard to our study, the most

illuminating observation we can make is to notice the reason that this confused situation arises; the
contradiction of the Liar's Paradox stems from a fallacy inherent in natural language: it is unable to

remain objective when self-referential. Many authors have attempted to resolve this problem. One

solution which is worth considering here is the work of Polish logician Alfred Tarski. In an idea

originally articulated in his paper “The Concept of Truth in Formalized Languages,” Tarski postulated

that the reason the Liar's Paradox creates such confusion is that the language in which it is expressed,

English, along with all other natural languages is “semantically closed.” That is, in short, that it has not

only the ability to formulate expressions (i.e. “snow is white”) but also names for these expressions, for

instance, the word “expressions” itself, and semantic terms such as true and false, which apply to these

expressions, accounting for the ability of English to reference itself. Because this self-reference is

possible, we can fall into traps like the Liar's Paradox. In order to resolve these problems, according to

Tarski, it is necessary to introduce an object language/metalanguage divide wherein the meta language

is the only means to assign truth value to the object language. The statement “The statement, to be

referred to as (S): 'This statement is false.' is true if and only if (S) is false,” represents one application

of this idea, in which the artificial metalanguage, containing many elements similar to English, is given

in italics and comments upon the statement of the English object language which is quoted in normal

typescript. Through this method, the ultimate truth value of the English statement (S) no longer resides

in the statement itself but in the critical apparatus of the metalanguage. Since the statement (S) cannot

be proven to be only false by its own merits, the metalinguistic analysis proves that it cannot be true

and thus, by the Law of the Excluded Middle, must be false and nothing but false.

Several important consequences relevant to our study result from Tarski's analysis. Of first

concern is the philosophical principle that is named for him. Tarski's Undefinability Theorem, in its

narrowest form, states: “arithmetical truth cannot be defined in arithmetic.” This theorem, of course,

has important consequences for mathematics, but also sheds light on our linguistic problem as well.

Broadly interpreted, Tarski's theorem applies not only to arithmetical systems, but also applies equally

to any formal system. We can surmise, therefore, that true statements about English cannot be defined
in English. It follows from this point that, in the case of the Liar's Paradox, natural language proves not

only incapable of resolving the problem, but is ultimately responsible for creating it as well. Natural

language, at its core, is a means for observing the exterior conceptual world. When this observational

power is turned in upon itself, it proves just as fruitful and frustrating as if an eyeball were attempting

to look at itself without the aid of a mirror. It ultimately arises from this that there are certain concepts

which natural language is incapable of expressing, and for those concepts, some alternate means of

communication must be employed. In the case of the Liar's paradox, Tarski solves the problem by

advancing a metalinguistic apparatus, rooted in formal logic, to place the paradox in proper

perspective. Many classical paradoxes are solved though similar means. One of Zeno's more famous

paradoxes, for example, states, “in a race, the quickest runner can never overtake the slowest, since the

pursuer must first reach the point where the pursuit started, so that he slower must always hold a lead.”

Though natural language is again unhelpful in solving this paradox, and is ultimately responsible for

creating it, the paradox was resolved several centuries later through the newly invented means of

communication known as The Calculus.

The limitations of natural language, it should be understood, are not confined merely to

problems of self-referentiality; it proves woefully inadequate in many other instances that defy logical

understanding. The drawings of M.C. Escher, for instance, which often depict some optical paradox,

are difficult to describe solely with words. In some of these illustrations, certain shapes seem to blend

seamlessly and confusingly into other shapes, and in another, a drawing pair of hands appear to be

illustrating each other. Though the general sense of these drawings can be outlined with language and

the concept of a visual paradox introduced through these descriptions, no linguistic effort can convey,

entirely accurately, the sensation of observing such an image visually. As the accuracy of descriptions

of visual objects though language depends upon a correlation of words with observed features of those

objects, it follows that natural language is quite limited when attempting to describe objects that

confuse the eye; in order to fully appreciate the significance of an optical illusion, it must be observed
directly.

It should be appreciated that any description of the drawing above in natural language would

fail to adequately account for all of its subtlety and impact. To be certain, through the use of words,

one can outline a description of its properties and note the paradox that it creates. Simply, the drawing

depicts a building rendered in three-point perspective, upon which the uppermost tier is entirely

constituted by a staircase. This staircase seems to defy the laws of physics, as on all sides of the

structure, which roughly resembles a square, individuals are shown in two single-file lines, one of

which appears to be ascending, the other descending. A paradox is encountered in that, for each line, it

appears that the individuals will reach the point from which they departed. For the ascenders, this

implies that they are climbing to a point below them, and vice versa for the descenders. This is a

physical impossibility and thus gives rise to a contradiction.

While this description may seem compendious, it fails to account for certain essential features.
Most importantly, and this point should be held safe until our discussion of Amans' proverbs, the

description of the drawing through natural language fails to evoke a state of paradox in the reader's

mind. To fully grasp this point, it should be understood that the drawing itself is a form of

communication, expressing a concept optically, namely, that of the Paradox of the Infinite Loop. While

this paradox can, as shown, be described with natural language, observing the paradox through the

optical message of the drawing creates not only a descriptive outline of the paradox, but instantly and

fully engenders paradoxical confusion in the mind of the viewer; rather than simply describing, as is

the extent of the ability of natural language, the alternative communicative form of the drawing itself,

when observed, actually creates the sensation of paradox.

Drawing closer to the function of proverbs in Gower, it is first worth observing the limitations

of natural language in expressing emotional paradoxes. The comment, “I am happy and sad at the same

time” does certainly carry a semantic value; as in the description of M.C. Escher's drawing, one reading

it understands logically that a contradiction has been laid out. But, again, this expression in natural

language fails to fully account for the paradox. While the framework of the contradiction can be laid

out, this expression is unable to replicate the sensation of conflicting emotions; reading it, one is

unlikely to feel either happy or sad, let alone a combination of the two. Unlike natural language, music

is especially adept at handling contradictions such as this one.

On the simplest level, we can consider the example provided by the musical phenomenon

known as counterpoint. Based upon the concept of harmony, which allows that different notes,

sounded at once, present not only their individual musical values, but sum to a greater musical whole,

counterpoint designates two or more melodies, running concurrently, which harmonize to create a

musical environment in which different and sometimes contradictory musical ideas can be conveyed in

the same instant. By virtue of this, a composition based in counterpoint can elicit in certain listeners a

sense of irony and paradox. A tune laying a major melody on top of a minor one can, for those people

who are emotionally sensitive to music, create the very sensation of happiness and sadness at once.
Several important works of music operate on this or similar principles. J.S. Bach's Chaconne, from

Partitia No. 2, regarded by some to be among the best pieces of music ever written, modulates between

major and minor keys at several points, echoing in each phase phrases from the others and creating a

melody that is pulled endlessly back and forth between sweetness and light on one hand and agonizing

sadness on the other. Composed as it was shortly after the death of Bach's wife, some musicologists

have speculated that this ironic tension represents the conflict Bach must have felt, being both devoted

to his wife and devoutly Christian, between sadness at his wife's passing and joy that she was resting

peacefully with God. For Bach, deeply in tune with the communicative power of music, as well as for

those of his listeners who are similarly inclined, the Chaconne communicates the paradox in Bach's

mind more astutely than natural language ever could.

So far, we have examined three communicative methods alternative to natural language: formal

logic, visual art, and music. We have seen that, in certain cases, these forms of communication are

significantly more adept at conveying the intricacies of paradox than is everyday language. This is

only to demonstrate in the broadest possible terms that natural language faces certain limitations by

virtue of its logical basis and that other vehicles sometimes perform the job much better. It should not

be construed as an assertion that language itself is entirely incapable of functioning in this role. While

natural language, it has been shown, often proves inadequate, several permutations of language can

reasonably convey paradox and are often employed in such a way.

By far the most common and effective linguistic means for handling paradox is poetry. John

Donne's classic poem “The Flea” offers an excellent example,

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,

How little that which thou deniest me is;

It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,

And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.

On the simplest level, the metaphorical conceit that Donne introduces here creates a microcosm of a
paradox, namely, the mystery of two people becoming one entity through the act of love, by suggesting

that the speaker and his lady have already been joined in union through the mixing out their blood

within the flea, an argument which the speaker uses here to unknown effect to delicately urge his lady

away from her chastity. Although well-suited to the communication of paradoxical ideas, poetry

suffers from one serious roadblock: by virtue of the time necessary to create it, it is not conducive to

commonplace discourse; most of us would be hard pressed to compose well-formed poetry to express

ourselves on a moment's notice. Thus, in literary works such as Confessio Amantis, to use poetry to

express feeling would introduce a sense of contrivance, which would certainly be counter-productive if

one's intent were to create a tone of sincerity and arduous earnestness. Fortunately, several other

linguistic avenues are available to express paradox which are much more accessible in common

discourse and thus carry a more realistic tone in literary works. Among these are the pun, the double-

entendre, and certainly, the proverb. It is of course this last item which is of most interest to us and

which should be considered by anyone interested in how Gower uses language.

Proverbs are extraordinarily flexible creatures which can be applied to a number of uses.

Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett offers a useful insight into this quality. In her essay, “Toward a theory

of Proverb Meaning,” she states,

Proverbs sound authoritative. The truths they proclaim feel absolute. This impression is created

by the proverb's traditionality and the weight of impersonal community consensus it

invokes...but this does not mean proverbs do state absolute truths...When examined in terms of

their actual use in specific situations, we see that a proverb can be made to express more than

one meaning, that sometimes these meanings are contradictory, and that a proverb's meaning,

rather than being autonomous of the proverb's use as we are led to believe by proverb

collections, is indeed contextually specified. 111-112

To understand her points, we can examine a pair of proverbs that appear in Chaucer's Troilus and

Criseyde. In Book II, forlorn over Criseyde, Troilus wishes to rush to meet her at the earliest
opportunity. Pandarus, knowing that this could work against the young lover's desire, cautions Troilus

to wait, reminding him that “every thing hath tyme” (889). Here, Pandarus brings the authority and

wisdom of no less a figure than Solomon, who originated this proverb, to bear on the problem. It

seems clear that Pandarus means to convey to his charge that there is a proper time to engage in all

activities, and that he should wait for that time to come around. This would not be altogether

remarkable, except that later, in Book III, he uses a very similar proverb when speaking to Criseyde, to

very different effect. To persuade her away from her hesitation in acting on the advances of Troilus, he

admonishes, “nece, al thing hath time” (855). While the primary meaning here remains the same,

namely that there is a proper time for every action, it is certain that he intends for Criseyde to do

exactly the opposite of that which he advised Troilus to do; he is encouraging her to hasten and to act

on her opportunity at once. We should notice here that Pandarus is employing what is essentially the

same proverb, with the same authoritative weight, to achieve two diametrically opposed ends.

Kirshenblatt-Gimblett's conclusions about the functionality of proverbs work well here for

understanding how Pandarus' aphorism is able to achieve these ends. To summarize her argument, we

should understand that proverbs express relative rather than absolute truth, that a proverb's meaning

and truth are conditioned by its context rather than containing some immutable, specific wisdom.

Thus, a speaker is free to select a proverb of the basis of what the particular situation requires. This

flexibility, in part, makes proverbs especially adept at handling paradoxical situations. Because they

are not fixed in meaning, but rather carry the potential for a multiplicity of meanings, proverbs can act

prismatically, refracting an observation into several observations at once, describing a situation

ironically, that is to say, from contradictory viewpoints simultaneously.

The vivid imagery of many proverbs also serves them in describing paradoxical situations.

Consider the following, “every black cloud has a silver lining.” A kernel of paradox lies at the heart of

this popular saying. Often used to inspire hope in the face of a bad situation, the proverb relies on a

visual image that most of us are familiar with, that of the sun creating a bright halo around an otherwise
ominous storm cloud that rests in front of it. As we have seen with optical illusions, such as the

drawings of M.C. Escher, visual images are often far more efficient at evoking paradoxical sensibility

in the viewer than is natural language. By calling to the audience's mind this mental portrait, with

which we are familiar, this proverb puts the power of visual imagination to work in digesting the ironic

idea that goodness can sometimes be found within badness. The proverb, “it is always darkest before

the dawn” works in a very similar manner. Applied to the proper situation, these proverbs could be

quite useful in describing a paradoxical situation wherein good and evil were coexisting in a single

moment.

The pithiness and authority of proverbs similarly empower them as vehicles for expressing

paradox. By nature, the paradox is intellectually complicated, and it often takes a great deal of

intellectual effort to explain one. Zeno's paradox, mentioned earlier, is perhaps the most famous

example. For centuries after its construction, logicians and mathematicians were at odds over how to

even describe the problem that it presented, let alone resolve it. As mentioned, it took the accumulated

wisdom of 1,100 years of mathematics to finally put the matter to rest. As describing paradoxes often

involves so much intellectual effort, any concise statement that can pack large amounts of authoritative

wisdom into a small package can be useful as a tool, summoning a wide range of intellectual fodder to

the effort. Consider, for example, the proverb “beware of Greeks bearing gifts.” The amount of

knowledge and history packed into this line is astounding. When employed, this proverb not only

summarizes the entirety of The Illiad, but also calls to mind all of those concepts which The Illiad and

its moral evoke within the Western consciousness. Among these numerous suggestions are defeat

through treachery, destruction for the sake of love, the triumph of ingenuity, and the folly of short

sightedness. Called to arms to explain an intellectual or emotional paradox dealing with these subjects,

the proverb would prove very handy.

To better understand how these various qualities of the proverb can help to elucidate paradox,

let us consider a hypothetical example. As it will help to clarify matters when we turn to the Confesssio
Amantis, we'll suppose that a man has been wronged in a love affair. Suppose that he discovers that his

lover, to whom he has found himself more devoted than any other he has had in his life, has been

unfaithful to him. Deeply hurt and about to lash out at her, he has cause to remember that he himself

has in his past been unfaithful to a number of lovers who have been lovingly devoted to him. Struck at

once by the cosmic irony of this situation, he declares to a confidant, “I wish I could tell her what I

think of her, but those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.” By dissecting his use of this

proverb, we can gain a clear understanding of how it is used to express his emotional paradox in a way

that natural language could not accomplish. He, of course, is struggling with two conflicting emotions;

on the one hand, he feels righteous indignation and fury at the injustice perpetrated against him, and on

the other, this event has turned the tables on his perspective on his own past, and has caused him to

view his own transgressions with abashment and humility. For this individual, his will to react angrily,

though on some level justified, is hampered by his understanding that to do so would burden him with a

mantle of hypocrisy, taking away from him any moral justification that he might have had for attacking

his lover. The imagery of the proverb vividly reproduces this emotional state. Were we to imagine a

man doing that which the proverb advises against, we would find a picture of deep irony; his own

action has created the roadblock that prevents him from taking action when he needs to most. More to

the point, one emotion within him, remorse, guilt, or perhaps pride, entangles itself with another

entirely separate emotion, indignity. The center of his frustration is thus not external, but internal, and

he faces an emotional paradox in that he is in a state of being impelled forward by his anger while he is

at the same time forcefully retracted by his guilt and is thus suspended in a state between these two

emotions.

The imagery of the proverb that he uses vividly reproduces this emotional state. Were we to

imagine a man doing that which the proverb advises against, we would find a picture of deep irony.

For a man to throw stones in a house made of glass, to state the obvious, would at the least damage his

home, if not destroying outright that for which he has worked. In the worst case, we can imagine this
man to be severely injured or killed by the shards of glass raining down around him. This damage, it

should be understood, would result from poor decision making and an inherent conflict between two

decisions he has made. His choice to live in a glass house is entirely incompatible with his desire to

throw stones. Thus, each choice must impede the other; he cannot have rocks flying about while

maintaining his lovely, transparent home. The conflict then, his inability to act, is centered entirely

within himself and within his contradictory choices. The proverb he uses is thus an excellent

microcosm of his emotional state. Wrapped around this convenient similarity and significantly adding

to its impact are several rhetorical functions inherent in the proverb. First, the multifaceted nature of

his emotional situation is refracted through the prismatic nature of the proverb. As the proverb is able

to project an image ironically, that is, from contrary views simultaneously, the disparity between his

desire to act and his inability to do so is neatly portrayed, and reflects the state in which the conflicting

emotions exist within himself. Secondly, his comparison is aided by the imagery and tone that

proverbs are capable of producing. Overall, the picture of a man throwing stones in a glass house is the

very portrait of stupidity. To visualize this man, staring dumbfounded as shards of his home crash

down about him is to feel both a sense of comedy and also a touch of embarrassment for him. For

some, this image might even invoke sympathy. All in all, his audience has not only a description of an

ironical situation, but a visual image to associate with it, which certainly aids apprehension.

Thirdly, the pithiness of the proverb concentrates a great deal of wisdom into a single linguistic

statement. Included within it are the ideas that we should be careful when we make decisions, because

sometimes those decisions will come back to haunt us, that people who wish to accuse others should

first examine whether or not they have a leg upon which to stand, and indeed that those who associate

themselves with weakness will often be open to downfall. Through his use of the succinct proverb, the

speaker calls to bear on his problem all of these pearls of wisdom, all of which certainly apply to his

situation, and all of which illuminate the fact that by violating them, he has introduced himself into a

paradoxical situation. Finally, he brings the weight of authority inherent in the proverb to bear on his
effort to express himself, giving his statement a more powerful impact; by invoking a comparison that

not only contains wisdom, but also sounds wise, he give his audience pause to more deeply consider his

problem. All in all, his proverb is a direct, forceful, ironic statement that conveys his contradictory

emotional state in a pithy, visual, easily understandable manner. Now, consider if he had simply said to

his companion, “I want to react angrily, but I have not basis in doing so.” Though this statement

certainly conveys the general outline of his emotional state, it is clear at once that this statement in

natural language is far less than adequate for truly conveying his paradox when compared to the

proverb. As before, natural language here is incapable of actually evoking a sense of paradox. The

proverb, on the other hand, tied as it is to imagery, emotion, wisdom, and multiplicity of perspective

has a much greater chance of instilling this man's impression of his emotional entanglement within his

audience. In this manner, the proverb is well-suited to conveying the contradiction and emotional

conflict of our hypothetical lover. As we shall see, Confessio Amantis is replete with just this sort of

usage.

We have seen before that Gower uses proverbs to didactic effect, largely through the mouth of

Genius. As noted, however, this is not the sole use to which Gower employs them. Indeed, there are

several instances where the proverbs that Amans uses fall directly in line with the sort of proverbial

analysis we have just explored. As we have said, Amans struggles to express a paradoxical situation

that he has found within himself. This paradox is an emotional one. Simply put, he deeply loves his

lady and wishes with his entire being that they could be united, but sadly for him, she wishes to have no

part in his advances. Realizing this, he knows that the best course of action for him to take is to sever

his feelings for her, but he is unable; the power of his love is such that he cannot act, although he

knows fully that he must do so. In order to fully appreciate this paradox, and to avoid

misunderstanding Amans when he speaks about his love, we should seek first to understand the

prevailing attitude towards love in the fourteenth century and to observe how Gower's portrait of love

differs markedly from that attitude.

 Although the phrase “Courtly Love” is widely applied to a variety of literary tropes, and though

scholars disagree as to its precise definition and limits, generally speaking, a few words can be said

concerning this phenomenon that is often regarded as the prevailing mode of loving in the high middle

ages that would meet with little disagreement. As the name implies, Courtly Love was a pursuit

practiced in the courts and palaces of high society; it was not the affair of peasants, but restricted to

those of noble birth. It should also be noted that the practice of courtly love was to some extent

codified. In courtship, there were rules governing how men would address their ladies and what kinds

of interactions where permitted between them. Indeed, Andreas Capallanus, who wrote a treatise on

the subject, laid out particular formulas for each party, in which distinct, standardized addresses would

be required depending upon the classes of those involved. Generally speaking, this etiquette required

males to, among other things, supplicate themselves before their ladies, and at least on a superficial

level, to make gestures toward elevating their beloved to a higher status. So firmly entrenched was this

practice that these relationships often resembled feudal arrangements, with the dompna set firmly in

control of her male servus, and he was required to at least put on the airs of one crippled by love. The

extent to which this structure resembled actual practice is debatable, but it is important to realize that

this specific set of rules, whether backed by true feeling or not, necessitated that those in a courtly

relationship, especially males, must above all maintain self-mastery, as to recite speeches and to follow

courtly rules meant that logic had always to trump emotion; if one, overcome by passion, were to

violate this formal etiquette, his days as a lover would surely be numbered.

At first blush, Amans certainly seems to bear many of the marks of a courtly lover. He shows

all the symptoms of, as Kurt Olsson puts it, “the Lover’s disease” (111); he clearly is suffering greatly

from an unrequited love and his complaints over this fact often sound very similar to those which we

could expect from a typical courtly lover. He is troubled to such an extent that he “ne may [his] wittes

gete” (i.223), he speaks often of his “seknesse” and “maladie,” and he wishes for death on more than

one occasion. His manner of speaking, too, on occasion lines up with the forms of the courtly system.
When he addresses the Gods of Love, for instance, his language is highly stylized. Lines such as “O

thou Cupide, O thou Venus, / Thow god of love and thou goddesse,” (i.124-125) and “Ma Dame, I am a

man of thyne, / that in thi court have longe served,” (169-170) demonstrate a certain formal and

mannered reverence that we might expect from one addressing royalty, and certainly mimic the sort of

discourse common between courtly lovers. To be sure, Amans is clearly enamored with Venus, for she

stands as, he believes, the master of his very real desire, but her rather cynical reply to his formal

address is telling,

Ther is manye of yow

faitours, and so may be that thou

art right such on, and be feintise

seist that thou hast me do servise. (173-176).

That Venus, the divine embodiment of love calls Amans here a “faitory” or roughly, a “faker” is

quite suggestive that Gower intends to state that the courtly model that Amans is struggling to replicate

is out of step with what he sees as “true love.” Although Amans at times apes courtly behavior, he does

so badly, as he suffers from a love that is quite powerful and unlike the stylized variety to be found

within the courtly system. We should understand that Gower has presented in Confessio Amantisa view

of love distinctly different from that of the courtly model. Many scholars have noticed elements in

Gower's portrayal of Amans that mark him as one outside of this system. Donald Schueler remarks, for

example, that “the Lover’s singular lack of heroism,” as evidenced by his inability to prove himself to

his lady feats of arms, puts “aside not only the courtly rules but also the greater part of the ideology of

chivalry” (155) upon which the idea of courtly love is so intellectually dependent. William Dodd, too,

notices Amans’ lack of courage and shortcomings as a courtly lover, stating, “the confessor sets before

him…the qualities which the courtly lover should have; the hero falls short of the ideal in many

points….The penitent admits that he is in many respects a grievous offender.” (88). C.S. Lewis
similarly finds that upon careful consideration of its portrayal of love, Confessio Amantis belies a

deeper and less artificial treatment of Amans’ woes than is standard for much of medieval romance,

noting, “at the beginning, we may suspect that the ill success of the lover is merely conventional, that

the ‘cruelty’ of the lady serves only to delay a happy ending, but…he is old. Confessio Amantis, written

by an old poet, in failing health, appropriately tells the story of an old man’s unsuccessful love for a

young girl.” (217). Amans, then, is no literary stereotype, nor is the love he is feeling of an artificial or

formulaic variety. Rather, Gower has portrayed him as a lover suffering from deep and sincere passion,

which, quite to his detriment, he is unable to fulfill. Dodd notes, “throughout [the poem,] he is far less

romantic than the traditional lover, but he is far more human.” (88). If we accept that Gower’s

portrayal of Amans amounts to a portrayal of an individual failing, however appropriately or genuinely,

to meet the measure of a courtly lover, we should seek to carefully define the particular system of love

under which he operates. Gower takes great pain at the beginning of book one to outline this vision for

us. Through the language he uses in his introduction and in Book I, Gower conveys a particular form of

love that is a great deal more serious and sincere than we could expect from a traditional version of

courtly love.

Informing us of his intent in composing Confessio Amantis, Gower states at the end of his

introduction “I woll wryte and schewe al openly / How love and I togedre mette…For oght that men

may understonde” (83-92). Paul Strohm reminds us that the authorial “I” in Middle English poetry is

conventional and can never be fully trusted and that, therefore, “the follies of Amans in pursuit of his

lady are his follies alone” (Strohm 297), but the likely absence of a historical John Gower from this

statement does not detract greatly from its significance. Gower has constructed the appearance of a

direct address from the author to his audience. This departure from his objective persona has the effect,

here and elsewhere in the introduction, of lending a tone of passionate sincerity and seriousness to his

efforts to qualify love, as the direct address has the effect of bringing us into his private confidence.
 He desperately wants us to understand, it seems, what love truly is. In the beginning of Book I,

he states

love, of which I mene

To trete, as after schal be sene.

In which ther can no man him reule,

For loves lawe is out of reule,

That of to moche or of to lite

Wel nyh is every man to wyte,

And natheles ther is no man

In al this world so wys, that can

Of love tempre the mesure,

Bot as it falth in aventure.

For wit ne strengthe may noght helpe,

And he which elles wolde him yelpe

Is rathest throwen under fote,

Ther can no wiht therof do bote.

For yet was nevere such covine,

That couthe ordeine a medicine

To thing which God in lawe of kinde

Hath set, for ther may no man finde

The rihte salve of such a sor.

It hath and schal ben everemor

That love is maister wher he wile. 15-35

Gower is expressly clear here: love is an irresistible force, and no man, through any means, is able to
control it once it has grabbed hold of him. The statements, “loves lawe is out of reule” and “love is

maister wher he wile,” both proverbs, incidentally, emphasize, with the same sense of authoritative

wisdom as Genius’ moralizing statements, the uncontrollable nature of love. It is, for Gower, a thing

“…wit ne strengthe may noght help” as “the sothe can no wisdom caste, / bot as it falleth upon

chance.” (40-41). All of these observations by Gower, again in the first person, add up to a tone of

clear and sincere exhortation that we understand that love is a chaotic, fickle thing over which no Lover

can be “maister.”

This vision of love, as Gower presents it, is incompatible with the system of Courtly Love. The

latter is a highly ordered system, built on artifice, which stresses the perseverance of one’s self-

command. Within Gower’s worldview, genuine love serves no one, and often leaves lovers unable to

control their actions. We can therefore read Gower’s introduction, in part, as a criticism of the system

of Courtly Love as a fraudulent and exclusionary system. It excludes not only, as Capellanus directly

states, the lower classes and the old, but also those affected with genuine feeling, as such lovers often

find themselves unable to retain the self-command necessary to follow the etiquette of the courtly

system. The Amans that Schueler, Lewis, and Dodd have pointed to is one of these lovers.

It is within this sincere anguish that Amans' paradox originates. The key to understanding this

process is through understanding how the lover regards himself. Amans is clearly aware of his pain,

but the degree to which is aware of the futility of his romantic situation is a bit more slippery. At times,

he shows himself to be in a state approaching denial. He confesses to Genius, when asked whether he is

guilty of disobedience to his lady's wishes, that although she has asked him at times to find someone

else to pursue, it is impossible for him to comply. He complains,

ther was nevere rooted tre,

that stod so fast in his degree,

that I ne stonde more faste

Upon hire love, and mai noght caste

Min herte awey, although I wolde. (1319-1323).

This statement illustrates a duality in Amans understanding of his chances at romantic happiness; his

care for his lady’s wishes, which it is clear that he fathoms and respects, demands that he move on, and

he “wolde,” but, as he illustrates, he is rooted to the spot without any hope of moving. Although self-

delusion is to some degree at work here, it would be a mistake to pass off this intractability merely as

evidence that Amans is functioning in a state of denial. Observing Aman's inability to hold to the spirit

of his lady's wishes, Olsson states, “Amans’ confession that, despite his lady’s wisdom, he has sought

by detraction to protect her from the enchantment of his rivals, reveals a mind ensnared in self-

delusion.” (107). “His love is,” he goes on, “by its native motion, fanciful…and Amans, even in the

course of confessing, falls into greater and greater fantasy.” (107). Olsson is correct in observing that

Amans is led astray by his own thoughts. He, as a lover influenced by powerful, real feeling, is unable

to hold to the code of Courtly Love, the successful fulfillment of which to large part relies on the

preservation self-command, even when giving the appearance of being beset by pangs of “unsely jolif

wo.” His pronounced lack of self-command leads him at times to allow his reason to overwhelm his

desire, but he is spared from guiltiness of self-delusion, we should see, by his awareness of this fact;

Amans constantly see-saws between fits of fantasy and moments of clarity. To Genius, he exhorts,

“”bot wolde God that grace sende, / that toward me my lady wende / As I towards hire wene!” (i.2373-

2375), but only three lines later, he states dejectedly, “bot I am ferr fro thilke grace, / As for to speke of

tyme now” (2378-2379). He is given to empty wishing, but he knows fully of it emptiness.

This is the heart of Amans' paradox; like the hypothetical lover we examined earlier, he is

pulled in two opposing directions by two conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he loves very deeply

and sincerely, and he is pulled irresistibly towards his lady by this force, over which no man can have

mastery. On the other hand, he finds himself restrained by a desire to remain faithful to his lady's
wishes, which goes hand in hand with an instinct toward self-preservation. He knows, it is clear, that

his chances of success are hopeless, and the better part of his mind tells him to withdraw from this

affair, to extinguish the fire in his heart, and to move on to other things. His reason, which tells him to

sever his ties, is thus in conflict with his will, which will allow him to do nothing but pursue her. This

fact places him in the position of one trying to solve the Liar's Paradox; there simply is no right answer

for him—there is no way to resolve these contradictory feelings into a course of action; as long as he

continues to love, he will be tormented by pain and chastised by his own reason, but he cannot act on

this reason because his will resists it with all of its force.

This paradox causes Amans no end of anger and frustration. He is prone to muttering and

“backbitinge,” and he sometimes gives the impression that he cares more about the injustice that has

been done to him by love than anything else, including his lady. As Olsson suggests, one might wish to

take Amans’ selfish and self-involved behavior “as further evidence that Gower…speaks exclusively in

the persona of a lover: as a type” (107), a Troilus figure, perhaps, who can see no further than his own

emotions, and who acts purely from fantasy and impulse. Olsson astutely observes, however, “ The

point, of course, is quite the opposite: he projects the image of a more generally and basically good

person who is drawn to a type or role…and who, in that role, is forced to commit sins because,

intolerably, he stands ‘out of loves grace.’” (107) This is the key to Amans’ feelings; though his

intention and feelings are pure, the circumstances of his affair are entirely out of his favor, and it is in

the struggle between his fanciful desire and his cold awareness of its hopelessness that Amans’ greatest

suffering occurs.
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