William Butler Yeats’ verse has been described as “…an exacting instrument and national inquiry” (1113). In fact, it was his critical eye that separated him from other Irish poets of his era; their poetry was “sentimental, self-indulgent luxury” (1113). Yeats’ insights might have come from the fact that he did not gloss over painful subjects; he wrote about them. He had a miserable childhood, and many years of unrequited love, but these experiences only seem to have made him stronger and more perceptive. He was wise beyond his years. For instance, although William Butler Yeats did not pass away until 1939, he started thinking about it well before then. Yeats’ “Sailing to Byzantium”, written in 1926, is a meditation on aging, dying, and the afterlife.
The poem begins by lamenting the place of an old man in society and the human life cycle. The old man, it seems, is destined to be a wanderer. He has no home, as “There is no country for old men…” (line 1, 1124). He is homeless because he has already procreated and therefore cannot fit in with the young lovers and their children. The younger people are “In one another’s arms, birds in the trees/-Those dying generations-at their song” (lines 2-3, 1124). They are masses of biological clocks going off, consumed with the urgency of their desire. They are blind to the fact that death awaits them at the end of their lives; they are instinctive and animalistic. As such, Yeats’ compares the young lovers with animals during mating season, “The salmon falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, /Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long” (lines 4-5). The old man, however, is no longer driven by a desire to reproduce. He cannot join the throngs of young lovers. He is no longer “caught in that sensual music…” (line 7, 1124). Yet he has a clarity of perception that these rash lovers lack. He knows that life is short and nothing lasts forever, “Whatever is begotten, born, and dies” (line 6, 1125). In other words, after they make babies the young lovers, like the salmon, will dwindle away.
The second stanza highlights the occupation and worth of an old man. Yeats seems to feel that an old man who has not learned from his mistakes is worthless, a “…paltry thing, /A tattered coat upon a stick…” (lines 9-10, 1125). He is not even human, just a stick. An old man’s purpose is to “Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing/For every tatter in its mortal dress” (lines 11-12, 1125). The old man is supposed to give advice so others do not repeat his same mistakes. He should be a repository of wisdom. However, there is no one who can teach the old man this wisdom if he has not already gained it. This self-reflection can only by done by the old man himself, “Nor is there singing school but studying/Monuments of its own magnificence” (lines 13-14, 1125). This magnificence, it seems, can be both personal and historical. The old man could be reflecting upon his own history or ancient history or both. Still, his homeless condition makes him a traveler, so he has many opportunities both for reflection and to visit historical sites. The old man notes, “And therefore I have sailed the seas and come/to the holy city of Byzantium” (lines 15-16, 1125).
The third stanza is about the struggle of dying. In the holy city of Byzantium, the old man becomes aware of a conflict between his body and his soul. His soul is “…fastened to a dying animal” (line 22, 1125). He is intensely aware of the decay of both his body and his mind. This dying animal “...knows not what it is…” (line 23, 1125). He has lost a sense of self; he does not know what he is, yet alone who he is. Perhaps the old man is afflicted with Alzheimer’s disease, losing a grip on reality. In advanced stages, Alzheimer’s patients may not know their own names or ages. They even lose the ability to manage their bodily functions or speak clearly. Alzheimer’s disease is ultimately terminal, so it might be an appropriate diagnosis for this old man given his age, failing mental and bodily capabilities, and that this stanza is about death. In any case, the old man prays to the gods to hasten his death, “O sages standing in God’s holy fire/As in the gold mosaic of a wall/Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,/And be the singing-masters of my soul” (lines 17-20, 1125). The fact that he wants the sages to be “singing-masters” of his soul indicates that the old man wants his confusion to end. He wants to be sure of himself again. More than that, he realizes that a part of him, his soul, is immortal, and wishes to separate that part of himself from his feeble mortal body. He asks the sages to “…gather me/Into the artifice of eternity” (lines 23-24, 1125).
The final stanza centers upon the old man’s wishes in the afterlife. Having been freed from his human body, the old man’s soul comments that it “…shall never take/My bodily form from any natural thing” (lines 25-26, 1125). No bodily form is sufficient for this immortal soul. Instead, he seeks a form that rivals the grandeur of Byzantium. The soul describes its ideal form, “But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make/of hammered gold and gold enameling/To keep a drowsy Emperor awake-” (lines 27-29,1125). In line with his Christian upbringing, Yeats seems to view the spirit as immortal, and a clean soul as a beautiful thing. Only once it is clean is it equal to all the hammered gold and gold enameling. The soul then presumably just glorifies God, the Emperor. The soul could also have another occupation, however. This other option is described, “Or set upon a golden bough to sing/To lords and ladies of Byzantium/Of what is past, or passing, or to come” (lines 30-32, 1125). The soul evidently is sent back to earth to fulfill some mission, almost like an angel of some kind. I tried to make sense of these last few lines in terms of Christian theology, since Yeats was brought up a Protestant, but to no real coherency. Though Christian theology does contain a belief in angels, angels are considered pure spirits, and distinct from human souls. Anyhow, Yeats was not strictly a theologian, and he is certainly entitled to his own ideas about the afterlife.
The fact that Yeats was able to write so clearly about aging, dying, and the afterlife, well before his own demise shows the perceptivity that made his poetry so famous. He does not make getting older seem any easier than it really is; his descriptions of the sense of isolation and the difficulty of wisdom are really quite astute. Not all the elderly get to be surrounded by their families, nor are all of them wise. Neither is Yeats sentimental about death; there is no rapture, only a longing for body and soul to be separated. As to the afterlife, well, we all can dream.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
World War I Poets: Siegfried Sassoon
Survey classes have the advantage over classes that focus just on one author or time period in that one gets to see the pendulum of ideas swing back and forth. Each new movement is a reaction against the former movement: writers, poets and artists strive to break out of the confines of recent precedent into something new. Siegfried Sassoon’s “Glory of Women” is not only a commentary about World War I but also a critique of the principles of the former Victorian age.
The Victorian age was an age of ideals, at least for the upper class. Men were to be gentlemen and women were to be ladies, and both were to always appear polished and morally spotless. Sassoon chastises the women of his own era who buy into such outdated idealism. There is an implication that the women only love heroes with all the trappings of honor and courage; they “worship decorations” (line 3). The women want a man with an idealized appearance. Sassoon writes, “You love us when we’re heroes, home on leave” (line 1). What they love, it seems, is not the soldier himself, but the idea of a soldier. They care more for appearances than for the actual man inside the uniform. As Sassoon notes, “You make us shells” (line 5).
What is interesting is that the soldiers do not even have to be physically whole to be loved; they can be harmed as long as they lived to tell about it and have served their country honorably. Sassoon ridicules the Victorian ladies’ pastime of visiting and gossiping, and the modern women for continuing it. The women love soldiers “wounded in a mentionable place” (line 2). Note that there is no compassion for any unmentionable wounds a man might suffer. If he is wounded in an unmentionable place, the woman involved cannot parade him around as much. She cannot show him off and share in the limelight. What the woman really wants, it seems, is a uniform that can talk and that affirms her preconceived ideas. The women “…listen with delight, /By tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled” (lines 5-6).
Perhaps the women’s reluctance to let go of their ideal soldier is that they do not know how to deal with any other type of soldier. The women know what to do when the soldiers are at war. Sassoon writes, “You crown our distant ardours while we fight” (line 7). In other words, the women are proud of the men’s devotion to their country and try to support them from overseas. However, the fact that the women seem to make war romantic is given by the fact that they “crown” the men’s supposed zeal. The crown is an article that makes the bearer majestic, so the women are extrapolating the awful reality of war in a positive way. The women even know how to deal with the death of an honorable soldier. They “mourn our laurelled memories when we’re killed” (line 8). Again, the women idealize the soldier even after death by “laurelling” their memory. Laurels are a symbol of achievement, implying the women just focus on the soldiers’ merits in battle.
Yet Sassoon is right to critique the English women. They are buying into outdated ideas, but what is even worse is that those ideas are false. Sassoon believes that these women are perpetuating the myth of glory in war. He notes that women “believe/That chivalry redeems the war’s disgrace” (lines 4-5). The women have some idea that the war is costly in terms of lhuman ife, but also have notions of heroic charges, daring rescues, and an overall sense of humanity and decency that Sassoon does not find in the Great War. Sassoon believes that there is no glory in war, and cites an example from the battlefield to bolster his argument. He describes war not in euphemisms but in graphic detail. He writes, “You can’t believe that British troops ‘retire’/When hell’s last horror breaks them, and they run, /Trampling the terrible corpses-blind with blood” (lines 9-11). The image that Sassoon presents is the exact opposite of the courageous charges the women would have been expecting. Their soldiers are not boldly going forward, but running for their lives. It is to the soldiers’ credit, perhaps, that this is not just stage fright, but the reality that it was “hell’s last horror” that broke them is not very comforting. The image of the soldiers blinded with blood, trampling corpses is not one of glory. It is hellish and frightening. There is nothing noble in stumbling over a dead body as one wipes blood from one’s eyes.
Sassoon makes one final jab at the English women’s character when he describes the German mother. The English women, it seems, talk about the soldiers, but do not do anything practical to help them. They too are empty shells, devoid of compassion. The German mother, in contrast, is a figure of love. She is described, “O German mother dreaming by the fire, /While you are knitting socks to send your son” (lines 12-13). She does not gossip about her son, but thinks fondly about him, and is actively helping him by making his socks. The fact that Sassoon chose to make the mother German makes the contrast between the mother and the English women even more interesting. English propaganda during World War I demonized Germans, so the fact that this mother was German shows that in reality the English women are the ones who are devilish. As pointed out in podcast #15, the inclusion of the German mother also serves to give humanity to the German soldiers; they have mothers too.
The final line of the poem drives home Sassoon’s point that there is no glory in war and those who think so are fools. His ending image is of stark reality as he chronicles the German soldier’s fate, “His face trodden deeper in the mud” (line 14). The English women can no longer ignore the fact that they are wrong; there is no way to politely explain away this image. Their beloved soldiers are trampling the German mother’s beloved son into the mud as the soldiers flee. Such is the grim reality of war.
* “Glory of Women” is on page 1099 of our anthology.
The Victorian age was an age of ideals, at least for the upper class. Men were to be gentlemen and women were to be ladies, and both were to always appear polished and morally spotless. Sassoon chastises the women of his own era who buy into such outdated idealism. There is an implication that the women only love heroes with all the trappings of honor and courage; they “worship decorations” (line 3). The women want a man with an idealized appearance. Sassoon writes, “You love us when we’re heroes, home on leave” (line 1). What they love, it seems, is not the soldier himself, but the idea of a soldier. They care more for appearances than for the actual man inside the uniform. As Sassoon notes, “You make us shells” (line 5).
What is interesting is that the soldiers do not even have to be physically whole to be loved; they can be harmed as long as they lived to tell about it and have served their country honorably. Sassoon ridicules the Victorian ladies’ pastime of visiting and gossiping, and the modern women for continuing it. The women love soldiers “wounded in a mentionable place” (line 2). Note that there is no compassion for any unmentionable wounds a man might suffer. If he is wounded in an unmentionable place, the woman involved cannot parade him around as much. She cannot show him off and share in the limelight. What the woman really wants, it seems, is a uniform that can talk and that affirms her preconceived ideas. The women “…listen with delight, /By tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled” (lines 5-6).
Perhaps the women’s reluctance to let go of their ideal soldier is that they do not know how to deal with any other type of soldier. The women know what to do when the soldiers are at war. Sassoon writes, “You crown our distant ardours while we fight” (line 7). In other words, the women are proud of the men’s devotion to their country and try to support them from overseas. However, the fact that the women seem to make war romantic is given by the fact that they “crown” the men’s supposed zeal. The crown is an article that makes the bearer majestic, so the women are extrapolating the awful reality of war in a positive way. The women even know how to deal with the death of an honorable soldier. They “mourn our laurelled memories when we’re killed” (line 8). Again, the women idealize the soldier even after death by “laurelling” their memory. Laurels are a symbol of achievement, implying the women just focus on the soldiers’ merits in battle.
Yet Sassoon is right to critique the English women. They are buying into outdated ideas, but what is even worse is that those ideas are false. Sassoon believes that these women are perpetuating the myth of glory in war. He notes that women “believe/That chivalry redeems the war’s disgrace” (lines 4-5). The women have some idea that the war is costly in terms of lhuman ife, but also have notions of heroic charges, daring rescues, and an overall sense of humanity and decency that Sassoon does not find in the Great War. Sassoon believes that there is no glory in war, and cites an example from the battlefield to bolster his argument. He describes war not in euphemisms but in graphic detail. He writes, “You can’t believe that British troops ‘retire’/When hell’s last horror breaks them, and they run, /Trampling the terrible corpses-blind with blood” (lines 9-11). The image that Sassoon presents is the exact opposite of the courageous charges the women would have been expecting. Their soldiers are not boldly going forward, but running for their lives. It is to the soldiers’ credit, perhaps, that this is not just stage fright, but the reality that it was “hell’s last horror” that broke them is not very comforting. The image of the soldiers blinded with blood, trampling corpses is not one of glory. It is hellish and frightening. There is nothing noble in stumbling over a dead body as one wipes blood from one’s eyes.
Sassoon makes one final jab at the English women’s character when he describes the German mother. The English women, it seems, talk about the soldiers, but do not do anything practical to help them. They too are empty shells, devoid of compassion. The German mother, in contrast, is a figure of love. She is described, “O German mother dreaming by the fire, /While you are knitting socks to send your son” (lines 12-13). She does not gossip about her son, but thinks fondly about him, and is actively helping him by making his socks. The fact that Sassoon chose to make the mother German makes the contrast between the mother and the English women even more interesting. English propaganda during World War I demonized Germans, so the fact that this mother was German shows that in reality the English women are the ones who are devilish. As pointed out in podcast #15, the inclusion of the German mother also serves to give humanity to the German soldiers; they have mothers too.
The final line of the poem drives home Sassoon’s point that there is no glory in war and those who think so are fools. His ending image is of stark reality as he chronicles the German soldier’s fate, “His face trodden deeper in the mud” (line 14). The English women can no longer ignore the fact that they are wrong; there is no way to politely explain away this image. Their beloved soldiers are trampling the German mother’s beloved son into the mud as the soldiers flee. Such is the grim reality of war.
* “Glory of Women” is on page 1099 of our anthology.
World War I Poets: Rupert Brooke
World War I set many precedents with the use of technology such as tanks, mustard gas, and machine guns. The high death toll was also a new record. One thing the war did not change, however, was the patriotic feeling of those on the home front. Due to propaganda, and perhaps simple naïveté, the English public held a vision of the war as a noble endeavor on England’s part. Like much of the English public, Rupert Brooke never actually saw combat. His “The Soldier” depicts the simple patriotism of the English home front.
Brooke’s sonnet, like all sonnets, seeks an answer, a resolution to a conflict. However, I think his sonnet is distinctive in that he is really trying to answer two questions, not just one. The first question is “what to do when a loved one is killed in battle.” The poem opens with the lines “If I am dead, think only this of me:/That there’s some corner of a foreign field/That is forever England…” (lines 1-3, 1098). The problem, then, is not only that the beloved soldier has been killed, but also that his body will remain on the battlefield. This means, of course, that it is highly unlikely that family and friends will get to inter or cremate the body, or otherwise dispose of it in a respectful manner. They will have to follow a different path of mourning than they would if the young man had died at home; there can be no easy sense of closure. Brooke hints at this different grief in mentioning that they should think only of England. If the soldier has to tell his family what to think, that means that there are a multitude of thoughts they could have, not all of which would be so patriotic. The family’s reaction might be to ask, “why him?” and to then feel anger towards their government for getting involved in the war, and for the war itself.
Another question the family might ask, which is the second question the sonnet addresses, is simply “why? For what purpose did this man die?”. The response, resoundingly, is “for England.” The word “England” appears four times in the poem, “English” twice. This repetition of both the proper noun and the adjective serves to rouse strong nationalistic feelings: pride and a feeling that England is superior to other nations. As mentioned in podcast#15, there is a sense that this man’s spot of England makes the world a better place. His body, euphemistically called dust, will enrich the ground where he fell, “…There will be/In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;/A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware” (lines 3-5, 1098). Here Brooke becomes nostalgic. He lists all the benefits this man has had by growing up an Englishman, perhaps to make the reader also grateful to live in a nation where such benefits could be had. He concentrates on the happy past rather than the present cruel reality of war and death and loss. England gave the soldier, “…her flowers to love, her ways to roam,/A body of England’s, breathing English air,/Washed by the rivers, blest by the suns of home” (lines 6-8, 1099). Brooke is highlighting England’s natural beauty, and that this man had the freedom to enjoy it.
The final stanza is the resolution. Comfort is given to the family in knowing that the soldier is no longer suffering and in a better place, “And think, this heart, all evil shed away,/A pulse in the Eternal mind, no less” (lines 9-10, 1099). There is some security in knowing that, although the man’s life on earth is ended and his body is far away on a lonely battlefield, his spirit is immortal and without confines of place. The poem ends by reaffirming once again that the man died for England, not just the nostalgic, beautiful England that raised him, but also for the glorious future England. Brooke notes that by his death the soldier, “Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given,/Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;/And laughter, learnt of friends and gentleness,/In hearts at peace, under an English heaven” (lines 11-14, 1099). The soldier dies that others may be happy and enjoy England’s beauty. He dies for the dreams of a nation. He dies so that there might be peace at last in his beloved England.
Brooke’s sonnet, like all sonnets, seeks an answer, a resolution to a conflict. However, I think his sonnet is distinctive in that he is really trying to answer two questions, not just one. The first question is “what to do when a loved one is killed in battle.” The poem opens with the lines “If I am dead, think only this of me:/That there’s some corner of a foreign field/That is forever England…” (lines 1-3, 1098). The problem, then, is not only that the beloved soldier has been killed, but also that his body will remain on the battlefield. This means, of course, that it is highly unlikely that family and friends will get to inter or cremate the body, or otherwise dispose of it in a respectful manner. They will have to follow a different path of mourning than they would if the young man had died at home; there can be no easy sense of closure. Brooke hints at this different grief in mentioning that they should think only of England. If the soldier has to tell his family what to think, that means that there are a multitude of thoughts they could have, not all of which would be so patriotic. The family’s reaction might be to ask, “why him?” and to then feel anger towards their government for getting involved in the war, and for the war itself.
Another question the family might ask, which is the second question the sonnet addresses, is simply “why? For what purpose did this man die?”. The response, resoundingly, is “for England.” The word “England” appears four times in the poem, “English” twice. This repetition of both the proper noun and the adjective serves to rouse strong nationalistic feelings: pride and a feeling that England is superior to other nations. As mentioned in podcast#15, there is a sense that this man’s spot of England makes the world a better place. His body, euphemistically called dust, will enrich the ground where he fell, “…There will be/In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;/A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware” (lines 3-5, 1098). Here Brooke becomes nostalgic. He lists all the benefits this man has had by growing up an Englishman, perhaps to make the reader also grateful to live in a nation where such benefits could be had. He concentrates on the happy past rather than the present cruel reality of war and death and loss. England gave the soldier, “…her flowers to love, her ways to roam,/A body of England’s, breathing English air,/Washed by the rivers, blest by the suns of home” (lines 6-8, 1099). Brooke is highlighting England’s natural beauty, and that this man had the freedom to enjoy it.
The final stanza is the resolution. Comfort is given to the family in knowing that the soldier is no longer suffering and in a better place, “And think, this heart, all evil shed away,/A pulse in the Eternal mind, no less” (lines 9-10, 1099). There is some security in knowing that, although the man’s life on earth is ended and his body is far away on a lonely battlefield, his spirit is immortal and without confines of place. The poem ends by reaffirming once again that the man died for England, not just the nostalgic, beautiful England that raised him, but also for the glorious future England. Brooke notes that by his death the soldier, “Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given,/Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;/And laughter, learnt of friends and gentleness,/In hearts at peace, under an English heaven” (lines 11-14, 1099). The soldier dies that others may be happy and enjoy England’s beauty. He dies for the dreams of a nation. He dies so that there might be peace at last in his beloved England.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Thomas Hardy
Thomas Hardy’s pessimism directly contrasts the optimism of the Victorian age. Whereas they saw progress, he saw, as mentioned in podcast #14, that “there is no bad without a worse.” His pessimism could stem from his lack of faith; again, a quality that puts him at odds with the Industrial society and its firm beliefs. His occupation as an architect that renovated churches is especially ironic, considering his religious views. However, his lack of faith was accompanied by a strong desire for faith. He wanted the religious comfort that the believers enjoyed. Instead, he was constantly torn between his desire for belief and his view of the universe as uncaring.
Hardy evidences this struggle in “Hap.” The title is a reference to Hardy’s worldview; his lack of faith has led him to believe in a lack of purpose as well. If there is no guiding principle, all is just happenstance, or “hap.” Hardy’s pessimism is exposed in the first stanza, “If but some vengeful god would call to me. From up the sky, and laugh: ‘Thou suffering thing,/Know that they sorrow is my ecstasy,/That thy love’s loss is my hate’s profiting” (lines 1-4). He longs to know that what he goes through in life is worth something, even if he were nothing but a marionette. The idea that human beings simply live and die is intolerable to Hardy. There is too much feeling involved in the process for it all to amount to nothing; wasted emotion is very frustrating. Suffering, sorrow, and love are some of the deepest human experiences, and they seem to lack a point if the end is to be six feet underground rotting away.
Hardy discusses the comfort he seeks in the second stanza. He explains that knowing of a divine plan would make life much more bearable, “Then would I bear it, clench myself, and die,/Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;/Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I/Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.” (lines 5-8). The reassurance he searches for comes from surrendering his life to a higher power’s whims. What scares Hardy, surprisingly, is the idea he might be in charge of his own life. He could deal with it if his misfortunes were dealt by some being with power over him. However, the idea that perhaps he made his own destiny does not cross his mind. Maybe he feels that there were events in his life that he had no control over. Yet the fact remains that people make a good many choices every day: what to eat, whom to talk with, when and how much to exercise, what to read, whether to pray and about what to pray. All of these daily decisions have profound impacts on our health, be it physical, social, mental, or spiritual and our fitness in each of these areas greatly affects our overall mood and outlook on life. I think part of Hardy’s problem is that he has a victim complex and does not want to own up to the decisions he has made and their direct impacts upon his life.
The final stanza explains Hardy’s current faithless, pessimistic worldview. He has found no evidence of purpose, and it depresses him, “But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain,/And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?” (lines 9-10). Instead of a religious god or gods directing events on earth, Hardy instead personifies Causality and Time signifying again that everything happens by chance. Causality, or the cause and effect relationship, is “crass” and “obstructs the sun and rain” (line 11). Hardy is offended that the universe is insensitive and there seems no pattern to the sun and rain. Time does not seem to care at what stage of life one is at, “dicing”, it “for gladness casts a moan” (line 12). Hardy sees Time as a gambler who rolls dice to decide his life’s direction. Any chance that the reader thought Causality and Time had any sympathies for the human condition are dispelled with the christening of the pair as “purblind Doomsters” (line 13). They are not attentive to the human condition, as they can only see half of it, being “purblind.” Indeed, they really cannot see what they are doing and so have “as readily strown/ Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain” (line 14).
Yet Hardy’s hope for faith is present even as he explains in the final line that blisses and pain are doled out at a happenstance, because he describes life as a “pilgrimage.” If Hardy truly believes life is nothing but chance, why call not call it a journey or an excursion or some other such synonym? The word “pilgrimage” has religious and purpose-driven undertones. Pilgrimages are acts of devotion, with a specific deity and destination kept constantly in mind. So although Hardy maintains throughout the poem that life has no real meaning, his indecision comes out at the end. He believes in chance and yet clings to hopes of order and purpose.
* “Hap” is on page 1073 of our anthology.
Hardy evidences this struggle in “Hap.” The title is a reference to Hardy’s worldview; his lack of faith has led him to believe in a lack of purpose as well. If there is no guiding principle, all is just happenstance, or “hap.” Hardy’s pessimism is exposed in the first stanza, “If but some vengeful god would call to me. From up the sky, and laugh: ‘Thou suffering thing,/Know that they sorrow is my ecstasy,/That thy love’s loss is my hate’s profiting” (lines 1-4). He longs to know that what he goes through in life is worth something, even if he were nothing but a marionette. The idea that human beings simply live and die is intolerable to Hardy. There is too much feeling involved in the process for it all to amount to nothing; wasted emotion is very frustrating. Suffering, sorrow, and love are some of the deepest human experiences, and they seem to lack a point if the end is to be six feet underground rotting away.
Hardy discusses the comfort he seeks in the second stanza. He explains that knowing of a divine plan would make life much more bearable, “Then would I bear it, clench myself, and die,/Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;/Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I/Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.” (lines 5-8). The reassurance he searches for comes from surrendering his life to a higher power’s whims. What scares Hardy, surprisingly, is the idea he might be in charge of his own life. He could deal with it if his misfortunes were dealt by some being with power over him. However, the idea that perhaps he made his own destiny does not cross his mind. Maybe he feels that there were events in his life that he had no control over. Yet the fact remains that people make a good many choices every day: what to eat, whom to talk with, when and how much to exercise, what to read, whether to pray and about what to pray. All of these daily decisions have profound impacts on our health, be it physical, social, mental, or spiritual and our fitness in each of these areas greatly affects our overall mood and outlook on life. I think part of Hardy’s problem is that he has a victim complex and does not want to own up to the decisions he has made and their direct impacts upon his life.
The final stanza explains Hardy’s current faithless, pessimistic worldview. He has found no evidence of purpose, and it depresses him, “But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain,/And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?” (lines 9-10). Instead of a religious god or gods directing events on earth, Hardy instead personifies Causality and Time signifying again that everything happens by chance. Causality, or the cause and effect relationship, is “crass” and “obstructs the sun and rain” (line 11). Hardy is offended that the universe is insensitive and there seems no pattern to the sun and rain. Time does not seem to care at what stage of life one is at, “dicing”, it “for gladness casts a moan” (line 12). Hardy sees Time as a gambler who rolls dice to decide his life’s direction. Any chance that the reader thought Causality and Time had any sympathies for the human condition are dispelled with the christening of the pair as “purblind Doomsters” (line 13). They are not attentive to the human condition, as they can only see half of it, being “purblind.” Indeed, they really cannot see what they are doing and so have “as readily strown/ Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain” (line 14).
Yet Hardy’s hope for faith is present even as he explains in the final line that blisses and pain are doled out at a happenstance, because he describes life as a “pilgrimage.” If Hardy truly believes life is nothing but chance, why call not call it a journey or an excursion or some other such synonym? The word “pilgrimage” has religious and purpose-driven undertones. Pilgrimages are acts of devotion, with a specific deity and destination kept constantly in mind. So although Hardy maintains throughout the poem that life has no real meaning, his indecision comes out at the end. He believes in chance and yet clings to hopes of order and purpose.
* “Hap” is on page 1073 of our anthology.
Gerard Manley Hopkins-"Felix Randal"
As mentioned in podcast #14, part of the appeal of Gerard Manley Hopkins as a poet is that he produced at least two distinct types of poetry. His earlier works reflect his decision to become a Jesuit and serve as a spiritual exercise. They are generally more upbeat and focus on God and nature. Later in life, however, Hopkins began to question his purpose in life, as he was often sick and his faith was “tested sorely” (773). His poetry became much more pensive as a result. “Felix Randal” is a transitional work; while it still has a Christian theme, the poem has a much more reflective and personal tone than his former works.
In fact, though the title is “Felix Randal”, the poem is just as much and perhaps even more about Hopkins’ ministry. Note that Hopkins’ reaction to the news that Felix is dead is neither sorrow nor joy but a comment that Hopkins own duty toward Felix is “all-ended” (line 1,776). He does not go on to speak of the good times in the man’s life, but rather how his greatness diminished. He describes how he has watched the physical decline of this man, “…his mould of man, big-boned and hardy handsome/pining, pining, till time when reason rambled in it and some/Fatal four disorders, fleshed there, all contended” (lines 2-4,776). Felix Randal was a “farrier” (line 1,776), a blacksmith. It is interesting that his decline suits his profession; he loses his shape like a piece of metal in the forge, becoming amorphous.
The second stanza concentrates on Felix as the object of Hopkins’ ministries. Hopkins gives Felix Extreme Unction, “Sickness broke him. Impatient he cursed at first, but mended/Being anointed and all;…” (lines 5-6,776). Extreme Unction is the final sacrament in the Catholic Church, meant to prepare one’s soul to enter heaven. However, Felix’s attempt to skirt Hell began before the Anointing of the Sick near his deathbed, “though a heavenlier heart began some/Months earlier, since I had our sweet reprieve and ransom/Tendered to him” (lines 6-8,776). Notice that the emphasis is on the sacraments the man has received even more than the attitude change that has occurred. This is not a tale of a deathbed conversion. The focus is not on the dying man, but on Hopkins’ work with the man.
The next stanza is explicitly about Hopkins’ specific ministry to Felix. Hopkins describes the connection between the two of them, “This seeing the sick endears them to us, us too it endears./My tongue had taught thee comfort, touch had quenched thy tears,/Thy tears that touched my heart, child, Felix, poor Felix Randal” (lines 9-12,776). It is interesting that Hopkins portrays the relationship as reciprocal. Hopkins and Felix are both endeared to each other. Felix’s tears which he wipes away touch his heart. That a whole stanza is given to the mutual aspect of the relationship rather than just Hopkins’ one-sided ministry to the man is significant. Perhaps Hopkins was trying to console himself to the idea of ministry, that it was not a constant giving with nothing in return. He needed to know that his personal sufferings had a purpose. Not only that, he wanted his spiritual exercises, his writings, to be missionary. He longed for recognition and was “…preoccupied with his lack of an audience” (774).
The final stanza highlights the difference between the Felix Randal of life versus on his deathbed. In life, Felix Randal was a productive citizen, lively and “boisterous” (line 12,776). His work as a blacksmith garnered him respect, as he was “powerful amidst peers” (line 13,776). However, as he approached death, he seemed the exact opposite: weak, cursing, and unlikeable. Hopkins notes the distinct difference, “How far from then forethought of, all thy more boisterous years” (line 12,776). It is possible that this illustration of a distinct difference in personality and form between youth and old age had its roots in Hopkins’ own disenchantment with his vocation. His later years found him frustrated with a sense of “poetic infertility” (774). In addition, his ministries were tiring, as he later noted, “It made even life a burden to me” (773).
Maybe “Felix Randal” should really be titled “Gerard Manley Hopkins”, as Hopkins seems to have as much trouble reconciling himself to his life as Felix has to his deathbed. Hopkins, like Felix the blacksmith, created much in his early years, but later was overwhelmed by a sense of thwarted purpose. Indeed, the poem focuses more on Hopkins’ reactions and musings on Felix Randal than on Felix Randal himself.
In fact, though the title is “Felix Randal”, the poem is just as much and perhaps even more about Hopkins’ ministry. Note that Hopkins’ reaction to the news that Felix is dead is neither sorrow nor joy but a comment that Hopkins own duty toward Felix is “all-ended” (line 1,776). He does not go on to speak of the good times in the man’s life, but rather how his greatness diminished. He describes how he has watched the physical decline of this man, “…his mould of man, big-boned and hardy handsome/pining, pining, till time when reason rambled in it and some/Fatal four disorders, fleshed there, all contended” (lines 2-4,776). Felix Randal was a “farrier” (line 1,776), a blacksmith. It is interesting that his decline suits his profession; he loses his shape like a piece of metal in the forge, becoming amorphous.
The second stanza concentrates on Felix as the object of Hopkins’ ministries. Hopkins gives Felix Extreme Unction, “Sickness broke him. Impatient he cursed at first, but mended/Being anointed and all;…” (lines 5-6,776). Extreme Unction is the final sacrament in the Catholic Church, meant to prepare one’s soul to enter heaven. However, Felix’s attempt to skirt Hell began before the Anointing of the Sick near his deathbed, “though a heavenlier heart began some/Months earlier, since I had our sweet reprieve and ransom/Tendered to him” (lines 6-8,776). Notice that the emphasis is on the sacraments the man has received even more than the attitude change that has occurred. This is not a tale of a deathbed conversion. The focus is not on the dying man, but on Hopkins’ work with the man.
The next stanza is explicitly about Hopkins’ specific ministry to Felix. Hopkins describes the connection between the two of them, “This seeing the sick endears them to us, us too it endears./My tongue had taught thee comfort, touch had quenched thy tears,/Thy tears that touched my heart, child, Felix, poor Felix Randal” (lines 9-12,776). It is interesting that Hopkins portrays the relationship as reciprocal. Hopkins and Felix are both endeared to each other. Felix’s tears which he wipes away touch his heart. That a whole stanza is given to the mutual aspect of the relationship rather than just Hopkins’ one-sided ministry to the man is significant. Perhaps Hopkins was trying to console himself to the idea of ministry, that it was not a constant giving with nothing in return. He needed to know that his personal sufferings had a purpose. Not only that, he wanted his spiritual exercises, his writings, to be missionary. He longed for recognition and was “…preoccupied with his lack of an audience” (774).
The final stanza highlights the difference between the Felix Randal of life versus on his deathbed. In life, Felix Randal was a productive citizen, lively and “boisterous” (line 12,776). His work as a blacksmith garnered him respect, as he was “powerful amidst peers” (line 13,776). However, as he approached death, he seemed the exact opposite: weak, cursing, and unlikeable. Hopkins notes the distinct difference, “How far from then forethought of, all thy more boisterous years” (line 12,776). It is possible that this illustration of a distinct difference in personality and form between youth and old age had its roots in Hopkins’ own disenchantment with his vocation. His later years found him frustrated with a sense of “poetic infertility” (774). In addition, his ministries were tiring, as he later noted, “It made even life a burden to me” (773).
Maybe “Felix Randal” should really be titled “Gerard Manley Hopkins”, as Hopkins seems to have as much trouble reconciling himself to his life as Felix has to his deathbed. Hopkins, like Felix the blacksmith, created much in his early years, but later was overwhelmed by a sense of thwarted purpose. Indeed, the poem focuses more on Hopkins’ reactions and musings on Felix Randal than on Felix Randal himself.
Gerard Manley Hopkins-"God's Grandeur"
Gerard Manley Hopkins’ attempt in “God’s Grandeur”, as may be inferred from the title, is to expound upon the greatness of God. Hopkins accomplishes his mission not only by explaining the awesomeness of God by spending each stanza on one person of the Trinity, but also by contrasting the qualities of God with those of humanity. In addition, he draws the reader in by appealing to three of the five senses.
Visually, he demonstrates God’s greatness with images of extreme brightness and order. God’s greatness is so obvious that it is literally flashing at humanity, “The world is charged with the grandeur of God./It will flame out, like shining from shook foil” (lines 1-2,774). The fact that the whole world is charged with God’s grandeur hints at God the Father’s omnipresence and omniscience. If He can be everywhere, He can know everything. The reference to the foil speaks to God the Father’s omnipotence; the reflection off foil is very intense and almost impossible to ignore. For humanity to not see something so obvious indicates a high degree of blindness. It is ironic, because humanity is not blinded by the light but rather blind to the light. However, the future tense indicates that humanity will not be blind forever; something will change it. Given that the next stanza can be interpreted to be about Jesus, the second person of the Trinity, it seems that Jesus may be the one to open the people’s eyes. Or perhaps their eyes will not be opened until the Second Coming and Final Judgment, as implied by the mention of God’s “rod” in line 4 (774).
Yet the fact that we do not recognize something that is literally right in front our eyes is a strong criticism. Hopkins asks, “Why do men then now not reck his rod?” (line 4, 774). In other words, Hopkins is having a hard time understanding our blindness to God. If God is so powerful, and ever present, why do men not heed Him? Man’s indifference to God seems especially puzzling in light of men not “reck[ing] his rod.” It was unclear to me whether Hopkins’ meant “rod” in the sense of an instrument of discipline or as a symbol of authority; in either case, the line asserts God’s omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipotence are something to be admired and possibly even feared.
In the first stanza, Hopkins also gives an image of God’s greatness in the coherency of His saving plan for creation. God’s grandeur is described, “It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil/Crushed.” (lines 3-4, 774). In other words, all things come together for good when God is in charge. This image of harmony and order directly contrasts the image of earth that bears a human imprint. Hopkins notes in the second stanza, “And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;/And wears man’s smudge” (lines 6-7, 775). It is interesting to note that Hopkins blames the searing of the earth on trade. Perhaps it is a reference to deforestation by the cut and burn method, as he later comments, “…the soil/Is bare now” (lines 7-8, 774). The blearing and smearing of the earth with toil could refer to the fact that mankind’s creations, be they fields of grain or looming cities, lack the diversity and order innate in nature.
The sense of smell has also been muted. Hopkins notes that the earth “shares man’s smell” (line 7, 775). This could be a reflection of pollution of God’s good clean air. This smell of man could be many things; I am inclined to think of a more mechanized, industrial smell. Movements are generally a contrary reaction to the era before, so Hopkins could have been criticizing Industrialism. Man’s smell could be the smoke of a factory or the stink of the streets that sometimes served as sewers in the crowded inner cities.
The most primal sense, the sense of touch, has also been lost. Hopkins writes, “…nor can feet feel, being shod” (line 8, 775). Mankind has lost its sense of connection to nature and self, perhaps even to God. What is interesting is that this disconnect is self imposed. According to the Biblical account in Genesis, Adam and Eve, the first man and woman, clothed themselves out of shame for their nakedness after falling into temptation and eating an apple from the tree of knowledge of Good and Evil. Being a Jesuit priest, Hopkins might have been insinuating that mankind’s fall from grace was the root of all humanity’s problems. This fall from grace necessitated the incarnation of Jesus, the second person of the Trinity.
In the second stanza, Hopkins shows over and over that humans have only ever made a mess of the original perfection; they have lost their senses repeatedly. His note that “Generations have trod, have trod, have trod” (line 5, 775) shows that humans did not learn from their mistakes. This lack of progress toward anything resembling God’s plan is shown not only by Hopkins’ use of the word “generations” but also by his use of repetition. The phrase “have trod, have trod, have trod” gives the reader a feeling that successive generations have only continued to muddle up the earth. The consecutive, almost constant nature of the mistakes also points to the second stanza being about Christ. Christians commonly believe that Christ bore on the cross the sins of the whole world, and not only the whole world, but of all time.
In the final stanza, however, Hopkins hopes to restore the reader to God’s sight with images of hope. God is not only omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent, but ever faithful. Hopkins notes “And for all this, nature is never spent;/There lives the dearest freshness deep down things” (lines 9-10, 775). In other words, spring always arrives despite the desolation of winter; God has a plan to set things right. The image of God the Spirit as a caring entity is given, “…The Holy Ghost over the bent/World broods…” (lines 13-14, 775). It is a very protective and conscientious posture. The tenderness of God (and joy in salvation) is given in the final line with mention that the Spirit watches everything with “warm breast and with ah! Bright wings.” (line 14, 775). The Spirit’s posture indicates that the world is against God’s warm chest; He cares very deeply for it.
Hopkins, as a Jesuit priest, believed in a Trinitarian God. Trinitarian theology states that there are three persons in one God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It is interesting to note that there are three stanzas in this one poem, one for each person of the Trinity. The first stanza relates to God the Father with its images of omniscience, omnipotence, and omnipresence coupled with a divine will or plan. The second stanza relates to God the Son, by explaining mankind’s downfall with images of disgrace to the beautiful world God the Father had created; in other words, describing the lack of sense and the conditions that necessitated the Incarnation. The final stanza centers upon God the Spirit, with the comforting image of the Spirit watching over the whole world. “God’s Grandeur” is ultimately a poem with a message of unconditional love: God watches over the earth and is attentive to it despite mankind’s many mistakes.
Visually, he demonstrates God’s greatness with images of extreme brightness and order. God’s greatness is so obvious that it is literally flashing at humanity, “The world is charged with the grandeur of God./It will flame out, like shining from shook foil” (lines 1-2,774). The fact that the whole world is charged with God’s grandeur hints at God the Father’s omnipresence and omniscience. If He can be everywhere, He can know everything. The reference to the foil speaks to God the Father’s omnipotence; the reflection off foil is very intense and almost impossible to ignore. For humanity to not see something so obvious indicates a high degree of blindness. It is ironic, because humanity is not blinded by the light but rather blind to the light. However, the future tense indicates that humanity will not be blind forever; something will change it. Given that the next stanza can be interpreted to be about Jesus, the second person of the Trinity, it seems that Jesus may be the one to open the people’s eyes. Or perhaps their eyes will not be opened until the Second Coming and Final Judgment, as implied by the mention of God’s “rod” in line 4 (774).
Yet the fact that we do not recognize something that is literally right in front our eyes is a strong criticism. Hopkins asks, “Why do men then now not reck his rod?” (line 4, 774). In other words, Hopkins is having a hard time understanding our blindness to God. If God is so powerful, and ever present, why do men not heed Him? Man’s indifference to God seems especially puzzling in light of men not “reck[ing] his rod.” It was unclear to me whether Hopkins’ meant “rod” in the sense of an instrument of discipline or as a symbol of authority; in either case, the line asserts God’s omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipotence are something to be admired and possibly even feared.
In the first stanza, Hopkins also gives an image of God’s greatness in the coherency of His saving plan for creation. God’s grandeur is described, “It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil/Crushed.” (lines 3-4, 774). In other words, all things come together for good when God is in charge. This image of harmony and order directly contrasts the image of earth that bears a human imprint. Hopkins notes in the second stanza, “And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;/And wears man’s smudge” (lines 6-7, 775). It is interesting to note that Hopkins blames the searing of the earth on trade. Perhaps it is a reference to deforestation by the cut and burn method, as he later comments, “…the soil/Is bare now” (lines 7-8, 774). The blearing and smearing of the earth with toil could refer to the fact that mankind’s creations, be they fields of grain or looming cities, lack the diversity and order innate in nature.
The sense of smell has also been muted. Hopkins notes that the earth “shares man’s smell” (line 7, 775). This could be a reflection of pollution of God’s good clean air. This smell of man could be many things; I am inclined to think of a more mechanized, industrial smell. Movements are generally a contrary reaction to the era before, so Hopkins could have been criticizing Industrialism. Man’s smell could be the smoke of a factory or the stink of the streets that sometimes served as sewers in the crowded inner cities.
The most primal sense, the sense of touch, has also been lost. Hopkins writes, “…nor can feet feel, being shod” (line 8, 775). Mankind has lost its sense of connection to nature and self, perhaps even to God. What is interesting is that this disconnect is self imposed. According to the Biblical account in Genesis, Adam and Eve, the first man and woman, clothed themselves out of shame for their nakedness after falling into temptation and eating an apple from the tree of knowledge of Good and Evil. Being a Jesuit priest, Hopkins might have been insinuating that mankind’s fall from grace was the root of all humanity’s problems. This fall from grace necessitated the incarnation of Jesus, the second person of the Trinity.
In the second stanza, Hopkins shows over and over that humans have only ever made a mess of the original perfection; they have lost their senses repeatedly. His note that “Generations have trod, have trod, have trod” (line 5, 775) shows that humans did not learn from their mistakes. This lack of progress toward anything resembling God’s plan is shown not only by Hopkins’ use of the word “generations” but also by his use of repetition. The phrase “have trod, have trod, have trod” gives the reader a feeling that successive generations have only continued to muddle up the earth. The consecutive, almost constant nature of the mistakes also points to the second stanza being about Christ. Christians commonly believe that Christ bore on the cross the sins of the whole world, and not only the whole world, but of all time.
In the final stanza, however, Hopkins hopes to restore the reader to God’s sight with images of hope. God is not only omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent, but ever faithful. Hopkins notes “And for all this, nature is never spent;/There lives the dearest freshness deep down things” (lines 9-10, 775). In other words, spring always arrives despite the desolation of winter; God has a plan to set things right. The image of God the Spirit as a caring entity is given, “…The Holy Ghost over the bent/World broods…” (lines 13-14, 775). It is a very protective and conscientious posture. The tenderness of God (and joy in salvation) is given in the final line with mention that the Spirit watches everything with “warm breast and with ah! Bright wings.” (line 14, 775). The Spirit’s posture indicates that the world is against God’s warm chest; He cares very deeply for it.
Hopkins, as a Jesuit priest, believed in a Trinitarian God. Trinitarian theology states that there are three persons in one God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It is interesting to note that there are three stanzas in this one poem, one for each person of the Trinity. The first stanza relates to God the Father with its images of omniscience, omnipotence, and omnipresence coupled with a divine will or plan. The second stanza relates to God the Son, by explaining mankind’s downfall with images of disgrace to the beautiful world God the Father had created; in other words, describing the lack of sense and the conditions that necessitated the Incarnation. The final stanza centers upon God the Spirit, with the comforting image of the Spirit watching over the whole world. “God’s Grandeur” is ultimately a poem with a message of unconditional love: God watches over the earth and is attentive to it despite mankind’s many mistakes.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Oscar Wilde
Oscar Wilde was an unconventional man. Known in literary circles for his satires of Victorian society, he is just as well known for his personal life and homosexuality. He was a man who just did not fit in. As noted in podcast # 13, he was an outsider in high society. His Irish ancestry, lack of a title, and the fact that he had to work for a living separated him from the idle rich with whom he wished to associate himself. Wilde’s writings reflect this sense of being a stranger, evidencing ideas quite contrary to those held by Victorian society and past literary movements.
As noted in podcast #13, Oscar Wilde’s depiction of nature is quite opposite that of the earlier Romantics. He does not worship nature, or even draw inspiration from it. In “The Decay of Lying”, he comments, “What Art really reveals to us is Nature’s lack of design, her curious crudities, her extraordinary monotony, her absolutely unfinished condition” (832). This flies directly in the face of such Romantic classics as William Wordsworth’s “Lines Written in Early Spring” or Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind” , which take nature as their subjects, exploring its beauty and power. If anything, the Romantics saw man as dwarfed and put in his proper place by nature; Wilde had no such respect for nature. Oscar Wilde puts forth the idea that art shapes nature, and not the other way around. This is contrary to the Romantics who used art as a canvas for nature; Wilde used nature as a canvas for art. He notes, “Nature is no great mother who has borne us. She is our creation. It is in our brain that she quickens to life” (840).
Wilde also differs from earlier writers in his views on the purpose of art. Wilde feels that historians and art critics who look to the past to find “representative” works of art have no business applying such labels. Art, he feels, is not to inspire or to show things as they really are. He states, “Art never expresses anything but itself” (842). To make something out of a piece of artwork is to apply a false meaning to it. Rather, he notes, “Art finds her own perfection within, and not outside of, herself” (839). Wilde, in typical Aesthetic fashion, valued beauty. He felt that the true object of art “…is not simple truth but complex beauty” (836). However, Wilde did not qualify his notion of beauty. Beauty, the superficial quality, could be based on a thousand untruths, but as long as it was beautiful Wilde thought it was worthy of adoration. He notes, “…Lying, the telling of beautiful untrue things, is the proper aim of Art” (846).
Wilde’s superficial emphasis might have stemmed from his own life experiences. He did not value truth and lying in the same way as the highly moral Victorian society, perhaps because he felt obliged to tell so many lies in his lifetime. He was constantly putting on airs, trying to fit into a high society that did not accept him. He was also living a double life, putting on a face of heterosexuality while being in a homosexual relationship. His wore a mask throughout most of his life. His outward side was the only one that society even came close to accepting; his plays were canceled after his homosexuality came out in the libel trial.
Wilde also puts forth the Aesthetic view that the impression is more important than the subject. The subject, in Wilde’s view, was highly dependent on the point of view. The impression was more reliable than the object, no matter how stationary. He explains, “Things are because we see them, and what we see, and how we see it, depends on the Arts that have influenced us” (840). In other words, man defines reality. It is a rather subjective view, for what each man sees will differ depending upon what he has read, where he grew up, his personal trials and triumphs, etc.
Indeed, if everything exists because we make it so, and everyone has different opinions, no one person can be more or less correct. What one person sees may be different from what another person sees, but no one can negate either point of view. Perhaps this philosophy underscores Wilde’s lax views about the difference between truth and lying. Wilde seems to feel that there is no truth at all, or at least that we do not believe things because they are true. He writes, “it is style that makes us believe in a thing-nothing but style” (843). Content does not matter. It is the superficial appearance that inspires confidence, not veracity.
For all his attempts to blend in, Oscar Wilde was a rebel. He tried to fit in, but did not, and so challenged the society that failed to accept him. His view of nature was cocky. His ideas about art defied conventional definitions. His view of the world put the human at the center of the universe, and questioned commonly held ideas about the reliability of perception.
As noted in podcast #13, Oscar Wilde’s depiction of nature is quite opposite that of the earlier Romantics. He does not worship nature, or even draw inspiration from it. In “The Decay of Lying”, he comments, “What Art really reveals to us is Nature’s lack of design, her curious crudities, her extraordinary monotony, her absolutely unfinished condition” (832). This flies directly in the face of such Romantic classics as William Wordsworth’s “Lines Written in Early Spring” or Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind” , which take nature as their subjects, exploring its beauty and power. If anything, the Romantics saw man as dwarfed and put in his proper place by nature; Wilde had no such respect for nature. Oscar Wilde puts forth the idea that art shapes nature, and not the other way around. This is contrary to the Romantics who used art as a canvas for nature; Wilde used nature as a canvas for art. He notes, “Nature is no great mother who has borne us. She is our creation. It is in our brain that she quickens to life” (840).
Wilde also differs from earlier writers in his views on the purpose of art. Wilde feels that historians and art critics who look to the past to find “representative” works of art have no business applying such labels. Art, he feels, is not to inspire or to show things as they really are. He states, “Art never expresses anything but itself” (842). To make something out of a piece of artwork is to apply a false meaning to it. Rather, he notes, “Art finds her own perfection within, and not outside of, herself” (839). Wilde, in typical Aesthetic fashion, valued beauty. He felt that the true object of art “…is not simple truth but complex beauty” (836). However, Wilde did not qualify his notion of beauty. Beauty, the superficial quality, could be based on a thousand untruths, but as long as it was beautiful Wilde thought it was worthy of adoration. He notes, “…Lying, the telling of beautiful untrue things, is the proper aim of Art” (846).
Wilde’s superficial emphasis might have stemmed from his own life experiences. He did not value truth and lying in the same way as the highly moral Victorian society, perhaps because he felt obliged to tell so many lies in his lifetime. He was constantly putting on airs, trying to fit into a high society that did not accept him. He was also living a double life, putting on a face of heterosexuality while being in a homosexual relationship. His wore a mask throughout most of his life. His outward side was the only one that society even came close to accepting; his plays were canceled after his homosexuality came out in the libel trial.
Wilde also puts forth the Aesthetic view that the impression is more important than the subject. The subject, in Wilde’s view, was highly dependent on the point of view. The impression was more reliable than the object, no matter how stationary. He explains, “Things are because we see them, and what we see, and how we see it, depends on the Arts that have influenced us” (840). In other words, man defines reality. It is a rather subjective view, for what each man sees will differ depending upon what he has read, where he grew up, his personal trials and triumphs, etc.
Indeed, if everything exists because we make it so, and everyone has different opinions, no one person can be more or less correct. What one person sees may be different from what another person sees, but no one can negate either point of view. Perhaps this philosophy underscores Wilde’s lax views about the difference between truth and lying. Wilde seems to feel that there is no truth at all, or at least that we do not believe things because they are true. He writes, “it is style that makes us believe in a thing-nothing but style” (843). Content does not matter. It is the superficial appearance that inspires confidence, not veracity.
For all his attempts to blend in, Oscar Wilde was a rebel. He tried to fit in, but did not, and so challenged the society that failed to accept him. His view of nature was cocky. His ideas about art defied conventional definitions. His view of the world put the human at the center of the universe, and questioned commonly held ideas about the reliability of perception.
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