Saturday, May 26, 2007

On King Lear

The Breath of Clowns and Kings: Empowerment and Illusion in William Shakespeare's King Lear



The relationship between Lear and the Fool in William Shakespeare's King Lear (1600) is a relationship that has been the subject of much critical debate throughout literary history. While some critics believe that that the Fool plays a significant role in bringing about Lear's tragic end, others are more sympathetic to this character and see him as Lear's most sincere companion. I shall examine the scenes where Lear interacts with the Fool in the hope that a close reading of these passages will allow us to determine the extent to which Lear's relationship with the Fool is a factor in the tragedy that befalls him. I will call on the work of Stephen Orgel and later that of Jacque Lacan, for the work of these two critics show how power is obtained, not though force, but through an illusion. The theories of these two critics will help us decide whether this relationship between a king and his clown can be understood either as a representation of the complex social arrangements of the Elizabethan age or if it can be best appreciated from a psychoanalytic perspective.

Stephen Orgel's work is concerned with the history of theatre as it related to the formation of political power in England during the Renaissance. He draws a distinction between two main kinds of theater, the court theater and the public theater. The difference between these two theaters is to be found in the status assigned to the people who attended these performances. In the public theater, Orgel says, the actors were considered to be of low social position, only a step above beggars. This was vastly different in the theater of the royal court, where the actors were distinguished as gentlemen. It is when Orgel analyzes the private theaters at court that his main thesis begins to take shape. In these theaters there is a distinct line separating the actors and the audience, while there is no barrier between the actors and the king. The lack of a partition between the king and the players was intentional, for the interaction between the play and the monarch was seen as an important part of the narrative action, like the dramatic action of the play itself.

Orgels argues that the architectural values that went into constructing Renaissance court theaters such as the Teatro Olimpico in Vincenza, which was built for the wedding of Ferdinando de'Medici, promoted the power of the king by representing his privileged station in ways that suggested intellect and control, thereby consolidating his power. In this way pastoral plays, like many of Shakespare's comedies, are received by the spectator as affirmations of royal power. These illusionistic theaters establish a relationship of power between the play and the monarch, fulfilling an important function in the maintenance of the social world by legislating an ideological consciousness that allowed the power of the ruler to extend itself over the political body. As a gauge that marked the stability of English society, the relation between a king and his actors played a direct role in the production of a power-relation whereby all of the individuals in society came to fall behind the king in a great chain of being. In the Elizabethan age, dramas were used to maintain the hegemonic order, strengthening a particular ideological viewpoint and keeping proponents of other viewpoints under control. If the illusion of power can be created, Orgel contents, then the ideology that supports the king will retain its status, thus ensuring the continual dominance of the ruling powers.

From this last statement, we can see that the title of Orgel's book, The Illusion of Power, is a particularly apt one: with this thesis he is implicitly making the somewhat paradoxical statement that the courtly world, in being organized and reinforced by the world of drama, in drawing its power from a representational medium, it is essentially the product of an illusion. After the establishment of court theaters came the development of dramatic performances, many of which were written for and about the court. For Orgel, the dramatic performance of the actors in the courtly theater represent the artistic triumph of the aristocratic world and its central motifs, such as the belief in the justness of a hierarchized form of social authority and the great faith invested in the power of idealization. The importance of dramas, including those of Shakespeare grows out of a belief widespread in the Elizabethan age, that art has the power to transform society. For this reason, plays were acknowledged as meaningful expressions of royal power.

Knowing that Stephen Orgel depicts how the Elizabethan drama was used to promote empowerment through illusion, it may seem that King Lear is an inappropriate play to use when making this comparison. After all, Orgel stipulates that his theory is most effective in terms of pastoral plays like A Midsummer Night's Dream (1595). However, Orgel's work is still important to our project, for Lear is an instance where this technique of empowerment through illusion fails to occur properly. In opposition to Orgel's thesis, Lear disintegrates into madness as he experiences a radical destabilization of those values that are supposed to ensure his stability. As stated above, we will explore the reasons why Lear succumbs to this destabilization when we examine the work of Jacques Lacan. But first we will discuss the role of the fool, both in English society and in English drama.

Before we commence with our reading of the play, we will look at the character of the fool in dramatic history. According to Marvin Rosenberg, the character of the fool was a common feature in the dramatic productions of Shakespeare's day. Rosenberg says that Elizabethan audiences were familiar with two main kinds of fools: common fools who were of low social position, similar to the vagrants and vagabonds that passed through the city of London and court fools, who earned their living through their ability to formulate intelligent and witty remarks. In the English theater, the fool was a stock character who could be used to represent any of these basic archetypes: a person who is a combination of wise man, madman and child; a false king who is empowered by an unconscious voice or by the will of the underclass; the Renaissance version of the chorus in a Greek tragedy. While the fool was traditionally portrayed as someone who loved pleasure and feared conflict, the fool Shakespeare presents in King Lear contains a wider range of attributes. Rosenberg says that Lear's fool is a fusion of oppositional qualities as he is both "bitter and sweet...practical and idealistic, sensible and foolish...privileged and underprivileged, jesting and melancholy." Northrop Frye's conception of the fool is, like Rosenberg's, dualistic in form. Frye sees two basic types of fools in English drama, the natural fool and the fool of fortune. The natural fool is someone who uses his position to blurt out at the most inappropriate times. The fool of fortune is someone who becomes a victim as the result of some catastrophic event; the dupe of chance, this fool is ruined by the actions of the fates. Frye points out that Lear speaks of himself as the natural fool of fortune, while the Fool affirms this painful truth when he speaks of Lear as having descended from the privileged stage to a lower, more vulgar status.

The premises of dramatic action that eventually lead to a final scene of tragic proportion begins when the aged King Lear who, acting more like a dictator than a benevolent king, demands that each of his three daughters proclaim their devotion to him. By testing the love of his children, Lear tries to obtain incontrovertible proof that his daughters' devotion is to him alone. Two of his daughters, Goneril and Regan, are quick to declare their love but Cordelia, recognizing the problems inherent in a public declaration of her inner feelings, refuses to comply with her father's request. The test Lear makes of his daughter's love develops from his tragic flaw, his hubris, for in forcing his daughters to declare their love, he is seeking to possess something that cannot be possessed. In this way, Lear's tragedy stems from the logocentric principle that full meaning cannot be possessed by a single individual. The love test is Lear's expression of an impossible wish, the desire for the transcendent. In forcing his daughters to express their love in this way, Lear regresses to the level of a child and this regression is on of the main reasons why the Fool takes on such an important role in the play.

When the Fool enters the play, the reader learns that Lear is dependent on him, as is made evident in his speech to the knight: "I have perceived a most faint neglect of late, which I have / rather blamed of mine own jealous curiosity than as a / very pretence and purpose of unkindness... But where's my fool ? I have not seen him this two days" [I.iv.65-69]. After these lines the Fool enters wearing the traditional dress of fools at court. As entertainers appointed to the royal court, fools dressed in costumes appropriate to their station. Coxcombs were worn by court fools as "powerful symbols of the sexual energy [that was] traditionally permitted outlet in the erotic image of the jester." By wearing this coxcomb, Lear's fool symbolically aligns his image with the animal world and, by analogy, links himself to madness, for the Elizabethans viewed madmen as a group who occupied a middle position between the human and animal kingdoms. As we shall see, this is a distraction that taints Lear as well. The Fool offers his coxcomb to Kent and, when asked for the reason why he does this, he gives the following response:




Why ? For taking one's part that out of favor. Nay, as thou canst not smile as

the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly. There, take my coxcomb. Why, this

fellow has banished two on's daughters, and did the third a blessing

against his will. If thou follows him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.

--How much, nuncle ? Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters

[I.iv.94-100]





Kent is a fool for serving Lear, a person who is out of favor, and deserves to wear the coxcomb. The Fool then makes a general prediction that if a person cannot adapt himself to the conditions of life, if one cannot smile as the wind sits, then this person is not only a fool, but is a potentially tragic figure as well. Yet as the Fool continues speaking, his response clearly indicates that the coxcomb is meant not for Kent but for Lear himself. After all, Lear is the one who has banished his daughter. However, a careful reading shows that the Fool says that Lear has banished two daughters. One may presume he meant Goneril and Regan, the two who swiftly agreed to make an oath of fealty to their father; he exempts Cordelis from this classification. In a gloss on this line, Alfred Harbage says that the Fool's use of the word 'banished' indicates the inauthentic love of Goneril and Regan, rather than the physical distance separating Cordelis from her father [WS 1071]. In complying with the love test, it is Goneril and Regan who become artificial. The Fool also notes that Cordelia, in being exiled from the kingdom, receives a blessing from her father, as all those who willing serve Lear are fated to wear the coxcomb in the end. When the Fool instructs Lear on the difference between a bitter fool and a sweet fool, Lear takes offence, saying, "Dost thou call me fool, boy ?" [I.iv.141]. The Fool responds, saying, "All other titled thou hast given away; that thou wast born with [I.iv.142-143]. Here the Fool contends that Lear has lost his privileged titles and can only claim the right to call himself a natural fool, the title he acquired at birth. As the Fool calls the ethics of Lear's earlier actions into question, the reader quickly sees that it is the Fool's position in this play is unique; he alone is able to tell Lear that he is making an error.

While the sweet fool of the last scene spoke in poetry, the bitter fool in the next scene does not display the same characteristics; this Fool converses with Lear in prose throughout the scene. There is a profound absence of jesting in this scene, as the dialogue reflects a significant change in the Fool's attitude. As the pressures surrounding him accelerate, Lear becomes absorbed in the past, hampering his ability to communicate with others. Aside from a one-line announcement made by Kent, Lear and his Fool are together in their solitude for the duration of the scene. Some of the Fool's line, such as "If a man's brains were in his heels, were't not in / danger of kibes ?" [I.v.7-8], are meant to distract Lear, bringing him relief from his despair by comparing a man's wits to an inflammation of his feet. Other lines such as "Shelt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly, / for though she's as like this as a crab's like an apply, yet / I can tell what I can tell" [I.b.12-15] are meant to compound his distress. Here the Fool predicts to Lear that his other loyal daughter, Regan, will use him just like Goneril, who departed in a fury at the conclusion of the preceding scene. Through the things he says, the Fool disciplines Lear by forcing him to face the harsh realities of his situation. If King Lear were a modern novel instead of a Renaissance drama, this scene of Lear and the Fool talking together would most likely be reduced to a single character, with the drama being presented through an internal monologue. As it stands, the intimate relationship between Lear and the Fool makes it seem as if the purpose of the Fool is to serve as a vehicle for Lear's unconscious mind. Indeed, in this scene Shakespeare uses the Fool to increase our understanding of the reasons why Lear eventually becomes mad. Like a representation of a guilty conscious, the Fool stands by Lear's side an calmly says things that cause an enormous grief to sink in. The Fool continues taunting Lear, saying, "Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst / been wise" [I.v.38-39]. Unable to bear hearing these comments any longer, the storm of madness that is gathering in Lear's mind forces him to cry out: "O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven ! / Keep me in temper; I would not be mad !" [I.v.40-41]. Lear's mind, which has been subjected to the gradual encroachment of madness, now becomes completely dominated by it.

Lear continues to be confronted with the errors of the ways, as Kent adds to his humiliation by characterizing Lear's house as a place of "shame" [II.iv.44]. The immediate effect of Kent's words is reflected not in Lear's speech, but in the Fool's, who begins to sing a song of sorrow: "Winter's not gone yet, if the wild gees fly that way. / ... Fortune, the arrant whore, / Ne'er turns the key to the poor" [II.iv.45, 50-51]. This song of mourning contains lines filled with images of desolation and solitude, playing on Lear's suspicion that he has been abandoned by his daughters and his fear of living a life of poverty and suffering. :ear responds with yet another cry to ward off the madness that awaits him, "O, how this mother swells up towards my heart / Hysterica passio, down, thy climbing sorrow !" [II.iv.54-55]. As in the last scene, this passage is yet another instance where Lear reacts to the words of the Fool in a way that further increases the dramatic intensity of the play. The next scene in which these two characters trade lines of dialogue begins with Lear challenging the powers of the natural world:




Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks. Rage, blow.
You cataracts and hurricanes, spout
Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks.
You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head. And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' th' world,
Crack nature's moulds, all germains spill at once,
That makes ingrateful man [III.ii.1-9]




In this speech Lear imagines the terrible and destructive forces that nature has at its disposal. He personifies these forces as an army whose speed and power make it virtually unbeatable. Powerful enough to unleash vast torrents of water and swift enough to shatter an oak before a single thought can be completed, nature's forces are able to dominate the humna world without question. Even more impressive, nature has the power to demolish the 'moulds' in which men like Lear are formed. causing the seeds of the self to fall unharvested as scattered potential that will never come to fruition. That Lear sees himself as the fool of chance, vainly attempting to recollect the qualities that had once made him a great man, is implicit in this passage that reflects a man's complaints against destiny and time.

While Lear's speech characterizes him as man who is possessed by the self-destructive and all-consuming forces of an unstable mind, the Fool's speech emanates from a mind that is clearly more rational than Lear's own: "O nuncle, court holy waters in a dry house is better / than this rain-water out o' doors. / ... Here's a night pities neither / wise men nor fools" [III.ii.10-13]. These two speeches make it clear that the roles have been reversed, for now Lear speaks like a fool and the Fool speaks like the man of wisdom Lear could have been. The majesty of Lear's speech to a universethat threatens to disperse his powers and wipe out his rule as monarch is followed by the Fool's discomfiting words, breaking with Lear's apocalyptic wish to see the world consumed by the power of the self. Lear and the Fool are joined in the Fool's observation, "Here's a night pitied neither wise men nor Fools" [III.ii.12-13], absorbing both men into one continuous identity. Lear ignores the Fool's warnings due to his absorbtion into his own consciousness, while the Fool's rejoiner highlights the irony of Lear's position as a king who plays the fool.

In another passage the Fool personifies Lear through a cod-piece, a sexual image that was associated with fools and, at the same time, linking both men as a single figure whose personality is both wise men and fool: "...here's grace and a cod-piece; that's a wise / man and a Fool" [III.ii.40-41]. Perhaps because Lear continues to ignore the Fool's attempts to provide him with practical advice, the Fool tries to intrigue Lear with a riddle, saying, "Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a / gentleman or a yeoman ?" [III.iv.9-10]. Lear's answer appears to indicate himself, "A king, a king !" [III.iv.11]. His pitiful condition is made clear as Lear tries, in vain, to assert his own identity. The Fool endeavors to restore Lear's sanity through his humorous speech: "Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool" [III.iv.51]. The death of the Fool is expressed in the line, "And I'll go to bed at noon" [III.iv.83], an explicit reference to the grave. As the Fool disappears from the play after this scene and is not to be heard from again, it falls to the literary critic to explain the reasons for his enigmatic disappearance.

The psychoanalytic theories of Jacques Lacan can be used to augment our understanding of how the process of empowerment through illusion is carried out. Lacan conceives of a theory of psychological development that operates by meconnaissance, a confusion between image and reality, which he calls the mirror-stage. With the child's entrance into this illusory perspective, a time of crucial development and change is underway. Beginning at about six months, the infant becomes aware of the fact that the body is both composed of both an image and a separate being. The mirror-stage is so named because this process takes place as if the child were gazing at itself in a mirror. The child comes to identity with its own image, the Lacanian imago, differentiating it from those images it receives from all the other objects that enters its field of vision. It is at this point that the child forms what Lacan terms the Ideal-I, an immature form of the self which has yet to identity with the image of the other and which has yet to have its consciousness infiltrated by language. Here we have the child standing before the mirror of its consciousness and gazing at an image of itself. As the child's reflection in the mirror is an image rather than a material object, the child's image of itself as a complete and unified entity stands as the signifier. Likewise, the material form of the child who is engaged in this illusionistic process of construcitng an identity is the signified.

Through this explanation of the phenomenon of the mirror-stage, we observe that the sign is constreucted through the unification of both sign and signifier in Lacan's mirror. In coming to identify with this image, for the first time the child finds a wholeness and unity which springs from its cognizance of itself as both material presence and absent image. Indeed, the child is seduced by an image of itself as an integrated whole and fooled into believing it is powerful on the basis of a reflection grasped through the illusory image of a mirrored reality. Knowing that this stage is the first point in an individual's life where the self is able to intellectually grasp the sign of the self as being composed of both both signifier and signified, I believe that Lacan would agree that the Fool, who has been shown to be closely linked with Lear's consciousness, is Lear's imago. According to Malcolm Bowie, Lacan used the concept of the imago, a word derived from the Latin word for 'statue', to indicate a mental object associated with the early experience of the ego. For this reason, Lacan conceives of the ego as a statuefied presence that is derived from the earlier and psychologically more primative formation of the imago. Far from being phantasmic, imagos are actually real. They embody the pre-history of the ego in a mirror image that forms the ego. It is the imago, not the ego, that is the true root governing the formation of the self. In Freudian theory, the ego falsely acquires the stature and standing of an originary formative principle, but in Lacan's view the originary formative principle is more apporpriately given to the imago. It is the imago that determines the subject's behavior and personality, says Lacan, and therefore the imago's developmental priority is clear.

In terms of Freudian psychology, primary narcissism is the stage that precedes the representational split introduced by the specular image. Lacan considers the Freudian model to be confused and obscure, and he revised the concept of the ego into what is essentially an image of an image. In Lacan's counterintuitive theory the double comes first developmentally. He saw the mirror-stage as affecting the primary function of the imago, that is, to provide the ego with a stable relationship between the organism and reality. Throug the successful completion of the mirror-stage, the child comes to see itself as a separate individual, as a body among other bodies. Only through coming to see itself through the eyes of others does the child emerge from the world of immediate experience. While Freud theorized on a series of stages of libidinal development, from infantile narcissism to the phase of adult genital sexuality, Lacan prposed a developmental theory where the narcissistic plateua is the stage at which all relations between internal ego and external object are conducted. Lacanian structural psychology operates on the basis of the narcissistic experience alone, deciphered in the light of the child's experience before the mirror. In truth, the mirror-stage is hardly a stage, for it occurs in the instantaneous moment of cognition.

In his revision of Freudian theory Lacan built on the theory of ego-formation that was put forth in works such as The Ego and the Id (1927), where Freud postulated that the formation of the ego passed through a series of successive identifications, ranging from abandoned objects to the mother and father in one's personal pre-history. In Lacan's neo-Freudian theory, the mirro-stage is a drama which manufactures for the subject a fantasy wherein a succession of images where the fragmented body becomes united in as a whole gestalt and gives rise to a powerful awareness of body and image in the child's mind. But what reason might account for the fact that what is nost familiar to Lear, his own ego, appears to have such destabilizing effects on him ? In Lacanian terms, the imago represented the previously surmounted stage of psychic development, a time when the distinction between image and ego did not exist. During this period, which precedes the mirror-stage, there was no space between ego and image, nor was there any delay between wish and representation or divisionbetween interior and exterior. It is Lear's return to this narcissistic and animistic phase, indicated by his infanile regression at the time of the love test, which causes Lear's image to double into two characters, Lear and the Fool. The primary narcissism of the child, a stage surmounted at the completion of the mirror-stage, returns as the entrance of the double signals the reversal of Lear's psychological development. As a result, far from being a token of power or an assertion of royal immortality, Lear's return to the double becomes a harbinger of death.

If we apply the perspective of Lacanian psychoanalysis to King Lear, we are able to see that the Fool's appearance before Lear may be read as an example of the ego appearing before itself, dividing itself and standing before itself. I believe that this reading is material and relevant to our understanding of the play even though the Fool is a separate character listed among the dramatis personae; this critical perspective does not impute a false interpretation onto Shakespare's text. By viewing the Fool as a subdivision of Lear's ego, a clearer understanding of the character of King Lear becomes evident. Furthermore, if we recall that for Lacan, the imago is the foundation of the ego, it is conceivable that if a character's psychic framework wre to be dislodged due to an ego-imabalance, this ego would the see itself in multiply fragments of a fractured identity. In this sense, a Lacanian interpretation could argue that when a character such as Kent sees the Fool, they are really seeing a representation of Lear's ego.

Reading Lear in terms of Lacanian psychoanalysis eliminates both Rosenberg's debate whether the Fool is a bitter (helpful) character or a senseless (harmful) presence and Frye's debate as to whether the Fool is a natural fool or the fool of fortune. In these debates, the answers rested on the reader's view of Lear as a characater that is potentially open to change. If the reader believes that Lear is able to have him image redefined through the Fool's language, the character of the Fool is seen as containing helpful advice; if if one believes the Lear is unable to be redefined through the Fool's language, the character of the Fool becomes a source of deprecating sarcasm and devious irony. As our analysis of the text has shown, a cas can be made for both types of fools. However, when we subject the relationship between Lear and the Fool to Lacanian psychoanalysis, we are able to view King Lear as a paychodrama where Lear's interaction with the Fool is seen as an internal struggle with his own psychic neurosis; the dialogue with the Fool is to redefine Lear's image of himself by reflecting and embodying those aspects of Lear's consciousness that cause the destabilization of his concept of the self.

In Shakespare's tragedy, Lear's failure is a failure to believe in himself as a powerful subject, a phenomenon that causes Lear to mis-recognize himself as a fool. That Lear suffers from neurosis is undeniable and is hardly new, but this reading of the play offers a new view of Lear's madness. Only by consulting Lacanian psychoanalysis can we make the observation that Lear's advancing neurosis is not a cause but the result of his failure to stabilize his ego by identifying with the specular image. Due to his inability to arrive at a satisfactory relationship between ego and image, Lears suffers from the radical destabilization of those architectural values that governed the formation of the self. The effect of this intrinsic ego-instability is that Lear is denied the opportunity to extend his power under an illusory guise, according to Orgel's thesis. As opposed to as play like The Tempest (1623), which ends in the restoration of Prospero to the throne, King Lear ends in tragedy, depicting the bankruptcy of the power and art of the royal imagination rather than its effectiveness in weilding power. Instead of reifying and increasing his power and mastery, Lear's inability to surmount the mirror-stage leads to his eventual self-annihilation and madness.

There are no texts, there are only interpretations

At times it appears that we exist in a world where all we have access to are mere interpretations, that we are condemned to remain rooted in our personal perspectives, cut off from all forms of pure textuality. This view has led some to believe that the statement above is correct, that there are no texts, only interpretations. Can we decide whether this is true or false ? What would Wittgenstein say if he were to confront this modern philosophical conundrum ? Let's look at what Wittgenstein has to say about interpretations, its rules and its limits.

Perhaps this statement can be translated into a comparable philosophical question: How do we understand a thing ? How are we to proceed from unknown to known ? According to W, our understanding is only a guess at the answer. For example, let's look at the learning-process. Is the process of learning simply a process of interpreting those axioms and premises that are given ? As Wittgenstein-as-educator might argue, this will not do because even though a teacher might present a student with texts--he might even present secondary sources which offer the student access to a critical history of interpretation--still, this is not enough. The process of learning is always accompanied by a further interpretation of the material; that is, the interpretation of the student.

Regardless of the manner in which the material is presented, the unsuspecting student will always be forced to begin with a guess at the intended meaning behind the material. The student will always be forced to interpret, to look at the material with a critical eye from the perspective of an individual and an eye that will serve as a site for the convergence of both perspective and meaning. This may be also be understood as the site of interpretation. But when a student has been familiarized with a number of avenues of thinking, why is it that he would choose one particular line of interpretation over another ? While Wittgenstein does not explicitly address the effects of an ideologically-based consciousness, I would suggest that this is the answer: when confronted with a text, the individual interprets the material in a way that accords to the particular ideology they subscribe to.

Our memories of an experience can be understood as the recollections of having one's actions and/or mental processes affected in a particular way. However, as individual subjectivities we want to resist this notion of having our minds being influenced by an outside force, as if this would presuppose or posit some kind of external control which is responsible for our actions, our thoughts and our lives. What we wish to posit instead is the notion that we each possess a unique individual will which is rooted in the consciousness of our individual perspective. When we see a red rose and marvel at its beautiful color, we usually do not consider that this piece of sense-data in unique because it has been received by us exclusively. Common sense will tell us that in order to indicate this color to someone else, we must refer to it by means of the object itself. We do not point to ourselves and proclaim us to be the artist who has created this color; rather, we are only receivers of sense-data from an individual perspective. This stands in opposition to our relationship to legal codes, which are grounded in the notion of the continuous identity of the body; we wish in this instance to take our bodies out of the picture: we refer to the object not by pointing to our hands or with our bodies, but by applying our mental perceptions to the object.

Indeed, our perspectives have such a great influence on the way we perceive the world around us that our impressions of objects and events are quite often completely unlike the objects or events themselves. Our perceptions of a work of art, say, a literary work, are to be seen as intrinsically our own. However, it is not within our rights to say, simply because a reader has met the work from the standpoint of his own perspective, that they are the creator of texts. Wittgenstein is adamant about this point: although interpretation is an essential process in the social medication of texts, it may not be said that texts are blank fields which are only formed through the reader's response in the form of a projection onto the text. It may only be said that the reader supplies the context through which the work of art is received, and this context is the continually changing consciousness that has evolved through history.

But more specifically, at what point does Wittgenstein draw the limits of interpretation ? In the Interpretations, he conceives of the intepretive process as being a characteristic notion of human psychology. As in the Blue Book's craving for generality, he points out what we can circumvent the ceaselessly circular process of intepretation by recognizing a logical flaw in the argument which would have us confront a continual barrage of interpretations. According to Wittgenstein, it is possible that at some point the interpreter may have assimilated a rule which is not an interpretation. Although we might wish to consider the effects a rule has on different interpretations, we are prevented from doing so by the demand that we constrain our use of the word interpretation. Interpretations themselves have a use-value of practically nil; they remain as they are, negligible and ineffectual, unable to direct either the shape or the form of the textual material will assume. While it is true that an individual's subjective interpretations of a text cannot be directly refuted, there is no way to authenticate this interpretive perspective as the right one for all others; it falls to the rules that are not interpretations to play the role of inter-subjective standards and also to serve as the limits of interpretation: these, then, are the texts which exist outside the world of intepretations, the texts which the statement tries to ignore.

Knowing that Wittgenstein advanced a philosophy that proclaimed the disappearance of the problem of philosophy, we might also expect him to announce that there is no position, no textual body, and no interpretation that is not an interpretation from the vantage point of an individual perspective. Wittgenstein foresaw this difficulty and made a number of statements that summarize his thoughts on the textual limits of interpretation. However, in the light of all of these thoughts, one thing we are able to see mostly clearly standing among his propositions: inasmuch as the statement, "There are no texts, only interpretations" is true, so is the reverse statement also true, "There are no interpretations, there are only texts."

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

On Emily Dickinson

Constructing a De-centered Theology:
Emily Dickinson's Revisions of Nineteenth Century Death Culture



Realizing that an understanding of the culture context in which Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) wrote is a prime necessity for a full critical approach to her work, we shall first explore the cultural background of the nineteenth century before we commence with an analysis of Dickinson's poems. In The Feminization of American Culture (1977), Ann Douglas describes the advent of a new genre of American literature that came to exert enormous force in society called contemporary consolation literature. This genre incorporated a number of different textual forms for representing the grief of the bereaved, including "obituary poems and memoirs, mourners' manuals, prayer guide-books, hymns and books about heaven." The primary purpose of consolation literature was to alleviate the sorrow that accompanied the death of loved ones, inviting its audience to participate in a belief-system where Christianity gave way to fantasy.

Consolation literature soon found widespread acceptance and popularity, as it allows its audience to fantasize that after death, in an unseen world to come, they would be compensated for the losses they experienced in this world. It was a marked feature of this genre that life and death were set against one another as opposing forces. The effect of this opposition was that death and dying took on an excessive importance. In time, the American people developed a death-centered culture where various features associated with death were appropriated by the living in their desire to reconstruct life on the basis of their conception of death. As Douglas tells us, the authors of this genre were predominantly clergymen and women, whose fascination with illness and death represents a sublimated desire to investigate subjects such as sexuality, pregnancy and childbirth. Because these taboo subjects were forbidden from overt expression in the male-dominated society, these authors reverted to a subject reverted to an investigation of a subject that was similar in intensity as a moment of profound experience - death. In fact, their writings became so obsessed with death and dying that Douglas categorizes the memoirs written by women and clergymen in the nineteenth century as "exercises in necrophilia."

Partly from the desire to witness a perfect realization of the ethos of Christianity on earth and partly from their desire to elevate themselves from their subordinate positions, the weakest and most powerless members of society, the ones who were politically at a supreme disadvantage, set out to construct a fantastic cultural consciousness in the hope of instigating social change. As the fulcrum of their societal transformation, these two groups placed great emphasis on the bonds of mutual affinity between mother and child. This attempt to establish a new balance of power, ostensibly in the name of the insignificant, in the name of children, was in reality an attempt to promote their own status, converting their secondary social position into a position of power and transforming their resignation from the physical plane of existence into a position of superiority. In advocating the realignment of power relations, the proponents of the culture of death attempted to make the world into a place where they stood as the unquestioned adjudicators of live and death for their respective groups, families and congregations. In this way, too, Douglas says, the American death culture of the nineteenth century brought about the "domestication of death."

The authors of consolation literature were greatly interested in deceased children, a subject that embodied the feelings of loss and abandonment as these individuals represented the author's desire to make contact with the realm of divine reality. Douglas focuses on authors such as Lydia H. Sigourney who, in poems such as "Twas But a Babe", embodied these feelings:



I asked them why the verdant turf was riven
From its young rooting, and with silent lip
They pointed to a new-made chasm among
The marble-pillared mansions of the dead
Who goeth to his rest in yon damp couch ?
The tearless crowd past on - "twas but a babe."
A babe ! - And poise ye on the rigid scales
Of calculation, the fond bosom's wealth ?
Rating its priceless idols as ye weigh
Such merchandise and moth and ruse corrupt,
Or the rude robber steals ? Ye mete out grief,
Perchance, when youth, maturity or age,
Sink in the thronging tomb, but when the breath
Grows icy on the lip of innocence
Repress your measured sympathies, and say
"Twas but a babe."


In obituary poems such as this one, Sigourney collaborated with the cult that elevated death to the detriment of the living. Examining this poem, one sees that here Sigourney reproaches those whose daily lives permit their avoidance of death specifically, she scorns those (male) individuals who, because they focus on the external world of human activities, fail to recognize the inner dramas that occur everyday, such as the death of children. In Sigourney's view, it is a mistake for life to be lives without giving death the proper recognition it deserves. Douglas points out the "Twas But a Babe" adds force to the cult of death in its insistence that the locus of one's concerns should be dominated by private matters such as death, rather than public matters if life. Like most consolatory literature, this poem achieves its effectiveness with three important features: a denunciation addressed to those members of society who do not participate in the family-centered aspects of social life; a prediction that, inevitably, everyone must consider the prospect of dying; and finally, a clue suggesting that a reprieve from the terrible onslaught of death may be found in religion and prayer.

Like many other pieces of consolatory literature, "Twas But a Babe" makes its impact by sentimentalizing the time of childhood, romanticizing the transfiguration that accompanies death and mythologizing one's life after death on a plane of divine reality. Along with the cultural adhesion to a death-centered religious spirit, this literary form enabled women and clergymen to exert social change to a greater extent than the had previously enjoyed. This format was used to instill the cultural belief that one's turning to the sphere of the public and the worldly, away from the personal and the domestic, constituted a reprehensible act, equivalent to an act of corroboration with the forces of evil that brought death upon the child.

It is noteworthy that the two groups most responsible for producing this literature, women and clergymen, were both situated on the margins of society. For Douglas, the introduction of consolation literature represents a tactical measure on the part of these two groups who, ostensibly powerless, attempted to wrench power out of the hands of the controlling hierarchy of authority. Setting up a dogmatic belief-system where death could be made to cohere with life, they re-made the image of God as an ideologue to be imported into American society under the unassailable protection of Biblical authority. In this way authors such as Elizabeth Prentiss and Elizabeth Stuart Phelps wrote popular fantasy-books that gave explicit details about the celestial after-life.

Writers of consolation literature carried an aura of authenticity when the spoke about the nature of heaven, a world that represented the perfect embodiment of domestic retreat. Here in heaven, the writers of consolation literature promised, all of one's earthly desires will be satisfied. In this way heaven came to stand for a place where all of one's childhood fantasies were to be realized, too. From the perfect unification of the family, with all members bonded together for eternity, to the realization of childhood wishes, with a supply of cookies endlessly produced by the dozens, heaven was a place where one's every dream came true. Douglas names The Gates Ajar (1868), written by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, as representative of "the apotheosis of consolatory literature." This novel, which was a great commercial success, emphasized the need to follow a code of correct Christian behavior for a civilized and socially hygienic community of Christians. In their depictions of the after-life, writers like Phelps abandoned all spiritual discoveries in favor of scenes of typical domestic life; only this time, the home was a place where the woman was authorized to wield power rather than have power wielded against her.

All of these beliefs led to the glorification of death at the expense of life. With the formation of the cult of death, life could not be lived as life, but could only be lived in the shadow of a future burial. Eventually, a whole death-centered culture came to be produced on the basis of the feelings stirred into action by the literature of consolation, including the establishment of rural cemeteries and the many other practices that fetishized the dead, making burial and interment into commodified affairs. Again, it was women and clergymen, the same two groups who bore the greatest responsibility for producing consolatory literature, who were the impetus behind the widespread growth of the rural cemeteries. The first rural cemetery was to open in America was Mt. Auburn in New York. These cemeteries were meant to bring the living into a closer relationship with the dead, allowing living patrons to visit their departed loved ones in an atmosphere that presented death, not as a monumentalized and monolithic entity, but simply as a feature of the natural landscape gently receding into the background. For the patrons of Mt. Auburn cemetery, the dead were still an important part of the present, at least in the lives of the relatives and loved ones. Immediately following the creation of this death-centered consciousness, the market opened for new commercial enterprises, including new businesses that saw death as a lucrative and highly profitable field. Undertakers and funeral directors came to the fore in the business of death, taking the positions left vacant by the women and ministers who had produced the literature of consolation and remembrance.

The poem by Lydia Sigourney is just one example of the kind of poetry whose legitimacy Dickinson criticized within the space of her own work. Unlike much of the poetry written in the nineteenth century, Dickinson's poetry presented an image of death that countered the one produced in the chiliastic consolatory literature of the nineteenth century. She wrote a great deal of poetry that criticized its central project, the removal of the distinction between life and death, thereby making death into a domesticated presence. One such poem is #445, which related the experience of death from the perspective of a child; her employment of this perspective was a particularly effective way of criticizing those adherents of the culture of death:

'Twas just this time, last year, I died.
I know I heard the Corn,
When I was carried by the Farms --
It had the Tassels on --

I thought how yellow it would look --
When Richard went to mill --
And then, I wanted to get out,
But something held my will.

I wondered which would miss me, least,
And when Thanksgiving, came,
If Father'd multiply the plates --
To make an even Sum --

And would it blur the Christmas glee
My Stocking hang too high
For any Santa Claus to reach
The Altitude of me --

But this sort, grieved myself,
And so, I thought the other way,
How just this time, some perfect year --
Themself, should come to me --


In this poem Dickinson speaks in the voice of a child who has died through undisclosed circumstances. The speaker begins the poem by remembering how she was taken into the fields at about the same time last year. She knows this by the observations of the natural world around her, for at that time the corn was high and ready for harvesting. She hears the resulting corn as the cart of which she is riding, perhaps one of the tasseled funeral coaches popular at the time, passes through the fields of the farm. Her thoughts, however, are not concerned with her immediate situation, the burial and internment the would be her final destination; instead, she finds herself thinking about the future, about the glittering colors of the season that lay ahead, the sowing of the fields and the way the farm would look come harvest time. She yearns to participate in these events yet, although she desires to return to life, climbing out of the cart and into her father's arms, she finds that she is powerless to do so. The child in Dickinson's poem does not realize that death constitutes the end of life, the final pronouncement on one's physical existence. In her refusal to accept the finality of death, she is like the consolatory literature of the time. So innocent is she, so unaware of the full implications of death that she continues to expect a future of bountiful harvests and red apples. Without any consciousness of death, she likens her own burial to the time of year when the cart was sent out to bring in the fall pumpkins.

It is then that her thoughts turn to the effect her death will have on her family; however, although she acknowledges that her presence will be missing from the family, this does not mean that her thoughts are rational. Instead, like a selfish child, she wants to have both life and death simultaneously. She wants her passing to be a source of constant remembrance for each member of the family; she says that she is curious to discover who will miss her the 'least', suggesting, perhaps, that she will be disappointed with the person who fails to keep her in their daily thoughts. She even thinks that it would be fitting for the family to continue to set a place for her at the table for each meal; she thinks that the family would be better off if, at the next Thanksgiving dinner, a place devoted to her would maintain 'an even sum', preserving an order that would allow the family to function properly. In a moment of realization, Dickinson's child-narrator reconsiders her effect on the family and decides that it will perhaps be too sorrowful to set aside a place for her on Christmas morning. After all, there will be no-one to open her gifts, now will there be any stocking to be filled. The child realizes that she now resides in heaven, a place far too 'high' for anyone to reach, even for Santa Claus himself. Deciding that hoping for a continuance of life after death is too depressing both for her and her family, the speaker resolves that she will concentrate on death, whose inevitable intrusion will reunite the members of the family once again. While the dead may not return to life, it is the living who will follow the dead into the grave. On this final thought, the speaker concludes, contented by this pronouncement on the inevitability of death.

In writing this poem from the perspective of a child, Dickinson portrays a consciousness too immature to accept the inevitable transformation that accompanies death, clinging persistently to the materiality of physical existence. That this poem relates the experience of death from the perspective of a child makes it that much more effective for, essentially, this was the perspective that dominated consolatory literature and the practices of nineteenth-century death-culture: the fantasies of childhood, the juvenile desire to see order imposed upon a universe that makes no such promises, the desire for the full preservation of being after death, the self restored and collected for eternity in an alternative existence--all of these things indicate a mind that is rooted in childhood. In addition, the speaker betrays her childish conception of death by naming as her greatest wish the desire to re-experience her life with her family in the world after death. Indeed, all of these wishes express a basic desire to maintain a life that is stable and unchanging, a life that preserves an essential sameness to one's activities. It is evident that she believes that nothing less than the full presence of being is necessary in order to enjoy life properly; her wish for the reunification of the happy family--mommy, daddy and child--is a wish to see the full circuit brought to completeness at once, an idea that Dickinson will critique in the next poem to be discussed.

Dickinson continues to use the posthumous voice in poem #465. In this poem, the speaker narrates her own death-bed experience, depicting how the ending of life is, not a moment of transcendental entry into a realm of pure being, but merely a tamping out of the last sparks of life, the final extinguishment of consciousness.




I heard a fly buzz -- when I died --
The stillness in the room
Was like the stillness in the air --
Between the Heavens of Storm --

The Eyes around -- had wrung them dry --
And Breaths were gathering firm
In the last Onset -- when the King --
Be witnessed -- in the Room --

I willed my Keepsakes -- signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable -- and then it was
There interposed a Fly --

With Blue -- uncertain stumbling Buzz --
Between the light -- and me --
And then the Windows failed -- and then
I could not see to see --




This is a poem which, as Sharon Cameron has noted, the Victorian conception of death is shown to be contrary to the reality of the experience. While most critics are in agreement with this judgment, critics such as Barton St. Armand speculate whether the buzzing of the fly blocks the transcendent light of a divine reality or if it is merely the light that expresses the everyday "fallacy of hope." Either way, St. Armand declares, this depiction of a death-bed experience stands out in contrast to other death-bed poetry of the time. Dickinson takes the nineteenth century desire to make death into a moment of vast significance and subverts these cliches by constructing a death that ends, not with the trumpets of a resounding redemption, but with the most quotidian of sounds, the buzzing of a common housefly. By having this unimpressive sound mark the end to life indicated Dickinson's belief that the end of life is not accompanies by a momentous climax indicating the singularity of one's existence. Instead, the end of life is accompanies by complete silence, dry eyes, firm beliefs, nervous anticipation and flies. Dickinson takes on the traditional cliches of the Victorian manner of dying as, in her last moments, the speaks renounces before the world all of her personal possessions, giving away "what portion of me be assignable". In the throes of dying, she awaits Christs' coming to claims her for the kingdom of heaven. Yet she finds her faith to be undermined by a familiar domestic presence, the buzzing of a common housefly. The distracting presence of the fly, with its "uncertain stumbling buzz," prevents the speaker from concentrating in the last important moments: she is unable to make a final testimony of her faith, keeping her from the light she imagines to be her destination. St. Armand sees this poem as representating of Dickinson's work in that it is a poem of an essentially ambiguous nature: Dickinson's desire to be intentionally indecisive on the ultimate meaning of individual existence can be compared with the uncertainty that the believer has to reconcile with if she is going to have faith in a divine reality beneath the world of appearance. He suggests that the presence of the fly distubs the certainty that had braced the speaker's faith throughout her life and, as a result, the ending of the speaker's life, like the ending of the poem, is obscured in ambiguity.

Throwing a skeptical light on the notion of death as understood in nineteenth century consolatory literature, Dickinson represents heaven not as a place of peaceful quietude but as a place of 'storm'. This indicates the for Dickinson the arrival of death is hardly a religious experience; all that can be said about it, in terms of the pragmatic considerations of this life, is that it is the final stage of material existence. For Dickinson, the idea that one could be distracted from Christ, the eternal source of reconciliation and redemption, by the simple buzzing of a fly, blocking the soul in its path on the way to heaven, clearly indicates the problems with a literal interpretation of the scriptures as preached by the evangelists. In succumbing to death, the speaker's faculties begin shutting down and, as blindness sets in, she comes to see the self in relation to death, until finally, she says, "I could not see."

As Dickinson shows us, it only takes one tiny fly, or a mote in one's eye, to destroy one's picture of the world, causing the self to dwindle from view. The fly focuses her attention onto the present moment and prevents her fromn creating the circumstances that would make her death a happy death, the King coming to receive her into God's heavenly family. Perhaps the speaker is a member of the cult of death for who religion is an ideological construct used to make life safe from death, to ward off as if it were a common pest. However, the fatalistic death-centered eschatology of the nineteenth century is undermined by Dickinson's poem in that by giving into death, the speaker makes the discovery that there is no King; there is only the discomforting presence of a fly. This would be a most unsettling prospect to the writers of concolatory literature who, in defiance of death, sought to construct a belief-system that promised the eternal preservation of the physical body and the continual repression of death.

St. Armand lists a host of new developments in the technology of death, such as new embalming techniques to preserve corpses, waterproof tombs and air-tight burial cases, all of which were invented in the nineteenth century. These developments were to have great significance for the institutionalization of American death-culture as corpses in the nineteenth century were prepared to look as if they were still alive. However, Ann Douglas reports that invariably, these corpses looked like lifeless dolls. At this stage in American history death had become a fetishized commodity, as funeral directors catered to a public who wanted to seperate life from the 'indecent' presence of death, creating a patently false image of the dead by making them into keepsakes to be held onto, treasured and venerated by those still living. Clearly, the members of the cult of death believed that if you could prevent the deterioration that accompanies the decaying of the body and the material aspects of the human form can be preserved, then the preservation of the soul will surely follow, as one's presence will permanently fixed, forever unchangeable before God -- a guarantee of salvation. Deceased loved ones were carefully prepared for their eternal repose, now assigned a fixed and permanent identity to carry with them over into the next world. Dickinson, too, comments on the cultural desire to preserve the physical body in defiance of this natural process in writing a poem that, once again, concerns the death of a child:

But little Carmine hath her face --

Of Emerald scant -- her Gown --

Her Beauty -- is the love she doth --

Itself -- exhibit -- Mine

In this poem Dickinson points to the fallacies inherent in the attempt to insure the body's resistence to death, and demonostrates an understanding of the psychology that would make someone participate in these practices. The dead child, little Carmine, is prepared for the grave and, like many a bereaved mother in the nineteenth century, the speaker in this poem sees her child as a precious treasure that has been taken away from her. In dressing her child for burial, the mother makes an attempt to ward off death, adorning her in an elaborate and elegant manner. In fact, her costume is so beautiful that it both seems to reflect and preserve the innate, natural innocence of childhood. However, this poem is merely a sentimentalized portrait of grief, as in Sigourney's poem: the final two lines of this poem indicate that this final gift to one's child has taken the form of a dangerous reaction where, in an act of projective identification, the parent sees the child as the container for her unconscious and sublimated emotions.

Dickinson's four-line poem represents a brief scene of profound social and cultural importance. Here we have a mother who, having lost her daughter, dresses her child in a delicate and lovely way. The exquisite beauty that the child displays is itself a product of the mother's attention to the child's appearance. As a result of this connection, the mother sees the child as a substitute for herself, and so comes to feel as if she herself has been recreated into a thing of beautyand put on display; she sees the child's body as indicating the physical manifestation of the love she has given her. The projective mother assumes that the child not only represents her, but embodies her. For projective parents, both mother and father, the child is not an individual, nor even a little person; children are something similar to a possession, a trophy, a form of oblation made in sacrifice to a God who demands the death of the young. In this way the dead body of the child is fetishized as a keepsake, a container to be filled up by the mother's overwhelming feelings of grief and frustration. These feelings are then transferred over to the child, who serves merely as an instrument in the equation. In this poem, the mother's projective reaction has significant effects, for in the last two lines the mother thinks that the child she has laid to rest is not only an extension of herself, but is herself come again. The beauty that the child exhibits in death is apporpriated by the mother and, as it is the parent, not the child, who is the source of this enormous grief, perhaps someone might consider the somewhat Wordsworthian idea that here the child has become the parent. Dickinson shows how, in the fetishized death-culture of the nineteenth century, children were often seen not as seperate individuals, but as repositories for the fantasies of their projective parents, in that the bodies of the children were often used to validate the parent's existence. Traces of this notion are to be found within many of the philosophical ideas of the nineteenth century, a time when the origin-centered philosophy of the consciousness prompted a belief in the eternal recurrence of the eternal presence.

In poem #408, Dickinson criticized the establishment of rural cemeteries such as Mt. Auburn, an aesthetic retreat for death that was built like a park:

Unit, like Death, for Whom ?

True, like the Tomb,

Who tells no secret

Told to Him --

The Grave is strict --

Tickets admit

Just two -- the Bearer --

And the Borne --

And seat -- just One --

The Living -- tell --

The Dying -- but a Syllable --

The Coy Dead -- None --

No Chatter -- here -- no tea --

So Babbler, and Bohea -- stay here --

But Gravity - and Expectation -- and Fear --

A tremor just, that All's not sure

Here, too, Dickinson rails against a death-obsessed culture that, in her opinion, places too much significance on the material aspects of death. She saw no merit in the idea of a cemetery was that also to be seen as a park to be enjoyed on a Saturday afternoon, either for a date or a family picnic. This misguided attempt to level the distinction between life and death was detrimental to both the living and the dead. Voicing her concern that death had become overly materialized, Dickinson compared the entry into the cemetery to the fee one pays before entering the theater. To Dickinson, in the attempt to preserve the fiction that the dead are part of the natural landscape, the American people had made death into a piece of theater, something she found to be reprehensible. The theatrics of death can be spotted most clearly in the relationship between the gravedigger and the corpse who, by functioning together as one unit, ignore the vast difference between the living and the dead.

In Dickinson's view, this dishonest portrayal of these differences contributed to the oppositional split between life and death where, as a result of being centered in the tensions between (living) speech and (deathly) silence, one draws from both sources in an attempt to display one's commitment to the equalization of these two camps. Speaking with the voice of authroity, Dickinson explains that after death there will be no glib conversations one can engage in while politely drinking an afternoon cup of tea. She exhorts all lover of babble and bohemianism to remain on the side of life if they wish to engage in threse pursuits. Making a final pronouncement, she inscribes the maxim that, as the weight of seriousness to one's consideration of death increases, one's desire to participate in the fantasies of the consolatory literature, a fiction that stressed the social materiality of the after-life, is bound to decrease; spending time seriously considering the immanence of death, one becomes aware of one's one uncertainty. The manner in which death was socilaized and domesticated in rural cemeteries such as Mt. Auburn was yet another sign of the untenable belief that kept America from a true appreciation of religion.

The complexities in Dickinson's revisions of the relationship between the living and the dead are made even cleared in poem $976; however, this time the relationship is represented not through the figures of the bearer and the borne but through the anthropomorphized figures of Death and Spirit.

Death is a Dialogue between

The Spirit and the Dust.

"Dissolve" says Death -- The Spirit "Sir

I have no other Trust" --

Death doubts it -- Argues from the Ground --

The Spirit turns away

Just laying off for evidence

An Overcoat of Clay.

In this poem, the entities of death and Spirit are personified as two speakers, Death being named as the mediatory through which Spirit and Dust articulate their differences. An argument ensues, as Death commands Spirit to submit to the same process of disintegration that the material body succumbs to. However, the Spirit successfully resists Death's demands, for the Spirit has not installed its "Trust" solely in the material plane of existence, where death inevitably provides closure to every life. When the Spirit claims to have avoided the contingency of Death by investing itself in an alternative plane of existence, Death becomes skeptical and sinks into the earth, in this way suggesting that the visible evidence of the end of life, the corpse that is buried in the grave, constituted the finality of existence. At this point the Spirit declines to participate in the argument any further, taking it as a self-evidence proof the the temporality of the body does not indicate that death marks the end-point of life, only the end of one's physical life. As in the earlier poem about the death of Little Carmine, which criticized the mother who painted a sentimental mask over her child's features, this poem too attempt to locate proof of the eternal spirit, but in a way that immediately strikes one as a more mature response.

We have seen how Dickinson used her poetry to revise the cult of death's understanding of the relationship between the diving and earthly reeality. In her later poetry, Dickinson employed this revised relationship to elucidate the nature of her religious beliefs. A poem such as #1620 provides us with a good example:

Circumfrence thou Bride of Awe

Posessing thou shalt be

Possessed by every hallowed Knight

That dares to cover thee

In order to provide an adequate reading of this poem, one must first understand the poet's use of the term 'circumference'. Charles Anderson analyzed Dickinson's concept of circumference and suggests that she uses the term to namew the relationship between the Being who possesses an "infinite fullness of expansion and infinite simplicity of perfection," and the poet, a being whose imperfections render her "by implication inadequate." With this insgith, one sees that Dickinson is also alluding to the famous pronouncement of St. Augustine, who described God as a being whose center is nowhere and whose circumference is everywhere. Dr. Elizabeth Petrino has quoted Dickinson as saying, "The Bible only dealth with the center, not with the circumference." She has also said that, for Dickinson, the circumference includes all that you know, as well as all that you do not know.

Extending her strategy to affect American culture through her poetic revisions of religious principles, Dickinson casts our endeavor to illuminate the center as a grevious mistake. It is not that she disputes naming the center as the core of human existence, but that she sees this attempt at a rational understanding of that which is essentially incomprehensible as an error in judgment. The center being unknowable, it is the center the circumference that needs to be invoked in order to obtain a full comprehension of the significance of one's life. It is through our attention to the circumference that God keeps us fundamental and rational, preserving us by ensuring the continual replenishment of our ability to experience the joyous ecstacies of creative fertility. Unlike the selfish members of the cult of death, who compete with one another for possessions, greedily desiring to see life continue on ad infinitum, the embrace of circumference advocated by Dickinson allows one to envisage death as a realm where the act of possession is an act where the one comes to be possessed by the many, as there is no significant differentiation between the status of the possessor and the status of the possessed. Her revision is far from a simple reversal of the Biblical equation, popular in consolatory literature, which predicts that the last shall be first. Instead, she reconfigures the set os positions between the worshipper and the worshipped, using the notion of circumference to develop an original theological perspective that refuses to see God as a wrathful figure who distinguishes between the sacred and the profane, accepting some individuals while discarding others to hell/ Nor is it true that, for Dickinson, God represents a higher being whose supreme powerprfoundly exceed that of the individual. For Dickinson, God is the God of infinite love, the One who does not refuse to love us simply because we fail at being who we are. By embracing the Dickinsonian theology of circumference, the individual's relationship with God becomes an empathic extension that allows for the expression of a reciprocal loving intercommunication between souls.

In switching the emphasis from the center to the circumference, Dickinson develops a nontheological space for a decentered God; the replacement of center with circumference attests to her belief that religion is theological only insofar as it possesses a center. In the final poem we will be looking at, #915, Dickinson writes a prayer of invocation for this willfully uncodified religion without a center,a religion that encompasses both life and death at once.

Faith -- is the Pierless Bridge

Supporting what We see

Unto the Scene that We do not --

Too slend for the eye

It bears the Soul as bold

As it were rocked in Steel

With Arms of Steel at either side --

It joins -- behind the Veil

To what, could We presume

The Bridge would cease to be

To Our far, vacillating Feet

A first Necessity

In the opening line of the poem, a person's faith is defined as a bridge that exists in defiance of the laws of logic, as there is no grounding pier to give it the support it needs. This, then, is the bridge we make unto God, a bridge that spans the distance between the earthly self and the eternal being, supporting all of our subjective interpretations of divine reality, including both that which we know and that which lies covered by our ignorance, as it is too hidden from our sight to be perceived. A second reading one could make of the first line is to interpret 'pierless' as 'peerless', that is, understanduing the poem as saying that faith is a bridge without equal, the sine qua non of all structural relationships, for this bridge is the force that carries the soul with steadfast conviction and with an appreciation of the mystery of life. In the final stanza the poet tries to determine what allows our bridge to be. She discovers that the answer is to be found, literally, in herself, for it is our will to truth, our will to believe, that allows the bridge to be. As Dickinson puts it, 'Faith' is the primary requirement for building a bridge to God, a bridge that cannot be supported directly on the physical plane. As ever, she leaves her ultimate conclusion shrouded in a veil of ambiguity, making it difficult to determine which comes first, the bridge or the faith, the self who wills it or the God who receives it. Indeed, perhaps this is also the reason why the messengers of truth have such 'vacillating Feet' in that the occupy a position of protean and alternating indeterminacy, never deviating from the fluid and variable state of perpetual uncertainty.

As noted in the introduction, The Feminization of American Culture describes the advent of consolatory literature, a body of work that, together with a number of cultural practices, helped establish an oppositional relationship between life and death, with life on one side and death on another. The emergent culture of death that came to dominance in this period served as additional sediment for the disparity between these two catgories. As a result of having an unbalanced significance on death this relationship had significantly debilitating affects on the living. Dickinson's appreciation of the relationship between life and death differs from the one advocated by the writers of consolatory literature in that, unlike a writer such as Phelps, Dickinson does nopt view life and death as being in perpetual opposition to one another. For her, the awareness of death's existence does not mean that life has to abjure the privilege of living.

As Christopher Benfey says, "Dickinson's skepticism is central to both her temperment and her achievement." As we have seen, it was her radical skeptivcism towards the status quo which allowed her to develop these revisionary strategies in an effort to restructure the dual frameworks of fanatical poetic sensibility and fatalistic aesthetic ideology, both build by the high priests of an extremist literary death-culture. The rise of the cult of death in the nineteenth century realized a dangerous possibility for the American culture which, deriving its foundational basis from the axiomatic sacred knowledge of Christianity, subverted itself by giving into the pressure of women and clergymen. In time, this led to the establishment of a number of ritualistic and life-denying cultural practices. Exhibitng a desire to rework the death culture of the nineteenth century, Dickinson's poems about death may be understood as a revision of the consolatory tenor of the other poems written during this period, such as "Twas But a Babe". Whereas poets such as Lydis Sigourney wrote poems that adhered to a belief-system prpounded by the culture of death, promisingh the life would be better in the next world, Dickinson used her poetry to illuminate the discrepancies in this belief system that advocated the deferral of life to the glorification of death.

Dickinson's poetry on the status of death constitutes a series of revisions in the philosophy that gave a legitimate basis to the death-obsessed culture of the nineteenth century. Dickinson conceptualizes death, not as the site of a great revelatory experience, but simply as a transition point on the pathway of life. In her poems she revises and re-qualifies that idea of what death can be said to be, extending the border that had delimited the province of death and countering the indubitable propositions that were assumed to be true in the popular culture of her age. Most importantly, perhaps, her poetry reconstructs the image of God through the radical ambiguity of its theological underpinnings. Her artistic use of radical theological skepticism deconstructs the presumptions that formed the basis of Christian deontology in an attempt to provide an alternative to the death-culture of the nineteenth century. Her axiological revision of death works to displace and de-legitimize the culture of death and all of its theatrical and ritualistic exercises, its theological fixation on subject-centered rationality and its tendency promote constricting projective reactions. She them attempts to implement her skeptical revisions of the religious spirit of her time, using her essentially ambiguous theses to excise the cultural biases that gave creedence to a centralized appreciation of the world. Through the use of skepticism, Dickinson is able to promote a type of consciousness that feels more comfortable with the non-theological space of circumference, rather than the positivistic proclamaticions of a theology that sacrilized the idea of a life spent in supplication to death.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Wagner vs. Stravinsky

Thelonious Monk, "The Composer"

-Round Midnight
-Bemsha Swing
-Rhythm-a-Ning
-Reflections
-Straight, No Chaser
-Brilliant Corners
-Ruby, My Dear
-Well You Needn't
-Blue Monk
-Criss Cross
-Crepusule With Nellie

Chet Baker - Mister B.
Mose Allison - Lessons in Living
Van Morrison - Pay the Devil
Dave Brubeck - Time Out


pavement early EPs
aphex twin, 26 remixes for cash
smiths, all
let it be...naked
birth of the cool
cherry & blackwell, corazon

(i leave out classical)


The difference between you and I: I don't see music as something that needs to be understood in order to be appreciated nor do I see it as something that ought to be admired as an intellectual achievement. To ask, then, what good is music or what purpose does music serve is too broad a question in my opinion and furthermore, I doubt that we have the conditions necessary for a proper understanding of what music can do and how it can be experienced. Please note that instead of saying that it is merely a matter of taste, I chose to write down a few of the artists who I appreciate because the have a repertoire of sounds that I find endearing.


what makes you think that i only appreciate music that i understand? also: what makes you think that for me intellectual achievements can't be appreciated unless they're understood? however you're right about one thing: i do think that music is an intellectual achievement.


brilliant corners is monk's most overrated song and album. or maybe i just don't understand it yet.

This statement appears to indicate that if you were to reach a deeper understanding of "Brilliant Corners" then and only then would an authentic level of appreciation be tenable. Although it was probably just a way of indicating reverence and a deep respect for the composer.

Or perhaps you meant to indicate your interest in achieving an accomplishment deemed "Brilliant" - staking out your own 'brilliant corner' - and having this be recognized by your peers and extended family. In which case, I say, composer, play on !


"reverence and respect" -- yes. that's a very good way to put it.

but there's also this: i remember once not liking jazz. then i learned a bit about the song structure, the idea of head/solo etc., and only then started to like it. -- and another way things can go is this: i like the music, but i understand nothing about it (an example in my case is arabic music, which i like: if there are structures there, i'm hardly aware of them, and perhaps i'd like it *less* if i did understand.) in "brilliant corners" i hear only a kind of math or maybe factory sounds, if you know what i mean. so i think that i must not get it (or else people who consider it his best work are drawn to a part of his music that *doesn't* strike me as it's best quality).


I think the role of the musical artist is such that he cannot be said to be fully aware of his greatness (i.e., genius). A musician needs listeners and interpreters that are as great as he or she is.

Wagner (Awe) vs. Stravinsky (Shock)