Rhetoric, Poetry, and the Search for Truth in the 17th Century

Steadman, John. The Hill and the Labyrinth: Discourse and Certitude in Milton and His Near-Contemporaries. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1984.

Steadman’s book about seventeenth-century literature and the search for truth is a dense study of the history of literary style and the struggle to find certitude through writing in the seventeenth century. He includes supporting examples from Milton as well as Bacon, Locke, and several others. This book offers analysis of the quest for truth, methods of education, and principles of science and mathematics in relation to rhetoric and the writing process. Overall, while Steadman provides a great deal of historical background information, he fails to offer concrete answers and responses to the issues at hand. However, the seventeenth century was historically a confused and misdirected time period, and perhaps these issues remained unresolved in this book to further illustrate that fact.

The introductory chapter of The Hill and the Labyrinth addresses some popular concerns among intellectuals in the seventeenth century. Steadman asserts that this time period was perhaps the most conscious of issues presented by the pursuit of truth, its obstacles and pitfalls, limitations of human reason, and the effects of original sin. These issues are extremely controversial in seventeenth century discourse. During this time, as Steadman points out, traditional methods of education were also under attack. Poetry was seen as a corrupter, rather than an illuminator of truth, and language was referred to as feeble and untrustworthy, prone to distracting individuals from the pursuit of truth.

Seventeenth century writers attempt to define truth and discover the way to its acquisition, but they fail to come up with a consistent response. Bacon argues that falsehood gives more pleasure than truth, and he stresses the difficulties the path to truth involves rather than its ultimate reward. Steadman sums up Bacon‘s theories with the assertion that the pursuit of truth is like a maze, and we must assume certainty before a reward can be had. Milton compares truth to a fountain, where if the waters (or words) do not perpetually flow, they become conformist, traditional, and unoriginal. Locke’s views of truth’s journey, on the other hand, are more modest, as he expresses concern for the safety of the journeyers instead of focusing on the ultimate enlightenment of the pursuit. Others question the ability to achieve truth at all. Some theorize that “in the absence of true and certain knowledge, men must necessarily rely on faith in divine revelation” (13). In other words, absolute knowledge is unattainable, but a useful and limited knowledge acquired through sensory observations is possible and encouraged. Ultimately, Steadman claims that the problem with mediating between certitude and skepticism is widespread and disputed among theologians and scientists alike.

In the chapter entitled “’New Philosophy’ and Seventeenth Century Style” Steadman explores the influence of the scientific revolution on poetry and the writing process. In natural science, the theories of language have been linked with the distrust of logic, as rhetorical arguments are traditionally based on logical progressions. Steadman acknowledges scholars who have responded to these issues. Bacon contrasts logic and rhetorical conventions with the process of invention and the scientific method. Others compare it to mathematical analysis and the employment of precision, logic, induction, and deduction: “Language…was conceived…as the instrument of thought, the medium of discovery and demonstration. Words must serve the philosopher in the same way that signs and symbols served the mathematician, and they must be equally naked and equivocal” (102.) In other words, as a mathematician relies on numbers and symbols to convey his discoveries, a philosopher must employ words in the same way, as language is the true means of conveying thoughts and arguments.

New philosophers, however, argue that while poets may appreciate science and mathematics, but they cannot imitate their methodology because of the unavoidable influences of passions, imagination, and verbal ornamentation. These elements obscure reason, foster false images, and wrongly substitute words for solid substances and facts. This new philosophy is based on the idea that sensation is the source of knowledge, and sensory observations are the only way to truly acquire knowledge. Steadman also brings up the fact that poetry and oration are not confined to any particular subject matter, but rather poets and orators have unlimited options in their choice of topics. In his final assessment of seventeenth century writing style, Steadman attests that literary methods and critical standards were largely more conservative, and the use of metaphor and allegory resisted attacks and remained in prominent use into the eighteenth century.

In this book, Steadman attempts to make sense of the issues concerning seventeenth century writers. In this regard, he only skims the surface of each topic and does not truly investigate the reasons or solutions for these issues. While the information he provides is helpful in providing a historical context for the literature studied in this class, it is difficult to form any conclusions about the writing of this time period because there were so many unresolved issues under consideration at the time. Steadman provides so many different interpretations of the pursuit of truth, rhetoric, and the writing process that these topics became more and more confusing as I read further into the book. However, it would not be fair to completely condemn Steadman for this end result, as part of the point he tries to make in The Hill and the Labyrinth is that the seventeenth century was indeed an extremely tumultuous time where these issues were greatly disputed, and it was indeed difficult, if not impossible, to find concrete answers.

Another reflection…

Let’s see, to start off, I guess I would say that I feel a lot more comfortable with this class than I did at the beginning of the semester. I started out fearing that this was all over my head and there was no way I was ever going to be able to keep up, and while I do still get lost sometimes, in general this class isn’t as intimidating as I originally anticipated.

One thing I feel really good about is the research portfolio. While going through all those articles and writing about them was extremely tedious at the time, I definitely think that it has made me a better writer. I feel like I’ve gotten a grasp of how to write in this kind of format and critical style, and as an English major, this is definitely an important skill to have. Completing this assignment has also helped me be a more critical reader, as I don’t always automatically agree with author’s like I used to… I now look at an author’s assertions and question them and the validity of their arguments. So I guess what I’m saying is, while it sucked to write all of those critical reviews, they really helped me, and I feel more prepared to continue on the path of the English major after having done them.

On a similar note, the practical criticism papers have accomplished the same end for me, I believe. It’s such a rewarding process to initially look at a poem and have absolutely no idea what it means, then go through all the steps involved in a close reading: analyzing the diction, syntax, rhetorical strategies, etc. and finally understand what the poet is trying to say. I actually really enjoy doing this; I think poetry is fascinating, and doing criticisms like these is pretty fun for me, as nerdy as that may sound.

As far as the daily readings go, I admit I could be more diligent in completing them for classtime. If it’s down to deciding which class’s reading I’m going to do for the next day, I have been known to let this class slide a little bit. I think this is where my comprehension of the material comes in, or rather lack thereof. I know we all agree that 17th Century literature is difficult to read for pretty much everyone, and I guess I just tend to skip over something if I don’t understand it right off the bat. Awful habit, I know, but I get frustrated really easily by reading that isn’t immediately obvious or seemingly interesting at first glance. The prose readings in this class are particularly difficult for me. For some reason, I just can’t get into them, and I’m pretty sure I’m not alone. I guess poetry carries so much more hidden meaning for me that is waiting to be uncovered, that I find reading poems a lot more appealing.

Overall, I feel better about this class, it’s helped me become a better writer, and I feel more comfortable with my decision to become an English major. Yay!

Considering “John Donne: Bulimic Bore?”

Chater, Veronica. “John Donne: Bulimic Bore?” The Absinthe Literary Review. Winter 2004.

Veronica Chater’s article “John Donne: Bulimic Bore?” is a somewhat satirical piece responding to negative criticism about Donne. Critics have accused him of being “sad,” “uncomfortable,” “boring,” and “self-centered.” This article aims to react to these claims and attempt to form an educated opinion about Donne’s stylistic and thematic tactics. Chater reflects on information from Donne’s past and the influences that have undoubtedly shaped his writing techniques and then provides several interpretations of his poems that shed light on Donne as a person.
Chater begins her article with several quotations contesting to Donne’s boring and undesirable qualities. In respect to the title of her article, she quotes Stanley Fish: “[Donne] is bulimic…someone who gorges himself to a point beyond satiety, and then sticks his finger down this throat and throws up.” What exactly Fish means by this statement is hard to determine for certain, but the general point of the quotations in this piece is to demonstrate the extent of Donne’s negative criticism. Chater, however, finds a particular interest in Donne for the exact reason that so many of his readers are turned-off to him, and that is the hunger and yearning in his language and the sense of profound personal loss and crisis he portrays in his works. He is persistent, confused, and contradictory, and all of these qualities are clear in many of Donne’s works.
One of Donne’s works on which Chater spends a fair amount of time discussing, because it is her favorite, is “Holy Sonnet XIV.” After extensive research on Donne’s background information, Chater comes to the conclusion that this poem was written somewhere around the time of Donne’s rejection of Catholicism (his family’s religion) and prolonged decision to convert to Anglicanism at the beginning of the 1600s. Many have speculated about this religious conversion and whether or not Donne betrayed his faith; those that believe the affirmative generally disapprove of his writing. “Batter My Heart,” one of Donne’s Holy Sonnets illustrates these religious struggles as it, according to Chater, “depicts the agony of a man who has lost the once-cherished physical contact of his lover and instead of humbling himself, is using manipulative passive-aggressive behavior.” She ventures to say that Donne longs for a lover’s touch that is rough, masculine, and even painful. He desperately wants to be aware of God’s presence and feel the power of his will to the point of persecution and physical abuse. This feeling of loss can be related, Chater points out, to the shift in religious perspective from Catholic “true substance” to Anglican “real presence.” In essence, Anglicanism would not provide Donne with the tactile sacrament of Jesus’ actual flesh, but rather it would call forth Christ’s presence which must not have fulfilled his desires. Donne’s first and more important purpose seems, according to Chater, to be to make physical contact with God, and he will apparently not give up until he has achieved this goal.
Chater then wonders how Donne establishes this desired physical contact and decides that he must first prove to God that he is worthy of contact. He tries to do this through the writing of “Batter My Heart,” but ends up presenting himself as a self-centered, egotistical man who God is unlikely to grace. Chater then delineates Donne’s literary strategies in this poem that he uses to make his point: the use of personal pronouns in a direct address, the fictionalization of God, and the act of seduction. The third tactic is particularly interesting, as Donne’s poem becomes directly related to an instance of violent sexual intercourse. Chater, however, realizes that this interpretation is a bit extreme and concludes that “Batter My Heart” is primarily a longing for the consecration of the bread in Anglican mass that offers God’s “real presence.” It is, therefore, paralleled with the sacrament of the Eucharist, as Donne seeks a “divinely inspired revelation, or the divine gift of grace, but in a purely personal format.” Ultimately, Donne’s loss of this physical contact for which he so longs, cannot be fulfilled in any religious event. Chater concludes that even though Donne is self-centered, resolved, and tenacious, she enjoys his work for these very reasons.
Chater’s article aims to analyze the popular assertion that Donne’s poetry is boring, self-centered, and generally not worth reading. By presenting various interpretations of Donne’s work, she is able to show both sides of the argument and allow the reader to make his or her own conclusions. I read this article as a pseudo-Freudian psychoanalysis of Donne’s inner desires. Chater spends a good deal of time considering the erotic implications of “Batter My Heart” and Donne’s longing for violent physical and/or sexual contact with God. I found these assessments to be slightly farfetched but interesting, nevertheless. The concept of wanting a sexual relationship with God seems extremely blasphemous and inappropriate, but it is always enlightening to read an outrageous interpretation of a poem. While it may seem outrageous, this kind of analysis helps widen one’s understanding of a work from multiple view points and various theoretical perspectives. It essentially encourages the reader to “think outside the box.”
Compared to other articles concerning Donne’s religious ideology as conveyed in his works, this one is significantly more provocative and original. The fact that Chater brings up eroticism and violent sexual encounters in relation to Donne and Christ would perhaps be considered blasphemous to other critics and literary enthusiasts. It also gives a more in-depth glance into Donne’s past and the influences of his family background and religious conversation, information that is often overlooked by other critics. Overall, Chater presents an interesting and usual look at Donne’s body of work, literary tactics, and ideology as a religious being that provided me with fresh interpretations of work that had seemed considerably dull upon first reading.

Studying “Theology and Spirituality: Notes on the Mystical Christology of John Donne”

 Anglican Theological Review. Summer 95,Vol. 77 Issue 3: 281-290. AN: 9509270488

Mark McIntosh, in his essay entitled “Theology and Spirituality: Notes on the Mystical Christology of John Donne,” questions the impact of Donne’s role as a preacher on contemporary Christian theology as well as how his image of Jesus widens our view of Christology today. He outlines three basic points for the essay: first, throughout the Middle Ages, spirituality and mystical texts were inextricable partners in forming Christian theology, second, since that time, spirituality and theology have become separate entities, and third, current connotations of spirituality and theology as disciples are often uninteresting, weak, and domesticated versions of what were previously regarded as “vibrant, lively, even flamboyant disciplines.” Essentially, McIntosh’s goal is to use early spiritual insights to infuse contemporary theology with the energy and vision necessary to analyze Donne’s theoretical ideas in his works.

McIntosh begins the body of his essay with the assertion that Donne develops three primary classical themes of Christian mystical tradition: “the birth of Christ in the soul, the imitation of Christ, and the spiritual marriage of Christ and the soul.” He employs these themes to explore the implications of the doctrine of salvation and the relationship between Christ and humanity. McIntosh firmly insists that Donne never uses Christ as a visual or learning aid, but rather always treats Jesus as the source of human inspiration. Donne preaches that the Passion is a topic upon which to be meditated, and it has the power to create extraordinary amazement in one’s soul. McIntosh then asks how Christ has such a profound and powerful effect on His people? One possible response is that Christ “reaches out to humankind from the coming divine dominion and pours out proleptically on humanity the consummate benefits of his own glory.” In other words, Christ is glorified in Heaven and shares the profits of His glory down upon His people so that they might become spiritually connected with and inseparable from God.
According to McIntosh, Donne claims that the marriage of Christ and the soul is an everlasting, unbreakable relationship founded on the principles of God’s eternal desire. In addition, all human souls are built with the capacity to experience this love and longs to be fulfilled by this relationship with God. However, humans can only experience said relationship if and when they are able to fully comprehend the birth of Christ in their souls. Similarly, McIntosh states: “The Christian is to love Christ, says Donne, in both the glorious and traumatic moments of Jesus’ journey on earth and in his interior presence to the soul.” This unconditional love helps create a deeper connection between Christ’s journey and one’s own spiritual journey.
The next main point McIntosh explores is how the aforementioned bond between Christ and the human creates a specific image of Christ’s own being and what qualities Christ must embody in order to foster this kind of a relationship. Donne’s Christology, according to his writings and sermons, argues that God impacts the human soul through the journey of his son, Jesus Christ. In other words, the events in Jesus’ life identify a particular yet inclusive human existence that creates a profound and communal interaction between Christ and the believer. In McIntosh’s words, Donne insists that “it is not simply an external process of physical or moral imitation that Donne has in mind, but a complete application of Christ’s existence to the soul.” One means of accomplishing these aims is to experience the “liquefaction” or assumption of the identity of Christ through his bloodshed and tears that makes him accessible to encompass all people with his teachings.
McIntosh next presents several viewpoints on the idea that Christ becomes the focus of human personal reality and is exceptionally accessible to human comprehension of sacrifice and struggle. Contemporary theology suggests that present-day personal challenges and situations of martyrdom are intrinsically connected to Christ’s journey and therefore, he is the focal point of the ever-widening concept self-giving love. McIntosh concludes his article with a brief discourse on the separation of theology and Christology and presents a counter-argument to his previous assertion that this separation has proved detrimental to both disciplines. McIntosh sums up the essay with a statement about Donne that he never fails to acknowledge the vivacity of human activity and personal involvement with the comprehension and connection with the events of Jesus’ life.
McIntosh’s article aims to analyze Donne’s Christology as found in his religious works and form conclusions on its implications on contemporary Christian theology. The essay succeeds in showing Donne’s passion for preaching and encouraging religious growth in his readers’/listeners’ souls, and uses specific examples to illustrate his beliefs in regards to Christology. McIntosh appeals to the modern-day Christian’s commonly-held beliefs about Christianity and the relationship with Christ and attempts to prove that Donne’s teachings have strongly influenced these beliefs. While McIntosh provides some solid examples to support his theory, it is a hasty assumption that Donne has had such considerable influence on the ideals of contemporary Christian theology.
McIntosh’s proposed discussion of the separation of spirituality and theology is introduced to be a large part of the article’s discourse, but, it is only addressed for a short paragraph at the end of the essay. McIntosh fails to adequately develop his conclusions about this separation and leaves the reader wondering what the mention of this topic has to do with the rest of the article. It is interesting, however to compare this essay to others referring to the religious beliefs of John Donne, such as Michael Schoenfeldt’s article about the “Poetics of Sacrifice” and Barbara Lewalski’s essay about “Protestant Poetics and the Protestant Paradigm of Salvation.” Both of these pieces present relevant information about Donne’s view of human sacrifice and the relationship of Christ to humanity. In respect to these articles, McIntosh presents a comparatively insightful exploration of Donne’s beliefs about Christian sacrifice and succeeds overall in of his aims as a critic of Donne’s religious teachings.

Evaluating “’Is there in truth no beautie?’: Protestant Poetics and the Protestant Paradigm of Salvation”

“‘Is there in truth no beautie?’ : Protestant Poetics and the Protestant Paradigm of Salvation.” Protestant Poetics and the Seventeenth-Century Religious Lyric. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. 1979. p 3-27.

In her essay, a part of the book Protestant Poetics and the Seventeenth-Century Religious Lyric, Barbara Kiefer Lewalski explores the popularity of Protestant Biblical themes in seventeenth-century literary poems and the search for truth in religious salvation. She initially presents two main points for consideration, the first being that a wide body of literary theory about the Bible and Protestant beliefs about spirituality can be drawn from seventeenth-century biblical commentaries, handbooks, scriptural paraphrases, and meditation/preaching manuals. The second assertion is that these theories have helped define modern attitudes about religious poetry and have contributed greatly to the swelling of religious poetry in the seventeenth-century. This article brings to light many of the underlying religious meanings in the seventeenth-century poetry covered in this course.
Lewalski contends that the main poetic influences of the major seventeenth-century poets are “contemporary, English, and Protestant, and that the energy and power we respond to in much of this poetry has its basis in the resources of biblical genre, language, and symbolism, and the analysis of spiritual states, and the tensions over the relation of art and truth” (5). Essentially, she argues that a large portion of seventeenth-century literary works are based on principles and theories of Protestant ideology. However, it is not as if these poets dwelled on those ancient principles previously explored in earlier poetry, but rather they are actively engaged with new approaches to religious thought and experiment with new resources for their poetic endeavors. In this sense, Lewalski asserts that these poets are forging their own new lyrical genre that is deliberately anti-aesthetic and scripture-based to create fresh Protestant devotional lyrics.
Lewalski refers to this group of seventeenth-century poets as “biblical poets,” a term that deems Biblical poetry to be prior and superior to pagan poetry. The reasoning behind this assertion is that Christians strove throughout the centuries to “defend the literary quality of the Bible as against pagan literature, to defend the practice of poetry among Christians by appeal to biblical authority, and to propose the Bible as (in certain respects) a model for Christian poets” (7). Essentially, this passage presents the Bible as the only true and pure model for Christian poetry and thus the only guide upon which poets should base their works. Lewalski then explores several examples in which the Bible displays poetic qualities, such as hexameter and figurative language, to further demonstrate how the Bible is the truly only guide for Christians when writing poetry for its ideology as well as lyrical merit.
Another important point Lewalski mentions in this essay is the necessity of Protestant poets to not only seek the Bible for poetic inspiration, but also to analyze their own personal religious lives. The poet thus must question his own relationship with God, evaluate the state of his soul, and outline his hopes for salvation relating to his own theological assumptions. An important aspect of these reflections is the radical paradox created by the definitions of Christian and sinner. Lewalski attests that a man can be perfectly holy and pure in Heaven, yet he remains sinful on earth. In the words of Luther: “A Christian man is both righteous and a sinner, holy and profane, an enemy of God and yet a childe of God” (17). This paradox is puzzling to the seventeenth-century poet in that it is difficult to comprehend how a person can, at the same time, be God’s beloved creation and also his radical adversary.
Lewalski then journeys through the different stages of salvation, including justification, sanctification, and glorification, the final stage only being reached when one dies and ascends to Heaven. She reflects on Donne’s “Holy Sonnets” and concludes that their sequence reflects man’s feeling of helplessness in his corruption and complete dependence on God in every stage of his religious life. Herbert’s “The Church” collection of poems deals with the lifelong journey to sanctification “presented under the metaphor of building the Temple in the Heart” (25). He recognizes that all is from God and no good deed he can do will be attributed to him. Lewalski concludes that certain seventeenth-century works certainly use biblical books as models for their Christian poetry, and the connections between lyrical parts of the Bible with the paradigm of salvation shapes the ways these poems were created.
In her book Protestant Poetics, and especially in the chapter by the same name, Barbara Lewalski strives to analyze seventeenth-century poets’ attempts to find truth in Biblical works and consequently use the Bible as their primary influence and guide for writing. In this respect, the essay has achieved its goal through the implementation of several quotes and poetic citations that clearly exemplify the ideas the theology she discusses. She provides interesting interpretations of the paradigm of salvation and presents contrasting viewpoints and definitions of spiritual principles that attempt to introduce all sides of the argument. For example, in her outline of the stages of spiritual development, Lewalski presents arguments from several different writers who each bring forth a varied interpretation of the stages of repentance, justification, sanctification, glorification, among others. However, while the essay begins with and seems to initially focus on the theme of “the search for truth,” Lewalski does not spend much time connecting the implications of “truth” with those of religious salvation. In effect, she abandons the terminology with which she begins the essay and does not adequately connect and relate the ideas of “truth” to the rest of her piece.
Lewalski does bring up some interesting points about the poetic qualities of the Bible. She describes how certain portions of the Bible contain poetic elements and these elements further prove that the Bible should be and has been the guide for Christian poets. It would have been more effective, however, if she had included more specific examples of the poetic qualities of the Bible to show readers who are not familiar with its contents just how Christian poets gain poetic inspiration from it.
One of the most interesting parts of this essay, in my opinion, is the introduction of the concept of God going into hiding from the world. I have often felt that God’s presence has been removed from the earth when I am presented with challenging times or conflicts. Lewalski asserts that sometimes, God removes his graces from the world so that His people will realize the importance of His power and influence and mourn over His absence. Ultimately, I found Lewalski’s article to be enlightening in that it encouraged reflection on the religious aspects of poetry and the poetic aspects of religion. But the fact that it lacks sufficient specific examples and proof reduces its credibility and merit.

Exploring “Love ‘Elemented’ in John Donne’s ‘Valediction: Forbidden Mourning’”

 Love “Elemented” in John Donne’s “Valediction: Forbidden Mourning.” By: Laird, Edgar S. ANQ: 0895769X, July 1991,Vol. 4 Issue 3.
In his essay “Love ‘Elemented’ in John Donne’s ‘Valediction: Forbidden Mourning,’” Edgar Laird focuses on Donne’s use of the word “elemented” in reference to the “sublunary lovers” in his poem. He delves into the deeper meanings and implications of the word and investigates how Donne’s word choice impacts the intention of the poem by giving it a greater historical context. Laird ultimately concludes that Donne clearly knew what he was talking about and was very in-touch with the ideas his poetry conveys, and thus, his selection of the word “elemented” was a conscious and informed choice.
To begin his essay, Laird argues that Donne’s use of the word “elemented” is unidiomatic, meaning it does not have a distinct style or character. He reveals the dictionary definition of the term “elemented” to mean “composed” and that many authors of Donne’s time use the word in this context. However, Laird sees the necessity to refer to the Latin root of the term “elementata” to gain a better understanding of the medieval context of the word. Laird cites several researchers on the uses of the term and the relevant contexts to Donne’s poem under consideration. In 1130, William of Conche attempts to define the four elements as earth, water, air, and fire. By combining ideas of cosmology and physiology, he puts these four elements into one perspective with bodily parts such as “humors, bones, hands, and feet.” William says that these body parts “are not elements, but things elemented…for the true elements in their purity are not available to the senses, but must be known to the intellect.” Therefore, in the context of Donne’s poem, the “sublunary lovers” would have nothing accessible to them but things “elemented” and not pure.
Laird next explores later 1130’s definitions of “elementa“ contrasted with “elementata” where these terms reflect that “the whole process of coming-to-be and passing-away…is a strictly sub lunar phenomenon controlled by the stars in a Ptolemaic universe.” In other words, the sub lunar world is made up of both elements and things elemented, elements being that which mortals are not capable of knowing logically and things elemented being those characteristics easily beheld, such as color and taste.
Other contexts of the term “elemented” bring to light theories from Dominicus Gundissalinus in 1150 where he furthers the distinction between elements and things elemented by adding the third element of incorporeal substances. In this interpretation, elemented things are corporeal and accessible to human comprehension, elements are sub lunar substances superior to elemented things, but super-lunar substances are inaccessible to sensory impression but available to intellectual comprehension and are superior over all other things. In reference to Donne’s poem, the superior lovers he mentions represent a love so refined that it defies that which is elemented and becomes the purest of all substances, the incorporeal.
Laird sums up his essay with an assessment of Donne’s “sublunary lovers” in respect to the aforementioned definitions of the term “elemented.” He believes that these contexts contribute to the lovers’ positioning at a low level on the “scale of being” and further separates that love from the love Donne praises and celebrates in the poem. Laird concludes that his analysis of the word “elemented” adds to the poem’s complexity and consequently proves that Donne understands and utilizes the contextual meanings of the words in his poetry to create a rich, multifaceted work of art.
This article sets out to use the contextualization and historical definitions of the word “elemented” to prove that Donne had certain connotations in mind when selecting this term for “Valediction: Forbidden Mourning.” In this respect, Laird succeeds in providing the reader with a variety of possible definitions of “elemented” to deepen the meaning of the poem as a whole. However, there is not enough evidence to prove that Donne actually had these ideas in mind when writing his poem. Laird insists at the end of his essay that Donne must have been aware of the full weight of the ideas in his poetry, but he also admits that there is no way of knowing how Donne learned the word “elemented” and in what context he uses it. Therefore, it is a possibility that Donne actually uses the word in its more common context, meaning “composed.” Either way, the poem makes sense, but Laird does not provide enough evidence that Donne indeed intended to convey the previously delineated meanings in this poem.

While Laird’s assumptions may be uninformed, his contextual definitions of “elemented” do bear some relevance to the movement of the earth, and the significance the soul and a deeper kind of connection- central themes of “Valediction: Forbidden Mourning.” One point Laird attempts to make is that, after learning William of Conche’s contrasting definitions of “elementa” and “elementata,” it becomes evident that Donne’s “sublunary lovers‘” relationship is so shallow and incomplete that the only things accessible to them are those corporeal, bodily things. These “things elemented” exclude the intellectual connection a superior relationship exhibits, and therefore the “sublunary lovers” are incapable to experiencing “elementa,“ the elements. While Laird briefly touches on this connection, he could have developed his point further for better understanding, as this is a central concept in his argument.
It is interesting to consider the implications of this kind of superior love that Donne describes and celebrates in “Valediction: Forbidden Mourning.” Is anyone truly capable of having a relationship that transcends corporeal aspects and is able to be enlightened to the higher intellectual and spiritual connection that transcends those concepts and ideals capable of comprehension? I think Donne may be a little extreme in his description of this kind of relationship, but how can anyone really know?

Relfective Essay

Oh ENGL322…how am I failing myself in you?

Seventeenth Century British Literature, I must admit, is a scary thought. I hesitated to click the “add” button for it during registration because I anticipated this kind of literature would be dense and difficult to understand. And I was right. Knowing how hard the material is, I’ve made sure to read all the assigned reading (usually by Thursday’s class instead of Tuesday’s…), highlighting it as I go along. I must admit, though, that I could take more time to try and understand what exactly the authors are getting at, but for the most part I get it. At least, I can usually follow the Norton essays. It is difficult sometimes to understand the references to specific works and authors because I am not familiar with a good deal of the writing and scholarly criticism associated with this time period. But I know pretty much all students in this class are in the same boat, so a little cluelessness is to be expected.

Another reason why I might be struggling a bit is because while reading the poetry, I don’t really take the time to try and analyze what the author is trying to do with the poem- I usually just read through it once and move on, whether or not I understand it. Admittedly, this is not the best way to approach a reading. But sometimes this stuff is completely over my head without a little context. It really helps me to go over specific poems in class so I get a feel for what kind of language the author uses, typical symbolism, and other strategies so then I can look back at the author’s other works and gain more of an understanding of the material.

I will admit that some of the poems we’ve been reading are more interesting than I thought they would be. Marvell’s anti-pastoral poetry, for example. “Damon the Mower” and “To His Coy Mistress” are far more sexual and violent than I would have expected. I didn’t think there would be so much overt (and covert) sexuality in the literature of this time period, but Marvell has proved me wrong.

Robert Burton’s “Anatomy of Melancholy” is also a surprisingly satirical and humorous read. I don’t know why, but for some reason I came into this class assuming that everything we were going to read would be horribly serious, safe, and boring. I was relieved to learn the contrary. I think, though, that with a little more critical and close reading, I will get a lot more out of the material.

I’ve started gathering articles for my research portfolio using on-line databases and books from the library. So far, from what I’ve read, there have been a lot of religious interpretations of readings, specifically Donne’s readings. Most of the books I’ve checked out from the library deal more with the cultural and social context of the works we’ve been studying, rather than the works themselves. Both kinds are pretty interesting and helpful in the understanding of this literature.

Overall, this class is still pretty intimidating, but I think I can handle it…

Irony and Imagery in “The Lesson”

Okay, so I didn’t exactly pick a 17th Century author. But she did say ANY poem! And so I ran with that…

Through the strategic employment of imagery, irony, and other literary devices, Maya Angelou illustrates her relentless yearning for life in “The Lesson.” Angelou’s imagery of youth juxtaposed with that of death creates a sharp contrast that insinuates the struggles she has faced in her life. She incorporates elements of irony when referring to certain episodes of her life as “death“, when she is clearly still alive to write about them. Angelou’s syntax, structure, diction, and symbolism also contribute to the general sense of persistence and longing to be alive that she strives to convey in this poem.
“The Lesson” contains several striking images that contrast to create feelings of confusion and display unusual resilience on the speaker’s part. Lines 2-4 render a description of death directly contrasted with a powerful image of youth: “Veins collapse, opening like the / Small fists of sleeping / Children.” She is comparing her death to the motions of children in deep slumber. With this disparity, Angelou allows that the “death” that she experiences is not really death, but rather more like sleeping, as she is very much still alive. Much like the sleeping children, Angelou has a great deal of life in her, but in these “deaths” that she describes, her vivacity is diminished and lies dormant. The subsequent image is one of death: “Memory of old tombs, / Rotting flesh and worms” (lines 5-6). This graphic image contrasts harshly with the previous one of young life. Angelou, however, insists that these symbols of death do not make her want to give up on the struggles of life, because she knows it is worth it to be alive. Even though these images may scare some, she is not deterred by their implications and does not fear whatever death may bring. The final image Angelou represents in her poem is that of her wrinkled face: “The years / And cold defeat live deep in / Lines along my face” (lines 8-10). The personification of “years” and “defeat” further delineates the intensity of the struggles she has endured in her lifetime as it gives them lives and intensity of their own. This image incorporates both of the previous images: the fresh life of the children is shown through personification- giving life to inanimate objects, and the deathly symbols relate to aging, wrinkling, and getting closer to death. The combination of these three illustrations creates an interesting dynamic that attempts to explain Angelou’s life of struggles and “deaths.”
From the opening line to the closing statements, Angelou incorporates puzzling irony that becomes perhaps the most important rhetorical agent in “The Lesson.” The poem begins with the striking line: “I keep on dying again.” This is ironic because, obviously, the speaker must still be alive in order to tell this story, so the fact that she says that she keeps on dying implies that death has another meaning besides the typical. In order to make sense of the irony in this poem, one must question the meaning of this “death” of which Angelou writes. Since this “death” does not just occur once, but rather it becomes a pattern, it must be indicative of a series of struggles and broken-down periods in the speaker’s life. Death, to her, implies a situation in which she is still alive but perhaps in a state of deep contemplation brought about by a particularly difficult experience or devastating defeat. According to the text, the speaker has endured many hardships, and these “death-states” seem to occur in their wake.
The last lines of the poem similarly express the irony that Angelou strives to achieve: “I keep on dying, / Because I love to live” (12-13). These lines are nonsensical upon first reading, but it becomes clear that the speaker’s definitions of living and dying are skewed. One does not die because he or she loves to live, but rather one lives because he or she hates to die. Angelou purposely interchanges these lines to illustrate the contrasts between her life and experiences and those of others. Life, for her, has been a series of struggles, defeats, and losses that make her feel as though she has experienced death a number of times. Alternatively, the word “dying” as used in the poem could carry a connotation of yearning or longing. In this sense, the speaker is perhaps expressing her passion for life, as in she is “dying to live.” Either way, the irony in these last lines of the poem is a strong force in the overall sense of the speaker’s persistence and strength that “The Lesson” conveys.
Other literary devices, such as structural syntax, word choice, and symbolism further the development of the themes of determination and struggle described in the poem. A simple sentence opens the poem, followed by several more complex and descriptive sentences. This progression perhaps reflects the simplicity of childhood and the beginning years of life, and how everything grows more and more complicated as life goes on. Another interesting literary device is the diction in the ending words of lines 1 and 7 (again and against). These words are almost identical, but their meanings and uses defy each other. In the first line, “again” is used in reference to the repetition of the speaker’s “deaths” whereas the word “against” refers to the speaker’s perseverance in life and overcoming challenges. The diction in this instance creates an unexpected dynamic between the different uses of these two similar words. Another example of strategic word choice can be found in line 11: “They dull my eyes.” Angelou chooses the word “dull” for several reasons. “Dull” carries connotations of diminished intensity, zest, or keenness, allowing its allusion to the lack of sharpness in the speaker’s eyes, as in, she is no longer the clever, witty, youthful person she used to be due to her age and the wrinkles on her face. Also, in a more literal sense, this statement could mean that the lines on her face literally cause her eyes to appear less lustrous or powerful. In any case, Angelou carefully chose her words to allow for many different interpretations and connotations of the poem.
One particularly telling example of symbolism in “The Lesson” can be found in the fifth line: “Memory of old tombs.” The tombs in this line represent those who gave up, those who allowed death to overcome them. Angelou refers to the tombs in this line and not the people they represent to show how easily people are forgotten. The memories she mentions are not of people, but of the tombs they left behind. The speaker of this poem wants to be remembered for living a good and productive life, so she downplays the likelihood of an average person’s being remembered by only mentioning “old tombs.” This strategy further stresses the speaker’s desire to live a full life.
“The Lesson” is a poem in which Maya Angelou utilizes a number of literary tools to the end result of creating a work that evokes feelings of persistence, durability, and resilience. With striking imagery, perplexing irony, and interesting syntactical, symbolic, and diction choices, she conveys to the reader how her life has been a series of obstacles that she has worked hard to overcome. In reference to the title, perhaps the lesson Angelou is trying to teach the reader is that, no matter the difficulty of the challenge or the degree of defeat, one should continue to persevere because living life is worth it.

The Climate of Herbert’s Mind

“The climate of the mind is positively English in its variableness and instability. Frost, sunshine, hopeless drought and refreshing rains succeed one another with bewildering rapidity. Herbert is the poet of this inner weather. Accurately, in a score of lyrics unexcelled for flawless purity of diction and appositeness of imagery, he has described its changes and interpreted, in terms of a mystical philosophy, their significance. Within limits he achieves a real perfection.”- Huxley

In this evalutation of George Herbert’s poetry, Huxley has clearly taken notice of Herbert’s broad range of poetic styles, techniques, subjects, and points of view. His poetry captures such a variety of emotions and moods that there is little consistency to be found among all of it as a whole. This is what Huxley means by Herbert expressing his “inner weather.” His poems are dictated by whatever he is feeling at the moment, whether it be joy, anger, melancholy, sadness, etc. All people are affected by changing moods and internal feelings, but Herbert is especially gifted in articulating these feelings as they come to him. Some may call him agile, able to make quick turnarounds from one raw emotion to the next. This, I think, is part of Huxley’s aim in his descriptions of Herbert’s poetry.

Also, within each poem, there lie imagery and articulation of these ever-changing feelings. Harshly opposing symbols create jolting distinctions between Herbert’s points, and his diction, syntax, and structure should not be disregarded.

Afterall, Huxley even ventures to say that Herbert has acheived perfection in the art of poetry, within limits. His ability to incorporate elements of language and emotion to express his ever-changing thoughts and moods reflects the likeness of his talent to the weather in England. It is even oftentimes hard for us, as readers, to understand or follow the rapidity with which Herbert changes direction with his writing. As Huxley notes, we may end up bewildered by the variability in his poetry. Huxley’s criticism is insightful and helpful in the analysis and closer reading of Herbert’s poetry.