P A R T T W O
...give me beauty in the inward soul; and may the outward and inward man be at one. - Plato, Phaedrus
-1-
For us to attempt to examine Wordsworth's poetry for some underlying allusions to immortal possibilities, it would seem to be worthwhile to consider what he read in light of what he wrote, to determine if he gained any insight into the subject of immortality through the words of other authors. Unfortunately, Wordsworth did not write down what he read, and one must make an educated guess as to when he read a majority of the books that are to be found in his Racedown library. However, we do know that in his university years he read the Classics "as living literature",1 translating and imitating the poetics, such as of Virgil and Horace.
It is disputed as to whether or not Wordsworth ever read Plato's Phaedrus. In 1843 he denies any Platonic influence for the Ode,2 but admits that the concept of the state of pre-existence, "among all persons acquainted with classical literature, is known as an ingredient in Platonic philosophy".3 As has been mentioned, we know that he read the Classics while at university; Plato, however, is not written down as one of the texts he read while at university. The passage below, from Phaedrus, was translated by Cicero, in Tusculan Disputations I.24, and we do know that Wordsworth read Cicero. Although this is conjecture, there is the possibility that Wordsworth did read this passage, but in Cicero's translation; Socrates is speaking to Phaedrus, saying that
[t]he soul through all her being is immortal, for that which is ever in motion is immortal; but that which moves another and is moved by another, in ceasing to move also ceases to live. Only the self-moving, since it cannot depart from itself, never ceases to move, and is the fountain and beginning of motion to all that moves besides. Now, the beginning is unbegotten, for that which is begotten must have a beginning; but this itself cannot be begotten of anything, for if it were dependent upon something, then the begotten would not come from a beginning.4
In reading Wordsworth's Ode, of which stanzas one through four were composed on March 27, 1802, some of five through eight on June 17, 1802, and finished in early 1804,5 it would seem as if he had, if not read, at least have some knowledge of Plato. Whether Wordsworth read this passage or not is unimportant, for we know that he thought that the "notion of pre-existence...[had] sufficient foundation in humanity for authorising [him] to make for [his] purpose the best use of it [he] could as a poet".6 To "make...use of it" he had to know of its basic principles, and therefore know of these Platonic ideas, whether as "Platonic" or not. These principles are of an "unbegotten and immortal" soul. This ever moving, self-and-other moving soul, which is independent of anything apart from itself for existence, that we have seen in Plato's Phaedrus, seems to be the one expressed in the Ode.
This reflexive nature of the soul is inherent in My Heart Leaps Up, which Wordsworth wrote on March 26, 1802, one day before he began work on the Ode. In 1815 he appended the last three lines of this to the epigraph to the Ode:
The Child is Father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
This continuity of being, self-dependent in its relation between the "Child", "Father", and "Man", seems to echo the "self-moving" principles of Plato's immortal soul, for we see that Wordsworth "wish[es]" his "days" could be "[b]ound each to each by natural piety" in the same manner as is the "Child" to the "Man". There is the same reflexive feeling to this idea of a person's stages of life being "[b]ound each to each" as there is in the Phaedrus passage above. Jowett tells us that "that which is ever in motion" can be read alternatively as "that which moves itself", based on the third century C.E. Oxyrhynchus papyrus 1016 reading of autokinhton αυτοκινητον.7 In doing this we can see the parallel idea that "that which moves itself" has to one's life, "[t]he Child [as] Father of the Man". This sort of continuity is essential for our personal identity, for the memories from childhood experiences are what influence us in adult life, ranging from basic behavioural and survival traits to events and stories that make up our personality and character.
From the Fenwick notes, we see that Wordsworth had "an indisposition to bend the law of death," that the notion of death greatly concerned him. "Nothing was more difficult for me in childhood than to admit the notion of death as a state applicable to my own being...my difficulty came as from a sense of the indomitableness of the Spirit within me."8 He tells us that
[w]ith a feeling congenial to this I was often unable to think of external things as having external existence, and I communed with all that I saw as something not apart from, but inherent in, my own immaterial nature.9
He was "unable to think of external things", such as, say, trees or walls or buildings, those things around him, "as having external existence". This would imply that he thought it was all self-generated, that it was in his mind: "I communed with all that I saw [perceived] as something not apart from, but inherent in, my own immaterial nature." He also says that, "[m]any times while going to school have I grasped at a wall or a tree to recall myself from this abyss of idealism to the reality".10 It is as if he was questioning what "reality" was; but what exactly is "unreal"? The question of "reality" and "unreality" would seem to be one of modes of perception, and the differences in them. This, added to the fact that Wordsworth uses the words "seemed" and "almost" as cautionary words for his perception of external things, or things that he sees that may or may not be external, in the physical realm, demonstrates Wordsworth's concern with mortality and continuity.
Wordsworth tells us that it is through childhood perception that we see and perceive best, saying it is a "dreamlike vividness and splendour which invest objects of sight in childhood...".11 Children have a different way of perceiving, for they are not subject to the business of day-to-day life, "the din/ Of the towns and cities". This way of interacting and experiencing fully that which is around us is lost as we grow older. Wordsworth, in the Ode, is addressing this fading vision, that which we lose as we grow out of childhood. In 1815 he added to the title, so that its entirety was Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood. Although this is a later version of the title of the poem from the text of the poem that we shall be examining, it provides us with the connection between Wordsworth's "active powers" "in all things" and the experiences from "the walks/ Of childhood": Intimations [signs or tokens, things which remind us] of Immortality [not ever ceasing to be, nor ever needing to consider it] from Recollections [memories of past experiences] of Early Childhood. It is from these instances that Wordsworth will recall everything "[a]pparelled in.../ The glory and the freshness of a dream" (4-5); through these events of early childhood, when all seemed as in a dream and reality was what it was, will Wordsworth obtain these "intimations of immortality".
However, he reminds us that
It is not now as it has been of yore[.] (line 6)
and that
The things which I have seen I now can see no more. (line 9)
This seems to reflect the epigraph Wordsworth chose to precede the poem, "Paulò majora cas", "let us sing of somewhat more exalted things".12 In this poem we are going to be told of a time that was full of "exalted things", "things which [one]...can see no more". There is a definitive feeling of solitude here; that this it is not the way it once was, and that the things that he used to be able see, envision, he can see no longer. "To me alone there came a thought of grief" (23); this "grief" is this solitude that, as a child, does not affect us, for we are unaware of it, or do not recognise it as solitude or loneliness. "To me alone", Wordsworth writes, emphasising this solitary feeling he has that leads to "a thought of grief", "a", single, solitary thought from his childhood. The concept of solitude and its implications on these intimations builds as the recollections begin to flow, but to consider those we must first examine the ways in which one can conquer this fear of solitude.
Wordsworth tells us that
[t]he Winds came to me from the fields of sleep[.] (line 28)
Although this line is much disputed, its "real" meaning not known,13 one can examine it through the view that sleep is a step towards the immortality of the soul, that in sleep the soul is no longer confined by the physical boundaries of the body as dreams allow for a different spatial realm. "Visual images...have extension and shape, and they have spatial relations to one another"14 - but not to this physical world in which we are now. So these "Winds" that come from the "fields of sleep" can be as powerful as the immense void that they come from, a "field" that is in another realm, another world, one of dreams. Through psychotherapy and dream-analysis we are made aware that a dream can truly be studied, and not seen as "...merely a freak of nature, a meaningless conglomerate of memory-fragments left over from the happenings of the day. Were the dream nothing more than this, there would be no excuse for the present discussion." Indeed, if dreams were nothing more than "freak[s] of nature", then the idea that a "Wind" could come "from the fields of sleep", that dreams help us get closer to the intimations of immortality, would be for naught. Fortunately, this is not the case, as becomes evident as we examine the Ode.
Wordsworth continues to bring back these recollections of his childhood, trying to get closer to that state that is set in "...the freshness of a dream". He notes:
- But there's a Tree, of many one,
A single Field which I have look'd upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone[.] (ll. 51-53)
The idea of the singular is emphasised, "a Tree", "of many, one"; the words "of many", set against the singular "one" at the end of line 51, and "[a] single Field" in line 52, make us notice this contrast between the plural "many" and the singular "one", the particular "Tree" and particular "Field" that he has "look'd upon". "Tree" and "Field" are brought together with the capitalization they receive, as well as with "[b]oth" in line 52, meaning these two singular objects. This emphasis seems to give the passage a solitary nature, a feeling of loneliness, solitude, that the feelings and experiences of childhood are truly gone. The phrase "...which I have looked upon", is in the past tense; it is something that he has definitely done, but now it has been, and is no longer attainable, and a melancholy tone is set with "[b]oth of them speak of something that is gone". That "something" is childhood, which has "gone".
Literary criticisms claim that the "Tree" is not an archetypal tree, that Wordsworth had simply "noticed and now remembers" this "[t]ree".16 However, these kinds of archetypes are inherent in images in dreams, that "the dream speaks in images, and gives expression to instincts, that are derived from the most primitive levels of nature."17 In this vein of thought, it would not matter if Wordsworth had only "noticed and now remembers" the "[t]ree": the image that Wordsworth creates, "Tree" against/with "Field" "Field" which brings back line 28 with the "fields of sleep" that the "Winds" come from, may not have intentionally been archetypal images, but that is not to say that they are not archetypal images. They are images that Wordsworth remembers, images "which [he has] looked upon", that "speak of something that is gone", images that come back through recalling his childhood, his memories.
In Book III of The Excursion (1814), Wordsworth tells us:I called on dreams and visions to disclose
That which is veil'd from waking thought; conjured
Eternity, as men constrain a ghost
To appear and answer[.] (ll. 686-89)
Wordsworth needs to "call...on dreams and visions", for the information he is looking for is hidden from "waking thought". He "conjure[s]/ Eternity.../To appear and answer", with the hope that it will be able to help him. In the Ode he will need both "dreams and visions" and "Eternity" to find the intimations he is looking for.
Through his other works, we can see the repetition of this idea, that "waking thought" will not "disclose" that which he is looking for; it is in "dreams and visions" that these "intimations" will be found.
Again from Book III of The Excursion, we see Wordsworth reminding us of
tidings
Of the departed spirit - what abode
It occupies - what consciousness retains
Of former loves and interests. Then my soul
Turn'd inward, to examine of what stuff
Time's fetters are composed[.] (ll. 692-97)
The notion of "the departed spirit", the fact that it "occupies" an "abode", is one that lends evidence to the dual nature of human existence. The question of "what consciousness retains [once the "abode" is no longer "occupie[d]" by the "spirit" that is now "departed"] of former [physical] loves and interests" is one that is very understandable, dealing with personality and memory, two things that are vital to personal identity. If our soul is to truly be "us" once this mortal body expires, then the "former loves and interests" must be "retain[ed]". Without these there can be no personal continuity or identity. So his "...soul/ Turn'd inward", introspecting to think, "to examine of what stuff/ Time's fetters are composed". But it is not important to figure out "of what stuff/ Time's fetters are composed", for, similar to the way dreams and visual images do not have spatial relation to things in the physical world, time does not have temporal relation to the physical world. As we read in The Skeleton Reanimated, the frontispiece to Robert Blair's Grave (1743):
When the dread trumpet sounds, the slumb'ring dust,
Not unattentive to the call, awakes;
While the world in flames typifies the renovation of all things,
The end of Time and the beginning of Eternity.
The use of the word "slumb'ring" almost lends sound to the "dread trumpet", signifying the "end". But the verse continues with the notion of "the renovation of all things", so it is not the "end" of everything. But "what stuff/ [is] Time's fetters composed" of? It does not matter, for that which is the end at death is "Time"; "Time" stops at death, and "Eternity" starts.
Wordsworth's Ode seems to allude to the "dread trumpet", the announcer of the "slumb'ring dust", when we read that "[t]he cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep" (25), seemingly informing the soul of "the end of Time and the beginning of Eternity".
In Book III of The Excursion, we are told that
[f]rom these toils and inner searchings
Some trace am I enabled to retain
Of time, else lost; existing unto me
Only by records in myself not found. (ll. 702-05)
Through these "toils and inner searchings" he can "retain" "some trace" "of time," "time" not in an ordinary temporal, chronological realm of hours, minutes, and seconds, but a different one, one related to past experiences and memories. This would seem to allow for the continuation of "time" as pieces of time, memories of other times, for, even if "Eternity" begins where "Time" ends, Wordsworth says that this "trace" that he is "enabled to retain/ of time" "exist[s] unto [him]"; these "trace[s]...[o]f time" are not necessarily dependent upon a chronological manifestation of time. It would still be "his time" because "he" would be remembering his own "trace[s]", his own continuity. But we read that that which is "existing unto [him]" is "[o]nly" in "records in [himself] not found". How can this be? How can these "records" be "in [himself]", but "not found"? Is "not found" perhaps another way of indicating "unremembered"?
In Wordsworth's Brothers (1800), we are told of Leonard, who returns from sea, approaches the burial mounds of his family and suffers "a confusion in his memory" (line 84), for there seems to be one more stone than there was when he had left. But this confusion leads to visionary capacities as he looks up from where he is -
[a]nd oh! what joy the recollection now
Sent to his heart! he lifted up his eyes
And looking round he thought that he perceiv'd
Strange alteration wrought on every side
Among the woods and fields, and that the rocks,
And the eternal hills, themselves were chang'd. (ll.91-96)
"Oh!" he exclaims, for the "confusion in his memory" "now" leads to a "recollection" that "sent" "joy" "to his heart!" The "now" is very interesting, since it follows the "confusion in his memory", and then it is as if the "confusion" has transformed into this "recollection". This is an intriguing concept, for it implies that the "confusion" is not truly forgetting. More specifically, it implies that the term "forgetting" is not entirely appropriate, and does not fully explain what we mean when we use the word "forget". By saying "a confusion in his memory", Wordsworth makes more clear what actually happens when we "forget" an event; when we can not remember something, our memories are "confus[ed]", and not instantaneously accessible and available for recall. As this passage continues it seems that "transformed" is an extremely acceptable way to describe this process of attempting to recall "confusions in... memory", for "looking round he thought that he perceiv'd/ Strange alteration wrought on every side..."; in "looking round" his "confusion" is "transformed", by aid of that which he sees, into "recollection". "[T]hought" and "perceiv'd" are used as cautionary terms of perception, almost questioning that which Leonard saw, unsure as to whether or not it was reality. That which "he thought he perceiv'd" is this "[s]trange alteration." This is to say that the physical realm around Leonard has been altered in his eyes, that his perception no longer "sees" that which has spatial relation to him in this world: "the eternal hills, themselves were changed". This is his perception, for "the eternal hills" can not simply "change" based on a "confusion in his memory". This is not, however, to say that what Leonard sees around him is not "real" - to him. His reality at that point is this "[s]trange alteration". This place, this reality, is unchallenged. There is no alert questioning of this "[s]trange alteration", and thus this type of experience can happen and be realized.
We are told that this area is remote, that the way of thinking is different; through this different kinds of experience can be had, experiences that one would not acknowledge in the day-to-day events that require the straightforward conscious mind. Only in an environment such as this, that allows for these altered, extra-ordinary experiences to be realized, can one accept these alterations. As we continue to read The Brothers, we are told, by way of the Priest, the reason for this different way of thinking:
Priest
We have no need of names and epitaphs,
We talk about the dead by our firesides.
And then for our immortal part, we want
No symbols, Sir, to tell us that plain tale:
The thought of death sits easy on the man
Who has been born and dies among the mountains. (ll. 176-81)
Wordsworth's use of plural and singular allows one to investigate the different connotations and implications of the two and how his use of the plural ("we"), a collective term, differs in feeling from his use of the singular, which has a feeling of solitude, loneliness. There is a sense of tranquility in this passage, the plural "[w]e" emphasized, "[w]e have no need of names and epitaphs,/ We talk about dead by our firesides./... we want/ No symbols." The last "we", at line 178, Wordsworth himself italicizes. By repeating the word "[w]e", an air of collectivity is given to the Priest's comments. The "[w]e" here are the people of this area that Leonard has returned to, its plural form indicates all of them, and there is no air of solitude, fear, or loneliness. Through this it becomes not only a physical collective form, but a spiritual one as well. "We have no need of names and epitaphs" for those that are dead, for "[w]e talk about dead by our firesides" as if it is no different from life. This is not something that is common; there is no fear attached to this notion of death, it is talked about, and because of this there is "no need of names and epitaphs". This is followed by the distinction between the body and soul, as the Priest continues, saying, "[a]nd then for our immortal part...". The word "part" here, the idea that this body we have in life is not what we are, but that after death a "part" of us goes on, is quite revealing, showing a definitive dualistic approach to the concept of people. By using the word "part," which implies a piece of something (in this case, the soul/mind) that can be removed from something else (the body), Wordsworth is truly stressing the idea of an immortal soul or mind. "...our immortal part," the plurality of the word "our" bringing to mind the "We" that is being referred to. This "We" that "have no need of names" is the same "we" that has an "immortal part." This "immortal part" does not "want/...symbols," be they "names or epitaphs" or gravestones, "to tell us that plain tale." "plain tale," ordinary, not un-real, not something to be feared, it is a simple story, this idea of death. "The thought of death sits easy on the man/ Who has been born and dies among the mountains." Not only is this idea of death a "plain tale," but it "sits easy" on those who have inhabited the "mountains." This location, the "mountains," is a place where the conscious, busy life that does not allow for this kind of approach to death does not have access. The mountains allow the "we" to understand death as a "plain tale," and "the man/ Who has been born and dies among the mountains" experiences it just like that - "born and dies." The way the words are structurally, "has been born and dies," juxtaposes the two events right next to each other, almost treating them as two events that are merely experiences that are "plain" and should therefore necessarily sit "easy" in one's thoughts. Wordsworth, in regard to The Brothers tells us, in the Fenwick notes, that
[t]here is not anything more worthy of remark in the manners of the inhabitants of these mountains than the tranquility, I might say indifference, with which they think and talk upon the subject of death. Some of the country churchyards, as here described, do not contain a single tombstone, and most of them have a very small number.
This "tranquility" and "indifference" to death, and the thought of it, is demonstrated in Leonard's response to the Priest (181-82), when he says, "[y]our dalesmen, then, do in each other's thoughts/ Possess a kind of second life". This way of thinking, that it is "in each other's thoughts" that people "possess a kind of second life", is another approach to the concept of immortality of the soul. "Thoughts", memories and ideas that go on in the mind, images of the person that one remembers, are what, for these people of the mountains, gives someone a "kind of second life".
From this we observe that death, the destruction or expiration of this physical form, is not a topic or concept feared. By approaching death with an unconscious understanding rather than a conscious one where our conscious barriers are constantly alert, focussed on the material realm, we can sit and "talk about the dead by our firesides", and not have a need of symbols "to tell us that plain tale". Therefore it becomes more comprehensible when Wordsworth tells us that James, whose "soul was knit to this his native soil" (294), would on occasion sleepwalk. His "soul was knit", implying some bond between James' being and "this his native soil", a bond that is not easily severed or pulled apart. Since "his native soil" is the mountains, he has a sense of "tranquility" and "indifference" to the "subject of death". His "immortal part" is not restrained by thoughts that do not allow one to be indifferent to death. That is to say, the soul within his physical form is, although unable to escape until death, that point at which time leaves off and eternity begins, not entirely suppressed by his physicality. The Priest tells us that James would sleepwalk,
(A practice till this time unknown to him)
That often, rising from his bed at night,
He in his sleep would walk about, and sleeping
He sought his Brother Leonard[.] (ll.346-49)
This sleepwalking is "unknown to him" - he does it, but he is consciously unaware of the fact that it happens, that his physical form is put into movement by his soul. "...in his sleep he would walk about, and sleeping he sought his Brother Leonard." This imagery illustrates the notion of the "ghost in the machine", the soul (ghost) utilizing the body (machine). By his use of the word "practice" at line 346, Wordsworth stresses the fact that this is not an isolated incident that James experiences, that this sleepwalking and seeking out his brother is not a one-time occurrence, but that it happens often. This sets up the answer for Leonard's question to the Priest, "And you believe then, that his mind was easy?" (384) upon physical death. Leonard is asking about James' mind, his soul. He is also using cautionary terms of perception, saying "..you believe...that his mind was easy?", which shows some apprehension about the notion of death. The Priest replies, saying,
Yes, long before he died, he found that time
Is a true friend to sorrow[.] (ll. 385-86)
James' loneliness, his "sorrow", is consoled by "time"; "long before he died", long before his physical form ceased to live, his mind/soul quelled his fears and solitude. It would seem that through his "practice" of sleepwalking his "immortal part" would try to end this solitude by searching for Leonard. And this solitude is ended, this physical journeying through time is transformed, when one day
he had lain down
Upon the grass, and, waiting for his comrades
He there had fallen asleep, that in his sleep
He to the margin of the precipice
Had walk'd, and from the summit had fallen headlong[.] (ll. 393-97)
James lays down to wait for "his comrades", alone. He falls asleep, where he can dream of his brother and escape from his solitude, and his immortal soul moves his physical form, to the "margin of the precipice". This "precipice" can be seen as both the actual physical rock, a chasm that James walks to the "margin" or edge of, and, metaphorically as the "margin" or edge of the "precipice" between life and death. For him this transition was not a horrific thing, for his "soul was knit to this his native soil", he had a tranquil and indifferent view towards physical death; to him it was not an end, but a change.
-2-
Wordsworth asks us, in the Ode:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream? (ll. 56-7)
"Whither" has this "visionary gleam" that we possessed as children "fled" to? Where has it gone? "Where is it now, the glory and the dream" that was accessible and present in childhood? That is where it is, though, in childhood, a stage that in this physical temporal life we have gone beyond. But it is not gone, for the answer to "[w]here is it now?", "where is it at this moment?", is that it is in its own "where," one that is not physically or temporally accessible to us except through memories and the workings of the soul or mind. Which means that the "visionary gleam" is not gone, but has been dimmed, as it were, through aging and time; by changing states of consciousness and returning to the memories of childhood, the "visionary gleam" shines brightly again, and the "where" is found.
How is it, then, that a soul and physical body come to be as one, an immortal part inside a mortal part? If indeed we are creatures not only of flesh and bones but of an immortal soul/mind as well, what is it that connects the two? And, if the body's physical realm is the part of us that is, for the most part, "in charge" during this life, how is it that our two parts interact? Wordsworth tells us, in the Ode, that
[t]he soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar. (ll. 59-61)
The notion that the "soul" "rises with us" seems to be leaning towards ideas of memories that we gain as we grow and experience, memories and experiences that become part of our personality and personal identity. These memories are what our souls consist of. Wordsworth says that our soul is "our life's Star", that which guides the physical part of us through this life. Again, it is worth noting his use of the plural "us" and "our", the idea of this being a universal happening, that each of us has an immortal part. So if it is that "[t]he soul rises with us", as our memories and experiences grow and happen, then line 58 is essential to this idea: "[o]ur birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:". The colon at the end of this line is Wordsworth's, and it is the lines just examined (59-61) that follow it. Our physical "birth", when we come to life as human beings, "is but a sleep and a forgetting", since we have no memories when we are born. Wordsworth then brings lines 59 and 61 together by rhyming "Star" and "afar", seemingly emphasizing the Platonic notion that the soul is placed into this body, thrown into this "prison-house" (line 67) of life and adult alertness as we grow out of childhood, as we age. This seems to echo the 1798 Dove Cottage MS 16, where Wordsworth had written of the "never-ending life...of human laws" (74-75) that are the cause of the "prison-house" (75) of adulthood. Although this could simply be the repetition of words, the fact that Wordsworth uses the same hyphenation for "prison-house" four years later when he wrote the Ode would seem to indicate his concern about this subject; in 1798 we are told of "human laws" that are what bring about the "prison-house", in 1802 it is "[s]hades of the prison-house [that] begin to close/ Upon the growing Boy" (67-68). In both cases, it would seem that this is the point when the "visionary gleam" starts to fade.
In this life the soul needs a physical form, a machine, to experience that which gives way to memories and identity. The body is the perfect match for this soul, the perfect machine of experience for the senses. In MS B for Home at Grasmere, written in 1800, Wordsworth tells us that he "would proclaim -"
Speaking of nothing more than what we are -
How exquisitely the individual Mind
(And the progressive powers perhaps no less
of the whole Species) to the external world
Is fitted; and how exquisitely too -
Theme this little heard among men -
The external world is fitted to the mind;
And the creation (by no lower name
Can it be called) which they with blended might
Accomplish[.] (ll. 1004-14)
This fusion of the body and mind, this perfect coupling, allows the two to "with blended might/ Accomplish..." "creation[s]". Wordsworth shows how perfect the two are for each other, the "individual Mind" "exquisitely" "fitted" "to the external world", and "the external world...fitted to the mind". He mentions the "progressive powers...of the whole Species". With the idea that the soul/mind "rises with us" as we experience and gain memories, and if we allow these memories to serve us, that is, continue to reference and have recollections of our childhood, that Wordsworth tells us allows for intimations of immortality), then the "individual Mind['s]" "progressive powers" would be those thoughts, memories, and experiences. The "individual Mind" allows the body to remember previous experiences in the "external world", experiences that could not have been if it had not been for the presence of the body to have received sensory input (experiences) which became memory. Thus "the creation...which they with blended might/ Accomplish".
This passage also demonstrates Wordsworth's use of singular and plural to bring one from solitude to collectivity, juxtaposing "the individual Mind" with "the whole Species", singular with plural, connected with the "external world", and then combining the two, "external world" and "individual Mind", with the word "they", third-person plural, a collective term, that ties the two together, allowing for "the creation", experiences and memories.
Although these two parts are fused together in this life, "exquisitely, as childhood is left, the "visionary gleam" is dulled into normality:
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day. (ll. 73-76)
Lines 73 and 76 reflect one another in that "the vision splendid" (73) is that which is "fad[ing] into the light of common day". It is the singular "Man" who "perceives" it "die away" "[a]t length" after it has "attended" him "on his way" during childhood. Again, Wordsworth uses the cautionary term "perceives" instead of a more concrete word like "sees". By doing this the individual "Man" can more easily dismiss that which he sees by terming it "perceives", which can be understood with a feeling of phenomenological hesitancy as he questions his reality; the "vision splendid" is suppressed into normality, and "fade[s] into the light of common day". How does something like this happen? How can a "vision" that is so "splendid" and "attended" us "on [our] way" during childhood just become dulled to seem as "common day?" How can something like an immortal soul/mind be ignored and shunned by a physical body that is going to expire with the passing of time?
Wordsworth expands upon this idea of the "Shades of the prison-house begin[ning] to close/ Upon the growing boy" (67-68) as Stanza VI in the Ode theorizes on a child leaving childhood, explaining and examining this transition.
And, even with something of a Mother's mind
And no unworthy aim,
The homely Nurse doth all she can
To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man,
Forget the glories he hath known
And that imperial palace from whence he came. (ll. 79-84)
The "shades of the prison-house" that "begin to close/ Upon the growing boy" seem to be two-fold here. There is the body, the material "prison-house" for the "Inmate Man", the soul, but there is also the mental "prison-house", the one that makes the child "[f]orget the glories he hath known". Wordsworth's use of the word "known" here is significant, for it is not cautionary at all. By using "known" instead of a word that questions perception, like "he seemed to have known" or "thought he hath known", Wordsworth is acknowledging that that which we experience in childhood is real, that those "visionary gleams" did occur.
Structurally speaking, lines 79 and 81 are connected by the capitalization of both "Mother" (79) and "Nurse" (81), the effect being that the two are the same: "[t]he homely Nurse" "with something of a Mother's mind". By doing this, the stress is taken away from the word "mind" that follows "Mother's", downplaying the idea of the mind as soul, and the alliteration of the two "m's" almost entirely swallows up the word "mind". In line 82 this swallowing up continues with the juxtaposing of "Foster-child" and "Inmate Man". The subtle differences between the ideas of "foster" and "inmate" are exaggerated here, the idea that "foster" is in the care of someone, where as an "inmate" has certain connotations connected with being in the forced care of someone. Also, the "c" in "child" is lower-cased, the "m" in "Man", capitalized. This is a small point, but with the contrast of the two, and the obvious change in meaning between the two, it is worth noting.
This "Nurse" is doing "all she can" to transform this child into an adult, making, forcing him to "Forget the glories he hath known/ And that imperial palace whence he came". This "imperial palace" would be the "vision splendid" and the "visionary gleam" that we experience and know as children, "whence [we] came". This concept of "coming from" childhood is not so strange, for it is a voyage of memory and personal identity. The "whence" would appear to be in this "where" previously discussed, a place without any spatial relation to this physical world, a place in the memory, a place in the soul/mind.
With these lines, and with them, this idea, put forward, Wordsworth begins a new stanza, Stanza VII, where he develops the idea more fully and takes a closer look at the dulling of the "gleam".
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
A four year's Darling of a pigmy size!
See, where mid work of his own hand he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
With light upon him from his father's eyes!
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shaped by himself with newly learned art;
A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;
And this hath now his heart,
And unto this he frames his song:
Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife[.] (ll. 85-98)
Critics have claimed that this "Child" is Hartley Coleridge, based on the 1807 text of the Ode, where line 86 reads "[a] six year's Darling...". In 1802 Hartley Coleridge was indeed six years old, as we know both historically and through Wordsworth's poem To H.C., Six Years Old, however, the original 1802 manuscript for the Ode reads "four year's Darling". When one combines this fact with the 1798 text to the two-book Prelude, where we read (in MS JJ, line 41) "[w]as it for this that I a four years child", it would seem more likely that the "Darling" in the Ode is none other than Wordsworth himself. If this is the case, it would both make this poem more autobiographical and more personal than has been previously considered, and, by doing this, it would allow us to see that this philosophical train of thought present in the poems of this time period are not merely concepts, but thoughts that are deeply rooted in Wordsworth's mind.
For Wordsworth, a "Child['s]" "work" is "some little plan or chart,/ Some fragment from his dream of human life". This would seem to imply that, for a "Child", perception and experience are as in a "dream", for the positioning of the word "dream" in relation to "human life" equates the two. This concept of a child's life as a "dream" is quite intriguing. These "little plan[s] or chart[s]...shaped by himself with newly-learned art" are reminiscent of the "creation" that the "external world" and the "mind" "with blended might/ Accomplish". In childhood the fusion of body and mind/soul is fresh, but this ability is soon hindered as the child is "Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses". Wordsworth's repetition of the word "mother" here returns the reader's thoughts to the previous stanza with the "Nurse" and the "Mother's mind", again showing how a child's vision is lessened. The "vision splendid" "fade[s] into the light of common day" through the "light upon him from his father's eyes!" The "circle of Light of his own making" is dulled into normality with the "light" that comes from "his father's eyes", creating the visual image of a child with, say, a candle in a dark room. The candle burns brightly until someone comes in and with a larger light, which overpowers the light generated by the candle, making it seem bland in comparison to what it previously was. But it is not extinguished, this candle, this "circle of light" of childhood, it is just more difficult to realize the brightness of it again.
It is because of the adult events that are pushed upon a child that his/her "newly-learned art" is made forgotten, events such as "[a] wedding or a festival/ A mourning or a funeral" - especially "a funeral". Funerals are events that are attaching "symbols" to the "plain tale" discussed in The Brothers, the "mourning" implying that there is not this feeling of "indifference" towards the subject of death. Not that death should be treated coldly, for we have memories of the person who has physically passed away, but there seems to be, in the structure of this stanza, an absence of tranquility as Wordsworth takes the "Child" from "some little plan or chart" to these un-childlike events. This is emphasized with lines 95 and 96, "[a]nd this hath now his heart,/ And unto this he frames his song", the objects that "this" replaces being the "wedding", "festival", "mourning", and "funeral". These things "hath now his heart", not the "fragment[s] from his dream of human life", these things "he frames his song" now, not his "little plan[s] or chart[s]". These childhood "visions" are being repressed, the "glories [the child] hath known" are being taken away, forgotten. So "[t]hen [in adulthood] will he fit his tongue/ To dialogues of business, love, or strife". The word "fit" here is important, for it connotes that his language will now have to conform to these "dialogues", two out of three of which are definitely events of adulthood, "business" and "strife". And the "love" "dialogues" that he will "fit his tongue" to must not be ones of the nature of love, but rather a more unnatural level of love, if he indeed needs to "fit his tongue" to it, conform his language and thought to it. And it is thus that the soul becomes the "Inmate Man" to the body.
The fact that this happens, that the soul/mind becomes the prisoner of the body, is ironic, as is demonstrated in the lines
Thou, whose exterior semblence doth belie
Thy Soul's immensity; (ll. 109-10)
"Thou", the body, "whose exterior semblence", the human physical form, "doth belie", covers up, encrouches upon, and constricts "[t]hy Soul's immensity". This stresses the fact that the body is just a temporary "exterior semblence" for this "Soul", whose unconscious realm is not truly contained within the body. The two are not spatially related to one another; to say that the soul/mind is "in" the body is just to get around the complications of trying to explain the differences in spatial reality for the two, body and soul, one having physical spatial reality, the other psychical spatial reality. Wordsworth, in Book IIII of The Excursion, illustrates this by saying, through the Wanderer,
I have seen
A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract
Of inland ground, applying to his ear
The convolutions of a smooth-lipp'd shell;
To which, in silence hush'd, his very soul
Listen'd intensely; and his countenance soon
Brighten'd with joy[.] (ll. 1132-38)
By using a "child", Wordsworth is already preparing us for a way of experiencing that is different than what we, as adults, are accompanied to. Even more so, he makes the "child" "curious", inquisitive. The "tract/ Of inland ground" where this "curious child" "dwelt" can be seen as both an actual, geographical area, distant from the ocean, perhaps implying the same circumstances as those with people from the mountains, as well as metaphorically as childhood. Children do, until a certain age, dwell in their "inland ground", with their "little plan[s] or chart[s]", and therefore experience things with "vision splendid". From this perspective Wordsworth demonstrates the difference in spatial relations between this world and the world of the soul. By "applying to his ear/ the convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell" "his very soul/ Listen'd" to, presumably, the sounds of the waves crashing upon the beach at the seaside. Spatially, this is impossible; a seashell, no matter how huge it is, cannot, in relation to this physical, spatial dimension, contain an ocean. By the same token, there cannot be a huge field with a lake, trees, clouds, mountains, and rain within the walls of our skulls - but we can "see" these kinds of objects when we image them or dream them. Spatially they do not have any relation to that which we can physically touch, or see, but they have spatial relation to one another in their own "where". The similarity with the seashell ties into this, which turns into a lucid example of how the soul/mind and the body interact. Also, it is "his very soul" that "[l]isten'd" "in silence hush'd", but it is "his countenance", his face, that "[b]righten'd with joy". This is along the same lines as James' sleepwalking, in that it demonstrates the soul using the machine it is within to experience and express itself. The physical features of the "curious child['s]" face become "[b]righten'd with joy" as the "soul/ Listen'd" and heard the sea. To further discuss this concept of "where" the soul/mind "is", and the differences and in spatial realms and states of experience, it proves worthwhile to examine the phenomena of dreams.
-3-
In Book V of Wordsworth's Prelude (1805) we are reminded of the "famous history of the Errant Knight/ Recorded by Cervantes" (60-61). While musing "[o]n poetry and geometric truth,/ And their high privilege of lasting life" (65-66),
[s]leep seized him, and he passed into a dream.
He saw before him an Arabian waste[.] (ll. 70-71)
Before we examine these lines, it is essential to notice the background for this section of The Prelude. John Cottingham translates an account of a series of three dreams that Descartes had on November 10, 1619.18 According to Stephen Gill,19 it is "generally agreed that Coleridge brought Wordsworth's attention to [this account]". In the first of these dreams, Descartes had a great difficulty in standing up, went to a college chapel that he saw, was offered "a melon brought from some foreign country", was "bent double and reeling" while all those around him were standing. This thought awoke him, and
[h]e offered a prayer to God to ask to be protected from the bad effect of his dream and to be preserved from all the ills which might be hanging over him as a punishment for his sins - sins which he recognized could be serious enough to bring thunderbolts down on his head, despite the fact that he had hitherto lived a life which was irreproachable enough in the eyes of men.20
After reflecting upon "the goods and ills of this world", he fell into another dream, "in which he thought he heard a loud and violent noise which he took for a thunderclap". This awoke him immediately, "and opening his eyes he saw many fiery sparks scattered throughout the room". This was not an unusual experience to him, and, after repeatedly opening and shutting his eyes to observe the "quality of the forms which were represented to him" in the room, he went back to sleep.
Once asleep, Descartes had a third dream, in which he found a "Dictionary" upon his table, as well as a collection of poems by various authors entitled "Corpus Poetarum", in which was the verse "'Quod vitae sectabor iter?' ['What road in life shall I follow?']". A man appeared "who gave him a piece of verse beginning Est et Non", and, while searching for a particular poem in the Corpus Poetarum, a book which Descartes had been looking through disappeared and reappeared at the other end of the table. He then "came upon several engraved miniature portraits" in the book, which made him realize that this was not the edition with which he was familiar. "At this point, the books and the man disappeared, and faded from his imagination, but without waking him up[;]...not only did he decide while still asleep that it was a dream, but he even decided on the interpretation before waking up". He decided that "the Dictionary signified all the sciences collected together, and that the...Corpus Poetarum indicated...philosophy and wisdom combined". While still asleep he attributed the nature of the poetical anthology "to the divine origin of enthusiasm and the power of the imagination, which makes the seeds of wisdom". The verse "Quod vitae sectabor iter?" he thought "dealt with the uncertainty about the type of life one should choose, [and] stood for the good advice of a person of wisdom, or even for moral theology". He calmly began to wake up, and once awake decided that the third, pleasant dream was representational of the future, and the first two dreams "as threatening warnings concerning his past life".
We can speculate as to why Coleridge might have told Wordsworth of this dream; we know from his notebooks that as early as January of 1800 Coleridge had read the works of Descartes,21 and that he discussed his philosophical readings with Wordsworth. We can theorize that Coleridge mentioned this account to Wordsworth because of its rationalistic ideas, which we know Coleridge had often mentioned to Wordsworth,22 as they frequently bordered on Wordsworth's pantheistic writings, as well as the fact that these dreams demonstrate the fear of past sins, a fear of lost innocence in the eyes of God, which Wordsworth, in his unorthodox, naturalistic representation of the spirit, was guilty of, from Coleridge's view. However, this still does not help us to understand how it is that Wordsworth connected these dreams with Cervantes' Don Quixote. We know that Wordsworth read Don Quixote while at school,23 and perhaps made the connection between Cervantes' "Knight-Errant" and his own "Knight-Errantry", where he questioned his own surroundings, and Descartes' "fiery sparks scattered throughout the room". Perhaps the connection is between Descartes' books that appear, disappear, and then reappear, the "Books of Knight-Errantry" that Cervantes' hero read "with that Application and Delight",24 and the title for Book V of The Prelude - "Books". Or perhaps the link between Descartes' dream, Cervantes' "Knight-Errant", and this section of Wordsworth's Prelude is the notion of "the impossible dream". In Don Quixote's case, it is his "quest of Adventures" to "purchase everlasting Honour and Renown"25 by way of fighting unbeatable foes, dragonesque windmills and the like; in the case of Wordsworth and the other Romantic poets, it is the attempt to write and describe perception and experience, to discover written words that adequately describe events and phenomena to their readers.
By returning to the text of The Prelude, we see that Wordsworth uses terms of movement to demonstrate how he is "seized" by "Sleep", by saying that he "he passed into a dream". It is not as if he has gotten up, gone outside, and gone "into a dream", nor is it that he needed any sort of mechanical transportation to spatially travel to this "dream". But the language does make sense, for when we "pass...into a dream" we enter into another state, where, although not spatially located with relation to this physical realm, objects have spatial relation to each other in their own "where". One could not take a train from here to there, any more than one could obtain a map on how to get there. But that does not mean that this place does not exist; it may not be a place we can "find" in this physical world, a place that we can "see" in this physical world, but it is "there". Once Wordsworth has "passed into a dream", he tells us that "[h]e saw before him an Arabian waste". "He saw", not "thought he saw" or "dreamed that he saw", but "[h]e saw", without any cautionary terms of perception being expressed. Not only did he see in this dream, but "[h]e saw before him an Arabian waste", giving spatial locality to the scene, placing this "Arabian waste" "before him", implying distance, spatial relation between him and the horizon, him and the sand. But were someone to walk past Wordsworth as he slept, while he was having this dream, they would not feel the heat from this "waste", for this scene that "[h]e saw before him", although it has spatial relation to other things in the scene, has no spatial relation to Wordsworth's pillow, bed, or skull.
The fact that the dream does not spatially relate to the physical world does not make it any less real to him. The only sense in which his dream is "unreal" is in the sense that it is not physical. But when one is "in" a dream, dreaming, the objects "seen", "felt", and "experienced" are "physical" enough for the assumption that they are real. It is only upon waking up that the dream is deemed "unreal", which is an unfair assessment based on the fact that it is not less real than the physical world; it is a change in perception. And while in this altered state, one experiences in a similar way to the way one does in this world, feels the same way.
Wordsworth has "before him an Arabian waste", and he finds himself
[a]lone, upon the sands. Distress of mind
Was growing in him when, behold! (ll. 74-75)
He is "[a]lone", by himself, a sense of loneliness and solitude "upon the sands". The word "upon" gives spatiality, image-based physicality, to this place, that he is "upon the sands". This loneliness, this state of being "[a]lone", leads to "[d]istress of mind/...growing in him". This solitude of being "in" "an Arabian waste" by himself brings about "[d]istress of mind", of the soul, separate but part of this body, "[d]istress" that was "growing in him". The placement of these two words, "in" and "him", creates the sense of duality of mind and body, that "him", he is not strictly the form in the middle of this desert, but that there is something "in" the form, even if not spatially located so that it can be "found" or reached other than through recollections and memories and/or changing ways of perceiving.
It is important to remember that Wordsworth had read Erasmus Darwin's Zoonomia (1794-96), in Volume I of which there is an extensive section dedicated to sleep and dreams, in which we read of various cases related to the study of these two activities that may have had some influence on the way in which Wordsworth dealt with sleep and dreams. Among the statements in Darwin's work are sections pertaining to the fact that it is "[a] very curious circumstance attending these our sleeping imaginations is, that we seem to receive them by the senses".26 He also makes this argument:
A curious question demands our attention in this place; as we do not distinguish in our dreams and reveries between our perceptions of external objects, and our ideas of them in their absence, how do we distinguish them at any time? In a dream, if the sweetness of sugar occurs to my imagination, the whiteness and hardness of it, which were ideas usually connected with the sweetness, immediately follow in the train; and I believe a material lump of sugar present before my senses[.]27
Through this we can see that it is critical for us to remember that we can sense objects in our dreams, in the same manner as we do when we are awake, without the usage of our external, physical senses.
To escape this solitude, the "behold!" heralds the welcome sight of a "Guide", an "Arab of the Bedouin Tribes" (76). After all, this is a dream, and virtually anything can occur and be imaged. This is "[t]o his great joy" (76), that he is no longer alone, lonely.
Much rejoiced
The dreaming Man that he should have a Guide (ll. 81-82)
in this dream. "Much rejoiced" is this "dreaming Man", for there is now a shifting from singularity to plurality, solitude to collectivity. He now has a "Guide" to accompany him through this desert "waste". As if this sort of imagery were not enough to demonstrate the difference in spatial dimensions and use of the senses without the stimulation of the external senses, Wordsworth then writes that the "Guide"
'[s]tretched forth the Shell towards me, with command
That I should hold it to my ear. I did so,
And heard that instant in an unknown Tongue,
Which yet I understood, articulate sounds,
A loud prophetic blast of harmony,
An Ode[.]' (ll. 92-97)
Again, as in Book IIII of The Excursion, we have the image of the "Shell", which the "Guide" "[s]tretched forth...towards" him, establishing definite spatial relation between the two. Here we also have sound that cannot be heard through the physiological auditory canals of the ear, nor can someone near the "Errant Knight" hear these sounds. Yet there is the "command" from the "Guide"; the "articulate sounds" and "loud prophetic blast of harmony" are "heard" in this dream. He "hold[s] it", "the Shell", and we have tactile sense remote from the physicality of his carnate hand being expressed. The "Knight" continues, for not only did he "hold it", but Wordsworth tells us that he held it "to [his] ear", which is to say that the image body that he had in the dream is equated with "him", not a different being; the "my" in line 93 and the "me" in line 92 both stressing that this dream-Knight is the Knight, that this dream state is still "him". Looking back to "the Shell", one notices the capitalization of the "s", bringing attention to this object, making it a proper noun, not common, which seems to make it almost more than just a shell. This "Shell", when held to his ear (dream-ear), seems to be similar to Blair's "end of Time and...beginning of Eternity",28 for he "heard that instant in an unknown Tongue". This could be interpreted as "at this moment" he "heard in an unknown Tongue", but syntactically speaking it reads "heard that instant", "heard a huge period of 'time' in an instant in an unknown Tongue". Temporally, for us in the physical world, this makes no sense, for how can one hear at any faster a rate than the rate at which sounds occur? But one can have dreams that would seem to last hours, days, but when compared against "real-time" they only lasted for about two minutes during REM sleep. Time is distorted, in the accustomed understanding of it.
We are told that he hears "in an unknown Tongue", in a language that is "unknown" by him, "which yet [he] understood". Not only does he understand this "unknown Tongue", but they, the things that he hears, are "articulate sounds", "sounds" which are clear to him. These "articulate sounds" he then refers to as "[a] loud prophetic blast of harmony" - could this be similar to the blast from "[w]hen the dread trumpet sounds"?29 It would certainly make sense, since that "dread trumpet" "typifies.../ the end of Time and the beginning of Eternity", allowing for hearing "that instant in an unknown Tongue". Still building on the description of what these "articulate sounds" are, he then calls them "[a]n Ode". Perhaps this is some sort of reference to the Ode, connecting these events with tokens and recollections from childhood. In any case, all these "articulate sounds" are going on inside this "Shell", and this "Shell" is in this dream - but not in the spatial terms of this world, or of this carnate form.
By returning to Wordsworth's Ode, we can interpret further his reconsideration of the senses and his need to seemingly go beyond them to discover "intimations of immortality".
[T]hou Eye among the blind,
That, deaf and silent, reads't the eternal deep,
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind[.] (ll. 111-13)
Here we read of an "Eye among the blind," like the "eyes" we see through in our dreams that do not physiologically exist and therefore would be "blind", "[t]hat, deaf and silent", again due to lack of any physical means of hearing or speaking, "reads't the eternal deep". Despite the lack of any external source of sensory stimuli, the "eternal deep" is read by this "Eye", and one can presume that, since this "Eye among the blind/...reads't", then the "deaf and silent" can hear and speak. Line 113 has a sobering effect, after the previous two lines have given us hope of reading the "eternal deep", for this is "eternal", not just a dream anymore; we, the soul part of we, will be "[h]aunted for ever by the eternal mind". The connotations of the word "[h]aunted" would seem to imply that Wordsworth, who admits to the power of memory as having an "active principle", fears the idea of an "eternal", neverending perception devoid of external stimuli. This is understandable, that someone would fear living in an endless dreamlike experience, and, as we shall see as the Ode is further examined, Wordsworth seems to come to terms with his fear to be able to regain his faith in the powers of recollection.
-4-
If we are to be able to consider the possibility of an immortality, and examine it through Wordsworth's thoughts on childhood recollections, then consideration of all the experiences and memories from childhood as they relate to the enigma surrounding death is a must. These two events, childhood and death, are not so far removed from one another as one might think; a child does not view death as an adult would, with conscious thought. The child's innocence allows it to understand death more closely than an adult might, allows it to not fear the transition and change of states of consciousness, and therefore come closer to the visions of immortality that lie beyond life. In Book III of The Excursion (1814), Wordsworth through the Wanderer, tells us:
"The voice which we so lately overheard
To that same child addressing tenderly
The consolations of a hopeful mind?
'His body is at rest - his soul in heaven.'
These were your words; and, verily, methinks
Wisdom is ofttimes nearer when we stoop
Than when we soar." (ll. 226-31)
This brings many of the issues relating to the question of immortality to mind: language, senses, and duality amongst them. Again Wordsworth uses a child to examine the concept of death, and the understanding and lack of fear towards death that a child has. "The voice" here is that of the "same child", "that fair-faced cottage-boy" of line 197, that "we", plural, "overheard". The "overheard" "voice" of "that same child" is "addressing tenderly/ The consolations of a hopeful mind", which would seem to imply some sort of inward searching, talking to one's self, for the "child" is "addressing" his "hopeful mind". But the "voice " is "overheard", and this is important. If the "child" is talking to himself, then the language used is a language that is closer to his thoughts, for it does not have to be full of language and objects of the objective, physical world. And the fact that it is a "hopeful mind" that is being "address[ed]", the "child" is juxtaposed so that he can be equated with this "mind", for it is in childhood that the "mind" can still be "hopeful", and not concerned with the events of adulthood that oftentimes make the mind far from "hopeful".
The duality of the person is emphasized with the statement 'His body is at rest - his soul in heaven.' Not only does Wordsworth use italics to bring attention to this line, a line stressing that "we" consist of a "body" and a "soul", but the next line as well: "These were your words." He did not write 'The body is at rest - the soul in heaven', rather he uses the possessive "his", both times referring to the same person, and by doing so demonstrates the separation of body and soul at death, for "[h]is body is at rest", in the ground, presumably, and "his soul [is] in heaven", his two parts have come apart. By stressing that "[t]hese were your words" in the next line, and in the argument following in the next two lines, Wordsworth brings attention back to the previous line. He then states that "[w]isdom is ofttimes nearer when we stoop/ Than when we soar", that we are closer to the truth when we talk to ourselves than when we make conversation in an open construct, with words that often do not fully express that which we want them to. Again it is worth noting that the plural "we" is used as the thing that "stoop[s]" and "soar[s]", for it implies a universal concept of this occurrence of language. The "stoop[ing]" and "soar[ing]" can be metaphorically equated with the states of being a child and being an adult, respectively. And if it is through the act of "stoop[ing]" in our use of language and thought that we are "ofttimes nearer" to "[w]isdom", then it would seem to be that it is through the state of perception that we had and did not question as children that we come closer to understanding the truth about immortality and the nature of "us" as a body and a soul/mind.
But all too often we do not acknowledge this fact, that "[w]isdom is ofttimes nearer when we stoop/ Than when we soar"; as we leave the ways of thinking from childhood and become adults, with a more alert way of thinking, we attempt to "soar" and go further and further away from "[w]isdom", the truth. However, this is not a state of permanent or entire forgetting, for, if that were the case, then we would not be able to have childhood memories, nor would we be able to attempt to find potential glimpses of immortality in these memories. Were it the case that becoming an adult made it so we could not recall the events from our past, then we would have no personal continuity or personality. But this fact, too, is repressed, so that the conscious state of the mind appears to have full control over the soul/mind, keeping the immortal part prisoner to the mortal. However, we should not fool ourselves into believing that the body has full control over the mind, as we can see in the Ode:
Seer blest!
On whom those truths do rest,
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;
Thou, over whom thy Immortality
Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave,
A Presence which is not to be put by[.] (ll. 115-21)
"[T]he eternal mind" (114) is the "[s]eer blest/ On whom those truths do rest". The "truths" of life and death "rest" "[o]n" "the eternal mind," the "[s]eer blest." So it is the mind that knows these truths, and therefore the child, whose state of unquestioning perception allows it to have a closer understanding with the mind/soul. But in "toiling all our lives to find" these "truths" we become sidetracked and forget what it is that we are trying "to find", and therefore the "toiling" takes us further away from "those truths" "[w]hich we" spend "all our lives to find", as we become more and more ingrained in day-to-day thought and the repression of the eternal mind. This is a universal searching, "toiling" for "truth" and the mind, as the collective "our" is used to possess "lives". Because this searching leads us away from that which we are trying "to find", we end up being "[i]n darkness lost", and eventually "in the darkness of the grave". Structurally, with the repetition of "darkness", Wordsworth forms a connection with "lost" and "grave", which is intriguing, for on one level it would seem to imply that the "grave" is the end, that we are "lost" when we die and are in the grave. But in the context of this poem, and the fact that it is a quest for signs and intimations of our immortality, this possible reading and understanding of "lost" and "grave" would be incorrect. It would be more intelligible to approach this connection between "lost" and "grave" with more of the understanding that by "toiling all our lives to find" the "truths" that "rest" with "the eternal mind", and in doing so getting further from the "truths", then we are "[i]n darkness lost." And because of the state of being "lost" we come to see the "grave" as the end, a place of "darkness" where we rest once we die. In this manner Wordsworth utilizes this "darkness" as a way of stressing our "toil[s]" that lead us to being "lost", and because we are "lost" we do not recognize our immortal potentiality.
In not allowing ourselves to realize our different modes of perception, we "forget" our duality, which is again stressed, as it was in the previous passage from The Excursion, by Wordsworth's use of possession: "Thou, over whom thy Immortality...". There is the "[t]hou," the physical being, of the person, where the mind is temporarily to experience and gain memories, and there is also the "Immortality" of the person, and thus "thy Immortality." In "toiling all our lives to find" the "truths" that are innate in the mind, and thereby not being able to recall the fact that it is these "truths" in the mind that we are "toiling...to find," we forget the fact that it is not our mortal part that is in charge, but rather our "Immortality" that "[b]roods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave". Although the soul/mind is the "Inmate Man" of the body, it, the soul/mind, our "immortal part", is "[a] Presence which is not to be put by" or ignored. "Immortality" and "Presence" are connected with the repetition of the capitalization of the first letter in each, so it is this "Presence" that "[b]roods like the Day" over our mortal part, the body. Our "Immortality" is the "Master o'er [the] Slave" of the body, and this should not be overlooked. This is the "truth" "[w]hich [Wordsworth tells us] we are toiling all our lives to find". By "toiling...to find" this "truth" we forget it, and fool ourselves into thinking and believing that it is the body that is the "Master" and the soul/mind that is the "Slave", when in actuality it would seem to be the other way around. It is through the repression of this "truth" that we come to question the reality of our perceptions and experiences, questionings that lead to questioning of our own personal continuity. If this is done, there is no chance of looking for immortal possibilities.
In the original manuscripts of Wordsworth's Ode, from 1802, the following four lines proceeded the lines just discussed:
To whom the grave
Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight
Of day or the warm light,
A place of thought where we in waiting lie. (ll. 122-125)
In 1815 Wordsworth cut them from the poem, on the advice of Coleridge, who objected to "the frightful notion of lying awake in his grave."30 Coleridge seemed to truly fear this concept of an independent, immortal soul/mind, saying "...a child...has no other notion of death than that of lying in a dark, cold place? And still, I hope, not as in a place of thought?"31 If one takes a careful look at these four ex-lines, though, it does not seem that Wordsworth is writing about death as "lying in a dark, cold place." The "whom" for whom "the grave/ Is but a lonely bed..." is the "[t]hou" from line 119, the same "[t]hou" "over whom...Immortality/ Broods like the Day." Line 121 ends with a semicolon, indicating that the thought is not quite finished. The main subject of lines 119-121 is "[t]hou", which is expanded upon with the notion of "Immortality" being "[a] Presence which is not to be put by". "[B]y" is followed by the semicolon, and in the original text of the poem, was followed by line 122, "[t]o whom the grave...". This would seem to still have the "[t]hou" from line 119 as its subject. If this is the case, and if we can equate "[t]hou" with the physical, adult, mortal part of "us," the part that does not understand or comprehend our immortal part, our mind/soul, then these four ex-lines are simply stressing our material nature, and how that hinders our way of thinking of and with experiences different from those we are accustomed to in our daily routines. Since our physical part will expire at some point, and if we do not allow ourselves to think of the soul/mind not needing the physical part to exist, that is to say, that the soul/mind will quit this form upon this form's destruction, then naturally one might fear the grave as "a lonely bed without the sense or sight...". It should be noted that the word "lonely" appears here, expressing solitude and singularity, and fear. "[S]ense" and "sight" of "day" and "warm light" are all events of the physical world, the world of mortality. The feeling of fear arises again in ex-line 125, where the grave is referred to as "[a] place of thought where we in waiting lie".
It seems ironic that Coleridge would even consider "lying awake in his grave," for in his Biographia Literaria he writes
...the poet does not require us to be awake and believe; he solicits us only to yield ourselves to a dream; and this too with our eyes open, and with our judgment ready to awaken us; and meantime, only, not to disbelieve.32
He seems to believe in this separate soul/mind, but the concept appears to scare him, and therefore he attempts to repress his notions about ideas of immortality.33 Coleridge's fear of "lying awake in his grave" is an unnecessary one, for one's soul/mind can not return to one's body after physical death, for death is due to the body's deterioration and ceasing to function. Upon death the body "drops into the dark and noisome grave,/ Like a disabled pitcher of no use."34 So the only state of being "awake" would be one of the mind, which would not be in the grave, for it is only the "disabled pitcher" of the body that is in that "dark and noisome grave", in that "lonely bed without the sense or sight". Coleridge's fear of this notion was so great that Wordsworth cut those four lines from the Ode; however, Wordsworth claims that a child does not have this fear.
How is it, then, that a child does not fear the event of death? What is it that allows a child to see through death without fear and loneliness? And what happens to us as we grow out of childhood that makes us lose that ability to not fear death? Again, in Book V of Wordsworth's Prelude (1805), we are given this scene, which demonstrates what it is that allows a child to view death without terror:
At length, the dead Man, 'mid that beauteous scene
Of trees, and hills, and water, bolt upright
Rose with his ghastly face; a spectre shape
Of terror even! and yet no vulgar fear,
Young as I was, a Child not nine years old,
Possessed me, for my inner eye had seen
Such sights before, among the shining streams
Of Fairyland, the Forests of Romance[.] (ll.470-77)
Described here we have a "dead Man" in a "beauteous scene/ of trees, and hills, and water". Wordsworth utilizes words equated with the fear of death to describe "the...Man", and to juxtapose against "that beauteous scene": "dead", "ghastly", "spectre shape", and "terror". By doing this he intentionally creates an image that would be horrific, this scene of tranquility disturbed by a "dead Man" who all of a sudden "bolt upright/ Rose with his ghastly face", continuing, saying that it was a "spectre shape/ of terror even!", the exclamation point accentuating the idea of "terror". But he then goes on to reveal that, despite this experience, he suffered "no vulgar fear,/ Young as I was, a Child not nine years old". The fact that he "was" "[y]oung" when this happened is important, for it stresses that he had not yet entered into the world of adult perception, a realm of experience where "vulgar fear" of death is present, and where memories of "[s]uch sights" "seen" by the "inner eye" are repressed and ignored. Since he "was...a Child" when he saw this scene, "no vulgar fear...Possessed" him, for "among the shining streams/ Of Fairyland, the Forests of Romance", his "inner eye had seen/ Such sights before". This "inner eye" is one not of the physical body, one that can not be located in the human form, but it is one that can see, without any cautionary terms of perception, as Wordsworth writes "had seen". These "shining streams" can be seen to metaphorically represent the unquestioning perception that we had as children. "Fairyland" and "the Forests of Romance," the world of dreams, are connected with this unlocatable "inner eye" in their own "where". And since it is through this "inner eye" that "no vulgar fear" "[p]ossessed" this "Child", and therefore allows him to understand these "truths", "truths" that "rest" with the "eternal mind", one can see that a child thinks and experiences with its "eternal mind" rather than with thoughts that have to "toil" to find these "truths". By experiencing in this way, death is not an event to be feared, the soul/mind is not ignored, and loneliness and solitude are not experiences that are worrisome, or to be feared.
-5-
As we can see in Wordsworth's poem Lucy Gray; or, Solitude (1800) a child does not experience in the same manner that we come to as adults. Even in the title to the poem, we can see this, for it equates a girl's name, Lucy Gray, with the feeling of Solitude, the word "or" saying that either term would describe the girl. In 1816, Henry Crabb Robinson took down Wordsworth's "explanation" of this poem, saying,
[Wordsworth] removed from [this] poem all that pertained to art, and it being his object to exhibit poetically entire solitude, he represents [this] child as observing the day-moon which no town or village girl would never notice.35
It may be that Wordsworth "removed...all that pertained to art...to exhibit poetically entire solitude" from Lucy Gray, but it is adult, fearful views and notions of solitude that are being attempted poetically. In this way they, the adult conceptions of solitude, do not affect Lucy Gray in a manner that brings on grief or loneliness, for, as Wordsworth tells us, she is a "...solitary child" (4).
No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew;
She dwelt upon a wide moor - (ll.4-6)
A "solitary child" was Lucy Gray, the word "solitary" playing on our preconceived notions of loneliness, "child" reminding us that she has not yet become imbued with objective ways of thinking. We are also told that "[n]o mate, no comrade, Lucy knew", which emphasizes the word "solitary" in line 3. But then, similar to the way we are reminded with the word "child", we are told that "[s]he dwelt upon a wide moor". This, the "wide moor", in connection with the notions of solitude that Wordsworth is expressing, can be seen to have the same effect as he felt the mountains would, and the way people in the mountains view death - with an air of tranquility, discussing it by their firesides. as in The Brothers, which was also written in 1800. We are presented with a child that is supposed to be equated with "Solitude", but who, in actuality, does not fear being, nor feel, alone.
This young girl of the "wide moor" then dies in a snowstorm; "[a]nd many a hill did Lucy climb:/ But never reached the town" (31-2). Wordsworth continues, though, saying:
Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild. (ll. 57-60)
"Yet", still, "some" of those people who are still physically alive, "maintain", believe, think that "to this day", the present, after Lucy's death, "[s]he is a living child". Not only do they "maintain" this, but that "you may see" her "[u]pon the lonesome wild." By saying this, Wordsworth establishes a third-person viewpoint for "see[ing]" Lucy, and gives an objective reality to her by way of acknowledging the possibility of "you", the reader, "see[ing] sweet Lucy Gray/ Upon the lonesome wild". Depending on which word is stressed in line 59, whether it is "may" or "see", one could have two different interpretations of this perception. If "may" is stressed, "may see", it could mean "might see" with cautionary implications attached, that one is not "truly" seeing this child. But if one stresses the word "see", "may see", it would mean "might see" with the possibility of actually seeing, physically, this child. In either case, the ideas of memory and living are present, whether the child is actually "[u]pon the lonesome wild" or not.
The words that end line 60, "the lonesome wild", plays upon the reader's adult ideas of both "lonesome" and "wild", but as a child Lucy Gray would not see this "wild", this open area, nature, as "lonesome", for she has not yet been forced to create fears of loneliness and solitude, so the term "lonesome" has no meaning for her. So it is that
O'er rough and smooth she trips along
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles on the wind. (ll. 61-4)
This is extremely important, that she "never looks behind", for "look[ing] behind" would be returning to her physical life, which she can never do due to the physical death of her form. And yet this impossibility to return does not seem to affect her aversely, for "she trips along...sing[ing] a solitary song/ That whistles on the wind". She has entered a more in-depth state of solitude than when she had "[n]o mate, no comrade", but even now she does not appear to be bothered by this fact. It is through the way a child perceives at a more complete level, not hindered by adult thought, that the ability to cope with and understand death so that immortality can considered. However, children do become adults, as they physically age, and this ability to perceive at a level that is closer to its "eternal mind" is weakened. Wordsworth asks, in the Ode:
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight[.] (ll. 122-27)
This passage implores: why does the child grow up and lose that power to understand and not fear perceptions and experiences that differ from those we are accustomed to? "Child" is capitalized, bringing attention to it and giving it more status and importance than if he had simply written it as "child", lower cased. It is not only a "Child", but a "little Child", that is "yet", still, "glorious in the might/ Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height". The "being" of the "Child" is the "eternal mind", which is still "glorious" in the power ("might") because of the fact that the "Child" is "little", young, not an adult. And if it is in this age that one can have this "might", then "[w]hy with such earnest pains dost [it, the "Child"] provoke/ The years to bring the inevitable yoke...?" Wordsworth would seem to be answering his own question as he asks it, for, even with no "provok[ing]" from the "Child", "[t]he years" will "bring the inevitable yoke". Aging is "inevitable", for it is part of the biological nature of the physical form that the soul/mind is temporarily dependent upon to exist as "[t]he years" pass. These "years" also bring objective thought, which takes away the ability to be "glorious in the might", the "visionary gleam" fading away into normality. The words "[t]hus blindly" would seem to mean that "[t]hus", still a "Child", "blindly", without any questioning of real and un-real in experience and perception, one's "blessedness", one's "might/ Of heaven-born freedom" is at stake as the "inevitable yoke" is placed upon the soul/mind, and we come to think as adults, with physical perception only. And it is "[f]ull soon that [the] Soul shall have her earthly freight". Here "Soul" is capitalized as well, for reasons similar to those of the capitalization of "Child", making it more than just an common object. The "Soul['s]" possession of "her earthly freight" seems to have a double meaning. On one level it seems to be reminiscent of the "inevitable yoke" of line 125, ideas of the body becoming an inescapable prison, the soul/mind becoming the "Inmate Man" of line 83 to the body, the "earthly", physical body being the "freight", baggage, of the "Soul". On another level, which does not necessarily negate the first, this "earthly freight" could metaphorically be the memories and experiences that one gains throughout one's incarnation, "freight" that is not entirely dependent upon this body to continue on after physical expiration, for "freight" can be moved from one place to another, and does not need to be in the same vehicle, nor does it need to be in any vehicle for it still to be "freight". It is with the combination of these two concepts of "freight" that the possibility of the soul/mind being separable from this body can be examined.
Wordsworth, after having shown great concern about the "Child" growing up, losing the ability to be "glorious in the might", and realizing that "[t]he years" are an "inevitable yoke", reflects and celebrates, for he knows, seemingly without any cautious terms of perception, that this physical form called "you" or "I" or "Wordsworth" is not all that "we" are. He exclaims:
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live[.] (ll. 130-1)
"[I]n our embers", in our soul/mind, our inner workings, "[i]s something that doth live". The world "doth" says that there "[i]s something" "in our embers", not that there might be, that "live[s]". That "something" is our memories and recollections, as we read in lines 134 to 135, "[t]he thought of our past years in me doth breed/ Perpetual benediction". This is what allows us to have continuity of our identity, for we can remember being a young child, experiencing, sharing, interacting, living, and growing, and thereby remember who we are. And it is this "something" that is our "immortal part", for this "something" is what allows us to have continuity, that continuity is what is "us", and "we" are our memories, which are, as the "eternal mind" is, immortal. This does not, however, mean that this eternal, immortal soul/mind will not become inmate to the body, for, as Wordsworth tells us, it does, and the gleam will fade.
But for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings; (ll. 142-44)
"But", rather, "[i]f it were not" "for those obstinate questionings/ Of sense and outward things", that is to say, "questionings" of what, as adults, with objective understanding of "realities," does not fit into our constricted way of thinking, even if we once understood these things as real. Thus these childhood ways of understanding "[f]all...from us [and] vanish..." - but not entirely, for we still have memories of them, which we have the capability of accessing to look at immortality. Once these "questionings" lead us to these "[f]allings from us" (growing up), we are
[m]oving about in worlds not realized (line 146)
because we no longer allow ourselves to sense and acknowledge these "worlds", the realms of dreams and of childhood, which are not necessarily "not realized", but rather "not allowed to be realized" as realities. But does this mean that we are unable to ever understand like that again? Are we never to be able to truly conceive and think of immortality the way we could when we were children, when we thought with our eternal mind? Is there no way of being able to realize that we are "[m]oving about in [these] worlds" again?
Wordsworth seems convinced that it is these childhood recollections that are temporarily dependent upon the physical form that we now inhabit are what allow us to realize our immortality, and are what, no matter how deliberately we try to repress them, allow us to come closer to the eternal truths of life. As he reminds us in the Ode,
[b]ut for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may
Are yet the fountain light of all our day,
Are yet a master light of all our seeing[.] (ll. 149-53)
"But", with the exception of, "those first affections,/ Those shadowy recollections", those first events from childhood when we thought in a different way than the way we have come to think as adults, memories, "[w]hich, be they what they may", no matter how childish, foolish, or un-real we deem them now that we are grown up and apply grown-up criteria to those memories, "[a]re yet", are still, "the fountain light of all our day,/ Are yet a master light of all our seeing". Again, Wordsworth stresses the plurality of these memories, and does not question their existence with cautionary terms of perception, for he writes "[w]hich, be they [plural] what they [plural] may", where "they" represents "those first affections," plural, and "[t]hose shadowy recollections", plural. He continues, saying that "they...Are yet the fountain light of all our day,/ Are yet a master light of all our seeing", not "might be", not "seem to be", but "are". These two lines, 152 and 153, also bring back the notion of the "visionary gleam" and the light that "fade[s] into the light of common day" as we leave childhood and enter adulthood and change our modes of thinking and perceiving. However, Wordsworth reminds us that, no matter how "shadowy" those "recollections" may be, they are still the "fountain light of all our day" and the "master light of all our seeing". It is interesting that he uses the possessive "our" here, for it implies that the memories from childhood are a separate, although causally dependent, entity from "us", who are the possessors of "day" and "seeing". This sets up the grounds for theories on our immortality, for if these memories are separable from "us", the physical beings, then upon physical destruction of the body, it does not seem implausible that the memories would continue to exist. This theory will be examined further and more in depth in the next section.
It is also important to note the textual devices and layout of lines 152 and 153; "[i]n 1807 this ode was set apart as the culminating poem in the volumes and was generally distinguished through typographical lay-out in later editions."36 Wordsworth deliberately chose to have the layout of the poem appear the way it is reproduced here, with the "Are yet"s perfectly in line with one another, and the repetition of "light of all our", although at an angle to one another, still reflect one another in the typographical lay-out. This brings the reader's attention to these words, for, having read line 152, and starting to read line 153, one is immediately aware of the repetition of the "Are yet"s, and re-examines what s/he has just read. In doing this, one's eyes may fall upon the "light of all our" repetition in line 153, and the two lines become stressed more than if the lay-out and word order were different, and did not have the two lines so obviously reflecting one another. It was not only in 1807 that this poem was "set apart", for in the original manuscripts for the Ode, Wordsworth very specifically layed out the title page, the epigram, and the text of the poem for the typesetter. That, accompanied with the fact that it was "distinguished through typographical lay-out", would seem to lead to Wordsworth wanting this repetition noticed by his readers.
From this description of the memories from childhood being that which rules our ways of "seeing", Wordsworth then delves further into thoughts on perception and reality, without any specifically cautionary terminology, event though the concepts that he is examining are ones that do not necessarily comply with our adult, day-to-day definitions of perception and reality.
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,
To perish never; (ll. 155-57)
The treatment of the possessive "[o]ur" is similar to the way it is used above (in lines 152 and 153), for it is "[o]ur noisy years" that are "in the being/ Of the eternal Silence". By putting the possession in something else, such as "in the being", in this case, a duality is created, where there is "us" with "[o]ur", and "the being" that "[o]ur" is "in". Actually, with more careful examination, there is another level of duality that is created, for there is the "us" that can possess the "noisy years", the "us" that consists of a physicality, and also the mind. But then this "mind", which would seem to consist of memories that we, the physical we, causally possess, can fall into another nuance of duality with its ability to be part of the "moments in the being/ Of the eternal Silence." The contrast between "noisy years" and "eternal Silence" is also worth noting, for it further sets the two events apart, with that which we now experience being "noisy" as well as in lower-case letters, "years", where as that which we are yet to experience is, not only quiet, but "Silen[t]", and capitalized.
Again we have the idea of something that, in this physical realm, temporally happens for a lengthy period of "time", "noisy years", but that, when made subject to temporal laws that have no bearing on our waking hours, "seem moments".37 Blair's expression of "[t]he end of Time and the beginning of Eternity" seems applicable again, for if "years" can "seem moments in the being/ Of the eternal Silence", then "Time", our, physical, temporal understanding of it, anyway, would indeed seem to end as "the eternal Silence" begins. This is a moving between states of experience and being, where "truths" that have been asleep, at rest, "wake,/ To perish never". In "never" "perish[ing]", immortality is attained. This awakening would appear to be physical death, where the constraints of the physical body are released, our mortal part is left behind, and the "truths" of immortality are allowed to be, not questioned and deemed un-real.
It is a matter of re-examining our ideas of perception and senses, and re-evaluating the language and terms we have become accustomed to for the description of perception and experience, that is needed to be able to take a careful look at the issues and notions related to immortal possibilities. We must consider concepts that do not fit into the laws of physics and laws of time that we are accustomed to in our daily existence, but ones that are not entirely foreign to us, as can be seen through dreams, memories, and recollection of past events. By doing this we can comprehend and appreciate the fact that,
[t]hough inland far we be,
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the Children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. (ll. 163-68)
Here, as with the "inland ground" that the "curious child" from Book IIII of The Excursion "dwelt upon",38 the "inland" that "far we be" can either be a physical, geographical distance from the seashore, or a metaphor for states of objective perception. In either case, the fact that "we" are in one place, "inland", while "[o]ur Souls", which are being possessed by "us", but are yet separate entities in that they are mentioned, can "have sight of that immortal sea", something that is either non-existent in this realm or many miles away, or a metaphor for what lies beyond physical death, is of great importance, as far as different definitions of experience and perception are concerned. "[W]e" are "inland", the physical bodies we have are in this place, but yet "[o]ur Souls have sight", can see, the "immortal sea". Admittedly, this is probably a metaphor, as suggested above, for life and death, or nuances between childhood perception and adult perception. But it is also a brilliant example for the discussion of the expansion of the senses and modes of perception not acknowledged in adult ways of thinking, hinging upon the distinction between and the separation of "we" and "[o]ur Souls".
This "immortal sea" has a certain sense of plurality to it, as it is a "place" that "brought us hither", implying that there are others there, as is suggested in line 167 with "the Children...upon the shore". Again, the capitalization of the "c" in "Children" equates it with "Souls" in line 164, which is also capitalized, which is important to notice as, if the argument is that it is childhood memories that bring us closer to our understanding of our immortality, and it is our "Souls" that is immortal, then the similarity between the capitalization of "Souls" and the capitalization of "Children" is more than just stylistic. Also, the fact that it is "the Children" who "sport upon the shore" of this "immortal sea", and not, say, "the Young Men and Women", further stresses the connection between the "Soul" and "Children", especially if the "shore" "of that immortal sea" is taken metaphorically, representing the boundary between realms of experience, or the line between mortality and immortality.
The fact that "[o]ur Souls" can "see the Children upon the shore" even "[t]hough inland far we be" is one that, combined with lines 165 and 166, continues to stress the notion that immortality is not going to be a state of being that is subject to the same temporal and physical laws that we have become accustomed to during this physical life that we have been living. The ability to "see" beyond where "we" are geographically has been discussed; the ability to "in a moment travel thither" from "hither", to be able to move great physical distances "in a moment" is not one that is possible, although it is moderately conceivable. To be able to consider these possibilities, such as moving "thither" from "hither" "in a moment" rather than over a period of time that we have broken down into a system of years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, and seconds, we must redefine our terms of temporal and spatial relationships.
Wordsworth's description of what "[o]ur Souls" can do when they "have sight of that immortal sea" at line 168 is reminiscent of the passages from Book IIII of The Excursion and Book V of The Prelude with the use of "the shell". These we have already discussed,39 and the same idea would seem to apply to this line as well; if one can not physically be at the shore of this "immortal sea", then how can one "hear the mighty waters rolling evermore"? It is not a "hear[ing]" that takes place in the physical ear drum in the canal between the ear and the brain, but rather it is a "hear[ing]" that takes place in the soul/mind, in the same place that the sounds in dreams are heard, in its own "where" not physically accessible to us.
Although we can not physically achieve those actions that "[o]ur Souls" can, it does not mean that we are entirely unable to gain some sort of insight to our immortal possibilities, for Wordsworth suggests that it is through the memories of childhood that we can find some sort of answer, if we only allow ourselves to acknowledge what lies in these memories.
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of the splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In the years that bring the philosophic mind. (ll. 176-87)
Wordsworth makes no attempts at saying that we will be able to live as we once did as children, for "nothing can bring back the hour". He admits that it happened - "What though the radiance which was once so bright/ Be now for ever taken from my sight", that now, no longer a child, the "radiance" of the "gleam" is no longer visible. The juxtaposition of "now" and "for ever" in line 177 emphasizes the difference between time and eternity, for "now" is a temporal reference for this life, whereas "for ever" denotes eternally, the temporal state of immortality. So it is that "nothing can bring back the hour", for "hour" is a term we have applied to something that is not constricted to our understanding of it. Also, it is impossible to un-age, so we can not become children again, with "splendour in the grass" and "glory in the flower". This does not have to be a depressing prospect, though, as Wordsworth says "[w]e will grieve not". This is similar to his feelings in Tintern Abbey40 where he tells us that, although "[t]hat time has passed...Not for this/ Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur". The use of the plural "[w]e" is intriguing, for in line 177 he is using the singular "my" for "my sight", but here, just three lines later, he has changed into the first-person plural. This could be related to some sort of collective sense of the soul/mind and memories, as well as stressing that with the use of the plural, there is no chance for solitude, where loneliness can creep in, and create loathsome ideas of immortality. He tells us that, instead of "griev[ing]" over what has past, "[w]e will...rather find/ Strength in what remains behind". That which "remains behind" from childhood, once we become adults, is memories. And, if it is that these memories, events that are causally dependent upon the brain to be stored, but that exist as energy, energy that is fired off when a memory is had or recalled, then these memories are what the soul/mind consists of, and therefore is our "immortal part". If this is the case, then it is that these memories are located, not in the same spatial manner that this page is located in this book, but located nonetheless, "[i]n the primal sympathy/ Which having been must ever be". In this manner the memories are immortal, for they are "[i]n the primal sympathy" which will "ever be" since it has "been", in a manner similar to that of "[t]he Child is the Father of the Man".
Textually speaking, the lay-out of lines 184 through 187 is particularly interesting, in the way that it treats spatial dimensions with the usage of the words "In" and "Out". It is "[i]n the soothing thoughts that spring/ Out of human suffering" that we come to realize the intimations of immortality, that our memories will have a "soothing" effect upon us. The fact that it is from "human suffering" that these "soothing thoughts" come from need not cause worry, for it is oftentimes in sickness that we can be closer to the way of thinking that we had as children, as will be discussed in the next chapter.
Line 186 starts with the word "[i]n", again contrasting with the "[o]ut" from the previous line and reminiscent of the "[i]n" from line 184, and thereby tying the three lines together as the reader looks at the layout while reading. But what is this "faith that looks through death"? I think that it can be safely argued that the "faith" is the memories and childhood recollections, and not some sort of theological "faith".
The idea of "look[ing] through death" is one that appears peripherally in Lucy Gray and The Brothers,41 where Lucy and James, respectively, are not considered truly dead in that they are remembered; Lucy "is a living child;/ That you may see.../ Upon the lonesome wild",42 and James "[p]ossess[es] a kind of second life" in the thoughts of the other "Dalesmen".43 But perhaps the most descriptive of Wordsworth's poems to analyze this notion of "look[ing] through death" is We are Seven(1798):
A simple Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death? (ll. 1-4)
Again we have the capitalization of the word "Child", and described by the word "simple", which stresses the fact that the "Child" is still capable of childhood ways of thought, not the "complex" ways of adulthood. This is essential for this poem, particularly, and seemingly makes the question in line four rhetorical. "What should it know of death?" - it should know how to "look...through death", and not see it as an ending, but a changing, from mortal to immortal. When she is asked how many brothers and sisters are in her family (13-14), this is made obvious:
Then did the little Maid reply,
'Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree.' (ll. 29-32)
She "did...reply", not "seemed to reply", but "did", with no cautionary, questioning terms for perception on Wordsworth's part. And her answer is very intriguing, and one that does not seem to make sense to us, for she says "[s]even boys and girls are we", using the present tense of the verb "to be", even though she says that two of her siblings are buried in the "churchyard", and should, it would seem, be considered in the past tense. But she does not say "[s]even boys and girls were we", she is adamant about the fact that the sister and brother who died are not past tense, not useless to count as how many brothers and sisters there are, but that they are. She does not think in an adult fashion that would convince us that this is a nonsensical way of thinking, rather, with the abilities of childhood thought, she "looks through death" and sees these two physically deceased people as still being.
'But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!'
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, 'Nay, we are seven!' (ll. 65-69)
"'Twas throwing words away", Wordsworth says, to attempt to change this "simple Child['s]" way of thinking, to make her say "we are five". This idea, of "throwing words away", seems to demonstrate the difficulties and problems that we have with the language available to discuss the event of physical death, and related events/concepts. If we are to be able to intelligently discuss immortality, then we must take a careful look at the terms we choose to use, and exactly how we are defining these words, and, if need be, create composite words, or "new" words, to make the language less ambiguous. In this way it will be possible that "[w]e will grieve not... In the years that bring the philosophic mind". This would connect the little child, who thinks in a way which allows for a closer understanding of immortality, with an older person, an elderly person, who has had "the years" required to "bring the philosophic mind", a mind that realizes and remembers those events from childhood, and does not suppress them as not-real. The notion of "the philosophic mind" here does not necessarily have to connote a mind that ponders whether or not a chair is a chair or not, but rather a love of wisdom etymologically from the Greek, φιλειν- to love, and σοφια - wisdom. If this "wisdom" is a search for truths, then searching for some sort of signs of immortality from childhood memories would definitely qualify as "wisdom", something worthwhile for the "philosophic mind" to consider and think about. This search for "wisdom" must, however, be truly wise if "the years [are to] bring the philosophic mind"; in looking for truths, we must be open to different modes of what "real" is, and not fall victim to searching for these "truths", "toiling all our lives to find [them],/ In darkness lost".44 We must not only consider those events that we have memories of, events that we physically took part in or saw in the physical, temporal-spatial realm, but events that we have memories of that came from dreams or visionary experiences, events that test our definitions of perception and sense. In this manner we can possibly gain some insight into how the mind works, and, through that, come closer to discovering something about our "immortal part". We must look at our definitions for words and decide whether or not those definitions actually impart the meaning that they give off. If this is not the case, if the definitions are inadequate, then we must reassign definitions to those words, neaten them up, or else use other words to explain ourselves more clearly. By doing this, an intelligent discussion of just what the possibility of immortality is can be had. To do this, we will need to look at ways of sense and perception that are different than what we are normally accustomed to experiencing in the day-to-day life in the physical world.
Notes for Part Two:
1 Gill, Stephen, William Wordsworth: A Life, p. 41, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1989.
2 Fenwick Note.
3 Ibid.
4 Plato, Phaedrus, from The Dialogues of Plato, translated by B. Jowett, vol. III, p. 152 (245d), London: Oxford University Press, fourth edition, 1968.
5 Wordsworth, William, Poems, in Two Volumes, and Other Poems (1800-1807), edited by Jared Curtis, p. 271 n., Cornell University Press, Ithaca, New York, 1983, as well as the Fenwick notes regarding the Ode: "Two years at least passed between the writing of the first four stanzas and the remaining part". It would seem more likely that Curtis' textual history for the composition is more sound than Wordsworth's at 73, 41 years after he had composed the Ode, based on historical context, and Gill's observation (William Wordsworth: A Life, p. 200) that Coleridge's Letter to Sara Hutchinson, was read to Wordsworth on April 21, 1802, by Coleridge - this was unfavorably directed at Wordsworth and his Ode.
6 Fenwick Note.
7 Jowett, p. 152, note 2.
8 Fenwick Note.
9 Ibid.
10 Ibid.
11 Fenwick Note.
12 Harold Bloom and Lionel Trilling remind us that this is reminiscent of Virgil's Fourth Eclogue, line 17 of Lycidas, where the Muses are called upon for poetical inspiration: "Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string" (Romantic Poetry and Prose, p. 176, Oxford University Press, 1973).
13 Ibid., p. 177.
14 Price, H.H., "Survival and the Idea of 'Another World'", from the Society for Psychical Research's Proceedings, Vol. 50, Part 182, January 1953, reprinted in T. Penelhum's Immortality, p. 32, Wadsworth Publishing Company, Inc., 1973.
15 Jung, C.G., Modern Man in Search of a Soul, pp. 1-2.
16 Romantic Poetry and Prose, p. 178.
17 Jung, p. 26.
18 This account is translated by John Cottingham in Descartes, pp.161-64, Oxford: Basil Blackwell Ltd., 1986, which he tells us is originally from Book I, chapter I, of La Vie de Monsieur Des-Cartes by Adrien Baillet (1691).
19 The Oxford Authors: William Wordsworth, p. 730, note for p. 439, ll. 60-71 to Book V of The Prelude (1805).
20 Cottingham, p. 162.
21 The Notebooks of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, edited by Kathleen Coburn, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1957, entry 634f56v: "Locke's non-innateness of all ideas asserted - Doctrine introduced by Descartes and destroyed by Locke - ".
22 Such as Spinoza, as we read in Coleridge's Biographia Literaria, chapter x: "...for he [Wordsworth] had often heard me talk of one Spy Nozy, which he was inclined to interpret of himself, and of a remarkable feature belonging to him".
23 Fenwick Note: "I read while at school all Fieldings's works, Don Quixote, Gil Blas, Gulliver's Travels, and the Tale of the Tub."
24 Cervantes, Miguel de, Don Quixote, p. 2.
25 Ibid., p. 4.
26 Darwin, Erasmus, Zoonomia; or, the Laws of Organic Life, 4 vols., vol. 1, 3rd ed., corrected, p. 289, sect. XVIII.5, London: J. Johnson, 1801.
27 Ibid., pp. 292-93, sect. XVIII.7.
28 Blair, The Grave, "The Skeleton Reanimated".
29 Ibid.
30 Coleridge, S.T., Biographia Literaria, xxii, and Romantic Poetry and Prose, p. 179.
31 Coleridge, Biographia Literaria, xxii.
32 Ibid. Coleridge tells us that we are not required to "be awake and believe" when being addressed by a poet. We should "yield ourselves to a dream". And not only should we do this, but we should do this with "eyes open", not the physical eyes that we possess, but those eyes that "see" in dreams, the eyes of our mind. We have our "judgment ready to awaken us", our day-to-day way of thinking ready to bring us back to the physical world where dreams are seen as "unreal." But, Coleridge stresses, in the "meantime" we must "only...not disbelieve" that which the poet tells us, that is, not check that which the poet tells us against things that we believe, for in doing so, we would end up "disbelieve[ing]".
Wordsworth informs us, in The Excursion, Book III.275-79, that
"If I must take my choice between the pair
That rule alternately the weary hours,
Night is than day more acceptable; sleep
Doth, in my estimate of good, appear
A better state than waking; death than sleep."
In examining the train of thought and logic carried out in this portion of The Excursion, we see that "death" is "a better state than" "sleep" which is "[a] better state than waking". By referring to "death" as a "state" (which is inferred by Wordsworth's use of "than" in the last line), it implies that there is more to death than simply the decay of the body. And by drawing a similarity between "death" and "sleep", we can see "sleep" as a smaller form of "death." If this is the case, and it is in "sleep" that we dream, then dreaming can be seen as a smaller form of "death". "Night is than day more acceptable" if Wordsworth "must take [his] choice", and it is usually at "Night" that we "sleep". So it can be seen that this sort of construct creates an argument for the unconscious, soul/mind, way of thinking being closer to "death", in this manner we are no longer fearful of "death." This, tempered with Coleridge's statement about "yield[ing] ourselves to a dream," would seem contradictory to the feelings he had towards the four lines of the Ode that Wordsworth removed. More will be said in Part Four pertaining to concepts of death, sleep, and immortality.
33 I say "attempts to repress" because, no matter how much he feared these ideas, they appear in, among others, Kubla Khan, which we shall examine in Part Four; no matter how much he tried to suppress his "slight indispositions" with opium and anodynes, his "slight indispositions" continued to shed light upon notions of immortality.
34 Blair, The Grave, p. 59.
35 Henry Crabb Robinson on Books and Their Writers, ed. Edith J. Morley, 3 vols. 1938, i.190, from The Oxford Authors: William Wordsworth, edited by Stephen Gill, p. 694.
36 Gill, p. 714, note 298.
37 See pp. 84ff and 148ff.
38 See p. 51.
39 On pp. 51, and 56-58.
40 See p. 22.
41 For The Brothers, see pp. 39-44; for Lucy Gray, see pp. 66-68.
42 Lucy Gray; or, Solitude, ll. 69-71.
43 The Brothers, ll. 185 and 184.
44 Ode, ll. 116-18.