T.S. Eliot and religion, prompted by recent publications of the T.S. Eliot Editorial Project. These essays will also be something of a supplement to my 2009 book The Making of T.S. Eliot, which tracks the poet's intellectual and spiritual development through 1930. As with any serious study, this is a work in progress -- so your feedback is very welcome!
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) |
As
I wrote in a comment on my
last blog post, I came to a crossroads with my study of T.S. Eliot when I
began reading the work of his friend and contemporary John Middleton
Murry. Much to my surprise, I felt
more sympathetic toward Murry’s beliefs than toward Eliot’s. And, since the two literary
heavyweights were diametrically opposed at the end of the 1920s, I felt
compelled to side with one or the other.
A friend recently reminded me that making such a choice is
unnecessary. Though I might feel
more sympathy toward Murry at a particular point in time, that does not
obligate me to reject Eliot. I’m
reminded of something Henry David Thoreau wrote in Walden:
How vigilant we are! determined not
to live by faith if we can avoid it; all the day long on the alert, at night we
unwillingly say our prayers and commit ourselves to uncertainties. So thoroughly and sincerely are
we compelled to live, reverencing our life, and denying the possibility of
change. This is the only way, we say; but there are as many ways as there
can be drawn radii from one centre.
I
do not mean to suggest that the differences between Eliot’s beliefs and Murry’s
beliefs are not real and vital.
Certainly, the two friends found themselves at a genuine impasse. After his baptism in 1927, Eliot seemed
willing to let go of the friendship, perhaps because he resented the ease with
which Murry had (so to speak) found God and started a new life. Eliot’s path was not as easy, nor did
he want it to be. His temperament
would not allow him to build his faith on the type of mystical experience that
served as Murry’s foundation.
Consciously or not, Eliot clung to the essence of his grandfather’s
teachings. William Greenleaf Eliot
wrote, “It is at once arrogant and dangerous to claim direct and extra-ordinary
guidance. It is virtually to claim
inspiration, and that which begins in humility ends in pride” (W.G. Eliot: Early 9).
Eliot privately regarded Murry as
sinfully proud, even heretical -- as he explained in a February 1927 letter to
Richard Aldington (V. Eliot: Letters III
424). Over a decade later,
in The Idea of a Christian Society,
Eliot offered his own definition of heresy, describing it as “an insistence
upon one half of the truth [or] an attempt to simplify the truth, by reducing
it to the limits of our ordinary understanding, instead of enlarging our reason
to the apprehension of truth” (T.S. Eliot: Idea
41). His earlier dialogue with Murry
suggests that he formulated this definition around the time of his
conversion. In February 1927, the
month that he made arrangements for his baptism into the Anglican Church, Eliot
consciously set out to define himself in direct opposition to Murry’s life and
ideas, as an orthodox believer.
Eliot
and Murry’s public relationship (that of sparring critics) concluded with an
intense debate over Murry’s 1926 book Jesus:
Man of Genius. Eliot contested
his friend’s depiction of Jesus as a “man of genius” and a human “hero,” rather
than the second person of the Trinity (“God the Son”). Murry defended his beliefs
in a private letter:
“Son of God” is a description of a
religious experience and condition, not a theological statement. So, when you ask me for a theology, my
reply is that I haven’t got one, and the reason why I don’t even try to get one
is that men of religious experience (of whom Jesus is to me the highest
example) didn’t have, or want one.
They knew, what I too know, having learned it from them, that theologies
are unnecessary to misleading. […]
To be son of God is simply an experience of a blessed & quasi-filial
relation between ourselves and "the power not ourselves which makes for
righteousness" - "to be God" is an experience of identification
with that power. These two
conditions are the same condition really. (V. Eliot: Letters III 452).
Eliot was unmoved.
He conceded that theologies “are
misleading,” but added, “to have no
theology is to be still worse mislead” (V. Eliot: Letters III 459).
A few months later, Murry published an attempted synthesis of his ideas
and Eliot’s. Eliot responded by
calling on several Catholic theologians to publicly rebut Murry’s ideas. In Eliot’s mind, this was no
longer a dialogue between two individuals. For him, the matter was concluded and the authority of the
Church was final. It would seem
that he quietly resolved to stop addressing Murry on Murry’s terms.
Murry was thoroughly disheartened,
recognizing an impassable gulf between himself and his old friend. In a September 1927 letter to Eliot, he
wrote:
I understand what you say, but I
can’t understand why you say it.
And all my hopeful feeling when I first undertook that frightful essay
has evaporated. It seems that
there really is some sort of abyss between us - not humanly thank goodness -
but in respect of our ideas & convictions. If I didn’t know you, I should suspect you of trying to
score debating points - that gives you a notion of the separation I feel at the
moment (V. Eliot: Letters III 676)
Eliot suggested that the only possible way forward was to
shift their public debate, ongoing since the Fall of 1923, to a discussion of
differences between their “attitudes toward psychology” (V. Eliot: Letters III 725). This was Eliot’s only apparent
concession to Murry: he acknowledged that belief is in large part a product of
temperament, education and environment.
On that point, Eliot’s beliefs had not changed since 1923, when he wrote
in “The Function of Criticism” about a man’s basis for choosing between loyalty
to Inner Voice and loyalty to Outside Authority. “If you find that you have to
imagine it as outside,” he said decisively, “then it is outside” (“Function”
15).
*
During
these final months of public debate with Murry, Eliot argued for the importance
of institutional religion and the revitalization of a particular religious
tradition -- not just to satisfy his religious needs, but to answer his literary concerns. Eliot and Murry’s initial debate between
Romanticism and Classicism was partially built on Eliot’s concept of the
“dissociation of sensibility,” the foundation of all his important literary
criticism in the 1920s.
Eliot coined the term in his 1921 essay
“The Metaphysical Poets,” defining it as “something which
happened to the mind of England between the time of Donne or Lord Herbert of
Cherbury and the time of Tennyson and Browning; it is the difference between
the intellectual poet and the reflective poet” (Eliot: “Metaphysical” 117). Eliot scholars Jewel Spears Brooker and
William Charron do an admirable job of elucidating the concept:
The opposites at issue here are
intellect and feeling (or thought and sensibility). In looking back over the history of English poetry, Eliot
found that the poetry of the eighteenth century put inordinate emphasis on the
role of intellect and that of the nineteenth [Romanticism] inordinate emphasis
on feeling. He found a model for
his own work by going back to the seventeenth century, claiming in “The Metaphysical
Poets” that such poets as Donne and Cowley had been able to achieve a unified
sensibility, a state in which thought and feeling existed in a relationship of
reciprocation and mutual definition.
(Brooker 58)
Eliot developed the concept in subsequent essays, linking
what he regarded as the most admirable tendencies of the Classical
“metaphysical poets” with the tendencies of the late 19th and early
20th century poets he most admired. In doing so, Eliot set up an instructive juxtaposition
of Dante (his ideal metaphysical poet) and the French Symbolist poets who
inspired Eliot’s earliest work (Baudelaire, Laforgue, Corbiere, et al). With this juxtaposition, Eliot provided
his ideal context for the interpretation of his earlier poetry and a plan of
action for his later poetry.
Baudelaire, as the most influential French Symbolist, had been a major
influence; Dante would become his new guide.
In
his 1920 essay “Dante,” Eliot had praised the medieval poet for his perfect
fusion of intellect and feeling, thought and sensibility. He wrote:
The poet does not aim to excite -
that is not even a test of his success - but to set something down; the state
of the reader is merely that reader’s particular mode of perceiving what the
poet has caught in words. Dante,
more than any other poet, has succeeded in dealing with his philosophy, not as
a theory (in the modern and not the Greek sense of that word) or as his own
comment or reflection, but in terms of something perceived. (T.S.
Eliot: “Dante” 100).
Around the same time, he praised Baudelaire in a short
article for The Tyro, suggesting a
hidden “morality” at the heart of his work. Many years later, Eliot would elaborate on this idea by
presenting the French poet as a “fragmentary Dante” (T.S. Eliot: “Baudelaire”
372) and “essentially a Christian, born out of his due time” (T. S. Eliot:
“Baudelaire in Our Time” 103). In
1930, he wrote:
Baudelaire perceived that what
really matters is Sin and Redemption.
It is proof of his honesty that he went as far as he could honestly go
and no further… the possibility of damnation is so immense a relief in a world
of electoral reform, plebiscites, sex reform and dress reform, that damnation
itself is an immediate form of salvation - of salvation from the ennui of
modern life, because it at last gives some significance to the living. It is this, I believe, that Baudelaire
is trying to express; it is this which separates him from the modernist
Protestantism of [Romantic poets] Byron and Shelley (T.S. Eliot: “Baudelaire” 378-379).
Eliot plainly admitted that his literary criticism reveals
much about his own poetry. For
that reason, though we run the danger of oversimplification, I think it is fair
to suggest that by the mid-1920s he was making a concerted effort to progress
his own work from the fragmentary damnation of The Waste Land to the unified sensibility and salvation of Dante’s Divine Comedy.
It is not difficult, with the
advantage of hindsight, to view The Waste
Land as “essentially Christian.” The Waste Land
Facsimile shows that Ezra Pound, in his role as creative editor, excised
the more redemptive notes from Eliot’s work, producing a final draft that
emphasizes hell over purgatory…. at least up until the final line. The poem’s overtly Eastern ending (“shantih shantih shantih”) is interpreted
by Eliot, in his endnotes, within a Christian context. “The Peace which passeth
understanding,” he writes, “is our equivalent to this word.” His phrase, of course, is borrowed from
the Apostle Paul, and also -- knowingly? -- from one of his grandfather’s most
popular books. In his Lectures to Young Men, William Greenleaf
Eliot asks his reader to imagine the end of life, looking back on all that has
been accomplished and not accomplished:
… if in the last review of life we
are able to honestly say, “Religion and morality have not suffered at our
hands, but by a daily good example, and by the faithful use of whatever means
and influence we possessed, we have done whatever we could for God and for
Christ’s sake,’ - then will the closing days of life be to us as the beginning
of heaven; and when the world begins to recede from our eyes, our hearts will
be filled with the peace which passeth all understanding (W.G. Eliot: Lectures 29)
Eliot, in the middle way of his life's journey, was already
trying to imagine his life in that final context, and to act in a way that
would bring him peace. His efforts
set the stage for his future poetry, as suggested analogously in his 1925 Clark
Lectures: “A new and wider and
loftier world, such as that into which Dante will introduce you, must be built
upon a solid foundation of the old tangible world; it will not descend like
Jacob’s ladder” (T.S. Eliot: Varieties
95). With baptism, the poet
began building something timeless on the ruins of the temporal waste land. He practically declared his purpose in
the January 1927 of The Enemy,
responding to I.A. Richards’ characterization of The Waste Land as a poem about “a sense of desolation” reflecting belief:
A “sense of desolation,” etc. (if
it is there) is not a separation from belief; it is nothing so pleasant. In fact, doubt, uncertainty, futility,
etc., would seem to me to prove anything except this agreeable partition; for
doubt and uncertainty are merely a variety of belief… I cannot see that poetry
can ever be separated from something which I should call belief, and to which I
cannot see any reason for refusing the name of belief, unless we are to
reshuffle names altogether (Bergonzi 111).
No doubt thinking of his own immanent baptism (which he
would arrange the following month), Eliot added that such belief “will not
inevitably be orthodox Christian belief, although that possibility can be
entertained.” His reasoning was as
follows:
Christianity will probably continue
to modify itself, as in the past, into something which can be believed in (I do
not mean conscious modifications like
modernism, etc. which have always the opposite effect.) The majority of people live below the
level of belief or doubt. It takes
application, and a kind of genius, to believe anything, and to believe anything (I do not mean merely to believe in some ‘religion’) will probably become
more and more difficult as time goes on (Spurr 26-27).
When Eliot speaks of belief like this, he is speaking of the
type of belief that Murry attributed to Jesus. In his 1926 book Jesus:
Man of Genius, Murry writes:
Jesus said that men had only to
believe the wonderful news for it to be true; they had only to believe that
they were sons of God to be sons of God; they had only to believe that God was
their Father, to find him their Father.
That was all: only to believe.
But for Jesus to believe was to know (Murry 39).
*
According
to his own near-confession, Eliot needed to imagine an Outside Authority. (I’m reminded of Voltaire: “If God did
not exist, it would be necessary to invent him.”) Without that, he believed he would be damned. He also needed to imagine the
“dissociation of sensibility” in order to address his needs as a poet. If such a schism did not exist in
Western poetry, it nevertheless would have been necessary for Eliot to invent
it.
Scholar Jeffrey Perl argues that
the latter was only in Eliot’s
imagination. “There is no
‘dissociation of sensibility,’” he insists, reasoning that Dante had no more of
a continuous, coherent tradition behind him than Baudelaire did. Although Eliot argued (in his 1927 essays "Shakespeare and the Stoicism of Seneca" and "Seneca and Elizabethan Translation") that Dante's work was informed by the coherent system of thought of Thomas Aquinas, Pearl argues that Christianity provided
Dante with only a perception of historical
continuity and cultural unity, carefully crafted by the Catholic Church. The reality, Perl writes, is that this perception of continuity and unity
“depended on an attitude to history (ahistorical) and an approach to
text (intertextual) that the humanist and Protestant devotees of purity and
authenticity could not abide.” In his estimation, therefore, disintegration was inevitable. The Waste Land was
inevitable. But it is not the
end. Perl stipulates that modern
enmity offers the same guarantee of wholeness: “What we call ‘disagreement’ (an
anthropologist from Elsewhere would write volumes on this word) is the means of
binding together a culture grown so complex that its contradictions will no
longer be reconciled” (Perl 6-7).
Spiritual chaos is merely a matter of limited perception.
I’d
like to imagine that this is where the five-year public debate between T.S.
Eliot and John Middleton Murry ends, with both men embracing Truths that are
larger than themselves and their limited ability to rationalize the great
mysteries of the universe. If
those Truths appear to contradict each other, the contradictions are due to
limitations of the human mind -- stemming from psychologies shaped by
temperament, education and environment -- rather than suggesting limitations of
God or Nature. The gulf between
their perspectives is real enough, but it is more than just a gulf. It is
also a point of overlap, which Eliot later would call the still point of the
turning world.
Sources
Bergonzi, Bernard.
T.S. Eliot (Masters of World
Literature). New York:
Macmillan, 1972.
Brooker, Jewel Spears and William Charron. “T.S. Eliot’s Theory of Opposites: Kant
and the Subversion of Epistemology.” T.S. Eliot and Our
Turning World. Ed. Jewel
Spears Brooker. London: Macmillan,
2000.
Eliot, T.S. “Baudelaire.” Selected Essays. New York: Harcourt, 1964.
---. “Baudelaire in Our Time.” For Lancelot Andrews:
Essays on Style and Order.
Garden City: Doubleday, 1929.
---.
“Dante.” The
Sacred Wood and Major Early Essays.
Mineola: Dover, 1998.
---. For Lancelot Andrews: Essays on Style and
Order. Garden City: Doubleday,
1929.
---. “The Function of Criticism.” Selected Essays. New
York: Harcourt, 1964.
---. The Varieties of Metaphysical Poetry: The
Clark Lectures at Trinity College, Cambridge, 1926, and The Turnbull Lectures
at The Johns Hopkins University, 1933. Ed. Ronald Schuchard.
San Diego: Harvest, 1993.
Eliot, Valerie, ed. The Letters of T.S. Eliot, Volume 2: 1923 - 1925. London: Faber, 2009.
Eliot,
Valerie, & John Haffenden, ed. The
Letters of T.S. Eliot, Volume 3: 1926 - 1927. London: Faber, 2012.
Eliot, William Greenleaf. Early Religious
Education Considered as a Divinely Appointed Way to the Regenerate Life. 5th Edtion. Boston: American Unitarian Association,
1881.
---. Lectures to Young Men. 11th Edition. Boston: American Unitarian Association, 1882.
Murry, John Middleton. Jesus: Man of Genius. New York: Harper, 1926.
Perl, Jeffrey M. Skepticism and Modern
Enmity: Before and After Eliot.
Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1989.
As with your other essays, Joe, there is a great deal of depth and density to this one. It is very sad that Murry and Eliot got caught in an old trap that has ruined many a friendship...the need to be "right" overshadowed the more important need to be understood. However, I have met many people over the years who feel deep within that the "soul" of the other person may in some way be in jeopardy...thus, the Outside Authority. And, that leads me back to the Inner Voice. Although he was a committed Hindu throughout his life, Gandhi would often speak of the importance of the Inner Voice as the crucial touchstone of the spiritual life. He also had a way of turning an old formula on its head: "Truth is God," he asserted again and again. He would have honored Eliot and Murry for, at least, taking the Truth and God seriously. I remember there were times when Gandhi would be talking about God to people around him, and he could see that some were uncomfortable. So, he said: "Whenever I say God, just substitute the Law of Life in its place." He wanted so much to include others...so he tried to teach them a means of simultaneous translation. Is that the difference? Gandhi desperately wanted conversation...not debate. Forgive the digression...but I'm teaching Gandhi right now, and Inner Voice got me started. One last point before I end: As I read the passage from Eliot about Dante and the need for a solid foundation, I felt great sadness for him and all of us. I completely understood his need...and then I saw in my mind's eye those trenches and the dead of WWI. And, I thought to myself: How hard it would have been to find a solid foundation after that! Thanks, Joe, for offering these essays...they offer me a place where my heart and mind can be of use to one another.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Paul! I continue to be very grateful for our conversation, and I hope your students recognize the value of the things you're teaching.
ReplyDeleteAs you have done in "The Making of T S Eliot", you stun me with the depth and breadth of your knowledge, understanding, insight, and scholarly intelligence. For these I am most grateful and hope to meet you again in person someday. You have come a long way from the book launch party in Westminster Abbey, but that night is still and still moving in my heart-mind. Thanks for continuing to share your love of Eliot with us. I hope the T S Eliot Societies in the USA and England appreciate your work as much as I do. Cheers!
ReplyDeleteDr. Spurgeon - As it happens, I JUST read your excellent book on the Author of John Inglesant. I have sent an email to you at Marymount. Hope to hear from you soon!
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