A Sickness of this World it most occasions
When Best Men die.
A Wishfulness their far Condition
To occupy.

A Chief indifference, as Foreign
A World must be
Themselves forsake — contented,
For Deity.

Comment:

The way “occasions” is used has overtones of “appropriate.” Is it most appropriate the world is sick when best men die? The Latin root of “occasions” means “to fall,” “die,” “set like the sun.” Does best men dying cause sickness in this world?

“A Sickness” parallels “A Wishfulness:” whose wishfulness does/should “their far Condition” occupy? Our wishfulness may cause the sickness, as we need the best men, in our conception, to be ever present. Our conception, unfortunately, is tied to “their far Condition.” We only know the worth of the best men through what they’ve accomplished. In our lives, they are always dead to us. (The best men have another wishfulness not a sickness of this world.)

We don’t miss the best men, though we think we do. “A Chief indifference” refers to us and only by analogy applies to them. “As Foreign A World must be Themselves forsake:” “A World” follows after “A Sickness,” “A Wishfulness,” “A Chief.” The movement is from a lack to a priority (“Chief”) to a reality (“World”). The best men might love a foreign world – a whole new place to explore excites. Only trouble: this world is that foreign world; the best men did their best in it. “Must be” cements the necessity. “Most” and “far” in the first stanza point to matters of degree. We don’t see what necessarily holds, as our ironic mourning of best men demonstrates. But the distance of the best men almost puts them in a parallel situation to us – almost. Instead of simply not knowing the world, they banish themselves from it by choice. They forsake the foreign world “for Deity.” This might say more about the best men than anything else. Compared to us, they’re knowers, indefatigable and implicitly immortal. But the best men were not strictly defined as knowers. Their restlessness drove them in this life toward some place of rest. Our relation to that place of rest is the only issue.

Not so the infinite Relations — Below
Division is Adhesion’s forfeit — On High
Affliction but a Speculation — And Woe
A Fallacy, a Figment, We knew —

Comment:

The initial, surface gloss. There are “infinite Relations” as opposed to “finite.” Thus, there are two realms. One below, with division. The very concept of ‘sticking together’ has left us. One above, where being pained (“affliction”) is impossible, and previous pain (“Woe”) is unreal.

So: is all former pain unreal? That can’t – shouldn’t – be right.

We need to try again with “infinite Relations” – how does this crazy world work? – and one has to make a denial (“Not so”) to grasp the problem. What is being denied? The “infinite Relations?” What sense does that make? It means we are concerned with a number of finite relations and finite relations simply. Finite relations as numbered? Yeah, these are relationships. Unlike the deity’s mercy, there is only so much distrust and bitterness that can fester between us.

Accordingly, we can divide the “relations” into three realms: “Adhesion’s forfeit” (non-purposeful break-ups, being dumped), “Division” (a higher realm than the first), “On High.” Division makes “division” central and allows for painless, supposedly whole “On High” to exist. “On High” is both logical (“Fallacy”) and imaginary (“Figment”). But what we knew was Woe. We don’t even have that anymore.

Satisfaction — is the Agent
Of Satiety —
Want — a quiet Commissary
For Infinity.

To possess, is past the instant
We achieve the Joy —
Immortality contented
Were Anomaly.

Comment:

When overfull – with too much – satisfaction can act. Only with a lot more do we feel secure. To be perfectly continent for the sake of moderation and the good is near impossible. Xenophon casts doubt on the very existence of his Socrates through the issue of continence (Memorabilia I.3.5).

Is “Want” any different from “Satisfaction,” then? It is a commissary – representative, supplier – for Infinity. Are we truly this needy and greedy? “Agent” is more general, less official than “Commissary.” It denotes action; “want” may be more passive. “Satisfaction” is achieved within plenitude. “Quiet Commissary” is not without virtues: divinity and knowledge are not had loudly.

How are the most important things the seeming object of greed? Our fear is only one explanation. Do we ever really possess anything? The instant we are joyful, possession is both of the past and also lying past us, i.e. a goal post. We ultimately are what we feel. We work toward feeling. As we are between possession always, an infinite extension of our lives only extends our mode of being indefinitely. Any serious, satisfactory account of human being focuses on us as desiring, pulling forth from and being drawn toward possibility.

I knew that I had gained
And yet I knew not how
By Diminution it was not
But Discipline unto

A Rigor unrelieved
Except by the Content
Another bear its Duplicate
In other Continent.

Comment:

“Discipline unto a rigor unrelieved:” this is a gain? “Rigor” alone sounds painful – if not deadly – if not marking what is already dead. The severity and stiffness of “rigor” make me wonder about “discipline.” Yes, you can be a disciple, a student, of rigor. “But Discipline unto” challenges this. Isn’t an art or skill applied for some relief? Some gain?

“Content” may alleviate the “Rigor.” Does it stem from discipline in the positive (less “rigor”) or negative (“rigor” has disciples) sense? Probably both senses, though that leaves us with the ironic consequence that “gain” depends on near fatal, inhuman severity. Now “content” comes from Latin, meaning “to contain” or “to restrain.” It can mean a state of satisfaction (contentment: restrained desire) or the substance of something. That substance certainly can be intellectual. If so, “content” may be the result of discipline. Intellectual labors call forth what is universal. Perhaps our discipline helps another gain elsewhere.

Continent’s etymology may be that of its adjective use. In which case, it is the same as “content:” to contain, restrain. If the only reaction to “a Rigor unrelieved” is restraint, one must wonder about the “gain.” Is there nothing intellectual in the poem? Is there only pain? One could even say the second stanza is a glimpse of something like the afterlife, where “other” is the speaker imagining her strength and applying it to her situation.

A final consideration: “By Diminution it was not.” Maybe “Diminution” alone is no gain. But I wonder what it takes for both faith and reason to work well in our lives. We do need some lessening of toil, pain. “Bear” is the key: not so much burdened, but productive.

My Season’s furthest Flower —
I tenderer commend
Because I found Her Kinsmanless,
A Grace without a Friend.

Comment:

“Furthest:” this may be the most developed, most isolated, perhaps only remaining flower. The “furthest Flower” is from the speaker’s own season. Our passions culminate in achievements of sorts, perhaps. If it is the case we cannot achieve some perfect emotional state immune to the trials of this world, then what results from our imperfect states will in some sense perish, even if wondrous. I learned a lot from someone no longer in my life. Still keep up with the topic we discussed most, though not as much. Pass what I learned best to others.

That’s why “tenderer,” I suspect. The “tenderest” has lapsed at least temporarily. The speaker is wondering where she is. All she knows is where she isn’t.

What might it mean to be alienated from one’s own “grace?” This may not be possible. If you recognize something as a grace, in a way it pleases you. Not to recount “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” but you can’t leave yourself behind. One does not befriend grace or simply give it away. The Greek charis refers to that which “reasonably pleases.” Sharing is inherent to the poem itself. This grace will find other graces and blossom again.

Did We abolish Frost
The Summer would not cease —
If Seasons perish or prevail
Is optional with Us —

Comment:

“Did We abolish Frost / The Summer would not cease” – well, duh. Get rid of the essence of winter, that ice-cold hardened covering of life, and what you have is perpetual summer, no?

Not necessarily. We don’t know Frost is the essence of winter. Maybe there will be snow, ice, cold tormenting all around us, if not actually afflicting us personally. And what season would replace winter (if winter were frost) anyway? It doesn’t have to be summer. Finally, the being of anything calls into mind opposition. Can summer be if there is no winter? Both seasons could be as vital to each other as hot is to cold.

It is curious that the more one wants to realize (about) a thing, the more one focuses on the predicates that describe it. Those predicates – not even nouns – become the true beings. We use them to categorize nothing less than reality itself (i.e. there is a true “hotness” of which other hot things partake). For a more detailed discussion, you’ll have to spend time with Plato’s Phaedo and Trilogy (Theaetetus, Sophist, Statesman).

The Seasons seem to be climates of being. They do encompass us. I have a few friends that think we can “abolish Frost.” There are no mean, cynical things that need to be said about anyone. All natures can be found acceptable, none need be shunned (it won’t surprise you to know this group is single for the most part). I don’t think we choose Seasons. They emerge from something deeper, wider, within and without us. The “option” is that we have to enjoy or struggle through them. Our choices are limited. Properly, the Seasons perish or prevail.

Superfluous were the Sun
When Excellence be dead
He were superfluous every Day
For every Day be said

That syllable whose Faith
Just saves it from Despair
And whose “I’ll meet You” hesitates
If Love inquire “Where”?

Upon His dateless Fame
Our Periods may lie
As Stars that drop anonymous
From an abundant sky.

Comment:

The Greek word for “virtue” – arete – means “excellence.” It can have moral connotations, but it need not. You could be an excellent shoemaker (cf. Meno, the effect of Gorgias’ rhetoric). It isn’t hard to then connect virtue and reason. We reasonably progress in the arts toward excellence.

So that may help explain the first two lines, except that Dickinson stays literal with “Sun” throughout the poem. You don’t need to see – or need time to work – if there is nothing to achieve. Perhaps this poem is more timely than we would like to admit.

In any case, Dickinson throws a bunch of puzzles at us in the following lines:

He were superfluous every Day
For every Day be said

That syllable whose Faith
Just saves it from Despair
And whose “I’ll meet You” hesitates
If Love inquire “Where”?

“That syllable whose Faith / Just saves it from Despair:” this is “Day,” a one-syllable word. We have light, work and art, but no words formally introduced to us yet. When there is nothing to strive for, the sun is superfluous. Is the “everyday” then superfluous, so much so it cannot be spoken about? It’s strange; I think the utterance of “Day” is the recognition of “Day,” hence a missing “to be” between the first and second stanzas. “Day” is the faith the sun will rise, that there will be opportunity. What good is opportunity without ambition? The poem changes from “Excellence” to “Love,” but now we get dialogue: “Day” wants to meet the Sun, but it is that distance which creates what we know as “Day.”

Ambition is written into the world. We know this because we love, because things are apart from us. But ambition, while in the world and from the sun, does not necessarily grant us what we want. The sun generates time, but is itself “dateless.” The issue of excellence is the same as human nature completed. Maybe we can see ourselves better in another heavenly metaphor, “Stars.” Abundance, individuality and desire are all there. But unlike Day, where we work with one another but the sun is distant, we are all distant from each other.

One and One — are One —
Two — be finished using —
Well enough for Schools —
But for Minor Choosing —

Life — just — or Death —
Or the Everlasting —
More — would be too vast
For the Soul’s Comprising —

Comment:

Socrates in the Phaedo: the unity of body and soul is the problem of how 1 + 1 = 1. One is finished using 2 after school is done. Dickinson says “Schools:” it brings to mind the condemnation of the Scholastics common in thinkers from Descartes to Kant. A “School” can even be one of fish. History may be Providential or cyclical. It is definitely for the many. It depends on duality; we ignore the complications. If  the lesson from World War One was to avoid getting into unnecessary fights and alliances, then Neville Chamberlain was sticking to the “lessons” we proclaim history teaches.

“Minor Choosing” is what comprises the Soul. Nothing more. All that Choosing is:

Life — just — or Death —
Or the Everlasting —

The “just” after life: is life really chosen? Putting an end to our personal history, there is either “Death” or “the Everlasting.” The soul wavers between the two (if that: is “Everlasting” more than what Life assumes itself already?) and anything more is “too vast.” You can’t be a soul otherwise.

There are a lot of people who want to talk about our personal destinies being part of some great enterprise. To some degree, even the notion of a “soul mate” fits into this rhetoric. In such a case, we could assume One and One and down the chain add up to a lot more. Dickinson’s speaker denies this is of any consequence. It isn’t clear the soul is part of some grand historical narrative. It isn’t even clear the soul is free in any significant sense.  The small choices that define us are already tied to the Nothing to which we are afraid to return. Our being of necessity has too much ground to cover.

Best Things dwell out of Sight
The Pearl — the Just — Our Thought.

Most shun the Public Air
Legitimate, and Rare —

The Capsule of the Wind
The Capsule of the Mind

Exhibit here, as doth a Burr —
Germ’s Germ be where?

Comment:

This is a very strange poem. I can only hope to start a discussion of it. I’m not entirely clear on what a surface reading would be.

“The Pearl – the Just – Our Thought:” these “Best Things” are almost entirely Platonic. Almost. All of Plato is seeing how the beautiful, the just and the good relate or do not relate. “The good” is not necessarily the object of thought; we pursue truth and hope that will inform our good. Perhaps “our thought” is exclusively oriented to our good? “The Pearl” calls to mind Christ’s parable. Not merely beautiful, it is procured at the sacrifice of all of one’s present wealth.

There’s more: “dwell out of Sight” and “the Just” make it sound like there are Platonic forms at stake. When the discussion of forms gets serious, when we’re asking “What is justice?” and have probed more deeply, the form is taken to be unseen. Hence, geometry as the “shadow” of the highest forms in the Republic.

So we have a discussion in the first stanza that tends toward pure Being. “The Just” are probably people, but they are treated as “Thngs” literally. “Our Thought” is not pure Being. But it tempts us to think we can apprehend such. The second stanza shifts from “Best” to “Most.” Not all the “Best Things” shun the Public Air. The Pearl stays underground, the man in Christ’s parable doesn’t tell a soul. He simply buys the field he found it in. The Just may or may not be public. In Christian terms, you won’t know who the just are if they are truly modest. Even in pagan thought the truly just man is obscured by those practicing civic virtues or some parody of the virtues. “Our Thought” may be public, may not.

“Legitimate, and Rare” make the second stanza sound like we are concerned with “The Just” and “The Pearl” only. True beauty and true justice are only glimpsed by the rest of us.

Which leaves us with “Our Thought.” Air, like time, moves invisibly. We were moved from “dwell[ing]” to “Air” and now, in the third stanza, to “Wind.” The verbs of this poem: “dwell”/”shun”/”exhibit”/”doth”/”be.” It looks like only “Our Thought” engages the “Public Air.” This is very curious. The most striking thing for a reader, I think, is “the Just” and “Legitimate.” One expects some discussion by Dickinson’s speaker of why that topic was even brought forth.

“Wind” brings into play a whole host of things. One could be the Holy Spirit, which in the Gospel of John is likened to the wind (John 3:8). Machiavelli is a cynical comment on Providence and Fortune – isn’t trusting in Providence an abandonment of taking control of what one can? Isn’t one gambling in the worst way? “Wind” does nothing to dispel the problem. In terms of the just: to be just, you pretty much need laws. If those laws depend on Providence, what is the commitment of the just to the code they profess?

“Capsule of the Wind” reminds that there’s still more to be considered. Winds can be associated with seasons. Winds blow seeds to places where they can grow. Not Providence, not entirely Fortune. Maybe there’s something about the Mind operating in a world where things don’t really change that we need to push further with.

The “Capsule” exhibits. In terms of the Just: even those hidden show forth. They do not merely think just thoughts. Like the Burr, they have potential for growth. The last question is where the “germ” truly came from.

I think Dickinson is taking an unconventional path to a very Christian teaching. This speaker seems to be hinting that Justice can grow like a mustard seed. The Pearl is not as important as the field it was buried in. That’s the joke of the “germ’s germ:” did the Pearl produce anything? What is strange is how “Our thought” produced anything. It isn’t entirely absent from the “Public Air.” And it would depend on the Wind to effect any change. How could it make anyone just?

Two final considerations flesh that out a bit. First, the last few verbs, “exhibit,” “doth,” “be.” The Mind reveals itself, it does take thought for the sake of being truly just. That showing forth brings about action and finally we can say who are just. Again, note the contrast with “dwell” and “shun,” which you can associate with certain verses in the Gospels. Does that mean pure reason makes us ethical? Not at all. The engagement with the “Public Air” slyly conceals an agreement with Christ’s teaching of not letting the left hand see what the right is doing. Thought is public. If you think it, somebody else probably did already. The thoughts of the just are still rare, such that they need not worry about recognition. They’re so rare they absolutely are effectual; they show because of the mere fact of our time. Out of sight for many, but (literally) not out of mind.

Confirming All who analyze
In the Opinion fair
That Eloquence is when the Heart
Has not a Voice to spare —

Comment:

“Fair is foul, and foul is fair.” The notion of “fair and square” emerges closer to Shakespeare’s time. There seem to be three themes suggested by “fair:” beauty, justice and the weather.

The surface of this poem is a beautiful notion. The Heart in its loss for words speaks movingly and with full command of language. “All who analyze” are confirmed in this. The circularity of this reading is emphasized by “confirming” – who exactly proclaims the Heart eloquent when voiceless? One gets the feeling this notion stems from the Heart itself. No one said “eloquently” and “truly” were necessarily linked.

However if we say “fair” is a synonym for “just,” then “Eloquence” is still “when the Heart has not a Voice to spare.” Something here doesn’t seem right, either. We’re all experienced with the Heart as voiceless. I can’t get out of my head the picture of this one girl who, when she couldn’t get what she wanted, would give the “I’m about to cry you’re the worst bully ever” look over anything. We could be talking about her trying to use an expired coupon for Rice-a-Roni and she’d look at you like you were responsible for holding her parents hostage.

So I look at the desperation of the Heart as not so much voiceless, but having one voice (“not a Voice to spare”).That one voice is generated through giving up logos, speech and reason. It is not clear to me this could ever be “Eloquence” truly, even though we’re talking about a primacy of desire that cannot and will not be denied. The primacy involved is so powerful it is dictating what our opinions about beauty and justice are. “That Eloquence” is what is “Confirming All.” The analysis – the breaking down – is stopping at that rather irrational point.

A weather metaphor (“fair,” “when”) might be a way around the problem. The analysis and confirmation of “the Opinion fair” are one time of our lives. That time cannot be “foul.” We’re reflecting on who we were and finding it continuous with who we are. And we’re making two huge mistakes.

First, we confirm “the Opinion fair,” but the cost is our own Eloquence. We think ourselves not eloquent; we were eloquent and might be eloquent again. Only our desperation, we think, tells who we are. Our analysis probably should not have concluded so quickly and fairly. Furthermore, by defining ourselves only as desperate – having incomplete desires – we pull ourselves out of time. “I’ve never changed!” No, you’ve changed, and what we want changes, even when we reach higher levels of maturity.