"Faithful to the end" amended
From the Heavenly clause -
Lucrative indeed the offer
But the Heart withdraws -
"I will give" the base Proviso -
Spare Your "Crown of Life" -
Those it fits, too fair to wear it -
Try it on Yourself -
—
"Faithful to the end" amended
From the Heavenly clause -
Constancy with a Proviso
Constancy abhors -
"Crowns of Life" are servile Prizes
To the stately Heart,
Given for the Giving, solely,
No Emolument.
[FR 1386]
So, trying to sort out these two poems (or one revised) has been enjoyable. And the answer to the question is: I don’t know. These poems are Dickinson writing by analogy, and she doesn’t reveal the context. The best that we can do is to understand the point she is making (the thrust of her analogy) then maybe make some not-unreasonable guesses as to what she might have been talking about. To give a fascinating example of what one means by analogy without context, I found the following passage in Sewall’s biography that likely, by contrast, gives context to a poem that we might otherwise interpret entirely differently. And fascinatingly, it also hinges on the word faith:
Dear Mr Bowles.
Thank you.
"Faith" is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see—
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency
You spoke of the “East.” I have thought about it this winter.
Dont you think you and I should be shrewder, to take the Mountain Road?
That Bareheaded life — under the grass — worries one like a Wasp.
The Rose is for Mary.
Emily
Sewall precedes this letter by writing:
The problems this letter raises are a prelude to the more complicated problems of several subsequent and apparently crucial letters and poems to Bowles. In these the interchangeability of the frames of reference [context] is far more baffling. For instance, the language of marriage that permeates many of the poems—”wife,” “bride,” “husband”—can be read with credibility as pointing either up or down, to a celestial relationship or to a human. And the human fulfillment for which she years may be either one of erotic passion or the joy of “greatness” as a published poet (this last in spite of her protests to the two editors).
Sewall concludes by analyzing the letter above:
This, indeed, is a test case, and as such worth dwelling on. Every sentence except the last needs explication, including the quatrain. “Thank you”—for what? The quatrain itself—from the 1891 edition of the Poems onward, it is printed quite apart from the letter—has usually been taken as her tiny critique of a theology that neglected the evidence of science, perhaps a bow to Hitchcock and her early training in Amherst Academy and Mount Holyoke. But other and more immediate implications arise when it is viewed in the context of the letter. If the letter is seen as part of Emily’s dialogue with Bowles about publishing her poems, it becomes an appeal to read her poems with more perception. In this reading, she cannot live on the “faith” that somehow, someday, some editor will see her work for what it is and publish it. She has run out of patience; this is an “Emergency.” Get a microscope! The “East,” about which Bowles had spoken to her, may be the world of the Boston and New York publishers. But she urges Bowles not to wait for them. Would it not be “prudent,” “shrewder,” for her poems to take the “Mountain Road” the pass between the range of hills that separates Amherst and Springfield) for publication in the Republican? Time is running out. There may be a sense of urgency because of Bowle’s health, which had been precarious for several years. “That Bareheaded life—under the grass—worries one like a Wasp.” [pp 478-479]
Sewall presents this as a possible interpretation, then follows that up with a theological interpretation of the letter and the quatrain, referencing words that were shared with other poems.
We just don’t know. Given that the imagery, language and stories of Christian mythology were a shared language, it can feel like a coin toss as to whether Dickinson was making a theological statement or using theological paradigms to make secular arguments.
This is what one confronts when reading the two versions Faithful to the end. The phrases Faithful to the end and Crown of Life are both drawn from the Bible and have specific doctrinal meanings, but Dickinson may have simply been using these commonly understood concepts as shorthand.
So there’s that. Secondly, there are two versions. The question arises: Are both these versions making the same point, or is the revision also revising the argument? I’m inclined to think that both poems are making the same point and that Dickinson preserved them because they compliment each other. This allows the reader of both poems to use each to interpret and inform the other. If, by contrast, she’s making different arguments in each poem, then they’re different poems in the sense that one can’t reliably inform the other.
What do they mean? There’s enough non-recoverable deletions and ellision that one can read these poems in two mutually exclusive ways. And once you see the poem one way, it’s hard to unsee it. (Many of Dickinson’s poems are like this, reminding me of those classic illusions that can’t be seen both ways at once.)
For example, one can interpret these poems as a rejection of unwavering faithfulness demanded by the “Heavenly Clause”. The speaker “rejects this offer, suggesting that true loyalty is not conditional upon reward or recognition.” The argument of the poems, in this case, is between loyalty and true loyalty. One reads Dickinson’s argument in the second version as saying that what is “given” by the heart is done solely “for the Giving” and not for any heavenly “Emolument”. This interprets the first version as claiming that “I will give” is the base/foundational law, full stop, and not: I will give with the proviso that I get something in return—a crown of life. Spare me that, she writes. And once you’ve seen the poem this way, it’s hard to unsee. The trouble with this interpretation, to me, is that it’s not the simplest interpretation. It violates Occam’s Quill in that, in my opinion, it requires us make an awful lot of undeletions. “Crowns of Life” are servile Prizes/ To the stately Heart/Because what is Given is given for the sake of Giving, solely, and for No [not for any] Emolument.” Further, this interpretation doesn’t wholly make sense given that the Christian doctrine she ostensibly rejects is offering precisely what she presents as the preferred alternative—nothing. The Crown of Life is a heavenly reward for good behavior—not anything for the living. In life, you give for the sake of giving with no expectation of earthly reward. Dickinson’s difference, read this way, is really a distinction without a difference. This strikes me as a somewhat fussy, moralistic argument compared to Dickinson’s usual fare.
I interpret the poem in the totally opposite sense.
She is, in fact, entirely rejecting the idea that one should give without the expectation of reward. I think the poems hinge on how we imagine the context and whether we think her use of the word faith might be similar to Sewall’s proposed use of the word in her letter to Bowles. Let’s say that Dickinson (as she’s done more transparently in other poems) is writing about her poetry. The impatience that Sewall reads into the letter,
If the letter is seen as part of Emily’s dialogue with Bowles about publishing her poems, it becomes an appeal to read her poems with more perception. In this reading, she cannot live on the “faith” that somehow, someday, some editor will see her work for what it is and publish it. She has run out of patience; this is an “Emergency.”
Is made explicit in Faithful to the End. To wit:
"Faithful to the end" amended
From the Heavenly clause -
Lucrative indeed the offer
But the Heart withdraws -
"I will give" the base Proviso -
Spare Your "Crown of Life" -
Those it fits, too fair to wear it -
Try it on Yourself -
I hereby amend/omit “Faithful to the end” from the Heavenly clause (the putative agreement she made to God in being born). While the offer may be lucrative, in a doctrinal sense, her heart’s not in it. She’s lost patience. In this reading, she rejects “faith” just as she may have in the earlier poem. I read “base” in the opposite sense that most probably read it, not as a foundational moral principle but as a mean or wretched principle. She has already written how many poems? She has given and given and gotten what in return? Spare me your posthumous rewards, your “Crown of Life”. I want something while I live. The last two lines sarcastically dismiss the “Crown of Life” as any kind of consolation. Those it fits, she writes, are too “fair” (which I interpret as a Dickinsonian metonym for dead) to wear it. They are insubstantial now—made fair and beautiful in heaven. How is any crown going to sit on their heads? After all their do-gooding, they can’t even wear the crown! And that makes sense of the biting last line. If you think working for nothing is so great, try it yourself. As my grandmother used to say: “You’ll get your bale of hay in heaven, you Jack-ass.”
In the second version (according to Franklin), Dickinson leaves off the sarcasm along with the more personal sense of grievance, to more succinctly argue her objection.
"Faithful to the end" amended
From the Heavenly clause -
Constancy with a Proviso
Constancy abhors -
"Crowns of Life" are servile Prizes
To the stately Heart,
Given for the Giving, solely,
No Emolument.
I hereby amend/omit “Faithful to the end” from the Heavenly clause (the putative agreement she made to God in being born). Constant giving/working with the proviso (the stipulation that giving be done without expectation of reward) is something that any conscientious, constant and consistent worker would abhor. “Crowns of Life”, posthumous reward and/or fame (literary or religious), is a servile prize or reward to the stately, self-respecting, Heart. It is a servile Prize “given for the Giving, solely” (for the feel-good benefit of the giver) and is no Emolument (compensation received by virtue of holding an office or having employment — usually in the form of wages or fees). And there’s our Occam’s Quill. This understanding of the verse requires far less substitution and “undeletion” of missing words. The syntax makes sense, as is.
If we choose not to read these stanzas as Dickinson losing patience with her lack of literary recognition, we might also read them as her rejection of a platonic relationship. One could read the poems as her warning to a correspondent with whom she’d like a more committed relationship (read committed how you will). In this case she’s drawing an analogy between the Christian notion of ‘giving’ without expectation of reward (in ones lifetime), to ‘giving’ in a relationship that isn’t reciprocated. In either case, her core argument is that she expects, longs for, and is impatient for reciprocity.
June 6 2024 | up in Vermont
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