Perfection?
The Habit of Perfection
by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Elected Silence, sing to me
And beat upon my whorlèd ear,
Pipe me to pastures still and be
The music that I care to hear.
Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb:
It is the shut, the curfew sent
From there where all surrenders come
Which only make you eloquent.
Be shellèd, eyes, with double dark
And find the uncreated light:
This ruck and reel which you remark
Coils, keeps, and teases simple sight.
Palate, the hutch of tasty lust,
Desire not to be rinsed with wine:
The can must be so sweet, the crust
So fresh that come in fasts divine!
Nostrils, our careless breath that spend
Upon the stir and keep of pride,
What relish shall the censers send
Along the sanctuary side!
O feel-of-primrose hands, O feet
That want the yield of plushy sward,
But you shall walk the golden street
And you unhouse and house the Lord.
And, Poverty, be thou the bride
And now the marriage feast begun,
And lily-coloured clothes provide
Your spouse not laboured-at nor spun.
Gerard Manley Hopkins was a Victorian era, Jesuit priest. He died June 8, 1889. This poem was composed during Hopkins’s university years. Most of his poetry was published posthumously. I understand the poem was included in a 1916 anthology of work by philosophers and poets. I felt satisfaction to know that in the past poetry and philosophy were recognized as closely related. What is poetry if not philosophy compressed, stripped of academic jargon?
A priest by definition, according to the terms of the profession is an ascetic. On the surface the poem asserts the notion of perfection. The apotheosis of your humanity is a day to day turn-away from the senses. Is Hopkins praising a marathon exercise to strangle the senses? Or in spite of a surface meaning of these lines, does asceticism by simple contrast — highlight the magnificence of the five senses, and even more? By analogy, what I mean, is it not the black backing of a mirror that makes the opposite side reflection possible?
Hopkins includes speech. He also includes the universal desire of mammals without a natural cloak of fur, without den-building instinct, to possess dress for the body as elegant as a wedding gown. Other possessions functional and beautiful are characteristically human.
Did Hopkins in these lines inadvertently craft a praise hymn to the senses, highlight the exquisite possibilities of the mentioned senses? Did he know more than he was able to say, more than he could admit as a priest?
What do you think?
2 thoughts on “Perfection?”
It might be pleasant to think that Hopkins was rhapsodically noting the ephemeral nature of the senses that, as an ascetic, he is required to place at arms length, but he seems more bent on denigrating those feelings (and perhaps that’s what you are saying as well). My feeling is that he is attempting to find solace in the placing of words end to end rather than give into the miseries of allowing his senses to run rampant. Or perhaps he is expressing that God is tempting his resolve, in a Job-like way. And so he has chosen to bond with poverty, to marry the gilded fruits of the ascetic (an oxymoron). But we all choose what makes us happy unless we are stopped in that process by outside forces (incarcerated, drafted, or constrained to name a few).
Happy is a slippery term.