A Discussion On The Relationship Between Religious And Non-religious Love, As It Is Expressed In Pop

Johnson, writing on Pope in The Lives of the English Poets, states of 'Eloisa to Abelard' that 'the mixture of religious hope and resignation gives an elevation and dignity to disappointed love which images merely natural cannot bestow'. Johnson highlights for us this strong relationship between religion and love in 'Eloisa to Abelard'; it will be the job of this essay to go further than Johnson, and examine how this relationship functions and what impact it has in the poem. The questions that must be asked are just how this 'elevation' takes place, and whether it comes from conflict between religion and love, highlighting its loss, or something more. We can first address this idea of conflict, focusing on differences between Eloisa's love for Abelard and her religious devotion. Pope writes towards the beginning of the poem 'There stern religion quenched the unwilling flame,/ There died the best of passions, Love and Fame'. Certainly we see resignation, a succumbing to a 'stern' religion. The idea of 'quenching' suggests a loss of something, and it is unusual that religion, usually held to give light, would extinguish. Perhaps we can associate the flame with hell, but the earlier statement 'warm with love' (l. 37) does not suggest this flame is harmful or burns, and the idea that Fame and Love have 'died' emphasises the almost violent act here. To return to Johnson, we might suggest that the succumbing to a powerful religion here highlights the disappointment and the loss of love. However, we must be aware already of certain anomalies within these lines. Valerie Rumbold points us to the idea that Eloisa's appears to be 'a love unbutressed by "fame, wealth and honour"', and yet we see here Eloisa including both Love and Fame in 'the best of passions'. Furthermore, there is ambiguity surrounding the image of the 'unwilling flame'. Certainly we are to interpret this as a flame unwilling to be quenched, but it could also suggest that the flame itself is not willing to be in existence. Eloisa states that Abelard's letter and the memory of her love for him 'awakens all my woes' (l. 30); perhaps there is a hint that this (rekindled) flame is unwilling, desiring to be 'quenched' by religion. It could be possible that Eloisa hopes religion will free her of this disappointed love, elevating it beyond the human realm. These ideas are supported by the next passage, which depicts the violence of the lover's separation not only through the words but through Pope's manipulation of poetic rhythm. 'Alas, how changed! What sudden horrors rise!' (l. 100) writes Pope, quite literally cutting through the line with his exclamation marks, creating a jarring tone and reminding us of the castration that forms this part of Eloisa's memory. Everything is done in this passage to represent a violent split, which forms the climax of the lovers experience with each other, and its end. It is a split that, for Eloisa and Abelard, leads them to religion, but there is no soothing 'quenching' to be had here. Instead, they are 'victims at yon altar's foot' (l. 108) and Heaven makes of Eloisa a 'conquest' (l. 113). Furthermore, Eloisa tells Abelard ''Not on the cross my eyes fixed, but you' (l. 116), highlighting the incompleteness of their separation and her continuing love. There is nothing to be found here of Johnson's resignation or hope, but defiance, a fight against love's disappointment. Yet the poem takes us back once again to religion with a severing exclamation mark: 'Ah no! Instruct me other joys to prize,/ With other beauties charm my partial eyes;/ Full in my view set all the bright abode,/ And make my soul quite Abelard for God'. However unconvincing we may find this return to God , it is still a return, and words like 'bright' and 'charm' certainly have positive connotations. What we must bear in mind is what David B. Morris states in his study of the poem, that Eloisa 'acts and suffers', 'she adds to pain' and this is 'a process by which character is expressed, developed and affirmed in the face of contradictory desires'. Here then, we see Eloisa not only being torn from Abelard, and forced to face religion, but actively seeking religion itself. 'And let me dream the rest' (l. 124) she says as she turns from Abelard to God; despite her strong memories she is willing to let them fade in order to turn to religion. Religious hope is able to overcome the lover's disappointment, perhaps giving it, as Johnson states, dignity. However, Eloisa also tries to distance herself from religion, with violence not dissimilar from her separation from Abelard. 'Tear me from my God!' (l. 288) she exclaims, showing how Eloisa will tear herself from God in the same way that she is torn from her love. Eloisa seems to embrace two contradictory desires. To explore this idea further, we can examine other instances of this conflict between religion and love. Certainly we can see Eloisa embracing religion as a hopeful comfort. She envies the state of 'the blameless Vestals lot' (l. 207), describing how 'whispering angels prompt her golden dreams' (l. 216). Of course Eloisa does not directly experience this happy forgetting, this 'eternal sunshine of the spotless mind' (l. 209); much more palpable is the later account of her fantasises of Abelard. We are immediately, as readers, made to associate Abelard with Eloisa's sense, 'I hear the, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,/ And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms' (ll. 233-4). The mention of the senses is heightened by the action of wrapping arms that, though reaching for nothing, is in itself a very physical, palpable act. However, the religious scenes, despite their detachment, do not leave our senses completely unprovoked. We have 'divine perfumes' (l. 218), the 'sounds of heavenly harps' (l. 221) and 'visions of eternal day' (l. 212). They are hardly specific but then neither, one could argue, are those evoked in the dream of Abelard; we are treated to phantoms and 'empty arms' (l. 238), Pope seems to tantalise our sense with the promise of satisfaction, only to leave us wanting. The bright, heavenly clichéd senses of religious forgetfulness are matched by the impalpable descri ptions of 'all-conscious night' (l. 229). Despite Pope's attempts to separate religious hope and the disappointment of Abelard's faltering presence, the two maintain similarities. To advance this line of argument, it is crucial to examine further the ways in which Pope presents Eloisa and Abelard's love in the poem. It is important to look at a particular passage, from early on in the poem in detail:

Heav`n first taught letters for some wretch`s aid, Some banish`d lover, or some captive maid; They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires, The virgin`s wish without her fears impart, Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart, Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole. (ll. 51-58)

This seems to suggest that Heaven's teachings in particular are what inspire love. We must remember the value of letters and words here, as it is Abelard's writing which sets the poem's thoughts and memories in motion; Eloisa 'must kiss the name' (l. 8). This has particular resonance then, hinting that on some level that Heaven acts as the author of Eloisa's love for Abelard. The idea of 'intercourse from soul to soul' resonates particularly with moments in Paradise Lost, especially Raphael's answer to Adam's question of how spirits express their love. The angel replies 'if Spirits embrace,/ Total they mix, union of pure with pure/ Desiring'. The comparison is not complete, Pope does not explicitly mention a union, a mixing of souls, yet 'soft intercourse' hints at this idea of an easy mingling, a soft embrace. This idea is carried through the poem, later on we have the descri ption of souls 'possessing and possessed,/ No craving void left aching in the breast' (ll. 93-4). The fact there will be 'no craving void' echoes this idea of a 'total' mix, much closer to the angel love Raphael describes than any human intercourse. Later still we have Eloisa considering the possibility of death, where it will be 'no sin to mix' (l. 176) with Abelard, echoing Raphael's 'total they mix'. This comparison helps us to understand Eloisa's aim in these particular passages. Raphael's descri ption is of a love totally pure and sacred, and Eloisa hopes to present her love of Abelard in a similar manner. It is a goal that mixes sexual love and desire with religious acceptance and purity. With religious hope she aims to overcome disappointment, and reconcile the faith she must now endure and the love she once had. Religious hope may heighten love's disappointment, but it also seems to elevate fulfilled, happy love, giving it a sort of sacred dignity. To advance this idea, we can turn to the descri ption between lines 130 and 170, where we are told how 'hallowed walls' (l. 133) are raised, 'and paradise was opened in the wild' (l. 134). The whole passage is a pastoral scene with echoes of spirituality that suggest a convent or nunnery, becoming more prominent when we are given 'such roofs as piety could raise'. These religious echoes become distorted and confused, however, when we question the identity of the creator behind this particular scene, highlighted by the phrase 'only vocal with the Maker's praise' (l. 140). The line before this passage, 'and make my soul quit Abelard for God' (l. 128) suggests it is the conventional maker, God, who creates this semi-pastoral scene, infused with suggestions of religious building. However, Robin Sowerby in this particular edition notes in relation to this passage that 'Abelard founded the nunnery' (p. 270); are we suppose, then, that this maker can also be Abelard? It is a conundrum which introduces confusion and ambiguity into the scene. From this ambiguity the passage takes on a very strange, confused sense. We are taken through 'moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crowned,/ Where awful arches make a noon-day night' (ll. 142-3). The convent or nunnery still seems to be infused with nature such as the 'moss-grown domes', but 'awful arches' changes the tone; awful could indeed mean awe-inspiring but also suggests the possibility of something terrifying or dreadful. 'Noon-day night' is a strange contradiction; noon suggests peace and calm, in keeping with this 'paradise', but night again introduces a sinister tone. The alliteration, interrupted by 'day', emphasises the normal separation of noon and night, which are seemingly forced together in this phrase. Yet we are then told that 'gleams of glory brightened all the day' (l. 146) and only when the face of 'divine contentment' (l. 147) disappears are we brought to 'blank sadness' (l. 148) in the next few lines. The whole passage mixes a happy and sinister tone, accompanied by this sense that religion and Abelard are entwined. We cannot seem to separate the different strands of thought. Religious hope and resignation, love's hope and disappointment become tangled together. This ambiguity is continued in the descri ptions in the next passage. 'The dying gales that pant upon the trees' (l. 179) are certainly peaceful images, but 'dying' again creates something sinister. Even as Eloisa states 'no more these scenes my meditation aid' (l. 161) and gives way to 'Black melancholy' (l. 165) we have 'twilight groves and dusky caves' (l. 163). These are hardly committal images, and though they can be seen as dark and foreboding, we can also see them as comforting; twilight hovering between light and dark, good and bad. It is in this turn, this tension between the dramatic scene giving way to melancholy and 'death-like silence' (l. 176) that we are given 'long sounding aisles' (l. 164). Again, non-committal, it introduces sound before the silence, suggesting, perhaps, a lingering sense of hope before the melancholy. The Norton Anthology glosses this as 'sounds reverberate over water as in the aisles of a church'. The natural beauty of the water and the sound are here invaded by the aisles, suggesting a natural form or passage, but also a church. In this no-man's land between the loss of vision and introduction of melancholy lies this semi-religious image. Pope shows us the suspended nature of religion's role in the poem, that between despair and sadness, and hope and love. Or between Eloisa's visions and love for Abelard, and her separation from him. Valerie Rumbold comes close to acknowledging this tension and ambiguity. She notes that Eloisa recognises spiritual possibility which 'merges into a plea for Abelard's spiritual assistance complicated by the belief that she must cease to love him in order to love God'. There is, however, no explicit mention of the possibility of religious love, and love for Abelard merging, indeed Rumbold admits 'it is not the poem's purpose to allow her to articulate a satisfactory synthesis [.] it is part of her predicament that she looks to one pole of her being to cancel out the other'. Rumbold also suggests that the poem 'points to a more realistic absorption of the lesser in the greater love' (assuming here this is religion doing the absorbing) and suggests that both the reader and Eloisa see 'the potential for the conversion of passion by grace'. Rumbold recognises how Eloisa's love for Abelard can become part of her spiritual life, and not necessarily opposed to it, but does not see how spiritual life can be part of love for Abelard, or how the two can be equally mixed, becoming confused and entangled. Morris goes some way to acknowledging this reading, recognising 'the falseness of the opposition between Abelard and God'. But he doesn't go so far as to apply this to Eloisa, saying she finds 'no release from her dilemma except in the sympathy of readers who admire her willingness to live out the contradictions of a solitary struggle that death alone could conclude' . He comes close, but does not fully embrace the idea that there might be a merging of religious and earthly love. Morris also puts forward the idea that death concludes, that for Eloisa it can 'drive out or diminish her feeling for Abelard'. Yet he also says that 'even Eloisa, caught up by the vision of her death, cannot resist a final exercise of her imaginative power', which suggests a certain lack of surety in his argument. However, Rumbold also seems to support this notion and shows how Eloisa wishes that 'in trance extatic may thy pangs be drown'd' (l. 339) showing that Abelard, certainly, will have his pain ended by the comfort of death, and his journey to heaven. But the line 'And saints embrace thee with a love like mine' (l. 342) complicates matters; the transformation is incomplete and Eloisa, for a moment, conjures for us the idea that she, not a saint, will be embracing Abelard in death. Furthermore, saints should surely not be loving Abelard as Eloisa has, with all it associations with sin. Abelard's death is not as simple and comforting as we first might suppose. Eloisa's hope for death does indeed seem to suggest a succumbing to religion; 'where sinners may have rest, I go' (l. 319) she says, and admits that 'even my Abelard be loved no more' (l. 334). Yet moments in the passage appear to contradict these points. Our senses are invoked again: 'see from my cheek the transient roses fly!/ See the last sparkle languish in my eye' (331-2). Colours are drawn in an evocative flurry of movement; in the very disappearance of life from Eloisa we are treated to a particularly intense show of activity. Again there is a suspension; these images are both present and not present, brought to us in their moment of disappearance. Furthermore, Eloisa's words 'O death all-eloquent! you only prove/ What dust we dote on, when tis man we love' are surprising. The point is made that earthly love comes to nothing, and it is dust we dote on the end, so presumably we should look to a higher love. However, Eloisa does not suggest this, but instead leaves us with the ambiguous 'man'. Her point is made, but we are lead, instead of love for God, to love for man, an earthly being and reminiscent of the Abelard she has renounced two lines previously. We might well say that Eloisa has taken a course of dust to dust; she cannot completely relinquish earth's hold over her, even in death. Surely this is the reason she asks for her 'tender story' (l. 364) to be retold, why she remains a 'pensive ghost' (l. 366) whose woes can be 'soothed' (l. 366) by memory; this is not the attitude of one who has ended feeling and come to peace and oblivion in death. Yet this is not to say that the poem does not suggest that Eloisa can forget Abelard; it does, and with strong conviction, yet it also shows how his presence will remain in death, as will Abelard's love as the pain and joy are relived, and the poem reread. We are held in a suspension which avoids any simple reading or solution. Religion and Abelard are therefore both separate and intertwined. Death can be both a release from, and continuing of pain and joy. We are reminded of 'Elegy to the memory of an Unfortunate Lady' where, though the end states 'a heap of dust remains of thee', it is haunted by the 'beckoning ghost' of the beginning, suggesting that death is not just the end. The poem deals in tension and complexity, yielding different readings of a comparison between religious and non-religious love. To return to Johnson, religious hope and resignation do indeed elevate disappointed love, but also do much more. They share a strong relationship with it, mirroring but also contrasting with love's hope and resignation. They are elevated with it, above simple interpretation and readings, becoming the essence of a complex, clever and mysterious poem, full of dramatic tension and ambiguity.

Bibliography:

Primary Texts:

Pope Alexander, 'Eloisa to Abelard', in Alexander Pope: Selected Poetry and Prose, ed. by Robert Sowerby (London: Routledge, 1988)

Secondary Texts:

Johnson Samuel, The Lives of the English Poets, Vol. 2 (Leipzig: Bernhard Tauchnitz, 1858)

Milton John, Paradise Lost, ed. by Scott Elledge, Norton Critical edn (London: Norton, 1993)

Morris David B., Alexander Pope: The Genius of Sense (London: Harvard University Press, 1984)

The Norton Anthology Vol. 1, ed. by Stephen Greenblatt (London: Norton, 2006)

Pope Alexander, 'Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady', in Alexander Pope: Selected Poetry and Prose, ed. by Robert Sowerby (London: Routledge, 1988)

Rumbold Valerie, Women's Place in Pope's World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989)