{"id":3228,"date":"2009-09-26T21:30:03","date_gmt":"2009-09-27T01:30:03","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/fryeblog.blog.lib.mcmaster.ca\/?p=3228"},"modified":"2009-09-26T21:30:03","modified_gmt":"2009-09-27T01:30:03","slug":"today-in-the-frye-diaries-2-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/macblog.mcmaster.ca\/fryeblog\/2009\/09\/26\/today-in-the-frye-diaries-2-2\/","title":{"rendered":"Today in the Frye Diaries (2)"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"kempfrye\"<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Regarding Today in the Frye Diaries<\/a>, Frye’s response to Helen’s death 40 years later.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

From Northrop Frye\u2019s Late Notebooks, 1: 137\u201340, 142, 144, 145, 148, 150, 153, 156, 160, 191, 197, 204, 254, 345, 374, 379\u201380<\/p>\n

This is not a diary, but Helen is dead. Not of cancer: she died in peace, I was told. Her Alzheimer fantasies were already turning her against me: she seemed to feel I could get her out of hospital if I only wanted to. It\u2019s better for her to go now than to go through the final Alzheimer cycles, and it was very like her to slip out of the world so unobtrusively. I know nothing: Ned\u2019s \u201ciron door\u201d doesn\u2019t budge a crack. I think I know when she died\u20143.10 p.m. AEST,\u2014but that may be an illusion. But they say there are helpers, and for so gentle and pure a spirit there must be. My hunch is that grief of survivors, being so largely self-pity, distresses, perhaps even impedes, progress to a world that makes more sense. I know that she would forgive me my sins of indolence and selfishness in regard to her, and therefore God will. I hope only that she knows now that I genuinely loved her very dearly, so far as human frailty permits. God bless, protect, and keep her among his own. I hope to see her again; but perhaps that is a weak hope. Faith is the hypostasis [substance] of what is hoped for, the elenchos [evidence] of the unseen. The one thing truly unseen, the world across death, may, according to my principle, be what enables us to see what is visible. I dreaded seeing her in the hospital, because she never smiled at me: she would smile at Jane, but I couldn\u2019t keep the worry out of my face and tone, and I bored her. Besides, when Jane [Widdicombe] told her she was in hospital and had to get better before she could go home, she said \u201cI can take that from you.\u201d When I tried to say the same thing, she said \u201cDon\u2019t be so portentous.\u201d It was the last thing she said to me, and it sounds like an oracle. Meanwhile there is Jane, a daughter sent by God instead of nature. Guardian angels take unexpected but familiar forms, as in Homer.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

When I speak of helpers I am, of course, thinking of the books of reports from those who have nearly died and come back. Of course nearly dying is not evidence about actual death. But then, we do not know what we dream: we know only what our waking consciousness thinks it remembers of what we have dreamt. William James speaks of dreams of writing works of immense significance that were only the silliest of jingles when he \u201cremembered\u201d them afterward. Something in that significance was there and didn\u2019t get through. Most, perhaps all dreams, have to pass through the gates of ivory, and whatever gets through the gate of horn is literature.<\/p>\n

The creatures that turn up in seances are probably evil & mischievous ones, not the people they profess to be, whatever they know or pretend to know. Not all: the Witch of Endor seems to have evoked the genuine Samuel [1 Samuel 28:7]. But real spirits are only disturbed by this. I want Helen\u2019s feet to be kept in the way of peace. She will speak when the time comes.<\/p>\n

It was, as we say, \u201cthe best thing that could have happened,\u201d that Helen should have died when she did. Why is it that an event which shows the care and the mercy of God would be the most hideous and insensate of crimes if I had taken her life instead? One of those questions so obvious that we forget even to ask it: it\u2019s not as easy to answer as all the automatic answers that come pouring out suggest. Is it another dimension to God as scapegoat, bearing the sins of mankind? I suppose \u201cvengeance is mine\u201d is in a similar category.<\/p>\n

Meanwhile, let\u2019s think about the one idea all this grief has brought me so far. I said in GC [The Great Code] that the invisible world in the Bible was not a second order of existence, as in the Platonic tradition, but the means by which the visible world becomes visible, as the invisible air is the medium of visibility [GC, 124]. The one really invisible world is the world across death: is that what makes us to see the seen? Is the visible world the world of faith (pistis), as in Plato, that is the elenchos [evidence] of the unseen?<\/p>\n

My suggestion that grief for the dead impedes and disturbs them may of course be the grossest and crassest of superstitions: one has to try out such things to see if they have any resonance. But grief emphasizes the pastness of the past, and so works against the mythical imagination. Helen was\u2014that\u2019s the beginning of tears and mourning. Helen is. What she is, perhaps, is a central element in the unseen which will clarify my understanding, if such clarification is granted me. My whole and part conception may have a link with this. It is right to pray to God, because God is the unity and totality of all this: but the perspective can reverse into millions of presences\u2014the saints, in short. Helen would smile at the notion of being a saint, but I suspect that sanctity is something created by love, not necessarily some kind of essence.
\nChrist leads us through no darker rooms
\nThan he went through before.<\/p>\n

Perhaps my notion that the unseen world is the medium by which nature becomes visible (or intelligible?) is related to Yeats\u2019 remark that nothing exists except a stream of souls. Only maybe he should have said \u201cspirits\u201d: the metaphorical link between spirit and air is stronger. Does the same principle account for the fact that the Christ of the gospels is discontinuous myth and not continuous history or biography?<\/p>\n

I notice that my remarks about near-death & dreams, which I assumed to be genuinely new, are repeated from p. 46 [par. 148; see also par. 171]\u2014quite recent entries. What that says about me I don\u2019t know. One thing it may say is that I feed on myself and not on others. It\u2019s conceivable that there are demonic things done unconsciously all the time, and that some day they will be brought to light. It\u2019s possible that I drove Helen into an impasse where all she could do was die. It would be morbid to accuse myself of such an act when there\u2019s no evidence for it, and when there is evidence that she was, most of the time, happy and loved me. But many Victorian husbands must have killed their wives believing sincerely that they loved them, and God knows what the psychologists of the future will know about such things. Perhaps that\u2019s really what the Sacred Fount is all about: the hero (narrator) may be as corny as you please, but he may be a Cassandra like the governess in TS [The Turn of the Screw] for all that.<\/p>\n

One thing involved here is the \u201cwhat\u2019s really going on\u201d fallacy. What\u2019s really going on is a cluster of illusions. I don\u2019t think it\u2019s an illusion that I loved Helen, but it would certainly be an illusion to claim that I always did the best I could for her. Of course it\u2019s always an advantage to become aware that an illusion is one.<\/p>\n

The judgment & trial legal metaphor of the Bible comes from the impossibility of reshaping the past after death. My indolence all too often made life much duller for Helen than it should have been: when I realized this I tried to \u201cmake it up\u201d to her, to reshape time into a more comfortable context for her. Death puts an end to all that: never again can I do anything for her in this world, and the fact rebounds on me as a judgment. With her Alzheimer broken will and my own spinelessness leading us both to deadlock, we were both in a sense marking time. Perhaps every death has something of divorce about it: the kind of inevitable parting of ways that is parodied by suicide. On a more cheerful side, the last \u201cm\u2019amour\u201d fragment of Pound reveals (though Pound may not have known it) the profundity of Blake\u2019s \u201cemanation\u201d conception: the objectivity one identifies with, with the woman one loves as its incarnate centre.<\/p>\n

How tedious is death. Death and his brother sleep. Sleep for me is a series of dreams in which Helen is alive and we\u2019re talking and planning things together. Then I wake up hearing reason say \u201cYou will never see her again,\u201d without bothering to add \u201cin this life.\u201d Reason makes the rest of me puke. Love is strong as death: now that makes sense. I take pills, of course, but a drugged stupor is not sleep. Nor is a spirit with a cremated body dead. Ay, madam, it is common.<\/p>\n

Since Helen\u2019s death I\u2019ve felt my love for her growing increasingly beyond the contingencies of the human situation. I begin to understand more clearly what Beatrice and Laura are all about. If the relation is reciprocal there is nothing to regret beyond the inevitable mechanisms of regret.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve said that I have hope about another life, but I don\u2019t have faith, in the Hebrews sense of a hypostasis of hope. The furthest I can get is a negative faith: I do not believe that those ten squalid and humiliating days in the Cairns hospital is the total end of a lovely and lovable human being. (Total for all practical purposes: Butler & others would talk about surviving in the memory of others, but miserable comforters are they all.) But when people talk of recognition scenes & such I can\u2019t commit myself. She\u2019s in heaven, [my friend] Catherine [Runcie] said: but I don\u2019t know where (or what) heaven is, or whether the word \u201cwhere\u201d applies to it.<\/p>\n

All I can do is define my hope. I didn\u2019t want her to go on living her way through the Alzheimer. I don\u2019t want her back with that: I\u2019m not sure that I\u2019d even want her back in the frailty of the human condition. The Helen I now love is someone whose human faults & frailties count for nothing: the word \u201cforgiveness\u201d I shrink from, because it implies that I\u2019m in a superior position. I think (with Keats) that life may be purgatorial in shape, only I\u2019d call it a vale of spirit (not soul) making. I think of her as someone for whom the full human potential is now able to emerge. Perhaps my love and the affection so many had for her helped to do that for her, being the same kind of thing that the Roman Catholics, with their mania for institutionalizing everything, identify with masses & prayers for the dead. If so, then she\u2019s an angel, not to be worshipped, according to the New Testament, but an emancipated fellow-creature. Martyrs don\u2019t necessarily believe in rewards for martyrdom, but they behave as though they were citizens of a bigger multi-dimensional world than their persecutors.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a good thing this notebook is not for publication, because everyone else would be bored by my recurring to Helen. What do I want? I don\u2019t want the poor lamb back with her Alzheimer condition, or at all in any world she\u2019d have to be dragged back to. I just miss her, and the miss is a blank in nature. I\u2019ve accused myself of murdering her, at least to the point of understanding what Eliot was getting at in Family Reunion. Like Harry in that play, I have to learn to accept the Furies as Eumenides. But I find all my ideas regrouping around her in a way I can neither understand nor explain. The sermon, for example, was all about her [sermon delivered at the Metropolitan United Church, 5 October 1986], & so will this book be if I write it. She\u2019s now a C of L [Court of Love] mistress, like the dead Laura or Beatrice. I think the judgment phase may be over for me, at this stage anyway. I helped murder her, but she was, I think, happier with me than she would have been with the other men interested in her. And perhaps I love her now in a way that I couldn\u2019t have loved her before she died. I don\u2019t want her to come back to me, unless she has her reasons for doing so, but if\/when I go to her it will be all right. (It\u2019s still hope, not faith. I don\u2019t even know if it\u2019s right to say \u201chelp thou my unbelief\u201d [Mark 9:24], because that could lead to self-hypnotism. The Holy Spirit has to take charge here.) Meanwhile, some of my letters advise thinking about our happy days together: that\u2019s like advising a starving man to remember that wonderful meal he had three months back (Job 29).<\/p>\n

I may be heading for the grossest kind of illusion here, but I still wonder about Helen\u2019s functioning as a Beatrice: it may be nonsense for a man of 75 to talk about a \u201cnew life,\u201d but all I want is a new book. With God all things are possible. Beatrice was mainly a creation of Dante\u2019s love; my love recreates Helen in the sense of recognizing that if a world exists that she\u2019s now in, she\u2019s an angel. Her human frailties, as I\u2019ve said, are now nothingness: only what she really was remains. (My own weaknesses & guilt feelings, of course, have greatly increased.) She didn\u2019t read my stuff, of course, & didn\u2019t need to, but she respected what I did very deeply. So although both of us were physically infertile for many years, perhaps another Word can still be born to us, like Isaac.<\/p>\n

And just as there is a living word and a dead word, so there are living and dead thoughts. A handful of dead hair comes out of my comb every day, yet I still have hair. A sewer of dead thoughts, verbal shit, flows through my mind constantly: I hope there are other kinds. The repetitive & endlessly recycled thoughts are part of this too. One should remember that thoughts are not just ideas: I hope, for example, that I have discovered something of the reality of love in losing Helen. That\u2019s not just a neurotic return on myself: I think I\u2019ve also got a clearer notion of what Beatrice & Laura were all about.<\/p>\n

By the standards of conventional scholarship, The Great Code was a silly and sloppy book. It was also a work of very great genius. The point is that genius is not enough. A book worthy of God and of Helen must do better than that.<\/p>\n

Faith, the schoolboy said, is believing what you know ain\u2019t so. That\u2019s why some people, including me and, I gather, Paul Ricoeur, have switched to hope as the real basis. Hope doesn\u2019t assert: it says Perhaps A, but then, perhaps B. A sympathy note after Helen\u2019s death told me the veil between life & death was very thin. To me it\u2019s as thick as the distance to the next star. But if the two possibilities, of nothingness and of something that makes sense, weren\u2019t equally present, the mind couldn\u2019t grow. If I knew that there was nothing, my motivation for going on by myself would drop to zero. If there is something, and I knew what that something was, the next life would be essentially the same as this one. So the mystery in death guarantees the liveliness of life.<\/p>\n

I am 75 years old, and my wife is dead. There are a lot of what look like winding-up symbols\u2014the Italian conference, the G.G. medal, the Oxford degree, the San Francisco meeting\u2014but I know they\u2019re not connected to other symbols or processes. I have what seems like one more major book in me, which I might conceivably finish before too long\u2014perhaps by the time I reach the age at which Helen died. I don\u2019t feel suicidal: I just have no more resistance to death, though of course I still have the normal anxieties about it.<\/p>\n

Well, I\u2019ve entered the Elizabethan age [that is, married to Elizabeth Eedy Brown]. Not one atom of my feeling for Helen has changed: neither is my feeling that we\u2019re linked somehow in the spiritual world. But my notions of spiritual union may have clarified: there is no spiritual marriage because marriage has to be ego-centered and a mutual possession. In that world all books lie open to one another.<\/p>\n

One very widespread myth (ancient Egypt, the Orient) is that the psyche consists of several elements, which break apart at death. Let\u2019s follow out the Oriental version for a bit. Everybody has, I\u2019ve said, a lost soul, and should make sure it gets good & lost. When you bust up, the crucial question, as with multiple personality cases, is: which one is the real you? When Helen died, the real Helen became an angel in heaven. There was also a sulking and egocentric Helen, who would become a preta or unhappy ghost, and wander around Cairns for a few hours and then disintegrate. Lycidas was a Christian angel, a pagan genius, an absence, and a drowned corpse. Helen was a pile of ashes, an absence to me, and an angel: perhaps she\u2019s a genius to me (or anyone else who loved her and is still living or not living and still confused).<\/p>\n

There seem to be three stages: the virgin mother, who represents the analogy of authority; the forgiven harlot, and the bride. In the Bible the archetypal harlot is the Rahab who allowed the Israelites to penetrate into the moon-city of Jericho, and so destroy the moon. In Dante the \u201cmoon\u201d extends over Mercury & Venus as well: the earth\u2019s shadow, & Rahab comes at the end of that. [See Words with Power, 214.] The bride can\u2019t appear in an orthodox Xn. [Christian] poem. All this takes more shape for me as in my old age I enter Yeats\u2019s \u201cdreaming back\u201d phase. [The second of the six states that Yeats envisions between birth and death. \u201cIn the Dreaming Back [state], the Spirit is compelled to live over and over again the events that had most moved it; there can be nothing new, but the old events stand forth in a light which is dim or bright according to the intensity of the passion that accompanied them\u201d (William Butler Yeats, A Vision, rev. ed. [N.p.: Macmillan, 1956], 226).] Once Helen was gone she became Ariadne: my love for her intensified and entered a new life, and that\u2019s my road to the stars now. I only wish the \u201cunforgetting\u201d process would be more extensive.<\/p>\n

Re the Rilke reference: it seems to me that a relation of love entirely free of the sado-masochist cycle is simply not possible under the \u201cselfish gene\u201d conditions of human existence. A loving & happy companionship is possible, with the aid of a few illusions, but they leave one with a sense of the reality of love as something to be achieved in another level of existence, not the renewal in difference (revival in another form) but renewal in identity (resurrection). Certain other \u201cemanation\u201d factors come into play at that point. I never deliberately hurt Helen, but a lot of selfishness, as well as indolence & ineptness, got into our relations and cramped her style. I daresay she used me to cramp her own style, though that isn\u2019t my business. I think celibate orders are, by & large, a perversion, but one can see how they arose. Milton\u2019s \u201cHe for God only, she for God in him\u201d [Paradise Lost, bk. 4, l. 299] was never intended as the model for husband-wife relations in this world. It\u2019s a quite accurate statement of the relation of Christ to his Bride or people. Before his fall, the first Adam would have had the authority of the second one in relation to Eve, and by extension to the unfallen Adamic family that never materialized.<\/p>\n

The fool hath said in his heart, there is no God [Psalm 53:1]. But every human being is a fool, and every human being has denied God in his heart. One may say other things later, but that is what one says first, & that is what one continues to hold to, as the central principle of existence, through life. One reason is that the first positive feeling in life is \u201cI am,\u201d which carries with it the sense \u201cthere is no other.\u201d An embryonic consciousness of God may begin with the sense of the reality of other people; next comes the sense of the inevitability of death, where the feeling \u201cI shall be not\u201d suggests \u201csomething other is & will be.\u201d For most people this other could only be nature; then comes the specifically vulnerable loss (often a parent, only Helen for me) suggesting \u201cif she is not, what is?\u201d Or, more related to myself: \u201cif I am to be not, maybe I\u2019ve got hold of the wrong I.\u201d Anyway, \u201cGod is dead\u201d is a silly bloody remark; \u201cGod never was\u201d would at least be intelligible.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Regarding Today in the Frye Diaries, Frye’s response to Helen’s death 40 years later. From Northrop Frye\u2019s Late Notebooks, 1: 137\u201340, 142, 144, 145, 148, 150, 153, 156, 160, 191, 197, 204, 254, 345, 374, 379\u201380 This is not a diary, but Helen is dead. Not of cancer: she died in peace, I was told. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":24,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[16,59,111],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3228","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-bob-denham","category-frye-diaries-september","category-notebooks"],"yoast_head":"\nToday in the Frye Diaries (2) - The Educated Imagination<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/macblog.mcmaster.ca\/fryeblog\/2009\/09\/26\/today-in-the-frye-diaries-2-2\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Today in the Frye Diaries (2) - The Educated Imagination\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Regarding Today in the Frye Diaries, Frye’s response to Helen’s death 40 years later. From Northrop Frye\u2019s Late Notebooks, 1: 137\u201340, 142, 144, 145, 148, 150, 153, 156, 160, 191, 197, 204, 254, 345, 374, 379\u201380 This is not a diary, but Helen is dead. Not of cancer: she died in peace, I was told. 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