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Interestingly, Robert Frost’s poetic philosophy reveals a similar preoccupation with the nameless ‘Way’ which falls into the category of “by-names,” as we shall see in the analysis below.
One stumbling block to a comparative study of Frost and Taoism is the difficulty of tracing the genealogy of influences. Only vague speculative thinking has hitherto been done as to how Frost came under the influence of Taoism. No solid evidence seems to have been produced which can point to the direct impact of the ancient Chinese philosophy on Frost. Is then an approach to Frost from a Taoist perspective legitimate? It is our argument that the legitimacy of such an approach is twofold. First, Robert Frost lived in an era when ancient Chinese philosophy had long been one of the shaping forces of western literatures, and there is plenty of evidence with regard to the influences of Taoist thinking on a number of western writers who have in turn influenced Frost in one way or another. It is now universally acknowledged that transcendentalists have left their imprints on Frost, who once praised Emerson’s “Uriel” as the “best western poem yet” (Parini / Miller 2005, 99). Chang Yaoxing has pointed out that “Frost did write very much in the Wordsworthian tradition, and there is a good deal of Emerson in him” (Chang Yaoxin 2002, 268). Huang Zongying has also affirmed this conclusion by suggesting that “Emerson’s doctrine lies behind Frost’s continuous and instinctive sense of correspondences between his ‘outer’ and ‘inner’weather”(Huang Zongying 2000, 149). And traces of Chinese culture are visible in the works of Emerson, who “copied aphorisms from Confucius in his Journals, [and] mentioned Confucius in his translation of selected sayings of Confucius (such as from The Analects) in TheDial” (Toming 2002, 90). Furthermore, the period of Emerson’s lifetime witnessed an increasing interest in and passion towards Taoism. The first English translation of Tao Te Ching appeared in 1868, followed by the publication of almost a hundred versions of its kind in the West (Zhao Yiheng 2003, 315). Such an important cultural trend, for such a sensitive and erudite scholar as Emerson, could not have gone unheeded. The hypothesis seems legitimate, therefore, that Frost’s similarity with Taoism emanates indirectly from the influence of transcendentalism which is synthesized from several cultural sources, the Taoist philosophy not the least among them.
Second, Frost’s poems abound in details that seem inspired by those in Taoist works such as Tao Te Ching. Of all the striking similarities, two images are worthy of particular attention, namely, the images of ‘road/way’ and ‘water.’ Just as these two images form part and parcel of the Taoist philosophy, so do they occupy a predominant position in Frost’s poetics. The surprisingly similar ramifications centering round the images above, in both Frost’s poems and Taoist works, compel close examination and legitimize a meticulous comparative study.
“West-Running Brook,” with its central image of a brook which is at once water and road, offers itself as a good point of entry into this investigation. The brook, being both a metaphor and a synecdoche, is nothing short of a key to the true understanding of Frost, who preferred to call himself a “synecdochist” and once gave the following definition of poetry: “Poetry is simply made of metaphor […]. Every poem is a new metaphor inside or it is nothing” (Frost 1995, 786). For him, metaphor is “the height of poetry, the height of all thinking, the height of all poetic thinking, that attempt to say matter in terms of spirit and spirit in terms of matter” (Cox / Lathem 1968, 41). All this is reminiscent of a saying in ancient Chinese philosophy, namely, “to set up an image to make the most of the significance” (立象以尽意). This is no mere coincidence, and we are thus once more justified in concentrating on the meandering brook of Frost.
1. Chu Shi: Frost as a “Terrifying” Poet
“West-Running Brook,” like many other poems, confirms Lionel Trilling’s well-known claim that Frost’s universe is “a terrifying one” and that Frost himself is “a terrifying poet” (Trilling 1959, 445). The “terrifying” tone begins right with the title in itself and the opening scene: the brook that Fred and his bride are contemplating runs west, contrary to the direction of “all the other country brooks” flowing “east to the ocean” (Frost 1995, 236). Throughout the poem a sense of fear and helplessness can be detected, and a seemingly sinister aspect looms large, particularly in the following lines:
Here the destructive power of water could not be more obvious, what with “The universal cataract of death / That spends to nothingness–andunresisted” and “existence” that “seriously, sadly, runs away / To fill the abyss’ void with emptiness.”
On a personal level, the brook/water provides the platform on which Fred and his bride can communicate with each other. A brook is a road on which human beings can travel. In the case of our poem, the brook implies a new road of life for a newly married couple and symbolizes a quest that would presumably result in their marital relationship growing to maturity and harmony. Unfortunately, however, their communication fails. What should be a moment of mutual understanding is revealed as the physical conjunction of two people whose thoughts are running on different tracks. The wife’s thoughts are characterized by wishful thinking:
But Fred the husband sees just the opposite:
Whereas the wife holds on to her views, Fred remains uninfluenced and even becomes ironical:
The failure of communication is obviously a sign of alienation which is made poignant by the foregrounded image of the brook, suggesting both the unruliness of water and the perils of travel on a road, be it a road of marriage or life. In a word, there is something “terrifying” here indeed.
As a matter of fact, the “terrifying” image of Frost appears time and again in many of his poems. The opening part of “Mending Wall” is another typical example:
Undoubtedly this “something” refers to the fearful and formidable natural force which defies mankind’s violation of its fixed rules to such an extent that it forth-rightly overthrows the symbol of this intrusion, the wall, by “spilling” it with a gap as big as “two can pass abreast.”
A close-up look at this “something” will reveal its similarity with the Tao in ancient Chinese philosophy since both of them emphasize the indomitable power of the natural law which governs the whole universe. Han Feizi (ca. 280-233 BC) explains the Tao as “the origin and the fundamental essence of the universe” (“道者,万物之所然也,万物之所稽也.……道者,万物之所以成也”), which is as objective as the existing “something” in Frost’s poetry. Literally speaking, the Chinese character “道 ”(Tao)reminds us first and foremost of the image of road, as defined in The lated AssociationsorShuoWen Jie Zi(《说文解字》): “Tao, the road one takes” (Su Baorong 2003, ;“道,所行道也”). One of the predominant images in Frost’s poetry is the road, and this road is as “irretrievable” and “irresistible” as the law in Taoism. In “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” Frost talks about the destined road we have to take even if we want to make a “death-wish” choice and to abandon the obligation of our life. Similarly, “The Road Not Taken” embodies an everlasting sigh about the “irretrievability” of the road: “I doubted if I should ever come back” (“The Road Not Taken,” l. 16).
The fearfulness of the road also lies in its namelessness, shapelessness and form-lessness, as suggested by something that “makes gaps even two can pass abreast” in “Mending Wall,” and by a more “terrifying” something that causes “even substance lapsing unsubstantial” in “West-Running Brook.” It is exactly this namelessness that many readers of Frost fail to name. Even Trilling’s thought-provoking description of Frost as “terrifying” often renders the reader hopelessly aware of the indescribable terror of his nature. Here a Taoist perspective may help shed light on the significance of this nameless road or Tao. Tao, in Lao Tzu’s words, is characterized by “shapeless shapes” and “forms without form”, and is overwhelmingly everywhere but beyond senses of smelling, seeing and touching (Lao Tzu 1997, 29; 无状之状,无物之象). In his Tao Te Ching, Lao Tzu begins with the following famous lines: “The Way that can be told of is not an Unvarying Way. The names that can be named are not unvarying names” (Lao Tzu 1997, 3;“道可道,非常道; 名可名,非常名”). In other words, the Eternal Way and the Eternal Name simply defy naming, just as Frost’s defiant brook runs west rather than east. The west-running brook carries along all the things in this universe, either sensible or insensible. So it is “time, strength, tone, light, life and love–/And even substance lapsing unsubstantial” (“The West-Running Brook,” ll. 59-60). It contains “death,” changes itself into “unresisted” nothingness, and combines not only man and woman but also mankind and nature. In short, it “flows between us, over us, and with us” (ibid.,l. 58) as an all-inclusive law which shares similarity with the Tao. As men tioned in the beginning of the present paper, the Tao is a universal, irresistible and all-inclusive law which determines the motion of all the substances in the universe, and this all-inclusiveness steeps, in its transcendental splendour, heaven and earth alike. Rather than succumbing to human efforts to categorize it into a clear shape and definite name, the Tao has an irresistable power to shape and form everything humanly imaginable, hence “terrifying” in a way. It is this “terrifying” aspect that forges a link between Taoism and the poetic philosophy of Frost. Just as Lao Tzu can only give a by-name to his Tao, so does Robert Frost find himself wrestling and grappling with a nameless west-running brook. No matter how we name Frost’s “brook” or “road” or “universal cataract of death,” they are bound to be “by-names.”
The call for eternal naming results from a yearning for transcending time and space. That is why critics like Hong Qi, as mentioned in the introductory part of the present paper, have found in Frost an escapist. It is true that the escapist vision is there. In the lines quoted above, we find Frost indicating a wish to “Get back to the beginning of beginnings” (“The West-Running Brook,” l. 48) and contemplating “The stream of everything that runs away”(ibid.,l. 52). Here is undoubtedly a longing for Chu Shi, the desire to renounce the world and to transcend mundane affairs. Another example can be found in these lines: “Some say existence like a Pirouot / and Pirouette, forever in one place, / Stands still and dances, but it runs away, / It seriously, sadly, runs away”(ibid.,ll. 50-2). As two ideal characters in French dumb show, Pirouot and Pirouette stand for the beautified fixed existence of life which defies any progress. All this is reminiscent of “Wu-wei” (无为), a key notion of Taoism, which means “non-action” or quietism, very much in line with the philosophy of Chu Shi.
2. Ru Shi: Frost as a Positive Poet
But does Chu Shi constitute the only aspect in which Robert Frost bears affinities to Taoism? In Frost’s poetic philosophy, Chu Shii soffset by Ru Shi. In other words, the poet’s desire to renounce the world is offset by his desire to accept the world.
By way of illustration, let us turn once more to “West-Running Brook.” Although “the brook runs west,” which seems to suggest a drift to nothingness (“West-Running Brook,” l. 3), there exists a counter drift toward renewal–Fredin the poem has observed “contraries” and urges his bride to “see how the brook /
In that white wave runs counter to itself”(ibid.,ll. 43-4). The poem in fact abounds with contraries and contrasts. Sadly running away as it is towards the end, the brook is at the same time going back to the beginning. There is unmistakably a “throwing backward”:
For all the “death,” “nothingness,” “void” and “emptiness” that we have discussed above, the brook carries with it a confident belief that “being downstream” is equivalent to “being upstream,” since the whole process runs in endless circles. In this sense, the west-running brook is an integral part of all those brooks flowing east. To “fall” is actually to “raise,” while to head for the west is the same as heading for the east.
All the contraries are, therefore, solved and harmonized with the west-running brook’s flowing “by contraries.” What is more, Frost regards the west-running brook’s “backward motion toward the source” as a “tribute” of the current to the source of the water, which explicitly shows his admiring attitude towards “going back,” and it cannot but remind us of Lao Tzu’s appraisal of “returning” (反). In Chapter 40 of Tao Te Ching,Lao Tzu clearly says that “[i]n Tao the only motion is returning” (Lao Tzu 1997, 87;“反者道之动”). And Tao being “Great,” as analyzed in the previous section, it “also means passing on / And passing on means going Far Away / And going far away means returning” (Lao Tzu 1997, 53;“大曰逝, 逝曰远,远曰反”).In a way, the west-running brook could be regarded as a symbol of this returning Tao, or a unifying principle, which combines all the oppositions into a unity with its endless circulation. Apparently, both the Tao and the philosophical west-running brook stem from an objective observation regarding the law of the universe. And this objectivity might lead to the “affinity”ina certain way.
As we have already observed, all the contraries in “West-Running Brook” revolve around the central image of water which has one particularly significant property, i.e., the propensity to run down. But it runs down only to send up, as indicated in the line “The brook runs down in sending up our life” (“The West-Running Brook,” l. 70). For all its perils and destructive power, which is likely to breed a desire for Chu Shi,the water in question is nonetheless a sign of restoration and resuscitation reaffirming the need for Ru Shi. A striking similarity can be found in Tao Te Ching, where water also flows down (and keeps “staying in the lowly place”) but in the meantime symbolizes “the highest good”:
Lao Tzu’s philosophy is often misunderstood as purely characterized by Chu Shi. In the quotation above, however, we can clearly see a paradoxical eagerness to act, to govern, to handle business and to achieve the highest good. That is to say, Taoism does not object to Ru Shi at all, only it prefers to “choose the right moment in making a move” and “does not strive with others.”
Similarly, Frost’s poetic philosophy is apt to be misinterpreted as having focused on an escapist vision which we have already seen emphasized by such critics as Hong Qi. It is true that Frost does indicate from time to time a wish for anding off and being far from the madding crowd, just as the wave of the west-running brook has been “standing off this jut of shore” (“The West-Running Brook,” l. 23). Even a wish for death can be spotted every now and then. The reasons are not hard to come by. Frost lived in a period which witnessed the unchecked spreading of materialism and the spiritual emptiness caused by wars. It is quite natural that such a social reality would spur him to get away from it all and to find some way to “be whole again beyond confusion” (“Directive,” l. 62). Hence his weariness of life, as indicated in the line “I am overtired / of the great harvest I myself desired” in “After Apple-Picking” (ll. 28-9); or, as confessed in “Birches,” his wish to be “a swinger of birches” again because he was “weary of consideration” and because “life is too much like a pathless wood” (ll. 43-5); or his momentary impulse to stay forever in the woods that “are lovely, dark and deep,” as strongly expressed in “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” (l. 10). All this, however, is counter-balanced by a strong sense of mission for one’s own world, which is equally, if not more emphatically, prevalent in Frost’s poems. As we have seen in “West-Running Brook,” even in the very nature of the drift to “the abyss’ void with emptiness,” there exists a counter drift toward fullness and “something sending up the sun.” Frost’s dialectical thoughts on “emptiness” ring a bell again, for we are once more reminded of Lao Tzu who has, in his Tao Te Ching, given the following remarks: “What is most full seems empty”(LaoTzu 1997, 97;“大盈若冲”).
“The counter drift” is not confined merely to “West-Running Brook,” but asserts itself repeatedly in Frost’s poetry with a diversity of forms. Barry Ahearn, in a recent article on Frost’s sonnets, has rightly pointed out that he “wants to maintain humanity ’s exceptional status” and that “Frost prefers to believe in an essential, crucial distinction between humankind and the rest of nature, a distinction he wishes to retrieve” (Ahearn 2007, 45). The wish to retrieve the distinction between humankind and the rest of nature is undoubtedly a wish toRuShi,which dovetails the above-mentioned image of “the counter drift.” Similar instances abound. In “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” for instance, the poet finally refuses the call of the “lovely” woods, and is determined to accomplish his journey, although it means “miles” of arduous journey (ll. 15-6). He has “promises to keep,” (l. 14) and those promises have nothing to do withChuShi,and have everything to do with Ru Shi. In “The Road Not Taken,” the poet eventually comes to terms with the fate coming from his previous choice of “the one less traveled by”althoughhe knows that “that has made all the difference” (ll. 15-6). And in “Birches,” Frost makes it clear that his wish to be away from the “earth” will last only “awhile,” and then he would like to “come back to it” again since “Earth’s the right place for love: / I don’t know where it’s likely to go better”(ll.49-54). He even indicates a fear that fate might misunderstand him:
So the poet here does want to return, i.e., to Ru Shi in Taoist terms. It would be wrong then to look upon Frost merely as an escapist. “Birches” is one of the poems which most vividly and adequately display the philosophical attitude of Frost towards reality, and that attitude is most aptly embedded in the image of “a swinger of birches”:
For all his fantasy about “climbing” toward heaven, toward Chu Shi in a sense, the poet never fails to see the restricted ability of the birch tree which, having struck roots deeply in the earth, will eventually send him down to the earth again. Ru Shi, or accepting the world, is therefore Frost’s ultimate choice or, in his own opinion, “man’s sacred duty.” In the swinging of birches, we can see a curve or rather two curves similar to the waves in “West-Running Brook”: a drift and a counter drift.
It should be further pointed out that the image of water, with its drift and counter drift, is like a pervading thread running through the whole career of Robert Frost. It appears in his earliest poems and in his last one. In “The Pasture,” which is among the first three poems he published, water pops up in the form of a “spring”: “I am going out to clean the pasture spring” (l. 1). Then the water runs down through Frost’s poetry just like the “confident” west-running brook, and finally shows up in his last poem “Directive,” which contains another philosophical statement: “Here are your waters and watering place, / Drink and be whole again beyond confusion” (ll. 61-2). The act of “drinking” symbolically implies the attitude of acceptance. With the publication of “Directive,” the west-running brook of Frost’s poetic career seems to have completed a full cycle and to have definitely flown into a place of acceptance rather than a place of refusal. His sincere acceptance of reality is fully consistent with the Taoist philosophy of Ru Shi, which means, in Chuang Tzu’s words, to “bear the doomed fate with equanimity” (“安之若命”)and to “be content with what you have” (“安时处顺”). Just as the Taoist “water”(thehighest good) always presupposes “having tranquility in the hustle and bustle” (“结庐在人境,而无车马喧”), so is Frost’s west-running brook eternally returning to its origin.
3. Conclusion
Thanks to the west-running brook, we have come to see a closer link between the poetic philosophy of Frost and ancient Chinese philosophy. A cross-reading of Frost and Taoist works confirms Radcliffe Squires’s view that “West-Running Brook” is “the summit of Frost’s poetry”(Squires1963, 104). A summit it is, for
it contributes to bridging the gap between the philosophical thoughts of the East and the West. Although they are remote from each other in time and space, the poetic philosophy of Frost and Taoism bear striking affinities that call for a meticulous comparative study.
Reading Frost in Taoist perspective, as shown by our analysis above, is conducive to exploring the undercurrents of and counter drifts in his poetry, which will lead to an understanding of Frost not as a mere escapist, nor as a merely “terrifying” poet, but as a sage with more balanced philosophical attitudes toward life. True, the poetic lines of Frost often betray an impulse to renounce the world, but it is always offset by a willingness to accept and even embrace the world. The west-running brook may head for Chu Shi, but it will eventually end up in Ru Shi.
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