My children attend Robert
Frost Middle School and I drive by their school often, providing me constant reason to
call to mind the great American poet. America has a very thoughtful piece just
up examining his faith and its impact on his poetry. It’s a splendid article
filled with nuggets like this:
The
poet cannot easily be placed on the religious spectrum, nor can his lifelong
quarrels with God be easily categorized. But any reader of Frost’s poems or
observer of his public statements will know that he thought deeply about
theological matters, and he wondered aloud about the relations between human
beings and God. In 1947 he described himself in a letter to an old friend, G.
R. Elliott, as “an orthodox Old Testament, original Christian,” but he claimed
that his approach to the New Testament “is rather through Jerusalem than
through Rome or Canterbury.” [Frost wrote] sacramental poetry of a high order. It is
beautiful and true, but it is also complicated, even thorny. The faith of Robert Frost was nothing
straightforward. He was not a simple Christian, but his faith was real, it was
profound, and pointed readers in directions where they might find solace as
well as understanding, where they would find their beliefs challenged, where
they find answers as well as questions.
Jay Parini, the article’s author, also includes
insight on Frost’s parents and their religious journeys.
Frost’s mother, Isabelle Moody Frost, was a
Scot, and she was a devout follower of Emanuel Swedenborg. Swedenborg was a
Christian mystic who began life as a scientist and, on Easter Day 1774, began
to experience visions. One of his most important ideas was that of
correspondence. That is, he believed that a relation existed between the
material and spiritual worlds. Every aspect of nature revealed some aspect of
divine providence. He preached the union of faith and charity in a Christian’s
life, arguing that both were necessary for salvation. Mrs. Frost took her young
son to a church founded on Swedenborg’s principles, and he absorbed a mystical
sense of the world, an understanding of the universe that was founded on the
idea that everything we see is a foretaste of things to come and that one must
listen for the voice of God in unusual places, such as the wind in the trees or
the ripples of lake water against the shore.
It
should be noted that Frost’s father, William Prescott Frost, was a severe
skeptic and a Harvard-educated journalist who worked on a newspaper in San
Francisco, where Frost was born. William Frost had no time for religion, and
young Robert would have had his father’s voice in his head long after the elder
Frost’s death, when his son was only 11. One certainly hears a wry note of
skepticism in Frost’s poetry. It is there in his wonderful sonnet, “Design,”
which is a meditation on St. Thomas Aquinas, who argued that the design of the
universe was itself an argument for God’s existence. “What but design of
darkness to appall,” Frost wrote, noting that everywhere in nature one found
aberrations, difficulties, harsh things. The sonnet is very dark indeed, and it
remains the centerpiece in a bleak array of poems that reflect the poet in a
somber mood. Reading poems like “Desert Places,” “Acquainted With the Night” or
“The Most of It,” one can hardly doubt that Frost plumbed the deepest levels of
depression.