God`s Grandeur Essay, Research Paper
As a Jesuit priest who had converted to Catholicism in the summer of 1866,
Gerard Manley Hopkins?s mind was no doubt saturated with the Bible (Bergonzi
34). Although in "God?s Grandeur" Hopkins does not use any specific
quotations from the Bible, he does employ images that evoke a variety of
biblical verses and scenes, all of which lend meaning to his poem. Hopkins
"creates a powerful form of typological allusion by abstracting the
essence–the defining conceit, idea, or structure–from individual scriptural
types" (Landow, "Typological" 1). Through its biblical imagery,
the poem manages to conjure up, at various points, images of the Creation, the
Fall, Christ?s Agony and Crucifixion, man?s continuing sinfulness and
rebellion, and the continuing presence and quiet work of the Holy Spirit. These
images combine to assure the reader that although the world may look bleak, man
may yet hope, because God, through the sacrifice of Christ and the descent of
His Holy Spirit, has overcome the world. The opening line of "God?s
Grandeur" is reminiscent both of the Creation story and of some verses from
the Book of Wisdom. The word "charged" leads one to think of a spark
or light, and so thoughts of the Creation, which began with a spark of light,
are not far off: "And God said, Let there be light: and there was
light" (Gen. 1.3). Yet this "charge" was not a one time
occurrence; "[t]he world is charged with the grandeur of God" (Hopkins
1). Or, in the words of Wisdom 1:7, "The spirit of the Lord fills the
world" (Boyle 25). This line of the poem also sounds like Wisdom 17:20:
"For the whole world shone with brilliant light . . ." Nor does the
similarity end with the first part of this biblical verse. The author of Wisdom
proceeds to tell us that the light "continued its works without
interruption; Over [the Egyptians] alone was spread oppressive night . . . yet
they were to themselves more burdensome than the darkness" (Wisd.
17.20-21). Here lies the essence of Hopkins?s poem. In lines five through
eight, he will show us the "oppressive night" that men bring upon
themselves in their disregard for God and His creation. But he will also show
us, in the final sestet of his poem, that the light will nonetheless continue to
shine "without interruption." God will not cease working in the world.
Indeed, His grandeur "will flame out, like shining from shook foil"
(Hopkins 2). The word "flame" is often associated with God?s
grandeur. In Daniel 7:9, the prophet describes God?s throne as being like
"the fiery flame." In Revelation, "the Son of God . . . hath his
eyes like unto a flame of fire" (Rev. 2.18). In Exodus, God appears
"unto [Moses] in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush" (Exod.
3.2; Boyle 31). After promising Samson?s parents a son, the angel of the Lord
"ascended in the flame of the altar" (Judges 13.20). It is possible,
too, that this flame is meant to recall the "cloven tongues like as of
fire" that appeared above men on the day of Pentecost, when God?s
grandeur was shown through the descent of His Holy Spirit and in the speaking of
tongues (Acts 2.1-4; Boyle 27-28). The second half of this image is primarily a
scientific one. It refers to gold leaf foil as used to measure electrical
charges in Faraday?s famous experiment (Boyle 26). But there is also a
biblical significance. Proverbs 4:18 tells us that "the path of the just is
as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day."
Just as light is reflected from gold foil, flashing out in multiplying rays, so
too does the Light of God, which leads men, continue to increase. This image in
one way ties into lines three and four of Hopkins?s poem, in which God?s
grandeur "gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil / Crushed."
Both images demonstrate a process of increase in God?s grandeur. Gethsemane
"means the ?place of the olive-press?" (Landow,
"Typological" 6; Boyle 32). It was there that God?s grandeur "gather[ed]
to a greatness," for it was there that Christ wrestled with doubt and fear
and, gathering His strength, finally made an irrevocable choice to glorify His
Father: "not my will, but thine, be done" (Luke 22.42). The olive, in
itself, is not particularly valuable. It can be eaten, but until it is pressed,
it has no further use. Once pressed into oil, however, it was used in biblical
times for cooking (1 Kings 17.12-13), lighting lamps (Exod. 27.20), anointing
(Ps. 23.5), binding wounds (Luke 10.34), and in perfume (Luke 8.46). It was very
valuable, and the promised land was referred to as, among other things, a
"land of oil olive" (Deut. 8.8). This, then, is an apt metaphor for
God?s grandeur as revealed through Jesus Christ. Had Christ chosen, at that
point of agony in the garden, not to submit to the crucifixion, His entire life
up to that point would have been (like the uncrushed olive) of little value. His
teachings and His miracles would probably have been forgotten in time, and man
would still have no adequate atonement for sin. But just as the olive is crushed
to reveal something costly and useful, so too did Christ chose to be crushed to
bring forth His priceless blood, which saves men (Landow,
"Typological" 6). Accepting this role was no easy matter for Christ.
Robert Boyle sees the "main point of the [olive oil] image [as being] that
something hidden, beautiful, and wonderfully powerful is revealed" (31).
But an at least equally important point is how that hidden something is
revealed. Boyle believes the olive oil image refers not to "the gathering
of ooze from the cracks of a press" but rather to gentle kneading with a
hand: "the beauty and power is hidden within the olive and can be brought
out without a press at all, e.g., by the pressure of the fingers or palms"
(32). This seems unlikely, however, given that at Gethsemane, Christ was not
lightly pressed as if in a palm, but was rather weighed down and crushed with
great agony, sweating "as it were great drops of blood" and begging
that, if at all possible, His cup be taken from Him (Luke 22.42-44; Boyle 32).
Furthermore, it was at the oil-press that Christ, in order to purchase
"beauty and life," chose to submit to an even greater
"crushing": the beams of the bark that would grind Him down as He bore
His cross up the hill of Calvary, the pain that would come from being nailed
through His hands and feet, and the slow suffocation that would precede His
death (Landow, "Typological" 6). George P. Landow acknowledges the
significance of Christ?s suffering. He describes one of Hopkins?s
"basic and generating conceit": . . . higher beauty and higher victory
can come forth only when something . . . is subject to greater pressure and
crushed or bruised . . . true beauty, true life, true victory can only be
achieved, as Christ has shown, by being bruised and crushed.
("Allusion" 1). This conceit, Landow explains, is based upon the type
of Genesis 3:15, which says: "And I will put enmity between thee and the
woman, and between thy seed and her seed; it shall bruise thy head, and thou
shall bruise his heel." Christ is the one who bruises Satan?s head,
defeating the adversary through His own bruising, His crucifixion. To the casual
reader, this image of the "ooze of oil / Crushed" may seem
unnecessarily crude. It contrasts sharply with the brilliant metaphor of flame
and shining. As Virginia Ellis writes, the image of "[s]haken goldfoil,"
once properly understood, "vividly suggest[s] both the breadth and the
sudden flashing depth of God?s power" (129-30). The word
"ooze," on the other hand, generally possesses a disagreeable
connotation. Yet this contrast must be deliberate. For the Incarnation is, after
all, a very crude thing. An omnipotent, omniscient God chose to come down from
the heavenly realm and take on the form of a mere man, subjecting Himself to the
limitations of humanity, in order that He might die a cruel death to save men
who were "yet sinners" (Rom. 5.8). The brilliance of lines one and two
of Hopkins?s poem contrast with the crudeness of lines three and four to
reveal God?s amazing condescension, which is part of His grandeur. Given this
awesome condescension, and given the emotional and physical pain to which Christ
subjected Himself, Hopkins cries plaintively, "Why do men then now not reck
his rod?" (4). Most likely, this reference to "rod" will evoke in
the reader?s mind the image from Revelation in which Christ rules men
"with a rod of iron" (Rev. 19.15). But a more appropriate allusion may
be found in Isaiah: "And there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of
Jesse, and a Branch shall grow out of his roots: And the spirit of the Lord
shall rest upon him" (11.1-2; emphasis added). The "his" of this
line of the poem must grammatically refer to the "God" of line one.
God?s rod, then, is Christ Himself. God gave up his rod, His only Son, as a
sacrifice for the very men who (we will soon see) fail both to perceive and to
honor Him in His creation. "And the very blame which [Hopkins] heaps on
man" in lines five through eight of the poem "is witness to his vivid
realization that man does not need to be [behaving] as he does, that the Fall
has been undone by the Second Adam" (Boyle 37). Indeed, the rod of iron
that awaits these men could become for them a rod of comfort. If they would but
trust in God?s Rod, they too, like the psalmist, might say, "Yea though I
walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou
art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me" (Ps. 23.4). But "[i]nstead
of recognizing the authority of God?s majesty and grandeur in nature, as St.
Paul says he should," writes Boyle, ". . . man tramples it in his
contempt for and ignorance of his and its Creator" (35-6). This is made
clear in line five of the poem: "Generations have trod, have trod, have
trod." The image resembles God?s complaint in Ezekiel: "Seemeth it a
small thing unto you to have eaten up the good pasture, but ye must tread down
with your feet the residue of your pastures?" (34.18). It is bad enough
that man has disregarded the beauty of God?s creation and failed to see His
grandeur in it. But man has done worse than ignore it, he has polluted it with
his own sinful nature; he has brought darkness upon himself in the very midst of
God?s light. "And all is seared with trade," writes Hopkins (6).
Nothing has escaped man?s materialistic touch. Men, consumed by their own
interests, have forgotten James?s warning: Go to now, ye that say, Today or
tomorrow we will go into such a city and continue there a year, and buy and
sell, and get gain: Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is
you life? It is even a vapor, that appeareth for a little time, and then
vanisheth away. (Jas. 4.13-14) This image of all being seared with trade
conjures up a picture of the symbolic wicked city of Babylon, where men trade in
"gold, and silver, and precious stones . . . horses, and chariots, and
slaves, and souls of men" (Rev. 18.12-13). Men have put their trust in the
produce of their own hands, caring nothing for the soul. Indeed, they have
chosen the beast over God, and have perhaps been seared not just with trade, but
in order to trade, for "no man might buy or sell, save he that had the
mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name" (Rev. 13.17).
Yet all of man?s monotonous, materialistic striving will come to nothing:
"And . . . as many as trade by sea, stood afar off . . . weeping and
wailing, saying, Alas, alas, that great city, wherein were made rich all that
had ships . . . for in one hour is she made desolate" (Rev. 17-19). Men,
laboring to amass useless wealth, have become "[b]leared, smeared with
toil" (Hopkins 6). This, argues Boyle, should not be taken merely as an
indictment of industrialism: The situation reaches far more deeply into the
nature of man . . . After the Fall man . . . has to tread the world and to sweat
. . . (Genesis, 3:17-19) . . . But Hopkins? emphasis is on the "all"
of "all is seared with trade." And his complaint is that the soil is
not cleared here and there, but it is bare. He is not here condemning man for
the Fall, but for what he adds to the Fall from his own personal malice and
rebellion against God . . . (36) This image of bare soil pertains not just to
man?s destruction of nature, but to his spiritual bareness. In Christ?s
parable of the sower, we learn that: A sower went out to sow his seed: and as he
sowed, some fell by the way side; and it was trodden down, and the fowls of the
air devoured it . . . And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprang up with
it, and chocked it. (Luke 8.5-7) Nature is the vehicle of this metaphor, but
man?s spirit is the tenor. The soil is bare just as man?s soul is bare; he
has borne no spiritual fruit. Either he has rejected God?s good news, as if
trampling it beneath his feet, or he has at first received it gladly, but then
been "chocked with the cares and riches and pleasures of this life"
(Luke 8.14). Not only is the soil "bare now," but "nor can foot
feel, being shod" (Hopkins 7-8). Again we are reminded of the scene of the
burning bush, in which God tells Moses: "put off thy shoes from off thy
feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground" (Exod. 3.5; Boyle
31; Ellis 131). We see man "profaning with shod feet what should be holy
ground, not bare soil" (Boyle 31). In the Bible, to be barefoot is to feel.
In Moses?s case, the feeling is reverence. In the case of those defeated by
war and lead away barefoot, the feeling is shame (Isa. 20.2-4). And in the case
of David ascending the Mount of Olivet to seek God?s guidance during the
rebellion of Absalom, the feeling is sorrow: "And David . . . wept as he
went up, and had his head covered, and he went barefoot" (2 Samuel 15.30).
But in Hopkins?s poem, the men are shod, symbolizing the fact that they have
become calloused, incapable of spiritual feeling. If men are to be shod with
anything, they should be "shod with the preparation of the gospel of
peace" (Eph. 6.15). The picture painted in lines five through eight of
"God?s Grandeur" leaves little apparent hope for man. But we have
been forewarned in the first three lines of the poem that God?s light has not
been eclipsed by man?s darkness, and that His grandeur will yet "flame
out." Hopkins does not abandon this promise, but resumes it with full force
in the final sestet of his poem. "And for all this," he avows,
"nature is never spent" (9). The word "nature" may be taken
to apply, on three different levels, to physical nature (i.e. rocks, trees,
animals, etc.), human nature (i.e. the human race), and divine nature (i.e.
God). Physical nature, despite man?s misuse of it, has not been spent, but
continues to be rejuvenated and to bare witness to its Creator. Indeed, God has
promised peace in nature, vowing that "[t]hey shall not hurt nor destroy in
all my holy mountain" (Isa. 11.6-9). Likewise, human nature is never spent,
"[f]or God formed man to be imperishable; the image of his own nature he
made him" (Wisd. 2.23). And finally, divine nature is never spent–that is,
God is not exhausted, and He has not given up on man. He will continue to labor,
through the Holy Spirit, to bring men to repentance, helping them to become
"partakers of the divine nature, having escaped the corruption that is in
the world through lust." (2 Pet. 1.4). Man has not be "spent"; he
has not been sold to Satan. To the contrary, he has, in fact, been "bought
with a price" (1 Cor. 6.20). This price, "Christ?s decent into human
flesh," and His crucifixion, is what makes the "freshness" of
line ten of the poem "dearest" (Landow, "Typological" 6).