Death

Arthur O'Shaughnessy's Death

Arthur O’Shaughnessy’s Death is a meditative and introspective poem that explores themes of spiritual surrender, existential contemplation, and the soul’s communion with the divine. Through rich imagery and a contemplative tone, O’Shaughnessy constructs a metaphysical landscape where the self encounters the ineffable. This essay will examine the poem’s historical and cultural context, its use of literary devices, its thematic concerns, and its emotional resonance. Additionally, where relevant, comparative analysis with other poets and philosophical perspectives will deepen our understanding of the work.

Historical and Cultural Context

Arthur O’Shaughnessy (1844–1881) was a British poet and herpetologist associated with the Pre-Raphaelite and Aesthetic movements. His poetry often reflects the Romantic fascination with beauty, melancholy, and transcendence, yet his work also anticipates the Symbolist movement’s preoccupation with the unseen and the mystical. Written in the late 19th century, Death emerges from a period of shifting religious and philosophical thought—where traditional faith was increasingly challenged by scientific rationalism, yet spiritual yearning remained potent.

The poem’s introspective nature aligns with Victorian meditations on mortality, such as those found in Tennyson’s In Memoriam or Arnold’s Dover Beach. However, unlike Tennyson’s agonized questioning or Arnold’s lament over the “melancholy, long, withdrawing roar” of faith, O’Shaughnessy’s speaker embraces a quiet submission to divine will. This stance may reflect the influence of mysticism, particularly the Christian contemplative tradition, which emphasizes surrender to God’s unknowable plan.

Literary Devices and Imagery

O’Shaughnessy employs a series of evocative images to convey the poem’s metaphysical concerns. The opening line—“I close my eyes and see the inward things”—immediately establishes an introspective mode, suggesting that true vision is not external but internal. The phrase “inward things” evokes the Platonic or Augustinian notion of an inner realm where higher truths reside, reinforcing the poem’s spiritual focus.

Central to the poem is the image of the “strange averted spectre of my soul”—a paradoxical figure that is both ghostly and angelic. The word “averted” suggests something turned away, perhaps from the material world, while “spectre” implies an intangible presence. This spectral soul is “undivulged” and “whole,” indicating a hidden, inviolable self that exists beyond mortal comprehension. The soul sits beside “the dim internal flood,” a metaphor for the subconscious or the divine influx that brings “mysterious thought or dreams or murmurings.” The “flood” here recalls both psychological and mystical traditions—Freud’s unconscious or the Neoplatonic anima mundi—where hidden forces shape human experience.

The “formless waves beyond control” suggest chaos or the uncontrollable forces of existence, darkened by “vague foreshadowings.” This imagery aligns with the Romantic sublime—the awe and terror before the infinite—yet the speaker does not recoil. Instead, the poem moves toward acceptance, culminating in the declaration: “I am with God who holds His purpose still.”

Themes: Surrender, Divine Will, and the Soul’s Journey

The dominant theme of Death is surrender—not as defeat, but as a mystical relinquishment of the ego. The speaker acknowledges the inadequacy of human life (“Too weak was that my life, too poor each word”) to compel the soul from its divine waiting. This humility reflects a theological stance found in Christian mysticism, particularly in the works of Meister Eckhart or St. John of the Cross, where the soul must empty itself to be filled with God.

The final lines—“I am with God who holds His purpose still / And maketh and remaketh evermore”—suggest a dynamic, ever-creating divinity. Unlike the static God of deism, O’Shaughnessy’s God is actively shaping existence, a concept resonant with process theology or even Hegelian dialectics, where reality is in perpetual becoming. The speaker’s passive waiting (“I am with God and waiting for His will”) does not imply inertia but trust, aligning with the Pauline notion that “in Him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28).

Comparative Analysis: Mysticism and Victorian Doubt

O’Shaughnessy’s Death can be fruitfully compared to other Victorian meditations on faith and mortality. Tennyson’s In Memoriam grapples with grief and doubt, oscillating between despair and tentative hope. In contrast, O’Shaughnessy’s speaker does not struggle but submits, suggesting a more mystical resolution.

Similarly, Gerard Manley Hopkins’ “Carrion Comfort” wrestles with divine absence, crying, “Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee.” O’Shaughnessy’s poem lacks this anguish; instead, it embraces a serene passivity reminiscent of the “dark night of the soul” described by St. John of the Cross, where the soul’s purification involves apparent abandonment before union with God.

Philosophical and Emotional Resonance

The poem’s emotional impact lies in its quiet intensity. Unlike dramatic elegies or passionate Romantic outcries, Death conveys stillness—an almost meditative state. The speaker’s acceptance of divine will is neither ecstatic nor fearful but profoundly peaceful. This aligns with Schopenhauer’s idea of resignation as liberation from the ceaseless striving of the will, or with Eastern philosophies that advocate detachment.

The final lines evoke a sense of timelessness, where the soul exists in a liminal space between human striving and divine fulfillment. The emotional effect is one of solemnity and awe, inviting the reader into a shared contemplation of mortality and transcendence.

Conclusion

Arthur O’Shaughnessy’s Death is a finely crafted meditation on the soul’s surrender to divine will. Through rich imagery and a contemplative tone, the poem bridges Romantic introspection and mystical theology, offering a vision of death not as annihilation but as patient communion with the eternal. In an age of doubt, O’Shaughnessy’s work stands as a quiet testament to the possibility of faith—not through dogmatic certainty, but through serene submission to the unknown.

The poem’s enduring power lies in its ability to evoke a universal human experience: the confrontation with mortality and the longing for something beyond the self. In its stillness, Death speaks volumes, reminding us that poetry, at its best, is not merely an art form but a vessel for the ineffable.

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