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Last evening the moon rose above this rock
Impure upon a world unpurged:
The man and his companion stopped
To rest before the heroic height.
Coldly the wind fell upon them
In many majesties of sound:
They that had left the flame-freaked sun
To seek a sun of fuller fire.
Instead there was this tufted rock
Massively rising high and bare
Beyond all trees, the ridges thrown
Like giant arms among the clouds.
There was neither voice nor crested image,
No chorister, nor priest. There was
Only the great height of the rock
And the two of them standing still to rest.
There was the cold wind and the sound
It made, away from the muck of the land
That they had left, heroic sound
Joyous and jubilant and sure.
Wallace Stevens’ “How to Live. What to Do” is a meditative poem that grapples with existential questions through vivid imagery and stark contrasts. Written in the mid-20th century, the poem reflects Stevens’ characteristic philosophical depth, his preoccupation with perception, and his exploration of the human condition in a world devoid of divine or absolute meaning. This essay will examine the poem’s historical and cultural context, its use of literary devices, its central themes, and its emotional resonance. Additionally, we will consider Stevens’ broader oeuvre and philosophical influences to illuminate the poem’s significance.
Stevens wrote during a period of profound intellectual and cultural upheaval. The early to mid-20th century saw the erosion of traditional religious frameworks, the rise of existentialist thought, and the increasing secularization of modern life. Stevens, an insurance executive by profession and a poet by vocation, was deeply engaged with these shifts. His poetry often interrogates the role of imagination in constructing meaning, particularly in a world where old certainties have dissolved.
“How to Live. What to Do” can be read as a response to this existential uncertainty. The poem’s title suggests a didactic purpose, yet the content resists easy answers. Instead, it presents a moment of pause—a confrontation with the sublime in nature—that invites reflection rather than instruction. This ambiguity aligns with modernist tendencies, where meaning is often deferred or fragmented, and the reader must actively engage with the text to derive significance.
Stevens employs a series of striking images to evoke a sense of grandeur and desolation. The poem opens with the moon rising “above this rock / Impure upon a world unpurged,” immediately establishing a tone of imperfection and unresolved struggle. The moon, traditionally a symbol of mystery and cyclical renewal, is here “impure,” suggesting that even celestial bodies are marred by the same flaws as the earthly realm.
The “heroic height” of the rock becomes the central image of the poem. It is described as “massively rising high and bare / Beyond all trees,” evoking both awe and austerity. The rock’s elevation above the natural world (“Beyond all trees”) and its resemblance to “giant arms among the clouds” suggest a quasi-mythic presence, yet it remains devoid of divine or human signification:
“There was neither voice nor crested image,
No chorister, nor priest. There was
Only the great height of the rock”
This absence of religious or ceremonial symbols underscores Stevens’ secular vision. Unlike Romantic poets such as Wordsworth, who might imbue nature with spiritual resonance, Stevens presents a landscape stripped of transcendent meaning. The rock is monumental but silent, imposing but indifferent.
The wind, another key motif, is personified as possessing “many majesties of sound,” a phrase that captures both its grandeur and its multiplicity. It is not a singular, divine voice but a chorus of natural forces—cold, relentless, yet paradoxically “joyous and jubilant and sure.” This paradoxical description suggests that meaning is not handed down from above but is instead found in the very act of engagement with the world.
The poem’s central concern is the human quest for meaning in a world that offers no ready answers. The two figures—presumably travelers or seekers—have left “the flame-freaked sun” (a sun marked by imperfections, perhaps symbolizing the flawed but familiar) in search of “a sun of fuller fire,” a more perfect or transcendent illumination. Yet what they find is not a divine presence but an austere, imposing rock and a cold, majestic wind.
This journey can be interpreted allegorically: the movement from the known (“the muck of the land”) to the unknown represents the human desire for transcendence. However, the poem suggests that transcendence, if it exists at all, is not found in traditional symbols of divinity (priests, choristers, crested images) but in the raw, unmediated encounter with the natural world.
Stevens’ philosophy here resonates with existentialist thought, particularly the ideas of Camus, who argued that meaning is not discovered but created through human engagement with an indifferent universe. The figures in the poem do not receive revelation; they merely stand “still to rest,” absorbing the sublime indifference of the rock and the wind. Yet there is a strange exhilaration in this encounter—the wind’s sound is “heroic,” “joyous,” and “sure,” implying that there is a kind of triumph in facing the world as it is, without illusions.
Stevens’ treatment of nature invites comparison with Romantic poets like Wordsworth and Shelley, who also grappled with the sublime. For Wordsworth, nature was a source of moral and spiritual consolation; in Tintern Abbey, the landscape is a “anchor of my purest thoughts.” Stevens, by contrast, presents nature as majestic but ultimately silent—its grandeur does not confer meaning but merely is.
Shelley’s “Mont Blanc” offers a closer parallel, as it too features an imposing natural monument that evokes awe without offering easy answers. Shelley writes:
“The wilderness has a mysterious tongue
Which teaches awful doubt”
Like Stevens, Shelley acknowledges nature’s power to unsettle as much as to inspire. However, where Shelley retains a quasi-mystical reverence for nature’s “secret strength,” Stevens’ vision is more austere, more stripped of metaphysical consolation.
Stevens’ unique position as both a corporate lawyer and a poet informs his work. His poetry often reflects a tension between the pragmatic and the imaginative, the mundane and the sublime. In “How to Live. What to Do,” this tension is evident in the juxtaposition of the “muck of the land” (the everyday, the unheroic) with the “heroic height” of the rock. The poem suggests that even in a secular, workaday world, moments of transcendence are possible—not through escape, but through a heightened awareness of the present.
Stevens was deeply influenced by phenomenological thought, particularly the idea that reality is shaped by perception. The poem’s emphasis on sensory experience—the cold wind, the sound it makes, the visual grandeur of the rock—aligns with this philosophy. Meaning is not inherent in the objects themselves but arises from the act of perception.
The two figures in the poem do not find a preordained answer to “how to live” or “what to do”; instead, they find an experience—one that is both humbling and exhilarating. The poem thus becomes a metaphor for the poetic act itself: the artist does not dictate meaning but creates the conditions for its apprehension.
The emotional tone of the poem is complex, blending awe with a sense of alienation. The wind is “joyous and jubilant,” yet it is also “cold,” and the rock is “bare.” This duality captures the modern condition: the sublime still exists, but it no longer comforts; it confronts.
The poem’s power lies in its refusal to offer consolation. Unlike religious or Romantic poetry, which might provide resolution, Stevens leaves the reader in a state of suspension. The figures do not ascend the rock; they merely pause before it. This restraint makes the poem all the more resonant—it acknowledges the human desire for answers while affirming that the search itself may be the only answer we receive.
“How to Live. What to Do” remains profoundly relevant in an age still grappling with questions of meaning in a post-religious, post-idealist world. Stevens does not offer dogma but an encounter—an invitation to stand before the “heroic height” of existence, to feel the “cold wind” of reality, and to find, if not answers, then at least a fleeting sense of grandeur in the act of seeking.
In its restraint, its richness of imagery, and its philosophical depth, the poem exemplifies Stevens’ belief that “the poet is the priest of the invisible.” Here, the invisible is not a hidden god but the unspoken significance we glean from the world when we pause, look, and listen.
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