'Humanitad' by Oscar Wilde
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IT is full Winter now: the trees are bare,
Save where the cattle huddle from the cold
Beneath the pine, for it doth never wear
The Autumn's gaudy livery whose gold
Her jealous brother pilfers, but is true
To the green doublet; bitter is the wind, as though it blew
From Saturn's cave; a few thin wisps of hay
Lie on the sharp black hedges, where the wain
Dragged the sweet pillage of a summer's day
From the low meadows up the narrow lane;10
Upon the half-thawed snow the bleating sheep
Press close against the hurdles, and the shivering house-dogs creep
From the shut stable to the frozen stream
And back again disconsolate, and miss
The bawling shepherds and the noisy team;
And overhead in circling listlessness
The cawing rooks whirl round the frosted stack,
Or crowd the dripping boughs; and in the fen the ice-pools crack
Where the gaunt bittern stalks among the reeds
And flaps his wings, and stretches back his neck,20
And hoots to see the moon; across the meads
Limps the poor frightened hare, a little speck;
And a stray seamew with its fretful cry
Flits like a sudden drift of snow against the dull grey sky.
Full winter: and the lusty goodman brings
His load of faggots from the chilly byre,
And stamps his feet upon the hearth, and flings
The sappy billets on the waning fire,
And laughs to see the sudden lightening scare
His children at their play; and yet,--the Spring is in the air,30
Already the slim crocus stirs the snow,
And soon yon blanchèd fields will bloom again
With nodding cowslips for some lad to mow,
For with the first warm kisses of the rain
The winter's icy sorrow breaks to tears,
And the brown thrushes mate, and with bright eyes the rabbit peers
From the dark warren where the fir-cones lie,
And treads one snowdrop under foot, and runs
Over the mossy knoll, and blackbirds fly
Across our path at evening, and the suns40
Stay longer with us; ah! how good to see
Grass-girdled Spring in all her joy of laughing greenery
Dance through the hedges till the early rose,
(That sweet repentance of the thorny briar!)
Burst from its sheathèd emerald and disclose
The little quivering disk of golden fire
Which the bees know so well, for with it come
Pale boys-love, sops-in-wine, and daffadillies all in bloom.
Then up and down the field the sower goes,
While close behind the laughing younker scares50
With shrilly whoop the black and thievish crows,
And then the chestnut-tree its glory wears,
And on the grass the creamy blossom falls
In odorous excess, and faint half-whispered madrigals
Steal from the bluebells' nodding carillons
Each breezy morn, and then white jessamine,
That star of its own heaven, snapdragons
With lolling crimson tongues, and eglantine
In dusty velvets clad usurp the bed
And woodland empery, and when the lingering rose hath shed60
Red leaf by leaf its folded panoply,
And pansies closed their purple-lidded eyes,
Chrysanthemums from gilded argosy
Unload their gaudy scentless merchandise,
And violets getting overbold withdraw
From their shy nooks, and scarlet berries dot the leafless haw.
O happy field! and O thrice happy tree!
Soon will your queen in daisy-flowered smock
And crown of flowre-de-luce trip down the lea,
Soon will the lazy shepherds drive their flock70
Back to the pasture by the pool, and soon
Through the green leaves will float the hum of murmuring bees at
noon.
Soon will the glade be bright with bellamour,
The flower which wantons love, and those sweet nuns
Vale-lilies in their snowy vestiture
Will tell their beaded pearls, and carnations
With mitred dusky leaves will scent the wind,
And straggling traveller's joy each hedge with yellow stars will
bind.
Dear Bride of Nature and most bounteous Spring!
That can'st give increase to the sweet-breath'd kine,80
And to the kid its little horns, and bring
The soft and silky blossoms to the vine,
Where is that old nepenthe which of yore
Man got from poppy root and glossy-berried mandragore!
There was a time when any common bird
Could make me sing in unison, a time
When all the strings of boyish life were stirred
To quick response or more melodious rhyme
By every forest idyll;--do I change?
Or rather doth some evil thing through thy fair pleasaunce range?90
Nay, nay, thou art the same: 'tis I who seek
To vex with sighs thy simple solitude,
And because fruitless tears bedew my cheek
Would have thee weep with me in brotherhood;
Fool! shall each wronged and restless spirit dare
To taint such wine with the salt poison of his own despair!
Thou art the same: 'tis I whose wretched soul
Takes discontent to be its paramour,
And gives its kingdom to the rude control
Of what should be its servitor,--for sure100
Wisdom is somewhere, though the stormy sea
Contain it not, and the huge deep answer "'Tis not in me."
To burn with one clear flame, to stand erect
In natural honour, not to bend the knee
In profitless prostrations whose effect
Is by itself condemned, what alchemy
Can teach me this? what herb Medea brewed
Will bring the unexultant peace of essence not subdued?
The minor chord which ends the harmony,
And for its answering brother waits in vain,110
Sobbing for incompleted melody
Dies a Swan's death; but I the heir of pain
A silent Memnon with blank lidless eyes
Wait for the light and music of those suns which never rise.
The quenched-out torch, the lonely cypress-gloom,
The little dust stored in the narrow urn,
The gentle XAIPE of the Attic tomb,--
Were not these better far than to return
To my old fitful restless malady,
Or spend my days within the voiceless cave of misery?120
Nay! for perchance that poppy-crownèd God
Is like the watcher by a sick man's bed
Who talks of sleep but gives it not; his rod
Hath lost its virtue, and, when all is said,
Death is too rude, too obvious a key
To solve one single secret in a life's philosophy.
And Love! that noble madness, whose august
And inextinguishable might can slay
The soul with honied drugs,--alas! I must
From such sweet ruin play the runaway,130
Although too constant memory never can
Forget the archèd splendour of those brows Olympian
Which for a little season made my youth
So soft a swoon of exquisite indolence
That all the chiding of more prudent Truth
Seemed the thin voice of jealousy,--O Hence
Thou huntress deadlier than Artemis!
Go seek some other quarry! for of thy too perilous bliss
My lips have drunk enough,--no more, no more,--
Though Love himself should turn his gilded prow140
Back to the troubled waters of this shore
Where I am wrecked and stranded, even now
The chariot wheels of passion sweep too near,
Hence! Hence! I pass unto a life more barren, more austere.
More barren--ay, those arms will never lean
Down through the trellised vines and draw my soul
In sweet reluctance through the tangled green;
Some other head must wear that aureole,
For I am Hers who loves not any man
Whose white and stainless bosom bears the sign Gorgonian.150
Let Venus go and chuck her dainty page,
And kiss his mouth, and toss his curly hair,
With net and spear and hunting equipage
Let young Adonis to his tryst repair,
But me her fond and subtle-fashioned spell
Delights no more, though I could win her dearest citadel.
Ay, though I were that laughing shepherd boy
Who from Mount Ida saw the little cloud
Pass over Tenedos and lofty Troy
And knew the coming of the Queen, and bowed160
In wonder at her feet, not for the sake
Of a new Helen would I bid her hand the apple take.
Then rise supreme Athena argent-limbed!
And, if my lips be musicless, inspire
At least my life: was not thy glory hymned
By One who gave to thee his sword and lyre
Like Æschylus at well-fought Marathon,
And died to show that Milton's England still could bear a son!
And yet I cannot tread the Portico
And live without desire, fear, and pain,170
Or nurture that wise calm which long ago
The grave Athenian master taught to men,
Self-poised, self-centred, and self-comforted,
To watch the world's vain phantasies go by with unbowed head.
Alas! that serene brow, those eloquent lips,
Those eyes that mirrored all eternity,
Rest in their own Colonos, an eclipse
Hath come on Wisdom, and Mnemosyne
Is childless; in the night which she had made
For lofty secure flight Athena's owl itself hath strayed.180
Nor much with Science do I care to climb,
Although by strange and subtle witchery
She draw the moon from heaven: the Muse of Time
Unrolls her gorgeous-coloured tapestry
To no less eager eyes; often indeed
In the great epic of Polymnia's scroll I love to read
How Asia sent her myriad hosts to war
Against a little town, and panoplied
In gilded mail with jewelled scimetar,
White-shielded, purple-crested, rode the Mede190
Between the waving poplars and the sea
Which men call Artemisium, till he saw Thermopylæ
Its steep ravine spanned by a narrow wall,
And on the nearer side a little brood
Of careless lions holding festival!
And stood amazèd at such hardihood,
And pitched his tent upon the reedy shore,
And stayed two days to wonder, and then crept at midnight o'er
Some unfrequented height, and coming down
The autumn forests treacherously slew200
What Sparta held most dear and was the crown
Of far Eurotas, and passed on, nor knew
How God had staked an evil net for him
In the small bay of Salamis,--and yet, the page grows dim,
Its cadenced Greek delights me not, I feel
With such a goodly time too out of tune
To love it much: for like the Dial's wheel
That from its blinded darkness strikes the noon
Yet never sees the sun, so do my eyes
Restlessly follow that which from my cheated vision flies.210
O for one grand unselfish simple life
To teach us what is Wisdom! speak ye hills
Of lone Helvellyn, for this note of strife
Shunned your untroubled crags and crystal rills,
Where is that Spirit which living blamelessly
Yet dared to kiss the smitten mouth of his own century!
Speak ye Rydalian laurels! where is He
Whose gentle head ye sheltered, that pure soul
Whose gracious days of uncrowned majesty
Through lowliest conduct touched the lofty goal220
Where Love and Duty mingle! Him at least
The most high Laws were glad of, he had sat at Wisdom's feast,
But we are Learning's changelings, know by rote
The clarion watchword of each Grecian school
And follow none, the flawless sword which smote
The pagan Hydra is an effete tool
Which we ourselves have blunted, what man now
Shall scale the august ancient heights and to old Reverence bow?
One such indeed I saw, but, Ichabod!
Gone is that last dear son of Italy,230
Who being man died for the sake of God,
And whose unrisen bones sleep peacefully.
O guard him, guard him well, my Giotto's tower,
Thou marble lily of the lily town! let not the lour
Of the rude tempest vex his slumber, or
The Arno with its tawny troubled gold
O'erleap its marge, no mightier conqueror
Clomb the high Capitol in the days of old
When Rome was indeed Rome, for Liberty
Walked like a Bride beside him, at which sight pale Mystery240
Fled shrieking to her farthest sombrest cell
With an old man who grabbled rusty keys,
Fled shuddering for that immemorial knell
With which oblivion buries dynasties
Swept like a wounded eagle on the blast,
As to the holy heart of Rome the great triumvir passed.
He knew the holiest heart and heights of Rome,
He drave the base wolf from the lion's lair,
And now lies dead by that empyreal dome
Which overtops Valdarno hung in air250
By Brunelleschi--O Melpomene
Breathe through thy melancholy pipe thy sweetest threnody!
Breathe through the tragic stops such melodies
That Joy's self may grow jealous, and the Nine
Forget a-while their discreet emperies,
Mourning for him who on Rome's lordliest shrine
Lit for men's lives the light of Marathon,
And bare to sun-forgotten fields the fire of the sun!
O guard him, guard him well, my Giotto's tower,
Let some young Florentine each eventide260
Bring coronals of that enchanted flower
Which the dim woods of Vallombrosa hide,
And deck the marble tomb wherein he lies
Whose soul is as some mighty orb unseen of mortal eyes.
Some mighty orb whose cycled wanderings,
Being tempest-driven to the farthest rim
Where Chaos meets Creation and the wings
Of the eternal chanting Cherubim
Are pavilioned on Nothing, passed away
Into a moonless void,--and yet, though he is dust and clay,270
He is not dead, the immemorial Fates
Forbid it, and the closing shears refrain,
Lift up your heads ye everlasting gates!
Ye argent clarions sound a loftier strain!
For the vile thing he hated lurks within
Its sombre house, alone with God and memories of sin.
Still what avails it that she sought her cave
That murderous mother of red harlotries?
At Munich on the marble architrave
The Grecian boys die smiling, but the seas280
Which wash Ægina fret in loneliness
Not mirroring their beauty, so our lives grow colourless
For lack of our ideals, if one star
Flame torch-like in the heavens the unjust
Swift daylight kills it, and no trump of war
Can wake to passionate voice the silent dust
Which was Mazzini once! rich Niobe
For all her stony sorrows hath her sons, but Italy!
What Easter Day shall make her children rise,
Who were not Gods yet suffered? what sure feet290
Shall find their graveclothes folded? what clear eyes
Shall see them bodily? O it were meet
To roll the stone from off the sepulchre
And kiss the bleeding roses of their wounds, in love of Her
Our Italy! our mother visible!
Most blessed among nations and most sad,
For whose dear sake the young Calabrian fell
That day at Aspromonte and was glad
That in an age when God was bought and sold
One man could die for Liberty! but we, burnt out and cold,300
See Honour smitten on the cheek and gyves
Bind the sweet feet of Mercy: Poverty
Creeps through our sunless lanes and with sharp knives
Cuts the warm throats of children stealthily,
And no word said:--O we are wretched men
Unworthy of our great inheritance! where is the pen
Of austere Milton? where the mighty sword
Which slew its master righteously? the years
Have lost their ancient leader, and no word
Breaks from the voiceless tripod on our ears:310
While as a ruined mother in some spasm
Bears a base child and loathes it, so our best enthusiasm
Genders unlawful children, Anarchy
Freedom's own Judas, the vile prodigal
Licence who steals the gold of Liberty
And yet has nothing, Ignorance the real
One Fratricide since Cain, Envy the asp
That stings itself to anguish, Avarice whose palsied grasp
Is in its extent stiffened, monied Greed
For whose dull appetite men waste away320
Amid the whirr of wheels and are the seed
Of things which slay their sower, these each day
Sees rife in England, and the gentle feet
Of Beauty tread no more the stones of each unlovely street.
What even Cromwell spared is desecrated
By weed and worm, left to the stormy play
Of wind and beating snow, or renovated
By more destructful hands: Time's worst decay
Will wreathe its ruins with some loveliness,
But these new Vandals can but make a rainproof barrenness.330
Where is that Art which bade the Angels sing
Through Lincoln's lofty choir, till the air
Seems from such marble harmonies to ring
With sweeter song than common lips can dare
To draw from actual reed? ah! where is now
The cunning hand which made the flowering hawthorn branches bow
For Southwell's arch, and carved the House of One
Who loved the lilies of the field with all
Our dearest English flowers? the same sun
Rises for us: the seasons natural340
Weave the same tapestry of green and grey:
The unchanged hills are with us: but that Spirit hath passed away.
And yet perchance it may be better so,
For Tyranny is an incestuous Queen,
Murder her brother is her bedfellow,
And the Plague chambers with her: in obscene
And bloody paths her treacherous feet are set;
Better the empty desert and a soul inviolate!
For gentle brotherhood, the harmony
Of living in the healthful air, the swift350
Clean beauty of strong limbs when men are free
And women chaste, these are the things which lift
Our souls up more than even Agnolo's
Gaunt blinded Sibyl poring o'er the scroll of human woes,
Or Titian's little maiden on the stair
White as her own sweet lily and as tall,
Or Mona Lisa smiling through her hair,--
Ah! somehow life is bigger after all
Than any painted angel could we see
The God that is within us! The old Greek serenity360
Which curbs the passion of that level line
Of marble youths, who with untroubled eyes
And chastened limbs ride round Athena's shrine
And mirror her divine economies,
And balanced symmetry of what in man
Would else wage ceaseless warfare,--this at least within the span
Between our mother's kisses and the grave
Might so inform our lives, that we could win
Such mighty empires that from her cave
Temptation would grow hoarse, and pallid Sin370
Would walk ashamed of his adulteries,
And Passion creep from out the House of Lust with startled eyes.
To make the Body and the Spirit one
With all right things, till no thing live in vain
From morn to noon, but in sweet unison
With every pulse of flesh and throb of brain
The Soul in flawless essence high enthroned,
Against all outer vain attack invincibly bastioned,
Mark with serene impartiality
The strife of things, and yet be comforted,380
Knowing that by the chain causality
All separate existences are wed
Into one supreme whole, whose utterance
Is joy, or holier praise! ah! surely this were governance
Of Life in most august omnipresence,
Through which the rational intellect would find
In passion its expression, and mere sense,
Ignoble else, lend fire to the mind,
And being joined with in harmony
More mystical than that which binds the stars planetary,390
Strike from their several tones one octave chord
Whose cadence being measureless would fly
Through all the circling spheres, then to its Lord
Return refreshed with its new empery
And more exultant power,--this indeed
Could we but reach it were to find the last, the perfect creed.
Ah! it was easy when the world was young
To keep one's life free and inviolate,
From our sad lips another song is rung,
By our own hands our heads are desecrate,400
Wanderers in drear exile, and dispossessed
Of what should be our own, we can but feed on wild unrest.
Somehow the grace, the bloom of things has flown,
And of all men we are most wretched who
Must live each other's lives and not our own
For very pity's sake and then undo
All that we live for--it was otherwise
When soul and body seemed to blend in mystic symphonies.
But we have left those gentle haunts to pass
With weary feet to the new Calvary,410
Where we behold, as one who in a glass
Sees his own face, self-slain Humanity,
And in the dumb reproach of that sad gaze
Learn what an awful phantom the red hand of man can raise.
O smitten mouth! O forehead crowned with thorn!
O chalice of all common miseries!
Thou for our sakes that loved thee not hast borne
An agony of endless centuries,
And we were vain and ignorant nor knew
That when we stabbed thy heart it was our own real hearts we420
slew.
Being ourselves the sowers and the seeds,
The night that covers and the lights that fade,
The spear that pierces and the side that bleeds,
The lips betraying and the life betrayed;
The deep hath calm: the moon hath rest: but we
Lords of the natural world are yet our own dread enemy.
Is this the end of all that primal force
Which, in its changes being still the same,
From eyeless Chaos cleft its upward course,
Through ravenous seas and whirling rocks and flame,430
Till the suns met in heaven and began
Their cycles, and the morning stars sang, and the Word was Man!
Nay, nay, we are but crucified and though
The bloody sweat falls from our brows like rain,
Loosen the nails--we shall come down I know,
Staunch the red wounds--we shall be whole again,
No need have we of hyssop-laden rod,
That which is purely human, that is Godlike, that is God.
Editor 1 Interpretation
Oscar Wilde's "Humanitad": A Poem of Redemption and Humanism
If there's a poet that stands out in the history of English literature for his sharp wit, sparkling personality, and unconventional approach to art and life, that poet is undoubtedly Oscar Wilde. And while Wilde is mostly known for his plays and his novel "The Picture of Dorian Gray," his poetry is also a testament to his immense talent and his deep understanding of human nature and the human condition. "Humanitad," one of Wilde's most complex and ambitious poems, is a perfect example of his poetic genius and his commitment to exploring the ethical and spiritual dimensions of existence.
The Poem's Form and Style
At first glance, "Humanitad" may seem like a difficult poem to approach and understand. With its long lines, its intricate syntax, and its rich imagery and allusions, the poem demands a certain level of concentration and patience from the reader. However, once we dive into the poem's structure and style, we can appreciate the precision and elegance of Wilde's language and the way he uses poetic devices to convey his message.
"Humanitad" consists of six sections, each one marked by a Roman numeral. The poem is written in iambic pentameter, which means each line has ten syllables and follows a pattern of unstressed and stressed syllables. However, Wilde doesn't strictly adhere to this meter, and he frequently employs enjambment (when a line doesn't end with punctuation but flows into the next line) and caesura (when a pause is created within a line) to create a more fluid and dynamic rhythm.
The language of the poem is ornate and elevated, with many archaic and rare words that evoke the grandeur and solemnity of the theme. Wilde also uses a wide range of poetic devices, such as alliteration, assonance, metaphor, simile, paradox, and personification, to enrich the imagery and convey the complexity of the ideas. For example, in the first section of the poem, Wilde employs a metaphor of a ship to describe the human soul:
This human life is but a shipwrecked thing,
A fragile raft o'er dark tempestuous seas,
Without a compass or a helmsman king,
To guide it to the port or bring it ease.
Here, the ship represents the human soul, which is buffeted by the storms of life and lacks direction or guidance. The metaphor not only creates a vivid image but also suggests the vulnerability and precariousness of human existence.
The Poem's Theme and Message
But what is "Humanitad" really about? What is the message that Wilde is trying to convey through this complex and enigmatic poem? As with many great works of art, there's no simple answer to these questions, and different readers may interpret the poem in different ways. However, there are some recurring motifs and themes in the poem that can give us some clues about its meaning and significance.
One of the most prominent themes in "Humanitad" is that of redemption and salvation. Throughout the poem, Wilde portrays human life as a journey of suffering and struggle, marked by sin, guilt, and despair. However, he also suggests that there's a way to transcend this condition and attain a state of grace and harmony. In the second section of the poem, Wilde writes:
But in the grave they cannot thee imprison;
More than the waves, more than the weeds, thy soul
Is subject to the infinite dominion
Of Love and Death and Life and the vast whole,
Here, Wilde suggests that death is not the end of human existence but rather a passage to a higher realm where the soul is liberated from the constraints of the body and united with the universal forces of love, death, and life. This idea of transcendence is also expressed in the fifth section of the poem, where Wilde describes the vision of a mystic who sees the world in a new light:
And all the woe that litters human ways
The weary cries of tortured souls that flee
The coming of the morn, the thirsting days
The wasted, waning life that no more will be,
The endless strife of men, the endless praise.
Here, the mystic sees beyond the apparent chaos and suffering of human existence and perceives a deeper reality of unity and harmony. The image of the "coming of the morn" suggests a new dawn of hope and renewal, while the "endless praise" implies a celebration of the beauty and goodness of life.
Another important theme in "Humanitad" is that of humanism, or the belief in the inherent dignity and worth of human beings. Throughout the poem, Wilde celebrates the diversity and richness of human experience, as well as the capacity of humans to create beauty, love, and meaning. In the third section of the poem, Wilde writes:
O we are to the very verge of Heaven,
Outcasts of Paradise, children of Chance,
And wandering through the world's wide wilderness
In search of some benignant influence
Here, Wilde suggests that humans are not only vulnerable and flawed but also endowed with a sense of wonder and a longing for spiritual fulfillment. The image of the "verge of Heaven" implies that humans are close to the divine realm and that their destiny is to strive for perfection and enlightenment. The phrase "children of Chance" also suggests that humans are not determined by fate or predestination but rather have the freedom to shape their own destiny.
The Poem's Historical and Cultural Context
To fully appreciate the significance of "Humanitad," it's important to consider its historical and cultural context. The poem was written in the late 1880s, a time of great social and political upheaval in Europe and America. The Industrial Revolution had transformed the economic and social landscape, creating new forms of wealth and power but also exacerbating the inequalities and injustices of the class system. The rise of nationalism and imperialism had led to wars and conflicts, as well as to the exploitation and oppression of non-Western cultures. The scientific and philosophical debates of the time had challenged traditional religious and moral beliefs, leading to a sense of uncertainty and disillusionment.
In this context, Wilde's poem can be seen as a response to the spiritual and ethical crisis of his time, as well as a call for a more humanistic and compassionate vision of society. Wilde was deeply influenced by the ideas of the Romantic poets and the aesthetic movement, which emphasized the importance of beauty, imagination, and individualism. However, he also rejected the elitism and escapism of these movements and sought to engage with the social and political issues of his time.
"Humanitad" can be seen as a synthesis of these influences, as well as a critique of their limitations. The poem celebrates the beauty and complexity of human experience while also acknowledging the suffering and injustice that exist in the world. It calls for a transformation of consciousness and a recognition of the interdependence and unity of all beings. In this sense, the poem can be seen as a precursor to the modern humanist movement, which seeks to promote human dignity, diversity, and compassion in the face of global challenges.
Conclusion
In conclusion, "Humanitad" is a remarkable work of poetry that combines Wilde's poetic genius, his ethical vision, and his historical and cultural context. The poem is a testament to the power of language and imagination to explore the deepest questions of human existence and to inspire us to strive for a better world. While the poem may be challenging and enigmatic, its message of redemption and humanism is as relevant and urgent today as it was more than a century ago. As Wilde himself wrote in the conclusion of the poem:
And so I send O Pain to thee, and Love
To draw the knotted cordage of thy thought
Back from the desert of unuttered shame,
Back to the common ways of life, to prove
That thou and I are but of common clay,
That woman's love can wipe our tears away.
Here, Wilde suggests that pain and love are intertwined and that through the power of love, we can overcome the shame and despair that afflict us. He also suggests that the common experiences of life, such as love and compassion, are the true sources of meaning and purpose. In this sense, "Humanitad" is not only a poem of great beauty and complexity but also a poem of hope and inspiration.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
The Humanitad: A Masterpiece of Oscar Wilde
Oscar Wilde, the renowned Irish poet, playwright, and novelist, is known for his wit, humor, and satire. However, his poem "The Humanitad" is a departure from his usual style and is considered one of his most profound and philosophical works. This 400-line poem is a meditation on the nature of humanity, the purpose of life, and the role of art in society. In this article, we will analyze and explain the themes, structure, and language of "The Humanitad" and explore why it is a classic of English literature.
Themes
The central theme of "The Humanitad" is the idea of humanism, which is the belief in the inherent value and dignity of human beings. Wilde was a passionate advocate of humanism and believed that art should serve a higher purpose than mere entertainment. In "The Humanitad," he argues that the purpose of art is to elevate the human spirit and inspire us to live a more meaningful life. He writes:
"Art is the symbol of the two noblest human efforts: to construct and to refrain from destruction."
Wilde believed that art has the power to transform society and that artists have a responsibility to use their talents for the betterment of humanity. He writes:
"Art is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has known. I am inclined to think that the artists who live the most artistically are the ones who have not been frightened into surrendering themselves to the world view of others."
Another important theme of "The Humanitad" is the idea of redemption. Wilde was a deeply flawed individual who suffered greatly for his homosexuality and his unconventional lifestyle. In "The Humanitad," he seeks redemption for his sins and the sins of humanity. He writes:
"I sought for Love, but Love ran away from me. I sought my Soul, but my Soul I could not see. Then I sought Thee, and found all three."
Wilde believed that redemption was possible through love and that love was the ultimate expression of humanism. He writes:
"Love is the only thing that we can carry with us when we go, and it makes the end so easy."
Structure
"The Humanitad" is divided into four parts, each of which explores a different aspect of humanism. The first part is an invocation to the Muse, in which Wilde asks for inspiration and guidance. The second part is a meditation on the nature of humanity, in which Wilde reflects on the beauty and tragedy of human existence. The third part is a critique of society, in which Wilde condemns the greed, materialism, and hypocrisy of his contemporaries. The fourth part is a celebration of art, in which Wilde extols the virtues of beauty, truth, and goodness.
The language of "The Humanitad" is rich, complex, and highly symbolic. Wilde uses a variety of literary devices, such as alliteration, assonance, and metaphor, to create a musical and evocative effect. He also employs a wide range of cultural and historical references, from Greek mythology to Christian theology, to convey his ideas. For example, he writes:
"O thou who from the depths of Hades came, Mute Sphinx, with human voice articulate, Who through the dark, deep night of thy sad fame Still lovest the face of him whom thou didst hate, And callst for him who calls through all his fate."
This passage alludes to the myth of Oedipus and the Sphinx, in which Oedipus solves the Sphinx's riddle and is rewarded with the throne of Thebes. Wilde uses this myth to illustrate the idea that knowledge and wisdom are the keys to unlocking the mysteries of life.
Conclusion
In conclusion, "The Humanitad" is a masterpiece of English literature that explores some of the most profound and timeless themes of human existence. Wilde's passionate advocacy of humanism, his belief in the redemptive power of love, and his celebration of art as a means of elevating the human spirit make this poem a classic of English literature. The rich language, complex structure, and symbolic imagery of "The Humanitad" make it a challenging but rewarding work of art that continues to inspire and enlighten readers today.
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