Was Emily Dickinson atheist, or agnostic? Perhaps I'm misreading

Answer me, you fucking assholes..

>>10004469
Why not both?

She was a sublime metaphysical poet, of course she wasn't an atheist or agnostic.

>>10004723
Because no one can be an atheist and an agnostic at the same time. Sorry to disappoint you, reddit.

If you can't tell from her poems then what does it matter?

>>10004742
Nice try >>10004666

>>10004756
I'm not going to pretend to be a genius and get her poetry off the bat. Even Harold Bloom says she is so difficult he gets headaches trying to teach her to students.

Poetry is meant to be subtle. They require many readings each for all purposes, theme and aethetics included.

In any case, I wanted to ask others here their thoughts hopefully to help guide me in the right direction.

>>10004469
She's one of the greatest poets who ever lived, anon. What this means on one hand is that she is able to perspectivize from any position whatsoever when it suits her. Nihilist is the more honest term, in the sense of Who the fuck knows?
>I know that He exists.
>Somewhere -- in silence
>He has hid His rare life
>From our gross eyes.
>(from poem 365)

>>10004526
don't be rude

>>10005221
At one point Dickinson said that she regretted the loss of religion because 'it makes the behavior small.'

Let me tell you a secret: Nearly all intelligent men in history were atheists, none would really believe in the Christian religion.They were simply forced to say that they were Christians because religious people are very hostile and won't accept anyone not sharing their religion.

>>10005255
Well, ok. But don't try to sell me on the equivalence of archaic Christian mores with the workings of entirely secular 20th century secret police states. Because the intelligent in history have tended to more actively disbelieve in those, and had either to emigrate or perish as an immediate consequence.

>>10005255
>All intelligent people were secretly like me! I can't prove it but it's so!
*tips scholar's cap*

>>10005243
1551:
Those -- dying then,
Knew where they went --
They went to God's Right Hand --
That Hand is amputated now
And God cannot be found --

The abdication of Belief
Makes the Behavior small --
Better an ignis fatuus --
Then no illume at all --

>>10005474
Note that nowhere does Dickinson even so much as hint whether or not SHE HERSELF either believes or disbelieves. What she's rather doing is taking the temperature of her own times.
Whereas Nietzsche often attaches himself to his thinking, Dickinson almost always keeps herself detatched from hers, unless the poem concerns pain, or dying.

umpbay

>>10004469
The most important thing is that she was a QT3.14159

>>10006212
Indeed she was.

>you will never have a qt literary genius gf, you will NEVER spend your lazy afternoons reading poetry to each other and then cuddling in bed while she talks about the philosophical implications of metaphor

just kill me now

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>You will never be free to read and write and be left to oneself in a secluded home somewhere.

Emily Dickinson was a thot

>>10004469

The reticent volcano keeps
His never slumbering plan —
Confided are his projects pink
To no precarious man.

If nature will not tell the tale
Jehovah told to her
Can human nature not survive
Without a listener?

Admonished by her buckled lips
Let every babbler be
The only secret people keep
Is Immortality.

>>10005255
I laughed out loud at this, thank you

>>10004469
Apparently with no surprise
To any happy Flower --
The Frost beheads it at its play --
In accidental power --

The blonde Assassin passes on --
The Sun proceeds unmoved
To measure off another Day
For an approving God.

>>10004469
She believed in God. I wouldn't call her Christian, though.

Where are these posts
>>9999998
>>9999999
>>10000000
>>10000001

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>>10007184
/a/ invasions.
Just books now, s4s

>>10006239
Here's a random rec, anon. Cynthia Ozick's essay Metaphor and Memory. I feel your feel my fine fictitious friend..

>>10005255
Nice myth. Would center my world view around it and combat any who disagree.

>>10004905
Hm. Enjoying poetry involves something like this-- one is seduced by the look, sound and apparent intention of a particular poem or poet, one reads their work (or maybe just a single poem) obsessively but then drops it for other things, perhaps other poets or maybe just other books. Later one picks up the poet again and what one encounters is not AT ALL what one remembers-- imagine looking into a mirror and seeing your face but then not looking into a mirror again for two whole years. Finally, (you) do-- is what one sees going to be what one remembers? No. Like your face your mind has aged, but whereas your face has grown older, your mind has probably waxed stronger. And this is what poetry is- a kind of mirror for your mind, a way to measure an aspect of yourself that cannot otherwise be assessed....
Poetry is of course much more than just this. But unlike most literature [we] return to our favorite poems and poets over and over again and this process is not unlike the 'looking into a mirror' thought experiment described. Truly great poets are the ones with whom [we] never tire, by the way. If much of what they mean eludes us initially, think of these veiled bits as referring to the future. And why? Because they do.

I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?
“For beauty,” I replied.
“And I for truth, -the two are one;
We brethren are,” he said.

And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.

>>10008198
I've always thought of this one as a kind of love poem to Keats. As have myriad others, no doubt. What's odd is that she has a clear view of their comparable value, but hardly cares!

>>10005255
Let me tell you a secret: Every intellectual in world history knew that the earth was flat; but those that spoke out were murdered by the shadow government, and so they paid lip service to the ridiculous notion of a rotund globular plane

>>10004469


Some keep the Sabbath going to Church —
I keep it, staying at Home —
With a Bobolink for a Chorister —
And an Orchard, for a Dome —

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice —
I just wear my Wings —
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton — sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman —
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last —
I'm going, all along.

>>10004469
Prayer is the little implement
Through which Men reach
Where Presence — is denied them.
They fling their Speech

By means of it — in God's Ear —
If then He hear —
This sums the Apparatus
Comprised in Prayer —

>>10004469
I was under the impression Dickenson was extremely Christian. She even intended to marry a preacher.

What's with Dickinson and birds?

>>10008304
Rather to seduce one or two of them into falling in love with her, rather. Which they did, of course. Ain't life grand?

>>10008325
>birdalator
>bardalator
choose one

>>10004469
-49-

I never lost as much but twice,
And that was in the sod --
Twice have I stood a beggar
Before the door of God!

Angels -- twice descending
Reimbursed my store --
Burglar! Banker -- Father!
I am poor once more!

>>10004469
>was Emily Dickinson perhaps like Shakespeare a closeted Catholic adrift in a banal Protestant wilderness?

Who were 'the Father and Son'
We pondered when a child,
And what had they to do with us
And when portentious told

With inference appalling
By childhood fortified
We thought, at least they are no worse
Then they have been described.

Who are 'the Father and Son'
Did we demand Today
'The Father and Son' himself
Would doubtless specify --

But had they the felicity
When we desired to know.
We better Friends had been, perhaps,
Than time ensue to be --

We start -- to learn that we believe
But once -- entirely --
Belief, it does not fit so well
When altered frequently --

We blush, that Heaven if we achieve --
Event ineffable --
We shall have shunned until ashamed
To own the Miracle --

>at any rate Protestants and Catholics will be reading two VERY different poems here.

>>10009425
>It's another "Catholic tries to claim a non-Catholic writer as being a crypt-Catholic" episode

>>10009425
My God, what a God-awful poem.

Anglophone """poetry""", not even once. I'd rather read Stephen King.

>>10009460
Not really my point. A Protestant however is going to detect a want of faith, which will lead to the 'she's an atheist' readings that let's face it are legion. A Catholic will value the engagement, the struggle, both the humor and the sincerity and view it as an unquestionably 'Christian' poem.
I'm a Protestant myself, anon.

632

The Brain — is wider than the Sky —
For — put them side by side —
The one the other will contain
With ease — and You — beside —

The Brain is deeper than the sea —
For — hold them — Blue to Blue —
The one the other will absorb —
As Sponges — Buckets — do —

The Brain is just the weight of God —
For — Heft them — Pound for Pound —
And they will differ — if they do —
As Syllable from Sound —

Thank you

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>>10004469
she was Dicknastic