[41 Brimmer St., Boston]
I am hoping to have this week some fuller record of your activities and thoughts than has come for some weeks: are you embarked on some new dramatic engagement, I wonder, and does the spring come so slowly and frigidly up Boston way as it does here. Aprilspringthe cruelties of April;a4 is an unkind month, but perhaps May nowadays is still unkinder: I always find the first burst of spring, andautumndisturbs;a2 the last glory of autumn, the two moments most troubling to my equilibrium and the most reviving of memories one must subdue. The first sweet smells of spring and the last autumn smokes and damp leaves and earth arouse feelings which summer and winter leave undisturbed. Most of the time one works away like a mole, or a seaman on a submarine – or half a dozen similes of the sort. One cannot help coming to the surface at times with a realisation of how intense life can be – or how it was – or how it might have been.1 MoreChristianitymysticism and transcendence;c3;a3 rarely still, with quite a different, or rather quite another feeling: that of fulfilling a part, however small, in some purpose or design so large that it can only rarely be grasped, and of transcending oneself in a satisfaction which gives reconciliation. ThatChristianityvirtues heavenly and capital;e1charity, towards others;a3 is what one is really aiming at, perhaps, in the incessant small, and often very tedious and unsatisfactory efforts, to satisfy oneself through helping the lives of others – sometimes, oddly, an especial satisfaction when the others are people not intimately in one’s life at all, the merest strangers. OneChristianityvirtues heavenly and capital;e1faith;b2 goes on through necessity, through habit, but also through faith; without any immediate expectations. ButChristianityresignation, reconciliation, peace;c8'peace that passeth all understanding';a3 I do always feel convinced that every moment matters, and that one is always following a curve either up or down; that the gradual development upward, slow as it is and imperceptible, is what matters, and that the goal is something which cannot be measured at all in terms of ‘happiness’ – whatever ‘the peace that passeth understanding’2 is, it is nothing like ‘happiness’, which will fade into invisibility beside it; so that happiness or unhappiness does not matter. One would not avoid happiness, certainly – and those who have it deserve it – and it would sound presumptuous to say that ‘happiness is for those who have no destiny’ – and certainly wrong if one presumed to form a notion of what one’s ‘destiny’ is.
1.‘April is the cruellest month […] mixing / Memory and desire, stirring / Dull roots with spring rain. / Winter kept us warm, covering / Earth in forgetful snow’ (‘The Burial of the Dead’, The Waste Land, 1). Cf. Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse: ‘to be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being onself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others. […] Beneath it is all dark, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep; but now and again we rise to the surface and this is what you see us by.’
2.‘And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus’ (Philippians 4: 7). TSE’s original note to the final line of The Waste Land, ‘Shantih Shantih Shantih’ (a Sanskrit term), reads: ‘Shantih. Repeated as here, a formal ending to an Upanishad. “The Peace which passeth understanding” is our feeble equivalent to this word.’ In later appearances of the poem he dropped the epithet ‘feeble’.