Introduction to Dover Beach from a Christian Perspective
Matthew Arnold’s ‘Dover Beach’, written in the mid-19th century, reflects religious uncertainty of the Victorian era. The poem captures the emotional and spiritual turmoil of a time when traditional Christian beliefs were being questioned by the rise of scientific discoveries and changing social attitudes. Arnold’s work has been read as a lament for the loss of faith; it is a valuable text for exploring Christian response to modernity.
The poem opens with a description of the English coastline, where the sea is calm, and the night air is still. This peaceful scene sets the stage for a deeper meditation on the nature of the world. As the speaker listens to the sound of the waves, he is reminded of an ‘eternal note of sadness’ that echoes through history. This sadness is not just a personal feeling but is connected to a broader sense of loss such as permeates the human condition.
Arnold uses the metaphor of the ‘Sea of Faith’ to express this loss. He describes how faith once ‘lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled’ around the earth, suggesting a time when religious belief was strong and provided a sense of security and meaning. However, the sea is now retreating, leaving the world exposed and vulnerable. This image of the receding sea suggests that faith, which once unified and supported humanity, is diminishing, leaving behind a sense of emptiness and uncertainty.
The metaphor of the ‘Sea of Faith’ is central to understanding the Christian perspective in ‘Dover Beach’. For many readers, this image represents the decline of Christian belief in the face of scientific advancements and the questioning of traditional religious doctrines. The poem does not explicitly mention Christianity, but evokes a time when Christian faith was dominant in shaping people’s understanding of the world.
Critics have often focused on this aspect of the poem. Lionel Trilling observed that Arnold ‘felt acutely the fragility of the human soul when unsupported by a confident religious faith’. This sense of fragility is evident in the poem’s tone, which shifts from calm description of the sea to a more sombre reflection on the state of the world. The retreat of the ‘Sea of Faith’ leaves the speaker facing a world that appears less certain and more chaotic.
‘Dover Beach’ emphasizes contrast between the past, when faith was strong, and the present, where doubt and uncertainty prevail. The poem does not offer a clear resolution to this tension but instead presents a world where faith is no longer a given. The speaker’s call for love and fidelity in the face of a bleak and uncertain world can be seen as a response to the loss of faith, suggesting that human relationships may provide some solace in a world where traditional beliefs are in decline.
Arnold’s poem can be seen as a reflection on the challenges faced by Christianity in a modern world. The ‘eternal note of sadness’ that the speaker hears is a reminder of enduring human need for meaning and purpose, which faith once provided. The poem’s imagery of the receding sea captures the sense of loss and disorientation that many people felt as they grappled with implications of a world where faith was no longer as central as it once was.
Dover Beach | Matthew Arnold | Christian Poetry | Love Revealed By Jesus Christ
The sea is calm tonight.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Saint Basil the Great (c. 329–379), a principal architect of Eastern monasticism and key figure in the development of Christian doctrine and social ethics, was concerned with the responsibility of Christians to care for the poor. This homily reflects Saint Basil’s characteristic blend of theological insight, ethical exhortation and practical instruction. Saint Basil’s language is urgent, vivid and rhetorical, aimed at moving both heart and conscience [ … ]
The Ten Commandments, also known as the Decalogue, are a set of religious and moral imperatives believed to have been given by God to the Israelites and recorded in the Hebrew Bible. They are traditionally understood to provide a code of conduct for the faithful to follow, and are of great significance in Judaism and Christianity. According to the biblical account, God delivered the Ten Commandments to Moses on tablets of stone on Mount Sinai, which he then brought down from the mountain and presented to the Israelites [ … ]
The Carrefour will be open, where I can buy nuts for the red squirrel, who lives in Campo Grande. The red squirrel is Valladolid’s best bit. Even as a child, I had never seen one before, apart from in picture books. It was last term’s discovery. The most beautiful encounter. I didn’t know it was there – in the park. A complete surprise. The tiny little thing bobbled and hopped, as it received in its little hands a nut from the man’s hands. Each surprising instant – it was childlike. I whispered: ‘Oh my wow.’ I walk toward the El Cortes Ingles. There is, for now, that settled feel of friends in bookshops. Though a null-affect, neutral day – it won’t glean, it is not to be scratched at. The queues are long in the Carrefour. Though, as it might be, on relatively modest incomes, many people live centrally. Their behaviours neither pinched nor stark. Yet the shop so busy while the street so empty… An error in the simulation, a glitch in the code. I potter about the aisles, which are pleasant enough, then at the tills I flinch at how expensive a little bag of up-sold nuts can be. Nonetheless, I queue for a packet of almonds. Two English men queue directly ahead of me. They are stocky, and have gay voices, their wheelie-bucket piled with soft drinks and party food, while they bitch to one another about the obviously terrible party they’re going to. The air heaves relief as I wander up the way to the broad plaza fringing Campo Grande. This is a place to see – a piece of Spain. There is a tourist information office, though unopened. At these fountains, three girls take selfies. Pompous-looking buildings, the military offices aside, line the park’s nearest vicinities. Hotel-bars have their patches. Liveried doormen idle time, for there are no paying customers, in and out the doorways’ shadows. A mixed group of kids play at the hoops on the pedestrian boulevard, and two boys practise on skateboards, working the thing out. I pass by them, touched by the thought, and happy that they are there. Wistful, I smile at the odds of the ball spilling over to me, and play in mind the agreeable scene of a fleeting connection. Then I am through the park gates. An air now – of humanity become self-selecting. Modestly understated. Understatedly modest. Campo Grande is nice but it isn’t grande… I walk slowly, and very soon hear for a second time English voices. Not them – it is an English family, just a little way ahead, a Dad and a Mum and a younger boy and an older girl, and theirs are Midlands accents. Dad seems to have been here and to know the place. He gestures panoramically. Mum wants her lunch. The girl at a difficult age. She carries a balloon-on-a-stick. Though she is sprouting – yet wears a loud dress. Then leggings, trainers. Her hair is nice… Maybe she is being okay about it. And not horrific. It’s okay once they get into it, but those months… Yet then, they mostly blossom, if they come from a good home, and become rounded personalities, entering into their womanhood. It was that… when yet they weren’t… I shudder to think of it. They walk toward the pond, and I trail, and would follow had I not been going that way. I wish I could say something so they might hear I am English too. (Fake a phone call?) How my voice might sound – there’d be all college hurling around in such matter I… a demented thing, ludicrous blurt – of Henry, Geoff, and all of them – not to mention the personal predicament. Maybe they’re a nice family. She is letting him explain what he needs to explain. And it would blow his fire, me being English. Mum and Dad. You’d probably see them all having their lunch in a little while. All sat round the table. With napkins and the menus out. Dad looks safe. I look into the pond. Terrapins live in there. But not today. I walk toward the join in the paths where the squirrel lives. There, I crumple the packet of almonds, making noise. I peer and I squat and crouch – chewing a mouthful. All the peacocks have perched right up in the trees’ branches. That never looks like something they should be doing. It’s disappointing that the squirrel isn’t here – but then the not-knowing-if is a part of it. Now, next, my visit to the National Sculpture Museum is an obligation. Canon Peter stood literally aghast when I hadn’t heard of it. Mortified, I made resolute promises. Though a few weeks have passed, it isn’t just any old something I could do on the hoof. A great commitment – it must command a known and prepared and anticipated not-just-any-old-time. But, rather, the sort you must wait for – and listen for. [ … ] Beyond Plaza Mayor, there would be a brief series of old-town alleyways. The National Sculpture Museum would be – just up there, this archway, this next…They are bleached and forgotten-looking walls, and the smoothed paving could be medieval. Not that it is making Tomàs anxious – I follow the map. A kind of place – uneasy credit-cards, and modern vaccinations, and a phone, might not help much. I fancy I feel the back-wall of a church, and that – fancifully – pressure-release drawn out of me. Only I am playing games in a nice way – making play-scared on the uncertainty – with only myself to see. The National Museum is there, modestly signed on stencilled plexiglass stuck to the stone wall. A uniformed lady sits just a little way inside the doorway. She reassures me there is no money required, and directs me over the courtyard into the planned route, showing me where I can pick up a free map. I get my […]
