Rhetorical Arguments and Private Desperation: Donne's Holy Sonnet II
Missy Andrews | January 27, 2020
As due by many titles I resign
Myself to thee, O God. First I was made
By Thee; and for Thee, and when I was decay’d
Thy blood bought that, the which before was Thine.
I am Thy son, made with Thyself to shine,
Thy servant, whose pains Thou hast still repaid,
Thy sheep, Thine image, and—till I betray’d
Myself—a temple of Thy Spirit divine.
Why doth the devil then usurp on me?
Why doth he steal, nay ravish, that’s Thy right?
Except Thou rise and for Thine own work fight,
O! I shall soon despair, when I shall see
That Thou lovest mankind well, yet wilt not choose me,
And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me.– “Holy Sonnet II” by John Donne
Donne begins this meditative sonnet by giving himself up to God, an act which, he maintains, feels appropriate in consideration of the various titles he possesses and their diverse implications. “As due by many titles I resign / Myself to thee, O God…” He catalogues these appellations: First, he is a creature of God, made by and for Him (“…first I was made / By thee, and for thee…”). Next, he is a redeemed one, re-possessed by Jesus’ blood (“…and when I was decayed / Thy blood bought that, the which before was thine…”). He is God’s son, made for glory (“I am thy son, made with thy self to shine…”). Even so, he remains God’s servant, whom God Himself maintains (“Thy servant, whose pains thou hast still repaid…”). He terms himself God’s sheep, the implication of which is clearly God’s nurturing care. Moreover, in his person, he bears God’s image, the very imprint of the divine. Finally, he embodies the very temple of the Holy Spirit, a living, spiritual house for the Lord. Recalling these seven titles, Donne implies the fullness of the divine claim to him.
Donne repents to have forfeited by his sin the honor of housing God’s spirit, recalling Old Testament instances in which the Holy Spirit abandoned residence in a host defiled by sin (remember Saul?). Nevertheless, Donne resigns himself to God, and that word, resign, communicates a tone as well as an action. It suggests that Donne does more than simply forfeit his autonomy to God. Instead, he depicts that submission like a scene in a film noir in which he, a fugitive on the lamb who has finally chosen to do the reasonable thing, gives himself up to the Law.
Don’t be duped by the poet’s piety, however. Donne’s concession really isn’t due to the rights of God, but instead grows out of his need. What first appears as submission and disinterested rationality within the poem soon proves to be self-interested and passionate desperation. For Donne lives a captor, unloved and harshly treated. Herein lies the reason for his reflections, this the very incentive behind his recollection of titles: Donne seeks a legal loophole which might predicate God’s action on his behalf.
If, Donne asks, he belongs to God by right, how is it that the devil has usurped God’s place in him as King and Master? “Why doth the devil then usurp on me? Why doth he steal, nay ravish that’s thy right?” With an elaborate metaphysical conceit, Donne casts himself as a domain lost to a foreign invader. He turns to the legalities surrounding the takeover, appealing to the legitimate King for deliverance from his tyrannical oppressor. He supplicates for assistance against his enemy: “Except Thou rise and for Thine own work fight, / O! I shall soon despair, when I shall see / That thou lovest mankind well, yet wilt not choose me…” Should the King refuse His aid, betraying His disinterest in Donne, the “Domaine de Donne” will languish, lost; for none but the King can displace the firmly seated tyrant, Satan, who is “loth to lose” Donne, despite his aversion for the poet.
So goes the prose summary of this sonnet; yet, the piece is art, not prose, and a simple summation detracts from the elegance of the whole of the verse. Although the piece reads, in its direct address, as a piece of legal rhetoric, its syntax and arrangement betray its poetic import. In fact, the very casting of the work as rhetoric creates a kind of metaphysical conceit. Donne is a usurped domain petitioning the rightful ruler to return and retake his possessions. Since when is a man a kingdom? Yet the hyperbolic comparison communicates the impact of the usurpation as well as the slight it represents to the divine king.
The multitude of “proofs” Donne brings to his defense overwhelmingly support his right to beg assistance and request the succor of the Lord. Syntactically, words like “steal” and “ravish” underscore the nature of the affront. Donne is stolen property. In assaulting Donne, Satan has raped a member of the divine Bride. Will the Lord return to claim his own, strayed wife? Will He love her still and hold the certificate of their marriage in good faith, or will He abandon her to her captor?
By the Donne’s phrasings, God cannot deny the poet’s request for deliverance without slights to His own authority and sovereignty; yet, more than mere legalities are at stake for Donne. The King’s refusal of aid would signify much more than a change in authoritative headship for this man. It would mean the end of the marriage. With the demise of this blessed covenant, Donne would find himself re-married to a hateful, but possessive, satanic spouse, glad to have him only in so much as doing so would deprive the King of his person.
Yet, Donne maintains that, should God abandon him, He would by no means be forsaking the larger Church. Instead, he’d be relegating Donne to a post outside of His elect, designating him unclean, unloved, and unredeemed. By casting an individual man’s circumstances in such exaggerated metaphor, Donne portrays the gravity of his penitential pleas to God and forces his readers to admit these are no conceits. By depicting his own helplessness, Donne evokes fallen man’s desperate position and draws his readers’ sinful hearts toward penitence with his own.