Shakespeare, Sonnet 30: The Remembrance of Things Past

Shakespeare's Sonnet 30 indulges a lovely musicality as it proceeds through a litany of griefs. We weep for "precious friends hid in death's dateless night," mourn "love's long since cancell'd woe," "moan th' expense of many a vanished sight." This continues relentlessly: "heavily from woe to woe" we "tell o'er / The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan." One wonders how this tragedy, starting from the 3rd line ("I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought"), will end. Surely it cannot end like a joke, abruptly and almost trivially. The poem cannot possibly make a U-turn and imply there wasn't a single tear shed–I'm sorry, I meant "drown an eye, unus'd to flow."

But that's what it does. The last two lines take the "remembrance of things past" and completely defenestrate them: "But if the while I think of thee, dear friend, / All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end."

I'm torn. On the one hand, every single one of us has been there: this relationship will fix me. Just keep pleading with your "friend," telling them that you depend on them to keep it together. Put the pressure on them to never let you think of anyone else. Is Shakespeare using the weight of his eloquence to illustrate this? Is he parodying it?

On the other hand, is this totally sincere? That an endless chain of grief can be broken by the thought of the right person?

Sonnet 30
Shakespeare

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd sight;
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end.

I don't have an answer. I'm partial to this poem as parody. Look at the things held equivalent: "precious friends" who have died stands with lost loves and lost sights. This poem has such gravitas, but the gravitas centers on grieving "at grievances foregone." I don't know that there's a sense of priority here, one which involves distinguishing the friend or lover who was willing to give you everything from the friend or lover who was really rich.

Then again, even those who are more serious tend to count their losses all at once. This isn't because they want to disrespect the friends, lovers, or opportunities that meant so much. It is because they want to know they did the most with the time had with them. And if there is someone who is at the moment a "dear friend," who understands the complicated struggle of trying to do justice to one's life, then wouldn't the thought of them restore all losses? End the sorrow?

For me, the question leans toward what we want to make of friendship. Even though we read between the lines of classical texts now, seeing "friend" as a marker for certain sexual relationships, I think we tend to believe friendship mattered more in prior ages. This isn't to say we don't imagine ourselves doing nothing with our friends. Many of us imagine ourselves accumulating wealth and power with our crew. But we're not dwelling on the virtues of friendship–I mean, no less than Aristotle held that friendship itself was a virtue–and we don't think of the dialogue between nobles or philosophers who wondered aloud about independence of mind and fraternity. The ideals of the French Revolution, liberté, égalité, fraternité, feel alien. I know we don't often think about brotherhood as essential to democracy.

Is there a notion of a friend who can ease our thoughts because we admire them? I think about the people who I admire, who save lives or manage tough situations or build specialized skills or just know so much or bring the right attitude. I have a lot of people I admire, and all of you reading this know that I'm riddled with panic every second of every day. I literally got scared today that I left the refrigerator open after I left the apartment and went for a walk, so I ran back to check and see that yes, I did close the fridge properly. Should I have thought of my dear friends while I was in a panic? I guess. You know, if they had a key so they could open my apartment and check on the fridge.

I think Aristotle is entirely correct that there are friendships of virtue and they absolutely matter. It isn't enough for people to have roughly the same values. The larger question is what they're willing to fight for and how. We see people with the same orientation toward virtue do incredible things often. Nowadays, a lot of them fight for the rights of strangers, keep their cool while dealing with bullies and worse, and find opportunities in the unlikeliest places. Virtue is like a third eye, looking into the world and seeing value you'd normally dismiss. And it is coming less from an individual simply knowing more as much as a network of those who understand the stakes.

But while friendships of virtue have positive benefits, the truth is that friendships not centered around virtue are so much more brittle. You don't really have friends because they ease your thoughts; the security they provide is much deeper. You are willing to sacrifice for them, you are willing to put yourself in tense situations because of them. The security isn't tied to emotions in a given moment, but rather a sense of honor peculiar to the friendship.

Maybe for those 700 years ago, that sense of honor had a music to it, an emotional levity I cannot comprehend. I don't know. There's a limit to which I can summon the "remembrance of things past."