How far is it to Heaven?

How far is it to Heaven?
As far as Death this way—
Of River or of Ridge beyond
Was no discovery.

How far is it to Hell?
As far as Death this way—
How far left hand the Sepulchre
Defies Topography.


    -F965, J921, sheet 22, 1865


"How far is it to heaven?" asks the child. The mother answers, "It's as far as death." "What do you mean?" "I mean it in this way: that no river or ridge, let alone Heaven, has been discovered after death. At least, none that we know of." The child says, "I don't understand." The mother clarifies, "Death is unmapped. Since we can't know anything beyond death, let's turn to life." 

The poem points us back to what has been mapped and what we do know. There is another way to read the syntax of those first two lines. Heaven is "as far as death this way." In other words, we only get heaven as far as, or until, death. It's as far as death this way, this direction, which is to say, here. There's no discovery of rivers and ridges after death. You know where they have been discovered? Here on earth.

Rivers and ridges are both wonderful examples of heaven on earth. If you have ever stood on the edge of the Grand Canyon, looking at the Colorado River down below, or stood on any ridge, really, or swam in any river, you know what Dickinson means.

The stanza ends with a negation: "no discovery." Death negates discovery. The negation points back then to the positive. Within the brief confines of life, one may well discover something like heaven while standing on a ridge or beside a river.

How far is it to Hell?
As far as Death this way—
How far left hand the Sepulchre
Defies Topography.

If we apply the same logic to the second stanza, then Hell is with us only as far as death, because we can't know anything beyond. Hell on earth. We know it this way: grief, which is symbolized by the Sepulchre. The key word here I think is "left." There's a double meaning in the phrase "left hand." One meaning is directional. The direction "left," in a place that defies topography, is questionable. The other meaning points to what has been taken from us, what has "left hand." When we experience bereavement, the feeling is beyond topography, beyond distance. We are lost. When grief strikes, we feel we are in an infinite directionless hell.

Emily takes the child's question, "How far is it to Heaven?" and gives us a grown-up answer: Heaven is as far as death. We can only know we will die and have no idea what comes after. It reminds me of Whitman's line, "There was never any more heaven and hell than there is now." 

How do you distinguish between heaven and hell on earth then? The poem doesn't give any easy answers to this question either. You have to set off for ridges and rivers to discover heaven, but then, if you do discover it, what then? If you find it, then you have to risk the hell of it being lost, of death, the "left hand the sepulchre." Heaven may be inextricable from hell, but nonetheless, the poem reminds us, in this life is all we can know.

    -/)dam Wade l)eGraff

P.S  The first stanza of this poem reminds me of long car trips when my kids ask "Are we there yet?" I always answer, "Yes."