Delusions In Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken
The Road Not Taken: a present made of the past’s little delusions In the poem, “The Road Not Taken,” Frost seemingly presents the reader with a classic problem, but reframed in a literal forest scene. The problem is, how does one know they have chosen the right “path” on their journey through life? That is a question that haunts many, but Frost wryly notes that the question doesn’t really signify much of anything, as it is human nature to glorify the past, wrap it in a protective nostalgia, and the American way to view one’s self as a trailblazer. So, while the poem notes, “I took the one less traveled by,/ And that has made all the difference” (Frost 19-20), the reader is left with the distinct impression that the narrator really took the path almost blindly, and the true point of significance is that in taking one path, the other is lost and unknowable, and it is only a delusion to assume that
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one is better than the other.
As noted by author George Monteiro in his essay “Roads and Paths,” “‘The Road Not Taken’ can be read against a literary and pictorial tradition that might be called ‘The Choice of the Two Paths.’” In the standard story, the two roads are often very distinct in nature, one being a road to salvation, glory, or reward, and the other to evil, damnation, or perdition, but Frost employs the story in a very different way.
Monteiro compares Frost’s usage to a passage in Longfellow's notebooks: "Round about what is, lies a whole mysterious world of might be… By going out a few minutes sooner or later… we may let slip some great occasion of good, or avoid some impending evil, by which the whole current of our lives would have been changed. There is no possible solution to the dark enigma but the one word, 'Providence.'" But it seems clear that Frost takes a somewhat different approach to the mysteries of the diverging paths, because instead of focusing on providence, he shifts his focus to the self, and the individual creation of self through the alteration of
memory—self-deception.
The poem opens with a seeming conundrum. The narrator finds himself at a fork in the road, here figured in a literal sense. He notes that he is sorry, “I could not travel both/ And be one traveler” (Frost 2-3). If they were essentially the same, why be saddened? Already he makes a distinction between the two roads, as if by taking one, he has lost the other; however, after seeing the difference between the two, he immediately notes, that one road is “just as fair” (Frost 6) as the other. He attempts to create a distinction again by saying one was “grassy and wanted wear” (Frost 8), but then says that they were worn “really about the same” (Frost 10). This feeling of tensing and release continues throughout the poem. The narrator attempts to make his decision based on some perceived difference, but is continually faced with the realization that the differences are few. He finds that “both that morning equally lay/ In leaves no step had trodden black” (Frost 11-12) He wishes to travel one and then the other just to inspect them, but says, “knowing how way leads on to way,/ I doubted if I should ever come back” (Frost 14-15).
He acknowledges that the differences between the paths, if present at all, are not able to be seen in the visible portion of each, but also notes that he cannot explore them further than just the beginning (what he can see from where he is standing), because, and the stanza is concluded with this fact, once he travels down one path, he cannot return. If this stanza is a loss of disillusionment, and a realization of one’s inability to see into the distance, then the next (and concluding) stanza is an abrupt acknowledgement. The narrator says, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—/ I took the one less traveled by,/ And that has made all the difference” (Frost 18-20). He has already stated that the paths, as far as he could see, were indistinguishable, and yet now he says that he chose the one “less traveled,” and that this undoubtedly made a difference.
Every moment of every day is a constantly forking, diverging, and altering path, but often, there is little way of discerning which path will be the better in the end. Who’s to say if one path in life might have led to somewhere better or worse? This metaphorical forest scene is obviously an imitation of life. Often times, seemingly very small decisions can set in to motion a chain of events that can completely alter the course of life—setting one on a new path—but the real differences aren’t noticeable at the point of divergence, but only once the path has been explored at length, and by that point, it’s too late to truly go back. The narrator’s return in the last stanza to the idea that the road he chose was somehow chosen from knowledge or a desire to strike out on one’s own is abrupt in the course of the poem. The reader seems to be pulled to the conclusion that there is no difference between the roads, but then is slapped with this final statement, that despite knowing that the road was chosen without an ability to distinguish between them, the narrator will engage in the delusion that he made the decision with specific intent. But then, this shouldn’t be too terribly surprising; this reworking of memory is something in which almost all engage, albeit perhaps not always with such self-consciousness. The idea of the American Individualist is somewhat mocked here as being perhaps a bit naïve, and even perhaps a bit egotistical (to try and force one’s will on the mysteries of the unknown). (Cervo 1989) Frost seems to be very interested in the ways in which people seek to glorify themselves, or at least reshape the narrative of their life such that they are the hero. This isn’t portrayed as a necessarily “bad” thing, and it seems that it is portrayed as an all-together common thing. Frost seems to point out that it is human nature to want control and dominion over one’s life, but since humans are bound to their place in time, unable to see the future and where the paths may lead, we must instead go exploring, hope for the best, and comfort ourselves with little delusions.
one is better than the other.
As noted by author George Monteiro in his essay “Roads and Paths,” “‘The Road Not Taken’ can be read against a literary and pictorial tradition that might be called ‘The Choice of the Two Paths.’” In the standard story, the two roads are often very distinct in nature, one being a road to salvation, glory, or reward, and the other to evil, damnation, or perdition, but Frost employs the story in a very different way.
Monteiro compares Frost’s usage to a passage in Longfellow's notebooks: "Round about what is, lies a whole mysterious world of might be… By going out a few minutes sooner or later… we may let slip some great occasion of good, or avoid some impending evil, by which the whole current of our lives would have been changed. There is no possible solution to the dark enigma but the one word, 'Providence.'" But it seems clear that Frost takes a somewhat different approach to the mysteries of the diverging paths, because instead of focusing on providence, he shifts his focus to the self, and the individual creation of self through the alteration of
memory—self-deception.
The poem opens with a seeming conundrum. The narrator finds himself at a fork in the road, here figured in a literal sense. He notes that he is sorry, “I could not travel both/ And be one traveler” (Frost 2-3). If they were essentially the same, why be saddened? Already he makes a distinction between the two roads, as if by taking one, he has lost the other; however, after seeing the difference between the two, he immediately notes, that one road is “just as fair” (Frost 6) as the other. He attempts to create a distinction again by saying one was “grassy and wanted wear” (Frost 8), but then says that they were worn “really about the same” (Frost 10). This feeling of tensing and release continues throughout the poem. The narrator attempts to make his decision based on some perceived difference, but is continually faced with the realization that the differences are few. He finds that “both that morning equally lay/ In leaves no step had trodden black” (Frost 11-12) He wishes to travel one and then the other just to inspect them, but says, “knowing how way leads on to way,/ I doubted if I should ever come back” (Frost 14-15).
He acknowledges that the differences between the paths, if present at all, are not able to be seen in the visible portion of each, but also notes that he cannot explore them further than just the beginning (what he can see from where he is standing), because, and the stanza is concluded with this fact, once he travels down one path, he cannot return. If this stanza is a loss of disillusionment, and a realization of one’s inability to see into the distance, then the next (and concluding) stanza is an abrupt acknowledgement. The narrator says, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—/ I took the one less traveled by,/ And that has made all the difference” (Frost 18-20). He has already stated that the paths, as far as he could see, were indistinguishable, and yet now he says that he chose the one “less traveled,” and that this undoubtedly made a difference.
Every moment of every day is a constantly forking, diverging, and altering path, but often, there is little way of discerning which path will be the better in the end. Who’s to say if one path in life might have led to somewhere better or worse? This metaphorical forest scene is obviously an imitation of life. Often times, seemingly very small decisions can set in to motion a chain of events that can completely alter the course of life—setting one on a new path—but the real differences aren’t noticeable at the point of divergence, but only once the path has been explored at length, and by that point, it’s too late to truly go back. The narrator’s return in the last stanza to the idea that the road he chose was somehow chosen from knowledge or a desire to strike out on one’s own is abrupt in the course of the poem. The reader seems to be pulled to the conclusion that there is no difference between the roads, but then is slapped with this final statement, that despite knowing that the road was chosen without an ability to distinguish between them, the narrator will engage in the delusion that he made the decision with specific intent. But then, this shouldn’t be too terribly surprising; this reworking of memory is something in which almost all engage, albeit perhaps not always with such self-consciousness. The idea of the American Individualist is somewhat mocked here as being perhaps a bit naïve, and even perhaps a bit egotistical (to try and force one’s will on the mysteries of the unknown). (Cervo 1989) Frost seems to be very interested in the ways in which people seek to glorify themselves, or at least reshape the narrative of their life such that they are the hero. This isn’t portrayed as a necessarily “bad” thing, and it seems that it is portrayed as an all-together common thing. Frost seems to point out that it is human nature to want control and dominion over one’s life, but since humans are bound to their place in time, unable to see the future and where the paths may lead, we must instead go exploring, hope for the best, and comfort ourselves with little delusions.