The twentieth-century writer, Lowell, was deeply engrossed in exploring the darker facets of human nature and modern culture, prompting him to delve into the mindset of American colonists. Unlike Nathaniel Hawthorne of the nineteenth century, Lowell was neither a defender nor a harsh critic of Puritanism. However, he also distanced himself from the American literary tradition of optimism, which began with Edwards's contemporary, Benjamin Franklin, and extended through New England transcendentalists and figures like Walt Whitman. This tradition largely downplayed or ignored the implications of what Puritans referred to as original sin, a concept Lowell found too significant to overlook.

Edwards, who entered the world a mere three years before Benjamin Franklin, stands as a symbol of religious dedication poised on the brink of transformation into a rationalist, humanist, and increasingly secular perspective. As a conservative intellectual, Edwards engaged in a valiant yet ultimately doomed effort to resist the sweeping changes of his era. Despite this, he confronted the formidable forces that contradicted purely rationalist interpretations of human nature without hesitation. By dismissing the notion of a wrathful deity, subsequent generations after Edwards inadvertently discarded what was once considered the most convincing explanation for the myriad challenges that are now often encapsulated by the term "the human condition."

In the second stanza, Lowell's narrative takes a turn as Edwards begins addressing a mysterious "you," whose identity remains veiled until the fifth stanza. Here, the veil is lifted to reveal Hawley, a figure embodying deviant human behavior. For Edwards, and indeed for his readers, Hawley represents a disquieting manifestation of psychological divergence. One could easily—perhaps too easily—cast Hawley as a victim of ministerial manipulation, suggesting that his unstable temperament was pushed to the brink of madness by a sort of religious terror. Such a simplistic interpretation, however, overlooks the unsettling truth that the contemporary world harbors its own Josiah Hawleys—individuals whose behaviors similarly deviate from societal norms.

In contemplating the nature of mortality, Jonathan Edwards, unlike Robert Lowell's portrayal, might not have depicted death as “the Black Widow,” yet he certainly viewed it as a formidable uncertainty. For Edwards, the fear of death was intertwined with the anxiety over one's eternal fate—whether it led to heaven or hell. This existential uncertainty is poignantly captured in Lowell's revised vision, where Edwards asks, “How will the heart endure?” and ponders the inherent value of life itself.

Lowell’s poetic exploration delves into the pervasive sense of guilt that afflicts many, even those who repudiate Calvinism. This existential inquiry extends beyond theological doctrines to question the absence of the serene confidence once exhibited by transcendentalist thinkers like Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. These intellectual giants advocated self-reliance as a remedy for the mind burdened by the inherited sins and moral decay of humanity.

The poem reflects a broader existential quest for understanding why guilt seems to infiltrate the human condition so persistently. It subtly critiques the modern departure from the tranquil assurance that Emerson and Thoreau maintained, suggesting that their approach to self-reliance offered a more peaceful alternative to the inner turmoil experienced by those grappling with ancestral sin and moral inadequacies.

For many readers, the phrase "To die and know it" carries a significantly different meaning than it would for Jonathan Edwards. In the context of Edwards's beliefs, this concept would likely intertwine with profound theological implications, yet in Robert Lowell's interpretation, it is stripped of such divine associations. Lowell personifies this idea through the character of a black widow, a creature devoid of anger or the capacity for redemption, highlighting a stark divergence from Edwards's views. The crux of this divergence lies in a question posed by Lowell's version of Edwards: "But who can plumb the sinking of that soul?" This inquiry, in Lowell's hands, shifts from a moral to a psychological domain, underscoring an evolution in understanding. Even as Edwards's theological framework crumbles, Lowell finds a kindred spirit in him. Edwards's lasting legacy, according to Lowell, is not necessarily in the answers he provided, which may fall short of contemporary scrutiny, but in his ability to pose the right questions that continue to resonate on a deeply human level.