Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series

by Alexander Pope

  Joseph Butler (1692-1752).

  Joseph Butler, whose Sermons (1726), and Analogy of Religion Natural and Revealed to the Constitution and Course of Nature (1736), are among the highest contributions to theology produced in the last century, called the imagination ‘a forward, delusive faculty,’ and he could have boasted that it was a faculty of which no trace is to be found in his works. Moreover, he is generally regarded as wholly destitute of style, and in a sense this is true, for Butler is so intent upon what he has to say that he cares little how he says it. His sense of beauty if he possessed it, was absorbed in a supreme allegiance to truth, and his life was that of a Christian philosopher intent upon one object. His sermons, preached at the Rolls Chapel, which contain the germ of his philosophy, are too closely packed with argument and too recondite in thought to fit them for pulpit discourses. The Analogy, which occupied seven years of Butler’s life, is better known and more generally interesting. ‘There is,’ he says, ‘a much more exact correspondence between the natural and the moral world than we are apt to take notice of.’ His aim is to show that the difficulties which meet us in Revelation are to be found also in nature, that as our happiness or misery in this world largely depends upon conduct, so it is reasonable to suppose, apart from what Revelation teaches, that we are also in a state of probation with regard to a future life. As youth is an education for mature age, so may the whole of our earthly life be an education for a future existence.

  ‘And if we were not able at all to discern how or in what way the present life could be our preparation for another, this would be no objection against the credibility of its being so. For we do not discern how food and sleep contribute to the growth of the body; nor could have any thought that they would before we had experience. Nor do children at all think on the one hand that the sports and exercises, to which they are so much addicted, contribute to their health and growth; nor, on the other, of the necessity which there is for their being restrained in them; nor are they capable of understanding the use of many parts of discipline, which, nevertheless, they must be made to go through in order to qualify them for the business of mature age. Were we not able, then, to discover in what respects the present life could form us for a future one, yet nothing would be more supposable than that it might, in some respects or other, from the general analogy of Providence. And this, for aught I see, might reasonably be said, even though we should not take in the consideration of God’s moral government over the world. But, take in this consideration, and consequently, that the character of virtue and piety is a necessary qualification for the future state, and then we may distinctly see how and in what respects the present life may be a preparation for it.

  Butler’s style is uniform throughout, and if it have no other merit, may be praised for honesty. It is wholly free from the artifices of the rhetorician; if it is wanting in charm, it is never weak; if it is sometimes obscure, it must be remembered that the author does not write for readers who find it a trouble to think. The bishop’s obscurity was not due to negligence. ‘Confusion and perplexity in writing,’ he says, ‘is indeed without excuse; because anyone may, if he pleases, know whether he understands and sees through what he is about; and it is unpardonable for a man to lay his thoughts before others when he is conscious that he himself does not know whereabouts he is, or how the matter before him stands. It is coming abroad in disorder, which he ought to be dissatisfied to find himself in at home.’

  Butler weighed his thoughts rather than his words in an age when many distinguished writers were tempted to regard form as of more consequence than substance. It must be admitted, however, that if the ideal of fine literature be the expression of beautiful and richly suggestive thoughts in a style elevated by the imagination, and by a sense of rhythmical harmony, Bishop Butler’s place is not among men of letters. His profound sense of the seriousness of life limited his range; but as a thinker, what he lost in versatility he probably gained in depth. The Analogy is a striking instance of a great work wholly without imagination, while full of the intellectual life which sustains the student’s attention. There is not a dull page in the book, or one in which the author’s meaning cannot be grasped by thoughtful readers. The work is full of weighty sayings on the power of conscience, the rule of right which a man has within him, the force of habit, the necessity of action in relation to belief, and the uselessness of passive impressions. It has been said that the defect of the eighteenth century theology ‘was not in having too much good sense, but in having nothing besides,’ and the straining after good sense, so prominent in Pope’s age, affected alike, men of letters, philosophers, and theologians. The virtue was carried to excess and is conspicuous in Butler. He has his weaknesses both as a philosopher and a theologian, but the reader of the Analogy and of the three sermons on Human Nature, will be conscious that he is in the presence of a great mind.

  William Warburton (1698-1779).

  William Warburton, Pope’s commentator, was born at Newark-upon-Trent in 1698, and died as Bishop of Gloucester in 1779. The main argument of his principal work, The Divine Legation of Moses (1738-41), is based upon the astounding paradox that the legation of Moses must have been divine because he never invoked the promises or threatenings of a future state. The book is remarkable for its arrogance and lack of ‘sweet reasonableness.’ It claims no attention from the student of English literature, neither would Warburton himself were it not for his association with Pope. Allusion has been already made to Crousaz’s hostile criticism of the Essay on Man (1737) on the ground that it led to fatalism, and was destructive of the foundations of natural religion. Warburton, who had previously denounced the ‘rank atheism’ of the poem, now endeavoured to defend it, and how effectually he did so in Pope’s judgment is seen in his grateful acknowledgment of the critic’s labours. ‘I know I meant just what you explain,’ he wrote, ‘but I did not explain my own meaning as well as you. You understand me as well as I do myself, but you express me better than I could express myself.’

  Dr. Conyers Middleton’s estimate of what Warburton had done for Pope is more accurate: ‘You have evinced the orthodoxy of Mr. Pope’s principles,’ he says, ‘but, like the old commentators on his Homer, will be thought, perhaps, in some places to have provided a meaning for him that he himself never dreamt of.’

  The poet and Warburton met for the first time in 1740, and the bookseller, Dodsley, who was present at the interview, was astonished at the compliments which Pope lavished on his apologist. Henceforth, until the poet’s death, Warburton, who, according to Bishop Hurd, ‘found an image of himself in his new acquaintance,’ became his counsellor and supporter, and among other achievements added, as Ricardus Aristarchus, to the confusion of the Dunciad. Ultimately, as Pope’s annotator, he produced much laborious and comparatively worthless criticism, and contrived by his immense fighting qualities as a critic and polemic to make a considerable noise in the world. One incident in the friendship of the poet and of the divine is worth recording. In 1741 Pope and Warburton were at Oxford together, and while there the Vice-Chancellor offered to confer on the poet the degree of D.C.L., and on Warburton that of D.D. Some hesitation, however, on the part of the university having occurred with regard to the latter, Pope wrote to his friend saying, ‘As for mine I will die before I receive one, in an art I am ignorant of, at a place where there remains any scruple of bestowing one on you, in a science of which you are so great a master. In short I will be doctored with you, or not at all.’

  Warburton’s stupendous self-assertion concealed to some extent his heavy style and poverty of thought. His aim was to startle by paradoxes, since he could not convince by argument. No one could call an opponent names in the Billingsgate style more effectively, and every man who ventured to differ from him was either a knave or a fool. ‘Warburton’s stock argument,’ it has been said, ‘is a threat to cudgel anyone who disputes his opinion.’ He was a laborious student, and the mass of work he accomplished exhibits his robust energy, but he has
left nothing which lives in literature or in theology. He was, however, a man of various acquisitions, and won, for that reason, the praise of Dr. Johnson. ‘The table is always full, sir. He brings things from the north and the south and from every quarter. In his Divine Legation you are always entertained. He carries you round and round without carrying you forward to the point, but then you have no wish to be carried forward.’

  Bentley’s more concise description of Warburton’s attainments deserves to be recorded. He was, he says, ‘a man of monstrous appetite, but bad digestion.’

  Warburton’s Shakespeare appeared in 1747, his Pope in 1751. It cannot be said that either poet has cause to be grateful to his commentator. Of his Shakespeare a few words may be appropriately said here. In this pretentious and untrustworthy edition, Warburton accuses Theobald of plagiarism, treats him with contempt, and then uses his text to print from. In his Preface he declares that his own Notes ‘take in the whole compass of Criticism,’ and he professes to restore the poet’s genuine Text. Yet, as the editors of the Cambridge Shakespeare observe, there is no trace, so far as they have discovered, ‘of his having collated for himself either the earlier Folios or any of the Quartos.’ Warburton professed to observe the severe canons of literal criticism, and this suggested the title to Thomas Edwards of a volume in which the critic’s editorial pretensions are attacked with some humour and much justice.

  We may add that Bishop Hurd, Warburton’s most intimate friend, edited his works in seven volumes (1788), and six years later, by way of preface to a new edition, published an Account of the Life, Writings, and Character of the Author.

  INDEX OF MINOR POETS AND PROSE WRITERS.

  John Armstrong (1709-1779), a Scotchman by birth, practised in London as a physician after some surgical experience in the navy. Believing any subject suitable for poetry, he wrote in blank verse, reminding one of Thomson, The Art of Preserving Health (1744), a poem containing some powerful passages, and many which are better fitted for a medical treatise than for poetry. An earlier and licentious poem The Economy of Love, which injured him in his profession, was ‘revised and corrected by the author’ in 1768.

  If bulk were a sign of merit Sir Richard Blackmore (1650-1729) would not rank with the minor poets. He wrote several long and wearisome epics, his best work in Dr. Johnson’s judgment being The Creation (1712), which was praised by Addison in the Spectator as ‘one of the most useful and noble productions in our English verse,’ a judgment the modern reader is not likely to endorse.

  Henry Brooke (1706-1783), an Irishman, was the author of a poem entitled Universal Beauty (1735). Four years later he published Gustavus Vasa, a tragedy, which was not allowed to be acted, the sentiments being too liberal for the government. His Fool of Quality (1766) a novel in five volumes, delighted John Wesley, and in our day, Charles Kingsley, who praises its ‘broad and genial humanity.’ Brooke was a follower of William Law, whose mysticism is to be seen in the story.

  William Broome (1689-1745) is chiefly known from his association with Pope in the translation of the Odyssey, of which enough has been said elsewhere (p. 38). His name suggested the following epigram to Henley:

  ‘Pope came off clean with Homer; but they say Broome went before and kindly swept the way.’

  He entered holy orders, had two livings in Suffolk and one in Norfolk, and married a wealthy widow. His verses are mechanically correct, but are empty of poetry.

  John Byrom (1691-1763), the friend and disciple of William Law, the author of the Serious Call, is best remembered for his system of shorthand. In a characteristic, copious, and not very attractive journal, he describes, for the consolation of his fellow mortals, how he makes resolutions and breaks them. Byrom wrote rhyme with ease and on subjects with which poetry has nothing to do. His most successful achievement was a pastoral, Colin and Phœbe, which appeared in the Spectator (Vol. viii., No. 603). It was written in honour of the daughter of Dr. Bentley, Master of Trinity, ‘not,’ it has been said, ‘because he wished to win her affections, but because he desired to secure her father’s interest for the Fellowship for which he was a candidate.’ The plan was successful. The one verse of Byrom’s that every one has read is the happy epigram:

  ‘God bless the King! — I mean the faith’s defender — God bless (no harm in blessing!) the Pretender! But who Pretender is, or who is King — God bless us all! — that’s quite another thing.’

  Samuel Clarke (1675-1729), a man of large attainments in science and divinity, was the favourite theologian of Queen Caroline, who admired his latitudinarian views, and delighted in his conversation. His works, edited by Bishop Hoadly, were published in 1738 in four folio volumes. In 1704 he delivered the Boyle lectures on The Being and Attributes of God, and in 1705 On Natural and Revealed Religion. His Scripture Doctrine of the Trinity (1712) was condemned by convocation. In defence of Sir Isaac Newton, Clarke had a controversy with Leibnitz, and having published the correspondence dedicated it to the Queen. His sermons, Mr. Leslie Stephen says, are ‘for the most part not sermons at all, but lectures upon metaphysics.’ In Addison’s judgment Clarke was one of the most accurate, learned, and judicious writers the age had produced.

  Elijah Fenton (1683-1730) wrote poems and Mariamne a tragedy, in which, according to his friend Broome, ‘great Sophocles revives and reappears.’ It was acted with applause, and brought nearly one thousand pounds to its author. His name is now chiefly known as having assisted Pope in his translation of the Odyssey.

  Richard Glover (1712-1785), the son of a London merchant, was himself a merchant of high reputation in the city. He also ‘cultivated the Muses,’ and his Leonidas (1737), an elaborate poem in blank verse, preferred by some critics of the day to Paradise Lost, passed through several editions and was praised by Fielding and by Lord Chatham. Power is visible in this epic, which displays also a large amount of knowledge, but the salt of genius is wanting, and the poem, despite many estimable qualities, is now forgotten. Leonidas was followed by Boadicea (1758), and The Atheniad, published after his death in 1788. Glover was a politician as well as a verseman. His party feeling probably inspired Admiral Hosier’s Ghost (1739), a ballad still remembered and preserved in anthologies.

  Matthew Green (1696-1737) is the author of The Spleen, an original and brightly written poem. The Grotto, printed but not published in 1732, is also marked by freshness of treatment. Green’s poems, written in octosyllabic metre, were published after his death.

  James Hammond (1710-1742) produced many forlorn elegies on a lady who appears to have scorned him, and who lived in ‘maiden meditation’ for nearly forty years after the poet’s death. His love is said to have affected his mind for a time. ‘Sure Hammond has no right,’ says Shenstone, ‘to the least inventive merit. I do not think that there is a single thought in his elegies of any eminence that is not literally translated.’

  Nathaniel Hooke (1690-1763), the author of a Roman History, is better known as the editor of An Account of the conduct of the Dowager Duchess of Marlborough, from her first coming to Court in the year 1710, in a letter from herself to Lord —— in 1742. The duchess is said to have dictated this letter from her bed, and to have been so eager for its completion that she insisted on Hooke’s not leaving the house till he had finished it. He was munificently rewarded for his labour by a present of £5,000. It was Hooke, a zealous Roman Catholic, who, when Pope was dying, asked him if he should not send for a priest, and received the poet’s hearty thanks for putting him in mind of it.

  John Hughes (1677-1719) was the author of poems, an opera, a masque, several translations, and a tragedy, The Siege of Damascus, which was well received, and kept its place on the stage for some years. He died on the first night’s performance of the play. Several articles in the Tatler and Spectator are from his pen. In 1715 he published an edition of Spenser in six volumes. Hughes received warm praise from Steele, and enjoyed also the friendship of Addison.

  Conyers Middleton (1683-1750) is now chiefly known for an extrava
gantly eulogistic life of Cicero (1741), in which, as Macaulay observes, he ‘resorted to the most disingenuous shifts, to unpardonable distortions and suppressions of facts.’ The book is written in a forcible and lively style. A man of considerable learning, Middleton was a violent controversialist, who liked better to attack and to defend than to dwell in the serene atmosphere of literature or of practical divinity. He assailed the famous Richard Bentley with such rancour that he had to apologize and was fined £50 by the Court of King’s Bench. Middleton was a doctor of divinity, but his controversial works, while never directly attacking the chief tenets of the religion he professed, lean far more to the side of the Deists than to the orthodox creed, and, indeed, it would not be uncharitable to class him among them. He appears, like Swift, to have chiefly regarded the Christian religion as an institution of service to the stability of the State. Of the Miscellaneous Works which were published after his death in five volumes, the most elaborate and the most provocative of disputation is A Free Inquiry into the Miraculous Powers which are supposed to have subsisted in the Christian Church through several successive centuries (1749). Middleton was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, and in 1734 was elected librarian of the University.

  Richard Savage (1698-1743), whose fate is one of the most melancholy in the annals of versemen, lives in the admirable though neither impartial nor wholly accurate biography of Dr. Johnson. In 1719 he produced Love in a Veil, a comedy from the Spanish; and in 1723 his tragedy Sir Thomas Overbury was acted, but with little success. In the same year he published The Bastard, a poem which is said to have driven his mother out of society. The Wanderer, in five cantos, appeared in 1729, and was regarded by the author as his masterpiece. It has some vigorous lines and several descriptive passages that are not conventional. Savage died in prison at Bristol, a city which recalls the equally painful story of Chatterton.