Lives Of The Poets, Vol. 1 (fiscle part-III) - Samuel Johnson (classic books to read txt) 📗
- Author: Samuel Johnson
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Sublunary Cares Or Pleasures. Yet The Praise Of That Fortitude, With
Which Abdiel Maintained his Singularity Of Virtue Against The Scorn Of
Multitudes, May Be Accommodated to All Times; And Raphael'S Reproof Of
Adam'S Curiosity After The Planetary Motions, With The Answer Returned
By Adam, May Be Confidently Opposed to Any Rule Of Life Which Any Poet
Has Delivered.
The Thoughts Which Are Occasionally Called forth In the Progress, Are
Such As Could Only Be Produced by An Imagination In the Highest Degree
Fervid And Active, To Which Materials Were Supplied by Incessant Study
And Unlimited curiosity. The Heat Of Milton'S Mind May Be Said To
Sublimate His Learning, To Throw Off Into His Work The Spirit Of
Science, Unmingled with Its Grosser Parts.
He Had Considered creation, In its Whole Extent, And His Descriptions
Are, Therefore, Learned. He Had Accustomed his Imagination To
Unrestrained indulgence, And His Conceptions, Therefore, Were Extensive.
The Characteristick Quality Of His Poem Is Sublimity. He Sometimes
Descends To The Elegant, But His Element Is The Great. He Can
Occasionally Invest Himself With Grace; But His Natural Port Is
Gigantick Loftiness[60]. He Can Please, When Pleasure Is Required; But
It Is His Peculiar Power To Astonish.
He Seems To Have Been Well Acquainted with His Own Genius, And To Know
What It Was That Nature Had Bestowed upon Him More Bountifully Than Upon
Others; The Power Of Displaying the Vast, Illuminating the Splendid,
Enforcing the Awful, Darkening the Gloomy, And Aggravating the Dreadful;
He, Therefore, Chose A Subject On Which Too Much Could Not Be Said, On
Which He Might Tire His Fancy, Without The Censure Of Extravagance.
The Appearances Of Nature, And The Occurrences Of Life, Did Not Satiate
His Appetite Of Greatness. To Paint Things As They Are Requires A Minute
Attention, And Employs The Memory Rather Than The Fancy. Milton'S
Delight Was To Sport In the Wide Regions Of Possibility; Reality Was A
Scene Too Narrow For His Mind. He Sent His Faculties Out Upon Discovery,
Into Worlds Where Only Imagination Can Travel, And Delighted to Form
New Modes Of Existence, And Furnish Sentiment And Action To Superiour
Beings, To Trace The Counsels Of Hell, Or Accompany The Choirs Of
Heaven.
But He Could Not Be Always In other Worlds; He Must Sometimes Revisit
Earth, And Tell Of Things Visible And Known. When He Cannot Raise Wonder
By The Sublimity Of His Mind, He Gives Delight By Its Fertility.
Whatever Be His Subject, He Never Fails To Fill The Imagination. But His
Images And Descriptions Of The Scenes, Or Operations Of Nature, Do Not
Seem To Be Always Copied from Original Form, Nor To Have The Freshness,
Raciness, And Energy Of Immediate Observation. He Saw Nature, As Dryden
Expresses It, "Through The Spectacles Of Books;" And, On Most Occasions,
Calls Learning to His Assistance. The Garden Of Eden Brings To His Mind
The Vale Of Enna, Where Proserpine Was Gathering flowers. Satan Makes
His Way Through Fighting elements, Like Argo Between The Cyanean
Rocks, Or Ulysses Between The Two Sicilian Whirlpools, When He Shunned
Charybdis On The "Larboard." The Mythological Allusions Have Been Justly
Censured, As Not Being always Used with Notice Of Their Vanity; But They
Contribute Variety To The Narration, And Produce An Alternate Exercise
Of The Memory And The Fancy.
His Similes Are Less Numerous, And More Various, Than Those Of His
Predecessors. But He Does Not Confine Himself Within The Limits Of
Rigorous Comparison; His Great Excellence Is Amplitude; And He Expands
The Adventitious Image Beyond The Dimensions Which The Occasion
Required. Thus Comparing the Shield Of Satan To The Orb Of The Moon, He
Crowds The Imagination With The Discovery Of The Telescope, And All The
Wonders Which The Telescope Discovers.
Of His Moral Sentiments It Is Hardly Praise To Affirm That They Excel
Those Of All Other Poets; For This Superiority He Was Indebted to His
Acquaintance With The Sacred writings. The Ancient Epick Poets, Wanting
The Light Of Revelation, Were Very Unskilful Teachers Of Virtue: Their
Principal Characters May Be Great, But They Are Not Amiable. The Reader
May Rise From Their Works With A Greater Degree Of Active Or Passive
Fortitude, And Sometimes Of Prudence; But He Will Be Able To Carry Away
Few Precepts Of Justice, And None Of Mercy.
From The Italian Writers It Appears, That The Advantages Of Even
Christian Knowledge May Be Possessed in vain. Ariosto'S Pravity Is
Generally Known; And, Though The Deliverance Of Jerusalem May Be
Considered as A Sacred subject, The Poet Has Been Very Sparing of Moral
Instruction.
In Milton Every Line Breathes Sanctity Of Thought, And Purity
Of Manners, Except When The Train Of The Narration Requires The
Introduction Of The Rebellious Spirits; And Even They Are Compelled
To Acknowledge Their Subjection To God, In such A Manner As Excites
Reverence, And Confirms Piety.
Of Human Beings There Are But Two; But Those Two Are The Parents Of
Mankind, Venerable Before Their Fall For Dignity And Innocence, And
Amiable After It For Repentance And Submission. In the First State,
Their Affection Is Tender Without Weakness, And Their Piety Sublime
Without Presumption. When They Have Sinned, They Show How Discord Begins
In Mutual Frailty, And How It Ought To Cease In mutual Forbearance; How
Confidence Of The Divine Favour Is Forfeited by Sin; And How Hope Of
Pardon May Be Obtained by Penitence And Prayer. A State Of Innocence We
Can Only Conceive, If, Indeed, In our Present Misery, It Be Possible
To Conceive It; But The Sentiments And Worship Proper To A Fallen And
Offending being, We Have All To Learn, As We Have All To Practise.
The Poet, Whatever Be Done, Is Always Great. Our Progenitors, In their
First State, Conversed with Angels; Even When Folly And Sin Had Degraded
Them, They Had Not, In their Humiliation, "The Port Of Mean Suitors;"
And They Rise Again To Reverential Regard, When We Find That Their
Prayers Were Heard.
As Human Passions Did Not Enter The World, Before The Fall, There Is, In
The Paradise Lost, Little Opportunity For The Pathetick; But What Little
There Is Has Not Been Lost. That Passion Which Is Peculiar To Rational
Nature, The Anguish Arising from The Consciousness Of Transgression, And
The Horrours Attending the Sense Of The Divine Displeasure, Are Very
Justly Described and Forcibly Impressed. But The Passions Are Moved only
On One Occasion; Sublimity Is The General And Prevailing quality Of This
Poem; Sublimity Variously Modified, Sometimes Descriptive, Sometimes
Argumentative.
The Defects And Faults Of Paradise Lost, For Faults And Defects Every
Work Of Man Must Have, It Is The Business Of Impartial Criticism To
Discover. As, In displaying the Excellence Of Milton, I Have Not Made
Long Quotations, Because Of Selecting beauties There Had Been No End, I
Shall, In the Same General Manner, Mention That Which Seems To Deserve
Censure; For What Englishman Can Take Delight In transcribing passages,
Which, If They Lessen The Reputation Of Milton, Diminish, In some
Degree, The Honour Of Our Country?
The Generality Of My Scheme Does Not Admit The Frequent Notice Of Verbal
Inaccuracies; Which Bentley, Perhaps, Better Skilled in grammar Than In
Poetry, Has Often Found, Though He Sometimes Made Them, And Which He
Imputed to The Obtrusions Of A Reviser, Whom The Author'S Blindness
Obliged him To Employ; A Supposition Rash And Groundless, If He Thought
It True; And Vile And Pernicious, If, As Is Said, He, In private,
Allowed it To Be False.
The Plan Of Paradise Lost Has This Inconvenience, That It Comprises
Neither Human Actions Nor Human Manners[61]. The Man And Woman Who Act
And Suffer Are In a State Which No Other Man Or Woman Can Ever Know.
The Reader Finds No Transaction In which He Can Be Engaged; Beholds No
Condition In which He Can, By Any Effort Of Imagination, Place Himself;
He Has, Therefore, Little Natural Curiosity Or Sympathy.
We All, Indeed, Feel The Effect Of Adam'S Disobedience; We All Sin, Like
Adam, And, Like Him, Must All Bewail Our Offences; We Have Restless And
Insidious Enemies In the Fallen Angels; And In the Blessed spirits We
Have Guardians And Friends; In the Redemption Of Mankind We Hope To Be
Included; And In the Description Of Heaven And Hell We Are, Surely,
Interested, As We Are All To Reside, Hereafter, Either In the Regions Of
Horrour Or Of Bliss.
But These Truths Are Too Important To Be New; They Have Been Taught To
Our Infancy; They Have Mingled with Our Solitary Thoughts And Familiar
Conversations, And Are Habitually Interwoven With The Whole Texture Of
Life. Being, Therefore, Not New, They Raise No Unaccustomed emotion In
The Mind; What We Knew Before, We Cannot Learn; What Is Not Unexpected,
Cannot Surprise.
Of The Ideas Suggested by These Awful Scenes, From Some We Recede With
Reverence, Except When Stated hours Require Their Association; And
From Others We Shrink With Horrour, Or Admit Them Only As Salutary
Inflictions, As Counterpoizes To Our Interests And Passions. Such Images
Rather Obstruct The Career Of Fancy Than Incite It.
Pleasure And Terrour Are, Indeed, The Genuine Sources Of Poetry; But
Poetical Pleasure Must Be Such As Human Imagination Can, At Least,
Conceive; And Poetical Terrour, Such As Human Strength And Fortitude May
Combat. The Good And Evil Of Eternity Are Too Ponderous For The Wings Of
Wit; The Mind Sinks Under Them, In passive Helplessness, Content With
Calm Belief And Humble Adoration.
Known Truths, However, May Take A Different Appearance, And Be Conveyed
To The Mind By A New Train Of Intermediate Images. This Milton Has
Undertaken, And Performed with Pregnancy And Vigour Of Mind Peculiar
To Himself. Whoever Considers The Few Radical Positions Which The
Scriptures Afforded him, Will Wonder By What Energetick Operation He
Expanded them To Such Extent, And Ramified them To So Much Variety,
Restrained, As He Was, By Religious Reverence From Licentiousness Of
Fiction.
Here Is A Full Display Of The United force Of Study And Genius; Of A
Great Accumulation Of Materials, With Judgment To Digest, And Fancy To
Combine Them: Milton Was Able To Select From Nature Or From Story, From
Ancient Fable Or From Modern Science, Whatever Could Illustrate Or
Adorn His Thoughts. An Accumulation Of Knowledge Impregnated his Mind,
Fermented by Study, And Exalted by Imagination.
It Has Been, Therefore, Said, Without An Indecent Hyperbole, By One
Of His Encomiasts, That In reading paradise Lost, We Read A Book Of
Universal Knowledge.
But Original Deficience Cannot Be Supplied. The Want Of Human Interest
Is Always Felt. Paradise Lost Is One Of The Books Which The Reader
Admires And Lays Down, And Forgets To Take Up Again. None Ever Wished it
Longer Than It Is. Its Perusal Is A Duty Rather Than A Pleasure. We Read
Milton For Instruction, Retire Harassed and Over-Burdened, And Look
Elsewhere For Recreation; We Desert Our Master, And Seek For Companions.
Another Inconvenience Of Milton'S Design Is, That It Requires The
Description Of What Cannot Be Described, The Agency Of Spirits. He Saw
That Immateriality Supplied no Images, And That He Could Not Show Angels
Acting but By Instruments Of Action; He, Therefore, Invested them With
Form And Matter. This, Being necessary, Was, Therefore, Defensible;
And He Should Have Secured the Consistency Of His System, By Keeping
Immateriality Out Of Sight, And Enticing his Reader To Drop It From
His Thoughts. But He Has, Unhappily, Perplexed his Poetry With His
Philosophy. His Infernal And Celestial Powers Are Sometimes Pure Spirit,
And Sometimes Animated body. When Satan Walks With His Lance Upon The
"Burning marl," He Has A Body; When, In his Passage Between Hell And The
New World, He Is In danger Of Sinking in the Vacuity, And Is Supported
By A Gust Of Rising vapours, He Has A Body; When He Animates The Toad,
He Seems To Be Mere Spirit, That Can Penetrate Matter At Pleasure; When
He Starts "Up In his Own Shape," He Has, At Least, A Determined form;
And, When He Is Brought Before Gabriel, He Has "A Spear And A Shield,"
Which He Had The Power Of Hiding in the Toad, Though The Arms Of The
Contending angels Are Evidently Material.
The Vulgar Inhabitants Of Pandaemonium, Being "Incorporeal Spirits,"
Are "At Large, Though Without Number," In a Limited space: Yet, In the
Battle, When They Were Overwhelmed by Mountains, Their Armour Hurt Them,
"Crushed in upon Their Substance, Now Grown Gross By Sinning." This,
Likewise, Happened to The Uncorrupted angels, Who Were Overthrown The
"Sooner For Their Arms, For Unarmed they Might Easily, As Spirits,
Have Evaded by Contraction Or Remove." Even As Spirits They Are Hardly
Spiritual; For "Contraction" And "Remove" Are Images Of Matter; But If
They Could Have Escaped without Their Armour, They Might Have Escaped
From It, And Left Only The Empty Cover To Be Battered. Uriel, When He
Rides On A Sunbeam, Is Material; Satan Is Material When He Is Afraid Of
The Prowess Of Adam.
The Confusion Of Spirit And Matter, Which Pervades The Whole Narration
Of The War Of Heaven, Fills It With Incongruity; And The Book In which
It Is Related is, I Believe, The Favourite Of Children, And Gradually
Neglected, As Knowledge
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