Lives Of The Poets, Vol. 1 (fiscle part-III) by Samuel Johnson (best beach reads TXT) 📖

Above

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