johnson's "lives of the poets"
On Thursday, 9/23, we will discuss several of Samuel Johnson's literary biographies often referred to simply as The Lives of the Poets.
I've given you photocopies of the Lives I want you to read, but you might also have a look at this page by Kathleen Nulton Kemmerer, an assistant professor of English at Penn State Hazelton who:
This web site has been established to bring the Lives of the English Poets back into the context in which Johnson expected them to be read. The plan is to include the text of each preface as well as the poems that Johnson refers to. Reliable texts that already exist on the web will not in most cases be duplicated, but a hyperlinks will be available to take the reader to that work. Because this is a sizeable task, the completion of this site will take some time.
3 Comments:
Thomas's Questions:
1) In Johnson's essay discussing the value of biography (The Rambler, No. 69), Johnson writes that "no species of writing seems more worthy of cultivation than biography, since none can be more delightful of more useful" (204). Working from what Johnson writes about biography and the biographies that he wrote, what are some of these important "uses" of biography? How does Johnson see biography as useful to the study of history? In reference to the “delightfulness” of biography, could there possibly be some conversation taking place between Johnson’s ideas on biography in The Rambler and his writing in the preface to Milton where he writes that "[w]e read Milton for instruction, retire harassed and overburden, and look elsewhere for recreation" (711)?
2) Towards the end of Johnson’s essay on biography, he criticizes the methodology of past biographers (200) and proposes that biographers go beyond traditional sources. In the second paragraph of his preface concerning Addison, Johnson cites "a story of a barring-out" that he heard from someone else who originally received the story from an uncle. What is significant about this source and how does it figure into Johnson's thinking concerning the methodology of a biographer? What are some of the other places within Johnson’s writing that demonstrate his approach/methodology to biography? Do you think that Johnson’s biography practices enriched the field of biography? Why or why not?
Lisa's response:
The significance of the source of the story about Addison planning the whole barring-out operation was that it was received, or corroborated, by Addison's uncle Pigot. Having a personal account, according to Johnson, is more important than reciting a person's accomplishments as "...knowledge may be gained of a man's real character by a short conversation with one of his servants, than from a formal and studied narrative,.... (The Rambler, No. 60, p.200). The barring-out story both engages and amuses the reader as the image of the school master being locked out of the building is a devilish school kid prank we probably all at one time have done or would like to do.
From what I understand, this was a diversion from other biographical approaches that were based on information that could be found in public records and at worst, "invented".
Johnson's approach as a biographer is to not only amuse the reader by these intimate details, but also to illustrate the subject as someone who is more like them in their humanness than above them in their greatness, as "We are all prompted by the same motives, all deceived by the same fallacies, all animated by hope, obstructed by danger, entangled by desire, and seduced by pleasure." (The Rambler, No. 60, p.205).
He gives the reader an everyday story about the subject that is more about what we all have in common instead of what separates us, thus engaging his readers.
Another approach--Johnson's idea of "usefulness":
Even if the subject isn't as renowned as others, "there has rarely passed a life of which a judicious and faithful narrative would not be useful." (The Rambler, No. 60, p.205). We could all benefit and learn something from reading about another's experiences.
In An Account of the Life of Richard Savage, Johnson introduces an interesting twist. As a reader of a biography, we may think our heroes give us "...hope that intellectual greatness should produce better effects, that minds qualified for great attainments should first endeavor their own benefit, and that they who are most able to teach others the way to happiness should with most certainty follow it themselves." (An Account of the Life of Richard Savage, p. 128.) But we find out in the end that "...heroes ...have been very often no less remarkable for what they have suffered than for what they have achieved." (AALRS, p. 128). We may look to our heroes to tell us how to attain happiness, but there are seldom, if ever, answers in their accounts.
I can't help but think that Johnson's practices enriched the field of biography because he made the subject more human, a device that has become a necessary staple in writing to engage your reader. It makes the text not only more enjoable for the reader, but I would think more enjoyable to research and write as well.
Henri’s responses
Question 1: In his essay in The Rambler, Samuel Johnson contends biography creates common ground that allows readers to identify with and learn from the subjects of this genre.
Johnson implies those subjects should not be limited to men deemed great by traditional standards—their status, fortune, or roles in historic events—and asserts that rarely has he encountered a “life of which a judicious and faithful narrative would not be useful . . . We are all prompted by the same motives, all deceived by the same fallacies, all animated by hope, obstructed by danger, entangled by desire, and seduced by pleasure” (205). Properly told, the chronicles of ordinary people are instructive because they elicit the reader’s empathy, according to Johnson.
Consequently biography is useful to the study of history because it passes “ . . . over those performances and incidents which produce vulgar greatness, to lead the thoughts into domestic privacies, and display the minute details of daily life, where exterior appendages are cast aside, and men excel each other only by prudence and virtue” (205). Johnson suggests the lessons of political and military histories may be lost to readers lacking experience with “the downfall of empires” and “revolutions of empires” (204).
As for Johnson’s comment regarding Milton, I think the biographer refers to Paradise Lost, and addresses what Foucault calls the author function. Johnson writes: “Paradise Lost is one of he 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 overburdened, and look elsewhere for recreation; we desert our master, and seek for companions” (711). I suspect that more than a few readers of Paradise Lost would agree that it does not engender great delight. Perhaps it is possible, however, that Johnson means Milton’s life is as difficult a “read” as his great literary work.
Question 2: The Addison anecdote is significant because it demonstrates Johnson’s biographical methodology. In The Rambler essay, he alleges many biographers do not understand the nature of their task and are negligent about its performance. He writes:
They rarely afford any other account than might be collected from public papers, but imagine themselves writing a life when they exhibit a chronological series of actions or preferments; and so little regard the manners or behavior of their heroes that more knowledge may be gained of a man’s real character by a short conversation with one of his servants, than from a formal and studied narrative, begun with his pedigree and ended with his funeral. (206)
To prove his point, Johnson shares in the Addison preface a story not told by other biographers that he claims he heard from the nephew of Addison’s schoolmate. Ostensibly the purpose of the barring-out story is to fill a gap in Addison’s history; it also allows Johnson to show he is a better reporter than his predecessors. He actually talked to someone who knew someone who knew Addison. Johnson models his efforts to corroborate information in this example by attempting (unsuccessfully) to determine when Addison was sent to the Chartreux. The most important function of the story is the insight it affords to Addison’s character: as a schoolboy, he was a leader who may have suffered the consequences of youthful pranks—just like some of the readers of Johnson’s preface.
Elsewhere in Johnson’s writing are further illustrations of his biographical approach. For example, he assumes that the “heroes of literary” history are equal to those of “civil history” (Savage 128), which justifies his account of Richard Savage, “ . . . a man whose writings entitle him to an eminent rank in the classes of learning . . . ” (128). He chronicles the abuses of Savage’s mother to explain, if not justify, Savage’s dubious behavior and to invoke understanding among readers who may also have suffered at the hands of parents. Yet he deliberately catalogs the flaws of his friend in an effort to fulfill his admonition that it is not “an act of piety to hide the faults or failings” of biography’s subject (The Rambler 207).
In the opening of Johnson’s sketch of Dryden, he stipulates another precept of literary biography: “To judge rightly of an author we must transport ourselves to his time, and examine what were the wants of his contemporaries, and what were his means of supplying them” (717). Anticipating the perspective of twenty-century cultural studies, which is as concerned with context as content, Johnson notes that “Dryden at least imported his science, and gave his country what it wanted before; or rather, he imported only the materials, and manufactured them by his own skill” (717). Designating Dryden “the father of English criticism” (717), Johnson counts Dryden’s portraits of Shakespeare and other English dramatists among his contributions. Johnson credits Dryden with establishing “the new English versification” (723), thus supplying a poetic diction that the English “wanted.”
As the father of English biography, Johnson also supplied the wants of his contemporaries, who were constructing a literary canon for commercial and cultural reasons through the poetry collection for which he wrote these biographical prefaces. Certainly his methodology continues to enrich the genre. Johnson was an astute observer who compiles evidence from diverse sources, examines his subjects from different perspectives, and charts their failures as well as their successes in accessible prose frequently tinged with humor. Johnson brings his subjects to life by showing as well as telling, as when he writes, “The person of Pope is well know not to have been formed by the nicest model” (725), an assertion he bolsters by depicting Pope’s appearance, appetite, and habits. Johnson’s eye for the decisive detail and his ear for the pithy quote—he repeats Savage’s comment that Pope’s dignity relaxed when he wrote “a distich for ‘his Highness’s dog’ “ (728)—set a standard for the field.
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