_This essay is believed to be the first composition by Samuel Butler that
appeared in print_. _It was published in the first number of the_ EAGLE,
_a magazine written and edited by members of St. John’s College_,
_Cambridge_, _in the Lent Term_, 1858, _when Butler was in his fourth and
last year of residence_.
[From the _Eagle_, Vol. 1, No. 1, Lent Term, 1858, p. 41.]
I sit down scarcely knowing how to grasp my own meaning, and give it a
tangible shape in words; and yet it is concerning this very expression of
our thoughts in words that I wish to speak. As I muse things fall more
into their proper places, and, little fit for the task as my confession
pronounces me to be, I will try to make clear that which is in my mind.
I think, then, that the style of our authors of a couple of hundred years
ago was more terse and masculine than that of those of the present day,
possessing both more of the graphic element, and more vigour,
straightforwardness, and conciseness. Most readers will have anticipated
me in admitting that a man should be clear of his meaning before he
endeavours to give to it any kind of utterance, and that having made up
his mind what to say, the less thought he takes how to say it, more than
briefly, pointedly, and plainly, the better; for instance, Bacon tells
us, “Men fear death as children fear to go in the dark”; he does not say,
what I can imagine a last century writer to have said, “A feeling
somewhat analogous to the dread with which children are affected upon
entering a dark room, is that which most men entertain at the
contemplation of death.” Jeremy Taylor says, “Tell them it is as much
intemperance to weep too much as to laugh too much”; he does not say,
“All men will acknowledge that laughing admits of intemperance, but some
men may at first sight hesitate to allow that a similar imputation may be
at times attached to weeping.”
I incline to believe that as irons support the rickety child, whilst they
impede the healthy one, so rules, for the most part, are but useful to
the weaker among us. Our greatest masters in language, whether prose or
verse, in painting, music, architecture, or the like, have been those who
preceded the rule and whose excellence gave rise thereto; men who
preceded, I should rather say, not the rule, but the discovery of the
rule, men whose intuitive perception led them to the right practice. We
cannot imagine Homer to have studied rules, and the infant genius of
those giants of their art, Handel, Mozart, and Beethoven, who composed at
the ages of seven, five, and ten, must certainly have been unfettered by
them: to the less brilliantly endowed, however, they have a use as being
compendious safeguards against error. Let me then lay down as the best
of all rules for writing, “forgetfulness of self, and carefulness of the
matter in hand.” No simile is out of place that illustrates the subject;
in fact a simile as showing the symmetry of this world’s arrangement, is
always, if a fair one, interesting; every simile is amiss that leads the
mind from the contemplation of its object to the contemplation of its
author. This will apply equally to the heaping up of unnecessary
illustrations: it is as great a fault to supply the reader with too many
as with too few; having given him at most two, it is better to let him
read slowly and think out the rest for himself than to surfeit him with
an abundance of explanation. Hood says well,
And thus upon the public mind intrude it;
As if I thought, like Otaheitan cooks,
No food was fit to eat till I had chewed it.
A book that is worth reading will be worth reading thoughtfully, and
there are but few good books, save certain novels, that it is well to
read in an arm-chair. Most will bear standing to. At the present time
we seem to lack the impassiveness and impartiality which was so marked
among the writings of our forefathers, we are seldom content with the
simple narration of fact, but must rush off into an almost declamatory
description of them; my meaning will be plain to all who have studied
Thucydides. The dignity of his simplicity is, I think, marred by those
who put in the accessories which seem thought necessary in all present
histories. How few writers of the present day would not, instead of _νὑξ
γὰρ ἐπεγένετο τῷ ἓργῳ_ rather write, “Night fell upon this horrid scene
of bloodshed.” {207} This is somewhat a matter of taste, but I think I
shall find some to agree with me in preferring for plain narration (of
course I exclude oratory) the unadorned gravity of Thucydides. There
are, indeed, some writers of the present day who seem returning to the
statement of facts rather than their adornment, but these are not the
most generally admired. This simplicity, however, to be truly effective
must be unstudied; it will not do to write with affected terseness, a
charge which, I think, may be fairly preferred against Tacitus; such a
style if ever effective must be so from excess of artifice and not from
that artlessness of simplicity which I should wish to see prevalent among
us.
Neither again is it well to write and go over the ground again with the
pruning knife, though this fault is better than the other; to take care
of the matter, and let the words take care of themselves, is the best
safeguard.
To this I shall be answered, “Yes, but is not a diamond cut and polished
a more beautiful object than when rough?” I grant it, and more valuable,
inasmuch as it has run chance of spoliation in the cutting, but I
maintain that the thinking man, the man whose thoughts are great and
worth the consideration of others, will “deal in proprieties,” and will
from the mine of his thoughts produce ready-cut diamonds, or rather will
cut them there spontaneously, ere ever they see the light of day.
There are a few points still which it were well we should consider. We
are all too apt when we sit down to study a subject to have already
formed our opinion, and to weave all matter to the warp of our
preconceived judgment, to fall in with the received idea, and, with
biassed minds, unconsciously to follow in the wake of public opinion,
while professing to lead it. To the best of my belief half the dogmatism
of those we daily meet is in consequence of the unwitting practices of
this self-deception. Simply let us not talk about what we do not
understand, save as learners, and we shall not by writing mislead others.
There is no shame in being obliged to others for opinions, the shame is
not being honest enough to acknowledge it: I would have no one omit to
put down a useful thought because it was not his own, provided it tended
to the better expression of his matter, and he did not conceal its
source; let him, however, set out the borrowed capital to interest. One
word more and I have done. With regard to our subject, the best rule is
not to write concerning that about which we cannot at our present age
know anything save by a process which is commonly called cram: on all
such matters there are abler writers than ourselves; the men, in fact,
from whom we cram. Never let us hunt after a subject, unless we have
something which we feel urged on to say, it is better to say nothing; who
are so ridiculous as those who talk for the sake of talking, save only
those who write for the sake of writing? But there are subjects which
all young men think about. Who can take a walk in our streets and not
think? The most trivial incident has ramifications, to whose guidance if
we surrender our thoughts, we are oft-times led upon a gold mine
unawares, and no man whether old or young is worse for reading the
ingenuous and unaffected statement of a young man’s thoughts. There are
some things in which experience blunts the mental vision, as well as
others in which it sharpens it. The former are best described by younger
men, our province is not to lead public opinion, is not in fact to ape
our seniors, and transport ourselves from our proper sphere, it is rather
to show ourselves as we are, to throw our thoughts before the public as
they rise, without requiring it to imagine that we are right and others
wrong, but hoping for the forbearance which I must beg the reader to
concede to myself, and trusting to the genuineness and vigour of our
design to attract it may be more than a passing attention.
I am aware that I have digressed from the original purpose of my essay,
but I hope for pardon, if, believing the digression to be of more value
than the original matter, I have not checked my pen, but let it run on
even as my heart directed it.