spirit and his irresistible power, the greatness of his heart and
the height of his condition, his mighty confidence and contempt
of dangers, his true security and repose in himself, his liberty
to dare and do what he pleaseth, his alacrity in the midst of
fears, his invincible temper, are advantages which make him master
of fortune. His courage fits him for all attempts, makes him
serviceable to God and man, and makes him the bulwark and defence of
his being and country.
Let those debauched and unreasonable men that deny the existence
of virtue contemplate the reality of its excellency here, and be
confounded with shame at their prodigious blindness. Their impiety
designs the abolishment of Religion, and the utter extirpation of
all faith, and piety, while they pretend the distinction between
virtue and vice to be merely feigned for the aweing of the world,
and that their names have no foundation in Nature but the craft of
politicians and the traditions of their nurses. Are there no base
fellows, nor brave men in the world? Is there no difference between
a Lion and a Hare? a faint-hearted Coward and a glorious Hero? Is
there nothing brave nor vile in the world? What is become of these
Rodomontadoes wits? Where is the boasted glory of their personal
valour, if there be no difference, but courage and cowardice be the
same thing?
I have marked, I find, at least twenty other passages for quotation;
and indeed it would be easy to extract from the book enough notable
sayings to form a pocket volume of religious and moral philosophy; but
I must content myself with only one other quotation. It is from the
chapter "Of Knowledge":
The sun is a glorious creature, and its beams extend to the utmost
stars; by shining on them it clothes them with light, and by its
rays exciteth all their influences. It enlightens the eyes of all
the creatures: it shineth on forty kingdoms at the same time, on
seas and continents in a general manner; yet so particularly
regardeth all, that every mote in the air, every grain of dust,
every spire of grass is wholly illuminated thereby as if it did
entirely shine upon that alone. Nor does it only illuminate all
these objects in an idle manner; its beams are operative, enter in,
fill the pores of things with spirits, and impregnate them with
powers, cause all their emanations, odors, virtues, and operations;
springs, rivers, minerals and vegetables are all perfected by the
sun; all the motion, life and sense of birds, beasts and fishes
dependeth on the same. Yet the sun is but a little spark among all
the creatures that are made for the Soul; the Soul, being the most
high and noble of all, is capable of far higher perfections, far
more full of life and vigour in its uses. The sphere of its activity
is illimited, its energy is endless upon all its objects. It can
exceed the heavens in its operations, and run out into infinite
spaces. Such is the extent of knowledge that it seemeth to be the
Light of all Eternity. All objects are equally near to the splendour
of its beams: As innumerable millions may be conceived in its
Light, with a ready capacity for millions more; so can it penetrate
all abysses, reach to the centre of all Nature, converse with all
beings, visible and invisible, corporeal and spiritual, temporal and
eternal, created and increated, finite and infinite, substantial
and accidental, actual and possible, imaginary and real; all the
mysteries of bliss and misery, all the secrets of heaven and hell
are objects of the Soul's capacity, and shall be actually seen and
known here.
It seems strange indeed that no compiler in search of material for a
book of selections, no student in search of forgotten excellence, no
seeker for wisdom conjoined with piety, has ever lighted in his search
upon "Christian Ethicks." But it came into the world in a time of
general dissoluteness of manners, and amid the jarrings of contending
sects and the venomous contests of political parties. Probably very
few copies of the book were sold, and its rarity in after times has
prevented it from becoming known to any one who had the will and the
power to proclaim its merits.
"Poetry," says Milton, if he be indeed the author of "Nova Solyma," "is
the impetuous rush of a mind full to overflowing, strained, exalted to
its utmost powers, yea, rather, lifted into ecstacy beyond itself."[C]
Could we accept this (as we cannot) as a complete definition of the
poetic faculty, we might then place Traherne in the very front rank of
inspired singers. It would be impossible to give a better description
of the leading characteristics of his poetry than that which we find
in the words of Milton. Not Milton himself, nor even Shelley, has more
of the impetuous rush of a mind lifted into ecstacy beyond itself
than Traherne. No poet writes with more absolute spontaneity than he.
Whatever may be wanting in him, however he may occasionally fail in
expression, he has always this impetuous rush, this ecstacy that rises
beyond itself. A glowing ardour of conviction, a passionate spirit
of love and devotion, a profound sense of the beauty and sublimity
which he saw everywhere around him, a never-failing aspiration towards
that Goodness which he believed to be the Fountain and the Ocean, the
Beginning and the End of Things, were the sources of his inspiration,
the impelling forces of his genius. Where these qualities are present
their possessor can never altogether fail in expressing them, however
deficient he may be in the technical accomplishments of the poet's art.
These things indeed are the root, if not the flower, of all poetry
worthy of the name. That Traherne was essentially a poet we might
be certain even if none of his lyrical work had remained to prove
it. The man who could say, "You never enjoy the world aright till
the sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the
heavens, and crowned with the stars"--a sentence which contains the
essence of everything that has been said by the poets who have sung
of the relation between the soul of man and the spirit of Nature--did
not need to write in verse in order to prove that he was beyond all
question a poet. There is enough of the spirit of poetry in "Christian
Ethicks" and "Centuries of Meditations" to set up a dozen versifiers.
It was as impossible for Traherne to see things as a Jeremy Bentham
or a Cobbett saw them, as it was for either or the latter to have
written the sentence I have just quoted. And who shall say that the
light of imagination through which Traherne and those who resemble
him behold the universe is a light which misleads them? Why should we
assume that those who view it with eyes that are blind to all but its
prosaic aspects are its true interpreters? Whatever else it may be, the
universe, it is certain, is a marvellous and stupendous poem; and it is
singular indeed if those who are insensible to this truth are able to
see it in a clearer light than those who are alive to all its beauty,
to all its magnificence, and to all its mystery.
With Traherne poetry was no elegant recreation, no medium for the
display of a lively fancy, no means of exhibiting his skill as a
master of metrical effects, but the vehicle through which he expressed
his deepest convictions and his profoundest thoughts. He used it as
a gift which it was his duty to employ only for the highest purposes
and the most sacred ends. All that he saw, felt, and apprehended was
transmuted by the alchemy of his mind into that mysterious union of
thought, imagination, and expression, which we half praise and half
disparage when we term it poetic inspiration. He possessed--or rather
was possessed by--that "fine madness" without which no poet, painter,
or musician ever yet created a work which deserved to outlive its
author. He saw in the universe no "foul and pestilent congregation of
vapours," but a majestic dwelling-place for gods, angels, and men. All
nature to him was lovely and perfect; and if the existence of evil,
injustice, and sin disquieted him for a moment he had little difficulty
in persuading himself that these things were owing not to defect or
imperfection in nature, but to the folly or perverseness of men in
departing from it. It may indeed be said of him, as Matthew Arnold said
of Wordsworth, that his eyes refused to dwell upon the darker aspects
of life and nature; but that, in his case, as in Wordsworth's, was in
a great degree the source of his greatness, and is the reason why he
interests us. It is only those that possess an undoubting faith who can
inspire it in others. It is given only to a Shakespeare or a Goethe
to "see life steadily and see it whole." Almost all other authors see
it, as their nature prompts them, in colours which are either too
glowing or too sombre. It has been said of the author of "The City of
Dreadful Night" that he was born that we might have things stated at
their worst, once for all:[D] may we not likewise say of Traherne that
he was born that things might be stated, once for all, at their best?
Perhaps the reader may think that his poems do not justify so strong
a claim; but when they are taken in conjunction with his "Christian
Ethicks" and "Centuries of Meditations" I do not think it can be
considered as an overstatement. Whether his moral and theological views
were right or wrong, Traherne at least was warranted in holding them,
because they were exactly suited to his peculiar temperament, if indeed
they were not the outcome of it. Were all men blessed with so happy a
disposition as his, then indeed might the world become the Eden which
to him it appeared to be. He believed that all men might be as happy as
he was if they would only firmly resolve to follow the path which had
led him to felicity. Like all enthusiasts and most reformers of human
nature or human institutions, he made the mistake of supposing that
others were, or might be made, like-minded with himself, and did not
take into account the infinite varieties of character and temperament
which exist among mankind. But to believe that men are better and
nobler is at least a less fault than to believe them to be worse and
baser than they are.
To claim for Traherne a place in the front rank of poets is hardly
possible. Considering his limited range of subjects, we cannot put him
on an equality with the poets who have exhibited more varied powers,
and shown a deeper insight into human nature. But, excluding Milton,
we may at least place him in the front rank of poets of his class.
It is possible my opinion may be somewhat biassed by a reason which
the reader will be at no loss to divine; but I cannot help thinking
that neither Herbert, Crashaw, nor Vaughan can compare with Traherne
in the most essential qualities of the poet. He alone has that
"impetuous rush of a mind ... lifted into ecstasy beyond itself" which
Milton, as we have seen, regarded as the chief requisite of poetry.
Herbert has a finer sense of proportion, a keener perception of the
importance of form and measure; Vaughan appeals more strongly to the
common sympathies of mankind; while Crashaw, when at his best, has
more fine passages of quintessential poetry, more curious felicities
of expression, than Traherne; but none of them has the vitality, the
sustained enthusiasm, the power imparted by intense conviction, which
we find in our author. Vitality, indeed, seems to me to be the keynote
of Traherne's character. That he was himself aware of this we may see
from his poem on Contentment:
Employment is the very life and ground
Of life itself; whose pleasant motion is
The form of Bliss:
All Blessedness a life with Glory crown'd;
Life! Life is all: in its most full extent
Stretcht out to all things, and with all Content.
Not, be it observed, the still life of contemplation or inaction, but
an active, eager, energetic enjoying of life, to be so used as to
get from it the utmost degree of felicity or blessedness. Traherne
repudiates energetically the idea that the more unhappy we make
ourselves here the greater will be our happiness hereafter. In his
"Centuries of Meditations" he says:
There are Christians that place and desire all their happiness in
another life, and there is another sort of Christians that desire
happiness in this. The one can defer their enjoyment of wisdom to
the world to come, and dispense with the increase and perfection of
enjoyment for a little time; the other are instant and impatient of
delay, and would fain see that happiness here which they shall enjoy
hereafter.... Whether the first sort be Christians indeed, look you
to that. They have much to say for themselves. Yet certainly they
that put off Felicity with long delays are to be much suspected. For
it is against the nature of love and desire to defer, nor can any
reason be given why they should desire it at last, and not now.
While we may not claim for Traherne's work as a whole that it is of
the first order of excellence, we may, I think, make that claim for
some of it. We can hardly have a better test of a poet's merits than
to inquire how many of his pieces are fit to take their place in such
anthologies as the "Golden Treasury," or Mr. Quiller-Couch's "Oxford
Book of English Verse." Judged in this way Traherne makes, I think, a
very good showing, considering (as I have elsewhere explained) that
we possess only a part of his poetical works, and that what we have
had probably not received his final revision. Were I asked to name
the pieces which, in my opinion, deserve the honour which I have
mentioned, I think my first choice would fall upon "The Salutation,"
"Wonder," "The Approach," "The Circulation," "Desire," "Goodness," and
"On News."[E] I am not at all sure, however, that this is the best
selection that could be made. "Innocence," "The Rapture," "Silence,"
"The Choice," "The Person," "The Recovery," "Love," and "Thoughts--I.
and II." have perhaps equal or almost equal claims to be included in
a list of Traherne's best work. But individual tastes differ so much
that I daresay other readers would make another choice, for Traherne is
a remarkably equal writer, and does not often fall below his own level
of excellence. Yet all the poems I have mentioned, fine as they are
when standing alone, gain considerably when they are read as parts of
a continuous poem, the subject of which is the history of the author's
progress in his pilgrimage towards the kingdom of perfect Blessedness.
He too, like Bunyan's pilgrim, found difficulties and dangers in the
way; but with him it was rather a triumphant progress from victory
to victory than a long and bitter struggle against enemies who might
at any time have overcome him. Very few of his poems dwell upon his
discouragements; most of them are songs of rejoicing for victories
achieved or happiness attained.
In the last analysis it will always be found that it is the poet
himself and not his poetry that has the greatest interest for us.
Unless he is interesting in himself he will not interest us in his
writings. No amount of study and pains will suffice to render the work
of a shallow and commonplace personality interesting to us. From the
strong only shall sweetnesss come forth. I do not know whether I have
succeeded in any degree in convincing the reader that Traherne was,
both as a man and as a poet, a very interesting character; but if I
have not, the fault assuredly is mine, and not his. We may study him in
two aspects: firstly, as a representative of the poetic temperament;
and secondly, as a representative of the religious idiosyncrasy in
conjunction with the poetic--for religion in many of its professors is
often enough altogether disjoined from any tincture of poetry. In both
aspects we have ample materials for studying him: and I cannot help
thinking that few writers of his age are better worth studying.
Were Traherne a smaller man than he is, and therefore less able to
afford to have the whole truth told about him, I should hesitate long
before printing the following remarks on some of his shortcomings.
It is the less needful to attempt to conceal his defects, since they
are for the greater part the defects of his qualities, and therefore
inseparable from them. Constituted as he was, it was not possible
for him to see things in a wholly clear and uncoloured light. He is
elevated so high above ordinary humanity that he is unable to see
clearly what is so much beneath him. Nor is it always easy for us,
the dwellers upon the plain, to ascend to his altitude. He is so
exempt from the ordinary failings of humanity that we feel almost as
if he belonged to a different race. He died a bachelor, and I do not
find anything in his writings which shows that he ever experienced
the passion of love in relation to the female sex. His love for the
divine seems to have swallowed up all thought of sexual love, though
not his love for humanity in the mass. He is sometimes so mystical or
metaphysical that the ordinary reader finds it difficult to comprehend
him. But, after all, if the reader will only exercise a little patience
and be at the expense of a little thought, he will not find it hard to
understand the poet, even in his most difficult passages. Those who are
able to follow Browning through all his intricacies will find no knot
in Traherne which they will not easily unravel.
The charge which is most likely to be pressed against Traherne is that
he appears to have been a man of few ideas, and is consequently much
given to repetition of thoughts and even of words and phrases. That
there is some foundation for this charge may be admitted, but it is
nevertheless unjust. No one, after the examination of his manuscripts
and of his two published works, could believe it. A scholar so well
versed in the classics, a student so eager for knowledge of all kinds,
a thinker so acute, could not possibly be a man of narrow ideas and
restricted sympathies. What is true, however, is that his mind dwelt
with so much delight upon certain thoughts that it was continually
recurring to them, setting them in different lights, and repeating
them, even as a musician will execute ever-new variations upon a
favourite theme. Those who care for Traherne's themes will not
complain that he dwells too much upon them.
It must be owned, I think, that while Traherne is usually happy in
the selection of his themes, he is sometimes less happy in developing
and expressing them. Lines which leave something to be desired in
smoothness (though he is not usually chargeable with this fault, his
handling of the heroic couplet being particularly good), and now and
then lines which to our modern ideas appear to be somewhat prosaic,
are certainly to be found in his poems, and do, to a small extent,
interfere with the reader's pleasure in them. But for such faults as
these we ought surely to make large allowance. The reader should,
and doubtless will, remember that he has before him a work for which
the author himself has but a limited responsibility. Had he himself
published the poems we should have been entitled to think that he
deliberately chose to give them to the world with all their faults upon
them. As it is, I think we may assume that had he lived to publish them
they would have undergone a good deal of revision before they were sent
forth to the world. Most of their defects are such as might be easily
remedied, and such, indeed, as it was sometimes hard to refrain from
remedying. But I have resisted all such temptations, and have confined
myself to the task of making the printed text as nearly as possible
a reproduction of the original manuscripts. The reader will gather
from the facsimile of one of Traherne's poems, which I have given as a
frontispiece to this volume, a good general idea as to the character
of his handwriting, his spelling, and his punctuation. It would have
been an interesting thing could the whole of Traherne's poems have been
reproduced in the same style, for, as the reader will see, there is a
picturesqueness, a beauty, and a life about the manuscripts which is
lost in the cold regularity of type. Some readers may perhaps think
that it would have been better to follow the author's original spelling
and punctuation; but after giving full consideration to this point, it
did not seem advisable to do this. Traherne's spelling is by no means
uniform--Deity, for instance, is sometimes "Dietie" and sometimes
"Deitie"--and his punctuation, which is, I think, quite peculiar to
himself, differs so much from our modern practice, that if it had
been reproduced without modification it would often have obscured his
meaning and puzzled the reader without any compensating advantage.
Traherne, as will be perceived from the frontispiece, made much use of
capital letters and occasionally of italics in his writings. This was
the custom of the time, as any one who examines a seventeenth-century
printed book will see. In the first edition of this book I preserved
most of the author's capitals and italicised passages: but here I have
thought it unnecessary to do so. Upon the whole there seemed to be
no advantage in retaining them, since they look a little odd to eyes
accustomed to the uniformity of modern typography. In the case of the
poems taken from "Christian Ethicks," however, I have preserved the old
spelling and the capitals very nearly as they appear in the book.
Traherne, so far as English authors were concerned, was very little
indebted to his predecessors. He was, of course, greatly influenced by
the writers of the Old and New Testaments, from whom he is continually
quoting in his "Christian Ethicks." Next to the Scriptures, the book
which seems most to have influenced him was that ancient mystical and
philosophical work which is attributed to Hermes Trismegistus. Those
who are well acquainted with that remarkable production will find
frequent traces of its influence in the prose and verse of Traherne.
He gives several extracts from it in "Christian Ethicks," and in his
"Commonplace Book" there are continual references to it. It might
almost be said that, after the Bible, it was his chief manual of
philosophy and of divine wisdom.
That Traherne was well acquainted with the writings of Herbert is
evident from the fact that in one of his manuscript books he has copied
out that writer's poem, "To all Angels and Saints"; but I do not find
any traces of Herbert's influence upon him either in prose or verse.
Nor do I find any proof that he was acquainted with the writings of
Vaughan. The resemblance between Traherne's line,
How, like an Angel came I down,
and Vaughan's reference to his "angel infancy" is probably no more than
an accidental coincidence. Though their points of view were similar
in many respects, Traherne possessed a much stronger personality than
Vaughan, and therefore had little or nothing to learn from him. It is
likely enough that he owed something to Donne, as most of the poets of
his time did; but I do not find any clear indications of that poet's
influence in his writings. Traherne's style, indeed, is that of his
age, but as to his matter, few poets, I think, can boast of more
originality.