Lucas’
four characters are Johnson, Chesterfield, Boswell and Goldsmith. In his
scheme, not surprisingly, Johnson is the sun to the lesser satellites. Johnson
plays a similar role in his subsequent volume, The Art of Living: Four Eighteenth-Century Minds (1959), devoted to
Hume, Horace Walpole, Burke and Benjamin Franklin (one wishes he had, in
addition, taken on Gibbon and Sterne, who make passing appearances in both
volumes). Lucas is no hagiographer: “We treasure [Johnson’s] memory partly
because he was often wise and good, but partly -- let us own it -- because he
could also resemble an intoxicated hippopotamus.” (For another taste of Lucas’
approach, here’s what he says two chapters later about Johnson’s biographer: “The
central dissension over James Boswell turns on the question -- ass or genius?”)
In the last three and a half pages of his hundred-page chapter on Johnson, Lucas
attempts to summarize his subject by asking what we can learn from him “in
general.”
First,
Johnson teaches “the inestimable value of individuality.” Second, “individuality
grows warped if it loses honesty,” which Lucas bolsters with Johnson’s “Clear
your mind of cant.” Third, courage, what
Lucas calls “the courage to ignore, when necessary, hostile opinion, and the courage
to face unpleasant facts.” Fourth, reason: “Our rather seedy century has lost
faith in reason, as in individual liberty.” Fifth, “Johnson’s vitality and
gaiety.” Lucas writes: “He would never hold the place he does, had he been as
over-earnest as Carlyle, as humourless as Ruskin, as languid as Walter Pater.”
And sixth: “…he is a monument to the magic power of style.” Lucas elaborates:
“His
originality and strength lie, not in his views, but in his power to state them
with vigour and vividness unsurpassed. His horse-sense is delivered with the
kick of a horse; his spoken style had the weight of a hammer, and the edge of a
sword.”
True
to the anti-cant spirit of his subject, Lucas adds what he calls “warnings”
about Johnson, starting with the way he ignored “the supreme importance of
health in mind and body.” He notes how Johnson, in The Vanity of Human Wishes, replaces Juvenal’s “mens sana in corpore sano” [“a sound
mind in a healthy body”] with “a healthful Mind, / Obedient Passions and a Will
resign’d.” Next, Lucas points out that Johnson’s own passions were far from “obedient”:
“To us, probably, he would be far less interesting and amusing if he had kept
pride, passion, and prejudice under better control. But it would have been
better for him.” Third, and most dubiously, Lucas says Johnson is “an example
of bad style as well as of good. At times his heavier writings become a dreary
landscape measured only by longitude and platitude.” This applies only to the
minor works – the drama Irene, for instance, which is virtually unreadable and
unstageable. Lucas gives the almost-the-last-word, Johnson’s “best epitaph,” to
William Gerard “Single-Speech” Hamilton, as reported by Boswell:
“Johnson
is dead. Let us go to the next best. There is nobody; no man can be said to put
you in mind of Johnson.”
No comments:
Post a Comment