Browning and His Century Part 4

The date at which various critics have declared that Browning ceased to write poetry might be considered an index of the time when that critic's powers became atrophied. No less a person than Edmund Gosse is of the opinion that since 1868 the poet's books were chiefly valuable as keeping alive popular interest in him, and as leading fresh generations of readers to what he had already published. Fortunately it has long been admitted that Homer sometimes nods, though not with such awful effect as was said to attend the nods of Jove. Hence, in spite of Mr. Gosse's undoubted eminence as a critic, we may dare to a.s.sume that in this particular instance he fell into the ancient and distinguished trick of nodding.

If Mr. Gosse were right, it would practically put on a par with a mere advertising scheme many poems which have now become household favorites.

Take, for example, "Herve Riel." Think of the blue-eyed Breton hero whom all the world has learned to love through Browning, tolerated simply as an index finger to "The Pied Piper of Hamelin." Take, too, such poems, as "Donald." This man's dastardly sportsmanship is so vividly portrayed that it has the power to arouse strong emotion in strong men, who have been known literally to break down in the middle of it through excess of feeling; "Ivan Ivanovitch," in which is embodied such fear and horror that weak hearts cannot stand the strain of hearing it read; the story of the dog Tray, who rescued a drowning doll with the same prompt.i.tude as he did a drowning child--at the relation of whose n.o.ble deeds the eyes of little children grow eager with excitement and sympathy. And where is there in any poet's work a more vivid bit of tragedy than "A Forgiveness?"

And would not an unfillable gap be left in the ranks of our friends of the imaginative world if Balaustion were blotted out?--the exquisite lyric girl, brave, tender and with a mind in which wisdom and wit are fair play fellows.

As Carlyle might say, "Verily, verily, Mr. Gosse, thou hast out-Homered Homer, and thy nod hath taken upon itself very much the semblance of a snore."

These and many others which might be mentioned since the date when Mr.

Gosse autocratically put up the bars to the poet's genius are now universally accepted. There are others, however, such as "The Red Cotton Night-cap Country," "The Inn Alb.u.m," "Aristophanes' Apology," "Fifine at the Fair," which are liable at any time to attacks from atrophied critics, and among these are the groups of poems which are to form the center of our present discussion.

Without particularizing either critics or criticism it may be said that criticism of these poems divides itself into the usual three branches--one which objects to their philosophy, one which objects to their art, one which finds them difficult of comprehension at all. This last criticism may easily be disposed of by admitting it is in part true.

The mind whose highest reaches of poetic inspiration are ministered unto by such simple and easily understandable lyrics as "Twinkle, twinkle, little star," might not at once grasp the significance of the Parleying with George Bubb Dodington. Indeed, it may be surmised that some minds might sing upon the starry heights with Hegel and fathom the equivalence of being and non-being, and yet be led into a slough of despond by this same cantankerous George.

But a poetical slough of despond may be transfigured in the twinkling of an eye--after a proper amount of study and hard thinking--into an elevated plateau with prospects upon every side, grand or terrible or smiling.

Are we never to feel spurred to any poetical pleasure more vigorous than dilly-dallying with Keats while we feast our eyes upon the wideness of the seas? or lazily floating in a lotus land with Tennyson, perhaps, among the meadows of the Musketaquid, in canoes with silken cushions? Beauty and peace are the reward of such poetical pleasures. They fall upon the spirit like the "sweet sound that breathes upon a bank of violets, stealing and giving odor," but shall we never return from the land where it is always afternoon? Is it only in such a land as this that we realize the true power of emotion? Rather does it conduce to the slumber of emotion, for progress is the law of feeling as it is the law of life, and many times we feel--yes, feel--with tremendous rushes of enthusiasm like climbing Matterhorns with great iron nails in our shoes, with historical and archaeological and philosophical Alpen-stocks in our hands, and when we reach the summit what unsuspected beauties become ours!

Then let us hear no more of the critic who wishes Browning had ceased to write in 1868 or at any other date. It may be said of him, not as of Whitman, "he who reads my book touches a man," but "he who reads my poems from start to finish grasps the life and thought of a century."

There will be no exaggeration in claiming that these two series of poems form the keystone to Browning's whole work. They are like a final synthesis of the problems of existence which he has previously portrayed and a.n.a.lyzed from myriad points of view in his dramatic presentation of character and his dramatic interpretations of spiritual moods.

In "Pauline," before the poet's personality became more or less merged in that of his characters, we obtain a direct glimpse of the poet's own artistic temperament, and may literally acquaint ourselves with those qualities which were to be a large influence in moulding his work.

As described by himself, the poet of "Pauline" was

"Made up of an intensest life, Of a most clear idea of consciousness Of self, distinct from all its qualities, From all affections, pa.s.sions, feelings, powers; And thus far it exists, if tracked, in all: But linked in me to self-supremacy, Existing as a center to all things, Most potent to create and rule and call Upon all things to minister to it."

This sense of an over-consciousness is the mark of an objective poet--one who sympathizes with all the emotions and aspirations of humanity--interprets their actions through the light of this sympathy, and at the same time keeps his own individuality distinct.

The poet of this poem discovers that he can no longer lose himself with enthusiasm in any phase of life; but what does that mean to a soul const.i.tuted as his? It means that the way has been cleared for the birth of that greater, broader love of the fully developed artist soul which, while entering into sympathy with all phases of life, finds its true complement only in an ideal of absolute Love.

This picture of the artist aspiring toward the absolute by means of his large human sympathy may be supplemented by the theory of man's relation to the universe involved in "Paracelsus" as we have seen.

From this point in his work, Browning, like the Hindu Brahma, becomes manifest not as himself, but in his creations. The poet whose portrait is painted for us in "Pauline" is the same poet who sympathetically presents a whole world of human experiences to us, and the philosopher whose portrait is drawn in "Paracelsus" is the same who interprets these human experiences in the light of the great life theories therein presented.

But as the creations of Brahma return into himself, so the human experiences Browning has entered into artistic sympathy with return to enrich his completed view of the problems of life, when, like his own Rabbi Ben Ezra, he reaches the last of life for which the first was planned in these "Fancies" and "Parleyings."

Though these two groups of poems undoubtedly express the poet's own mature conclusions, they yet preserve the dramatic form. Several things are gained in this way: First, the poems are saved from didacticism, for the poet expresses his opinions as an individual, and not in his own person as a seer, trying to implant his theories in the minds of disciples. Second, variety is given and the mind stimulated by having opposite points of view presented, while the thought is infused with a certain amount of emotional force through the heat of argument.

It has frequently been objected, not only of these poems, but upon general grounds, that philosophical and ethical problems are not fit subjects for treatment in poetry. There is one point which the critic of aesthetics seems in danger of never realizing--namely, that the law of evolution is differentiation, in art as well as in cosmic, organic, and social life. It is just as prejudiced and unforeseeing in these days to limit poetry to this or that kind of a subject, or to say that nothing is dramatic which does not deal with immediate action, as it would have been for Homer to declare that no poem would ever be worthy the name that did not contain a catalogue of ships.

These facts exist! We have dramas dealing merely with action, dramas in which character development is of prime importance; dramas wherein action and character are entirely synchronous; and those in which the action means more than appears upon the surface, like Hauptmann's "Sunken Bell,"

or Ibsen's "Master Builder"; then why not dramas of thought and dramas of mood when the brain and heart become the stage of action instead of an actual stage.

Surely such an extension of the possibilities of dramatic art is a development quite natural to the intellectual ferment of the nineteenth century. As the man in "Half Rome" says, "Facts are facts and lie not, and the question, 'How came that purse the poke o' you?' admits of no reply."

By using the dramatic form, the poet has furthermore been enabled to give one a deep sense of the characteristics peculiar to the century. The latter half of Victorian England in its thought phases lives just as surely in these poems as Renaissance Italy in its art phases in "Fra Lippo Lippi," "Andrea del Sarto," and the rest; and this is true though the first series is cast in the form of Persian fables and the second in the form of "Parleyings" with worthies of past centuries.

It may be worth while for the benefit of the reader not thoroughly familiar with these later poems to pa.s.s quickly in review the problems in them upon which Browning bends his poet's insight.

Nothing bears upon the grounds of moral action more disastrously than blind fatalism, and while there have been many evil forms of this doctrine in the past there has probably been none worse than the modern form, because it seems to have sanction in the scientific doctrines of the conservation of energy, the persistence of heredity, and the survival of the fittest. Even the wise and the thoughtful with wills atrophied by scientific phases of fatalism allow themselves to drift upon what they call the laws of development, possessing evidently no realizing sense that the will of man, whether it be in the last a.n.a.lysis absolutely free or not, is a prime factor in the working of these laws. Such people will hesitate, therefore, to throw in their voices upon either side in the solution of great national problems, because, things being bound to follow the laws of development, what matters a single voice! Such arguments were frequently heard among the wise in our own country during the Cuban and Philippine campaigns. Upon this att.i.tude of mind the poet gives his opinion in the first of "Ferishtah's Fancies," "The Eagle." It is a strong plea for the exercise of those human impulses that lead to action. The will to serve the world is the true force from G.o.d. Every man, though he be the last link in a chain of causes over which he had no control, can, at least, have a determining influence upon the direction in which the next link shall be forged. Ferishtah appears upon the scene, himself, a fatalist, leaving himself wholly in G.o.d's hands, until he is taught by the dream G.o.d sent him that man's part is to act as he saw the eagle act, succoring the helpless, not to play the part of the helpless birdlings.

Another phase of the same thought is brought out in "A Camel Driver,"

where the discussion turns upon punishment. The point is, if, as Ferishtah declares, the sinner is not to be punished eternally, then why should man trouble himself to punish him? Universalist doctrines are here put into the mouth of Ferishtah, and not a few modern philanthropists would agree with Ferishtah's questioners that punishment for sins (the manifestations of inherited tendencies for which the sinners are not responsible) is no longer admissible. Ferishtah's answer amounts to this. That no matter what causes for beneficent ends may be visible to the Divine mind in the allowance of the existence of sin, nor yet the fact that Divine love demands that punishment shall not be eternal; man must regard sin simply from the human point of view as absolute evil, and must will to work for its annihilation. It follows then that the punishing of a sinner is the means by which he may be taught to overcome the sin. There is the added thought, also, that the suffering of the conscience over the subtler sins which go unpunished is all the h.e.l.l one needs.

Another doctrine upon which the nineteenth-century belief in progress as the law of life has set its seal is that of the pursuit of happiness, or the striving for the greatest good of the whole number in which oneself is not to be excluded. With this doctrine Browning shows himself in full sympathy in "Two Camels," wherein Ferishtah contends that only through the development of individual happiness and the experiencing of many forms of joyousness can one help others to happiness and joyousness, while in "Plot Culture" the enjoyment of human emotion as a means of developing the soul is emphasized.

The relation of good and evil in their broader aspects occupy the poet's attention in others of this group. Nineteenth-century thought brought about a readjustment of these relations. Good and evil as absolutely definable ent.i.ties gave place to the doctrine that good and evil are relative terms, a phrase which we sometimes forget must be understood in two ways: first, that good and evil are relative to the state of society in which they exist. What may be good according to the ethics of a Fejee Islander would not hold in the civilized society of to-day. This is the evil of lack of development which in the long run becomes less. On the other hand, there is the evil of suffering and pain which it is more difficult to reconcile with the idea of omnipotent power. In "Mihrab Shah," Browning gives a solution of this problem in consonance with the idea that were it not for evil we should not have learned how to appreciate the good, to work for it, and, in doing so, bring about progress.

To his pupil, worried over this problem, Ferishtah points out that evil in the form of bodily suffering has given rise to the beautiful sentiments of pity and sympathy. Having proved in this way that good really grows out of evil, there is still the query, shall evil be encouraged in order that good may be evolved? "No!" Ferishtah declares, man bound by man's conditions is obliged to estimate as "fair or foul right, wrong, good, evil, what man's faculty adjudges as such," therefore the man will do all he can to relieve the suffering or poor Mihrab Shah with a fig plaster.

The final answers, then, which Browning gives to the ethical problems which grew out of the acceptance of modern scientific doctrines are, in brief, that man shall use that will-power of which he feels himself possessed--the power really distinguishing him from the brute creation--in working against whatever appears to him to be evil; while that good for which he shall work is the greatest happiness of all.

In the remaining poems of the group we have the poet's mature word upon the philosophical doctrine of the relativity of knowledge, a doctrine which received the most elaborate demonstration from Herbert Spencer in many directions. It is insisted upon in "Cherries," "The Sun," in "A Bean Stripe also Apple Eating," and especially in that remarkable poem, "A Pillar at Sebzevar." That knowledge fails is the burden of these poems.

Knowledge the golden is but lacquered ignorance, as gain to be mistrusted. Curiously enough, this contention of Browning's has been the cause of most of the criticisms against him as a thinker, yet the deepest thinkers of to-day as well as many in the past have held the opinion in some form or another that the intellect was unable to solve the mysterious problems of the universe. Even the metaphysicians who build their unstable air castles on _a priori_ ideas declare these ideas cannot be matters of mere intellectual perception, but must be intuitions of the higher reason.

Browning, however, does not rest in the mere a.s.sertion that the intellect fails. From this truth, so disconcerting to many, he draws immense comfort. Though intellectual knowledge be mistrusted as gain, it is not to be mistrusted as means to gain, for through its very failure it becomes a promise of greater things.

"Friend," quoth Ferishtah in "A Pillar of Sebzevar,"

"As gain--mistrust it! Nor as means to gain: Lacquer we learn by: cast in firing-pot, We learn--when what seemed ore a.s.sayed proves dross Surelier true gold's worth, guess how purity I' the lode were precious could one light on ore Clarified up to test of crucible.

The prize is in the process: knowledge means Ever-renewed a.s.surance by defeat That victory is somehow still to reach."

For men with minds of the type of Spencer's this negative a.s.surance of the Infinite is sufficient, but human beings as a rule will not rest satisfied with such cold abstractions. Though Job said thousands of years ago, "Who by searching can find out G.o.d," mankind still continues to search. They long to know something of the nature of the divine as well as to be a.s.sured of its existence. In this very act of searching Browning declares the divine becomes most directly manifest.

From the earliest times of which we have any record man has been aspiring toward G.o.d. Many times has he thought he had found him, but with enlarged perceptions he discovered later that what he had found was only G.o.d's image built up out of his own human experiences.

This search of man for the divine is described with great power and originality in the Fancy called "The Sun," under the symbol of the man who seeks the prime Giver that he may give thanks where it is due for a palatable fig. This search for G.o.d, Browning calls love, meaning by that the moving, aspiring force of the whole universe in its multifarious manifestations, from the love that goes forth in thanks for benefits received, through the aspiration of the artist toward beauty, of the lover toward human sympathy, even of the scientist toward knowledge, to the lover of humanity like Ferishtah, who declares, "I know nothing save that love I can, boundlessly, endlessly."

The poet argues from this that if mankind has with ever-increasing fervor aspired toward a G.o.d of Love, and has ever developed toward broader conceptions of human love, it is only reasonable to infer that in his nature G.o.d has some attribute which corresponds to human love, though it transcend our most exalted imagining of it.

At the end of the century a book was written in America in which an argument similar to this was used to prove the existence of G.o.d. This book was "Through Nature to G.o.d," by John Fiske, whose earlier work, "Cosmic Philosophy," did much to familiarize the American reading public with the evolutionary philosophy of Spencer.

Fiske claimed that his theory was entirely original, yet no one familiar with the thought of Browning could fail to see the similarity of their points of view. Fiske based his proof upon a.n.a.logies drawn from the evolution of organic life in following out the law of the adjustment of inner to outer relations. For example, since the eye has through aeons of time gradually adjusted itself into harmony with light, why should not man's search for G.o.d be the gradual adjustment of the soul into harmony with the infinite spirit? This adjustment, as Browning expresses it, is that of human love to divine love.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HERBERT SPENCER]

Other modern thinkers, notably Schleiermacher in Germany and Shaftsbury in England, have placed the basis of religious truth in feeling. The idea is thus not a new one. Yet in Browning's treatment of it the conception has taken on new life, partly because of the intensity of conviction with which it is expounded in these later poems, and partly because of its having been so closely knit into the scientific thought of the century.

Optimistically the thought is finally rounded out in "A Bean Stripe also Apple Eating," in which Ferishtah argues that life in spite of the evil in it seems to him on the whole good. He cannot believe that evil is not meant to serve a good purpose since he is so sure that G.o.d is infinite in love.

From all this it will be seen that Browning accepts with Spencerians the negative proof of G.o.d growing out of the failure of intellect to grasp the realities underlying all phenomena, but adds to it the positive proof based upon emotion. The true basis of belief is the intuition of G.o.d that comes from the direct revelation of feeling in the human heart, which has been at once the motive force of the search for G.o.d and the basis of a conception of the nature of G.o.d.

It was a stroke of genius on the part of the poet to present such problems in Persian guise, for Persia stands in Zoroastrianism for the dualism which Ferishtah with his progressive spirit decries in his recognition of the part evil plays in the development of good, and through Mahometanism for the Fatalism Ferishtah learned to cast from him. The Persian atmosphere is preserved throughout not only by the introduction constantly of Persian allusions traceable to the great Persian epic, "The Shah Nameh," but by the telling of fables in the Persian manner to point the morals intended.

With the exception of the first Fancy, derived from a fable of Bidpai's, we have the poet's own word that all the others are inventions of his own.

These clever stories make the poems lively reading in spite of their ethical content. Ferishtah is drawn with strong strokes. Wise and clever he stands before us, reminding us at times of Socrates--never at a loss for an answer no matter what bothersome questions his pupils may propound.