Study Edition · Essay 28
Dignity and Uses of Biography
Source: The Rambler, No. 60, Saturday 13 October 1750. Text from The Works of Samuel Johnson (Oxford, 1825), vol. 2, Project Gutenberg #43656. Archaic verb forms modernized; vocabulary kept and glossed.
Johnson's classic defence of biography. History, he argues, deals with kingdoms and battles that touch few readers, but the life of a single person, however ordinary, teaches us about ourselves, because all human beings share the same hopes and failings. He wants biographers to show private, everyday details rather than titles and funerals, and to tell the truth even about their friends. Thirty years later his friend James Boswell put these ideas into practice in his Life of Johnson.
30 sentences: 0 simple, 9 moderate, 21 complex. Hover a number for its paraphrase; click it for the full note.
Key Vocabulary
- calamitya disaster; great misfortune
- realizeto make seem real (old sense)
- approximateto bring near (old sense, as a verb)
- incident tonaturally belonging to; likely to happen in
- auditora listener; a member of an audience
- engrossedcompletely occupied; absorbed
- enchainto hold fast; to captivate
- diffuseto spread widely
- miscarriagea failure; a mistake (old sense)
- expedienta means of dealing with a problem; a makeshift
- adventitiousadded from outside; not essential
- capricea sudden change of mind; whim
- vicissitudeschanges of fortune; ups and downs
- eradicateto remove completely; root out
- vulgar greatnessthe kind of fame ordinary people admire
- prefermentpromotion to a higher office
- pedigreea person's line of ancestors
- evanescentquickly fading; short-lived
- fidelityfaithfulness; accuracy
- panegyrica speech or writing full of praise
- extrinsiccoming from outside; not essential
The Essay
Quid sit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non,
Plenius ac melius Chrysippo et Crantore dicit. (Horace)
Whose works the beautiful and base contain,
Of vice and virtue more instructive rules,
Than all the sober sages of the schools. (Francis)1
All joy or sorrow for the happiness or calamities of others is produced by an act of the imagination, that realizes the event however fictitious, or approximates it however remote, by placing us, for a time, in the condition of him whose fortune we contemplate; so that we feel, while the deception lasts, whatever motions would be excited by the same good or evil happening to ourselves.2
Our passions are therefore more strongly moved, in proportion as we can more readily adopt the pains or pleasure proposed to our minds, by recognising them as once our own, or considering them as naturally incident to our state of life.3 It is not easy for the most artful writer to give us an interest in happiness or misery, which we think ourselves never likely to feel, and with which we have never yet been made acquainted.4 Histories of the downfall of kingdoms, and revolutions of empires, are read with great tranquillity; the imperial tragedy pleases common auditors only by its pomp of ornament, and grandeur of ideas; and the man whose faculties have been engrossed by business, and whose heart never fluttered but at the rise or fall of the stocks, wonders how the attention can be seized, or the affection agitated, by a tale of love.5
Those parallel circumstances and kindred images, to which we readily conform our minds, are, above all other writings, to be found in narratives of the lives of particular persons; and therefore no species of writing seems more worthy of cultivation than biography, since none can be more delightful or more useful, none can more certainly enchain the heart by irresistible interest, or more widely diffuse instruction to every diversity of condition.6
The general and rapid narratives of history, which involve a thousand fortunes in the business of a day, and complicate innumerable incidents in one great transaction, afford few lessons applicable to private life, which derives its comforts and its wretchedness from the right or wrong management of things, which nothing but their frequency makes considerable, Parva si non fiant quotidie, says Pliny, and which can have no place in those relations which never descend below the consultation of senates, the motions of armies, and the schemes of conspirators.7
I have often thought that there has rarely passed a life of which a judicious and faithful narrative would not be useful.8 For, not only every man has, in the mighty mass of the world, great numbers in the same condition with himself, to whom his mistakes and miscarriages, escapes and expedients, would be of immediate and apparent use; but there is such an uniformity in the state of man, considered apart from adventitious and separable decorations and disguises, that there is scarce any possibility of good or ill, but is common to human kind.9 A great part of the time of those who are placed at the greatest distance by fortune, or by temper, must unavoidably pass in the same manner; and though, when the claims of nature are satisfied, caprice, and vanity, and accident, begin to produce discriminations and peculiarities, yet the eye is not very heedful or quick, which cannot discover the same causes still terminating their influence in the same effects, though sometimes accelerated, sometimes retarded, or perplexed by multiplied combinations.10 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.11
It is frequently objected to relations of particular lives, that they are not distinguished by any striking or wonderful vicissitudes.12 The scholar who passed his life among his books, the merchant who conducted only his own affairs, the priest, whose sphere of action was not extended beyond that of his duty, are considered as no proper objects of public regard, however they might have excelled in their several stations, whatever might have been their learning, integrity, and piety.13 But this notion arises from false measures of excellence and dignity, and must be eradicated by considering, that in the esteem of uncorrupted reason, what is of most use is of most value.14
It is, indeed, not improper to take honest advantages of prejudice, and to gain attention by a celebrated name; but the business of a biographer is often to pass slightly 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 by virtue.15 The account of Thuanus is, with great propriety, said by its author to have been written, that it might lay open to posterity the private and familiar character of that man, cujus ingenium et candorem ex ipsius scriptis sunt olim semper miraturi, whose candour and genius will to the end of time be by his writings preserved in admiration.16
There are many invisible circumstances which, whether we read as inquirers after natural and moral knowledge, whether we intend to enlarge our science, or increase our virtue, are more important than public occurrences.17 Thus Sallust, the great master of nature, has not forgot, in his account of Catiline, to remark that his walk was now quick, and again slow, as an indication of a mind revolving something with violent commotion.18 Thus the story of Melanchthon affords a striking lecture on the value of time, by informing us, that when he made an appointment, he expected not only the hour, but the minute to be fixed, that the day might not run out in the idleness of suspense: and all the plans and enterprises of De Witt are now of less importance to the world, than that part of his personal character, which represents him as careful of his health, and negligent of his life.19
But biography has often been allotted to writers who seem very little acquainted with the nature of their task, or very negligent about the performance.20 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 behaviour 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.21
If now and then they condescend to inform the world of particular facts, they are not always so happy as to select the most important.22 I know not well what advantage posterity can receive from the only circumstance by which Tickell has distinguished Addison from the rest of mankind, the irregularity of his pulse: nor can I think myself overpaid for the time spent in reading the life of Malherbe by being enabled to relate after the learned biographer, that Malherbe had two predominant opinions; one, that the looseness of a single woman might destroy all her boast of ancient descent; the other, that the French beggars made use very improperly and barbarously of the phrase noble gentleman, because either word included the sense to both.23
There are, indeed, some natural reasons why these narratives are often written by such as were not likely to give much instruction or delight, and why most accounts of particular persons are barren and useless.24 If a life be delayed till interest and envy are at an end, we may hope for impartiality, but must expect little intelligence; for the incidents which give excellence to biography are of a volatile and evanescent kind, such as soon escape the memory, and are rarely transmitted by tradition.25 We know how few can portray a living acquaintance, except by his most prominent and observable particularities, and the grosser features of his mind; and it may be easily imagined how much of this little knowledge may be lost in imparting it, and how soon a succession of copies will lose all resemblance of the original.26
If the biographer writes from personal knowledge, and makes haste to gratify the public curiosity, there is danger lest his interest, his fear, his gratitude, or his tenderness, overpower his fidelity, and tempt him to conceal, if not to invent.27 There are many who think it an act of piety to hide the faults or failings of their friends, even when they can no longer suffer by their detection; we therefore see whole ranks of characters adorned with uniform panegyric, and not to be known from one another, but by extrinsic and casual circumstances.28 Let me remember, says Hale, when I find myself inclined to pity a criminal, that there is likewise a pity due to the country.29 If we owe regard to the memory of the dead, there is yet more respect to be paid to knowledge, to virtue, and to truth.30
Sentence Notes
In plain English: Horace says of Homer that he shows what is beautiful and shameful, useful and useless, more fully and better than the philosophers Chrysippus and Crantor. The English verse is Philip Francis's translation.
Reference & context: Horace, Epistles I.2.3–4. Johnson applies the idea to biography: real lives teach morality better than philosophers' rules.
In plain English: Whenever we feel happy or sad about someone else's good or bad fortune, it is because our imagination makes the event feel real (even if it is invented) or close (even if it is far away), by putting us for a while in that person's position. So, while the illusion lasts, we feel whatever we would feel if the same good or bad thing happened to us.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A compact theory of why stories move us: sympathy is an act of imagination.
Reference & context: An early statement of what we now call empathy. Johnson's friend Adam Smith developed the same idea in The Theory of Moral Sentiments (1759).
In plain English: So our feelings are stirred more strongly the more easily we can take on the pains or pleasures described, either because we recognise them from our own past or because they are natural to lives like ours.
In plain English: Even the most skilful writer finds it hard to make us care about joys or sorrows we don't expect ever to feel and have never known.
In plain English: People read calmly about the fall of kingdoms and empires. A tragedy about emperors pleases ordinary audiences only with its splendour and grand ideas. And a businessman whose heart only flutters when share prices rise or fall can't understand how anyone could be gripped or moved by a love story.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A sharp, witty portrait of the money-minded man whose only emotion is the stock market.
In plain English: The similar situations and familiar pictures that our minds easily enter into are found, more than anywhere else, in accounts of individual lives. So no kind of writing deserves more attention than biography: none is more enjoyable or more useful, none grips the heart more surely, and none spreads lessons more widely to people in every walk of life.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: The essay's thesis, stated with Johnson's typical balance and weight.
In plain English: History moves quickly and in general terms, sweeping a thousand lives into one day's events and folding countless incidents into one big story. So it offers few lessons for private life. Private happiness and misery depend on handling small things well or badly, things that matter only because they happen every day (“small things, if they did not happen daily,” says Pliny), and which never appear in histories that deal only with senates, armies and plotters.
Reference & context: Pliny the Younger, Letters III.1: small things matter because they recur daily. Structure tip: the sentence piles up three “which” clauses; the first two describe history, the last two describe private life.
In plain English: I've often thought that there has hardly ever been a life whose sensible, truthful account would not be useful.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A democratic idea: every life, not only famous ones, is worth recording.
In plain English: For in the vast world, every person has many others in the same situation, who could learn directly from his mistakes, failures, narrow escapes and clever solutions. More than that, human life, stripped of its outward trappings, is so much the same everywhere that there is hardly any good or bad experience that isn't shared by all humanity.
In plain English: People very far apart in wealth or character must spend much of their time in the same way. Once basic needs are met, whim, vanity and chance start to make people different; but it takes only a moderately alert eye to see the same causes still producing the same results, sometimes faster, sometimes slower, sometimes tangled up by many factors.
In plain English: We are all driven by the same motives, fooled by the same errors, inspired by hope, held back by danger, trapped by desire and tempted by pleasure.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A famous sentence: six parallel phrases that sum up shared human nature.
In plain English: People often complain that ordinary life stories contain no dramatic or amazing turns of fortune.
In plain English: The scholar who spent his life with books, the merchant who just ran his own business, the priest who did only his duty: these are thought unworthy of public interest, however well they did their jobs and however learned, honest and devout they were.
In plain English: But that idea comes from false standards of greatness and must be rooted out by remembering that, to an honest mind, what is most useful is most valuable.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Johnson's practical moral rule in a nutshell.
In plain English: It's fair enough to use people's natural interest in famous names to win attention. But a biographer's real job is often to skim over the public deeds that win ordinary fame, and instead take us into private home life and show the small details of daily routine, where outward trappings are removed and people outshine each other only in good sense and goodness.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Johnson's programme for modern biography: the private person matters more than the public figure.
In plain English: The author of the life of Thuanus rightly says he wrote it to show future readers the private, everyday character of a man whose honesty and genius will always be admired through his own writings.
Reference & context: Jacques-Auguste de Thou (Thuanus, 1553–1617) was a French historian. A memoir of his life, prefixed to his great Latin History, aimed to show him as a private man.
In plain English: Whether we read to learn about nature and morality, to increase our knowledge or to improve our character, many unseen details are more important than public events.
In plain English: So Sallust, the great observer of human nature, remembered to note in his account of Catiline that his walk was sometimes fast and sometimes slow, a sign of a mind turning something over in violent agitation.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A perfect example of the telling small detail that reveals character.
Reference & context: The Roman historian Sallust, in The Conspiracy of Catiline 15.5, describes the conspirator Catiline's restless gait (“citus modo, modo tardus incessus”).
In plain English: Likewise the story of Melanchthon teaches a striking lesson about time: when he made an appointment he insisted on fixing not just the hour but the minute, so the day wouldn't be wasted in idle waiting. And all of De Witt's political plans matter less to the world today than the fact that he took good care of his health but had no fear for his life.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A neat paradox: health and life are not the same thing.
Reference & context: Philipp Melanchthon (1497–1560) was Luther's fellow reformer. Johan de Witt (1625–1672), Grand Pensionary of Holland, was murdered by a mob. The paradox “careful of his health, negligent of his life” means he kept himself fit but was brave in danger.
In plain English: But biographies have often been written by people who don't seem to understand the job or who do it carelessly.
In plain English: They seldom tell us anything that couldn't be found in newspapers, yet think they're writing a life when they just list a person's actions or promotions in order. They pay so little attention to their subject's habits and behaviour that you'd learn more about the man's real character from a short chat with one of his servants than from a formal, laboured account that begins with his ancestors and ends with his funeral.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: One of Johnson's most quoted sentences, a devastating verdict on dull official biography.
In plain English: When they do occasionally share specific details, they don't always pick the important ones.
In plain English: I can't see what future readers gain from the only personal detail Thomas Tickell gives about Addison: that his pulse was irregular. Nor do I feel well rewarded for reading the life of Malherbe by learning, from his scholarly biographer, that Malherbe held two strong opinions: first, that one unchaste woman could wipe out her family's claim to ancient nobility; second, that French beggars were wrong and crude to say “noble gentleman,” because each word already meant the other.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Comic proof of the point: biographers often record the trivial and miss the telling.
Reference & context: Thomas Tickell wrote a short life of Joseph Addison (see essays 20–23) for his edition of Addison's works (1721). François de Malherbe (1555–1628) was a French poet whose life was written by his disciple Racan.
In plain English: There are, admittedly, some natural reasons why these accounts are often written by people unlikely to teach or entertain, and why most biographies are empty and useless.
In plain English: If a biography is put off until all self-interest and jealousy have died away, we can hope for fairness but should expect little information, because the details that make a biography excellent are fleeting and quickly forgotten, and are seldom handed down by word of mouth.
In plain English: We know that few people can describe even a living friend except by his most obvious habits and the broad outlines of his mind. It's easy to imagine how much of this little knowledge gets lost in the retelling, and how soon a chain of copies stops resembling the original at all.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: An image that anticipates the children's game of “telephone” or “Chinese whispers.”
In plain English: If the biographer knew the person and rushes to satisfy public curiosity, there is a danger that his self-interest, fear, gratitude or affection will override his honesty and tempt him to hide things, or even to make them up.
In plain English: Many people think it a sacred duty to hide their friends' faults, even after death, when the friends can no longer be hurt by them. So we see whole rows of people described with the same praise, impossible to tell apart except by external, accidental details.
In plain English: “When I feel like pitying a criminal,” said Judge Hale, “let me remember that the country deserves pity too.”
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Johnson borrows a judge's maxim: mercy to one person can be unfairness to everyone else.
Reference & context: Sir Matthew Hale (1609–1676), Lord Chief Justice of England, wrote this among his private rules for judging.
In plain English: We owe respect to the memory of the dead, but we owe even more to knowledge, goodness and truth.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: The essay's final principle: honesty must outrank loyalty in biography.
Fun Fact
James Boswell followed this essay to the letter. His Life of Samuel Johnson (1791) records Johnson's table talk, his twitches, his habit of touching every post he passed in the street, and his huge appetite. It does not hide his faults. It is still often called the greatest biography in the English language.