The Converting Imagination: Linguistic Theory and Swift's Satiric Prose

cover

title: author: publisher: isbn10 | asin: print isbn13: ebook isbn13: language: subject publication date: lcc: ddc: subject:

next page >

The Converting Imagination : Linguistic Theory and Swift's Satiric Prose Francus, Marilyn. Southern Illinois University Press 0809318903 9780809318902 9780585223230 English Swift, Jonathan,--1667-1745--Knowledge--Language and languages, Satire, English--History and criticism--Theory, etc, Swift, Jonathan,--1667-1745--Prose, Linguistics. 1994 PR3728.L33F73 1994eb 828/.509 Swift, Jonathan,--1667-1745--Knowledge--Language and languages, Satire, English--History and criticism--Theory, etc, Swift, Jonathan,--1667-1745--Prose, Linguistics.

cover

next page >

< previous page

page_ii

intentionally left blank

next page >

< previous page

page_iii

next page > Page iii

The Converting Imagination Linguistic Theory and Swift's Satiric Prose Marilyn Francus Southern Illinois University Press Carbondale and Edwardsville

< previous page

page_iii

next page >

< previous page

page_iv

next page > Page iv

Copyright © 1994 by the Board of Trustees, Southern Illinois University All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America Edited by Carol M. Besler Designed by Edward D. King Production supervised by Natalia Nadraga 97 96 95 94 4 3 2 1 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Francus, Marilyn. The converting imagination : linguistic theory and Swift's satiric prose / Marilyn Francus. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Swift, Jonathan, 16671745KnowledgeLanguage and languages. 2. Satire, EnglishHistory and criticismTheory, etc. 3. Swift, Jonathan, 16671745Prose. 4. Linguistics. I. Title. PR3728.L33F73 1994 828´.509dc20 93-16890 CIP ISBN 0-8093-1890-3 The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information SciencesPermanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984.

< previous page

page_iv

next page >

< previous page

page_v

next page > Page v

For Yitzchak

< previous page

page_v

next page >

< previous page

page_ii

intentionally left blank

next page >

< previous page

next page >

page_vii

Page vii

Contents Acknowledgments

ix

Introduction

xi

1 Swift's Linguistic Education

1

2 The Rhetoric of Satire: Swift's Methods of Encoding Meaning

49

3 From Here to Eternity: The Preservation of Encoded Meaning

98

4 Readers, Critics, and Swift: Perceiving Encoded Meaning

141

Notes

191

Bibliography

243

Index

255

< previous page

page_vii

next page >

< previous page

page_ii

intentionally left blank

next page >

< previous page

page_ix

next page > Page ix

Acknowledgments Advice, instruction, and encouragement have come from many, many sources, but I owe my primary debts to Michael Seidel and John Middendorf. They gave me the benefits of their years of literary expertise, and their provocative insights into Swift and eighteenth-century studies have served as the grounding of my intellectual education. Their patient readings of my work (and I asked them to read it frequently) were astute and precise, and fortunately for me, tactful. Any errors and awkwardnesses in this book are my own; without Michael Seidel and John Middendorf, undoubtedly there would be more. Richard Braverman, Gita May, and James Zetzel all reviewed the manuscript, and their comments helped me rethink and refocus many of my arguments. I also benefited from numerous conversations with David Galef and Steven Epley. Robert F. Knoll, Thomas R. Edwards, and Carol Smith have some share in this book as well, for they encouraged my literary studies at the early stages of my academic career; for better or worse, they transformed a budding biologist into a literary critic. I am grateful to Princeton University's Council of the Humanities for awarding me the Behrman/Perkins Postdoctoral Fellowship in the Humanities, which allowed me to complete this work, and to West Virginia University for releasing me from my duties for my fellowship year. I would also like to thank the staffs of Columbia University Library, the New York City Public Library, Princeton University Library, Trinity College Library in Dublin, the National Library of Ireland, and Marsh's Library in Dublin, all of whom provided the requisite assistance both willingly and graciously. Of course, this acknowledgment would be incomplete if I neglected to thank the staff at Southern Illinois University Press, especially Curtis L. Clark and Susan H. Wilson, and freelance copyeditor

< previous page

page_ix

next page >

< previous page

page_x

next page > Page x

Carol Besler, whose talents greatly facilitated the transition of The Converting Imagination from a manuscript to a book. To my parents, Murray and Evelyn Weitzer, who never expected a scholar in the family, I give my love as always, and my thanks for their constant and complete support of an enterprise that was largely foreign to them. But most of all, to my husband, Yitzchak, who lived with the day-to-day ups and downs of my academic life and never complained, and who is now, much to his own chagrin, something of an expert on Swift, I dedicate this book.

< previous page

page_x

next page >

< previous page

page_xi

next page > Page xi

Introduction For centuries, literature in the Western world was dominated by the belief that a universal, Adamic language could restore the fragmentation of Babel and thereby achieve epistemological unity. The foundations of this largely unchallenged wisdom buckled unexpectedly with the publication of Locke's Essay Concerning Human Understanding (1690), which argued, much in the manner proposed by twentieth-century theorists, that the assignment of linguistic meaning is arbitrary and ultimately subjective. Like a series of snapshots that freeze a specific time and place, language captures an individual's understanding at a particular point in time. Although consensus definition makes basic communication possible, the variant linguistic associations of both writer and reader ensure a degree of textual misapprehension. Over time, accumulated connotations and denotations ensure textual erosion. The eighteenth century was heir to Locke's work, and its authors were the first to wrestle with the implications of his cognitive and linguistic theories. As an author at this pivotal juncture in linguistic history, Swift contends with the entire scope of verbal potential and limitation. Of course, all authors are forced to confront language, and in a broad sense, Swift's response to language is just as paradigmatic as any other author's. Yet unlike his contemporaries, or even many of his successors, Swift's encounter with his medium is unusually illuminating on biographical, historical, and theoretical levels. Swift's approach to language brings forth his unique (and conflicting) obsessions with literary immortality and linguistic creativity; Swift's prose also reflects the uneasy shift from traditional to modern linguistic thought as well as the radical changes in perception, psychology, and identity that many turn-of-the-eighteenth-century writers did not fully understand or pursue. Finally, Swift's fascination with language prefigures the dominance of language as a subject in the twentieth century, for the questions that Swift's work poses (What is language?

< previous page

page_xi

next page >

< previous page

page_xii

next page > Page xii

How do people respond to language? How does language change? What constitutes meaning in language? Is linguistic value synonymous with literary value?) are at the forefront of modern literary criticism, from structuralism through deconstruction to the current debates on canonicity, as well as in the emerging fields of psycholinguistics and sociolinguistics. The Converting Imagination begins with an analysis of Swift's linguistic training during his formative years. Based on biographical and educational documents, I reconstruct the curricula used at the schools Swift attended (Kilkenny and Trinity College, Dublin), and I demonstrate that the grammar, translation, and logic exercises he was exposed to reflect the traditional universal view of language. In this first chapter I also assess Swift's extracurricular exposure (through his Trinity tutor, St. George Ashe) to the contemporary linguistics of Locke and the scientific societies. These dueling theories were more sharply defined for Swift during his years as a secretary, translator, and editor for the noted diplomat Sir William Temple, who reignited the controversy first sparked by Bacon about the relative merits of classical and contemporary learning. I emphasize Swift's education as a source of his style and heightened linguistic awareness largely because Swift's academic training has been ignored by most scholars. More often than not, the general cultural milieu is proffered as Swift's primary resource for his prose style (as in the first chapter of Price's Swift's Rhetorical Art), and the evidence is both considerable and convincing that Swift was cognizant of religious, political, literary, and scientific rhetoric. On occasion scholars argue that Swift's psychology is the source of his verbal dexterity, as in Greenacre's Swift and Carroll: A Psychoanalytic Study of Two Lives. I am not suggesting that cultural or psychological explanations of the origin of Swift's style are incorrect; I, too, assume a thesis of cultural influence in my discussions of Swift and the ancients-versus-moderns controversy, the Royal Society, and academies; and I attribute psychological motives of empowerment to Swift throughout my book. However, I am suggesting that Swift's education adds another necessary dimension to the analysis of Swift's linguistics and style. The academic references in Swift's prose are often quite explicit, as Ronald S. Crane has shown in his "The Houyhnhnms, the Yahoos,

< previous page

page_xii

next page >

< previous page

page_xiii

next page > Page xiii

and the History of Ideas," which argues that the logic course at Trinity is the ideological source of the "homo est animal rationale" dilemma of Book Four of Gulliver's Travels. 1 Unlike Crane, I have not attempted to trace specific images or metaphors to Swift's schooling; instead I concentrate on the linguistic sensibility and the rhetorical forms that Swift's education attempted to indoctrinate in order to outline new, and I hope informative, paths of stylistic influence. After establishing the intellectual ferment of Swift's time and his position within it, I proceed to analyze Swift's linguistics. The organizing principle of chapters 2 through 4 is taken from the twentieth-century model of communication: creating, transmitting, and receiving meaning. In chapter 2 I codify Swift's techniques of generating meaning, from the creation and assignment of unitary meaning to his multiple codings of metaphor, irony, satire, and allegory. Swift tinkers compulsively with established meaning, whether by punning on sound (as he transforms papal bulls into snarling, avaricious beasts) or punning on sense ("Tell Sir Andrew Fountain I ran clear to the bottom, and wish he may be a late a-river where I am going. He used to brook my compliments"). Like Joyce, Swift encodes meaning by creating words ("yahoo," "tritical," and "amorphy") and playing with orthography (''Paaaast tweeeeelve o'clock"). Swiftian meaning resonates in the tension between a word's various denotations and its specific context; Swift relies on this rhetoric of multiplicity to sustain texts that are layered with myriad meanings. Yet just as Swift is constantly experimenting with methods of encoding verbal meaning, he is also always exploring ways to ensure the coherent transmission of his texts in the face of looming linguistic chaos. Chapter 3 examines the range of Swift's safeguards against textual anarchy, from his internal strategies (such as his linguistic strictures against jargon, abbreviation, and misspelling) to his external ones (his proposal for an academy to regulate language). Ironically, Swift's self-indulgent linguistic play succeeds where his formal precautions do not, for through his unique manipulation of language, he creates a literature that transcends time while retaining a fixed amorphous shape. The issues related to encoding and stabilizing texts reappear in chapter 4, on the reception of meaning, for Swift recognizes that

< previous page

page_xiii

next page >

< previous page

page_xiv

next page > Page xiv

reading is in fact a type of writing that differs from the authorial version only in that the words are predetermined. In his portrayals of readers and contemporary critics, and in his own readings of other's works, Swift demonstrates that readers invariably impose meaning in their attempts to discern it; in essence, readers write texts as they read them. As the plot-seeking academicians in Gulliver's Travels are able to "decypher a Close-Stool to signify a Privy-Council; a Flock of Geese, a Senate; a lame dog, an Invader . . . ," so too Swift reads Burnet's comment that "GOD may work a deliverance for us another Way" to mean "by inviting the Dutch [to England].'' As a result, the purpose and process of communication are called into question every time a linguistic interchange is attempted. In coming to terms with Swift's linguistics, it becomes apparent that motifs of translation and authority dominate Swift's thinking and writing about language. Translation is not just a school exercise in chapter 1; it is a metaphor for self-fashioning, as in Temple's psychological "translations" of himself, which he achieved by altering his diplomatic letters to project the persona he desired. In chapter 2 linguistic translation is a model for all of Swift's multiple codings, for in intralingual as well as interlingual translation, meaning is caught in the act of transfer between two competing representational systems. The multiple codings of irony, punning, metaphor, and parody all rely on one message being relayed in two (or more) different ways, and more often than not, meaning resides in the transition between two poles of signification. Thus the reverberations of translation are endemic to the slipperiness of Swiftian textswords are never what they started out to be, and meaning never settles into one mode of representation. Translation also functions as a metaphor for linguistic evolution in chapter 3; much to Swift's dismay, meaning is translated into different forms over time, so that intralingual translation may be construed as a survival mechanism for meaning, even as particular linguistic constructs disappear from common usage. Finally, translation is not only a saving mechanism for language but a proprietary mechanism as well, for by "translating" authorial

< previous page

page_xiv

next page >

< previous page

page_xv

next page > Page xv

rhetoric, a reader may attack, and often completely appropriate, textual meaning. Similarly, authority manifests itself in a number of guises in Swift's work, for acquiring, sustaining, and wielding authority are central to Swift's experience, not only as an author but as a clergyman and a politician. For one who was essentially disenfranchised by the circumstances of his birth and family, the ability to control language was a means of achieving social and political standing, if not dominance. In every text Swift is conscious of establishing himself as an authority over the subjects of his discourse, his texts, and language itself. In his satiric works, Swift subverts standard language to make his works unassailable, yet paradoxically, by overturning linguistic authority, he is able to achieve hegemony over language. In this sense linguistic standards are the requisite victims of Swift's art. However, there is a conservative side to Swift that genuinely believes in the merit of linguistic authority, not only to prevent the abuse of language by contemporaries but to protect language for future generationsto provide linguistic consistency in the face of incipient verbal chaos. Swift's proposal for a language academy is the most formal expression of his linguistic authoritarianism, though by far his least convincing argument for it. The failure of his proposal was inevitable and probably in Swift's best interest, for an academy based on his linguistic principles would have legislated Swift's works out of existence. But by desiring and denying authority, Swift maintains a bifurcated response to linguistic power throughout his career: as a writer he stretches the boundaries of language even as he advocates linguistic conservativism, while as a reader he usurps other writers' authority even as he condemns the practice of textual appropriation. By drawing upon the strategies of structuralism, historicism, psychoanalysis, deconstruction, and reader response criticism, I hope to have achieved a rounded vision of Swiftian linguistics. None of these methodologies has been invoked unilaterally in my text; I have consciously chosen to highlight what seems most relevant to Swift and language instead of sustaining critical consistency for its own sake. Accordingly, there are areas I have intentionally not pursued in my analysis. I have not recreated the history of English linguistic theory throughout Swift's career because it was not uniformly influential;

< previous page

page_xv

next page >

< previous page

page_xvi

next page > Page xvi

early eighteenth-century linguistics and related philosophical work (such as that of Berkeley) had far less effect on Swift than Lockean linguistics and the work of the Royal Society in the late seventeenth century. Likewise I have not presented a complete psychology of Swift. While his anality and misogyny have fascinated critics for years, the linkage between these aspects of his personality and his linguistics seems less relevant than Swift's sense of authority, which has a direct bearing on the dynamics of the writer-reader relationship. Similarly, I have not committed myself to a deconstructive analysis of Swift, for although his works are easily deconstructed, to do so is to complete only half of the hermeneutic process. Swift repeatedly advocates an ethic of language that is antithetical to the deconstructive projecthe indulges in linguistic fragmentation and contradiction to exemplify the value of stable, authorial meaning. Swift's personae may be unconscious deconstructionists, but Swift himself is not. Of necessity I have excluded a number of topics related to Swift and language simply because they merit separate studies themselves, such as a comparative analysis of British English and Irish English in the eighteenth century, the influence of contemporary Irish language and literature on Anglo-Irish authors, and a linguistics of Swift's poetry. Swift was conscious of the dialectical distinctions between Irish English and British English, for he commented about the new phrases he picked up during his visits to England. Yet without a complete comparative analysis of contemporary English writers in Ireland and England, it would be difficult to isolate characteristic Anglo-Irish idioms, which is the first step in determining how an author like Swift would adapt them to his purposes. Similarly, to gauge the impact of Irish language and literature on Swift, one would need to assess beforehand if in fact Anglo-Irish authors were sufficiently bilingual (for Irish was not usually taught in the Protestant schools Swift attended), as well as the mechanisms for maintaining a degree of linguistic fluency and the activity of the native Irish press. Swift heard Irish being spoken, for he complains about the harsh sounds of Gaelic; whether he understood Irish is another matter entirely. Even the relatively simple imperatives of rhyme and meter in eighteenth-century poetry impose parameters that would require a complete reevaluation of Swift's linguistic options and choices.

< previous page

page_xvi

next page >

< previous page

page_xvii

next page > Page xvii

I would be remiss if I did not mention the recent work on Swift and language, particularly Ann Cline Kelly's Swift and the English Language and Deborah Baker Wyrick's Jonathan Swift and the Vested Word, from which I have benefited enormously. In many ways The Converting Imagination is intended to complement and supplement these books. Like Kelly and Wyrick, I too am interested in what Swift does with language and why he does it, but I am also intrigued by how Swift does what he does; accordingly, I focus on, and attempt to codify, the mechanisms of Swift's linguistics as a writer and a reader. I also have broadened the historical context of Swift's linguistics, for neither Kelly nor Wyrick discusses Swift's education or proffers much information regarding contemporary academy proposals, grammar and spelling manuals, and cant dictionaries. All of this material locates more evidence for the linguistic energies in Swift that they elucidate so well. Like all Swift scholars, I am indebted to the work of Irvin Ehrenpreis, whose essays and biography of Swift have shaped the field of Swiftian scholarship. In the process of my research I frequently adopted George Steiner's ideas about translation, for I found that his sense of linguistic indeterminacy and fecundity brought Swift's linguistics into focus. I have also relied on the vision of seventeenth-and eighteenth-century linguistics presented by Hans Aarsleff, Murray Cohen, Stephen Land, and James Knowlson. Their ideas about historical linguistic problems and practice serve as the background for my inquiry into Swift; as they have provided handles that allowed me to grapple with Swift, I hope I have shown that Swift provides evidence for their analyses of historical linguistics. Last, but not least, a comment concerning the title, for "the converting imagination" is intended to be construed on a number of levels. I hope that the religious overtones of conversion evoke some of Swift's fervor as a linguist and an ideologue, and that "the converting imagination" reflects his dual career as the scribbling Dean of St. Patrick's. The title also alludes to the potent effects of rhetoric, for Swift recognized that the imagination often persuades readers more effectively than logical argument, and he is particularly adept at vivifying language to do so. In this sense language is not only an agent of change but is itself subject to transformation. Of course, as

< previous page

page_xvii

next page >

< previous page

page_xviii

next page > Page xviii

the imagination "converts" reason, the transitory nature of cognition is revealed; for Swift this can lead to creativity of the highest order, but it can also lead to madness. Swift then invokes authority to avoid the insanity of hyper-imagination, in an attempt to "convert" the imagination into something more tractable. These tensions, between imagination and reason, and between conversion and stasis, are at the core of this book, for they systain the transitional linguistics of Swift's prose, while exemplifying his preoccupation with order and stability.

< previous page

page_xviii

next page >

< previous page

page_1

next page > Page 1

1 Swift's Linguistic Education Whether Swift was writing about politics, economics, or literature, his diction and rhetoric were chosen as carefully as his stands on the issues. His attention to language was not only a function of his desire to be understood as he intended, but also of his desire to identify and rectify the abuses of language and thought, and to explore the rhetorical and communicative possibilities of language. Swift's fascination with words began long before his works made their way into print; according to a comment made to his friend Doctor Lyon, his interest in language started in school: "He first learned, soon after he entered the school [i.e., Kilkenny College], these words which he termedLatino-Anglice, 'Mi dux et amasti cum.' This kind of writing was afterwards one of those whimsical amusements that he sometimes entertained himself with." 1 The witty encoding of two meanings into one set of words, which would characterize much of his adult writings, captured his imagination from the start. While he may have preferred punning to studies in grammar and vocabulary, it was initially his studies that provided him with the knowledge to appreciate language and its puns. Thus, Swift's education in languagefrom its beginning at Kilkenny, through his years at Trinity College Dublin, to his tutelage under Sir William Templemust be examined as the first step toward understanding his fascination with the nature of language. Swift's innate talent with language could only have been enhanced by his education, for his training brought forth all his natural inclinations toward wit. The grammar-school exercises of double translation, comparative syntax, and poetry-prose translation were, in essence, exercises in synonymy, in the recognition and use of

< previous page

page_1

next page >

< previous page

page_2

next page > Page 2

interlinguistic and intralinguistic similitudes. The act of translation, of coding and decoding messages, inevitably generated an ease with synonyms and homonyms that was reflected in Swift's incessant punning, his ability to create extended metaphors, and his knack of writing chains of associative prose. That these exercises simultaneously pointed to radical disjunctions in meaning only sharpened his sense of linguistic possibility and absurdity. In particular, the misplaced meaning of literal translation would reappear in Swift's characteristic collapsing of metaphor and produce the same bizarre, comic effect. Most students would not have recognized, much less appreciated, the level of linguistic play here; assuredly, these exercises were deemed to be academic drudgery. It is also unlikely that the ideological subtext of this program, which asserted the arbitrariness of language and the ramifications thereof, would have been noted by students. Even if one assumes that Swift was not more linguistically astute than his peers, it is a common occurrence that what may not be consciously noticed can nevertheless achieve a discernible effect. Given Swift's adult writings, it seems clear that the intellectual underpinnings of this training laid down the methodological groundwork for his wit. The benefits of the study of translation were not the final goal of seventeenth-century education; ultimately, students needed to compose persuasive prose, not just translate another's poetry or prose. These young men would enter society as preachers, solicitors, members of the government: men of responsibility and power who needed to express themselves clearly and convincingly. As a result, linguistic studies were supplemented by rhetoric. The use of rhetoric in composition began the development of Swift's sense of audience and his familiarity with the authorial tactics that provoke response. Swift would also put his rhetorical knowledge to good use by extending and subverting traditional rhetorical conventions. Yet even as Swift was being educated, the standards of language and rhetoric were being challenged. The notion that modern languages were corrupt was spurring the development of representational languages. Concurrently, the age-old veneration of classical rhetoric was being displaced by a new incarnation of the antirhetorical

< previous page

page_2

next page >

< previous page

page_3

next page > Page 3

tradition. While the usual charges against rhetoric (that it deceives the intellect, deludes the emotions, and so on) were restated with vigor, the scientists who led the antirhetorical movement also advanced a new stylistic model of simple prose and plainer diction. Swift first encountered these contemporary theories about language, representation and rhetoric at Trinity, under the tutelage of St. George Ashe. Although Trinity officially maintained its ties to the scholastic rhetorical tradition by using Aristotle and his commentators, Ashe, as an advocate of seventeenth-century science and a contributor to the Royal Society, had little interest in limiting his students to scholasticism or its forms, nor did he do so. That Swift was fascinated by these theories is apparent in many of his later works, which revolve around the issues of late seventeenth-century linguistics. But fascination is not the same as adherence; although Swift felt some affinities for the linguistic movement of the new science (notably regarding plain style prose and the perfectability of language), he found much to criticize. While Swift's training at Trinity introduced him to the modern intellectual movement, his subsequent experience under Temple inculcated the value of the classics. In Temple Swift found the ideological opposite to Ashe, for Temple presented legitimate concerns regarding the new science, qualms that Swift would later voice in his writings. According to Temple the vagaries of the new method, particularly the impulse to categorize and analyze simply for the sake of system and analysis, seemed to forsake common sense for no foreseeable benefit beyond self-aggrandizement. He also deemed the modern disregard for ancient knowledge and culture as a sign of blatant egocentricity, for it was a refusal to acknowledge the intellectual precursors who made contemporary achievements possible. It is not surprising, then, that Temple's analysis of linguistics dismisses modern language schemes and lavishes praise on the ancient languages. Yet Temple was never able to formulate a convincing response to the moderns' challenge of the ancients, partly because he lacked a method, and mostly because he was insufficiently informed to be a critic. Swift probably realized this, for although Temple validated Swift's ideas that could not fit into Ashe's scheme of things,

< previous page

page_3

next page >

< previous page

page_4

next page > Page 4

Swift could not agree wholeheartedly with Temple, just as he could not completely indulge in Ashe's enthusiasm for the new science and its approach to language. Still, Temple rounded out Swift's education in ways that Ashe could not or did not. Temple nurtured Swift's literary talent by encouraging him to write, reviewing his earliest poetry, and advising his course of reading. Temple drew upon Swift's ability to translate and set him to the task of translating his own diplomatic letters; the experience may have been the source of Swift's dislike of foreign idiom in English as well as an edifying lesson on the establishment of authorial personae. Finally, Temple provided Swift with a prose model, for Temple's sense of linguistic propriety struck a corresponding chord in Swift. Granted, Swift did not follow Temple's model exactly, but he did incorporate parts of Temple's style in his own: the plain diction; the shapely, rhythmical Temple sentence on occasion; and perhaps most important, the ability to present and manipulate the authorial voice. While positing that education is crucial to the development of Swift's prose style, I recognize that many young men in this period received an education similar to Swift's, yet they did not all become satirists, or even writers. Obviously, the growth of an author is partly attributable to inclination; some people are interested in language and literature, and others are not. Yet Swift's linguistic and literary proclivities border on the obsessive, which indicates that something more than inclination is at work here. What differentiates Swift from most of his peers is that he needed a source of power, and that he recognized that language could provide him with the tools for self-determination, if not legitimacy. The bare facts of Swift's biography fall into a recurrent pattern of social disenfranchisement and conflict with authority figures. Swift's family life was largely nonexistent: fatherless from birth, Swift was separated from his mother in infancy and reared by his nurse. 2 Afterwards Swift was returned briefly to his mother, but he was sent to school at an early age while his mother went to England with his older sister. Initially Swift must have been out of step with his grammar-school peers at Kilkenny, for they were three to nine years older than he was. The age gap diminished by the time Swift entered

< previous page

page_4

next page >

< previous page

page_5

next page > Page 5

Trinity College Dublin, but there Swift was acutely conscious of his dependence on his Irish uncles, who rarely gave as much money or support as they could, or as much as Swift would have liked. 3 Evidently Swift rebelled by ignoring chunks of the curriculum, and if Barrett is to be believed, indulging in pranks against the administration.4 This pattern continued during Swift's tenure at Moor Park, for as much as Swift benefitted from living with Temple, he often perceived himself to be the victim of Temple's moodiness and inadequate patronage; Swift could not afford to alienate Temple, but Temple could alienate Swift, which remained a constant source of fear and frustration.5 Swift's, political and ecclesiastical careers also feature a series of disappointing encounters with those in power (and most poignantly in the anxious year before his appointment to the dearnery of St. Patrick's),6 for he never felt sufficiently respected or rewarded for the services he rendered. Separately and cumulatively these events molded most of the significant traits of Swift's personality: a recognition of being alone and having to rely on himself and his own resources for his livelihood; a self-righteous sense that his own worth was not recognized by others; and a veneration of authority, for although he was critical of representatives of the establishment, he desired to be an authority figure himself, since he felt he could finally set things right. This is essentially a psychology of satire, for it encapsulates the antagonism of a genre that asserts its own moral supremacy at the expense of others. For a man who initially had little social, economic, or professional influence, language was the great equalizer, a means to gain access to power that was ostensibly beyond his reach.7 In language Swift found an arena in which he could establish himself as an authority as he could not elsewhere, and his delight in this authority is apparent in all of his works, from his minor word play to his most polemical prose. Of course, the impact of Swift was felt far beyond the confines of the printed page, for as his literary reputation grew, so did his social influence, and eventually, his political influence as well. As textual authority translated into societal authority, Swift continued to rely on language to maintain his hard-won status; language was his mainstay and bulwark, and he was justifiably feared for his pen. Swift's grappling with authority is central to an understanding of

< previous page

page_5

next page >

< previous page

page_6

next page > Page 6

his psyche, and as I will argue in chapters 3 and 4, to his linguistics as well; in particular, the collision of authority and language fuels Swift's concerns for both the establishment of a national linguistic authority and for maintaining his own textual authority. Because language is central to Swift's thinking about himself and about his world, it seems appropriate to begin an analysis of Swiftian linguistics with some sense of Swift's earliest encounters with language. A study of Swift's education reveals that the linguistic training of his youth lays the groundwork for his wit, and the various tropes and devices that he became aware of in school would remain in his writing for the rest of his days. Swift's exposure to modern theory at Trinity, modified by the counterreaction of Temple's thought, places Swift in the linguistic and literary context of his day, and makes it possible to evaluate how Swift both reflects and deflects various contemporary theories of language and style. As a result, his educational studies not only define Swift as a transitional author in a period of linguistic and literary change, but also locate the origins of his creative process by showing how Swift developed his style from the materials that were available to him. ''Mi Dux et Amasti Cum" Other than his "Mi dux" comment to Dr. Lyon, Swift does not provide much information about his school years in Ireland. He claims that by the time his nurse had returned him to his mother "he had learnt to spell, and by the time that he was three years old he could read any chapter in the Bible"; Thomas Sheridan's assessment of Swift's ability to read at this level by the age of five is more likely to be accurate. 8 Reading was a prerequisite for admission to Kilkenny College,9 and Swift's precocity probably facilitated his entrance to the school in 1673, for most boys enrolled between the ages of nine and fifteen, whereas Swift was admitted at the relatively young age of six.10 Swift's comments about Kilkenny College reveal his insight into the nature of nostalgia more than they illuminate his studies there: "I formerly used to envy my own Happiness when I was a Schoolboy, the delicious Holidays, the Saterday afternoon, and the charming Custards in a blind Alley; I never considered the Confine-

< previous page

page_6

next page >

< previous page

page_7

next page > Page 7

ment ten hours a day, to nouns and Verbs, the Terror of the Rod, the bloddy Noses, and broken Shins." 11 Presumably the confinement to nouns and verbs refers to the memorization of declensions and conjugations. Learning by rote is necessary to acquire the fundamentals of any language; however, memorization clarifies nothing about the content of, or the ideology behind, Swift's education. That twentieth-century scholarship on seventeenth-century Irish grammar-school education focuses on finance and the role of the church seems to confirm that there is as yet scanty information on the academic curriculum in this period.12 Ehrenpreis compensates for this dearth of information by suggesting a curriculum for Kilkenny College that is largely modeled on the English system: . . . the fifth form with the reading, writing, and speaking of Latin. When they reached the fourth form, the children would learn syntax, parsing, and construing, while continuing to improve their earlier accomplishments. A book commonly read at this point was Aesop's Fables. Greek was often added in the third form, where the readings might include the New Testament in Latin and Greek; students would learn to write letters and to make double translations (English-Latin and Latin-English); they would be embarking upon such standard authors as Caesar, Cicero, and Terence. The second form would probably include oratory, the composition of Greek verses, Greek-Latin double translation, and more difficult authors. In the first form Hebrew might be introduced. The study of rhetoric in the upper forms was particularly important because of the value, in adult life, of effective writing and public oratory. In fact, the highest product of the written exercises was the formal theme; and the goal of the spoken exercises was the orationboth, of course, in Latin. (Emphasis added.)13 Unfortunately, Ehrenpreis's "might"s and "probably"s are not confirmed or denied by the Kilkenny College statutes of 1684, which can be considered as a reliable description of the school in Swift's time, even though they were drawn up two years after Swift left Kilkenny. The master, in statute III, is required to ''instruct the scholars in religion, virtue and learning: in the Latin, Greek and Hebrew languages; as also in oratory and poetry; according to the best method which he and the visitors shall judge most effectual to promote knowledge and learning."14 Although the statutes point to

< previous page

page_7

next page >

< previous page

page_8

next page > Page 8

language and rhetoric as the centerpieces of the grammar-school education, the statutes neglect to add any specific information regarding texts, methods of instruction, or the expected level of competence in these subjects. While the original visitors (i.e., inspectors) to the school were supposed to advise the headmaster on materials and methods, none of these prominent men (Thomas Otway, Lord Bishop of Ossory; Narcissus Marsh, Lord Bishop of Leighlin and Ferns; and Robert Huntington, Provost of Trinity College Dublin) left any instructions to the master regarding curriculum or methodology that still exist today. 15 However, a few manuscripts in the Trinity College collection do shed some light on seventeenth-century Irish education. The first is the commonplace book of Josias Haydock.16 Haydock attended Kilkenny College and subsequently entered Trinity College in 1677 at the age of seventeen. He became a university scholar in 1679 and graduated B.A. in 1682, the year Swift arrived at Trinity.17 Thus Haydock was approximately four years ahead of Swift throughout the academic course. Haydock's notebook includes a section on Greek and Latin syntax, dated 1675; a section on rhetorical tropes; an etymology of tropes; notes in Latin on Greek prosody; a Greek grammar written in Greek, along with a handwritten copy of the Trinity College statutes; and a longhand copy of Haydock's acceptance as a University Scholar, dated 1679. The Greek and Latin syntax is of particular interest because it reflects many of the linguistic assumptions of the time that were so ingrained that they were usually not explained in grammar texts. Comparative syntax was a first step toward the seventeenthcentury goal of a university syntax: if two languages could be shown to be similar, perhaps all languages could be reduced to the same common denominator. According to seventeenth-century philology and theology, such a common, universal language existed before the catastrophe at Babel plummeted man into linguistic chaos.18 Yet Babel did not turn meaning into chaos; meaning still was (and is) universalonly the universal language was lost. Comparative syntax attempted to recover this universality of expression, by lining up languages to demonstrate that relationships between ideas (and indeed, the ideas themselves) are universal. By establishing a consensus about the parity of ideas and their relationships, one could begin to move toward the

< previous page

page_8

next page >

< previous page

page_9

next page > Page 9

identification of truth; if the syntax of language could imitate the syntax of ideas, perhaps the syntax of ideas could reflect the structure of reality. 19 In essence then, comparative syntax was a step toward reversing the effects of Babel. Haydock's syntax, entitled "Syntaxis Grae: Latt: 1675," is informative not only because it refers to Haydock's attendance at Kilkenny (and as such, can shed light on Swift's years at the school), but because his notes line up Greek and Latin in an attempt to reconcile the structure of the two languages. Haydock's syntax does not present the syntaxes of Greek and Latin sequentially; rather, Haydock's notes present a partial syntax of both languages simultaneously. Throughout this fourteen-page syntax, the Latin syntax is presented first, and frequent interpolations that indicate the Greek syntax (which are usually signaled by "Grae:") follow: Comparativa omissa quam, Ablativum regunt nominis cui fitt comparatio: Grae genitivum plus, minus, aliis juncta casibus reperiuntur. (Comparatives, when quam is omitted, take the ablative case of the noun to which the comparison is being made. In Greek, more and less are found joined to other cases [such as the genitive].) Since Greek lacks an ablative case, the first half of the statement cannot possibly refer to Greek; it does, in fact, correctly present the Latin syntax for comparatives. And it is equally apparent that the second half of the statement does not refer to Latin, for the corresponding Greek syntax for comparatives is provided. Such remarks regarding the use of the ablative (along with Haydock's inclusion of a section entitled "Regimen Ablativi," rules of the ablative) are the major indicators that this is not a Greek syntax written in Latin, but a comparative syntax of Greek and Latin. Of course the seventeenth-century linguists could have developed an ablative case for Greek, thereby establishing a greater symmetry between Greek and Latin, but they apparently did not do so; most followed Camden's standard Greek grammar, which lacks a Greek ablative. Haydock's notes consistently show the ways that Greek varies from Latin practice: Under the rules of accusative: Verba recordandi, et obliviscendi genitivum vel Accusativum re-

< previous page

page_9

next page >

< previous page

page_10

next page > Page 10

gunt, quibus adduntur a Graecis verba admirandi, curandi, sentiendi, consequendi, furendi, negligendi, contemnendi. (Verbs of remembering and forgetting govern the genitive or the accusative, to which, in Greek, verbs of admiring, attending, feeling, following, raging, neglecting and despising are added.) Under the rules of the genitive: Verba accusandi, dammandi, absolvendi regunt genitivum suum [geniti suum MS] criminis, interdum ut paenae, rarius ablativum Graece: . . . item verba incipiendi, desinendi, extollendi, cedendi, appelendi regunt genitivum. (Verbs of accusing, condemning, [and] absolving govern the genitive of the accusation, sometimes of the penalty, more rarely in the ablative. In Greek, verbs of perception, seeing, also verbs of beginning, ceasing, praising, proceeding, [and] directing are governed by the genitive.) Under the rules of supines: Pro gerundiis et supinis quae Latinorum propria sunt, utuntur Graece: infinitivo et vice porro infinitivi participium usurpant. (For gerunds and supines which are particular to Latin, Greeks use the infinitives, and in turn make use of the participle in place of the infinitive.) As in the previous example, Latin appears to be the basic syntax, and it is the Greek deviations from that baseline that are noted, not Latin deviations from the Greek. The organization of this material is purposeful, since learning either Latin or Greek syntax does not require a second language. And the presence of two syntactical systems is undeniable: a Latin syntax would not include Greek interpolations, and a Greek syntax would not require explanations of non-Greek syntax. Similarly, the arrangement of these two syntaxes is intentional. A sequential presentation of Greek and Latin would probably be much simpler, since the student would learn each language's syntax separately, rather than running the risk of mixing two syntaxes together to the confusion of both. However, by using simultaneous presentation, the teachers were very likely using the known to explain the unknown; the students knew Latin syntax, and perhaps the best way to teach Greek syntax was by using rules the students already understood. Such a

< previous page

page_10

next page >

< previous page

page_11

next page > Page 11

system relies on the parity between the languages in order to explain Greek syntax; once the basic similarity of syntax is recognized, it is only a matter of pointing out the deviations from the Latin to complete the comparison, which is exactly what Haydock's notes do. Of course, there is still the danger of muddle, but a comparative system emphasizes similarities in syntactical structure and function even as it points to differences in syntactical practice. Thus, given the deliberate organization of Haydock's notes, these linguistic studies must be construed as a comparative syntax. This comparative syntax does not necessarily assert that Latin is the ideal language, or that all languages must fit the Latinate model. Nor is this comparative syntax an attempt to introduce a universal language or any form of ideal language; rather, comparative syntax only implies a consensus about the structure of ideas. This stance also acknowledges that language is an arbitrary construct, because it recognizes that a multitude of languages exist, and therefore, there is no inherent connection between a word and the idea that a word represents. If language were not arbitrary, then a comparative syntax would be irrelevant; instead the linguist would study the representational language to reveal the truth rather than comparing its syntax with other arbitrary (and therefore inherently inaccurate) languages. 20 To be able to confirm that a universal syntax was taught would require notes on a relatively uninflected language, so that one could determine whether Haydock's teachers were equating radically different grammatical structures to demonstrate the underlying universality of organization. Unfortunately, Haydock's notes do not provide this information, and in all likelihood the instructors were teaching practical linguistic skills rather than linguistic theory. Nevertheless, Haydock's notes are useful for their very suggestiveness: this method of recognizing syntactical similarities could align any language with Greek and Latin, and it would be the appropriate beginning for an excavation of a universal syntax. The study of comparative linguistics was reinforced further by the standard school exercise of the age: the double translation.21 In double translation the student was required first to translate a piece of writing from its original language to another language. After a short time, the student would retranslate his translation back into the original language and then compare his retranslation with the original

< previous page

page_11

next page >

< previous page

page_12

next page > Page 12

text as a measure of his accuracy and style. (The languages translated most frequently were Latin-English/English-Latin, and Latin-Greek/ Greek-Latin.) Double translation forced the student to learn and use the similarities between languages; thus, the study of comparative diction and syntax virtually became a requirement to complete the exercise. Double translation, like comparative linguistics, assumes the arbitrariness of language, for the premise of the exercise is that the same idea can be communicated in any language. Both comparative linguistics and double translation must accommodate linguistic differences while relying on linguistic similarities. But double translation moves beyond the recognition of similarities and differences that characterizes comparative linguistics to the process of decoding and recoding messages based on those similarities and differences. This ability to read and write "in code" is crucial because it is the linguistic origin of literary interpretation. The last step of double translation particularly promoted rhetorical study by providing literary models against which the students would measure their own performances, and thereby making a transition from linguistics to stylistics. That such an academic program inculcates the ability to discern and manipulate language was probably beyond the students' ken or appreciation. Yet translation as an exercise poses a demanding linguistic puzzle in which the translator must constantly determine where faithfulness to the original text ends and where the translator's creativity begins. A translation that captures the spirit of the original often takes liberties with the meaning; a translation that accurately transcribes the meaning often fails to capture the tone, since idiom and imagery usually do not transfer from one language to another. The simplest level of translation, literal translation, presents the most problematic results of all, since the literal can, and almost invariably does, lead to incomprehensibility, if not absurdity. 22 If any strains of Swift the satirist existed at Kilkenny, he probably reveled in the comic possibilities of literal translation, but literal translation was not the course of study at Kilkenny beyond the most elementary exercises.23 Thus the parallel study of languages seems to be the key to Swift's linguistic education, for his mind was trained to recognize similarities

< previous page

page_12

next page >

< previous page

page_13

next page > Page 13

among languages, their structures, and their meanings. Swift's discovery of the double meaning of that childhood Anglo-Latin pun seems inevitable given his academic program; that he delighted in it reflects the shaping of his temperament. These linguistic studies implicitly pointed to problems of representation and meaning, which eventually became explicit through the rhetorical decisions inherent in translation. Certainly translation made Swift aware of the complex incongruities of language, for he wrote to his cousin Thomas in 1692: "This Virgil sticks plaguily on my hands. . . . In foribus lethum Androgeo &c and so for about 10 lines, and about 3 lines in a place beyond it Foliis tantum ne carmina manda &c, which perhaps I know the meaning but 'tis confounded silly nonsense in English." 24 The most important aspect of the remainder of Haydock's notes is that they confirm that training in classical rhetorical figures was standard. Of course, most rhetorical tropes are created through linguistic play, whether by the alteration of word or letter order, repetition, or substitution. The study of tropes also reinforces the notion of the flexibility of language by pointing out the quirky correspondences in meaning that occur arbitrarily among words. Haydock's notes mention all of the common tropes, such as metonymy, synecdoche, irony, hyperbole; and a few of the less known figures, such as catachresis, metalepsis, and anadiplosis.25 Unfortunately, the notes are the barest exposition of the subject; at best a brief explanation of the figure is given, but often the reader must extrapolate the structure of the figure from the examples alone: Paranomasia tu non in Aula sed in Caula natus es. (Paranomasia You were not born in a palace, but in a sheepfold [or more vulgarly, a hole].) Metaphora mutat vocem propter similitudinem vel Arborum comae, i.e., folia. (Metaphor changes the word because of its likeness; the hair of a tree, that is to say, leaves.) Repetitio vocis est primo in eadem sententia Epezeuxis, Epanalepsis, Epanados. Epezeuxis initio ut O Corridon, Corridon. Initio et finie Epanalepsis ut multa super Priamo rogitans super Hectore multa. . . . (Repetition of a word in the same thought is primary in Epez-

< previous page

page_13

next page >

< previous page

page_14

next page > Page 14

euxis, Epanalepsis, and Epanadiplosis. Repetition in the beginning is called Epezeuxis, as in "O Corridon, Corridon." Repetition at the end is called Epanalepsis, as in "asking a great deal about Priam and a great deal about Hector. . . ." [Here the Latin word order, and the doubling of "multa" is more telling than the English translation].) Swift assuredly learned these methods of linguistic play, for these figures recur throughout his adult writings. Yet if Haydock's notes are any indication, Swift did not receive any formal training regarding the propriety, placement, or effect of literary tropes. These figures were probably perceived to be flashy adornments, much like the classical quotations that students collected to insert some intellectual heft to their essays. The absence of distinctions between Latin and Greek tropes here is also interesting, for it suggests a universality of methodology, and potentially of ideas, by signifying that rhetorical figures transcend differences in language. 26 The rest of Haydock's notes may be briefly touched upon. There is a list entitled "Derivatione Figaru" (derivation of figures), which enumerates the Greek etymologies of rhetorical tropes. The study of etymology in the seventeenth century had certain affinities with the search for an Adamic language, since both fields worked toward establishing the origins of language, albeit for different purposes. Haydock's notes do not elaborate upon the Adamic aspects of etymology; rather, the notes suggest etymology as a method of definition. If the name of the trope has some relation to its linguistic device, then the etymology could be used to understand the trope, or at least as a mnemonic device to remember the definition of the figure. Insofar as etymology points to the variable relationship between language and meaning, it too highlights the issues of linguistic significance. Haydock's notes on prosody are a basic explanation of poetic mechanicsof syllables, stress, and meter. The poetic figures are not discussed here, since they are subsumed under the division of rhetorical tropes. Haydock's prosody follows a pattern: he gives the name of a meter, then a description of the long and short stresses that compose the form, and then completes the listing with an example. This section has some import because it shows that phonetics

< previous page

page_14

next page >

< previous page

page_15

next page > Page 15

was studied, but there is no theorizing about universal prosody or representational prosodyno pronouncement like Pope's "the sound must seem an echo to the sense" to suggest notions about the relationship between language and meaning. Finally, there is Haydock's Greek grammar, which is written in Greek but has Latin headings for the various grammatical topics. Haydock's grammar follows Camden's standard text fairly closely; he only deviates from Camden by citing five moods for Greek, whereas Camden mentions six (Camden includes infinitives and participles). Both Camden and Haydock vary from modern grammars of ancient Greek by listing five declensions for nouns, whereas modern grammars list only three basic declensions. Similarly, modern grammars give two major conjugations for verbs, whereas Haydock provides four. 27 These variations may be instances of trying to model Greek on Latin, since Latin has five major declensions for nouns and four conjugations for verbs. Yet if such a modeling were intended, it was not completed, for both Haydock's and Camden's grammars acknowledge the distinctive features of the Greek language: the absence of an ablative case, the presence of dual number in addition to singular and plural, and the aorist tense. In addition to Josias Haydock's commonplace book, there is another document in Trinity College Dublin that may illuminate Swift's primary education: an anonymous letter addressed to the Duke of Ormonde, which looks toward England's Westminster School as a model for Kilkenny College.28 Ormonde, the patron of Kilkenny College, had served as the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, Chancellor of Trinity College Dublin, and Chancellor of Oxford University; undoubtedly, he was the most illustrious benefactor of Irish education in the seventeenth century.29 Although Ormonde had a highly visible role in academia, his interest in education was largely an extension of his politics. Ormonde was not necessarily indifferent to academic issues, but he was a busy man, and primarily a political creature, not an academic one. More often than not, Ormonde relied on the recommendations of others rather than on his own analysis of the qualifications of his appointees.30 But wielding the authority to make academic appointments allowed Ormonde to gain the allegiance, or at least the deference, of the Anglo-Irish gentry, who

< previous page

page_15

next page >

< previous page

page_16

next page > Page 16

needed his patronage. Ormonde also reaped another benefit from his educational power: since religious appointments were made from an applicant pool composed solely of educators, in effect Ormonde could determine who could enter the Anglican clergy in Ireland. As a result, Ormonde's educational power had formidable economic, religious, and therefore political, ramifications. Since he was the primary benefactor and administrator of Kilkenny College, Ormonde was the appropriate person to write to regarding the school. The anonymous writer of this letter argues that the best way to perpetuate the reputation of Kilkenny is to create "Ormond Scholars," thirty students to be subsidized by Ormonde and other benefactors. The writer then suggests: That the Rulers for Ellection and Government of this Society be taken from the Statutes and Practice of Westminster Schoole. That 100 pound be settled on the College of Dublin as an Additionall Exibition to their Schollarships, the Provist and his Assistant, to come on re every year as they doe to Westm: to Ellect 4 or 5 constantly out of this foundation. 31 Records of the Ormonde scholars' program in this period do not exist, so it is impossible to determine whether Ormonde's scholars were in fact the Irish counterparts of Westminster's King's scholars. Yet it may be more important that Westminster was considered as a suitable archetype than whether or not Ormonde exactly followed Westminster practices in his scholars' program or his school. Under Dr. Richard Busby, Westminster was setting and achieving the goals of seventeenth-century education, and his students were among the most prominent men of the age.32 Kilkenny College certainly felt his influence through Edward Jones and Henry Ryder, two Westminster graduates who were the schoolmasters at Kilkenny during Swift's attendance.33 Thus a look at Westminster's educational system will certainly illuminate seventeenth-century educational practices, and it may shed some light on the Kilkenny academic course. Fortunately, one young Westminster student in the beginning of the seventeenth century left extensive notes about the school day and the academic requirements.34 The boys were trained to take any piece of writing and translate it into Greek or Latin, prose or verse. The student writes that authors were "to be exactlie gone through by

< previous page

page_16

next page >

< previous page

page_17

next page > Page 17

construing and other grammatical waies, examining all the rhetorical figures and translating it out of verse into prose, or out of prose into verse, out of gr. into lat.: or out of lat. into gr.'' 35 The distinctions between languages and literary forms are recognized only as troublesome obstacles that must be overcome to succeed in the exercise. The assignment reinforces the interchangeability of languages (and consequently, the arbitrary quality of language) to achieve the final goal of grammatical versatility, regardless of form or content. The texts for these exercises were taken from the standard classical authors: Cicero, Livy, Virgil, Sallust, Homer, Euripides, Isocrates, Apollodorus, Xenophon, and Demosthenes. The boys read these authors primarily to learn grammar and rhetoric, not for their content.36 Of course, the content was useful insofar as it provided ideas for themes, in which the students could show their linguistic competence, and ideally, their versatility. But one can only imagine the results of changing Virgil into Ciceronian prose, or Livy into Homeric verse, or the way Swift would have savored the comic possibilities of such assignments. At best, personal style would get subsumed by four standard styles (Latin prose, Latin verse, Greek prose, and Greek verse), to which one would be expected to conform.37 Certainly this kind of training reinforced the sentiments behind Haydock's comparative syntaxindeed, such an academic system made a comparative syntax mandatory. As in the case of double translations, the constant alternations between prose and verse ignore some very real distinctions. While metaphor, simile, and other tropes may compensate for the intranslatability of idiom and syntax, the difficulties inherent in establishing linguistic parity are clearly magnified when equity is assumed between poetry and prose. The student is confronted with a dismal choice: either following the forms of meter and rhyme at the expense of meaning, or retaining the correct meaning at the expense of violating poetic forms. Such a choice repeats and reinforces the ongoing translation problem: deciding between faithfulness to the spirit, or to the letter, of the original text. While it could be argued that such exercises encouraged unusual linguistic and literary creativity, it seems more likely that the system turned the students into language machines, whose priority was to learn tricks in order to translate and rhyme quickly.38 Apparently,

< previous page

page_17

next page >

< previous page

page_18

next page > Page 18

the constant emphasis on verbal similarities, even to the point of ignoring substantial differences, was the underpinning of all seventeenth-century linguistic education. One final note on Swift's grammar school education, which shows the evolution of education in Irelandor the lack of it. More than a hundred years after Swift graduated, Kilkenny was still teaching the classics (with some minor alterations) and still using the same methods. 39 Kilkenny's conservative pedagogy reflects the general trend in Ireland throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries; Latin, Greek and the classics dominate the curriculum, as is evident from the government reports throughout the period.40 Kilkenny's grammar program undoubtedly developed Swift's knowledge of, and dexterity with, language. The particular emphasis on translation forced Swift to recognize the variable textures of language and tutored him in the use of linguistic similarities to overcome verbal differences. Translation also inculcated methods of encoding and decoding meaning that are essentially cognate with literary creation and analysis. But for Swift, translating from one code to another lacked the challenge of writing in multiple codes simultaneously. Swift was always intrigued by the same set of words meaning different things under different interpretive codes, as is apparent in his youthful pleasure in the bilingual "mi dux et amasti cum." By burying and unearthing meanings in language, Swift generated literary, political, and textual energy, for his prose refused to settle into simple significance. In so doing, Swift hit upon the technique that would become the hallmark of his mature style: the concise wit of the multiple code. The Years at Trinity After his schooling at Kilkenny, Swift entered Trinity College Dublin in 1682, at the age of fourteen.41 The curriculum prescribed by the Trinity College statutes (which were written by Archbishop Laud in 1637), required the Trinity undergraduates to study Aristotle, Aristotle, and more Aristotle.42 Yet while the Laudian statutes were technically still in effect, they were no longer followed with any degree of fidelity.43 The change in the studies can be surmised from the library loan book for 16851694, which shows that the books

< previous page

page_18

next page >

< previous page

page_19

next page > Page 19

taken out most frequently by the tutors for the students were religious texts, such as Bellarmine's De Sacramentis and Scriptoribus Ecclesiasticus, Stillingfleet's Defense of Bishop Laud, and the letters of St. Ignatius; and scientific/philosophical texts, such as Vossius's De Scientia Mathematica and De Arte Poetica, Suarez's De Legibus, the French philosopher and scientist Gassendi's Works, Keckermannus's Systema Mathematices, and with less frequency, Scheibler's Metaphysics and Descartes' Works. 44 These scientific and philosophical works were studied at Oxford and Cambridge, and Trinity was probably trying to keep pace with its sister universities in England, even at the expense of Aristotle.45 Since the official curriculum does not accurately depict the academic course, piecing together Swift's Trinity program is a painstaking task of joining bits of information from sundry sources. In fact there is no official information about the course of academic studies at Trinity College studies from 1637 until 1736.46 Swift's comments on his education at Trinity College are few; he claims that he "neglected his Academick Studyes, for which he had no great relish by Nature, and served himself so reading History and Poetry."47 Nevertheless, Swift's grades for the Easter term of 1685 indicate that his academic performance was average. The scale of grades, in descending order, was bene, mediocriter, negligenter, male, and pessime; Swift received a male in physics, bene in both Greek and Latin, and negligenter in theme.48 As Ehrenpreis notes, "By far the most common mark on this examination was mediocriter; about as many male's appear as bene's, which is not very many, and about the same number of negligenter's."49 So Swift was actually doing no better than average in collegeand not surprisingly, best in his language courses. Unfortunately, there is no information regarding the methodology of these language courses, but according to Constantia Maxwell, the purpose of the courses was clear: Hebrew and Greek were taught to expound upon the Bible, and Latin "was valued not so much for itself as for being the medium in which other subjects were taught."50 As for composition Stubbs writes that "the student was required to exhibit to his lecturer once a week a commentary on the teaching conveyed in his praelection; and also to hand his lecturer every Saturday a Latin theme, or a translation from English into Latin of some

< previous page

page_19

next page >

< previous page

page_20

next page > Page 20

passage set by the lecturer, who was bound to examine it and point out its defects." 51 The compositions were assigned primarily to ensure that the students were paying attention in the lectures; writing was one way the teacher could determine the student's knowledge, and unlike oral and written exams, in which the instructor needed time both to administer and to grade the test, reading essays was relatively time-efficient. Of course, a student's rhetorical ability could help compensate for gaps in his knowledge, while difficulty with composition could harm the truly knowledgeable. The traditional topics for themes were used at Trinity long after Swift left, and presumably Swift wrote on these topics, although copies of his school exercises no longer exist. According to a Trinity College notebook, the old standbys"Festina Lente," "Carpe diem," "In laudem Philosophiae," and "Artis est celare artem"were being assigned fifty years after Swift graduated.52 This notebook is in the form of the traditional commonplace book: each subject is followed by a series of general ideas and quotations that can be written up into themes on the topic. Thus even if the study of language had not remained at the center of the course, the use of language and rhetoric would still have played a major role in the Trinity College curriculum through the composition requirements. Judging from his grades, writing was not Swift's problem; physics (which was part of the logic course) was the source of his academic difficulties, as shown by Swift's only other comment regarding Trinity: [Swift told Sheridan] he had made many efforts, upon his entering the College, to read some of the old treatises on logic writ by Smeglesius, Keckermannus, Burgersdicius, etc. and that he never had patience to go through three pages of any of them, he was so disgusted at the stupidity of the work. When he was urged by his tutor to make himself master of this branch, then in high estimation, and held essentially necessary for the taking of a degree, Swift asked him, what was it he was to learn from those books? His tutor told him, the art of reasoning. Swift said that he found no want of any such art; that he could reason very well without it; and that as far as he could observe, they who had made the greatest proficiency in logic, had, instead of the art of reasoning, acquired the art of wran-

< previous page

page_20

next page >

< previous page

page_21

next page > Page 21

gling; and instead of clearing up obscurities, had learned how to perplex matters that were clear enough before. 53 "The art of reasoning" was necessary to pass the disputations that were required to graduate. Each candidate for the Bachelor's of Arts degree would receive three papers from the Proctor; each paper had four questions about logic, natural philosophy (i.e., science), and moral philosophy. To complete the program, every student had to defend one of the three papers against two other candidates and then argue against the other two papers. The student attacked his opponents by presenting three syllogisms against each of the opposing eight questions, and he defended his own four questions by revealing logical fallacies of his opponents' arguments.54 According to Sheridan, Swift's refusal to study logic hindered his graduation; Swift "was utterly unacquainted even with the logical terms," and the first time Swift attempted the disputation he was stopped because he could not argue in syllogisms. The second time the examination committee relented, and Swift "answered the arguments of his opponents in his own manner, which the Proctor put into proper form." Sheridan posits this as the reason Swift received his degree "speciali gratia," by special favor of the university.55 These final disputations remained part of the program long after Swift left, and Trinity students continued to argue in syllogisms throughout the eighteenth century.56 The linguistic implications of syllogistic form merit some attention, although the syllogism was surely not taught in this manner at Trinity. A standard syllogism runs as follows: Major Premise: All men are mortal. Minor Premise: Socrates is a man. Conclusion: Therefore Socrates is mortal. The commutative property of the middle term of a syllogism (in this example, "man") works only if the middle term is being used in the same sense in both major and minor premises. If the middle term has a different meaning in each premise, then logical havoc ensues. Yet linguistically the term is still the same; so in some sense, playing off of

< previous page

page_21

next page >

< previous page

page_22

next page > Page 22

different connotations in a syllogism is both logical (given the construct) and illogical (given the meaning). In this light, illogical syllogisms are radically condensed versions of "free" writing, for both rely on associative thinking and its attendant leaps in meaning. Swift's delight in the associative nature of language probably made it impossible for him to organize his thoughts into logically correct syllogisms. Yet given his penchant for linguistic play, it is surprising that Swift is not even slightly attracted to the linguistic mathematics upon which syllogisms depend. Perhaps the best explanation is twofold: not only did the formal strictures of syllogistic logic dismay Swift, but the realization that syllogisms are often labored proofs of the intuitively obvious or the patently absurd combined to ensure Swift's disenchantment with the entire process. As early as Tale of a Tub (16961704) Swift lampooned (il)logic and its practitioners, and in so doing he hit upon what would become a characteristic mechanism of Swiftian satireusurp the method and rhetoric of the antagonist to expose his or her argument: "Because, First, it is generally affirmed, or confess'd that Learning puffeth Men up: And Secondly, they [the Aeolists] proved it by the following Syllogism; Words are but Wind; and Learning is nothing but Words; Ergo, Learning is nothing bit Wind." 57 The last point that must be stressed regarding Swift's years at Trinity is the influence of his tutor, St. George Ashe. Their relationship as student and tutor was unusually close, and their friendship continued long after Swift graduated.58 Ashe was an active member of the Dublin Philosophical Society, which not only connected him to the Irish scientific community (with the prominent Sir William Petty and William Molyneux) but also to the scientific societies in England, with which the Dublin Society maintained a steady correspondence. Ashe's contributions to contemporary research ranged from the astronomical ("Observations on a solar eclipse") and the mathematical ("A New and Easy Way of Demonstrating Some Propositions in Euclid") to the mundane ("An Account of a Kind of Dew") and the bizarre ("Account of a Girl with Horns").59 Although Bacon had insisted on rigorous experimental inquiry, the seventeenth-century scientific community had not fully codified its methodology or its pursuits, which led to much hit-or-miss work (like Ashe's) that was ridiculed in satires on addle-brained, dilettante researchers who were known as ''virtuosos." Despite such

< previous page

page_22

next page >

< previous page

page_23

next page > Page 23

criticism it was undeniable that the scientific community was at the center of the intellectual debates of the day, especially regarding the value of ancient-versus-modern learning, and the merits of scholasticism versus the new experimental approach. In addition, the founders of the scientific societies had encouraged most of the linguistic activity of the seventeenth century, including the work on universal and Adamic languages. While Swift and Ashe were at Trinity, the scientific societies were focusing on medicine, biology, and chemistry rather than on linguistics. The major linguistic project under the auspices of the Royal Society, John Wilkin's Essay Towards a Real Character and a Philosophical Language, had brought seventeenth-century linguistics to its peak with its publication in 1668. Wilkins had created a lexical classification system for all perceived notions and actions, and to represent these classifications, he developed a group of signs that could be modified by various "transcendental" marks to indicate syntax, degree, gender, and so on. 60 While the members of the Royal Society were generally impressed with Wilkins' philosophical language, they felt it needed to be amended. Subsequent disagreements regarding the method and nature of correction eventually led to the stagnation, and the ultimate abandonment, of the project.61 The demise of Wilkin's philosophical language signaled a general withdrawal from work in linguistics. According to the minutes of the scientific societies, in 1684 neither the Oxford nor the Royal Society discussed linguistics, and only 0.7 percent of the Dublin Society's work was on language. The time spent on linguistics was minimal in 1685 also: for Oxford, 1.3 percent; for the Royal Society, 0.7 percent; and for Dublin, 0.8 percent.62 The Dublin Society's work in linguistics during this period is described by K.T. Hoppen: In December 1684 the society received a letter from John Keogh in which he gave notice of "various curiosities he had under consideration, and some of them finished, as a philosophical character." The society obviously thought the matter of some importance and "much discourse passed about various attempts that way." Although no sample of the character survives, it was probably based on principles similar to those evolved by Wilkins. Keogh worked on it for a year and in September 1685 St. George Ashe, then secretary to the society,

< previous page

page_23

next page >

< previous page

page_24

next page > Page 24

promised to send a specimen to London "if it be thought worth the while." His failure to do so three months later when Keogh at last presented "a large discourse" on the subject, would seem to indicate the society's poor opinion of the final product. 63 Whether Swift saw Keogh's work is unknown, but surely he was aware of the discussion of the philosophical character of language. Vivian Salmon suggests that Swift read Nathaniel Chamberlain's Tractatus de Literis et Lingua Philosophica (Dublin, 1679)64; it is also possible that Swift read or knew of Sir William Petty's The Dictionary of Sensible Words (1685) and The Explication of 12 Theological Words (1686). Thus, although linguistics was no longer in the intellectual spotlight, the ideas of universal and representational languages were still bandied about in the 1680s and were still discussed with a degree of seriousness, even as their most likely supporters were becoming critical of them. Yet the scientific societies exerted another, more potent influence on language at the end of the seventeenth century: the advocacy of a plain prose style.65 In their questioning of the ancients' learning, the new scientists began to discredit the language of the ancients, for many scholastic arguments relied on an idiosyncratic translation or interpretation of a phrase. Rhetorical frills and the interpolation of quotations were part of a long-established tradition of confused (and confusing) scholarship, and the Royal Society was intent upon combatting what it perceived to be linguistic and stylistic, and therefore intellectual, obscurantism. The scientists hoped their quest for knowledge would be characterized by clarity and insight, and they desired a correspondingly lucid, unambiguous method of communication to report their new observations. The imperative for accuracy and simplicity resulted in the statute of the Royal Society that insisted upon plainness above all in their papers: "In all Reports of Experiments to be brought into the Society, the Matter of Fact shall be barely stated, without any Prefaces, Apologies, or Rhetorical Flourishes, and entered so into the Register-Book, by order of the Society."66 Soon the Royal Society's advocacy of the plain style extended beyond its use in scientific reports to all literary productions.67 Thomas Sprat, who articulated the scientific manifesto in his History

< previous page

page_24

next page >

< previous page

page_25

next page > Page 25

of the Royal Society (1667), elaborated on the argument for the plain style in strong terms: Who can behold, without indignation, how many mists and uncertainties, these specious Tropes and Figures have brought on our Knowledg[e]? How many rewards, which are due to more profitable, and difficult Arts, have been still snatch'd away by the easie vanity of fine speaking? . . . All the Studies of men, nothing may be sooner obtain'd, than this vicious abundance of Phrase, this trick of Metaphors, this volubility of Tongue, which makes so great a noise in the World. But I spend Words in vain; for the evil is now so inveterate, that it is hard to know whom to blame, or where to begin to reform. . . . They [the Royal Society] have therefore been most rigorous in putting in execution, the only Remedy, that can be found for this extravagance: and that has been, a constant Resolution, to reject all the implifications, digressions, and swellings of style: to return back to the primitive purity, and shortness, when men deliver'd so many things, almost in an equal number of words. They have exacted from all their members, a close, naked, natural way of speaking; positive expressions; clear senses; a native easiness: bringing all things as near the Mathematical plainness, as they can: and preferring the language of Artizans, Countrymen, and Merchants, before that, of Wits, or Scholars. 68 Sprat's argument typifies the strengths and weaknesses of the plain style position. His first argument seems to be against rhetoric rather than for the plain style. Rhetoric is associated with evil, with vanity with intent to obscure; rhetoric has inhibited the acquisition of knowledge. This criticism reiterates the conventional antirhetoric argument, and while Sprat does present these ideas in a spirited manner, his case becomes more convincing when he argues for the plain style. Sprat insists that man is going against his reason, and even his instincts, by speaking or writing in any fashion that is not "naked," "natural," "positive," and "native." That a plain language should be primitive and pure suggests notions of ideal, if not Adamic, languages into this new rhetoric, and all the advantages thought to come with such philosophical languages. Not surprisingly, Sprat's desire to return to a language of primitive purity was the reflection of, and the subsequent impetus for, many of the language experiments previously mentioned.

< previous page

page_25

next page >

< previous page

page_26

next page > Page 26

Although Sprat eludes the rhetorical traps he describes, he does not confront, much less resolve, the difficulties in his argument that undermine his position. He does not discuss the swellings of style that do not lead to abstruseness, just as he ignores the use of rhetorical ornament simply for aesthetic reasons. Similarly, Sprat's solution to rhetorical excess does not seem sufficient; avoiding rhetorical tropes will not necessarily result in clarity or eliminate the intent to obfuscate. 69 Sprat's idea of a pure language is also shortsighted; that a pure language should communicate a number of ideas "almost in an equal number of words" is seeking for a mathematical exactitude between language and thought that does not exist. (Swift would later follow through the illogical implications of this particular scheme in Book Three of Gulliver's Travels, in his satire of the Lagado academicians who carry the objects of their discourse.)70 Finally, Sprat's preference for the language of artisans, countrymen, and merchants does not acknowledge that every profession and dialect relies on rhetorical devices for its unique pattern of communication; as a result, Sprat unwittingly substitutes one type of jargon for another.71 If Swift had not been aware of the plain style movement through the literature of the Royal Society, he surely would have learned the plain style ideology from the writings of Thomas Hobbes, whose works he owned and annotated.72 Although Hobbes is famous for invigorating the metaphor that a commonwealth is "but an Artificall Man," he repeatedly states his disapproval of figurative language because of its capacity for deception and confusion; metaphors are more than once cited in Leviathan (1651) as false arguments: "For seeing they [metaphors] openly professe deceipt; to admit them into Councell, or Reasoning, were manifest folly."73 These ideas about rhetorical tropes are the outgrowth of Hobbes' work on absurdity, whose causes he identifies as linguistic: imprecise definition; misnaming; creating words that signify nothing; and of course, using metaphors, tropes, and rhetorical figures instead of "words proper" (114).74 Hobbes's influence on Swift is most strongly felt in A Tale of a Tub, for not only is the Tale Teller's rhetoric an exemplar of Hobbes's list of linguistic traps (which will be discussed in chapter 2), but Swift derives his initial metaphor from Hobbes's Leviathan:

< previous page

page_26

next page >

< previous page

page_27

next page > Page 27

. . . that Sea-men have a Custom when they meet a Whale, to fling him out an empty Tub, by way of Amusement, to divert him from laying violent Hands upon the Ship. This Parable was immediately mythologiz'd: The Whale was interpreted to be Hobs's Leviathan, which tosses and plays with all other Schemes of Religion and Government, whereof a great many are hollow, and dry, and empty, and noisy, and wooden, and given to Rotation. This is the Leviathan from whence the terrible Wits of our Age are said to borrow Weapons. The Ship in danger, is easily understood to be its old Antitype the Commonwealth. But, how to analyze the Tub, was a Matter of Difficulty; when after long Enquiry and Debate, the literal Meaning was preserved: And it was decreed, that in order to prevent these Leviathans from tossing and sporting with the Commonwealth, (which of it self is too apt to fluctuate) they should be diverted from that Game by a Tale of a Tub. (4041) 75 What is most Swiftian about this use of Hobbes is that Swift reveals his disapproval of Hobbes's politics by making a metaphor of the man who mistrusted metaphors. By successfully appropriating Hobbes's rhetoric, Swift can overtake his logic as well; in this sense, Swift proves Hobbes's point regarding the dangerous duplicity of linguistic license better than Hobbes himself had. For Hobbes, "leviathan" is a measure of scale, of size; Swift alters the meaning of "leviathan" by playing off of its nautical implications instead of its proportions, which consequently changes the weight of Hobbes's imagery. As a result, Hobbes's leviathan (and his text Leviathan), which represent the commonwealth, become their devilish opposite: Swift's leviathan, the enemy that will destroy the ship of state, and the source of the wits' weapons. As he expands on the associations of his nautical leviathan, Swift exiles Hobbes's leviathan from the political arena, where it can wreak havoc with social order, into a realm of diversions, where it can be safely ignored. Accordingly, Swift's Tale itself is a tub, for its relatively diminutive world of literary squabbles distracts the intelligentsia in order to protect the commonwealth.76 But in spite of this repudiation of Hobbesian political analysis in the Tale, Swift's satiric depiction of the Tale Teller's linguistic and logical chaos reveals that he concurs with Hobbes's conclusions regarding intellect, language, and plain style clarity.77 In his works after Tale of a Tub, Swift's knowledge of (and agree-

< previous page

page_27

next page >

< previous page

page_28

next page > Page 28

ment with) the plain style argument is overtly displayed in Tatler 230 (1710), A Proposal for Correcting, Improving, and Ascertaining the English Tongue (1712), and A Letter to a Young Gentleman Lately Entering into Holy Orders (1720). But it is equally clear from his later satiric writings, especially Gulliver's Travels, that Swift could not condone a programmatic approach for achieving such a style; many of the Royal Society's linguistic projects were mechanistic, like the work of Wilkins and Keogh, and consequently, Swift deemed them to be void of reason. So while the original source of much of Swift's information, St. George Ashe, was enthusiastic about the new scientific societies, their agenda, and their methodology, Swift never fully developed the intellectual passions of his Trinity tutor. By introducing his students to contemporary linguistics, Ashe was clearly bucking the trend at Trinity, where the conservative commitment to the rhetorical tradition was evident in the continued use of conventional composition themes, syllogisms, and disputations. Still, Ashe continued his efforts to keep his students up-to-date, as is apparent by his inclusion of John Locke's Essay Concerning Human Understanding in the Trinity curriculum soon after it was published. 78 (Locke was a fellow of the Royal Society [as of 1668], but his Essay was an individual effort; while the Essay was certainly in tune with the sensibility of the Royal Society, it was not a project sanctioned or sponsored by the Society.) Although Swift had already graduated from Trinity when Locke's Essay first appeared in 1690, Swift's sustained friendship with Ashe, combined with Ashe's enthusiasm for Locke, probably led to Swift's first exposure to the Essay. Locke, like Hobbes, posits mechanisms to explain linguistic duplicity: first, Locke argues that words do not signify things, but ideas, in the mind of the speaker (hence the problems with definition and misnaming); and second, he believed that incongruous ideas are linked inexplicably and inextricably in the mind of the individual, and they ultimately become the source of figurative language (395396, 490508).79 That words only represented ideas in the mind of the speaker suggested that the concrete world was not an accurate referent for the meaning of a word; instead, the key to understanding was comprehending (or second guessing) the individual's perception of the world:

< previous page

page_28

next page >

< previous page

page_29

next page > Page 29

A Child having taken notice of nothing in the Metal he hears called Gold, but the bright shining yellow colour, he applies the Word Gold only to his own Idea of that Colour, and nothing else; and therefore calls the same Colour in a Peacocks Tail, Gold. Another that hath better observed, adds to shining yellow, great Weight: And then the Sound Gold, when he uses it, stands for a complex Idea of a shining Yellow and very weighty Substance. Another adds to these Qualities, Fusibility: . . . Each of these uses equally the Word Gold, when they have Occasion to express the Idea, which they have apply'd it to: But it is evident, that each can apply it only to his own Idea; nor can he make it stand, as a Sign of such a complex Idea, as he has not. (406) Swift tests this theory of the assignment of meaning in A Tale of a Tub as he always does, by pursuing its implications. If the individual's impressions of things lead to words, then those words should reciprocally lead to specific things: "I have deduced a Histori-theo-physilogical Account of Zeal, shewing how it first proceeded from a Notion into a Word, and from thence in a hot Summer, ripned into a tangible Substance" (137). While Locke posits the failure of an external referent for language, Swift counters that Locke's internal referents fail as well; as a notion ripens and implicitly rots, meaning is at best seasonal, and at worst lost. 80 Taken to its extreme, Locke's subjective linguistics is a vision of millions of idiolects: But that they [words] signify only Men's peculiar Ideas, and that by a perfectly arbitrary Imposition, is evident, in that they often fail to excite in others (even that use the same Language) the same Ideas, we take them to be the Signs of: And every Man has so inviolable a Liberty, to make Words stand for what Ideas he pleases, that no one hath the Power to make others have the same Ideas in their Minds, that he has, when they use the same Words, that he does (408). Each person is only truly intelligible to himself or herself, and therefore is incomprehensible to everyone elsea scenario of comic absurdity and egotism if there ever was one. While Locke admits that common language can overcome the idiosyncrasy of individual usage, his primary argument is that the individual's language constantly overrides the consensus; discourse is achieved, but it rarely establishes mutual understanding.81 Not surprisingly, this Lockean argument

< previous page

page_29

next page >

< previous page

page_30

next page > Page 30

ended the quest for a universal language, for while individuals could have substantially overlapping ideas, no two people would ever have the exact same idea, so no true linguistic consensus could be formed. While Locke's ideas about subjective perception located a source of linguistic abuse, his theory of the association of ideas essentially provided a methodology to perpetuate intellectual chaos (394401). Locke argues that a person's thought processes are naturally disordered, and that one instinctively links ideas together based on the slimmest similarity of circumstance. Of course, such associative cognition is subjective, and as it combines with the private assignment of meaning, the communicative process is distorted even further. Locke himself realizes that this virtually random cognition is a species of madness because it interrupts, if not precludes, rational thought (394395). Swift reaches the same conclusion in Some Thoughts on Free-Thinking: The difference betwixt a mad-man and one in his wits, in what related to speech, consisted in this: That the former spoke out whatever came into his mind, and just in the confused manner as his imagination presented the ideas. The latter only expressed such thoughts, as his judgment directed him to chuse, leaving the rest to die away in his memory. And that if the wisest man would at any time utter his thoughts, in the crude indigested manner, as they come into his head, he would be looked upon as raving mad. And indeed, when we consider our thoughts, as they are the seeds of words and actions, we cannot but agree, that they ought to be kept under the strictest regulation. (IV:49) 82 Swift accepts Locke's explanation of irrationality, but he seems to resent that Locke had revealed it so calmly, for Swift recognizes that the theory of associative thinking is a dangerous weapon precisely because it could serve to justify any intellectual maneuver. To deflate the legitimacy of association theory and its manifestations, Swift used it as his primary organizational device in A Tale of a Tub, from chapter-long digressions down to single paragraphs: Wisdom is a Fox, who after long hunting, will at last cost you the Pains to dig out: 'Tis a Cheese, which by how much the richer, has the thicker, the homelier, and the courser Coat; and whereof to a judicious Palate, the Maggots are the best. 'Tis a Sack-Posset, wherein

< previous page

page_30

next page >

< previous page

page_31

next page > Page 31

the deeper you go, you will find it the sweeter. Wisdom is a Hen, whose Cackling we must value and consider, because it is attended with an Egg; But then, lastly, 'tis a Nut, which unless you chose with Judgment, may cost you a Tooth, and pay you with nothing but a Worm. (66) 83 Swift revels in the rhetorical fertility of association, even as he condemns its absurdity. As the swirling images of food, animals, and depth trigger one metaphor after another, the passage embodies its message rather than articulating it clearly: wisdom is not only difficult, but obscure. Associative play first turns then reverses the argument, so that the pursuit of wisdom is no longer an arduous but worthwhile endeavor, but rather an exercise in futility. As these associative constructs destroy common sense, they condemn Lockean cognition, for they show that the unbridled mind is in desperate need of imposing order on itself. In addition to exaggerating Lockean methodology as a way of exposing it, Swift appropriates Lockean rhetoric to undermine its author, just as he did with Hobbes. In his Remarks upon Tindall, Swift notes that Tindall foolishly discusses the idea of government rather than government itself: Now, it is to be understood, that this refined Way of Speaking was introduced by Mr. Locke: After whom the Author limpeth as fast as he was able. All the former Philosophers in the World, from the Age of Socrates to ours, would have ignorantly put the Question, Quid est Imperium? But now it seemeth we must vary our Phrase; and since our modern Improvement of Human Understanding, instead of desiring a Philosopher to describe or define a Mousetrap, or tell me what it is; I must gravely ask, what is contained in the Idea of a Mouse-trap? (II:80) While Swift targets Tindall for his intellectual trendiness, Locke is the primary victim here; Locke has adopted an overwrought language that overtakes logic in its unnecessary complication of matters. By maintaining this style of philosophical writing, Locke's followers create logical and rhetorical abuses for which Locke is ultimately responsible but cannot control. The narrator of An Argument Against Abolishing Christianity also reveals the dangers of Lockean rhetoric let loose on the public: as he unwittingly parodies Locke's real and

< previous page

page_31

next page >

< previous page

page_32

next page > Page 32

nominal essences with his distinction between ''real" and "nominal" Christianity, the narrator builds the case that real Christianity no longer exists (nor would one want it to), and that nominal Christianity should be preserved. As Swift twists Lockean rhetoric, the reader is trapped, for if Christianity is only nominal and therefore truly meaningless, then one does not need a label for it at allboth the name and the idea of Christianity should be abandoned. Yet if Christianity is (or should be) a meaningful concept, then one must reinvest the term "Christianity" with meaning or else accept the bankruptcy of the religion as signified by linguistic use. While Swift's voice behind the text argues that such religious and rhetorical distinctions should be unnecessary, the power of Lockean linguistics is acknowledged even as it is being discredited. 84 Thus, Swift's linguistic training at Trinity fell into three categories: composition exercises, studies in logic, and exposure to contemporary linguistics. The composition exercises developed Swift's rhetorical abilities through practice, if nothing else. The course in logic showed Swift that language and knowledge were often abused in the name of scholarship; it was Swift's first strong taste of pedantry, and as a result, he developed a skeptical attitude toward any endeavor that seemed to sacrifice common sense to oversystematized schemes. Lastly, Ashe's knowledge of contemporary research brought to Swift's attention the representational nature of language, the desirability of unambiguous communication, and the effect of cognition on linguistic use. Swift may not have completely agreed with the seventeenth-century linguists, but they helped map out the area of intellectual inquiry for him. Swift and Temple at Moor Park The final, and perhaps most powerful, influence on Swift's education was Sir William Temple, whom Swift served for nearly ten years after he left Trinity in 1689. Temple may have had more to do with the forming of Swift's mind and opinions than did Swift's formal schooling.85 Certainly Temple provided Swift with a counterpoint to Ashe on many subjects and with an authority that validated many of Swift's opinions, particularly those about the new science. At

< previous page

page_32

next page >

< previous page

page_33

next page > Page 33

Temple's estate in Moor Park, Swift had all the advantages of living with a venerated politician and writer who was still consulted by the leading men of the day, including King William. Undoubtedly Swift's political acuity developed during this time, and it is likely that Swift's literary tastes did also; clearly Temple was interested enough in Swift to encourage and review his earliest literary productions. 86 According to Sheridan, "The first good office that Sir William Temple could do him, therefore, was to put him into a course of reading, in order that he might redeem lost time. . . . During his residence with Sir William, [Swift] applied himself with great assiduity to his studies; in which, for the space of eight years, he was employed, by his own account, at least eight hours a day, with but few intermissions."87 Sheridan provides Swift's reading list for the year 16961697, which is notable for its variety; Swift read political histories, religious tracts, and the classics in equal measure.88 Swift did not ignore contemporary literature in the course of his studies; Swift's poetry during this period indicates that he was familiar with Descartes, La Fontaine, Milton, Dryden, Butler, and Cowleyall of whom he alluded to in his work.89 In addition to his studies and his poetry, Swift served as Temple's secretary while Temple revised his works: Swift "copied, read, entered corrections for, and otherwise helped Temple ready some seven separate titles filling more than 3,000 octavo pages as published."90 Swift completed the editing of Temple's works and shepherded them through publication after Temple's death. As a result, not only were Temple's opinions on most subjects well known to him, but Swift learned Temple's prose style thoroughly as well. His admiration of Temple's early prose is apparent, for it was the only English prose model that Swift would recommend: When I [Sheridan] was an undergraduate in the College, he [Swift] recommended it to me to lay aside some portion of time every day for the study of English; and when I ask'd him what authors he would advise me to read, he immediately replied, Sir William Temple; not, said he, his latter Works, written during or after his long residence abroad, for his style became then somewhat corrupted by the introduction of newfangled foreign words and phrases, which he fell into by conversing and writing so much in foreign languages;

< previous page

page_33

next page >

< previous page

page_34

next page > Page 34

but such of his Works as were written before his going Ambassador to Nimeguen. And after him, added he, I do not know any writer in our language that I would recommend to you as a model. 91 Swift's qualms regarding Temple's late prose are probably the result of his experience as the translator of Temple's diplomatic letters, which were written in French. Temple's French was sufficient for diplomatic purposes, but he lacked the degree of fluency that is signaled by the ability to think in a foreign language. As a result, his letters were written in an Anglicized French; thinking in English, Temple transcribed his thoughts, complete with English syntax and idioms, into French.92 In so doing, Temple fell into the trap of literal (or at least literalist) translation, against which even grammar-school students were warned. Decades later, when revising his letters for publication, Temple altered the content of his letters so he would appear as a savvy, incorruptible elder statesman, endowing himself with more foresight and better judgment of character than he had during his diplomatic service; to help polish this image, Temple also refined his French so he would not appear inelegant and unsophisticated.93 The resultant letters, which were published with Swift's translation of the original Anglicized version, were in an overwrought, florid French.94 Swift must have felt that the use of the foreign sophisticated style was an act of vanityof conscious, deceptive self-fashioning; years later he would openly ridicule foreign usage for these very reasons in his Proposal for Correcting the English Tongue, Tatler 230, and elsewhere. Elias also suggests that since this publication inevitably made Swift's work look inadequate and inaccurate, Swift held a grudge against Temple. Yet in his comments to Sheridan, Swift tempers his criticism of Temple's late style, largely out of respect for his mentor; by suggesting these flaws were due to Temple's particular circumstance, Swift made allowances for Temple that he would not have granted readily to others. Because of Swift's concentrated exposure to Temple's works and his willingness to propose Temple as a model, a study of Temple's early prose is necessary to bring Swift's stylistic priorities into focus, as well as to elucidate the primary model for Swift's prose.95 Temple's prose tends to be straightforward; his meaning is always

< previous page

page_34

next page >

< previous page

page_35

next page > Page 35

clear because the diction is simple. This simplicity is combined with a variety of structural devices that add rhetorical weight to his prose; as a result, the rhythm of Temple's prose gives the reader a sense of intellectual depth while the diction maintains the clarity of his thought. Even in a basic discussion of immigration, structural patterns dominate Temple's text: People are multiplied in a Country by the temper of the Climate, favourable to generation, to health, and long-life. Or else by the Circumstances of safety and ease under the Government, the credit whereof invites man over to it, when they cannot be safe at home. When things are once in motion, Trade begets Trade, as Fire does Fire; and People go much, where much People are already gone. 96 Temple uses lists to create tempo (as in "favourable to generation, to health, and long-life"). The "Or" provides a transition, and then he repeats the three-part rhythm of his list with the three-clause structure of the following sentence. The last sentence also maintains the tripartite motif (introductory phrase, analogy, and conclusion), but here it is embroidered upon considerably, for Temple encodes a noun-verb-noun structure to create a double rhythm in "trade begets trade, as fire does fire." The repetitious vocabulary also helps establish this double rhythm, and together, the echoing diction and structure reinforce the parallelism of his analogy. (Temple is fond of arguing by analogy, perhaps for the very reason that analogy naturally sets up rhetorical structure.) The doubling pattern reappears in a slightly mutated form in "People go much, where much People are already gone." The inversion of word order does not destroy the double rhythm, since the repetition in the vocabulary, particularly the second "much,'' makes the phrase rhythmically consistent. In this manner Temple intertwines double and triple patterns to give his prose a density that bolsters its argumentative content. Temple's preference for rhythmical prose often leads to very long, multiclaused sentences. He uses semicolons freely, creating and linking the parallel phrases and lists that form the ebb and flow of his prose. Often semicolons and colons function as periods in his extended constructions: For Supplies from France, it must be considered how their Money has been drained out of the kingdom since this War began, by

< previous page

page_35

next page >

< previous page

page_36

next page > Page 36

their Payments to us, and to Sweden, to the Bishops of Colen and Munster, and some other Princes of Germany; by their Armies in Germany, and the new Conquests in Holland; all which returns no more into France, as money did in their former Wars with Spain, that were made chiefly upon their confines; for then the Pays of their Armies being made only in the Winter-quarters, which were in France or its Frontiers, the Money fell again into the Circulation of their own Country; yet now their Expence must upon a Spanish War be increased by new Armies in Catalonia and Italy, and new Fleets in the Mediterranean; . . . 97 And the sentence keeps on going. Despite the overwhelming length of this sentence, the reader can easily follow the flow of Temple's thought; transitions between ideas are subsumed by the structured style. But Temple also keeps his sentences from running away with him by maintaining a moderate tone throughout, which prevents these accumulated clauses from reaching a crescendo. While Swift would use these lists and compound-complex sentences for comic effect, Temple never does. Occasionally, Temple uses the anecdotal tone that will dominate his later prose, as in his chapter on the Dutch national character in his Observations on the United Provinces; occasionally, he approaches a clinical tone, as in his "Essay on the Advancement of Trade in Ireland." Moments of regret and excitement are rare. As a result, Temple sustains a tone that is both informed and intent on informing; most of his writings capture the sound of intelligent conversation that has been artfully organized to facilitate comprehension. The dialectical structure of Temple's earlier essays varies according to the subject: on political or economic topics, Temple organizes his thoughts carefully, and he supplies facts to support his arguments; in his essays on character, he is diffuse, and he alludes to facts rather than mentioning them. This occasional early patternlessness dominates Temple's late prose, and while it may have been dictated by his perceptions of literature and gardening as subjects, it is more likely that the older Temple was seeking the literary equivalent of sprezzatura. Whatever the reason, Temple's later works are highly idiosvncratic; sometimes he pursues a distinct line of argument, at other times he digresses, and only when he is following chronological order does he maintain a consistent structure within an essay.

< previous page

page_36

next page >

< previous page

page_37

next page > Page 37

At first glance, the hallmarks of Swift's prose style owe little to Temple. Swift's tone shifts on a satiric scale, whereas satire is not even within Temple's early tonal range, and it only rarely occurs in his late works. Temple always speaks in his own voice, and his tone is always sincere and welcoming; Swift makes his reader uncomfortable with his protean ability to don and doff personae. Swift often loads his language with meanings beyond the common literal reading, or he literalizes his vocabulary so as to clash with conventional, metaphorical effect; Temple prefers linguistic simplicity to linguistic play. Although there is a standard Temple sentence, there is no archetypal Swift sentence. While a Swiftian sentence is generally more concise than its counterpart in Temple, Swift can and does produce meandering monstrosities that are similar to Temple's in size, though not in shape. Ultimately, the chaos in Swift's rhetorical and dialectical structure works toward evoking a specific response, whereas Temple's wandering invariably lacks the intent and control of Swift. Underlying these substantial stylistic differences, there are important similarities to be noted. Swift acquires Temple's confident sense of voice, and he applies it to a variety of personae; although the voices of Temple and Swift differ, their ability to create a convincing voice, and to manipulate that voice, is the same. By projecting strong personae, both Swift and Temple achieve a directness with their readers, although for different purposes (Temple wishes to inspire the reader's confidence in himself, Swift to undercut the projected persona). With that directness comes clarity. While Swift may load his language with various levels of meaning that are absent from Temple's plain diction, the basic understanding of a Swiftian text is stylistically accessible: His sentences are never too much dilated or contracted; and it will not be easy to find any embarrassment in the complication of his clauses, any inconsequence in his connections, or abruptness in his transitions. . . . This easy and safe conveyance of meaning it was Swift's desire to attain, and for having attained he certainly deserves praise, though perhaps not the highest praise. 98 In general, then, Swift encompasses Temple's techniques within his own broader range of styles.99

< previous page

page_37

next page >

< previous page

page_38

next page > Page 38

Swift obviously valued the qualities of Temple's prose, otherwise it would not have merited his recommendation. But only Swift's sermons approximate Temple's style with any degree of fidelity. Swift could not follow Temple's style closely because he was temperamentally different from Temple; he could not deny his ironic impulses, his delight in absurdity, or his love of word play. Temple's genial, conversational nature can be found in the private Swift, but it is largely absent from Swift's public persona. Swift was also unable to assume Temple's character of the elderly benevolent statesman; at their mildest, Swift's opinions were suspicious, and more often than not, they were absolutely incendiary. Where Swift needed to veil himself with various personae to forestall the backlash against his writings, Temple could afford to be straightforward. Consequently, Swift could not adopt Temple's style wholesale; at best he could assimilate parts of it and transform the rest through his wit. Yet the qualities that Swift associated with distinctive prose, which he tried to demonstrate in his general writings as well as articulate in his publications on language, were clearly embodied in Temple's works: informative without being pompous or pedantic, conversational but sufficiently formal to avoid slang and jargonand most of all, clear but not simplistic. 100 In addition to providing Swift with a model of literate prose, Temple's attitudes about language also affected Swift's sense of linguistic propriety. There are three major essays in which Temple discusses language: "An Essay on Ancient and Modern Learning" (1690), "Some Thoughts on the Essay on Ancient and Modern Learning" (written in the 1690s, but published in 1701), and "Of Poetry'' (1690). Often Temple's comments on language are tangential to his main argument, which is to defend the culture and knowledge of antiquity in light of the increasing criticism from the moderns. Nevertheless, it is possible to assemble Temple's linguistic agenda based on his various remarks. The seventeenth-century intellectuals who preferred the classical Greek and Latin authors were known as "the ancients," and they asserted the prominence of the ancient writers based on a theory of inevitable decay. Humans could attain a degree of achievement, but perfection was out of reach; humanity was fated to strive, perhaps

< previous page

page_38

next page >

< previous page

page_39

next page > Page 39

reach a plateau, and fall again. 101 Just as a comparison of the classical literature with its modern counterparts seemingly reinforced the notion of inevitable devolution, so too Temple believed that the history of the Greek and Latin languages was another manifestation of this phenomenon. When the Greeks and Romans conquered nations, their speech inevitably mixed with the local languages, thereby creating hybrid, bastard forms of Greek and Latin that eventually became modern French, Spanish, and so on. The original ancient languages were less prone to impurities than their modern linguistic progeny simply because they had not been exposed to foreign influences. (It does not occur to Temple that there could have been reciprocal effects in the initial interlinguistic encounters with the nations the Greeks and Romans defeated. Similarly, the notion that the original, pure Greek and Latin would have undergone natural linguistic changes, based on the verbal variations that appear in everyday usage, is beyond Temple's grasp.) While he does recognize that classical Greek and Latin did not remain untouched, Temple again uses military history to account for linguistic evolution; when the Greek and Roman empires fell, so did the pure forms of those ancient languages, for they were mingled with the languages of their conquerors ("Of Poetry," 188190). The resultant corrupt forms that survived, particularly what Temple deemed to be the "barbarous Latin" of the schoolmen, barely merit his attention (''Of Poetry," 191). Temple supplements his argument by insisting that language is a reflection of society and its knowledge. The advocates of the ancients either minimized or forgot the atrocities of the classical world, particularly the well-documented crimes of the Roman emperors, when they argued that the ancient societies were considerably nobler than the corresponding modern nations. Accordingly, the ancient languages reflect the esteemed national characters and intellects of Greece and Rome: Latin was framed or cultivated by the thoughts and uses of the noblest nation that appears upon any record of story, and enriched only by the spoils of Greece, which alone could pretend to contest it with them. 'Tis obvious enough what rapport there is, and must ever be, between the thoughts and words, the conceptions and languages of every country, and how great a difference this must

< previous page

page_39

next page >

< previous page

page_40

next page > Page 40

make in the comparison and excellence of books; and how easy and just a preference it must decree to those of Greek and Latin, before any of the modern languages. ("An Essay," 64) Appropriately enough, the modern languages typify the corrupt sentiments of modern society. Certainly the political and religious upheavals in the seventeenth century were evidence that turmoil constantly threatened the stability of European society. In fact, Temple's own experiences as ambassador to Holland must have underlined the duplicity of the day; while he was negotiating treaties with the Dutch, Charles II was undermining his work by secret negotiations with Louis XIV. Temple's disillusionment with such practices eventually led to his early retirement from government service. 102 Temple completes the case for the ancients by asserting that the very longevity of the ancient languages proves their preeminence. Only a pure language could stand the test of time, and only the noblest thoughts would last through the ages. The comparative instability of modern languages makes any modern intellectual endeavor transient: If our wit and eloquence, our knowledge or inventions, would observe it; yet our languages would not: there is no hope of their lasting long, nor of anything in them; they change every hundred years or so as to be hardly known for the same, or anything of the former styles to be endured by the later; so as they can no more last like the ancients, than excellent carvings in wood, like those in marble or brass. ("An Essay," 63)103 For Temple such impermanence fittingly signals the insubstantiality of modern though. Yet Temple does not consider that just as he had learned Greek and Latin so he could read the ancient texts, posterity may study his language to analyze the productions of his age. Temple assumes that either the generations after him will not be interested, or that the works simply will not survive. Temple's support of the ancients is bolstered by his criticism of the moderns. According to Temple the thrust of the modern discussion of language is largely misguided because the moderns have focused on the study of letters and words rather than on linguistic dexterity: They [the moderns] allow indeed the sweetness of the Greek poetry to be inimitable, but attribute it wholly to the language, and the

< previous page

page_40

next page >

< previous page

page_41

next page > Page 41

sounds and syllables that compose it. They might as well say the excellence of picture comes from the beauty of the colours; and of statuary from the fineness of the marble; whereas a common hand, with the finest colours in the world, can paint nothing better than a sign post; and the drawing of a hand, in black and white, may be of ten times more art and value, as well as beauty, than a common picture, though never so finely coloured. It is the same thing in poetry: the language is but the colouring; it is the conception, the invention, the judgment, that give the life and spirit as well as beauty and force to a poem. ("Some Thoughts," 86) Language is subordinate to creativity in literature; the propriety of letters and words in a text primarily reflects the skill of the author rather than the inherent value of language. Thus, ancient literature is superior not only because of the purity of the classical languages, but because the talent of the ancient writers naturally led to linguistic facility. The moderns will not achieve this linguistic propriety until they attain the literary creativity of their predecessors. Their analysis of words and letters cannot substitute for literary invention, nor will it result in a better literature; similarly, their attempts to create a perfect, universal language (and theoretically, literature) are equally futile. 104 Although Temple himself occasionally dabbles in philology (as in the "Essay on Ancient and Modern Learning," where he traced the etymologies of "wit" and "rune''), his predominant attitude is a decided distaste for linguistic study and its pedantic methodology: "For philology, I know not well what to make of it. . . . If it be only criticism upon ancient authors and languages, he must be a conjurer that can make those moderns, with their comments and glossaries and annotations, more learned than the authors themselves in their own languages, as well as the subjects they treat" ("Some Thoughts," 88). Temple's insistence on the importance of invention over methodology reappears in his disapproval of the moderns' use of classical rules of composition. The seventeenth-century critics, particularly in France, were adamant about strict conformity to the rules of Aristotle and Horace; in fact, the Académie Française freely censored work that did not follow the rules of the ancients.105 Although obedience to the rules was thought to ensure the production of proper literature,

< previous page

page_41

next page >

< previous page

page_42

next page > Page 42

more often than not such dogmatism led to insipid work. Temple recognized the value of such guidelines, but his literary judgment was inclined toward originality rather than particular precepts: The modern French wits (or pretenders) have been very severe in their censures and exact in their rules, I think to very little purpose; for I know not why they might not have contented themselves with those given by Aristotle and Horace, and translated them rather than commented upon them, for all they have done has been no more; so as they seem by their writings of this kind rather to have valued themselves, than improved any body else. The truth is, there is something in the genius of poetry too libertine to be confined to so many rules: and whoever goes about to subject it to such constraints loses both its spirit and grace, which are ever native, and never learned, even of the best masters. ("Of Poetry," 182) 106 Once again modern methodology has simply missed the point. The modern instinct to classify led to an inordinate veneration systems; the moderns forgot that literature, unlike science, cannot be systematized. When the ancients were the objects of modern scientific inquiry, they were misinterpreted, and even worse, these modern misunderstandings of the ancients were rapidly codified into absolute literary law. (Actually, the modern agenda was less rule-driven than Temple thought, for Sprat wrote, "The true Experimenting has this one thing inseparable from it, never to be a fix'd and settled Art, and never to be limited by constant Rules."107) Nevertheless, Temple argues that the works of the ancients had been overtaken by the modern methodology, and the result glorified the moderns at the expense of the ancients. Perversely, the one modern stand that relied on classical authority, where one would expect agreement from a defender of the ancients, is unacceptable. Despite his consistent support of the ancients, Temple did make some important concessions to the moderns. Linguistic improvement was possible, in spite of the ancients' theories about the inevitable decay of man and his productions, for Temple admitted that the work of the Académie Française had "turned to the refinement of their language, and indeed with such success that it can hardly be excelled, and runs equally through their verse and their prose" ("Of

< previous page

page_42

next page >

< previous page

page_43

next page > Page 43

Poetry," 198). 108 Although this statement vindicates the Francophilic tendencies of his prose, it undermines his previous deprecation of modern linguistic analysis; Temple makes no attempt to reconcile this favorable opinion of the Académie and modern French with his advocacy of the ancients. Though he could recognize the moderns' meriteven as he is suspicious of their methodshis wholesale condemnation of the moderns does not allow him the luxury of compromise, which makes his concessions all the more damning for his case. As Temple continues his examination of the Académie Française, his position as an ancient becomes even more tenuous. Temple tries to qualify his praise of the French by suggesting that "in all works, that the more they are filed and polished, the less they have of weight and of strength; and as that language [i.e., French] has much more fineness and smoothness of this time, so I take it to have had much more force, spirit, and compass in Montaigne's age" ("An Essay," 6566). Clearly, Temple esteems both refinement and strength as linguistic and literary traits, although he deems them to be incompatible. If linguistic strength is a trait of unrefined languages, then perhaps the modern languages, with all their crudities, are preferable to the ancient languages. On the other hand, if the classical languages are more spirited than modern languages, then perhaps they are not as refined as pure languages ought to be. Thus, the implications of his linguistic values invariably deprive the ancient languages of their venerated status; not surprisingly, Temple does not pursue the issue of linguistic value, although such an analysis is crucial to an understanding of the ancients-versus-moderns controversy. Temple's ability to maintain contradictory stances is also apparent in his vacillation regarding Renaissance critics and scholars. Temple wants to consider the Renaissance critics as ancients, yet chronology and methodology work against him. He classifies them as ancients for rediscovering the ancient languages and literatures, but he ignores that the English Renaissance occured only a hundred years earliera relatively modern time compared to the thousands of years that separate the Restoration from the era of the Greek city-states. Even worse for Temple's argument is the fact the modern methods

< previous page

page_43

next page >

< previous page

page_44

next page > Page 44

of scholarship he criticizes as pedantic were first used in the Renaissance. 109 So are the Renaissance critics moderns or ancients? Depending on the occasion, Temple treats them as either, or both. Similarly, Temple's opinion of modern literature is inconsistent given his ancient preferences.110 He has enough critical acuity not to condemn modern literature altogether, yet his favorite authors are decidedly liberal for an avowed ancient: The great wits among the moderns have been, in my opinion, and in their several kinds, of the Italian, Boccace, Machiavel, and Padre Paolo; among the Spaniards, Cervantes (who writ Don Quixot) and Guevara; among the French, Rabelais and Montaigne; among the English, Sir Philip Sidney, Bacon, and Selden: I mention nothing of what is written upon the subject of divinity, wherein the Spanish and English pens have been most conversant, and most excelled. ("An Essay," 65)111 One would have expected Dante and Milton, authors who consciously rely on ancient precedent, rather than a group of writers who, on the whole, are creating new forms of poetry and prose. Of course, Temple is using "wit" to refer to invention, which explains the criterion behind his choices. Still, there are notable absences from this group, such as Spenser, Shakespeare, and Donne; these gaps indicate that Temple's aesthetic judgment is indeed at work here, rather than a unilateral application of wit as a literary standard. But what is astonishing about this roster is the presence of Bacon, the father of the modern scientific movement. This inclusion tacitly acknowledges and praises of Bacon's creative intelligence, which was one of the qualities Temple valued most. While it is possible that Temple could admire the progenitor of a movement and not the progeny, Temple's distrust of the moderns and Bacon's strong affiliation with the modern movement make Temple's nod to Bacon largely inexplicable.112 All of the inconsistencies in Temple's criticism are extremely unsatisfactory on an intellectual level, for Temple's arguments fail to cohere as an approach to language or literature. Yet to seek consistency in Temple's criticism is ultimately to miss his point, because Temple is not looking to establish a theory, but rather to assert a standard of literary taste. Given this purpose, Temple's literary and linguistic

< previous page

page_44

next page >

< previous page

page_45

next page > Page 45

criticism seems appropriately amorphous; the development of an aesthetic must be idiosyncratic when the variables of genre, rhetoric, style, and individual preference combine. Of course, taste is notoriously difficult to define, and for Temple it seems to be closely linked with an equally vague concept: common sense. It is not surprising then that Temple cannot quite articulate his criteria of choice: "The best is to take words as they are most commonly spoken and meant, like coin, as it most currently passes, without raising scruples upon the weight of the allay, unless the cheat or the defect be gross and evident" ("Of Poetry," 173). His advice sounds quite reasonable, but it lacks any information as to the making of such discriminations; he is inevitably descriptive rather than prescriptive. As a result, Temple implicitly relies on the common sense of his reader to make such judgments, without admitting that common sense is rare, and that it is not sufficiently consistent to establish a desirable mode of expression, much less standards of taste. Thus, Temple's final criterion regarding literary aesthetics is that the best language and style are the products of common sense. Since neither the moderns nor the ancients are the sole holders of this gift, Temple cannot be an unswerving advocate of the ancients. 113 Temple remains true to his idea of taste, even when it overrides his stand as an ancient; as his respect for creativity in literature indicates, Temple's criticism overcomes the labels of ancient and modern, although he relishes invoking those labels. This adherence to a personal standard, however undefinable, however contrary, will recur in Swift; indeed, Temple's statement regarding language is the predecessor of Swift's "Proper Words in proper Places, makes the true Definition of a Stile," for it has the same mixture of elusiveness and common sense, and the same descriptive, but not prescriptive, quality. The 1690s, when Temple's literary essays were published, were the peak of the critical debate in Swift's lifetime regarding the capabilities of language. Although Swift attempted to ignite linguistic debate in the early 1710s with Tatler 230 and A Proposal for Correcting the English Tongue, these efforts failed to generate the enthusiastic decade-long discussion that characterized the ancients-versus-moderns controversy.114 Swift's first published response regarding the ancients and moderns, The Battle of the Books (1697), allegorizes the controversy

< previous page

page_45

next page >

< previous page

page_46

next page > Page 46

into a (sub)standard epic battle: insofar as absurdity allows, the ancients and their advocates appear as heroic, mature characters, and the moderns as simpering, snivelling creatures. Like Temple, there is some ambiguity in Swift's pro-ancient stance, for while the ancients win the battle by wounding Wotton and Bentley, there is no indication that they will win the war. 115 While Swift's pro-ancient opinion is apparent, the motives for his position only become clear in A Tale of a Tub, where Swift examines the issues that instigated the Battle by developing the persona of the Tale Teller, "the freshest modern" who follows (or tries to follow) modern methodology to the nth degree. This archetypal modern is a triple threat to meaning, logic, and language: the Tale Teller incorrectly defines terms and then builds arguments based on these errors; he develops analyses based on free association, which not only circumvents reason in favor of the imagination but sanctions interruptions that distort narrative structure and sense; and he creates words that are meaningless, ugly, or both. By dramatizing modern authorship in the Tale, Swift demonstrates that Temple's credo of discernment and taste is necessary to combat the Tale Teller's world of literary chaos. It is not surprising then that a number of Swift's ideas about the improvement of modern language and literature take their cue from Temple's work. Swift, like Temple, recognizes the desirability of a pure language and the national implications of an impure language. But linguistic perfection is not enoughsuch purity needs to be perpetuated through the ages to make man's intellectual efforts endure. Thus, a stable language is just as important as a flawless one. On these points neither Temple nor Swift varies from the view espoused by Royal Society linguists like Wilkins; however, they veer from the "philosophical" view in their rejection of a representational agenda attached to the development of pure language. Both men are reluctant to comply with linguistic or literary rules, and they both hesitate to establish rules for others to follow. As a result, Temple and Swift deviate from the moderns by refusing to endorse a methodology for creating a pure language, or for perfecting the existing language. Indeed, in their general distrust of scientific method both men break with the moderns, for both perceive the

< previous page

page_46

next page >

< previous page

page_47

next page > Page 47

ideology and process of the new science as manifestations of the hubris of the moderns. Yet despite their qualms about modern methods, both Temple and Swift concede that the modern linguistic work of the Académie Française is a success. Similarly, Temple and Swift acknowledge the value of some modern literature, although they cannot endorse the whole. While Swift accepts much of the disparaging commentary on modern language and literature that is part of the ancient stance, for him, unlike Temple, the response is to work to improve the English language. For Temple the very instability of English points to an inherent lack of valueor at best, a lesser value; while Temple only grudgingly admits the possibility of linguistic improvement, the vision of a corrected English becomes a major force in Swift's thinking. A stable, expressive language is necessary for Swift to achieve literary immortality; posterity is not a major issue for Temple, since his fame was ensured through his diplomatic activities, which would be recorded in the history books even if his writings did not survive. Accordingly, Swift is passionate about language and its correction, whereas Temple has only a layman's interest in the subject. Although he generally disapproved of modern methodology, Swift believed that the detailed evaluation of letters, words, and pronunciation would locate the problems with English, which could then be corrected so as to develop a proper language. Swift carried out such an analysis (although not on a grand scale) throughout his adult life in his writings about slang, abbreviations, foreign terms, and the particularities of usage. 116 Temple found this type of analysis much too pedantic; it smacked of the dogmatism of the Acadé Française and of the absurdities of the Royal Society. Of course, given Swift's thoughts on linguistic analysis and literary immortality, it is not surprising that he initially supported a language academy in England, while Temple does not even suggest such a venture.117 By legislating language and literature, a British institution comparable to the Académie Française could stabilize language and consequently make it possible for literature to last through time, all of which would ultimately empower writers like Swift. Eventually, Swift came around to Temple's position that language and style cannot be quantified, and that there can be no formula for

< previous page

page_47

next page >

< previous page

page_48

next page > Page 48

good composition since propriety is largely a matter of taste. This reversal is not entirely unexpected; even at his most modern, in his Proposal for Correcting the English Tongue (1712), Swift does not prescribe linguistic or rhetorical rules. Although he argues that such guidelines are necessary and quantifiable in the Proposal, Swift leaves rule-making and enforcement to his proposed language academy. (Invariably, Swift is far better at identifying and excoriating the styles that are incorrect, garish, and crude than he is at defining correct, proper styles.) After the failure of his academy proposal, Swift abandons all attempts to determine specifically correct language or style. By the end of his career, his instructions for proper language and style form a simple descriptive stance: a recommendation of common sense and clarity, without any elaboration as to what constitutes such qualities. So while their nearly opposed characters and their different literary goals led them to divergent conclusions, over time Swift moves closer to Temple's position, perhaps reconciling himself to Temple's inconsistencies by confronting some of own. 118

< previous page

page_48

next page >

< previous page

page_49

next page > Page 49

2 The Rhetoric of Satire: Swift's Methods of Encoding Meaning The History of Swift's youth and education suggests some explanations for the origins of his literature, for both the psychological and intellectual aspects of his works are traceable to his earliest experience. Swift's resentment about his familial, social, and financial situations fuels his sense of self-righteousness and self-worth, which appears in his attitude of condescending satiric superiority in his prose. The opinions he espoused in his works about language, literature, and logic are responses to his academic experience under Ashe and his employment with Temple. As these psychological and linguistic elements of Swift's youth combine, they are manifested as imperatives of self-fashioning and linguistic authority, which become central to Swift's life and art. Temple was a particularly effective role model for Swift in this regard, for he successfully manipulated his public image and he achieved a degree of literary prominence and influence. Temple had orchestrated his life according to his own priorities; unlike many politicians who were dishonored, disenfranchised, or exiled, Temple left politics of his own free will and under circumstances of his choosing. He then epitomized the landed gentleman who lived a life of leisure, devoting himself to an ethic and aesthetic of harmony at Moor Park. While this public image of Temple can be puncturedfor it is arguable that his retreat from politics was not ideologically motivated, but rather a selfish move that reflected his disappointment with (and impotence in) the political worldTemple was not prey

< previous page

page_49

next page >

< previous page

page_50

next page > Page 50

to such exposure. Swift was particularly well positioned to recognize the duplicitous aspects in Temple's self-fashioning, for as the translator of Temple's correspondence, Swift knew Temple's tendencies towards embellishment and self-promotion. But despite these objections, the idea that one could take control of one's life and live in the way one thought best held an enormous appeal for Swift, who wanted to master his circumstances; he appreciated the notion that he could shape how he was perceived by the world in order to determine how the world responded to him. As Temple's writings had demonstrated the power of language for self-fashioning, they also revealed the potential force of literature in the intellectual arena, for Temple's foray into literary criticism earned him fame that augmented his political reputation by reigniting the dormant ancient-versus-modern controversy. It is not surprising then that Temple's career provided Swift with ample proof that language, power, and psychology were inextricably intertwined. Before attempting his scheme of literary self-projection, Swift needed to develop a strategy to ensure victory over his antagonists and to avoid the dangers of public exposure. To do so, Swift hit upon the device that would characterize his adult writings and his satiric style: instead of presenting himself and his opinions directly in his writings, he presents a series of outrageous personae to the public, personae who usually function as his immediate (though not final) targetsand by deftly exposing them, Swift could make his opinions known implicitly, without the potential backlash to which explicit argumentation would leave him open. 1 In the presence of the uncontrollable, often morally suspect narrators of Tale of a Tub, Mechanical Operation of the Spirit, An Argument Against Abolishing Christianity, A Modest Proposal, and Gulliver's Travels, the reader seeks a reassuring authorial temperment to stabilize the meaning of the text.2 Swift's absence from the printed page only reinforces the need for evidence of his existence, and by forcing the reader to locate him behind the written word, Swift paradoxically draws attention to himself. Perversely then, the schizophrenic use of speakers serves as a medium for Swiftian self-assertion. Clearly Swift is protected from his readers because he has not made his sentiments explicit in his work, but the insidiousness of his

< previous page

page_50

next page >

< previous page

page_51

next page > Page 51

defenses only becomes apparent when one contemplates the ways to respond to Swift. 3 The common approach would be to answer Swift's text, but the printed page does not directly (or truly) represent him. A reader is then confronted with the abysmal dilemma of attacking Swift's narrators (which is usually what Swift wants, for his narrators are often his targets as well) or reading Swift's thoughts into his texts, which is a dicey proposition at best; Swift can always claim that the reading is incorrect, for he knows his text and his intent better than any reader could. One can only expose the slyness of Swift's rhetorical strategy, and by doing so, Swift emerges triumphant, for his readers are forced to acknowledge the power of his craft, even if they are not coerced into agreement with him.4 But ultimately, the psychology of Swift's literary self-assertion is less interesting than the dynamic that makes it possible. The energy of Swift's satires lies not in Swift's implied self-presentation or in his characterization of personae, but in the verbal distance to be spanned between Swift and his creations.5 Confronted with alternative characters, the reader is forced to translate, to mediate between them as a way to decipher the text. This is a rhetoric of translation in the etymological sense, from the Latin ''bearing across," and it permeates Swift's work, whether in the guise of moving between personae, ideas, or languages; his is a literature of process rather than product. In a broad sense, all communication manifests elements of translation, for as George Steiner suggests, reading and understanding within a language echo the mechanisms of bilingual translation.6 In intralingual communication both authors and readers modulate between languages: authors translate from their own idiolects to the language of the consensus, and readers translate the author's idiolect into their own, often referring to linguistic consensus to do so. While the fixed points of translation, the author and the reader, attempt to limit meaning by recognizing similarities and compensating for (and sometimes exploiting) differences in verbal systems, the challenge of translation is traversing the intermediary transmission phase, which emphasizes the range of signification. A reader of Swift not only has to do the usual "translation" from authorial prose to his or her personal idiolect, but the reader has to translate between Swift's unspoken rhetoric and that of his narratorial personae. In other

< previous page

page_51

next page >

< previous page

page_52

next page > Page 52

words, for most authors a given word modulates between meanings in a particular context, but for Swiftian prose, with its builtin layers of context (with a minimum of two: the narrator's context and the subversive Swiftian context behind the narrator), the modulation of a word multiplies geometrically. To complicate matters further, this linguistic translation is only the precondition for the hermeneutic excavation of the text, for Swift's reader must translate language to transverse the distance between the ideology proposed by the narrator and the agenda espoused by Swift. Translation's characteristic mediation between linguistic systems is not an expression of moderation in a Swiftian text; mediation is not to be confused with Swift's ideological conservatism, 7 nor is it synonymous with his formalized linguistic agenda, which would calcify language. Linguistic stability is only the precondition for his experimentation in this mediate range, where, by expanding the space between ideas and words, Swift destabilizes intellectual notions and linguistic meaning. Swift's narrators sustain the coexistence of conservative and liberal linguistics within his works, for while his narrators exploit literary and linguistic standards, Swift exposes the fallacious logic that results; in essence, Swift enjoys linguistic license even as he condemns it. In this latter sense, translation distinguishes Swift's personality as well as his linguistic and dialectical strategies, for Swift savors "translating" himself into personae whose excesses are normally unavailable to him. The prerequisites to translationthe mechanisms that encode meaning(s) into languageare the focus of this chapter. Since it is by far the most linguistically comprehensive of Swift's publications, A Tale of a Tub will serve as my primary text, for the inexactitude of existing words, new assignments of single meaning, and the double codings of pun, metaphor, irony, satire, and allegory are closest to the surface in this work. (Only Gulliver's Travels rivals the Tale's verbal fecundity, but Gulliver's linguistic creativity primarily resides in created foreign languages that are unique to the text, which limits their usefulness for literary analysis.) In his writings after the Tale, Swift scatters his verbal techniques: his play with the form of words (signifiers), both in the creation and the alteration of words, is largely diverted into his private word games, while his manipulation of

< previous page

page_52

next page >

< previous page

page_53

next page > Page 53

linguistic content (signifieds) remains in the public domain to coerce his readers into his dialectical positions. The Tale also embodies a number of translations, both ideological and linguistic. The Tale not only transforms religious history into allegory, but its use of the Tale Teller establishes the pattern of unreliable narrators whose positions conflict with Swift, thereby forcing the reader to mediate between the two. Intralingual translation is necessary to unpack all of Swift's multiple codings in the Tale, and it is implicit in the Tale Teller's admission that he is working from someone else's text (74); interlingual translation is on the Tale Teller's mind as even as he writes: "I do also advertise the most Reverend Fathers the Eastern Missionaries, that I have purely for their Sakes, made use of such Words and Phrases, as will best admit an easie Turn into any of the Oriental languages, especially the Chinese" (106). Finally, the Tale is unique among Swift's satires because it is a concerted, extended response to contemporary ideas about linguistic and literary standards: Swift works with (and often against) the linguistic theories of Locke and Hobbes, while grappling with the issue of literary value as presented in the ancients-versus-moderns controversy. Requisite Madness: The Inadequacies of Standard Definition Without a natural connection between a meaning and the sound that represents that meaning (or in modern linguistic terms, between the signified and the signifier), words can be assigned meanings at random, and words can lose meanings just as arbitrarily and quickly; there is no organizing principle for linguistic order or for containing meaning. This freedom from constraint can make language an ideal medium for creativity, and as Swift recognized, the medium of madness. 8 Here Swift follows Hobbes, who linked creativity and madness in Leviathan: But without Steddinesse, and Direction to some End, a great Fancy is one kind of Madnesse; such as they have, that entring into any discourse, are snatched from their purpose, by every thing that comes in their thought, into so many, and so long digressions, and Parentheses, that they utterly lose themselves: Which kind of folly,

< previous page

page_53

next page >

< previous page

page_54

next page > Page 54

I know no particular name for: but the cause of it is, sometimes want of experience; whereby that seemeth to a man new and rare, which doth not so to others: sometimes Pusillanimity; by which that seems great to him, which other men think a trifle: and whatsoever is new, or great, and therefore thought fit to be told, withdrawes a man by degrees from the intended way of his discourse. (136) While Hobbes hypothesizes about the psyche of language abusers, he does no more than suggest that language (here, digression) is a manifestation of a mad, creative phenomenon; as we have seen, it was Locke who would codify the methodology of language use and abuse. Like these philosophers, Swift would examine the permutations of meaning, psychology, and art, and in A Tale of a Tub, he would dramatize his analysis with his bewildered narrator, the Tale Teller, as a guide through the surreal realms of fiction. The creative genius and the spirit of madness are used interchangeably throughout the Tale, for the Tale Teller asserts that all great creators of the past, the makers of revolutions and inventions, were mad (162). The Tale Teller argues that madness is necessary, for without it, the world would be reduced to believing in the same things, whereas madness provides diversity (169). One can always recognize these "great Introducers of new Schemes" by their work and their words (166), because anyone who expresses new ideas must create new words, or use words in a manner that deviates from common use. 9 Despite his championship of the mad creator, the Tale Teller knows that there is something unnatural about creativity and its alteration of meaning: They [Jack's ideas] will furnish Plenty of noble Matter for such, whose converting Imaginations dispose them to reduce all Things into Types; who can make Shadows, no thanks to the Sun; and mold them into Substances, no thanks to Philosophy; whose peculiar Talent lies in fixing Tropes and Allegories to the Letter, and refining what is Literal into Figure and Mystery. (18990) The talent of transforming the literal into the figurative, and the figurative into the literal is "peculiar"it belongs with these other acts of mystical transformation, because like them it blurs distinctions. The converting imagination fuses and confuses signifiers and signi-

< previous page

page_54

next page >

< previous page

page_55

next page > Page 55

fieds; reason is not operating to make distinctions, much less judgments. 10 These cognitive maneuvers are integral to the mechanics of deception, which led Hobbes to his dicta forbidding figurative language in argument. Imagination is also suspect because of its material egocentricity, for dreamers go mad by insisting that everyone else's ideas and expression fit their own: "For, what Man in the natural State, or Course of Thinking, did ever conceive it in his Power, to reduce the Notions of all Mankind, exactly to the same Length, and Breadth, and Heighth of his Own? Yet this is the first humble and civil Design of all Innovators in the Empire of Reason" (166167). The case against the independent thinker holds true for the independent writer and speaker as well: for an individual to impose his language on the consensus is an act of egotistical madness.11 Yet this is exactly what every writer tries to do; he attempts to shape the reader's ideas to his own through his unique use of language. In doing so the writer partakes in what Swift considered the madman's errors. The creative spirit is so thoroughly entranced by its own schemes that it assumes everyone else is captivated and convinced as well. This tyrannical imposition of one language is the counterpart of its equally mad opposite, the Lockean proliferation of idiolects, in which each person can only talk to himself. Not surprisingly, then, those who count on converting imaginationsthe revolutionaries, the Dissenting factions, the modern writers and critics, the members of the Royal Societyfind their intellectual brethren in Bedlam. Language and madness combine in the Tale Teller's description of a Bedlam inmate: "One that has forgot the common Meaning of Words, but an admirable Retainer of the Sound" (178). Once a word is detached from its meaning, or a language-user loses the consensus meaning, he goes mad.12 The assignment of meaning must be resolved, otherwise all speakers and writers are noisemaking, babbling idiots. Accordingly, the problems of the Bedlam inmate are the puzzles of the Tale: how to know through language, how to understand common meaning, how to assign new meaning to sound, and how to maintain meaning. Speakers and writers give their words meaning either by following consensus or by assigning meaning idiosyncratically. Generally, indi-

< previous page

page_55

next page >

< previous page

page_56

next page > Page 56

viduals use standardized meanings to reach a wide audience. When abdicating individual parlance for consensus rhetoric, the writer is forced to translate his ideas into the common language, and consequently, linguistic variety is diminished: "The more he shapes his Understanding by the Pattern of Human Learning, the less he is inclined to form Parties after his particular Notions; because that instructs him in his private Infirmities, as well as in the stubborn Ignorance of the People" (171). While the consensus may eliminate the madness of the individual, the obvious danger here is that it may instruct one in the infirmities of the consensus. Such weaknesses may only be the "stubborn ignorance" of the people, but they too can be madness; the group is prey to the same problems that the individual is. And in some ways the consensus is more dangerous than the individual; not only is a mad consensus more difficult to control than an insane individual, but a mad consensus is often more difficult to recognize, since the very size of such a group is perceived as a justification for its enterprises. Nevertheless, reconciling the individual's language (in Saussurean terms, parole) to the language of the consensus (langue) is the most common way of relaying an idea. 13 Swift knows that standard vocabulary is inadequate: not only are there too many signifiers for a particular signified, but there are too many signifieds associated with any given signifier. By drawing attention to common definition, Swift sets the parameters of discourse; definition obviates the ambiguity of terminology, and therefore, Swift can build his own arguments as well as clarify the arguments and errors of others. In doing so Swift concurs with Locke's analysis that most controversies are essentially definitional problems, i.e., definitions are unclear, not agreed upon by the parties in the dispute, or both (510511). In Contests and Dissentions in Athens and Rome (1701), Swift provides a lexicon of political rhetoric to reveal the use (and more often the abuse) of terms like "inherent right" and "declarative right": For, which ever of the three Divisions in a State [king, nobles, commons] is upon the Scramble for more Power than its own, (as one or other of them generally is) unless due Care be taken by the other two; upon every new Question that arises, they will be sure to decide in favour of themselves, talk much of inherent Right; they

< previous page

page_56

next page >

< previous page

page_57

next page > Page 57

will nourish up a dormant Power, and reserve privileges in petto, to exert upon Occasions, to serve Expedients, and to urge upon Necessities. (I:201) To pretend a declarative Right upon any Occasion whatsoever, is little less than to make use of the whole Power; That is, to declare an Opinion to be Law, which hath always been contested, or perhaps never started before such an Incident brought it on the Stage. (I:201) 14 Similarly, in Sentiments of a Church-of-England Man, he discusses the incorrect usage of "moderation" and "magistrate," the reduction of ''Whig" and "Tory" into stereotype (II:24), and the ramifications of not knowing and/or not applying standard definition (II:16).15 However, this insistence upon linguistic integrity does not stop Swift from abusing the mechanics of definition for his own ends: First, I do affirm, that in every hundred of professed Atheists, Deists and Socinians in the Kingdom, ninety-nine at least, are stanch thorow-paced Whigs, entirely agreeing with his Lordship in Politicks and Discipline. . . . That those whom we usually understand by the Appellation of Tory or High-church Clergy, were the greatest Sticklers against the exorbitant Proceedings of King James the Second, the best Writers against Popery, and the most exemplary Sufferers for Established Religion. (Preface to Burnet, IV:63) Rhetorical expedience rapidly overtakes lexical vigilance; Swift appropriates common meaning rather than defines it.16 In the Tale, the Teller is not attuned to the accurate circumscription of meaning; rather, he is intrigued by generating meaning without encoding it: "I am now trying an Experiment very frequent among Modern Authors; which is, to write upon Nothing; When the Subject is utterly exhausted, to let the Pen still move on; by some called, the Ghost of Wit, delighting to walk after the Death of its Body" (208). Accordingly, the Tale Teller does not define the words that he invents, nor does he set definitions for common words.17 Instead, he is disturbed by the quantity of language, not by its quality: Now, I would gladly be informed, how it is possible to account for such Imaginations as these in particular Men, without Recourse to my Phaenomenon of Vapours, ascending from the lower Faculties to over-shadow the Brain, and there distilling into Conceptions, for

< previous page

page_57

next page >

< previous page

page_58

next page > Page 58

which the Narrowness of our Mother-Tongue has not yet assigned any other Name, besides that of Madness or Phrenzy. (167) Is a language "narrow" if it only assigns two terms to a particular phenomenon? One would think that two words are already one word too many. Yet for the Tale Teller, language is narrow since there are more words to be created, still more sounds to be assigned meanings. What the Tale Teller fails to see is that language is not sufficiently narrow if it does not distinguish between madness and frenzy so as to ensure proper usage. Unlike Hobbes and Locke, he is comfortable with the ambiguity of standard definition, partly because the misassignment of signifiers and signifieds extends the range of linguistic possibility. 18 The Tale Teller's response to the quantitative inadequacy of language is to catalogue. Cataloguing had acquired literary legitimacy through the writing of commonplace books, which were compendiums of information (usually quotes) that authors drew upon to add intellectual sparkle to their prose: "Whatever in my small Reading, occurs, concerning this our FellowCreature, I do never fail to set it down, by way of Common-place; and when I have occasion to write upon Human Reason, Politicks, Eloquence, or Knowledge; I lay my Memorandums down before me, and insert them with a wonderful Facility of Application" (Mechanical Operation, 264).19 By transplanting quotations from one context to another, commonplace books held enormous potential for absurdity. But cataloguing not only had comic possibilities as a supplement to the literary process, but as a literary form as well,20 and Swift exploits lists both as individual works and within larger works: the former are best represented in this early period by "When I come to be Old," A Tritical Essay, and Thoughts on Various Subjects; and the latter by the epic lists in Battle of the Books, the Predictions for 1708, and the meandering lists of the Tale. Accordingly, the Tale Teller's encyclopedic impulse is partly a reflection of Swift's sense of humor; like Rabelais, whom he admired immensely, Swift knew that lists can be very funny.21 And part of the cataloguing impulse comes from the modern instinct to fill the void of silence by using all available words; it is a plenum theory of language, in which meaning is bound to be conveyed if enough words are used. (In Gulliver's Travels Swift would ridicule

< previous page

page_58

next page >

< previous page

page_59

next page > Page 59

this plenum theory of language with his description of the Lagadan language machine, which has the complete Lagadan vocabulary on tiles; all meaning and all literature would ostensibly be revealed if the handles turn and combine the tiles in all possible permutations (XI:182184)). The immediate danger of linguistic plenum is that excessive cataloguing can overcode a text with meaning; the multiplicity of meanings overwhelms the reader with so much information that comprehension is impossible. 22 In the Tale Teller's lists, the levels of organization and linguistic exuberance vary inversely, so that the more systematic a list is, the less linguistic play occurs: In due Deference to so laudable a Custom, I do here return my humble Thanks to His Majesty, and both Houses of Parliament; To the Lords of the King's most honourable Privy-Council, to the Reverend Judges: To the Clergy, and Gentry, and Yeomantry [sic] of this Land: But in a more especial manner, to my worthy Brethren and Friends at Will's Coffee-house, and Gresham-College, and Warwick-Lane, and Moor-Fields, and Scotland-Yard, and Westminster-Hall, and Guild-Hall; In short, to all Inhabitants and Retainers whatsoever, either in Court, or Church, or Camp, or City, or Country; for their generous and universal Acceptance of this Divine Treatise. (181182) This list is extremely thorough, and for the Tale Teller, highly organized; by commencing with the head of the kingdom and working his way through the social strata, he follows a logical order. The verbal play is kept to a minimum, and only the series of hyphenated places draws the reader's notice until the final visual alliteration of court, church, camp, city, and country. It is the placement of this thank-you, which does not appear until Section X of Tale, that truly reveals the Tale Teller's quirky spirit. The usual Tale Teller list rambles playfully: They Writ, and Raillyed, and Rhymed, and Sung and Said, and said Nothing; They Drank, and Fought, and Whor'd and Slept, and Swore, and took Snuff: They went to new Plays on the first Night, haunted the Chocolate-Houses, beat the Watch, lay on Bulks, and got Claps: They bilkt Hackney-Coachmen, ran in Debt with Shop-keepers, and lay with their Wives: They kill'd Bayliffs, kick'd

< previous page

page_59

next page >

< previous page

page_60

next page > Page 60

Fidlers down Stairs, eat at Locket's, loytered at Will's: They talk'd of the Drawing-Room and never came there, Dined with Lords they never saw; Whisper'd a Dutchess, and spoke never a Word; exposed the Scrawls of their Laundress for Billet-doux of Quality: came ever just from Court and were never seen in it. (7475) The absence of hierarchical order is the best way to describe the haphazard behavior of the three brothers. But the lack of logical order in this list is compensated for by the rhythms of the rhetoric, which are established by alliteration, conjunction, and reversal. The alliteration of the opening sequence catches the reader's attention with its singsong of r and s sounds, and the repeated use of "and" speeds up the pace of the text to the point of breathlessness. While conjunction continues without the "ands," the pace slows down as the clauses lengthen, and the number of colons and semicolons increases. Finally the tempo settles into a pattern of ebb and flow, as statements are made and immediately reversed by a "never'' slipped into the end of each clause. The resultant list attains a sense of fullness but not completion; the plethora of items is impressive, and the rhythms are entertaining, but no overarching order has been realized. 23 On occasion, the Tale Teller will catalogue synonyms. Lists of synonymous terms covertly point to problems with assignment of meaning that regular cataloguing does not; if meaning is not clearly aligned with a word, then one needs a multiplicity of words to convey a single meaning. Yet even as synonyms converge on meaning, they diverge. As Saussure writes, "All words used to express related ideas limit each other reciprocally; synonyms like French redouter 'dread,' craindre 'fear,' and avoir peur 'be afraid' have value only through opposition."24 The ambiguous reverberations of synonymy are in evidence when the Tale Teller sets down a phrase like "then comes Reason officiously, with Tools for cutting, and opening, and mangling, and piercing, offering to demonstrate, that they are not of the same consistence quite thro'" (173).25 The choices of "cutting," "opening," "mangling," and "piercing" all circle about the idea of altering through a physical process, but their various connotations begin to fragment meaning. "Cutting" and "piercing" imply specific

< previous page

page_60

next page >

< previous page

page_61

next page > Page 61

tools, whereas "opening" and "mangling" do not; "mangling" implies a far greater degree of violence than "opening,'' while "piercing" and "cutting" fall somewhere in between; and each word implies a different result after the action has been completed. Other connotations also pull these terms apart: the aural sense of "piercing," the colloquial sense of "cutting" as insulting, and so on. While each term encapsulates part of the Tale Teller's message, the reader perceives a penumbra of meaning rather than a specific idea. 26 Swift's pairing of terms into doublets and triplets within a sentence may also be construed as a limited version of cataloguing. These couplings are not always synonyms (nor antonyms for that matter), but they create a fullness that can be rhetorical, logical, or both: "Who, that sees a little paultry Mortal, droning, and dreaming, and drivelling to a Multitude, can think it agreeable to common good Sense, that either Heaven or Hell should be put to the Trouble of Influence or Inspection upon what he is about?" (Mechanical Operation, 276; emphasis added). When the Tale Teller does not use lists to fill the void of signification, the qualitative problems of standard definition that he does not acknowledge become more apparent. After praising a number of modern writers and critics, he states, "WHY should I go upon farther Particulars, which might fill a Volume with the just Elogies of my cotemporary Brethren?" (38) While the Tale Teller may intend "elogy" in its sense of biographical description, the resonant funereal sounds of "elegy" and "eulogy" overtake any such intention.27 If in fact his contemporaries are dead, literally or figuratively, then the Tale Teller has just written his own death sentence, in every sense of the phrase. And if they are alive, the Tale Teller has managed to bury his peers, not to praise them. "Contemporary" only adds to the confusion; while the Oxford English Dictionary cites "contemporary" as an accepted form of "contemporary" in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, their primary definitions are different: "cotemporary" emphasizes the idea of "temporary" in a way that "contemporary" does not.28 Accordingly, modern works will die quickly, because writers ignore the implications of their words; modern linguistic imprecision scatters meaning rather than contains it, which leads

< previous page

page_61

next page >

< previous page

page_62

next page > Page 62

to textual collapse. While Swift may mourn the ignorance of his contemporaries, he finds their burial is "just," a fitting recompense for their literary endeavors. Working within the parameters of common definition is not difficult, but it does require a certain degree of accuracy. The Tale Teller lacks the patience to achieve precision, so when he writes in standard usage, his text inevitably swerves toward confusion and away from coherence. His lists circumvent the problems of meaning momentarily; either the Tale Teller diverts the reader with a rapid-fire series of words that are indigestible, or he provides a list of synonyms whose conflicting connotations ultimately do not compensate for the imprecise assignment of meaning. In the end, the sheer weight of all this verbiage adds humor rather than sense. Instead of correcting the alignment of existing signifiers and signifieds, the Tale Teller requires new words, so he moves beyond standard usage to develop his own language. "In the Beginning was the Word": Names and Naming Names and the act of naming are perhaps the most common assignments of meaning. The Bible establishes the tradition that naming reveals knowledge of the named, as in Adam's naming of the animals; with that knowledge comes power, and appropriately, Adam controls the animal kingdom. The Bible also sets the precedent that a name is the index to one's destiny: God renames Abram, Abraham, "father of nations" (Gen. 17:45), Sarai is called Sarah, "princess" (Gen. 17:1516), and Jacob becomes Israel, ''one who has striven with God and man, and prevailed" (Gen. 32:29). 29 As a namer, Swift chooses pseudonyms that reveal the characters of his narrators, and by doing so he adopts the method (although not necessarily the agenda) of traditional representational linguistics. The intent of representational naming is to unite all of the characteristics of the named in a name; accordingly, representational naming draws upon etymology, vocabulary, and literary allusions in a conscious act of construction.30 Swift's scathing Preface to Burnet is written under the name Gregory Misosarum, which alludes to Burnet's title (Bishop of Sarum) and modifies it with the Greek prefix "miso," "hater."

< previous page

page_62

next page >

< previous page

page_63

next page > Page 63

Swift turns to Hebrew for the naming of Isaac Bickerstaff, who combines laughter with admonition. Isaac ("he will laugh") is the unexpected child of old age, a divine joke played on Abraham and Sarah; "staff" refers to the Mosaic rod that punishes and metamorphosizes, a symbol of miracles and spiritual guidance; and "bicker" straddles both laughter and punishment, for its condescending tone insults those in the argumentative fray, while revealing their folly as a source of amusement for others. Simon Wagstaff of Polite Conversation shares the punitive laughter of Bickerstaff, for Wagstaff literally shakes authority as he threatens jokingly. And, as a Simon who is not renamed Peter, his work is anything but the foundation for excelling in conversation. 31 As for Lemuel Gulliver, he echoes his Biblical namesake in Proverbs, who repeats what he has been told and is gullible enough to believe it. The power of the namer over the named is only eliminated by self-naming, for the individual then controls his own identity and destiny. Yet self-naming does not diminish the revelatory nature of names, unless namelessness is chosen. For this very reason, Swift preferred anonymity for himself and for most of his narrators, because namelessness protects identity by not characterizing it at all. The anonymous text frustrates readers, for the author's presence is felt but unassailable without the information provided by a name. In effect, namelessness undermines the authority of others, as Odysseus's encounter with the Cyclops and the tale of Rumpelstilskin show. Critics combat Swift's strategy of anonymity by denominating his narrators, usually according to the title of the work in which they appear (the Tale Teller, the Modest Proposer, and so on); because a name locates the narratorial voice, characteristics may then be attributed to the narrator, which grants critics some leverage (however tenuous) to pry open the text in the absence of a more significant referent. When the name of an anonymous person is revealed, the trademark, namelessness no longer provided sufficient security for identity. The three brothers are the primary subjects who name and who are named in Tale of a Tub. Initially they are referred to as a group by the Tale Teller; other than a brief mention that one is the "Scholastick

< previous page

page_63

next page >

< previous page

page_64

next page > Page 64

Brother" (89), the brothers are undifferentiated until they name themselves: "He told his Brothers, he would have them know, that he was their Elder, and consequently his Father's sole Heir; Nay, a while after, he would not allow them to call Him, Brother, but Mr. PETER; And then he must be styl'd, Father PETER; and sometimes, My Lord PETER" (105). With each step in the progression of his titles, Peter increases his authority over his brothers. In the initial move from "brother" to "Mr. Peter,'' Peter distances himself from his brothers by setting up a barrier of formality. The change from "Mr. Peter" to "Father Peter" is more telling: being an heir (or even the sole heir) is not enoughone must assume the progenitor's position as well. The Oedipal overtones are unmistakeable, and in this case they are particularly dangerous because the allegorical father of these three sons is God. Peter's aspirations to religious authority are compounded by the resonance of "Father" with the Church Fathers, who authorize law and ritual. The final step from "Father Peter" to "Lord Peter" completes his usurpation of power: while "my Lord" connotes power in a political hierarchy (which is bolstered by his use of "Emperor Peter" on occasion [113]), "my Lord" must also be construed as the divine. Accordingly, "In the Height of his Fits (as it is usual with those who run mad out of Pride) He would call Himself God Almighty, and sometimes Monarch of the Universe" (115). Through his manipulation of titles, Peter defines himself as deity, as the ultimate authority not only for his family but for all. 32 The two remaining brothers choose their names after Peter has named himself: "I am to record, that these two Brothers began to be distinguished at this Time, by certain Names. One of them desired to be called MARTIN, and the other took the Appellation of JACK" (134). These characters cannot act independently until they have their own names; it is impossible to function as an individual without a distinct label. Once they are named, the Tale Teller can tell their stories along with Peter's. Of course, these names serve a dual purpose: they distinguish the brothers in the story, and as personifications of the Catholic, Lutheran, and Calvinist churches, they code the Tale as an allegory of and commentary on religious history. Insofar as allegory literalizes abstraction, it displays the two-tiered structure of the tropes that assign multiple meanings to a text, like

< previous page

page_64

next page >

< previous page

page_65

next page > Page 65

irony, pun, metaphor, and the like. But as long as the abstraction controls the motion of its concrete form, allegory works as a single coding mechanism, for the collision of ideas necessary for double coding is absent. 33 Although the assumption of a name grants an individual the power to act, the attribution of multiple names leads to schizophrenia; just as meaning gets blurred by excessive synonymy, personality is fractured by overnaming. Jack's madness is partly signaled by his inability to control his name; he loses autonomy as society attributes names to him without his consent: AND now the little Boys in the Streets began to salute him with several Names. Sometimes they would call Him, Jack the Bald; sometimes, Jack with a Lanthorn; sometimes, Dutch Jack; sometimes, French Hugh; sometimes, Tom the Beggar; and sometimes, Knocking Jack of the North. And it was under one or some, or all of these Appellations (which I leave the Learned Reader to determine) that he hath given Rise to the most Illustrious and Epidemick Sect of Aeolists, who with honorable Commemoration, do still acknowledge the Renowned JACK for their Author and Founder. (141142) Again these names anchor Swift's allegory to religious history as well as reveal his attitude toward these various Dissenting sects. In fact, to guarantee that the reader would not miss the allegorical reading, Swift added footnotes to the Tale that identify "Jack the Bald" as Calvin (from the Latin Calvus, Bald); "French Hugh" as the Huguenots; ''Knocking Jack of the North" as John Knox, the Scottish Reformer; and so on. This hermeneutic touch magnifies the irony that the Tale Teller seems to be completely unaware of the allegorical resonance of these names, even as he is relating them to the reader.34 Yet the Tale Teller's reaction to these appellations is still important: he cannot help being confused by them. That the Tale Teller can pinpoint the names as the source of his confusion does not solve his problem; he still cannot cite "one or some, or all" as the creator of Aeolism, so he abandons the attempt to assign authorship. Whether it is the madness of the namers, the named, or both, the multiplicity of names only leaves chaos in its wake. While overnaming abuses the power of labeling by producing unnecessary, perplexing appellations, invective distorts naming

< previous page

page_65

next page >

< previous page

page_66

next page > Page 66

through malice. Naming should primarily reflect the named, but invective only reveals the psychology of the namer; it is a tactic for the discontented and disenfranchised, for those who cannot appropriate authority otherwise: "Look ye, Gentlemen, cries Peter in a Rage, to convince you, what a couple of blind, positive, ignorant, wilful Puppies you are, I will use but this plain Argument; By G, it is true, good, natural Mutton as any in Leaden-Hall Market; and G, confound you both eternally, if you offer to believe otherwise" (118). Peter loves the lustiness of profanity and the thrill of psychological terror; despite his assertions, there is no logic here, nor does Peter need any to assume authority. 35 Overcome by fear, guilt, and shock, Martin and Jack concede to Peter as quickly as possible to avoid damnation: "Why, truly, said the first, upon more Mature ConsiderationAy, says the other, interrupting him, now I have thought better on the Thing . . ." (118). Like all victims of invective, they are trapped, because no answer can eradicate the insult. Silence is often a tacit verification, and by responding to accusations, the respondent implicitly identifies himself with them.36 Martin and Jack only free themselves when they prove the absurdity of Peter's pronouncements, for then they realize that Peter is just noise without substance, ego without authority.37 As a result, they stop listening to Peter, and they are no longer obligated to respond to him. When the Tale brothers assume and assign names, they create meaning by altering the alignment of signifiers and signifieds, but they do not create new words so much as they reassign meaning to old ones. The Tale Teller discounts the creativity of reassignment, and instead argues that inventing words is the true reflection of an active intelligence: "For there is no inventing Terms of Art beyond our Idea's, and when Idea's are exhausted, Terms of Art must be so too" (50). The stagnant language of the Houyhnhnms in Gulliver's Travels similarly evinces that language and ideas limit each other reciprocally; the Houyhnhnms only have words for ideas within their ken, and they protect their culture from the invasion of Gulliver's ideas by not developing words for those new thoughts. The Houyhnhnm language also reflects the eighteenth-century commonplace of the antithetical nature of reason and imagination, for the creative impulse expires in a society in which everything must be logically

< previous page

page_66

next page >

< previous page

page_67

next page > Page 67

justified. In this sense the Tale Teller's credo of invention reverses the Houyhnhnm linguistic; he admits, "I have thought fit to make Invention [my] Master, and give Method and Reason the Office of its Lacquays" (209). In so doing the Tale Teller inaugurates himself in Swift's fraternity of dunces, for they are the ones who generate neologisms: "I HAVE never known this great Town without one or more Dunces of Figure, who had Credit enough to give Rise to some new Word, and propagate it in most Conversations; although it had neither Humour or Significancy." 38 The Tale Teller is propagating words even before the Tale begins, for he refers to "An Analytical Discourse upon Zeal, Historitheophysi-logically considered" (2; also see 137) as one of his upcoming publications. This adverb revels in the methodology of its creation: take some Greek and Latin roots, string them together, and a word is born. Etymology was and still is standard practice for coining terms, as twentieth-century words like "telephone," ''television," "phonograph," "video," and "astronaut," readily attest. Although the Tale Teller understands the methodology of naming, he does not control it, and like Frankenstein, he creates a monster. Fortunately, the reader understands the Tale Teller's meaning; he's created an adverb that describes an overly interdisciplinary approach. Unfortunately, his signifier for this signified has no aesthetic appeal whatsoeverits ungainly size and awkward structure are at once intimidating and laughable. It would be easier on the eye, and perhaps clearer to the mind, if the Tale Teller would list the adverbial or the adjectival forms, "historical(ly)," "theological(ly)," "physical(ly)," and "logical(ly)" as the narrator of Mechanical Operation of the Spirit did (". . . my Critical Essay upon the Art of Canting, Philosophically, Physically, and Musically considered" [279]), or use a general phrase like "a comprehensive analysis."39 Without reason or judgment to guide him, the Tale Teller fashions words that acquire little significance at the cost of fragmenting linguistic value. The Tale Teller develops terms at an alarming rate, but what is disturbing is that these neologisms are so convincing: they look and sound like legitimate words, and they invoke a reaction from the reader, even though they've never been used before. When the Tale Teller writes, ". . . and I desire the Reader to attend with utmost

< previous page

page_67

next page >

< previous page

page_68

next page > Page 68

Perpensity; For, I now proceed to unravel this knotty Point" (170), the reader knows that "perpensity" means "attention," even though this is its first appearance in English. 40 As noted earlier, the Tale Teller never overtly defines his neologisms. Instead, he relies on context (in the case of "perpensity,'' established by "attend" and "utmost") and, as will become apparent in subsequent examples, on the reader's knowledge of etymology and linguistic analogy, to convey the assignment of meaning. These methods of coding communicate quietly, yet powerfully, like subliminal advertising; the audience understands the message without the mechanisms of that understanding being made explicit. Consequently, the reader does not perceive the newness of words like "amorphy" (124) and "spargefaction" (110) because the Tale Teller's combination of Greek and Latin morphemes lets them pass as real, albeit esoteric, English words. This limited, two-step etymological construction encapsulates meaning and avoids the overcoding debacle of "Histori-theo-physi-logically." The reader divides to conquer, a simple reversal of the Tale Teller's process: "amorphy" comes from the Greek"a" meaning "without" or "lacking;" and "morphe," meaning "form." Similarly, "spargefaction" is derived from the Latin "spargere," "to scatter, strew, or sprinkle"; and "facere," "to do." For an audience trained in Greek and Latin since grammar school, this etymological analysis would be instinctive, and comprehension automatic.41 Conversely, Swift consciously avoided the familiar feel of Latin and Greek when he wanted the effect of foreign language in Gulliver; instead he relied on anagrams ("Tribnia" from "Britain"), on harsh consonantal combinations ("Splacknuck," "Burglum," "Glumgluff," "Slardral"), and on onomatopeia (the whinny of "Houyhnhnm") to serve as the markers for foreign ideas.42 The reader of the Tale never feels this total otherness of language; the Tale's English may be wrenched out of shape, but the skeleton of signification remains intact. The Tale Teller also coins new words by attaching prefixes and suffixes to existing words. This method standardizes linguistic evolution by using a word's grammatical function to generate its modifications. For example, since verbs are generally modified by a certain set of prefixes and suffixes (like re-, un-, and -ation), verb X can take

< previous page

page_68

next page >

< previous page

page_69

next page > Page 69

on these prefixes and suffixes as well. As analogical construction conserves grammar, so too it stabilizes content by creating new words from older forms. 43 Yet as Saussure remarks, the results of this highly conservative linguistic process are unique, unprecedented neologisms: So little does analogy have the characteristic of replacing one form by another that it often produces forms which replace nothing at all. German can make a diminutive in -chen from any substantive with a concrete meaning; if the form Elefantchen were introduced into the language, it would supplant nothing that exists. Similarly in French, on the model of pension 'pension': pensionnaire 'pensionary,' réaction, 'reaction': réactionnaire 'reactionary,' etc. someone might create interventionnaire, répressionnaire, etc. (164) The Tale Teller's analogical originals extend the range of signification with "fastidiosity" (124), "reincrudation" (68), ''reinfunds" (178), "Grubean" (66), "modernists" (169), "pederastick" (41), and "sedatest" (138). All of these words are comprehensible because they have the markings of familiar terms; some of these new terms, notably "modernists" and "pederastic," have become common parlance over time. Those terms that have not entered the linguistic mainstream still seem somewhat unusual, but as with the etymological coinages, the reader is able to add up the constituent parts and recognize a coherent whole. The Tale Teller often combines standard signifiers to create compound terms. Although they rely on the same additive process as his etymological and analogical creations, the Tale Teller's compound terms never completely fuse. The constituent parts of "Monster-Mongers" (131) and "Dirt-Pellets" (10) retain their independence even as they are unceremoniously thrust together, because the hyphen that connects these terms also pushes them apart.44 The original forms clearly stand in counterpoint to the new joint incarnation, so that each new term automatically evokes the original and its acquired associations. In this sense all three additive processesetymology, analogy and compoundingare simple forms of double coding. And because its visual form emphasizes the constituent parts in contrast to the whole term, compounding particularly has the potential for the ironic double code. Perhaps for this very reason Swift never

< previous page

page_69

next page >

< previous page

page_70

next page > Page 70

created thoroughly mixed portmanteau words on the order of Lewis Carroll's "slithy" (slimy and lithe), "frumious" (fuming and furious), and "burble" (bleat, murmur, and warble), for fear that the resonance of the antecedent forms would be unrecognizable in the new term, and the potential for irony would be lost. 45 The closest to a portmanteau word that I have found in Swift is ''tritical" from his A Tritical Essay, and it is one of Swift's few new English coinages after Tale. While the OED suggests that "tritical" is a combination of "trite" and "critical," this neologism, with its single-letter substitution, clearly does not achieve the level of fusion that marks Carroll's creations. Swift avoids the subtlety of portmanteau for stronger, harsher effects; he prefers an axe to a lancet. On occasion the Tale Teller assigns new meanings to words without changing their signifiers. Usually the Tale Teller alters the meaning of a standard signifier by shifting its grammatical functionfrom verb to adjective, from noun to verb, and so on. Accordingly, the Tale introduces into English usage "adapt" (172) and "troglodyte" (183) as adjectives, and "dupe" as a verb (171). These few alterations are the major examples of syntactical play in the Tale, for Swift's verbal play generally tends to be lexical. But the most important case of a new attribution to a signifier is "invest," a nonsyntactical change that helps establish the prominence of clothing in the text. The Tale is the source for "invest" as "of an article of dress," as in "They held the Universe to be a large Suit of cloaths, which invests every Thing: That the Earth is invested by the Air; The Air is invested by the Stars . . ." (7778). Of course, the Tale Teller is playing with etymology here: "invest" is derived from the Latin "vestire," "to clothe or dress." With this new definition of "invest," the covering becomes more important than the covered; by obscuring interiors, exteriors contain and control that which is not socially or intellectually acceptable. Clothing becomes the metaphor for people, texts, and religion in an Epicurean vision in which value exists on (and flies off of) surfaces because it can no longer reside inside.46 The adage that language is the clothing of thought becomes the working hypothesis in the Tale, as the Tale Teller desperately tries to patch up and over the gaps in his knowledge.47 He tries to divert the reader's attention from the ungainly shape of his text by emphasizing its good features, by dress-

< previous page

page_70

next page >

< previous page

page_71

next page > Page 71

ing up what he knows with ornamental puns and metaphors that glitter with intellectual possibility. Yet the body won't stay covered because common sense keeps stripping away the facade to reveal the patchwork of meaning. 48 The primary inventors in the Tale, Peter and Jack, do not match the Tale Teller's facility with language. When Peter turns "Projector and Virtuoso," he is never mentioned as the namer of his projects, only as their creator, and some enterprises, like his version of purgatory, are never named at all (106110). Jack does not fare much better. When Jack creates an idol, he does not give it a name: "a new Deity, who hath since met with a vast Number of Worshippers; by some called Babel, by others, Chaos . . ." (194). Although Babel and Chaos are often used synonymously, particularly in the figurative sense, they are not interchangeable; Babel is specifically linguistic disorder, and Chaos is not.49 By generating disorder, Jack has reversed the divine creation, which brought order out of chaos. Consequently, Jack overturns the naming process as well: unlike God, who invoked language to create and organize his works, Jack abdicates language and the power of naming when he forfeits order. However, Jack does name his creations when the spectre of Peter looms before him: For, the Memory of Lord Peter's Injuries, produced a Degree of Hatred and Spight, which had a greater Share of inciting Him, than any Regards after his Father's Commands, since these appeared at best, only Secondary and Subservient to the other. However, for this Meddly [sic] of Humor, he made a Shift to find a very plausible Name, honoring it with the Title of Zeal, which is, perhaps, the most significant Word that hath ever yet produced in any Language. (137) Jack must develop his own vocabulary to distinguish himself from Peter, but Jack's diction undermines the autonomy that he is trying to establish. As Dan Doll notes, "the most significant word" signifies the most things, not one thing; like Babel/Chaos, "zeal" is confused and confusing because Jack does not circumscribe its meaning.50 Accordingly, this "very plausible" word loses significance the more people use it, since each person who uses "zeal" must determine its definition; without a consensus, this signifier becomes overloaded

< previous page

page_71

next page >

< previous page

page_72

next page > Page 72

with so many signifieds that it ceases to be meaningful. Jack also avoids assigning single meaning in his religion of Aeolism, another invention that is not clearly named by him. Not only is Aeolism the product of an overextended metaphor, in which "spirit" takes on the multiple meanings of air, fart, and belch, but Aeolism is conspicuous among religions because it is not bound by a text. These single codings of meaning are, on the whole, linguistically conservativethey reorganize the constituent parts of already existing language. Although these mechanisms do not establish a representational language or a universal language, these codings do address the seventeenth-century linguists' primary problem with post-Babel, non-Adamic language: namely, how to create a clear language that will be commonly understood and that will not fall prey to the linguistic fragmentation that occurs over time. Swift's controlled linguistic growth prevents further deterioration by renewing the English language from its etymological sources, and by using existing patterns of linguistic development such as analogy and addition. As will be discussed in chapter 3, Swift's linguistic conservation becomes even more apparent in his formal essays on language, like Tatler 230, in which he rails against abbreviations, elisions, and foreign words precisely because they distort the shape of the English language beyond recognition. Despite (or perhaps because of) these conservative tendencies, Swift revels in liberal linguistics, and the assignment of meaning clearly sets the stage for more word play, especially the mischievous obscuring of the assignments of meaning through codes. Swift's sensitivity to the look, and especially the sound, of words keeps him tinkering with the form of signifiers: "Yes, I understand your cypher, and Stella guesses right, as she always does. He gave me al bsadnuk lboinlpl dfaonr ufainfbtoy dpionufnad, which I sent him again by Mr. Lewis." 51 The excavation of meaning occurs by reconstituting the signifier, which in this case involves omitting every other letter to reveal "a bank bill for fifty pound." There is no interplay of signifieds attached to this signifier, since the coded version is sound without sense; there is nothing for "a bank bill for fifty pound" to play off of, and consequently, none of the modulation between readings that characterizes puns and metaphors. The reverse of signifier

< previous page

page_72

next page >

< previous page

page_73

next page > Page 73

splicing, the elimination of spaces between words, also reveals single meaning in duplicitous garb: "So good night, myownlittledearsawcy-insolentrogues" (Journal, 170). 52 More than orthography, sound hides the original sense in Swift's most famous code, his little language in the Journal to Stella. The orality/aurality of the little language is inescapable, as Swift himself acknowledged: "Do you know what? When I am writing in our language I make up my mouth just as if I was speaking it. I caught myself at it now" (Journal, 210). The lisping childish sounds of "ourrichar Gangridge" (Journal, 510) and the abbreviation of signifiers ("MD," "FW," "pdfr,'' and so on) are the primary mechanisms that fashion the little language, and like his cypher, no double reading is necessary to discern meaning.53 When Swift establishes a new code in the Journal, it is based on the aural resonance of onomatopoeia: "Let me henceforth call Ld Tr, eltee, because possibly my letters may be opened; pray remember Eltee; you know the reason, LT and Eltee [are pro]nounced the same way" (644). Aural play permeates the Journal even beyond coding, as Swift echoes the sounds of London: "Paaast twelvvve o'clock, and so good night" (90, cf. 95) and "Pray, are not the fine buns sold here in our town; was it not Rrrrrrrrrare Chelsea buns?" (259).54 And the Journal jangles with simple silly rhymes: "Walk fast in snow, In frost walk slow, And still as you go, Tread on your toe: when frost and snow are both together, Sit by the fire and spare shoe-leather" (171).55 As sound obscures the common rendering of the signifier, it amplifies the sense of the signified: the lisp of the little language alone could convey endearment and childhood fantasy, just as the lilting sounds accentuate London's teeming liveliness, and the restless rhymes express Swift's anxious concern for Stella.56 While Swift delighted in the subtleties of cadence, he was well aware of the repercussions should sound eclipse sense totally. Succumbing to mellifluousness is to abdicate logic, as the narrator of Mechanical Operation of the Spirit reports: In the Language of the Spirit, Cant and Droning supply the Place of Sense and Reason, in the Language of Men. . . . The Art of Canting consists in skilfully adapting the Voice, to whatever Words the Spirit delivers, that each may strike the Ears of the Audience, with its

< previous page

page_73

next page >

< previous page

page_74

next page > Page 74

most significant Cadence. The Force, or Energy of this Eloquence, is not to be found, as among antient Orators, in the Disposition of Words to a Sentence, or the turning of long Periods; but agreeable to the Modern Refinements in Musick, is taken up wholly in dwelling, and dilating upon Syllables and Letters. Thus it is frequent for a single Vowel to draw Sighs from a Multitude; and for whole Assembly of Saints to sob to the Musick of one solitary Liquid. (278279) The organizing principles of communication, grammar, and syntax, disappear as linguistic integrity disintegrates into sound and religious integrity degenerates into mass hypnosis. All that is left is the music of canting (from the Latin "cano," "to sing"), which is in fact nay-saying, "can'ting," because it denies the existence of reason; as they play on visceral responses to sound, preachers train their congregations not to think, only to feel. 57 Yet without reason to discern differences, even canting observance becomes a farce, for inarticulate sounds like nose blowing eventually ''produce as forcible effects" as canting (279). Once again the misuse of language leads Swift's reader to the madness of the Bedlam inmate. All these acts of naming and coding are essentially acts of metaphor, in which signs substitute for meanings that they represent. This trope of substitution also is the means to explore words, and writers insert connotations for both signifier and signified to extend the limits of the assignment of single meaning. As the parameters of meaning expand, the aesthetics of authorial intent rather than linguistics determine the desirability of specific verbal constructs. The Roar of the Papal Bull: Assigning Multiple Meanings The assignment of meaning relies on exclusion to make an idea distinct, but in the process it naturally draws attention to the related ideas it wants the reader to ignore. As a result, multiple meanings accrue around a given term, and the parameters of meaning inevitably spread. The multiple assignment process is propelled by antonymy as well, for ideas also invoke their opposites, which the Tale Teller finds to be a natural, if somewhat perverse, cognitive motion: "[The mind of man] naturally sallies out into both extremes of High and

< previous page

page_74

next page >

< previous page

page_75

next page > Page 75

and Low, of Good and Evil; . . . not well perceiving how near the Frontiers of Height and Depth, border upon each other; . . . a Tincture of Malice in our Natures makes us fond of furnishing every bright Idea with its Reverse" (157158) . As a result, words often signify opposing as well as related ideas; for instance, "passion" can refer to passivity (in the sense of Christian submission) and to active sexuality. 58 This clashing and combining of opposites forms the backbone of Swift's rhetoric of reversal, in which the reader is invariably presented with the opposite of what he expects.59 Logic is presented as illogic, just as nonsense is passed off as sense; a term with multiple meanings is presented as if it only had one definition, and standard definitions crumble into meaninglessness. Through his outrageous presentation of the contrary, Swift forces the reader to fill in the missing opposite that will properly modify the term or the argument on the page. By acceding to this manipulation, the reader translates what Swift writes into what Swift means, and in effect, becomes co-author of Swift's texts. The Tale Teller combines opposites to give the effect of inclusiveness, much like his encyclopedic impulse: I am confident to have included and exhausted all that Human Imagination can Rise or Fall to. Particularly, I recommend to the Perusal of the Learned, certain Discoveries that are wholly untoucht by others; whereof I shall only mention among a great many more; My New Help of Smatterers, or the Art of being Deep-Learned, and Shallow-read. A curious Invention about Mouse-Traps. An Universal Rule of Reason, or Every Man his Own Carver; Together with a most useful Engine for the catching of Owls. (129130) Completeness requires the presence of mutually contradictory elements, and the Tale Teller's imaginative process appropriately rises and falls to include everything from reason to mousetraps. His pairings of "deep" and "shallow," and "universal" and "every" generate comic energy as they bump against each other, for the Tale Teller clearly feels that he has comfortably reconciled the unreconcilable, when in fact he has not. "Shallow reading'' outlines the shadow of erudition, without providing the substance; while "shallow" implies "deep," it is not a substitute, although the Tale Teller will argue later that "deep learning" is merely a matter of glancing over indexes.

< previous page

page_75

next page >

< previous page

page_76

next page > Page 76

Similarly, a universal rule of reason is not the same as every man his own carver, and the Tale itself is evidence that every man's reason functions in a highly idiosyncratic manner. At best the title can be construed as an argument for the pervasiveness of individuality, which would undermine its pretensions of proving universal reason. As these contradictions eliminate the comprehensiveness that the Tale Teller was striving for, the reader is left with Swift, surveying fragments of meaning that refuse to sum up logically. The hermeneutic motion flounders primarily because the import of these words has expanded. The reader now knows that "deep learned" means "shallow read," just as individual reason is synonymous with universal reason, and when these terms subsequently appear in the Tale, they are coded according to the Tale Teller's definition, not just according to common signification. While the Tale Teller's oxymorons are innocently absurd, Jack's are too cunning; Jack fuses oppositions to justify his bizarre behavior. Jack's contrariness begins as a function of his antagonism toward Peter. Personal hostility soon manifests itself as intellectual opposition to Peter, and later as defiance of society, as when Jack reinterprets the literary convention that blindness is insight: HE would shut his Eyes as he walked along the Streets, and if he happened to bounce his Head against a Post, or fall into the Kennel (as he seldom missed to do one or both) he would tell the gibing Prentices, who looked on, that he submitted with entire Resignation, as to a Trip, or a Blow of Fate, with whom he found, by long Experience, how vain it was either to wrestle or cuff; and whoever durst undertake either, would be sure to come off with a swinging Fall, or a bloody Nose. It was ordained, said he, some few Days before the Creation, that my Nose and this very Post should have a Rencounter; . . . Now had my Eyes been open, it is very likely, the Business might have been a great deal worse; For, how many a confounded Slip is daily got by Man, with all his Foresight about him? Besides, the Eyes of the Understanding see best, when those of the Senses are out of the way; and therefore, blind Men are observed to tread their Steps with much more Caution, and Conduct, and Judgment, than those who rely with too much Confidence, upon the Virtue of the Visual Nerve. (192193) 60 By collapsing the distinction between the physical blindness and its metaphorical counterpart, insight, Jack unwittingly recodes "blind-

< previous page

page_76

next page >

< previous page

page_77

next page > Page 77

ness" so that it means error, stupidity, and lack of insight. As a result, Jack is a walking (actually, tripping) paradox: he insists upon being different even as he refuses to recognize intellectual differences. 61 This paradox of noncompliance lies behind all of Jack's mad and maddening behavior: he soils audiences with mud and urine, he dresses inappropriately for the weather, he asks passersby to hit him, and so on (194198).62 Yet Jack never realizes that this behavior binds him to what he is trying to escape, for society determines the standards that Jack needs to continue his subversiveness. The coda to this episode is poetic justice: Jack's manner is finally indistinguishable from Peter's, whose irrational actions set Jack on the path of opposition in the first place.63 Despite the objectionable perversity of his conduct, Jack's behavior is incredibly witty; as Swift once remarked, "it is a Point of Wit to advance Paradoxes, and the bolder the better. But the Wit lies in maintaining them . . . and form[ing] imaginary Conclusions from them, as if they were true and unconstested" (Remarks upon Tindall, II:101). Jack's reversals point to the essence of wit, which recognizes similarity in the midst of difference. In its unusual couplings, wit reassigns meaning by altering the relationship of a word vis-à-vis other words; the similarity that connects words also aligns differences, so that each term in a witty construct gains connotations from the other by its new location. As the disjunction between terms increases, so does the degree of wit, because the posited similarity appears in striking silhouette against its chaotic background. Yet like translation, the range of difference is where meaning is most likely to get altered, if not lost. Radical disjunction is best embodied by diametric opposition: "For Labor is the Seed of Idleness, and it is the peculiar Happiness of our Noble Age to gather the Fruit" (146). The Tale Teller's proud second clause is the locus of Swift's criticism: the moderns are complacently living off the work of their predecessors. But the aphoristic setup for this conclusion offers an astute commentary: labor is often the seed of idleness, whether it is the idleness of others who benefit from the labor, or the rest that one desires after exertion. In essence, wit recodes the ideas of labor and idleness so they are now defined in terms of cause and effect, not just difference. Unfortunately, open-

< previous page

page_77

next page >

< previous page

page_78

next page > Page 78

ing up this paradox clarifies its meaning at the expense of rhetorical impact, for wit is sharpest when its mechanisms are felt but not specified. Yet the reader of the Tale must analyze these witty reversals because the wit of the Tale is both decoration and substance; all of the Tale's meaning resides in the collapsing dichotomies of madness/sanity, literal/figurative, high/low, inside/outside, dark/light, and so on. If simple distinctions between opposites begin to blur in the Tale, then it is not surprising that subtle discriminations are nowhere to be found. The Tale Teller consciously muddles things that ought to be separate in his text, and he even warns his future commentators to proceed with great caution ". . . especially in some mysterious Paragraphs, where certain Arcana are joyned for brevity['s] sake, which in the Operation must be divided" (114). Yet the Tale Teller knows that readers are no better at making distinctions than he is: "I am wonderfully well acquainted with the present Relish of Courteous Readers; and have often observed, with singular Pleasure, that a Fly driven from a Honey-pot, will immediately, with very good Appetite alight, and finish his Meal on an Excrement" (207). If readers cannot distinguish good literature from bad, they cannot possibly analyze the nuances of a deliberately misleading text. The Tale Teller does not seem to mind that his readers cannot make valid distinctions, nor does he seem to care that readers have absolutely no literary standards whatsoever. These phenomena beget a cycle of misapprehension: readers cannot develop literary standards if they cannot recognize distinctions, and they cannot make distinctions unless they have literary standards to guide them. This is in fact the ''undistinguishing Age" (166) as the Tale Teller observes, and undistinguished as a result. The importance of careful discrimination to Swift cannot be underestimated, for throughout his works he argues that the absence of clear and correct distinctions is a sign of willful deception, if not outright stupidity. Swift's deprecation of Tindall's Rights of the Christian Church constantly points to Tindall's failure to make valid distinctions: "And here lies the Mistake of this superficial Man, who is not able to distinguish between what the Civil Power can hinder, and what it can do. [Quoting Tindall:] If the Parliament can annul Ecclesi-

< previous page

page_78

next page >

< previous page

page_79

next page > Page 79

astical Laws, they must be able to make them, since no greater Power is required for one than the other" (II:75). According to Swift, Tindall also does not separate the powers of church and state in the matter of making priests (II:92); he does "not distinguish between a Power, and a Liberty of exercising that Power" (II:95); and he presents "Bad Parallels; bad Politicks; Want of due Distinction between Teaching and Government" (II:98). While Swift's insistence on these distinctions may seem pedantic, his concern to avoid political and religious anarchy is not; as he argues in Contest and Dissentions (I:196200) and in Sentiments of a Church-of-England Man (II:3, 14), the ignorance of proper distinctions and the arguments that follow from these misapprehensions have the potential to overturn both church and state. 64 The analytical impulse makes distinctions by opening a text and separating its parts, a cognitive motion that destroys rather than creates; the Tale Teller's dissections of the fop and the flayed woman are versions of this phenomenon. Those forays into experimental surgery convince the Tale Teller of the value of synthesis over analysis as well as deception over truth, and he ultimately concurs with Epicurus that indivisible uniformity is the desired goal: "Epicurus modestly hoped, that one Time or other, a certain Fortuitous Concourse of all Mens Opinions, after perpetual Justlings, the Sharp with the Smooth, the Light and the Heavy, the Round and the Square, would by certain Clinamina, unite in the Notions of Atoms and Void, as these did in the Originals of all Things" (167). Wholeness is more manageable than diversity, and the desire to achieve harmony keeps the mind alert for ways to reconcile differences. In linguistic terms metaphor provides such a concordia discors; it is a collision of circumstance that makes the reconcilation of diverse ideas possible. Metaphors are the crossroads where ideas merge, where notions are translated from one context to another, as its etymology suggests: "metaphor" is derived from the Greek "meta," which denotes change (whether it is "after,'' "along with," "beyond," "among," or "behind"), and "phore," meaning "bearer." Metaphors are produced by the undistinguishing mind, which naturally invokes opposites and associations and substitutes them into the original signified-signifier relationship, thereby expanding the representational range of a word.

< previous page

page_79

next page >

< previous page

page_80

next page > Page 80

In the process, metaphors reverse the exclusion of definition: metaphors add meanings to assigned terms by collapsing the boundaries between various signifiers and their respective signifieds. Witty word play encodes meanings into a text in two basic ways: by assigning multiple signifieds to a single signifier, and by assigning multiple signifiers to a single signified. The problem in the Tale is that as ideas and words continue to accumulate around signifiers and signifieds, meaning dissolves into gibberish. Once again linguistic facility reveals another manifestation of the plenum theory, for layering too many meanings puts too much energy into a text, just as adding too many words to a list can result in meaninglessness. Assigning multiple signifieds to a signifier is, in effect, punningit is exploiting the various connotations of verbal form. 65 That Swift was an inveterate punster is well known, and he particularly indulged himself with the Ashe brothers, Sir Andrew Fountaine, Lord Pembroke, Archdeacon Walls, and Stella, who evidently was no mean punster herself.66 Swift could not resist telling Stella his puns, as seen in his Journal to Stella: "I tell you a good pun; a fellow hard by pretends to cure Agues, and has set out a sign, and spells it Egoes; a gentleman and I observing it, he said. How does that fellow pretend to cure Agues? I said, I did not know, but I was sure it was not by a Spell. That's admirable" (139140). And on January 4, 1710/11: "I'll tell you a good thing I said to my lord Carteret. So says he, my lord ---- came up to me, and askt me, &c. No, said I, my lord ---- never did, nor ever can come up to you" (153). Both of these puns encapsulate the basic pun mechanism. As one connotation (''spell" for "spelling," and "come up" for "to rise") is substituted for another ("magic spell" and "to approach" respectively) in a given context, the first meaning does not disappear; instead, the result is additive, so that the text modulates between two levels of meaning simultaneously.67 Swift's favorite punning technique is to present a literal definition for terms that are meant to be used figuratively, as in the case of the "papal bull": BUT all of Peter's Rarieties, he most valued a certain Set of Bulls, whose Race was by great Fortune preserved in a lineal Descent from those that guarded the Golden Fleece. Tho' some who pretended to

< previous page

page_80

next page >

< previous page

page_81

next page > Page 81

observe them curiously, doubted the Breed had not been kept entirely chast; because they had degenerated from their Ancestors in some Qualities, and had acquired others very extraordinary, but a Forein Mixture. . . . Peter put these Bulls upon several Employs. Sometimes he would set them a roaring to fright Naughty Boys, and make them quiet. Sometimes he would send then out upon Errands of great Importance; where it is wonderful to recount, and perhaps the cautious Reader may think much to believe it; An Appetitus Sensibilis, deriving itself thro' the whole Family, from their Noble Ancestors, Guardians of the Golden-Fleece; they continued so extremely fond of Gold, that if Peter sent them abroad, though it were only upon a Compliment, they would Roar, and Spit, and Belch, and Piss, and Fart, and Snivel out Fire, and keep a perpetual Coyl, till you flung them a bit of Gold; but then, Pulveris exigui jactu, they would grow calm and quiet as Lambs. (110112) Swift's papal bulls are in fact Irish bulls; they are bad jokes let loose on society, and he rides this bull to death. The signifier "papal bull" obviously does double duty as it describes animals along with the Pope's admonitory missives. Yet what particularly invigorates this pun is that it juxtaposes the contexts that surround the images of bull and letter as well; the pun builds its own double universe where it lives in the realms of brute carnality and religious terrorism simultaneously. By extending the collision of these disperate contexts, they merge and emerge as a pungent commentary on the mercenary and terrorist character of the Catholic church. The humor in this "papal bull" is not just from clever conjunction, but also from the Tale Teller's ignorance: it is clear that he does not recognize "papal bull" as a pun. The Tale Teller only reads "papal bull'' literally, which adds a bizarre twist of humor, for if one were to identify one meaning here, the figurative reading is a far more apparent choice than the literal. 68 As the Tale Teller misses the obvious, the reader's attention is more clearly drawn to it, so that the Tale Teller's jarring insistence on the animal sense of "papal bull" ("roar," "spit," and so on) underlines the propriety of the figurative reading of papal decrees. Consequently, the reader is forced to see double, and while this compensates for the Tale Teller's monofocal vision, it also puts the interpreter of the Tale on guard; one becomes conscious of duplicity, in its full sense of doubleness and falseness,

< previous page

page_81

next page >

< previous page

page_82

next page > Page 82

of both the author and the text. The astute decoder is able to unwrap "papal bull" and join in the fun, but if the reader is monofocal, then the joke backfires on Swift, for his meaning is lost in transmission. The Tale Teller's singular etymologies also attach multiple meanings to a signifier. Etymology is an analytical device to dissect meaning, but just as the Tale Teller is not a good anatomist, he is not a competent philologist either; his etymologies create new meaning instead of revealing the source of existing meaning. As he literalizes "papal bull," so too he concretizes to reveal the etymology of "holding forth": And therefore in that truly pious Age, the Males in every Assembly, according as they were gifted, appeared very forward in exposing their Ears to view, and the Regions about them. . . . The devouter Sisters, who lookt upon all extraordinary Dilatations of that Member, as Protrusions of Zeal, or spiritual Excrescencies, were sure to honor every Head they sat upon, as if they had been Marks of Grace; but, especially, that of the Preacher, whose Ears were usually of the prime Magnitude; which upon that Account, he was very frequent and exact in exposing with all Advantages to the People: in his Rhetorical Paroxysms, turning sometimes to hold forth the one, and sometimes to hold forth the other: From which Custom, the whole Operation of Preaching is to this very Day among their Professors, styled by the Phrase of Holding forth. (201202) Like most idiomatic phrases, "holding forth" does not announce its derivation. The phrase originally appeared circa 1200, but its usage as an intransitive verb meaning "to preach or to speak publicly" is first cited by the OED in Dryden's Maiden Queen (1667). As the Tale Teller follows the method of the Royal Society philologists by seeking a direct correspondence between signifier and signified, he inevitably misses the point: literalism is only the beginning of linguistic possibility, not the end. At the same time, Swift delights in the ingenuous ignorance of his Tale Teller's reversal, for literal reading, which is usually simple, requires complex convolutions; and metaphorical reading, which is usually sophisticated, is in fact easily discernible. Swift relies on naive, monofocal narrators throughout his works to teach his reader how to read arguments properly. As with "papal bull" and "holding forth," double reading balances a text that is overweighted by a literal reading; the literal use of "eat" and "devour''

< previous page

page_82

next page >

< previous page

page_83

next page > Page 83

in A Modest Proposal is the most famous case of a Swiftian text invoking a figurative counterpart to correct the eager misapprehension of its narrator. Swift also elicits this double reading response through his manipulation of the ideal versus the real in An Argument Against Abolishing Christianity, for the Christian Proposer insists that ideal Christianity is exemplified by nominal observance. While the Proposer's priorities are obviously misplaced, they reflect and justify society's skewed definition of religion; to realign the balance, the reader must adopt true religious belief, even though it has been dismissed as obsolete, unfashionable nonsense. Yet sometimes the purpose of Swift's imbalanced texts is simply to underscore the danger of monofocal analysis. When Isaac Bickerstaff resorts to a literal reading of "no Man alive ever writ such damned Stuff as this" (II:162) or "Her Husband had neither Life nor Soul in him" 69 to prove that John Partridge is dead, the point is not to correct Bickerstaff, but rather that the insistent assertion of an interpretation (which is Partridge's fatal flaw as an astrologist) does not logically justify one's reading. Similarly, Gulliver's travels illustrate the necessity of multiple interpretation, for with monofocal vision, nations (especially Lilliput and Lagado) and individuals (Gulliver in Brobdingnag and Houyhnhnmland) are severely limited by their prejudices. Swift advocates multifocal vision outside this text as well as within it, for the articulation of monofocal opinions in Gulliver often does not guide the reader to a single opposing position that is logically or morally preferable. Precisely because Swift does not indulge in his usual deliberate manipulation of the reader's response, Gulliver's Travels achieves an intellectual sophistication that his other satires generally lack.70 When Swift exchanges a monofocal narrator for a multifocal narrator, double reading is unavoidable, for Swift's multifocal narrators see doubles in everything and do not hesitate to emphasize every possible pun. The cleverness of a multifocal narrator's constructs usually overrides any intellectual content, especially when syllables are punned on instead of words: "There are sharpers allways ready to seduce and Betray young Men of Quality and will not bate them an Ace" or "There is something ominous, not only in the names of diseases, as di-arrhoea, di-abetes, di-sentery, but even in the drugs designed to preserve our

< previous page

page_83

next page >

< previous page

page_84

next page > Page 84

lives; as di-acodium, di-apente, di-ascordium." 71 One can only wonder why Swift ignored the double death of the word "disease": "di" (both as "die" and "two/twice") and ''cease." This fragmentation of language avoids the nonsensical babble of Bedlam, for these syllables are anchored to complete words as well as standing as words on their own. But unlike "papal bull," these puns do not truly illuminate because the source word is not totally accounted for in the word play; these puns are circumstances of spelling, and they cannot be extended to any great length in an argument.72 Swift puns in a more complex (and more linguistically subversive) manner when he creates hybrid signifiers that moderate between existing forms. These puns do not translate from one signifier to another so much as create a language that encompasses both. His interlinguae primarily bounce off of the aural connotations of the signifier (as in "A Kill-ease" for "Achilles" and "a competent murderer"),73 while the visual connotations abet the joke (as in "Pun is meant" for "punishment" and "intending to pun").74 This punning emphasis on the energetic transitional state between forms suggests the possibility of triple reading, because the hybrid signifier clearly stands on its own as well as for its two source signifiers. The mediate quality of the hybrid signifier is perhaps most apparent in his bilingual puns, where "ponticulus" can mean "small bridge" and "pun tickle us," or "mais trop aux Lis" can signify "metropolis" and "but too many lillies" simultaneously (A Modest Defense of Punning, IV:206, 207). A single hybrid pun cannot be extended like "papal bull" because it is already stretched beyond its limits. Instead, the sophisticated methods of hybridization generate macaronic languages: "Is his Honor sic? Prae laetus felis Puls. It do es beat veris loto de" ("Is his Honor sick? Pray let us feel his pulse. It does beat very slow today").75 Swift created private Anglo-Latin languages well into the 1730s, with Thomas Sheridan as his constant punning companion.76 These bilingual puns are closest to the "Mi dux et amasti cum" that so delighted Swift at Kilkenny and are assuredly the most direct evidence that his multilingual, translating education provided both the materials and the methods for his punning sensibility. Translation is marked by its striving toward synonymy and by the inevitable failure to achieve exact resemblance, and both of these characteristics are real-

< previous page

page_84

next page >

< previous page

page_85

next page > Page 85

ized in Swift's vivid puns: the lucky coincidence that captures an idea, and the jangling effect (if not outright absurdity) of inexact substitution. Yet more importantly, in his densely packed puns, Swift recombines and exploits the lexical variables of aural, visual, intralingual and interlingual similarity that are the stock in trade of translation. Swift draws upon all of these types of puns to set his texts aglow with word play: Tell Sir Andrew Fountain I ran clear to the bottom, and wish he may be a late a-river where I am going. He used to brook my compliments. May his sand be long a running; not quicksand, like mine. Bid him avoid poring upon monuments and books, which is in reality but running among rocks and shelves, to stop his course. May his waters never be troubled with mud or gravel, nor stopt by any grinding stone. May his friends be all true trouts, and his enemies laid flat as flounders. I look upon him as the most fluent of his race; therefore let him not despond." (The Dying Speech of Tom Ashe, IV:265) Here the standard double pun ("brook," "poring," "shelves,'' "course," "gravel," "grinding stone") appears with the syllabic pun ("despond") and the hybrid pun ("a-river"). The signified play, in the form of associated vocabulary ("sand," "running," "mud," "trouts," and so on), moves this passage beyond punning toward metaphor, for it fills the blank outline of "life is a fountain" with meaning. This punning instinct produces a dazzling display of linguistic creativity, yet it also deadens the reader's appreciation of wit through glaring overexposure. The reader cannot complete a sentence without being forcibly diverted to unravel several puns, and these constant interruptions become increasingly annoying when the puns are not especially illuminating. Instead of provoking a corrective response, as monofocal narrators do, readers feel abused by obsessively multifocal narrators, for the engagement of a reader's attention is not for the reader's benefit, but for the writer's. Compulsive word play is selfish, in both purpose and process: to garner applause the author imposes his or her will by subverting linguistic convention. Extravagant punning sings a congratulatory ode to its own cleverness, and for the reader there is no escape from its tiresome self-indulgence short of not reading at all. 77

< previous page

page_85

next page >

< previous page

page_86

next page > Page 86

Irony provides a subtle alternative to punning. Like punning, irony assigns multiple signifieds to a signifier, but the assignment is primarily contextual, not lexical. Of course, these two methods of extending the assignment of meaning are not mutually exclusive: the central eat/devour pun of A Modest Proposal is given point and power in the context of eighteenth-century Anglo-Irish economics. Yet where punning teases the reader's intellect, irony incites evaluation because what is anticipated does not occuror at first glance, does not seem to occur. Instead, signifiers seem to work against the demands of the author's argument, so that rereading is necessary to create a new context in which the impropriety can be accommodated. By evoking a different perspective, signifiers create and straddle the disjunction between the alternate context and the original: It is to be lamented, that he [Bolingbroke] hath not yet procured himself a busy, important Countenance, nor learned that Profound Part of Wisdom, to be difficult of Access. Besides, he hath clearly mistaken the true Use of Books, which he has thumbed and spoiled with Reading, when he ought to have multiplied them on his Shelves: Not like a great Man of my Acquaintance, who knew a Book by the Back, better than a Friend by the Face, although he had never conversed with the Former, and often with the latter. (Examiner 26, III:80) What is described here certainly is not wisdom according to standard definition, for instead of referring to the acquisition of knowledge and insight, wisdom has accumulated the trappings of ego and ignorance. To reconcile the original and newly acquired senses of "wisdom," terms such as "lament," "profound," ''clearly mistaken," and "great man," begin to oscillate between their common significations and their opposites. The result is a passage with two readings: a nonironic reading, in which this modern wisdom is praised, and "lament," "profound," "clearly mistaken," and a "great man" are all meant in their standard defined senses; and an ironic reading, in which traditional wisdom is vaunted as the meanings of "lament" and the like are entirely reversed. Common sense endorses the ironic reading, for a traditionally wise Bolingbroke, who is literate and accessible, is preferable to a Bolingbroke who is "profound" in the

< previous page

page_86

next page >

< previous page

page_87

next page > Page 87

contemporary sense. As a result, what is considered to be vulgar social behavior is in fact more worthwhile than society's standard. By exploiting the relationship between language and context, irony argues that the inappropriate is more suitable than the appropriate for a given context. Yet when the Tale Teller presents a blatantly unacceptable idea, whether it is a flayed woman to prove that delusion is preferable to reason, or a theory of gases to explain the mechanics of madness, he fails to create irony in his text. Irony relies on intentional contrast, and the Tale Teller does not play impropriety off of propriety, because for him these bizarre ideas are appropriate; the Tale Teller does not recognize the alternate contexts that would interpret his ideas differently. In other words, since the Tale Teller fuses propriety and impropriety in the Tale, he cannot substitute one for the other, and therefore, it is impossible for him to generate narratorial irony. But although the Tale Teller is not an ironist, he invokes an ironic response outside the text from the reader. The reader instinctively deviates from the Tale Teller's skewed norms, and in a cunning twist to standard irony, the reader injects propriety into this deviant text; of course, from the Tale Teller's viewpoint, this reader revision is standard irony, because it inserts unsuitable ideas into what he deems to be his appropriate text. The key is that the reader establishes the contrast of contexts necessary for irony, and by doing so Swift has forced the reader to reevaluate (and often esteem) the traditional value systems that his monofocal narrator ignores. Unlike the Tale Teller, multifocal narrators like the Examiner and the Drapier can be conscious ironists in their texts because of their broader vision. Yet their intentional irony does not evoke an ironic response from the reader so much as an appreciation for the ironic construct; it is irony as product rather than as process. Accordingly, the intentionally ironic persona does not allow Swift to manipulate the reader as fully or as subtly as the monofocal narrator who triggers the ironic response. Swift's multifocal narrators can be incredibly persuasive (and some, like the Drapier, effected definite social change), but it is Swift's beguiling monofocal narrators, like the Tale Teller and the various Proposers, who compellingly serve Swift's agenda of reader entrapment. 78

< previous page

page_87

next page >

< previous page

page_88

next page > Page 88

The Tale Teller's linguistic play increases when one signified is represented by more than one signifier. The illustration of the same idea in multiple forms is the essence of metaphor: punning on a concept by substituting one expression for another. The Tale Teller can maintain some control over meaning if the signified is articulated in two ways, but as in his lists, if an idea is presented in multiple guises, his imagination runs wild, and all hopes of reason are lost. The simple compound metaphors in the Tale are cases of controlled doubling, in which one idea is expressed in two discrete ways, as in his metaphor on mortality: "Books, like Men their Authors, have no more than one Way of coming into the World, but there are ten Thousand to go out of it, and return no more" (36). When the Tale Teller expands these simple compound metaphors, he does regulate them so that they still convey meaning: So that I can only avow in general to Your Highness, that we do abound in Learning and Wit; but to fix upon Particulars, is a Task too slippery for my slender Abilities. If I should venture in a windy Day, to affirm to Your Highness, that there is a large Cloud near the Horizon in the Form of a Bear, another in the Zenith with the Head of an Ass, a third to the Westward with Claws like a Dragon; and Your Highness should in a few Minutes think fit to examine the Truth, 'tis certain, they would all be changed in Figure and Position, new ones would arise, and all we could agree upon would be, that Clouds there were, but that I was grossly mistaken in the Zoography and Topography of them. (35) That a metaphor about the difficulty of recognizing the elusive should be so clear is a typical Swiftian maneuver of using the Tale Teller to undermine the reader's expectations. While in the process of rounding out his metaphor with the location and anatomy of bears, asses, and dragons in the clouds, the Tale Teller does not lose sight of his true subject, the merits of modern wit and learning, nor of his intent to prove their existence in the absence of evidence. In fact, the Tale Teller's handling of this image is the best proof of modern wit that he could have presented. However, when he normally embellishes a metaphor, such specific details trigger associations in the Tale Teller's mind, and he tends to digress, gets diverted by his digression, and ultimately, he misses the

< previous page

page_88

next page >

< previous page

page_89

next page > Page 89

point of his original metaphor. The associative chain is structurally related to the long multiclaused Temple sentence, but instead of the temporal sequence of a single action pushing the sentence along, as it does in Temple's prose, association relies on ideational sequences that are largely based on individual idiosyncrasy. Consequently, the Tale Teller exemplifies Lockean cognitive theory, so that a simple compound metaphor drowns in the implications of his associations: For, Night being the universal Mother of Things, wise Philosophers hold all Writings to be fruitful in the Proportion they are dark; And therefore, the true illuminated (that is to say, the Darkest of all) have met with such numberless Commentators, whose Scholastick Midwifry hath deliver'd them of Meanings, that the Authors themselves, perhaps, never conceived, and yet may very justly be allowed the Lawful Parents of them: The Words of such Writers being like Seed, which, however scattered at random, when they light upon a fruitful Ground, will multiply far beyond either the Hopes or Imagination of the Sower. (186) As this convoluted, involuted argument develops from a mass of connotations, it is debatable whether the Tale Teller is manipulating, or being manipulated by, language. Darkness of the brain is desirable, because like darkness of the womb, it is the precondition for creation. The idea of night as the source of generation derives from the Bible, where night is the state before creation, and God must invoke light in order to create. Generation invokes mother, which brings in the rhetoric of birth: ideas are conceived (which puns neatly as "to think" and as "to produce"), midwives deliver interpretations, and writers are parents who do not recognize their own offspring. The passage moves from parent to child as propagation also triggers "seed," which sets off another metaphor: writing as agronomy. At this point the original image of attractive obscurity is totally lost, and the positive aspects of conception are perverted: because seeds grow unpredictably, just as interpretations do, parents are made impotent by their inability to control their products. The reader keeps up with this ongoing drive, often at greater pains to assimilate each piece before the next one comes, than to locate the Tale Teller's sense and respond to it. The same disjointed effect occurs when association structures the shape of Tale Teller's narrative, but associative narrative is easier to comprehend than associative

< previous page

page_89

next page >

< previous page

page_90

next page > Page 90

metaphor if only because the pace is slower; a discussion of oratorical heights turns into a discussion of stage productions, which leads to Grub Street productions (i.e., pamphlets), and rambles on to Grub Street, Gresham's College, Will's coffeehouse, and so on (6364). Just as compound metaphors can lead the Tale Teller astray, so can complex metaphors in which an idea is exemplified by more than two signifiers: Or Secondly, which is indeed the choicer, the profounder, and politer Method, to get a thorough Insight into the Index, by which the whole Book is governed and turned, like Fishes by the Tail. For, to enter the Palace of Learning at the great Gate, requires an Expence of Time and Forms; therefore Men of much Haste and little Ceremony, are content to get in by the Back-Door. For, the Arts are all in a flying March, and therefore more easily subdued by attacking them in the Rear. Thus Physicians discover the State of the whole Body, by consulting only what comes from Behind. Thus Men catch Knowledge by throwing their Wit on the Posteriors of a book, as Boys do Sparrows with flinging Salt upon their Tails. Thus Human Life is best understood by the wise man's Rule of Regarding the End. Thus are the Sciences found like Hercules's Oxen, by tracing them Backwards. Thus are old Sciences unravelled like old Stockings, by beginning at the Foot. (145) The compulsive play on the idea of "end" is almost pathological, like the linguistic energy of Tourette's syndrome that Oliver Sacks describes in "Witty Ticcy Ray." 79 The initial metaphor, that books and fish are controlled by their respective ends, is inexact, but it serves its purpose to set off a series of "ends": not only "end'' as a source of control, but "end" as expediency, "end" as vulnerable spot, "end" as posterior, "end" as death, and so on. This pile up of "ends" adds more and more information until the text is overloaded with meaning. According to Steiner, even without these various metaphorical incarnations, the repetition of "end" itself would produce excess meaning: "Occuring at successive moments in time, even repetition guarantees no logically neutral equivalence. Thus language generatesgrammar permitting, one would want to say 'language is'a surplus of meaning" (280). This textual overcoding differs from the associational overload, because instead of moving from one metaphor to the next, the Tale Teller takes one idea and shows it in as many

< previous page

page_90

next page >

< previous page

page_91

next page > Page 91

guises as possible: it is a vertical motion, which creates layers of parallel metaphors, rather than horizontal motion, which links different metaphors in a chain. A chain like "dark-creation-mother-offspring-seed" cannot be extrapolated here; all one would get is "end-end-end-end," because there are no connections between fish, palaces, art, flying, and doctors that lead from one to the next, other than the fact that they all revolve around the idea of "end." 80 This technique of layering metaphors has a jarring effect that associative metaphor chains lack, although both devices increase the density of a text. As layers of metaphor accrue, the Tale Teller pounds one idea over and over again, until it collapses; he is like the child who repeats a word so often that that word no longer retains any significance.81 This type of overcoding is another manifestation of his cataloguing impulse, and in the Tale Teller's eagerness to be complete, no image is developed fully: no one example of "end" acquires the wholeness of "mother," with its affiliated rhetoric of "midwivery," "conceive,'' and so on. As a result, the reader is forced to assimilate a lot of disjointed information quickly, and as carelessly as the Tale Teller has presented it. The rapid sequencing of layered images usually prohibits the development of the argument that it intends to substantiate because the evidence cannot be satisfactorily summed up, and consequently, it cannot establish a basis for further advocacy or analysis.82 While metaphors combine words with similar signifieds, in parody one set of signifieds is modeled on an existing complementary set; in other words, parody sets up parallels where metaphor strains toward fusion.83 Although he is sensitive to the ways that other people use language, Swift does not parody their rhetoric well. Instead, his plays on authorial rhetoric are sarcastic deflations of meaning; when he cannot appropriate their rhetoric through definition, Swift pounds it into meaninglessness, as in the case of "free-thinking" in An Abstract of Mr. Collins's Discourse on Free-Thinking: It may be objected, that the Bulk of Mankind is as well qualified for flying as thinking, and, if every Man thought it his Duty to think freely, and trouble his Neighbour with his Thoughts (which is an essential Part of Free-thinking,) it would make wild work in the World. I answer; whoever cannot think freely, may let it alone if he

< previous page

page_91

next page >

< previous page

page_92

next page > Page 92

pleases, by virtue of his Right to think freely; that is to say, if such a Man freely thinks that he cannot think freely, of which every Man is a sufficient Judge, why then he need not think freely, unless he thinks fit. (IV:38) Despite his uncanny ability to recognize the verbal tics of authors, Swift's parodies generally fail because the psychology of other speakers eludes him. Swift occasionally compensates for his ineptness by explicating the parody, which he does in the preface to the Tale, where he comments on what he intended as a comic takeoff on Dryden and L'Estrange (7). While these explanations are illuminating, they effectively eliminate any rhetorical impact that the parody might have had. Even when Swift does achieve some parody of voice, with the persona of M. Baudrier in A New Journey to Paris, the loving laughter usually associated with parody turns derisive; parody invariably becomes caricature in Swift. Given his difficulty with assuming other voices, it is not surprising that Swift's authorial personae have the same voice, and the same calm, blunt delivery of preposterous notions; the Tale Teller, Gulliver, Bickerstaff, Wagstaff, and the proposers vary slightly in their awareness of the implications of their words. Only the Drapier has a distinctive voice, and this singularity indicates the difficulty that Swift had in abandoning his own voice and confining himself to another's rhetorical style. 84 Swift does, however, have a talent for parodying methodology, which accounts for his successful parodies of the conventions of epic and travel literature in Battle of the Books and Gulliver's Travels. Where generic conventions are less clearly defined, as in the essay, Swift targets dialectical strategies for comic deflation, like Boyle's technique of extrapolating grand ideas from the banal in Meditations on a Broomstick, or the manic calculation of economic proposals in A Modest Proposal. Similarly, Swift parrots Lockean theory by turning it into the manic methodology that shapes the Tale; the Tale Teller associates rapidly and repeatedly to digress from one topic to the next, or to produce intricately linked metaphors like the "night-mother-seed" and layered metaphors like "end." This parody of process in the Tale is matched by a parody of product, for the generic instability of prose narrative lays the groundwork for a parody of textuality and modern

< previous page

page_92

next page >

< previous page

page_93

next page > Page 93

literary style. Amidst the Tale's melange of encyclopedia, allegorical, and satiric elements, the Tale Teller is constantly citing modern theories about prefaces, digressions, critics, and dedications to justify (and settle) the content of his narrative, and as he follows these precepts to the letter, he inevitably exposes their fallacies (7172, 92, 130132, 145146, 208). In the hands of the Tale Teller, these devices show that the conventions of booksauthor, plot, imagery, print, and pageare incoherent, if not absurd. The result is a book that makes fun of books, a crumbling textuality that plays on the reader's expectations of books and invariably disappoints them. 85 All of these methods of encoding texts add new dimensions of meaning by relying on and playing with the similarity between signifiers, signifieds, contexts, or any combination thereof. While a striking similarity reveals the author's clever intellect and adds energy to a text, every coding mechanism must also maintain a degree of difference; codes are destroyed without difference, because only one message is relayed, not two or more. Although the Tale Teller prefers to ignore distinctions, even he is aware that differences are necessary to sustain rhetorical tropes. His account of the hieroglyph for critics illustrates the rise of a metaphor due to the recognition of similarity, and its fall due to the collapse of difference: IT well deserves considering, that these Antient Writers in treating Enigmatically upon the Subject, have generally fixed upon the very same Hieroglyph, varying only the Story according to their Affections or their Wit. For first: Pausanias is of [the] Opinion, that the Perfection of Writing correct was entirely owing to the Institution of Criticks; and, that he can possibly mean no other than the True Critick, is, I think, manifest enough from the following Description. He says, They were a Race of Men, who delighted to nibble at the Superfluities, and Excrescencies of Books; which the Learned at length observing, took Warning of their own Accord, to lop the Luxuriant, the Rotten, the Dead, the Sapless, and the Overgrown Branches from their Works. But now, all this he cunningly shades under the following Allegory; that the Nauplians in Argia, learned the Art of pruning their Vines, by observing, that when an ASS had browsed upon one of them, it thrived better, and bore fairer Fruit. But Herodotus holding the very same Hieroglyph, speaks much plainer, and almost in terminis.

< previous page

page_93

next page >

< previous page

page_94

next page > Page 94

. . . Herodotus tells us expressly in another place, how a vast army of Scythians was put to flight in a Panick Terror, by the Braying of an ASS. From hence it is conjectured by certain profound Philologers, that the great Awe and Reverence paid to a True Critick, by the Writers of Britain, have been derived to Us, from those our Scythian ancestors. In short, this Dread was so universal, that in process of Time, those Authors who had a mind to publish their Sentiments more freely, in describing the True Criticks of their several Ages, were forced to leave off the use of the former Hieroglyph, as too nearly approaching the Prototype, and invented other Terms instead thereof that were more cautious and mystical. (9899) 86 The Tale Teller reads these passages from Pausanias and Herodotus metaphorically, and although they were assuredly meant literally, this is one of the rare times that the Tale Teller reads incorrectly and his reading makes sense. However, what is most interesting about the critic-as-ass metaphor is the conclusion that the authors derive from it: the hieroglyph is dangerous if it merges with its prototype, for metaphor only reveals the truth in the transition between its components. The danger of collapsing a metaphor is twofold: not only is the truth lost by the failure to make a comparison, but by literalizing the figurative aspect of metaphor, the literal source of the metaphor may be lost as well. (For Swift, these are also the fallacies of transubstantiation, as Peter vehemently insists that his bread is meat and wine [116118]). When language users cannot or will not see the multiplicative signification of words, metaphors disintegrate, and stupidity, if not outright madness, sets in. In the case of the hieroglyph, any insight from the comparison of critic and ass behavior is lost as the substitution of terms replaces the comparison of terms; the original sense of critic is diminished because all of the critic's non-ass attributes disappear. It becomes absurd to talk about critics as anything but asses, and eventually, they are not critics any more. Concluding a chapter on the methods of coding in Swift is seemingly impossibleit means closing texts that are open, limiting possibilities in works that refuse to stay still. Communication never stops in Swift; conversation continues as a monologue if it must, but most often as a dialogue or as a trialogue between Swift, his narrator, and

< previous page

page_94

next page >

< previous page

page_95

next page > Page 95

the reader. The multiplicity of voices in a Swiftian text crowd about the words, trying to determine and appropriate meaning, which results in linguistic revolution, and continuous textual evaluation. 87 This metamorphosizing language fits no particular time, which allows it to transcend time; it is a language that speaks to posterity. A stable language, on the other hand, keeps its primary definitions intact over time, but its connotations are bound to a particular era of usage, so that the preferred set of connotations of a given time is inevitably perceived as anachronism elsewhere. By toying with language, Swift sacrifices lexical certainty so that his work remains active and alive; his language demands reader engagement, which constantly renews the text. Only when the reader closes the book is Swift prevented from reaching his present and future audiences. Besides the lure of posterity, the assertion of authority is the other major motive for Swift's perpetual linguistic motion. As Steiner writes, "Language is the main instrument of man's refusal to accept the world as it is," and Swift's language always refashions the world according to his desires.88 Swift cannot resist exercising authority over and through language, and he assumes power by shaping words and their meanings as well as by manipulating readers with his words. The former is most clearly manifested in his obsessive punning, in Swift's "look at what I can do" attitude that moves beyond meaning to acts of pure showmanship. Swift uses language as a child would, and for the same reasons: to get attention, to appropriate adult language with its standardized forms, and for the sheer fun of it. Similarly, the rhetoric of reversal is a rhetoric of authority, and Swift's delight in maneuvering the reader is apparent in every imbalanced usage, and through every locution that forces the reader to acknowledge the unwritten to discern Swift's meaning. Swift knew all too well that "language is never innocent: words have a second-order memory which mysteriously persists in the midst of new meanings," and he used every one of those accessory meanings to his advantage.89 Even Swift's narratorial personae manifest his need to assert authority, for as he adopts his opponents' identities, he creates overpowering caricatures that expose his enemies from within. Since the motives for Swift's linguistics are often implicit in his work, I have focused on his rhetorical process instead; I have imposed

< previous page

page_95

next page >

< previous page

page_96

next page > Page 96

categories on Swift's methods to examine how he creates his texts, and how he encodes meaning(s) in his works. To order such fertile disorder does not seem quite just, and perhaps only an equally vertiginous commentary would be the appropriate answer. Nevertheless, I hope that my order has encapsulated his disorder, or at least the latent organization behind his chaos. The primary difficulty in determining Swift's strategies lies in the duplicity of language, for every coding mechanism invokes its opposite: signifiers imply signifieds; lexical constructs trigger contextual ones; inclusion leads to exclusion, similarity to difference, overcoding to undercoding. Rhetorical tropes are the sum of their locations on these spectra of possibilities. By suppressing the incremental variations between these polarities, Swift creates a rhetoric of extremes that hails and deplores the protean nature of language. For as language is a series of dichotomies, so is Swift's response to it; language is Swift's playground and his hell. Swift was torn between the competing claims of linguistic order and creativity, and he attempted to validate each with the other: linguistic standards provided the material for creative deviation, just as creative license reinforced the need for the sanity of standards. Appropriately, Swift skews his texts both to extend and limit the range of meaning; Swift liberally distorts language to provoke a conservative response from the reader. Multiple coding runs the risk of misconstruction for the chance of creating stunning effects: not only does multiple coding let Swift flaunt his quicksilver intelligence, but like perspective in painting, it adds depth to the representation of experience. Although lexical play can lead to tedium rather than insight, the doubling mechanism comes closer to relating the amorphousness of experience (and to account for the varied reception of language) than does the unidefinitional use of terms. By grappling with meanings that interact, modify, and often contradict each other, the reader learns how to read texts, and life, creatively, curiously, skepticallyand accurately. Swift's Tale is the ultimate rhetoric of nonsense and ordera list of things not to do to language, except in jest or in the circumscribed madness of play. When linguistic creativity leaves the arena of play, the repercussions are severe; Swift mandates linguistic order to avoid the abuses of learning and religion and to eliminate the individual's

< previous page

page_96

next page >

< previous page

page_97

next page > Page 97

misunderstanding of the relationship between sound and sense. Yet more than any other of Swift's works, the Tale raises the intellectual ante by questioning linguistic order itself: for if one recognizes madness in the consensus use of language, then where does one find a properor at least a sanelinguistic standard? While the moderns provide a linguistics and stylistics, it is (in Swift's eyes) mad; Swift must rely on his own linguistic standards, but not without fear of lapsing into a different type of madness.

< previous page

page_97

next page >

< previous page

page_98

next page > Page 98

3 From Here to Eternity: The Preservation of Encoded Meaning The collapse of metaphor, exemplified by the indistinguishability of critics and asses, points to the larger problem of maintaining the assignment of meaning. After textual meaning has been encoded, the writer has relatively little control over two variables that effect the reception of his work: the reader's interpretation of the text and linguistic evolution. Swift's responses to readers, and Swift's own methods of reading, will be dealt with in the next chapter; here I will focus on Swift's troubled strategies to safeguard his language in his own time and for posterity. Swift demonstrates the mechanics of linguistic progression throughout his satires, for as his characters tinker with the assignment of meaning, they invariably alter standard vocabulary so that words gain or lose meaning(s). The reverberations of this linguistic play reflect both the synchronic and diachronic nature of language: the text encapsulates the state of language at one point of its perpetual change. Even if a work avoids misprints and erroneous editions (which was rare in the eighteenth century), 1 linguistic evolution outside a text changes the valence of linguistic cues in the text. As a result, Swift's works acquire significations and connotations that Swift could not anticipate, and meaning is obscured as the reader supplies contemporary signifieds for Swift's signifiersor worse, the historically bound nature of Swift's language could alter through changes in common usage, rendering some of his work unintelligible. Swift's consciousness of becoming part of an ever-receding past

< previous page

page_98

next page >

< previous page

page_99

next page > Page 99

cannot be underestimated, and his poetry and prose are littered with references to the future, as if he were pleading to be noticed and validated by future generations: When you write any more Poetry do me honor, mention me in it: tis the common Request of Tully and Pliny to the great Authors of their Age; and I will contrive it so, that Pr. Posterity shall know I was favored by the Men of Witt in my Time. (Swift to Ambrose Philips, 30 November 1709, Corres. I:154) An Act of Oblivion would be for the Honour of our Nation, and beget a better Opinion of us with Posterity; and then I might have spared the World and my self the Trouble of Examining. (Examiner 23, III:59) Posterity will be at a loss to conceive what kind of Spirit could possess their Ancestors, who after ten Years Suffering, by the unexampled Politicks of a Nation, maintaining a War by annually Pawning it self. (Conduct of the Allies, VI:18) Lord Bolingbroke has had my papers these six weeks, and done nothing to them. Is Tisdall yet in the world? I propose writing controversies, to get a name with posterity. (Journal to Stella, 569) Therefore, as I pretend to write with the utmost impartiality, the following History of the four last years of her Majesty's reign, in order to undeceive prejudiced persons at present, as well as posterity; I am persuaded in my own mind, as likewise by the advice of my oldest and wisest friends, that I am doing my duty to God and man by endeavouring to set future ages right in their judgment of that happy reign. (Preface to History of the Four Last Years of Queen Anne, VII:xxxiv) Suppose me dead; and then suppose A club assembled at the Rose; Where from discourse of this and that, I grow the subject of their chat: And, while they toss my name about, With favour some, and some without; One quite indifferent in the cause, My character impartial draws. . . . Verses on the Death of Dr. Swift (1739) (ll.299306) The desire for fame seems a bit desperate and self-righteous; it is a compensatory fantasy of self-justification, designed to combat the

< previous page

page_99

next page >

< previous page

page_100

next page > Page 100

transience of existence. 2 While Swift demands recognition of his talent, he insists that the ultimate validation of his abilities is for his works to be venerated through the ages.3 Accordingly, his personality requires a politics of posterity in which linguistic stability is crucial to translate his literature, and himself, through time. What aggravates Swift's concerns about his reputation with posterity is the modern sense of time. Bacon's notion of progress had replaced the myth of a previous, lost golden age with a vision of an attainable golden age in the future. Mankind surges forward so that speed and newness acquire the importance that previously was accorded to the achievements of the past. As if to underline this break with history, Bacon reinterpreted temporal sequence as well by positing that the moderns were in fact "ancient" and knowledgeable because they,not the Greeks and Romans, lived in the old age of the world.4 Such a vision of time blurs the distinctions between past, present and future, and by doing so, confuses history and narrative order by seemingly placing all events on a level, in an everlasting present.5 For Swift, these modern notions of time are disastrous, for they rob him of the means of literary transcendence. Modern time invalidates the assessment of posterity, just as it ignores the standards of the past; since all occurs within the parameters of the present, there is no accountability beyond the moment.6 Each minute asserts its primacy, so that neoterism becomes a means to assert one's literary prerogative, while content and style are of secondary importance: "That great and honourable Privilege of being the Last Writer; I claim an absolute Authority in Right, as the freshest Modern, which gives me a Despotick Power over all Authors before me" (Tale, 130). The tyranny of the new inevitably overcomes the printed page, which is fixed in time and space, and consequently, it overcomes the author as well. The rate of linguistic evolution naturally increases as novelty becomes the criterion for excellence, which leads to literature becoming unintelligible even faster than before. Modern language is truly timeless, for it lacks the power to last through time: language can only capture the moment that it occurs and none other. By writing for

< previous page

page_100

next page >

< previous page

page_101

next page > Page 101

the moment, an author cannot possibly maintain a linguistic or a literary standard; vocabulary can easily evolve within a text because the beginning of a text is written at a different time from the middle, the middle from the end, and so forth. 7 The decay of vocabulary can even occur within a paragraph, as in the previous chapter's discussion of ''end," which accumulates connotations with such rapidity that the term is overcharged with meaning; inevitably and paradoxically, "end" falls into meaninglessness by the time the Tale Teller stops playing with it. When time is accelerated, language can only collide with meaning rather than contain it.8 This Swiftian vision of incessant, destructive linguistic change ultimately approaches pathos, for the line of communication between the present and the future frays and eventually disintegrates, as demonstrated by the poignant state of the Struldbruggs in Gulliver's Travels: "The Language of this Country being always upon the Flux, the Struldbruggs of one Age do not understand those of another; neither are they able after two Hundred Years to hold any Conversation (farther than a few general Words) with their Neighbors the Mortals; and thus they lye under the Disadvantage of living like Foreigners in their own Country" (XI:213). The time frame of two hundred years is telling, for the language of 1526, two hundred years before the publication of Gulliver, was radically archaic in Swift's time.9 Similarly, the idiom of the King James Bible (1611) and the Book of Common Prayer (1563), which could justifiably be considered standard English by virtue of their national distribution, was still comprehensible but impossibly dated for literary purposes. Swift accents the rapidity of linguistic evolution in Tatler 230, as he claims: "If a Man of Wit, who died Forty Years ago were to rise from the Grave on Purpose; how would he be able to read this Letter?" (II:175), and in his Proposal for Correcting the English Tongue, he argues that fifty years is sufficient for confusion to set in (IV:10). Given the protean history of the English language, Swift could not anticipate that English would stabilize through the use of dictionaries (especially Johnson's in 1755), and through the economics of the publishing industry, which would target ever-larger audiences and eventually nationalize the reading market.10 Consequently, Swift had no way

< previous page

page_101

next page >

< previous page

page_102

next page > Page 102

of knowing that the people who spoke English two hundred years after Gulliver's Travels, in 1926 and beyond, would still be able to comprehend him as he wished to be comprehended. Swift's alarmist tendencies regarding language and time are not completely misplaced given the nature of his art. Of all the literary genres, satire is the most securely fixed in time; satire depends on the audience's knowledge of topical information and on the recognition of contemporary linguistic nuance. Obviously Swift cannot stake his claim to eternal fame if his satire cannot transcend its temporal limitations, and linguistic evolution clearly hinders his chances of success. Thus, the battle for linguistic containment must be fought, although it is hopeless to struggle against the inevitability of time and the inconstancy of human nature, the main causes of linguistic evolution. Swift's primary strategy to translate himself through time is to propose a public linguistic authority. For Swift the chaos of the many (be it languages, political parties, or religions) can only be resolved, or contained, by the dominance of one; a single authority can impose order, which allows individuals to locate themselves in a hierarchy of value, as well as to evaluate others. Of course, this invocation of authority only works if the public consents, for simply establishing an institution or an individual to make linguistic determinations is insufficient to ensure the adoption of a new linguistic. But assuming that one can ensure allegiance to such an authority, as Swift is willing to do, it then becomes possible to determine a standard language. The benefits of a standard language are considerable: a criterion that would justify current linguistic usage (and thereby substantiate one's own work); the stabilization of language, which makes posterity accessible; the adjudication of linguistic issues, which could improve English, not just steady it; and, for a satirist, a linguistic model to subvert for literary purposes. By forwarding such a project, Swift essentially seeks an external authority to bolster his internal authority over his texts in his own time, and for all time. That linguistic prescriptivism reconfigures the politics of language toward repression, if not censorship, was not disturbing to Swift, for he saw authority as a necessary solution to a desperate state of affairs. Nor did most of Swift's contemporaries object to the

< previous page

page_102

next page >

< previous page

page_103

next page > Page 103

prerogatives of a standard linguistic authority, although they did argue as to who merited being trusted with that power. What ultimately undermined this project was the verbal criteria themselves; it is useless to have the authority to inculcate standards if one cannot establish what those standards are or should be, and neither Swift nor his peers were able to develop a coherent system of linguistic value. They repeatedly describe good language and literature in vague, amorphous terms that suggest a hierarchy of merit without defining or assessing it. The justification of linguistic (and consequently, literary) value flounders as functional and aesthetic arguments are proffered and abandoned; for every potential rule there are a host of situations that are exceptions because they rely on linguistic deviation for their effects. Because language itself does not suggest a unitary system of value, linguistic prescriptivism must fail; language is a contextual construct that resists codification, and as a result, evaluation beyond the broadest discriminations is not possible. Swift does not abandon the notion of linguistic authority, although he eventually realizes that a public institution, like an academy, is not a viable way to harness the power of language. Instead Swift grudgingly concedes the hegemony of the individual writer. The malleability of language makes this concession both necessary and difficult, for Swift cannot prevent language from being mangled by others, which can lead to consensus changes that can alter the reception of his own work. Of course, like every other writer, Swift sustains his own linguistic criteria, which he generally follows in his published writings (though not in his private ones), and which he uses to evaluate other authors. However, these criteria never achieved any significant impact on English usage. Swift's failure to attain influence partly stems from the idiosyncrasy of his linguistic analysis; Swift gets lost in the details, venting his pet peeves rather than taking on the larger issues at hand. But what truly disables his analysis is his inclination toward negative prescription. After reading Swift, a writer knows what kind of language to avoid, but there is no guidance as to what kind of rhetoric is appropriate to use. Fortunately for Swift, his inability to function as a public linguistic authority and his inadequate theorizing about language never impinge upon his own assertions of textual authority. Ironically, what

< previous page

page_103

next page >

< previous page

page_104

next page > Page 104

Swift cannot articulate about language is the essence of his art: it is the unspoken strategies that enliven Swift's prose that maintain his textual and authorial autonomy. As noted earlier, Swift's codings, particularly the rhetorics of literalism and reversal, efficiently manipulate the reader's reading; in fact, the reader often feels their impact most when these mechanisms are least enunciated. Through his subversive dexterity with language, Swift not only achieves the literary transcendence he so desired, but he acquires an authority that he cannot fully explain. In Dubious Battle: Swift's Linguistic Program According to Swift the need to stabilize language was becoming more and more imperative, for in modern hands both language and literature were admitting larger and larger measures of gibberish. Swift's formal strategies to combat this ongoing degeneration of English were stated in Tatler 230 (1710), A Proposal for Correcting, Improving and Ascertaining the English Tongue (1712), Letter to a Young Gentleman Lately Entered into Holy Orders (1720), and Hints Towards An Essay on Conversation (date uncertain); and were suggested in his comic satires, especially Gulliver's Travels (1726) and Polite Conversation (1738). Swift felt that English was kept in a state of perpetual change and decline by four errors in usage: improper spelling, the tendency to abbreviate, the prevalence of jargon, and the importation of foreign words into English. He argued that if these practices could be eliminated, through the work of an academy or a censor or individual writers, linguistic devolution would subside, and literature would endure. Yet considering the importance that Swift accorded to combating linguistic evolution and devolution, these linguistic solutions are minor and not very astute. At best his comments provide a rudimentary outline of a standard language and a plain style prose. Invariably, Swift is far better at diagnosing linguistic problems than at prescribing cures for them. 11 For the printed page to transmit meaning, words must be recognizable, and the standardization of spelling was the first step toward ensuring the transmission of a text. In some sense the spelling form did not matter as much as choosing an orthography and following

< previous page

page_104

next page >

< previous page

page_105

next page > Page 105

it consistently. English orthography had essentially settled by the beginning of the eighteenth century, 12 yet there was resistance to the standard spelling because it did not reflect the way English sounded. Phonetic spelling was promoted partly by the educational practices of the time and by textbooks like Thomas Dyche's popular Guide to the English Tongue (1707), which emphasized the relationship between sound and the printed word.13 Students were encouraged to sound out words that they did not recognize in the hopes of achieving comprehension aurally instead of visually. Of course, if words do not look the way they sound, this device is useless. To compensate for the deviation between spelling and pronunciation, students were taught to spell words according to the harshest pronunciation possible, as in John Jones's Practical Phonography (1701): That all Words which can be sounded several ways, must be written according to the harshest, longest, and most unusual Sound. Which is an universal Rule, without any exception (that I can find) in the English Tongue; if you consider Easiness [of pronunciation] which is the leading Cause of the Change of the Sounds of Words, as the main thing that causes the Alteration [of spelling]. (6) Jones develops rules for recognizing the harshest sound and then lists the various typographical conventions for each sound, with special sections on double consonants, when to use a final e, and so on. While Jones's book was not a striking success, these notions about pronunciation and spelling were successfully inculcated in the eighteenth century by Isaac Watts, whose Art of Reading and Writing English was reprinted at least eleven times after its initial printing in 1721.14 More radical proponents of phonetic spelling argued that letters should be added to the alphabet, so that each sound could be represented by only one letter. An unidentified "G.W." writes in Magazine (1703) that English should borrow letters from Greek and Hebrew to signify sounds that are represented by two English letters (especially dipthongized consonantal sounds like th, sh, and so on).15 Spellings that reflect etymology should be discarded completely: "But why should phrase be spell'd with ph and s and not f and z? Because you say its Original is a Greek word: But it hath been long enough freely us'd amongst us, that it may claim prescription for a License to put on the English garb."16 By transposing the typography of existing

< previous page

page_105

next page >

< previous page

page_106

next page > Page 106

letters, G.W. creates a representative thirty-four letter alphabetand unwittingly provides a comic commentary on the entire project with his omission of the letter "L." Swift railed against phonetic spelling in the Proposal for Correcting the English Tongue: Another Cause . . . which hath contributed not a little to the maiming of our Language, is a foolish Opinion, advanced of late Years, that we ought to spell exactly as we speak; which beside the obvious Inconvenience of utterly destroying our Etymology, would be a Thing we should never see an End of. Not only the several Towns and Counties of England, have a different Way of pronouncing; but even here in London, they clip their Words after one Manner about the Court, another in the City, and a third in the Suburbs; and in a few Years, it is probable, will all differ from themselves, as Fancy or Fashion shall direct: All which reduced to Writing, would entirely confound Orthography. [It would be just as wise to shape our Bodies to our Cloathes and not our Cloathes to our Bodyes.] (IV:11; brackets in original) 17 For Swift, phonetic spelling cannot possibly achieve greater literacy for it threatens the very existence of English. By relying on local, idiosyncratic pronunciation to determine spelling practices, phonetic spelling, like associative thinking, undermines linguistic consensus.18 While Swift predicts a proliferation of phonetic English spellings, he could (and should) have pushed the implications of linguistic divisiveness further: the variation of spellings would encourage, if not eventually establish, separate languages.19 To exist as a nation, the British would have no recourse but to impose a national language (or two), which would involve considerable effort to implement as well as developing a justifiable criterion for determining which regional English(es) would become the national language. This situation is more common, and more politically charged than one would expect; in the twentieth century, the issue of a national language continues to exacerbate tensions among the social and ethnic groups in China and India. The mangling of etymology, Swift's other objection to phonetic spelling, yields equally disastrous results. Greek, Latin, German and French are not phonetic, and by instituting phonetic English, the definitional clues that these languages provide English readers would

< previous page

page_106

next page >

< previous page

page_107

next page > Page 107

be lost. 20 The phonetic abandonment of etymology would destroy future linguistic continuity, for etymology helps structure words as they enter English, as Swift's own practice of creating neologisms shows. Phonetic spelling would also wreak havoc on homonyms, whose differently spelled signifiers avoid the confusion that is caused by their similarity in sound. While context can separate homonyms to reveal their meanings, the potential collapsing of definitions is enormous.21 Swift never swerved from his advocacy of proper spelling, and he edited his published works to follow the formal standards of his time: "In preparing a revision of his earlier works for the printer he deliberately wrote out the contractions tho and 'tis wherever they occurred in the copy and allowed the printer to substitute i for y in words like carryed, allyes, Toryes."22 Swift's correspondence, however, reveals an eclectic orthography coupled with an intolerance for the spelling errors of his correspondents. Stella suffered the brunt of his criticism, which was alternately teasing ("But who are those Wiggs that think I am turned Tory? Do you mean Whigs? Which Wiggs and wat do you mean?" Journal, 85) and pedantic: Here is a full and true account of Stella's new spelling. Plaguely,Plaguily Dineing,Dining Straingers,Strangers Chais,Chase Waist,Wast Houer,Hour Immagin,Imagine A bout,About Intellegence,Intelligence Aboundance,Abundance Merrit,Merit Secreet,Secret Phamphlets,Pamphlets Bussiness,Business

< previous page

page_107

next page >

< previous page

page_108

next page > Page 108

Tell me truly, sirrah, how many of these are mistakes of the pen, and how many are you to answer for as real ill spelling? There are but fourteen; I said twenty by guess. You must not be angry, for I will have you spell right, let the world go how it will. Though after all, there is but a mistake of one letter in any of these words. I allow you henceforth but six false spellings in every letter you send me. (Journal, 392393) Swift's mocking annoyance was surely an expression of his sense of responsibility for Stella's education; because he was her former tutor, Stella's performance was a reflection upon himself. Yet by chastising a correspondent by providing a list of corrections (and including a warning against future errors), Swift reveals a hypersensitivity to the printed word that borders on compulsive behavior. Stella's mistakes tend to run the gamut: double versus single consonants, final e versus no e, vowel substitutionsall of which the spelling books tried to address but could not sufficiently codify. Often these variant spellings were countenanced by textbooks; Watts includes a table "of words that may be spell'd different ways, which are not easily reduc'd to any rules" which has entries like "alom, allum, alum," "examin, examine," and ''orchard, hort-yard" (121124). Swift's proffered excuses, that these mistakes may only be slips of the pen and that Stella usually errs by one letter, could not have been much consolation to Stella, for they are barely concealed accusations of ignorance and indifference. With a stipulated limit of six errors per letter, and a recipient who would monitor and censure her, Stella could not have found writing to Swift to be an easy task. 23 The real danger in Stella's misspelling is the potential for perpetuating the wrong form; even with his knowledge of standard spelling, Swift gets confused by the plethora of variant spellings: Pray let us have no more Bussiness, but Busyness: the Deuse take me if I know how to spell it, your wrong spelling, Madam Stella, has put me out: it does not look right; let me see, Bussiness, Busyness, Business, Bisyness, Bisness, Bysness; faith, I know not which is right, I think the second; I believe I never writ the word in my life before; yes sure I must though; Business, Busyness, Bisyness. I have perplexed myself, and can't do it. Prithee ask [Archdeacon] Walls. Business, I fancy that's right. Yes it is; I looked in my own pamphlet, and found it twice in ten lines, to convince you that I never writ it

< previous page

page_108

next page >

< previous page

page_109

next page > Page 109

before. Oh, now I see it as plain as can be; so yours is only an s too much. (Journal, 426) Spelling cannot be determined by subjective evaluationwhat looks right or what sounds right cannot justify spelling, however tempting these criteria may be; knowing this, Swift turns to the only reasonably objective authority available, the printed page. Yet like Stella's "business," certain words were chronic problems for Swift, like Lord Bolingbroke's name, which appears in the Journal as "Bulingbrook," "Bullinbrook," ''Bolinbroke," and "Bolinbrokle." 24 Swift often spelled words in many ways within the same letter, and in a March 1712/13 letter to Andrew Fountaine, Swift spelled "boldness" correctly and incorrectly ("bouldnesse") within the same sentence.25 Accordingly, one would expect Swift to object to abbreviations and elisions, for like incorrect spelling, the truncation of words alters the form of common signifiers, and thereby complicates communication needlessly. Yet while Swift does disapprove of clipping words, his objection primarily rests on aesthetic rather than on functional grounds: These Gentlemen [poets], although they could not be insensible how much our Language was already overstocked with Monosyllables, yet to save Time and Pains, introduced that barbarous Custom of abbreviating Words, to fit them to the Measure of their Verses; and this they have frequently done, so very injudiciously, as to form such harsh unharmonious Sounds, that none but a Northern Ear could endure. They have joined the most obdurate Consonants, without one intervening Vowel, only to shorten a Syllable: And their Taste in Time became so depraved, that what was at first a poetical Licence, not to be justified, they made their Choice; alledging, that the Words pronounced at length, sounded faint and languid. This was a Pretence to take up the same Custom in Prose; . . . Instances of this Abuse are innumerable: What does your Lordship think of the Words, Drudg'd, Disturb'd, Rebuk'd, Fledg'd, and a Thousand others. (Proposal for Correcting the English Tongue, IV:11) There is an intellectual sloppiness here that Swift finds abhorrent, but he knows that readers will not be completely confused by "drudg'd," "disturb'd," "rebuk'd," and "fledg'd"; or even by "Phizz, Hipps, Mobb, Pozz, [and] Rep," the abbreviations he disparagingly lists in

< previous page

page_109

next page >

< previous page

page_110

next page > Page 110

Tatler 230 (II:175). As elisions and abbreviations coexist with their untruncated forms, the original words and their etymological roots are not so obscured that they become inaccessible. Consequently, functional objections fail, for these forms do not ruin the fabric of English as phonetic spelling can. Clearly what irritates Swift is the "harsh, unharmonious" sounds of colliding consonants and clipped syllables. 26 His sensitivity to the fullness of sound is, of course, related to his punning instinct, his word games, and the little language; it is also a reflection of the contemporary preference for liquid, Latinate, "Southern" language. Dryden had complained about English being "full of Monosyllables, and those clog'd with consonants,"27 while Pope offered similar sentiments about the thudding sound of monosyllables in his Essay on Criticism: "While Expletives their feeble Aid do join, / And ten low Words oft creep in one dull Line" (ll. 344347).28 But it was Addison who remonstrated loudly against the truncating style of "late years'' in Spectator 135, where he criticized the closing of "ed" in the past tense; contractions such as "mayn't, can't, sha'n't, wo'n't"; and jargon abbreviations, such as "mob. rep. pos. incog. and the like" (II:3334).29 This aural aesthetic is abetted by a visual aesthetic, and as English crumbles on the page, Swift sarcastically remarks in Tatler 230, "Some Words are hitherto but fairly split; and therefore only in their Way to Perfection; as Incog. and Plenipo's: But in a short time, it is to be hoped, they will be further docked to Inc and Plen" (II:175176).30 As the "Northern" instinct for hard sounds combines with the modern impulse for speed, English will continue to regress rather than strive toward an elegance of sound and sense. Yet once again Swift's private and public practices diverge, as a typical letter to Stella readily shows: He askt me one day at Court, when I had been just talking with some Lds, who stood near me, Dr, when shll we see you in the County of Meath, I whisprd him to take care wht he sd, for the People would think he was some Barbarian. He nevr would speak to me since, till we mett to day. I went to Ldy Mashams to night, & sate with Ld Treasr & the Secrty there till past 2 a clock, and when I came home, found some letters from Ireld. (Journal, 486)

< previous page

page_110

next page >

< previous page

page_111

next page > Page 111

Swift elides vowels frequently, as "shll," "whisprd," "wht,'' "sd," and "nevr" attest. Swift does not avoid using standard abbreviations, as "Ld," "Ldy," and "Dr" make clear; and trendy abbreviations, like "pozz" and "pleniptyes," also turn up in the Journal (312, 645). Curiously, he does not eliminate terminal syllables completely but cuts out phonemes instead: his abbreviation for "the Secretary" is not "the Sec" (and it could not be the "the Secret"); it is "Secrty." And Swift generates his share of odd consonantal combinations, like "sr" in "Ld Treasr" and "sprd" in "whisprd," which are not normally found in English. Neither abbreviation nor elision creates a vocabulary that is substantially different from standard English to be established as a separate dialect; at most, they generate a jargon that is a subset of general vocabulary. Swift was very interested in the state of the vernacular, and in his letters he enjoyed showing off his knowledge of fashionable lingo, as he writes to the Reverend William Tisdall in December 1703: "I will teach you a way to outwit Mrs. Johnson: it is a new-fashioned way of being witty, and they call it a bite. You must ask a bantering question, or tell some damned lie in a serious manner, and then she will answer or speak as if you were in earnest: and then cry you, 'Madam, there's a bite' " (Corres. I:40). Often Swift draws attention to upto-date idioms by inserting a parenthetical comment: "left for good" is noted by "that's a genteel phrase" (Journal, 308); "will suffer his Acquaintance" is described as "my London Phrase" (Corres. I:127); and those who do not receive last rites "dyed hard, as the Term of Art is here" (Corres. I:285). 31 Swift's consciousness of idiom was assuredly heightened by his exposure to both Irish English and British English.32 Every time he went to England, he encountered a language that was just a bit different; so as not to appear as a colonial hick in British society, Swift needed to adapt to the fluctuations of the language quickly and completely. Once again language becomes a means of empowermentin this case, because it makes acculturation possible. All of these idioms add new definitions to existing termsunlike misspelling and abbreviation, they do not change the shape or sound of signifiers. As these reassignments of meaning change language,

< previous page

page_111

next page >

< previous page

page_112

next page > Page 112

they invigorate the rhetoric and imagery of literature; in turn, the printed page justifies a new linguistic style. Swift does not object to the reassignment of meaning, and his own writings show that he preferred to create texts by altering the standard assignment of meaning. But his liberal impulses collide with his conservative ones, for even as he prides himself for being in vogue, Swift cannot condone new language simply for the sake of its trendiness: I have never known this great Town without one or more Dunces of Figure, who had Credit enough to give Rise to some new Word, and propagate it in most Conversations; although it had neither Humour or Significancy. If it struck the present Taste, it was soon transferred into the Plays, and current Scribbles of the Week, and became an Addition to our Language; while the Men of Wit and Learning, instead of early obviating such Corruptions, were too often seduced to imitate and comply with them. (Proposal for Correcting the English Tongue, IV:10) Stupidity is a more mundane version of the creative madness that informs the Tale, and the Dunces of Figure, like the flashy modern Tale Teller, are exceedingly prolific. By tracing the path of modern linguistic legitimacy, Swift diagnoses the situation exactly: linguistic fashion establishes linguistic value, instead of the reverse. 33 As linguistic usage is determined by social pressure and the modern agenda of novelty, the true standards of linguistic value, humor and significance, inevitably erode. The moderns cannot even maintain the authority of their own modernism; since there are no reasons for their new rules or their new language, there can be no true modern authority, only a series of verbal trends that are arbitrarily chosen and inculcated at random. Swift responds by asserting the need to enforce a justifiable, traditional linguistics, as in his analysis of fashionable language in Tatler 230: The third Refinement observeable in the Letter I send you, consisteth in the Choice of certain Words invented by some pretty Fellows, such as Banter, Bamboozle, Country Put, and Kidney, as it is there applied; some of which are now struggling for the Vogue, and others are in Possession of it. I have done my utmost for some Years

< previous page

page_112

next page >

< previous page

page_113

next page > Page 113

past, to stop the Progress of Mob and Banter; but have been plainly born down by Numbers, and betrayed by those who promised to assist me. (II:176) Neologisms must be discernible based on context or etymology; to add a wholly unrelated definition to a word, or to create an ungrounded term, dismantles communication. The words on Swift's list do not have informative etymologieswith the exception of "mob" from "mobile vulgus," but "mob" has been clipped so severely that it is nearly impossible to identify the Latin source word by its remnant. The Oxford English Dictionary's entry for "banter" states that it is "of unknown etymology'' and then traces the progress of "banter" by citing Swift's comments in Tatler 230 and Tale of a Tub. 34 If the etymology was unknown in the eighteenth century as Swift's comments imply, then "banter" entered English as sound without sense; because words like "banter" have no past derivation to fix their meaning, they are left to the arbitrary whims of current usage. The term survives only if a consensus definition forms, and once that happens the assigned meaning usually accrues related definitions that stabilize it even further. If consensus does not occur, then the word disappears, leaving behind books with traces of meaning for posterity to puzzle over. "Bamboozle" and "country-put" are also parthenogenetic creations; labeled by the Oxford English Dictionary as slang, neither entry suggests an etymological source. Swift's "kidney," in its figurative sense of "temperament, nature, constitution, disposition; hence, kind, sort, class, stamp" needs no etymological explanation for its form, but the path between "kidney" as an organ and this definition is largely indecipherable. There may be some connection via medieval medicine, comparable to "spleen," which was thought to be the source of discontent, but I have not come across anything in this regard. Amidst such cryptic philogical origins and applications, the underlying problem that Swift is pointing to is the same: neologisms destroy the continuity of linguistic development. "Kidney" (and "country-put," for that matter) break away from the common definitions of their signifiers, while "banter" and "bamboozle" never establish a connection with the past at all. Swift's disapproval of this nontraditional, untraceable linguistic growth can also be measured

< previous page

page_113

next page >

< previous page

page_114

next page > Page 114

by his own publishing practices, for Swift's coinages, as discussed in chapter 2, tend to be conservative in both process and product. 35 These complaints about jargon, however justifiable, were far from timely; by 1710, the date of Tatler 230, most of these "improper" terms had been in use for at least a decade.36 These words were quickly becoming entrenched in English through an unexpected means: cant dictionaries. The public's interest in the criminal world (which would peak in 1728 with Gay's Beggar's Opera) precipitated the publication of jargon dictionaries, which translated phrases such as "Stow your wilds and plant'em" into noncolloquial English (in this case, "Be careful of what you say").37 By learning thieves' talk, citizens could recognize criminals and avoid them, as well as get the vicarious thrill of being initiated into a culture that was dangerous, daring, and illegal. The most successful compilations were William Winstanley's The new help to discourse: or wit, mirth, and jollity intermixt with more serious matters . . . (1669), which went through nine editions by 1733, and John Shirley's The Triumph of Wit . . . Containing the mystery and art of wheedling and canting (1688), which was published in eight editions by 1724.38 In general there is significant overlap in the cant dictionaries, which suggests that each author borrowed the word list of his predecessor or that there was substantial continuity in nonstandard vocabulary from 1707 through 1730.39 As for the offensive ''banter," "country-put," and "mob," they appear in B.E.'s New Dictionary of the Terms Ancient and Modern of the Canting Crew (1699?), which was the basis for at least one other canting dictionary in this period.40 Swift's last major objection about the current state of the language was the tendency of the English to import foreign words, particularly French words, into their vocabulary. Swift first faced the English preference for French in the 1690s, while translating Temple's letters; as noted previously, Temple altered his original Anglicized French so that his letters would be more polished. In the 1709 preface to Temple's Memoirs, Swift defends Temple by claiming that "upon Objections to his former Memoirs, he [Temple] blotted out some French Words in these, and plac'd English in their stead, tho' perhaps not so significant" (I:270), but clearly Swift is uncomfortable with Temple's late Francophilic prose. Swift openly disapproves of the French linguistic invasion in Tatler 230:

< previous page

page_114

next page >

< previous page

page_115

next page > Page 115

The War [of Spanish Succession, against France] hath introduced abundance of Polysyllables, which will never be able to live many more Campaigns. Speculations, Operations, Preliminaries, Ambassadors, Pallisadoes, Communication, Circumvallation, Battalions, as numerous as they are, if they attack us too frequently in our Coffee-houses, we shall certainly put them to Flight, and cut off the Rear. (II:176) As Lois Scott-Thomas writes, "many of these so called 'new' words, against which Swift waged such vigorous warfare, were already established in the language, though evidently unfamiliar to him." 41 Swift's lack of knowledge may account for the enormous discrepancy between his list and Addison's in Spectator 165; Addison devoted the entire number to "Our Warriors [who] are very Industrious in Propagating the French Language," and in his sample letter from a soldier on the front, none of Swift's words appear.42 His ignorance on this point should not disguise Swift's anxiety about foreign locutions. For Swift the integrity of the English language reflects the British national unityso much so that the importation of foreign words is tantamount to betraying one's heritage and one's country, particularly when the import is from a Catholic, nonparliamentary country like France. Swift felt that Latin and Greek were the only acceptable sources of English, and to draw upon their vocabularies was to remain within the parameters of the language. Accordingly, when Swift introduced foreign terms into English, they were usually Latin formations (like "nota bene," "ex cathedra," and "opus magnum"), which he did not consider to be truly foreign.43 Swift's stance on foreign terminology differs from the emerging pattern of his linguistic criticism in one aspect: his private practice does not deviate from the opinion articulated (and upheld) in his published works. This is not to say that Swift considered foreign terminology more of a linguistic threat than misspelling or jargon, and therefore did not even indulge himself in his personal correspondence; his private usage is not an absolute litmus test of linguistic value as much as it reflects Swift's quirky personality. Swift never comments on the inconsistencies between his public and private linguistics, probably because he did not consider himself to be incon-

< previous page

page_115

next page >

< previous page

page_116

next page > Page 116

sistent. As long as nonstandard English (phonetic spelling, abbreviations, jargon, or whatever) remained in the private sector, he considered it to be acceptable. Nonstandard English posed a threat only when writers and publishers sanctioned its use through their work, for then it had the potential of becoming standard English. Swift's remarks on spelling, abbreviations, jargon, and foreign words are not particularly sophisticated in terms of prescriptive linguistics, nor are they sufficiently developed to be a complete stylistic program. Yet these comments are the most specific within the Swift canon, and they come closest to clarifying his notions of simplicity and propriety, which are central to his linguistic and stylistic agenda. Swift's advocacy of plain language and style is articulated most famously, and most vaguely, in his Letter to a Young Gentleman Lately Entered into Holy Orders (1720); he urges his young colleague to avoid "obscure Terms," "hard Words," and the "quaint, terse, florid Style" of town talk, but Swift never gives examples in the Letter of what he portrays as morally and aesthetically offensive language (IX:6567). Consequently, Swift's remarks resound with common sense, but they give absolutely no practical guidance to a writer: he never defines "proper" in "Proper Words in proper Places, makes the true Definition of a Stile'' (IX:65), nor does he suggest how to be sure that one's thoughts and judgment are clear in "When a Man's Thoughts are clear, the properest Words will generally offer themselves first; and his own Judgment will direct him in what Order to place them, so as they may be best understood" (IX:68). 44 Even with the more specific evidence from Tatler 230 and the Proposal, the general lack of detail makes such a linguistic program difficult to define beyond the abstract notions of reason and clarity. But ultimately, Swift is not concerned with codifying proper language for specific contexts; he is interested in prescribing authorial judgment. By proffering these linguistic strategies, Swift presents a case for his version of good judgment, and more importantly, for the authorial imperative to exercise that judgment to protect textual meaning. Without authority and judgment, literature is prey to trends, to time, and to intellectual sloppinessall of which undermine literary value and prevent literary transcendence. Swift recognizes that there are other, external strategies to preserve

< previous page

page_116

next page >

< previous page

page_117

next page > Page 117

literary meaning, although he does not theorize about them in his works on language. In particular the invocation of literary convention allows writers to shape their audiences' expectations; readers know that an epic is supposed to include supernatural beings, a trip to the underworld, and so on, which allows an author use these conventions to stabilize structure, and consequently, to clarify meaning. Even subverting such traditions helps settle meaning, for the effect still relies on knowledge of the original literary model, as in Swift's use of the epic tradition in Battle of the Books, or Pope's in The Rape of the Lock. Modern forms, however, distinctly lack the stability assigned to tradition in the Swift canon, for such forms either tend to implode, or they are ossified by the acceleration of contemporary time, a fate that the moderns deemed appropriate for their classical predecessors. Digressions, "an establish'd Custom of our newest Authors," according to the Tale Teller (Tale, 132) could define modernism, for their interruption of narrative time leads to disjunctive logic and disorganization; by definition, digressions work against the settling of a text. 45 The modern preface is similarly disruptive because it is not a preface at all, but a discussion of other writers and a list of grievances rather than an introduction to the text.46 The unpredictable fluidity of these modern forms are their only constant, and accordingly, when modern forms are codified, they instantly become obselete. Both A Tritical Essay (1707) and Polite Conversation (1738) are offered as guidebooks to modern forms, and in both, meaning is petrified: in A Tritical Essay, Swift arbitrarily strings clichés and quotations together to rob words of meaning and prose of its purpose; while in Polite Conversation, the reader is trapped into a pattern of discourse, doomed to repeat the same conversation over and over again.47 The inability of authors to take advantage of internal and external textual strategies reinforces Swift's advocacy of an academy, which he hoped would enforce a program to stabilize language and literature in ways that authors could notor would not. As the internal crumbling of language is matched by the external disintegration of form, literature becomes flashes of meaning strewn on the page, brief and suggestive, but ultimately incomprehensible. Such writing mimics,

< previous page

page_117

next page >

< previous page

page_118

next page > Page 118

rather than embodies, the literary communication; it is an exercise in ignorance, in which authors, unable to control their works, try to pass their textual chaos off as profundity, while readers are impressed (and depressed) by what they cannot possibly understand. 48 For Swift only the invocation of authority can bring order to this Babel, through the inculcation of linguistic and literary standards to safeguard the transmission of meaning. Swift and the English Academy To protect standard English from the deterioration inherent in contemporary usage, Swift proposed the establishment of an English academy in his primary document on linguistic stability, his Proposal for Correcting, Improving, and Ascertaining the English Tongue (1712). Unlike most of Swift's works, the Proposal has inconsistencies in tone and strategy that result in the essay frequently being read as a satire rather than as a genuine appeal for linguistic reform. Certainly the Proposal has the characteristic elements of Swiftian satire: the double-voiced prose that indicates the joint presence of an authorial persona and Swift; hyper-logical arguments and suggestions that trivialize substantial issues; and an authorial personality that is motivated by self-interest, which allows the narrator to justify any means to achieve the desired end. The whole notion of "fixing" language is a modern, quasi-scientific attempt to identify and classify appropriate language; the hubristic folly that Swift usually attributed to science is evident in this English academy as well, for the goalto legislate languageis not possible or truly desirable. Similarly, the aural experiment that Swift describes in the Proposal, in which he proves that women prefer vowel sounds while men prefer consonants, fits in perfectly with the cockeyed projector methodology that he disparaged thoroughly in Tale of a Tub, A Modest Proposal, and Gulliver's Travels. Swift's encomium to Harley provides additional evidence of satiric intent, for the authorial persona in the Proposal ultimately abandons objective argumentation so as to rationalize the academy based on political expedience and self-interest. Yet there are incongruous aspects of the Proposal's voice and argument that make it apparent that Swift did not intend the Proposal as

< previous page

page_118

next page >

< previous page

page_119

next page > Page 119

a satire. Double-voiced prose does not dominate the text as in most of his satires; for most of the Proposal, the authorial voice is single and not satiric. The arguments regarding the history of English and the relationship between military conquest and linguistic evolution are convincing; while the commentary on the effects of climate and psychology on language is preposterous, it is in perfect accord with accepted linguistic thought of this period. The objections to misspelling, slang, abbreviations and foreign locutions are also reasonable, and although the postulated results of these linguistic habits are exaggerated, the complaints themselves are consistent with Swift's opinions stated elsewhere, especially in Tatler 230, a nonsatiric essay. Neither is Swift's advocacy of a language academy completely scatter-brained; the Académie Française had been "improving" French for years, and English writers had been lobbying for an academy since the establishment of the Royal Society. The argument for satiric intent in the Proposal is further undermined by external evidence from his correspondence, which reveals his devotion to the English academy and the enormous amount of time and effort that he dedicated to soliciting support for the project. 49 Swift's inability to craft his Proposal properly may very well stem from his discomfort with the idea he was proposing. In fact, the Proposal is the only Swiftian work in which Swift is not completely in control of his voice(s). Swift clearly aligns himself with one of the arguments presented (or implied) in his texts; a Swiftian work essentially depicts a debate, in which Swift hopes to convince, if not coerce, the reader into his position. While critics may argue about the meaning of Swift's prose works, they usually do not disagree about the genre; Swiftian satire is quite distinct from his nonsatiric essays. In the Proposal, however, the very form is at stake, for it seems as if one facet of Swift is warring against another. The Proposal does reflect Swift's genuine belief in linguistic reform, but it is obvious that consciously or subconsciously, he is not completely committed to his idea; while his conservative tendencies approve of language reform, his liberal, creative impulses rebel. Swift cannot resist sabotaging his argument in the Proposal by exploiting the satiric potential of the situation. In this sense the Proposal reveals Swift's personality more than his attitudes towards language; Swift cannot stop himself

< previous page

page_119

next page >

< previous page

page_120

next page > Page 120

from indulging in prankish behavior, even when it is not in his own best interest. As a result, I think that the Proposal must be construed as a Swiftian misfirea hybrid work that is too inconsistent in its voice to succeed as a nonsatiric, argumentative essay, yet not sufficiently double-voiced to excel as a satire. Despite all the confusion in the Proposal, this text brings to the fore Swift's anxieties about authority, time, and language more clearly than any of his other critical essays on the subject: But what I have most at Heart, is that some Method should be thought on for Ascertaining and Fixing our Language for ever, after such Alterations are made in it as shall be thought requisite. For I am of Opinion, that it is better a Language should not be wholly perfect, than that it should be perpetually changing; and we must give over at one Time or other, or at length infallibly change for the worse. (IV:14) Often only the first sentence gets read, and not the second, which makes Swift seem far more dogmatic than he actually is. Obviously Swift is conservativethe whole idea of an academy rests on the notion of preserving language and literature, which is a traditionalist agenda. And in the sense that Swift does not assume that progress is inevitable or necessarily good, Swift is not modern. 50 The distinction to be made here is that Swift is unmodern rather than antimodern: he is not looking to exclude new words or new styles; he just wants to be sure that as time goes on "old" language and literature are not forgotten: But, where I say that I would have our Language, after it is duly correct, always to last; I do not mean that it should never be enlarged: Provided, that no Word, which a Society shall give a Sanction to, be afterwards antiquated and exploded, they may have Liberty to receive whatever new ones they shall find Occasion for: Because then the old Books will yet be always valuable according to their intrinsick Worth, and not thrown aside on Account of unintelligible Words and Phrases, which appear harsh and uncouth, only because they are out of Fashion. (IV:15)51 While Swift does not approve of current linguistic practices, he understands their power to determine literary legitimacy; because each generation chooses its own style, the future can declare his writings to be

< previous page

page_120

next page >

< previous page

page_121

next page > Page 121

unfashionable and unintelligible, and therefore ignore them. By giving sanction to out-of-date as well as established vocabulary, Swift's academy can make literary transcendence probable, not just possible. Swift was not alone in his call for an English academythe notion that an academy would solve linguistic and literary problems was in fact commonly held in his generation: in the Restoration, advocates of an academy included Sprat, Evelyn, Roscommon, Dryden, Defoe, Prior, and Addison. 52 According to B.S. Monroe, such an academy had been established in 1664 under the auspices of the Royal Society, with twenty-one members, including Sprat, Evelyn, and Dryden. The activities of this group are unclear, as most of their records have not survived; yet one indication of their plans is Evelyn's twelve-point proposal, sent in a letter to Sir Peter Wyche in June 1665, in which he outlines his goals for the group: to create a standard grammar; to settle orthography; to develop a series of dictionaries (of technical terms, court language, dialects, idioms, and so on); to translate great works and publish creditable works of their own, so that they would be deemed a legitimate linguistic authority.53 Nothing came of Evelyn's work. Nevertheless, a consensus in favor of the academy was forming. Sprat knew that the Royal Society was not interested in "the Artifice of Words, but a bare knowledge of Things," yet he digressed briefly in his History of the Royal Society (1667) to give his support to an English academy, which, he argued, would have helped him make his History more elegant and eloquent (40). Dryden, who wrote about an academy to the Earl of Orrery in his dedication to The Rival Ladies in 1664 (VIII:98), advanced the idea again to the Earl of Sunderland in 1679, in the dedication to Troilus and Cressida (XIII:222). Defoe included an academy in his Essay upon Projects (1697) and claimed that it was "the most Noble and most useful Proposal in this Book,"54 and Prior suggested in his "Carmen Seculare" (1700), that one of the benefits of peace in William's reign was the establishment of societies: Some that with care true eloquence shall teach, And to just idioms fix our doubtful speech; That from our writers distant realms may know The thanks we to our monarchs owe;

< previous page

page_121

next page >

< previous page

page_122

next page > Page 122

And schools profess our tongue through every land, That has invok'd his aid, or blest his hand. Addison added his support in August 1711, with Spectator 135, so by the time that Swift published his Proposal in 1712, the topic had been worked over thoroughly. 55 Despite the growing consensus on the need for a standard language, and for an authority to adjudicate linguistic and literary dilemmas, the advocates for an academy could not agree upon who should be in the academy and how the academy should achieve its goals. Dryden argues that "the Court, the Colledge, and the Town, must be joyn'd in it," because English is a compilation of living and dead languages, and therefore knowledge of the best living English authorsas well as Greek, Latin, Old German, French, and Italianis necessary to fix the language (Dedication to Troilus and Cressida, XIII:222). Defoe disagrees, and argues that any group that has its own specialized rhetoric (such as the clergy, physicians, and lawyersi.e., Dryden's court and town contingent) should not be allowed to determine standard English (Projects, 234235).56 As for Dryden's collegiate types, Defoe disdains them as "meer Learned Men" whose English is "full of Stiffness and Affectation" (Projects, 234). Instead of membership based on profession, Defoe suggests that the academicians should be chosen by class: twelve nobles, twelve private gentlemen, and twelve ''open for meer Merit, let it be fonnd [sic] in who or what sort it would, which should lye as the Crown of their Study, who have done something eminent to deserve it" (Projects, 235236). What constitutes merit, or sufficient eminence for that matter, is not defined by Defoe. Others avoided the membership question, or simply stated that academy members should be "wits" and left it at that. As for the functions of this new academy, the proposers agreed on its principles, but not necessarily on its practice. At best there is a rough consensus that an acceptable model for this endeavor was the Académie Française.57 The Académie Française, founded in 1635 by Richelieu, began by writing a grammar and a dictionary (which the academicians were still working on in 1712), but they influenced French culture primarily through their works of criticism and their power to censor literature.58 While the would-be English academi-

< previous page

page_122

next page >

< previous page

page_123

next page > Page 123

cians admired the results of their French counterparts, particularly their "polishing" of French, the English did not necessarily espouse the methodology of the French. The English proposers present muddled statements on linguistic perfection, and generally they avoid making explicit the criteria and the means by which they intend to improve English. Sprat suggests that all that is needed is "a mark on the ill Words; correct those, which are to be retain'd; admit, and establish the good; and make some emendations in the Accent, and Grammar" (42), though what defines an ''ill" word and how a mark will eliminate its use is unclear, just as what determines "the good" is unexplained. Presumably the means to ensure proper usage is through "a fixt, and Impartial Court of Eloquence; according to whose Censure, all Books, or Authors should either stand or fall" (Sprat, 43). Dryden notes that language is primarily refined "either . . . rejecting such old words or phrases which are ill sounding, or improper, or in admitting new, which are more proper, more sounding and more significant." 59 Like Sprat, Dryden discreetly fails to define "proper," "sounding," and "significant"; he does, however, suggest that developing a dictionary and a grammar would be useful.60 Defoe's version of this vague rhetoric cites "purity" and "propriety" as the characteristics of an improved English (Projects, 233). By contrast, Defoe's strategy for promoting good English is fairly detailed: his plan includes academy lectures and essays on proper diction, pure style, irregular usages, and linguistic errors; and granting the academy the power to censor plays before they are performed.61 Of all the academy proponents, Addison is the most specific about the problems of the English language: in Spectator 135 he comments on unnecessary elisions, contractions, and abbreviations; on the hissing sound of s in possessives and in the abandonment of -eth for s in present tense verbs; on phonetic spelling; and on incorrect grammar (II:3236). Yet this specificity is absent from his description of the academy's activities, for Addison does not outline any plan for the academy to institute linguistic improvements. Like the others, Swift looks to the Académie Française as a model for the English academy: "THE Persons who are to undertake this Work, will have the Example of the French before them, to imitate where these have proceeded right, and to avoid their Mistakes"

< previous page

page_123

next page >

< previous page

page_124

next page > Page 124

(IV:14). One would think that the French "proceeded right" in writing a grammar and a dictionary, but Swift, like most of the advocates of the academy after Evelyn, does not say as much; nor does Swift elaborate as to where the French went wrong. 62 Swift also offers a general statement of the parameters of the academy's activity: Besides the Grammar-part, wherein we are allowed to be very defective, they will observe many gross Improprieties, which however authorized by Practice, and grown familiar, ought to be discarded. They will find many Words that deserve to be utterly thrown out of our Language; many more to be corrected, and perhaps not a few, long since antiquated, which ought to be restored, on Account of their Energy and Sound. (IV:14) Swift's comments about the academy are very much of his time; the desire to establish a linguistic and literary standard is apparent, yet the definition of that standard, and the means to implement it, are vague. Yet unlike the other advocates of an English academy, Swift demonstratively abandons any right to establish the rules or procedures for the academy, which results in an uncharacteristically open-minded stance: In order to reform our Language; I conceive, my Lord, that a free, judicious Choice should be made of such Persons, as are generally allowed to be best qualified for such a Work, without any regard to Quality, Party or Profession. These to a certain Number, at least, should assemble at some appointed Time and Place, and fix on Rules by which they design to proceed. What Methods they will take, is not for me to prescribe. (IV:1314)63 By prescribing the academy's rules and regulations too specifically, Swift would leave room for objections to the proposal, as well as objections against him as a proposer, for prescriptive rules implicitly argue that the proposer should assume responsibility for their implementation. Not prescribing enough leaves it unclear as to exactly what the academy is going to do, which invariably weakens the case for establishing an academy at all. Swift chose the less prescriptive option largely because the notion of an academy had been bandied about so much that most people knew what its functions would be (or thought they did). Certainly, Swift had clearly stated his views on

< previous page

page_124

next page >

< previous page

page_125

next page > Page 125

linguistic improvement in 1710 in Tatler 230, and there are sufficient comments in the Proposal itself to develop an outline of Swift's linguistic program. But I also suspect that Swift refrained from a strictly prescriptive proposal in order to place the academy above his own self-interest, and to distance it somewhat from his reputation; Swift knew that he had enemies who would protest against an academy simply because he advocated it. A less-than-explicit proposal is a defense against accusations of pandering for a position in the academy, although Swift's apparent modesty may in fact have been an ingenuous way of provoking just such an offer. 64 Swift's attitude about proper English style in the Proposal is also less definite than one would expect from a writer with his decisive, satiric bent. In general the advocates of the English academy tended to be descriptive rather than prescriptive, and there was no consensus on style for Swift to follow or to disagree with. As noted in chapter 1, Sprat advanced the notion of plain prose, "a close, naked, natural way of speaking; positive expressions; clear senses; a native easiness" (113), in which a number of ideas would be communicated in the same number of words, so that language could achieve mathematical precision. Defoe's notion of good style primarily centered on eliminating profanity from discourse, while Addison isolated what he deemed to be linguistic aberrations (like anagrams, acrostics, puns) that detracted from good prose style.65 Taking a different tack, Dryden pointed to particular authors as models of English style, as in The Essay on Dramatic Poesy, where he writes of Shakespeare, Jonson, and Beaumont and Fletcher: "I am apt to believe the English Language in them arriv'd to its highest perfection: what words have since been taken in, are rather superfluous than ornamental" (XVII:5657).66 Like Sprat, Swift advocated clarity and simplicity; like Defoe, Swift felt that proper style must exclude profanity; like Dryden, Swift selected Renaissance prose as his model.67 Of these stands, Swift's choice of Renaissance literature is the most interesting because it reflects the political nature of Swift's literary concerns. While Swift's knowledge of Renaissance literature was far from inadequate, he lacked expertise. Swift owned copies of the works of Jonson, Spenser, and Bacon, as well as Foxe's Book of Martyrs (1563), Hooker's Ecclesiasti-

< previous page

page_125

next page >

< previous page

page_126

next page > Page 126

cal Polity (1594), Hakluyt's Voyages (1598), and Daniel's History of England (1612); and his correspondence shows more than a passing familiarity with Shakespeare. 68 But the works he neglects to mention (or to buy) make an impressive survey of the era: Sidney, Raleigh, Taylor, Hoby, Marlowe, Beaumont and Fletcher, Drayton, Browne, Crashaw, Herbert, and Donne.69 Swift's choice of Renaissance literature as a model does not seem to be based on its literary value at all; for Swift, language and style are inextricably intertwined with politics, so much so that he defines literature by the politics of the period in which it developed: The Period wherein the English Tongue received most Improvement, I take to commence with the Beginning of Queen Elizabeth's reign, and to conclude with the great Rebellion in Forty-two. It is true, there was a very ill Taste both of Style and Wit, which prevailed under King James the First, but that seems to have been corrected in the first Years of his Successor; who, among many other Qualifications of an excellent Prince, was a great Patron of Learning. (IV:9) To use historical periods to delineate literary styles is not unusual, but Swift suggests that each monarch and the literature of his or her time are directly related. An ill wit reflects an "ill" monarch, just as good taste reflects a good monarch; the poor taste (and presumably inadequate leadership) of James I are corrected by Charles I, the excellent prince who was, of course, a great patron of learning. The boundary of 1642 reinforces this correlation between style and politics: without a ruler, there is no center to prevent political (and consequently literary) chaos.70 Certainly language and literature are politically charged, but the politics of language are not necessarily synonymous with the politics of the nation. The simplicity of Swift's correlation of literature and politics is both attractive in its applicability and reductive in its understanding of the mechanics of social authority and literary fashion. As Swift applies his theory of literary value through British history, he relishes the opportunity to criticize the "Enthusiastick Jargon" of the Interregnum; but as he moves closer to his own time, Swift retreats from his argument, for the repercussions of his analysis become dangerous for his academy project as well as for his own

< previous page

page_126

next page >

< previous page

page_127

next page > Page 127

career. Swift's careful displacement of Restoration licentiousness away from Charles II (where it in fact belonged) attempts to be both historically accurate and cordial to the monarchy, but it does not quite succeed at either (IV:10). Swift is at a loss, for to blame Charles for the lascivious literature of his reign questions the motives of British authority, but to exonerate Charles suggests that he was powerless to change the situation. Either way, Swift runs the risk of offending Queen Anne, the contemporary ruler, for these arguments imply that the monarchy was not (or should not be) the seat of power in England. Swift had no interest in provoking the Queen, for Anne could (and eventually did) determine Swift's status in the Church. 71 His academy proposal attempts to be ingratiating by arguing for a literature that will valorize Anne, yet given Swift's correlation between monarchy and literature, the need to improve and correct language and style could only be construed as criticism of literature in the age of Anne, and of Anne herself. Consequently, Swift must abandon his theory for professional and political reasons, and accordingly, he does not pursue his stylistic history beyond Charles II. His opinion of recent British history was assuredly at variance with Queen Anne's in any case: Swift did not approve of Anne's father, King James II, nor would a reminder of his overthrow, however justified, be ingratiating; neither would Anne want to hear praise for his successor, King William, whom Swift admired. By invoking the Renaissance, Swift avoided incriminating himself; he drew upon Britain's golden age, a time that was sufficiently distant to be both venerated in literary circles and politically safe.72 Swift's political analysis of style shifts the Proposal away from specific linguistic issues to the larger ramifications of language, authority, and literary value. This broader emphasis is characteristic of the Proposal, for although Swift discusses the particular problems caused by phonetic spelling, neologisms, and abbreviations, these topics are not the focus of the essay. Instead, Swift concentrates on the issues that are related to the establishment of an English academy: he presents an extended analysis of the forces that shaped English (and which make an academy necessary), and an even longer discussion of the repercussions of continuing without an academy.

< previous page

page_127

next page >

< previous page

page_128

next page > Page 128

Swift attributes the declining state of English to two causes: a history of conquest and the British national character. He recounts the military victories of the Romans, the Picts, the Saxons, and the French, and the attendant devolution of English as the British learned to accommodate the languages of their conquerors. Swift then posits that the mingling of cultures generates new, weaker, hybrid forms of language, while physical and social barriers keep language and culture pure. 73 The "decline" of Latin provides additional evidence of the mechanisms of linguistic change; like his mentor, Sir William Temple, Swift argues that the deterioration of Latin was the result of tyranny (which eliminates the need for orators, and hence, for good prose) and of course, conquest. As the empire expanded, more foreigners came to Rome, which began "The great Corruption of Manners, and Introduction of foreign Luxury, with foreign Terms to express it" (IV:8). As Latin was changing in the capital, so too it was developing in the provinces, where dialects were created by mixing the local languages with Latin. Pure Latin was finally and irretrievably lost when the Goths and the Vandals invaded, and the Roman empire collapsed (IV:8).74 Despite its decrepit state, Latin remains Swift's measure of linguistic refinement, so much so that Swift argues that English is less refined than Italian, Spanish, and French because it has less Latin in it (IV:6). (Curiously, Swift never considers that the infusions of French into English, which he deplores, were actually Latinizing English to a great extent.) He even suggests that the national character of the British hinders liquid, Latinate sounds from flourishing in English: "For, I am afraid, my Lord, that with all the real good Qualities of our Country, we are naturally not very polite. This perpetual Disposition to shorten our Words, by retrenching the Vowels, is nothing else but a Tendency to lapse into the Barbarity of those Northern Nations from whom we are descended, and whose Languages labour under the same Defect" (IV:12). Swift, like his contemporaries, was convinced that the inhabitants of northern countries naturally differed from their southern counterparts, for the climate made the northern inhabitants "rough unhewn," ''not extreamly prone to speak," and "naturally taciturn."75 Like the "blunt, honest" Germans and the "rough" Dutch, British speakers are characterized as "more concern'd, what others will think of the strength, than of

< previous page

page_128

next page >

< previous page

page_129

next page > Page 129

the fineness of what they say," and as emphasizing brevity over all: "When we are obliged to utter our Thoughts, we do it in the shortest way we are able, and give as quick a Birth to our Conceptions as possible." 76 While these traits were interpreted to suggest that the British had an "unaffected sincerity" and "sound simplicity," instead of the "reserved subtle southern'' qualities, the stigma of being less articulate than the Italians, Spanish, and especially the French, still clung.77 Of course, Swift's academy could treat the symptom, but it could not cure the disease; the academy could regulate existing language, but it cannot eradicate the innate northern "barbarity" that Swift posited as the source of linguistic decay. In the light of the ungovernable forces of political upheaval and national psychology, the academy seems to be a hopeless enterprise from the start, a feeble attempt to compensate for linguistic factors beyond the academy's control. Yet however limited the tactics of linguistic containment might be, such compensatory measures do have an advantage: they can affect the future of English, although they cannot fully redress England's linguistic past or the temperament of the present. By establishing a standard for English, the academy would stabilize the rate of linguistic change, which in turn would increase the comprehensibility of texts over time. Because language transmits knowledge (and consequently, influences opinion far into the future), Swift outlines his plans for a politics of posterity, in which the power to shape the future is used as the primary incentive to gain the patronage of Robert Harley, the Lord Treasurer. Obviously, Swift's advocacy of the academy is consonant with his own desire as a writer to achieve literary transcendence: "THE Fame of our Writers is usually confined to these two Islands; and it is hard it should be limited in Time as much as Place, by the perpetual Variations of our Speech" (IV:14). But to convince Harley of the need for an academy, Swift emphasizes the political, not the literary, benefits of linguistic transcendence: "YOUR Lordship must allow, that such a Work as this, brought to Perfection, would very much contribute to the Glory of Her Majesty's Reign; which ought to be recorded in Words more durable than Brass, and such as our Posterity may read a thousand Years hence, with Pleasure as well as Admiration" (IV:1617).78 Both the establishment and the activities of an academy will preserve and honor Queen Anne's reputation through

< previous page

page_129

next page >

< previous page

page_130

next page > Page 130

the ages. Swift repeats this just in case Harley missed it the first time: "And I take it to be your Lordship's Duty, as prime Minister, to give Order for inspecting our Language, and rendering it fit to record the History of so great and good a Princess" (IV:17). In essence, Swift markets the academy as a politically justifiable institution, and therefore, one to which Harley could easily grant his support. But Swift has a subtext at work here as well: if Harley refuses to endorse the academy, he not only insults Queen Anne, but makes it possible for someone else to use the academy as a way to gain the Queen's favor. By linking Harley's political interest to the establishment of an academy, Swift cleverly casts his own linguistic imperative as an astute political agenda. But in case this appeal to Harley's political instincts would be insufficient, Swift adds a personal incentive, by presenting the academy as a means for Harley to ensure his future fame: I must believe, that the Desire of Fame hath been no inconsiderable Motive to quicken you in the Pursuit of those Actions which will best deserve it. But, at the same Time, I must be so plain as to tell your Lordship, that if you will not take some Care to settle our Language, and put it into a State of Continuance, I cannot promise that your Memory shall be preserved above an Hundred Years, further than by imperfect Tradition. (IV:17) This is precisely where the Proposal loses its rhetorical power, for here the Proposal turns into a partisan document, and the academy into a propaganda machine. An academy with blatantly Tory motives would undoubtedly fail because it would alienate the Whig constituency; national compliance to the academy's authority is necessary for the project to succeed. The Queen, unlike Harley, receives national allegiance, so the academy's laudatory activities on her behalf would not result in divisive partisanship. But why should the Whigs want Harley's work saved for future generations? Unlike Swift, they do not assume that Harley or his work deserve to be remembered, much less enshrined by history. Swift archly concedes that "imperfect tradition" will preserve Harley's memory even without an academy, but he neatly sidesteps any explicit discussion of what constitutes the "perfect tradition" in which language and literature would embody

< previous page

page_130

next page >

< previous page

page_131

next page > Page 131

historical truth. 79 Surely Swift realized that stabilizing language does not necessarily fix the truth, but only settles the transmission of information. Nevertheless, by proposing that the academy would fashion history for posterity, Swift privileges the academy far beyond its role as an arbitrator of linguistic and literary issues.80 Swift then presents a vivid portrait of posterity's "uninformed" opinion of Harley: About two Hundred Years hence, some painful Compiler, who will be at the Trouble of Studying old Language, may inform the World, that in the Reign of Queen Anne, Robert Earl of Oxford, a very wise and excellent Man, was made High-Treasurer, and saved his Country, which in those Days was almost ruined by a foreign War and a domestick Faction. Thus, much he may be able to pick out, and willing to transfer into his new History; but the rest of your Character, which I or any other Writer, may now value our selves by drawing; and the particular Account of the great Things done under your Ministry, for which you are already so celebrated in most Parts of Europe, will probably be dropt, on Account of the antiquated Style, and Manner they are delivered in. (IV:18) Only the "painful compiler" will know who Harley was, and even he will have a difficult time discerning the details. Of course, this description of Harley is calculated to please, and while Swift's fond respect for Harley is unmistakable, Swift's panegyric again suggests an academy of political parasites, not literati. If Swift could not extricate Harley from his politics, he could not expect the Whigs to do so; by praising Harley's policies, Swift baits the Whigs, who could not accept, much less support, an institution sponsored by the man who saved England from a foreign war (which the Whigs supported) and a domestic faction (namely, the Whigs themselves). Each praise of Harley is a Tory rallying calland Swift cannot seem to resist calling, even at the expense of public support for the academy. This constant, blatant pandering to Harley is the strongest evidence for reading the Proposal as a satire, for it exhibits the misguided energy that invigorates Swift's best satiric essays, like A Modest Proposal and An Argument Against Abolishing Christianity. After all, this public stroking of Harley was completely unnecessary, for Swift's letters mention Harley's support for the project from the start. And

< previous page

page_131

next page >

< previous page

page_132

next page > Page 132

surely Swift could not have been ignorant of the hostile responses that he was inviting from the Whigs. A number of explanations of Swift's ungainly strategy have been offered, including Ann Cline Kelly's argument that the Proposal is an attempt by Swift to create a public persona for himself as a member of Harley's inner circle rather than as a lowly party hack; Louis A. Landa suggests that Swift purposely insulted the Whigs so that the Tories alone could have the honor of establishing the academy. 81 These assignations of motive are plausible, but neither seems sufficient to explain the awkwardness of the Proposal. For if Swift were looking to distance himself from being perceived as a party hack, he would not have invoked the image of a Tory political writer; if Swift were trying to ensure the recognition of Tory merit, he would have used one of his tried-and-true strategies to entrap his readers into agreeing with him. Perhaps a better explanation for the Proposal is that it is the product of a series of conflicting impulses, as the demands of satire and ego collide. The stabilization of language is so dear to Swift that he cannot articulate ithe cannot reveal his desire for permanence without revealing his weakness, his fear of oblivion, his desperate need of recognition. The satiric turn usually allows Swift to hide within (or outside) his texts, but here Swift cannot achieve sufficient distance from the issue, since the ramifications of linguistic reform have a direct bearing on his life and works. Consequently, Swift's satire fails, and the devices that might have protected Swift work against him and his advocacy of an academy. Clearly, Swift's Proposal suffers acutely from its poor packaging, but Swift's presentation should not be mistaken for his content; it is easy to forget Swift's genuine commitment to linguistic reform in light of an essay dominated by political encomium. Swift's relentless canvassing for the academy, and the Proposal's agreement with his linguistic stands in Tatler 230, Journal to Stella, and his correspondence, make it difficult to dismiss the Proposal simply as a mockery of academicians, proposers, or both. " 'Tis No Politicks": The Fate of Swift's Proposal The contemporary response to the Proposal was immediate and vociferous: within two weeks of the appearance of the Proposal, two

< previous page

page_132

next page >

< previous page

page_133

next page > Page 133

Whig pamphleteers, Arthur Mainwaring and John Oldmixon, published scathing attacks on Swift's essay. Mainwaring's British Academy attacked the Proposal's Tory politics and its Francophilic tendencies; Oldmixon's Reflections on Dr. Swift's Letter embroidered Mainwaring's two-pronged argument with an ad hominem attack on Swift, in which Swift was portrayed as a groveling, power-hungry clergyman whose satiric writings were unfit for his profession and certainly inappropriate for a potential arbiter of the English language. Swift's response to these pamphlets was not blithe enough to mask his annoyance: "Have you seen my Ld [Lt] to Ld Treasr; there are 2 answers come out to it already, tho tis no Politicks, but a harmless Proposall about the Improvement of the Engl. Tongue. I believe if I writt an Essay upon a Straw some Fool would answer it" (Journal, 535). Both Whig pamphleteers pounced on the overripe Tory politics of the Proposal; it was obvious to Mainwaring and Oldmixon that Swift was proposing a Tory institution that would censor Whig writings. Rumor had it that a list of academicians was already prepared, and as Mainwaring put it, It is to be composed of 21 members, of which Number there are already 19 chosen: That is to say, The Dukes of Beaufort and Ormond; the Earls of Arran and Orrery; the Lords Duplin, Son in Law of the Great Treasurer; Harley, Son of the said Treasurer; Lansdown, Secretary of War; Masham and Bathurst; Sir W. Windham; Mr. St. John, Secretary of State; Harcourt, son of the Lord Keeper; and Raymond, Sollicitor-General: The Colonels Hill and Desney; Swift, Doctor of Divinity; Prior, Arbuthnott the Queen's Physician, and Friend, Physician to the Duke of Ormond. 82 Staunch Tories, one and all. Evidently the rumor was partly correct, for Swift was involved in determining the prospective membership; in June 1712 Swift wrote to Archbishop King that he and Harley had "pitched upon twenty Members of both Parties" (Corres. I:301). While their list has not survived, evidently some of the potential appointees were known, for Voltaire writes in his Letters on England that the English Academy was to include Swift, Prior, Pope, and Congreve, all of whom were affiliated (however distantly) with the Tories.83 By assuming their virtual exclusion from the academyfor at best there would be two openings available to Whigs, according to

< previous page

page_133

next page >

< previous page

page_134

next page > Page 134

Mainwaring's calculationthe Whig pamphleteers gleefully positioned themselves to take aim at the follies of Tory partisanship. Oldmixon remarks that every Whig knew that a Tory language academy could not possibly succeed because the Tories were absolutely witless: The merriest part of the Project he has been hatching, for an English Academy to bring our Tongue to his pitch of Perfection, is that he has assign'd, that Task to the Tories, whose Wit have so distinguish'd them in all Times. If there had ever been a Man among 'em who had a right Notion of Letters or Language, who had any relish of Politeness, it had been something. But as there never was one, unless it were two or three Apostate Whigs who had been bred up by the Charity of those Friends they deserted. 84 For Mainwaring and Oldmixon, the labels "Whig" and "Tory" are sufficiently descriptive, or to be more exact, sufficiently stereotyped, that analysis is pointless and argument is unnecessaryeach party is fully convinced of its own correctness and the errors of the opposition. While Swift did not overtly censure the Whigs in the Proposal, he certainly did not praise them; by asserting the universal encomiums of Harley and his policies in the Proposal, Swift clearly touted the Tory party line. Here Oldmixon is playing the same game, but he is far more forthright: he openly asserts the ascendancy of the Whigs and the stupidity of the Tories. Yet what gives this particular passage an added edge is its relevance to Swift, who had been a Whig at the beginning of his career. Far from being a backhanded compliment to the powers of Swift's pen, Oldmixon depicts the man who joins the Tories as an ingrate and a traitor. As for Swift's Tory propaganda, Mainwaring uses the rhetoric of the Proposal to bludgeon Harley and his government: "But I cannot help differing with him in one Particular: For I firmly of Opinion, that altho the Language should happen not to be improved or ascertain'd, yet the great Things done by that very Wise and Excellent Man, will not be easily forgotten; nor the rest of his Character be dropt, for which he is already so celebrated in most Parts of Europe" (7). Through a clever shift in emphasis, Mainwaring turns Swift's praise into condemnation: posterity will surely remember Harley, not as the man who "saved his country," but rather as the infamous politi-

< previous page

page_134

next page >

< previous page

page_135

next page > Page 135

cian who ruined Britain. This readerly appropriation of authorial rhetoric and the concomitant subversion of authorial intent are very Swiftian, as will be discussed in chapter 4. Of course, if Swift were writing the Whig response, this sarcastic attack might have been pursued further to show the advantages to the Whigs of the academy perpetuating the Tories' misguided politics. As is, Mainwaring, like Oldmixon, does not credit the Tories with enough intelligence to justify their policies in the present, much less create propaganda for eternity: "And tho he [Harley] has been suspected to maintain Pensioners to justify his own Actions. . . . Yet, whoever will look on carefully over the List of the Members, must needs acquit him of that Calumny, and confess, that he who pick'd out such a set of Wits and Patrons, could have no such base Thoughts in his Head" (9). While these jabs as Tory stupidity must have been enormously gratifying to write, they do not get at the pertinent issue: the danger of the academy becoming the means for government oppression. Oldmixon claims that he will "expose the Arrogance of another [partythat is, the Tories], who would lord it over us in every Thing, and not only force their Principles upon us, but their Language, wherein they endeavour to ape their good friends the French" (2). In many ways the Académie Française was the best ammunition for the Whig rebuttal. Any French paradigm was suspect to an English audience because the French were generally considered to be politically and religiously repressive. The Tories, being an Anglican "High Church" party, were theologically closer to Catholicism (and therefore, in the eyes of many, to France) than the Whigs, who were mostly Dissenting Protestants. The Whigs had no use for Catholics, who persecuted their coreligionists; or for the French political system, which would prevent an opposition party like theirs to exist. The Académie Française was essentially an office of the French government; established and sustained by government support, the academicians were expected to promote national policy; just as all Académie productions were stamped with "Political Matters may be treated of conformably to the Authority of the State," so too, the Whigs implied, would the British Academy be censoring works according to policy. Certainly the credentials of the founder of the Académie Française, Cardinal Richelieu, did not inspire notions of liberty, and

< previous page

page_135

next page >

< previous page

page_136

next page > Page 136

the Whigs merrily drew deprecating parallels between the notorious French minister and Harley. Yet in their sardonic commentary on the Académie Française there is a strong undertone of righteous indignation: "What Law of ours Impowers any body to order our Language to be Inspected, and who is there that wou'd think himself oblig'd to obey him in it?" (Oldmixon, 30). 85 Let the French "give Laws to Things not suseptible of them" (Mainwaring, 8); the Whigs prefer to be sensibly English and maintain their intellectual independence. 86 After exposing the purpose and politics of the Academy, Mainwaring, and more particularly, Oldmixon, attack Swift. Oldmixon cites passages from Swift's writings to show how Swift violates his own rules for proper English; he presents a passage from "The Petition to Frances Harris" and comments, "I cannot help taking notice, that the Clamour he raises about the Poets of King Charles the Second's Reign, the only Age of Poetry in England, is for their Contractions and leaving out the Eds and Eths, wherein he offends intollerably in this very Dogrel of his" (16). Oldmixon continues by dismissing Swift's linguistic concerns as nonsense. Elided words do not pose a threat to intelligibility as Oldmixon sees it (19), nor do abbreviations (20). He asserts that English is not as variable as Swift claims it is; English of a hundred years ago is perfectly comprehensible, even without the Bible as a guide (22). Since English has achieved a degree of stability, the prospect of linguistic change is not alarming: "When a Tongue is come to any degree of Perfection, whoever writes well in it will Live; there's a Thirst after Wit in all Ages, and those that have a Taste of it will distinguish the Thought from the Diction. Chaucer will, no doubt, be admir'd as long as the English Tongue has a Being" (2425). To attack Swift's credibility as a judge of language and style is the obvious move to discredit the Proposal, but Oldmixon raises the stakes and discredits Swift as a human being by arguing that the academy is the means for him to propagate immorality. He brings in a passage from Tale of a Tub ("Znds where's the wonder of that? By GI saw a large House of Lime and Stone travel over Sea and Land. by GGentlemen, I tell you nothing but Truth, and the Devil broil them eternally that will not believe me") and

< previous page

page_136

next page >

< previous page

page_137

next page > Page 137

remarks, "I am inform'd these Florid Strokes came from the Pen of a Reverend Doctor, who has sollicited lately for a Deanery, and sets up mightily for a Refiner of our Tongue, which he would adorn with some more such graces of Speech" (4). 87 According to Oldmixon, the ambitious duplicity that marks Swift's religious conduct is evident in the Proposal as well: . . . his blaming the Slavish Disposition of the Senate and People of Rome, by which the Eloquence of the Age was wholly turn'd into Panegyrick. Now considering how many Pages he has prodigally bestow'd upon it, in the very Letter I am taking cognizance of is it not very odd he should call Panegyrick a Slavish Disposition, and worse still that he should term in the most barren of all Subjects; what if I could prove, the above half of his Three Sheets of Paper are of that kind of Panegyrick, which is so fatal to great Men. (1213) Swift is indicted by his own criteria, and rightly so; a worthy project should not need such groveling. As practiced pamphleteers, Mainwaring and Oldmixon exploit all the problems of the Proposal, and in so doing they effectively kill the academy project and deny Swift this avenue to the greatness and fame he desired. Although the Whigs were offended by Swift's Proposal and determined to offend in kind, their response did not dissuade Swift from the idea of an academy; if anything, such resistance would have entrenched Swift in his plan. Harley's characteristic procrastination was disappointing but not unexpected, and as 1712 wore on, keeping the Tory party together was of greater concern to both Harley and Swift than the academy. When Swift finally had time to reconsider the Proposal, in his post-1714 exile in Ireland, Swift abandoned the notion of an academy altogether. After 1714 an English academy would be a Whig project rather than a Tory one, and there would be no room for Swift in it. The group aspect of the academy had become a drawback as well: the dissolution of the Tory party seemed to indicate that a group of men could not unite and work for the betterment of society. Swift's greatest political triumphs, The Conduct of the Allies (1711) and The Drapier's Letters (17241725), appropriately enough, were solo efforts. Yet Swift ultimately turned against the academy, I suspect, because he was embarrassed by his own image as a projector, and because the academy embodied and sanctioned

< previous page

page_137

next page >

< previous page

page_138

next page > Page 138

the flaws of modernity. This is not to say that Swift dismissed the possibility of fixing languageonly that he renounced the academy as the means for linguistic stability. Swift had mocked academies before the Proposal, for the Tale Teller suggests that an academy of wits should include a school of looking-glasses, a school of salivation, and a school of hobby-horses (42); and the madhouse is referred to as "the Academy of Modern Bedlam" (166). In Mechanical Operation of the Spirit, a virtuoso religious exegesis is fittingly addressed to T.H., Esquire, at the Academy of Beaux Esprits in New Holland (261). But Swift's most resounding condemnation of academies appears fourteen years after his Proposal, in Book Three of Gulliver's Travels, with Gulliver's visit to the Academy of Lagado. Many projects of the Lagadan Academy are mutated versions of the Royal Society's early forays into experimental science, as well as their misguided attempts to create a universal and representational linguistics. 88 A professor of speculative learning attempts to anthologize knowledge in "a compleat body of all arts and sciences" through the use of a language machine, which aligns all possible combinations of words. As all possible permutations of meaning are generated, all knowledge of the universe is revealed (XI:184). Consequently, "the most ignorant Person at a reasonable Charge, and with a little bodily Labour, may write Books in Philosophy, Poetry, Politicks, Law, Mathematicks and Theology, without the least Assistance from Genius or Study" (XI:182184). Rigorous scientific method (in this case, having "emptyed the whole Vocabulary into his Frame, and made the strictest Computation of the general Proportion there is in Books between the Numbers of Particles, Nouns, and Verbs, and other Parts of Speech" (XI:184)) ensures success, or so the professor thinks.89 As scientific process overtakes common sense, it is apparent that the professor overestimates the power of language and trivializes the value of education; the professor errs in his premise that words contain all knowledge and then compounds his error by assuming that acquiring knowledge by any means is equivalent to learning. Of course, proper scientific method requires the evaluation of a hypothesis based on experimental results, but the academicians are not good scientists, and they assume that the theory justifies the data

< previous page

page_138

next page >

< previous page

page_139

next page > Page 139

rather than the reverse. Swift does not distinguish between proper and improper scientific method, nor does it benefit him to do so; he paints all academicians as virtuosos, as modern charlatans of the highest order. Accordingly, the irrational pseudo-science of the professor is matched by experiments in the school of languages, where the attempts to simplify communication comically complicate matters. One set of academicians attempts to ''shorten Discourse by cutting Polysyllables into one, and leaving out Verbs and Participles; because in Reality all things imaginable are but Nouns" (XI:185). 90 Like the professor these academicians try to save time and effort for speakers and listeners, and once again the "efficient" way increases the likelihood of confusion. This bizarre reduction of reality is taken to its logical extreme by another linguistic project: the elimination of words altogether. The academicians posit that if people communicate by carrying the objects of their discourse (XI:185186), they will have all the benefits of brevity, an international language of mime, and they will improve their health as well: by eliminating speech, lungs will no longer corrode.91 The absurdity of such a plan is obvious in its practice and its rationale, for communication is lost in the attempt to purify it. Swift always appreciated the preposterous comedy of literalism, and in the concrete criteria of science and the theories of representational linguistics, he found easy targets for deprecating laughter. But Swift's repudiation of representational linguistics was completely out of step with the times, for by the 1720s representational linguistics had already been superseded by Locke's ideas of the arbitrary, associative nature of language. By bringing this dead issue back to life in Gulliver's Travels to kill it once again, Swift was not embracing contemporary Lockean linguistics. Instead, he was criticizing the academy that he knew best, the Royal Society of his youth, in order to attack the notion of an academy as an authority for any intellectual endeavor. In the eighteenth century, the Royal Society had acquired a degree of legitimacy, but in the seventeenth century, most of the work of Society members was of indeterminate, if not laughable, qualityNewton and Boyle were the exceptions, not the rule. By invoking the virtuoso stereotype of science of that earlier period, Swift hoped to reintroduce the seventeenth-century response to such projects and

< previous page

page_139

next page >

< previous page

page_140

next page > Page 140

their sponsors: academicians and academies cannot be trusted, much less construed to be authoritative on any subject, because their work is mysticism and alchemy in a new guise. The liberal, mechanistic, and idiosyncratic ideology of the Royal Society ran counter to Swift's own notions of intellectual conservatism; as a bastion of progress, the purpose and prerogatives of an academy conflicted with Swift's notions of authority as the defender of tradition. And in the end, by refusing to acknowledge that an academy could succeed on his conservative terms, as the Académie Française had, Swift completely rejected the academy as a viable institution. Despite his abandonment of the academy as the vehicle for linguistic standardization, Swift never conceded that the notion of fixing language was foolhardy. The danger of linguistic disintegration was very real to Swift, and the failure of the academy as a solution certainly did not make the problem disappear. Swift eventually realized that it is the responsibility of the individual author, not an outside agency, to safeguard literary meaning. Swift's advice regarding textual strategies can be helpful, but it can also be quite frustrating: as one negative prescription follows another (do not abbreviate, do not use jargon, do not spell phonetically, and so on), a writer knows what to avoid, but not what linguistic standard to seek. His positive injuctions are few, and they tend to be more cryptic than his negative ones: "Proper Words in proper Places" sounds right, but it is not much of an explanation as to what constitutes appropriate language or style (IX:65). Ultimately Swift's tactics for encoding meaning, rather than his advice regarding linguistic dilapidation, provide the most effective methods for maintaing textual stability. For Swift's rhetoric of reversal and his multiple codings locate meaning beyond the reach of the reader, and as the words on the page collide with the ideas they allude to, meaning is safe from intrusions, because it is never fully articulated.

< previous page

page_140

next page >

< previous page

page_141

next page > Page 141

4 Readers, Critics, and Swift: Perceiving Encoded Meaning The Final Step In transmitting a message is a reenactment of the first step: to retrieve meaning from the text, the reader must assign meaning to words on a page. In essence, reading is another form of writing, which only differs from the authorial version in that the signifiers are predetermined. Inevitably, signifiers do not "fix" meaning so much as they establish the parameters of linguistic play; as the readings of Swift and his characters show, readers attach and detach meanings from words, generating an infinite series of readings for each work. The Tale Teller, for instance, is a liberal reader, but he is less conscious of the invasiveness of his readings than of the responses of his reading audience; as an author, he knows that readers write texts, and accordingly, he invites the reader to rewrite the Tale: "THE Necessity of this Digression, will easily excuse the Length; and I have chosen for it as proper a Place as I could readily find. If the judicious Reader can assign a fitter, I do here empower him to remove it into any other Corner he pleases" (149). This good-natured invitation embodies Swift's mockingly pragmatic criticism of the writer-reader encounter: readers take license with texts, whether or not it is granted. This license does not necessitate that authorial meaning is irretrievably lost in reading, only that it is obscured; for Swift, meaning can be reclaimed by the reader who has sufficient linguistic skills and the interest in understanding the intentions of the authorial text. 1 Yet consciously or not, most readers impose rather than reveal textual meaning. Each reader's linguistic sensibility

< previous page

page_141

next page >

< previous page

page_142

next page > Page 142

determines the shape of his interpretation: the more verbal play in a reading, the further the reader deviates from the author's sense; the less verbal play, the closer the reader comes to the intended meaning. Swift's readers must invert this proportion to understand his works, for only by reading imaginatively, even perversely, can the reader open Swift's playfully written texts. Of course, a seemingly unstructured text like A Tale of a Tub or A Tritical Essay invites an interpretive latitude that can lead to intellectual vertigo. But Swift prevents meaning from scattering into utter nonsense; as discussed earlier, he stabilizes the narrator's chaos with tropes of exaggeration and opposition that shock the reader into recognizing that the meaning of the text is not necessarily printed on the page. While these tropes make it clear that the putative authorial voicebe it the Tale Teller, Gulliver, the Modest Proposer, or the Christian Proposeris not a spokesman for Swift, they allude to Swiftian meanings that are not articulated and that they prevent from ever being fully articulated. Swift's meaning seems to exist behind the text or somewhere between the lines, but not in the printed word. As a result, the reader's interpretation must move beyond the simple reading of signifiers to derive an authorial meaning that is refracted through, but not embodied by, the text. By choosing this method of encoding, Swift seems to be arguing that meaning can be best communicated when it is not said, a paradox that the Tale Teller's mad reversals could best justify. 2 Yet I believe that Swift's tactics of obfuscation were chosen for pragmatic, rather than for philosophical, reasons: driven to write, and knowing that writers were bound to be misread, Swift attempted to bypass criticism by refusing to commit his ideas to words that were bound to be misunderstood.3 Textual stability is threatened by the inherent duplicity of language, and in the absence of an external linguistic authority, it became a Swiftian imperative to sustain the integrity of his texts from within. Here Swift's natural inclination for the unspoken, implicitly verbal tropes of satire and irony coincided with his instinct for self-preservation; it was safer to put meaning in the white spaces, where the reader could not tamper with it, than to print his plain meaning directly on the page, where it would be prey to all sorts of

< previous page

page_142

next page >

< previous page

page_143

next page > Page 143

misinterpretations. The hiatuses in Swift's texts, especially in Battle of the Books, A Tale of a Tub, and Mechanical Operation of the Spirit, are the most obvious demonstrations of the suggestiveness of absence, for they imply that certain things are not safe to say, and at most they can only be alluded to. Obviously, Swift still runs the danger of being misunderstood, for unspoken communication is more likely to be misconstrued than its written counterpart. But Swift's masking of his meaning does decrease his vulnerability as the author of his texts; like his other protective devices (anonymous publication, pseudonyms, alternate personae, and so on), displacing his meaning allows Swift to distance himself from the printed page and to avoid (or so he hoped) the negative ramifications of being read. 4 The settling of textual meaning is always a tug-of-war between the writer and the reader, in which language is both the battleground and the means with which to fight. This conflict can be construed in terms of Saussurean langue and parole: reading is a collision of two idiolects, the author's and the reader's, and each relies on the common language as the mediating ground to determine textual meaning. However, when reading Swift, one encounters not one, but two, authorial rhetorics: Swift's silent discourse and the articulated prose of his narrator. Consequently, the reader is faced with the more daunting task of negotiating among three idiolects and assessing three different conversations: one exchange between Swift and his narrator; another with the reader and the narrator; and finally, one between the reader and Swift.5 Since Swift's rhetoric is only apparent by reading through the language of his narrator, much of the reader's effort (and much of the complexity of these works) involves constructing Swift's unspoken dialogue. Not surprisingly, then, Swift's multiple codings frustrated his antagonists, who, if they recognized Swift's unarticulated meaning, were left shadowboxing with his texts, for there was little evidence on the printed page that established Swift's meaning clearly. To answer a Swiftian work first requires a reader to read into the text, then claim that such a reading is Swift's true meaning, before a reader can attack Swift's stance as blasphemous, ludicrous, or whatever. Of course, the process of locating and asserting Swift's meaning gave Swift ample opportunity to discount such readings as malicious projections of the attacking

< previous page

page_143

next page >

< previous page

page_144

next page > Page 144

reader who was imposing his own warped notions on Swift's innocent text. 6 Swift's other, less astute readers could not see beyond his printed text, and invariably their interpretations degenerated into nonsense. Their misreadings provided Swift with sufficient satiric ammunition to rebut any attack on him or on his text, which usually meant that Swift asserted the stupidity of readers in general, and his in particular. Through his multiple codings, Swift complicates the reader's task of discernment and legitimizes the reading of the text's "white space."7 In doing so Swift seems to contradict himself, for throughout his works he exposes ornate methods of interpretation, especially those that deviate widely from the common meaning of the words on the page. For Swift, interpretive latitude either confuses a clear text, or it clarifies an obscure text, which once understood, reveals little or nothing. Yet his own works require just this sort of free-ranging interpretation, for the reader must extrapolate from the words on the page to locate and comprehend Swift's meaning. Swift does not acknowledge (much less resolve) this conflict between his notions of plain reading and the complicated machinations that he requires of his readers. Yet the act of reading Swift implicitly provides a resolution of sorts: different texts require different types of interpretation, and the reader must develop the skills to discriminate between texts and to evaluate the applicability of various interpretations. By forcing his readers to determine, often sentence by sentence, whether his works merit a liberal or conservative linguistic interpretationor something in betweenSwift hones his readers' ability to make proper distinctions and prevents them from settling into any particular mode of interpretation.8 Like the negative prescriptivism of his linguistic and stylistic criteria, Swift's agenda concerning reading does not specify what constitutes proper reading so much as it criticizes a number of interpretive methods and reveals his aversion to the unilateral application of any one interpretive method. Through the broadly drawn errors of his characters, Swift illustrates these interpretive pitfalls and establishes a paradigm of how not to read. In this final phase of communication, the motifs of authority and translation once again dominate, perhaps here most crucially, as meaning is finally being fixed. The linguistic translation that inevita-

< previous page

page_144

next page >

< previous page

page_145

next page > Page 145

bly occurs while reading makes possible a translation of the self, for the reader rewrites the author and his text, and in doing so, translates himself into a position of authority. That Swift deplores this situation becomes apparent in the following analysis of his characterizations of readers and critics. Yet for all his advocacy of authorial hegemony, Swift as a reader is just as subversive and proprietary as his own audience, and just as willing to use the mechanisms of misreading that he decries in others. Linguistic translation is Swift's means of encoding his texts and also his method for appropriating others' work, and in each instance Swift stakes out a territory over which he rules. Readers in Swift's Works: Engaging the Words on the Page The readers in the Swift canonthe brothers in Tale of a Tub, the Lagadan academicians, the criticstorture texts into monstrous shapes, and in doing so they illustrate the dangers of interpretive latitude that the printed word is prey to: readers play with signifiers and signifieds, they ignore textual information, and they sometimes add information to the text. These techniques define the four major modes of misreading in Swift's texts, namely parsing, literalism, figurativism, and nonreading. In parsing, the reader divides the words of a text into their syllables, and more often, into their constituent letters, which fragments authorial language so that virtually any meaning can be assigned to the text. Literalism limits meaning only to the flat, concrete sense of words, while figurativism, its opposite, only focuses on the connotative and denotative dimensions of words; the exclusive application of either imbalances textual interpretation, as each method precludes the other. Finally, in nonreading, the reader boldly asserts textual knowledge and hermeneutic authority without even bothering to encounter the text, much less justify his position by tying his interpretation to the text. While Swift offers an image (however vague) of the proper reader in A Tale of a Tub, inevitably all readers are suspect in Swift's eyes, because they consciously or unconsciously espouse a common purpose: to validate themselves through texts. To rationalize the textual interpretation that they desire, the politi-

< previous page

page_145

next page >

< previous page

page_146

next page > Page 146

cal analysts of Lagado circumvent the words, and even the syllables, of a text completely; they place the unit of linguistic meaning, the morpheme, in the letter itself: . . . the Learned among them call Acrosticks, and Anagrams. First, they can decypher all initial Letters into political meanings: Thus, N, shall signify a Plot; B, a Regiment of Horse; L, a Fleet at Sea. Or, secondly, by transposing the Letters of the Alphabet, in any suspected Paper, they can lay open the deepest designs of a discontented Party. So, for example, if I should say in a Letter to a Friend, Our Brother Tom hath just got the Piles; a Man of Skill in this Art would discover how the same Letters which compose that Sentence, may be analyzed into the following Words; Resist,a Plot is brought homeThe Tour. And this is the Anagrammatick Method. (Gulliver's Travels, XI:191192) The anagrammatic method of the political analysts is, in essence, interpretive parsing gone amok. By dividing a word to recognize its meaning from its segments, the analysts copy the initial mechanism of etymological analysis, but since they do not leave linguistic units of sufficient size to contain established meaning, they cannot follow the subsequent steps of etymology: they cannot rely on established definitions to identify and then combine these segmented meanings into a coherent whole. In other words, these readers have adapted the verbal splicing of etymology without its linguistic standards, so they enact a reintegration of meaning that is entirely based on their own agenda, without acknowledging the original content or context to set the parameters of meaning. When "Our brother Tom hath just got the Piles" is divided into its constituent letters, meaning and context no longer matter, because the phrase is in too many pieces to retain its sense; once the letters are shown to be malleable, it is inevitable that cogent interpretive criteria are abandoned. Swift's position on linguistic fragmentation here is consistent with his other comments on verbal division; while splicing can invigorate language through the creation of new words, verbal dissection for its own sake diminishes the strength of the English language. 9 To interpret works based on linguistic fragments only compounds the initial error of fracturing language, and Swift invariably characterizes such parsing

< previous page

page_146

next page >

< previous page

page_147

next page > Page 147

readers as ignorant, devious, or in the case of the Lagadan rhetoricians, both. 10 Through irresponsible interpretive parsing, the analysts overwhelm messages of all sorts with lettered play so that any intended meaning is obscured by their superimposed ideas. The freedom to determine meaning is intoxicating, and once the Lagadan rhetoricians start imposing meaning, they cannot stop. Their interpretation is not even effected by the absence of evidence; their anagrammatic reconstruction does not use all of the letters in the original message, and it requires a few letters that the original does not provide. Consequently, they destroy the coherence of the parsing method, thereby undermining their astonishing rationale for the subversive reading of the missive.11 Thus, Swift's comic illustration of interpretive parsing turns ironic, for by ignoring the authorizing language of the text, the rhetoricians have also learned to ignore the parameters of their own analytical method.12 Yet the text has not been altered, so it still can communicate its original message, but now the reader must read through, or perhaps more accurately, around, the Lagadan's interpretation to understand the meaning. Swift relies on his reader to do just this, to look beyond the analysts' irreverent reading to the message itself, in which plots are not even mentioned, much less approved of. As Swift's reader compares the content of the message to the analysts' interpretation of it, the duplicity of interpretive parsing and its purveyors becomes apparent: a reader who parses avoids intellectual engagement with the text; nevertheless, he is able to develop a literary interpretation that is based on (and therefore, ostensibly justified by) textual evidence. As a result, lettered reading lets the reader circumvent authorial meaning by rewriting the text to his own specifications.13 When Jack reads the paternal will in A Tale of a Tub, his interpretation is marked by an avoidance of context and authorial intent; like parsing, his literal method locates meaning at the surface of the text and generates interpretations that inevitably offend common sense. To prove his fealty to his father, Jack adopts the rhetoric of the will: "He circumscribed the utmost of his Eloquence within that Compass, not daring to let slip a Syllable without Authority from thence"

< previous page

page_147

next page >

< previous page

page_148

next page > Page 148

(191). Unfortunately, the will fails to provide a phrase about locating bathrooms, so when Jack soils himself he refuses to clean up because the will's silence on the subject seems to forbid it. In this manner the letter of the will quickly supersedes its spirit in Jack's mind; accordingly, the physical state of the will becomes more important than the message it embodies. When Jack claims to prove "this very Skin of Parchment to be Meat, Drink, and Cloth, to be the Philosopher's Stone, and the Universal Medicine," he means exactly that: he had a Way of working it into any Shape he pleased; so that it served him for a Night-Cap when he went to Bed, and for an Umbrello in rainy Weather. He would lap a Piece of it about a sore Toe, or when he had Fits, burn two Inches under his Nose; or if any Thing lay heavy on his Stomach, scrape off, and swallow as much of the Powder as would lie on a silver Penny, they were all infallible Remedies. (190191) After developing this literalist approach, Jack applies it to all the contingencies of his life: if blindness is insight, then Jack will walk the streets with his eyes closed, no matter how he harms himself and others. As Jack enacts metaphors of the will, as well as those that describe the will, literalist interpretation demonstrates that a reading that is consciously bound to the printed word is in fact paradoxically free from the text's agenda. Like the Lagadans' anagrammatic method, Jack develops analyses that he can claim are bound to the will, when in fact he imposes upon, rather than reveals, his father's meaning. 14 Swift presents another turn on literalist reading in The Vindication of Isaac Bickerstaff, for Bickerstaff reads idioms literally not to ignore the intentions of idiomatic speakers, but to exaggerate what is latent in their rhetoric. In other words, on a continuum of readings ranging from the exactly literal to the highly metaphorical, Jack and Bickerstaff only vary in the degree of their literalism; where Jack's absolute literalism completely overturns the language and purpose of the will, Bickerstaff's literalism is a shift in emphasis to substantiate his argument. Both Bickerstaff and Jack attempt to justify themselves through literalist reading, but where Bickerstaff is mounting a defense, Jack is setting an ideological agenda. Bickerstaff just wants to prove that his first prediction is correct, that Partridge is indeed dead:

< previous page

page_148

next page >

< previous page

page_149

next page > Page 149

I shall only prove, that Mr. Partrige is not alive. And my first Argument is thus: Above a Thousand Gentlemen having bought his Almanacks for this Year, meerly to find what he said against me; at every Line they read, they would lift up their Eyes, and cry out, betwixt Rage and Laughter, They were sure no Man alive ever writ such damned Stuff as this. Neither did I ever hear that Opinion disputed: So that Mr. Partrige lies under a Dilemma, either of disowning his Almanack, or allowing himself to be no Man alive. But now, if an uninformed Carcass walks still about, and is pleased to call it self Partrige; Mr. Bickerstaff does not think himself any way answerable for that. (II:162) ''No Man alive" obviously means "no one," but since the only people who are not alive are dead, Bickerstaff chooses the meaning that suits his case. Bickerstaff similarly twists phrases like "conversing with the Devil, and other evil Spirits" (which he argues, "no wise Man will ever allow he could converse personally with either, till after he was dead" [II:162]), and the claim by Partridge's wife that he "had neither Life nor Soul in him" (II:288) to prove Partridge's demise. 15 Bickerstaff invigorates language, and his readings suggest that people really do mean what they say, perhaps even more than they realize. His literal readings are far more charming and clever than Jack's; because he is less shrill, Bickerstaff is more appealing and easily able to win the reader's allegiance despite his obviously flawed logic. For this reason Bickerstaff's interpretations are dangerous in ways that Jack's are not. The reader is so delighted by the "death" of Partridge that he accepts Bickerstaff's jurisdiction over life and death and does not balk at this "sentencing" being determined by a mere play on words. Because he is not Bickerstaff's target, the reader does not necessarily recognize the real menace of linguistic abuse or the utter unfairness of its proceedings. Literalist misreading was a convenient device for Swift, for the illogical logic of literalism creates a striking rhetorical style that evokes the appropriate logical response in the reader. Essentially, Swift captures the reader's attention by setting up a lexical game for the reader to play, and the reader enjoys this game because he does not lose. The flat, literalist rhetoric makes it easy and pleasant for the reader to discern its illogic, yet there is enough substance to hold the reader's interest so that the game does not seem too simplistic.16 As Swift's

< previous page

page_149

next page >

< previous page

page_150

next page > Page 150

reader refutes the misguided arguments of literalism, by reading idiomatically or metaphorically, he joins Swift in exposing the personae who advocate such misreadingsand by doing so Swift succeeds in manipulating his reader's response. The literalization of metaphorical meaning points to the most distinctive features of Swiftian prose: the mechanisms of misunderstanding, which are set in motion (if not canonized) by Swift's characters; the reader's skeptical response to this bizarre comedy of intellect; and Swift lurking behind the text, mocking his characters, his reader, and occasionally both. These elements recur with equal force in Swift's depictions of figurative reading, which reverses the errors of literalism by using the text as a springboard for the imagination. Textual meaning is no longer tightly tied to the printed word; instead, the text is perceived as a code that alludes to its meaning, and the reader must extrapolate from the textual clues to comprehend the work. Consequently, there is a wide range of figurative readings that varies according to the degree of extrapolation by the readernot just one reading as in the literalist method. Figurative readings are generally determined by the reader's evaluation of the context, which is based on the reader's knowledge of standard idioms and literary imagery as well as an assessment of authorial intent. Swift argues that in the wrong hands, these evaluative elements destroy authorial meaning; when interpretation is loosened from the printed word, the reader is able to read any meaning he desires into the text, for the reader can pick and choose among the textual clues to substantiate any desired interpretation. In A Tale of a Tub, it is Peter, the scholastic brother, who has the figurative sensibility that complements Jack's literalist approach: The Brothers, consulting their Father's Will, to their great Astonishment found these Words; Item, I charge and command my said three Sons, to wear no sort of Silver Fringe upon or about their said Coats, &c. with a Penalty in case of Disobedience. . . . The Brother so often mentioned for his Erudition, who was well Skill'd in Criticisms, had found in a certain Author, which he said should be nameless, that the same Word which in the Will is called Fringe, does also signifie a Broom-stick; and doubtless ought to have the same Interpretation

< previous page

page_150

next page >

< previous page

page_151

next page > Page 151

in this Paragraph. . . . [A brother] objected again, why their Father should forbid them to wear a Broom-stick on their Coats, a Caution that seemed unnatural and impertinent; upon which he was taken up short, as one that spoke irreverently of a Mystery. (88) 17 Peter's figurative misreading is as obvious as it is absurd, for the original text clearly is not using "fringe" in any sense other than the literal. But while Peter's hermeneutic machinations fail to respond to substance of the will, they do serve his purpose. His interpretation is meant to be inexplicable; by metaphorizing "fringe" into "broom-stick,'' Peter turns the will into an impregnable text so he can declare himself to be the sole arbiter of its meaning. Peter cannot possibly justify a practice that the will specifically and vehemently censures; instead, he masks the contents of the will by constructing a reading so convoluted that his brothers cannot possibly unravel it. Peter then bolsters this skewed interpretation by attributing it to an anonymous, but presumably legitimate, academic source, the "certain Author"; this subjects his brothers to an unavailable and unassailable authority and deflects responsibility from the probable creator of the metaphor, Peter himself.18 Despite his precautions the brothers challenge his reading, so Peter is forced to his last line of defense: he seals off the text by arguing that the will is sacrosanct, and therefore beyond the ken of those with common knowledge, and above common criticism.19 Like Peter, many of Swift's characters consider unbridled figurative reading a viable critical method, and by grounding unintended metaphors and similes on a page, or simply by substituting meanings for common definitions, they dismantle authorial texts with aplomb. Swift achieves both humor and point by showing how such readers ensure that their notions are in fact substantiated by a given text; Swift always relishes the vigor of these misreadings, even as he deplores their absurdity. T.N. Philomath perversely lives up to his name in A Famous Prediction of Merlin (1709) by cleverly annotating Merlin's prophecy so that it validates contemporary British history. In a typical maneuver, Philomath yanks Marlborough into the text by glossing "From Towne of Stoffe to fatten Londe" as "One Kind of stuff used to fatten Land is called Marle, and every Body knows, that Borough

< previous page

page_151

next page >

< previous page

page_152

next page > Page 152

is a Name for a Town; and this Way of Expression is after the usual dark Manner of old Astrological Predictions" (II:169). Through such verbal gymnastics, Philomath is able to discern the deterioration of France (from "Then shall the fyshe beweyle his Bosse"), England's union with Scotland ("Reaums shall daunce honde in honde / . . . / Then old Inglonde shall be no more''), and the War of Spanish Succession ("Geryon shall have three Hedes agayne, /Till Hapsburge makyth them but twayne"). Afterwards, Philomath innocently writes, "I think, I have not forced the Words, by my Explication, into any other Sense than what they will naturally bear" (II:170). 20 Of course, Philomath has not revealed Merlin's genius, or the inevitability of current events; he has merely exposed his own misguided creativity. Swift's Whig Dissenter of Examiner 22 also fails at his appointed task: intent upon disparaging the Examiner, another Swiftian persona, the Whig Dissenter only discredits himself by revealing an intellect blinded by prejudice. According to the Whig Dissenter, the Examiner's simple declarative statements are poorly disguised Tory propaganda: He [the Examiner] tells us, The Queen began her Reign with a noble Benefaction to the Church. Here's Priestcraft with a Witness; this is the constant Language of your High-Flyers, to call those who are hired to teach the Religion of the Magistrate, by the Name of the Church. But this is not all; for in the very next Line he says, It was hoped the Nation would have followed this Example. You see the Faction begins already to speak out: This is an open Demand for the Abby-Lands; this furious Zealot would have us Priest-ridden again, like our Popish Ancestors. (III:52) The Whig Dissenter assumes that the Examiner is as vehement a Tory as he is a Whig; the very fact that the Examiner writes for the Tory ministry is sufficient for the Whig Dissenter to stereotype the Examiner as a Tory fanatic. The Whig Dissenter's hunt for damning evidence succeeds, or so he thinks, as he extrapolates the "true" Tory agenda of religious oppression from the terms "benefaction" and "church." The party lines on religion were in fact quite clear: the Tories considered the religious pluralism of the Whigs to be dangerous for national unity, while the Whigs thought that the Tories legislated religious intolerance to shore up their own political author-

< previous page

page_152

next page >

< previous page

page_153

next page > Page 153

ity. Although the Tories (and the Whigs, for that matter) did want more support from the government and the citizenry, the Whig Dissenter reads a lust for power into the Tory text that is at best barely alluded to. The Examiner's statement about the Queen is a matter of historical record, not an assertion of Tory rights; the comment on national charity does not even suggest how the donations should be spent, much less insist upon the acquisition of the abbey lands. In his frenzy to make the text match his vision of tyrannical Toryism, the Whig Dissenter does not distinguish between common meaning and innuendo, and as a result, the reader is unconvinced of his anti-Tory argument. For Swift's Tory purposes, it is equally important that the reader become a bit wary of the Whig agenda as wellfor if this is how Whigs reason, it should be clear that their politics cannot be trusted. 21 The reader's projection of ideas onto a text also takes an insidious turn in Gulliver's Travels, where figurative substitution of meaning is a means of blacklisting undesirables: It is first agreed and settled among them, what suspected Persons shall be accused of a Plot: Then, effectual Care is taken to secure all their Letters and other Papers, and put the Owners in Chains. These Papers are delivered to a Set of Artists very dextrous in finding out the mysterious Meanings of Words, Syllables and Letters. For Instance, they can decypher a Close-Stool to signify a Privy-Council; a Flock of Geese, a Senate; a lame Dog, an Invader; the Plague, a standing Army; a Buzard, a Minister; the Gout, a High Priest; a Gibbet, a Secretary of State; a Chamber pot, a Committee of Grandees; a Sieve, a Court Lady; a Broom, a Revolution; a Mouse-trap, an Employment; a Bottomless Pit, the Treasury; a Sink, a C[our]t; a Cap and Bells, a Favourite; a broken Reed, a Court of Justice; an empty Tun, a General; a running Sore, the Administration. (XI:191) Gulliver presents this metaphorical methodology to a Lagadan academician, claiming that it is common in "the Kingdom of Tribnia, by the Natives called Langden"that is, in Britain and England. In essence, this is Locke's arbitrary assignment of meaning at the service of political expediency. Any image can be assigned any meaning; the punning connection between meanings that characterizes effective metaphors is not always evident or extricable in these "artistic" read-

< previous page

page_153

next page >

< previous page

page_154

next page > Page 154

ings. While some of the metaphors on this list are appropriately pointedespecially the broom as the revolution that sweeps clean an old hierarchy; and the running sore as the administration, which festers and requires constant attentionmost seem completely capricious and interchangeable. The buzzard, the gout, and the gibbet that represent the minister, the high priest, and the Secretary of State, respectively, could be exchanged with little difference, just as the close-stool, the flock of geese, the plague, and the chamber pot could be reassigned among the Privy Council, the Senate, the army, and the Committee of Grandees (or elsewhere) with equal effect. Readers see what they want to see in texts, and authors, like the suspected conspirators, have little recourse; given the polymorphism of English, there is no absolute proof of textual innocence once the charge of linguistic duplicity has been made. When the readers in Swift's works step in to designate textual meaning, their hermeneutic activities seem to be justified, for they provide the authorizing presence that texts apparently lack. They continuously redefine textual meaning, and as every text is dissected by every critical method, a series of readings develop that are all "derived" from the text and that are all equally valid. Accordingly, the Tale Teller proposes that if seven scholars were to spend seven years analyzing his Tale, "I shall venture to affirm, that whatever Difference may be found in their several Conjectures, they will be all, without the least Distortion, manifestly deduceable from the Text" (185). Clearly, texts are not open to an infinite number of plausible interpretations, but for Swift's moderns a plethora of interpretations confirms the depth of literary genius, and the results of a cumulative forty-nine years of critical study will prove that the reader of the Tale will find in it ''sufficient Matter to employ his Speculations for the rest of his Life" (185). This is the critical counterpart to the moderns' plenum theory of literature, for just as more writing is better writing, so too the more readings that a text generates, the better the text is. Swift, of course, argues the opposite: when critical volume is the primary indicator of literary value, both interpretation and textual content become irrelevant. Swift asserts that there is only one appropriate reading for a particular text, assuming the competence of the writer. Swift does not

< previous page

page_154

next page >

< previous page

page_155

next page > Page 155

doubt that there is such a thing as authorial competence, and that knowledge, reason, and linguistic dexterity are necessary components of such authorship. It is equally obvious to Swift that incompetent writers not only lack these qualities, but that their violations of language and sense encourage readers to deviate from literary norms as well. (He does not concede that language and literary convention may not be adequate for conveying authorial meaning.) But Swift also believes in the notion of the competent reader, and his satires attempt to create discerning readers by training his audience to recognize and reconcile the multiple meanings of his texts. Through such careful manipulation of his readers, Swift anticipates, and attempts to forestall, the numerous misreadings that he depicts in his works from being perpetrated on his works. For Swift, the democracy of reading allows for incompetent interpretations that continuously undermine literary standardsbecause anyone can appropriate a text, everyone can. As the readers in Swift's works demonstrate, misreading obscures authorial meaning, which makes the proper interpretation of the text difficult, if not inaccessible, to others. Much to Swift's dismay, this hermeneutic free-for-all does not diminish the cachet of literary criticism or instigate the establishment of analytical criteria; instead, as all interpretations are rendered equal, all texts are equal as well: And it is the more necessary that the good People of England should have liberty to chuse some other Scripture, because all Christian Priests differ so much about the Copies of theirs, and about the various Readings of several Manuscripts, which quite destroys the Authority of the Bible: For what Authority can a Book pretend to, where there are various Readings? (Abstract of Collins's Discourse on Free-thinking, IV:33) 22 Collins simply reverses the Tale Teller's error: his rejection of textual worth because of multiple interpretations is just as misguided as the Tale Teller's esteem for texts that provoke multiple readings. By espousing universal textual equality, and then linking it to the impotence of the individual text, Collins puts at risk the codes and works held sacred by society. Of course Collins's casual dismissal of the privileged status of the Bible was guaranteed to strike a sour note in Swift, a member of the established Anglican clergy.23 Yet there

< previous page

page_155

next page >

< previous page

page_156

next page > Page 156

are other irritants here as well, particularly the lack of discrimination inherent in unilateral judgments, which always rankled Swift. Whenever readers rely on such notions to evaluate texts, they exist in a state of autocratic ignorance, and it becomes exceedingly difficult to develop and inculcate standards of literary valueand for Swift, all the more imperative that such standards exist. Swift exaggerates parsing, literalism, and figurative reading to convince his readers that formal literary analysis is folly. But to be precise, the readers in Swift's works, not these methods, are at fault; each of these interpretive devices can be illuminating given the proper context and judicious application. Still, Swift targets interpretive methodology as well as his characters' misapprehension of it, for the tools of literary analysis generate the readings that defeat authors and their texts. With this barrage of analytic methods, Swift's characters open texts to any and all meanings, so that texts are no longer able to regulate themselves; when readers misconstrue the determinants that establish meaning, authorial texts do not survive. Interpretive reading easily destroys literary authority and value, first by stripping writers of their textual control, and then by granting legitimacy to the myriad misconstructions of readers. Or in terms of the translation motif I have been suggesting, as interpretation translates textual meaning, so too it transfers textual authority from the author to the reader. This was the real threat of interpretation for Swift, who felt that any situation that subverted the recognition and acceptance of authority and valuebe it religious, political, or literarywas inherently dangerous. And it is the author's ultimate inability to control the reception of his works, and consequently his fame and posterity, that lies at the root of Swift's anxieties regarding his own authorship. The very multiplicity of readers and readings is devious in Swift's eyes because they facilitate a sacrifice of authorial autonomy and textual unity that Swift is unwilling to acceptbut he must accept it if he is to be read at all. While Swift reasserts his textual authority by pointing to the mistakes of his readers, this is never sufficient; Swift's slippery prose style is his most effective weapon in hampering readers from usurping his texts. 24 In the methods of reading discussed thus far, readers interact with words to one degree or another to interpret texts. Yet the reader's

< previous page

page_156

next page >

< previous page

page_157

next page > Page 157

trump card in the struggle with authors for textual power is to stop reading altogether: "The Paper I hold lies at my mercy, and I can govern it as I please; therefore, when I begin to find the Wit too bright, the Learning too deep, and the Satyr too keen for me to deal with, (a very frequent Case no doubt . . .) I peaceably fold it up, and fling it aside, and read no more" (Examiner 18, III:30). Without his language to represent him, the author cannot communicate, much less guard his meaning from the misconstructions of readers; the reader simply ignores the words on the page and masters the text by treating it as an object. By closing the book, the reader always has the final word. Swift exploits the physical existence of texts for comic effect in Gulliver's Travels, as the Lagadans attempt to acquire textual knowledge by circumventing reading entirely: [At the Mathematical School] the Proposition and Demonstration were fairly written on a thin Wafer, with Ink composed of a Cephalick Tincture. This the Student was to swallow on a fasting Stomach, and for three Days following eat nothing but Bread and Water. As the Wafer digested, the Tincture mounted to his Brain, bearing the Proposition along with it. But the Success hath not hitherto been answerable, partly by some Error in the Quantum or Composition, and partly by Perverseness of the Lads; to whom this Bolus is so nauseous, that they generally steal aside, and discharge it upwards before it can operate; neither have they been yet persuaded to use so long an Abstinence as the Prescription requires. (XI:186) 25 Reading is subsumed to gastronomy, science, and religion, as it becomes both a mechanical and a mystical experience. The methodology exhibits Swift's characteristic derision of science and the usual pattern of cognitive reversal of his satires, for scientific law is violated as it is invoked: the law of conservation of matter allows for the formal alteration of physical elements, but science does not pretend to transform the abstract into the concrete, or vice versaand the Lagadan process requires both for success.26 Since the administration of the wafer necessitates the destruction of its text, to reconstitute the proposition, much less its meaning, is impossible. The unmistakeable liabilities of this system never disturb the Lagadans, nor do they occur to Gulliver, who is too busy relating the process to notice that

< previous page

page_157

next page >

< previous page

page_158

next page > Page 158

it cannot possibly work. Neither does Gulliver notice the parody of communion that he is describing, and as his rhetoric invokes the religious conventions of fasting, the ascetic diet of bread and water, abstinence, and most pointedly, the wafer, Gulliver not only reveals the failure to transmit knowledge, but the failure of belief as well. Appropriately, Gulliver does not read the situation any more than the students read their propositions; both are conduits, and as information passes through them, nothing is retained. Nevertheless, Swift's message is clear: as long as writing conveys knowledge, direct and literate interaction with texts is necessary for one's intellectual and spiritual health. When texts are circumvented, the supposed benefits of their surrogatesscience and communiononly lead to nauseous delusion. 27 The dark side of this comedy of tangible (or at least edible) textuality is shown in Tale of a Tub, for the brothers ultimately master their father's will by controlling its physical status. Although Peter repeatedly has made the will "fashionable," linguistic malleability and literary precedent are insufficient means to doctor the will so that the brothers can keep up with the times. When the will can no longer be adapted to modern practices, they lock it away (8990). This abandonment of the will is a tacit admission that reading cannot change the truth of a text despite the vagaries of interpretation, but it is also an explicit rejection of textual meaning, for the brothers refuse to engage the text. The will communicates a message that the brothers do not want to hear, and since they cannot change the message, they simply ignore it. The incarceration of the will signals Peter's freedom from all interpretive constraints; Peter is no longer bound by its text, and therefore no longer concerned with justifying his behavior to himself or to his brothers. Here circumventing texts leads to tyranny, and as Peter arrogates the authority once granted to his father's words, he thwarts the fraternal challenges to his power by preventing his brothers from consulting the will (121). But because he does not destroy the will, Peter unwittingly sows the seeds of his overthrow, for as long as the will physically exists, it can be appropriated by someone else. While they remain ignorant of the will's contents, Martin and Jack have no recourse against Peter's threats of damnation (120121); when they

< previous page

page_158

next page >

< previous page

page_159

next page > Page 159

finally read the will, Martin and Jack are able to extricate themselves from Peter's yoke. As Martin and Jack retrieve authorial meaning, they allegorically enact the Reformation by altering their "Peterized," fringed, shoulder-knotted coats (121122, 133136). Inevitably, the reading of the paternal will allows for more misreadings, and Jack's literalist analysis, as discussed earlier, is a radical misreading of the text. Jack's interpretation is instigated by the will, but his reading is ultimately determined by Peter's figurativism; since the imperative to rebel against Peter is uppermost in Jack's mind, he reverses everything that Peter advocates, including his hermeneutics. Perversely, both literalism and figurativism achieve the same erroneous results, as they assign too few, or too many, signifieds to textual signifiers. 28 Yet the logical and rhetorical fallacies that are attendant upon reading cannot be avoided if one chooses not to read. Since the absence of reading is not synonymous with the absence of interpretation, an individual can assert a reading without consulting a text, and thereby become a victim of his own misguided authority rather than someone else's. The Lagadans exemplify this kind of self-delusion in their circumventions of textuality and in their misplaced justifications for knowledge and cognition. But far more often, the nonreading stance leaves one open to the intellectual tyranny depicted in the Tale's allegory. The issue of nonreading is essentially another manifestation of Swift's fool versus knave questionis it better to dupe oneself, or to be duped by others, by not reading? The only way out of this dilemma is to read, and more importantly, to become the proper reader. By constantly exposing methods of misreading in his works, Swift manipulates his reader into correcting the errors of his characters' interpretations. In so doing Swift implicitly suggests that there is a method of reading that prevents the reader from falling into the trap of misinterpretationa method that teaches the reader to recognize and discount the inappropriate responses that literature can invoke. However, the mechanics of this proper reading are never fully delineated within the Swift canon, and characters whom one would expect to be designated as proper readers are never caught in the act of

< previous page

page_159

next page >

< previous page

page_160

next page > Page 160

reading. The Houyhnhnms do not write, and consequently, they do not read; the Brobdingnagians earn Gulliver's derision (and Swift's admiration) for their inability to discover more than one reading of their laws, but neither their laws nor their singular interpretations are given in the text. On the other hand, an exemplary character like the Drapier does include his readings of the coinage laws and the contemporary treatises on Wood's pence in The Drapier's Letters, but he is not truly a proper reader because his preexisting agenda requires that he enact a subversive, proprietary reading. This is not to say that proper readers cannot be subversive as well; in fact, I think that Swift would argue that the best readers are those who have the judgment to discern when it is necessary to undermine the author by refuting his text. However, proper readers are not proprietary in the same way as Swift's infamous "misreaders" are; since proper readers acknowledge authorial intent and literary convention, they do not rewrite a text so much as they respond to it. The Drapier's astute reading of the economic situation leads to frequent revisions of Wood's prose to prove the insidiousness of Wood's plan. 29 In a strict sense then, the Drapier is not engaged in proper reading, although he does serve the proper purpose. The elusiveness of proper reading is not surprising given the amorphous nature of its constituent elements: propriety and judgment. What is surprising is that there is an example of a proper reader in the Swift canon at all. Swift is generally reluctant to depict positive values within his works, for it leaves those values (and Swift's representation of them) open to attack. Accordingly, the archetype of the proper reader in Swift's satires is the third, largely silent brother in A Tale of A Tub, Martin. In general, Martin carries the ideological weight of Swift's religious and literary convictions, and his very recessiveness allows Swift to advocate his opinions without being forced to enumerate and justify them in detail. Through this strategy, Swift precludes criticism, for in the absence of distinct, articulated arguments, Swift's values cannot be easily exposed to derision. Instead, Swift lets elusiveness slide into allusiveness, and his readers struggle to ascertain values that Swift insists upon but refuses to define.

< previous page

page_160

next page >

< previous page

page_161

next page > Page 161

As a proper reader, Martin comprehends words at their intended value, and his coat approaches its pristine condition after he reads the paternal will (140). Martin's success is due to a combination of patience and common sense, which enables him to recover authorial meaning, and consequently, to restore his coat: Martin laid the first Hand; at one twitch brought off a large Handful of Points, and with a second pull, stript away ten dozen Yards of Fringe. But when He had gone thus far, he demurred a while: He knew very well, there yet remained a great deal more to be done; however, the first Heat being over, his Violence began to cool, and he resolved to proceed more moderately in the rest of the Work. . . . He fell about the embroidered Indian Figures of Men, Women, and Children; against which, as you have heard in its due Place, their Father's Testament was extreamly exact and severe: These, with much Dexterity and Application, were after a while, quite eradicated, or utterly defaced. For the rest, where he observed the Embroidery to be workt so close, as not to be got away without damaging the Cloth, or where it served to hide or strengthen any Flaw in the Body of the Coat, contracted by the perpetual tampering of Workmen upon it; he concluded the wisest Course was to let it remain; resolving in no Case whatsoever, that the Substance of the Stuff should suffer Injury; which he thought the best Method for serving the true Intent and Meaning of his Father's Will. (135137) Unlike his brothers, Martin understands that the point of the exercise is to reconcile the coat and the will, not to destroy one for the sake of the other. When the letter of the will cannot be accommodated, Martin responds to its spirit; his willingness to compromise does not deny the will's authority so much as it adapts that authority to changing times. As a result, Martin gains the interpretive credibility that evades his brothers, and through his submission to the will, he acquires a measure of the authority that they so desperately want and never legitimately achieve. Martin's analysis points toward many of the tools of proper readingcommon sense, the awareness of authorial intent, and the avoidance of imposing meaning, among thembut Swift's reader is only left with the tools, not with specific instructions on how to use them. Of course, Swift cannot advocate a specific method of literary exegesis, for that is precisely his point: no single interpretive method

< previous page

page_161

next page >

< previous page

page_162

next page > Page 162

can adequately respond to the vagaries of language. Only an amorphous standard will do, for each of the elements that conspires to generate meaning (authorial intent, literary and linguistic conventions, logic, and so on) has its own substantial range of expression, and in combination they create a countless number of literary effects. Readers must evaluate each of these elements separately and together to assess literature properly; to take any other position is to sanction the abuse of authors and their literature, and ultimately, the deception of readers as well. While it is fitting then that Martin, a relative cipher, should embody Swift's reading ideal, he is, of necessity, an insufficient model. Rather, in his usual admonitory fashion, Swift develops a blueprint for astute reading that depends on negative injunctions that are more potent, and more easily depicted, than their positive counterparts. 30 Yet the episode of Martin and his coat provides an interesting coda to the act of reading, for only Martin seems to realize that the will cannot be truly reclaimed. Once a text has been read, it never remains the same; subsequent readings are colored by their predecessors, so that an unobstructed reading of a text is virtually impossible. The Critical Bestiary With their lopsided interpretations and willful, destructive behavior, the misguided readers in Swift's texts serve as the archetypes for the readers of Swift's texts, the modern critics. As the readers in Swift's fiction have shown, language is the perfect weapon: critics can co-opt a writer's authority by interpreting a text and at the same time avoid responsibility for the textual mess that they revealor more often, create. The noted eighteenth-century critic Richard Bentley frequently amended texts at the cost of sense and aesthetics, and after publishing edited versions of Aristophanes, Cicero, and Horace, Bentley set his sights on Paradise Lost. As David Nokes writes, "Milton had, after all, been blind, and Bentley chose to assume that the poet's manuscript had been seen through the press by an incompetent friend. In setting out to correct the 'errors' that had crept into the text, Bentley's [edition] was able not only to show off his knowledge of English philology but to demonstrate his superior understanding

< previous page

page_162

next page >

< previous page

page_163

next page > Page 163

of science over that of the poet." Accordingly, Bentley uses Newton's Opticks to prove the inaccuracy of Milton's famous paradox, "darkness visible," (PL, I:63) and to suggest that it be replaced by the technically correct locution, "transpicuous gloom." 31 Despite, or perhaps because of, this absurd critical climate, Swift willingly invited disdain with his satires of the literary scene in A Tritical Essay, Battle of the Books, and most of all, in the Tale's digression on modern critics. The Tale Teller claims that the old style critic, who developed standards of taste in order to judge literature, and who attempted to revive ancient learning, is extinct. His modern successor, the "true" critic, is like Bentley, primarily "a Discoverer and Collector of Writers Faults."32 This true critic is presented as a hero for modern times, and the Tale Teller attempts to prove the legitimacy of the true critic by tracing his family history (from Bentley, Rymer, Wotton, Dennis, and Etcetera the Younger) back to the classical period, to such lustrous figures as Zoilus, who denounced Homer (9394). Yet as the Tale Teller describes the true critic, it is apparent that every one of the true critic's characteristics is a hindrance to literate understanding: true critics argue that first thoughts are the best, thereby eschewing textual analysis and study in favor of superficial assessment; they gravitate to great writers by instinct rather than judgment; and they resent works in which there is little to censure (103104).33 The characterization of critics in A Tritical Essay is hardly more reassuring: "I confess, I value the Opinion of the judicious Few, a Rymer, a Dennis, or a Walsh; but for the rest, to give my Judgment at once; I think the long Dispute among the Philosophers about a Vacuum, may be determined in the Affirmative, that it is to be found in a Critick's Head" (I:249). Clearly it is not just lack of judgment, but the absence of any intellectual activity that marks the true modern critic. Swift's ridicule intensifies as he metaphorizes the new, true critic to members of the animal kingdom. If modern literature is a jungle, then critics are the parasites and scavengers of the literary world. Critics swarm about the best writers like rats about the best cheese or wasps about the best fruit; they snarl like hungry dogs if they cannot find enough to criticize (Tale, 103104). They "are, at best, but the Drones of the learned World, who devour the Honey, and

< previous page

page_163

next page >

< previous page

page_164

next page > Page 164

will not work themselves; and a Writer need no more regard them, than the Moon does the Barking of a little sensless Cur. For, in spight of their terrible Roaring, you may with half an Eye discover the Ass under the Lyon's skin.'' (Tritical Essay, I:249) The ass is the primary symbol of the modern critic, and Swift's allegorical vision of Criticism in Battle of the Books has many features of an ass, including her head, ears, and voice (240). These asinine critics feed off of authors by pruning errors from their works; as noted in chapter 2, the critic-as-ass metaphor is so apt that writers cannot use it any more (Tale, 9899). Like the creatures that they resemble, modern critics are tainted by the dross that sustains them, and their critical writings are the quintessence of all the faults that they find (Tale, 9596). When the petty squabbles of the literary world take on epic proportions in Swift's Battle of the Books, the grasping cowardice of Wotton and Bentley confirms the dim-witted, parasitic image of the new critic in the Tale and A Tritical Essay. Bentley tries to acquire some glory by stealing the armor of Aesop and Phalaris while they are sleeping; he does not dare to challenge them when they are awake. Similarly, Wotton is not brave enough to confront Temple face to face, so he attacks Temple from behind. These critics receive their comeuppance when they are skewered by Boyle's spear, trussed like a brace of woodcocks (258). In Swift's eyes the moderns are inspired solely by their covetousness; the moderns want the respect that is accorded to the ancients, but they lack the talent to earn it themselves. Instead of struggling to achieve literary merit or conceding the inability to do so, the critic shifts from one underhanded strategy to the next, all to elevate himself by trampling on everyone else. 34 While Bentley and Wotton suffer in comparison to the heroic ancients in the Battle, Criticism herself appears in full epic glory, and her allegorical family vividly displays all the repulsive traits of critics: Momus found her [Criticism] extended in her Den, upon the Spoils of numberless Volumes half devoured. At her right hand sat Ignorance, her Father and Husband, blind with Age; at her left, Pride her Mother, dressing her up in the Scraps of Paper herself had torn. There, was Opinion her Sister, light of Foot, hoodwinkt, and headstrong, yet giddy and perpetually turning. About her play'd

< previous page

page_164

next page >

< previous page

page_165

next page > Page 165

her Children, Noise and Impudence, Dullness and Vanity, Positiveness, Pedantry, and Ill-Manners. (Battle, 240) Despite the vein of dark comedy here, particularly evident in the description of the family members, Swift's Criticism is calculated to alienate the reader. Both physically and psychologically, Criticism is the center of the scene, and she has no intention of relinquishing her authority or her share of attention. As she lounges in her lair, Criticism embodies both sloth and self-indulgence; she is appetitive, even gluttonous, as the half-eaten books attest; and the fawning of Pride intimates that Criticism is vain as well. That she is the mother of such a prodigious and distasteful progeny adds to her image as an emblem of evil, for they are evidence of her lust and incestuousness as well as the characteristics that constitute her true intellectual self. In the literary tradition, Criticism is both the mythical dragon that must be conquered for peace to reign in the land and an incarnation of Milton's Sin, who, as daughter and wife of Satan, gives birth to Death. 35 Upon hearing about the impending battle between the ancients and moderns, Criticism responds like a modern by asserting her own importance: 'Tis I (said she) who give Wisdom to Infants and Idiots; By Me, Children grow wiser than their Parents. . . . By Me, Sophisters debate, and conclude upon the Depths of Knowledge; and Coffee-house Wits instinct by Me, can correct an Author's Style, and display his minutest Errors, without understanding a Syllable of his Matter or his Language. By Me, Striplings spend their Judgment, as they do their Estate, before it comes into their Hands. 'Tis I, who have deposed Wit and Knowledge from their Empire over Poetry, and advanced my self in their stead. And shall a few upstart Antients dare to oppose me? (Battle, 241) Unlike Bentley and Wotton, who are conniving toward greatness, Criticism already assumes the title. By playing upon the stupidity and ambition of would-be wits, Criticism has established her sovereignty over that which she would destroy; to ensure her perpetuity is only a matter of eliminating Wit and Knowledge altogethera task that will be completed by Pope's Dulness in The Dunciad. With this self-righteous paean, Swift points to what for him is the potent delusion of criticism: that the subversion of intellectual and societal

< previous page

page_165

next page >

< previous page

page_166

next page > Page 166

standards is not only desirable, but justifiable, for the sake of self-aggrandizement. While rhetorically effective, Swift's characterization of critics and criticism in the Tale, A Tritical Essay, and The Battle of the Books is more of an accusation than an exposé, for it lacks the specific analysis necessary to condemn critics thoroughly. Swift rarely refuted his critics' arguments directly, for by acknowledging their comments he would be implicitly granting them some legitimacy, so Swift generally kept silent and hoped that he would seem dignified. 36 When Swift did refer to his critics, he treated them as an undifferentiated mass, which allowed him to play on the stereotype of the self-serving critic that he had developed.37 This stance is especially evident in his political writings, where Swift's Whig opposition is an amorphous "them": You Sir, perhaps will wonder, as most others do, what End these angry Folks propose, in writing perpetually against the Examiner: It is not to beget a better Opinion of the late Ministry, or with any Hope to convince the World that I am in the Wrong in any one fact I relate; they know all that to be lost Labour; and yet their Design is important enough: They would fain provoke me by all Sort of Methods, within the Length of their Capacity, to answer their Papers; which would render mine wholly useless to the Publick: For, if it once came to Rejoinder and Reply, we should be all upon a Level; and then their Work would be done. (Examiner 28, III:87) The Whigs certainly are looking to raise the reputation of the previous Whig ministry and to convince the public of the errors of the current Tory government; Swift's declaration of the impossibility of doing either is preposterous, but it lets him evade the Whig charges by discrediting their existence. Swift camouflages this evasion by switching from a defensive to an offensive position; by attributing less-than-noble motives to the Whigs, Swift can ostracize them as minor hack writers looking to gain some prestige by provoking him to respond. In other words, Swift's recasting of the situation lets him rewrite the conclusion to fit his own purposes. Of course, the Whigs have succeeded in eliciting a response from Swift, but this is a nonanswer answer; there is nothing here for a Whig to latch on to other than the presumption of Swift as the Tory Examiner. This image of untouchable superiority was very useful for Swift,

< previous page

page_166

next page >

< previous page

page_167

next page > Page 167

and he nurtured it for personal and political reasons. Although Swift reveled in the pamphlet wars, he knew that it was neither the arena of literary genius nor the way to achieve lasting fame. To rationalize his participation to himself, if to no one else, Swift had to distinguish himself from the run-of-the-mill political propagandist. Always a facile creator of alternate personae, Swift translated himself into the high "gentlemanly" profile, one that was above petty quarreling, and by doing so, he hit upon the perfect gambit. Swift knew that this image would incense the Whigs, and that any Whig attack, even dismissing Swift as a pompous ass, could be countered by arguing that the attacker was confessing Swift's merit merely by making the effort to criticize Swift and his work. 38 Without this rationale, Swift's silence would be regarded as cowardice or concession; with it, Swift never had to directly answer the Whigs' arguments. The only safe way out for the Whigs was to admit defeat and not attack Swift at all.39 Thus, Swift's condescending approval of his Whig antagonists is just another way for Swift to provoke a Whig response, which he could use to belittle them even further: I cannot be angry with those Gentlemen for perpetually writing against me: It furnishes them largely with Topicks; and is besides, their proper Business: Neither is it Affectation, or altogether Scorn, that I do not Reply. But as Things are, we both act suitable to our several Provinces: Mine is, by laying open some Corruptions in the late Management, to set those who are ignorant, right in their Opinions of Persons and Things: It is theirs to cover with Fig-Leaves all the Faults of their Friends, as well as they can: . . . If I were as They, my chief Endeavour should certainly be to batter down the Examiner; therefore I cannot but approve their Design. (Examiner 26, III:76) Swift clearly believed that the best defense was a good offense, and by displacing attention from himself to his critics, he did not have to defend his position. Of course, this stance implies that Swift's positions were indefensible, which was far from the truthrather, Swift knew that he would never convert the Whigs to Tory policy, or convince the literary critics of the merit of his work, by answering their arguments. But with wily evasions and witty denunciations, Swift could persuade the public and gratify his ego at the same time.

< previous page

page_167

next page >

< previous page

page_168

next page > Page 168

Swift characterizes readers and critics then in much the same way: both the professional and the amateur are self-important, self-indulgent usurpersthey exist in a Hobbist vision of the literary world, in which they seek to advance at the expense of others. The critics' fault-finding instinct is central to this domineering psychology, and not surprisingly, it is the linchpin of readers' interpretations as well. Like the critic, the reader ostensibly knows more than the author, and therefore knows how to correct the text to elucidate what the author really meant (or more often, what the reader wants it to mean). By appropriating texts in this manner, critics and readers "prove" their authority and superior knowledge and thereby ascend the literary hierarchy. As these aggressive traits link readers and critics, so do their cognitive skills. They are violators of language and logic, sufficiently literate to destroy books with ease, and despite Swift's satiric depiction of these characters as idiots and fools, they are usually intelligent enough to know that they are doing so. There is, however, an important distinction to be made here, for as similar as they are, Swift envisions readers and critics as having related, but ultimately different, motives. The readers in Swift's texts tend to displace authors by rewriting their books, but for Swift's critics, the issue is not only textual authority but hegemony over literature itself. Swift's Criticism does, after all, have a grander plan than proprietary reading: the conquest of poetry. Critics seek to overturn the standard literary hierarchy in which criticism is subordinate to literature by making literature dependent on criticism. The reader's arbitration of meaning is just the first step toward the subjugation of literature as a whole; the professionalization of such reading, through published reviews, essays, annotated editions, and so on, makes it possible for critics to inculcate their vision of literary value. As a result, critics are able to determine the shape of literature, for as they influence the public's reception of literary works, so too they fashion authorial perceptions of literature. For Swift such a state of affairs is obviously unnaturalit is the elevation of the reader's lesser prerogatives into a bureaucratic program in which authors have little recourse and critics have no accountability. Swift's distinction between readers and critics is then largely one of magnitude, for the ambition and authoritarianism that characterize the critical agenda

< previous page

page_168

next page >

< previous page

page_169

next page > Page 169

are far beyond the scope of the general reader. Readers at least offer a counterliterature in light of an author's work; critics at best generate a perversely antiliterary movement. Reading Swift Reading Despite his vilification of readers and critics, Swift as a reader exemplifies many of the same proprietary, antiauthorial traits, and when it suits his purpose, he too engages in methods of misreading. Swift's most extensive comments as a reader are his marginalia in Gilbert Burnet's History of his Own Times (172434), which were the source for his Preface to the Right Reverend Dr. Burnet's Introduction and his Short Remarks on Bishop Burnet's History; his comments on Clarendon's History of the Rebellion (1707); and his notes for his Remarks upon Tindall's Rights of the Christian Church (1708). Swift was surprisingly candid about his biases as a reader: "That was excellently observed, say I, when I read a Passage in an Author, where his Opinion agrees with mine. When we differ, there I pronounce him to be mistaken" (Thoughts on Various Subjects, IV: 248). Whatever chagrin Swift may have felt at finding himself among the judgmental readers he abhorred was probably matched by his bemusement at his own gullibility, for Swift admitted, "WHEN I am reading a Book, whether wise or silly, it seemeth to me to be alive and talking to me" (Thoughts on Various Subjects, IV:253). 40 Swift's marginalia and notes provide ample evidence for both of these assessments, and as his own remarks suggest, the quality of Swift's judgments as a reader is not a striking as his aggressive engagement with texts. Swift's comments reveal the mind of a writer at work, for he is quick to perceive the rhetorical and dialectical strategies of other authors, and to exploit those tactics in his formal responses to their work. Swift is most attuned to textual nuance when he intends to expose authorial illogic; on the alert for deception, Swift scrutinizes his adversaries' rhetoric. Whether it is this extra attention, or what is more likely, his own inextricable biases, Swift invariably finds something to complain abouthe never concedes that an opponent writes well. In the regard, Swift's critical evaluations tend to be self-validating: if an author's judgment cannot be trusted, his work cannot

< previous page

page_169

next page >

< previous page

page_170

next page > Page 170

possibly be good, and if an author's writing is poor, his judgment cannot be trusted. 41 I do not intend to suggest that Swift is a sensitive reader only when he is looking to criticize, but like most readers, he is more verbal in censure than in praise. Swift's arrow in the margin pointing to Clarendon's "the Sovereignty of our Seas, so naturally, so anciently, and so justly the true defense of this Kingdom" (V:295) is a sign of approval, for Swift made a similar argument in Conduct of the Alliesbut there is no analysis of Clarendon's argument, and no textual engagement apparent in Swift's response. Swift does not write an extended commentary when he agrees with an author; Burnet's "I was ordered to gather together all the presumptive proofs (of the birth of the pretended Prince of Wales). . . . These did not amount to a full and legal proof: yet they seemed to be such violent presumptions, that, when they were all laid together, they were more convincing than plain and downright evidence" (V:292) elicits a "Well said, Bishop'' from Swift, and one wonders whether Swift approves of Burnet's distinction between persuasive and factual evidence, the conclusion Burnet drew from this fragmented testimony, or both. Because of this tendency toward silent agreement, Swifts' awareness of textual strategies is best elucidated in adversarial situations, for a Swift attends to the details of diction, grammar, and logic in turn, it is possible to trace the construction of his own proprietary readings. Swift often gets distracted by a writer's stylistic tics, so much so that issues of diction, rhythm, and repetition seem to dominate his response to certain texts. It is noteworthy that Swift's first advice to Burnet about his History is "to endeavour a little at mending his Style, which is mighty defective in the Circumstances of Grammar, Propriety, Politeness, and Smoothness" (IV:82). Swift responds to Burnet's vocabulary with sarcastic rejoinders, like "A noble epithet" for Burnet's use of "pye-balled" (V:271); "clapt" provokes Swift to an irritated "Dignity of Expression" (V:266) and a vehement "Pox of his Claps" (V:268).42 The low diction of Burnet's phrasing constantly bothers Swift, who takes repeated offense at phrases like "in the management of that run of success" (V:275), "if it had been demanded above board" (V:278) and "and now the tables were turned" (V:283) for being the language of gamesters. Yet Swift's irritation seems far

< previous page

page_170

next page >

< previous page

page_171

next page > Page 171

less justified when he reads stylistic problems into Burnet's text. Swift knows what Burnet means when Burnet writes, "The guards, having lost thirty of their number, were forced to run for it"; nevertheless he takes the literalist turn and responds, "For what?" (V:279). 43 Swift retaliates for suffering through Burnet's rhetoric by suggesting that this diction is evidence of irremediable degeneracy: Setting up for a maxim, Laying down for a maxim, Clapt up, Decency, and some other words and phrases, he uses many hundred times. Cut out for a Court, A pardoning planet, Clapt up, Left in the lurch, The Mob, Outed, A great beauty, Went roundly to work: All these phrases used by the vulgar, shew him to have kept mean or illiterate company in his youth. (Short Remarks on Bishop Burnet's History, V:184)44 When Swift cannot assign a motive for such language, he assigns a context for it, which enables him to portray Burnet as he wisheslower class, vulgar, and illiterate. Swift resents being in such company, for it is an affront to his dignity and a waste of his time (which may say more about Swift's character than about Burnet's). Since language shapes as well as reveals the self, Burnet's common diction inevitably invokes a conservative, Swiftian response for propriety and correctness, consonant with the linguistic and stylistic agenda of Tatler 230 and his Proposal Correcting the English Tongue. Burnet is to be reprimanded, for like many members of the court, town, and theatre, he overturns linguistic and social standards by choosing trendy over traditional diction in his work. For Swift, effective writing was not only a matter of appropriate diction, but also of mellifluousness. Swift was always sensitive to the sound of language, and the previous chapters have shown his preference for liquid, Latinate sounds as well as his fascination with aural puns and onomatopoetic games. Swift knew the rhythms of prose, and like a person saddled with an inept dance partner, he resented authors who did not follow the tempo. He found the staccato effect of short, clipped sentences to be extremely awkward: He came afterwards out into the world. I saw him often. He was a man of a very sweet temper, only a little too formal for a Frenchman. But he was very sincere. He was a Jansenist. He hated the Jesuits. (V:274)

< previous page

page_171

next page >

< previous page

page_172

next page > Page 172

These "pretty jumping periods" by Burnet were just as offensive to Swift as the "long confounding periods" of Clarendon: . . . for, Dr. Featly (upon whose Reputation in Learning, they had raised great advantages to themselves) having made many Speeches in the Assembly in the behalf of the order of Bishops etc and inveighed against 'the liberty that was taken in matter of Religion, by which etc. had so far incurr'd their displeasure, and provoked their jealousy, that an ordinary fellow (so well Confirm'd in Spirit, that they fear'd not his falling or conversion) was directed to make application to him in cases of Conscience, and after he had got sufficient credit with him (which was no hard matter) to intimate to him etc. (V:304305) 45 Yet what really incensed Swift was the thudding sound of incessant repetition. He had little patience for unvaried vocabulary even when the diction was appropriate, and both Burnet and Clarendon were "repeat" offenders in this regard. Clarendon's frequent use of the phrase "the word of a King" irritated Swift, and he wrote on the front of his copy, "This Phrase is repeated some hundred times; but is ever foolish, and too often false" (V:295). Inside, his notes on "the word of a King" range from "Never to be relyed upon'' (V:300) to "I cannot endure that Phrase any more" (V:300), with variations such as "How long is that Phrase to last?" (V:301), "A frequent and foolish word" (V:301), and "Batterd as a Phraze" (V:301). By the time Swift began the third volume of Clarendon's History, he was thoroughly disgusted: "That frequent expression, UPON THE WORD OF A KING, I have always despised and detested, for a thousand Reasons" (V:308).46 Burnet's repetitiousness is of a different variety: instead of repeating a phrase throughout his History, Burnet becomes fixated on a word that reappears within a sentence, or within the span of a few sentences: "He did not think orders given without bishops were null and void. He thought, the forms of government were not settled by such positive laws as were unalterable; but only by apostolical practices, which, as he thought, authorized Episcopacy as the best form. Yet he did not think it necessary to the being of a church. But he thought . . ." (V:269). Swift notices this thumping with a "Think, thought, thought, think, thought" comment in the margin (V:269).

< previous page

page_172

next page >

< previous page

page_173

next page > Page 173

Burnet's droning did not provoke Swift as much as Clarendon's; the ideology behind Clarendon's "the word of a King" obviously bothered him, whereas conceptual difficulties do not enter into his responses to Burnet's repetitiveness. 47 As a result, Swift notices the repetition in Burnet but rarely censures him for it; Swift is willing to let Burnet go with a quiet "much, much, much" (V:273), a somewhat impressed ''Four thats in one live" (V:272), or at most, a sarcastic "Court, court, rare style!" (V:277).48 After "propriety, politeness, and smoothness," grammar draws Swift's notice. Generally, Swift's rhetorical comments do not focus on grammatical issues, but Burnet's pronoun referents are genuinely confusing, and Swift constantly requests clarification: "Lord Halifax and he (Lord Hyde) fell to be in ill terms: for he hated Lord Sunderland beyond expression, though he had married his sister." Swift wants to know, "Who married whose sister?" (V:280), and it is virtually impossible to tell. If the "he" consistently refers to Hyde, than it is likely that Hyde married Sunderland's sister; but it is also possible that Sunderland married Hyde's sister, that Halifax married Sunderland's sister, or that Sunderland married Halifax's sister. Swift's notes on Burnet are peppered with "Who on whom?" (V:274), "Who told him?" (V:272), "Who blamed whom?" (V:274), and "Who told who?" (V:276). Like his stylistic commentary, these grammatical remarks can be described as part frustration and part comic misconstruction. But here there is genuine confusion as well, which justifies Swift's grammatical queries even more than his stylistic marginalia, for they attempt to reconstruct communication that has been rendered incomplete. Swift's grammatical questions try to establish the status of the textual evidence, which is generally the first test of an author's argument. Not surprisingly, Swift doubts the veracity of statements like Burnet's "He told it to a person, from whom Tillotson had it, who told it me" (V:281). Swift's wry response, "admirable authority," gives way to more forthright contradictions, whether it is a simple "This is false" (II:92) or a strident "A damnable lie" (V:286). On occasion Swift refutes an argument with specific information, but

< previous page

page_173

next page >

< previous page

page_174

next page > Page 174

usually he does not dwell on the inaccuracies of authorial data because it is boring to correct evidence all the time: "BUT his [Tindall's] Arguments and Definitions are yet more supportable than the Grossness of historical Remarks, which are scattered so plentifully in his Book, that it would be tedious to enumerate, or to shew the Fraud and Ignorance of them" (Remarks upon Tindall, II:8283). Of course, inaccurate evidence provides ammunition for Swift to use against its author, but ultimately, the accuracy of the evidence is irrelevant; factual evidence can be manipulated by authors (and readers) just as easily as duplicitous evidence. Accordingly, Swift assesses the value of evidence, but he is much more intrigued by the structure of an author's argument. 49 Swift's analysis of authorial logic tends to focus on (and often assert the presence of) three argumentative fallacies: definitional problems, as manifested by the inability to make distinctions; inaccuracies in cause and effect; and improprieties of comparison, particularly misaligned metaphors. Swift always enjoys catching the contradictions of an author's argument, and he gleefully snags Burnet at the very start of Burnet's Introduction: My Lord begins his Introduction with an Account of the Reasons, why he was guilty of so many Mistakes in the first Volume of his History of the Reformation: His Excuses are just, rational, and extremely consistent. He says, He wrote in Haste, which he confirms by adding, That it lay a Year after he wrote it, before it was put into the Press. (Preface to Burnet, IV:59) Swift does not even have to fill in the restjust presenting the two statements in conjunction is sufficient. Burnet's unwitting (and witless) fusion of opposites is a symptom of what is to come, for if Burnet cannot recognize obvious differences, he certainly cannot be expected to make subtle distinctions. Of course it is possible, even likely, that Swift is playing the critic's pick-andchoose game here, but without Burnet's text, the reader does not know whether these two phrases were presented sequentially by Burnet, or if Swift thrust them together. Yet determining the truth does not really matter, for the damage has been done; Swift knows that his readers will find it more satisfying (and easier) to assume that Swift is quick and Burnet

< previous page

page_174

next page >

< previous page

page_175

next page > Page 175

is a fool than to prove that Burnet is being wronged by a knavish Swift. On a more serious note, Swift posits that Tindall, like Burnet, fails to make distinctions, but Tindall's errors involve the definitions of right and power. Tindall writes, "As to a legislative Power, if that belongs to the Clergy by Divine Right, it must be when they are assembled in Convocation: But the 25 Hen. 8. c. 19. is a Bar to any such Divine Right, because that Act makes it no less a Praemunire for them, so much as to meet without the King's writ, &c." (II:81). Once Swift paraphrases Tindall's statement, its implications become clearer: "It is plain, the Clergy have no Divine Right to make Laws; because Hen. VIII. Edward VI. and Queen Elizabeth, with their Parliaments will not allow it them." For Swift, Tindall's comment exposes his misapprehension of the relationship between church and state: "Now, without examining what Divine Right the Clergy have, or how far it extendeth; is it any Sort of Proof that I have no Right, because a stronger Power will not let me exercise it? Or, doth all, that this Author says through his Preface, or Book itself, offer any other Sort of Argument but this, or what he deduces the same Way?'' (II:82). Although Swift is a bit pedantic here, he does have a point: there is a difference between having a right and exercising that right. Yet in practice Tindall's assessment is correct, for having a right is pointless if one does not have the ability to use it. By claiming that the Church had no divine right to make laws, Tindall implies that there is ample precedent to maintain governmental authority over religion; in essence, Tindall's argument eliminates the possibility of the Church regaining complete authority over itself. For Swift, however, it is crucial that the Church assert its rights even if it cannot act upon them, for any concession of authority only makes it more difficult to assert the powers of the Church. 50 While Swift is correct in theory, it is a distinction without any practical difference; Swift cannot deny the historical precedent, and his answer implicitly admits that the government is "stronger power" that the Church submits to. Swift might have been able to puncture Tindall's argument by asserting that historical precedent is an insufficient cause to determine the Church's present or future status, for as circumstances change,

< previous page

page_175

next page >

< previous page

page_176

next page > Page 176

rights and the ability to exercise those rights change as well. Swift had often controverted arguments by demonstrating faulty causality, extrapolating undesirable effects from premises, or both. When Tindall writes, "There can be no Alteration in the established Mode of Church Discipline, which is not made in a legal Way," Swift immediately enumerates other possible causes: "Oh, but there are several Methods to compass this legal Way, by Cunning, Faction, Industry" (II:102). Having undermined the causes in Tindall's premise, Swift then goes after the effects, and he extrapolates some of the less savory aspects of the legal way that Tindall advocates: ''The common People, he knows, may be wrought upon by Priests; these may influence the Faction, and so compass a very pernicious Law, and in a legal Way ruin the State; as King Charles I. began to be ruined in a legal Way, by passing bills, &c." Unfortunately, Swift does not always exploit the potential of cause and effect analysis so efficiently. Excessive exaggeration costs him credibility; when Clarendon writes, "Proclamation of the King: and thereunto We most humbly and faithfully do submit, and oblige our Selves, our Heirs, and Posterity for ever," Swift responds, "Can they oblige their Posterity 10000 years to come?" (V:320). Neither can Swift resist the opportunity to make a joke: when Burnet writes, "Upon the King's death, the Scots proclaimed his son King, and sent over Sir George Wincam, that married my great-aunt, to treat with him while he was in the Isle of Jersey," Swift points toward the subordinate clause and remarks, "Was that the reason he was sent?" (V:268) In other cases Swift's derivation of causes and effects is extremely limited, as in Swift's response to Tindall's comment that men should be preferred "not for their Capacity, but for their Zeal to the Church." Swift only foresees Dissenters in positions of authority, which will cause a "perpetual Struggling; which Case may be dangerous to the State." (II:103) By failing to pursue the implications of Tindall's "capacity" and "zeal," Swift misses his chance of condemning Dissenters with their own rhetoric; Swift certainly could argue that capacity is just as important as faith to a clergyman, and that Tindall's rhetoric proves that zealotry and competence are antithetical. With this Tindallian vision of Dissenters, who could be easily

< previous page

page_176

next page >

< previous page

page_177

next page > Page 177

construed as incompetent zealots running the Church and the state, it is surprising that Swift misses his opportunity to prove that these powerful enemies of Tory Anglicanism convict themselves out of their own mouths. The extension of authorial premises that characterizes his cause-and-effect analysis recurs in Swift's reading of metaphor and analogy, and Swift seems more comfortable with the rhetorical possibilities of this form of argument than with the dialectical ones. Swift expands authorial metaphors to explode them, as in his Preface to Burnet: [Quoting Burnet:] They make themselves a Wall for their Church and Country. A South Wall, I suppose, for all the best fruit of the Church and Country to be nailed on. Let us examine this Metaphor: The Wall of our Church and Country is built of those, who love the Constitution in both. Our domestic Enemies undermine some Parts of the Wall, and place themselves in the Breach; and then they cry, We are the Wall. We do not like such Patch-work; they build with untempered Mortar; nor can they ever cement with us, till they get better Materials and better Workmen: God keep us from having our Breaches made up with such Rubbish. (IV:8182) Swift works within the scope of Burnet's metaphor, not to prove that the metaphor is ridiculous, but to show that the metaphor can be worked to the disadvantage as well as the advantage of the Dissenters. The image of a wall implies enclosure, support, and most obviously, protectionwalls are the main line of defense, the last barricade before invasion. Of course the Dissenters want to be associated with these characteristics of walls for they suggest courage and patriotism rather than the more concrete qualities of walls, which evoke images of inertness, density, and inactivity. A wall is only as strong as its constituent parts, and by questioning the "quality" of the parts and the "workmanship," Swift locates the cracks in Burnet's wit and topples the wall of Dissenters. 51 Swift's analogies also prey on authorial meaning, but unlike metaphorical play, where an image is presented by the author and Swift exploits its implications, Swift brings an analogous image to the text and fits it to the author's circumstances as well as to his own purposes.

< previous page

page_177

next page >

< previous page

page_178

next page > Page 178

Both tropes extend the parameters of authorial meaning, but analogy gives Swift a bit more imaginative (and consequently, argumentative) leeway than authorial metaphor: And here lies the Mistake of this superficial Man, who is not able to distinguish between what the Civil Power can hinder, and what it can do. [Quoting Tindall:] If the Parliament can annul Ecclesiastical Laws, they must be able to make them, since no greater Power is required for one than the other. See Pref. p.8. This consequence he repeats above Twenty Times, and always in the wrong. He affecteth to form a few Words into the Shape and Size of a Maxim, then trieth it by his Ear, and according as he likes the Sound or Cadence, pronounceth it true. Cannot I stand over a Man with a great Pole, and hinder him from making a Watch, although I am not able to make one myself. If I have the Strength enough to knock a Man on the Head, doth it follow I can raise him to Life again? (Remarks upon Tindall, II:7576) 52 Once again Tindall asserts governmental jurisdiction over religion, and again Swift looks for a way to preserve the Church's authority. Tindall certainly did not have assault on his mind when he posited that annulment implies the power to create; Swift, however, abstracts the idea of hindrance from annulment and then exaggerates hindrance into destruction. Of course, not all hindrance is destruction, and there are instances in which those who can hinder can also doto use Swift's figure, the watchmaker can destroy or fix the watch. And insofar as destruction and creation are opposites, Tindall is right: one does imply the other. Still, Tindall's case would have been stronger had he reversed his argument and suggested that the ability to create laws enables an agency to annul those laws as well. As Swift develops a tripartite attack, Tindall cannot escape censure, for Swift's objections rise from his perennial (and here, valid) complaint of Tindall's lack of discernment, to a comic accusation of vulgar aesthetics, to the final damning analogies. The commonplace images of the unmade watch and the unconscious man simultaneously vivify Swift's argument and belittle Tindall's; not only do Swift's analogies undermine Tindall's argument, but they announce that anyone with a particle of common sense would have been able to do the same. Swift rarely responds to analogies, and I suspect that he does not

< previous page

page_178

next page >

< previous page

page_179

next page > Page 179

analyze them because there is relatively little room for him to maneuver within the author's argument. The premises of analogy are fairly extended to begin with, so further extrapolation tends to deviate into silliness; adding a parallel image onto an existing analogy frequently diffuses the point of attack by complicating matters unnecessarily. 53 Just as Swift preferred to write his own analogies, or rewrite another's, to examining authorial analogy, so too Swift does not answer authorial allegories. Still, he was both intrigued and peeved by the authorial manipulations of allegory, as in his comments on the easy abuse of historical allegory in Examiner 17: I have therefore since thought of another Expedient, frequently practised with great Safety and Success by satyrical Writers: Which is, That of looking into History for some Character bearing a Resemblance to the Person we would describe; and with the absolute Power of altering, adding or suppressing what Circumstances we please, I conceived we must have very bad Luck, or very little Skill to fail. (III:26) Swift also notices Burnet's variation on this theme, namely, to choose a Biblical verse on evil men and apply it to his opponent; this was considered "safe" slander because of the venerable status of the Bible (Preface to Burnet, IV:77). Of course, Swift participated in similar practices for his own purposes; he was all too happy to allegorize his allies (as in Contest and Dissentions in Athens and Rome) and his enemies (as Wood became Goliath to Swift's David in The Drapier's Letters). But for Swift, correcting a misapplied allegory, like rectifying erroneous evidence, was probably more effort than it was worth. The unifying element in all of Swift's readings is his inclination, like the eighteenth-century critic's, to correct the authorial text. Swift resists the passive, receptive stance that reading often requires of a reader; for Swift, reading is responding, and if an author is "talking" to him, Swift cannot help talking back. As Swift's manipulations of definition, cause-and-effect, metaphor, and analogy suggest, Swift's favorite way of answering a text was to rewrite it, to alter authorial

< previous page

page_179

next page >

< previous page

page_180

next page > Page 180

material to fit his own specifications. Of course, the process of reading is such that all readers decode textual meaning and recode it on their own terms. But Swift is looking to expose the authorial message, and to do so he consciously exploits the flexibility of language and the power of the reader to assign textual meaning. In this sense Swift's behavior as a reader is exactly what he condemned in his characters: Swift uses authorial prose to turn texts against their authors, thereby wresting textual authority away from writers and establishing himself as the true arbiter of textual meaning. Swift justifies his readings as corrective measures that will prevent readers from being misled, for he presents himself as the trustworthy, discerning reader who challenges and defeats the designs of the duplicitous author. In other words, when Swift usurps textual authority, he does so for the public goodor so he would have his reader believe. The revisionist tactics that were implicit in his responses to authorial argument become explicit in Swift's "translations" of authorial prose. Like the Lagadan rhetoricians, Swift is especially fond of reading meaning into a text, and he "translates" authorial rhetoric to reveal its "real" meaning. Here is Tindall on government: It would be in vain for one intelligent Being to pretend to set Rules to the Actions of another, if he had not in his Power to reward the Compliance with, or punish the Deviations from his Rules by some Good, or Evil, which is not the natural Consequence of those Actions; since the forbidding Men to do or forbear an Action on the Account of that Convenience or Inconvenience which attendeth it, whether he who forbids it will or no, can be no more than Advice. And Swift's plain, "Old Style" version: I shall not often draw such long Quotations as this, which I could not forbear to offer as a Specimen of the Propriety and Perspicuity of this Author's Style. And, indeed, what a Light breaketh out upon us all, as soon as we have read these Words! How thoroughly are we instructed in the whole Nature of Government? What mighty Truths are here discovered; and how clearly conveyed to our Understandings? And therefore let us melt this refined Jargon into the Old Style, for the Improvement of such, who are not enough conversant in the New.

< previous page

page_180

next page >

< previous page

page_181

next page > Page 181

If the Author were one that used to talk like one of us, he would have spoke in this Manner: I think it necessary to give a full and perfect Definition of Government, such as will shew the Nature and all the Properties of it; and, my Definition is thus. One Man will never cure another of stealing Horses, merely by minding him of the Pains he hath taken, the Cold he hath got, and the Shoe-Leather he hath lost in stealing that Horse; nay, to warn him, that the Horse may kick or fling him, or cost him more than he is worth in Hay and Oats, can be no more than Advice. For the Gallows is not the natural Effect of robbing on the High-Way, as Heat is of Fire: And therefore, if you will govern a Man, you must find out some other Way of Punishment, than what he will inflict upon himself. (II:8081) Swift's characteristic rhetorical and logical analyses combine here, and by the end of Swift's response, Tindall is thoroughly discredited by his unintelligible, affected prose. Swift's initial sarcastic toneaccented by "propriety," "perspicuity," and the comically overdone punctuation marksmodulates into everyday common sense, for Swift is "one of us." Tindall clearly is not one of us, as his ''refined jargon" makes apparent at every turn. Tindall's paragraph is anchored by vague abstractions ("rules," "power," and most of all, "action") around which swirl a sea of alternatives: reward or punish, good or evil, do or forebear, convenience or inconvenience, will or no. Because of this plethora of options, the chain of causality in Tindall's argument is obscure, which only complicates matters that were cryptic from the start: Tindall has not stated the subject under discussion, at least not in Swift's excerpt, and it is almost impossible to derive the putative topic, government, from Tindall's text. Swift's rewrite lowers the tone by substituting commonplace images for Tindall's academic abstractions; the activities of Swift's horse thief and adviser depict the issues of government and advice that Tindall's "beings" attempt to enact. To do and to forebear are now obvious: it is a matter of stealing or not stealing the horse. Convenience and inconvenience also become distinct, as Swift enumerates the advantages of stealing the horse (its absolute worth) and the disadvantages (the cold, shoe-leather, being kicked, and so on); the punishment for deviation from the rules is hanging, just as the reward for compliance, for not stealing, is life. By bringing an analogous

< previous page

page_181

next page >

< previous page

page_182

next page > Page 182

situation to the authorial text, Swift immeasureably clarifies Tindall's muddled causality, and as a result, Tindall's definition of government. 54 As Swift's example makes clear, Tindall's attempt to develop an inclusive, viable definition of government fails because he sacrifices practicality for theory, and relevance for generalization. Tindall's "refined jargon" signals rather than camouflages his empty thinking, for his overblown, abstract rhetoric matches his inflation of a relatively simple point: advice is not sufficient to govern the behavior of othersa ruler must be able to reward and punish behavior in ways beyond the power of the individual subject. While Swift's rewrite is far from elegant, at least it is comprehensible; Tindall's original is so laden with verbiage that there is neither wit nor beauty in the rhetoric, nor clarity or insight into his subject. Swift's rendition not only robs Tindall of his authority by demonstrating that Swift can present Tindall's argument more effectively than Tindall can, but Swift's version implies that there is little reason for readers to bother with Tindall at all, for his work is sound without much substance.55 Swift's translation of Tindall explicates rather than undermines Tindall's meaning; the thrust of Swift's criticism is aimed at the density of Tindall's rhetoric, and although Tindall's ideas are discredited for their banality, Swift does not attack them as being wrong. Swift's "plain" versions consistently ridicule authorial style and content, but the degree to which each of these elements is censured varies from translation to translation. Swift shifted his focus toward content, rather than style, in this rewriting of Burnet: God may work a deliverance for us another Way. That is to say, by inviting the Dutch: But they and their Families; i.e. Those who were negligent or Revolters, shall perish, by which is meant; they shall be hanged as well as the present Ministry and their Abettors, as soon as we can recover our Power. Because they let in Idolatry, Superstition, and Tyranny. Because they stood by and suffered the Peace to be made, the Bill of Commerce to pass, and Dunkirk lie undemolished longer than we expected, without raising a Rebellion. (IV:76) From Burnet's point of view, "they" are the Tories and the high churchmen currently in power; "we" are the Whigs and the Dissenters recently ousted by Queen Anne and looking to regain royal favor.

< previous page

page_182

next page >

< previous page

page_183

next page > Page 183

The polarities of politics color the same language in different ways, and like the Whig Dissenter he condemned in the Examiner, Swift reads Burnet's Whig politics into the text so that he can reveal Burnet's "true" agenda and controvert it. Swift knows that deliverance means one thing for him and another for Burnet, which allows him to interpret Burnet's pious platitude on divine intervention as a plea for the Dutch to come to England. Swift is sure that Burnet is looking for a Protestant Whig savior, a new William of Orange to come and save England from what he perceived to be the pseudo-Catholicism of the Tories and the Queen. The implications of this attributed opinion are treasonous, which suits Swift perfectly; he has no qualms about hinting that Burnet is a traitor to his sovereign and his government, hiding behind a subterfuge of religiosity. Swift's reading of Burnet's next comment (on families) truncates the content of the original passage, and without Burnet's full text, Swift is suspect of extreme interpretive distortion. As it turns out, the rest of Burnet's original is as vehement as Swift's reading suggests, for not only will these remiss government officials and their families perish, but as Burnet writes, "their names will rot and be held in detestation; posterity will curse them, and the judgments of God will overtake them." 56 Here again Swift attributes an idea to Burnet that fits the Whig party line but that Burnet could not advocate publicly. Burnet might want to hang the Tories, but he would not publish such a statement for fear of retribution from the current Tory government. In Swift's eyes, however, this is a poorly concealed expression of Burnet's desire for revenge and just another sign of the tyrannical nature of the Whig cause. As for Burnet's vacuous condemnation of the Tory cabinet, "Idolatry, Superstition, and Tyranny," Swift fills these empty terms with Tory propaganda, which redefines these words counter to their common meaning. As a result, Burnet's accusations are misplaced and his argument is diminished when confronted with the decided benefits of Tory power. While Burnet's rhetoric is the starting point for Swift's analysis, it is not his subject; Swift does not stop, as he did with Tindall, to question Burnet's style or its implications. Swift generally found Burnet's style to be lacking, as discussed earlier, but here Burnet's ideology is the target, whether or not that ideology is expressed by

< previous page

page_183

next page >

< previous page

page_184

next page > Page 184

the text. Clearly Burnet does not mention the Dutch, or Whig strategies to regain and maintain power, or Tory policies regarding the War of Spanish Succession, or the British economy in these excerpts; these topics were likely discussed in the broader context of Burnet's work but not in conjunction with these quotes. Yet as a proprietary reader, Swift can wrench the text any way he wants, from God to the Dutch, from family to hangings, from tyranny to peaceto locate and condemn what he perceives to be Burnet's agenda. Swift's strategies of rhetorical and argumentative appropriation are balanced best in his response to A Letter to the Seven Lords of the Committee, Appointed to Examine Gregg: Then he concludes the Paragraph with this charitable Prayer, in the true Moderation-Style, and in Italick Letter. May the Head that has done the Kingdom the greatest Mischief, fall first, let it be whose it will. The plain meaning of which is this: If the late Ministry were in Power, they would act just as the present Ministry would, if there were no Law, which perhaps may be true: But I know not any Ministry upon Earth, that I durst confide in without Law; and if at their coming in again, they design to make their Power the Law, they may as easily cut off Seven Heads as One. As for the Head that has done the greatest Mischief to the Kingdom, I cannot consent it should fall, untill he and I have settled the meaning of the Word Mischief. Neither do I much approve this renewing an old Fashion of whipping off Heads by a Prayer; it began from what some of us think an ill Precedent. Then that unlimited Clause, let it be whose it will, perplexes me not a little: I wish in compliance with an old Form, he had excepted my LordMayor: Otherwise, if it were to be determined by their Vote, whose head it was that had done the greatest Mischief; which way can we tell how far their Predecessor's Principles may have influenced them? God preserve the Queen and Her Ministers from such undistinguishing disposers of Heads. (III:196) Swift's "plain meaning" is anything but plain, for once again he inserts the Whig politics of his opponent into the text, which results in attributions of Whig strategy that are far from the common meaning of the sentence. Yet here the genial tone of Swift's remarks helps establish his credibility as a reader, unlike the vengeful righteousness that marred his "translation" of Burnet. Swift's argumentative attack proceeds on a number of levels: the effects of Whig hegemony come

< previous page

page_184

next page >

< previous page

page_185

next page > Page 185

to the fore as Swift envisions a lawless state where seven heads can be cut off as well as one; precedent is deemed to be an insufficient cause for beheading by prayer; difficulties with distinctions and definitions arise as Swift ponders the criteria for "mischief." Similarly, the rhetoric of the sentence attracts Swift's mocking criticism, which starts with his disparaging comments on "Moderation-Style" and the emphatic italic letter, and continues with his ''confusion" regarding the unlimited clause. Swift neatly ties together both strands of analysis in his conclusion, which ends this passage as it began, with a prayera prayer that provides symmetry and commentary, as Swift echoes the rhetoric of his opponent only to reverse his message. Swift's notions of proper reading, like his criteria for proper style and language, were rules from which he largely exempted himself. Swift the writer demanded that readers accede to his textual authority; Swift the reader reveled in rewriting and appropriating authorial meaning. There is no possible reconciliation for these two positions, nor is one necessary, for the roles of reader and writer have different privileges, and different liabilities. In either of these roles, it is clear that Swift perceives literature as conflict, as the adversarial meeting of author and reader on the textual battlefield, and he happily capitalizes on the characteristics of his role to ensure his victory. As readers challenge the notion of authorship, Swift rises to the occasion with a series of strategies to shore up his authority over his satiric texts. Swift codes his texts as much as possible, for linguistic coding helps set the parameters of meaning. Swift's words are carefully chosen and intentionally duplicitous, and as the reader faces the daunting task of construing Swift's labyrinthine, multileveled texts, the density of his prose fascinates, frustrates, and intimidates the reader. The complexity of Swift's texts seems to take into account all readings, for articulated and unarticulated meanings hover about his texts; there is no room for the reader to tinker with the linguistic spaces in Swift's prose because there are nonethe rhetoric has been fully exploited by Swift. As a result, Swift continues to exercise control over his work because readers cannot subvert him from within.

< previous page

page_185

next page >

< previous page

page_186

next page > Page 186

But Swift is not satisfied with safeguarding his language from readerly appropriation, and he looks to protect his argument as well. Through his use of questionable narrators, Swift is able to present his arguments in a manner that elicits specific responses from his reader. As his narrators advocate the preposterous as normal and normalcy as preposterous, Swift can easily manipulate the reader's reaction, thereby minimizing the interpretive leeway of readers. In essence, Swift adapts the rhetoric of reversal to ideological and thematic concerns, to locate as well as coerce his reader. Once again the reader submits to his authority, for the reader must enact Swift's didactic machinations to discern his meanings and reject the distorted vision of the narrator, or else accept Swift's ridicule. In addition to his rhetorical strategies, Swift defends authorship and authority with his mocking commentary on readers and their hermeneutic methods. All of Swift's reading characters, with the exception of Martin, impose rather than respond to textual meaning, and through his vivid, comic depiction of their readings, Swift makes clear that such textual appropriation circumvents literary communication altogether. Good readers do not distort the authorial message; they are willing to suspend judgment before evaluating authors, if not remain entirely passive when confronted with a text. This is not to say that Swift expected total acquiescence from his reading audience, but he did expect a fair hearing: "I am humbly of [the] Opinion, that there are two Qualities necessary to a Reader, before his Judgment should be allowed; these are, common Honesty and common Sense" (Remarks on the Barrier Treaty, VI:93). Without these two components in criticism, all interpretive methods run amok, as the literalist, figurative, and mechanical methodologies of the readers in his works make apparent. 57 Despite these tactics, Swift was ultimately at the mercy of his readership, for he knew that authorship was possible but that absolute literary authority was not. Of course, as a reader, Swift takes advantage of this fact to exploit the vulnerability of texts, and he indulges in the readerly behaviors that he roundly condemns in others. Swift's rebuttal to a deprecating essay on his Conduct of the Allies is an apt description of his own reading patterns: "Of those Facts which he pretends to examine, some he resolutely denies, others he endeavours

< previous page

page_186

next page >

< previous page

page_187

next page > Page 187

to extenuate, and the rest he distorts with [such] unnatural Turns" (VI:95). Swift plays this role of subversive reader to prove that his ideological adversariesBurnet, Tindall, and Collinsdo not merit their textual authority, and he extenuates and distorts to undermine their arguments and usurp textual power. Once again the potential codings of language are Swift's primary tools, and as he uses linguistic space to alter authorial assignments of meaning, he extrapolates meanings from authors that make their texts implode: Swift traps writers in texts that they never intended to write. But Swift's most effective and insidious response as an adversarial reader is to rewrite his opponent's text. His translations are more complete arrogations of authorial prerogative than are his extrapolations, and consequently they are more thorough in their exposure of authorial meaning. With his revisions of authorial meaning, Swift expresses the translation motif in every part of his literary experience. In creating his texts, he translates his ideas into the consensus language, constantly aware of the gaps that must be spanned between authorial and consensus languages, and between the idiolects of author and reader; Swift's satires function, like translation, within the grey area of transitions, in the realm of indeterminate, unarticulated meaning. In transmitting texts, he is concerned with translation through time, and with the problems of bridging the inevitable difference between contemporary language and its future counterpart; in reading texts, Swift translates from authorial language into his own. As a model of literary engagement, translation suits Swift's combative nature, for translation is a garrulous, inconclusive model of communication. Accordingly, the standard linguistic sequence of creation-transmission-reception is not fully adequate for Swift because reception usually completes communication through the recreation of the original message, whereas Swift turns reception into an occasion for literary genesis. Literary communication is therefore an endlessly recursive spiral in which writing initiates reading, and reading instigates writing, causing textual authority to be established, usurped, reestablished, and usurped ad infinitum.

< previous page

page_187

next page >

< previous page

page_ii

intentionally left blank

next page >

< previous page

page_ii

intentionally left blank

next page >

< previous page

page_ii

intentionally left blank

next page >

< previous page

page_191

next page > Page 191

Notes Introduction 1. Published in Reason and the Imagination: Essays in the History of Ideas, 16001800, ed. Joseph Mazzeo (New York: Columbia University Press, 1962). Curiously, some scholars are so convinced of the influence of Swift's education on his work that they assert this correlation without bothering to discuss it at all; see the first page of Charles A. Beaumont's Swift's Classical Rhetoric (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1961). 1. Swift's Linguistic Education 1. Lyon MS quoted in Irvin Ehrenpreis's Swift: The Man, His Work, and the Age (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Univ. Press, 19621983), Vol. I, p. 41. According to Ehrenpreis the translation is, "My ducks eat a masticum." According to George Mayhew, the line translates into "My ducks ate a Mastiff, Coz." See his Rage or Raillery (San Marino, Calif.: The Huntington Library, 1967), p. 131. 2. Swift's biographers are not sure whether Swift was abducted by his nurse or taken with his mother's permission. 3. See Trinity College Dublin MS 1050 for Swift's derogatory remarks on his family: when he "was admitted into the University at Dublin, where by the ill Treatment of his nearest Relations, he was so discouraged and dumb in his Spirits, that he neglected his Academick Studyes" (p. 14). 4. See John Barrett's Essay on the Earlier Part of the Life of Swift (London, 1808), in which he argues that Swift was subject to major disciplinary action at Trinity at least twice: once because he insulted the junior dean, and once for his authorship (or coauthorship) of the annual university satire called the tripos, which was condemned for its unusual virulence (pp. 1415, 1930). Ehrenpreis concurs with Barrett regarding the first offense, but not the second (I:6970, 67); John Forster's Life of Swift (New York: Harper Brothers, 1876) puts forth the strongest case that Swift was not the writer of the tripos (pp. 4849). Swift incurred many other punishments at Trinity (most frequently for missing chapel), but these infractions were common among the students. 5. See A.C. Elias, Swift at Moor Park (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982), pp. 4951, 95. 6. Ehrenpreis, II:628634. 7. The idea that language is a means of empowerment is implicit in every critique of rhetoric as a deceptive, influential force from Plato's Republic onward. Modern linguistic studies of language as power generally take their theoretical

< previous page

page_191

next page >

< previous page

page_192

next page > Page 192

basis from J.L. Austin's work on the illocutionary and perlocutionary forces of language in How to Do Things with Words (1962). The diagramming of power in various sociolinguistic and psycholinguistic contexts is the focus of more recent work, such as Robin Lakoff's Talking Power (1990). 8. Trinity College Dublin MS 1050, Swift's Account of his Life to the Age of 30, in his own handwriting, p. 14. See Thomas Sheridan's Life of the Rev. Dr. Jonathan Swift, 2d ed. (London, 1787), p. 2. 9. See Kilkenny College statute VI (1684): "The scholars . . . shall have first read their accidence, and are fit to enter upon grammar learning, and shall submit to the order, method and correction of the said school." The Kilkenny College statutes are published in Edward Ledwich's Antiquities of Ireland Second Edition with Additions and Corrections, to Which is Added, A Collection of Miscellaneous Antiquities (Dublin, 1804), pp. 422428. Trinity College has a manuscript copy of the statutes, TCD MUN/P/1/518a. For further background on Kilkenny College, see "Kilkenny College," by Rev. John Browne, in Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland/Kilkenny Archeological Society Transactions Vol. I (18491851), pp. 221229. 10. TCD MS 1050, p. 14. According to John C. Hodges's biography of Congreve, William Congreve the Man (New York: Modern Language Association, 1941), the boys who were admitted to Kilkenny during 16841686 ranged in age from nine to fifteen (pp. 1718). Swift may be misremembering his age of admittance, but given his familial situation, with his father dead and his mother returning to England, it is perfectly possible that school was thought to be the best place for him. 11. To Ford, 12 November 1708. The Correspondence of Jonathan Swift, edited by Harold Williams (Oxford: Clarendon, 1963), Vol. I, p. 109. 12. See Michael Quane's series of articles in The Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland on the John Ivory School in New Ross (Vol. LXXX, 1950), Viscount Weymouth Grammar School (Vol. LXXXVI, 1956), Charleville Endowed School (Vol. LXXXVIII, 1958), and City of Dublin Free School (Vol. XC, 1960). E.R. McClintock Dix attempts to fill the gap with his article "School Books Printed in Dublin from the Earliest Period to 1715," in Bibliographical Society of Ireland (1926) Vol. III, No. 1, pp. 510. Even Dix admits that detailed information about Irish curricula is rare, because most seventeenth-century school books were so poorly made that very few of them survived. According to Dix the only school text that certainly was used at Kilkenny was called Sacri Lusus (1676), a religious primer. 13. Ehrenpreis, I:38. Ehrenpreis seems to be drawing largely upon Charles Hoole's A New Discovery of the Old Art of Teaching Schoole, published in 1660. 14. Ledwich, p. 424. 15. The only comments I have found on Kilkenny College practices from a visitor are by Thomas Otway, and his discussion is limited to religious education and teacher behavior. See TCD MS 2016, Rules to be Observed by Professors of my College in Kilkenny [by the] Ld. Bishop of Ossory, given by his Lordship (tempore James II).

< previous page

page_192

next page >

< previous page

page_193

next page > Page 193

16. TCD MS 2642, Trinity College Statutes in a Commonplace Book of Josias Haydock, ca. 1679. 17. G.D. Burtchaell and T.U. Sadleir, Alumni Dublinenses 15931846 (Dublin: Alex Thom, 1935), p. 383. Haydock eventually became the mayor of Kilkenny and served as an agent of the Duke of Ormonde. 18. This pre-Babel language was assumed to be an Adamic language, in which the essence of an idea was inherent in its name so it was universally understood. The universal language project of the seventeenth century made no claims to representational status, only to universal comprehension. Of course, many seventeenth-century linguists wanted to ascertain the original Adamic language, and if that were not possible, to reconcile all languages lexically and syntactically in order to reconstruct an Adamic language. These later reconstructions were, in fact, universal languages, since their representational nature could not be verified. 19. Cf. James Knowlson, Universal Language Schemes in England and France, 16001800 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1975), pp. 7278. The seventeenth-century definition of "syntax" had general, nongrammatical implications that make the association between the structure of language and the structure of reality seem a bit less farfetched. The OED gives as the first definition of syntax the "orderly or systematic arrangement of parts or elements; constitution of body; a connected order or system of things." Bacon (1605), Glanvill (1661), Hale (1676), and Edwards (1696) are cited as the writers who used this definition of syntax. 20. The effect of representational, Adamic linguistics on the teaching of language was limited. Only Comenius' Orbis Sensualium Pictus, which included pictures to explain grammar (a step toward a purely representational language), had any impact on seventeenth-century education (see Murray Cohen's Sensible Words [Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1977], pp. 1921). The sixteenth-century texts by Lily and Camden were nonrepresentational, and their revised incarnations as the Eton Latin and Greek grammars remained at the center of the grade-school curriculum throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. 21. Trinity College Dublin was still suggesting to schoolmasters "to make use of the double translation as recommended by Ascham" in 1759, nearly two hundred years after Ascham's The Scholemaster (1570) reintroduced this Ciceronian method (see De Oratore, 1.34.155). See J.W. Stubbs, The History of the University of Dublin, from its Foundation to the End of the Eighteenth Century (Dublin: Hodges, Figgis, 1889), p. 206. 22. See Dryden's disapproving comments on metaphrase, "turning an author word by word, and line by line," in his Preface to the Translation of Ovid's Epistles in The Complete Works of John Dryden, ed. E.N. Hooker, H.T. Swedenborg, et al. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1956), Vol. I, pp. 114116. Dryden suggested that there were three types of translation (metaphrase, paraphrase, and imitation), and he distinguished between these types based on the degree of freedom the translator assumed with the original text.

< previous page

page_193

next page >

< previous page

page_194

next page > Page 194

23. In their 1759 recommendation to schoolmasters, the Trinity College Dublin staff spoke out against the use of literal translations: "In reading these books they recommend to you that you forbid your scholars the use of literal translations" (Stubbs, p. 206). This recommendation may have been influenced by John Lawson, Professor of Oratory and History at TCD in the 1750s. Lawson argued against "'our present method' of studying Greek by the help of literal translations, since they never render 'any Part of the Spirit and beautiful Simplicity of the Original, in which last most valuable Quality the Writers of that Nation bear away the Prize from all their Followers'" (quoted in W.B. Stanford, Ireland and the Classical Tradition [Blackrock: Irish Academic Press, 1976 rpt. 1984], p. 53). 24. Corres. I:10. 25. The list of figures in Haydock's notes does not correspond in any substantial way with the rhetorical lists in Lily or in Camden. Often the same figures are cited and explained, but they are classified in totally different ways. In an age in which classification was so important, the degree of variation here is a bit surprising, especially since the organization of the grammars shows strong structural similarities. 26. Note Camden, Institutio Graecae Grammatices Compendaria in usum Regiae Scholae Westmonasteriensis (London, 1736), p. 104: "Figurae Constructionis sunt communes Graecis cum Latinis. . . . ("Figures of construction are shared in Greek and Latin . . .). The only distinction that Camden makes between Greek and Latin is that enallage, a trope of substitution in which one grammatical form is replaced by another (such as plural for singular), is more common in Greek than in Latin. 27. The modern standard Greek grammar is Herbert Weir Smyth's Greek Grammar, ed. Gordon M. Messing (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1920 rpt. 1984). See pp. 4871, 183217. 28. TCD MUN/P/1/563. 29. The constancy of his support is notable, particularly in an age where personal fortunes were few and often forfeited through expensive, unreimbursed political service to the crown. See Ormonde's letter to Sir Robert Southwell, 20 March 167879: ". . . that, ten years since at least, finding that all the English and protestants there [i.e., Kilkenny] and thereabouts were fain to send their children to popish schoolmasters, I set up a school-house there, that, valuing the rent and charge of the building, cost me 2000£ at least, and that I have ever since and do now give 150£ a year to a master and usher" (Thomas Carte, The Life of James Duke of Ormonde, with an Appendix and A Collection of Letters [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1851], Vol. V, p. 137). 30. See Ormonde's correspondence in the Historical Manuscripts Commission, especially Vol. 36, New Series No.6, pp. 410, 423, 484, 488, 499, 503, 505, 512, 524, 527529, 536, 539; Vol. 36 New Series No.7, pp. 45, 8, 348, 354, 380. Ormonde did keep himself informed of local educational doings; see Vol. 36, New Series No. 6, pp. 1419, for Sir John Temple's presentation and analysis of Erasmus Smith's proposal for charity schools in Ireland, and Vol. 36, New Series No. 7, pp. 444445, on a rival school to be set up in Kilkenny.

< previous page

page_194

next page >

< previous page

page_195

next page > Page 195

31. Trinity College dates this manuscript (which was undated) circa 1691, since it was found with other Kilkenny muniments of that date. Yet such a dating seems erroneous, since the scholar's program was in fact already in existence according to the Kilkenny statutes of 1684 (see statute IX). If the suggested dating of the letter is correct, then this should be a proposal to continue to maintain the Ormonde scholarships, since the scholar's program was already in existence. Instead the letter recommends the establishment of the scholar's program, which would indicate that the program was not yet in existence. While the writer could have been ignorant of the Kilkenny statutes (and therefore unaware of the scholars' program), I suspect that he or she was not, for the author's use of the exact name of Kilkenny's scholar's program is an unlikely coincidence. Thus, it would make more sense to assume that the manuscript was received by Ormonde in the early 1680s, before the Kilkenny statutes were drawn up and closer to the time of Swift's attendance at Kilkenny. 32. Busby was officially appointed as master of Westminster in 1640, and he held the position until his death in 1695. His impact on generations of British schoolboys has not been equaled. According to the DNB, "John Dryden, John Locke, Robert South, Francis Atterbury, Philip Henry, and George Hooper were among his pupils. He is said to have boasted that at one time sixteen out of the whole bench of bishops had been educated by him; and, it may be added, at a time when the bench contained more brilliant men than it has perhaps ever contained before or since" (Vol. III, p. 482). 33. See The Record of Old Westminsters, comp. G.F. Russell Barker and Alan Stenning (London: Chiswick Press, 1928), Vol. I, p. 523; and Vol. II, p. 811. While I suspect that Jones or Ryder sent this letter to Ormondefor both had the requisite information and incentive to propose such a projectI have not uncovered any evidence to prove or disprove my hypothesis. 34. See G.F. Russell Barker, Memoir of Richard Busby D.D. (16061695) with some Account of Westminster School in the Seventeenth Century (London: Lawrence and Bullen, 1895), pp. 7781. While this account is a bit early for my purposes, the changes in English education were minimal between 1550 and 1700. Cf. Arthur F. Leach, Educational Charters and Documents 598 to 1909 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1911), pp. 496525, for the Westminster statutes (1560), which are virtually identical to the curriculum of Charles Hoole's influential New Discovery of the Old Art of Teaching School (1660). 35. Barker, p. 80. 36. See W.A.L. Vincent, The Grammar Schools: Their Continuing Tradition 16601714 (London: John Murray, 1969), p. 75: "Grammar-learning came to be regarded as a subject in itself, and classical authors to be relegated to the position of a storehouse of examples for use in the illustration of grammatical rules." Only the Old and New Testaments were studied primarily for content, so as to reinforce the religious training. Cf. Foster Watson's The Old Grammar Schools (New York: Augustus Kelley Publishers, 1916 rpt. 1968), pp. 93111. 37. William King writes of such "form" translations during his school days in Dungannon Royal School in Ireland: "In 1665 I worked at translations and

< previous page

page_195

next page >

< previous page

page_196

next page > Page 196

from them I gradually learned something of the Latin tongue. . . . I read Virgil with pleasure, at the same time the Psalms of David written to heroic verse and the sapphics, the rest being neglected or going badly as it seemed to me" (quoted in Stanford, p. 23; emphasis added). 38. In a letter to William Diaper, Swift remarked that translation was a hindrance to creativity: "[I] am a little angry when those who have a genius lay it out in translations. . . . Perhaps you want such a bridle as a translation, for your genius is too fruitful as appears by the frequency of your similes, and this employment may teach you to write like a Mortal man, as Shakespeare expresseth it" (Corres. I:346). Diaper was working on a translation of Oppian's Halieutica when he died. Although Swift disliked translation, that does not negate its ability to enhance his linguistic sensitivity. 39. National Library of Ireland MS 17,946 Kilkenny College Papers. In 1809 the master of Kilkenny was required to complete a government report on the school and its curriculum. The Eton grammar (i.e., Lily's grammar) was used, and making verses and double translations were still at the center of the program. The classical authors studied were Eutropius, Cornelius Nepos, Justin, Ovid, Caesar, Virgil, Terence, Sallust, Horace, Xenophon, Homer, Lucian, Juvenal, Cicero, and Epictetus. 40. The information on eighteenth- and nineteenth-century schools tends to be more complete than the seventeenth-century data because the government began sending inspectors to the schools. See Norman Atkinson, Irish Education: A History of Educational Institutions (Dublin: Allen Figgis, 1969), pp. 2332, 90120. For excerpts of the commission reports, see Rev. Timothy Corcoran, State Policy in Irish Education (Dublin: Fallon Bros., 1916), pp. 149191. For samples of reports by schoolmasters to the commission regarding curriculum, see Michael Quane's "Portora Royal School Enniskillen," in The Clogher Record (Vol. VI, No. 3 [1965], pp. 500554); and his "Raphoe Royal School," in The Donegal Annual (Vol. VII, No. 2 [1967], pp. 148211). 41. Burtchaell and Sadleir, Alumni Dublinenses, pp. 795796. 42. The first year students read the Isagoge of Porphyrius, an introduction to Aristotle; in subsequent years Aristotle's Organon, Physics, and Metaphysics (except during Lent, when Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics was substituted) were studied. See R.B. McDowell and D.A. Webb, Trinity College Dublin 15921952: An Academic History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), p. 15; Stubbs, p. 140. 43. See McDowell and Webb, p. 31: "Every detail of the educational provisions of the Laudian statutes remained technically in force until 1761, when the Crown conceded to the College the right to change them. But many of their clauses must have, in practice, lapsed long before this; indeed it is probable that in the matter of courses and textbooks the strict observance of the statutes did not long survive their author. . . . though the Restoration saw nominally a return to the status quo, by this time the world of the scholastics was dead beyond recall." Ehrenpreis mistakenly relies on the 1637 statutes in his biography of Swift (I:5859). 44. TCD MS 2087, Trinity College Library Loan Book. In addition to the works

< previous page

page_196

next page >

< previous page

page_197

next page > Page 197

mentioned above, other legible entries show that the classics were well represented with Plato, Aristotle, Seneca, Lucan, Pliny, Livy, Cicero, Lucretius, Plutarch, and Ptolemy; Burnet's History of the Reformation, Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity, and Scaliger's Poetics were read as well. 45. See Hugh Kearney, Scholars and Gentlemen: Universities and Society in Pre-Industrial Britain, 15001700 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1970), pp. 146153, 163166. According to Kearney, Burgersdicius, Gassendi, Descartes, Scheibler, Suarez, and Eustachius were the most common writers mentioned in Oxford and Cambridge notebooks and library loan books. 46. See Stubbs, pp. 199200; and McDowell and Webb, pp. 4549, for discussions of the 1736 TCD curriculum. 47. TCD MS 1050, p. 14. 48. TCD MS 1711. In his Life of Swift (p. 51), John Forster argues that the "Th" on the register stands for theology, not theme. Forster may have a point: it would be odd for Swift to do well in languages and poorly in composition. Furthermore, it would make sense that Swift would not do well in theology, particularly since he was known to skip services often. See Dr. John Barrett, Essay on the Earlier Part of the Life of Swift (London: Johnson, Nichols, 1808), pp. 1012, for a list of Swift's fines while at Trinity: "Most of his punishments are for non-attendance in chapel." 49. Ehrenpreis, I:61. 50. Constantia Maxwell, A History of Trinity College, Dublin 15911892 (Dublin: The University Press, Trinity College, 1946), p. 51. Maxwell also notes that Irish was taught in the 1680s, with an eye towards proselytizing the natives (p. 73); however, the study of Irish at Trinity was erratic at best. For the history of Trinity's Irish language lectureship in the seventeenth century, see H.L. Murphy, A History of Trinity College Dublin, From Its Foundation to 1702 (Dublin: Hodges, Figgis, 1951), pp. 144145, 155159. It is unclear how much Irish Swift knew or where he learned it. 51. Stubbs, p. 139. 52. TCD MS 3761, A Collection of Theames (with Additions by a Friend G. G.) for the use of Mr. Thomas Quin of Trinity College Dublin, 1736. 53. Sheridan, p. 4. Burgersdicius, Smeglicius, and Keckermannus were early seventeenth-century logicians whose works were published in England in the 1630s. As mentioned earlier, Keckermannus was frequently taken out of the library by the tutors, and Burgersdicius was a favorite of the British universities. While these commentators may have been cognizant of, if not responding to, the Ramists, they were primarily Aristotelians, and as a result, the old scholasticism dominated Trinity logic (see McDowell and Webb, p. 46). These works were not the extent of Swift's studies in logic, probably to his dismay; he assuredly studied Narcissus Marsh's Logic, written for the Trinity students during Marsh's tenure as provost in the 1680s. 54. Stubbs, pp. 141142. For history of dialectic and the university disputation in Europe, see James A.W. Rembert's Swift and the Dialectical Tradition (London: Macmillan Press, 1988), pp. 1172.

< previous page

page_197

next page >

< previous page

next page >

page_198

Page 198 55. Sheridan, pp. 45. It is possible that Swift's poor class attendance and absence from duties also contributed to the ''speciali gratia" degree. According to Ehrenpreis, the "speciali gratia" was not uncommon (I.62), but it is clear that this designation was not a desirable distinction at Trinity. When Swift went to Oxford, the authorities there thought "speciali gratia" denoted a special honor, much to Swift's amusement (Corres. I:12). 56. On Trinity's use of syllogisms in the late eighteenth century, see Maxwell, p. 141. See TCD MS 1718, Notes by James Drought of Students who took their Disputations and Declamations with Propositions for Disputations, 17681770, for a typical example of the structure and contents of a disputation: Febry 13th, 1768 Davis & Gibbons

an a duabus particularibus valeat argumentum

Moore

an cometae sint meteora an Fluidorum interna quiescant an vitia privata conferunt ad utilitatem publicam

Moore & Davis

an syllogistica argumentum dispositio sit qutima [?]

Gibbons

an Luna circa axim proprium moveatur? an dentur atomi? an amicitia constet inter improbos? Moore & Gibbons

an definitio per genus et differentiam epsem: sit optima?

Davis

an commolior sit praesens poritio axis tellumi quam si rect. esset ad Eclipticam? an radii luus sint acque refragiler? an affectus sint utiles 57. A Tale of a Tub, ed. A.C. Guthkelch and D. Nichol Smith (Oxford: Clarendon, 1958), p. 153. All references to Tale of a Tub, Battle of the Books, and Mechanical Operation of the Spirit are taken from this edition. Herbert Davis's sixteen-volume Prose Works of Jonathan Swift (Oxford: Blackwell, 1965) is used as the standard edition for Swift's other prose works. 58. Forster gives a transcript of the playful punning (known as Castilian) used by Swift, the Ashes (St. George and his brothers Thomas and Dillon), and Sir Andrew Fountaine in the early 1700s (I:207211). Swift maintained a steady correspondence with Ashe until the latter's death in 1718. 59. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London, Vol. XIV, No. 164, p. 749; Vol. XIV, No. 162, pp. 672676; Vol. XIX, No. 220, pp. 223224; Vol. XV, No. 176, pp. 12021204. 60. For a further description and analysis of Wilkins' Essay, see Cohen, especially pp. 3034. Clive T. Probyn suggests some connections between Gulliver's Travels and Wilkins's Mercury (1641, with editions in 1694, 1707, 1708), based on their similar discussions of language planning and anagrammatic methods; see

< previous page

page_198

next page >

< previous page

page_199

next page > Page 199

his "Swift and Linguistics: The Context Behind Lagado and Around the Fourth Voyage," in Neophilologus 58 (1974), pp. 425432. 61. Wilkins' Essay was not officially evaluated by committee, although a report was requested twice. See Barbara J. Shapiro, John Wilkins, 16141672: An Intellectual Biography (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969), p. 218. Cf. Knowlson, pp. 102105. 62. K.T. Hoppen. The Common Scientist in the 17th Century: A Study of the Dublin Philosophical Society, 16831708 (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 1970), Appendix D, pp. 206207; see the entries for philology. 63. Hoppen, p. 155. 64. See Vivian Salmon, "William Bedell and the Universal Language Movement in 17th Century Ireland," in Essays & Studies, Vol. 36 (1983), pp. 2739. 65. The plain prose style was being recommended long before the Royal Society began promoting it in the 1660s. In "Res et Verba: Words and Things" (English Literary History, Vol. 13 [1946], pp. 131142), A.C. Howell cites Bacon, Beaumont, Jonson, Taylor, and Hobbes as plain style advocates in the first half of the seventeenth century. On the whole these individuals had little impact on their contemporaries; in fact, most were not plain style writers themselves. 66. Chapter V, Article IV, cited in R.F. Jones, "Science and English Prose Style in the Third Quarter of the Seventeenth Century," in The Seventeenth Century: Studies in the History of English Thought and Literature from Bacon to Pope (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1951 rpt. 1969), p. 84. 67. Plain style prose was just one point where the scientific and literary worlds were to intersect. See R.F. Jones, "Science and Criticism in the Neo-Classical Age of English Literature," in The Seventeenth Century: Studies in the History of English Thought and Literature from Bacon to Pope (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1951 rpt. 1969), for the effect of scientific method on literary criticism. Jones's major work, Ancients and Moderns (St. Louis: Washington University Studies, New Series No. 6, 1936), places the contemporary literary controversy in the context of the conflict between scholasticism and the new science. 68. Thomas Sprat, The History of the Royal Society of London, ed. Jackson I. Cope and Harold W. Jones (St. Louis: Washington University Press, 1958 rpt. 1966), pp. 112113. (This edition is a facsimile reprint of the 1667 edition.) Sprat also writes about other literary issues, including the establishment of an English Academy (3943) and the new poetic images and similitudes that will result from scientific inquiry (413419). 69. Sprat, like his contemporaries, assumed that by limiting language one would correct language use as a natural consequence; only at the end of the century would this misconception be corrected by Locke, who acknowledged that the difficulty lay with language users, not with language itself. See Locke's Essay Concerning Human Understanding, 1690. 70. Rabelais may have set the precedent by concretizing words in Gargantua and Pantagruel (New York: Penguin, 15301534 rpt. 1985): "Then he threw on deck before us whole handfuls of frozen words, which looked like crystallized sweets of different colours. . . . When we warmed them a little between our

< previous page

page_199

next page >

< previous page

page_200

next page > Page 200

hands, they melted like snow, and we actually heard them, though we did not understand them, for they were in a barbarous language" (568). Of course, words get flattened into their literal referents throughout the Swift canon, with the device attaining the apex of rhetorical power with the use of "eat" and "devour" in A Modest Proposal. Cf. Deborah Wyrick's argument in Jonathan Swift and the Vested Word (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1988) that Swift's words do not name things so much as they are things (46). 71. See Ronald Paulson's Theme and Structure in Swift's "Tale of a Tub" (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1960), pp. 5265, in which he depicts the problems of scientific rhetoric by analyzing passages from the Transactions of the Royal Society. Paulson comments, "The scientific and the moral reality had not yet been totally separated, and they continually jostle each other on these pages. A body dissected and a body with all the moral implications the word carries are two different things; and yet there is one word to express them both. . . . In short, technique, or knowledge, had gone far beyond the means of expression. The result is either horrible or laughable" (5455). 72. Unfortunately, Swift's annotated copy of Leviathan has been lost. See Harold Williams, Dean Swift's Library (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1932), p. 31. Williams includes a copy of the sale catalogue of Swift's library, which shows that Swift owned many editions of Hobbes's works: Elementa de Cive (Amsterdam, 1647) [153], Opera Philosophica in two volumes (Amsterdam, 1668) [202], Leviathan (London, 1651) [255], and Leviathan (Amsterdam, 1670) [506] (catalogue numbers in brackets). 73. Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan (New York: Penguin, 1651 rpt. 1983), p. 137. Cf. pp. 102, 114, 116. Also see Locke's Essay Concerning Human Understanding (1690), ed. Peter Niddirch (Oxford: Clarendon, 1982), p. 508, on mankind's delight in deceiving with, and being deceived by, figurative speech. Hobbes prefigures many of Locke's ideas about language, including Locke's theories about the arbitrary assignment of signifiers. All subsequent references to Hobbes and Locke will appear in the text. 74. For an overview of Hobbesian linguistics that draws upon his complete canon, see Stephen K. Land's Philosophy of Language in Britain: Major Theories from Hobbes to Thomas Reid (New York: AMS Press, 1986). 75. On the literary tradition of tubs, see Eugene Korkowski's "Swift's Tub: Traditional Emblem and Proverbial Enigma," in Eighteenth Century Life Vol. 4, No. 4 (1978), pp. 100103. 76. Alan S. Fisher argues in "An End to the Renaissance: Erasmus, Hobbes, and A Tale of a Tub," Huntington Library Quarterly Vol. 38, No. 1 (1974), pp. 120, that Tale is primarily an answer to Hobbes, who, as a humanist renouncing humanism, had instituted a mechanistic model of the intellect. 77. Swift strikes at Hobbes later in the Tale, in his absurd man-as-Microcoat imagery, which takes its cue from Hobbes's manas-microcosm. Hobbes also appears in The Battle of the Books, where he crowds Plato and serves as a bowman for the inept moderns with Descartes and Gassendi (226, 235236). In a less satiric

< previous page

page_200

next page >

< previous page

page_201

next page > Page 201

vein, Hobbes is mentioned in Swift's discussion of arbitrary power in Sentiments of a Church-of-England Man, II:15. 78. See Maxwell, p. 149; McDowell and Webb, p. 30. 79. See Hans Aarsleff's From Locke to Saussure (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1982) for Locke's influence on (and frequent misrepresentation in) linguistic thought, especially Aarsleff's essays on Leibnitz, Condillac, and Chomsky. 80. For a brief synopsis of the limitations of Lockean linguistics, see Stephen K. Land's section on Locke in From Signs to Propositions (London: Longman, 1974). Land provides a more extended analysis of Locke in his Philosophy of Language in Britain. 81. The idiolect theory has attained a legitimacy in twentieth-century linguistics and psychology that Swift would have scarcely believed possible. Lacan argues that a crucial part of psychoanalysis is to make each patient recognize his unique language, which is "the language of his desire" (Jacques Lacan, Ecrits, trans. Alan Sheridan [New York: W.W. Norton, 1977], p. 81). 82. Only once did Swift admit that intellectual confusion could be more illuminating than order: "I find that I am forced to say all this very confusedly, just as it lyes in my memory, but perhaps it may give Your Grace a truer notion of what passed then if I had writt in more order" (Letter to Archbishop King, 10 Oct. 1710, Corres. I:185). 83. See Frederick N. Smith's Language and Reality in Swift's Tale of a Tub (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1979), in which he argues that the Tale is Locke fictionalized. The most Lockean fiction of the eighteenth century is of course, Sterne's Tristram Shandy. For a general study of the impact of Locke's Essay, see Kenneth Maclean's John Locke and English Literature of the Eighteenth Century (New York: Russell and Russell, 1962). 84. The Lockeanism of the narrator of An Argument against Abolishing Christianity is consistent throughout the essay: he makes Locke's argument that eliminating a word does not eliminate an idea ("But, will any Man say, that if the Words Whoring, Drinking, Cheating, Lying, Stealing, were, by Act of Parliament elected out of the English Tongue and Dictionaries; we should all awake next Morning chaste and temperate, honest and just, and Lovers of Truth?" [II:32]), and he reiterates Locke's ideas about the arbitrary relationship between words and their referents ("Suppose, for Arguments Sake, that the Tories favored Margarita, the Whigs Mrs. Tofts, and the Trimmers Valentini; would not Margaritans, Toftians, and Valentinians, be very tolerable Marks of Distinction?" [II:32]). Apparently, Swift characterizes the narrator as a Lockean in order to provide him with a sufficient amount of intellectual cachet so that his argument will be listened to (and presumably identified with), which implicates the reader in the argument as well as its repudiation. 85. Ehrenpreis (I:92) in particular argues that the influence of Temple on Swift has been severely underestimated by scholars, and judging by the limited publication on this subject, he is correct. In the past sixty years, fewer than a dozen

< previous page

page_201

next page >

< previous page

page_202

next page > Page 202

articles have been written about Swift and Temple, and only three dissertations, all unpublished: The Influence of Sir William Temple on the Mind and Art of Jonathan Swift, by Robert C. Steensma, 1961; The Influence of Sir William Temple upon the Mind and Art of Jonathan Swift, by Gerald J. Pierre, 1970; and A 'Likeness of Humors': The Influence of Sir William Temple upon Jonathan Swift, by william G. Olson, 1983. The only published book-length study is A.C. Elias' Swift at Moor Park (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982). 86. On May 3, 1692, Swift wrote to his cousin Thomas that "this Virgil sticks plaguily on my hands, I did about 200 lines and gave it to my Lady G. for a Sample, and she and Sr W.T. like it as I would have them, but He wont allow that I should leave out what I mentioned to you" (Corres. I:10). A.C. Elias argues that there are certain anomalies in Swift's early work because Swift knew that Temple would be reviewing it (see pp. 7794). 87. Sheridan, p. 12. 88. Sheridan, p. 22. From January 1696 to January 1697, Swift read the following: Lord Herbert's Harry VIII and Camden's Elizabeth; Temple's Memoirs and Introduction (to British History); Burnet's History of the Reformation; Histoire d'Ethiopie; Histoire de Cotes; Memoires de Maurier; Histoire de Chypre; Histoire de Mr. Constance; Sir John Davis's Of the Soul; Conformite de Religion; The Council of Trent; Dialogues des Morts; Collier's Essays; Homer's Iliad and Odyssey; the works of Virgil, Lucretius, and Horace; Cicero's Epistles; Lucius Florus; Theophrastus' Characteres; Petronius Arbiter; Voyage de Mawe, Voyage de Syam, and Aelian; Voiture; Bernier's Grand Mogol; Count Gabalis; Oeuvres Melees; Prince Arthur (presumably Blackmore's); Vossius's de Sibyllinis; abstracts of Sleidan's Commentaries; Diodorus Siculus; Cyprian; Iraeneus; and Hobbes's translation of Thucydides. 89. See Pat Rogers' Jonathan Swift: The Complete Poems (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), pp. 601618, for a listing of literary allusions in Swift's early poetry. It is possible, of course, that Swift read some of these authors while at Trinity. Evidently Cowley was Swift's favorite: "I am overfond of my own writings, I would not have the world think so for a million, but it is so, and I find when I writt what pleases me I am Cowley to my self and can read it a hundred times over" (Corres. I:9). 90. Elias, p. 39. 91. Sheridan, p. 25. These sentiments were frequently repeated in Swift's prefaces to Temple's works, most notably in his "Publisher's Epistle" to the 1700 edition of Temple's Letters: "It is generally believed, that this Author, has advanced our English Tongue, to as great a Perfection as it can well bear; and yet, how great a Master he was of it, has I think, never appeared so much, as it will in the following Letters." Elias suggests that such praise was necessary so Swift could portray himself as Temple's faithful secretary, since any other image would be detrimental to Swift's prospects (7172). Such considerations should not have affected Swift's recommendation to Sheridan years later. 92. Elias, pp. 4042. 93. Elias, pp. 3033. It is unclear whether Temple corrected his own French

< previous page

page_202

next page >

< previous page

page_203

next page > Page 203

or hired a Frenchman to do so. For the effect of political hindsight on the editing of Temple's English letters, see Elias, pp. 3336. 94. Elias, pp. 414, 2529. Because Swift's translation is a literal translation of Temple's Anglicized French, this necessarily limited the opportunities for linguistic play; Temple never really assimilated French idiom and syntax, so there was no creative synthesis to explore (or exploit). 95. Evidently Swift was not alone in his admiration of Temple's style. In Sir William Temple (New York: Twayne Press, 1970), Robert C. Steensma mentions Pope and Johnson as admirers of Temple, and he cites Steele and Goldsmith as having quoted Temple in their own prose (p. 131). Temple's works lost their prominent position at the hands of Macaulay, in his review of Thomas Peregrine's Memoirs of the Life, Works, and Correspondence of Sir William Temple in The Edinburgh Review, October 1838, pp. 113187. In his conclusion Macaulay wrote, "He was no profound thinker. He was merely a man of lively parts and quick observation,a man of the world amongst men of letters,a man of letters amongst men of the world. Mere scholars were dazzled by the Ambassador and Cabinet councillor; mere politicians by the Essayist and Historian. But neither as a writer nor as a statesman can we allot him any very high place." Temple never recovered his former esteem, although Macaulay's assessment has been censured as unduly harsh. 96. "An Essay Upon the Advancement of Trade in Ireland" (written to the Earl of Essex, July 1673), in Miscellanea The First Part, by Sir William Temple, 4th ed. (London: Jacob Tonson, 1693), p. 100. 97. "To the Duke of Ormond, Upon His Grace's desiring me to give him my Opinion what was to be done in that Conjecture," in Sir William Temple's Miscellanea, The First Part, 4th ed. (London: Jacob Tonson, 1693), p. 151. 98. Samuel Johnson, Lives of the Poets, ed. George Birkbeck Hill (Oxford: Clarendon, 1905), Vol. III, p. 52. 99. This analysis owes much to the work of Ehrenpreis, I:176, 179182; and Elias, pp. 4344, 202203. 100. If Swift were searching for English prose models, he would have had a difficult time of it. Swift usually could not extricate an author's politics from his writings; Ann Cline Kelly notes that Swift never admitted that a "bad" (i.e., non-Anglican, nonTory) author wrote well (Swift and the English Language [Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1988], p. 120), and aside from a few notable exceptions (like Pope), she is correct. Thus, choosing a literary model from Dissenting and Restoration prose writers would have been quite a task. He had better luck finding literary models among foreign authors, particularly in his favorites, Cervantes, Rabelais, and Montaigne. 101. See Temple's "An Essay upon the Ancient and Modern Learning," in Five Miscellaneous Essays by Sir William Temple ed. and intro. Samuel H. Monk (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1963), p. 60. (All subsequent references to "An Essay," "Of Poetry," and ''Some Thoughts upon Reviewing the Essay of Ancient and Modern Learning" will refer to this edition and will appear in the text.) Of course, Bacon supplies the moderns' counterargument in Book I

< previous page

page_203

next page >

< previous page

page_204

next page > Page 204

Section V of The Advancement of Learning: the moderns are the true ancients in learning; man inevitably progresses in knowledge as time goes on (Everyman Edition [1984], p. 31). 102. See Homer E. Woodbridge's Sir William Temple: The Man and his Work (New York: Modern Language Association, 1941), especially pp. 105111, 161163, 181186. 103. Swift uses this same argument for contrasting effect in his Proposal for Correcting the English Tongue; by pointing to the impermanence of modern languages, Swift argues that modern languages must be stabilized so literary immortality can be possible. 104. Temple mentions the idea of a universal language, "which may serve all men's turn, when they have forgot their own," in a list of fantastic experiments that will lead the moderns to madness. See "Some Thoughts upon Reviewing the Essay of Ancient and Modern Learning," p. 96. 105. Corneille's commentary, "Of the Three Unities" (1660), shows that the French critics were dogmatic in their adherence to the classical rules: "It is easy for critics to be severe; but if they were to give ten or a dozen plays to the public, they might perhaps slacken the rules more than I do, as soon as they have recognized through experience what constraint their precision brings about and how many beautiful things it banishes from our stage" (Excerpted in Critical Theory Since Plato, ed. Hazard Adams [New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1971], p. 226). 106. While Dryden appreciated the contemporary criticism from France in a way that Temple did not, he too recognized that fine literature, especially the best of English literature, often ignored the classical rules completely. See his Essay on Dramatic Poesy (1668), The Grounds of Criticism in Tragedy (1679), and Dedication to the Aeneis (1697). 107. Sprat, p. 89. 108. Cf. "An Essay," p. 65. Although the Académie Française was successful, Temple does not recommend an English academy to improve the English language. 109. Temple's ignorance of scholarly methods is not surprising since his knowledge is that of a layman, not of a scholar. Temple's most notable mistake in this regard was to assert that the Epistles of Phalaris were among the best of the ancient writings, when in fact the Phalaris letters were not ancient at all. This statement, among others, provoked an attack by Wotton, a counterattack by Boyle, another attack by Bentley, and suddenly, "the Battle of the Books" was on. See R.F. Jones, "The Background of the Battle of the Books," reprinted in The Seventeenth Century: Studies in English Thought from Bacon to Pope, especially pp. 2137. 110. Temple's favorites among the ancients are the traditional choices: Aesop, Homer, Virgil, Horace, Herodotus, Thucydides, Hippocrates, Plato, Xenophon, Aristotle, Caesar, Sallust, and Cicero (see "An Essay," pp. 6465; and "Of Poetry," pp. 186187). 111. These writers were not on Swift's Moor Park reading list for 169697

< previous page

page_204

next page >

< previous page

page_205

next page > Page 205

yet it is likely that Swift read them at Moor Park, if indeed he had not already read them at Trinity. A number of these writers were Swift's favorites toonotably Rabelais, Cervantes, and Montaigne. Swift's admiration differed from Temple's, however, since Swift lacked Temple's qualms regarding satire and burlesque. 112. Although Temple has no difficulty in overturning his choice of Rabelais elsewhere (see "Of Poetry," p. 197), he does not repudiate Bacon. Such reversals are common in Temple, for he once pointed to Petrarch, Ronsard, and Spenser as the three best heroic poets, and he then proceeded to criticize Spenser: "His design was poor, and his moral lay so bare that it lost the effect; 'tis true, the pill was gilded, but so thin that the colour and the taste were too easily discovered" ("Of Poetry," 194195). 113. One of Clara Marburg's arguments is that Temple has been hastily, and perhaps inaccurately, labeled as an absolute advocate of the ancients. See her Sir William Temple: A Seventeenth Century "Libertin" (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1932), especially pp. 7276, 9293. 114. William Wotton's response to Temple, Reflections upon Ancient and Modern Learning, was published in 1694; Charles Boyle countered with his edition of Phalaris in 1695; the moderns answered once again with Richard Bentley's Dissertation on Phalaris, which was appended to the second edition of Wotton's Reflections in 1697. Temple himself was working on an answer to Wotton's Reflections in 16951696, but he never completed his essay. Swift printed the beginning of an answer, "Some Thoughts upon reviewing the Essay upon Ancient and Modern Learning," in part III of Temple's Miscellanea (1701). See Joseph M. Levine's The Battle of the Books: History and Literature in the Augustan Age (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991) for a cogent, detailed analysis of "the Battle," its sources, and its effects. 115. See John Traugott's "A Tale of a Tub," in The Character of Swift's Satire: A Revised Focus, ed. Claude Rawson (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 1983), especially pp. 90100. 116. See the reading of the will in A Tale of a Tub (1704), the list of linguistic oddities in Tatler 230 (1710), the little language in the Journal to Stella (171011), The Proposal for Correcting the English Language (171112), the Lagado language machine in Book Three of Gulliver's Travels (1726), the word games with Sheridan in the 1730s, and his guide to Polite Conversation (1737). 117. Swift was neither the first nor the last to suggest an English literary and linguistic academy. He fits in the academy tradition of Gabriel Harvey, Edmund Bolton, John Evelyn, Thomas Sprat, the Earl of Roscommon, John Dryden, Daniel Defoe, Joseph Addison, Orator Henley, the Earl of Orrery, and Lord Chesterfield. B.S. Monroe traces the history of the academy idea until the mid-eighteenth century in "An English Academy," in Modern Philology, Vol. VIII 191011), pp. 107122. 118. Critics tend to view the Temple-Swift relationship in dichotomous terms: either Swift resented Temple, primarily for his limited help in advancing Swift professionally (the Thackeray-Macaulay camp), or Swift adored Temple, who

< previous page

page_205

next page >

< previous page

page_206

next page > Page 206

served the young Swift as a mentor/father figure (the Sheridan-Ehrenpreis camp). The former suggests that a ten-year stint at Moor Park was an intolerable experience, yet Swift's comments do not portray it as such; the latter assumes that Swift was blind to Temple's faults for ten years, which is highly unlikely. What is likely is that ten years at Moor Park allowed Swift to see Temple's full character and to discover that Temple was both admirable and fallible. 2. The Rhetoric of Satire: Swift's Methods of Encoding Meaning 1. Swift's solution is not completely new; for the satiric precedents that Swift probably drew upon for the dynamics of the author/protagonist/reader relationship, see Ronald Paulson's discussion of Horace, Juvenal, and especially Lucian, in The Fictions of Satire (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1967), pp. 2042. 2. As Everett Zimmerman puts it, "Swift requires the reader to search for the principle of authority that validates the satire"; this search reflects the hermeneutic and epistemological problems that Swift dramatizes in his texts as well. See Zimmerman's Swift's Narrative Satires: Author and Authority (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1983), p. 13. 3. Even a minor piece like A New Journey to Paris (1711) displays the evolving complexity of Swift's use of persona. Swift presented A New Journey as a translation of a Monsieur Baudrier's account of Matthew Prior's Parisian negotiations. Swift displaces responsibility for his work onto his fictional narrator, Baudrier, and as Baudrier's "translator," Swift supplements his text with footnotes; as a result, Swift functions simultaneously as author (however covertly) and as translator and critic (overtly). Not only does this mechanism anticipate criticism and deflect it, but it fills the text, thereby sealing it off from the reader's interpretive meddling. For a general study of personae in Swift's prose, see William Bragg Ewald, Jr.'s The Masks of Jonathan Swift (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1954). 4. In the twentieth century, F.R. Leavis may be the archetypal example of the frustrated reader of Swift, for even as he acknowledges Swift's talent, he documents his own frustration with (and I would argue entrapment by) Swiftian negation. See Leavis's "The Irony of Swift," in The Common Pursuit (London: Chatto and Windus, 1958), pp. 7387. More recent scholarship has started to diagram the dynamics of reader entrapment in Swift, and in eighteenth-century literature in general. See Richard Nash's "Entrapment and Ironic Modes in Tale of a Tub," Eighteenth Century Studies, Vol. 24, No. 4, pp. 415431; see also Papers on Language and Literature, Vol. 18, No. 3, for David M. Vieth's "Entrapment in Restoration and Early EighteenthCentury Literature," pp. 227233); Brian McCrea's ''Surprised by Swift: Entrapment and Escape in A Tale of a Tub," pp. 234244; and Richard H. Rodino's "Varieties of Vexatious Experience in Swift and Others" pp. 325347. 5. There has been much debate about Swift's position vis-à-vis his personae, particularly whether Swift is his narrators or is merely performing their parts (or

< previous page

page_206

next page >

< previous page

page_207

next page > Page 207

somehow speaking through them), or even if persona is a relevant issue for understanding Swift's work at all. For a synopsis of the debate, see Robert C. Elliott's "Swift's 'I'" in The Literary Persona (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982), pp. 107123. 6. George Steiner, After Babel (New York: Oxford University Press, 1976), pp. 28, 47. It is not inappropriate to suggest that Swift's years of bilingual translation at Kilkenny and Moor Park helped developed his sense of linguistic flexibility, so that all words and ideas were prey to "translation," if not outright metamorphosis. 7. Kathleen Williams presents the case for Swift's conservatism in her Jonathan Swift and the Age of Compromise (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1958); one of her primary arguments is that Swift's use of extremes is to lead the reader to advocate Swift's own moderate stance. 8. See Michel Foucault's Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason, trans. Richard Howard (New York: Vintage Books, 1965 rpt. 1988), p. 100: "Language is the first and last structure of madness, its constituent form; on language are based all the cycles in which madness articulates its nature." In general Foucault argues that madness in the classical sense is the existence of delirious discourse. 9. See Lacan, pp. 6869: "In madness, of whatever nature, we must recognize on the one hand the negative freedom of speech that has given up trying to make itself recognized, or what we call an obstacle to transference, and, on the other hand, we must recognize the singular formation of a delusion whichfabulous, fantastic, or cosmological; interpretative, demanding, or idealistobjectifies the subject [the patient] in a language without dialectic." This dichotomy encapsulates Swift's linguistic behavior as well; this is not to say that Swift was mad, but that he invents mad voices to approximate his own anger, frustration, and delight in language. 10. This analysis echoes Hobbes's argument that wit is the ability to recognize similarity, and judgment is the ability to discern difference (135). 11. The danger of the independent thinker recurs in Swift's Abstract of Mr. Collins's Discourse on Free-Thinking. The only thing that freethinkers agree on is their right to intellectual freedom, which results in a myriad of incompatible opinions that lead to the collapse of religion: "I affirm, that if Ten thousand Free Thinkers thought differently from the received Doctrine, and from each other, they would be all in Duty bound to publish their Thoughts (provided they were all sure of being in the right) though it broke the Peace of Church and State, Ten thousand times" (IV:36). 12. Cf. Lacan, p. 70: "The third paradox of the relation of language to speech is that of the subject who loses his meaning in the objectifications of discourse. . . . For here is the most profound alienation of the subject in our scientific civilization." 13. Ferdinand de Saussure, Course in General Linguistics, trans. Wade Baskin, ed. Charles Bally, et al. (New York: McGraw Hill, 1966), pp. 915. 14. Cf. Fielding's "Modern Glossary" in Covent-Garden Journal No. 4, in

< previous page

page_207

next page >

< previous page

page_208

next page > Page 208

which he defines "patriot" as "A Candidate for a Place at Court," "politics" as "The Art of getting such a Place," and ''rogue" as "A Man of a different Party from yourself." In The Covent-Garden Journal and A Plan of the Universal-Register Office, edited by Bertrand A. Goldgar (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1988), pp. 3738. All subsequent references to the Covent-Garden Journal will be made to the Wesleyan edition. 15. While Swift's definitions most frequently occur in his religious and political tracts, they appear in his other works as well; see his definition of "pedantry" in Hints towards an Essay on Conversation, IV:90 and in On Good Manners and Good Breeding, IV:215. 16. Wyrick discusses Swift's verbal appropriation in The Examiner and in The Drapier's Letters (pp. 160161), and she argues that "the issue is not the significance of the words but the ownership of them." 17. The major exception is the Tale Teller's discussion of critics, which he begins "by looking into the Original and Pedigree of the Word [critic] as it is generally understood among us" (92). 18. Unlike the Tale Teller's genuine, if misplaced, concern for the limitations of language, Swift jokingly refers to "the poverty of our language" in his Preface to the Right Reverend Dr. Burnet, IV:57: "I cannot but observe, that his Fellow-Labourer [i.e. Steele], the Author of the Paper, called, The English Man, seems in some of his late Performances, to have almost transcribed the Notions of the Bishop: These Notions, I take to have been dictated by the same Masters, leaving to each Writer that peculiar Manner of expressing himself, which the Poverty of our Language forceth me to call their Stile." 19. See chapter 1 for the use of commonplace books in the writing of student essays. 20. Elizabeth Sewell argues in The Field of Nonsense (London: Chatto and Windus, 1952) that the establishment of numerical series, such as lists, is essential to the creation of nonsense (6780). 21. A typical example from Rabelais' Gargantua and Pantagruel is the five-page list of books in the Library of St. Victor's (187192), with entries such as "The Art of farting decently in public," "The Spectacles of the Romewardbound," and "The Omnium-gatherum of Bigots." 22. The notion that volume equals value also surfaces in the Tale Teller's attitude toward literature: "I am preparing a Petition to Your Highness, to be subscribed with the Names of one hundred thirty six of the first Rate, but whose immortal Productions are never likely to reach your Eyes, tho' each of them is now an humble and an earnest Appellant for the Laurel, and has large comely Volumes ready to shew for a Support to his Pretensions" (33). On excessive literary output, see Swift's letter to Dean Stearne, Corres. I:178; Tatler 230, II:174; Thoughts on Various Subjects, IV:246. 23. Swift also used rhyme to create rhythmic prose, as in his 17 April 1710 letter to Dean Stearne: "I can send you no News; only the Employment of my Parishioners may for memory-sake be reduced under these Heads, Mr. Percivall is ditching, Mrs. Percivall in her Kitchin, Mr Wesly switching, Mrs. Wesley

< previous page

page_208

next page >

< previous page

page_209

next page > Page 209

stiching, Sr Arthur Langford, riching, which is a new word for heaping up Riches; I know no other Rhime but Bitching, and that I hope we are all past. Well Sir, long may you live the Hospital Owner of good Bits good Books and good Buildings. The Bp of Clogher [Ashe] would envy me for those three B's" (Corres. I:163). 24. Saussure, p. 116. 25. See also Jack's comment to Martin: "Ah, Good Brother Martin, said he, do as I do, for the Love of God; Strip, Tear, Pull, Rent, Flay off all, that we may appear as unlike the Rogue Peter as it is possible" (139), and Mechanical Operation of the Spirit: "Hawking, Spitting, and Belching, the Defects of other Mens Rhetorick, are the Flowers, and Figures, and Ornaments of his" (279). 26. See Price, p. 21: "In such a list as 'folly, malice, pride, cruelty, revenge, undutifulness,' the very task of relating terms placed together makes us aware of new combinations. They move toward fusion (foolish pride, cruel revenge, proud undutifulness) yet never quite settle. Where they merge more readily, as in 'perfect spite, rage, and envy,' the combination of general qualities creates a comparatively concrete image." 27. The OED lists four definitions of "elogy," and all were used during Swift's lifetime: (1) an explanatory inscription, (2) a brief summary of a person's character, (3) a biographical notice, and (4) a funeral oration. While Guthkelch and Smith assert that "Swift uses it here in the strict sense of 'characterization,'" they note that "'Elogy' (Elogium) came to be confused with 'eulogy.'" It would be uncharacteristic of Swift to limit himself to one definition when two are viable in a particular context. 28. Under the OED entry for "cotemporary": "Contemporary is the original form, and that approved by Latin analogies. . . . But the variant co-temporary was used by some in the 17th century, and though characterized by Bentley as 'a downright barbarism,' it became so prevalent after 1725, as almost to expel contemporary from use. Towards the end of the 18th century the latter rapidly recovered its ground, and cotemporary is now used by comparatively few. . . . In signification, co-temporary would analogically mean 'unitedly, conjointly, or equally temporary,' whereas contemporary has no affinity with the English sense of 'temporary,' and no connexion with that word except that both are derivative of L[atin] tempus and its adj. temporarius." 29. Biblical names usually refer to the circumstances surrounding the birth of a child, which often determine the child's identity, as in Ishmael (Gen. 16:11), Isaac (Gen. 21:36), Esau and Jacob (Gen. 25:256), all of Jacob's sons (Gen. 29:3235; 30:6, 8, 1113, 1820, 2324; 35:18), Moses (Ex. 2:10) and Samuel (1 Sam. 1:20). 30. This method of encoding meaning is related to, but differs from, using names as literary allusions. When Melville chose the name Ishmael for the narrator of Moby Dick, it was partly to invoke the Biblical image of the outcast. This image adds to the characterization of Ishmael, but it certainly does not define him completely. 31. I am indebted to Wyrick's analysis of names, especially task-directed names, in Swift and the Vested Word, pp. 99101.

< previous page

page_209

next page >

< previous page

page_210

next page > Page 210

32. Of course Peter fails to live up to his father's divine status; he plays out the notion of generation as degeneration, which Michael Seidel argues is endemic to satire: "Satire's sustained actions are violations, and its generic laws subvert tradition, the trans dare or giving across of substance and value in form. Satire's subject may have known a previous, perhaps higher, ancestral status, but satire's actions depict the falling-off or exhaustion of line. In a modal sense, satire is both descendant and descendent" (Satiric Inheritance [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979], p. 263). 33. Allegory is common in Swift's works, but it usually deviates into fable (the spider and bee confrontation of Battle of the Books), satire (the Dedication to Prince Posterity in Tale, or the Houyhnhnms as reason personified in Book Four of Gulliver), or history (the biographies of Merit and Faction in Examiners 30 and 31). 34. Cf. John R. Clark's argument in his Form and Frenzy in Swift's "Tale of a Tub" (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1970) that although the Tale Teller writes allegory, he doesn't know how to read it (p. 76). 35. As rhetorics of authorial empowerment and criticism, invective and satire are highly similar; see Robert C. Elliott's The Power of Satire: Magic, Ritual, Art (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1960), in which he traces the origins of satire back to invective, as he describes how the belief in the magic of curses allowed speakers to shame, and often thereby manipulate, their enemies. 36. Cf. Lacan, pp. 8687: "But if I call the person to whom I am speaking by whatever name I choose to give him, I intimate to him the subjective function that he will take on again in order to reply to me, even if it is to repudiate this function." 37. Elsewhere Swift would try to diffuse invective by exposing its method, as he condemns Burnet for "calling his Brethren as many injurious Names as he pleaseth. It is but quoting a Text of Scripture, where the Characters of evil Men are described, and the Thing is done; and at the same Time the Appearances of Piety and Devotion preserved" (Preface to the Right Reverend Dr. Burnet, IV:77). 38. Proposal for Correcting the English Tongue, IV:10. 39. Joyce played off of Swift with "theolologicophilolological" in Ulysses (New York: Vintage Books, 1922 rpt. 1961), p. 205. 40. The second edition of the OED lists "perpensity," and all the subsequent terms in this discussion, as entering English with their appearance in Tale of a Tub, which seems to have more first citations to Tale than to any of Swift's other works. While Swift's vocabulary is often unusual (at least to a twentieth-century eye), frequently these locutions are contemporary to his time or are archaisms that Swift is reviving (often, it seems, to prove that they are deservedly dead). 41. The Tale Teller also relies on his reader's knowledge of Latin for "observanda" (210), "opus magnum" (187), "bonae notae" (68), all of which are introduced into English usage in the Tale. By borrowing words and phrases from other languages, the Tale Teller gains the literary cachet for adapting these "new'' locutions and avoids the process and responsibility of assigning meaning. 42. The primary exception in Gulliver is the Italian "Laputa." The literature

< previous page

page_210

next page >

< previous page

page_211

next page > Page 211

on Swift's Gulliver languages is highly speculative, and I think, largely pointless; the critics' decoding methods are arbitrarily determined and implemented, so that their results shed little, if any, light on the text. Paul Odell Clark's "Gulliver Dictionary" in Studies in Philology Vol. 50 (1953), pp. 592624, uses various substitution and anagrammatic methods to interpret Gulliverian words like "Hekinah Degul" as ''What in the Devil" and "Struldbrugg" as "Stir dull blood." H.D. Kelling's "Some Significant Names in Gulliver's Travels," also in Studies in Philology, Vol. 48 (1951), pp. 761778, traces "Lorbrulgrud," which is translated in the text as "Pride of the Universe," from the French "orgueil" and the Latin "orbis"; by dropping the "r" in "orgueil," one gets "l'urgul d'orb," or, as Kelling suggests, "Lorbrulgrud." In "The Key to the Language of the Houyhnhnms in Gulliver's Travels," Marjorie W. Buckley argues that the language of the Houyhnhnhms is phonetic: "Houyhnhnm pronounced phonetically with the final mn transposed becomes `Who inhuman'" (Fair Liberty Was All His Cry, ed. A. Norman Jeffares [New York: Macmillan, 1967], pp. 270278). For a sensible discussion of consonantal clusters, duplication and syllabic structure in the construction of the Gulliverian languages, see Johannes Soderlind's "Swift and Linguistics," in English Studies 51 (1970), pp. 140143. 43. Saussure, p. 172. 44. Curiously, the Tale's "Micro-Coat" (78) and "Court-Customers" (177) are not included in the second edition of the OED, although "Micro-" and "Court-" are listed as combinatory forms. The absence of these composite coinages from the OED suggests that they are Swift originals. Similarly, Swift claims "hedge-writers" to be his own locution in Some Remarks Upon a Pamphlet, Entitl'd A Letter to Seven Lords of the Committee, appointed to Examine Gregg (III:201): ". . . a Phrase I unwillingly lend him, because it cost me some Pains to invent." "Hedge-" was a common prefix, and "hedge-writers" also lacks an entry in the OED. 45. For the anatomy of Carroll's portmanteau words, see the textual notes on "Jabberwocky" in The Annotated Alice by Lewis Carroll, with introduction and notes by Martin Gardner (New York: New American Library, 1960), pp. 191198. Phyllis Greenacre's Swift and Carroll: A Psychoanalytic Study of Two Lives (New York: International Universities Press, 1955) is the major study of these two authors, and as the title suggests, the analysis is primarily psychological rather than literary or linguistic. Greenacre does suggest some similarities in the characterization of the temperament of words in Swift and Carroll (234), and in their neologisms; Carroll's "Uggug," "sound[s] like a combination of burp or gulp and the sound of fecal dropping [!], so similar to many of the neologistic words of Swift" (194). 46. "He that can with Epicurus content his Ideas with the Films and Images that fly off upon his Senses from the Superficies of Things; Such a Man truly wise, creams off Nature, leaving the Sower and Dregs, for Philosophy and Reason to lap up. This is the sublime and refined Point of Felicity, called, the Possession of being well deceived; The Serene Peaceful State of being a Fool among Knaves" (174).

< previous page

page_211

next page >

< previous page

page_212

next page > Page 212

47. Accordingly, Wyrick uses "the clothing of thought" as her organizing metaphor for Jonathan Swift and the Vested Word, as she discusses (and puns on) investitures, divestitures, and transvestitures of meaning. 48. Much of the research for the preceding discussion is indebted to Frederick N. Smith's glossary in his Language and Reality in Swift's "Tale of a Tub." 49. Daniel Eilon argues that Babel "signifies the tyranny of the many" in Swift, a tyranny that manifested itself in the validation of numerous religious and political sects and in the mass production of literature. In this last sense, Eilon's argument concurs with my own notions of a literary plenum theory in Swift, in which quantity, although humorous, signals a dangerous lack of intellectual discernment. See Eilon's "Swift Burning the Library of Babel," in Modern Language Review Vol. 80, Pt. 2 (1985), pp. 269282. 50. Dan Doll, "Word and Thing in Swift's Prose," Studies in Eighteenth Century Culture 15 (1986), p. 202. 51. Jonathan Swift, Journal to Stella, ed. Harold Williams (Oxford: Clarendon, 1948), p. 208. Clearly Stella was a competent code writer as well as code reader. According to Ellen Douglass Leyburn, such Swiftian games "help to explain his apparent feeling that an almost essential part of the pleasure of literary creation was the making of a secret, which would in turn afford pleasure to the reader who should ferret it out." See Leyburn's "Swift's Language Trifles," in Huntington Library Quarterly, Vol. XV (19511952), p. 200. For more information on codes and cryptography in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and on Swift's knowledge of enciphering, see Paul J. Korshin's "Deciphering Swift's Codes," in Proceedings of the First Munster Symposium on Jonathan Swift, ed. Hermann J. Real and Heinz J. Vienken (Munchen: Wilhelm Fink Verlag, 1985), pp. 123134. 52. Cf. Joyce's Ulysses: "loudlatinlaughing" (42) "Davy Byrne smiledyawnednodded all in one" (177), and so on. 53. See E.M. Whitley's "Contextual Analysis and Swift's Little Language of the Journal to Stella," in In Memory of J.R. Firth (London: Longman, 1966), ed. C.E. Bazell, J.C. Catford, et al. pp. 475500. Whitley analyzes the consonantal substitutions that determine the structure of the little language and discusses their textual location and frequency. See also Irvin Ehrenpreis's "Swift's `Little Language' in The Journal to Stella," in Studies in Philology, Vol. 45 (1948), pp. 8088, which summarizes the textual and hermeneutic history of the Journal. 54. Cf. the voices of Joyce's Ulysses: "My familiar, after me, calling Steeeeeeeeeeeephen" (20); "Kay ee double ell wy" (97); "It is amusing to view the unpar one ar alled embarra two ars is it? double ess ment of a harassed pedlar" (121). 55. Cf. Journal, pp. 93, 112, 133, 139, 146, 170, 236, 303, 393, 410, 533, 591, 627. Swift was very fond of crambo, a rhyming game, and he wrote a number of "crambo" poems, in which a single rhyme presented in every possible permutation. See his "Dr. Swift's Answer to Dr. Sheridan," a thirty-four line poem with a -ine rhyme scheme (wine/fine/divine/nine/line, and so on), and "To Dr. Helsham," which uses "juice sick/abuse sick/knew sick" as its pattern for twenty-

< previous page

page_212

next page >

< previous page

page_213

next page > Page 213

eight lines (The Poems of Jonathan Swift, ed. Harold Williams [Oxford: Clarendon, 1958], Vol. III, pp. 101718, 102830). 56. Although Swift's aural play is not always aesthetic, Swift advocates an aesthetics of sound in which liquid, Latinate sounds take precedence over clipped, consonantal combinations; see Tatler 230, II:175; A Proposal for Correcting the English Tongue, IV:11, 13; and On Barbarous Denominations in Ireland, IV:280281, 283284. Swift mockingly defends orthography based on sound in his Introduction to Polite Conversation, IV:113. 57. Cf. Ronald Paulson's Theme and Structure in Swift's "Tale of a Tub," p. 17: "Sound itself often became divorced from meaning in this century of the sermon. There is evidence that the Anglican congregations liked to hear the sound of the Greek and Latin quotations in sermons when they were altogether unintelligible to them." Paulson provides a good general discussion of seventeenth-century pulpit oratory and its use of puns, metaphors, neologisms, logic, and gestures (1225). 58. See Freud's "The Antithetical Sense of Primal Words," in his Collected Papers, (New York: Basic Books, 1959), Vol. IV, pp. 184191. See also Saussure, pp. 120121, on the function of difference and opposition as the primary mechanisms of language. Steiner, p. 233, concurs with Saussure and adds that language itself is best described by a series of polarities: physical/mental, private/public, truth/falsehood, and so on. 59. See Wyrick, pp. 7678, on the benefits and liabilities of intellectual vertigo, which is largely propelled by reversal. 60. Swift's overt condemnation of this type of religious justification occurs in Mechanical Operation, pp. 275276: "However, it is a Sketch of Human Vanity, for every Individual, to imagine the Universe is interess'd in his meanest Concern. If he hath got cleanly over a Kennel, some Angel, unseen, descended on purpose to help him by the Hand; if he hath knockt his Head against a Post, it was the Devil, for his Sins, let loose from Hell on purpose to buffet him." 61. Jack's unrelenting literalism is exactly cognate with the intellectual rigorousness of mad logic that Foucault describes in Madness and Civilization. After citing examples from Paul Zacchias's work, including the mad perversions of syllogism by a man letting himself starve to death ("The dead do not eat; I am dead; hence I do not eat") and the paranoid convolutions of induction ("A, B and C are my enemies; all of them are men; therefore all men are my enemies"), Foucault writes, "The ultimate language of madness is that of reason, but the language of reason enveloped in the prestige of the image, limited to the locus of appearance which the image defines" (95). 62. Swift repeatedly targeted representatives of the Dissenting Churches (like Jack) for their ideology of reversal, especially the notion that one needs to know evil to recognize good: "The other Qualification necessary for all Pastors, if they will not be blind, ignorant, greedy, drunken Dogs, &c. is, to know the Depths of Satan. This is harder than the former; that a poor Gentleman ought not to be Parson, Vicar, or Curate of a Parish, except he be cunninger than the Devil. . . .

< previous page

page_213

next page >

< previous page

page_214

next page > Page 214

Another Thing I would observe is, that a Man may be in the Depths of Satan, without knowing them all; and such a Man may be so far in Satan's Depths, as to be out of his own" (Preface to Burnet, IV:78). 63. Cf. Sentiments of a Church-of-England Man, in which Swift argues that opposition for opposition's sake is ridiculous, and that the Whigs and Tories should develop policy based on analysis of the issues, not based on opposition to each other (II:4). 64. Only once does Swift make a distinction and then willfully abandon it: "I make a difference between good-manners, and good-breeding; although in order to vary my expression, I am sometimes forced to confound them" (On Good-Manners and Good-Breeding, IV:217). 65. The best general study of puns that I have come across is Walter Redfern's Puns (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1984). While Redfern's sense of the pun is broader than my own (he includes neologism, parody exaggeration, insult, irony, and metaphor in his discussion), I concur with his analysis of how puns actually work (generating linguistic energy through through pivoting, centipetal, and centrifugal motions), his assessment of puns as a social (or rather, antisocial, antiauthoritarian) phenomenon, as well as his comments on the psychology of puns (and its connections with schizophrenia and revenge). 66. Swift writes about Stella's punning to the Reverend William Tindall (Corres. I:42): "I desire Mrs Johnson only to forbear punning after the Finglas rate when Dilly [Ashe] was at home," and to Stella herself: "So Stella puns again; why 'tis well enough; but I'll not second it, though I could make a dozen" (Journal, 33). 67. For more of Swift's puns, see Journal, pp. 249, 262, 400, 408409, 568. In his Correspondence, see his letters to Lord Pembroke (I:141, 160) and to Archdeacon Walls (I:6566). Swift cannot resist telling Stella other people's puns either, including Prior's (Journal, 153, 347) and St. George Ashe's (Journal, 641). Even if he doesn't relate specific puns, Swift mentions punning oftensee Journal, pp. 287, 300, 303, 417, 615, 654, where Swift mentions that he punned with Fountaine, Dilly Ashe, et al.; and Corres. I:76 and 113, about punning with Lord Pembroke. 68. The Tale Teller does not always choose the literal reading over the figurative, for he reads "pens" instead of "birds" as the referent of "feathers": "A Happiness derived to us with a great many others, from our Scythian Ancestors; among whom, the Number of Pens was so infinite, that the Grecian Eloquence had no other way of expressing it, than by saying, That in the Regions, far to the North, it was hardly possible for a man to travel, the very Air was so replete with Feathers." (149) In some sense it is as important to note that the Tale Teller consistently opts for the incorrect interpretation as it is to focus on the particular type of misreading he demonstrates. 69. Textual variant that appears in the original 1709 edition, but not in the 1711, 1727, or 1735 editions. See Davis's textual notes, II:288. 70. The ongoing debate over the "hard" and "soft" readings of Book Four

< previous page

page_214

next page >

< previous page

page_215

next page > Page 215

of Gulliver's Travels is perhaps the best example of the complex critical response that Swift's ambiguity evokes. For a summary, see James L. Clifford's "Gulliver's Fourth Voyage: 'Hard' and 'Soft' Schools of Interpretation," in Quick Springs of Sense: Studies in the Eighteenth Century, ed. Larry S. Champion (Athens, Ga.: University of Georgia Press, 1974), pp. 3349. 71. A Modest Defense of Punning, IV:208, and The Dying Speech of Tom Ashe, IV:264. In all Swift's published works, the puns are set off by italics so that the reader cannot miss them. 72. Steiner notes that this linguistic behavior is especially associated with child psychology: "The fracture of words, the maltreatment of grammatical norms which [as the Opies have shown,] constitute a vital part of the lore, mnemonics, and secret parlance of childhood, have a rebellious aim: by refusing, for a time, to accept the rules of grown-up speech, the child seeks to keep the world open to his own, seemingly unprecedented needs" (35). 73. A Discourse to Prove the Antiquity of the English Tongue, IV:233. Swift develops a convoluted, comic justification for his aural punning in the Discourse: he claims that the names of Greek, Roman, and Hebrew characters are actually derived from English, and he proves his point by showing that an English reading of these names reveals the salient characteristic of each person. By undermining the temporal order of etymology, Swift once again burlesques the self-importance of the modern sensibility. 74. A Modest Defense of Punning, IV:208. The pun on "pun" also occurs in Joyce's Ulysses: "How will you pun? You punish me?" (280). Many of Joyce's puns are quite like Swift's, both in content and method: "funeral" in Swift's hands became "few nor all" (IV:264), while Joyce turned it into ''fun for all" in Finnegan's Wake. Swift would have enjoyed Joyce's splicing of sound and sense in Ulysses, especially the AEIOU pun to Russell (190) and "Met him pikehoses" for "metempsychosis" (154). 75. Consultation of Four Physicians, IV:271. The 1989 Cointreau ad campaign shows that interlingua is not dead yet: "C'est kwan- tro mutch stile - C'est Kwan tro, a longue with awl the wrest of elle. Her klos, her man ner, her bare ing, her gewlery, her smil. Wen elle wawks in two the rum, heds ternmon mour then most. C'est awl d'elle, but espeshelly c'est her Kwan-tro, c'est mutch, mutch stile" (SPY Magazine, March 1989). 76. For a discussion of Swift's punning relationship with Sheridan and examples of their puns, see "Anglo-Latin Games and a Fragment of Polite Conversation," in George P. Mayhew's Rage or Raillery, especially pp. 132139. 77. For contemporary eighteenth-century criticism of punning, see Addison's essays on punning and word play as false with in numbers 58 through 61 of The Spectator, ed. Donald Bond (Oxford: Clarendon, 1965), I:244263. Such linguistic games were considered to be trifles for trifling minds, only fit for writers of lesser talent; see Dryden's "MacFlecknoe" (11. 203206) and Pope's Dunciad, I:6364. In a lighter vein, see Pope's God's Revenge Against Punning (1716). While such criticism of the pun continues in the twentieth century, it has largely been

< previous page

page_215

next page >

< previous page

page_216

next page > Page 216

mediated by the critical attention given to puns in psychological diagnosis and deconstructive philosophy; see On Puns, ed. Jonathan Culler (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1988). 78. My analysis of the elements of irony corresponds with D.C. Muecke's The Compass of Irony (London: Methuen, 1969 rpt. 1980), which provides a taxonomy of irony based on criteria such as the relationship of ironist to the subject, the ironist's intent, the presence or absence of the ironist in the text, and so on. While Muecke presents a theory of irony, he does not analyze it in practice; in this regard Wayne C. Booth's Rhetoric of Irony (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974), a discussion of the dynamics of recognizing, reading, and responding to irony (47134), is particularly helpful. 79. Oliver Sacks, The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat (New York: Harper and Row, 1987), pp. 92101. 80. I refer to Swiftian metaphors as "horizontal" and "vertical" partly to capture their verbal expansiveness and partly to get at the structure of metaphor; Price uses these same motions for opposite effect to describe what he calls Swift's "condensations of meaning," which are linguistically economic modes that embody difference, if not radical antithesis, such as wit and irony (57). 81. Cf. Wyrick, pp. 6974. 82. Not surprisingly, then, the narrator of Mechanical Operation of the Spirit uses the same imagery and the same format to contradict the Tale Teller's point regarding ends: ". . . a scandalous Mistake foisted on the World, by a sort of Modern Authors, who have too literal an Understanding; and, because Antiquity is to be traced backwards, do therefore, like Jews, begin their Books at the wrong End, as if Learning were a sort of Conjuring. These are the Men, who pretend to understand a Book, by scouting thro' the Index, as if a Traveller should go about to describe a Palace, when he had seen nothing but the Privy; or like certain Fortune-Tellers in Northern America, who have a way of Reading a Man's Destiny, by peeping in his Breech (283284). 83. The parallelism that marks parody also appears in Swift's use of historical precedent. Swift drew upon ancient history for its dialectical, rather than linguistic, value in Contents and Dissentions, to project the disastrous consequences of contemporary policy. When Swift was defending the ministry instead of attacking it, he argued that this technique was a debased form of satire, since the writer could change or ignore historical details to produce the "precedent" that was desired. See Examiner 17 (III:26), Some Remarks Upon a Pamphlet Entitled A Letter to Seven Lords of the Committee, Appointed to Examine Gregg (III:199), and Preface to Burnet (IV:61). 84. See Roland Barthes, Writing Degree Zero, trans. Annette Lavers and Colin Smith (New York: Hill and Wang, 1984), on the inescapable biological component of style: "Its [style's] frame of reference is biological or biographical, not historical: it is the writer's 'thing,' his glory and his prison, it is his solitude. Indifferent to society and transparent to it, a closed personal process, it is in no way the product of a choice or of a reflection on Literature" (11). 85. Cf. Hugh Kenner's discussion of the Tale as a parody of books (and the

< previous page

page_216

next page >

< previous page

page_217

next page > Page 217

Irish tendency toward such parody) in The Stoic Comedians: Flaubert, Joyce and Beckett (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1962 rpt. 1974), pp. 3750. 86. The image of the ass is one of Swift's favorites. In the Tale not only are critics asses, but readers are ass-like because the writer yanks their bridles to lead them through a text (203); writers are asses because they bear their readers along through the progress of a narrative (184); Jack brays (195); and it is argued that the best way to hold men is like asses, by their ears (200). For more asses, see Mechanical Operation (264265), Tritical Essay (I:249), and Thoughts on Various Subjects (IV:247, 253). 87. In particular, the multiple codings in Swift's prose set up the "dialogizing" effect of voices that Bakhtin argues is the primary characteristic of the novel. See M.M. Bakhtin's The Dialogic Imagination (Austin: University of Texas, 1981), pp. 302315, on heteroglossia and double voiced prose. 88. Steiner, pp. 217218. 89. Barthes, p. 16. 3. From Here to Eternity: The Preservation of Encoded Meaning 1. While shepherding Temple's papers through the press, Swift was pressured by his bookseller to publish early and to make "very considerable Additions" to Temple's writings, "and by that means, have perhaps taken the surest Course to prevent the Interloping of others" (I:266). Swift won his editorial battles with his bookseller and publisher, only to face an accusation from Temple's sister, Lady Giffard, of tampering with Temple's works. Corres. I:154157. Cf. Swift's prefaces to Temple's works, I:259, I:263, I:266, I:271. 2. Social and political circumstance do not sufficiently account for the desire for fame: Dryden was a social and political outsider like Swift, particular at the end of his career, yet he lacked these anxieties about fame and literary accessibility. Dryden felt that if his writings merited attention, they would be adapted by posterity, just as he adapted the works of Shakespeare and Chaucer. See his Preface to the Fables in The Essays of John Dryden, ed. W.P. Ker (New York: Russell and Russell, 1961), Vol. II, pp. 264265. On the other hand, Addison, who was an insider, had the same anxieties about posterity and wrote his own epitaph in the Spectator to fashion his future reputation. See Spectator 101 (I:424426). 3. Johnson also asserts that literary value is measured by its ability to transcend time and influence generations of readers and writers. See Johnson's "Preface to Shakespeare," in The Yale Edition of the Works of Samuel Johnson, ed. Arthur Sherbo (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968), Vol. VII, pp. 5961. 4. Bacon, The Advancement of Learning, p. 31: "Antiquity deserveth that reverence, that men should make a stand thereupon and discover what is the best way; but when the discovery is well taken, then to make progression. And to speak truly, Antiquitas saeculi juventus mundi. These times are the ancient times, when the world is ancient, and not those which we account ancient ordine retrogrado, by a computation backward from ourselves."

< previous page

page_217

next page >

< previous page

page_218

next page > Page 218

5. Tale Teller repeatedly destroys the continuity of time by collapsing the distinctions between past, present, and future into an everlasting present; he credits Homer with investing gunpowder and the compass and with the discovery of the circulation of the blood (129), and he insists that Cicero has knowledge about contemporary England (168). Cf. John R. Clark's analysis of the confusion of time and the eternal present in his Form and Frenzy in Swift's "Tale of a Tub", pp. 112114, 119, 124125. The Tale Teller's temporal sensibility (or lack thereof) and his mad creativity seem to typify many points that Paul de man makes in "The Rhetoric of Temporality," particularly his comments regarding irony pointing to its own fictionality, irony as instantaneous mode that splits off the past and the future from the present, and absolute irony as reflection of madness from inside madness itself. See de Man's Blindness and Insight, Second Edition (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1983), especially pp. 214226. 6. See Edward Said's "Swift's Tory Anarchy," in Eighteenth Century Studies Vol. 3 (1969), pp. 4866. Said argues that the insistent textuality of Swift's works is a function of his consciousness of literature as an event of fixed time and duration; consequently, "we are challenged therefore by an oeuvre that exists recalcitrantly as a negative judgment on itself for not having succeeded as an event, which would have meant its extinction and dispersion in time past" (58). 7. Yet Swift probably would have approved of Richardson's "writing to the moment" style because Richardson used it to inculcate values that transcended the moment; as Richardson explores the social universe on a moment by moment basis in Pamela and Clarissa, the moral code that underlies his exploration remains a constant. A more ironic and Swiftian use of this technique occurs in Tristram Shandy, for Sterne writes to the moment to reveal that literature cannot possibly encapsulate time accurately. 8. Such a linguistic scenario invariably leads to madness, and in Swift's satirically "modern" works like Tale of a Tub, A Tritical Essay, and Mechanical Operation of the Spirit, the dysfunctional nature of modern memory reveals its insanity in the absence of logical continuity. See Michael Deporte's "From the Womb of Things to Their Grave: Madness and Memory in Swift," University of Toronto Quarterly, Vol. 58, No. 3 (1989), pp. 376390. Of course, the opposite extreme, total recall, generates chaotic texts as well, as Steiner notes: "To remember everything is a condition of madness. We remember culturally, as we do individually, by conventions of emphasis, foreshortening, and omission" (29). 9. Temple wrote in his Essay upon the Ancient and Modern Learning that "if our wit and eloquence, our Knowledge or Inventions, would deserve it [to last]; yet our languages would not: there is no hope of their lasting long, nor anything in them; they change every hundred years or so as to be hardly known for the same" (63). Dryden and Pope's complaints about Chaucer's unintelligibility argue that 300 years was the time frame of irrevocable linguistic change. See Pope's Essay on Criticism, II. 482483, and Dryden's Dedication to Troilus and Cressida, XIII:223. 10. On the influence of Johnson's Dictionary, see Alvin Kernan, Samuel Johnson and the Impact of Print (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989), pp. 185

< previous page

page_218

next page >

< previous page

page_219

next page > Page 219

195199. Cf. W. Jackson Bate's Samuel Johnson (New York: Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1975), p. 251. On the growth of the press and publishing, see Jeremy Black's English Press in the Eighteenth Century (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1987), pp. 1224, 99112; and The Birth of a Consumer Society: The Commercialization of Eighteenth-Century England, by Neil McKendrick, John Brewer, and J.H. Plumb (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1982), pp. 265271. 11. Swift's successful twentieth-century counterpart in linguistic (or at least stylistic) prescriptivism is George Orwell, whose oft-reprinted "Politics and the English Language" not only offers an astute diagnosis of contemporary prose but also provides a number of viable solutions for the ills of modern writing. In general, Orwell is more forthcoming than Swift about the social and political ramifications of language; or rather, what is implicit in Swift regarding language, authority, and power, tends to be explicit in Orwell's prose fiction. 12. See D.C. Scragg, A History of English Spelling (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1974), pp. 8081: "By 1700 stabilisation was complete. The relatively few changes which have taken place in spelling since then have affected only a small number of words, for example individual cases like phantasy becoming fantasy, and controul becoming control (by analogy with French), or minor developments involving a group of words such as the loss of final from in such words as music and comic. Perhaps the most far-reaching of late changes was the creation of two new graphemes in and <j>, used up to the eighteenth century as variant graphs of and ." 13. After introducing letters, Dyche presents rhyming lists of syllables (back, clack, crack, and so on, but no nonsense monosyllables). He then lists two-syllable words accented on the first syllable; two-syllable words accented on the second syllable; and continues to divide three-, four-, five-, and six-syllable words by accent as well. By emphasizing the recognition and the proper pronounciation of syllables, it is apparent that Dyche's goal was to teach people how to read aloud. The Guide does not discuss grammar, syntax or vocabulary; students learned how to read, but they would not necessarily know what they were reading, and more importantly, they would not know how to write, for there was no information regarding the construction of sentences, much less essays. 14. Although Watts's work was more successful than Jone's, I have emphasized Jones because his book was published before Swift wrote his major essays on linguistic reform, namely Tatler 230 and The Proposal for Correcting the English Tongue, and Watts was published afterwards. Watts's Art reads as if Jones wrote it: The General Directions for true Spelling are these. 1st Direction. Pronounce the Word plain, clear, distinct, Syllable by Syllable; give the full Sound to every Part of it, and write it according to the longest, the hardest, and harshest Sound in which the Word is ever pronounce; as A-pron, not Apurn; Cole-wort, not Collut, &c. The reason of the Rule is this: Most Words were originally pronounced as they were written; but the Pronunciation being something long and rough, difficult and uneasy, they came to be

< previous page

page_219

next page >

< previous page

page_220

next page > Page 220

pronounced in a short and easy way for Conversation, by the leaving out some Letters, and softening the Sound of others: So, for instance, join is pronounced jiine; . . . ." (The Art of Reading and Writing English [Menston: Scolar Press, 1972] pp. 8384). For Watt's publication history, see R.C. Alston, A Bibliography of the English Language (Menston: Scolar Press, 1971), Vol. IV, p. 49. 15. G.W., Magazine, or Animadversions on the English Spelling (Los Angeles: Augustan Reprint Society, 1958), Vol. 70, p. 8. 16. Magazine, p. 6. Like G.W., Watts abandons etymology: "In such as are derived from the Latin, Greek, or Hebrew, as adorn, peruse, transient, Iniquity, Bethel, and several others; the primitive Word can never be distinguish'd without the knowledge of other Tongues: and therefore the English Scholar may spell them according to the common Rules, without just blame" (32). 17. Swift had used the same basic argument (and a similar clothing metaphor) against phonetic spelling nearly two years earlier, in Tatler 230 (II:176). 18. Some phonetists, like Jones, were aware of this objection, but instead of choosing one pronunciation as a standard, they simply catalogue all of them: "That because several Persons in divers Parts of England, &c. sound Words several waies, I am forced of Necessity to repeat the Sound, and consequently the Words several Times, otherwise I could not be helpful to some, that sound Words differently from others" (19). 19. Thomas Stackhouse links pronunciation with linguistic fragmentation in his explanation of Babel. He writes in Reflections on the Nature and Property of Languages (1731) (Menston: Scolar Press, 1968) that God created the Babel effect by changing the shape of man's vocal organs so that people thought they were pronouncing the pre-Babel language when in fact they were not. As a result, different signifiers were used for the same signifieds, and people eventually became accustomed to those new sounds, and different languages evolved (38). 20. Cf. Addison, Spectator 135, II:35: "Nay this Humour of shortning our Language had once run so far that some of our celebrated Authors, among whom we may reckon Sir Roger L'Estrange in particular, began to prune their Words of all superfluous Letters, as they termed them, in order to adjust the Spelling to the Pronunciation, which would have confounded all our Etymologies, and have quite destroyed our Tongue." 21. His public campaign against phonetic spelling did not prevent Swift from enjoying its possibilities in his private word games, as in the following letter to Sheridan: Dr In ur a but; I stm u a dit. Ur mpr ndurs. O b ur but ndls. A tr faces ur but. Ur a gm; a gul; a rub. I c a b p q ur i: I b c h u t k a r o ur i, I c q u a r med. . . . [Dear Ellen you're a beauty; I esteem you a deity. Your empire endures. O be your beauty endless. A tear effaces your beauty. You're a gem; a jewel;

< previous page

page_220

next page >

< previous page

page_221

next page > Page 221

a ruby. I see a bee peck your eye: I beseech you take care o' your eye, I seek you a remedy. . . .] Reprinted in Raymond Pearl's "Dean Swift and the Goldfish," American Speech Vol. 1 (19251926), p. 315. This letter is not in the Williams' edition of Swift's correspondence. Of course bad spelling was a great source of puns and jokes for Swift; see his cunning "spell" on egoes for agues, discussed in chapter 2. 22. J. H. Neumann, "Jonathan Swift and English Spelling," in Studies in Philology, (1944), Vol. 41, p. 81. 23. Neumann notes that Swift commented on other people's spelling as well, including that of the Earl of Stratford; Lord Thomas Raby; Mrs. Whiteway; Vanessa, the Countess of Orkney (who "spells like a Wapping wench"); the Duchess of Queensberry; and Miss Hoadley, the daughter of His Grace of Dublin (8283). 24. These variations occur within a six month period: on 19 July 1712, Swift wrote "Bulingbrook" and "Bullinbrook" (and these were in the same letter, p. 550); on 7 August 1712, the name was "Bolinbroke" (554); and on 31 December 1712, it was "Bolinbrokle" (591). 25. Corres. I:336. Cf. Neumann, p. 84: "In the Journal to Stella, for example, he spells gail (jail or gaol), belive (believe), hear, here, heer (hear). Sometimes variant spellings occur in the same letter: thus, picquet, picquett, picket; scapt, escapt, escaped; college, colledge." Neumann argues that some mispellings, like enuff, agen, tho, and thro, "occur generally in his poetry, where they are intended to do double service as eye, as well as ear rhymes" (81). 26. Soderlind, p. 139, notes that these elisions generate sounds that are not standard English: "Drudg'd, disturb'd, and fledg'd all contain consonant clusters which do not occur within a syllable on or below the morpheme level: the syncope marks a morpheme boundary. The fourth instance, rebuk'd, is different. The consonant cluster occurs within a morpheme: cf. act, strict, words which do not meet with Swift's disapproval. The reason for the inclusion of this instance should, I think, be sought in the phonotactics of the word. In a morpheme, the cluster /kt/ is not normally preceded by /u:/, so that the group /u:kt/ is un-English in such a syllable." 27. Dryden, Dedication to Troilus and Cressida, XIII:223. 28. By way of contrast, at the beginning of the seventeenth century George Chapman argued just the opposite: that English monosyllables "kindly fall, / And meete, opposde in rime, as they did kisse," while "French and Italian most immetricall, / Their many syllables in harsh Collision / Fall as they brake their necks" (in "Preface to Homer," p. 79). 29. Addison also complains about the hissing sound of English, which he attributes to the substitution of "s" for "eth" in the present tense ("drowns" for "drowneth," and so on). Addison's comments are Swiftian, and in his critique of abbreviations, the examples ("mob,'' "pozz," and so on) are identical to Swift's in Tatler 230, which was published nearly a year earlier, in September 1710.

< previous page

page_221

next page >

< previous page

page_222

next page > Page 222

30. In a letter to Sheridan, Swift turned to his oft-used tactic, the persona of a modern proposer, to criticize abbreviation: I have often lamented the unnecessary loss of time we suffer in transcribing our thoughts by dividing our words into syllables, and writing the vowels at length. . . . They double our labour. Besides the great loss of paper, pens, and ink, which many among the learned are not so well able to spare. I confess, that in this polite and learned age of ours, many laudable attempts have been made for some remedy against this evil; partly by abbreviating words with apostrophes; and partly by lopping the polysyllables, leaving two at most; as thus 'Tisn't, t'n't, won't, can't, poz, 'pon, rep', phis, and many more. (Pearl, p. 315) 31. Unfortunately, it is difficult to determine just how new or contemporary some of these usages really are; the Oxford English Dictionary does not have entries for phrases like "now [I] am writing like a fish" (Journal, 244). 32. For the preliminary data on Anglo-Irish dialect in this period, see Alan Bliss's Spoken English in Ireland, 16001740 (Dublin: Dolmen Press, 1979). 33. While Swift recognizes the power of fashion, he does not suggest that a language academy could (or rather, should) make proper usage fashionable. This omission is interesting because Defoe does make this argument in his academy proposal in Essay Upon Projects (1697), and Swift had used the idea of harnessing fashion to inculcate proper religious behavior in his Proposal on the Advancement of Religion (1709). 34. Swift, in his Apology to his Tale of a Tub (1710), says that it "was first borrowed from the Bullies in White Friars, then fell among the Footmen, and at last retired to the Pedants" (19). The OED then cites the quotation from Tatler 230 that I have previously noted. 35. Swift provides etymologies for some of his foreign words in Gulliver (see "Lorbrulgrud" [XI:99] and "Houyhnhnm" [XI:235]). With typical Swiftian perversity, the one word for which Gulliver claims he has no etymology is "Laputa," an obvious, Indo-European derivation. 36. The OED documents "bamboozle" in 1703, "country-put" circa 1700, "mob" in 1688, "banter" in 1676, and ''kidney" circa 1555. Swift's tardy timing makes his commentary both poignant and comical, but it does not invalidate his remarks as evidence of his linguistic position. 37. See Alston, Vol. IX Plate LXXXIII, The Life and Death of an English Rogue [1700?]. 38. Alston, IX:5154. Alston lists ten other cant dictionaries published between 1673 and 1730, and six of these went through multiple editions. 39. See the fifth edition of Shirley's Triumph of Wit (1707); The Life and Death of the English Rogue (1700?); Aristotle's Last Legacy (1711 ed.); and The History of the lives and actions of Jonathan Wild (third ed., 1730?). Under the letter c, all four works include the same definitions (with minor spelling variations) for cloak bag ("Roger" or "Peter"), coach ("ratler"), chamber-pot ("jockum-gage"), a cheat

< previous page

page_222

next page >

< previous page

page_223

next page > Page 223

("napper"), to cheat ("bite"), coach-beggars ("ratling-mumpers"), candlestick ("glim-stick"), constable (''harmanbeck"), cut the cloak bag ("flick the Roger/ Peter"), corn ("grannam"), cluster of grapes ("rum boozing welts"), crutch ("lifter"), crafty fellow ("chincher"), crust ("crackler"), church ("autem"), cow ("mower"), and coat ("mishtopper"). Alston's excerpt from Aristotle's Last Legacy is incomplete on c, and I have not been able to find a copy to check if it agrees with the other three, which are unanimous about "coachman," "carriers," "choked," "copulate," "country," "counterfeit," "cheese," "chicken," and "cloak." The only discernible variation is "cart," which is not in Shirley's Triumph or in Aristotle's Last Legacy. See Plates LXXX, LXXXIII, LXXXV, and LXXXVIII in Vol. IX of Alston. 40. See Alston, IX:55, 58, for B.E.'s Dictionary and its status as a paradigm for A New Canting Dictionary (1725). Unfortunately, B.E.'s work is the only contemporary cant dictionary that I have been able to examine thoroughly, so I have not been able to trace fully the jargon that Swift discusses. 41. Lois M. Scott-Thomas, "The Vocabulary of Jonathan Swift," in Dalhousie Review, Vol. 25, No. 4 (1946), p. 443. According to Scott-Thomas, "preliminaries," "circumvallations" and "speculations" are mid-seventeenth-century terms; "battalions" and "preliminaries" date back to the sixteenth century; and "ambassadors" and "communications" can be traced to the fourteenth century. 42. Addison, Spectator 165, II:149153. Bond's footnote (p. 151) reads: "Of the fifteen French words or phrases in this letter, two (corps and maraud) are quoted from this paper as the first examples in English in the OED. Hauteur, in the sense of height, is also dated 1711 in OED, but the example is from the London Gazette. Other recent importations in the list (with the earliest date in OED) are reconnoitre (1707), defiles (1685), corps de reserve (1704), gasconade (1709), fossé (1708), chanade (1684), charte blanche (1707), and cartel (1692). (Carte blanche is used, however, by Dryden in Don Sebastian (1690) III, ii). The remainder are older: at discretion (1630), drum (1577), trumpet (1390), gens d'arms (c. 1550)." 43. Swift was not alone in his criticism of foreign borrowings. In 1679 Dryden complained that "we have trafficqued with our Neighbour Nations; by which means we abound as much in words, as Amsterdam does in Religions" (Dedication to Troilus and Cressida, XIII:223). Also see Dryden's Essay on the Dramatique Poetry of the Last Age (XI:211), and his Dedication to The Rival Ladies (VIII:98). Even as late as 1755, Johnson was deploring the foreign words that authors "by vanity or wantonness, by compliance with fashion or lust of innovation" have introduced into English (Preface to the Dictionary [1755], 4th ed. [London: W. Strahan, 1773], p. iv). 44. Cf. John Hughes, "Of Style" (1698), in which good style is defined as a function of propriety, perspicuity, elegance, and cadence. Like Swift, Hughes's discussion implicitly assumes that the reader understands the literary standards that are being evoked, and as a consequence he too tends to be vague about his criteria: "Propriety of Thoughts is two-fold; the first is when the Thoughts are proper in themselves, and so it is opposed to Nonsense; and the other when

< previous page

page_223

next page >

< previous page

page_224

next page > Page 224

they are proper to the Occasion, and so it is opposed to Impertinence." Reprinted in Poems on Several Occasions with some Select Essays in Prose (London: J. Tonson and J. Watts, 1735), p. 248. 45. Tale Teller is, of course, the primary digressor in the Swift canon, as many of the chapter headings of the Tale indicate ("A Digression Concerning Criticks," "A Digression in the Modern Kind," and so on), and he even digresses within his own digressions. The true agenda of this form seems to be to gratify the writer's ego, for digressions allow authors to strut their knowledge, particularly when it is irrelevant. In Swift's Satire on Learning in "A Tale of a Tub" (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1950), Miriam Starkman argues that the internal structure of the Tale's chapters lacks a pattern, but that the arrangement of the chapters works toward symmetry and order (131146). Such a position gives the chaos of the text purpose as it separates Swift's critical motives of digression from the Tale Teller's. 46. See Tale Teller's repeated problems with his preface, and his declaration "against that pernicious Custom, of Making the Preface a Bill of Fare to the Book" (130131; cf. 42, 45, 54, 181). 47. Footnotes, which one would think could settle textual meaning, do not do so in the Swift canon because they are frequently beyond the narrator's control. By creating nonauthorial voices who vent their unsolicited opinions in the notes, Swift expresses ideas that are inappropriate for his narrators, while depicting the invasiveness of reading and the vulnerability of textuality. This appropriation of form is also a comic opportunity for Swift to anticipate and deflate criticism, by characterizing his readers as simpletons. Accordingly, some footnotes proclaim the inscrutability of the text ("I cannot guess the Author's meaning here, which I would be very glad to know, because it seems to be of Importance" [Tale, 191]); others state the obvious, like the frequent footnotes in Battle of the Books on hiatuses in the manuscript ("Ingens hiatus hic in MS," "Alter hiatus in MS," "pauca desunt"); some tease the reader ("Here the whole Scheme of spiritual Mechanism was deduced and explained, with an Appearance of great reading and observation; but it was thought neither safe nor convenient to print it'' [Mechanical Operation, 276]); while others expound scholastic nonsense (on the barbarous words, "Basima Eacabasa" [Tale, 187]). Swift gains a degree of textual authority by preventing others from writing commentary in his margins, but he loses that authority by subverting the footnote form, for these notes fail to settle the meaning of his text. A final comment. The Tale's footnotes are a particularly telling commentary on the politics of eighteenth-century scholarship, for Swift almost assuredly cited William Wotton's reading of the religious allegory of the Tale to trap Wotton in a text that he despised. The Tale's ostentatious use of footnotes is probably a jab at Richard Bentley as well, for his careful documentation in A Dissertation upon the Epistles of Phalaris (1699) shored up the case against Temple, who claimed that the epistles were classical works. Bentley's copious, detailed footnotes were characteristic of the new, modern scholarship, and they must have seemed overly pedantic in light of Temple's sprezzatura approach to literary controversy. Based

< previous page

page_224

next page >

< previous page

page_225

next page > Page 225

on pp. 200209, 300309, and 400409 of the 1836 Dyce edition of Bentley's Dissertation (New York: AMC Press, rpt. 1966), I calculate that Bentley averages three-and-a-half footnotes per page of text. 48. The Tale Teller repeatedly depicts himself as an indecipherable writer, claiming the obscure profundity of his work (46, 114). Henry Reynolds's Mythomystes (1634) makes the argument that obscurity is a sign of knowledge, since the ancients often wrote in enigmas and riddles to keep their wisdom within their elite circles. See Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century, ed. J.E. Spingarn (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1963), Vol. I, pp. 157158. 49. From June 1711 to October 1712, Swift wrote frequently to Archbishop King and to Stella about the Proposal (Corres. I:239, 295, 301, 316; Journal, 295, 493, 510), tracing the progress of his writing as well as his efforts to canvass support for the academy. Swift's public acknowledgment of the Proposal may also signal his commitment to his project, for here he deviated from his usual practice of anonymous publication. Yet his signature may, ironically, be part of his (mis)reading of his public persona and his audience; see the discussion of Harley and Swift (and note 80, following). 50. Johnson voices the similar concerns about linguistic change in his preface to the Dictionary, p. x: "If the changes that we fear be thus irresistible, what remains but to acquiesce with silence, as in the other insurmountable distresses of humanity? It remains that we retard what we cannot repel, that we palliate what we cannot cure. Life may be lengthened by care, though death cannot be ultimately defeated: tongues, like governments, have a natural tendency to degeneration; we have long preserved our constitution, let us make some struggles for our language." 51. Swift's standard sounds like Ben Jonson's in Timber, or Discoveries: "Custome is the most certaine Mistresse of Language, as the publicke stampe makes the current money. But wee must not be too frequent with the Mint, every day coyning: Nor fetch words from the extreme and utmost ages; since the chiefe virtue of a style is perspicuite, and nothing so vitious in it as to need an Interpreter. Words borrow'd of Antiquity doe lend a kind of Majesty to Style, and are not without their delight sometimes. For they have the Authority of yeares, and out of their intermission doe win to themselves a kind of grace-like newnesse. But the eldest of the present, and the newest of the past, is the best." See Spingarn's Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century, I:38. 52. B.S. Monroe's "The English Academy," in Modern Philology VIII (191011), pp. 107122, discusses the academy in English thought from Gabriel Harvey to Samuel Johnson; the subsequent analysis is indebted to his identification of the major proponents of the academy and their proposals. 53. Monroe, pp. 110111. Evelyn's plan bears some similarity to the language academy in the 1660 continuation of The New Atlantis by "R.H." (perhaps Robert Hooke), particularly regarding the creation of dictionaries for the various trades and translations of the best authors. Yet R.H.'s academy would have the authority to censor and license works, a power that Evelyn is unwilling to assume. See Edmund Freeman's discussion of "R.H." in his ''Proposal for an English Academy

< previous page

page_225

next page >

< previous page

page_226

next page > Page 226

in 1660," in Modern Language Review Vol. XIX (1924), pp. 291300, especially p. 296. I have not been able to determine whether Evelyn read R.H.'s work. 54. Daniel Defoe, Essays Upon Several Projects (London, 1702), p. 252. The value that Defoe assigned to this project also shows in his description of a previous attempt at linguistic reform: "I had the Honour once to be a Member of a small Society, who seem'd to offer at this Noble Design in England. But the greatness of the Work, and the Modesty of the Gentlemen concern'd, prevail'd with them to desist an Enterprize which appear'd too great for Private Hands to undertake" (229). All subsequent citations of Defoe's Projects refer to this edition and will be inserted into the text. 55. Although they instigated much of this discussion, Bacon, Hobbes, and Locke did not advocate an English academy. In The New Atlantis Bacon discusses Solomon's House and the academy of experimentation (in commerce, industry, transportation, and so on), but there is nothing on language. Hobbes certainly complains about linguistic abuse in Leviathan, but he does not suggest a linguistic institution; avoiding metaphors and defining terms are his two pieces of linguistic advice. Locke argues that it is difficult, if not impossible, to standardize language, since it would mean that everyone would think the same way (509). Like Hobbes, he offers suggestions for remedying linguistic abuse: choose meaningful words that are clearly and distinctly defined (512514); use terms according to common usage, as determined by good clear writers (514); define terms if the consensus has not given a clear definition, or if an idea is new; create a dictionary (522523), although Locke thinks that it would require too much time, effort, money; and use undefined terms consistently (523). 56. Cf. Swift's Letter to a Young Gentleman Lately Entering into Holy Orders: "But I know not how it comes to pass that Professors in most Arts and Sciences are generally the worst qualified to explain their Meanings to those who are not of their Tribe: A common Farmer shall make you understand in three Words, that his Foot is out of Joint, or his Collar-bone broken; wherein a Surgeon, after a hundred Terms of Art, if you are not a Scholar, shall leave you to seek. It is frequently the same Case in Law, Physick, and even in many of the meaner Arts" (IX:66). 57. For comments on the Académie Française, see Sprat, pp. 3940; Dryden's dedication of The Rival Ladies (VIII:98) and his dedication to Troilus and Cressida (XIII:222); and Defoe's Projects, pp. 229, 231. 58. The British image of the Académie Française may have been a bit idealized; Voltaire writes disdainfully in his Letters on England (Lettres Philosophiques) (1734) that all the Académie Française does is produce boring encomia on Richelieu, Chancellor Seguier, and Louis XIV, for their members have nothing else to say (117). Yet Voltaire shares the British vision of a perfectable (if not perfected) national language and literature: "What a service it would render to literature, the language and the nation if instead of printing compliments year by year it printed the really good works of the age of Louis XIV, cleansed of all the flaws of language that have crept into them! Corneille and Moliere are full of them, La Fontaine swarms with them. Those that cannot be corrected might at least

< previous page

page_226

next page >

< previous page

page_227

next page > Page 227

be pointed out. Europe, which reads these authors would learn our language from them with complete confidence, its purity would be fixed for ever" (Letters on England, trans. Leonard Tancock [New York: Penguin, 1984], p. 118). 59. Dryden, Defence of the Epilogue of "The Conquest of Granada, Part II," XI:205. Dryden's methods of linguistic improvement become clearer in his analysis of Jonson's Catiline, but the errors that Dryden notes are mostly grammatical or syntactical violations. Such errors do not translate into a linguistic program, much less a stylistic one, and unfortunately, Dryden's comments on diction ("go on upon," "ones,") are not sufficient to establish a benchmark definition of propriety of sound or of significance (208209). 60. See Dryden's dedication to Troilus and Cressida, XIII:222; and his Discourse Concerning the Original and Progress of Satire, IV:86. 61. Defoe, Projects, pp. 237, 250. Defoe's stand on the theatre is quite like the Académie Française's, for he argues that a play that is passed by the Academy will live forever; as a result, the academy would have the power to condemn works or make them transcend time. Swift discusses the censorship of plays in his Proposal for the Advancement of Religion (1709), II:5556, and his analysis sounds very much like Jeremy Collier's Short View of the Immorality and Prophaneness of the English Stage (1698). 62. It may have been assumed that a grammar and a dictionary were the business of an academy, which could explain the comments on admitting and rejecting words, without providing any details on how to do so. Yet it is also possible that these options were no longer deemed viable, since a number of grammars and dictionaries had been published in England, but none had made a substantial impact on the English language. 63. This withdrawal from responsibility is established at the beginning of the Proposal: "The Design of this Paper is not so much to offer you Ways and Means, as to complain of a Grievance, the Redressing of which is to be your own Work, as much as that of paying the Nation's Debts" (IV:6). 64. Actually, in 1710 Swift suggested that Richard Steele, to whom Tatler 230 is addressed (under his pseudonym of Isaac Bickerstaff), should become the linguistic censor. Swift wrote that Steele should "make Use of your Authority as Censor, and by an annual Index Expurgatorius, expunge all Words and Phrases that are offensive to good Sense, and condemn those barbarous Mutilations of Vowels and Syllables. . . . I SHOULD be glad to see you the Instrument of introducing into our Style, that Simplicity which is the best and truest Ornament of most Things in human Life" (II:176177). 65. Defoe, Projects, pp. 238249. Addison's papers on wit (Spectator 58 through 63) are the most thorough stylistic analysis of the early part of the century. Addison's work is not always convincinghis notion of mixed wit is vague (or perhaps appropriately muddled), and he confuses his position on true wit in number 62 (at the beginning of the number, he claims that true wit is the congruity of ideas, yet by the end, he suggests that the opposition of ideas produces true wit as well). Nevertheless, Addison is probably the first writer to grapple with the mechanics of wit, to provide historical background on the forms

< previous page

page_227

next page >

< previous page

page_228

next page > Page 228

of wit, and to present contemporary theories of wit (from Locke and Dryden) in the same analysis. 66. Later Dryden would argue that these Renaissance writers tended to be overvalued, and that it is imperative to avoid slavish imitations of the past; but ultimately, he suggests that moderns need a measured response to their predecessors. The achievements of previous authors should not be ignored, according to Dryden, but they should not obscure the refinements, particularly in wit and numbers, of the present (see his Defence of the Epilogue of "The Conquest of Granada, Part II," XI:217218). This measured response may be best illustrated by Dryden's versions of Shakespeare's plays. Dryden "translated" Renaissance English into contemporary idiom, as he remarked in his preface to Troilus and Cressida, XIII:226227: "I need not say that I have refin'd his Language, which was before obsolete; but I am willing to acknowledg, that as I have often drawn his English nearer to our times so I have sometimes conform'd my own to his: & consequently, the Language is not altogether so pure, as it is significant." 67. On clarity and simplicity, see Swift's Letter to a Young Gentleman Lately Entering into Holy Orders, IX:68, 7071. On profanity, see his scathing Short Character of Wharton, in which one of the many signs of Wharton's disreputable character is his incessant use of foul language (III:179180). 68. In an age when books were expensive, one would expect that Swift read all the books he bought and many that were given to him as gifts. For Swift's familiarity with Shakespeare, see Corres. I:44, 257, 346; II:290; V:65. According to the sale catalogue of his library, Swift did not own a copy of Shakespeare at the time of his death; Harold Williams suggests that Swift owned a copy and lent it to Harley. See Dean Swift's Library, p. 75. Given the nature of Swift's writings, one would think that Swift was also familiar with the work of Lyly, Nashe and Burton. 69. The only Renaissance authors that Swift praises by name are theologians: "The Writings of Hooker, who was a Country Clergyman, and of Parsons the Jesuit, both in the Reign of Queen Elizabeth; are in a Style that, with very few Allowances, would not offend any present Reader" (II:177). These models are singularly unliterary, especially compared to Dryden's list of playwrights. Swift also censures a number of Renaissance authors, including Naunton, Osborn, and Daniel, for "being Men of the Court, and affecting Phrases then in Fashion; they are often either not to be understood, or appear perfectly ridiculous" (II:177). 70. Cf. Sprat, p. 42: "From that Age [Henry VIII], down to the beginning of our late Civil Wars, it was still fashioning, and beautifying it self. In the Wars themselves . . . it receiv'd many fantastical terms, which were introduc'd by our Religious Sects; and many outlandish phrases, which several Writers, and Translators, in that great hurry, brought in, and made free as they pleas'd, and with all it was inlarg'd by many sound, and necessary Forms, and Idioms, which it before wanted." 71. Anne, who was known for her piety and her active involvement in clerical appointments, would not readily promote the clergyman who wrote the "sacreligious" Tale of a Tub. The clergy clearly thought that the Tale was an obscene

< previous page

page_228

next page >

< previous page

page_229

next page > Page 229

and profane work (Ehrenpreis, II:328329), and as Ehrenpreis remarks, "[Swift] felt immensely proud of his masterpiece but fully aware of the threat it offered to his advancement in the church" (II:330). Cf. Journal, p. 47: "They may talk of the you know what [Tale of a Tub]; but, gad, if it had not been for that, I should never have been able to get the access I have had; and if that helps me to succeed, then that same thing will be serviceable to the church." It is unclear whether Queen Anne read the Tale. Gossip had it that Archbishop Sharp, Anne's confidant and advisor in clerical affairs, argued that Swift's Christianity was suspect, presumably because of the impious Tale. Not surprisingly, Swift's appointment to the Deanery of St. Patrick's was a slow, arduous process; see Ehrenpreis, II:629634. 72. Johnson, who avoided citing contemporary writers in his Dictionary because he anticipated accusations of favoritism if he did so, justifies Renaissance language and literature as a model far more clearly than Swift does: "I have fixed Sidney's work for the boundary, beyond which I make few excursions. From the authours which rose in the time of Elizabeth, a speech might be formed adequate to all the purposes of use and elegance. If the language of theology were extracted from Hooker and the translation of the Bible; the terms of natural knowledge from Bacon; the phrases of policy, war, and navigation from Raleigh; the dialect of poetry and fiction from Spenser and Sidney; and the diction of common life from Shakespeare, few ideas would be lost to mankind, for want of English words, in which they might be expressed" (Preface, vii). 73. Proposal, IV:7. Here again Swift studiously avoids discussing the recent monarchs and their foreign proclivities, especially Charles II's well-known Francophilia and the effects of having William, a Dutchman, on the throne of England. 74. See Temple's remarks on the decline of Latin in "Of Poetry," (188189), and on the corrupt dialects of Latin, such as Italian, French, and Spanish, in "An Essay Upon the Ancient and Modern Learning" (63). 75. See Sprat, p. 114; and Addison, Spectator 135, II:32. Temple partakes in this "climate" psychology in "Of Poetry" (199200) to argue that British wit arises from living in "the region of spleen." Also see Stackhouse, who posited that climate alters pronunciation: ''For the Temperature of the Air, influencing the Constitution of Men, and consequently making a Change in the Organs of the Voice and of the Hearing, must necessarily cause a Change in the Pronunciation of Letters and Words" (40). 76. Addison, Spectator 135, II:36; Sprat, p. 114; Addison, Spectator 135, II:32. 77. Sprat, p. 114. Addison attempts to mitigate the positive stereotypes of the southern Europeans in Spectator 135, II:36. The notion that a nation's character is demonstrated by its language was very powerful in the eighteenth century. Swift would adapt the idea to stereotype the various nations of Gulliver's Travels: the speechifying, documenting Lilliputian society is condemned for its exceeding verbosity; the Lagadan language merits pity for being hopelessly bound by mathematical tropes. The Houyhnhnms do not write, but they do compose poems for special occasions, and these are described as just, minute, and exactthe flat products of reason without imagination. Only the "clear, smooth, mascu-

< previous page

page_229

next page >

< previous page

page_230

next page > Page 230

line, not florid" style of the Brobdingnagians approaches Swift's stylistic ideal, and their succinct laws exemplify the kind of linguistic containment that Swift sought. 78. Defoe uses the same argument in his Projects, where he appeals to King William to establish an academy: "I dare say, with Submission, he shall never have an Opportunity to illustrate his Memory more, than by such a Foundation" (231). Defoe stresses that being the patron of an academy will bring as much glory to William as his military conquests; Dofoe does not, however, suggest that the evolution of language will eventually cost William his place in history if he does not found an academy. 79. Swift argues elsewhere in the Proposal that people do not write histories because English does not last; it is difficult to write a work that is meant to last through time if the medium of transmission is unstable (IV:18). Swift's fondness for history is apparent in his reading and in his own efforts in the genre, such as The History of the Four Last Years of Queen Anne. Yet Swift would become skeptical about history and historians, as he makes clear in Gulliver's Travels, for when Gulliver visits Glubbdubdrib and calls up the spirits of the past, it is obvious that historians are liars, because they either rely on hearsay, or they fabricate history wholesale (XI:199). 80. While Swift and his contemporaries were willing to submit to an academy as a linguistic and stylistic authority, few were willing to surrender control over the content of their works. Defoe, for instance, makes a case for limited government censorship in his Essay on the Regulation of the Press (1704). Defoe argues that the government should develop laws stating which subjects are taboo and determine the punishment for writing on those topics. Defoe felt that such laws would prevent the press from continually perpetuating political, religious, and literary scandals, and they would circumvent the problems of favoritism and bribery that would be inevitable with an appointed licenser. 81. See Ann Cline Kelly, "Why did Swift Sign His Name to `A Proposal for Correcting . . . the English Tongue'?" in Neophilologus LXIII (1979), No. 3, pp. 469480; Landa's introduction to John Oldmixon's Reflections on Dr. Swift's Letter to Harley; and Arthur Mainwaring's British Academy (Los Angeles: Augustan Reprint Society, 1948), Series 6, No. 1, p. 3. 82. Arthur Mainwaring, The British Academy (Los Angeles: Augustan Reprint Society, 1948), Series 6, No. 1, p. 3. Mainwaring seems to be purposely confusing academy membership with the "Society," a group of Tories whose ostensible purpose was to use their influence to help men of merit; in reality, the Society was nothing more than a social club. The Society was formed in 1711. See Journal, 505506, n. 43: "The `Society,' beginning with twelve, finally numbered twenty-two members: Sir William Wyndham, Lord Harley, "young" Harcourt (son of the Lord Keeper), Sir Robert Raymond, the Duke of Shrewsbury, George Granville (Lord Lansdown), Samuel Masham (Lord Masham), Lord Dupplin, the Earl of Jersey, St. John (Lord Bolingbroke), Lord Orrery, `Duke' Disney, Major-General John Hill, Lord Bathurst, the Duke of Ormonde, the Duke of Beaufort, the Earl of Arran, Robert Benson (Chancellor of the Exchequer), Swift, Prior, Arbuthnot

< previous page

page_230

next page >

< previous page

page_231

next page > Page 231

Dr. John Freind. Thomas Harley, Lord Oxford's cousin, who was for a time a member, was turned out, 3 Jan. 171112, `for gross neglect and non-attendance.' Lord Oxford was excluded from membership, presumably from motive of policy, and accepted the exclusion in good humour." 83. Voltaire, Letters on England, p. 116. 84. John Oldmixon, Reflections on Dr. Swift's Letter to the Earl of Oxford about the English Tongue (Los Angeles: Augustan Reprint Society (1948), Series 6, No. 1, p. 9. 85. Cf. Johnson, Preface to the Dictionary, p. x: "If an academy should be established for the cultivation of our stile, which I, who can never wish to see dependance multiplied, hope the Spirit of English liberty will hinder or destroy." 86. Twentieth-century linguistic theory argues that those who control language inherently manipulate thought, even without the formal mechanisms of censorship. See Benjamin Lee Whorf's "Science and Language," in Language, Thought and Reality (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1962), in which he argues that "language is not merely a reproducing instrument for voicing ideas but rather itself the shaper of ideas" (212). It almost seems as if Oldmixon and Mainwaring know that a Tory English by definition could not express their Whig notions. 87. Cf. Mainwaring, p. 10, on the Académie Française statutes prohibiting works on religion: "This might have very ill Consequences, and hinder their Top Wit from shewing his Talents: I mean that Orthodox Divine, who it is well known was never half so witty upon any other Subject, as upon that of Religion." 88. See Marjorie Nicolson and Nora M. Mohler, "The Scientific Background of Swift's Voyage to Laputa," reprinted in Fair Liberty Was All His Cry, ed. A. Norman Jeffares (New York: Macmillan, 1967), pp. 226269. Nicolson and Mohler do not discuss the linguistic projects of the Royal Society, but they show that the Royal Society's work in mathematics, physics, and astronomy reverberates throughout Book Three of Gulliver. 89. Cf. Steele, Spectator 220 (II:356357): "But of all Contractions or Expedients for Wit, I admire that of an ingenious Projector whose Book I have seen: This Virtuoso being a Mathematician, has, according to his Taste, thrown the Art of Poetry into a short Problem, and contriv'd Tables by which any one, without knowing a Word of Grammar or Sense, may, to his great Comfort, be able to compose or rather erect Latin Verses. His Tables are a kind of poetical Logarithms, which being divided into several Squares, and all inscribed with so many incoherent Words, appear to the Eye somewhat like a Fortune-telling Screen." 90. Language acquisition usually begins with the names of things, but obviously it does not end there, for language is dominated by less tangible terms, like verbs, adverbs, prepositions, and so on. Gulliver, appropriately enough, first learns the languages of Brobdingnag (XI:95) and Houyhnhnmland (XI:234) by pointing at things. 91. Gulliver frequently uses gestural, nonverbal language in his travels; see John Sena's "The Language of Gestures in Gulliver's Travels," in Papers in Lan-

< previous page

page_231

next page >

< previous page

page_232

next page > Page 232

guage and Literature 19 (1983), pp. 145166. Rabelais also depicts the comedic aspects of voiceless gestures in Gargantua and Pantagruel, as he vividly describes the incoherent gestures that Panurge and a scholar make while carrying on a disputation "by signs" (230238). 4. Readers, Critics, and Swift: Perceiving Encoded Meaning 1. Georges Poulet argues that reading is a matter of subsuming one's sensibility to the author's; in reading, the reader is usurped by an alien consciousness (the author's), but this foreign sensibility is not perceived as alien. For Poulet, reading is almost a mystical experience, and the transmission of authorial meaning depends on the psychological, as well as the intellectual, openness of the reader. See Georges Poulet, "Criticism and the Experience of Interiority," in Reader-Response Criticism, ed. Jane Tompkins (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1980), pp. 4149. 2. The viability of noncommunication is advocated by Steiner, who proposes that true understanding occurs only in silence: "Perfect coherence is speechless and unspoken" (332). Such verbal silence, I would argue, is the aural equivalent of the white spaces on a page. 3. Terry Castle argues that Swift's conscious textuality is shaped by the notion that writing both reflects and reenacts man's fall from grace, and that the loss of Adamic authority is echoed in the reader's interpretive appropriation of the writer's texts. See "Why the Houyhnhnms Don't Write: Swift, Satire and the Fear of Text," in Essays in Literature Vol. 7 (1980), pp. 3144. 4. Swift's personae are his most famous devices for the displacement of his authorial responsibility, and often even they dodge authority by claiming that they are only translating (A New Journey to Paris) or annotating (Prediction of Merlin) or rewriting an already existing text, as when the Tale Teller refers to his author (74, 115). But Swift also retreats from his fiction by scapegoating anyone and everyone involved in the publication process: evidence of textual "meddling" appears frequently in the Swift canon, as in the hiatuses in Mechanical Operation (276, 288) and in Battle of the Books (244, 247, 248, 250, 258); the complaints of Gulliver, who insists in his "Letter to Cousin Sympson" that his publisher changed his book (XI:7); and the extended tale of Tale of a Tub, which features a lost copy, an edited copy, and at least one spurious copy (1617, 2829). In addition to these internal displacement strategies, Swift indulged in extratextual defenses, such as asking Ford to copy out A Letter to the October Club and send it to the press (Journal, 466). Swift's desire for fame ran counter to the anonymity inherent in his displacement strategies, and before his literary reputation was established, Swift was often infuriated when people attributed his work to others (see Corres. I:165166) and when unwonted works were sired upon him (Corres. I:100, 117118, 165). Eventually these conflicting agenda are reconciled, for Swift becomes famous for absenting himself from his texts as he traps his readers in them.

< previous page

page_232

next page >

< previous page

page_233

next page > Page 233

5. Richard H. Rodino discusses how Swift complicates the dynamics of reader/narrator/author/text relations in Gulliver's Travels, for as Gulliver functions as narrator, reader, and author, he brings into question the status of truth and interpretation. See "'Splendide Mendax': Authors, Characters, and Readers in Gulliver's Travels," in PMLA, Vol. CVI, No. 5 (1991), pp. 10541070. 6. See the protestation of innocence in the opening of The Vindication of Isaac Bickerstaff (II:159); or in Swift's versions of Whig and Tory misreadings in Examiner 28 (III:8889); or Some Remarks Upon . . . Gregg (III:189190), also on misconstructions of the Examiner. 7. See Wolfgang Iser's The Implied Reader (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1974 rpt. 1987), in which Iser proposes that reading is a matter of filling in the gaps of a text (279283). 8. Clearly there is a case to be made that many of Swift's works are not so determinate, such as Book Four of Gulliver's Travels, and that Swift consciously constructed them so that the reader would be caught off-guard. See Claude Rawson's comments on the bewilderment and unease of Swift's reader in "Gulliver and the Gentle Reader," in Gulliver and the Gentle Reader: Studies in Swift and Our Time (Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press, 1973 rpt. 1991), pp. 132. 9. See the discussion in chapter 2 on Swift's use of etymological principles to develop neologisms; also see chapter 3 for Swift's dislike of clipped and abbreviated words, which he flet could not properly contain meaning. 10. Cf. Spectator 221 (II:360361), in which Addison mockingly suggests that a cabbalistic analysis will reveal the meaning of C, L, X, and T, for one of these letters appears at the end of every number of the Spectator. 11. The same subversion of subversive method occurs in A Tale of a Tub as the brothers enact a parsing reading of their father's will to justify the wearing of shoulder-knots. When they try to derive "shoulder-knot" from the will, they cannot find a "K," so they declare "C'' to be an acceptable substitute, vilify "K" as an illegitimate letter, and move on (8284). 12. Like linguistic splicing, numerology disregards the meaning of words, but unlike parsing, it emphasizes the numerical frequency of particular letters and words and the arithmetic structure and symmetry of arguments. The Tale Teller comments that he organized the Tale according to numerical values, and he suggests numerology as a clue for his readers to interpret his text. The Tale Teller alters the arguments in his text so they fit numerological principles (57); he publishes essays about numbers (5758); and he accepts a mathematician's proof that there is not enough material left in nature for a new book (146). Obviously, to read the Tale numerically is to fall into the trap of generating nonsensical interpretations, but to avoid the Tale's numbers is to misunderstand the Tale Teller's intellect. Accordingly, when the Tale Teller literally sums up his text in order to do so figuratively (186187), Swift's exposure of the absurdity of numerology ends with a perfectly calculated flourish. 13. Cf. Fielding's Covent-Garden Journal, No. 9 (1 February 1752):

< previous page

page_233

next page >

< previous page

page_234

next page > Page 234

"The Name of Robinhood puts the Matter beyond all Doubt or Question; this Word being, as a learned Etymologist observed to me, clearly derived from the Tower of Babel: for first, Robin and Bobin are allowed to be the same Word; the first Syllable then is Bob, change o into a, which is only a Metathesis of one Vowel for another, and you have Bab, then supply the Termination el instead of ing (for both are only Terminations) and you have clearly the Word Babel. As for the H in Hood, it is known to be no Letter at all, and therefore an Etymologist may there place what Letter he pleases, and why not a T as well as any other. Then change the final d into an r, and you have Toor, which hath a better Pretence, than the known Word Tor to signify Tower.Thus, by a few inconsiderable Changes, the Robin-Hood and BabelTower appear to be one and the same Word". (6869) 14. Jack's behavior is guided by the objectivism and rhetorical spareness that marks the new science; his literalist agenda is in perfect agreement with the antimetaphorical style of the Royal Society, and more importantly, their emphasis on mechanistic analysis. For the connections between Dissenters (especially the Puritans) and the rise of Baconian science in the Royal Society, see R.F. Jones, Ancients and Moderns, pp. 120123. 15. Bickerstaff's wayward readings and predictions were Swift's way of poking fun at the vague rhetoric that was (and is) the hallmark of astrology. A typical example is the opening of Partridge's entry for January in his Annus Mirabilis (London: Randal Taylor, 1689), p. 10: "At the beginning of this Month the Sun meets the Square of Saturn, from which you may expect some damnable intrigue of the Papists, newly contrived, of which you will hear more toward the End of the Month. But besides this, it shews the death of some old infirm statesman, or else he is turned out and discarded. It likewise gives ground for new differences between great and eminent men, and that there shall arise quarrels between those that least expected it, according to that of Bonatus, Erunt vixa atque discordiae inter divites & magnates." 16. See Freud's chapter on jokes as social process in Jokes and their Relation to the Unconscious, trans. James Strachey (New York: Norton, 1960), especially pp. 150152 on the aspects of enjoyment and understanding in a listener's response to humor. 17. For a "viable" broomstick metaphor, see Swift's Meditation upon a Broomstick (1703), a parody of Robert Boyle's Meditations, which centers on the premise that mortal man is a broomstick. 18. In an earlier incident in A Tale of a Tub, Peter argues that oral evidence is just as authoritative as literary evidence, as he resorts to (or more likely, fabricates) hearsay when necessary: "We heard a Fellow say when we were Boys, that he heard my Father's Man say, that he heard my Father say, that he would advise his Sons to get Gold Lace on their Coats" (86). The likelihood that their father would contradict his written word and that it would be accurately transmitted through such an extended path is minimal. Jack and Martin fail to raise these

< previous page

page_234

next page >

< previous page

page_235

next page > Page 235

considerations, and another one of Peter's idiotic excuses cleverly creates an untraceable, irrefutable tradition. 19. The Tale aligns Peter with scholasticism, for his overwrought rhetorical devices mirror the old university tradition of esoteric erudition: "The Learned Brother aforesaid [Peter], had read Aristotelis Dialectica, and especially that wonderful Piece de Interpretatione, which has the Faculty of teaching its Readers to find out a Meaning in every Thing but it self; like Commentators on the Revelations, who proceed Prophets without understanding a Syllable of Text" (85). It is likely that Swift encountered Aristotle's Dialectica at Trinity; although Laud's predominantly Aristotelian syllabus was largely outmoded in Swift's time, the students were still exposed to Aristotelian argumentation. Swift didn't have much use for Aristotle, or rather, for the universities' use of Aritle. 20. For a twentieth-century parody that also provides its own comic exegesis, see Woody Allen's send-up of modern poetry in "The Irish Genius," in Without Feathers (New York: Warner Books, 1976), pp. 122127. 21. In many ways Swift was a Tory in religious matters and a Whig in political ones, and for a while he vacillated between the two parties. Eventually Swift became a Tory, not only because he felt that a clergyman in the Anglican Church should follow the church party, but because the Tory political line seemed more moderate (and therefore more palatable to a conservative like Swift) than its Whig counterpart. 22. Swift cited this passage in Collins as evidence to expose the agenda of universal thoughtlessness that he felt characterized the freethinkers. Swift's general response to Collins centers on the leveling effect of espousing that everyone's judgment is correct and the lack of discernment in such a stance. Cf. Hobbes on freethinking in Leviathan, 113: "And therefore if a man should talk to me of a round Quadrangle; or accidents of Bread in Cheese; or Immateriall Substances; or of A free Subject; A free-Will; or any Free, but free from being hindered by opposition, I should not say he were in an Errour; but that his words were without meaning; that is to say, Absurd." 23. See Collins, IV:37: "Again; The Priests cannot agree when their Scripture was wrote. They differ about the number of Canonical Books, and the various Readings. Now those few among us who understand Latin, are careful to tell this to our Disciples, who presently fall a Free Thinking, that the Bible is a Book not to be depended upon in any thing at all." In an age of fragmented and contentious religious sects, hermeneutic methods acquired a heightened importance, for they became the ultimate arbiters of religious legitimacy and the keys to the text, the Bible. Cf. Clive T. Probyn's "'Haranguing upon Texts'" Swift and the Idea of the Book," in Proceedings of the First Munster Symposium on Jonathan Swift, ed. Hermann J. Real and Heinz J. Vienken (Wilhelm Fink Verlag Munchen, 1985), pp. 187197. 24. Of course, Swift was not exempt from being misread, and he could not help being infuriated by readers' perverse persistence in holding him responsible for the intellectual chaos that they generated from his works. Some of Swift's comments in this regard seem a bit ingenuous, as in his Apology to the Tale:

< previous page

page_235

next page >

< previous page

page_236

next page > Page 236

"The Author solemnly protests he is entirely Innocent, and never had it once in his Thoughts that any thing he said would be capable of such Interpretations, which he will engage to deduce full as fairly from the most innocent Book in the World" (8). 25. Cf. Brazile'ssd nostrum in Tale of a Tub, a concoction that involves distilling words from the printed page so they may be imbibed by the reader, thereby facilitating the transfer of the text the reader's brain (126127). The Tale Teller argues that criticism, as a distillation of an author's faults, is a kind of chemistry as well (9596). 26. Even in the age of Newton and Boyle, Swift remained skeptical of the new science and its advocates. Swift's derision, I think, was primarily derived from the abstract nature of scientific theory; like mathematics, science lured with the possibility of revealing an elegant order, but in practice scientific discoveries often seemed imposed, illogical, and arbitrary. I also suspect that he may have considered scientific ventures as going beyond man's prescribed territory (see Swift's Letter to a Young Gentleman Lately Entering into Holy Orders (1720), on not explaining divine mysteries). While Swift's assessment of science was misguided, it was quite characteristic of the period. Cf. Thomas Shadwell's play The Virtuoso (1676). 27. Textual content is evaded yet again as the Tale Teller posits that the circumstances of writing are the key to reading: "Whatever Reader desires to have a thorow Comprehension of an Author's Thoughts, cannot take a better Method, than by putting himself into the Circumstances and Postures of Life, that the Writer was in, upon every important Passage as it flow'd from his Pen; For this will introduce a Parity and strict Correspondence of Idea's between the Reader and the Author. . . . The shrewdest Pieces of this Treatise, were conceived in Bed, in a Garret. . . . I thought fit to sharpen my Invention with Hunger; and in general, the whole Work was begun, continued, and ended, under a long Course of Physick, and a great want of Money" (44). Rather than treating the text as an object, here both reader and writer are objectified to make them interchangeable. Cf. Journal to Stella, in which Swift describes his circumstances, and he, too, usually writes from bed (29, 50, 139, 144). 28. It should be noted that by the end of the Tale, people cannot distinguish between Jack and Peter, which infuriates Jack. Aside from their distorted readings, Peter and Jack are linked by their ability to create rituals and inventions, an ability that Martin singularly lacks. Their inventions tend to rely on metaphor; Jack's new religion, Aeolism, is one long concretized metaphor, as spirit is equated with every gas imaginable: "For, whether you please to call the Forma informans of Man, by the Name of Spiritus, Animus, Afflatus, or Anima; What are all these but several Appellations for Wind?" (151). Peter's inventions are more obliquely metaphorical: he invests items with power (such as the universal pickle, the papal bulls), and they become emblems of Peter's authority (106113). 29. See the commentary on Wood's proposals for preventing future objections to the new coinage. The Drapier presents Wood's first proposal: "That whereas he hath already coined seventeen thousand Pounds, and has Copper prepared to make it up forty thousand Pounds, he will be content to Coin no more, unless the EXIGENCES OF TRADE REQUIRE IT, although his Patent empowers him to coin a far greater

< previous page

page_236

next page >

< previous page

page_237

next page > Page 237

Quantity" (X:17). The Drapier responds by ignoring the word "content" and Wood's conciliatory motion not to exercise his full powers, and instead, reads self-serving motives in the passage: "Again I ask, who is to be Judge when the EXIGENCES OF TRADE REQUIRE IT? Without doubt, he means himself; for as to us of this poor Kingdom, who must be utterly ruined if his Project should succeed, we were never Once consulted till the Matter was over; and he will judge of our EXIGENCES by his own: Neither will these be ever at an End, till he and his Accomplices will think they have enough" (X:18). The conscious rhetoric of capitalization in the quotation and the response also suggests the proprietary mind at work. Cf. the remarks that reread Wood's tone in his last proposal (X:1819, 2021), and the reinterpretation of the assay report that found Wood's pence acceptable (X:31). 30. Swift's Letter to a Young Gentleman Lately Entering into Holy Orders (IX:6381) is the model of negative perscription in the Swift canon. In the letter he cites several specific stylistic errors that ruin sermons (obscure words, cliches, attempts at wit, abundant quotations, and so on), while at best, his positive perscriptivism is tantalizingly vague, with resonant comments like the famous "Proper Words in proper Places, makes the true Definition of a Stile: But this would require too ample a Disquisition to be now dwelt on" (IX:65). 31. David Nokes, Raillery and Rage (Brighton, Sussex: Harvester Press, 1987), 8687. See The Memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus, chapter 9, on "How Martin became a great Critic": "He conceiv'd, that somewhat of a like Talent to this of Crambe, of assembling parallel sounds, either syllables, or words, might conduce to the Emendation and Correction of Ancient Authors, if applied to their Works, with the same diligence, and the same liberty. He resolv'd to try first upon Virgil, Horace and Terence; concluding, that, if the most correct Authors could be so served with any reputation to the Critick, the amendment and alteration of all the rest wou'd easily follow; whereby a new, vast, nay boundless Field of Glory would be open'd to the true and absolute Critick" (129). Years later Fielding would write a parody of critics who use textual emendation as literary exegesis in his Covent-Garden Journal No. 31 (18 April 1752), as Hamlet's "to be or not to be'' soliloquy is transformed into "To be, or not. To be! that is the BASTION" (193). 32. Political analysts also use the fault-finding, revisionist tactics of literary critics and add their own form of misreading through misrepresentative excerpts: "I was told that the Paper called the Observator, was twice filled last week with Remarks upon a late Examiner. . . . To transcribe here and there or four detatched Lines of least Weight in a Discourse, and by a foolish Comment mistake every Syllable of the Meaning, is what I have known many of a superior Class, to this formidable Adversary, entitle an Answer. This is what he hath exactly done in about thrice as many Words as my whole Discourse; which is so mighty an Advantage over me, that I shall by no means engage in so unequal a Combat; but as far as I can judge of my own Temper, entirely dismiss him for the Future" (Examiner 15, III:1415). 33. See Fielding's requirements for critics in his Covent-Garden Journal No. 3 (11 January 1752):

< previous page

page_237

next page >

< previous page

page_238

next page > Page 238

The only Learning, therefore, that I insist upon, is, That my Critic BE ABLE TO READ; and this is surely very reasonable; . . . Nor do I only require the Capacity of Reading, but the actual Exercise of that Capacity; I do here strictly forbid any Persons whatever to pass a definite Sentence on a Book BEFORE THEY HAVE READ AT LEAST TEN PAGES IN IT . ... Thirdly, all Critics who from and after the First Day of February next, shall condemn any Book, shall be ready to give some Reason for their Judgment; nor shall it be sufficient for such Critic to drivel out, I don't know not I, but all that I know is, I don't like it. (2829) 34. As the Tale Teller's genealogy of critics suggests, the moderns look to justify themselves to (or perhaps through) the ancients, even as they repudiate the authority of the classics. See chapter 1 for a more detailed discussion of Swift, Temple, and the ancient-versus-moderns controversy. 35. Wyrick argues that "the obvious prototype for Swift's Criticism is Spenser's Error in The Faerie Queene, book I" (59), and while she makes a convincing case for Spenser's influence on Swift, I doubt that Spenserian allegory is the only force at work here. This line of invidious allegorical matriarchs, from Spenser to Milton to Swift, reaches its apex (perhaps nadir would be more appropriate) with Pope's apocalyptic Dulness. 36. William Wotton, however, was one of those rare exceptions. Wotton had accused Swift of plagiarizing parts of the Tale from the Duke of Buckingham, and in the Apology to the Tale, Swift responded specifically and thoroughly to Wotton's remarks, and he even gave Wotton a bit of his own medicine by taking apart Wotton's rhetoric. 37. There was some debate as to whether it was appropriate to name one's opposition in a satire; see Pope's "Epistle to Arbuthnot," in which Arbuthnot tells Pope not to name individuals (II. 7576,101102), and Pope refuses to listen. On the one hand, a satire loses most of its corrective power if the public does not recognize the target of the satire; on the other hand, satirizing a named individual is libelous, and the writer is subject to the unsavory literary and/or legal consequences. Although Swift usually did not name his adversaries, he encouraged Pope to do so in The Dunciad (Corres. III:293), which enshrined the idiocy of Pope's opponents forever. 38. See Examiner 26, III:7677: "Besides, they have indeed another Reason for barking incessantly at this Paper: They have in their Prints openly taxed a most ingenious Person as Author of it; one who is in great and very deserved Reputation with the World, both on Account of his Poetical Works, and his Talents for publick Business. They were wise enough to consider, what a Sanction it would give their Performances, to fall under the Animadversion of such a Pen; and have therefore used all the Forms of Provocation commonly practised by little obscure Pedants, who are fond of distinguishing themselves by the Fame of an Adversary." Cf. Some Remarks upon . . . A Letter to the Seven Lords of the Committee Appointed to Examine Gregg (III:187).

< previous page

page_238

next page >

< previous page

page_239

next page > Page 239

39. Swift ran into the same problem when he attacked Tindall's Right of the Christian Church. Swift anticipated that his attention to Tindall's work would be construed as praise, and he tried to mitigate that effect: "If there were any Hope of Reputation or Merit from such Victory, I should be apt, like others, to cry up the Courage and Conduct of an Enemy. Whereas to detect the Weakness, the Malice, the Sophistry, the Falshood, the Ignorance of such a Writer, requireth little more than to rank his Perfections in such an Order, and place them in such a Light, that the commonest Reader may form a Judgment of them" (II:69). 40. Note the tone of his remarks to Tindall, II:98: "And, why so? Will they not, you say, follow their Interest? I thought you said so." Many of his responses to Clarendon's History indicate Swift's intense engagement with the narrative; Swift remarks to the King, "Trust them not, for they are Scots" (V:313), and comments to Clarendon, "Will Montrevil trust them again?" (V:309). 41. See Swift's introductory remarks on Tindall, which suggest that Tindall's inability to discriminate not only results in the chaotic arrangement of Tindall's work but in his poor choice of evidence: "The whole Discourse seemeth to be a motly, inconsistent Composition, made up of various Shreds of equal Fineness, although of different Colours. It is a Bundle of incoherent Maxims and Assertions, that frequently destroy one another. But, still there is the same Flatness of Thought and Style; the same weak Advances towards Wit and Raillery; the same Petulancy and Pertness of Spirit; the same . . . superficial Reading; the same . . . thread-bare Quotations; the same Affectation of forming general Rules upon false and scanty Premisses" (II:68; Swift's ellipses). 42. In the Reverend John Barrett's Essay on the Earlier Part of the Life of Swift (London, 1808), p. 186, the first "clap" comment is more emphatic: "What dignity of expression!" It is unclear whether Barrett altered the remark. Cf. Clarendon's use of the term "gloriation" (V:302). Swift remarks, ''Scotch Phrase," which was tantamount to a curse for him. 43. Swift cannot resist a joke. To Burnet's "the year 1688 . . . produced an extraordinary and unheard of revolution," Swift come back with, "The Devil's in that, sure all Europe heard of it" (V:287). Cf. Burnet's assessment of the Earl of Rochester, as one who "has a very good pen, but speaks not gracefully," which elicits from Swift "I suppose it was of gold or silver" (V:273); or Burnet's description of Prince Waldeck as "a man of a great compass and a true judgment," which triggers a sarcastic "i.e. very fat" from Swift (V:275). 44. One of the rare instances where Swift agrees with Burnet's diction is Burnet's comment about "One Carstairs, a loose and vicious gentleman," which Swift comments has "Epithets well placed" (V:277). Only once does Swift fall back on the old scapegoat, the printer, to explain Burnet's rhetoric. Burnet writes, "The Duke of Lauderdale had mastered the opposition made to him so entirely, that men were now though silent, not quiet"; Swift responds, "Nonsense, or printer's mistake. It should be silent, though not quiet" (V:277). 45. Cf. V:301, 308, and 313 for more comments on the length of Clarendon's periods. 46. According to Sir Walter Scott, there was a note (now missing) in Swift's

< previous page

page_239

next page >

< previous page

page_240

next page > Page 240

edition of Clarendon that stated that Swift completed his fourth reading of the History in 1741 (V:295). It is probable that these comments accumulated over time. 47. See Clarendon's "those who would subject our subjects to a government they have not yet devised" which Swift marked as "Cacofonia" (V:320). By using "subject" in two different senses, Clarendon confuses the reader intellectually, visually, and aurally. 48. Cf. A Letter of Thanks from My Lord Wharton to the Lord Bishop of St. Asaph (1712), in which Swift makes fools of both Wharton and Asaph by having Wharton praise Asaph's repeated use of the word "such": "Who can read, unmov'd, these following Strokes of Oratory? Such was the Fame, Such was the Reputation, Such was the Faithfulness and Zeal, to Such a Height of Military Glory, Such was the Harmony and Consent, Such was the Blessing of God, &c. O! the irresistible Charm of the Word Such! Well, since Erasmus wrote a Treatise in Praise of Folly; and my Lord Rochester an excellent Poem upon Nothing, I am Resolved to employ the Spectator, or some of his Fraternity, (Dealers in Words) to write an Encomium upon SUCH. But whatever Changes our Language may undergo (and every thing that is English is given to change) this happy Word is sure to live in your immortal Preface" (VI:153). 49. Many of Swift's strategies as a reader can be traced back to his dialectical training at Trinity; see Rembert's Swift and the Dialectical Tradition, pp. 144180. 50. Cf. Swift's notes on Tindall, II:95: "Page 168. Assuming a Power, &c. His great Error all along is, that he doth not distinguish between a Power, and a Liberty of exercising that Power, &c. I would appeal to any Man, whether the Clergy have not too little Power, since a Book like his, that unsettleth Foundations, and would destroy all, goes unpunished, &c." 51. Cf. Dryden's "patchwork" imagery in "Absalom and Achitophel," ll. 799810. A rhetorical figure had to be quite striking to impress Swift, and Tindall's simile of "Churches like Traps, easy to admit one; but when once he is in, there he must always stick, either for the Pleasure or Profit of the Trap-Setters" merited a mere "Remark his Wit" from Swift (II:90). Swift was tentative about such new wit, and bored by the old wit; to Tindall's ''Error of the first Concoction," Swift ruefully responds, "That Battered Simile again; this is hard. I wish the Physicians had kept that a Secret, it lieth so ready for him to be witty with" (II:104). 52. Swift's original note on this passage was "Distinguish and shew the Sillyness, &c." (II:85). For another example, see Tindall, II:9899: "Since no more Power is required for the one than the other. That is, I dislike my Physician, and can turn him off, therefore I can make any Man a Physician, &c. cujus est destruere, &c. Jest on it: Therefore, because he lays Schemes for destroying the Church, we must employ him to raise it again. See, what Danger lies in applying Maxims at Random. So, because it is the Soldier's Business to knock Men on the Head, it is their's likewise to raise them to Life, &c." 53. On occasion Swift will collapse an authorial analogy, but it is far more

< previous page

page_240

next page >

< previous page

page_241

next page > Page 241

common for him to create analogies than to work within a given authorial analogy. Swift overturns an analogy in Some Remarks Upon . . . A Letter to the Seven Lords of the Committee Appointed to Examine Gregg; Swift refutes the parallel of Guiscard, who was guilty of attempting to assassinate Harley, to Gregg, a government clerk who was accused of spying for the French, and whom Swift thought was innocent (III:194). 54. Cf. Price's analysis of Swift's use of definition and redefinition as proprietary tactics, pp. 2231. 55. Swift's parodies work in a similar fashion, but in parody the governing motion is "in other contexts" more than translation's "in other words." As noted in chapter 2 Swift found it difficult to parody voice but easy to parody process, which tends to limit his critical range. In this respect Swift is the opposite of Defoe, who parodies voice easily. 56. For the complete quotation, see Gilbert Burnet, Introduction to the Third Part of the History of the Reformation (1713) in Burnet's History of the Reformation, ed. Nicholas Pocock (Oxford: Clarendon, 1865), Vol. III, pp. 5051: "If they [members of the House of Lords and Commons] do not maintain all the fences and outworks of it [the laws], or suffer breaches to be made on any of them; if they suffer any part of our legal establishment to be craftily undermined; if they are either absent or remiss on critical occasions; and if any views if advantage to themselves prevail upon them to give up or abandon the establishment and security of our religion; God may work a deliverance for us another way, and, if it seem good in his eyes, he will deliver us: but they and their families shall perish, their names will rot and be held in detestation; posterity will curse them, and the judgments of God will overtake them, because they have sold that which was the most sacred of all things, and have let in an inundation of idolatry, superstition, tyranny, and cruelty upon their church and country." Swift eliminates the "if" clauses in his version to make Burnet sound more inflexible than he really is. Of course, one could argue, as Swift probably would, that the "if" clauses camouflage Burnet's true intent; under the guise of a hypothetical situation (which may not be so hypothetical to a devoted Whig) Burnet carries out his attack on the government. 57. Although Swift does not discuss the reader's requisite knowledge of literary and hermeneutic conventions, his depictions of misreading implicitly suggest that such conventions exist. I suspect that Swift would have approved of Jonathan Culler's notion of "literary competence." See Culler's Structuralist Poetics (New York: Cornell University Press, 1975 rpt. 1988), pp. 113118.

< previous page

page_241

next page >

< previous page

page_ii

intentionally left blank

next page >

< previous page

page_243

next page > Page 243

Bibliography Standard Editions of Swift's Works The Correspondence of Jonathan Swift. 5 vols. Edited by Harold Williams. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 19631965. Jonathan Swift: The Complete Poems. Edited by Pat Rogers. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983. Journal to Stella. 2 vols. Edited by Harold Williams. Oxford: Clarendon, 1948. The Poems of Jonathan Swift. Second Edition. 3 vols. Edited by Harold Williams. Oxford: Clarendon, 1958. The Prose Works of Jonathan Swift. 16 vols. Edited Herbert Davis. Oxford: Blackwell, 1965. A Tale of a Tub. Second Edition. Edited by A.C. Guthkelch and D. Nichol Smith. Oxford: Clarendon, 1958. Manuscripts Cited National Library of Ireland MS 17,946. Kilkenny College Papers. Trinity College Dublin MS 1050. Swift's Account of his Life to the Age of 30, in his own handwriting. TCD MS 1711. Grades for Easter Term, 1685. TCD MS 1718. Notes by James Drought of Students who took their disputations and declamations with propositions for disputations, 17681770. TCD MS 2016. Rules to be Observed by Professors of my College in Kilkenny [by the] Ld. Bishop of Ossory, given by his Lordship (tempore James II). TCD MS 2087. Trinity College Library Loan Book. TCD MS 2642. Trinity College Statutes in a Commonplace Book of Josias Haydock, ca. 1679. TCD MS 3761. A Collection of Theames (with Additions by a Freind (G.G.) for the use of Mr. Thomas Quin of Trinity College Dublin, 1736. TCD MS 4971. Trinity College Statutes Signed by Provost Huntington. TCD MUN/P/1/518a. Kilkenny College Statutes. TCD MUN/P/1/563. Ormond Scholar Proposal. Works Cited Aarsleff, Hans. From Locke to Saussure. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1982.

< previous page

page_243

next page >

< previous page

page_244

next page > Page 244

Addison, Joseph, and Richard Steele. The Spectator. 5 vols. Edited by Donald F. Bond. Oxford: Clarendon, 1965. Allen, Woody. "The Irish Genius." In Without Feathers. New York: Warner Books, 1976. Alston, R.C. A Bibliography of the English Language from the Invention of Printing to the Year 1800. 20 vols. Bradford: Ernest Cummins, 1969; Menston: Scolar Press, 1971. Arbuthnot, John, Alexander Pope, Jonathan Swift, John Gay, Thomas Parnell, and Robert Harley. Memoirs of the Extraordinary Life, Works, and Discoveries of Martinus Scriblerus. Edited by Charles Kerby-Miller. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1950. Reprint. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988. Atkinson, Norman. Irish Education: A History of Educational Institutions. Dublin: Allen Figgis, 1969. Austin, J.L. How to Do Things with Words. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1962. Bacon, Francis. The Advancement of Learning. 1605. Reprint. London: Everyman, 1984. Bakhtin, M.M. The Dialogic Imagination. Translated by Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981. Barker, G.F. Russell. Memoir of Richard Busby D.D. (16061695) with some Account of Westminster School in the Seventeenth Century. London: Lawrence and Bullen, 1895. Barker, G.F. Russell, and Alan Stenning. The Record of Old Westminsters. London: Chiswick Press, 1928. Barrett, Rev. John. Essay on the Earlier Part of the Life of Swift. London: Johnson, 1808. Barthes, Roland. Writing Degree Zero. Translated by Annette Lavers and Colin Smith. New York: Hill and Wang, 1984. Bate, W.J. Samuel Johnson. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1975. B.E. A New Canting Dictionary. London, 1725. Beaumont, Charles A. Swift's Classical Rhetoric. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1961. Bentley, Richard. A Dissertation upon the Epistles of Phalaris. Vol. I of The Works of Richard Bentley, D.D. Collected and Edited by the Reverend Alexander Dyce, 1836. Reprint. New York: AMC Press, 1966. Black, Jeremy. The English Press in the Eighteenth Century. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1987. Bliss, Alan. Spoken English in Ireland, 16001740. Dublin: Dolmen, 1979. Booth, Wayne C. A Rhetoric of Irony. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974.

< previous page

page_244

next page >

< previous page

page_245

next page > Page 245

Browne, Rev. John. "Kilkenny College." Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland/Kilkenny Archeological Society Transactions I (18491851): 221229. Buckley, Marjorie W. "Key to the Language of the Houyhnhnms in Gulliver's Travels." In Fair Liberty Was All His Cry, edited by A. Norman Jeffares. New York: Macmillan, 1967. Burnet, Gilbert. The History of the Reformation of the Church of England. Edited by Nicholas Pocock. Oxford: Clarendon, 1865. Burtchaell, G.D. and T.U. Sadleir. Alumni Dublinenses 15931846. Dublin: Alex Thom, 1935. Camden, William. Institutio Graecae Grammatices Compendaria in usum Regiae Scholae Westmonasteriensis. London, 1736. Carroll, Lewis. The Annotated Alice. Edited by Martin Gardner. New York: New American Library, 1960. Carte, Thomas. The Life of James, Duke of Ormonde, with an Appendix and A Collection of Letters. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1851. Castle, Terry. "Why the Houyhnhnms Don't Write: Swift, Satire and the Fear of Text." Essays in Literature 7 (1980): 3144. Chapman, George. "Preface to Homer." In Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century, edited by J.E. Spingarn. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1963. Cicero. De Oratore. Translated by E.W. Sutton. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press/Loeb Classical Library, 1976. Clark, John R. Form and Frenzy in Swift's "Tale of a Tub." Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1970. Clark, Paul Odell. "A Gulliver Dictionary." Studies in Philology 50 (1953): 592624. Clifford, James L. "Gulliver's Fourth Voyage: 'Hard' and 'Soft' Schools of Interpretation." In Quick Springs of Sense: Studies in the Eighteenth Century, edited by Larry S. Champion. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1974. Cohen, Murray. Sensible Words: Linguistic Practice in England 16401785. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1977. Cointreau Advertisement. SPY Magazine, March 1989. Corcoran, Rev. Timothy. State Policy in Irish Education 1536 to 1816. Dublin: Fallon Brothers, 1916. Corneille, Pierre. "Of the Three Unities," In Critical Theory Since Plato, edited by Hazard Adams. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1971. Crane, Ronald S. "The Houyhnhnms, the Yahoos, and the History of Ideas." In Reason and the Imagination: Essays in the History of Ideas, 16001800, edited by Joseph Mazzeo. New York: Columbia University Press, 1962.

< previous page

page_245

next page >

< previous page

page_246

next page > Page 246

Culler, Jonathan, ed. On Puns: The Foundation of Letters. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1988. Culler, Jonathan. Structuralist Poetics. 1975. Reprint. New York: Cornell University Press, 1988. Defoe, Daniel. Essay on the Regulation of the Press. London, 1704. Defoe, Daniel. Essays Upon Several Projects. 1697. Reprint. London, 1702. De Man, Paul. Blindness and Insight: Essays in the Rhetoric of Contemporary Criticism. Second Edition. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1983. Deporte, Michael. "From the Womb of Things to Their Grave: Madness and Memory in Swift." University of Toronto Quarterly 58 (1989): 376390. Dictionary of National Biography. Dix, E.R. McClintock. "Schoolbooks Printed in Dublin from the earliest period to 1715." The Bibliographical Society of Ireland III (1926): 510. Doll, Dan. "Word and Thing in Swift's Prose." Studies in Eighteenth Century Culture 15 (1986): 199210. Dryden, John. The Complete Works of John Dryden. Edited by H.T. Swedenborg. Berkeley: University of California Press, Vols. IV, VIII, XI, XIII, XVII. 1956. Dryden, John. The Essays of John Dryden. Edited by W.P. Ker. New York: Russell and Russell, 1961. Dyche, Thomas. Guide to the English Tongue. Menston: Scolar Press, 1968. Ehrenpreis, Irvin. "Swift's 'Little Language' in The Journal to Stella." Studies in Philology 45 (1948): 8088. Ehrenpreis, Irvin. Swift: The Man, His Works, the Age. 3 vols. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 19621983. Eilon, Daniel. "Swift Burning the Library of Babel." Modern Language Review, Vol. 80, Pt. 2 (1985): 269282. Elias, A.C. Swift at Moor Park. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982. Elliott, Robert C. The Literary Persona. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982. Elliott, Robert C. The Power of Satire: Magic, Ritual, Art. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1960. Ewald, William Bragg, Jr. The Masks of Jonathan Swift. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1954. Fielding, Henry. The Covent-Garden Journal and A Plan of the Universal Register-Office. Edited by Bertrand A. Goldgar. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1988. Fisher, Alan S. "An End to the Renaissance: Erasmus, Hobbes and A Tale of a Tub." Huntington Library Quarterly 38 (1974): 120.

< previous page

page_246

next page >

< previous page

page_247

next page > Page 247

Forster, John. The Life of Jonathan Swift. New York: Harper and Brothers, 1876. Foucault, Michel. Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason. Translated by Richard Howard. 1965. Reprint. New York: Vintage Books, 1988. Freeman, Edmund. "A Proposal for an English Academy in 1660." Modern Language Review XIX (1924): 291300. Freud, Sigmund. "The Antithetical Sense of Primal Words." In Vol. IV of Collected Papers. New York: Basic Books, 1959. Freud, Sigmund. Jokes and Their Relation to the Unconscious. Translated and edited by James Strachey. New York: W.W. Norton, 1960. Greenacre, Phyllis. Swift and Carroll: A Psychoanalytic Study of Two Lives. New York: International Universities Press, 1955. G.W. Magazine, or Animadversions on the English Spelling. Los Angeles: Augustan Reprint Society, 1958. Hayes, Richard J. Manuscript Sources for the History of Irish Civilization. Boston: G.H. Hale, 1965. Historical Manuscript Commission. Hobbes, Thomas. Leviathan. 1651. Reprint. New York: Penguin, 1983. Hodges, John C. William Congreve the Man: A Biography from New Sources. New York: Modern Language Association, 1941. Hoole, Charles. A New Discovery of the Old Art of Teaching Schoole 1660. Reprint. Syracuse, NY: Bardeen, 1912. Hoppen, K.T. The Common Scientist in the 17th Century: A Study of the Dublin Philosophical Society, 16831708. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 1970. Howell, A.C. "Res and Verba: Words and Things." English Literary History 13 (1946): 131142. Hughes, John. Poems on Several Occasions with some Select Essays in Prose. London: J. Tonson and J. Watts, 1735. Iser, Wolfgang. The Implied Reader. 1974. Reprint. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1987. Johnson, Samuel. A Dictionary of the English Language (1755). Fourth Edition. London: W. Strahan, 1773. Johnson, Samuel. Lives of the Poets. 3 vols. Edited by George Birkbeck-Hill. Oxford: Clarendon, 1905. Johnson, Samuel. "Preface to Shakespeare." In Volume VII of The Yale Edition of the Works of Samuel Johnson. Edited by Arthur Sherbo. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968. Jones, John. Practical Phonography. Menston: Scolar Press, 1969. Jones, R.F. Ancients and Moderns. St. Louis: Washington University Studies, 1936. Jones, R.F. "The Background of the Battle of the Books." In The Seventeenth

< previous page

page_247

next page >

< previous page

page_248

next page > Page 248

Century: Studies in English Thought and Literature from Bacon to Pope. 1951. Reprint. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1969. Jones, R.F. "Science and Criticism on the NeoClassical Age of English Literature." In The Seventeenth Century: Studies in the History of English Thought and Literature from Bacon to Pope. 1951. Reprint. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1969. Jones, R.F. "Science and English Prose Style in the Third Quarter of the Seventeenth Century." In The Seventeenth Century: Studies in the History of English Thought and Literature from Bacon to Pope. 1951. Reprint. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1969. Jonson, Ben. "Timber, or Discoveries." In Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century, edited by J.E. Spingarn. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1963. Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland. Joyce, James. Ulysses. 1922. Reprint. New York: Vintage Books, 1961. Kearney, Hugh. Scholars and Gentlemen: Universities and Society in Pre-Industrial Britain, 15001700. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1970. Kelling, H.D. "Some Significant Names in Gulliver's Travels." Studies in Philology 48 (1951): 761778. Kelly, Ann Cline. Swift and the English Language. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1988. Kelly, Ann Cline. "Why did Swift Sign His Name to 'A Proposal for Correcting . . . the English Tongue'?" Neophilologus LXIII (1979): 469480. Kenner, Hugh. The Stoic Comedians: Flaubert, Joyce, and Beckett. 1962. Reprint. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974. Kernan, Alvin. Samuel Johnson and the Impact of Print. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989. Knowlson, James. Universal Language Systems in England and France, 16001800. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1975. Korkowski, Eugene. "Swift's Tub: Traditional Emblem and Proverbial Enigma." Eighteenth Century Life 4 (1978): 100103. Korshin, Paul J. "Deciphering Swift's Codes." In Proceedings of the First Munster Symposium on Jonathan Swift. Edited by Hermann J. Real and Heinz J. Vienken. Munich: Wilhelm Fink Verlag, 1985. Lacan, Jacques. Ecrits. Translated by Alan Sheridan. New York: W.W. Norton, 1977. Lakoff, Robin. Talking Power: The Politics of Language in Our Lives. New York: Basic Books, 1990. Land, Stephen K. From Signs to Propositions. London: Longmans, 1974. Land, Stephen K. The Philosophy of Language in Britain: Major Theories from Hobbes to Thomas Reid. New York: AMS Press, 1986. Landa, Louis A. Introduction to Reflections on Dr. Swift's Letter to Harley

< previous page

page_248

next page >

< previous page

page_249

next page > Page 249

by John Oldmixon; and to The British Academy, by Arthur Mainwaring. Los Angeles: Augustan Reprint Society, 1948. Leach, Arthur F. Educational Charters and Documents 598 to 1909. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1911. Leavis, F.R. The Common Pursuit. London: Chatto and Windus, 1958. Ledwich, Edward. Antiquities of Ireland Second Edition with Additions and Corrections, to Which is Added, A Collection of Miscellaneous Antiquities. Dublin: John Jones, 1804. Levine, Joseph M. The Battle of the Books: History and Literature in the Augustan Age. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991. Leyburn, Ellen Douglas. "Swift's Language Trifles." Huntington Library Quarterly XV (19511952): 195200. Lily, William. A Shorte Introduction of Grammar. New York: Scholars Facsimiles and Reprints, 1945. Locke, John. Essay Concerning Human Understanding (1690). Edited by Peter Nidditch. Oxford: Clarendon, 1982. Macaulay, Thomas Babington. Review of Memoirs of the Life, Works, and Correspondence of Sir William Temple, by Thomas Peregrine. The Edinburgh Review LXVIII (October 1838): 113187. McCrea, Brian. "Surprised by Swift: Entrapment and Escape in A Tale of a Tub." Papers on Language and Literature XVIII (1982): 234244. McDowell, R.B., and D.A. Webb. Trinity College Dublin 15921952: An Academic History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982. McKendrick, Neil, John Brewer, and J.H. Plumb. The Birth of a Consumer Society: The Commercialization of EighteenthCentury England. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1982. Maclean, Kenneth. John Locke and English Literature of the Eighteenth Century. New York: Russell and Russell, 1962. Mainwaring, Arthur. The British Academy. Los Angeles: Augustan Reprint Society, 1948. Marburg, Clara. Sir William Temple: A Seventeenth Century "Libertin." New Haven: Yale University Press, 1932. Maxwell, Constantia. A History of Trinity College, Dublin 15911892. Dublin: The University Press, Trinity College, 1946. Mayhew, George P. Rage or Raillery: The Swift Manuscripts at the Huntington Library. San Marino, CA.: The Huntington Library, 1967. Monroe, B.S. "The English Academy." Modern Philology VIII (19101911): 107122. Muecke, D.C. The Compass of Irony. 1969. Reprint. London: Methuen, 1980. Murphy, H.L. A History of Trinity College Dublin from its Foundation to 1702. Dublin: Hodges Figgis, 1951.

< previous page

page_249

next page >

< previous page

page_250

next page > Page 250

Nash, Richard. "Entrapment and Ironic Modes in Tale of a Tub." Eighteenth Century Studies XXIV (1991): 415431. Neumann, J.H. "Jonathan Swift and English Spelling." Studies in Philology 41 (1944): 7985. Nicolson, Marjorie, and Nora M. Mohler. "The Scientific Background of Swift's Voyage to Laputa." Reprint in Fair Liberty Was All His Cry, edited by A. Norman Jeffares. New York: Macmillan, 1967. Nokes, David. Raillery and Rage: A Study of Eighteenth-Century Satire. Brighton: Harvester Press, 1987. Oldmixon, John. Reflections on Dr. Swift's Letter to Harley. Los Angeles: Augustan Reprint Society, 1948. Orwell, George. The Collected Essays. London: A.M. Heath, 1964. Oxford English Dictionary. Second Edition. Partridge, John. Annus Mirabilis. London: Randal Taylor, 1689. Paulson, Ronald. The Fictions of Satire. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1967. Paulson, Ronald. Theme and Structure in Swift's "Tale of a Tub." New Haven: Yale University Press, 1960. Pearl, Raymond. "Dean Swift and the Goldfish." American Speech 1 (19251926): 315316. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London. Pope, Alexander. The Twickenham Edition of the Poems of Alexander Pope. Edited by John Butt. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1961. Poulet, Georges. "Criticism and the Experience of Interiority." In Reader-Response Criticism, edited by Jane Tompkins. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1980. Price, Martin. Swift's Rhetorical Art: A Study in Structure and Meaning. 1953. Reprint. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1973. Probyn, Clive T. "'Haranguing upon Texts': Swift and the Idea of the Book." In Proceedings of the First Munster Symposium on Jonathan Swift, edited by Hermann J. Real and Heinz J. Vienken. Munich: Wilhelm Fink Verlag, 1985. Probyn, Clive T. "Swift and Linguistics: The Context Behind Lagado and Around the Fourth Voyage." Neophilologus 58 (1974): 425439. Quane, Michael. "Charleville Endowed School." The Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland LXXXVIII (1958): 2548. Quane, Michael. "City of Dublin Free School." The Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland XC (1960): 163189. Quane, Michael. "John Ivory School in New Ross." The Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland LXXX (1950): 242261. Quane, Michael. "Portora Royal School Enniskillen." The Clogher Record VI (1965): 500554.

< previous page

page_250

next page >

< previous page

page_251

next page > Page 251

Quane, Michael. ''Raphoe Royal School." The Donegal Annual VII (1967): 148211. Quane, Michael. "Viscount Weymouth Grammar School." The Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland LXXXVI (1956): 2751. Rabelais, François. Gargantua and Pantagruel. 15301534. Reprint. New York: Penguin, 1985. Rawson, Claude. Gulliver and the Gentle Reader: Studies in Swift and Our Time. 1973. Reprint. Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press, 1991. Redfern, Walter. Puns. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1984. Rembert, James A.W. Swift and the Dialectical Tradition. London: Macmillan, 1988. Reynolds, Henry. "Mythomystes." Reprint in Critical Essays of the Seventeenth Century, edited by J.E. Spingarn. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1963. Robertson, James G. "Petition from Josias Haydock to the Duke of Ormonde in 1703 asking to be relieved of his duties as agent to the Duke." Royal Historical and Archeological Association of Ireland Journal, VII Ser. 4 Pt. 1 (1887): 7. Rodino, Richard H. "'Splendide Mendax': Authors, Characters, and Readers in Gulliver's Travels." Publications of the Modern Language Association CVI No. 5 (1991):10541070. Rodino, Richard H. "Varieties of Vexatious Experience in Swift and Others." Papers on Language and Literature XVIII (1982): 325347. R.R. An English Grammar: Or, A Plain Exposition of Lilies Grammar in English. Menston: Scolar Press, 1972. Sacks, Oliver. The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat. New York: Harper and Row, 1987. Said, Edward. "Swift's Tory Anarchy." Eighteenth Century Studies 3 (1969): 4866. Salmon, Vivian. "William Bedell and the Universal Language Movement in 17th-Century Ireland." Essays & Studies 36 (1983): 2739. Saussure, Ferdinand de. Course in General Linguistics. Translated by Wade Baskin and edited by Charles Bally et al. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1966. Scott-Thomas, Lois. "The Vocabulary of Jonathan Swift." Dalhousie Review 25 (1946): 442447. Scragg, D.C. A History of English Spelling. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1974. Seidel, Michael. Satiric Inheritance. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979. Sena, John. "The Language of Gestures in Gulliver's Travels." Papers in Language and Literature 19 (1983): 145166.

< previous page

page_251

next page >

< previous page

page_252

next page > Page 252

Sewell, Elizabeth. The Field of Nonsense. London: Chatto and Windus, 1952. Shapiro, Barbara J. John Wilkins, 16141672: An Intellectual Biography. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969. Sheridan, Thomas. The Life of the Rev. Dr. Jonathan Swift. London: Rivington, 1787. Smith, Frederik N. Language and Reality in Swift's "Tale of a Tub." Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1979. Smyth, Herbert W. Greek Grammar. Edited by Gordon M. Messing. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984. Soderlind, Johannes. "Swift and Linguistics." English Studies 51 (1970): 137143. Sprat, Thomas. The History of the Royal Society of London (1667). Edited by Jackson I. Cope and Harold W. Jones. 1958. Reprint. St. Louis: Washington University Press, 1966. Stackhouse, Thomas. Reflections on the Nature and Property of Languages. Menston: Scolar Press, 1968. Stanford, W.B. Ireland and the Classical Tradition. 1976. Reprint. Blackrock: Irish Academic Press, 1984. Starkman, Miriam. Swift's Satire on Learning in "A Tale of a Tub." Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1950. Steensma, Robert C. Sir William Temple. New York: Twayne Press, 1970. Steiner, George. After Babel. New York: Oxford University Press, 1975. Stubbs, J.W. The History of the University of Dublin, from its Foundation to the End of the Eighteenth Century. Dublin: Hodges Figgis, 1889. Temple, Sir William. Five Miscellaneous Essays by Sir William Temple. Edited by Samuel H. Monk. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1963. Temple, Sir William. Miscellanea, the First Part. Fourth Edition. London: Jacob Tonson, 1693. Temple, Sir William. Observations Upon the United Provinces of the Netherlands. London: A. Maxwell, 1673. Traugott, John. "A Tale of a Tub." In The Character of Swift's Satire: A Revised Focus. Edited by Claude Rawson. Newark: University of Delaware Press, 1983. Vieth, David M. "Entrapment in Restoration and Early Eighteenth-Century Literature." Papers on Language and Literature XVIII (1982): 227233. Vincent, W.A.L. The Grammar Schools: Their Continuing Tradition 16001714. London: John Murray, 1969. Voltaire, François Marie Arouet. Letters on England (Lettres Philosophiques) (1734). Translated by Leonard Tancock. New York: Penguin, 1984.

< previous page

page_252

next page >

< previous page

page_253

next page > Page 253

Watson, Foster. The Old Grammar Schools. 1916. Reprint. New York: Augustus M. Kelley, 1968. Watts, Isaac. The Art of Reading and Writing English (1721). Menston: Scolar Press, 1972. Whitley, E.M. "Contextual Analysis and Swift's Little Language of the Journal to Stella." In In Memory of J.R. Firth. London:Longmans, 1966. Whorf, Benjamin Lee. Language, Thought and Reality. 1956. Reprint. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1962. Williams, Harold. Dean Swift's Library. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1932. Williams, Kathleen. Jonathan Swift and the Age of Compromise. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1958. Woodbridge, Homer E. Sir William Temple: The Man and his Work. New York: Modern Language Association, 1941. Wyrick, Deborah Baker. Jonathan Swift and the Vested Word. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1988. Zimmerman, Everett. Swift's Narrative Satires: Author and Authority. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1983.

< previous page

page_253

next page >

< previous page

page_ii

intentionally left blank

next page >

< previous page

page_255

next page > Page 255

Index A Abbreviation, 109-11, 119, 136, 222n.30 Académie Française: linguistics of, 41-43, 47 model for English academy, 119, 122-24, 135-36 reputation of, 140, 226n.58 Academy, English: advocates of, 121-23, 205n.117, 225n.53 and censorship, 135-36 membership in, 122, 133 as a modern institution, 138-40 and posterity, 129 projects of, 122, 124, 227n.62 standards of, 123-25 Swift's abandonment of, 137-40 Swift's plan for, 118-21, 123-27, 129-31 Adamic language, 14, 23, 193n.18, 193n.20 Addison, Joseph: and abbreviations, 110 and foreign locutions, 115, 223n.42 and language academy, 121-23, 125 on wit, 227n.65 Allegory, 64-65, 179, 210n.33, 210n.34 Analogy, 177-79 Ancients-versus-moderns controversy: and Swift, 45-46 and Temple, 38-45, 50 Antonymy, 74-78, 95, 213n.58 Arouet, François Marie. See Voltaire Ashe, St. George, 22-23, 28, 32 Aurality, 73-74, 109-10, 171, 213n.26, 221n.26, 221n.29 Authority: academy as linguistic, 118-21 conflict of between author and reader, 186-87 and language, 95, 102-4, 112 of the proper reader, 161-62 of the reader, 141-45, 154-56, 158-59, 168-69, 180 Swift and, 4-6, 49-50, 95, 102-4 Swift's textual, 142-45, 155-56, 185-86, 232n.4 B Bacon, Francis, 22, 44, 100, 203n.101, 217n.4, 226n.55

Barrett, John, 191n.4 Bentley, Richard, 162-63, 164-65, 204n.109, 205n.114 Bible, King James, 101 Book of Common Prayer, 101 Boyle, Charles, 164, 204n.109, 205n.114 Boyle, Robert, 92 Burnet, Gilbert, 169-74, 176-77, 182-84 Busby, Richard, 16, 195n.32 C Camden, William, 9, 15, 194n.26 Carroll, Lewis, 70, 211n.45 Cataloguing, 58-61, 208n.20, 208n.21, 209n.26 Censorship, 102-3, 135-36, 227n.61, 227n.64, 230n.80 Chamberlain, Nathaniel, 24 Clarendon, Earl of (Edward Hyde), 169-70, 172-73, 176 Commonplace books, 8-11, 13-15, 17, 20, 58 Corneille, Pierre, 204n.105 Critics: compared to readers, 168-69 eighteenth-century views of, 237n.31, 237n.33 and literary value, 168-60 Swift's depiction of, 162-69 Swift's response to his, 166-67, 238n.36 D Definition, 53, 56-58, 61-62 Defoe, Daniel: and censorship, 227n.61, 230n.80 and language academy, 121-23, 125, 120n.78 and linguistic reform, 226n.54 Diction, 170-71

< previous page

page_255

next page >

< previous page

page_256

next page > Page 256

Dictionaries, 101, 114, 222n.39 Distinctions, 54, 78-79, 175 Doll, Dan, 71 Dryden, John: on consonants, 110 foreign locutions, 223n.43 and language academy, 121-23, 125 and linguistic improvement, 227n.59 and literary rules, 204n.106 on Renaissance literature, 228n.66 Swift's parody of, 92 on translation, 193n.22 E Education: in comparative syntax, 9-11 in composition, 19-20 in logic, 20-22 in prosody, 14-15 in rhetoric, 2, 13-14 seventeenth-century British, 7, 16-18 seventeenth-century Irish, 3, 6-18, 18-22, 28, 32 Ehrenpreis, Irvin, 7, 19 Elias, A. C., 34 Etymology: mechanisms of Swift's, 67-69, 82, 222n.35 and misreading, 146 and puns, 215n.73 and spelling, 105-7 study of, 14 and vernacular, 113 Evelyn, John, 121 F Foreign locutions, 34, 114-15, 210n.41 Forster, John, 191n.4, 197n.48 G Greek language, 7-12, 15 H Harley, Robert, 118, 129-32, 134, 137 Haydock, Josias: commonplace book of, 8-11, 13-15, 17, 194n.25 Hermeneutics: authority of, 141, 154-56 problematics of, 145-60

proper, 160-62 Hobbes, Thomas, 26-27, 53-54 Hoppen, K.T., 23 Huntington, Robert, 8 I Irony, 65, 69-70, 86-87, 147 J Johnson, Samuel: and linguistic change, 225n.50 and literary value, 217n.3 on Renaissance literatures, 229n.72 Jones, Edward, 16 Joyce, James, 210n.39, 212n.52, 212n.54, 215n.74 K Kelly, Ann Cline, 132 Keogh, John, 23-24 Kilkenny College: curriculum of, 7-16, 18, 196n.39 Ormonde Scholars, 16, 195n.31 statutes of, 7-8, 192n.9 L Landa, Louis A., 132 Language: Adamic, 14, 23, 193n.18, 193n.20 appropriation of, 49-52, 55, 141-60, 179-85, 208n.16 and aurality, 73-74, 109-10, 171, 213n.56, 221n.26, 221n.29 and authority, 5-6, 50, 95 and chaos, 8-9, 71-72 evolution of, 98, 100-102, 113, 127-29 experimentation with, 52, 95-96 and idiolects, 29-30, 51-52, 55, 201n.81 instability of, 98, 100-102, 218n.9 and madness, 53-55, 207n.8, 207n.9 and meaning, 28-29, 53, 55, 98, 142-44, 186 nationalism, 115, 127-129 plenum theory of, 58-59, 80 and scientific societies, 22-24 and silence, 142-44 stabilization of, 47, 52, 102, 118, 120, 129, 136 standardization of, 53, 97, 102-18, 120, 123, 140 Swift's multiple codings of, 74-94, 140, 217n.87 Swift's single codings of, 62-74 universal, 8-9, 23, 193n.18, 204n.104 Latin language, 7-12, 128 L'Estrange, Roger, 92 Lingustics comparative, 9-12

Literary rules, 41-42, 204n.105, 204n.106 Locke, John: cognitive theory of, 28, 30-31, 89 influence of, 201n.79, 201n.83 linguistics of, 28-32, 139, 153 parody of, 92 rhetoric of, 31-32

< previous page

page_256

next page >

< previous page

page_257

next page > Page 257

Logic: and allegory, 179 and analogy, 177-79 and cause and effect, 175-77 and definition, 174-75 and metaphor, 177 Swift's response to authorial, 174-79 M Madness: and language, 53-56, 207n.8, 207n.9 and literalism, 213n.61 and memory, 218n.8 Mainwaring, Arthur, 133-37 Marsh, Narcissus, 8, 179n.53 Maxwell, Constantia, 19 Metaphor: collapse of, 93-94 mechanisms of, 89-91 reading metaphor into a text, 150-54 reading of textual, 148, 150 structure of, 79-80 Swift as a reader of, 177 Milton, John, 162-63, 165 Misreading: and etymology, 146 figurativism, 150-54 literalism, 147-50 methods of, 145, 156, 186, 214n.68 nonreading as, 157-59 parsing, 146-47 Molyneux, William, 22 Monroe, B. S., 121 Montaigne, Michel de, 43 N Names and naming: as allusions, 209n.30 and identity, 62-64, 209n.29 and invective, 66 mechanisms of, 71 as power, 62-66, 210n.36 and schizophrenia, 65 Narrators, 81-83, 87 Nationalism, 115, 128-29, 229n.75 Neologisms:

and creativity, 66 and etymology, 67-68 and grammar, 68, 70 mechanisms of Swift's, 67-70, 210n.40 and vernacular, 113 Nokes, David, 162 O Oldmixon, John, 133-37 Ormonde, the Duke of (James Butler), 15-16, 194n.29 Orwell, George, 219n.11 Otway, Thomas, 8 P Parody, 91-93, 216n.85 Personae, 50-52, 206n.3 Petty, Sir William, 22, 24 Plenum theory, 154, 212n.49 Pope, Alexander, 15, 110, 117, 165 Portmanteau words, 70 Posterity and language academy, 121 politics of, 129, 131 Swift's attitude toward, 95, 99-100 Prior, Matthew, 121 Pronunciation, 105-6, 219n.13, 220n.19 Prose style: contemporary views of, 125, 223n.44 models for Swift, 33-34, 203n.100 plain style, 24-28, 199n.65 politics of, 126-27 rhythms of, 171-73 Prosody, 14-15 Pseudonyms, 62-63 Puns: bilingual (Anglo-Latin), 1, 13, 84 "Castilian," 198n.58 eighteenth-century criticism of, 215n.77 and etymology, 215n.73 mechanisms of, 80-86, 214n.65 and Swift's education, 84 and translation, 85 R Rabelais, François, 58, 199n.70, 231n.91 Readers: compared to critics, 168-69 depiction of, 145-62, 185

entrapment of, 50-51, 87, 95, 186, 206n.4 the proper reader, 159-62, 186 Reading ideology of in Swift, 154-56 mechanisms of, 141-42, 159, 232n.1, 233n.7 mechanics of reading Swift, 78, 87, 142-44, 147, 149-50, 155, 185-86 paradigms of, 144 proprietary, 141-45, 154-56, 158-59, 168-69, 180, 186, 237n.32 Renaissance literat and ancients-versus-moderns controversy, 43-44 as a prose model, 125-27, 229n.72 Swift's opinion of, 228n.69 Rhetoric, 3, 13-14 Rhyme, 208n.23, 212n.55 Richelieu, Cardinal, 122, 135 Roscommon, Earl of, 121

< previous page

page_257

next page >

< previous page

page_258

next page > Page 258

Royal Society: and a language academy, 119, 121 linguistics of, 46-47 and modern science, 138-40 and plain style prose, 24-26 response to Wilkins, 23 statutes of, 24 Ryder, Henry, 16 S Sacks, Oliver, 90 Salmon, Vivian, 24 Satire: as degeneration, 210n.32 and invective, 210n.35 precedents for Swift's, 206n.1 rhetoric of Swift's, 50-52, 58-61, 67-74, 74-94 and time, 102 Saussure, Ferdinand de, 56, 69, 143 Science, 28, 200n.71, 236n.26 Scott-Thomas, Lois, 115 Sheridan, Thomas, 6, 33, 84 Silence, 58, 142-44, 232n.2 Spelling: eighteenth-century, 219n.12 eighteenth-century theories of, 219n.14, 220n.16 and etymology, 106-7 and misspelling, 108-9 phonetic, 105-7, 220n.18, 220n.21 standardization of, 104-5 Swift's errors, 221n.25 Sprat, Thomas, 42, 199n.68, 199n.69 and language academy, 121, 123, 125 and plain style prose, 24-26 Steiner, George, 50, 95 Swift, Jonathan: academic performance of, 191n.4, 197n.48, 198n.55 and authority, 4-6, 49-50, 95, 102-4 childhood of, 4, 191n.2, 192n.10 clerical career of, 228n.71 correspondence of, 99, 109, 111 education of, 1-2 education at Kilkenny College, 6-18, 192n.10 education at Moor Park, 4, 33, 202n.88, 204n.111 education at Trinity College, 3, 18-22, 32

footnotes of, 224n.47 and Hobbes, 26-27, 200n.77 library of, 228n.68 linguistics of, 46-48, 72 and Locke, 28-32 politics of, 235n.21 prose models for, 125-27, 203n.100, 229n.72 prose style of, 37-38 as a reader, 6, 169-85, 187 and science, 28 and self-fashioning, 50-51 and Temple, 4, 32-34, 37-38, 46-50, 202n.91, 203n.94, 205n.18, 217n.1 Works: An Abstract of Mr. Collins's Discourse of Free-Thinking, 91-92, 155 An Argument Against Abolishing Christianity, 31-32, 50, 83 The Battle of the Books, 45-46, 92, 117, 164-65 The Bickerstaff Papers, 58, 83, 148-49 Conduct of the Allies, 99, 186-87 Contests and Dissentions in Athens and Rome, 56-57, 79, 179 The Draper's Letters, 160, 179 The Dying Speech of Tom Ashe, 85 The Examiner, 86-87, 99, 152-53, 157, 166-67, 179 A Famous Prediction of Merlin, 151-52 Gulliver's Travels: and academies, 138-39 and linguistic evolution, 101-2 and misreading, 146-47, 153-54, 157-58 and names, 63 and narrator, 50, 83 and neologisms, 66, 68 and parody, 92 and plenum theory of language, 58-59 and prescriptivism, 104 and the proper reader, 160 and representational language, 26 and scientific societies, 28 Hints Towards an Essays on Conversation, 104 History of the Four Last Years of Queen Anne, 99 Journal to Stella, 72-73, 80, 99, 107-11, 133 A Letter to a Young Gentleman Lately Entering into Holy Orders, 28, 104, 116, 237n.30 marginalia, 169-73, 176

< previous page

page_258

next page >

< previous page

page_259

next page > Page 259

Mechanical Operation of the Spirit, 50, 61, 67, 73-74, 138 Meditation on a Broomstick, 92 A Modest Defense of Punning, 84 A Modest Proposal, 50, 83, 86, 92 A New Journey to Paris, 92 Polite Conversation, 63, 117 Preface to the Right Reverend Dr. Burnet, 57, 62, 169, 174-75, 177, 182-84 A Proposal for Correcting, Improving, and Ascertaining the English Tongue, 28, 34, 45, 48, 101, 104, 106, 109, 112, 11820, 124-27, 130-37, 171 Remarks on the Barrier Treaty, 186 Remarks upon Tindall's Rights of the Christian Church, 31, 78-79, 169, 174-76, 178, 180-82 Sentiments of a Church-of-England Man, 57, 79 Short Remarks on Bishop Burnet's History, 169, 171 Some Remarks upon . . . A Letter to the Seven Lords of the Committee, Appointed to Examine Gregg, 184-85 Some Thoughts on Free-Thinking, 30 A Tale of a Tub, 22 and academies, 138 and allegory, 64 and ancients versus moderns, 46 and antonymy, 74-78 and cataloguing, 58-61 and critics, 163-64, 166 and definition, 57-58, 61 and distinctions, 78-79 and etymology, 82 and hermeneutics, 154 and Hobbes, 26-27 immorality of, 136-37 and invective, 66 and irony, 87 and Lockean linguistics, 29-31 and madness, 54-55 and metaphor, 88-91, 93-94 and misreading, 147-48, 150-51, 158-59, 214n.68, 236n.27 and modern forms, 117 and names and naming, 63-65, 71 and narrator, 50, 81 and neologisms, 66-70, 210n.40 and parody, 92-93, 216n.85 the proper reader, 160-62, 186 and puns, 80-82 and time, 100, 218n.5 and translation, 52-53 Tatler 230, 28, 34, 45, 72, 101, 104, 109-10, 112-15, 171

Thoughts on Various Subjects, 169 A Tritical Essay, 58, 117, 163-64, 166 Verses on the Death of Dr. Swift, 99 "When I Come to be Old," 58 Syllogisms, 21-22 Syntax, 8-11 T Temple, Sir William, 3-4, 164 as an advocate of the ancients, 38-44 and French language, 34 linguistics compared to Swift, 46-48 linguistics of, 38-43, 114, 128 literary reputation of, 203n.95 literary taste of, 41-42, 44-45, 204n.110, 205n.112 as a mentor of Swift, 32-33, 49-50 as a prose model for Swift, 33-34, 37-38, 202n.91 prose style of, 34-38 as a scholar, 204n.109 self-fashioning by, 50 and translation, 34 on universal language, 204n.104 "An Essay on Ancient and Modern Learning," 38-41, 43 Essay on the Advancement of Trade in Ireland, 35-36 Observations on the United Provinces, 36 "Of Poetry," 38-39, 42, 45 "Some Thoughts on the Essay . . .," 38, 40-41, 44 Translation: as an academic exercise, 1-2, 11-12, 17, 193n.21, 195n.37 as communication, 51, 56 and comparative syntax, 17 Dryden's comments on, 193n.22 and linguistic meaning, 12-13, 17-18, 51-52 and literary form, 17 mechanisms of, 51-53 reading as, 144-45, 156, 180-82, 187 and self-fashioning, 52

< previous page

page_259

next page >

< previous page

page_260

next page > Page 260

and Temple, 34 as a way to read Swift, 50-52 Trinity College Dublin, 3, 18-22, 32, 196n.42, 196n.43, 196n.44, 197n.50, 197n.53, 198n.56 U Universal language, 8-9, 11, 23 V Vernacular language, 111-14 Voltaire, 133, 226n.58 W Westminster School, 15-17 Wilkins, John, 23, 198n.60, 199n.61 Wotton, William, 164-65, 204n.109, 205n.114, 238n.36

< previous page

page_260

next page >

< previous page

page_261 Page 261

Marilyn Francus is an assistant professor of English at West Virginia University. After receiving her doctorate from Columbia University, she held the Behrman/Perkins Fellowship in the Humanities at Princeton. Her current research focuses on censorship in the eighteenth century, with particular emphasis on female playwrights of the Restoration.

< previous page

page_261