Browning and Dogma Part 2

CLEON

LECTURE II

CLEON

Between Caliban and Cleon a wide gulf is fixed: between the savage sprawling in "the pit's much mire," gloating over his powers of inflicting suffering, at once cowering before and insulting his G.o.d: and the cultured Greek, inhabitant of "the sprinkled isles," poet, philosopher, artist, musician, sitting in his "portico, royal with sunset," reflecting on the purposes of life, his own achievements and the design of Zeus in creation, which, though inscrutable, he yet must hold to have been beneficent. Could contrast be anywhere more striking than that suggested by these two scenes? And yet amidst outward dissimilarity there is a point towards which all their lines converge. On one subject of reflection alone, this man, the product of Greek intellectual life and culture, has hardly pa.s.sed beyond that of the savage awakening to a "sense of sense." To both alike death means the end of life, to neither does any glimpse of light reveal itself beyond the grave. And death to the Greek is infinitely more terrible than to the son of Sycorax. To Caliban the belief that "with the life the pain will stop," affords a feeling akin to relief in the present, when the mental discomfort arising from fear of Setebos temporarily over-powers the physical satisfaction to be derived from basking in the sun. To Cleon, possessed of the capacity for "loving life so over-much,"

the idea of death affords so terrible a suggestion that its very horror forces upon him at times the necessity of the acceptance of some theory involving belief in the immortality of the soul. Thus we have moved onwards one step, though one step only, in the ladder of thought, of which Caliban's soliloquy const.i.tutes the lowest rung. The inert conjectures, the vague surmises of the savage are succeeded by the reflections and subsequent logical deductions of the man of intellectual culture, culminating in the anguished cry:

I, I the feeling, thinking, acting man.

Sleep in my urn. It is so horrible, I dare at times imagine to my need Some future state revealed to us by Zeus.

... But no!

Zeus has not yet revealed it, and alas, He must have done so, were it possible! (_Cleon_, 11. 321-335.)

Different as are the modes of contemplating death, differing as the character and environment of the soliloquist, one is yet in a sense the outcome of the other, an exemplification of Cleon's own a.s.sertion:

In man there's failure, only since he left The lower and inconscious forms of life. (ll. 125-126.)

Most progress is most failure. (l. 272.)

With the opening out of wider possibilities to the mind comes the consciousness of the gulf between actuality and ideality. To Caliban, whose pleasurable conceptions of life are bounded by the prospect of defrauding Prospero of his services, lying in the mire

Drinking the mash, with brain become alive, Making and marring clay at will; (_Caliban_, 11. 96-97.)

to such a being not long endowed with a capacity for the realization of his own individuality, with the "sense of sense," the Greek appreciation of life is a sheer impossibility. By the mind capable of entering into sympathy with Homer, Terpander, Phidias, the joys of life are felt too keenly to be relinquished without a struggle, and that a bitter one. Death and the grave cast a chilling shadow over the brightness of the present.

Before a.n.a.lysing the arguments contained in the reflections of Cleon, it may be well to inquire what were the influences to which the poet had been subjected, and which resulted in the condition of mind in which the messengers of Protus found him. The Greece in which Cleon lived was the Greece to which S. Paul addressed himself from the Areopagus, the character of which is sufficiently indicated by the circ.u.mstances leading to the a.s.sembly on that memorable occasion. The Athenians, we are told by the writer of the _Acts_, "spent their time in nothing else but either to tell or to hear some new thing."[17] The age was then, it would appear, not one of action or of practical thought. All had been done in the past that could be done in the departments of artistic achievement, of poetry, of philosophy. Now _creative_ power would seem to have disappeared from amongst Greek thinkers, all that remained being the natural restlessness which ultimately succeeds satiety. Much had been accomplished in the past: What remained to the future? It is in accordance with this spirit of the age that Cleon writes to Protus:

We of these latter days, with greater mind Than our forerunners, since more composite, Look not so great, beside their simple way, To a judge who only sees one way at once, One mind-point and no other at a time,-- Compares the small part of a man of us With some whole man of the heroic age, Great in his way--not ours, nor meant for ours. (ll. 64-71.)

Hence the poet of modern times, though he has left the "epos on [the]

hundred plates of gold," the property of the tyrant Protus, and the little popular song

So sure to rise from every fis.h.i.+ng-bark When, lights at prow, the seamen haul their net; (ll. 49, 50.)

yet admits freely that he has not "chanted verse like Homer." What though he has "combined the moods" of music, "inventing one," yet has he never "swept string like Terpander," his predecessor by some seven centuries.

What though he has moulded "the image of the sun-G.o.d on the phare," or painted the Poecile its whole length, yet has he not "carved and painted men like Phidias and his friend"--his forerunners by something like four hundred years. With these mighty achievements in poetry and art of those giants amongst men to be contemplated in retrospect, what hope remains for the future? What greater attainments may be possible to the human intellect? Here again life--this mortal life--would seem to have become all that it is capable of becoming; the powers of mind and body have alike been developed to the full. Thus on this side too is satiety. The yearning for growth, for progress, inherent in human nature, seeks instinctively further heights of attainment. When for the time being all visible peaks appear to have been scaled, then, in the phraseology of S. John, "man [turns] round on himself and stands."[18] And then arises the enquiry into the purposes of existence, an enquiry unheard in the earlier days of practical activity and struggle. Is this the end of all? No progress being possible along the old tracks, we must hear or see some new thing. The late Dr. Westcott in comparing the dramatic work of Euripides with that of aeschylus, and remarking that Euripides (only a generation younger) had to take account of all the novel influences under which he had grown up, adds, "Once again Asia had touched Europe and quickened there new powers.

Greece had conquered Persia only that she might better receive from the East the inspiration of a wider energy."[19] Once more in the days of Cleon might it be said that Asia had touched Europe and quickened there new powers. But this time the positions of conquered and conquerors were reversed. Asia was to conquer Europe, but the conquest effected by the sword of Alexander was to be avenged by weapons forged in another armoury.

This time Asia invaded Europe when Paul of Tarsus responded to the appeal "Come over to Macedonia and help us." So far that invasion had borne small fruit: "certain men" had believed, including Dionysius the Areopagite, whilst others, whose att.i.tude Protus would appear to have shared, desired to hear further on the subject of the Resurrection.[20] Cleon is represented as ranking among the sceptics with reference to the new Christian teaching. The special influence of Greek thought upon his philosophy and creed, as expressed in the poem, may be best noticed in a closer consideration to which we now turn.

I. The opening lines (1-18) present, with Browning's usual power of delineation, the environment of the speaker. Cleon, the poet, as well as his correspondent, Protus, the tyrant, seem alike to be imaginary personages. With lines 19-42 the soliloquist at once strikes the key-note of the poem. By the act of munificence which showers gifts upon the poet, "whose song gives life its joy," the king evinces his "recognition of the use of life": and by this recognition proves himself no mere materialist.

He is ruling his people, not with exclusive attention to their material needs, though they may not themselves look beyond the gratification of these. Whilst he is building his tower, achieving his life's work, the beauty of which is sufficient to the "vulgar" gaze, he, the builder, is looking "to the East"; and looking to the East in a sense not intended by the Greek when he makes enquiry through his messengers for the "mere barbarian Jew," "one called Paulus."

II. The following section of the poem (ll. 42-157) is an interesting elaboration of Cleon's theory of the development, not only of the individual (Browning's favourite theme), but of the growth of the race.

The Greek holds that where individual members of humanity have attained in their several departments to the greatest heights, nothing further _in that direction_ is possible of accomplishment. What then remains for the advancement of the race? When the "outside verge that rounds our faculties" has been reached, "these divine men of old" must remain unsurpa.s.sed by their successors in that particular department of work or thought.

Where they reached, who can do more than reach?

What then remains? How may the contemporary of Cleon excel "the grand simplicity" of Homer, of Terpander, and in later times of Phidias? It is to the growing complexity of the human mind that Cleon looks for an answer. Although in one intellectual department he may fall short of that which has been attained in the past, he is yet capable of appreciating all that his predecessors have achieved to a degree impossible to an earlier generation of mankind. _All_ the faculties are developed, not one to the exclusion or limitation of the others; hence is obtained a more completely sympathetic union of the intellectual capacities. Thus the further development of the race is to be sought in a greater complexity of being rather than in an advance along any individual line of progress. Three several ill.u.s.trations of his theory Cleon adduces (1) That suggested by the mosaic-work of the pavement before him: and (2) the more unusual one of the sphere with its contents of air and water: yet again (3) the comparison between the wild and cultivated plant. (1) Each individual section of the mosaic was in itself perfect--thus with the great ones of old. This perfection having been attained, all that should succeed would be at best but a reproduction of the already perfect forms, a repet.i.tion, a renewal of that which had gone before. A higher, because more complex beauty might, however, be created by a combination of these separate perfections, producing thus a new form, that, too, perfect in itself. And this synthetic labour must prove an advance on the almost exclusively a.n.a.lytic which had preceded it; since new and more complex forms should be thus evolved, "making at last a picture" of deeper meaning and finer interests than those offered by any number of individual chequers uncombined, however perfect in symmetry and colour. Hence there might still remain a goal towards which human energy should direct its efforts.

Though man may have attained to perfection _in part_, to continue the simile, he has now to develop towards the attainment of a perfect _complex whole_, resulting from a composition and adjustment of perfect individual parts, united by a bond of sympathetic intellectual appreciation non-existent in past ages. When Cleon shall have "chanted verse like Homer," "swept string like Terpander," "carved and painted men like Phidias and his friend," then, not only will the individual of recent times have surpa.s.sed each of his forerunners in the variety and comprehensiveness of his powers, but he will have attained in each individual department of his being to that greatness for the development of which man's entire faculties were of old required. To this Cleon has by no means yet attained. Such growth, change, and expansion in the individual character is not, he would suggest, readily recognized by the world, and the second ill.u.s.tration here applies: (2) water, the more palpable, material element, is estimated at its worth, whilst air, with its subtler properties,

Tho' filling more fully than the water did;

though holding

Thrice the weight of water in itself. (ll. 106-107.)

is yet accounted a negligible quant.i.ty, and the sphere is p.r.o.nounced empty. Of the deeper, more subtle, thoughts and workings of the soul in Cleon and his fellows, the outcome of the labours of humanity in past generations, thoughts too deep for expression, ideas only destined to bear fruit in the years to come; of all these, and such as these, the contemporary world takes little heed. To the G.o.ds alone Cleon would refer for his appreciation. With David he would exclaim:

'Tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what man Would do![21]

With Ben Ezra he would triumph

All, the world's coa.r.s.e thumb And finger failed to plumb, So pa.s.sed in making up the main account; All instincts immature, All purposes unsure, That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount:

Thoughts hardly to be packed Into a narrow act, Fancies that broke through language and escaped: All I could never be, All, men ignored in me;

("ignored" because incapable of the understanding essential to appreciation);

_This_, I was worth to G.o.d, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.[22]

For Cleon, equally with the Jewish philosopher of the Middle Ages, accepts the entire subserviency of man to his creator. Both alike recognize the value of life, human life; its unity, its perfection in itself: both alike realize that this life means growth. "Why stay we on the earth unless to grow?" asks the Greek. "It was better," writes the Jew as age approaches,

It was better, youth Should strive, through acts uncouth, Towards making, than repose on aught found made.[23]

Thus progress! Nevertheless, the Rabbi, whilst recognizing to the full the value of the present life as a thing _per se_, bearing its peculiar uses, its perfect development advancing from youth through manhood until age shall "approve of youth, and death complete the same!" with the _unity_ yet recognizes also _continuity_; and at the close of the old life can stand upon the threshold of the new "fearless and unperplexed," "what weapons to select, what armour to indue," for use in the renewed struggle he foresees awaiting him. To the Greek life was equally, nay, surpa.s.singly beautiful, the human faculties equally worthy of cultivation. As in Nature, so with man (and here is employed the third of his ill.u.s.trations): (3) the wild flower, _i.e._, according to his interpretation, the possessor of the single artistic faculty--Homer, Terpander, Phidias--

Was the larger; I have dashed Rose-blood upon its petals, p.r.i.c.ked its cup's Honey with wine, and driven its seed to fruit, And show a better flower if not so large: I stand myself. (ll. 147-151.)

Whilst the Rabbi esteems himself as clay in the hands of the potter, the Greek admits no personal pride in the multiplicity or magnitude of his gifts. All alike he refers to "the G.o.ds whose gift alone it is,"

continuing the reflection--

Which, shall I dare (All pride apart) upon the absurd pretext That such a gift by chance lay in my hand, Discourse of lightly, or depreciate?

It might have fallen to another's hand: what then? (ll. 152-156.)