Henry
Fielding’s The
History of Tom Jones, a Foundling (1749) is long novel, and to many critics the
novel with the most perfect plot. But what the reason I always revisit it is
for the chapter preambles that Fielding included to elucidate on the novel as a
genre.
In the excerpt that follows
Fielding writes with some humor the dangers for writers of appealing to
supernatural agents. Actually he is quite clear in issuing a warning that going
outside the realm of possibility exposes the writer to ridicule and derision.
So, beware of ghosts, miracles, fairies—and the like.
... I think it may very reasonably be required of every writer, that he
keeps within the bounds of possibility; and still remembers that what it is not
possible for man to perform, it is scarce possible for man to believe he did
perform.
This conviction perhaps gave birth to many stories of the ancient
heathen deities (for most of them are of poetical original). The poet, being
desirous to indulge a wanton and extravagant imagination, took refuge in that
power, of the extent of which his readers were no judges, or rather which they
imagined to be infinite, and consequently they could not be shocked at any
prodigies related of it. This hath been strongly urged in defense of Homer's
miracles; and it is perhaps a defense; not, as Mr. Pope would have it, because
Ulysses told a set of foolish lies to the Phaeacians, who were a very dull
nation; but because the poet himself wrote to heathens, to whom poetical fables
were articles of faith.
For my own part, I must confess, so compassionate is my temper, I wish
Polypheme had confined himself to his milk diet, and preserved his eye; nor
could Ulysses be much more concerned than myself, when his companions were
turned into swine by Circe, who showed, I think, afterwards, too much regard
for man's flesh to be supposed capable of converting it into bacon.
I wish, likewise, with all my heart, that Homer could have known the
rule prescribed by Horace, to introduce supernatural agents as seldom as
possible. We should not then have seen his gods coming on trivial errands, and
often behaving themselves so as not only to forfeit all title to respect, but
to become the objects of scorn and derision. A conduct which must have shocked
the credulity of a pious and sagacious heathen; and which could never have been
defended, unless by agreeing with a supposition to which I have sometimes
almost inclined, that this most glorious poet, as he certainly was, had an
intent to burlesque the superstitious faith of his own age and country.
But I have rested too long on a doctrine which can be of no use to a
Christian writer; for as he cannot introduce into his works any of that
heavenly host which make a part of his creed, so it is horrid puerility to
search the heathen theology for any of those deities who have been long since
dethroned from their immortality.
Lord Shaftesbury observes that nothing is more cold than the invocation of a muse by a modern;
he might have added, that nothing can be more absurd. A modern may with much
more elegance invoke a ballad, as some have thought Homer did, or a mug of ale,
with the author of Hudibras; which latter may perhaps have inspired more
poetry, as well as prose, than all the liquors of Hippocrene or Helicon.
The only
supernatural agents which can in any manner be allowed to us moderns, are
ghosts; but of these I would advise an author to be extremely sparing. These
are indeed, like arsenic, and other dangerous drugs in physic, to be used with
the utmost caution; nor would I advise the introduction of them at all in those
works, or by those authors, to which, or to whom, a horse-laugh in the reader
would be any great prejudice or mortification.
As for elves and
fairies, and other such mummery, I purposely omit the mention of them, as I
should be very unwilling to confine within any bounds those surprising
imaginations, for whose vast capacity the limits of human nature are too
narrow; whose works are to be considered as a new creation; and who have
consequently lust right to do what they will with their own.
Man, therefore,
is the highest subject (unless on very extraordinary occasions indeed) which
presents itself to the pen of our historian, or of our poet; and in relating
his actions, great care is to be taken that we do not exceed the capacity of
the agent we describe.
Henry Fielding. The
History of Tom Jones, a Foundling (1749) Book
VIII, Chapter i.